Oyu'baat

*The Mando's around the table fell silent suddenly and three visored gazes fell on Marv, the disapproval and anger palatable on the very air. It was obvious some kind of social faux pas had been uttered and the men of Clan Vhett had taken offense to it.

Jazik's eye brow shot up at the man's use of the term 'One of out own'. So he was part of the clan now was he? Jazik also found himself frowning slightly at his description of Dolvar, of who he knew 'weak' and 'stupid' were incorrect labels.

He tapped his finger on the table for a moment, his right hand stroking his jaw. Finally he slapped his hand on the counter and rose to his feet in one fluid motion, finger pointing at Mark in a cautionary manner..*

"Do not speak ill of the dead, ner tat..."

*He shook his head as he scooped up his buy'ce, holding it nonchalantly in his left hand.*

"Koh-PAH-nee MEERSH-moo-RAY-shay, vod?"

*Stepping around the table he picked up the datapad in his right hand and gestured with it to the door.*

"C'mon, ad'ika. Lets take you out of here before you get yourself in trouble."

*Marv cleared his throat nervously, a look of immediate regret coming over him.*

Nay-PAH-rav-OO ta-KEE-sit, ner vod. I meant no offense to your fallen comrade.

*Picking up his own Katarn buy'ce, Marv nodded apologetically to the other warriors and followed Jazik out of the bar.*

[quote="Ander Tagira":21zst3fp][color=#FFFFBF:21zst3fp]"We have mobile resources to support all forms of biohazard environments, and as much in the way of research. I contracted the services of a certain physician in the Outer Rim that would be of particular value in such a situation. He's a research expert on communicable diseases,"[/color:21zst3fp] [color=#BF0000:21zst3fp]Ander scrolled mentally through a list of small hazardous disaster units within the commando force.[/color:21zst3fp]
[color=#FFFFBF:21zst3fp]"Coordinating containment, decontamination, and any patient-related necessities with other organizations, military or civilian, won't be an issue, whatever they're affiliation."[/color:21zst3fp] [color=#BF0000:21zst3fp]He thought for a moment that Plu may have worried somewhat about GALSAF and they're ability to work well with others, but Ander knew there would be no issue there. As long as the necessary work was done, and done [i:21zst3fp]right[/i:21zst3fp], neither Ander nor his army of good samaritans would have any qualms with [i:21zst3fp]who[/i:21zst3fp] was doing the work.[/color:21zst3fp][/quote:21zst3fp]
[action:21zst3fp]The solemn Mand'alorian warrior nodded slowly.[/action:21zst3fp] "Very good. I will send you the coordinates after I confirm a few things with my admirals." [action:21zst3fp]He turned slowly toward the door, then stopped, and glanced back over his shoulder for a moment.[/action:21zst3fp] "Thank you for your assistance." [action:21zst3fp]Then he passed through the doors of the Oyu'baat and was gone.[/action:21zst3fp] [narration:21zst3fp]The mission certainly would prove to be a critical test of Ander's actual intentions regarding the Mando'ade and the Or'dinii in particular. Plu would have to play his cards right, and have a response team ready just in case the ex-Jetii was planning another elaborate double-cross.[/narration:21zst3fp]

==Aya==
*As the admiral was busy in other parts of the galaxy and couldn't attend personally, Aya was sent as a representative. Locating a spot out of anyone's line of sight, she quickly formed an avatar for the flesh and blood mando to interact with ... once they started to arrive that is. She moved her avatar to where it could 'watch' the front door, and also be seen by anyone with their eyes on. In all likelihood, there wouldn't be much that the old retired admiral would be able to do for a major war effort like this would seem to be shaping up to be. But Aya could still help out by playing merry hob with enemy communication and computer arrays.*

*He awoke with the taste of her on his lips and the feel of her breath in his ear; the pain of it lanced through his breast like a blaster bolt. Only half awake and still in her arms, he stumbled to his feet, knocking his chair over backward and rocking his table violently. It took a full minute for the assault of frenzied light and raucous noise to solidify itself into the interior of the Oyu'baat. Fenris greeted this return to reality with regret rather than relief.

If any of the other patrons noticed, they didn't let on. The soldier supposed his behavior wasn't different from any drunk's. He raised a hand to rub at his bleary eyes and realized that he was indeed still intoxicated. That was good. Nothing could shield him from the pain of his memories, but liquor dulled the senses, the mind, the emotions. It blurred his memory of her, quieted her voice.

Fenris' gaze shifted to the bar, and a rueful smile stretched the scar etched across his face. He moved forward.

Steadier now.

