Private Epiphanies - Clan Angrund

[Gilad Angrund]

It was such a simple decision, to leave the Unknown Regions after many years on the run, never settling down, one step ahead of those who would hunt down and destroy the last of the Mandalorians. The Empire's purge, known as the Night of a Thousand Tears to some, was known as the Last Day among those of Clan Angrund. The Clan was nomad, living aboard a mining ship kitted out for deep space exploration, and they had left Mandalore in a hurry. Life in the Unknown Regions had been harsh, with dangers and perils not known well in the more civilized galaxy.

Gil was at his Forge, deep within the mining ship's maze-like interior, working the flames at a solid bit of Mandalorian Iron. He was sweating from the exertion, though not from the heat of the forge, for it was damnably cold in space, even inside a ship. His wife, Alia, sat to one side, working at weaving the edge of a shoulder cape, threading a needle as expertly and professionally as her husband worked at the metal. They were working on a labour of love, the beskar and the cape for their daughter, Miri, who would be taking her Verd'goten soon upon reaching age 13. They were two Mando'ade living among many aboard their ship.

Others of the Clan worked elsewhere in the ship, having carved out sections of the bulbous vessel for living space, working space, and anything else a small community of warriors might need, though this particular section was for Gilad and selected individuals alone. His forge was the one place he could be safe from his constant partner, depression and a form of melancholia, that was only soothed by fighting. Forging, working metal, kept the feeling at bay until the next battle. "Have you almost finished, cyar'ika?" Alia couldn't fully understand, not suffering from the condition herself, but she empathized with the needs of her soldier husband. Not everyone in their small family within the larger family of Clan Angrund was so empathic, his sister for one.

"Almost done." So much time had passed, it was difficult to understand what had happened to their ship, but what could not be denied was that several centuries had passed them by during their five years in the Unknown Regions. How it had happened mattered little. The Galactic Empire was gone, that much was certain. So much more was unknown to them, and only by returning to the more civilized galaxy would the Clan get any answers. So, as Alor, he had decided the other elders of the Clan, though not his sister. Despite the lack of unanimity, the decision stood, and the Beskar Explorer was jumping back to civilized space. Deep within the ship, Gilad of Clan Angrund brooded on his decision, for the risk it meant to the lives of his family, balanced against the risk of remaining in unexplored space.

 

[Gillian Angrund]

Gillian was incensed, and to try and get some of the rage out of her system she was stomping down the hallway of the Beskar Explorer excessively loudly. The few vode that encountered her kept out of the way, her face was after all an expression of imminent violence. The target of her rage, her idiot brother, the Alor, was hiding in his forge.

She was on her way there now, through the bowels of the huge mining ship that had been the Clan's home for these past five years. Or was it eight hundred sixty five? It was hard to get it all straight in her head. She wasn't a scientist, though she'd learned a fair bit of xeno anatomy over the years. Twelve years since her verd'goten, and she'd racked up an impressive number of kills.

She was contemplating adding her brother to that list when she barged into the Forge, but changed her mind when she saw Alia was there. Her sister-in-law was a most tolerant being, but Gill doubted she'd be happy if her husband was relieved of his head. "Sister." Gill forced a smile. Alia sent her a knowing look, and she turned to regard her brother, who was pretending to ignore her.

"I didn't bring you that intel to have you take us out of hiding." She said the words through clenched teeth. She'd assumed the Clan would be cautious. She'd assumed wrong, and the other elders had gone along with Gilad. That stung, but he was the Alor, and men were shabla dikute. "The Empire's gone, but there are half a dozen Empires in its place, and the Mandalorians are again scattered and broken." The subject of the state of the galaxy was something the Clan had much catching up to do on. Palpatine's Empire was long dead, and yet, dangers were everywhere.

What really steamed Gillian was that she knew her brother was not going to change his mind, no matter what objection or caution she tried to bring to his attention. That really only made her angrier, and she had to work not to grab one of her knives and toss it at him.

