Rise From the Ashes (Sisk)

[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."

 

[Slamdingo]

Terras had not always been proud of his heritage in the past years. Not after everything that he'd been witness to in the past. That wasn't to say that he'd ever lied about what he was: he was Mandalorian and would claim that and everything else that one had to take with the title. And one of those things was the willingness and ability to survive.

Even when faced down by the Imperium and their own unrest, they had survived. Their numbers had been dropped, their armies decimated, and their fleets destroyed. But the culture, the idea of who they were as a people, had still survived. Out here in the depths of the veil, Mandalorians had proven that they could not be simply wiped out in one fell swoop, and even now they were converging to reorganize and come together again.

But to what end?

Terras had been left with some time as his escort led him further into the veil to ponder this. In fact he'd had his entire flight to think on what this meeting meant. What it could come to mean. And no matter how he looked at it, or what lies he tried to tell himself about it, the only answer he could come to was simple: war. War with the enemy. The one that had plagued them. Broke them. Driven them into shadows. And in a perfect 'verse, that would be - acceptable. Two groups of fighters squared off. But when two groups of the particular sort that was the Mandalorians and the Imperium collided there was always something - collateral about it.

Terras dropped his feet from where he'd had them resting on his flight console before grabbing his buy'ce as he saw what was presumably his destination drawing closer. As he passed through the cargo bay and was heading to the cargo ramp, a sharp whistle caught the attention of his droid assistant who'd been doing circuits around the edges of the re-purposed bay. Terras turned around to face him, still walking towards the ramp controls.

"Dr. Shakes."

"Yes, Dr. Sarza?" The droid stopped his rounds immediately.

Terras gave the droid a smile. "Keep an eye on the ship while I'm out. And don't let anybody on board before checking with me."

Dr. Shakes gave a curt nod before resuming his idle laps, "Of course, Dr. Sarza."

When Terras dropped his ramp, he would greet the party sent to meet him clad in his full armor, and his buy'ce until he'd realized they had forgone their own. It was kept secure at his belt opposite the side of his sonic pistol from there on. Only the barest pleasantries, by Mandalorian standards, were exchanged as Terras found himself escorted through halls of the station through one room or corridor after another. The station was small enough though, that he was able to memorize a majority of his route back to his vessel. It felt weird. These old instincts and habits coming back to him in proximity to those he might call brother.

Of course before he could ponder on that any further, his communicator had pinged with an incoming message from Shakes. A video feed had been provided, showing him the technician coming aboard, and after a firm warning from the Doctor that none of the medical equipment or supplies were to be touched and with the allowance that Shakes would be observing the proceedings, the issue had been handled of wiping the logs. Terras was a lone wolf at the moment, whether he wanted to be or not, and among the Mandalorians that meant he couldn't afford to take chances. Besides, it was a stranger that had wanted access to his ship.

Standing to the back, rather by himself, Terras crossed his arms, and observed the room around him and those in it. Particularly, the man of the hour, Sisk himself. After all, he was the center-piece that was bringing them together.

Yet as he listened to Sisk, he remained silent. Taking in the sight of the others present, and keeping his ears open. His time to come would speak. Ideally in private, directly to the man of the hour as he had said he'd be speaking with them each face to face. Besides, with no clan of his own to properly back him it would be in his best interest if the doctor heard what others had to say before putting his own neck out.

 

[Arisalin]

Elias moved with a slow but smooth purpose. He did not falter as he passed the men who meandered throughout the hallways doing their work on helping the arriving warriors, and did not speak to the ones who he knew. Buy'ce clipped to his side, he wore his full armor, the poncho he had so come to love flowing over it as a cover from the elements. Though it was not needed at the time, it was who he was. And who was he? Elias could not tell himself who he was now. Not like he had before. He could only say what he was, and that was a soldier. Maybe the title of father had lost it's appeal at the death of his son, and the same as for the name husband at the death of his wife. Understandable of course, but now he had other duties to perform. Duties that fit the one last title he had decided to keep. Brother, or friend.