He halted midstride as the comm link on his hip crackled to life. Silence descended upon the bar as Ashrah's voice echoed from a dozen sources. Head bowed, Fenris listened in the way only he could. He listened to the rage and the subdued ferocity about to be unleashed that lurked within the Mandalore's words; he listened to the raw pain, the anger, the clammor for revenge rising up within the hearts of the others listening, and in it, he heard the quiet snarl of a lightsaber. In it, he heard the the death scream of his beloved.

Resting a hand on the hilt of the beskad at his hilt, Fenris turned his gaze to the door.*

*The mood as she enters the Oyu'baat is, unsurprisingly, a charged one. Some of the voices she can hear are angry, others somber but the subject being discussed is, almost without exception, the same as the reason Neassa herself has come; the Manda'lor has called for the Mando'ade to rally to him and join in the war he has declared on Force users in the wake of the massacre on Myrkr.

Standing at a mere 5'4, Neassa's beskar'gam is black and red and the weathered half-shelter cape she wears attached to her right pauldron is grey; her own somber expression hidden beneath her buy'ce.* *Her right hand would normally be resting on the handle of the DL-44 holstered on her thigh, but here on Manda'yaim among the Mando'ade there is no need for the hypervigilance she would maintain elsewhere, and so she keeps her hands held loosely at her sides as, seeing that the Mand'alor has not yet arrived, she walks to the large, open log fire and leans against the wall to wait for his arrival, staring, behind the visor of her buy'ce, at the dancing flames as though she might be able to read the future in them.*

Not yet dried blood still gleamed richly on his cheeks as Darian ambled slowly into Oyu'baat, still drunk on the fervor of his last burnt offering. His eyes were drawn to a fire somewhere across the room, but he saw no reason to venture toward it. Flame was comforting, yes, but comforts were not meant to be overly indulged. His mind swam with imagees of battle, and of his young son, whom he still saw in those who he worked tirelessly to deliver.

Mand'alor's words still echoed in his thoughts as well, indescribable joy gripping at his heart with the acceptance that the notion hinted at. Holy war without end. In the name of Kad Ha'rangir. Unless of course Ashrah had a gay lover named Kad that no one knew about. Which would have been insanely depressing. Except not really, because there was still going to be a kriff holy war. Woo.

Gotta take the small victories where you can, ner vode.

Electric green eyes flickered toward the bar- god, how long had it been? Tihaar had lost it's tsste in the time following... back then. His god had commanded of his sobriety, that his role would be played well, and with the skill that the lord of destruction had gifted him. Anything else was audacious, heretical and disgusting. He wore scant pieces of the gam he once proudly donned, as a son of Clan Beviin, but no more. He had lost the things that he felt made him part of that family. The very things that had made him worthy.

While he would never turn his back on aliit, or on any vod, he had not the heart to face the Clan again. Not as he had been, and parts of him whispered, not as he was now. There was little room for farming now, though much of him longed to sew the seeds of plenty once again. He knew that his words, his actions, and ultimately his life were forfeit to a new crop now.

Kad's own crop. And he looked them over; not an altogether sorry sort, collected and unified in thst they sought one goal. Which was perfectly fine to Darian. His hand trailed toward his weapons, ensuring their placement was true and that he had cleaned them- mostly- since his little detour.

Blood still gleamed on the axe head to compliment his face, dripping ominously to the floor as he walked, placing both hands on the bar before sitting down to collect his thoughts. Ashrah had spoken, and the Mando'ade had listened. There was little call for him to add his voice to that. Instead, his thoughts were invested in the future.

The flock had been corralled; where would they be led next?

The Siit had gotten one thing right about Ornik. Just one, but it was one of the most important things to get.

Ornik hated the Jetiise. Hated them with a passion, hated what they were and what they represented and what they did. He hated the Siit too, but for somewhat different reasons. It was that hate, and Laurent's accurate tap on it, that had actually kept the Siit alive as long as he had lasted.

Now Ornik was back among his vode, and only now did he learn that their leader was declaring a war on the magicians. The ache throbbed a little harder, but it was good. It was justice, it was right. The Mandalorian in black armor was just one more armored man amid a host of armored men and women.

Then a little one stumbled into him; another man in black armor, armed to the hilt and looking unsteady on his feet. Ornik caught him and thumped his back.

"Udesii, vod. Tion gar cuyi haryc b'aalyc?"

Had he knocked into someone? The dulled pain had already left him almost as quickly as he had felt it, and he blinked as he turned to glance up at the speaker. Anywhere else in the galaxy, coming up on Darian from behind would have urged the man to bring Keldabe right to the offender, sealed with a kiss. Fortunately, the other man was in Keldabe, and the need was not there. The Priest smiled grimly as the man asked his question, and Darian considered it.

