Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Sword or the Olive Branch | Isley Verd

D A T H O M I R
"There is nothing impossible to him who will try."
Alexander the Great
The planet hung on the outskirts of the Clans territory.​
Ra was only named the true Mand'alor of the Clans a day ago. He had not taken a suffix - instead, he was simply the voice of his people in title and spirit. He had fought for that right, rapidly rising through the ranks of the Clans. There was no time to rest, however - the weight of impending decisions had driven him to unite the Clans on the planet Mandalore. Now he looked outwards, beyond their territories. Before the impending storm of the Clans moved into the galaxy at large, the new Mand'alor would seek to reassure he had the allegiance of all Alors. There were a few that remained unaccounted for. Gray Raxis of Clan Raxis, a mighty clan that had moved galactic westward in light of the absence and inability to display proper leadership by the Council of Alors.

And Clan Verd. Ah, mighty Clan Verd. Aspirations and dreams of crusades of old plagued this vod. Ra admired it. They harkened to the warrior spirits of yesteryear, and envisioned a Galaxy enveloped by the might of the Mandalorian's iron fist. They seeked sovereignty, as did many of the Clans, free from the abstract pacifism and constant nagging of the Council. Many of the Alors were honorable warriors, but many of the Mando'ade had recognized that together, the Council of Alors had proven to be a useless and ineffective governing body. So much so that not one, but two ancient traditional rites to claim ancient Mandalore had been enacted to undermine their efforts to remain neutral in this galaxy of Chaos.

But only one had been successful. Only one would remain. That was the way of their people, and why he called the Alor of Clan Verd in secret to meet him on Dathomir.

It was a place of safety for Isley Verd, Ra knew. A place the warrior could call home, and rest at ease that Ra was not pulling the shades over his eyes in an effort to dishonorably assassinate the man. Ra's biggest weakness was that he was no liar. Honor compelled him, his entire life. There would be no false displays here, this night. Clan Verd wanted an audience. Mand'alor wanted an audience. They would both be heard.

Soldiers marched into the tent where the Iron Wolf stood, waiting. "We were undetected," one said through the mechanical audio of his T-vizor helmet. "He is here." Ra's face remained unchanged.

The Mandalorians escorting Isley to the tent were all cloaked, and one in the rear held a personal stealth shield and was actively disabling comms in the area. Two of the highest ranking Mandalorians in the Galaxy would stand in this tent, and both of them sought absolute privacy. It was no small secret that both of these men's Clans wanted blood to be spilt - and their leaders were meeting to measure the other to see if that course could not be altered.

Mandalorian blood was Mandalorian blood, after all. Duty to his people demanded Ra hear what Isley had to say before any of it was spilt upon the ground.

"Good evening, Alor of Clan Verd," Ra growled, green eyes piercing the darkness of the tent. "You may call me Ra."
The Clans' soldiers left the tent at a great distance to secure the perimeter. It was clear they were informed, regardless of circumstance, to not intervene.​
Ra and Isley were alone.​
 
Isley knew next to nothing of the man who had called him home. However, the meager scraps of information he had gathered were quite...interesting to say the very least. The warrior had climbed to the top in a rather brief period of time, culminating in something that the Alor'e once denied him. Recognition. In fact, it was only yesterday that the United Clans named their Sole Ruler – and it seemed the first order of business was sitting down with the Reclaimer himself. The turn of events had, at first, stirred the Emperor's blood; for what did this man possess that made him that much more worthy than he?

But, reflection placed the blame upon one fact. Darkness. Isley had once walked that path – and since atoned; but as Gilamar believed, "Once tainted, always tainted."

No matter.

Isley was somewhat surprised when the request was received: a meeting on a world that the Mandalorian considered refuge. It was here that he once resided, amidst the Morte Territory, when all he had built had been burned down. It was here that he, frankly, was most comfortable visiting given the atmosphere of late. Suffice it to say, [member="Ra Vizsla"] had done his homework when it came to setting up a meeting. Secrecy was paramount, and shortly after landing, Isley was promptly escorted to a tent which had been set up beforehand.

