Ask Vúlfurian Boys

[Ferus Vúlfur]

Ferus was wandering the galaxy aimlessly for some time now, going from planet to planet looking for work. The Nebula Ranger had grown to be the Mandalorian’s home, and he was slowly growing accustomed to the company of actual living organics. His life had changed so drastically from the nostalgic but melancholic years of training under his father. Although nonetheless still lived within him the spirit of a man who wanted to forget all about credits and work, a spirited fragment of himself that believed his focus should remain solely on attempting to reorganize the people of Clan Vúlfur into a resemblance of their past glory.

These feelings had now driven Ferus to the atmospheric habitats of Bespin, wherein lived an agent of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild whom the Mandalorian had contacted through the HoloNet. The agent was a young and energetic Mythrol with a keen sense for business, which attempted at several turns to convince the Mandalorian to join the Guild. However, as the Vúlfurian repeatedly proved disinterested in his offers, the Mytrol eventually gave up the location of a rumored Mandalorian covert in exchange for some credits.

Coverts were not as hard to find as they were during the times of the Empire, where their secrecy was paramount to their survival. Ferus himself had encountered possible locations of a handful of these hidden Mandalorian groups, but none that matched what he was searching. However, as the Mythrol described the sightings of the Mandalorians of this particular group, the verdgoran was sure he had tracked his goal. Among the populace of Batuu, the rumor was that occasionally Mandalorians encased in finely-crafted armor of colored ferrous black and a magmatic red sometimes appeared, bearing the symbol of a mythosaur. Undoubtedly the trappings of Clan Vúlfur, these Mandalorians surely were descendants of the verdgoran tradition. Ferus smiled, his people yet lived.

_________________________________________________________________

BATUU​

The Nebula Ranger skirted the atmosphere of Batuu, a planet Ferus had never heard about until his recent meeting on Bespin. The world seemed to have once been a popular stop for those making the dangerous voyage to the Unknown Regions. However, the recent opening of new hyperspace routes turned Batuu into a forgotten backwater world. A perfect place for a Mandalorian covert.

Ferus could not help but feel a great deal of anxiety as he departed the Nebula Ranger. He knew little of the people he was searching for, perhaps their traditions because of the years of separation from Mandalore, or maybe they would have adopted the Way of Mandalore like many others. His mind raced with thoughts as is natural for his personality. Ferus attempted to think about all the possible outcomes of this meeting while he holstered his Peacemakers and dressed his helmet. The cargo ramp of the Nebula Ranger lowered, and the Mandalorian emerged into the unknown planet. The lowering ramp allowed the spaceport of Black Spire Outpost into view, an outpost named for the giant black trees that surrounded it and known for being a haven for smugglers, rogue traders, adventurers, and bounty hunters.

The Myhtrol on Bespin had contacted the Bounty Hunters’ Guild representative on Batuu in Ferus’ behalf, who had agreed to contact a hunter of the Mandalorian covert in order to set up a meeting in the local cantina. Ferus knew little about the layout of the city. Nonetheless, he paved his way through the crowds of aliens that rushed through the city. Bith mercenaries, Blutopian and Ithorian merchants, Devaronian and Weequay hunters, Lurmen mechanics, Toydarian scavengers, and even the occasional Wookie could be seen walking around in this oddly multicultural hub in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. However, Ferus could not see a single Mandalorian among the crowds. He could only hope that there would indeed be remnants of his people there and that he was not walking into yet another trap.

Ferus entered the cantina carefully, looking around the crowd. Not a single Mandalorian there, but perhaps his contact had yet to arrive. Deciding that he couldn't lose anything by waiting, the Mandalorian ordered a drink and sat on one of the empty tables, looking closely at the entrance for the hopeful appearance of another of his people.