Black armor, huh? Something they shared, perhaps? A desire for justice? Rarely in these times, though. His eyes flickered back toward the bar, his mess of leathers and furs falling over his shoulders, armorweave clearly visible to compliment besksr. The dark cloak was shell spider silk, and it gleamed faintly in the bar's lighting.

The Priest shook his head finally after a moment. "I miss the days where drink could bring solace, at times," he admitted, his eyes closing and reopening slowly as his lips thinned into a flat line. "I no longer indulge, though."

It did not occur to Darian that the man might notice his "warpaint," nor would he really have cared if he had. He placed a hand on the bar beside him, and he turned his gaze toward the wall. "The time for words is not yet on us, ner vod. Sit and rest a moment, for there is much yet to come."

He strode with purpose, yet a hint of trepidation. His step was tempered by a feeling unknown. It wasnt fear. This man had never felt fear a day in his life. He felt no fear when he and his brother had decimated the Jedi temple on Honghor. He had not felt fear when outnumbered, nothing but Duke and Fenris to back him up against a Siths legions in a fetid sewer. Nor had he felt fear when fighting Cassus. This was not fear. This was something else. Something deeper. It was loss.

For the first time in his life he had something to lose. And had lost some of it. It did not sit well with him, but he used that as a focal point. He used it as a flame.

Shoving open the door to the 'baat, he stepped inside, slowly removing the Helm from his head. His dark hair matted to his skull, his green eyes like twin jade daggers. He scanned the room for a moment, then made his way to an empty table and sat down. He placed the Helm to his left on the table top and once again looked around the room. Some he recognized. Some he didnt. It mattered not. He noted Fenris, apparently stumbling around.....and that worried him only slightly. He had fought next to the man. He would be fine. He signaled for an Ale. It was time for a goddamned drink.

Leaning back in his chair, he thought a moment about what he would say, noting the looks he was surely getting. He would wait for Duke to sit before he spoke....

==Aya==
*Spotting the newest arrival to the 'baat, Aya responded as any true mando would. Her current avatar was one that she didn't get to use often, as she spent far too much time among the aruetii. While the basic form was still that of a small human adiik, it was wearing a full suit of beskar'gam of orange and red, sporting the aliit'aliik of Or'dinii on the chest-piece and a green kama hanging from her belt.*

-Aya
Oya, Mand'alor!

*A cloaked figure walks into the Oyu'baat with an unconscious human male dragging behind him. The figure picks the male up and tosses him onto a table off to the side then walks to the bar taking it's hood and cloak off to reveal a young man with chiseled features wearing a sleeveless blood red shirt, khaki pants, and various weaponry ranging from a force pike, to DC-17 blaster pistols, to various explosives. He had a sleeveless flak vest over the shirt and black gloved hands which he rapped on the bar to get the attention of the bartender*

=Wanderer=
"Barkeep I need a glass of Namana Liquor and can someone get rid of the mouth breather over there on that table?"

=Bartender=
"He a bounty? or an assassin maybe?"

=Wanderer=
"He double parked"

*The bartender shrugs and goes about his assigned tasks and Wanderer casually scans the place for high profile suspects, or atleast his next fight until his drinks arrives. He takes a big drink, downing the contents of the glass as a couple Oyu'baat workers take the unconscious form out of the bar. Setting the drink down he raps on the bar ordering another drink wordlessly*

*The four silent warriors had remained at their table after Jazzik and the young wannabe had left. The Boloball had finished and the screen was showing highlights of the other games that had been played that day, comparing stats, showing the league table, playing interviews with some of the stars and postulating on the favourites. The two facing the door looked up as Mand'alor stalked in and followed him with their eyes, the one closest the screen sneering faintly before they both went back to watching the games. They could have been brothers these four, all swarthy with black hair and all of roughly the same height. They were as close as brothers too having served as a special squad for Mandalore, Aliit Vhett Ori'ramikad on loan to Mandayaim, as it were. They, like Jazzik, had been posted here for their discretion and cool head in a difficult, and somewhat hostile, political situation.

As they continued to watch the result streaming in, muttered comments in Mando'a, so thickly accented in Concordain drawl, that it may as well be a different language all together, ones comlink chirped insistently for attention. With a sulfurous oath then man tore the offending device of his belt and answered it...*

"Lek.... Me'ven? Tion'tur?"

*By now the other three Mando's had taken not of their comrades now-serious tone and expression and were following the conversation intently, all thoughts of meshgeroya forgotten.*

"Elek.... Nu draar! Kih'parjai... Elek....Staabi."

