After Ashfall

[Lief]

Keldabe City​

Mandalore​

​

Chaos.

That was the only word for all that had transpired.

He was lucky to be alive at all, truth be told; the transporter had hit some pocket in space, flung out of control toward the nearest center of gravity, and the next thing he knew his world had turned upside down and then black. Nothing but a ringing in his ears, and a pain along the left of his abdomen. A tenderness to his ribs and gut.

There had been a rather unpleasant sensation amidst their free fall, it made his stomach drop and flutter and twist all at once, until he felt certain he was going to hurl. Thankfully they seemed to right themselves before that happened, and a backup generator had kicked in casting the belly of the ship into an odd twilight-like state of illumination.

If they had thought the worst of it was over, however, they were sorely mistaken. With the engines refusing to boot back up, the ship continued to tumble down to the planet below, past other vessels, through atmosphere, picking up speed as it went. Alarms began to blare, and his naivety brought about a pure state of panic. Thankfully it seemed as though the crew knew what to do.

He was pulled from his seat by an elderly gentleman who ferried him toward an escape pod. There were so many others pushed within it that he began to struggle for air. So small that the men and women around him seemed not to notice he was there at all, their bodies pressing closer, and closer together until it was all he could do not to scream. Tears welled up in his eyes, though he refused to let them flow.

Julius would have laughed at him if he saw him now, faced scrunched up like a babe. His heart skipped a beat, before the capsule-like object they had been shoved into rocked and jolted, before propelling itself away from the ship proper. Down and down they spiraled, until eventually they sank into some sort of surface, surprisingly well cushioned for all the speed they had picked up.

Outside was just as bad as the ship. They had landed within the middle of a firefight, yells filled the air, grunts of pain, of frustration, of focus. He witnessed more than one person get punched in the face with crushgaunts, the sound of blaster fire rang in his ears, and slugs whizzed by without warning. He ducked, he weaved, he scurried, and used his petite size to his advantage as he found some place to hide. Any place.

What seemed to be an upturned speeder proved to be his salvation. It lingered down an alleyway, leaning against the walls of a building, and he sprinted toward it with all of the energy that still remained in his body. Once there he cowered down, planting both hands over his ears, and squeezed shut his eyes. This isn't happening, he convinced himself, This is all in your head... It's all in your head...

Yet even he had never imagined anything quite so catastrophic before now. Where were all of the crazy creatures, and brilliant colours? A tiny whimper tore from his lips as a slug ricocheted off the speeder. This is all just a bad dream... You'll wake up soon, Julius will kick you for making too much noise... It'll all be over soon...

Only it wasn't.

As the battle raged into a close, the boy remained huddled behind the speeder. The noises began to retreat, less and less shots could be heard until they were gone entirely, and soon only the sound of sirens in the distance graced his hearing. He waited, for longer than was likely necessary, and then he made his way from his makeshift shelter. If he had been covered in soot previously, now it looked as though he had worked as a chimney sweep. Fires spluttered out around him, though the smoke from such lingered all around.

Wrapping his arms around himself, feeling the chill truly begin to set in, he stepped from the alleyway and out into the streets beyond. Eyes were wide, focusing on everything there was to see... But mostly just the bodies. It's not quite so fun, is it, imagining glorious fights... Not when you realize what they amount to.

He shivered, and sniffled somewhat. When his eyes fell upon what looked to be a long metal pipe he hurried toward it and picked it up. Not quite the stick he was used to, no it had much more weight behind it, but just the feel of it in his hand was enough to calm him down a little. His stomach grumbled, hunger beginning to truly set in, but he ignored it for now. Food was the last of his priorities.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

The guilt weighed more than the weapon he used. He pushed aside the thought of what he had done, and calmly walked.

As calmly as he could, at least. The wind bit at his face, and his cracked helmet was gingerly held in his fingers. Blood, cuts, and bruises lined his face. He was disparaged, beaten, broken- and distraught. The snow crunched under his feet as he walked, trying to make sense of what he had done, what occurred here. What the consequences would be.

There was a child, as he walked. Standing among the honored and vanquished dead. He stared for a while, before noting the boy's lack of clothing that would be suited for the cold. He was as lost as he was, caught in the chaotic nature of war. Caught in the reality of many young boys, who wanted to be soldiers, wanted to be warriors. But Preliat wished this chaos, this insanity on no man, no child especially. And yet, here they were.