Drawing a breath, he entered, buy'ce tucked under his arm.

"Well met, Ra." he began, regarding the man before him with a nod. Manners, of course. "You may, in turn, call me Isley."

From there, the Mandalorian left it to Ra to speak...Although he could take a very educated guess about the topic. They were living in unprecedented times: for the Clans had governed themselves for years. Now, after a tumultuous span of months, two men had laid claim to the title Mand'alor – one with the support of the Alor'e and one with the support of his Empire. Yet there could only be one, no matter how absurd the present was.
 
D A T H O M I R
"Every battle is won before it is fought."
Sun Tzu
[member="Isley Verd"]

Ra stood still as stone, his alabaster skin glowing under the piercing rays of moonlight within the tent. His brow was furrowed, looking displeased with Isley - or was he. It was hard to determine in the darkness of the tent. His akk wolf's skin cloak trailing his form, the titan of a man leaned over towards one of the luggage crates within the tent. He began rummaging through the crate for a moment, his back turned to Isley.

"Do you like games, Isley?"

He stood up, presenting a checkered board in one hand and a bottle of ale with two glasses in the other.

"I loved Cesa as a child. You see, it's a board game," he said, sliding a table into the middle of the tent, seemingly excited. "The Gorothites invented it. It's rather adventurous, and requires clarity of mind and spirit." The white teeth of Mand'alor shone through the darkness at Isley as he continued to set up the game pieces, hunching over the table.

"Would you like to play a game with me, Isley?" The goliath Iron Wolf asked, finishing the preparations for the table and its' pieces while setting the glasses aside. He popped the cork on the bottle of ale and the smell illuminated the room - clearly identifiable as Trandoshan Ale.

Taking a swig from the bottle, Ra offered a glass to Isley by filling it and pushing it forward.
 
While an alabaster complexion provided a rather vague view of the new Mand'alor's expression, the darkness only served to veil Isley's own. Such were the "perks" of Korun heritage: nothing save the whites of his eyes and teeth could be easily identified amongst the black. Nevertheless, Isley found an eyebrow raising apprehensively as Ra turned his back...and even more so when the sound of rummaging reached his ears.

"I...suppose?"

The question was way out of left field, at least in the Mandalorian's opinion. After all, Isley seriously doubted that the newly-recognized Mand'alor would call him down from Echoy'la just to talk ask about games. There had to be a point. Right? Nope. The man seemed genuinely...excited...about what he was preparing in front of him. Ah well, every man has his quirks right?

"Alright. Though a fair warning – cards are more my strong suit." The admission was made with an ever so slight chuckle. You see, House Verd did not make it a habit of playing board games during their gatherings, but rather spent their hours devoted to the pursuit of "Spades." It was a lovely, trust-building activity that either saw one walk away with his cousin's credits or a sore jaw. Nonetheless, the thought of his last game of cards was derailed by the telltale scent of ale entering the tent.

Trandoshan. It didn't boast as much character as Echoy'lan, but it would do. Taking a moment, Isley watched as the Mand'alor took his sip before accepting the offered beverage.

"What are the rules of this game?"

[member="Ra Vizsla"]
 
D A T H O M I R

"As my calling is high, the obligations incumbent upon me are also heavy."

Ghengis Khan

[member=Isley Verd]​
"Well, we each get a set of pieces," Ra began.
He poured a bag on the table and began to set up their respective pieces on the checkerboard table. There were two colors - black and white. Ra began to sort them out. "We have what the Gorothites called Ngin, or 'pawn.' Then you have their knights, defending your flanks on either side of the board, see - here." He began to move Isley's pieces for him, showing him on the table and pointing his finger at the spots on the board while simultaneously drinking from his cup. "And these! Oh, I loved the art of the Gorothites. These are your lieutenants. They moved diagonally around the board, and can hit from any side. Lining them up specifically, you can take out the enemy's piece from very far away."

