Faction The Path Ahead I New Mandalorians

[Jenn Kryze]

The Battle of Onderon is over.

A pyrrhic victory, secured through the courage and undaunting defiance of the New Mandalorians. The Queen of Onderon is dead, the capital of Iziz ruined, and the loathsome foe yet hides upon the moon of Dxun, ready to withstand a siege amidst the ancient bastion fashioned by Mand'alor the Ultimate's warriors, thousands of years ago.

For all of this misery, however, the world still turns, and the struggle goes ever on... now that the dead have been mourned, the living must collect themselves, and make ready for the next chapter in their righteous stand. For they are no mere bounty hunters, nor deluded brigands cloaked in their own false conception of honor.

They are the New Mandalorians of Onderon: those harbingers of a new age and forgers of a new Mandalorian tradition to light the Galaxy anew!

They now make ready for war...

Objective I - Sworn by Oath

The New Mandalorians are a people defined by their commitment to traditionally chivalric ideals; although all prospective members are offered cin vhetin, the subsequent erasure of their past deeds in the eyes of House Kryze comes with the expectation that they will prove their new commitment by keeping to their word from that point on. As such, many choose to publicly declare their allegiance through the swearing of an oath, made upon their honor as Mandalorians. In the wake of the fierce fighting on Onderon, newcomers are directed to the highest point in the highlands, where Pollux, Alor'ad of House Kryze, awaits those with the heart to make a solemn vow.

Objective II - The War Council

Although her rule as the Alor of House Kryze and the Duchess of the New Mandalorians is absolute, the exemplar of the Owl ever seeks to embody the virtues of her people's aliik, chief of which being its wisdom. To rule with an iron grip is one thing, but to rule justly is another altogether; as such, any would-be advisors have been called to the Round Table to bring their counsel to the Redeemer.​

 

[Pollux]

The Sword of Dusk hoped the warriors before him would prove to be worthy protectors of the Duchess' so-called Age of Renewal.​

​

Some called his survival on Tython miraculous, though the duelist did not see it so. Many had fallen during that fight; brother fell against brother in a bitter struggle, Kryze drawing steel against Kryze. Khamul Kryze and his fanatics yet drew breath, and would doubtlessly prove to be a constant thorn in the House's side; the chivalrous warrior's objectives had been a failure. That he yet drew breath only allowed him to gaze upon his failure as a commander, quietly requesting to be reassigned upon his return to Onderon.​

​

A request Jenn had denied him. ​

​

"One's oath is a powerful thing, my vode", intoned the swordmaster. "It is alike beskar'gam, wrapped around thy souls, protecting thy faith and integrity. So long as you live by your oath, then naught may claim victory over you; therein lies true nobility. Not in titles, nor finery, but the measure of one's worth, in the face of insurmountable odds. Thou'rt Evaar'la Mando'ade. The greatest warriors this Galaxy hath ever beheld, and the noblest. Thy strength, put to the protection of those who may not defend themselves."​

​

Drawing the Ukatian sword he called his own, the Guardian of Vows watched the dying light of dusk reflecting upon the blade. Much like himself, it was a knightly thing, a symbol of one's station as well as an implement of death. A reminder that Mandalorian culture was far less impermeable than one might think. If they opened their hearts, and allowed themselves to feel the same respect and consideration for other cultures they all but demanded from outsiders, then they could become so much more.​

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"Thy oath is thy own, kindred. You may relate its phrasing to the Pillar under which you have chosen to tread; whatever the case may be, let all assembled here know your devotion to our ideals. Speak from the depths of thy heart, with passion and honesty, and let honor guide the way. So speaks Pollux, Alor'ad of House Kryze."​

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[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam​

For a moment, Jenn looked to the light filtering through the windows and into the communal space she had summoned the advisors to join her in, and wondered for the umpteenth time that day if she had made a mistake. Should she not have taken Pollux's place, and ensured that all those swearing their vows would do so before her, their sole ruler? She who had found the courage within to stand up against evil, and lead righteous souls away from the brigandry and murder of the Mandalorian Enclave as it collapsed in on itself?​

​

Alas, even a sorceress like herself could not be in two places at once, and so she had to make choices. Concessions. Weighing her options, and acting on whichever one seemed best. Although she feared some may take her absence at vows to be an ill omen, her attention was required around the Round Table, listening to the advice and concern presented by her people, that she may keep a finger on the pulse of the House. Though she held no qualms when it came to asserting her power and influence, keeping herself honest was a struggle - made all the more accessible thanks to the input of those who kept their feet on the ground.​

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"Thank you all for coming, my vode. As you know, I have called you here to discuss the future of our House; our place in the Galaxy, and the actions we should take. Let no-one here doubt their place among us; no matter your past allegiances, may you have once been a Crusader, a Protector, an Imperial, a follower of the Sith... you are now my warriors. The New Mandalorians."​

​

Marking a meaningful pause, her eyes went from one helm to another, letting the gazer of her visor (as well as the Jaig Eyes etched above it) remind all those in attendance of the piercing nature of her gaze, unseen as it may be. So too did her voice settle into its near-hypnotic rhythm, a melody woven from words; the longer she spoke, and the more agreeable others tended to be... an effect mitigated by those aware of her nature as Ersansyr, and possessing the strength of will to deny the pleasant nature of the Duchess' alluring song.​

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"Our first order of business shall concern the fate of the Crusaders we vanquished during the defense of our home. Some of our smiths believe we should return the beskar'gam of the fallen to their aliit, for it is their sacred legacy; others have petitioned me for permission to melt it all down, and thus reinforce those suits already in our possession. Likewise, the delicate matter of the bodies themselves must be handled. Are we to give them a Kryze funeral, brought upon the pyre and returned to ashes? Should we see those remains returned to their loved ones? Or, as some of my Nite Owls have counselled... shall we make an example of them?"​

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Tense silence followed, if for but a moment. Silence broken only by a drawl from Karrys, personal pilot of the Nite Owls and oldest supporter of the Alor.​

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"Heads, spikes, walls, I say."​

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[Itzhal Volkihar]

Amidst the throng of Mandalorians arriving on this day, Itzhal was one of many, though more distinct than most, with armour that suited a relic of a bygone era. The heavy plates of Beskar draped across his torso, a mixture of dark black that called for a Justice that would never be obtained, the victims and perpetrators long passed, and a crimson red that struggled to remember those lost, their blood a burden that would never lessen, glinted in the light, their metallic sheen a testament to both the durability and craftsmanship of an armourer long passed.

