Faction Haat, ijaat, haa'it (Mandalorian Protectors)

[Arla Rodarch]

​

The tension in the moment was palpable, and as Mia left, it got stronger. The Sith appeared to Arla aggrieved, and she felt that he was meant to, Mia handing him off to Arla as she had done could be construed as an insult. Whether Mia intended it or no, Sith were prideful, and would take anything as a slight. He didn't seem to be stupid or ignorant, though the arrogance fairly washed off him, almost visible. Sith Hubris, Arla knew.

She felt the danger, the threat, so close as he stepped toward her. But she felt no fear at all. Were she to die here and now, she'd be almost instantly avenged, and she would die with her soul at peace. She wondered if the Sith was equally prepared to die. It was no suicidal urge, Arla was not mad, she did not wish to die. She was ready if it came, however, and that feeling gave her power.

Almost giddy with the prospect of confrontation, but presenting a veneer of calm confidence, Arla took her time before speaking, reaching up to remove her helmet. She wanted to look into the Sith's eyes, but also wanted him to regard the look in hers. She kept her head down as she lifted the buy'ce free, and clamped it to her belt. Still looking down, Arla's voice was calm, measured.

"No."

A hundred retorts and threats washed through her mind, but the blunt refusal won out. A hundred actions occured to her, but she settled for placing a hand on his lightsaber hilt, right over the emitter. If he ignited the weapon he'd impale her hand. She raised her head and looked directly into his face, peering deep into his Sith eyes, knowing he'd see the look in hers. The pain, the resentment, the burning anger and desire for revenge of an entire culture against everything this one represented, standing here on the land his kind despoiled.

"I'm Arla of Clan Rodarch. I might not be the first Mandalorian you've met, but if you start trouble, I will be the last."

With every fiber of her being straining against her, to attack, to cut this Sith bastard down to size, Arla's will and duty won out, and she stepped back, removing her hand from the lightsaber. She pointed in the direction they would take to meet Ijaat Mereel and possibly Valery Noble . That meeting might prove to be even more entertaining than chopping Sith meat here and now. Arla felt she'd pushed things just right, and that the Sith probably wouldn't choose mutual demise.

If the Mand'alor ordered her to remove the ysalamiri, she'd do so. She was not taking orders from this guy, not from a Sith, not on Mandalore's hallowed surface, and not here and now today. Not in this life. Arla held back a smile, her face a mask of cold contempt, while her eyes promised bloody murder any time the Sith wanted it.

When Mia Monroe wanted diplomatic niceties, she didn't send Arla.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"You have... beautiful eyes, Arla of Clan Rodarch," The figure of Malum simply noted, as he turned back towards the woman who had revealed her face, her eyes were not too dissimilar to his own coloured contacts, her brunette hair flowed freely down to her shoulder, while she seemed the elder to Malum, though not by much.

No doubt if Darth Malum was standing before her, he would have misconstrued her as attractive.

The figure of Malum, however, had little compulsion to be distracted by looks, it may have even been incapable of it.

"If it is all the same to you then, I shall simply wait here, summon your Mand'alor to come meet me, if he should wish to treat a dignitary so rudely to besiege him upon this street." The figure continued, shrugging his shoulders disappointingly, as he crossed his arms, the lightsabre's hilt still drawn, yet not ignited, as he simply cooly regarded the one in front of him.

"I shall consider the circle around me to be my space for the moment, cross it, touch Malum, and you will lose the offending limb, or at the very least you will be in deep pain." He coldly intoned, dead eyes gazing around to all that surrounded him, Darth Malum had been confident that he could battle each and all of them, only fearing Lady Monroe's intervention, yet Lady Monroe was gone, and left her... vassal? Of some kind, of some sort, to deal with him.

And evidently, the woman was no diplomat, even if she was doing her best to be.

"This is no threat, this is no intimidation, simply a promise that I will defend this form, you would not fault such a thing would you, you would not force confrontation at simply pride, would you? I am cooperating, as much as my will allows, to be perfectly polite and punctual." The rest could be dealt with, though the figure of Malum had far less confidence than Darth Malum, simply a grim determination that what would be needed to survive, to restore what was right, would be his resolve.

And right now, he was only blocked by two lizards and a Force Dead.

He had faced worse odds before.

Arla Rodarch

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Arla felt the tension tighten even further as the Sith made his denials and threats. He was not an unattractive man, and Arla might under different circumstances been inclined to accept his compliment in the best assumed spirit. But not now, not here, and not today. She considered his position, and how she might keep to Mia's orders while carrying out her mission. Mia had mentioned that the Sith be kept alive. But his hubris and demands could not be tolerated. Arla was not just going to summon the Clan Chief of Clan Chiefs on the word of some Sith aruetii.