@Lydeck

 

[Vaeco Vúlfur]

Prior to this moment the newly graduated foundling, and a follower of the Verdgoran tradition, made the town of Galma his temporary home. For a few months he'd help protect their borders and residents. In exchange their mechanics would employ him as an apprentice, unpaid but willing to learn a trade that shapes the fundamentals of his craft. Their methods were obviously a far cry from his Clans traditional methods and much like the forges in his Covert they'd adapted to becoming more innovate with the materials available to them.

During Vaecos tenure in the small town he'd established a clear routine in his day to day activities. Mornings and early afternoons were spent at the garages where he'd learn under a qualified mechanic, certified or not. Certificates meant nothing this far from the Core Worlds and wisdom often outweighed intelligence. The men and woman who specialized in the trade spent the majority of the time maintaining vehicles and machinery rather than blasters and armour. The theories were loosely similar but actual application and first hand knowledge was something quite different. Late afternoons to early evenings were his private time which were usually spent honing his own craft, and if necessary, upkeep his equipment. From dark to dawn he worked with others patrolling and guarding the township from internal and foreign threat. While a temporary resident of Galma his blaster was rarely required. It was sufficient to say he was somewhat disappointed, not for the absence of violence but the absence of his services.

His departure was bitter sweet. Vaeco looked forward to taking the next step in his journey for personal growth, both as a Mandalorian Warrior and Smith. But he'd come to relish the early mornings at the garages, the smell of java being brewed as the doors rolled open to greet the days first customers. He'd miss not being alone. Isolation was ill fitting for him, ironic considering his kinds withdrawl from the Galaxy. But in his Covet he had his Family, and kin who returned as often as they left. On the 'road' it was himself and his droid companion, a utility droid who often assisted him in his repairs and fabrications. She was practically a mobile workbench.

The Verdgoran prepared himself for travel by gathering the few items in his possession. He slid on the underlay of his attire, a thermal under suit which protected him from the vast temperatures of the forge. It also had its uses in a literal fire fight, or extreme climates to a lesser degree of protection. He then slid on the robed shawl created of armorweave, hand made by his Mother and one of the few parting gifts shed imparted on him before he left the Concave. Its fibres were stained a molten red, one of the two colours of Clan Vúlfur and the crest of the Mythosaur on his breast. Finally he slipped on his beskar, an incomplete suit comprising of 5 pieces. A pair of gauntlets and greaves completed with the T visor helmet largely associated and recognized as Mandalorian. His beskar reflected the dark reds and charcoals of his House.

With a bag over his shoulder and his ensemble equipped, he farewelled his former neighbours, offering them a salute of thanks before sliding his helmet. His journey continued.

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He'd arrived in Batuu a few days ago though it was a long deviation from his path. He'd planned to go to another outlying settlement a few days north of Galma. To his surprise he'd received an encrypted transmission via his droid from the Concave, instructing him to meet with a contact in the Cantina of the Black Spire Outpost. Vaeco reluctantly agreed to the request, understanding he'd have to travel to the settlement in due time to depart the Planet. As it was a formal request from the Guild he was less than suspicious, regardless he adorned himself in his armour before sliding the comfortable helmet over his face, the display lighting up.

The walk to the Cantina from his lodging was short of half a standard hour, even shorter with a taxied hover vehicle. The Cantina door slid open, the noise indicating a new arrival to join the hive of villiany and scum. His charcoal and molten draped form stepped into the premises, his T visor helmet indicating his allegiance with the Mandalorians, his colours signifying his loyalty to the House, his emblem to Clan. Along his hip dangled a clipped baton and on his sternum rested the dual functioned blaster, holstered but ready for action at any moment. A cache and sash wrapped around him holding the many tools of his trades. He stood in the doors entrance at a humble height, his size unimposing but his stature holding a hardness bred from the Mandalorian way. His visor stared directly in the direction of a giant, a huge being donning the beskar with colours similar to his own.

