Rise From the Ashes (Crim)

[Sisk_Renelo]

The Shadow Veil
Unknown Regions​

In the unknown regions, beyond the wall of the Midas Belt, lies the Shadow Veil. This dangerous region of space has been the source of legends and disappearances for as long as tales have traveled the galaxy. Thousands of derelict spaceships of all classes fill the morass, alongside the remains of millions of crewman, drifting forever silent in the cold vacuum.

And it was into this place that the Mandalorians had come.

Only they were stout enough of heart to brave its depths beyond the outer ring and traverse the graveyard of lost souls. And within the uncharted depths floated a small station, placed there a decade and a half ago as a final fallback for the Mandalorian Protectors and then forgotten. Forgotten, that is, by all but one. Sisk had led his Clan to this lost place in preparation for the coming war, one that they would fight by themselves if they must. But the meeting that he had called would determine whether or not they had to wage it alone.

At the edge of the Veil sat a small Mandalorian fleet, 20 fighters surrounding a Haranov gunship, waiting patiently for their guests. As ship after ship exited the Midas Belt they were greeted by their brethren through code phrases and digital handshakes between their shipboard computers through tight beam transmissions pushed through the comm jamming field. Precautions had been taken for this meeting, and they would be followed to the fullest. Once identities had been confirmed they were sent a single tight beam transmission with only a single phrase. “Shut down your navicomputer and prepare to be escorted into the Veil.” One by one the Mandalorian Ships were slaved to their fighter escorts and made a jump into the Veil, aiming for a known safe region near the Gamma Cluster. But their voyage ended early in one of the eyes of the storm, their escorts ending the jump at a predetermined time to bring the vessels out of hyperspace after traveling through a corridor that was suspiciously free of debris. This was but one mystery that the Veil had to offer to those willing to brave its depth.

The ships attached themselves to the docking arms of the Morut and disgorged their living cargo. The Mandalorians were met by members of the Verda, buckets off, who led them to various rooms throughout the station equipped with holoprojectors. Sisk would have preferred to have gathered all of his scattered brethren together in one room, but space constraints in this hidden place meant that he couldn’t. So he and his Clan had been forced to use a broadcast system throughout the station in order to carry his words of unity.

Sisk stood in the main hall of the station in his full armor, repaired and repainted in his new colors. Gold, grey, and black covered the plates and his buy’ce hung from his belt. Around his shoulders hung the snow white pelt of a Mandalorian Wolf, killed long ago on a hunt through the wilds of Manda’yaim. He looked every inch the leader of men he was. Addressing warriors meant that one needed to be able to stand among them. And for the purposes of today, he couldn’t just be another Alor. He had to be more than that. He had to be someone that could lead them all. Leading a united group like the Protectors had been easy. To bring these disparate groups together and turn their various ideals towards on goal would be the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

Marcus came in through the hatch and waved his hand over the holoprojector controls. A list popped up of the ship IDs that had come to the gathering. Sisk scanned them quickly and nodded. “A good gathering.” A grunt of agreement answered him as Marcus shut down the projector and handed Sisk his gun belt. With a nod Sisk buckled it around his waist and strapped the holsters to his thighs before sliding his Rippers into them. “Tell Elias to wipe the log entries and coordinate bearings from the ships. If the Imperials get nosey, at least all they’ll have is a region. Have him explain to the Captains why it must be done. Nothing hidden.” The quartermaster nodded and left the room, leaving the Alor alone with his thoughts.

Mandalorians started to trickle in, the armor different colors and cuts, but all distinctly Mando. There were no chairs or benches, just an empty room and the Mando who filled it, all different, and yet all the same. When they had all arrived Sisk walked forward and into the camera field of vision.

"Su cuy'gar ner vode. I apologize for the unusual means of coming here, but to keep those who wish to see us dead from finding us it is necessary." Behind him swirled the colors of the Veil, twisting and turning in the solar currents. "Welcome to Morut, and I welcome you here. My apologies for the separation. The station is not large enough for all of us to gather together so we have had to resort to holos for all of us to speak. But I promise that before you go we will have a chance to speak face-to-face. I know that many of us have been at odds before, but the fact that you have come means that the time has come to put aside our petty differences and come together again. The Empire thinks us gone, but I do not see a people who will be forgotten. I see my brothers and sisters, warriors all, who have come for the time of awakening. It is time for us to rise, vode."

 

[Tristar]

This was certainly not what the Mandalorian had in mind. Escorted, and flanked by another one of his kind to a particularly spacious room and a holo-projector in the middle. It was clear that the meeting couldn't be done on a face to face basis, but this was as close as the man could get to seeing his host. "You'll be watching a broadcast fairly soon from here," His guide told him, gesturing at the projector with a tight smile that seemed more of a grimace. Calico had nodded and sent him away with a kind gesture- he wasn't one for words at the moment; not until he heard what the self proclaimed Alor had to say.
If he was Mandalorian, nobody would have been able to tell from his armor. It was a replacement and a very good one too- but it didn't feel like a proper Beskar'gam. The only thing that would have distinguished him was the faint emblem of a Mythosaur on his faceplate, something resembling the iconic T-visor, but a little fatter.

