Public History from our ancestors (Mandalorians)

[Alara Ordo]

Location: Wistril

The old Mandalorian outpost looked more like a wound than a building. Somewhere in the tangle of canopy and moss-draped roots, its scarred durasteel slouched into the green like something trying to disappear. The jungle had drowned it. Vines crawled through shattered blast holes, ferns crept up the once-polished armor plating, and the emblem on the exterior—a mythosaur skull, faded to a ghostly suggestion—glared out at nothing.

Alara stood beneath a broad, drenched canopy, the world muffled by a thick curtain of mist. She wore a weathered poncho the color of old bark, shot through with the sheen of damp fiber, draping over armor plates that glinted faintly beneath the green light of filtered sun. The hood shrouded her helmet, as rainwater dripped from the brim. Her T-shaped visor was locked on the mythosaur skull, a symbol that her people united under throughout the ages.

Breaking the staring contest with a symbol of history, she made her way into the clearing. Her boots sank into the mud, as the rain fell harder here, soaking into her already drenched poncho. A gauntleted hand ran across the old and worn structure. Feeling the divots and wounds left on it by time. Here and there a vine or root broke through causing cracks and bends.

A piece of her people's history, lost and buried in this rainforest. Her contacts had been right on this one, thankfully. So much of the Mandalorians history and culture had been destroyed or damaged in the recent years. With any luck, this place would help bring some of that missing history back.

Pulling a beacon from a pouch on her belt, she activated it and set it on the ground. She then pulled out a long range communicator linked to her ship. The location of the ruin and a quick explanation, and the message was sent.

Alara then closed her eyes for a moment. She was Mandalorian by birth and code, that much was true. But she had spent quite a bit of time away from Mandalore and large groups of her own people. Guess that's what happens when you run a small syndicate quite a few systems away. Still, despite it all, taking whatever lay behind those broken walls back to Port Taraven just wouldn't sit well with her.

 

[Is'ekapi Rex]

She didn't hate being in the rain. At least if it was a warm rain. Cold rain was nice in it's own way. Not to be out working in it. Rather being inside and all cozied up in a blanket, napping away on a day like that. It was a change from life aboard a freighter at least. The day to day business of her growing little freight empire put wear on her soul and a yearning to do things differently. She was hired here as muscle, literally, to carry and move whatever needed to be. Her little acquaintance could certainly hold her own in a fight. She had no doubt. Mandalorians were among the finest warriors the galaxy had to offer. After fighting against them on Naboo first hand, she could attest to that fact. Not that they'd won in that conflict. Losing did not mean you fought poorly. You can do everything right and still lose. That was apart of the nature of conflict, unpredictable as it can be.

They weren't here for a fight. Not that they expecting to have one anwyays. Lifting stuff however wouldn't be the forte of her employer. Plus she owed Alara a favor for getting her out of a jam on Tirahnn. This should be easy enough to pay her back for that.

Claws gouged marks into the bark of another tree, the last at the edge of a clearing. It was something she was taught by her father growing up. Trail markers should the need arise to find her way back. Thought it was redundant in this situation. Since the ship would arrive here in due time. It was good to practice, should she ever really need to employ those survival skills.

Up ahead, Alara was standing in the open. With a chuff, she marched on to catch up. Muddied paws fighting against the wet terrain of this jungle. Beyond her was the ruin Alara was most definitely after. At least it wasn't a pile of rubble she expected it to be. Hopefully intact enough to keep the rain off of them. And to have kept the artifacts they sought in relativly good condition.

Rex put a big hand on the armored shoulder of the little Mando. Swear she felt a jolt from her as if she came back to reality. "Alara, are we going inside? I'm sick of being in the rain, eh."

Alara Ordo

 

[Feydrik Munin]

A deep breath.


​

It took some time to answer the beacon, but Feydrik could not resist the urge to discover, to poke and prod at the Mandalorians of the galaxy. Gone and scattered, they were fractured and clinging barely to relevance and to life. A far cry from not even a year ago, when the Crusaders made all of the galaxy shake and quiver in fear.

Crushgaunt adorned hands walked towards the mythosaur skull emblem, pressing into the material and paint. He pressed harder, his crushgaunt-adorned hands pressing the metal inward. He took a deep breath, standing back.

"I am Feydrik, of Clan Munin. I am honored to meet you."

He turned his head to the furry creature, disregarding her. He had no interest in speaking to her.

"What is it that you hope to find here, friend?"