"You sound used to getting your way, Sith. You sound used to having your orders followed."

Arla smiled then.

"This isn't going to be one of those times."

The smile fell away, her face all business again.

"So let me make this a simple, binary choice for you. Choice one, you move in the direction I tell you, under your own power. We'll even forgo the formality of handcuffs and chains. Can't have it be said we're poor hosts, after all.

Choice two. Refuse. I order the snipers to take your knees. They're pretty good shots, so they'll be clean breaks. After that we'll see you get the best of immediate high quality medical care, and i'll have the Mand'alor visit your bedside as you recover."

Arla shrugged nonchalantly.

Your move. She thought. By making threats and demands, he'd opened himself up to Arla forcing the issue. She had the upper hand in this situation, with the Sith caught in what amounted to a fairly inescapable trap situation. She hoped he'd see reason, but if not, she hoped the snipers were ready. She wouldn't hesitate to give the order to fire.

Darth Malum of House Marr Ijaat Mereel Valery Noble Mia Monroe

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

Ijaat turned with a slow and precise movement. The speech from Treoff Kellak caught his attention, and he nodded curtly to the Jedi.

"If Coruscant has interest, we will welcome you back, Sword. But take heed, we will welcome you back. Any fleets or armies will be met with hostility in kind, as such an action will be taken by us. We will call in debts and settle them later, for now we wish to be let be. Though, my code are for hire or choice as they see fit in individual matters, of course."

Finally he eyed Treoff, and bowed h is head. The accent from the other was obviously not natural, Ijaat had an ear for such things. But it was practiced and precise, which showed care and concern, and the formulaic nature of the words showed respect. He may be an outsider, but damned if the man wasn't doing his best to show honor amongst a foreign people. That alone earned him high marks in Ijaat's book.

"Te ijaat cuyir Pal'vut, vod. Tion'jor gar at cuun yaim teh gar yaim? And thank you for the gift, it is most well received, and an honor to receive it..."

The accent was a slow drawl, clipped on the vowels, and Ijaat's natural voice that very few were used to hearing. Decades on Atrisia and Adumar training in the sword, and elsewhere besides, had saw him learn to speak in a cultured and refined voice to avoid being judged as uncouth. The voice now was scratched leather over gravel, a soldiers voice, and it carried a weight of weariness and command. But edge through it was an iron bass of will.

Spoiler

The honor is mine, brother. Why you to our home from your home?
[/spoiler[

Mia Monroe | Valery Noble | Treoff Kellak

 

[Treoff Kellak]

Ijaat Mereel

The Manda'lor could tell this was not Treoffs expertise, Treoff even blinked in embarrassment as the supreme leader spoke back to him in Mando'a. Treoff became embarrassed, running the words through his head like a slowed down math equation. He kept his posture and low voice, as if speaking to a superior.

"It is far too harsh to judge every individual by their ruling body, which is why I have come today with more meaningful support than words or credits," Treoff kept his head slightly bowed. He had an understanding that in Mandalorian culture, many were equals. Though, he could be wrong, he has only read books and data entries, and his translations could be off. But he was an outsider, an aruetii, so he didn't feel equal nor above, "which is why, Lord Mand'alor, I have come to you face to face, to support you and your people. Respect is earned, and it is clear those around you have given you respect such that they call you Mand'alor." Treoff spoke as a soldier as well, but not one of such veterancy. He was certainly not a man of cloth or coin.

He choked up for a moment, slight embarrassed, clearly as he hasn't responded to Ijaats words spoken in Mando'a yet, “Ni olaror tarja burc'ya bal...” he knew the words he wanted to speak, but he stopped intentionally. He cleared his throat, sweating slightly. He started this train of speech, not realizing who he was about to speak the words to. Acceptance? Respect? Value? Even if he coukd speak these words, they would not be what he wished to convey. So, he continued after his hesitation, standing straight and owning his words, “...gai bal manda”

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

Smiling, Ijaat bowed his head in respect, and took the measure of Treoff Kellak in as the responses came. Clearly he felt unequal, and had a outsiders skewed view of Mandaloria culture. But instead of unease of fumbling, he approached with reverence and respect. Something not common, and something actually welcome.

"You have your name, friend. We cannot give you that. What we can give you is a home, and a family. A place to hone yourself, body mind and spirit. To find out who you really are in life's truest crucibles. You and any of your people who wish it are welcome. You have already gained a great amount of respect in my eyes by your actions today. Stand tall, you have much to be proud of in mighty company. If it is your wish to join us, my first advice to you is to not hesitate so. Speak your mind plainly, and openly, to me. Others may vary, but I value this. We will guide you, if you and yours wish it."