*The man shut the comlink down and returned it to his belt. The four verde leaned close in a huddle for a moment, exchanging instructions before the one who had spoke stood. He muttered a phrase...* "Hukaat'kama, ner tat." *before starting over to where Ashrah sat, face set in a disapproving but accepting mask.

He looked down at Mand'alor for a moment before speaking.*

"Su cuy'gar, Mand'alor... Me'vaar ti gar?"

*It was small talk really and, without awaiting an invite, the man sat down opposite the brooding figure and smiled, an expression with zero mirth whatsoever.*

"Ner gai Mazz..."

*He nodded his head at his introduction, eyes searching Ashrah for any reaction to his approach before flicking right to get the attention of the server.*

"T'ad ne'tra gal, gedet'ye. Vore."

*He turned his gaze back to Ashrah as the server rushed off to get the drinks.*

*Her eyes hidden behind her buy'ce, Neassa looks from the fire when the few new arrivals enter the Oyu'baat, not moving until the Mand'alor arrives, changing the mood in the Oyu'baat; the hushed or raised voices all falling silent for a moment and an air of expectation and anticipation beginning to gather now that he has arrived.*

*When the Mand'alor enters the Oyu'baat Neassa pushes off the wall and stands at attention and, gauging from his demeanor and expression that he does not wish to be disturbed, chooses to simply offer a respectful nod in greeting as he makes his way to a table and sits.*

*Watching the four Mando'ad join the Mand'alor, Neassa gathers that they know him personally and, leans back against the wall after a moment, waiting for the Mand'alor to address everyone that, like her, has come in answer to his call.*

The building in front of Mitth'orn'safis was buzzing with activity. The Chiss bounty hunter paid his informants well for a reason and it seemed that the whispers they had heard of a new Mand'alor may hold more weight than Thorns had originally believed. Regardless of his skepticism, the blue-skinned man's armored boots found themselves caked in a small layer of Mandalorian soil and, as he gazed upon the Cantina before him, his interest was definitely piqued.

With the completion of his quick scan of the surrounding area facts and figures light up the HUD within the hunter's helmet. The walls of the Cantina were thicker than they appeared but an approximation of the number of those inside was all he really needed to know to tread lighter than he had first intended. There was definitely big-doings in there and he knew it wouldn't take much to get himself into hot water. As long as he didn't give them a reason to kill him, though, he doubted he would have any problems - he was there to offer them his services, after all.

The Mandalorian lifestyle had always been one that interested him ever since he'd heard of their exploits and codes of honor, though he still was unsure if it was a lifestyle that would suit him. He had been admonished when he was young for reading so much on the subject of an organization comprised of so many alien species since his parents had been quite set in their ways regarding anything alien, but what better way to find out if it was really all bad than to check it out firsthand?

With a soft tread and the light clanking of his armor as the plating shifted against itself, the Chiss warily made his way into the Cantina. He was surprised momentarily by the lack of guards, but then remembered where he was and silently cursed his stupidity - had he really been away from Csilla so long that his neural pathways were failing? He quickly scanned the room, unable to let his musings distract him, and quietly found himself a patch of wall to lean against - careful not to disturb any of the Mandalorians around him - as he watched the scene before him unfold.

He would have his chance to offer his services soon enough, but he could tell by the body language and where everyone's attention seemed to be focused that now was not that time.

[quote="Darian Beviin":1hzfaky8][color=#40FF00:1hzfaky8][i:1hzfaky8]Had he knocked into someone? The dulled pain had already left him almost as quickly as he had felt it, and he blinked as he turned to glance up at the speaker. Anywhere else in the galaxy, coming up on Darian from behind would have urged the man to bring Keldabe right to the offender, sealed with a kiss. Fortunately, the other man was in Keldabe, and the need was not there. The Priest smiled grimly as the man asked his question, and Darian considered it.

Black armor, huh? Something they shared, perhaps? A desire for justice? Rarely in these times, though. His eyes flickered back toward the bar, his mess of leathers and furs falling over his shoulders, armorweave clearly visible to compliment besksr. The dark cloak was shell spider silk, and it gleamed faintly in the bar's lighting.

The Priest shook his head finally after a moment. [/i:1hzfaky8][/color:1hzfaky8]"I miss the days where drink could bring solace, at times," [color=#40FF00:1hzfaky8][i:1hzfaky8]he admitted, his eyes closing and reopening slowly as his lips thinned into a flat line.[/color:1hzfaky8][/i:1hzfaky8] "I no longer indulge, though."