 

[Gilad Angrund]

Gil looked first to his wife, Alia, who pointedly looked away from him. The unspoken communication there was that he could clean up his own mess. Sighing, he struck the metal he was working on three more times, then turned away from the flames to cool it, leaving it on the side of the forge, aircooling it, for to put the metal into water or other coolant at this stage would spoil the forging. Beskar required a particular set of steps, or it would become brittle, or worse, slag. Turning away, he made eye contact with his sister.

"My decision is made, little sister." Little was a joke. She was big for a woman, though half his age, she stood nearly to his two meters of height, and was strongly built. He understood her anger, her rage, and her fear. He'd had two and a half decades longer to get used to his. It came from once having been considered a thing, property, chattel. The rage never truly went all the way away. Forging helped Gil with his. For his sister, only battle would suffice, and she still had not fully mastered her fear.

"Now that it's made, it's on you to help keep us safe. Look on the disordered galaxy we've come upon as an opportunity. Not a burden." Her rage smouldered, he saw. Trying his best to deflect it was his only recourse. "You're going to serve as lead scout for the aliit." That would take her as a surprise, he was sure. She'd stormed out of the meeting of Clan elders before that decision had been taken. The sooner she stormed out of his forge, the better off they would all be. Duty would deflect her anger at him, delay it. That was all he could reasonably do. Gillian was permanently angry with him. Fortunately for him, the needs of Clan Angrund came first to his sister, as it did with all of the aliit.

 

[Gillian Angrund]

Gillian continued to stare daggers at her brother, though she was surprised by his revelation that she had been selected as lead scout for the Aliit, she was not mollified. Though she was intrigued, knowing that she could push forward with some of her own plans for the scouts. "Lead scout?" She tried not to sound pleased, though she was. She worked damned hard to earn that position, and she was the best for the job.

"I'll need resources. If we're going to deal with this galaxy full of Force users, there are a number of changes to be made." Osik! Gill realized too late her duty had overtaken her anger, and he had done it to her again. She picked up a set of tongs, intending to throw them at Gilad, but decided it was pointless, and pointed them at him instead. "You'll approve my requests." It wasn't a question. She tossed her brother the tongs, and turned on her heel, walking back out the door of his Forge, and heading for her own quarters aboard the Beskar Explorer. She had work to do.

 

[Gilad Angrund]

The Angrund Alor caught the tongs that his sister tossed his way, before she stormed out of the Forge. That had gone particularly well, he thought to himself, given how often talking with his younger sister seemed to go south. He was about to turn back to the beskar he'd been working on when the doors whooshed open again, and a short stocky man entered. As soon as the doors closed, he let go a loud fart, grinning at his own toilet humour.

Alia's reserve broke, and she stood up, swearing and fanning the air. "Shab, Dur'ika!" And she ran for the door, coughing. Durin, known universally to the Mando'ade of Clan Angrund as Brick, laughed uproariously, so unabashed that even Gilad had to smile. "She kriffing hates when you do that, you know." He said. "I know." Boomed Brick, guffawing. "I hear your sister is lead scout."

News travelled fast on the Beskar Explorer. There was disappointment in his friend's voice, but they both knew Brick was not suited to a scout role. "Did you also hear you've got your own special team?" Gil knew he could not have heard that news, because he had just decided himself to make the assignment. The Clan was expanding its capabilities, and that meant many of the veteran supercommandos would be moved into command roles.

Brick's face lit up. "Assault?" Gil shook his head. "Chemical weapons?" More shaking. "Explosives?" Gilad grinned. "Nonlethals." Brick's face went red with indignance. "WHAT?" Now it was Gilad's turn to laugh, and he did, coming around the Forge to clap a hand on one of Brick's huge shoulders in reassurance. "Don't worry ner vod. I haven't gone barvy. I want you to lead a capture team, all nonlethals, because I want you to bring the most dangerous prey in, alive."

Now he had his friend's attention. "Custom gear?" Brick asked, like a child asking if he was allowed a sweet. "Custom gear." Said Gil, like a father reassuring the child he could indeed have the sweet. Mandalorians were suckers for new and expensive kit. Brick grinned even wider, and the pair of them shared a laugh. Boys with their toys.