Into the Manda: Memorial of Mia Monroe [Mando/Invite]

[Azrael]

Keldabe, Mandalore​

Ceremonial Grounds​

​

​

​

​

A Few Days After the Invasion of Coruscant​

​

​

Night had fallen on Keldabe, the stars shining bright from their perspective of the Galaxy. The air at the Ceremonial Grounds was tainted with the palpable feeling of loss and grief. A solemn mood washed over the assembled Mandalorian people. Famalies from every clan had gathered in reverence and respect to pay homage to their dear and departed sister and Mand'alor. Naught but a few days after the Coruscant invasion had the sad news of the calamity struck the hearts of the Mando'ade. Within the midst of the large mass of clansmen stood a large rectangular stone altar which was normally a silent testament that death was still as real and as expected for any of them. While the general populace would not receive such a lavish ceremony, they held high their esteemed ruler - no matter if that ruler had passed their title to another. Once a Mand'alor, always a Mand'alor. Hundreds of vode from all across Mandalore and the Galaxy at large were in attendance. It was impossible to know how many lives Mia Monroe had touched with her spirit, her tenacity, and her unquestioned loyalty to the Mandalorian people. The altar in the middle hosted a wrapped version of Monroe's corpse - having been taken from the Imperial Palace on Coruscant where she had been struck down. Her head and hair had been left uncovered, and painted for the ceremonial burning of the body. Their Liberator had gone to the Manda, dying in the most honorable fashion a Mandalorian could hope for - in the heat of battle, defending her people.

Each Mandalorian clad in their armor rested the buy'ce either in the crook of their arm, or clipped to their belt. Silence reigned save for the crackling of a starting fire that rushed around the edges of the altar pyre to slowly ingulf the figure laid out on the coals and kindling. Once the fire had been lit, a low chanting arose from a choir of Mandalorians in the distance began to chant in Mando'a a ritualistic song of morning for the vode. Within the crowd, the fire of Azrael was silhouetted by the flame as he stood near the head of the Pyre, his head bowed in reverence as he gave silent remembrance to the fallen hero. Grey eyes welled with tears of passing. He had witnessed her fall at the hands of the dar'jetti, and all the anger and pain of that moment was coming back to him. Not only did he blame the Sith woman who had done the physical act, but he moreso blamed his Ori'vod - [member="Ordo"] for being the linchpin and catalyst to the situation that had caused their sister to fall. Directly or indirectly, Azrael blamed Ordo - and he knew that no matter what it cost, or how long it took, he'd avenge the Liberator and finish it.


[media]https://soundcloud.com/evasionstudios/mandalorian-funeral-chant[/media]


Motir ca'tra
Nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun
Hett su dralshy'a.
Cuun hett su...

Translation:

Spoiler

Those who stand before us
Light the night sky in flame.
Our vengeance burns brighter still.
Burns brighter still...

The events of the past week had been a whirlwind of new information, strange affairs, and paradigm shifts for the Mando'ade. Not only was the Mand'alor deathly ill from causes unknown, but one of their trusted brothers had fallen sway to the influence of the Sith. Now their Liberator had died, and there was no word on retribution yet. This however was not a time to plan war, this was a time of remembrance, and to honor the woman in whom they had once called A'lor. As the fire swept upwards, billowing steam into the heavens, Azrael raised his head and watched the embers flick up and dance above the pyre. His right hand raising to press against the breastplate of his beskar'gam while he listened to the quiet chanting of their native tongue.

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Mia Monroe." The Field Marshal said softly, barely above a whisper to the heavens. He'd said the words before about other vode, and each time it was like a wound of the flesh. He had never grown up with a family, and it had taken him over twenty years before the Manda had found him and adopted him. Any family lost was a hard blow for the young half-blood, and the pain of it was evident on the creased wrinkles and furrowed brow of his visage. He knew there were people among the vode here that were not Mandalorian, but were great and dear friends of the woman. Even a lover was suspected to be in attendance. The only one missing, the only one that none of the vode that understood the situation would dare let step foot on the planet for this event would be Ordo. And while Azrael knew that would likely be an act that would enrage the former farmer, he was responsible, and by Mia's own lips - was Dar'manda.

As testament to the nature of the Manda'lor, there had been erected in Keldabe proper a monument to honor their past rulers of the Mandalorian people. Each statue was hewn in stone and carved to represent the bearer of the responsibility for the people of Mandalore. Monroe's addition stood at the south east wall and was labeled with a plaque dedicated to her service to the vode. Hundreds of arrangements of flowers and dozens of burning candles had been laid at the feet of the statue signifying the love that the Mando'ade had for their beloved Liberator.


