Haran'ad Manda'ad (Noah Corek)

[Yasha Cadera]

Sundari Palace
Mandalore

The diffused Mandalorian sun radiated through biosphere and distance to paint warm marble with the beauty of a desert’s dawn. While the majority of the planet was terraformed due to the Infernal’s efforts to an unkempt and increasingly populated oasis, the desert refused such modifications.

A jetty of sand whirled from the open pillars. Mand’alor the Infernal, that youth known as Yasha Cadera remembered walking with her birth father on the sand dunes of Dromund Kaas. The one lesson Preliat taught his daughter, before falling insane.

'Power, little one. Power was a shifting sand dune, ever present but mutable. A tumbling drift part-oasis, part-desiccation of flesh without limit. Power, like sand flowed out of the fingers of those who clenched it, and poured into the crannies of others, who opened their fingers and let it run free.'

​

There was no mercy in power. ​

Draped in the beskar’kandar of her station, the Hell Wolf of Manda’yaim walked through the Throne Room, which punctuated so much of her life. She was both child and woman in this room. Haunted by the memories of Ra Vizsla, the Undying tyrant, who taught and extolled her. Gave her a place to sleep, food in her belly, and tutors to eradicate the stutter he hated. Yash'ika was his Ward. The adopted family of a Gurlanin, who survived resurrected under the will of Manda.

But, as his shadow disappeared from Sundari City, so did the beauty of an aging warrior committed to the will of Manda. In his absence, twelve year old Yasha found a journey, which took her to Dathomir and the Netherworld for a second time, enduring seven years of torment until knowledge became her jubilee at the feet of Ember Rekali. He sent her back, aged outside time, to the moment of inevitable unravelling.

One word of warning for his young enemy: "Repair Mandalore, or death will come down on you without restraint."

Rubber soled beskar-plated boots echoed across the marble hall, each step closer to the black marble throne increasing the gravity pushing at Yasha Cadera’s orphaned shoulders. She spoke the words of the Riduur'ok at the throne, her riduur as eager as his equally young bride. And when Kaden passed to Manda, Yasha's wails of grief shook transparisteel and stone to tears.

Gravity threatened to bow her. Until she stood on the dais. Until she turned her back to Ra’s throne, rebuilt by Death Watch, who refused to deny what they built in the Infernal’s name. Until a twenty-five year old girl, near six years encased in the protective and cloistered aura of Mand’alor, sat upon her throne.

No crown rested on the Sole Ruler’s raven hair. No adornment on the pretty Epicanthix face, but black lips and the vertical lines of a chin tattoo commemorating the lives of the Mando’ade. But for the stern expression of command, Yasha Cadera looked as any young woman, who could laugh and shop with friends, look to what her life could be.

Six Gurlanin in lupine form settled around the throne: her keepers. Her protectors. The last of Yasha’s childhood guardians, and those who set an Empire upon her shoulders too soon, for the desperation of lean and hectic times.

The sunlight burned at Yasha’s sensitive eyes. Beskar feather-like folds drifted from her shoulder pauldrons up the back of Yasha’s neck, and enfolded around her. The Wolf-Helm, with its’ lupine standard blocked her into a world of darkness accented only by the colours and vision of artifice. Once more locked away. Sealed by duty, by position, by armour, by protectors and by necessity.

Yet, one woman passed through the lock and key sequestering the young Sole Ruler from the Galaxy. [member="Alexandra Feanor"] broke the bonds, in her unselfish act of healing a stranger. And in that act, the beginnings of a love, which shook Yasha’s spine.

Once more, Yasha Cadera had a duty. That duty called. Another caught Alex’s wounded, but loving eye, and Yasha would not allow silence to breed jealousy or insecurity.

[member="Noah Corek"] brought a separate and comparable joy to Alex’s life, and upon hearing the briefest dossier of the Republic’s military machinator, Yasha did what Ra was incapable of.

She opened the comm, and called the Warrior of Clan Corek home. All who asked received. For all who followed the Resol’nare, and the collective consciousness of Manda were both welcome by the Infernal, and considered by providence as her responsibility. The Undying and his regime of terror burnt across worlds, and desolated reputations. While the Galaxy remembered the horrors of the Undying, his protege and Ward stepped forth from Dathomir those five years prior with the precarious nature of the Mandalorian position pressing on her spine.

