A Run Through Keldabe

[Rose Kuhn]

She breathed, heavy ragged breaths falling from her lips, hard rain drops striking at the back of her head, biting into her soaking clothing and eating away at her skin with near frost.

Rose shivered slightly, wrapping her arms around herself as she allowed herself a brief few moments of respite. She had been running for what seemed like an age, had been running for miles, simply going in wild circles around this cursed city. The sun had set long ago, departing with the rest of the Sith that had attacked Mandalore.

A cold shiver ran through her entire body and she let out a hot breath to try and warm her hands, cupping them against her lips.

Bright blue eyes shifted around the alleyway, searching and looking or anything that she could use to warm herself. Her lips turned down into a scowl as she spotted a rag hanging from one of the dumpsters. With spindly fingers she grasped it, pulling a tiny and torn jacket from the dumpster. Her disgust was clear, but a shiver ran down her spine and slowly she donned the garment.

Nothing had gone to plan today, nothing had gone the way she had wanted, the way they had planned. Her fingers felt like they were freezing off, her body was nearly frozen in place, and she dared not use the tiniest trickle of the force to warm herself, lest one of the force using Mandalorians sensed her.

She was stuck, stuck here in Keldabe.

It hadn't been on purpose, or at least she thought so. Vrag was a harpy, but even she wouldn't have allowed Rose to stay behind on the barbarian infested rock, at least not without telling her first.

Rose shivered again, her eyes shifting as she slowly stepped forward. Finally she understood why the Mandalorians always wore armor, this place was cold.

Her lightsabers had long been stashed away, hidden and buried within her coat on the outskirts of the city, placed where no one would find them. Eventually she could return for them, come back when she was stronger and better equipped to wander these streets. For now she had but one objective, getting out.

Slowly Rose stepped into the streets, arms wrapped around herself and hood pulled over her face.

 

[Jaster Awaud]

[member="Rose Kuhn"]

Jaster had narrowly missed the combat that ensued just hours earlier. He had arrived on his homeworld to retrieve his fathers ashes, he had died in combat with the honor that he carried with his clan. Now, this honored clan leader was to be retrieved by his exiled son, a Dar'Mando. Jaster had always wanted to return to his homeworld, it was a wonderful place in his eyes, the cold darted into his Skin as he was no longer allowed to wear the armor of his people. He could not address another Mandalorian as Brother or Sister, he was no longer kin. Jaster knew this, but it did not stop his happiness to be home, even for a few days.

Jaster only visited the capital once before, his father took him there to the market place to find his first combat blade. Jaster still carried that dagger with him to this day, framed and placed on the bridge of his ship. He decided to visit there once more before picking up his fathers remains.

That's when he noticed her, Jaster rarely saw homeless in the capital, but combat did just happen, so it was possible that her home was destroyed. He was a doctor before owning a Medical Company, so he rushed over to the female who carried a ragged blanket for wormth.

Ma'am, are you alright, are you injured?"

 

[Lord Gaius]

Looking more the part the Jedi, Sabik Dhami moved wearily down the road. His robes were flecked in mud, and a film of dust tarnished the snow white of the fabric. His eyes relaxed, and his hands held his face in his palms. The burning fire of rage in his eyes subsided, and an ice cold blue returned. The acolyte had been suffering bloodlusts and rages during combat as of late, and he noticed particularly that his eyes would turn color.

He did not consider himself Sith, but when he looked into his brothers eyes he saw less of himself each day. The battle had swept through Keldabe with the speed and force of the ocean waves, and much like the waves, when they had crashed, they pulled away. The ebb and flow of war. Yet there were some who had been left behind, mistakenly or purposefully, and among them was Sabik. The last thing he remembered was hitting the pavement.

When he awoke the Sith were gone, albeit thankfully his lightsaber was still by his side. The yellow crystal was even further grounding evidence that may hint that Sabik was not Sith, but a Jedi. He could use that to his advantage, now knowing he was stuck on Mandalore. Furthermore, this was his home planet, and his hometown to be exact. He knew these streets like the back of his hand, and in no short matter was he wandering down canals and through alleys.

He stood outside a cantina, soaking in the sights of the city. They rushed to put fires out, and the cleanup of the destruction caused by the One Sith was in process. It may be some time before Keldabe returned to normal, but the Mandalorians were thick-headed and knew how to carry on as though everything was as planned. His eyes wandered onto what he assumed to be a medic addressing a woman in rags, and he watched with curiosity.

He only prayed that there was no Jedi on the planet at the time, for they would easily smell out the rat that was Sabik Dhami.

