Revenchent
Dungeon Master
The galaxy was a constantly changing place. Empires fell, regimes formed. Political ideas shifted as common as the winds. Religious ideals formed and faded as time went on. Even the Mandalorians, the Mando'ade, a people Calico had once taken great pride in, had become something else. Razing worlds had never....seemed like the Mando way. It was dishonorable, cowardly, and yet, from a tactical standpoint, it made sense.
Calico had declared himself dar'manda the day he had learned of what exactly happened on Dromund Kass. That wasn't something the honorable family he remembered would have done. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself from occasionally speaking the language, or missing the sense of belonging. Galaar's strict faith in what they had both been raised in certainly didn't help. In truth, Calico missed it. The majority of the RC regime back in the Clone Wars was brought up, taught, trained, and lived to the very definition of the word Mandalorian.
It felt like a disgrace to Bralor's careful training to truly turn his back on the people: no matter how far they seemed to have fallen. It was for these reasons, that Calico had taken his Belbulab down to land in Keldabe. Mandalore looked remarkably like he remembered, but there were still many differences. His advanced Katarn rig would only make him stand out more once he disembarked.
The two man star-fighter plopped down in an open roof landing pad with no one to greet it; save for a small team of engineering droids. Calico slid out of the sleek silver vessel in full armor: kama swaying behind him as he made sure his DC-17 was in its usual holster on his upper thigh plate. He turned toward the second seat of the fighter.
"Mi'vaar ti'gaar ner'vod. Tsikala at haa'taylir yaim?"
Calico had declared himself dar'manda the day he had learned of what exactly happened on Dromund Kass. That wasn't something the honorable family he remembered would have done. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself from occasionally speaking the language, or missing the sense of belonging. Galaar's strict faith in what they had both been raised in certainly didn't help. In truth, Calico missed it. The majority of the RC regime back in the Clone Wars was brought up, taught, trained, and lived to the very definition of the word Mandalorian.
It felt like a disgrace to Bralor's careful training to truly turn his back on the people: no matter how far they seemed to have fallen. It was for these reasons, that Calico had taken his Belbulab down to land in Keldabe. Mandalore looked remarkably like he remembered, but there were still many differences. His advanced Katarn rig would only make him stand out more once he disembarked.
The two man star-fighter plopped down in an open roof landing pad with no one to greet it; save for a small team of engineering droids. Calico slid out of the sleek silver vessel in full armor: kama swaying behind him as he made sure his DC-17 was in its usual holster on his upper thigh plate. He turned toward the second seat of the fighter.
"Mi'vaar ti'gaar ner'vod. Tsikala at haa'taylir yaim?"