Gilamar stood in the dimly lit armory of his shuttle. The glowrods above him flickered as he looked up at the battle scarred beskar'gam hanging in the open air. His eyes fell on the rows of weapons, both deadly and non-lethal he had learned to trust throughout the years. The small rack of lightsabers, both Jedi and Sith sat in a corner off to the side near his Bes'uliik's spare parts and ammunition.
His life was a long one, longer than most humans in his profession. He had known love many times as well as loss. Had he come to terms fully with the things he had done? The mistakes he had made? No, he was a man full of regret, but it was strange. Most people said to live life without regrets, but without regret where would he be now? The decisions he had made throughout his life and long military career, were they not the decisions made by a man who felt?
Many of his old war buddies called him soft.
He could live with that.
And he would live. Much longer. The old man sighed and placed an wrinkled, battle worn hand on the shoulder plate of his armor. Some of the pieces on it were older than he was. He smiled fondly as his hand traced the dented and burned surface of the beskar'gam until it reached the tassel attached to the beskad.
Letting his hand fall to his side he looked upon his armory one more time before turning away and walking from the room, the door hissing closed behind him and the glowrod shutting down. As he walked through the halls of The Lazy Strill he wondered if his ancestors were looking down on him now from the Manda proudly. If Silvia, somewhere int he oversoul of the Manda was watching him now with pride in the clan he had made.
As his boots clattered on the durasteel ramp into the small private hangar of MandalMotors a familiar gaze met his own.
Mordecai Tal'Kyr. Not his true son, not by his choice anyway, he was the spitting image of Gilamar's father at his age. 'Rave did a damn good job on him,' he thought to himself as he met the gaze of his clone. Taking the keys to the armory and the codes for the ship from his trousers he smirked and tossed them to himself once before lobbing them to the young man.
"It's all yours."
He didn't wait for a response. He knew Mordecai wouldn't give one. He walked away, hands shoved into his pockets with his faithful companion Atin at his side.
Today a warrior hung up his armor.