 

[Ellie Mors]

Lisette never wore the armor of her so-called people, whoever they were. The only damning evidence of her heritage was her mother's confession of being born and raised a Mandalorian, and though it was a heritage and not quite the same as a race or species, Lisette had returned to a people that were as foreign to her as she was to them. Of course that isn't to say she didn't assimilate, on the contrary she became far less chaste and protesting of following a 'way'. There were few rebellious tendencies remaining in her uptight chest and although she had no wishes to personally strike out at her dead parents or half siblings, today seemed to be just the kind of day that goes in directions one never hoped for or expected.

Imagine the surprise of the vagrant woman, whom walked along the streets only in the armor that covered her with a saber hilt at her belt, when she felt a presence in the force that was not exactly foreign to her. There was no joy in her eyes or curling of her lips as her jaw was set and steeled, Lisette was absolutely unhappy to know that a relative of hers, a half-sibling, was wandering the streets of Keldabe so soon after the brief skirmish between Sith and Mandalorians. Of her siblings, or relatives even as she was certainly aware of her aunt and false-sister - though she wasn't aware of Circe's death, she knew by visits to her adoptive or step-father's home, she was never really sure what to call him, that of her siblings only one seemed motivated to work with the Sith, and for all the wrong reasons at that. Perhaps she wouldn't confront the girl just yet, maybe just watch from afar, but she was certain she could guess who that girl was.

[member="Rose Kuhn"].

 

[Garza]

I was too late.

Landing down in my ship, I looked around to see the fires and the war torn city that had once been considered my second home. Now it was in ruins. The Sith had attacked. Dressed in my own armor, only a lightsaber on my belt, I walked down the ramp with the breeze pulling at my cloak. Keldabe was close to shambles. Yet it still it stood. A sign of the Mandalorians vigilance. The ability to come back from anything. From the records held, I had learned of the many returns to the light as a unified band of brothers and sisters. However, this was close to being the end of the city, the Sith were not in control. I could feel the pain of the bloodlines lost within the ash.

The slowly falling grey snow was the remains of buildings, weapons, energies, and even the people who were not so fortunate. It was very soon that my bright red cloak was now a dull red from the ashes of the dead. I bowed my head and closed my eyes. Trying as hard as I could to prevent the water of my body leaving my eyes. Even my best efforts were met with a single tear streaming down my face. Sadness of the death, Pain of the wounded, anger of the ballsy Sith, and hatred for the deaths needing to be avenged. Part of me blamed myself. Not being here made it that much easier for the Sith to kill my family. My friends. Gone.

I my lax hands slowly curled up into a grip and into a fist. Clenching so hard that my hand hurt. My arm shook as I took a crunching step forward. My boot feeling each piece of glass, rock, and metal under me. A second step once more met with crunching. My footsteps continued to move on. Moving me slowly through the city as the citizens were rushing and hugging their living, and dying loved ones. Saying that everything would be okay in both cases. And for the few who would never hear their loved ones voice. Walking on, I looked about me. Seeing the fires slowly fall from their zeniths. It was when I looked down, I looked to see the body of a dead child. A burn hole in her chest. The image of my own children's faces came and flashed to replace the girl's.

It was only for a second, but that was enough to stop me. Kneeling down, I saw that her father was clutching her as tight as he could. Softly saying over and over the same words. They would haunt me for the rest of my life.

"Hug me. Please, Hug me."

I reached out my hand and rested it on the man's shoulder. My words were as soft as his. Yet they were loud and clear. Rhythmic as though I had been speaking such a language since birth. My words moved him. I could see it in his eyes. I could feel his emotions rise as my crystal words reached his perfect ears.

"Ni sraoa ibac Dir kapr riye kaysh jibr bal athu'neha kaysh ta'na'oaragr o'r afterlife. Kapr tyatr ja'hailir kaysh, bal asuba sticuryida kaysh."

He reached from his pocket, and handed me a small trinket. A simple necklace that was made from some kind of crystal. And a simple, yet elegant chain. I took it, and slid it into my pocket as the man slumped over crying. I shed a tear for him and his loss as well. It was when I stood up, I could start to feel the little light around me start to shrink. Almost as though someone was pushing the darkness into me. Or at least moving it closer. I looked around and began to search for anybody that looked suspicious or felt a little off. I kept looking at one man. Dark within his heart, however it wasn't as dark as others who I have seen. As well another one that seemed a little shady. I couldn't tell where for the second one. However, I simply moved on as though nothing was happening. My hand slipped into my pocket, and pulled out the chain once more. Looking at it, I pulled it over my helmet. Letting the chain slide over my helm with sliding sounds.