Upon his shoulders, held straight despite the weight that assaulted them, pauldrons formed part of the formidable shell that stretched further outward, extending protectively around his outer arms. Their final touch reminiscent of a guardian's embrace, the last protection of people lost to memory.

His gauntlets were much of the same style, thicker than most of their common counterparts, as was expected from a time when Beskar was plentiful and its people were free to flourish. The weapons and equipment, however, were new and bright with a sheen that contrasted against the carefully maintained and cared-for armour; the shine only buffed in for the special occasion.

He hadn't had time to properly work the extensive modifications required for the intended missile system attached to his leg plates, though such would come in time. In the meanwhile, his armoured greaves were attached to empty slots, their reinforced plates appearing thicker for the extra protection that he couldn't remove, despite how unnecessary the additional armour was without the attached weapons platform.

In a world of sleek and modern armour, where shards of faithful iron were scavenged and worn with great care before they were passed down for centuries more, he stood apart.

Yet, not so much that his presence overshadowed the intensity of the attention directed towards Pollux Kryze. Their voice was laden with a solemn gravity, reminiscent of the heavy, unrelenting burden that rested upon Itzhal's shoulders. It was only fitting, given the gravity of the moment—a moment when souls stood poised to stand if they dared to acknowledge the reason they'd come here in the first place.

For the sake of a Galaxy that roiled in anguish, yearning for champions to rise and fulfil its desperate hopes.

Observing from a perch near the back, Itzhal stood, one hand pressed against the edge of a boulder, cool air whishing against the back of his neck. His helm tilted slightly as he found himself curious about who would be the first to make their vow as if the words would mean something to him, as if he would even hear them when all he could think about was how to shape the words that spoke to his soul.

Tag: Pollux​

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Beskar'gam

This all remained so very strange to him. Strange, and yet, he wouldn't go so far as to call it wrong. Indeed, even as he'd taken his seat, he would not deny that something about these surroundings resonated with him a way he could not easily put into words. There was unquestionably a grandeur about this place, as much as could possibly be conjured amidst the humble settlement which the wilds of Onderon had thus far yielded to its newest tenants. But somehow, despite the readily apparent skill and care which had gone into the crafting of this table, despite the elegance of its carved patterns, it didn't seem nearly so showy or forbidding as he'd expected. In fact, one of the first things he'd done upon laying eyes upon the Round Table of House Kryze was to remove glove and gauntlet alike, in order that he might experience the craftsmanship with unadorned hand, trace the intricate grooves with callused fingertips.

Wood. Nothing more, just plain, ordinary wood. The same stuff that beings of his kind had made use of since not so long after they'd evolved the intelligence and manual dexterity to craft plane and saw. That something so humble, so unassuming and ancient had been chosen to bear the weight of their future, the future of a people ordinarily so inextricably linked in identity to cold metal...

It felt right. Haliat just couldn't have possibly have anticipated ever being offered a seat at such a table. For so long, he was master unto himself and himself alone. His course was his to dictate, with no need of rhetoric. And yet, he sought to influence none. That this should be his purpose now...he wasn't quite sure what to make of that. But while he thought it over, here he sat. And when the pilot made ready use of both seat and voice, it was time he must do the same.

​

"Heads, spikes, walls, I say."​

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"You'd have us mutilating corpses? Have we nothing better to do?" ​

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He meant no derision against the speaker, despite his distaste for the proposal. He presumed Karrys' counsel came from a place of anger, anger he could well understand. Long had the pilot supported Jenn herself, and that likely suggested support for her vision. If Karrys believed in what this could all grow into, then this was home. Home had been attacked yet again, and jubilantly so. It was natural to desire vengeance of some sort. And while this did not move Haliat himself, this was an assembly of warriors. He would have to do better if he meant to forestall that course of action.

"What purpose would it serve? To unnerve the Crusaders, compel them to future restraint? I think we all know it would do nothing of the kind. It will only enrage them, enhance their lust for the vengeance to which they feel perpetually entitled. And if enraging them is the point, exacting some vengeance of our own...I, for one, am not interested. Let their dead, and any more dead to come, be payment enough. More violence inflicted on those past caring is not simply beneath us; it's useless. Their gear, on the other hand...that is not useless."

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| Friendly | Jenn Kryze
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[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Pollux​

"Thy oath is thy own, kindred. You may relate its phrasing to the Pillar under which you have chosen to tread; whatever the case may be, let all assembled here know your devotion to our ideals. Speak from the depths of thy heart, with passion and honesty, and let honor guide the way. So speaks Pollux, Alor'ad of House Kryze."

An oath to this new group.

It was a hard sell to someone who had been burned by so many. The Enclave, turned into something unworthy of the armor. The Protectors, fallen into squabbling and discord. The Crusaders, a group that had cast him out from his own home. His brief meeting with the A'lor of House Kryze had opened him to the idea of the New Mandalorians, but the thought of swearing an oath so soon was a daunting one.

Still, Drego Ruus, A'lor of the newest clan in the galaxy, stood amongst the crowd doing so. If he was to swear an oath, he would do so on behalf of his clan. Not for himself, but for those under him.

" Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.. " The former Warmaster spoke. He still held that title on his armor, the mark of the Protectors still clad across his shoulderplate. Even if they were gone, even if the Crusaders had taken his planet, his home, his foundling, he stood still for what the Protectors had idealized. "If I am to devote myself to this New Way, I stand by that. What I stood for when I founded Clan Ruus. That a man should lead the way, not burn it down. A real man, a real mandalorian, leads those behind him, in front of him, and beside him to glory. Real Glory. Glory found through honor, through kindness, and thus through victory. That is my oath, to stand by the ideal I had set out to find."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Perched upon his solemn obelisk, one foot pressed into the rough stone of the ancient boulder, Itzhal stood vigil as those who intended to join the New Mandalorians took their vows, each a promise to be better than what had come before. Unburdened by the hate and disgust that had turned the Crusaders against the entire Galaxy, his fellow Mandalorians searched for a new way, something worthy of pride rather than the constant bloodshed of warmongers and monsters determined to leave their mark on the Galaxy in blood and nothing else. As though to leave the stars less than when you began was ever a mark of success.

The Taung had been many things when their race flourished, but amongst all others, they'd forged a legacy that lived to this day because of how many they'd allowed to join. It was only a shame that so much of their warlike nature had bled into the belief of what a Mandalorian must be rather than what else they could become. He'd heard enough of strikes against civilian populaces and the like to be disgusted by what had become the largest warcry of the Mandalorian people as if there was something worthwhile in testing themselves against the weak.

Under the murmur of another vow, Itzhal felt his hand clench in frustration as the voices of a thousand helpless people screamed over the comm lines, unable to escape the green death that descended upon them. With another exhale, he forced the memories away.

Just in time for Drego Russ to take their place as the former Warmaster began to speak, his voice strong and reliable like the man it came from, their words retelling the ideals he'd once told Itzhal months ago. To lead the way.

With his oath given and another murmur of silence that waited to be filled, Itzhal took a step forward, his ancient armour unbending as attention turned his way.

"This Galaxy is no stranger to suffering; for almost a hundred years, disaster after disaster has crippled our hope for something better than what came before. The Alliance hobbles on in constant warfare with its nearby neighbours; the Sith and their many Empires turn and roil in a desire to hurt and destroy all that is not theirs, and now even our own people would turn our purpose to endless conflict, crusades as if the Galaxy has not suffered for long enough."

His darkened visor, shaped in the iconic T, roamed across the crowd as if in search of someone who would defy his statement. Softly spoken, his words were carried to the others by the whisper of the winds and the silence that embraced the solemn peak.

"Pirates roam untouched beneath the notice of giants, deserters and malcontents of the lowest rungs press their displeasure upon those weaker than themselves—a hundred thousand problems, more than the eye can see. Injustice spreads across the Galaxy with every misdeed unchallenged, so I find myself with a problem that must be faced," his soft-spoken voice began to harden as he turned his gaze towards Pollux Kryze. "There is evil in this Galaxy, and my purpose is to face it."

With an inhale that seemed to raise his chest, visible underneath the plates of Beskar, Itzhal raised one gloved hand to slam against his chest plate, a thunderous crack against the quiet.

"I am here because I wish to be more than just another set of eyes watching as innocents suffer, to be one of those who would sanction their torment through inaction. Mandalorian Iron has protected me countless times; our armourers and weaponsmiths have given me those tools, so I shall be the shield needed for others," underneath his helmet, Itzhal felt a smile slip across his worn face, the expression strange after all this time. "And one day, when people look upon my efforts, they will see the path paved with every soul saved and future provided for because I will not leave this Galaxy in ruins; I will not leave it burning in the shape of some forsaken claim to gods or blood feuds, or whatever excuse those who would desire death may claim. No. I will leave it behind better than when I arrived."

He tilted his helm away from Pollux, his words spoken but hopefully not yet dismissed, as he looked amongst the crowd. His attention focused upon those who had already sworn themselves to something more than just themselves—to their people, to their legacy, to be better.

"I cannot do so alone. I come here looking for a path with those who acknowledge a shared vision of a better place than what we have created so far. To have the might, not to crush others beneath our boots, but to raise each and every individual higher than ever before."

Pulling his hand away from his chest plate, Itzhal raised both hands towards his helmet, a hand on either side as the seals released with a hiss before he pulled the buy'ce off, his silver and grey locks waving in the wind, aged lines and pained furrows were drawn into skin that had paled underneath the cover of beskar as steel blue eyes stared upon the other Mandalorians.

"My Oath is simple," Itzhal declared, his voice harsh against the wind that had gathered. "It is to be better. To be the armour to those who are innocent, to find evil in this Galaxy and face it, to lift those who would stand beside me and those who would need it."

"And I will fail," he whispered, the admission a secret shared between those who would make their own vows. Blue eyes, cold as ice, stared across the other visors and the armour that marked each of them. "Evil will strike, and I will not be there. Innocents will suffer, and I will not be there."

His buy'ce was turned towards himself, the darkened visor quiet in its judgement.

"But I will arrive, regardless. I cannot save everyone. This is the consequence of such a vow, to know I will never be perfect, to know that it is insurmountable, and yet I will leash myself to it regardless because I believe in trying. And if I cannot bring hope to those I have failed, then I will do my best to bring them Justice."

"You know my face; you know my armour. There is nowhere I can hide from that which I have promised. I am Itzhal of Clan Volkihar, and this is my vow."

Tag: Pollux Drego Ruus​

 

[Anna Carden]

Jenn Kryze | Haliat Kryze​

The imagery of the Round Table, with its grandness and the concept of being involved in important decision-making, was still quite unfamiliar to her, but she didn't let it show as she took a seat. Jenn opened the council with a simple speech, before directly going into one of the things they are discussing today.

The Crusaders, of course. The mention of them brought the feelings of failure back into her head, but it was not until the mention of making an example that Anna stiffened. Judging by the silence that followed, it seemed like everyone else also had to think twice about the business. The Raven wasn't fond of 'striking fear and terror' approaches, however effective they might be.

It reminded her way too much of the Enclave.

Thankfully, the tension was quickly broken as Haliat expressed his opinion respectfully, one that she strongly agreed with.

