A New Direction

[Raif]

Spoiler: OOC Info Please Read First

This thread is open to anyone with a rebel-aligned Mandalorian character, or anyone who can reasonably justify having their Mandalorian character aware and present for this meeting. Or any Mandbros.

I'd like to ask that TJ be given the first reply, then after that we'll do a bit more loose with the posting order.

No death - this thread is not intended for PVP, so please don't join if you're looking for trouble.

Also, Mandalorians are currently being hunted by the Imperium IC - so please don't show up in full Mandalorian armor speaking mando'a. This is a covert meeting of terrorists for all intents and purposes, so please treat it as such.

It had been a while since Roy had worn the skin of Jon Viggo, yet despite the time that had gone by, the former Sith settled into his alter-ego like an old, comfortable pair of work boots. After all, with everything that had happened, Jon Viggo was no longer just an act for the Clawdite - it was part of who he was, and it affected everything he did.

He was still slightly nervous, though, as he headed toward the out-of-the-way cantina that Delmon had directed him toward. Arlic Ordo, his old friend and comrade from the Civil War, was accompanying him today and Jodoc Bayez - no, Jodoc Viggo once again - would hopefully be meeting them soon. But it was Delmon Skyblade who currently dominated Jon's attention.

Things were still a bit tense between Jon and Delmon. Though Jon's actions had helped warn Clan Ordo in time to prepare and prevent the worst of the genocide, his knowledge of the impending attack had all-but-confirmed to Delmon that Jon was an Imperial agent.

The truth, of course, wasn't something Delmon needed to be made privy to right at this moment, though Roy had been giving serious consideration to it. Skyblade was a good man, and Roy had the feeling that he could be trusted with the truth. Just not yet.

However, it was no hidden fact that during the first Civil War, Clan Ordo had been extraordinarily close with the Imperium, moreso than any of the other clans. As the aide-de-camp to Apollo Ordo, Jon had liaised with the Imperium in a much more official capacity, at least as far as anyone else was concerned, and so it wasn't outside the realm of belief that Jon had maintained enough connections with his former Imperial and Sith colleagues to have been tipped off that the genocide was about to be carried out. Yeah, that was believable enough for the time being.

It was more than just Delmon Skyblade that he was meeting today, of course. Delmon had agreed to also spread word to as many of the other Mandalorian rebels as he could that Jon Viggo was working to unite the Clans, but in a way not seen before in any of their lifetimes.

Jon was not expecting his vision to be met with universal optimism - far from it. But the most important thing when starting down a new path was taking the first step, and this was the first step. He had to spread the word, face-to-face in this case, and convince these scattered and battered survivors that they still held a role to play in the galaxy.

They were not defeated, if only they could do what was needed to adapt and evolve.

 

[T.J]

The weather had a way of bringing the mood out of people. The doom and gloom of a cloudy sky always seemed to reflect its dower demeanor on all below it, while a bright sunny day seemed to breathe life into them. Staring out the window of the dingy little cantina he had agree'd upon Delmon Skyblade could sympathize with that statement. The clouds above shifted and rolled across the skies like a massive sheet, blotting out any hope of sunlight for the day and almost ensuring the chances of rain. It soured his already negative mood, his gaze never breaking from the clouds above.

The cantina in question was more akin to a caf shop rather than your average run of the mill dive. Large windows lined the building in lieu of walls. One might think the place as a remnant from a more respectable neighborhood, a building who's original purpose had long since been lost. He had chosen it for its accessibility and ease of escape should anything run afoul, it seemed Delmon always had an escape plan somewhere. Inside the building was sparsely populated, letting whatever conversation he and his guests might have go largely unheard.

Rubbing his off hand across his cheek he felt his fingers scrape across several day old stubble, whether it had remained due to him being either too busy or too lazy even he couldn't say. It wouldn't take a force sensitive to see he was not looking forward to whatever his associates had planned. Especially with Jon Viggo being in attendance. The last thing Delmon had said to the man- which had been through a third party for that matter, was that he never wanted to see his face again. Yet there he was, a little over two years later sitting in a cantina with a steaming cup of caf in front of him waiting for the man to show up like they were old pals having a get together. Delmon certainly looked the part. He would have been a fool to openly wear his armor during such a meeting, and instead had opted for the look of an average spacer. Outwardly anyone who didn't know him would think just that, save for his eyes. They were cold, and his gaze seemed to carry the weight of the world. Like a man who had stared into the abyss for too long. His presence in the force, though always dark would appear as an even darker smear, anger bubbling just under the surface. Jon would have no problem spotting Delmon.

 

[TheSilentWind]

Uniting the clans huh. Good luck with that. she thought, her Teras Kasi barriers protecting her thoughts from anyone that was here. The Mandalorian ARES Member had mastered the form to its highest level, and frequently used it, even in the Rebel base. There various reasons as to why the Mandalorian used them, as was too cautious to trust a lot of people. The most important of them was that she was basically an Imperial fugitive, something that she had in common with all Rebels. Therefore, she needed to make sure that no one could read her thoughts and the good thing about this barriers were that unlike force barriers, no trained force sensitive could sense them or know they were there unless someone attempted to infiltrate her mind.