There wasn't much choices and Calico was pressed for every credit he earned with iron and steel. So when the Kushari inventorial showed a spare armor to be handed out free of charge (Tassadar snorted at that, thinking back. No doubt it would cut into his earnings later on.), he grabbed at what was offered and took a little liberty on its aesthetics. Stark white, that was the color of his armor. It bore no other meaning when compared to Red, Orange or Gold, but Calico had his own sense of its plainness; Nothing to Lose.

Crossing his arms and leaning against the wall opposite of the entrance to the room, he awaited for the next guest to arrive. It was dreadfully empty even as the broadcast played out, revealing their speaker. A wolf pelt, was that supposed to make him seem more Lordly than the rest of them? A mark of a leader?

Bigger snort of contempt.

And look at that armor, freshly painted and its scars of war hidden; if you wanted to prove that you were capable of leading, you had to prove that you could hold your own in a fight- scars, scratches and dents. It may not look pretty, but it gives the idea that whoever wore the armor had been through experiences that had potentially molded him into who they needed the most. It was to his personal belief that they needed a leader, yes. Was Sisk the one though?

"Su cuy'gar ner vode. I apologize for the unusual means of coming here, but to keep those who wish to see us dead from finding us it is necessary." The Imperials? Men in stark white armor as well, and fierce combatants. He had known, through experience, how well they fought and the extent of their ruthlessness. Was it something to be feared? For sure, a smart warrior would learn to fear the hidden potential of a well known enemy- but Calico feared the Sith more than mere soldiers.

"Welcome to Morut, and I welcome you here. My apologies for the separation. The station is not large enough for all of us to gather together so we have had to resort to holos for all of us to speak. But I promise that before you go we will have a chance to speak face-to-face. I know that many of us have been at odds before, but the fact that you have come means that the time has come to put aside our petty differences and come together again. The Empire thinks us gone, but I do not see a people who will be forgotten. I see my brothers and sisters, warriors all, who have come for the time of awakening. It is time for us to rise, vode."

Well that certainly explained the room and holo-projector, but there it went- the same drivel about rising up to the oppression of the Empire. They were barely a fraction of the power they once owned; supposedly according to Derklyn they had massive warships, a flagship to behold as well. Each clan with their own powerful armada of ships.
Yet where was all of that when he arrived here, docked in his own shuttle? For sure, they had a new leader compared to the previous Mandalore (Whom his adopted father had cursed repeatedly in his sleep.) but did he have the mind of a strategist? It was good he had the spirit, but with so little men and women to fight under the banner- no, you couldn't fight a massive war with such few numbers. Raiding parties, perhaps. If they pushed their fabled luck and skill, maybe even a planet could be retaken but they couldn't hold it. Numbers, logistics and perhaps a smile from a higher authority somewhere; it was but a start of a very hasty inventorial that he came up on his own in the dimly lit room.

"...I wonder...narir gar kar'taylir bulyr be a kaptr, alorir?" He murmured to no one in particular, staring at Sisk through his visor of his helmet.

 

[Dargeth The Hunter.]

He allowed his ship to be led to the meeting point after transferring the codes for verification then control's of the ship and he leaned back watching the screen, the young Zabrak frowned and whispered " what do i do? " and Kyouteki glanced at her. As he murmured " come to the meeting, i will have to tell one of the clan to contact the Jedi for you " and he chuckled, as the Morut came into view and the ship docked both Padawan and Kyouteki exited the ship, Kyouteki wearing no Armour but rather in a cotton shirt and long pants. His hair was still pulled back in a long ponytail and his beard slightly trimmed but still there, the Padawan still dressed in her long robe and beneath it hung the handle of her lightsaber and one of Kyouteki's pistol's. As a guard inquired about the Padawan, Kyouteki simply snarled " she's with me " and he stiffened and looked down, he stared at the small blade that now ested against his inner thigh and back off nervously and the blade vanished into the belt og his pants.

Following the guide he could sense Maddi's nervousness and rested a hand on her shoulder and she visibly relaxed her hand releasing the handle of the saber beneath the robe, as they were shown into the room and he immediately pulled Maddi to the side deliberately standing at the back. Watching the men filter in he frowned as he watched the comradeship between lost brother's and felt closed off from them, even among his own he had spent too long in the jungle depth's and found little in common with these men any more and he sighed. Maddi glanced at him as her force sense picked up his emotion's and she noticed the tightening of Kyouteki's jaw and the way his scar was more pronounced, what had been a faint white line over his left eye and halfway down his cheek now stood out as the tension filled his body.

She heard the voice of Sisk and watched Kyouteki breath in sharply and felt a wave of pain fill him and she glanced to the image between the bodies, little did she know the last time Kyouteki had seen Sisk had been the day Xotomi had healed him and used his latent force to see Sisk like a symbiote. As he sighed listening to his leader he shook his head knowing the clan's would merely argue and fight among themselves once more, they were weak and he muttered softly to Maddi " fool's and idiot's, every one of them " and Maddi murmured softly " Why? ".