@JMSix

 

[Ferus Vúlfur]

Ferus’ eyes widened in disbelief as another Mandalorian walked into the cantina, the colors of his armor and the insignia hanging on his chest leaving little doubt that this was also a Vúlfurian. The other verdgoran appeared young, even if his helmet hid his exact age, and his armor remained incomplete. Beskar and other armor-weaving materials were probably extremely rare in such distant corners of the galaxy, and life within a Mandalorian covert can be one of hardships. Although Ferus had spent a decent chunk of his life on the Aranov, he still remembered the years he spent searching for it with his father, wandering from planet to planet, and from covert to covert.

Nonetheless, his armor is clearly a product of Vúlfurian craftsmanship. The quality of the craftsmanship and the incredibly detailed design proved it even more so than the colors and symbols. Ferus was immediately relieved as he scanned the finer details of the other Mandalorian’s armor. This man was a skilled Vúlfurian verdgoran, and his craft announced it better than any words could ever do.

He arose from his seat, towering over most of the cantina, perhaps only shorter than one of the Trandoshans drinking in the farthest corner, and gesticulated for the other Vúlfurian to join him at the table. Ferus removed his helmet as he sat down, placing it atop the table. Taking the first sip from the drink he had previously ordered, Ferus waited as the young verdgoran approached him. For a moment he wondered if he should have kept his helmet on, maybe considering the other Mandalorian could perhaps follow the creed of the Way of the Mandalore, which dictated that a Mandalorian should never remove his helmet. However, he quickly brushed these thoughts aside as his tribesman drew near.

“Su'cuy vode.” Welcomed Ferus, as he once again rose and extended his hand, offering a handshake. “I’m Ferus Vúlfur, son of Khusēh Vúlfur and direct descendant of Marh Vúlfur. I have searched this galaxy for others of our kind, and it is a great pleasure to have finally found you. Tell me vode, what is your name? What is your craft? Are your people well?”

@Lydeck @Vaeco Vúlfur

 

[Vaeco Vúlfur]

Upon entering the establishment he was greeted with a towering suit of beskar, signalling for Vaeco to join the table. He assumed this was the contact he was instructed to meet as he gently wove through the seated groups to the back of the Cantina. The first thing to strike his eye was the ensemble. Theverdgoran took a professional interest in the craftsmanship, picking up the subtle reinforcements of durasteel among the beskars structure. From behind his shaded visor his hazel eyes recollected visible armaments but most noticeably the gorget extending from his helmet. It was a rare feature especially among the numerous Mandalorian Clans and its application was reserved to a single House, to his knowledge. Overall the level of craftsmanship was exceptional and internally he complimented its fabrication.

What caught his eye next were the colours which polished its surface. Traditionally suits of beskar were stained with their House and Clans banner. Independent operators coloured their armour based on their morals and codes. Vaeco would have chalked the similarity in pigment as coincidence were it not for the Mythosaur hanging atop his beskar, confirming any doubts to how similar they really were. After he was greeted in both Basic and the Mando'a tongue Vaeco extended his own hand, grasping his gauntlet forearm in reciprocation. It was a hard thing to fathom really, being confronted by a member who shared the same heritages. The only kin of his name he'd known were his Mother and briefly his Grandfather. Although adopted into the Creed he'd always felt welcome. The shorter smith nodded his head, his voice mildly distorted by the audio output of his helmet "Su'cuy. Sorry vode, you have me at a disadvantage. I was advised I'd be meeting a member of the Guild. I never imagined they'd be Mando, let alone Vúlfur." he stood there, a full two heads shorter, with forearms still clutched. He loosened his grasp and reached for the base of his helmet, breaking its seal before pulling it from his head. Under the buy'ce was a darker toned male, barely out of adolescence and taking his first steps as a man. His complexion told a different story, one of survival and combat with small forge burns on his left cheek. His long raven hair was tied neatly in a bun as it was one of the only ways to fit into his bucket.

