Open Lothal A Taste of Victory

[Fenyang]

(OOC: Social! Open to any Mandalorians who are or will be loyal to the Mand'Alor. )
Theme

In the aftermath of the Battle of Lothal, Mandalore decided to mark the first successful conquest of the unified Mandalorians in a traditional manner: with a potluck! In spite of his shattered leg, Fenyang had prepared his famous punch from his time in the Death Watch, a mix of Deucilian gin and Ithorian orange-lemon juice. It made for a deceptively strong drink with a pleasant enough taste, and there were enough straws so that the most devout Mandalorians could still sip on a drink . Campfires and cookouts covered the landscape, with clans, warriors, and tribes enjoying various stews, soups, and baked goods across the now-barren plains.

The army of Mandalorian war camps and caravans were joined by the formerly Sith-aligned soldiers, an uneasy reminder of the Mandalorian's current lot in the galaxy. Now was a time of celebration, however, and soldiers were expected to put aside their tensions after such a hard-fought victory. Lothal's Jedi Temple lay before them, still reeking of death and devastation. It still stood. Some of the enterprising members of the Mandalorian clans had petitioned Fenyang for the right to destroy the temple themselves - it was the type of initiative he could appreciate. Destroying one of these foul sorcerer's homes was half the reason he had selected Lothal, outside of its strategic viability and Fenyang's flair for the grandiose.

The Mand'Alor himself could not stand. His leg lay cast in a splint forged of iron, still wounded from the wicked trickery of that sorcerer. So, instead, he was slowly piloting a speeder around, too proud to use a wheelchair and too pained to stand.. Underneath his helmet, he puffed on a small, specially-designed vaporizer of marcan herbs, smoking them for their relaxing and mild pain relieving properties. One could say, he was rolling down the street, smoking on indo, sipping on gin and juice. Mind on his Mandos, and Mandalore on his mind.

 

[Kerr Saxon]

There really wasn't much in that temple after him and Thane defeated the Jedi at the battle of Lothal. What a shame. Kerr Saxon wasn't really one to relax, but he would try and do so today. This is the day where the Mand'alor will stand over the ashes of the soon-to-be-ruined Jedi temple. A man of his word indeed. The first of many conquests.

Glorious Purpose

Kerr Saxon would arrive, wearing full armor, holding his helmet to the side. He would gravitate towards where the drinks are. There were all kinds of options. There was the punch that the Mand'alor made himself, then there were others and they looked like they were in fine condition. Was that plundered from the capital city? Who knows, who cares. Kerr knows he deserves something good at this point. He will first try out the Mand'alor's special.

Kerr would then take a sip of his drink as to try it out. Tangy.

When he would catch sight of the Manda'lor he would give a respectful salute. So now, how long until the big boom he wonders...

 

[Jame Eldar]

The subtle curves of the hills were aligned with a light mixture of snow and grass, but lacked the forests of her homeland. Jame herself had not partaken in the battle that had been waged across Lothal, in truth Clan Eldar had only recently come into contact with the new Mand'alor and his movement, her mother had not been present when the alliance had been made, but they were here now -- as allies and followers of there tradition.

The young Eldar sat along a small encampment that was located around the outskirts of the Jedi temple, tables had been adorned along the camp, as the wolf banners were raised high and proud. Wine and various foods were adorned across the tables as several from her clan ate and drank with laughs and cheers.

Jame herself sat along the edge of one of the tables, her golden and bronze helmet still covering her face, with only a blonde braid hanging from beneath her helmet and along her shoulder. In her hands she'd gently strum the strings of her hallisket as the words of her song softly echoed from her helmet's comms.

Step strong, stride far,
O' ye Mandalorians,
To the olden days and triumphant heights,
March on through our bloody rite!

Fight proud, blaster roars,
O' ye Mandalorians,
Raise voices in courageous cheers,
Give those sorcerers cause for fear!

Stand tall, spoil wars,
O' ye Mandalorians,
Best their magicians by the score,

Take a blaster and best a dozen more!
Set bones, sum scars,
O' ye Mandalorians,
Wear the signet of those who lead,
A few new nicks as proof of deeds!

Stand tall, spoil wars,
O' ye Mandalorians,
Best their magicians by the score,
Take a blaster and best a dozen more!​

 

[Raya Kryze]

There wasn’t a chance in hell that Raya was going to miss this. After all, the Kryze had been on Lothal for the battle and helped to defeat the defending Jedi, and she was all too eager to celebrate the victory - the first real victory her people would claim in some time - in their traditional potluck fashion.