Kyouteki nodded to the various Mandalorian's " They preach strength, unity and Mandalorian culture above all, but in reality all they care about is themselves, not one of them can put aside pride to allow someone else, Sisk or another, to unite them ", she watched the Mandalorian's closely reaching out with the force to detect emotion's and winced at what she felt. But when she tried to read Kyouteki she paled feeling that same Darkness deep within him that had shown during their Run-in on the way to the meeting, the same controlled yet barley contained anger that had her watching him slaughter a crew of pirates who had chanced upon the the ship while Kyouteki had been making some small repair's.

 

[Crim]

The first thing Inga saw after exiting the airlock was a pair of Mandalorians.

Two Mandalorians, dressed in the colors of a different clan. Wearing different symbols. Their faces were obscured by the iconic Mandalorian mask. These two men were not of Clan Kelborn. Jarmouth Kelborn had taught Inga that these were her enemies. They had betrayed their oaths. Was Jarmouth a paranoid xenophobe? Perhaps. Inga resented how much Jarmouth hated non-Kelborn Mandalorians. Still, it didn't stop shivers from running down her armored spine. What disturbed her more than anything was the fact that they looked at her and called her 'Ner Vod.' She kept her composure and looked at the two men and nodded. "Su cuy'gar," she said to the two men as she walked past them down the corridor to the meeting place. Her head was practically spinning. It was as if the words and teachings of the great Jarmouth Kelborn, Savior of the Kelborn Clan and founder of Kurzbesk, meant nothing at this very moment.

Then came the popping. Her ears, which had slowly been adjusting to the pressure change from her ship, popped. Her head ached as her nerve pain flared up. Being on a space station was different from being on a planet. The sounds, the sights, the smells were all different. Recycled air and soft humming filled her senses. This was something she would have to get used to at some point. The minute she entered the Veil, it became part of her life. Even the way the air felt was subtly different on the space station. Looking up, Inga saw a gathering of various Mandalorians.

T-shaped visors turned their heads at Inga and nodded. As she walked in and found her spot, she stared at the crowd around her. She looked around at the men and the realization hit her. Hard. These were all her brothers and sisters. She had expected this meeting to be an awkward gathering of armored men and women who happened to own guns and act gruff all the time. Instead, she felt more at home than she could have ever anticipated. A voice begged attention in the room. Sisk Renelo, the one who would unite the clans. The one who had sent the message to the other Mandalorians. He wore pristine armor and spoke to the gathering of Mandalorians in the room. "Welcome to Morut, and I welcome you here. My apologies for the separation. The station is not large enough for all of us to gather together so we have had to resort to holos for all of us to speak. But I promise that before you go we will have a chance to speak face-to-face. I know that many of us have been at odds before, but the fact that you have come means that the time has come to put aside our petty differences and come together again. The Empire thinks us gone, but I do not see a people who will be forgotten. I see my brothers and sisters, warriors all, who have come for the time of awakening. It is time for us to rise, vode."

 

[Hiro]

Wow. Someone came underdressed. Kliff came in with guides, sneezing almost immediately in his helmet. His armor was less than proffessional, only wearing the standards. A chest plate to match the helmet, greaves and boots that lefted him about an inch off the ground. But make no mistake, he did not look ready for war. Probably the opposite, for he wore a jacket underneath and had the loose hood up to shroud his T-visor slightly.

It's a shame he never could stand the thing, taking both things off to get some breath of refreshed air. Kriff. He made a promise, however, to himself. He will attend. He will see what this is about, and then maybe later he'll leave and decide if it's worth it or not.

Clanless, familyless, Kliff almost felt alienated from everyone else who wore full armor and weapons. At most, Kliff had a pistol in his pocket like he always does. "Didn't know there was a dress code." He mused. Possibly to himself, but chances are it was an attempt to lighten the mood he felt. Silent looks certainly silenced him, though, and he evidently decided to be quiet and look to the hologram to draw away attention.

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Not all who came today would hear his words. They would continue on their own paths of self-defeat and they would feel none the worse for it, believing that it was the only way for them to survive. The lessons forced upon them over the weakness of the Mandalorians separated would fall on deaf ears and they would depart the way they came, alone. It would be a loss to the Mandalorians who stayed, but fighting alongside those who did not need to be there was worse than fighting without them. A warrior with a weak heart would watch their lines break and their brothers fall rather than risk their own skin. It was Sisk’s job to convince as many of the vode to rally to him today as he could.

“The old ways are finished. Our reliance on the unbreakable traditions of our people have led us to ruin and stagnation. For over a thousand years we have been unchanging, a steadfast bulwark against the tide of the galaxy. And what has it gained us?” He shook his head slowly. “I am as guilty as any of you, my reliance on tradition and my obsession with honor helping to force us down a path of ruin.” His words carried weight, weight that he had carried on his shoulders for far too long.

“We need to change, vode. We can no longer be the way we were. Our numbers are miniscule, our lethality and culture thought extinct. We’ve been scattered to the winds, bereft of direction without a single goal to bind us together. Although we are dangerous alone, together we are unstoppable. If we weren’t, the Imperium would have just let us fall to the inevitability of history, but instead they place a bounty on all our heads. You all know as well as I what that means.” Sisk had always talked with his hands, and they punctuated his words as he laid out his case.