Elias did as Sisk needed. His brother not by blood but forged in the fires of vengeance and before that war. Now he had to move from ship to ship, deleting the log entries to secure the safety and continuity of their survival. As he walked, he found himself coming upon the last few ships that needed checked. Minutes later, when he was allowed entry to the final ship, he was watched very carefully by a droid. This thought did not bother the slicer as he did his work. Honest work was the easiest to complete, and he left the ship with the same steady gait as he had entered it moments before.

He made his way towards the meeting room, eyes drifting about as he did so. Offering a curt nod to a young warrior who was making his way in the opposite direction, Elias finally entered the open room. The space was slowly being filled by the men who had come, and the tall imposing Protector made his way to one of the back corners, where he made sure to stand alone and to the side.

Elias mentally settled down to observe. Observe, and measure the crowd.

 

[Chask274]

As his fighter came into dock at the station, Aaron couldn't help but grin. Not since the Genocide had he seen so many Mando'ade in one place. Not even close. As the airlock sleeve sealed around the small craft's hatch, Aaron double-checked that he had everything. He paused for a moment, debating on whether or not to bring his rifle, and finally decided to bring it with. If people wanted to complain about his choice of weapons, that was their issue, and if for whatever stupid reason the osik hit the fan, he'd be ready. Not that he expected that to happen.

Once inside the station, Aaron followed the guides. "Sisk looks like he's got an organized group here, judging from the looks of the armor these guys are wearing. I wonder if it's his clan, or a different group...". Entering the indicated room, he noted a few other verde, and from the looks his armor, Sisk himself at the front of the room. "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. Welcome to Morut, and I welcome you here" Nodding at the introduction, Aaron smiled. He had actually expected the security measures, and the station's name was very fitting. A haven was definitely something they'd need if they were ever going to regroup. "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." The speech carried a meaning similar to Sisk's original transmission, and Aaron yet again found himself agreeing with it.

With the Mando'ade as scattered as they were, uniting them would be about the only way they'd ever make serious headway against the Imperium. However, getting to that point was also going to be the group's biggest obstacle as well, as the time since the fall of the Mandalorian Sector had left many people to form their own opinions, and not all of them would agree with each other. This would be an interesting meeting indeed.

 

[Loco]

Spoiler: Exceprt from Ral Aran's post

They had come a long way to get to the Shadow Veil from Bespin. It took a long time, most of it traveling through that blue-white tunnel that was Hyperspace. For Ral, he had tried to make sure the journey was as comfortable as possible for the people he was traveling with. With him was of course Carii, the girl Alora who had been tagging along with them for some time now, Ral's friend Ceres, and Arya. Arya had taken the most convincing to have her join them, and only after Ral had made the reasonable point that it wouldn't hurt to go and hear out what Sisk has to say did she finally acquiesce. Of course, the whole ride to the Shadow Veil Ral had received an earful from her. In fact so "colorful" was Arya's speech around Ral that he had picked up on a few choice phrases and words.

In the moments after the Renelo warriors separated her from her companions, Arya was grateful for the chance to be alone in her helmet. Despite her less than savory attitude toward Ral and the others (who had undoubtedly had their vocabularies expanded by her efforts) during the trip to the Veil, Arya had experienced a virtual avalanche of emotions and dredged up memories over the last few days, and the arrival here at their destination had only compounded it. She was not dealing with it well.

The first hint that something was wrong with her had occurred early on. It was a simple interaction between herself and Carii that triggered it- Carii mentioned in her Concord Dawn farm girl drawl something totally inconsequential, and Arya had replied in her more musical pattern from the mountains of Manda'yaims Northern Hemisphere. It was with a sudden shock several minutes later that Arya realized none of them had spoken a word of Basic in recent memory. Ral had the same drawl as his riduur, though less pronounced and with his customarily short mode of speech. The girl Alora and Ceres, when they deigned to grace the rest of the company with words, were bizarre dialects that Arya couldn't begin to place, with a smattering of Huttese on Alora's part- but, as strange as they may sound, Arya understood it all. When she realized this seemingly simple fact, she had begun wracking her brain to remember the last time she had spoken so easily with anyone. When she figured it out, the pain was almost too immense to bear. Aside from brief exchanges with people like Ral, or the other scattered and infrequent encounters she had with her own kind, she'd not had a full conversation in Mando'a in just over two years. The memory was more vivid than she could have imagined... She and Aeden lounged against the balcony railing, hot cups of caf in hand, chattering quietly about the days planned trivialities as they watched the pinkish sun rise over the mountains of Manda'yaim- blissfully unaware that they had less than an hour before their lives would be shattered, or ended.