The audio-systems of her helmet were already blaring music into her ears as Raya strolled across the fields of Lothal, weaving between the cookouts and parties that dominated the landscape. Her head was bopping and her arms her swaying, the bit of pep in her step a clear indicator of her good mood. As per usual, Raya was adorned in her traditional beskar’gam - the signature bronze armor glinting against the Lothal sunlight. Her body still ached from the battle, with bandages and bacta-patches covering her chest and shoulder beneath the armor. Luckily, none of the injuries were grievous enough to keep her out of commission.

Her eyes casually swept across the landscape, scouting out those who had already arrived. While they had clearly communicated beforehand, Raya clearly noted the absence of Beau and his dumb mug anywhere on the field - obviously having arrived before her older brother. As she scoped out the horizon, Raya couldn’t help the way her gaze lingered on the Sith-aligned troopers, feeling that familiar tug of discomfort in her chest.

The alliance with the Sith was something she would never grow accustomed to. It was an alliance with outsiders, and with sorcerer’s - no different from the ones she had only just fought - who had always been the enemy of her people. How much Mandalorian blood - the blood of her ancestors - had been spilled by the Sith of generations passed? How could she sit comfortably, knowing they were bound at the hip to the same group of people who had glassed planets like Firrerre and butchered billions? How could they possibly be anything but the villains, allied with them?

And yet, Raya couldn’t help but marvel at the fruits of their pact. For the first time in her life, the Kryze saw a path forward - an upward trajectory for her people. She saw the clans united under one leader as they hadn’t been for over a century. She heard the laughter, smelt the baked goods, and clearly noted the smiles on the faces of those who forwent their helmets.

It was a sight that filled Raya with more pride than she could adequately put into words, and it caused her to repeat the same mantra she had told herself since this all started. Since she had filled that Adden with plasma back on Mandalore and answered the call to crusade.

It is worth it. So long as Mandalore prospers, it is worth it.

Her gaze pulled away from the Sith troopers and fixated back ahead, gradually moving through the cookout and towards the singular goal in her mind at that precise moment - to get a drink in her hands. Raya glanced over just in time to catch sight of the Mand’alor on his speeder, giving their illustrious leader a two-finger salute as she went. Her umber gaze proceeded to flick towards the Eldar singing at the end of one of the tables, the melodic voice enough for Raya to reach up and mute her own music - opting to listen to live song.

Raya approached one of the tables and snagged a glass of ne’tra gal. She nursed the glass in her hands, turning to listen to the singing Eldar from a distance.

@Wit @TWD26 @Fine Dining Set

 

[Beau]

Beau had taken a more roundabout route to get to Lothal. He hadn't been part of the invading force that had taken the planet, having turned around to respond to claims of an attack on Concord Dawn by the more braver of the misguided fools who opposed the Mandalore. A brief pitstop at Toydaria had followed, and it was only now, on the even of the celebration, that he was setting for on Lothal. It felt odd, he couldn't remember the last time his people had cause to celebrate like this. Heck, if he thought back on it then the last time he had celebrated like this was when his parents had almost emptied the town celebrating his little sister's birth. Which made him wonder, where was that little tyke?

His answer of course was answered soon enough by one of the tables laden with food and drinks. A grin on his face, for all to see with his helmet clipped onto his belt, he wandered over to her and sneaking up on her he made to swipe the glass from her hands. «Come on now,» he teased as he reached over to pick up a big piece of Uj'alayi from the table, and taking a bite, «you know what ma said, no grown up drinks till you grow up. You're still a few inches too short for this little sister.»

Despite the teasing, he was grinning widely, both happy and proud to see her. He had heard about her victory while capturing the temple, and as her big brother it was his duty to provide sufficient teasing to keep her head from getting too big to fit in her helmet. So, as he took another bite of the uj cake, he waited for whatever reaction his teasing got out of her.

@Altaris @TWD26 @Fine Dining Set

 

[Dalair Solus]

Booming bass and shredding guitar approached from the distance, melding into the other sources of music as a speeder truck rumbled toward the uproarious celebration. The back was clearly stacked, packed high with barrels and bottles both. It towed a second repulsor cart with crates tied atop. Sitting in the driver's seat was Dalair himself, garbed in his traditional Mandalorian attire as usual, although he had the sense to leave behind some of the extra fur, bones, and forge-specific arm coverings.