She nodded at Haliat, adding. "It doesn't cost much to honor the dead. They are also children of Mandalore." Respecting the different paths that the Crusaders walked was also the least that they could do. "I, for one, think that we should return their remains to their aliit." Perhaps one day if she were to fall in a battle, her enemy would have a heart to give her the same courtesy.

Pausing, Anna looked around, waiting for others to voice their thoughts on the matter before continuing. "Now, on the subject of their beskar'gam," She already felt like people were going to look at her weird for this, but nevertheless, this council was held so that Jenn could hear everyone's voice. "I believe we acquired them fair and square through battle. It is not tradition, but we need them more than ever."

The Mandalorian with red right pauldron closed her opinion after looking at everyone at the table. "However, I am not opposed to returning them."

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Beskar'gam

​

. "Now, on the subject of their beskar'gam," She already felt like people were going to look at her weird for this, but nevertheless, this council was held so that Jenn could hear everyone's voice. "I believe we acquired them fair and square through battle. It is not tradition, but we need them more than ever."​

Haliat, for his part, did not remotely look "weird" at Anna or her suggestion, unless a recognition of support he'd not been entirely sure of could be counted as such. Even that, of course would have been lost behind the opaque faceplate of his helmet, which was why he had promptly removed it as soon as Jenn had concluded her opening remarks. The full regalia, he presumed, suited some common idea of the weight and gravity this meeting called for, and of course there were those of their number who never removed it before living eyes to begin with. Hal, however, did not generally make a habit of carrying out conversations with his face hidden unless he was actively engaged in battle...well, or if he was only talking to someone begrudgingly and didn't think they merited the consideration of knowing they were truly listened to. This bunch, he intended to pay that respect until such time as they'd demonstrated themselves unworthy of it. They were here talking to a man, not a suit of armor.

Thus, his frown was fully in display as he weighed Anna Carden's words and responded.

"Mandalorian tradition has a good deal to say where this planet is concerned. And frankly, most of it offends me to no end. You see I, however recently, am of Onderon. I say it proudly. It means I am heir to a millennia old heritage of tenacity and resilience. The people of this world had no remarkable technologies in the beginning, no vanished people to pass on their ways, and they began at the bottom of the food chain on one of the most hostile worlds the galaxy had to offer. And yet, at great cost of toil and bloodshed, whether by building up their great city or confronting the beasts in their own lairs, they earned a place on this world. To be of service to this world, this people, to earn the right to count myself as one of them, is literally why I first came among you.

"Because the Mandalorian tradition...is to spit on the Onderonian tradition. Our ancestors, time and again, would come screaming down from orbit on their war machines with blood on their minds and on their hands. They would sack Iziz, they would call this world theirs, and they would treat it as their personal safari. Shoot everything in sight, decorate their wall with the skulls, and call Onderon mastered. Now, they've done it again, and how many are dead because of it? So no, if the Crusaders care so little for the tradition of this world, then I am in turn not especially sympathetic to their tradition."

He forced himself to pause a moment, then. That had bordered on a rant, and that was hardly characteristic of him. Then again, he supposed he did have a lifetime of frustration with his people to his name. Perhaps after all this time, in a place where his words were specifically asked of him, it had needed venting?

"Let me say it more plainly. We needn't go out of our way to disrespect the dead. But nor are we obligated to furnish our still living enemy with the means to more effectively kill us in the future. As to cultural significance, perhaps we do have a chance to send a message here. When our wayward kin sing their songs, tell their stories of this campaign, let them remember that for some, this attempt at conquest did not bring glory. It cost families not only their sons and daughters, but their treasured heirlooms as well. So take it, I say. Repurpose it. Let it save the lives we hold dear instead.

"As to their remains, Anna Carden , I support your suggestion in principle, but I fear the practical realities may intrude. The Crusaders, while indeed still in orbit, are presently bunkering down in preparation for a siege. And even if both a truce and a meeting could be arranged, these are bodies decaying as we speak. If we want them in any condition to turn over, they would require preparation. Storage. We would need the assistance of Iziz for such a thing, I think. And even if they were amenable, they have concerns of their own right now. By all means, let us put their effects aside. Weapons, holos, anything we can save until such time as they can be returned to the families. But for their mortal remains, the pyre seems to me a more dignified sendoff."

| Aliit | Jenn Kryze Anna Carden
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[Pollux]

Beskar'gam​

First, came the most divisive figure within the assembly. A man whose deeds made him a respected figure in the eyes of some among the House... and a deluded fool, in the eyes of others. ​

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Drego Ruus , Alor of his Clan, had once called himself the Pillar of Strength, in the time of the Mandalorian Protectors. That he still carried their insignia did little to endear him to those who yet remained sceptical of the legacy left behind by the Protectors; as he stepped from the crowd, many were the visors to watch his every motion alike a flight of shriek-hawks... waiting for him to give them just enough rope to hang him with. But, when his voice rose to let his oath be carried from his lips and to the world, a few offered their approval, quiet and reserved as it was. Hands coming to rest atop one's beskar'gam where it was thickest, over the heart; an ancient gesture of respect and peace, among the House of Kryze. Pollux, for his part, gave but a slight, if respectful nod of acknowledgement at first.​

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"Then mayst thou display kindness as readily as thou'st deal death, Father of Ruus, Last of the Protectors. But remain wary, always, that glory and honor need not always be synonymous. May thou ever make the right choice, upon the field of battle or among thy own kindred... for the sake of those under thy protection, as well as the fate of thy own soul."​

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Praise, and warning alike; in this regard, then the Champion and the Duchess were very much alike, indeed... no wonder that she had chosen him to represent her in this most delicate of ceremonies. Just as the new arrivals needed to be welcomed and accepted as vode, so too did they need to be warned. Jenn Kryze's reputation as The Redeemer was well-deserved indeed, for she welcomed all within the New Mandalorians, no matter their past; but those who would waste this second chance and break their covenant with the Duchess would be shown no mercy. ​