​

Power was fragile, most of all. ​

Unlike her predecessor and against the advice of her Death Watch guardians, Yasha called to those Clans and Mando’ade who lived on the margins, or uncelebrated cusps of their history. If all were destined to be one with Manda, then this was the task of her years.

Reconciliation. ​

​

It took a child of Hell to open Eden’s gate. ​

“Olarom, Noah Corek. Come closer, my protectors will not bite without cause. Thank you for coming, I hope you understand it is difficult for me to leave my borders these days.” The voice flowing from the audio projector on her buy’ce was feminine and alto. It lilted in Mando’a with a twinge of foreign accent. The legacy of birth parents, who spoke Epicant and took to Mandalore as immigrants.

“One dear to us spoke of your Mandalorian heritage, yet I have none of Clan Corek in my Halls. I do not remember your feats in battle for the Vode, unless its’ history was lost. Please, humour a fellow warrior. Tell me the tales of Clan Corek.”

A seat of ori’ramikad wood was set upon a dais of equal height to Yasha’s throne, the chair facing the Mand’alor. Equal footing for the man, who captured an equal amount of Alex’s attention. Yasha motioned to the chair, as two gigantic bipedal lizard skittered in with two small tables, two trays of Mandalorian food and stim-caf placed beside Noah’s chair. Tea placed reverently on the Infernal’s.

“I hope my cooks haven’t startled you. The Hetikles Baatir refuse to let anything happen in the Palace without appropriate food and drink. They’re ineffable.”

 

[Noah Corek]

Noah took a deep breath as his shuttle finally landed on Mandalore and he stepped off his shuttle and looked around at the surface of Mandalore. This was the first time in nearly five thousand years that a member of the Corek Clan had stepped foot on Mandalore. In reality any member could have stepped foot on Mandalore, it wasn't like there was something like a kill order on their heads, but pride stopped them. It was one of the few things that Noah hated about his clan, pride bordering on hubris. He had tried multiple times in his life to get his mother and the clan council to try and reach out the the Mandalore and get them reinstated as a clan but now he had to take things into his own.

And then fate had granted him not only one opportunity but two. The first opportunity was to find a women that he loved, even though he had never directly told her that yet, [member="Alexandra Feanor"]. For once Noah found himself comfortable around someone who wasn't family, yet at least. Him and Alex shared many interest, Alex being a historian and lover of weapons and Noah having a masters degree in history and being a master weaponsmith, and armorsmith for that matter. Noah chuckled as he recalled a conversation the two had had concerning whether pre-Darkness weaponry had finally been surpassed.

Noah shook his head and smiled at the memory as he adjusted his armor. Looking down at himself he made sure his sidearms we secure, one on his hip and the other on a chest holster, and his Honor Blade was secure in his sheath on his left shoulder. Was it a smart idea to bring weapons to meet the Mandalore? Probably not. But in Noah's line of work going anywhere, even your own home, unarmed was not a very good idea.

Noah finally found his way to the throne room and immediately bowed when [member="Yasha Cadera"] acknowledged him. "Olarom, Mandalore. Trust me when I say I do not fear your guardians. When you've fought the Bando Gora on the edge of the galaxy nothing tends to phase you." If Yasha was a good listener she could hear the grin in his voice. Noah's accent was definetely something of interest to one who had heard him speak both Basic and Mando'a. When speaking Basic Noah's accent told of someone who grew up on the Mid Levels of Coruscant but when speaking Mando'a he spoke with an accent that could fool anyone into thinking he had lived and grown up on Mandalore.

""The story begins during the Great Sith War after Ulic Qel-Droma defeated Mandalore the Indomitable and enlisted the Mandalorians in his campaign against the Republic and Jedi. My family, Clan Corek, was a minor clan and didn't really adhere to traditional Mandalorian values saw this as an affront to our beliefs. This wasn't taken well and we were considered dar'manda. My family did what anyone would do, they fled with the armor on their back, the weapons in their hands and a few ships they could scrape together. They fled to Saleucami and settled in there. On Saleucami they did what most Mandalorians did in their situation, they became mercenaries. Over nearly two decades they garnered a reputation as honest, good hearted and hard working mercenaries for whom no contract was too small, honestly many went to them instead of the authorities. When the Mandalorian Wars broke out my family volunteered their services, at a discounted rate, to the Republic to fight the Mandalorians."

