Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Will of Isley Verd

This...We always knew it would happen.

After the whole Confederacy debacle, the boss was always looking over his shoulder y'know? It was like he expected the worst, prepared for it, and then
hoped for the best. We always knew that one of these days, he'd bite the dust. Either one of his enemies would get the drop on him, or whatever glory-drunk brawl the Mandalorians started would see him shot. But...I didn't think it would happen like this.

At least he died doing something decent, I guess.

In any case, I've always been the one to do Isley's grittier work and today is no different. Today, I have to see to my employer's affairs one last time. And in the name of our time together...I'm charging double.


***​

A transmission rang out across the stars: a missive sent from the HQ of Arakyd Industries. The company had been dealt a grievous blow with the passing of its CEO – but those he had loved were stung all the more. Today, they handled the will and testament of Isley Verd.

An azure projection would appear upon many worlds. T'was Samuel Baelor, garbed in a black suit and tie. Blunt as ever, the man got right to business.

"First and foremost, on behalf of myself and Arakyd Industries, my condolences for your loss. Today, we've come to revealthe Will of our esteemed leader Isley Verd..."


***​

Personal Effects

The Slave I
  • [member="Runi Verin"] - "I had wanted to give this to you personally, but...if this is being read...The Slave I is yours now, use it as you see fit. Runi, I know it's far too late to change anything between us, but just know that I left this world glad to have found you. Glad to have loved you. Be strong, and take on the Galaxy one day at a time."
The Darksaber
  • [member="Mór-rioghain"] - "My sweet academic...The time we spent together was precious and meant more to me than the cosmos itself. Listen closely child, do not push your family away. Your siblings, your mother, all of the Clan...we will always welcome you with open arms. I may now be gone, but you will never again be alone. May this saber light your way, and always know that your father loves you."
The Mie'yebo
  • [member="Zef Halo"] - "This is one race I didn't want to win Zef, but here we are. I'm gone, but you still live. Make the best of each day. Piss off a Hutt or three. Live to the fullest...and if you see any derelict ships, leave them be! This is my prize ship, put it together myself. Take care of her, and always pour one out for lost friends ya hear?"
The Armor of Mand'alor the Ultimate
  • [member="Gilamar Skirata"] - "Very seldom did we see eye to eye, especially given my sordid choices. But, as time moved on, I hope that you've seen where my heart lies. I leave you the armor of a Mand'alor past, for there are no better hands to care for this treasure. May your life be a long one, ner'vod."
Settling Affairs

"In the matter of a successor, I name my eldest daughter [member="Deneve Verd"]. From the moment of my passing forward, she will be the undisputed Alor of House Verd and master of all my worldly belongings. I ask my peers sitting on the Alor'e Council to welcome her with open arms and to offer her your wisdom. Deneve has my absolute faith...and I couldn't ask for a better successor."

"Next, I open the knowledge of my personal collection to my people. For too long has mastery of the Force been something to be hoarded and controlled. I hope that, by offering understanding to any vode, this trend may come to an end. From thenceforth, the knowledge I have accumulated over my lifetime can be accessed in Sundari."

"Finally, and while I am in no position to demand this, I humbly request that [member="Ijaat Mereel"] be considered and selected as the next Warmaster of the Clans. He was the man responsible for setting me on the right path once again, and I do believe he would bring immense honor to the mantle."

"With that said...my fellows, my friends, and my kin. This is farewell."
 
In his little and very disorganized apartment, Zef sat on the coach watching the Holonews full with the recent events on Mandalore. The scoundrel tried to ignore any sympathy towards the event but deep inside he knew he couldn't. Sipping more of his favorite Corellian ale, the ol' scoundrel turned off the holonews tired of listening to the same thing all over again.

Click.

Zef's froze befor he could take a sip from his drink, a grimace painting his face. No one knew the code to this datapad but someone had just sent a message. He immediately thought of the worst.

Joza.

Putting the glass down on the short table before him, he quickly grabbed his datapad to see the message. Encrypted Mandalorian codes. That was for sure. Did Keira get a hold of him ? He wondered whether he wanted to open the message.

Curiosity won that day and Zef tapped it unleashing his nightmares.

"This is one race I didn't want to win Zef, but here we are. I'm gone, but you still live. Make the best of each day. Piss off a Hutt or three. Live to the fullest...and if you see any derelict ships, leave them be! This is my prize ship, put it together myself. Take care of her, and always pour one out for lost friends ya hear?"

The scoundrel shuddered, his eyes wide open in shock and he felt as if his heart had stopped beating. A large rock formed in his throat, Zef could hardly breath. The smuggler felt helpless as rage grew within him.

And for the first time in many years, a tear dared roll down his cheek.