After this Arya began sorting through the feelings she was having, but to no avail. Simple words and phrases tugged at her soul, the dead besuilik in the hold and Alora's pet strill seemed to follow her with visual sensors and beady eyes (respectively), and a simple look she had shared with Alora herself revealed more about the both of them than Arya would have imagined. She couldn't help but feel torn between how much she missed her world and yet how... separated she felt from it all. It was as if she was watching herself interact with the others rather than really being there. There were the makings of everything she had known her entire life, but she just couldn't feel as if she were truly a part of it anymore. Try as she might, she could not figure out why she felt this way and that feeling of not knowing disturbed her deeply.

Arriving in the Veil had first served to fill her mind with a fresh bout of memories. The clashing riot of nebula was beautiful to look at, but the very first glimpse had shot a new round of pain through her. The deep blues and vivid golds imposed on the inky blackness of space reminded her chillingly of Roon- her aliits home in exile after the first evacuation of Manda'yaim. She had been among the first of her people to lay eyes there in centuries, standing at Damri's side on the bridge of his flagship. Leaning over Ral and Carii's shoulders in the cramped freighter cockpit as they approached the welcoming party Sisk had arranged didn't quiet have the same effect.

From there she was thankfully able to distract herself as she evaluated the situation. She judged their abbreviated jump had been designed to throw off any would be pursuit, and when the station itself came into view she suspected their nav computers memory would be wiped, despite it being slaved to the fighter escort anyway. The double and triple redundancy in this method gave her the first welcome bit of news- whatever she felt about Sisk's usurpation (that's what she was calling it), at least he was taking the security aspects of this meet seriously. Next she set to work trying to estimate the size of the assembly. Aside from the fighters and the few shuttles and small ships she spied in the hangar they set down in, she estimated the station could support a sizable crew. The various arriving ships had been sorted into various hangars or assigned to docking tubes surrounding the station, so it was difficult to judge the true size of the congregation, but when Ral lowered the docking ramp she got answer enough.

The Renelo crewmen and a number of other clans she could pick out easy moved about the station in the precise, methodical manner she'd nearly forgotten existed in the galaxy- certainly not in the Rebellion. Moreover, she was shocked at the sheer number of people in the hangar and that they passed as they moved deeper into the station. As the escort led her deeper into the facility Arya realized she had never expected that this number of warriors escaped their peoples near extinction. The population was not large by any means perhaps numbering a few hundred rather than anything approaching thousands, but the riot of noise and color was so tantalizingly familiar that Arya found herself nearly overcome by it. Her escorts dutifully ignored the jerky motions of her head as she struggled to maintain composure, fighting the urge to run about the station like a little girl. Even here though, surrounded by her people for the first time in years, she could feel the nagging sense that she was somehow outside of it all looking in.

Her escort guided her to an unmarked durasteel door that whisked open at their approach, where he left her. The implication was clear, and Arya stepped inside into the press of bodies- standing room only- and slowly worked her way forward with a series of muttered "su'cuy" and "N'ep' Tak'" as she bumped into men and aliens and stepped on the occasional toe. The gathering was an uncomfortable mix of somber silence and enthusiastic reunions. She had no doubt that at a gathering this large- likely the first of its kind since the genocide- many people would hold out hope of finding lost friends and loved ones, and she briefly wondered what being able to hold onto a hope like that would be like. Not everyone had that luxury.