Preliat had lost his rifle, and his blasters. The only thing he had left with him was a tomahawk. The marking on his chest identified him as Death Watch. Preliat began to slowly lumber, and walk with a slight limp- to the boy. He crouched slowly in front of him, a few feet- and out of the stick range. He looked around the street, the red splotches on the white snow, the dull gray blackened with carbon scars. Dead warriors from both sides, felled by the pride of one and the anger of another. Their life taken, hopes shattered.

And for what? He wished Aditya was here, so that she could make sense of it all. So that she could be there with him through all of it. He missed her- he blinked, holding his eyes shut for a fraction of a second longer, and pushed the thoughts of his beloved aside. Only pain lay in those memories. It did nothing but hurt him to think of her. So he focused on the boy in front of him.

"Are you alone?"​

​

His voice was gravelly, his throat dry, and his mouth had the iron taste of blood in it. The contusions and cuts, and bruises that were visible on the wolf- along with the deep scar across his nose where Ordo had cut him, marked him as a survivor of the conflict. Perhaps that's what was going to be his and the boy's shared bond- they did not win the battle. They simply survived it.

[member="Ilia Linus"]

 

[Lief]

It wasn't until this moment that he noticed the strange substance which covered the ground, which drifted through the air, beneath all of the blood, and soot. It seemed to glisten in what little light was cast upon it, the flames which continued to burn even now, the dim light of the sun which had all but set on the horizon. What it was, he could not say. He had never seen anything even remotely akin to it back home, where every day was warm beneath the sun, and when it wasn't it rained.

With the end of the pole he poked at it, finding the white powder-like substance clumped together when he did so. Compared to the mayhem and the bloodshed around him, this one innocent-looking thing had gained his full attention for the time being, and his expression was momentarily awe-filled. Of course there remained the self-same look of shock, of horror, which was underlying. The way his hands shook, even with the pole to keep them occupied, was tangible evidence of such.

So it was that when footsteps began to crunch under the snow, Ilia's eyes shot up in surprise and fixated upon the man who was approaching. He had an ugly looking wound on his face, crossing the nose, there were splatters of blood on his clothes. This one had been apart of the fight, he knew, and just that information alone was enough to make the boy take a hesitant step back. Something under his foot seemed to resist the step, and when he looked down at his feet he was met with the grim sight of a severed hand.

His breathing became heavy then, what little colour his cheeks had retained draining entirely, until all that remained was the soot from the fires and a ghostly visage. Compared to that, the man was nothing. He shot his gaze back to the man, who had just spoken.

"Y-Yes..." he confessed, before remembering what his Mother had said about talking to strangers. "I... I mean..." Drats, he couldn't do it. He couldn't look a man in the face and lie to him. "I don't know where I am. Or what happened here. I want to go home, to whatever is left of home... I..." Once again he cast his gaze around himself, the more he looked the more he saw, further bodies, buildings which were in a sorry state of repair. Slowly he let out a breath, as the full realization hit him.

He had no home to go back to. Home was just as destroyed as this place. His family? Likely in a similar state as the body at his feet. He seemed to sway on the spot for a moment, before he turned around and heaved.

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat grunted in pain as he finally fell to a sitting position. He propped up his knees, leaning against a broken speeder, which was still warm from where some explosion knocked it out of the sky- or just threw it around. The sounds of fire cracking and the distant, far distant crack of exchanging rifle fire occupied the silence between the kid and himself. Preliat looked up at the sky for a moment, and set aside his helmet.

He closed his weary eyes, soot, ash, and blood caking his face. His knuckles, adorned with crushgaunts- were covered in the same. Except a lot more blood, along with his forearms from where his impacts splashed around. Preliat's paternal instincts kicked in when the kid starting vomiting. He reached down and pulled a canteen off of his webbing. He slid it across the ground towards the kid, to have when he finished vomiting.

"I would assume you do not know that you are on Mandalore. You are in the middle of a civil war between the Mandalorians, ika." Preliat watched drones and war droids fly over the city, and checked his compass mounted on his wrist. Towards Sundari, at least- in the direction.

"My name is Preliat Mantis. People call me the Wolf."