Like a gray pilgrim carting his way into town to deliver fireworks to a party he rolled right up, a simple wooden pipe stuck into his helmet's front port pluming clouds of peppery-sweet smoke all the while. The truck stopped and Dal hopped off, helmet bobbing to the music as he pulled one of the barrels from the back and hefted it over his shoulder. More drinks from home and a few from Lothal to boot, spoils from the conquest. A couple of droids detached the towed cart and pushed it toward the Jedi temple to get things started on their end. By request, he'd also brought explosives for the occasion.

After all, what's a party without some fireworks?

It didn't take long for others to get the gist and start unloading the pile of surplus drinks. Dalair walked over and hefted his keg onto a thick table with a mighty thud and a slap against its side. "Fresh drink!" he announced, snatching up a pint glass and filling it from the keg's first draw. His glass met another Mandalorian's as he departed the table, pint in one hand and pipe in the other.

His visor looked around at the rolling fields and hills dotted with snow, plans that still lived yet unturned to glass. No Solus trusted the Sith, least of all those who kept the oldest stories alive as a matter of pride, and Dalair was certainly less than pleased by the very concept. But surely so far it'd been a boon. No matter how stubborn, even Mandalorians had to accept one couldn't change the past, only work for the future. The Mando'ade had been roused and claimed their first victory. Even if some things were lost along the way, they must fight. Evolve or die.

Dal's eyes caught sight of one Mandalorian in flashy bronze-coated armour. He'd heard they'd been present for the battle in the square where Jedi had fallen before the advance, and so, off he went to greet them. His glass raised to Mand'alor along the way.

"So you're still alive," Dalair spoke in traditional greeting to the siblings Kryze with a nod of his helmet. Briefly hidden eyes scanned over Raya's armour, noting the blaster damage across the chest. "Stop by, I'll patch that up," his sonorous voice suggested before his attention was drawn to the bard singing her sweet songs of victory over on the table. A smirk curled his lips and he stepped over toward it, planting his pint atop the table and his boot against a seat. He took a breath as she finished her last verse and joined in.

"Stand tall, drink deep!
Oya! Mandalorians,
Cheers to rise and cheers to fall,
Roar to victory 'gainst sorcerer's squall!

Step strong, stride on!
March to drum beat and iron song,
Oya! Mandalorians,
Steel of heart, one and all!"

Dalair raised in glass respectfully toward the bard and she got a roar of cheering from others listening, followed by downed drinks beyond counting. The armorer sat on the table's surface, boots up on the bench-style seat, and puffed at his pipe.

"So! Pray tell, who wants to see that temple in pieces?"

@Fine Dining Set @Altaris @The Good Doctor @Wit @TWD26

 

[Raya Kryze]

For quite a while, Raya kept her umber eyes on Jame - listening to the Eldar whos voice filled the air all throughout the cookout. The Kryze lightly bobbed her head and swayed with her back pressed against the table behind her, tapping her foot against the grassy earth. There was something about the combination of the song and celebratory atmosphere that brought a long-lasting smile to her face, one that hadn’t faded since she arrived at the event. These were good days, and ones she hoped would last for years to come.

A few moments passed, and Raya briefly placed her glass back onto the table - reaching instead to grasp both sides of her helmet. With a tug, the Kryze pulled the bronze-colored helmet off of her head and proceeded to clip it to her hip - taking a deep breath and feeling the crisp, fresh air on her face. She reached to pull the pin that was holding her dark brown locks into a bun, allowing the hair to tumble freely down her shoulders.

With her helmet out of the way and fiddling with a straw no longer necessary, Rayyan reached for her drink and began to bring it up to her lips - timed just as Beau abruptly snuck up on her and swiped the glass from her hands. “AY!” She snapped, immediately spinning around to identify the drink thief. Her eyes widened from their narrowed slits as soon as she laid eyes on Beau, a grin immediately working its way onto her lips. She stuck her nose up, sniffing the air and immediately crinkling her expression. “I thought I smelt something foul.” She teased.

“Pftt. Still tall enough to kick your ass, big brother. Any day of the week.” She followed up the statement with a half-hearted series of jabs to the ribs, a wicked smirk plastered across her lips. “Especially if you keep shovelin’ that Uj’alayi.” She reached up, snagging a corner off the piece of cake her brother was eating. “‘Bout to be squeezing into that armor if you aren’t careful.” Her tone was clearly playful.

Despite the teasing, it was abundantly clear that Raya was happy to see her older brother. For years, it had just been the two of them - the loss of their parents and home settlement back on Concord Dawn leaving them alone in the galaxy. The moot-to-end-all-moots back on Mandalore had been their last meeting, and it was good to see him alive and well again.

