Copaani Bora

[Laughing Man]

The atmosphere grew somewhat hushed at the debate. Vhe'tra flexed his fingers lightly, and in a habitual manner, slipped his right thumb into his belt. His arm hung loosely and he allowed the weight of his armor to fall onto his left foot which gave the appearance that the weight of his thumb was dragging down his right side. A few hushed voices murmured amongst themselves, but over all the cantina had once again fallen silent to catch any kind of glimpse as to what was going on. Outside the doors, nobody seemed to know a thing, but every now and then a newcomer filed in to pause, then take their seat.

The Kata Alor'ad inspected the female quietly, looking her up and down then glancing back at Corden respectively as they spoke. Vhe'tra found himself mostly siding with Corden, but shook that thought from his mind. Always cautious. He told himself, dictating his own wariness.

"May I see your face, ner vod?" she addressed Corden again. "My name is Shereshoy Par'jain. My aliit is Togorian. They've suffered under the Republic, but yet, they remain loyal to the Mand'alor. And before you speak too harshly of aruetiise," she stood, proudly. "Not all of us were born Mando'ad."

Something stung at Vhe'tra with that comment. Deep in the pit of his stomach, he felt slighted. Who is she to stand up for what I think? I wasn't born into this culture, either... He reasoned and spoke up before anyone could interject,

"I wasn't born into this culture either, vod. But the aruetiise ARE only given what they deserve. They look at us as cave men, barbarians and murderers. In many ways, we are. But you know as much as anyone in this room that we are so much more. We prefer a simple lifestyle, but we have honor. We have greater machines built than any today. Our Bes'uliike are of the greatest machines known today.

You challenge our willingness to fight, but we are merely discussing out distaste for the Mand'alor's current actions. We do not wish to sacrifice our vode any more than you do. But the fact remains that as of late, the Mand'alor's tactics have been.. Questionable." He finished to let the statement sink in a bit, shifting weight to his right foot, his right hand found itself animating along with his speech,

"Mhi Mando'ade, we follow our Six Tenets until the day we march off to Manda. However, blind loyalty is dangerous, and the worst kind. If we did not question our leader, then he would not know how to lead us. Our only hope is that he is listening.

That being said, as Mando'ade, Children of Mandalore, it is our duty, our honor, and our PRIVILEDGE to serve our Mand'alor in the reclamation of our lost lands." He finished this his arms raised above him, letting them fall down to his side,

"Kata Aliit. Ner aliit. Will fight in his name, and in the name of our lost vode that still fight for survival every day of their lives, subjected to the cruelty and prejudice on Republic worlds throughout the galaxy. They brought the resentment and ire that they so willingly shell out to us." He pointed at Sheresh,

"Cin Vhetin, ner vod. I have laid my past behind me, and you should too. Nobody here is not willing to die for the man next to them. Niether will we leave our vode suffering to the lash of our republic Oppressors on lands that should be rightfully ours." He finished finally, or so it seemed, and moved toward the bar. Heavy bootfalls rang out through the cantina as more murmurs made their way from the corners of the building. The bartender looked expectantly and Vhe'tra offered only a shrug with a slow shaking of his head before leaning his back against the counter, knitting his arms across his chest, and staring outward. The scar on his right eye was well-pronounced, and it could be discerned from the lighting that his right eye was prosthetic in make, rather than natural.


His mouth curved into a smile, and some lightly jovial chuckling came from his mouth. He was always at home when tension rose, he loved the feel of it. Even if it was just political drama, or actual combat, or the drunken tirades of his aruetii father back on Nubia. It gave him a sort of rush, but he needed to defuse the matter. The female calling herself Miran had done it so easily, so perhaps he could give it a try. He prided himself mostly in being able to talk his way out of any situation, being an ex-smuggler where your tongue was a better friend than those around you. He tapped the bar and turned slightly,

"Ne'tra gal gedet'ye." ordered Vhe'tra. As the black ale was loosed into the mug from the tap, he started chanting a song to those next to him, who soon caught on and chanted with him, which then got a few more chanting, and hopefully would spread to the rest around them, the lyrics to Vode an or 'Brothers all' a traditional Mandalorian War Chant or drinking song depending on the occassion. The song was about brotherhood, about standing strong in the face of adversity as one, indomitable will, one single force to be reckoned with. It was an inspiring song and Vhe'tra felt it perfect for the moment,

