The Brotherhood fared well during the recent Great Jedi War, delivering a hefty blow to the Children of Mortis and their forces before returning to the “normie” realm. Many had been affected, some leaving the Ethereal Realm with additional abilities where they had none prior.
In the aftermath of the war the Regent of the Brotherhood set about procuring new and unique assets for the Brotherhood at large, including additional forces and options for the clans to purchase.
Chief among them? The Cumulus-class Corsair, a class of ship famously owned by the Pirate King Gorian Shard. While the leafy-pirate was as ugly as they came before his death at the hands of the legendary Bo-Katan Kryze and fellow Mandalorian Din Djarrin, he did have good taste in ships.
And Vizsla had ordered several of them. Fitting for a Clan of the Brotherhood that had enshrined its motto as Credits, Not Words. The Regent General was quick to fulfil the request, ordering their immediate construction.
And now was the time for their delivery. The Cumulus-class Pirate Corsairs purchased by Vizslan Consul exited hyperspace above the clan’s moon of Daemunn one after another, immediately being hailed.
“Unidentified vessels, identify yourself and state your intentions” came the Vizslan voice over the bridge.
Zxyl turned towards the ship’s commander, nodding the go-ahead.
“This is Cumulus-class Corsair CCC-9332, returning your hail. We have the Regent onboard, delivering these vessels to Clan Vizsla.”
Sitting in his office was a luxury these days for Korvis. Endless days of fires to put out within Zsoldos as well as maintain his reputation as a Mandalorian leader left him little free time. Through some deft slight of hand and maneuvering he actually had time to sit down for a change.
“Sir, we have 4 Cumulus class ships that just came out of hyperspace. They claim the Regent of the Brotherhood is onboard.” A voice came across the comm in his office. “Shall we open fire.”
Sigh
“Only if you want the Grandmaster to flay you alive.” Korvis responded. “I will meet them at the Vizjizzles spaceport.”
Grabbing his spear and lightshield Korvis put his helmet on with the familiar locking click. He sent a message to his new second in command that she is welcome to come along for the inspection of the new ships.
<@141239709291511808>
Socorra did not care much for ships. She did not, would not, take the time to learn how to pilot one, as there were far more important things to learn and do with that valuable time. She would have made an incredible tactician had she cared. But it’d been years since the woman had commanded one and even then there had been no choice–actually no choice: she had been a hostage held at knifepoint.
But everyone else was excited. Something something be a team player someone somewhere had said recently.
An audible gravelly grumble of some sort escaped her lips and she rose from her desk. Reluctantly Socorra shut down her terminal and locked up the office, moving quick to try and catch up to Korvis’ giant Rattataki steps.
The quadruple of Cumulus-class Pirate Corsairs acknowledged the clearance given to them by The Anvil, and made their way down through the moon’s atmosphere to the Vizjizzles Spaceport. Humorously named, it was, but that’s the name the Consul of Vizsla had chosen for it. As they entered through the atmosphere, the four corvettes’ deflector shields were placed forward in front to prevent any damage from entry.
It wasn’t long before each had been nestled in or beside the spaceport’s main bays - wherever they would fit, basically - and the crew began dismounting for their new assignment. The beauty of buying any vessel from Arx Capital Exchange - or The Exchange, as the Regent simply referred to it - was that each came with its own crew to operate and handle them. The Mandalorian General had handpicked their crews from existing forces within the Iron Navy, those that would be best suited to support the torch of Vizsla.
Zxyl Bes'uliik also dismounted from the Corsair he had traveled to Daemunn on, intending to meet his Vizslan comrade and fellow MandoBro face to face. It amused him that Korvis had taken the Mando'a translation of that moniker as his own last name, but he respected it. Though amusing, it was honorable and further showed the dedication that the similarly non-human had for their religion and culture as Mandalorians.
As he disembarked with the crew that would surely and quickly integrate with their new home the Councilor took in the state of Vizjizzles Spaceport and its surrounding area. It had been some time since he had visited - nearly a year, in fact, during one of their celebrations.
He waited patiently for the Rattataki and whomever consort he wished to bring to make their appearance, crossing both arms as he usually did. In such a scenario with any other clan - including his home clan of Taldryan, whom he was on incredibly shaky grounds with for forming and then supporting the Traditionalists - the Mandalorian would be checking over his equipment and weaponry, ensuring it was in top notch order and prepared for use at a moment’s notice. Here, among a predominantly Mandalorian clan, affiliated with them or not, he felt no such immediate need to do so. Credits were not the only law in the Zsoldos System. The Creed was, naturally, as well. That’s all Bes'uliik needed.
The walk through The Anvil never got old to Korvis. It was his pride and joy so to speak. To him it was a sign that Mandalorian culture could and would be rebuilt. That the days of working purely as mercenaries and bounty hunters was destined to end. He might never live to see that happen but at least here there was hope that it could.
He gave a cursory nod in greeting to Socorra as she caught up near the hanger bay. Korvis slowed his stride so the pair could walk out together to meet the Regent with his new Cumulus-Class ships. The new members offloading of the ship were hand picked by the Saxon fleet general. Korvis had no doubt about their fitness for duty. Perhaps some of them would eventually take the oath and become Mandalorian as well.
From the outside at least the ships glistened in the light from from the systems sole sun, Abercrombie. The dark great exterior contrasted with the Orange highlights of the traditional Vizsla paint scheme. What Korvis was really wanting to do however was see it they performed as well as advertised. Not to mention as well as his Deathwatch Commander Raistlin said they did.
“A personal delivery? I am touched.” Korvis jested as he approached the Dathomirian Mandalorian. Korvis of course knew that Zxyl took great pride in is job and would accompany larger scale orders personally. No doubt an Arx Capital Exchange Cosinga-class Corvette would be arriving in short order to whisk him back to Arx.
Zxyl nodded in response.
“Korvis Manda'Vod, Lady Erinos” he began, an eerie dark otherworldly echo mirroring his voice. THAT WAS NEW. Something had clearly changed with the Dathomirian-Mandalorian from the last time the Vizslan Consul had spoken to him, not long after the events of the Great Jedi War. “I understand that you have high hopes for these ships. I guaruntee they will perform above-board, and satisfy your requirements.
The Regent removed a small datadisk and pouch from his belt, handing the datadisk - which contained a full readout of the ship’s capabilities, ins and outs, and other assorted reading material the Consul would no doubt pass off to someone else at some point - to Korvis, and extending the datapad out for an electronic signature to confirm that delivery had been made.
While it was certainly true that Mandalorian General oversaw larger purchases himself instead of leaving it to some lowly Arx Capital Exchange administrator, any delivery to Zsoldos he likely would have made personally because of his history with its Consul. Although at their core heretics and pretenders wielding the Vizsla name - whether they meant the best of intentions or not - the clan itself as a predominantly Mandalorian clan held a special place in his heart. Like the Consul standing before him, the Iron Beast of Mandalore sought to preserve and protect Mandalorian culture and wished to see their religion return into the mainstream, reborn like a mythological phoenix-like creature rising from the ashes.
They’d get there. One day.
“General,” Socorra nodded politely, stepping to the Consul’s side. That echo again. It was so jarring. Especially coming from a bucket. It was so distracting she barely noticed Lady.