Ra Vizsla
The Undying
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.