"After a few years they became so integrated into the Republic Army that they were given commissions and enlistments by Revan himself." Noah smiled when he said this and seemed to say the name of Revan with reverence. "From there my family were dispersed throughout the Republic Army and instead of being used as shock troops they became trainers and instructors. By the end of the war a majority of the Republic Army was at least partially trained by my family. After the war ended we served with distinction in every war till the fall of the Republic. Honestly after that our family history gets murky."

Noah eyed the lizard like creatures as the skittered in and set down the tables, food and drink. Noah had a ingrained mistrust of lizard-like creatures due to his early dealings with Trandoshans but he'd leave them behind for the time being. "Like I said Manadlore. Time in the Outer Rim and the Unknown Regions tends to hardened a persons nerves."

 

[Yasha Cadera]

A proper Mando’ad walked into the Throne Room of the Sundari Palace. Armed and refusing to hide his armaments, [member="Noah Corek"] approached. Good.

“Hm! It must be similar to the Hellspawn of the Netherworld.” The man hadn’t gone aruetii. Yasha’s lips quirked under her helm. If he had shown up unarmed, Yasha didn’t know if she could have trusted him at all. For a moment, one slim second, Yasha was jealous.

Noah’s accent trumped hers. When speaking Basic, Yasha’s Panathan-Epicant accent was so prevalent it was wonder she could speak the language at all. The truth was, unless she was wearing her buy’ce and had access to her translation program in her HUD, Basic was a lost cause on her lips. Even her Mando’a, her second language was fluent, but heavily accented. One of the southern galactic reaches might have recognized the Panathan Noble accent, if they spent any time around the jungle world or its’ Epicanthix Citizenry.

Yet, what followed was a Clan history which did not appear in any of the Mandalorian records Yasha’d scoured.

“So long... your clan has been downcast so long?” Under her buy’ce, Yasha’s amber eyes went wide. Although the idiom of a Mandalorian’s memory was correct, her thirteen years in the Netherworld taught the young Mand’alor more than the ferocity of survival by any means.

Mandalorians were mighty. They forgot no past sin. Mandalorians were hunted either to the death or to the paycheque for their cultural predispositions, and therein lied a dangerous double-standard.

If left unchecked, Manda’yaim and her ‘ade could shake the bonds of the Galaxy… and rarely did any outside forces allow Mandalore to go thusly.

“Dar’manda…” Clan Corek took up arms gladly against their fellow Mandalorians. They joined another empire, another culture… yet this lost tribe had not given up their beliefs, or the strength of ideal.

Yet, a Clan who killed their vode. A Clan of Mandalorian killers… again the whisper in her mind sent the hairs on her neck reeling.

Dar’manda.

The names of Clan Corek were unknown in the Manda. They were soulless. Devoid. As good as aruetiise. Soldiers on the other side of the galactic trenches.

Crushgaunt-clad fingers bent upon the arms of her reforged throne. Yasha was silent for some time, seeping the story into the fabric of her mind.

“And now? Is Clan Corek a threat to the Mando’ade? The battles, which bound Corek and Mandalore to separate paths are sand in the desert, buried beneath the dunes. Shall there not be peace between us? I know I don’t look it, but during the Mandalorian Civil War, I was twelve years old. When Ijaat Mereel and Mia Monroe destroyed Manda’yaim in their volcanic calamity, I was an eight year old girl, who outpaced her mother, who was too pregnant to run…” The swell of Yasha’s own pregnant belly glinted in the morning sun. She paused to breathe.

“My father abandoned me, thinking I was a hallucination. Mand’alor the Undying took me in, because my early years in the Netherworld made me effective at killing. I served in Death Watch. Fought in every battle, and at the end of it, when Mandalore stopped burning, and our dead were delivered to Manda, I watched an aging gurlanin put his shoulder toward rebuilding our home… toward curing it of the illness which caused such tragedy in the first place.

It was not time which made me wise, once the Undying was gone and we had no one left to take his place. It was the punishment of the Nightfather, Ember Rekali, who traded my childish hubris for hell-begotten knowledge. As he called me his enemy, he offered wisdom. His one chance to effect the future of Manda’yaim. I returned, and knew that no armament, nor terraforming effort would possibly preserve Mandalore for future generations.