I then folded it under the scarf like wrap of the cloak around my neck. Hiding it from view as I once more pulled up the red-grey hood. Wanting to end the presence, and continuum of the Sith.

[member="Sabik Dhami"], [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"], [member="Rose Kuhn"], [member="Lisette Kuhn"],

Translation:

Spoiler

I pray that the Gods may favor her life and bring her safety in the afterlife. May the stars watch over her, and the force strengthen her.

 

[Azrael]

War had consequences. War had casualties. This was not new information, and this was not unexpected. Despite the flames and fires that had scorched their fair Capital city, Mandalore was intact, the Sith were pressed back into the caverns and caves, aboard their slave ships and vessels. This was Mandalore - this was a planet of warriors who under one charge drove the Dar'jetti from their home, and did it with all the might and glory of the united clans. He'd been among his people, among the carnage, and stood to face the Sith alongside the vode. Among the blaze of dying embers, and the columns of smoke wafting through the air, Azrael walked. A company of Mandalorians caught on each flank while he addressed the medics and repairmen among him. Pointing out structures and making quick triage assessments of what remained. Azrael would turn this event into a positive - as the ships that the Sith had crash landed would be hauled back to Mandal Motors and repurposed, gutted, and recycled into Mandalorian vessels. He was a salvager for over twenty years - that was something he could easily do, and find great comfort in knowing that their enemy handed them the tools for their own destruction.

For now however, the half-blood kept moving through the streets once the gathering had left, and only a Field Marshal remained at his side. The purpose of the Sith's visit was no doubt a test of their resolve - as they had not met on the ground since Empress Teta, and it was likely they wanted to try the fires of the Mandalorian spirit. Teta had been a battle of great conflict, and great loss. Many things had transpired on that planet, that in turn had changed the stars themselves. That was a time neither side would forget, and many would harbor deep grievances for a long time. The Mandalorians especially, considering they were famed for never forgetting. Gravel and rock crushed on the weight of his besk'ar boots while he surveyed the damage with his right hand clansmen. A holographic projection of a citadel leapt from his right gauntlet, activated so that both could view what needed to be done.

"We need a crew to reinforce the dome, the uplink to our satellite array needs restored." Azrael commented, before turning the projection another ninety degrees and pin pointing a part on the design that indicated another spot of contention. "Rockets took out the warning signal before it would spread out to the other cities. I want that relay to go underground as well, and link it with all the clan homes." They needed to prepare for other attacks, as he was sure that wouldn't be the last. Strategy came in many forms, and he wasn't about to let surprise generate another victory for any of their enemies. A curt nod was offered by the Field Marshal as Azrael deactivated the projection and watched as the clansmen mounted a speeder bike and headed towards the citadel, or at least the battered frame of what once was. Gray eyes watched the rider vanish into the horizon of the burnt orange scenery from the glow of distant fires still being put out. A movement of shadow quickly overtook his peripheral, and a furrow of the Mand'alor's brow came into a crease.

It was evident the moment the Primeval came into focus on their radar that the Sith were branching out, granting out space in the Galaxy as if they were to hold a deed to every star in range. Creating subsidiary alliances with like minded factions who would rally with them. A mutual beneficial relationship. If Azrael was pressed, he admired the ingenuity to break such long standing tradition of their cause, and branch out. Still they were a force to be reckoned with, and while the Mandalorian pride was superior in his eyes as well as every other vod - there was something respectable about how they had engineered everything. Alliances with the Vong, entertaining false deities, and not spreading themselves too thin to be overtaken by the Republic. These were master strokes, of a machine of war - and yet they would not break the Mandalorians - even if they decided to strike their home planet. It wasn't what they had brought to the table though that would be their undoing, it was what they had left.

A distinct click of a safety sliding into an off position, and the mechanical whine of a weapon being held at the ready - the next two sounds normally audible before the voice. That voice was tinted, synthesized through speakers of the Mand'alor's helm while he stood about a half a meter behind Sabik. Azrael's trail around the alleyways had taken him the opposite path from the Cantina, using several vode that were moving back and forth to cloud his movements until he was within striking distance. He'd seen the boy, up close and personal as he had engaged Gabriel at his side. Azrael had survived that match, and Gabriel was off world. But look who was left behind.