Anger boiled within him at the fact of the years he had missed with his only friend, at the fact that he had left the Mandalorian ways for a second time. This time it meant he could not even utter good bye to his friend.

Isley Verd.

Old memories rushed in his mind grappling him in one place as he went back in time to the infamous planet of Taris. Few of them they were but all donned in distinctive beskar'gam. Mandalorians ready to prove themselves, except for the rebellious Zef. One such ambitious boy was the man that had just left the galaxy - Isley. With a simple blaster rifle at hand, Zef realized how better were the simpler things back then. No glorious ambitions, no political aspirations. Just a duty to a culture. Hutuun'Kyramud, Halik Falkosi, Mia Monroe, Isley Verd, Zef Halo.

Abruptly Zef threw the datapad into the wall.

He was not going back to dreaming of the good ol'days.

The scoundrel had to finally accept reality and deal with the now.


"Eye for an eye."​
 
Infinite Paradise

Gael was a simple man. A sentimental one, but simple nonetheless. From his ship in orbit of Lameredd, Gael kept up with the happenings of the galaxy. Though he'd parted ways with the Mandalorian Clans and Empire, he still never felt he could call anywhere else home. Mandalore was home. Echoy'la was home. There were few who recognized Gael for his abilities, for his demeanor, who who he was as a person. Isley Verd was one of them.

The news hit him like a ton of bricks. He had committed to remaining isolated from friends, family, enemies. Complete and total isolation, starting anew wasn't easy. But it was something he knew the downsides of when he laid in that casket before taking off into eternity.

As the will was read, he wasn't surprised to find that he wasn't in there. Who leaves material items to the dead?

Some of the names in it though made him smile. Gilamar Skirata. Zef Halo. Little Runi. Oh how he missed each of them. With tears welling in his eyes, he smiled. He was ecstatic that Isley played such a significant role in their lives, even in death. Though ideas may have clashed and heads may have butted, in the end, they were all vod.

The suit clad man continued. "Next, I open the knowledge of my personal collection to my people. For too long has mastery of the Force been something to be hoarded and controlled. I hope that, by offering understanding to any vode, this trend may come to an end. From thenceforth, the knowledge I have accumulated over my lifetime can be accessed in Sundari." Gael was no practitioner of the Force, but knowledge was something he studying with fervor. He didn't need to practice the Force to understand it, and with each article from Isley's connection, it allowed Gael to reconnect to his good friend.

The message clicked off upon conclusion. Gael was overwhelmed with grief, but also with a bittersweet happiness. Wiping the tear from his eye, he rose from his wooden chair to look out his window into the great beyond. Bringing his wrist up, he pushed a button on his compad, and the Infinite Paradise began to shift.

"Thank you, Isley, for the greatest gift of all...a reason to return home."
 
The transmission came in just as she was readying to go meet her father for their annual get together.. This had to be a joke.. Right.. RIGHT!?

Her father was dead...?


Shock was soon followed by dead silence..


Only the roaring silence held her now—that coveted oblivion, without desire, sanctuary from the whisperings of the brutal apostate—hope—that most savage architect of tears.


An intake of breath occurred moments before
the trill of the repressed yet broken screams escaped from her throat and echoed throughout the confines of the spacious room, the room that was the holder of many memories;good and bad.

The room she and her father had spoken to one another on many occasions. The room they fought in about her stupid choices.. The room he comforted her in when she was an insecure brat in her younger days. The room they talked and played games in..


Clutching her head and falling to her knees, the screams continued to finally escape. It was like She could pull into herself – painfully so, and just…let them the kark out.



Deneve wailed softly, stricken eyes seeking any respite from the pain she felt, hands fluttering in a helpless agony of once load but now silent grief, pressing her to her brow, as if to rub away the sorrow into forgetfulness.


"That idiot.. he-he promised he wouldn't ditch me again..He lied "


Broken words sounded from behind her hands the energy to pick herself up off the floor leaving her as the dawning realization that her father was in fact gone finally hit Deneve.
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
Caught beneath the shadow of the day, Runi Verin’s expression was a blank, unreadable mask as she assailed the ramp leading to Slave I. Her movements seemed almost mechanical to an outward observer, as if rendered numb by the sheer magnitude of where she now stood and the events that had transpired leading up to it. The words of her father’s final message still ringing heavily in her ears.

She half expected the access hatch to deny her entrance at first. It still felt like a joke, albeit one with a punchline that was beyond her understanding. Yet the door whistled open without a second of protest, the faint cla-click of security measures standing down further only further underlining the fact that ownership now belonged in her name alone.

That Isley Verd was dead.