[member="Ilia Linus"]

 

[Lief]

He could feel sweat beading on his brow, his body felt hot, overly so, but when such met the chill in the air it set about a severe chill in him. Each breath he took expelled a puff of mist, something he usually would marvel at. Right now he was far too preoccupied. He heaved until there was nothing more than bile, before wiping his mouth and sighing. There was an ache in his stomach and his chest, but all things considered he felt a little better.

Turning back to the man, not really having expected him to still be there, he glanced to the canteen and hesitantly reached for it. "T-Thank you" he said, not about to forget his manners even with the disastrous situation he found himself within. His knees knocked together, until he stepped away from where he had previously been standing, to the left of the man, and sank onto his backside. It likely wasn't all that safe to still be out here, it did not seem as though the fighting was completely over, but he didn't want to risk feeling sick again. Best he take a moment.

He took a healthy chug of the water, listening to what the man had to say. Mandalore? "I didn't think this was a real place," he stated, as he set the canteen down into the snow and looked to the man, "I thought it was something my brother made up... Are you..?" His eyes lit up somewhat as the full realization struck him, all of the fears and worry melting away momentarily to be replaced by awe, "Are you a Mandalorian?"

Unable to help himself he looked skyward when the drones flew overhead, his brows knitting together to form a frown. He'd seen ships and droids before, though few and far between on the Farm, yet... That was something entirely different to him. Flying droids? Julius would've never believed it.

The man gave his name then, so Ilia thought it best to look back to him. "Do you prefer Preliat, or the Wolf,Sir?" he asked, as though it was the most normal thing ever to refer to someone as a wolf, "I..." Don't talk to strangers. This man had offered him a drink, and given his name. Did that make him a stranger? Would Mother understand, given the complexity of the situation? "I'm Ilia... I came from Nadiem. Is that far from here?"

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"Everyone on this planet is a Mandalorian by birth."

The skies were becoming louder now. The cogs of war were turning faster, the machine opening a weary eye again. His people were doing what they did best- only to each other now. The Liberator and the Undying were going to the sons and daughters of Mandalore bleed for their causes for a while longer. Preliat's eyes shut. He was so tired, so exhausted. Mentally- and physically.

Preliat shrugged. He hadn't ever been to Nadiem- or even heard of the planet. He smiled at the boy, taking a sip from the canteen as well. His throat was dry and parched, and the rust-scent of blood did nothing to alleviate his thirst. Preliat took off his crushgaunts, and laid them at his sides. The spikes were covered in blood.

"I would prefer not to be here- but Preliat will do fine." He opened his eyes to look at the boy. "People call me the Wolf for reasons that aren't very nice." He shifted to be leaning further against the car, his eyes marked with the tell-tale signs of exhaustion.

"I have never been- but I do not think you will be able to find a way to get back there anytime soon, ika."

[member="Ilia Linus"]

 

[Lief]

... Everyone?

He blinked a couple of times, before glancing around himself. He saw past the carnage, past the raging fires and the droids which flew overhead, the scattered body parts which threatened to make him heave again - though he quickly looked away from them - and let out the smallest of sighs. This wasn't a battlefield. This was somebody's, no lots of body's, home.

His heart sank further. Was this the sight which awaited him back on the farm?

Attention became torn as the man started removing the odd gloves which had adorned his hands. He looked at them, stared right at them blood and all, and swallowed. Deep down he knew, he knew that there was nothing to go back to, even as the man continued to speak, even as he said how impossible it would be to return, he knew that there was little sense in trying. The fires had tore right through the fields, the Eopi had been screaming, mother's face had been at the window as the flames surrounded the homestead.

Tears began to prick the edges of his eyes, and he hastily lifted an arm to wipe them away before they became too obvious. His expression hardened then, turning into somewhat of a scowl, as he glanced down. Knees were brought up, and he wrapped his arms around them. There was no support at his back, so he leaned forward against his knees and set down his chin with a heavy sigh.

"I think you're right," he whispered, not voicing the rest of his concerns.

Part of him was curious about the Wolf-thing, but things were already so rocky and he didn't want to lose the company if he offended or pressed or annoyed. Julius always shunned him when he became 'too much', or if he had friends around - which was rare, given how far removed they had been - and even then, even knowing he had a home, and family, and his Eopi, it had been a horrible feeling.

Imagine facing all that desolation here, alone, as he almost had done.