“We are thought broken, destroyed, worthless. They think that we are barbarians who are going to disappear from the galaxy not with a bang, but with a whimper. But we have existed longer than any of them. The Mandalorians have walked the galaxy longer than the Sith, Longer than the GA, longer than the old Empire or Republic. We have even existed longer than even the Jedi. Our destruction has been sought by governments and cultures since time immemorial, but we have survived.” His face was grim, the words strong, and his voice carried the unmistakable tinge of a man who believed to his very core that what he was saying was right.

“The time of division is over. There are no more Loyalists and Separatists, there are no more Protectors and Crusaders. There are no more lines along which to separate ourselves from each other. For the first time in over a decade we have something that unites us all. The Empire thought that they could destroy us through their cowardice but all they have done is give us the need to band together again. The loss of our Aliit, our vode, without even the chance to strike back at their killers is an insult against all of us. We all have lost somebody. A father, a mother, a daughter, a son, a spouse.” His voice almost broke as he the words brought Xotomi to mind, but he steeled himself and soldiered on.

“Those voices cry out to be avenged. Their souls will not join the Manda until their losses have been repaid by the blood of the Imperials.” He paused, and as expected heard a murmur run through the room. “But we will not strike out mindlessly against our enemies. Our numbers are too few for a concerted offensive to lead to anything but our blood mingling with the dark earth. I would not see the light of the Mando’ade be extinguished by foolishness. Not again. To strike against the Imperials requires planning and patience, and a heartfelt drive from all of us.” His eyes roamed the room, meeting the gazes of those gathered. The holo in the other rooms was positioned so that it would seem he was staring into their eyes as well, giving his words and motions a gravitas that would carry to all.

“When the Taung first fought against the Battalions of Zhell on Notron, they took the name Dha Wherda Verda for themselves. Even outnumbered they still fought their enemies from a place of strength. They fought them from the shadows. This will not be a Crusade of old, where we fought toe to toe against an enemy. This will be a Crusade where we will strike against the Imperials from the darkness and then fade away again, leaving them bloody while we become more than men. More than myth. We will be the Warriors of the Shadow come to life.” Sisk had spent long months planning this, regathering his clan, and calling in old loyalties to bolster his forces.

“The Imperials believe themselves invincible. Hidden as they are behind the worlds that we won for them, guarded by the fleet we built for them. I intend to prove them wrong. I intend to show them that no matter where they hide, no matter where they run, no matter how secure they think they are, they can never escape from us. The darkness reaches everywhere, as will we.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words.

“We can no longer be fractured, vode. We can no longer afford to fight as the Clans. We must fight as the Mandalorians. We must become the Mando’ade once again. A General is needed, one who can lead us to vengeance against those who took from us everything. I do not want to do this alone but my Clan and those who have sworn for us will carry on by ourselves if we must. By any means necessary.” His hands extended outwards in a welcoming gesture, as if he were embracing his vode.

"Fight with me. Fight for what we've lost. Fight for what we can be again. Fight for the truth of the Mandalorians. The time has come for us to be one people again. No more shall there be Renelo or Skirata. Fett or Bralor. Let us all be Mando'ade."

 

[Crim]

The words coming out of Sisk Renelo's mouth were tough and true. Truer than the turning of the seasons or the harsh winters on Circ'yaim. As the man spoke, a feeling in Inga's diaphragm rose. Someone had to step up to the plate if the Mandalorians were to rise, or even survive. The Mandalorians needed someone who wouldn't be blinded by ambition, greed, or wanderlust. Someone who wanted a simple goal for the Mandalorians: survival. Inga looked around at the blank, masked faces of the amassed warriors at her flanks. They all stared at the hologram. Each of those warriors needed a leader. And, if what Sisk said was true, which is most certainly was, the Second Mandalorian Civil War was over. It had been, in fact, for a decade now. The only one keeping it alive was Jarmouth Kelborn, Inga's father and predecessor.

The Loyalists needed to come out of hiding. From the mighty Kelborn of Circ'yaim, hardy warriors ruling from their hidden planet of fjords and tundras, to the broken Skirata clan, their ranks decimated when the clan nearly destroyed itself in the Second Mandalorian Civil War. Inga knew she was about to make a decision that would shape the whole of Mandalorian history forever. She was bringing a hidden army into the light of day. She was bringing every man, woman and child on Circ'yaim into attention. The planet itself, from its people to the native species to the ancient mountains, was about to get a whole lot more attention. The promises of Renelo were grand and the only thing Inga had was the word of a man she'd never met before. She realized, though, that he represented the only chance the Mandalorians had at regaining their former glory.

Renelo's words weren't only a rallying call. They were an invitation for somebody to step up to the plate. As the man ceased talking, chatter amongst the Mandalorians began to rise. Inga knew this was her only chance. She marched to the center of the room and said, "The man is right. The time for unification now. Renelo is seeking someone who is ready to rise to the challenge. One who will answer the call of duty. I am Inga Kelborn, daughter of Jarmouth Kelborn and leader of Clan Kelborn and I am answering this call. For the last decade, my clan has hidden in the fringes of known space. We have clung to the title of the last Loyalists for ten years. But Renelo is right. There are no Separatists or Loyalists. No sides. No grey areas inbetween. We are Mandalorian or not Mandalorian. I command a force of Mandalorians that has waited for a worthy fight for over a decade. And I am willing to lend this force to fight in our honor. The time for exile is over. Now is the time for the Mandalorians to return!