The salvager ducked her head and stepped through, knowing that no words were needed and none would serve the moment justice as she accepted that fact for the first time. Kark, she had still been trying to process the fact he was her father. No easy feat considering she had spent months trying to run away from that fact. Their recent mission to Hoth had been a way of trying to sound each other out, to see where they respectively stood in one another’s lives. An attempt to build bridges. Now he’d gone and got himself killed.

She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on her surroundings for the first time, her gaze sweeping the utilitarian and Spartan interior that Slave I boasted. She wasn’t the prettiest of ships, that was for sure. Even by patrol craft standards there was a distinct lack of warmth. Slave I was built for function first. That suited her just fine, her own ship, the Boracyk, was hardly a beauty for very same reasons. Besides, there was an undeniable sense of history about a vessel this storied, and for a child that had been brought up on the drunken tales of cantina spacers, that was worth far more than rich Corellian Leather seats any day.

History.

Her lips pursed into a thin line as she approached the cockpit, the twisted design proving only a momentary distraction as she pulled herself up towards the flight seat. Runi might have lacked the raw potential of her father and siblings, but there would always be one area she excelled above all others.

She reached out in the force, opening herself to the echoes and phantoms of the past that dwelt there, forever fixed in time like a Gorsian dragonfly in amber. As expected with a vessel of this infamy, there was a rush of commotion – like intense static – as images of its past owners flickered past her vision like a holo on twelve speed. Ghosts she neither recognised nor cared to, filtered away after a few seconds as she felt a familiar signature left behind in the force. One she had spent several months avoiding, yet one she would always, unfailing recognise all the same.

An ethereal visage of Isley Verd coalesced in the pilot seat before her, so real and lifelike it was almost as if he was there in the flesh once more. Of course, She hardly recognised him at first. Gone where the weathered lines that had marred his features in the latter stages of his life, the burdens of his position and storied reputation weighing heavily upon his shoulders. No, the man before her wasn’t Isley Verd, Warmaster and former claimant to the title of Mand’alor. His expression was too innocent, too childlike with wonder and amazement at the vessel around him to be that man. This was Isley Verd as she had never had the opportunity to know him.

Her hand tightened on the back of the flight chair, fingers digging into the soft spacer leather as she thought of all the lost opportunities, all the missed chances they had shared to rectify that. A change to have a father. A family. A sense of belonging, the first in many years. But no, just like Jacaro Verin before him, Isley Verd had left her behind.

The image before her waivered, the edges losing their cohesion as she released them back to the ether. Torturing herself over the phantoms of the past would achieve nothing. Change nothing. Isley Verd was still dead. Murdered. Another entry in the mile-long list of those caught in the destruction currently raging on Mandalore, a list that was no doubt expanding by the hour still. Make no mistake, there would be a balancing of scales on the horizon for those responsible. What her role exact role would be in such a reckoning was a question for another day, the spacer having enough on her hands to deal with already.

Okay, Old Man, show me what this old girl’s got left in her.
 

Miss Blonde

Trying to be straight in a crooked Galaxy
Blonde felt scorn. A pure and ungodly scorn of a woman who had done everything for someone and in the end didn't even receive as much as a thank you. Many people didn't know this but a lot of the relics that Isley and the Mandalorian people had didn't come from mandos going on a quest to find them. No, they were either taken, bought, or murdered for by the criminal underworld. More specifically Miss Blonde and the Black Tie Syndicate. Hell. Blonde had even gone as far as killing members of the Republic for Isley. From Slave One to the armor of two Mand'alors, Blonde had secured them for him.

So when he kicked the bucket it was only mildly insulting that she didn't even get a piece of stock in Arakyd. Isley had done jack $&#% for her and now that he was dead there was quite literally nothing he could do. Upon reading his will and hearing the words of the Arakyd affiliate, Blonde was mad.

So in her lavish and sprawling house the woman sat at her kitchen's breakfast bar and grimaced at the news of his death. This was the first time she'd heard of it, and she honestly wasn't sure how to take it.

"#%$& you Isley." She said in a rather soft and anger laced tone.

Her eyes would then tear up and she let out a small sob. Choking back a cry the woman sniffled a bit before handing her head in the palms of her hands. With her face covered by her long blonde hair the woman sat there as warm tears ran down the side of her face. Isley was gone. One of her best and oldest friends was dead and there was nothing she could do about it.

The only thing she could do was track down whoever was responsible and kill their entire karking family in front of them before she ended their miserable existence.

"Yeah. That'll work just fine." Blonde would then look over towards her family room where there was a picture of Isley and Patricia shaking hands over the sale of Stargo Defense Enterprises. She had a goofy smile and Isley was as serious as ever.

"I'm gonna get who did this buddy. I promise."

[member="Samuel Baelor"]
 

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