He picked up one of the Lieutenant pieces and showed it to Isley, turning on the lantern sitting on the table. He looked particularly gleeful. "Do you see the helmet? Some say the Gorothites invented many techniques that lead our people to how we make our armor, stylistically of course. It's beautiful." He continued to spin the piece around in his fingers, staring intently at the carvings before placing them in their respect spots on the table.

"Now, the Queen," he said, smiling at a memory. "I used to pretend this was my mother." He longed in thought for a moment before taking the last two pieces out of the bag.

"The King," the glee on Ra's face disappeared, his emblazoned eyes staring into Isley's own. "There are two on the board."
Ra placed them down.​
"This part's important...."
His hands waved over what now looked like a battlefield on the checkboard. Two armies, facing each other. A King on either side.​
"....You've got to kill..."
He knocked over the Black King.​
"...the enemy's King."
The piece fell forward, clattering down on the board. Ra's face remain unchanged.​
Silence overtook the tent before he continued.​
"You will not be permitted to continue claiming yourself as Mand'alor, Isley. You know this, I know this, our people know this. So, what have you brought me?"
The Mand'alor was threatening war.​
If Isley were to make declarations of war or conditions of peace, now was the time. The decision to spill Mandalorian blood or not now rested with the Alor of Clan Verd.​
 
Pawn.

Now there was a term Isley was very familiar with. In fact, the mere mention of the word brought up a mental image of the "good ol'days." The Dread Guard. The Templars. They were practically identical to the pieces Ra identified and shuffled into place on the board. Raising his cup, the Mandalorian took another sip of the ale – more to hide a small smile that grew in response to the man's excitement.

Lieutenant.

You could trust your lieutenants. Believe in them too. They were trusted, always had your back. [member="Zef Halo"] and [member="Keira Ticon"] immediately came to mind when he looked upon this piece. It was rare that Isley relied on others, his track record said as much – but at least in the present, he had them to fall back on. Just like those pieces, they always had his back. But most importantly, they were deadly as all Hell.

Ah, the Queen.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian was very aware of the ring he wore underneath his crushgaunt.

King...

The point became clear. Very clear. Silence ruled the tent as the threat hung in the air. Now Isley...he was never a fan of threats – veiled or direct. He was also a creature with just as much pride as any of the Alor'e. That is why his grip tightened ever so slightly about his cup, his thoughts racing...his blood boiling. Options. What were his options? Another sip, this one a tad slower than the rest.

He could kill him. Dathomir was home turf, and between his own kin and those of his mother, there was a chance Isley could walk away in one piece. What's more, he didn't feel any Ysalamir karkery nearby. That was the point of the "game", right? Kill the enemy's King? Sip. No. That would only serve to invigorate the Clans against him all the more. They already saw him as a rogue warlord, and slaying their Mand'alor would start the war he had worked to avoid.

He could walk away. War would be the immediate result, of course. "Kill the enemy's King" would be the rallying cry for both sides – a war that would not end until either Isley or Ra laid dead at the other's feet. Again, this wouldn't do. Since well before Saverok's karkery, Isley had wanted to keep the peace among his people. The Death Watch had shed enough blood, as had their enemies – why add to the problem, right? Sip.

And that left...what exactly? Giving it up? To him? His grip tightened all the more on his cup. Who was he? A random soul elevated by a desperate clans? The last resort of those who wanted to bastardized Isley's claim and Empire? Bah. The Mandalorian drained what little of the ale that remained, keeping his peace for a moment. He ten reached, slowly of course, for the flask kept upon his belt. Echoy'lan Black Ale. He removed the cap and began refreshing his cup.

You can't fix them.