Treoff Kellak

 

[Mia Monroe]

Mai watched quietly, leaning on a workbench, her arms crossed across her chest. It wasn't often that people came to mandalorians seeking adoption, seeking family. She reached up, lifting her buy'ce from her head, reaching in to remove the commlink and place it in her ear so she could still here the chatter of security.

A frown creased her head. Where Ijaat was open, offering guidance without question Mia took a different stance, not because she disagreed, but because she wanted to set Treoff Kellak on the back foot. If he wanted it, he would fight for it and if he fought it, then he deserved it. "Mand'alor may see your gifts and your broken mando'a as action enough, others are harder to convince Treoff Kellak. Aruetiise don't seek our culture not unless they want something in return. Gar olaror tarja gai bal manda... tion'jor?"

Her blue eyes bore into him, watching him carefully.

Ijaat Mereel Treoff Kellak

 

[Ordo]

The dust and smoke hung in the still air as he scrubbed weeks of caked on filth from his beskar'gam. The once dark armor looked pock marked and scared as badly as the ancient war leader that it housed. His aging grey eyes, as critical as ever, went over the old lines and curves of the plates. His gaze hugged the battered beskar like a lover that had never let him down.

He looked up as a touch of sweet black sky showed through the smoke and haze of a now quiet battlefield and felt something stir in his chest. An old feeling. Something, that was lost once. Or so he thought. He put his bucket back on and stood. He slowly replaced his gauntlets and picked up a weapon, an old CM-fragstorm, and cocked it once. He'd left the galaxy far behind. Maybe he would go back now. Or maybe he was hungry. He wasn't sure.

He began walking through the smoke. The bodies of thousands lay littered like leave across the once forested mountains. It was more dessert now as he became nothing but a dark shape in the haze before disapearing again.

...

Sometime later a ship made it off the death world and vanished back toward the galactic barrier. Back toward home.

 

[Treoff Kellak]

Ijaat Mereel Mia Monroe

Treoff admired Ijaat, the words he spoke, he had to. He could have responded like Mia - who was justified in her words - but just the same, Ijaat gave him respect, and Treoff had to admire that. Yet he completely heeded Ijaat's words, and while still an aruetii, he felt instilled with confidence by the Mand'alor, so he would use it. He stood tall, straight, and no longer bowed his head. He nodded to Ijaat, but turned to Mia. “ Ner aliit (clan) cuyir kyrayc. Ner buir, meg Ni ansira, bal ibi'tuur su kebbur at ijaa, bal narir asas kaysh narir- at cuyir ori'haat jag, bal gaa'tayl ori'haat adate- cuyir su a carahya. Ner aliit (clan) cuyir slanar, kumayi at a salyu'adr goorar hen etid. Ni tarja gra'tua, bal Ni tarja narser. Oyacyir solus bal anay tuur, eak at a ca'nara, cuyir va a narser. Ni enteyor aalar ne'waadas, aalar pirimmuy. Meh gar narir va urmankalar ni, miak narir va kuha ni. At ni, o'r gar miai.”

He raised his hands as a gesture of surrender, then slowly, lowered one hand. He drew his Legion pistol, but not in a proper manner. He gripped it in a manner where he couldn't use it, only hold it. His other hand slowly came down as both hands properly gripped the weapon, cocking it, emptying the round in the chamber, then releasing the magazine. Then he bent forward, placing the gun on the ground, before standing back up. Then, with outstretched arms, he spoke, "How may I convince you my wishes are pure?"

 

[Mia Monroe]

Mia chuckled. "Gar ganar pabida tkiriyr, Ni malyasa'yr dinuir gar ibac, a Ni cuyir va solus gar copaanir at sruba kak bu'yrao sol'yc."

She gestured for him to pick up his weapon. She could challenge him, but it would be a waste of time for her and would only serve

"Narser bal eyatuba mhi liser dinuir gar, a gra'tua? Gra'tua cuyir gar srukre at tarja bal gar malyasa'yr narir bid solus. Rie va a jupayr eo liser kemir ti gar. Gar copaanir copaanir at bu'bi'ha ni? At bu'bi'ha etid?"She gestured to the doorway and the mandos that passed by the forge beyond it. "Temya'r, gaa'tayl mhi bu'lyrea na. Akaanir ti mhi. Bu'bi'ha hiibir ca'nara, bal gar nari soletar sragiku atiu."