None of that mattered unless I brought. Our. People. Home.” Words punctuated with a fist on marble, echoing with each clang of her hand.

“I abolished the anti-forcer laws, and sent emissaries to the outer reaches of the Galaxy. At first, no Mandalorians would come. The wounds of the past stung, and Mandalore felt like salt. Yet all who hold Manda in their souls are Mandalorians, regardless of proximity or past. Let the anger and destruction of our predecessors fade where it belongs.

Cin Vhetin, Noah Corek. Virgin snow. Let us bury the past beneath a new layer of history. Valued for what it was, not for what it informs our choices to be. Can we not have peace between Mandalore and Clan Corek?

All who come and ask of Mand’alor receive. Clan Corek and its' history should be celebrated once more in our Tihaar halls and tapcafs. While I know a mass migration is… unrealistic, I can offer you and your Clan a place. Let me take the dar’manda off your name.”

 

[Noah Corek]

Noah snorted when @Yahsa Cadera mentioned that Sithspawn and Bando Gora sounded very similar. "The Bando Gora were definetely very similar to Sithspawn. I found the Bando Gora to be more difficult because they were still at some point sapient which means they think and the most dangerous enemy is one who can think." Noah stated, not trying to discredit Yasha's experience but trying to get her to understand his. Reaching up Noah removed his helmet and placed it down on the table, visor facing towards Yasha, one couldn't very well eat when they had their helmet on.

Even though Noah couldn't see the reaction Yasha had to him laying out his clan history but he had seen it enough after speaking to many other Mandalorians and wagered it was most likely shock and/or disbelief. When she mentioned his clan being downcast Noah nodded. "I won't say it has been easy for my people but we are a hardy people and if anything it has served to build our clan identity and help us strengthen our skills. Not to brag but my armor and weapon forging is known to be superior to most others, especially that mass produced shit that comes from companies like Blas-Tech or Merr-Sonn."

Noah grinned when Yasha asked if Clan Corek was a threat to Mandalore. "Of course we are a threat Mando'ade. We are a clan who was been hostile to Mandalore for a thousand years and at most apathetic to Mandalore for the other four thousand years. We are a clan of extreme pride and I would say even hubris or arrogance. That being said while currently we are a threat that doesn't mean we have to stay that way. While my people are prideful we are also pragmatic if we realize that it'd be smarter to be reintegrated back into the Mando'ade rather than go it alone we'd do so without hesitation. The problem is figuring out what that way would be."

Noah sat and he listened to Yasha as she explained her personal history just as he had explained his clan's history. He was a man who had seen cities, villages and even planets burn, watched families torn apart by war and death, had seen the brutality of sapient creatures but even then his heart still cracked a little bit at the Mandalore's story. "I can sympathize somewhat will losing a parent at such an age. My own father left when I was around ten. My buir said he was a good man but ultimately being tied down 'wasn't his thing'." The last quote was said with air quotes around it and venom dripping from his words, the disdain for his own father obvious.

As Noah spoke he scratched his chin as he thought at the same time. He was trying to think of a way that he could get his clan to return to Mandalore. "Tell me Yasha do you have a map I could look at? My clan's history speaks of a large plot of land on Mandalore that was considered very hostile and we were the only ones to settle there. Allowing my family to return to those ancestral lands might go a long way in smoothing out any wrinkles that have been left by hostility. Another thing is allowing a member of my clan to forge a weapon for you or a set of armor. My family see their weapon and armor forging as a point of pride and having them forge a piece or set for you would be considered a large honor."

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Sithspawn?” Yasha chuckled warmly, “Not sithspawn, although there were plenty. Hellspawn, Noah. I think you and I can commiserate on surviving misery on the battlefield. I think I'd like that challenge of the Bando Gora.”

[member="Noah Corek"] boasted of her armoury and the mood around Yasha’s calculating mind lightened. He held his Clan in the esteem and regard fit for a Mandalorian. Proud, mighty, protective. [member="Alexandra Feanor"] did well to garner his attentions.

“It is pride and arrogance, which sent the nuclear bomb into the volcano in the first place. It is pride and arrogance, which has time and again destroyed Mandalore from the rotten inside. There must be mercy in conjunction with the might. We must be siblings together, and foes to any who would part us. The Galaxy is caustic enough with the rise and fall of Alliances, galactic governments and the mounting destruction of our Northerly neighbours for the Mando’ade to be blind to their mutual plight.”