Statue

Spoiler

Spoiler

[member="Mia Monroe"] | [member="Gilamar Skirata"] | [member="Strider Garon"] | @Babasa Willamina | [member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Bane Rade"] | [member="Kad Kando"] | [member="Garrus Garon"] | [member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Verz Horak"] | [member="Adenn Gra'tua"] |[member="Aedan Miles"] | [member="Ailyn Kelborn"] | [member="Arla Balor"] | [member="Anija Ordo"] | [member="Arrbi Betna"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"] | [member="Briika Tor"] | [member="Cabur Aranar"] | [member="Emberli Garett"] | [member="Ginnie Ordo"] | [member="Kable Detta"] | [member="Kila Cadau"] | [member="Michael Steelfang"] | [member="Mirshen"] | [member="Neskar A'toll"] | [member="Nolan Detta"] | [member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Skye Mertaal"] | [member="HK-36"]

If I did not tag you, I am sorry, but I tried to get everyone I thought that is active on at least on of their alts.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

The crackle of the fire and the low voices of the others were dull and low. He still could not walk much on his own, couldn't even fit in his own armor yet. And so he sat in his repulsor chair, a thick cloak around his shoulders keeping him warm. His head was tilted to the side, his old eyes dull and full of sorrow and regret. His helmet rested on his lap, the flames reflected in the black of his visor.

How could he let this happen? The Sith had returned, but they had been complacent, focused on petty disagreements with their neighbors in the Republic. And now they had paid the price. Mia Monroe, Mand'alor the Liberator had fallen in the field of battle, Ordo, one of his most trusted Field Marshals had betrayed them, made a fool of the entire Mandalorian people. With himself in this state and two of his best and brightest gone, he was at a loss. Looking up at Azrael to his left he could only hope the young man was ready when his people would need him most.

 

[Arla Ordo]

Arla was very quiet standing among the gathered. She remembered the day she had met Mia, the day that Verz, she and Ordo had left Mandalore to go off on the Nomad. And now Verz was unreachable, Mia was dead, and they kept saying Ordo was responsible. How could her buir do this? It had to be a mistake, there had to be a reason he wouldn't do this, he loved them, he cared for them, protected them. It was confusing very confusing but still it didn't change what they were saying what had been witnessed.

She was alone again, yes she had sister but they had their own lives.

Arla instead of wallowing in her own misery thought of the day at the lake with all of them, Mia, Strider, Ord'ika, Verz, everyone. They had so much fun that day. Arla could feel tears welling up. So much loss. She lowered her head standing there in pain wishing that this was all a terrible dream.

But she would find the answer to why this had happened.

 

[Garza]

(I do have permission to post)

Another one is gone.

For so long I have lived in a time where peace is impossible. For so long have I made mistakes and fought against everybody. Even those who I might have considered friends or allies.

It was a long time ago when Mia and I met. A fight against the Sith Emperor at the time. She was there to collect a bounty on the Betrayers head. The three of us, Daxton Bane, Mia Monroe and myself fought against a master of the force. A man who had built himself a body over and over again. Few ever got to be in his presence simply because he was a powerful man. During this fight that was almost still fresh in my mind, Mia had been captured by Daxton as a prize for sustaining himself against the Dark Lord. I remember her face as she looked to me for help.

And yet I walked away with my tail between my legs. For many years she blamed me for leaving her in the hands of the Sith. I could feel her hatred for me. And even more so when we were in a fighting tournament. We were pitted against one another, and over time, I had taken notice that she used that hate to fuel her in battle. Ever since then, I have watched my actions, hoping that whatever I do, I won't be making a choice to leave someone in the dark.

As I stood in the back. Away from everyone and the wondering eyes of the Mando'ade, I wore my armor, cleaned up and made out of the old and battered duraplast that it had once been. In memory of who she was. The fire of the pyre reflected off of my open faced visor that was held in my left hand. I watched as tears fell from the faces of many. Other had their heads held high. I myself did neither. I let my head stare straight forward at the burning body of the woman as the chantings in her native tongue were uttered. She had blamed me for causing so much pain. She hated me, but I saw something else that she failed to.

She had become a person who was respected for her strength in troubled times. She was a woman who others looked up to as their Liberator, their messiah almost. Smiling sadly as she had once been a Pariah, a little girl who had dreams of facing against the greatest foe of all. I wanted so dearly to have the ability to say that I was sorry for my actions. Even the ability to simply be someone she hunted and pushed her to her limits would be an honor, and a privilege. In a way, I looked up too her. She fought so hard for her people. Willing she died for them. And I knew, that if she was given a second chance, she would still die in the name of her people.

Murmuring to myself I spoke in basic for I knew very little in Mando'a, a simple sentence that was filled with anger, sorrow, and sadness, "Mia, you were always stronger than me."