[member="Mia Monroe"] had said as much, right? She, a former Mand'alor, had given up on remedying what plagued their people. She advised him against this before it began, but he refused. He was...proud. Stubborn, even. He believed that his way was the best way, for all Mandalorians. And the result? The death of his brother, namely. More division that ever before. Embers waiting to ignite into an inferno of war. A sigh escaped him: Pride was what he blamed the Clan's decision on. And now pride was the only thing standing between peace and war.

You can't fix them.

"A drink, fresh from Echoy'la...Mand'alor."

Isley took a sip of his own cup first before offering the flask. He could have the title, and all the problems that went with it.

[member="Ra Vizsla"]
 
D A T H O M I R

""Honor is simply the morality of superior men."

H L Mencken
[member="Isley Verd"]​
Ra slowly stood, motioning the opposing warrior to rise with him.
The game was over.
Mand'alor didn't wish to fight his own people, not for some ill-fated attempt a Mandalorian made at uniting the Clans. He only wished to deliver the punishment upon those that broke the justice of the Resol'nare, and deliver them unto the justice of his people. This new Mand'alor knew the actions he must take, and he knew he would press Isley to the edge of no return. Ra knew his opponent would need to grasp every last straw of courage he would have to meet the demands of this new Mand'alor, but to recognize the Sole Ruler chosen by the people was the first step in the eyes of the Mando'ade. Ra wanted nothing more than for Clan Verd to be welcomed among it's own brothers.

Ra offered war, but it was now clear Isley sought the beginnings of peace. The Iron Wolf sought to nourish that into something acceptable by all Clans.

There was never a more serious time for Isley to deliberate on his thoughts than now, and Ra would make sure he was transparent enough to give him the time to consider what was coming. There were things that needed answering, events that the people of Mandalore needed in the past for them to move forward. For the most part, he ignored the bottle for now.

"Your actions as of late have dishonored the Mandalorian people, Alor of Clan Verd," he levied at the man, green eyes sparking in the dimly lit tent. "But perhaps the call of a crusade has blinded Clan Verd with negligence to it's duty to our ancestral homeland, Mandalore. I will require Clan Verd's loyalty, support and declaration as Mand'alor, publically."
"This is the honorable thing to do."
Ra would accept only these concessions, nothing more, nothing less.​

"Furthermore, whispers have spread of the Mandalorian Empire's involvement with the Black Tie Syndicate, a crumbling gang of thieves, con-artists, anarchists and criminals. The Alor of Clan Verd will renounce them publically, and you will see to it that they are either brought to justice or exiled from under your protection, or assimilated into Clan Verd."
"This is the honorable thing to do."
The actions that had reached the ears of Ra told of tales of bravado with Clan Verd... inspired by a hive of criminality and illegality, thrust upon sovereign nations in an attempt to incite conflict and anarchy. The new Mand'alor could not afford his people making such crimes in the light of the public, not when so much hinged on the resurrection of the traditional Mandalorian ways.​
"Lastly, you will rescind all claims to Emperor of the Mandalorian people. Your list of titles grow too high, Alor. Sith Lord. Witch King. Reclaimer. You must put your duty above your lust for power, it has blinded you."
"This is the honorable thing to do."
Ra grabbed the bottle Echoy'la ale, checking it over.​
"Mand'alor calls you home, to Mandalore, to tour, to show unity and strength to our people. There you will do these things for me. You must remind us all that Clan Verd was enticed by the call of the Crusades, led astray by the hunger for action and resolve, but still places its stone among the Clans."
It was strange.

Ra called upon Isley to cast down his claim as Emperor, but didn't ask for the Alor to disband the Mandalorian Empire or renounce the newly formed government, nor for Clan Verd to rejoin the Clans. The political message would send confusing signals, to both the Alor and the Clans, to say the least.

"This you will do for me,"
Ra growled, showing no emotion.​
"Only then can we discuss what I will do for you."
 
Forfeiting the claim was but the first step.