"I have every reason to let this slug hollow out another hole in your skull, but for someone so conversational in Mando'a - I'm willing to find out if your life is worth sparing." Azrael wasn't known for his mercy. He gutted the first person that ever attempted to ruin his life, and he felt no remorse over it till this day. However, violence wasn't always the most strategic of answers - and this boy had some connection to the Mandalorians. If he turned his back on all those that once walked the path of the Manda, he couldn't call himself a worthy Mand'alor.

[member="Sabik Dhami"]

 

[Rose Kuhn]

[member="Azrael"] | [member="Xander Carrick"] | [member="Lisette Kuhn"] | [member="Sabik Dhami"] | [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"]

She stood, stunned and frozen.

The cold seeped into her bones even with her new articles of clothing wrapped around her, the hood clinging tightly to her bright red hair, her eyes peeking out from beneath soaked bangs. Bright blue crystals observed the medic, her lips thinning and her face scrunching slightly as she tried to figure out the best response to his question.

Rose didn't want help, she didn't need help, but rejecting it might be as suspicious as the results of accepting it. She frowned slightly, her eye twitching slightly out of an automatic response from stress and the sheer cold that was driving into her bones.

The rain slashed at her skin, biting into the exposed parts of her where the armorweave bodysuit she wore had been cut away by her earlier engagements.

Suddenly her head swiveled to the side, caught by the noise of men speaking and weapons being powered. Even with the driving rain it was a hard sound to miss, the tone of a voice modulator ringing out within the barely lit night. She frowned slightly, scrunching herself further beneath her hood, not that anyone would recognize her. Her eyes tried to scan the figures that moved, but before she could identify them she looked back to the medic with a sense of urgency, remembering she had yet to answer his question.

“I'm fine.” Rose finally said, her voice bitten off and shaking, more polite than usual oddly enough. “Just cold. I'll get home soon.”

There was no lie to her words.

Rose intended to get home as fast as possible. She had no intent of harming anyone, or even getting involved with whatever skirmish was happening just a few meters from herself and the Medic.

All she wanted was to go home.

 

[Jaster Awaud]

[member="Rose Kuhn"]

Jaster needed to get this female out of this conflict zone, he himself would be punished for even being on the planet. As a Dar'Mando, he could be treated as trash even with permission to be on Mandalor. They needed to move, this was Manda'lor who was pushing for a fight, if the Protectorates didn't intervene, the master worrier would end it himself.

Jaster looked to the famale, "My ship is near here, there are Medical supplies as well as warm cloths, we must get you out of here before this conflict escalates, but I must mention, I'm a Dar'Mando, I need your permission if I am to escort another Mandalorian anywhere."

Tradition was all Jaster could think about in his spare time, being an exile he nearly forgot the language of his kin. Forbidden from using it in public, Jaster couldn't speak it, just barely understand it. He he looked at the female hoping she would accept the invite and escape to his ship near the space docks. They wouldn't be able to leave since the planet was on lockdown for construction, but it was safer then here.

 

[Darth Vazela]

[member="Azrael"]

Vilox Pazela held no love for the Sith. He had abandoned them when the Mandalorians invaded Dromund Kaas and the Galactic Republic at Ossus, to venture out into the Unknown Regions to being his own enclave. Although his plans had stalled in that regard- he had been betrayed by the revelation that the woman who had convinced him to leave the Sith Empire was a Jedi Master- he still perceived the Sith as weak. He had seen what Larraq would do to Dromund Kaas in a vision on board the Obscurity, which was ironically destroyed by the same woman that had let him down. He did not admire the One Sith either. The men and women that made up their Sith Order had betrayed their own ideals, to allow themselves a moment in time when together they could be strong enough to usurp the Jedi and take Coruscant away from their Galactic Republic. Betrayal of your own beliefs to gain power was weak and the Dark Master would not tolerate it. They would have their time, then they will be slapped back into reality, shortly before their fall.

The Dark Master sat on the edge of a building that overlooked Keldabe. The fact that the city still stood was a testimony to the Dark Jedi's opinion. Slowly, the lies of the Sith were beginning to reveal themselves. The lie that they would take the galaxy under one vision was nothing short of a trick. They had sold themselves to every major government in the galaxy, save for Galactic Republic and Mandalorians, who instead hadn't prosituted themselves for their own goals. If not the Primeval's expansion which put the Mandalorians in their way, Pazela would nod to the fact his new found enemies had not sold themselves. There was strength in that. It was a shame that he would have to crush them.

His presence on Mandalore was but for one purpose. He who understood the dark side better than nobody else had turned his gaze onto the Mand'alor himself. Although he could not claim to know the Mandalorian idelogy- he was not a liar to himself- he understood that if orchestrated properly, the Dark Jedi would get his fight. The Dark Master only dealt in absolution, that of a promise that would be kept and then made true, so when it came to face off with his advesary, he would crush him and the opposition that followed.