To be honest, Aura wanted the Mandalorians to return to what they used to be, or at pave the path for future Mandalorian generations that would come centuries after the terrible genocide that was done by the Sith. Furthermore, she also wished to reform Mandalorian culture, and remove the millennial old concepts such as war being something honorable. Unfortunately for them, the Mandalorian clans didn't realize that war was something terrible until they were all bombed, and most if not virtually all of them were destroyed. Furthermore, in a statistic sense, the Mandalorians didn't exist in a galaxy that had trillions of sentient beings. Those were some of the reasons why Aura wanted to help the Mandalorian people, her people.

Entering the casino, the Mandalorian just had some normal casual clothes, well aware of the fact that stealth was important, something she had learned from her ARES training, and life experiences. She had met Delmon during a conversation with Donkur, and she had learned that the Ordo people had some little settlements, although she didn't know where. Aura wanted to be part of the Ordo clan. From what she had heard, they were some decent people, and she wanted to become part of the last remains of Mandalorian society, while still maintaining the level of caution that she always had, and would have.

"Hello. I believe you are Jon." she stated, noticing that Delmon had arrived first. She nodded at him, before nodding at Jon, each nod showing a sign of respect.

 

[Bantha]

Alor was dead. So was most of her clan. She didn’t miss him. Only having conversed with him a few times, Ayonahim never knew him. He was virtually a stranger, to whom she owed a great debt, along with the rest of her rescuers. She regarded Sisk with a cold observation, trying her best to not judge his actions. But it was difficult not to; he was brash and sometimes suicidal, even more so since his wife’s icy caution was not there to temper his hot anger. And that was what got him killed, on a holy crusade to avenge the death of his beloved Xotomi. Perhaps it was his way of mourning? Maybe. But he should have carefully weighed his chances of winning in a duel against a Sith Master. Guns, armor, and Mandalorian training were never comparable to experience in commanding the Force. A thought she never dared speak aloud, but one she would regard as absolute truth until she met the end of her days.

It was with naught a word she broke her ties with Clan Renelo, as her debt to them was ended. Not paid in full, but void as those who initially rescued her were either dead, or missing so long they might as well be. Her snow-white armor no longer bore the mythosaur skull on its breastplate, or the black paint from left pauldron to gloved fingertips to remember fallen brothers and sisters. They were now left blank, a cin vhetin. She was still Mando’ade and would help her people when possible, yet she was free to make her own choices in the liberty that independence afforded her.

Words of the planned meeting had been whispered by various Mando’ade figuratively and literally down the grapevines and eventually reached Ayonahim’s ears. Beyond time, location, and the fact that the organizer was not an alor, she knew nothing. That was what she hoped for when she walked in, but knew that could never be the case and so a blaster was holstered at her right hip and a knife on her left thigh. Dressed in olive-drab caro pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and an armored vest, she fit in with the rest of the land-sick spacers.

She gave the young human woman a second glance; she looked vaguely familiar, as if Ayonahim saw her in passing and wasn’t quite sure if she knew her, or the human merely resembled another. Honestly, they all looked very similar to the Pha and it could be tricky to tell them apart at times. She looked where Alasia’s eyes were directed, and assumed that the man in front of them was Viggo. He was a blank slate in the Force, entirely hard to read and ambiguous. Either the currents surrounding him were in constant and opposing motion, he was entirely neutral--unlikely-- or he was gifted at hiding his true nature, whatever that may be.

The second man, to “Jon’s” side, was incredibly dark with undercurrent of restless anger. It was alarming for even a Mandalorian, and it almost made her gasp aloud. Certainly there were others in the galaxy more surrounded by the dark side than he, but she wasn’t expecting like him nevertheless. Her own aura was a direct antithesis: the lightest of light, so pure and cold it burned those who dared touch it.

“Nadejda,” she introduced herself, flipping her deep purple braid behind her shoulder and crossing her arms. Glowing cyan eyes scanned Viggo’s face, pupils jerkily dilating and contracting. It reflected her anxiety and could be considered very, inhuman and soulless.

 

[Loco]

"Ral, I'm drawin' a blenk, yeh. Remind me why I didn't kill you the lest time you roped me into one o' these dikut'la meetin's? I'm pretty sure I said I would."