Her gaze lingered on Beau for a few seconds more before shifting towards Dalair, watching as the armorer approached. There was an immediate souring of her expression ever-so-slightly, not entirely pleased by the Solus’ approach.

She gave him a nod of her head in greeting before jutting her chin. “Raya,” She glanced over to her brother, “And this bantha-lookin’ ass is Beau.” Raya nudged her brother with her elbow, before proceeding to use the introductions as a less-than-subtle attempt to swipe back her drink. When the armorer gestured to the blaster damage to her chest, the Kryze gave him a nod. Whatever clan rivalry might’ve existed between them, his status as an armorer wasn’t lost on her. “Thanks.”

Raya watched as Dalair proceeded to wander towards the Eldar and began to join in on the singing - taking a few minutes to listen to the armor’s smooth and pleasant song - and assuming she had swiped back her drink earlier - went to take a long sip of the alcoholic beverage. "Heard you visited home," She glanced back over at Beau.

@Wit @Mr. Teatime

 

[Gett'se Vizsla]

Gett'se was already deep into his cups as he glared at the Vizsla command tent that had been erected near the middle of the camp. The elders did not drink with the men but instead took to their tents to scheme as they always did. The image of a man's back falling in the field of battle as he ran flashed through Gett'se's mind, and he raised a large goblet of the Mand'alor's gin and juice to his helmet straw at the thought. At least the Mand'alor reveled with his soldiers, injured as he was. A small bit of begrudging respect for the man grew in Gett'se even as his anger towards his own leaders grew.

Cowards.

He sucked at the straw only to find it slurping greedily at the empty bottom of his cup. It received a glare in return for its betrayal through the eyes of his visor. Unsteadily, Gett'se rose to his feet, stumbling over towards the punch table. Passing the Mand'alor's (@Fine Dining Set ) speeder, Gett'se gave the man a raise of his empty glass, even as he glared at him from under his helmet. The walk to the punch table was longer than he expected, but after a hazardous journey he found the ladle to slosh more drink into his cup. Another back shot man flashed through his mind, he had heard the man's scream even over the roar of his jetpack. He shook his head in shame.

He had a lot of drinking to do to wash it away.

 

[Beau]

«Hey,» he complained as Ray aimed some friendly punches his way, «I'm trying to eat here. Don't want me to throw up on you again, do you?»

But before he could say more when a Solus showed up, or at least he thought it was a Solus. Normal people tended to be bad with faces, Beau suffered from the Mandalorian version of the same disease. He was bad with armors, and for a Mandalorian that was a shitty defect to have. A somewhat sad blemish on the otherwise perfection that was him.

«What she said,» he began, adding in on the pleasantries after his sister had spoken up, «I'm BeaAAAUUUHGHHH!» Halfway through the introduction he let out a loud and explosive burp, and in typical mandalorian fashion he followed it up with not a polite excuse but taking one last chug from the glass he had stolen from his sister before she reclaimed it. Letting Raya drive the conversation with the armorer, taking note to pull her leg about her damaged armor at some point, he continued devouring the uj-cake.

His demeanor did somber up a little when Raya mentioned home, the carefree smile vanishing from his face as he stopped midway to raising more cake to his mouth.

«I..» He began but stopped, not lifting his eyes from the cake in his hand. «I was maybe an hour out, but couldn't bring myself to go back. Not yet, not alone.» He was quiet for a moment, before taking his gaze off the cake to look his sister in the eyes. «If we go back, we go back together.» The words were half promise, half plea. He had happily faced down an entire team of traitors on his own, but the prospect of going home, that still scared him.

@Altaris @Mr. Teatime

 

[Taz Fett]

Taz walked the edge of the clan camps around the celebration as he walked from his ship toward the heart of the party. An outcast both by name, and appearance. Adorned in piecemeal iron skin that had seen better days. However, he had been invited to join in the celebration by the Mand'alor himself. He would have been here in time to take part in the battle, were it not for matters on Phindar.

In any case he was here now. Making his way to the punch bowl filled with the strange mix of gin and juice. The Fett warrior took a nearby stein sized cup from the stack near the bowl, and filling it to the rim.

Taking off his helmet, and tucking it under his arm. He then raised the cup toward Mand'alor and gave a grateful nod, before taking a drink. Swallowing the mix and he hummed along with the Elder's song. He hadn't even started drinking, so was far to sober to start singing along.