The honesty was comforting. These were not two pacifists having tea. Noah was a threat. Clan Corek was a threat, trained and dripping in the blood of their Vode. The purist in Yasha wanted to slaughter every threat to her ad’ike and her Vode, yet the idealist in her wanted to repair the tears, which matched on either side. Mandalore knew too much vengeance and not enough peace rested in the Mandalorian people to repair the fissure.

“Thank you. My Death Watch guardians raised me as nothing but Mandalore’s servant. I have no life, nor purpose outside aiding the Vode… my… sperm donor of a dar'buir threw himself off a cliff. No one mourns him… just as you will never mourn the foundering man, who failed you.” Yasha spoke little to nothing about her progenitor. He wasn’t a parent. [member="Ambrose Cadera"] and Gray were parents. Yasha had the luxury of a chosen family far greater and more stable than from whence she came.

She waved her hand and a holoimage of Mandalore sizzled into life. The planet spun on axis.

“My advisor [member="Gilamar Skirata"] and I have been compartmentalizing the terraformed lands, which I and our People recovered. What is the purpose of the terraforming efforts without good Mando’ade to tend the land and hunt upon it? There are still harsh and hostile places, where the work of terraforming could use constancy and improvement. Should Clan Corek desire to return to Mandalore, I would release unsequestered land for use.” Leaning back on her throne, Yasha triggered a film upon the transparisteel, which dimmed the amount of light pouring through. Once the light level was low enough for her sensitive eyes, Yasha’s wolf-helm unfurled from a once pristine visage.

A crescent scar of keloid pink raged from her right cheekbone to her upper lip. Amber eyes shone in the dim light, full black painted lips soft above Mandalorian tattoo marks of remembrance and Kad Harang’ir on her chin. Out of armour, the Infernal could be accused of beauty, but the armour clung to her, even in her belly swollen state.

“My warhammer and sword were such gifts. My spear as well, was crafted for me in like honour. The armour upon my body is forged of ingots of the dead, who perished for my Empire. Every piece I wear, every weapon I wield is selected and cherished as monument to our Mando’ade, Noah Corek… I have no ranged weapons, it’s a… particular deficit in my gear I’ve always meant to fix… yet I know exactly what I would desire from Clan Corek…”

Famously, Yasha’s dar’buir went into battle with a tomahawk. Her uncle in kind. As a child, Yasha received a tomahawk of her own, yet it laid in pieces on a battlefield, broken and wrent asunder.

“If your Clan smiths would honour me, let them make me an axe. A tomahawk to make toys of all others. One with which I could slaughter those who dare endanger our Vode. Let the slugs from my rifle bear the mark of Corek, that we may defeat our mutual foes. In truth, my beskar'kandar is heavy and heavier on my belly. It is a work of art and protection, yet I am certain some of my advisors would celebrate if they saw me in something more... traditional.” Fire resided in those wide amber eyes. An inferno of framed violence echoing the true nature of this outwardly civil diplomatic youth.

“Is this pleasing to you? Would it help repair the void?”

 

[Noah Corek]

Noah leaned back into his seat, relaxing slightly as Yasha's face came into view. Many Mandalorians felt comfortable around the vode when they had their helmets on and Noah did as well thought in all honesty he felt better when he could see ones face, read their emotions and anticipate their actions. Call him whatever you want but Noah liked to get every advantage he could, off and on the battlefield. "My mother raised me and I in turn raised by little brother and little sister. My mother is head of our clan, she's strong, she's independent and she's doesn't take shit from anybody. I think you and Alex will like her." At the end of his statement Noah chuckled, well more laughed loudly but semantics.

When Yasha showed the holo of Mandalore, in particular the pieces that were terraformed Noah's eyes lit up as he recognized one singular piece of land that he had read about and seen in his family's history books. Standing up Noah walked towards the projector and tap the portion of land with his finger. "Te Rusur Forgotten de Ca'nara. The Land Forgotten by Time. That's what my ancestors called this land. A fitting name for it. The only places you saw technology there was where my family lived. Much like Dxun it was teeming with dangerous predators. From what I was told none of our vode tried to establish settlements there for centuries until my family did and thrived where others withered."