He knew that at some point the man would move on. Continue with his path after a little rest. The cogs began to whir in Ilia's mind, as he contemplated his next step forward. His head lifted, gaze shifting around them. What if the battle began to rage again? His eyes dropped toward the durasteel pipe he had found, it wouldn't do much.

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"They are not in the habit of bombing dead cities, ika. The war droids hunt for prey other than us. There is a battle going on- much further away. Brothers fighting each other."

Preliat popped out a leg- his artificial leg, and wiggled his foot a little to make sure the motor was still operational.

"Did you survive the battle- or did you wander here?"

Preliat's eyes began to grow heavy. He was exhausted beyond words, beyond measure. The boy could see that, just by laying his eyes upon him.

[member="Ilia Linus"]

 

[Lief]

The man had noticed his cautious glances to the skies, apparently, sensed how wary he was feeling to be out in the open as they were. Well, his words spoke of more fighting, but he could at least be grateful that bombardments would not fall upon their immediate location if nothing else. He gave just a small nod in response, and shuffled ever so slightly closer to Preliat.

"Ika?" He tilted his head to one side, testing the strange word out with his own tongue, "What does it mean?" Usually he wouldn't have bothered to ask, but this wasn't the first time the man had referred to him by it. Mandalorian lingo? To think, a few days ago all of this was just figments of my imagination... It was never quite so horrifying in my mind. Soldiers just fell... Here there's... His eyes drifted back to the discarded hand and his skin turned clammy and pale once more.

Ilia shivered, and returned his gaze to the man who had asked him a question.

"Our ship... It was shot down. We were fleeing an attack on our farms, back on Nadiem... The, uh..." What was the name of the device... "Escape pod? It landed here. I don't know where the others went, I don't remember seeing them. There was too much happening." His mind returned to the firefight he had stepped out into, the chaos, the mayhem, the speeder he had hidden behind.

Another shiver. Followed by silence. And then, out of nowhere, one final statement, blunt, without emotion, eyes transfixed on a spot on Preliat's armour, yet rather unfocused.

"They're dead. My family, the farmhands, even the Eopi." Was Julius? He had been gone for a few days, on an errand. Had he missed the fire? It had spread far and wide, at a ridiculously fast rate... But there was still hope, wasn't there? The smallest hint of a frown played upon his lips then, and he reached out for the metal pole forcing himself up to his feet.

What came next? He glanced left, then right, brows furrowing as he contemplated his next move.

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat reached up and took the golden shawl- that was caked in ash, blood- both his own and the man he had just slain. He gently moved over to the boy, and wrapped it around him. Preliat had a flightsuit and armor that kept his body heat safely to himself. The boy had no such luxuries. His eyes were transfixed on the area beyond the pair, towards the distant, burning skyline.

"In my language, it means boy. I'm sorry about your farm. I'm sorry that you had to come here."

His eyes were locked ahead, but softened as the boy's world came crashing down on him. He sorrowfully turned his gaze towards the boy.

A hand, a gentle father's touch, laid itself upon the boy's back.

"I know the feeling. I lost many people. I lost my wife, and my son to this...madness. I even lost my best friend to it all."

He however, left the part out where he had to kill him.

[member="Ilia Linus"]

 

[Lief]

The sound of the man also rising drew his attention back to the present, and though his eyes widened he did not back-peddle when the man approached him. Instead he seemed somewhat surprised by the gesture, grateful for the warmth that the cloak provided, so much so that he either did not notice or did not care about the grime which coated it.

"Thank you" he breathed, doing his best to disguise the fact that he was once again close to tears. Crying over it all wouldn't do much to help, he had cried enough on the ship, and after the escape pod fell. Now he mostly felt empty, numb...

Boy. That worked, though Ilia had to admit it sounded better in the Mandalorian tongue than the regular old Basic. Something else to focus his mind on, other than the blatant destruction around them.

"What would they call you, in your language?" he asked, when the man settled a comforting hand to his back and explained that they were in a similar situation. That the man had lost his loved ones only broke his heart further, and he looked down at his feet with an expression of both sorrow and fury.

It wasn't right.

So many dead, and for what?

"I'm sorry" he whispered, and without warning the boy turned and gave Preliat a tight hug, one which spoke of pure necessity. Not just for him, but for the both of them.

What he'd give to have his Mother's arms around him again.

[member="Preliat Mantis"]