It wouldn't take the Mandalorians long to notice him. If he wanted too, Vilox Pazela could have concealed himself from detection and attacked from afar. But he had told himself that he would fight this man fairly, for at the end of the fight when he was named victor, he had a proposition that Azrael would not refuse. In the background, the squad of commandos that had been on the prowl for survivors of the Keldabe conflict laid unconcious by the hand of the Dark Master. He would remain sat on the edge, watching the city below until another team came to recover their comrades. Then he could begin his work.

 

[Lord Gaius]

[member="Azrael"]

Click!
He hadn't heard him coming, or maybe he had, and just assumed those footsteps were any number of the dozens in the locale. He assumed to know what was pointed at the back of his head, after all, this was the voice of the Mand'alor. He knew his voice well, not that he had met him, but anyone could recognize the voice of their leaders without even having ever placed a living eye on them.

And so that thought sank his stomach. He could not contest with the man behind him, and should he dare it would likely result in his instantaneous death. One did not become Mand'alor through winning sabacc. The voice had spoken, "I have every reason to let this slug hollow out another hole in your skull, but for someone so conversational in Mando'a - I'm willing to find out if your life is worth sparing."

Sabik took the only choice he had, and that was a plea for truce through clenched teeth. He hissed the words, as though every muscle in his body opposed the very thought of him surrendering, "Ah, mar'e! jatnese be te jatnese, ori'buyce, kih'kovid. Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod." He slowly twisted around to look at the Mandalorian, head-to-toe in plated armour.

Then again, he could have gone down the Jedi route and tried to falsify his identity, but this was not a man you could easily fool. Then again, Sabik's face was not an easy one to read, and his voice was likewise synthesized by his breathing apparatus. He probed out with the Force, feeling for any intents that the Mand'alor may have, it was better Sabik detect an incoming attack and have a chance of survival than outright death by slug.


Translation: "Ah, at last! The best of the best, all helmet, no head. Honor my offer of truce, for I would not willingly shed my brother's blood."

 

[Rose Kuhn]

[member="Azrael"] | [member="Xander Carrick"] | [member="Lisette Kuhn"] | [member="Sabik Dhami"] | [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"]

A ship? She needed a ship. That could get her off world, though her eyes sank slightly as he made mention of a blockade. Her lips thinned and her face scrunched as he said the words 'Dar'Manda'. Oh she knew well enough what that meant, her mother had told her. He was an outsider, an outcast among his own people.

Under normal circumstances she would have spoken with him, perhaps even tried to turn him against his own.

Yet right now that was not in the cards. She knew that if she was caught with him, if one of the regular mandalorian spoke to him and happened to find her by his side, it wouldn't end well. A girl walking around in her own home town wouldn't be suspicious, one walking around with a Dar'Manda? Yeah, they would ask questions, questions that she didn't have answers to.

For now she would have to remain on her own, find a ship nearby by herself. Slowly she took a step back, as if she was a regular Mandalorian girl recoiling from the sight of an outsider. “N-No.”

She injected an air of innocents into her tone, as if she wanted to get away from both him and the situation.

“I live near here.” Rose looked passed him as if she was trying to see something. “I don't need help. Thank you.”

With that she tried to walk around and away from him, hopefully he would leave her along.

 

[Azrael]

A single Ripper held aloft in the grip of his right hand, while the bionic left acted as it's cradle and structure to the pose. The barrel of this well crafted fire-arm pointed directly at chest level of the young man who turned to face the dark armored Mand'alor. Crimson shone more prominent than most spots on his armor - in the default and identifiable T shape of the Mandalorians. The stance was fixed, and strong, keeping the aim steady and unwavering in the face of this unknown figure. There was no name to attach, no identification that would immediately set him into any faction, and yet he had been at the side of Gabriel, the Sith Lord. He had outright challenged a vod of Azrael's own clan to combat, and now twice had spoken in perfect Mando'a to address both herself and himself. The half covered face of this apparently stranded acolyte giving very little to go off of, save that there had been some tragedy befallen the youth that had required such measures to conceal this part of his face and head. The salvager could relate - his own left arm, from shoulder to fingertips, had been replaced with a bionic implant. They had both lost something that was apart of them at birth, and that alone could form something of a connective bond if they would let it.