 

[Tristar]

The room filled rather quickly that Calico was hard-pressed for personal space. The problem was solved by moving off to the entrance-now his exit- of the room and leaning on the walls of the hallway. Everyone of them were listening intently at the new comer speak, a female brash and bold. Very daring, heroic and first to proclaim her allegiance to the cause.

And a Kelborn.

Loyalist, or the last of them. He too, must speak up or be lost in the wave of folly. "Excuse me," said the mandalorian, way back with his arms crossed. His armor stood out- stark white, imposing and nothing like a Beskar'gam. Almost, perhaps. Save for the reflective surface of the mythosaur, nothing of him screamed Mandalorian like the rest of them. Yet he spoke with a clear voice.

"The man has his truths, I agree." That much Calico could get behind on. "The man has the voice of a leader, I agree." Another statement. A few feet shuffled- was he ever going to reach his point? Tassadar kept on rolling however as though oblivious to their discomfort.

"But does he have a plan? An army must have confidence in their general to be able to lead, guide and give out the best marching orders according to the situation. All I've heard is how we need to stand unified or die, as though we all didn't know that much." Raising a finger, he took a step forward at her. He was not aiming to intimidate her, but give the woman a clear picture of his being.

"I may not have been true to the mandalorian cause- I have had no clan asides from my own father who now is dead. I had no cause to fight, but to chose from which ever banner was willing and righteous. Yet I have seen death and bloodshed, lost loved ones- " His voice broke, remembering a marine who gave him courage in the face of several kilometers of hell.

"-and fought and bled as much as any of you. Am I wrong for tiring of more war, even as it is part of our culture? What assurance do we have that this war ends the war, that me, my children and God forbid my grandchildren has no need to suffer like we all have? I am willing, as all of you are to fight, perhaps one last time. "

Calico took a deep breath, and took off his helmet, showing off his face to the woman and giving her the eyes of a soldier still fighting. "But I am not strong to lose more loved ones." The air was still, silent.

"Tell me, not as a Mandalorian, not as a soldier but as a compatriot who has lost as much as I have, I am sure, that this fight will end grief, not bring more." He clenched his jaws, forcing his tears to never appear. Yet Calico's voice was strained, painful.

"Tell me, and I will bleed for this cause."

 

[Crim]

"Ner vod, you speak true and well. I am sure Renelo has a plan. He'd be a fool not to have a plan. Uniting the clans will, of course, require much deliberation and strategy. Many sleepless nights will be spent. But I have faith in my brothers and sisters," Inga said as she looked at the man in white. If he hadn't had a mythosaur icon on his face, Inga wouldn't have even known he was Mandalorian. Of course, there were others in the crowd that didn't particularly scream 'Mandalorian' through appearance alone. Inga looked at the man as he stood tall, in order to be noticed. Inga admired the fact that the man spoke up. The Mandalorians needed someone who was willing to speak up if he wasn't sure he was ready to throw himself into the fire. "Every fight brings grief. Every battle brings us closer to death. To delude oneself into thinking otherwise is foolish.

"But if we do not rise, if we remain in a state of disunity, the suffering has only begun. There will be no final battle, no romanticized last stand of the last warrior. The Mandalorians will die a long, painful death. Everyone we've ever lost will have been a casualty of this silent war." Inga had been over that scenario countless times in her head during many waking hours. It was the question that kept her awake during sleepless nights, if not the nerve pain. If the Mandalorians didn't unify, who would be the last Mandalorian?

 

[Dargeth The Hunter.]

As he watched the two argue over lost loved ones and the end of the war he glanced to the Padawan and raised an eyebrow and she shook her head, as he finally stepped from the shadow's and into the light his stance was deceptively calm and he glanced to the hologram of Sisk and chuckled " you people talk about war, about loss, about wanting it to end, but it never will ". As he shook his head he glanced to the two and snarled " when Sisk tried to unite the clan's, before the purge, tried to make the mandalorian's whole and stop our loss, the clan's fought among themselves ", his eyes turned to Calico and his eyes showed nothing but contempt and loathing. " You have lost loved ones and speak as if other's have not, including Sisk, he sacrificed more then most " and his voice betrayed a second of shame, " i myself am guilty of running into exile, not out of fear....but shame to be called a Mandalorian, a word that once brought fear now bring's scorn " and his eyes flared in anger.

As he looked to Inga he chuckled " and now the clan comes to fight, to stand by the people they abandoned to the Sith, i hope they remember that in the tales of history ", he tightened a hand into a fist in anger " i follow Sisk loyally, i always have, always will, the Sith and empire took loved ones from me and honor demands blood ". He looked around at the Mandalorian's and he showed nothing but pity " so join or not, it matter's little to me but the people i once called family, not as a clan but a people, you show nothing but dis-honour to that symbol you wear on your armour ". Turning back to Inga and Calico he wrinkled his nose " you think it will end with the Sith, the empire?, your as naive as a slave dreaming of freedom, this is what our people do, we fight, but now we fight for a reason, not for riches, not for honor, but to make a difference, so choose your place and stand by it or be known as the cowards that you are ".