Sisk was easy to spot at the head of the room, keeping himself separated from the onlookers in front of a holorecorder setup. He looked healthier than the last time she'd seen him, and she supposed the sudden shortage of prison food and torture agreed with him. His armor, likewise, clearly sported new repairs and a gleaming fresh coat of paint. She hoped dearly that he had learned something in his time on the Reckoning, and suddenly regretted not being able to speak more with him before they had parted ways after the battle- him off to soak in a bacta tank, her to resume her command at Bespin. She wanted nothing more than for Sisk to have something sensible to say- but for all his prowess as a warrior, Arya refused to really get her hopes up on that point. She'd helped affect his rescue for a number of reasons, none of which had anything to do with the poor dikut'sheb being Mandalore reborn, but here she was at his kriffing announcement party, clinging to her memories of better days.

No sooner had she assumed a position near the front than Sisk stepped forward, clearing his throat.

Well, osik, here goes. I'm really going to have to kill Ral for this...

 

[Dmitri]

Wehre Vuvat walked into the room with his fellow brethren. Well, fellow Mandalorians. It had been months since Wehre had seen any of his fellow clansmen. He wasn't sure if they were in hiding or had all been killed during the Second Mandalorian Campaign. That was a frightening thought. The last member of a once-large clan.

Wehre didn't know too many of the individuals present. Sisk was the only familiar name. However, clan names were frequent. Renelo was the biggest. That was when some more Mandalorians entered through the doorway. Their armor however wasn't rusted or charred, but as if brand new. Something didn't feel right. But before a word could escape his lips, the lead Mandalorian's image distorted. A second later he was replaced by Geist Weiss. Geist immediately stabbed Wehre in the chest with his lightsaber. Geist and his entourage immediately began firing upon the other Mandalorians.

"You may have survived Reckoning, but do not think you can get pass me," the Sith taunted.

The Dark Lord of the Sith unleashed Force Lightning upon Carii and Sisk. Mandalorian armor was good against blaster bolts, but was vulnerable to electricity. Sisk might be able to defend himself, but Carii would have a more difficult situation. But behind them was an even nastier present. They had brought an explosive with them, connected to the deadman switch on Geist's wrist. Were Geist to die, the explosive would take out all the Mandalorians present with him.

All the Mandalorians would die. None would escape the Imperium. There was nothing they could do. They were all going to die.

"Wehre."

Wehre's eyes snapped open suddenly as his body was slightly shaken. The instigator of the movement was the hand of a Mandalorian, looking at Wehre. As his sleepy daze left him, his anxiety lessened. He almost let out an audible sigh. It had only been a dream. The Mandalorian, whose name escaped Wehre, immediately left Wehre to address the others who were arriving.

 

[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."

 

[Slamdingo]

So this was how it was, then? Terras frowned, nearly scowled, as he listened to the man's speech.

Not a single thing had changed.

Oh of course, he could talk about how he desired change. Any di'kuit who had a grasp of language could do that. Terras had once heard somebody say that a politician was a soul that could talk endlessly - and by the end of it have said nothing. And with each passing moment that was all Terras was beginning to hear. Rhetoric. Chest-thumping. He talked of change in the way a "true" Mandalorian did: let us not change our out look on war, but on how we fight the same fruitless wars so we can "win" them "better".

Part of Terras wanted to eat it up like some others in the crowd without asking questions. But he remembered too much. Like many of the older ones here who's hair had begun to turn gray with time, he had seen war. Seen how it could twist men - bend and shatter them like glass.

Skulk in the shadows or stand on a hill and demand your enemy scale it to come meet you. A war, was a war, was a war. This Sisk fellow could talk on and on all he wanted about their need for "change" and how he wished to rethink how the Mandalorians did things. But not in any meaningful way. He wanted to go from throwing their people at a head-on suicidal war into skulking about in the shadows of a suicidal war. Literally nothing had changed from the stubborn leaders of old save for the voice and the number of potential bodies at this one's disposal. From where he stood off to the sides of the main crowd, Terras looked to the exit he'd come from - plotting a clear line.