Treoff Kellak Ijaat Mereel

 

[Keratel Rekali]

A Clan Rekali scout ship — a red havod spaceframe scoured by the Hard Roil — lurched in for a landing near the city, or what had been the city. Keratel unbuckled and got out of the cockpit without ceremony. The moment should have felt heavier, he figured: he might be the first of Clan Rekali to set foot on this planet in decades, and more importantly he'd never been here before.

Local comms, the unencrypted channels anyway, hummed with rumor. Someone saw a Jedi, someone saw a Sith. Keratel suppressed a spike or anxiety and eagerness alike. He wasn't here to kill, just to see if greater rumors were true — if the corpse of Manda'yaim was twitching in some new way.

Absent map or friends, he headed for whatever sounded noisiest.

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

Others spoke. Murmurs. Ijaat considered the man before him, Treoff Kellak as he spoke back and forth with Mia. The he himself stepped back into the exchange with a simple start as he stepped to Treoff.

"Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Treoff Kellak. We'll work on a proper name later, if it comes at all. Mia has points you should consider, and that we will talk more at length on. As long as you keep your course, you've got the right stuff. Mandokarla indeed. You know the language, you have a basic understanding of culture and attitude. Now we need to get you fighting and see to armor. Luckily you might know a guy."

With a wink, Ijaat turned and raising his voice, he spoke to the crowd in general.

"Anyone else have pressing matters that need my attention, or can I return to educating the lad and getting his measure?"

Treoff Kellak | Mia Monroe

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"You have a beautiful smile, Arla of Clan Rodarch, those around me are no doubt lucky to enjoy it more often," Emotionless eyes gazed on, accompanied by emotionless words, taking in all hers, all the information she was willing to share, appearing to ignore her taunts, her threats.

There was a barely perceptible tilt of the head, a barely perceivable quirk of the eyebrow, one might have even, if they did not know better imagine the sight of a ghost of a smile. The figure of Malum simply stood, as the Moridinizid before him rattled off the options that Darth Malum held, as perceived by her.

She was certainly confident.

Of her own abilities... perhaps... it was hard to truly say, she did after all have much reason to be confident in this situation.

Malum's form was trapped between assumedly able and capable Moridinizids, and taking her at her word, there were Moridinizids in position beyond his sight, that had the means to support whatever action they took.

He could not help but feel it was a mistake to confirm their presence.

One of the many things she would pay for, no doubt.

"You have certainly made the options very clear to me," He sighed a long breath, as the hilt of Malum's sabre slowly, returned to Malum's robes.

"Indeed, you seem to have managed what no other can claim to," He found it.

He felt Malum's heartbeat underneath the cloak, the rogue bead of sweat trailed his head, a biological necessity not even realising, nor caring for the change of pilot.

Smoke rose up into the air in a deluge, as the sound of great blasts went off around them, for all that Malum had learned at Fiviune, he had learned much from Darth Ophidia too, "Unfortunately, have never surrendered in my life," A ghostly whisper echoed across the street.

Leaping back as the smoke bombs struck the ground, his other adhered fingers which between were four Shikkar blades, and with a swing, they launched out of his grip, striking three figures as non-lethally as he could manage, and the last into the smoke, aiming for the scion of Rodarch.

The one who denied him his purpose.

As the figure of Malum withdrew, attempting to find an escape route, find distance that would allow the Force to return to him.

Arla Rodarch

 

[Arla Rodarch]

"Unfortunately,"

said Malum. "Fire." Said Arla.

The explosions of the smoke bombs were joined by the sharp crack-boom of four heavy rifles firing on their target. The snipers of the Mandalorian Protectors had been dialed in on their target for a long time. It took only an instant for them to fire, and an instant for the heavy jacketed projectiles to travel at supersonic speed to their target's legs. The bullets were meant to penetrate armour, and thus if they hit flesh they were liable to go straight through and cause less damage than slower more frangible rounds.

Arla stood firm as the snipers fired, her Black Hand standing with her. Even as the smoke obscured Darth Malum from her direct sight, she could still see him thanks to the snipers, who could easily penetrate smoke with their scopes. The Blackhand could likewise still sense him, their fearful psychic abilities making them a fairly scary presence, especially to the unprepared.

Three glass blades came out of the smoke at Arla's group. Two hit one of the blackhand, while one penetrated the box he was carrying and killed the Ysalamir inside, which died with a piteous squeak. The blackhand toppled over, having been hit in the throat by the shikkar. A fourth blade buried its tip in Arla's chestplate. She ignored it, though it looked ridiculous there.