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Itzhal Volkihar was treated far differently. Few knew of his name, let alone his deeds, if any; when he spoke, none held any preconceived notions, for good or ill. Naught but the ancient design of his beskar'gam, drawing the curiosity of those smiths in attendance - for the Duchess was a Forgemistress herself, and her secular view of Mandalorian society had drawn far more artisans and other practical craftsmen than priests and mystics. ​

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Then, this ancient warrior from another era began to speak. Though his tone was soft, none present could doubt the steel behind his words, the depths of his belief... nor how his voice rang with conviction. So it was that the the New Mandalorians drank in his every word; and when his helm was removed, so too did some of the warriors in attendance follow suit, such was their newfound respect for the man. Itzhal's words seemed to hang in the air even after he'd finished speaing, a great many visors and eyes turned his way-​

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It was then that Pollux walked on over to this surprising exemplar, bringing a hand to rest against his shoulder and lifting his visor with the other. His was a youthful visage, if only by comparison to the man before him, but his eyes held the secrets of a hundred duels, a dozen campaigns. ​

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"Nev'r before hast there been an oath as completeth as thy own, nor as chivalrous. Mine own words faileth to bring justice to it, though I know but this, mine brother; that which you speak of, is the way."​

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Pollux then brought his hand to rest upon his breastplate, as so many others had before him... and bowed before his peer; his vod. All around, many among the warriors in attendance struck their fists against their beskar'gam, the hilts of their spears against the earth, some of them even drawing their swords to bang the flat side of them against their holy beskar. So too did they echo the words of the Champion, their voices breaking the solemn quietude of this mundane place made holy by the words of those who chose to honor it wiht their oaths.​

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"THIS IS THE WAY!"​

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Such great cheer was a rarity, to a people many found dour, and all the more sonorous for it; silence had to be imposed once more, commanded as Pollux struck the flat of his spear against his shield, the sight calming the sudden explosion of noise and approval. Planting the knightly weapon into the earth, the would-be Ukatian knight drew his sword, and let his voice take on the authority required of one entrusted with such a significant mission by his Alor.​

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"Kneel."​

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Only upon their acknowledgement of this imperious order did he walk before them. From the ranks, came one of the House's few priests; feathers hung from their beskar, and talismans in the shape of a great many aliik. Within their hands, the mystic held a humble basin, filled to the brim with white petals. Without a word, the respected chaaj knelt before Pollux, his head bowed, and thus allowing for the Champion to reach down and take a generous handful of damp petals, ere bringing his hand above Drego's head, letting them filter through his fingers as he spoke; the same process, he repeated with Itzhal but a moment later, till his hand was empty.​

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"By the will of The Redeemer, Duchess of the New Mandalorians and Alor of House Kryze, I grant upon thee the grace of cin vhetin. From this point on, thy past, virtuous or villainous, is no more; only through the deeds you perform from this day on will your worth be determined. Be without fear in the face of tyrants; be brave and upright, that our ancestors may love thee. Safeguard the helpless and the innocent, always. Arise now, sons of Mandalore! Arise, New Mandalorians!"​

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Drego Ruus Itzhal Volkihar ​

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Pollux​

"Then mayst thou display kindness as readily as thou'st deal death, Father of Ruus, Last of the Protectors. But remain wary, always, that glory and honor need not always be synonymous. May thou ever make the right choice, upon the field of battle or among thy own kindred... for the sake of those under thy protection, as well as the fate of thy own soul."

The A'lor of Ruus normally would be argumentative. He had always been, ever since his days as a rookie in the GADF, ever since he was taken in by the vode of Clan Bralor, ever since the early days of the Protectors.

That was a younger man. That was a man who had a lot to prove. Not to others, but to himself.

The warning from his vode was taken on the chin, as Drego kept quiet. He wasn't here to raise a stir, to push his own agenda, he was here to make allies. To swear himself to this New Way.

Even if that meant taking some advice he wasn't looking for.

He knew his code. He knew his clan.

But he also knew his place.

"Kneel."

A simple command, but one that held so much weight. Cin vhetin, his fourth. First with Bralor, then Ruus, then the Protectors, now the new Mandalorians. The man had seen so much, and yet he bounced from start to start.

Kneeling as told, Drego considered his place in this new group. Starting from the bottom once more, as is his Way.

"By the will of The Redeemer, Duchess of the New Mandalorians and Alor of House Kryze, I grant upon thee the grace of cin vhetin. From this point on, thy past, virtuous or villainous, is no more; only through the deeds you perform from this day on will your worth be determined. Be without fear in the face of tyrants; be brave and upright, that our ancestors may love thee. Safeguard the helpless and the innocent, always. Arise now, sons of Mandalore! Arise, New Mandalorians!"

As he rose, he planted his arm in his chest, as was tradition.

He would speak with The Redeemer in time, find his place in this new tradition. This new Vode. These New Mandalorians...

He hoped, at least.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

With his words left to echo in the ears of those who have already spoken from their hearts and those who were yet to dedicate themselves, Itzhal felt the weight lifted from his chest. No longer would he remain the sole vigilant of his promise to the Galaxy; now, others knew what he desired, and if their intentions matched with the words they spoke, then they also looked for something similar in this time of broken worlds.

He had found people who, together, might build something greater than the ruins of the past.

Wary of the hope that sparked in his chest, Itzhal stared across the solemn crowd, matching his gaze with those who had followed suit, removing their helmet as he had done so. To each of them, he offered a nod of acknowledgement to the solidarity they provided, even as he respected those who remained with their buy'ce upon their shoulders. No Mandalorian was the same; he would not assume their reasons. Nor would he demand they agree with everything he'd said. His oath was his own.

Yet, to become part of this movement was more than just a vocalisation of his own intentions. It was to become something more than the individual, to accept that his actions alone would never be enough, but with others, perhaps it would be just enough to challenge the tide. So, with a moment of thought, as his eyes flickered from his visor to the knightly figure of Pollux, Itzhal kneeled.