He hand't left yet, however. He looked back to Sisk, lips curled in a harsh frown, and with arms crossed tightly.

"Go ahead." Terras was more tiredly, and perhaps a little angrily, breathing the words to himself than to anybody around him, "Keep talking. You've done such a great job of convincing me so far."

 

[Arisalin]

Elias sat and listened, there was little for him to do yet. This was not his time. Sisk had to make the words believed. Elias had spoken for the Clan before in the other man's absence, and only then did he truly appreciate the oratory skills it took. Elias did consider himself fearless, but he found himself stumbling over the responses of others. How could they not understand?

Sisk was right in two aspects especially, though the Protector found himself agreeing with what his Alor said overall. These specific things were the Imperials did think they were invincible. They thought that they could not be challenged, and that was a weakness. One the Mandalorians would surely use against them.

And the other? The Clans needed a leader.

 

[Chask274]

Aaron smirked, as Sisk had pretty much hit the nail on the head as far as what the Mando's as a group should do. But, yet again, he acted like several years worth of opinion and grudges from the civil wars was just going to go away. With Mandalorians being as famous as they were for their stubbornness? "Yeah, good luck with that part of your plan, vod." Aaron didn't personally have any animosity towards any other Mando's, aside from any Force-users, but that didn't mean that others wouldn't.

As he looked around the room, Aaron sighed. Even if the verde in this room were only a part of the group currently on the station, it would take a lot more before they could really be a force to be reckoned with. Which is exactly why Aaron liked the sound of this 'Warriors of the Shadows' buisness. They could strike back in small ways while they built up their strength. This situation had it's flaws, but Aaron was starting to like it more and more.

 

[Silverface]

There was an overwhelming sense of deja-vu as Echoylir pushed his way to the front of the small gathering around the hologram of Sisk Renelo. It reminded him of that failed peace summit with the Sith, where the very same man who is calling for unity now was baying for war then. Mira, ever his shadow, was somewhere behind him as Echoylir Bralor reached the front, the oldest warrior in the room by a measure of decades. His armour was tattered, worn down to bare metal in several places, the armourweave threadbare. Even his visor was cracked. And he walked with a prominent, obvious limp and soft gasps of pain as he moved.

He stood and listened to what this hologram of Sisk had to say, arms crossed over his armoured chest. The old warrior was frowning inside his helmet. Sisk was making grand promises, pitching his voice and generally -acting- in the way that would garner him the support he wanted. Echoylir wasn't buying it. He was too long in the tooth to fall for such things anymore. He was reminded of the civil war, with it's myriad of warlords trying to gather support with the same methods, the same words about thinking for the future.

And judging by the body language of the other warriors around him, some were buying into it. And Echoylir couldn't shake the feeling that this whole situation was a trap. A hidden 'Protector' station this big in Wild Space? The materials needed for this place would've been better used in the Core Blitz on more ships, more medicines and armours and weapons. It stood as nothing more than an example why the Protectors were a bad idea. A rogue element that only paid lip service to Corden Vencu.

Echoylir let out an irritated sigh as he turned his attention back to Sisk.

"A grandiose promise is worthless, Sisk" was all he said aloud.​

 

[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.

 

[Loco]

Spoiler: Rise From the Ashes (Ral Aran)

Watching with impassive, cold eyes, Ral found Sisk's open challenge to be quite interesting. Hopefully his willingness to accept a challenge from those who found him unworthy of the title of leader would not cost him his life, nor the life of any other there. Most of the people here were true Mandalorians, as differing as their views might be. Ral believed them to be too few to sacrifice their lives in such a petty pursuit. Hopefully, if someone did accept it was because they had a legitimate grievance with Sisk and his leadership of the Mandalorians, not because they had some stupid complex. And yet, as Sisk spoke the words, Ral could hear Alora accepting it nearby. With a roll of his eyes, Ral turned to face the teenager. Just because she had lived on her own for several years in the belly of Nar Shaddaa did not make her an adult, or at least one worthy and honorable enough to fight Sisk over some petty disagreement. Carii, for her part, seemed just as shocked as Ral was that a sixteen year old girl would dare challenge a battle-hardened warrior with Sisk's experience, not mention his already formidable combat capabilities. As he took a step forward he could hear Ceres speaking, advising Alora in a whisper that she couldn't do this. That this wasn't the way. Stepping forward, Carii nodded. "Alora, please don't. You can't throw your life away so rashly. Surely there will be someone who will wish to challenge Sisk. He didn't summon only his friends to this station, there are old rivals here as well. Don't try and take on the man. No one will take your point seriously if you do."