The Padawan breathed in sharply nervousness running through her as she watched Kyouteki effectivley call the clan's out into the open and her hand slid the lightsaber from her belt but hidden under the cloak, her eyes watched and waited to see the reaction from those within the room.

 

[Crim]

Inga looked at the robed man talk, restating what Inga had just said. "You share my opinion to the letter and you realize why we must unite, yet you still speak. You raise a point, though. We seem to be our own enemies throughout history. Not the Empire, not some Republic or Alliance. It's ourselves. We destroy ourselves through our war and inaction. Each of us has lived in fear in some way or another. Hidden from the men in white while, plotting but never acting. Some have even turned their backs on the Mandalorians, taking new vows and creeds rather than standing with their brothers and sisters out of fear, or even shame. Each person in this room is guilty of this," Inga responded.

 

[Bantha]

Ayona stood at the back of the room in full armor, helmet clipped to her belt. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest and her jaw was clenched For the past several minutes she had remained silent, analyzing Sisk's words and the back-and-forth discussions of others. Thank the gods her Alor had not given hint of any suicidal missions against the Empire. She would've given him a piece of her mind, and heaven help them all if it came down to that.

After every point had been raised, she agreed with the majority of them. Others there recognized that no matter what path was taken, more vode would die. But they knew it was better to make a decisive strike with a chance at victory, than to run in fear and have imminent death with the Empire at their tails.

The next one to speak was an opinionated and confident human woman. She set Ayona on edge. Perhaps some had hid in fear, but what did she know of their personal circumstances? They were a scattered people, the Mandalorians were. Contact could easily have been lost between clan members. They were hunted, and on many Imperial worlds would be shot on sight. A status as bad as the Jedi, if not worse.

Finally, she had to speak.

“Let Kad Ha’rangir and Arasuum judge the individual. Not you, not me, not anyone,” she countered. Ayona’s conscious was clear. She hadn’t run in fear. Her clan was dead as far as she knew, and so she turned to the Rebellion knowing she could be of use. “We destroy ourselves through over-confidence, pride, and our tendency throughout history to become caught up in petty clan-against-clan disagreements.”

 

[Tristar]

He couldn't help it- there was a slight pang of anger in him. He fully expected to be opposed, but the emotional pain was still there. Others raised their voice to defend the point yet he still felt the urge to snap back.

-The bigger man is the man who keeps silent in a fight. Usually because it gives him time to rearm and reload.-​

So he stood and listened as words were fired back and forth, shifting his weight uneasily as tensions rose. This man, whom had so deliberately plunged a knife between his ribs had another one with him, a female. Was she his ward? Eyes narrowed and shifted to the man, constantly on point. It was until another participant entered the contest of wits did he stamp his foot down figuratively.

"First of all, I speak of my losses as an example, a representative. In no way do I imply no one else has gone through some form of loss. I simply say mine out loud because I can relate to it easier and therefore present it without doubt." It was wise generally to give clarity to the case. A clear case was a case that left it vulnerable, but at least no one could say you hid behind a wall of deceit.

"Next- this fight may not end the Sith, the Empire. The Jedi have proven it is impossible. Their reach has gone too far for us to cut the roots, but we can ensure that less of the galaxy fears them." Calico raised a hand and clenched it into a fist, suddenly filled with a surge of manic energy.

"And ensure that the galaxy fears us. Or at least, gives us our rightful respect and honor that we lost. Yet if the clans are to join, should it be met with criticism of how one views the galaxy? Or should we push asides differences and band up? It does no one good to hold a grudge on someone if they can't share your point of view. I say, tolerate and let go."

Slamming the fist to his chest, he gave the room a good view of his face before turning to address Kyouteki. "In one fell swoop you have cast aside people with doubts, when they are the ones that need a vision and courage to fight with us. We need numbers, even if they cannot fight they can aid us in many ways- do not cry out against them. Keep the naive, they fight harder than any other soldier- this I know from experience.

Keep the tired, because they can advice the naive to not overexert themselves and cost us more men. Keep the visionaries, because they give us hope even if there is none to be grasped. Keep the pessimist, because optimists often cannot see flaws in their plans. Do you not see? Everyone has something to offer to the cause."

A short breath, a quick nod at him. "If you stand by Renelo, as I now do, then help him gain more men- not throw insults at them on the pretense of mandalorian honor. Stand on the grave of several billion souls and ask them if honor even matters anymore. Keep your pride, all of us. It is men we need.

The people just need hope to fight. "

 

[Dargeth The Hunter.]

Kyouteki laughed softly looking at the two " the only reason they need to fight is that they are Mandalorian, any doubt should be washed away by that ", as he shook his head he looked at Calico and his eyes showed a glimmer of madness as his voice spat " and i would gladly stand on the graves of all Mandalorian's if it meant wiping the Sith and the Empire from this galaxy, even to their root's " and the Padawan breathed in a silent gasp. She felt the darkness in Kyouteki rear it's head and seem to cry out and for a brief moment her leg's trembled in fear as she had only felt this sort of emotion's when confronting Sith, as she studied Kyouteki she realized the depth of his hatred and the sheer intensity of his loathing for his enemies.