Quietly, he wondered then what this movement would achieve, whether it would rise above the failures of those who had come before or if it was destined for the same tragic fate their people had faced so many times. The truth was he knew not; he could not foretell the future, nor did he believe those who claimed they could, nor did he desire to believe them, for if everything was known, then did their choices ever mean anything?

A morbid thought for such a ceremony, perhaps, but what was the point if he did not think of the future?

With a determined expression etched in the lines of his face, Itzhal stood resolutely, one arm pressed firmly against his chest as if to shield his heart from the impending storm.

Tag: Pollux Drego Ruus​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam​

For all of the seemingly effortless majesty she carried herself with, the Duchess seemed all too glad to let the war council begin without giving her input, her newly-forged helm scanning the crowd silently. A pitiless gaze, perhaps even more so than the old one ever was, given its sharp, angular features. Where the rest of the aliit sat on wooden chairs without much to write home about beyond their excellent craftsmanship, carvings had been etched into her own, to draw the gazes of others. To remind them of her presence, her might, and the power she wielded, yet chose to use in restraint. This, after all, was the reason why they had been summoned here this day. To weigh in, and counsel her. ​

​

To the Alor's surprise, Haliat was the first to speak up. A man of the blade, whose prudent appraisal of Clan and House made him appear as something of a recluse to some; although he ever spoke with meaningful words, his involvement in the day-to-day life of the Clangrounds remained minimal, so devoted as he to ensuring that relations with the locals blossomed into a bond as strong as beskar. A necessary course of action, perhaps, but one that made him all too foreign to some who sat on the council, and stared him down from behind their helms, quietly judging him for removing his own. Two, at the least, followed his example in solidarity and mimicked his notion, but they were still, by and large, outnumbered.​

​

"Would they have honored our dead?" answered Karrys derisively, her voice filtering through her helm, the slight haughtiness of her tone directed towards the duelist - and the Blue Raven as well, whose voice had filled the air to support Haliat's point. A few canted their head respectfully in her direction, for she had fought fiercely in the defense of the Sky Bridge, and thus brought honor to herself; although she was but a new prospect among the prestigious House, her deeds saw her owed a modicum of consideration. "These are not our people, not any more than I am kin with a Jetii. They are the mongrel dogs of Kad Ha'rangir, clinging to the old ways, invoking the names of long-forgotten gods as they thump away at their their chest and bare their teeth like the animals they are. String up their corpses along posts in the road and let them swing as a warning to all those who would harm those under our protection again. On the subject of their beskar'gam, however, I am inclined to agree with the two of you. These are spoils of war, earned by rite of blood and battle. Let us melt it all down and use it to furnish our forces with much-needed reinforcement for our armor!"​

​

"Sacrilege!" bellowed a smith at the other end of the table, slamming his hands on the finely-carved wood and standing up straight. All gazes turned to them, and the accusing finger they jabbed towards Haliat, their hands still covered in the heavy gloves meant for work in the forge. The word they had used was charged with meaning, for a House made up of largely secular Clans; just as their founder had once been but a contented smith without much of a mind for mysticism, many among its ranks looked to earthly matters, and the presence of its few priests made all the more meaningful for it. "How many years have you remained out of your aliit's affairs, aruetii, only to come now and counsel us to follow the path of treachery! You insult our ways, Haliat - or are you so ignorant you have forgotten the meaning of your own armor? Within it, you carry the legacy of all those who wore it before, dating back to the day it was first forged into being! To melt it down is to erase not just the warrior who wore it, but entire generations! Evaar'alor, you are a Forgemistress - surely you see the wisdom of my-"​

​

"You throw out wild accusations against our vod during our first council! There is no wisdom to be found within your voice!" answered another whose face had been bared, bringing a closed fist against her breastplate and over her heart. Unlike the similar sign done with an open hand, this was no gesture of peace. "Mind your tongue, Lokir, before I make you eat them!"​

​

"ENOUGH!"​

​

Jenn's voice cracked like thunder, and carried all of the terrible beauty of her kind within it - and not a little influence from the Force, too, as that singular command echoed within the minds of those who heard it for a few seconds longer. With silence returned to the Round Table, she slowly looked from each of the parties whose voice had lifted from helms and lips alike, letting them know the full weight of her judgement... and consideration of their words. Now, more than ever, the T visor and the Jaig Eyes seemed to pierce through beskar, flesh, and bone. To look into their very soul and judge it according to her exacting standards. ​

​

"We shall have the Chaaj prepare the bodies for the pyre. Their personal effects will be under the responsibility of Haliat Kryze, whose duty it shall be to return to the Crusaders when this war ends. Although it pains me to erase the proud legacy carried upon their beskar, our honored ancestors shall understand the necessity of our actions; if they do not, then they never deserved our worship in the first place. Our situation is dire enough to justify this violation of our traditions - you need look no further than the beskar'gam of those sitting on this council, Lokir, to know the truth of my words. More durasteel than beskar. To say nothing of the Hastati under our command, whose bravery in the face of overwhelming odds must be rewarded with a place among the Mando'ade in a ceremony marked with a gift of beskar, as dictated by our ancient customs. So speaks your Duchess."​

​

Though some exchanged a few glances, no protest arose, whether due to the mildly hypnotic suggestion of her song, woven into her every word... or the authority she carried herself with. She, who appeared more and more like a legend of flesh and beskar with every passing day.​

​

"Thus begins our next order of business. As you well know, we are cruelly lacking in supplies and credits; this situation motivated me to seek an audience with the Chancellor of the Galactic Alliance, whose name and virtue may be known to some among you. Alicio Organa has seen fit to grant us the necessary supplies to rebuild the great city of Iziz as well as install additional defenses throughout our new homeworld, and so too has he allowed for us to make use of the great shipyards of Fondor, second to none within the Alliance. Given our limited funds, the fleet we produce will be somewhat utilitarian, if practical enough to defend Onderon from an inevitable Crusader assault from Dxun and facilitate our force projection across the Mid Rim. Alas, the only request the Chancellor refused is, perhaps, the most significant one yet."​