He finally sat down, placing his buy'ce on the table top before answering his address "Well met Ferus, my name is Vaeco of Clan Vúlfur, foundling of Stelle who in turn descends from Brahlis with the name Vúlfur. My buir lives still and serves as Forge Master for the Concave. Her buir passed when I was a child. Until this moment I was convinced we were the last of our House. I am glad to be wrong-" his dark eyes squinted as he smiled, the realization still not quite sinking in despite the evidence in front of him. "-and to answer your question, yes....we are well. Buir is a true Verdogran and I am grateful for her tutelage. But my journey in the craft is still fresh and much like my beskar, my skills are incomplete. My pilgrimage through improvement took me to a few small provinces around the Planet and I have benefited from their knowledge. And yourself? Are there more of us? Where is your kin?"

@JMSix

 

[Ferus Vúlfur]

Ferus sat alongside Vaeco, listening attentively to the words of his fellow Vúlfurian. The face of his fellow verdgoran was bruised and battered, the kind that is only achieved through the combination of a life of hardships and one of dedication within the fiery depths of a Mandalorian forge. Ferus' face looked much like Vaeco’s too, despite the superficial differences in appearances, the bruises and burns allowed the two to nonetheless greatly resemble the spirits of the greatest Mandalorian smiths to have ever lived.

The older Vúlfurian took particular note when his younger counterpart told him about his journey and the incomplete nature of his beskar’gam. “Beskar is difficult to find, even more so in such a distant system.” Ferus responded. “But the craftsmanship of your helmet is excellent, I have no doubt that your skills are worthy of the verdgoran tradition. But our skills can always be improved, that is true for us both as much as it was true for those who came before us.” The giant nodded with a degree of happiness, it felt good to be once again reunited with someone who truly understood the Vúlfurian path.

However, the questions that concluded Vaeco’s speech swallowed the brief happiness in a profound sense of melancholy. The face of his buir haunted Ferus for a quick second, growing increasingly distant with each of his bizarre adventures… he had a purpose to fulfill here. He had a duty to his people that rang true everytime he remembered Khusēh.

“I’m afraid my buir has been lost for more than a year now… I strongly believe he is dead.” Ferus added with a gravely saddened tone as if the weight of the galaxy had been placed upon his shoulders. “I’ve searched far and wide for more of our people. You’re the only one I’ve found.” He gasped for a second, taking a moment to sip his drink in order to clear his throat. “But there must be others out there, perhaps hiding... “ Ferus’ mind wandered again, fearing the worst. “Or it could be that we’re the last of the Vúlfurian people.”

“There is hope however…” Ferus added, pondering for a second if he should bring up this topic so soon, without knowing more about his fellow Vúlfurian. Nonetheless, he brushed his doubts aside, every living verdgoran was worthy of this knowledge. Undoubtedly Vaeco would have been told about it with hopeful tones, a near-mythical place where the Vúlfurian tradition lived strongly. “Before my father disappeared… we managed to uncover an ancient secret. The Aranov… vode, I know where it is. I’ve lived among the halls of our ancestors’ last piece of majestic engineering for eleven years.” Ferus said, the hopeful tone of his voice now restored. “The Bastion remains mostly in ruins, but my buir and I have managed to excavate parts of it with modified stevedore droids… it can be what it was once meant to be: a home for our people.”

“I’m not here to ask you to abandon your covert and join me in a lofty quest to restore our battered clan.” Ferus added, explaining his intentions. “But if there is any why I can help your people here, so that they’d be able to prosper despite the absence of their Vúlfurian craftsmen. Something that can allow both you and your buir to witness firsthand the greatness of our ancestors without the burdens of the past, all you have to do is ask vode...”