Kyouteki turned and strode towards the padawan and stopping halfway towards her he turned and looked back over his shoulder and his lips drew back in a sneer, " as for doubt's, when one stands beside you and is filled with doubt, it get's you killed, i want men beside me, not boy's who will run at the first chance or hesitate " and he clenched his fist in anger. He looked back to the Padawan and grinned " plus, i aim to kill the Empress myself, i want that Bitches heart in my hand when i rip it from her very chest ", he looked back to Inga and Calico " so pander your word's, but i will not tolerate fool's who doubt their heritage, a true Mandalorian would set aside all honour and clan's to destroy an enemy, not hesitate in fear ".

Walking to the Padawan he nodded and folded his arm's as he turned to lean back against the wall and study the rest of the room briefly before closing his eyes with a soft sigh, as he leant his head back against the room wall try to calm the anger that had built within him and he clenched his fists tightly.

 

[Hiro]

No, Kliff never has much to say. Or anything big to say, that is. His eyes bounced from person to person, hearing every word said. Pondering every point partaked. And as it turns out, he's very different than him. They all want war, blood to fix everything. Him? He just wants a peace. Something that's compromising and without any damn vengeance. Someone has to break the pattern, and quite honestly he wants it to be the Mandalorians.

Perhaps that's just him being disconnected for so long from his culture, if this is even his culture. Clanless, drifting, he wanted to be here. With some peace.

And yeah, peace cannot be reached without some bloodshed, but this is a bit much. "What happens when the Sith come back even if we win? They always have, they always will. Maybe it's safer to stay in hiding?"

And just like that, Kliff became the most hated person in the room.

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Sisk smiled at Echoyliir and shook his head slightly. It was a genuine smile, carrying up into his eyes and crinkling them at the corners. He knew the clan leaders words had carried to the rest of the gathering, transmitting the Bralor's words to the congregation gathered. This would require delicate handling. "You're right, of course. We are men of action. Words do not become us. I can talk all day but without action my words are worthless." His voice was strong, unwavering, and as he continued he placed his left hand upon his belt and used the right to emphasize his points. "But the fact remains that we need to be unified. Whether behind me or someone else, but we need to unite." He spread his arms and continued.*

"So I issue a challenge. I knew that unity would not come without a cost. If there is any Mando'ade here who doubts me, we shall settle it in the battle circle." And there it was. Mettle would be tested in the old way. Skill against skill alone. It was the old way.

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Spoiler: Loco's Post

Arya had been slowly making her way to the back of the room throughout the speech. As much as she wanted to be angry at Sisk, and angry at Ral for insisting they give him this chance, anger wasn't quiet what she felt listening to all of this. It was, essentially, exactly what she had expected. She'd give the man creds for such a well prepared speech and for having enough kriffing decency not to openly call himself Mandalore here, but he immediately lost them for lack of originality. Nothing he said was anything that every person on this station hadn't already thought about. They knew they were lost, and they were broken, and she was willing to bet Cloud City odds that every person here had, at some point, thought of the myriad ways they could strike back at the Empire for what had been done to them. How could they not? Vengeance and war were ingrained into them, deep down in the dregs of the soul where no matter how civilized they became, it would always be waiting.

And so, what she felt instead was exasperation. Maybe even a little depression, she recognized. Her people were going in circles- Sisk Renelo was just the latest loop. As Sisk's speech drew to a close, the noises of everyone else quickly stepped in to take it's place. There were pockets of discussion and argument both here in the room with her. Echoylir's rumbley voice made her sick to her stomach, and through the thick durasteel door she had finally reached, she could hear the shouted arguments echoing throughout the corridor from other rooms around the station. She figured as a matter of course that Sisk would generally walk away from this better off than he had been before. The Mando'ade were desperate for direction- she could sense that just from the air of eager anticipation practically oozing from many of the stations occupants. She couldn't bring herself to feel the same. She had seen and heard all this before, she felt, and even if Sisk could bring the majority of them together- and he probably could, it seemed- Arya Atin'al could not shake the feeling that he would unite them all only to see them destroyed for good. The thought made her want to shut off her voice modulator and scream herself hoarse inside her helmet.

She turned to leave, her breath catching in her chest. She didn't want to be in this room anymore. She couldn't bring herself to look at these people. She just wanted to go back to Ral's ship and get the hell away from this place. Rals transmission broke in on her thoughts just as she reached toward the door controls. Arya gritted her teeth as she listened. She told him she had a bad feeling about all this, and here it was- that dikut'la little girl he'd picked up was going to try her best to get herself killed in front of everyone. Arya clenched her fist over the door controls, and finally bounced it off the durasteel frame as she spun back to face Sisk.

"Verd'ika, if Renelo doesn't kill me fo' this, I'm killin' you." She spat venomously into her helmet comm before pulling off her buy'ce and clipping it to her belt, cutting off any response from Ral. She blew a sharp breath out through her mouth and shook her hands, then took the first step forward. The diminutive woman pushed and shoved her way to through the crowd, working her way to stand a few meters in front of Sisk and his holo-recorder setup.

