The Redeemer
| Location | Does it matter?
| Objective | While away the hours
I commanded warriors into battle.
I listened to their voices ring out into the night sky as they called out my name, praised me and my deeds, rallied around my banner, my cause.
I became more than mortal, for a time. On wings of glory I flew; rejecting the shackles of fate, the weight of mistakes past, soaring ever-higher towards hope.
Greater still was the fall, and worse still that I could foresee it. An Alliance too bloated to defend itself, imperialism cloaked underneath pretenses of righteousness. A sickly thing, a dying thing, its tendrils spreading ever-outwards instead of consolidating its position.
Abandoning Onderon was one of the hardest decisions I ever made, and one the New Mandalorians never truly recovered from, after so much effort put into tying our fate to that world. We wandered, we erred aboard a small flotilla, naught but the Enduring Flame and a few escorts, all as I slipped and sank beneath brackish waters. Despondent and lethargic, I gave no commands from my throne, grew to bouts of irascibility, struck those who did not show me enough respect with the flat of my blade as one would discipline a child.
One by one, under some pretense or other, my army left me. To join with the Mandalorian Empire, to return to mercenary work, or to try and find their way into the Galaxy, just as I once did.
Now only the staunchest of loyalists remain. Those who believe that what was, may yet come again; that the Alor of House Kryze, Duchess of the New Mandalorians, may raise her sword to the heavens once more, cry out and rally our scattered people once again... a distant memory now, a mirror I look into, lost in the past and blinding myself to the future.
In this I am no better than my peers, I realize at last, lost in the pathetic throes of nostalgia. Never again shall the Mando'ade be as they once were; to attempt to restore the past, a fool's errand. Why, then, do I obsess with it so, when I surely know better? Am I truly this... foolish?
Footsteps approach, and my reverie broken, looking up from yet another blade brought into the world within the sanctuary of this forge perched atop a low hill, close enough to the ocean that I may feel the breeze caress my cheek, were I to step outside. The Captain of the Enduring Flame must have informed me of this world's name, and yet I cannot recall it - in truth, I care not. It exists only for us to make a stop, reinvigorate ourselves by partaking in the raw, untamed beauty of a planet at the edge of known space, where none may come to disturb us... and then be on our way, a week, a month, a year from now; whenever my whims so direct what remains of my people.
It is not Karrys I see before me. Nor Pollux. Or Ryk. Naught but the armor and helm of a Hastatus. Of those Onderon-born auxiliaries, few remain in my service, for their loyalty had ever been to their world - those who took to our traditions and put it before their home, I cherished truly. And still my heart felt heavy, at the sight of him offering me a bow, as if I remained deserving of such things.
"Your Grace, a guest has come asking for you."
Who would come here? Who would go through the trouble of tracking me down, to come all this way, simply to talk to me? A shadow of the Duchess that once was. What counsel could I offer now when so many had deserted me, lost their respect and admiration for me. And yet, even now, obligations aroused a remnant of the flame that once burned, for things were expected of a woman of my station. If not the Duchess, then the Forgemistress. Seeing little reason to remove my smithing gloves, or clean the soot off the shimmering blue of my armor, I merely dipped my head in answer.
"Have them brought before me here, then."
Nowhere was I stronger, or more confident, than within the confines of my forge.