​

The Duchess marked a pause, then, if only to let her words hang in the air, and those in attendance appreciate them for what they were. Just as their steadfast service alongside the Galactic Alliance Defence Force and the New Jedi Order had been done without any thought given to recompense in return, the man who now controlled the fate of billions had ever been sympathetic to Aliit Kryze, in the days when it was not yet a House, but a Clan. The help provided by his will would take a great burden off of their shoulders, if not all of it - not by any measure.​

​

"The Chancellor categorically refused to return the hallowed metal of our people, sacred gift of the very gods themselves, to its rightful and chivalrous owners. Our military allies, the Galactic Alliance, are denying us our sacred birthright, and in so doing, we are deprived of an easy and necessary source of material to gird ourselves with. If we are to limit our casualties and prosecute our mission of protecting the isolated communities of the Mid Rim, then we will need more beskar - much more than we currently possess. Fortunately, the Sith, Imperials, and Crusaders all possess quantities of beskar within their possession; we need but to conduct a bold raid into their territory to secure it... which of them shall we shall prey upon, my vode?"​

​

Haliat Kryze Anna Carden ​

 

[Anna Carden]

Jenn Kryze | Haliat Kryze​

Watching as the man removed his helmet, a few others followed suit. As for her, she's more comfortable behind the beskar; it felt like it was the only thing that made her equal to everyone else.

"Let me say it more plainly. We needn't go out of our way to disrespect the dead. But nor are we obligated to furnish our still living enemy with the means to more effectively kill us in the future."

She could see the point in Haliat's argument, and that if this war continues for a longer time, the logistics of things might start to become more of a hassle—all that for a tradition.

Anna nodded once at the pyre suggestion, turning to the others at the table to hear their opinion before a rhetorical question with a less-than-savory tone was thrown into the open.

"Would they have honored our dead?"​

"We are not them. We have no reason to stoop to their level." A low growl, but still in a neutral tone. The tension around the table began to rise as opinions began to clash against each other, albeit not with any sign of hostility even though she was ready to contest that opinion of leaving the bodies in the open as if they were a group of fearmongers. It doesn't end there, as several others began to jump in and turned the table into a series of name-calling.

She shook her head slowly. If this was just only the opening points, Anna couldn't see the rest of this counsel going well. But it was not until Jenn's thunderous interruption that she quickly straightened her hunched pose. The table fell silent, showing who was really in charge and had the final say on things. The Evaar'alor's words seemed to be really... agreeable. More durasteel than beskar. That is true as she looked left and right, and even some layers of her own armor.

And finally, good news. Although she didn't like the implication of the Chancellor specifically denying them beskar, it was not a matter that the Raven would press for now.

"If I may..." After Jenn finished talking, Anna was among the first to offer their opinion, slightly raising her hand. "There are currently too few reasons to attract the attention of the other parties yet." Although not in a direct conflict, it wouldn't be wise to blatantly provoke them while they're occupied with protecting Iziz from the Crusaders. "If we were to acquire our beskar from the Crusaders, that is also an opportunity to deprive them of their supplies."

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Beskar'gam

Aruetti, eh? Even as Haliat sat, taking in Lokir's tirade with little more outward reaction than if he'd left the helmet in, he considered within the privacy of his thoughts that he should probably be grateful the smith had opted to insult him in the old tongue there. The ambiguity of the term left him the luxury of assuming the traditionalist was simply being rude, which frankly said far more about him than it did the target of his invective. Foreigner, outsider...that they both sat at the same table, the very nature of that table ensuring neither enjoyed pride of place over the other, rendered such a charge just so much noise. But the other possible meaning of that word...well, pointless as a duel would be, he might well have had to endure more criticism in the future for failure to draw his blade.​

​

In any case, it all blew over quickly. Such displays usually did, though he made a note to himself to thank his unlooked for defender when this council had adjourned. In truth, it was entirely possible no defense of himself personally had been intended so much as outrage over this disruption to the dignity of the proceedings...and to the table itself. Lokir had not been overly gentle in thumping it, and it was entirely possible someone sitting around the Round Table had a hand in crafting it. But that was for later; attention had been demanded, that things may be dragged back on task, as was the right and duty of the Duchess, even if the manner of that demand may have set his teeth on edge.

He'd had the benefit of some training in resisting the more esoteric means of persuasion. And the first step was recognizing it. Another matter for another time. Instead, he merely nodded his assent to the duty which Jenn had just placed on him. Well, he was in danger of being murdered by a vengeful surviving family member some day. That should be of some comfort to Lokir. Next, he turned his head to hear the counsel of the Blue Raven, albeit not without some muted bemusement at the raised hand.​

​

"We must also be mindful of our limitations in the arena of logistics. As the Duchess notes, our capacity for force projection is limited, and so it shall remain for at least the near future. Dxun, however, is well within our reach. But I would like to make a proposal with regards to the beskar already in our possession. The decision has been made, and you know I never had any protest. But perhaps a reasonable step may yet be taken to better satisfy our..." A brief glance back at Lokir, then. "...ancestors."​

​

​

​

| Aliit | Jenn Kryze Anna Carden ​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam​

The tense atmosphere mercifully seemed to evaporate, if only partially, in the wake of Jenn's display of political, hypnotic, and sorcerous power. Though her keen eye did not fail to notice those amongst the assembled warriors who found issue with such a raw and unabashed move on her part, she did little to assert her influence further. To do so would be brusque, and redundant as well. Any who took issue with her rule within the House she had assembled from fractious Clans by sheer force of will had long since left, perished by her blade, or conducted themselves as cowards, silently seething in the shadows and biding their time. ​