Damri Atin'al had always told Arya she was the stubborn one- something she vehemently denied without ever realizing the irony of it, until now. She subconsciously reached up to her face and traced the razor thin line of fading pink scar tissue that followed her cheek bone, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her scowl and her predatory stalk made the crowd on the streets part for her easily enough despite her short stature, and she weaved her way through the dark narrow streets based entirely on memory- she lamented the lack of her Helmets HUD map, but Skyblade wanted this meeting to be discreet, and so she had opted for the insignia-free officers uniform that Baron Administrator Fey'Tey had presented her. Though she couldn't stand the Bothan, she had to admit that his skills in diplomatic subterfuge had given him excellent taste in gifts- or bribes, depending on how you thought of them. The short cut jacket and pants fit flatteringly and were in the same pale grey of the Tibbanopolis Sky Guard, though they lacked rank indicators- Instead, the jacket sleeves and pant legs bore the two bright scarlet streaks of her blood stripes. Less on the flattering side and more on the intimidating side were her low slung gun belt and its accouterments, and the heavy, battered leather knee boots her pants were tucked into. Unarmored was one thing, unarmed was unthinkable.

"Because you didn't want to ask Sisk for a ride back?" came the voice in her ear. They had decided it prudent, given recent developments with Sisk, that Ral would be better off waiting nearby with his ship while Arya attended this particular meeting alone. This way if anything went wrong or Arya stopped checking in there was enough firepower nearby to wreck half the city looking for her. It also provided an opportunity to berate him remotely, regardless of how good the comebacks were.

"Ugh..."

Arya continued walking. The moot with Sisk had been a humiliating disaster for her as is, without asking the man who had just humiliated her in front of half the living clans for a ride home. Alora doing her best to derail the entire unification effort had put Arya in the infuriating position of throwing herself into a fight that she had been almost certain to lose, just to save face for everyone else. As if that weren't enough, Sisk had the gall to ask her to encourage the Ordos and any other mando'ade in the Rebellion to consider his offer, which after her defeat she had been honor bound to do, however grudgingly. Then he goes and gets himself killed. The message from Lutomi had sent her into a blind rage, to the point where the Corusca crewman had seen fit to evacuate the corridor leading to her quarters and to utilize the auxiliary bridge to manage the ship, in case she came into the CIC looking for someone to act out her violent fantasies on. After all the effort she'd put in getting him out of that hell hole of Reckoning, after all the humiliation she'd suffered for his benefit, after all the suffering he'd helped cause, he goes and gets himself killed chasing off on his own after some furball dar'jetti... Tears of rage still welled up every time she thought about it. The only consolation was that he had at least built a momentum that did not seem entirely inclined to stop with his death- and that was what brought her here today.

Arya stepped through the sliding tranparisteel door into the cantina and took stock of the occupants. Though she had never met Skyblade in person, she knew him well enough by reputation. He and Echoylir were the only two prominent clan leaders to pledge support to the Rebellion. Aura she knew in passing- the woman had launched a few missions from the Corusca and Tibbanopolis, is she recalled correctly. the others were unknown to her, but all had the look of barely restrained violent tendencies that marked them for what they were. Arya crossed the room and smoothly pulled a seat away from the table, which she then sat in.

"I hope I'm not too late fo' drink's, yeh."

 

[Raif]

The man known as Jon Viggo didn't wait any longer. He nodded toward Alric, trusting that his companion would watch the door and check out any stragglers before letting them in. With a deft flick of his wrist and a turn toward the bar, Jon slid a 2,000 credit chit toward the bartender, who snatched up the "tip" with Force-like speed and then quickly disappeared into the back office. There was an audible thunk as the door locked, and then the low, staticy drone of what sounded like a shock-boxing match came drifting through the sealed doorway.

Jon himself then moved behind the bar, nodding to those who had spoken to him and returning greetings where necessary. As he moved, he subtly reached out through the Force to make sure there were no illicit eavesdropping devices in attendance - while keeping his own Force presence muted as always, of course. Satisfied that they were as private as they could be, Jon grinned at the last woman that entered as she mentioned drinks - then he began tending bar himself as he spoke, quickly filling glasses with ale or whiskey, depending on the drinker's preference.

"Never too late for drinks, not these days."

He held up his own glass of ale as he looked quickly around the room.

"First off, thank ya for coming. Promise, I won't keep ya here longer than need be. On that note..."

Jon paused, motioning a cheers and taking a quick sip of his drink.

"...before I get into the nitty gritty here, let me serve a warning --

What I'm here to say, some of ya may not like hearing it. That's fine, I can respect that - but I ain't trying to waste my time with any honor duels or any of that foolishness. So, I'm gonna ask politely once, if ya ain't willing to open your ears and really listen to what I'm here to say, then by all means enjoy your drink and then be on your way."

He spoke simply, his voice carrying the sort of rough, clipped tones that were associated the galaxy wide with Mandalorian-accented Basic. Though his words and appearance may seem nonchalant, his gaze was anything but as it swept over the beings in attendance. His eyes carried a sort of passion, an intensity, that seemed to draw them in.

As he looked around, he waited to see if anyone would leave, or perhaps voice a concern over his cryptic request.

Spoiler: OOC

If anyone wants to post some sort of response feel free, otherwise let me know and I'll jump right in.