 

[Endyr Ratheon]

Spoiler: Music IC

In this desert of death, one had only to walk amongst the cookfires, if they dared, and listen. Tales were told of the Mand’alor’s conquest, songs were sung of the Mandalorians’ conquests, and between them all were strung the strings of their future as finely as the fabrics of the universe that were woven within.

Clan Ratheon had a campfire over their own, neither nearest to the heart of the feast and festivities nor lingering at the edges as though cast out. They were somewhere in between and, if there was something symbolic about that, well, Endyr Ratheon did not give a druk to learn about it.

Yet here we are, he mused as he stood before the flames, helm in hand, face naked and gazing into the heat. The Ratheons, here on Lothal, here with our brothers and our sisters and…them. He looked to those soldiers who could only dare to call themselves warriors. They were not of Mandalore. They are not Mandalorian.

His family was. They traced their lineage to the Protectors of Concord Dawn, and defended their own and what was theirs to this very day, purge and Great Purge be damned. The Sith were just a means to an end but the Mandalorians were both the means and the end. And the beginning...right here on this world, that world, and all the worlds to come.

From dawn till dawn, then, the Protectors lived on in the spirit of their descendants all these years later, and the Ratheons were not alone. They held the concord of their people overall, of Mandalorians, like hands holding horns. Holding wings, spreading them and flying.

As he listened to the music at his camp, gazed upon the musicians of his clan, heard the strumming of strings and the whistling of lips and the singing of throats, Endyr Ratheon was taken back on Concord Dawn and this world was no longer Lothal.

He would have helped take the latter, joined the fight, but word had reached him too late. His clan cradled their shield back home while Endyr’s sword was still stuck with aimless, mindless pirates. Yet, when the fist of the Mandalorians struck forth, when the Mand’alor’s knuckles bled and the son of Ratheon learned of it, he spread his wings and took flight.

First he spread the blood of his crew. He no longer needed to suffer the stench of pirates, and they didn’t take too kindly to crewmates looking for a career change, but that was fine.

Endyr was a Mandalorian, he belonged with his own, and they could no longer afford to be kind. Theirs was of justice, like the gold of Endyr's beskar’gam, and like its black theirs was just as much of vengeance. Ours is the wrath.

 

[Shale Vizsla]

Shale had already been drinking before even showing up to this event. She did her best not to stumble a bit as she walked in, giving a sort of salute to Mand’alor as she approached. She scanned the area, pleased to see a wide variety of clan representation here. It was one of the rare times everyone came together to celebrate, and they certainly had cause to celebrate. Any angst or worry about the alliance was secondary to the direct and immediate outcomes for the first time in over a century.

She spotted Gett’se ahead and made her way over to him, accidentally knocking into a few people on the way. Being her, this was just as likely from being buzzed as it was from being her usual clumsy self. She grabbed a cup and got herself a drink, drawing up the straw to her helmet.

“Why the hell do you look like you’re at a funeral?” Shale asked him bluntly, leaning against a table near him.

@Arcangel

 

[Nox Solus]

Lothal had been a landslide victory for the Mandalorians. They had won both of the turning point battles and with very few casualties, the ferocity and surprise of their strike benefiting them greatly. With the major success, it led to a pretty festive mood for the front and it spread like wildfire, even to the doubters who despised the pact between Sith and Mandalorian.

There were parts of Nox that had his own beliefs but even he couldn't deny their effectiveness. He used the opportunity to push out the clouded thoughts from his mind and to appreciate the scene of Mandalorians sharing food together after a battle. Over the years it had been rarer to witness and he was going to celebrate fully with the rest of his people.

Arriving at the encampment, Nox led a squad of crimson Solus behind him as they advanced toward where the partying was the loudest. Each one was dressed in their full armor and a sort of wedge formation that left inside of it unviewable. When they arrived at the main action of the feast, heads would turn at the wave of Solus entering and specifically at Nox as he led them. At first, a couple of seconds of silence would pass as the Solus'alor stared back before he simply flicked up one of his hands up.

Immediately, pairs of Solus would fly slightly above the rest and in between each one would be a keg. The clan members that had stayed on the ground lifted plates of food into the air, fresh kills cooked from hunts. Let Kad hear our celebration! Nox cheered out before grabbing a mug. Tables would erupt in cheers as would the Solus before kegs were flown to different stations and food passed out. As Solus'alor, he thought it was reasonable to break into the clan's booze storage in order to party.