She didn't speak. There were no more words to be said. The snipers would fire until Malum was taken down or out of sight. Slowly, she advanced into the smoke, drawing her blades. The blackhand survivor followed her, keeping just behind his commander. She would arrest what was left of the Sith Lord, and take him to medical care, and then the Mand'alor. Arla felt no pity for the Sith now. She'd done her duty to the last, given him every chance, every opportunity. Now what came, and the consequences of any of it, were on him, entirely.

Darth Malum of House Marr Ijaat Mereel Mia Monroe Valery Noble Treoff Kellak

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The figure of Malum gave out an involuntary hiss, as one shot punched through the side of his thigh, and another grazed his calf, the other shots were lost to the smoke and the sound of explosions. He had known there would be little chance he could leave the position completely unscathed, unlike Darth Malum, he was confident, but he was not arrogant.

The mental calculations had run freely through his head the entire conversation, those kept constantly at the ready, were ready precisely at the wrong time. A conversation dragged out with Lady Mia Monroe , had not been part of his design, yet one where it seemed Malum would agree to terms, would break concentration, would make those gathered relax.

And though such would be squashed, when the Blackguards and Lady Arla Rodarch arrived, a conversation dragged out, a conversation that forced all in attendance to relax as time marched on, as it seemed that mayhaps a diplomatic concord could be reached.

It was just the opening he needed.

Throw in stimuli that would restrict sight, and distract the ears, and he had a very good chance to escape this.

Escape it.

Not escape it unscathed.

After all, no matter what advantages he could maximise, it did not change the truly disadvantageous position that Malum had placed himself in.

Wounds to the legs would have to pay the price of that arrogance, a lesson to be learned.

And speaking of those lessons.

There was little time to shed tears over the wounds to Malum's legs, it would slow him, but it would not immobilise him as likely Lady Rodarch had intended, after all, he would have aimed for the kneecaps too. His mind went to the darkness on Fiviune, when cut off from the Force he had witnessed Darth Ophidia move with a speed unparalleled, with a power that had almost done them all in.

If she thought that him helpless without the Force.

She would be more than just Force Dead.

He continued to withdraw, small smoke bombs continuing to go off, their sounds ratcheting across the street, as he threw an additional shikkar blade into the smoke, after any who might be following. Finding himself by an alleyway, hissing out as multiple shots fired out next to him, only the adrenaline rapidly running through his veins saving him from the shock, as a clean shot broke through Malum's robes, grazing his stomach, before he turned the corner.

To make distance was the only goal.

To make distance was to survive.

And as his blood fell upon this cursed world, he began to feel the shimmer return to his eyes.

Arla Rodarch

 

[Arla Rodarch]

The sniper fire tapered off as Malum moved out of their line of sight. He was by no means home free yet, after all, Mandos fly. Arla was about to order the pursuit, following the trail of smoke bombs, but she held back. Chasing a Sith was a dangerous game, and she'd likely get the snipers killed if she ordered them to follow. Blood spatter stayed her hand, as she instead halted, knelt, and collected some of the sticky red substance in a small vial.

"Mia, this is Arla. The Sith escaped. He's wounded and fleeing. I expect he will be leaving the world shortly." She commed Mia Monroe

I have failed, she didn't say. She felt the failure deep in her bones. Her force had drawn blood, but she did not have a living breathing Sith to present to her Mand'alor Ijaat Mereel .She then noticed a second shikkar sticking out of her chestplate. Angrily she chopped an armored hand downward and snapped off both blades, which tinkled to the ground.

The Blackhand who had taken a shikkar to the throat was still alive, and recieving medical care. He'd be in hospital for a while though, it was still a serious wound. The Ysalamiri had proved most useful, but in the end there hadn't been enough of them to fully trap the Sith. There would be, next time, Arla vowed. This time she'd been forced to improvise.

Next time, and there would most assuredly be a next time, she wasn't going to attempt this sort of thing half-assed.

Next time, Darth Malum of House Marr would be hers.

 

[Mia Monroe]

Mia twitched at the sound of snipers, the smile she'd had falling from her face as she extended herself in the force, sweeping from the forge with a low growl. There would only be on person they would be shooting at, she almost regretted leaving him in Arla's hands... almost. that was until Arla's voice rang through her ear.

"Mia, this is Arla. The Sith escaped. He's wounded and fleeing. I expect he will be leaving the world shortly."

Mia swore under her breath. So much for his audience with Ijaat. Idiot. Couldn't swallow his pride for once and simply do as he was told. He would learn, the hard way apparently.

"Well, Arla, at least he's wounded. He might learn his lesson about holding his tongue when he's behind enemy lines." She sighed, opening comms to the rest of security. "All units stand down. Let the dar'jetii run. Not worth our time or energy."