"Kote!" He started, raising the mug high and letting a bit of the drink slosh around,

"Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an.
Manda'yaim a'den mhi, Vode an.
Bal kote, darasuum kote,
Jorso'ran kando a tome.
Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an"



<<On a side note: What happened to Ashi? I thought she was supposed to be in here before either of us... >>

[Ashi]

Miran was not paying much attention after Corden's introduction and short speech. She was too enveloped in how she was going to avenge Darren's death. Around the room, decisions were being made and shouts were heard, but she had already made hers. Her husband, her only previous tie to the mandalorians, was dead, but she would not dishonor his memory by letting it end there. She was Miran be aliit Skirata, ad be Mand'alor. She would have vengeance.

While the rest of the people started making speeches or singing, she quietly excused herself. She quietly paid for everybody's tab tonight and gave the bartender enough to ensure he still made a profit, despite a crowd of rowdy mandalorians, before she headed on her way. She had a job to do.

[corden]

Corden paused a moment before his gloved finger found the button that would release the magnetic locking mechanisms securing his helmet. He pushed down on it softly, his opposite hand already reaching up to pull the helmet off in one swift motion before wedging it beneath his left arm.

A rough, scarred, and ruggedly handsome face turned toward the Mandalorian still standing in the doorway, two piercing green eyes immediately focusing on her T-shaped visor.

Raising his voice above the rumbling chant originating from the direction of the bar, he answered the Mandalorian in a firm, but decidedly neutral tone, "You were reborn as a Mando'ad, vod. You share our beliefs... our grief, our rage, our hunger for vengeance."

Corden turned away briefly, glancing behind him as he gestured to the numerous patrons who continued to chant, the volume rising steadily as more joined the chorus of voices.

"These men and women... our brothers and sisters... they suffered greatly under the leadership of our last Mand'alor. Allow them a measure of skepticism. They still have thier honor." Corden continued, his sharp gaze fixed on the Mandalorian's T-shaped visor once more, "By accepting my offer, they will have a chance to prove it. After they have achieved a hard-won victory over the Republic and reveled in the glory of a great many battles, past wounds will be the farthest thing from their minds, vod. I can get them on the right path, but Bane Haseful must give them that victory if he wants to completely heal the rift."



----------OOC----------

Well, no one else is really sticking to the posting order, so I went ahead and posted, too.

[Rabbit]

The words of the one armored vod stung - he hadn't offered his name - but Sheresh supposed she couldn't fault him for his position. The suggestion that her loyalty to the Mand'alor was "blind"...well...

Was it? She chewed on her lip thoughtfully, as she kept her peace and watched her fellow Mandalorians strike up a rousing, blood-stirring song. A song she'd learned from her Hel'buir, not so long ago.

Music, and the memories associated with it, bolstered Sheresh's suddenly flagging spirits - as it always did. She fiddled with her buy'ce, as she held it in her hands and caught herself humming along; movement caught her eye, though, and she watched as the one called Corden, took off his own helmet.

She immediately dipped her head in respect, thankful that he had honored her request to show his face. It was a touchy request to make an armored Mandalorian, but she'd wanted the honor of at least knowing his face. She'd showed him hers first, in good faith, hoping that he would understand why she asked.

She lifted her eyes and they considered each other from across the cantina floor - Sheresh still pointedly refused to move a single step past the threshold. He was handsome, rugged, his eyes as bright as duty itself. His words helped soften some of the sting she currently felt - but some of what he said just threw her into a deeper confusion.

"You were reborn as a Mando'ad, vod. You share our beliefs... our grief, our rage, our hunger for vengeance."

Do I?

She had to wonder. Since donning her armor, she hadn't felt particularly vengeful, or even particularly angry. She had grief, though - the same as all of them. But, in this moment, Sheresh wondered if her grief was different, somehow. Did she grieve for the people she had come to love as her own? Or did she grieve for a broken past that had been stolen from her as a child?

