S T O R Y F I R E
Part I
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Nights on Kestri were always bitterly cold. Snug against the merrily crackling hearthfire, however, one almost forgot the chill. The blaze and warmth of the blaze, the chatter of friends and kin, all united by their Mandalorian heritage and creed, drowned out the cold.
Huddled around one such blaze, a small group of foundlings -- ruthless when roused, but now, as night deepened and their bedtime approached, were much more docile -- chattered away, telling jokes and stories only small kids of their age and innocence would find amusing. They were all young, within the human range of six to ten standard years old, or corresponding for the non-humans and near-humans that were in their group.
Suddenly, loud heavy footsteps crunching through the snow-covered ground interrupted their conversation, which quickly faded as they looked up at the massive frame of Romul Saxon, Alor, the Ruug'la Surbhir looming over them. The Mandalorian Warmaster's frame was stern and serious as ever.
"Come sit with us!" One of the foundlings invited him cheerfully.
There was a moment's pause, as Romul looked at their young, bright faces. Then, the Alor's face broke into an uncharacteristically warm smile. "Very well, Adiike." The foundlings parted to allow the massive warrior to take a seat. As he sat down, his collective body must have disturbed the hearth, which crackled loudly as if in protest, before returning to its merry self. Romul leaned forward, resting his weight on his legs, gently stretching his massive frame. The foundings looked at him eagerly, taking stock of this massive warrior who had just come to accompany them.
"Do you know any good stories?" One of them ventured finally, their voice breathless, their cheeks red from the cold.
"Yeah, like one of Mandalore!" Another chimed in excitedly.
"Yeah! Tell us about Mandalore!" A third.
Romul looked at them. His happy smile sombered somewhat. "A story about Mandalore. . ." he repeated, his voice trailing off as he looked at the foundlings that began to inch closer towards him, eager for a story. His eyes shifted away from them to the bright center of the fire. The flames. . .
Romul shook his head. "I do have a story of bravery and sacrifice. Of what it means to be Mandalorian. It is happy, and sad." He looked around at the foundlings. They were collectively silent, enraptured already. Romul felt at a loss for words on how to communicate this tale to such innocent creatures. He started awkwardly. "Mandalore was our people's home, for thousands and thousands of years. I was born on Mandalore, and played, grew, and became a strong warrior like you are now on Kestri." The snow fell around them. "On Mandalore, our people had a leader. Our leader was friends with the Sith, a people not like our own." The fire roared merrily. "Like--"
"The Sith that killed everyone?" One of the foundlings asked innocently.
Romul stopped, surprised by the question. ". . . Yes?"
"Yeah, we know about the Sith!" Another said cheerfully. "They have red swords, and they killed everyone on Mandalore!"
"Everyone!" Another foundling agreed, in a mock-sage voice, pantomiming wielding a lightsaber -- had the child ever seen one before? -- with his hands, making wvhooshing sounds with his mouth to imitate the plasma blade.
The foundling closest to Romul inched forward. "We wanna hear about that. Like, did you fight in any cool battles?"
Romul looked down at the foundling, her eyes bright with wonder, his perplexed. Perhaps these little ones weren't so innocent, after all. He chuckled to himself. After all, they were Mandalorians. "Yes," he rumbled. "I did." He leaned in closer. "Have you adiike heard the song of the siege of twelve days?"
"OOOOH!" They all exclaimed collectively.
Romul grinned. He now knew his audience.