"Bal su gar jurkadir ner'vod. Ner aliit vod. Bal olorar te Dar'Jetti." The half-blood replied, matching Mando'a syllable for syllable, contesting what he had just said. If he did not wish to willingly spill the blood of his brothers and sisters, than he certainly chose a poor way of demonstrating that. "Look around you adiik, see the ruin that the Dar'Jetti cost the well being of the 'ade. Open your eyes - and answer me - who forced your hand to stand with such demagolka'e?" He kept the piece trained, merely giving the human before him a chance to contemplate what he had been a part of. "If Manda'yaim meant anything to you - why would you trample underfoot everything it has given?" This wasn't about guilt however - he spoke of honor, spoke of understanding the culture and heritage. The Manda had rescued Azrael, adopted him into a family when he had none. He couldn't understand why anyone who was born on this world could ever see it as anything but a home to protect.

It was evident that Sabik was left behind - and whether that was intentional or a mistake, Azrael was unaware right now, Sabik was as alone as he could possibly be. Even if this was his homeworld, it was no longer a sanctuary. He had let his soul stray from the path of the Manda, and turned into Dar'Manda by his very deeds and actions. When Azrael had stepped foot on this soil for the first time, he had witnessed the enveloping clean up attempt at the nuclear strike that had hit the former capital. Keldabe was a fresh start, and now the Sith had attempted to take that from them - and had become sorely outnumbered, very quickly. They had failed to bring sufficient paws to the raze - and had not succeeded in much more than a trial run. Azrael knew that this young man had to be conflicted, if he spoke the way he did - but there was still very little trust for someone so off the path of the Resol'nare. Redemption wasn't out of the question, but as he'd seen before it would be a long and treacherous road to reclaim one's own soul.

[member="Sabik Dhami"]

 

[Garza]

After I had pulled up my hood, I turned to the rather loud chatter to see the Mand'alor pointing a handgun at the Jedi's head. But after he turned to face the man, I could see why he suspected him. I felt the dark presence of the man once more. He was no Jedi. Possibly he was one once, but now? no. He had changed in some shape or form to make him the way he is now. However to the other side of my vision, I could see a girl walk away from another man, saying something like no and was walking away. Almost scared? I knew the ruler of Mandalorians could handle himself. Hell, he could very likely hold up to me. Instead of getting into the ramble with the falsified Jedi, I walked over towards the man and the girl who seemed to be having a rather awkward conversation.

My boots crunching as I came over. The dark rain pelting the armor and staining my cloak even more. I tilted my head just a little as I got close enough to place a hand on the man's shoulder and was tall enough to look down at the girl, then back at the man as I asked a simple question.

"Is everything okay between you two?"

My voice sounding almost droid like because of the helmet I wore. But my real voice could still be heard and the pure curiosity was laid heavily in the pitches of my voice.

Something was up, and well since this was just after an attack by the Sith, and these two were freaking out, it looked a little different than the screaming and looks of sorrow and loss. This was almost scared and afraid. While I never simply looked at things as they are, I looked for some other meaning. Hell, this could all be a ruse by two Sith to try and get just a few more mandalorians for us to make graves for. I was still cautious and should I need to, my weapon could be drawn in an instant. Or simple fisticuffs would be good enough.

[member="Azrael"], [member="Rose Kuhn"], [member="Sabik Dhami"], [member="Vilox Pazela"], [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"], [member="Lisette Kuhn"],

 

[Jaster Awaud]

[member="Xander Carrick"] [member="Rose Kuhn"]

As the women appeared frightened Jaster understood, this was not a common sight among his other kinsmen, or his past kinsman. Jasters happiness to be home was vanquished as the memories of his youth were just that, memories. Jaster had accomplished much out in the galaxy without the help of his race, creating and saving life. This was nearly unheard of when Jaster last survey in the Defence Force of the Mandalorian Military. Yet this was years ago, and there even stood a new Manda'lor, news of this had not reached Jaster as he could not return to this place, the planet of his birth.

Here he stood though, a medical professional, degrees in field in science possibly foreign to his worrier race. He was possibly the most knowledge to assist that injured women, yet she choose pain over the assistance of a Dar'Mando. To be an outcast was hard enough, but to be home and not even recognized as a fellow member of this wonderful worrier race, this was more pain then any blaster burn or torture Jaster had ever received.

"I understand ma'am, but please find a-" That's when Jaster was interrupted by the trembling under his skin. This was the effect of only one thing that Jaster had developed as a self defense after working for so many force users. Jaster could sence when a force user was nearby, he himself was no force user, and no force users in his lineage as well. This developed because of the many years of being harassed by Sith Employers and Fallen Jedi Healers who assisted Jaster during complicated medical procedure. This was no exact science that Jaster could control, all it told him was a force user was near, even then there was no direction or distance, just that one was near.