Arya may not have liked Sisk Renelo very much, and she might even think of him among the worst (right up next to Echoylir) in a long list of bad candidates for Mandalore, but she hadn't come here with any desire to fight him. As much as she thought he was incapable of accomplishing what he wanted to do, that didn't change the fact that he had good and very possibly right intentions. Alora had just taken things out of sensible hands, though she probably didn't have any comprehension of what she'd just done. If Sisk beat the living hell out of the girl- even if he didn't kill her- he'd lose what little good will had been built among the clans here. Nobody would take him seriously for destroying a sixteen year old girl with virtually no experience and not even a proper beskar'gam. Refusing the girls challenge, which was as legitimate as it was stupid, could be far, far worse. Arya had been there and watched personally as Roxton Dagger tried to laugh off Corden's challenge- that single insignificant event had cascaded out of control and plunged the entire Mandalorian society into a rapid death spiral.

It could never be allowed to happen again. The only way Arya could see to save the situation was for someone else to beat Alora to the challenge. Well, she thought, et least I'll finally git to hit him...

"Oi! Ori'buyce, kih'kovid," Arya started loudly enough to be heard over the din, her gut clenching tightly- the insult would not go unnoticed- she tucked a locke of yellow-gold hair behind her ear, "If it'll make you stop talkin' fo' one second of you' di'kut'sheb life, I'll take you' chellenge, yeh? Old Bettle Circle. No beskad, no bleste's."

Sisk watched Echoylir walk away and sighed. He hadn't expected anything less of the Bralor leader. He had hoped that the old Bralor would have at least listened instead of dismissing everything that Sisk had brought them here to hear, but apparently it just wasn't to be. The old Alor just was to stuck in the old ways, to blinded by his own past that he couldn't see that Sisk was doing the honorable thing, the only thing that could be done. And if he must fight, he would. For the good of the Mandalorians. Perhaps Bralor would come to the fold, perhaps not. It was something Sisk would have to work for, and right now he wasn't sure if he was willing to. Clan Bralor had always pushed back against anyone but Vencu, and Sisk had his own thoughts about that. Perhaps he should have challenged Echoylir directly but for now that was thought for later.

He turned to face Arya and nodded his head slowly. "I accept your challenge, Arya Atin'al, and your terms. As always, the one who delivers the first true wound is the victor, and to step outside the circle means you must stand down. There will be no death in my home today." His fingers flashed quickly, motioning to a Renelo verd to go prepare the battle circle. Without a word the warrior disappeared into the depths of the station to the sparring room to prep the ancient way of settling grudges. Sisk had to admire the woman. The only reason she stepped forward at all was to save the foolish young girl that Ral Aran had brought here. To be willing to sacrifice yourself for someone you barely knew... It reminded Sisk of why the Mandalorians were considered family.

"I understand that Clan Ordo has retreated to the arms of the Rebellion. If you fall you will send them to me, as well as swear your loyalty. If I lose, myself and my Clan will join the Rebellion proper." The terms laid out, he turned to face the young Mandalorian who had entered through the far hatch, clothed not in beskar'gam, but in simple armored plates. Not even a buy'ce hung from her hip. His eyes narrowed as he observed her, and he lingered a moment before speaking.

"And you, Alora Sing, have no right to challenge a true warrior of the Clans. Although you are of age you are not a warrior yet. And although you survived the streets of Nar Shaddaa, it is something that millions of orphans have done. It is not a verd'goten, and thus you are still but a ge'verde, unable to challenge those who stand above you. You think to prove me weak and dishonorable, but I will not taint my name against one who has never even held a true beskad in their fist, who has never charged a line with her vode at her side. And in your haste to prove your moral superiority you have caused someone else to step forward to fight in your stead. Those are not the actions of a warrior, but of a petulant child." For the first time, his voice was cold, angry, hard.

"And until you have been deemed a warrior you will sit and hold your tongue. You are in my home and I will not tolerate actions that bring shame upon you and your people. Respect among the Mando'ade is earned, not given, and as of right now you have earned nothing but disdain.. Your words are hollow, echoes of a time that no longer exists, and until the Sith are gone will not exist again. By insulting those who have earned their place you bring dishonor to yourself and shame to the memories of your Clan. Once you have earned a stripe or two in combat perhaps you will be worthy to speak at a gathering but for now you will choose to hold your tongue or I will have you gagged." Such impudence! A girl who had no idea of who she truly was trying to teach those who had bled and died for their fellows how to be Mando'ade! If she had been part of his Clan penitence and reflection through combat would be ordered at the hands of a taskmaster until a lesson had been learned, but thankfully she was not.

Sisk turned on his heel to lead Arya through the twisting corridors, knowing that the feed to the other rooms would be cut off until they reached the Circle. But once there a connection would be established to allow those gathered to watch the duel and decide for themselves who truly held a claim to lead.

Off of one of the hangar bays sat a sparring room, 15 by 15 meters, with a 7 meter circle inscribed on the floor. The walls were lined with multiple blades and staffs of varying sizes and forms, but all of them held a deadly look characteristic to Mandalorian weapons. Sisk removed his gunbelt, slid the beskad from their sheaths, and then handed them in a bundle to a member of the wherda standing nearby. His place in the circle stood on the far side and he slid a pair of combat knives, 6 inches long and razor sharp from their places at his belt. A turn on his heel brought him to face her, and he saluted in the old way, a fist to his heart and a nod of the head. "May honor guide your hand, Arya Atin'al."