She'd been full of vengeance, once. She'd been full of anger. But, that had all ended when Hel'buir found her. Sheresh didn't look away from the man's green eyes, but worry chased itself around in her head, in her heart.

Truth be told, she hadn't really seen much of what the Republic had done to the Mandalorian people. She had been on the frontlines with her troops. But that was different than sitting with the civilian population and hearing their stories. She'd been on the fringe for so long, combing through the scum of the galaxy with her buir, that Sheresh hadn't really considered the politics of her chosen people. Then, she became a soldier - convinced by Saa's consuming desire to seek his path to glory. It hadn't even been her idea and she still continued along, to honor Saa's memory. To honor what he had done for her.

But, now...? Now Sheresh was faced with the reality that she hadn't really done much for anyone else. Except, of course, for her soldiers.

"These men and women... our brothers and sisters... they suffered greatly under the leadership of our last Mand'alor. Allow them a measure of skepticism. They still have thier honor. By accepting my offer, they will have a chance to prove it. After they have achieved a hard-won victory over the Republic and reveled in the glory of a great many battles, past wounds will be the farthest thing from their minds, vod. I can get them on the right path, but Bane Haseful must give them that victory if he wants to completely heal the rift."

Well, that settled it. Sheresh lifted her voice - practically shouting over the singing - and answered back with all she could offer -

"If you need a medic where you're going, let me know," she paused for just a moment. "I don't share your skepticism for the Mand'alor. And I don't think I share a lot with my vode at the moment. But, I'll help where I'm needed. I'll always do what I can, to help heal what's been broken."

Her word had been given, her promise forged. She'd shown her face to him, he'd shown his face to her. And they had spoken respectfully to each other. Sheresh looked away from those eyes and bowed her head, once, in brief respect.

So be it.

For now.

"Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it", she added, so softly that she doubted he'd be able to hear above the singing.

Truth, Honor, Vision. She was a Par'jain and even if she doubted her place as a Mando'ad, she knew her place within her aliit. That, at least, would guide her, when nothing else could. She would always try to walk with honor, as true to herself and others as she could, with one eye always on the future.


[OOC: I've come to the conclusion that trying to organize anyone in an RP is a bit like herding cats, LOL]

[corden]

Corden returned the female Mandalorian's final parting gesture with his own curt nod before raising his helmet above his head using both hands and lowering it slowly into place. A barely audible hiss sounded as his neck liner sealed to the helmet, then a series of low clicks as the magnetic clamps locked into place securely.

"Re'turcye mhi..."

Having made his offer, he had no other business here. Leaving without so much as a backward glance, he stepped out into the street and disappeared into the crowd just outside. He knew his words would spread beyond the small pub quickly, first into the streets, and then into the surrounding homes and businesses. By nightfall, he would have several hundred new warriors at his command, all of them commited to the cause of freeing thier people from oppression and bringing justice to the Republic's doorstep. Ordo was merely a stepping stone on a path of vengeance that would see the Republic on its knees before Mand'alor and his children.

[Laughing Man]

The atmosphere grew a bit more jovial as people were distracted by the singing. Vhe'tra had stopped singing a little while earlier and was quietly drinking his ne'tra gal and trying to catch the conversation between the other two Mando'ade. The world around him was a loud blur of noise and bodies as he focused solely on the two he had been interested in from the beginning. So she was born an outsider as well... Interesting, but I don't see her point. Whether she was born an outsider, or on Manda'yaim itself, once she took up the 'gam she was one of us. There shouldn't be doubt. Thought the Older Mandalorian within his own shell of existence. It made him think of his own upbringing. The sad, pathetic little home on nubia. That smell of hay and grass always seemed to stick in his memory, laying in the shed with his little sister, talking about all the fantastic things they were going to do. And then his father would pop up in his mind's eye. Even years after Vhe'tra - then Doran, had murdered his old man for beating his sister to death, the aruetyc buir still had a way of ruining his memories.

"If you need a medic where you're going, let me know," she paused for just a moment. "I don't share your skepticism for the Mand'alor. And I don't think I share a lot with my vode at the moment. But, I'll help where I'm needed. I'll always do what I can, to help heal what's been broken."