Unsure if Alora would head Ceres' wise council, Ral opened a comm channel to both Arya and Sisk. At the very least they should know that they were about to have some underage company. "Heads up everyone, the adi'ka Alora is on her way down to challenge Sisk... She's on some self-righteous quest of Mandalorian Honor. I honestly have no idea where this is coming from, but be prepared, if someone doesn't step up, you may find yourself killing a teenager..."

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."

 

[Silverface]

Echoylir kept his arms crossed over his chest, helmeted head tilting down in thought as he listened to the clamouring voices. A few already spoke up in response to the challenge, declaring their intent. He sighed quietly, fearing that he knew how this would go. He'd seen it before, only a few years ago. Multiple warriors bellowing challenges for the title and power of Mandalore, cutting up a formerly unified people over a title and the perceived power it gave. He was quiet for a long time, just thinking, going over everything he'd done up to this point. Eventually he let out a quiet sigh.

"I can see how this is going to go already. This has happened far too often in the last twenty years. The infighting, the bickering. I will have no part of this madness" Echoylir spat out, the sheer undisguised venom in his voice entirely out of character for him. He was normally calm, soft voiced, parental. This.. this was raw disgust. Unbottled, free flowing disgust.

"I am done here" he growled out as a final statement, turning his back on the holographic-Sisk and stalking from the room, forcibly shoving any warrior who stood in his way aside. There was nothing more to it. Echoylir had seen enough.


And the walk back to the Krayt's Claw did little to improve his mood. The two burly, armoured akk dogs that had been his recent companions had kept Renelo technicans at bay from the ancient gunship, preventing them from gaining access. It was only until Echoylir had boarded and then emerged with a hard copy of his navicomp's data did they get a chance to maintain their precious secrecy.

​

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

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."

 

[Chask274]

Aaron watched and listened to the various exchanges occurring around the room. At this point, Aaron's support of Sisk's cause was pretty much guaranteed. A leader who was willing to be challenged and receive criticism, and not have the critics/challengers hauled out without good reason, was a good leader in Aaron's book. The challenger initially surprised Aaron, but after Sisk addressed the verd'ika, he realized it was to protect the girl. While Alora had made some good points, she still had a log way to go before she'd be able to properly challenge someone to a duel. With the stakes set where they were, this would be a very interesting fight. "Good luck,vod"

 

[Loco]

Arya's cheeks flushed brilliantly red as she stalked behind Sisk Renelo into the sparring room he had clearly set aside for this not unexpected event. Her hands clenched into tight fists, and she fought to keep her vision straight and unblurred. In one fell swoop, Sisk had managed to undermine her entire intent- making a fool out of her in front of the entire congregation in the process. She had no real desire to fight Sisk here, beyond the very strong urge just to give him a good whack in the face. She didn't have any desire to lead these people either. No, she didn't want to see Alora mercilessly beaten, but most importantly she didn't want the sort of embarrassment that everyone would suffer from watching Sisk turn down his first and possibly only challenger, mirroring Mandalore Dagger and the events that plunged their people into this death spiral so many years ago. So much for that. Now she could only hope that the following show was enough to distract everyone from the crippling stupidity of the whole situation.