That was when Jaster felt a palm placed on his shoulder. As he looked over and noticed the lightsaber and armor, was that of a Mandalorian Knight, the feeling of fear went through his spine. Jaster had no chance against a Jedi Knight, let along a member of the Madalorian Knight, if this women decided to spill a lie of a Dar'Mando abusing her, his guts would be splattered across this battlefield. He had to speak up before something got out of hand.

"Sir, I was just attempting to assist this women, she denied it and I was just about to be on my way." Jaster really hopped the women would speak true and not get him killed.

 

[Rose Kuhn]

[member="Xander Carrick"] | [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"]

Mandalorian.

Armor. Lightsaber. Stiff demeanor.

Rose recognized all of these qualities almost immediately, and she forced herself to appear relieved. To her, her current self, a Mandalorian in armor and with a lightsaber was not something to be feared. They were here to help, or usually anyway. Rose made herself think that, made herself believe that. It was the only way she would get off this world.

Her gaze turned towards the armored Mandalorian, shifting away from the Dar'Manda. The biting right picked up slightly as a slash of wind poured through the streets. She tightened the now soaking hoodie around herself and scrunched herself deeper beneath the hood.

“Everything's fine.” Rose said, her voice was stern, stronger than before. She mimicked the tone that she imagined a Mandalorian teenager would have.

Her mother had explained the culture to her before, had told her some small things about how they operated. She knew about the Resol'nare they all followed, and she knew what it entailed. Mandalorians learned to fight at the age of thirteen, not dissimilar from when she began training. To them, she would already be seen as a full adult, she had to remember that.

“After what happened today...” She stalled for a moment, looking over to the other group before shifting her gaze back. “I just want to go home.”

 

[Garza]

The woman was relieved. After getting a closer look to her face, she looked to be around older teenager in years. Possibly just a young looking 20-something year old. But either way, she was considered an adult. Someone who clearly knew how to make a decision, and to accept the consequences. Her face showed being relieved when seeing me. Her body was shaking and her arms folded over herself to keep warm. The rain was making her cold. She was a lady. Even if she were a beggar I would do the same as right now. Pulling my hood down and unwrapping it from around my neck, I let the necklace fall and clink against my chest as I then wrapped the cloak around her. The shell-spider silk would easily keep the rain from hitting her more, and keep her body heat close to her. The man dressed for general wear, but had some protective gear on him. Mando without his armor? Either way, the man spoke up fast as I had placed the cloak around the woman.

He mentioned that he was asking her if she needed help. How she had denied his help and then mentioned briefly that he was to be off. I nodded my helmed head at him. The girl had replied that everything was fine. Sure she may have said that, but her body almost violently shaking from the cold, and the rain, was not okay. Water was not a nice thing to have in some cases. In this one, it was bad. Water absorbed heat constantly. No matter what it takes it from, or where it is. It will always try and take heat. As such, wet clothes would constantly sap on the poor girl's body heat. Causing possible hypothermia with enough time. At the very least, it could make her sick due to the drop in heat. Hence why I removed my cloak.

"Then be on your way, or try to help someone else." The girl looked around me as she spoke about today. Looking for the ramble that was happening off to the side. She wanted to go home. Making it very much verbal, she very likely had said that many times already. Taking a hand I clapped it onto the man's back, "Thank you for the assistance. I think I can take it from here." I removed my hand to be at my side once more. My head turned to the girl. I pointed towards the cloak that I had placed.

"I'd like to have that back, but I can't have you catching a cold or worse. Would you mind if I walked you home?" Looking over my shoulder to make sure that the little event was still going on, I motioned my thumb behind me over my shoulder. ​"And because we might have more instances like this happen." If she refused, I would be fine with that. Sure it was a nice cloak, but I can get a new one. I wasn't about to leave a young woman in the rain, shaking her shebs off from the cold. Even more so, I was polite to all people. More so for women because I held them to much regard. They were the gender that brought life to people, and are in some cases, more delicate.

This girl however, was not so. More like hiding her true talents. I could feel something strange from her, but nothing that would set any red flags off right from the bat. I would give her some of my trust until proven otherwise. It's just how I was. Sue me.