@Lydeck

 

[Vaeco Vúlfur]

"Truer words vode. I was lucky my buir had excess beskar from her predecessors suit." It was comforting to hear praise regarding the quality of his armour, especially from a Mandalorian who worked the forge as well. Vaeco had spent the majority of his life honing the fundamentals of his craft, starting with more malleable metals and materials such as durasteel, bronzium and plastoid. This preparation was used to hone his skills and knowledge in his craft to ultimately work with Mandalorian Iron, better known as Beskar. The younger verdgoran nodded, acknowledging the compliment though he still had much to improve upon and learn.

"I am sorry." It was the only sympathy he could offer to a brother who'd recently lost their Parent. It also sounded like Ferus had taken on a hefty responsibility, one no doubt passed onto him by his buir to revitalize the Vúlfurian, in name and status. It seemed a difficult task considering the state of the present Mandalorians, scattered and divided. But the fruits of his search paid obviously paid off. Not only was he in the company of a 'relative', Ferus also apparently found the Aranov. It was something Vaeco believed to be myth or exaggeration, a passing story during his Grandfathers drunken moments. His buir mentioned it a handful of times also during his days as a Foundling. The look on his face must have said it all as Vaeco stared at Ferus with hazel eyes, eyebrow slightly raised "The Aranov?! You're kidding..." but his story of discovery dispelled the doubt.

Vaeco sighed deeply. This day was something he did not expect. Not in the least. And yet here he sat, adjacent to another Vúlfurian who was not his buir discussing the existence of a structure he'd chalked down to fable. To add to the day he'd been extended an invitation to join Ferus at the Bastion with hopes of resuscitating the dying Clan. It was truly a humbling offer, one he'd be stupid to turn down. But deep down he knew his Buir would not follow. She had her duty as a Forge Master, and unless she was replaced she'd never willingly abandon her covert, nor leave her forge to someone of lesser skill. Vaeco leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table "My pilgrimage has temporarily detached me from responsibilities relating to my covert, and while my buir mans the forge my absence is irrelevant. Still, this is something I will have to discuss with my people, especially the Forge Master. That being said, my pilgrimage is my own and my actions are at my discretion. Fergus, vode, I'd offer my blaster and hammer to your cause."
@JMSix

 

[Ferus Vúlfur]

Ferus was greatly honored to hear Vaeco’s words. The Mandalorian had been alone for so years now, and even before his father had died the man still nonetheless struggled with loneliness and the crippling existential fear that had become natural for the Vúlfurian people. However, now Ferus was united with another of his kind, perhaps a sign that more still remain out there, to one day be returned to the Aranov.

“I’m honored Vaeco. You are a true verdgoran.” Ferus wanted to remain thankfully, but the gasping in his voice told a different story. “But this will not do, your buir is as worthy as both of us, he too must be allowed to see the Bastion.” The older Mandalorian’s mind raced, his thoughts filled with both the past and the future. Ferus remembered the stories told by his father and taught by his droid teachers…

The Vúlfurians built the Aranov to act as their living legacy, to preserve the verdgoran path even as the Empire relentlessly hunted them down. Those underground halls were not only a means of protecting those who fleed there, or only a place to store Vúlfurian artifacts, the Aranov was an act of defiance… the last engineering project of great warrior-artisans that spat straight into the Empire’s eyes. The Aranov was a monument to Mandalorian perseverance.

There was a time where Mandalorians fought each other based on clan or affiliation, a dark time fueled by a cataclysm and extinguished with another. Perhaps if the people of Mandalore had remained strong and united, none of this would’ve happened. “We’re stronger together…” pondered Ferus melancholy, only to then look straight into Vaeco’s eyes with newfound confidence. The Aranov was built to protect Vúlfurian interests, but it could be more.

“What if we relocated your entire covert Vaeco?” Proposed Ferus, his eyes glowing with hopeful ambition. “All of your people. The Bastion is decrepit, and it can only be repaired by the strength of the Mandalorians. But it can offer us vercopa, a place not only to hide but to rebuild. A place safe not only for the Vúlfurian, but for all the Mando'ade.”

@Lydeck