Smiling to himself as he looked at the small plot of land he returned to his seat and resumed his meal. Noah wolfed the meal down like well a wolf and finished off the stimcaf just as quick. "Sorry if my appetite was a little unexpected Mandalore. I have to exercise more than most to keep my physique up and that leads to me requiring much more calories than your standard human. I blame it on my father, he was Morellian. Which means ironically he'll probably outlive me if I continuing living naturally." With that statement Noah let out a very indignant snort and leaned back in his chair once again.

When Yasha spoke of her weapons Noah raised an eyebrow a sword was typical but a warhammer and a spear? That was an unusual type of weaponry even for Noah whose taste in weaponry was considered odd. When Yasha said she wanted a tomahawk he grinned, when it became clear she wanted a slugthrower rifle his grin grew to a smile and when she said she wanted a new set of armor that was more traditional Noah began to laugh. "You've played right into my hand Mandalore." Noah stated with a degree of humor. "While I'm not an expert melee weapons smith my ba'vudo Hesh is considered a master among my clan and my ba'vudo Lilith is considered one of the best armor smiths this side of the Hydian Way. For your rifle though? That I will craft myself."

Noah smiled when he was asked if these things would help mend the rift. "Giving my family their ancestral land back will restore out faith in our former vode and letting us forge two weapons and a set of armor for you will restore our honor. In my opinion this will mend the rift that has grown between Clan Corek and the rest of the Mando'ade. But my opinion only goes so far and carries only so much weight. The real person you will have to convince will be my mother and she won't set foot on Mandalore."

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Mama would’ve liked her. Aditya didn’t take no guff from nobody. Gave up her noble upbringing on Panatha to travel the galaxy as an engineer…” Yasha smirked, her black painted lips contorting in what proved a whistful, or bittersweet remembrance. “She hated Mandalore. Kept trying to steal me off to Atrisia or Panatha, but every time Daddy picked me up, carried me home… eventually she stopped fighting… killed her in the end. He.. ah.. guess it killed him, too.”

Keen eyes watched [member="Noah Corek"]’s every twitch and motion. He paced the holoprojection, pointing out landmass and the promises of a past negligent in its’ recreation.

“Noah.” Stern yet kind, the alto voice unaugmented by her helm’s audio projectors was far more exotic and lilting than most expected. “The land, it… it won’t be like your people remember. Mereel and Monroe’s actions destroyed the majority of our flora and fauna. What fauna remained we’ve kept protected, and I spent the last five years sourcing Mandalorian-native fauna from the planets around us wherever I could. For genetic diversity’s sake. While shriek-hawks still fly at night, and vipers strike in the morning… we’re not finished turning Mandalore back. The predators had no food source, heck, we were all on rations until three years ago. I’ve done the best I could. Flora germinate and harvests succeed, but… the land is sparse of animal life. Don’t be disappointed if you don’t get assaulted by seventy two strill per cubic acre… except for the snakes… the snakes’ve done really… really well… blech.”

Yasha poked at her food, rubbing her swollen stomach as the uneasiness of pregnancy caused her to take smaller bites. Her lips quirked up at the edges, as the reptilian bi-pedal chef veered back in with another plate for the Corellian-accented man.

“You made Cheffy’s day. The Hetikles Baatir consider feeding their Vode as the greatest honour. Their favourites are those with healthy appetites. I’d be noshing down too, but today’s a… the twins are kicking like crazy. I think they’re trying to have their own personal verd’goten in my stomach. Repopulating Mandalore, one belly at a time. Kad knows we need it.” Licking her lips, Yasha hissed out a breath. Healthy babies. They were a joy to come and a pain in the moment. Yet, as Shia once said, for the Mandalorians to recover from the lean times after the Second Mandalorian Excision, aliit'e needed to grow. How could Yasha lead the Mando'ade, if she was unwilling to contribute to proving it was safe to lay down arms and have children again? A population boom of new life was what the planet craved, and each new baby born closed another set of tears for the laughter and joys of a generation untouched by the volcanic cataclysm which nearly ended them all.

“I go into battle at the front of our troops as an eight foot armoured wolf, Noah. Usually… shooting from a distance isn’t a strong possibility. But! I’ve been waiting for the right goran to craft me a rifle… and since Ale’ika trusts you with her life and her heart, that makes you more than the right one.” Reaching her hand out, Yasha called a nine foot long spear of beskar, ori’ramikad wood and a metal which seemed to shimmer as if caught in heat. The Infernal stood, the butt of the spear clanging to the ground with a shockwave of energy.