[member="Rose Kuhn"], [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"],

 

[Jaster Awaud]

[member="Xander Carrick"] [member="Rose Kuhn"]

Jaster was truely worried there for a moment as his heart sank and ceased to beat until the women spoke up. Jaster knew that she was just trying not to cause trouble, but a Dar'Manda like himself surely had overstepped his placement in his cultures eyes. This was when Jaster received praise from the Knight, this made Jaster feel worse, a true protector of his people, praising someone who was stated soulless in the eyes of his people.

As the Knight continued to speak to the women Jaster felt it was his medical duty to at least retrieve some other form of medical attention. She refused him because of his statues, possibly she would be better treated by true Mandalorian medics. He nodded his head and spoke up, "She refused the medical attention of a Dar'Manda, please at least let me aquire a True Madalorian Medic, she may not show it, but she is injured, as a medical professional I can't allow her to suffer because of my statues, just to bring peace to myself that she will be taken care of, sir?"

Jaster had a doctorates as well as a PhD in Genetics and Bio-Engineering, he could tell if a person was wounded just by how they walk. Not even a Sith Inquisitor ever escaped his eye for those in pain.

 

[Rose Kuhn]

[member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] | [member="Xander Carrick"]

She let out a groan.

The man wouldn't relent. She was injured, but not in any major way. Vrag had nearly beaten her to a pulp once, and if she could recover from that, she could recover from any of the injuries she now carried.

With the mans cloak now firmly secured around her, and her body slowly gaining back some semblance of warmth, Rose found herself getting more bold, or at least more confident in her current situation. She desperately clawed at any knowledge that her mother had imparted on her regarding the Mandalorians, and scraped up anything that she knew about their society.

Rose knew that there were clans, and that the clans were mostly independent save for having to follow the Manda'lor.

“I'm fine.” She insisted, addressing the man that had given her the cloak. “Thank you. I'll be okay after a few days rest. My sister has had some medical training and when I get home she can take care of me.”

It was odd how every single word she had spoken rang completely true. All she wanted was to go home, she was mostly fine, and Lily really had had some medical training. Granted, she had the same amount of medical training as her sister, both of the Twins had received at least some instruction in that avenue.

Father had insisted on it.

"Your concern is appreciated, but really, I'll be fine. There are others who are in far more need then me." Her tone sounded stern, fierce, as Mandalorian as she could make it.

 

[Garza]

She had spoken back. Saying that she was fine. Saying that she would be fine after a few days rest. and already knowing someone who had medical training. The Mandalorian next to me spoke up. Saying that she turned down treatment from a Dar'manda. A traitor of our kind. Sure they may be living the life of infamy, but to me, I wouldn't care who gave me medical attention. Just as long as they did well, and were not killing me. Either way, I nodded my head to her.

​"Your choice, your consequence. Keep the cloak. I can get a new one."

The girl's words were hitting the nail on the head. There were others who needed more attention that her. She could still walk, and still function. So I would leave her. Turning to the mandalorian, even if he was traitor-like, I shook my head. Hopefully he would just listen and realize both mine, and her words. If not, I could order him since he looked to be an Initiate. I happened to be a Rally Master. One rank above him.

"She's right. Others need your attention. I thought Medical officers had a code to help the close to death first? Anyways. Off to where you were."

I turned to face the girl again. Bowing my head enough to show some sign of respect and simply being polite.

"It was nice meeting you. May your journeys be safe."

There was nothing else I could do. If she refused medical attention, it was her fault. Not those who offered. As well, There was still a chance Sith were out and about hiding among the rubble. Cleaning that up was going to be needed first.

[member="Rose Kuhn"], [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"],

 

[Jaster Awaud]

[member="Xander Carrick"] [member="Rose Kuhn"]

Jaster was no longer in the Mandalorian Military and forbidden to touch a wounded worrier without their consent, so this left helping civilians or the Sith. Civilians were just as likely to not allow him to assist as this young women, and helping the Sith that wounded his brother and killed his father. Because of them, Jasters clan was in the wind, he may even be the last of his clan, it was a thought that had crossed his mind.

"I served my time in you military, sir, and for questioning a fellow Feild Marshals orders I was stripped of my rank and exiled, if I could help my people I would have, in just here to collect my clansmen bodies and transport them to our homeland, just point me to the local Baracks of the Mandalorian Protectorates, Jaster was starting to feel the anguish of his lost kin, even if they were in Manda, Jaster would never see them again, not as a Dar'Manda. He looked over at the young female, she was a little older then his cousin and that was possibly why he was trying so hard. "Be sure to keep you wound covered, the cold can cause frostbit on an open wound like that."

Jaster began to take a step back, away from the Manda'lor in his struggle with another. He waited for the directions to the local Baracks where he would retrieve his fathers body and check on his brother.