[color=#40FF00:1hzfaky8][i:1hzfaky8]It did not occur to Darian that the man might notice his "warpaint," nor would he really have cared if he had. He placed a hand on the bar beside him, and he turned his gaze toward the wall. [/color:1hzfaky8][/i:1hzfaky8]"The time for words is not yet on us, ner vod. Sit and rest a moment, for there is much yet to come."[/quote:1hzfaky8]

An eyebrow raised under the helmet at the other man's words: 'much yet to come?' Something special, maybe? Of course, he was probably just referencing the coming war. That was certainly exciting enough, and it didn't matter if he meant more than that. Ornik would likely find out more in time, and that was enough for him. The warrior sat down at the bar and slowly set aside his helmet, tipping a finger for a drink. Stoic as ever, Ornik stared blankly at a point in front of him as he sipped away the alcohol.

After all, that was what one did in such places, no? You sat and you drank. You experienced 'camaraderie' with your brothers through strong spirits.

He set the glass down. Didn't have a taste for [i:1hzfaky8]tihaar[/i:1hzfaky8] right then. Blowing a long sigh he leaned forward and laid his chin in his palm, feeling his rifle shift against his back as he did. Everything he owned, he was wearing. Such was life for a wandering warrior.

==Aya==
*Noticing the other Or'dinii shift against the wall, Aya decided to pop over and join her for a little bit.*

-Aya
Su'cuy, Ner Vode. Ven'waii aliit'alorr?

[quote="The Admiralty":1iaiigmm]==Aya==
[color=#00FFFF:1iaiigmm]Su'cuy, Ner Vode. Ven'waii aliit'alorr? [/color:1iaiigmm][/quote:1iaiigmm]

[action:1iaiigmm]It takes Neassa, lost in her own thoughts, a moment to realize that she has been spoken to and she misses some of what is asked of her as a result, a fact which may be evident from the way she turns the visor of her [i:1iaiigmm]buy'ce[/i:1iaiigmm] towards the small [i:1iaiigmm]adiik[/i:1iaiigmm] that has addressed her after the fact rather than during.[/action:1iaiigmm]

[action:1iaiigmm]Hidden beneath her [i:1iaiigmm]buy'ce[/i:1iaiigmm], Neassa's eyes scan the [i:1iaiigmm]adiik's beskar'gam[/i:1iaiigmm] in a quick gestalten flicker to learn what it reveals of the [i:1iaiigmm]adiik[/i:1iaiigmm] - that she, like Neassa herself, is from clan [i:1iaiigmm]Or'dinii[/i:1iaiigmm] and either likes the colors red and orange or is honoring a father and expressing a lust for life - as she says, revealing she missed some of what had been said, a bit distractedly,[/action:1iaiigmm][comlink:1iaiigmm][i:1iaiigmm]Me'ven?[/i:1iaiigmm] [size=85:1iaiigmm][Huh?][/size:1iaiigmm] [action:1iaiigmm]then shakes her head slightly and says in a friendly yet, given the situation that has brought most of them here, understandably not overly cheerful tone,[/action:1iaiigmm] [i:1iaiigmm]Su'cuy vod'ika[/i:1iaiigmm]. [size=85:1iaiigmm][Hello little comrade.][/size:1iaiigmm] [i:1iaiigmm]Me'vaar ti gar?[/i:1iaiigmm] [size=85:1iaiigmm][How are you?][/size:1iaiigmm][/comlink:1iaiigmm]

*Meena sighed as she removed her buy'ce and placed it back on the bar. She had reread the text of the Mand'alor's speech several times, not entirely pleased with what was said. Yes, she was outraged that Force Users had devastated Myrkr, but she was confused why the Mand'alor wanted to take it out on all Force Users, instead of just the ones who performed the massacre. To her, it would be more effective and efficient to figure out who was responsible and lead a massive retaliatory strike against them, instead of trying to take on the entire galaxy, not to mention more logical.*

*She lifted her tihaar and took another swig before taking a look around the bar, now much more active than it had been in quite some time. So many different clans, all gathered at the word of Mand'alor, as the Resol'nare dictated. Of course, she didn't need to look around to know she was the only Horica present. She always was. Despite her best efforts, she probably always would be the only one to answer the Mand'alor's call.*

*A comm message is routed to through the Oyu'baat to the Manda'lor from one of the vode, not able to respond in person.*

:: Oya Manda'lor! I, Non-Com Or'dinii, am unable to join you at present. My forces are tied up in several small skirmishes around the galaxy and I am about to participate in a mission to engage some of the Jetiise sector rangers at Vandelhelm. As soon as this is over, I'll check back in with you, but for now I cannot directly aid you, though I'll do what I can from here. Jate'kara favor you, NCO out. ::