But a King must always cement his position of power...and step upon the necks of those once considered rivals. While true, only one Mand'alor would leave the tent this night, it made all the sense in the world that there would be additional terms. Terms to humble. Terms to neuter. Terms to tame. In silence did the Mandalorian listen, his gaze never moving from the green eyes of the Sole Ruler. Pride, that nasty animal, bared its fangs in response to the demands. It clawed at Isley, tempting him with thoughts of retaliation.

But at the end of the day, a single truth kept the animal caged. Isley had done it all, from the Crusades to the Empire, in the name of their people. Their lost people. Never once had he acted in the hope of glorifying his name or adding a chapter to the history books. While true, his pride was being dragged through the mud by these demands, they were a small price to pay for them. And, as the Liberator had once said, he couldn't fix them...but maybe [member="Ra Vizsla"] could. Maybe the gods above had ordained him in a way that eluded Isley. Maybe this was his calling.

Gods above, give me strength.

The silent plea was coupled with the first aversion of his gaze: now placed upon the empty cup within his hand. Isley swirled the remnant drops that had collected at the bottom, carefully considering how to word his response. Peace was what he wanted...and if this was the only way...

"So is your judgment, so shall it be done."

A public declaration? Done. The Black Ties? Despite the friendship between the Mandalorian and the Syndicates' leadership, Yutan was...leagues away from being honorable. It was one thing to combat a foe directly. Hell, it was one thing to pilfer their vessels or shipyards. It was another to butcher men in the streets. Isley had let his loathing of the Republic – the aftertaste of Alderaan – blind him to that fact. Angst...was a powerful motivator it seemed. He would, at the very least, attempt to take the latter option. To assimilate them and shift their talents...but Isley wasn't a blind optimist. He knew such a request would be as asking a fox to become a wolf.

Titles? Bah. If he could give up Sole Ruler what was giving up Emperor? Same difference. And reassurance? He had stood alongside them once, voiced his intentions time after time, but now he would do so with the Mand'alor at his side. He never wanted war, and hopefully the future would prove as much.

"I will need seven days, time enough to return to Echoy'la and to follow through with what you ask. Afterwards, I will return to Mandalore and tour alongside you. I hope this is acceptable to you."

[member="Ra Vizsla"]
 
D A T H O M I R

""Tion ke'gyce ner kad al'ijaat?"

Mandalorian Proverb
[member="Isley Verd"]


Ra admired the man, if for only a split second.

It was a strange thing, to see such similar men hold such similar ideals be at odds simply because of their own people. It was their own people that had caused this mess, to be sure - both Ra and Isley had found the Council of Alors to be all but effective in their approach to leading the Mandalorian Clans. Whereas Isley cast the first stone, the Council rejected him for it, effectively forcing him to leave his homeland. A stubborn bunch they were, sitting in their Council chambers, meddling with politics and dwelling over papers and numbers. Nothing but bickering, nothing but indecision.

The two men in this tent had saw the same reality yet only one had been chosen. Sure, many agreed Isley went the wrong way about it, forsook several traditions of old in his path towards the title of Sole Ruler. But his heart was in the same place as Ra's. His ideas for the Clans, or at least what they knew of them, were in the same place as Ra's. It spoke volumes that the Council only acted when their Clans were scattered to the winds and the Council faced a singular threat from a fledging Clan Verd. Ra had utilized the Resol'nare in this moment to manipulate their fear, and was successful. Why? Ra accepted the only truth.

Without Isley, there would be no Ra.
"Go with honor, Alor of Clan Verd," Ra rumbled. "Come back to Mandalore with what you have sworn..."
His brow furrowed for the first time, showing emotion brewing within the behemoth of a man.​
"....else Mandalore will come to you."
----------​
As soldiers would be summoned to escort Isley safely back to his transport and secret him away from the Clans territory and back to the Empire, Ra would pick up the white King board piece that was still standing on the checkerboard. He held it under the dim light of the tent.​
He stared into it, deep in thought.​
What now?
 

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