Its’ own gravitational pull.

“This is the Longinus. Crafted for me from the remains of the broken spearhead I wielded as my only defence in Netherworld. Mama found the spearhead in the Field of Blades, and taught her child how to slit throats. It was reforged, as a gift.” The spear stood on its’ own devices, a silent sentinel guarding over its’ unique domain.

Once more Yasha held out her hand, and a war hammer that would cause a normal human male to balk rested effortlessly in the Epicanthix’s grasp. The wolf-hammer’s head jittered with electric crackles, the ornate scrollwork on the metal art in itself. A masterwork. “This is the Rekr Karyatesa. A gift, when I was young from one of our Umbaran Vode. I got used to wielding melee weapons, when bullets and blaster packs were too expensive to give to a child. Although… these are no longer lean times. So, you promising a rifle? Armour? Mmh! Those are mighty gifts.”

Setting the Rekr Karyatesa down between Noah and herself, Yasha wondered if he would try to pick it up. Repulsors in the head made foreign hands incapable of lifting the weapon, none but those with specially imprinted gauntlets could hope to wield the hammer with which the Infernal killed her hundreds.

“Then consider the land my gift and my apology on behalf of the Mando’ade, for past bloodshed. Baby steps, Corek. Gilamar wouldn’t step foot on Mandalore for years. Now I’m Alor of his House Skirata’s Clan Cadera. Although I would travel to see your mother personally, I may have to wait until the twins are born before going so far from Manda’yaim. Perhaps we could bring Alex, eh? I’m sure she’d go acceptably tongue-tied meeting your mother… our Ale’ika, eh? It’s almost too much to see how cute she can be when she’s flustered.”

 

[Noah Corek]

[member="Yasha Cadera"]

Noah chuckled when Yasha mentioned how her mother tried to spirit her away to her homeworld. "My father was very much the same. He had a distaste for everything Mandalorian except for my mother. He always talked about taking me and my ner vode to Morellia and raise us as Morellians. My mom was a strong and independent woman, even stronger than my father so she got her way. I think the final straw was when my mom started training for my verd'goten."

Noah's face continued to smile even when Yasha mentioned that his family's ancestral lands would be much different than what was told in the family stories. "That's quite alright Mandalore. My people are very knowledgeable in adapting to various different environments, something that help me many a time during my days as a Commando in the Republic. Besides that my family took genetic samples of both flora and fauna that surrounded our land before we fled. Combined with the fact that we have some pretty skilled botanists, scientists and geneticists."

When Yasha talked about a healthy appetite and verd'goten. Noah began to smile fondly. "Ah. I remember my verd'goten well. I was twelve, not thirteen my clan starts training at seven and our verd'goten take place a year earlier. She took me to the lower levels of Coruscant, gave me a blaster, a cheap set of armor, a utility belt and enough water and rations to last a week. She gave me a bounty poster. He was a Wookiee, Traalfgar, who was charged with murder but the Coruscant Underworld Police couldn't bring him in. I took me three days to track, find and capture him. Imagine the look on the faces of the people in the bounty office when a twelve your old in armor dragged a Wookiee three times his size in." Noah laughed at that, it was one of the most important memories of his childhood mostly because of the proud look on his moms face when he completed his verd'goten four day earlier than expected.

When Yasha began to talk about her weapons Noah nodded, a warrior could understand that each person had their own fighting style and most of the time the mass-produced crap that companies put out was meant to be for all. Of course Noah's own company was no better. "Hmmmm I could have some of my Commandos bring some weapons here for you to test. My family believes that a weapon should be tailored to a person and that the creation of a such a weapon is a create honor or point of pride."

When Yasha said that she would travel to meet her mother Noah smiled and when she mentioned the prospect of bringing Alex his smile grew wider. "Of course Mandalore, I wouldn't expect you to travel such a distance with you being so pregnant. Bringing Alex would be enjoyable for sure. My mother would probably interrogate the hell outta her and it'd be nice to watch our usually cool and composed Ale'ika stumble." Noah finished off his statement with a telling grin.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Because of my mother I didn’t learn Mando’a until I was six years old. We spoke Epicant at home. My father was the first Mandalorian in our family, it was all so new and Mama hated it.” Yasha smirked and shook her head, thinking back to the only good days she remembered with her birth parents. The days, when her father took leave and stayed home to be with his daughter, his lost wife. By the time Yasha was eight, Aditya’s presence on Mandalore was fewer and fewer often. If she’d left for good, would she still be alive? Would Yasha have survived as she did?