Arya stripped off her scarf and half cape, and handed them off to one of Sisks attendants as he had. She slipped her short curved beskar dancers knives from the small of her back, then unbuckled her own gunbelt and draped it over her other articles on the attendants arm. She deftly flipped the knives into their opening stance- front hand blade up, rear hand blade reversed, as if prepared for a stabbing motion. She was aware of how out-of-practice she was with this form of combat, despite considering herself a master artist in it. On Mandayaim, she could practice with her aliit, but now the Jakalian knife dance was all but extinct- her only recourse was thrashing an endless stream of eager crewman who amounted to little more than practice dummies. Sisk Renelo was no practice dummy.

She carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with her pinky finger as she squared up across from Sisk. Cheeks still flushed, she repeated his traditional salute, holding it for a moment to reply;

"Don't mistake me fo' some sort of lord like you'd like to be Sisk. I cen't speak fo' the Ordo's eny more then you cen, but" she added reluctantly through gritted teeth, more angry than ever at the situation, "I'll... encourage them to conside' it, yeh?"

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Sisk nodded slightly as she finished. "I am sorry that you were forced into this, Arya. I know this is not what you wanted, vod. But your honor will remain untarnished for the act of stepping forward to protect a fellow, even a misguided one." His body relaxed into a combat stance, one knife held forward and in a reverse grip, the other tucked in near his chest in a traditional hold. "And I do not aspire to be a lord. I only wish to give the Mandos purpose and hope. And you hold more sway with Ordo than you think. To hear you speak will convince a clan known for their honor and prowess to follow me. Your word is good enough for me."

As he talked he had been moving forward, balanced expertly on the balls of his feet, ready to move in any direction. His forward blade flashed in a quick outward strike, flashing upwards towards Arya's arm while his torso rotated and his back-held blade moved forward in a piercing move. These were swift and deadly, but designed as more probing moves than anything. Sisk was not a viper like the small woman, but more of a force of nature, his very body honed to be unpredictable, unstoppable, and utterly resilient.

 

[Loco]

From there, nothing was left to be said. Arya watched as Sisk closed the distance and she stood her ground patiently, as if lying in wait. The difference, she knew, between probing strikes and something more substantial was little more than intent. Sisk was fast, but she doubted he was faster than she. He was much stronger though, and very much larger- his reach was likely half again her own, and he was more than experienced enough to take full advantage of the fact. In a fight to the death, Renelo would have a distinct advantage. Here, the threat was less serious. In the dueling circle Arya could mitigate his extra reach, and her knives would pierce his skin as easily as his would hers- strength was a moot point.

Arya twisted toward Sisks upward strike making so that his piercing strike couldn't touch her without crossing his body and exposing him to counterattack. She stepped off, lunging and crouching low to minimize her already small target profile. The move would carry her past Sisk. One of her blades went high, seeking to intercept the wrist of his high strike. The second went low, a harrying strike at his leg as she passed. One arm high, one arm low, both across her body, giving her ample defense against the inevitable counter.

Sisk was good, sure, but so was she...

 

[Loco]

Minutes later...


The Renelo warrior tripped and tumbled unceremoniously out of her path... Ok, so... maybe she had pushed him. Arya was in no mood to feel remorseful for the discourtesy however, as she spit blood from her mouth. Her whole face was flushed brilliant scarlet- almost the same shade as the thin crimson line that now followed the line of her left cheekbone. Sisk's words would be forever burned into her mind- niceties, congratulating her for being a worthy opponent; dripping with the same casual condescension everyone around him had to suffer through every time he opened his dikut'sheb mouth.

She had been so close. So close. Her hidden gauntlet blade had been mere centimeters off target, skipping across Renelos hardened beskar armor just below his rib cage. So close. She had quickly slipped under the counter attack, sidestepped the knee aimed at her abdomen, and then... a slip of her footing on the deck let Sisk blade caress her cheek... and that was it. That was the end of it. They'd exchanged a few good blows, but Sisk had drawn first blood and by rights won the contest. In her current rage, sinking a good elbow into Sisk face was hardly a consolation prize.

Fuming, Arya burst through the hatch into the hangar even as the door whisked open ahead of her.

"RAL, YOU SHABUIR'IKA DI'KUT! GIT ME OUT O' HERE!"