Without realizing it, Vhe'tra's hand rested lightly against his right eyebrow, and he pulled it away quickly to shove into the ammo belt around his waist while his eyes shot nervously around the room in case anyone was watching. It seemed most were enjoying their drinks and Corden had just disappeared. Vhe'tra released a quick, low, sigh and finished his mug before setting it down on the bar with some credits. He hadn't known the drinks had already been paid for, and wouldn't think on the friendly tip he'd given too hard.

Pushing off the bar and wading through a few still-singing drunk vode, Vhe'tra approached the female Mandalorian who had seemingly been left alone now. He felt rather old at the thought of what he intended to propose, but he had spent many years teaching younger verde and guiding them, more often in the spiritual connection with the Manda than their own personal conflicts. He felt himself more of a spiritual person than anything else, and a teacher as well. He approached her quietly, though it wouldn't have made a difference over the dim roar of the cantina,

"Vod, ner gai Vhe'tra. Vhe'tra Skytower, bal alor'ad be Kata Aliit." He introduced himself, sure that she'd missed it before,

"I may not look like much more than an old, haggard verd who is thirsty for glory and blood shed, and I know you probably have an aliit or ori'vode for this kind of thing, but I wanted to extend an offer to you. From a person who has walked the path of an aruetii since birth through even the growing days of my manhood... I understand where you're coming from. I've been where you are now, of course it we're two different people and you may have your way of handling things, but if you ever need someone to talk to about certain issues, doubts, or questions that you yourself can't answer. I will be willing to help you with those possible issues. We're not disloyal, but we still must question ourselves and our leaders at times. Without the counsel of peers, a leader is simply a dictator. If he or she does not appease their citizens' wishes, then they are removed from office. Nobody here is planning on killing the Mand'alor, we just have doubts and fears. We're mortals, vod. We have families, friends, and our own lives to think about as well. So give us a little credit." His face turned upward slightly and the smile-stained face creased in his eyes and features, giving indication of his age,

"That being said: There are times where you have to stand and say, 'Shab it. Do it anyway and see where fate takes me. Jump into that hole and hope for the best? Right? Sometimes you have to not think so deeply about what others think, or whether something is actually right or wrong and simply go with what your heart," He tapped his chest lightly with his forefinger and middle finger extended on his elft hand,

"Tells you you should be doing, and consequences be damned." He finished with a light chuckle and took a step slightly back, laying the weight of his outfit onto his right foot and hooking his right thumb within the belt around his waist. His eyes traveled the room to take in the cantina atmosphere before falling back on her.

After a short while, he removed a datapad from one of the pouches on his belt and started tapping at it. He was sending word back to his aliit, Kata, that he had found a contact and was going to pursue in some manner. Then he slipped the datapad back into his pouch and moved back to the bar to have another drink.

[Kirgal Skirata]

Kirgal's drink had been long served to him already, but he paid no mind to it. He swiveled his chair in the direction of the conversation, interested in what each one had to say, but turned to the bar once more when the topic had reached his ears. Politics was something he hardly fancied, for it was too complicated for someone like him. War, on the other hand, he liked; it was simple and straightforward. Kirgal gave one last disinterested glance toward the arguing two before averting his gaze permanently.

Before indulging on his liquor, he inhaled some of his cigarra and took in the smoke within his lungs before releasing it. Kirgal then took a swig of his whiskey and set it down lightly, thinking. He lost himself in thought for some minutes, trying to imagine what sort of activities there was on this rock, but nothing came to light. He then hailed the bartender to question him on this. "Do you know of anything else to do around here besides..." Kirgal tried to ask before his inquiry was drowned by singing.

The bartender merely made an "I can't hear you" gesture and resumed his work. Kirgal sighed and finished the rest of his drink then slipped a credit chip upon the counter; he wasn't interested nor even cared if someone had paid for it beforehand. Finishing his smoke, he put the very end of it in the ashtray next to him and placed his helmet tight on his head. He then stood up and traversed the cantina for the exit, feeling he spent enough time here.