If Yasha needed another reason to delight in the potential return of Clan Corek, Noah’s admonition of ‘skilled botanists’ made the young woman visibly startle and sit up straighter on her throne.

“Botanists!? I’m a botanist! There are still so many things to learn, but… they have… they have gene samples? Viable gene samples!? I can’t tell you how much it would mean to reintroduce native flora to the terraformed lands. Biodiversity is my next project, since the land is stable.” On she could chitter, if the Infernal didn’t allow her dutiful focus to return her to the tasks presented. It left little wonder how the young Epicanthix first saw a spark in their [member="Alexandra Feanor"] in the first place.

“My verd’goten was the planetary conquest of Dathomir. The Cuir Rekr put the entire Mandalorian military to my command, right before my thirteenth birthday and yelled ‘go’. Our navy secured the space lanes, while I led the ground troops to eradicate any opposition at the Warlock Gate. It was… the only way I knew to call the Nightfather, Ember Rekali from the dead. He crossed the Gate, demanded I cease the invasion. We bartered, and upon mutual agreement, he fled back into the Netherworld. I… I heard my father screaming my name, as I touched the Gate and entered Hell once more, to get what I negotiated for.

Ember made me go through seven years worth of trials in the Netherworld, before he led me to his Castle in the Field of Blades. My two companions and the ghost of my departed mother and I fought our way out of Hell once again, only for Ember, trained in the temporal skills of the Aang-Ti, to send me back to the moment I left, seven years older… it… wasn’t a wookie, but it did mean I could stand in front of Carnifex, and tell him to get the feth off my worlds.”

“I would appreciate the weapons tests. My sentiments match yours. A warrior’s weapon should be tailored and unique whenever possible. After all, when we’re gone it is often all we have left of our honoured fallen.” The Longinus and the Rekr Karyatesa stood a silent vigil on either side of Yasha’s throne. The idea that they would survive her was somewhat a comfort, like the act of walking through the throne room, where pieces of beskar’gam from Mand’alor’e past resided in transparisteel cases on pedestals. Every day she walked through the throne room and saw those who came before.

If only one of them could awaken and teach her. Yasha’s smile deepened, growing nearly soft as she hugged her belly. The twins now moved all the time. While complications arose, Yasha kept that information between herself and her best friend [member="Cassiopeia Australis"]. Cassie, a geneticist and researcher, would fix it. She had to.

“Ale’ika can’t wait to hold them. I think she's more excited about these babies than I am. After going through labour with Adara in a war zone, Kain’ik and my guards have this pathological need to keep me on Manda’yaim until these two are keeping me up with their cries instead of their kicks…” A flush came to the Infernal’s cheeks, never looking more like the twenty-five year old girl she was. A small girl ran into the throne room, dressed in soft green chersilk, her raven hair braided back from a chubby face.

“Buir! Buir I coloured for you! I… oh!” [member="Adara Raxis"] stuttered and stumbled to a stop as she saw [member="Noah Corek"]. Black sclera and ruby irises shone up at the unfamiliar man, as Adara fled behind her mother’s leg. Yasha bent her knees until she could pull the frail child into her arms and set her on her hip, standing back up with a groan of strain.

“Adara, I’ll look at your colouring later. How did you get in here?” The girl’s forehead dove into her mother’s collar, mumbling something about sneaking under Ambrose’s legs. Yasha kissed Adara’s forehead, and rocked her.

“And this one wants to come to everything with Ale’ika for the cookies, don’t you, hmm?” Adara nodded with a timid smile, shyly hiding her face back in her mother’s shoulder. “See Alex intimidated? Stumbling over what she has to say? Gee, I’ll film it. We can bring it out at parties. Just the three of us. Besides, I’ve never been to… an astonishing amount of places. Other than diplomatic functions, and the odd battle, I’ve never been outside Mandalorian borders. There was always too much work to do here to afford myself the time.”