As it was all passed out and brought even more life to the party with another haul of alcohol brought, Nox's gaze found the injured Mand'Alor with his visor and he raised his mug toward him before taking a healthy gulp.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Raya Kryze]

Raya glanced towards Beau out of the corner of her eye, listening as her older brother started to join in on the less-than-warm pleasantries with the armorer. Of course, the Kryze couldn’t help the way her eyes narrowed visibly when her brother decided to belch right into her ear - looking entirely unamused out of the corner of her eye.

“Drink the whole damn thing, why dont’cha.” She grumbled, watching as Beau proceeded to chug down a good third of her drink before successfully snagging it back. Raya shook her head, glancing down at the dark alcohol before taking a long drink herself.

Raya didn’t miss the way Beau’s expression grew somber when the topic turned to home, and she couldn’t help the way her own lips tugged downward at the sight. For all the ways she knew her brother to be a fearless warrior - unshakable in seemingly the worst situations - this was a topic that struck a cord with them both. The Kryze hadn’t been back to Concord Dawn since AMS had devastated their home settlement and wiped out their parents, and the thought of going back even now filled her with mixed feelings.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to go back there yet..” She said quietly, staring up at her brother. The Kryze took in a breath, giving him a firm nod of her head. “But we will do it together, whenever that day comes.” Raya reached up, giving her brother a firm clap on her shoulder with her armored gauntlet accompanied with a smile.

Raya shook her head before proceeding to toss back the rest of what was lingering in her glass. “Let’s enjoy the festivities, yeah?” She gave her brother one last clap on the shoulder - attempting to knock the somber mood right out of him - before starting to walk ahead do just what she’d suggested. She only made it a few steps forward before her umber eyes were inevitably drawn up towards the sky, watching as the formation of Solus’ fly over the cookout - seeing the kegs of ale being delivered and all the cheers that erupted from the badger tables.

The Kryze crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her skull as she watched the display. After a few moments, Raya glanced back over her shoulder to Beau. “Always the showboats, eh?”

@Wit @Orbit

 

[Beau]

Taking in a long breath, Beau let it out and willed his body to relax. Raya was right, this wasn't the time to be lost in the past, there was a celebration to be had. Opening his eyes, he smiled and nodded, and was about to follow when he too noticed the arrival of the Solus alor and his entourage. While he approved of the flashy entrance, he approved even more of the gifts they brought. «Showboats or not,» he said with a laugh as he walked past Raya to begin filling a couple of mugs with ale, «I hope their ale is as good as it is rumored to be.»

Handing a mug to Raya, he raised the one in his hand in salute to the Solus, identifying if not the armor then the badger on his chest. The Solus loved their badgers, almost as much as Kryze lowed their owls. He had always wondered how the whole animal thing started, were the early Mandalorians animal tamers who would train beasts to fight for them? Either way, he raised the mug to his mouth, ready to put the badger ale to the test.

«So,» he called out to Nox after taking a big sip of ale, «you're the new big badger, huh? Hope you've got bigger balls than the last one, would suck if we have to hunt you down as well. Just for the sake of this ale, if nothing else.»

@Altaris @Orbit

 

[Fenyang]

Truth be told, Fenyang wanted rest. After the victory at Lothal, he realized the amount of stress he had wedged onto his shoulders; he saw the true weight that the Mand'Alor bore on their shoulders. Leading his great, stubborn people was an exhausting endeavor. But, it was the greatest calling one could ask for. Service to Mandalore was its own reward.

And feeling the joy of his people would be enough of a rest for the night. Meeting the gaze of Nox, Fenyang raised his own mug towards the Solus Alor, taking a long sippy from his straw. He didn't exactly follow the old ways, but he feared that one would do to him as he had done to the Rytt, and kept his helmet on.

He saluted the other Mandalorians in return as they paid their respects, but his sight was drawn to the eyesore of the standing Jedi temple. Had the vods who wanted the honor of desecrating the temple not arrived? A pity. It would be a task he would have to take on himself...

Somehow. Could always blast it from orbit.

 

[Gett'se Vizsla]

Gett'se turned his head slowly as he heard someone speaking to him, dragging the straw with it as he tried to keep the drink close enough to keep drinking out of it. He stared at Shale for a moment as he swallowed more booze before releasing the straw form his mouth.

"I'm just celebrating." He fibbed, a slightly sarcastic tone with an undertone of drunken anger leaking into it. He turned around to sit his butt on the table, nudging the punch bowl back, causing the punch to slosh around angrily. He shot a glare at the Vizsla command tent.

"The elders are tardy to the party, as well as they were the battle." Gett'se wasn't quite sure if his words made sense as he slurred them out, but he figured they got the point across.

@Sreeya