​

When Anna lifted up her hand, as if to bring attention to herself as she spoke, some gave her sidelong glances, though they held their tongue, for they knew the wrath of the Alor would consume them if they though to mock the young warrior - and so too did they acknowledge, albeit begrudgingly in some cases, the clear display of tactical brilliance displayed during the defense of the Sky Bridge. To make light of one who had achieved so much in so short a time among their ranks would make them look like fools. Dishonorable fools.​

​

"Wisely spoken, Blue Raven. Alas, the opportunities for us to strike within Crusader space may be few and far between, I fear; they have taken the time to reconvene, I am told, and plan their approach a little more thoroughly, calling to them more warriors, such as our former kin in the Enclave's sad remnants. Hate these slavers and murderers pretending to be our kin if you must, for I most certainly do, but never, ever underestimate them. At present, I will welcome any chance to reclaim any beskar from their unworthy hides, but a frontal assault would be a pointless bloodbath."​

​

"On the topic of pointless bloodbaths..." began Karrys, leaning back onto her seat lazily, her demeanor seemingly as flippant and unbothered as ever. To speak in that tone of hers, so high and mighty, so lazily arrogant - ever seemed to bring the attention of others to herself, thus fulfilling her intent. The Nite Owl was here to be heard, not liked; in this, she was as diligent as the Duchess to her duty. "I don't mean to be impudent, but after Echnos, and Tython? We need to rethink our strategy. It's a miracle we even managed to retreat from the former without losing you, and we lost an entire strike force fighting the latter! And for what? Because the Alliance and their Jetii decided to throw themselves into the lion's maw, so we followed right after them to earn forgiveness for what we did in the Enclave? Are we Mando'ad, or sheep?"​

​

Silence weighed heavily over the table after such words. Karrys cared not to blunt her words, and so they struck those in attendance all the more for it. Clad in crimson beskar as she was, not an ounce of durasteel in its make, the pilot stood out from her peers, particularly after the point of the scarcity of that metal had been raised. Few others in the House, much less the Clan, could pretend at such purity of armor. And yet Karrys was just that; a pilot. Her kind so often eschewed beskar for flightsuits and plastoid, and yet the Alor's oldest supporter pride held true.​

​

"A matter to be discussed, indeed", answered the Duchess at last. "A reformation of our military doctrine is a necessity. Before we embark on such a topic, however, I would address Haliat's words, and hear his proposition. Dxun may be well within our reach, but the ancient fortress holds true to its legendary reputation, and finds itself too deeply fortified for us to take back at the moment. Carduul Akahl commands its defense, and I know him not only to be a warrior of great martial prowess, but a skilled tactician. Retaking the moon will be a difficult undertaking, and far too costly in lives for me to consider at the moment. Now, speak; I would hear your proposition regarding our spoils of war."
​

​

Haliat Kryze Anna Carden ​

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Beskar'gam

He thought briefly of arguing his point a bit further regarding their adversaries currently entrenched in orbit. Pointing out, perhaps, that while the strength of that fortress made it a daunting prospect to assault indeed, its proximity rendered it a dagger to their throat which they could ill afford to ignore. And of course, it was an ongoing and existential threat to what was now an Alliance world; it seemed to him they needn't take on that risk alone. Besides, based on what he'd heard of what transpired on Echnos, expeditions far afield into enemy territory had only COST this house beskar. Thus far, he'd heard no reason to be any more optimistic about further attempts.​

​

But while stubborn resolve always had its place, a warrior needed to pick his battles. Jenn had ruled out Dxun rather definitively, and there was nothing to be gained by fighting her about it here, in front of this council. Provoking her so would only cost him credibility in the future. No, better to make what headway he could now in other, less stiffly contested sectors. He could further press his position or be moved by the Alor's another time. So yes, his proposal.​

​

"Some here are concerned that the repurposing of the armor is equivalent to the erasure of all the history behind it, yet I propose it need not be so. If the beskar'gam is intact, then most probably, the embedded chain code should be recoverable as well. Failing that, there are other means of identifying the fallen. And if their deeds were of note, then surely there are those here who will know something of their stories. All this, we can preserve.​

​

"And if the metal itself is the soul of the warrior, this too we can preserve in part. I say, whenever a piece of armor is melted down, pour just a bit aside. And when all the seized armor is accounted for, take that portion left aside and make of it something new. A memorial of some kind. Or, if something more practical is deemed more fitting...a blade. Or a pauldron. Whatever seems best to the smith so tasked. And let the digital memory of the fallen be preserved within."​

​

Jenn Kryze Anna Carden ​

 

[Anna Carden]

Jenn Kryze | Haliat Kryze​

Upon hearing that more remnants of the Enclave were assembled, she quickly reconsidered the proposal, knowing how fierce they were from the time she was part of it. "Direct confrontation is out of the question, then. Few smaller scale operations perhaps, if any opportunity arises, l will still monitor things." The clash with the forces on Dxun is inevitable, and she'd rather it happen when they are not fully prepared.

"Because the Alliance and their Jetii decided to throw themselves into the lion's maw, so we followed right after them to earn forgiveness for what we did in the Enclave? Are we Mando'ad, or sheep?"

The words stung right into her as she felt like her entire cause was being attacked, to the point that she almost lashed back. Thankfully she didn't, the dark visor of her helmet hid the lip bitten behind it, and the silence around the table helped to calm her down. As harsh as it was, Karrys' question has some truth behind it.

And speaking of Dxun, it was such a shame that the Alor deemed the moon untargetable for now. It just highlighted how weak they are without the direct help of the Galactic Alliance and the Jetii. The pondering didn't last as the conversation quickly moved back into the matter of their hard-earned spoils of war.

Agreeing with the man of the blade, Anna nodded and added her opinion. "As Haliat said, their history will continue to live in many ways. I only ask to consider that we don't risk the lives of our people for the memory of our departed foes." She'd hate to call it luck, but the past two battles were a miracle for the House to come out on top, even if pyrrhic as they were. They will need to strengthen their force properly.

"Armor, weapons. The Hastati deserve them as much as we are." She scanned around, looking at the well-armored individuals around the table. "And then those who fight at the frontmost."