[member="Mia Monroe"], [member="Azrael"],

 

[Strider Garon]

Strider approached the inflamed pyre walking past his old friend [member="Gilamar Skirata"], helmet clipped to his belt and an ancient battered flask in hand. It seemed these old eyes had seen their share of funeral pyres in his fifty five years in a violent galaxy. He glared into the flames and into the silhouette of Mia. He could hear her armor bubble and crack with the heat, giving her lifeless body a false sense of life as if she was trying to speak. He had heard he words days before, she had come to him as a ghost but here today her body was being cremated with the absolute honors that the mandolorians could provide. Surrounded by vode, that is all that anyone could ever ask for in the end. The Statue on the other hand was a nice touch and he was pretty sure that the women would swoon over such sculpture of himself if one was to ever be erected in his wake. Or so he day dreamed.

Gently Strider twisted the cap off his flask, pouring a portion on the flames itself as if he was just nonchalantly sharing a drink with a friend. The Tihaar enriched the flames for a split second while he took a long swig before turning about, saying nothing till he got back to Gil's side. He reached out to hand his Manda'lor the flask.

Be your friend's
true friend.
Return gift for gift.
Repay laughter
with laughter again

He recited, his eyes starring deep into Gilimar's

but betrayal with treachery

 

[Preliat Mantis]

He remembered.​

And he would always remember her.​

​

​

And the Sith would remember and rue the day that they took the life of their Mandalore.​

​

​

Preliat, promoted, had his helmet in his hands, curled around his fingers. Field marshal markings, polished and gleaming on the shoulder of his armor, signified his rank within the Mando'ade. He looked around, at the sickly [member="Gilamar Skirata"], in his weakened and truthfully pathetic state. Death loomed over the crowd, as if the Reaper himself was lingering over them. And he might as well have been. Death followed each and every single person he saw here, in one way or another. But Death had touched his cold hand to Mandalore the Liberator. At least, for now. People had a bad habit of not staying dead. But Preliat had a feeling that no matter what, they would not forget this sting of pain and misery. His lips curled, and his teeth bared in a savage snarl. Silence had been so loud, at this pyre for the dead. Silence was a thing that stung him the most.

[member="Strider Garon"], in his drunken foolery, poured his foul beverage onto the pyre for the deceased as if some form of gratitude or tribute. Preliat would make no qualms about it, but had his private reservations about it. To each their own, in death. Preliat's tongue was harsh and quick, his words violent even behind his gentle accent that covered most of the savagery that he had so graciously fallen into over the past few years. His hair beads and his braids swung as he flipped his head to face the Mandalore and his fellow Field Marshals. He thrust his armored hand to the fire. His crushgaunts had been touched up, with the Mythosaur on the back of one hand and the other, marked with tally marks. The tally marks now occupied the entire left side of his armor, leaving no room for fresh paint. They all knew what they meant.

"I will not bear the thought of sitting through another pyre for a fallen Mandalorian."He did what most were not comfortable of doing, and even as a younger man himself, he turned his back on the Mandalore. His fists curled, and his helmet nearly snapped from the force of his crushgaunts."I will not stand for another death at the hands of the Sith."His head halfway cocked to the Mandalore."I will not mourn her until I have avenged her."Then, he faced both Strider and Gilamar. His eyes were narrowed. Clearly, this is what broke the camel's back. Whatever was left of a person inside Preliat, left when he saw Mia burning."And as for our brother @Ordo."He spoke loudly for all to hear.

"He shall be punished! Let us not never forget this feeling! Let us never forget what he has done to the Mandalorians! Instead of subjugation and claiming victory, he revealed his true nature."Preliat failed to see the irony about true nature in that moment. Everyone else might have."Kyr'am at cuun dar vod. Kyr'ram at Dar'Jetii. Kyr'am at Ordo par Mia Monroe. Par Manda'yaim.1".Preliat's snarled the last bit, and pushed through the crowd. He had no interest nor business remaining here, pitying the dead when he could be exacting revenge.







Translation:
1. "Death to our former brother. Death to Sith. Death to Ordo(the person) for Mia Monroe. For Mandalore,"
By using the word for the planet, he is also speaking for the Mandalorians as a whole, being that the planet Mandalore is the ultimate symbol of the Mandalorians.

 

[Not Ordo]

[member="Azrael"] [member="Gilamar Skirata"] [member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Dante Zankar"] [member="Strider Garon"]

Alone behind the gathering of people a lone figure stood in the shadows as the fires cast occasional light on hos scar riddle face. The bitter tears of loss covered by the lifeless grey and gold buy'ce. They didn't know him, how could they, but of them all he wept with the most bitter tears. An old black beskad on his hip and a hand made rykk blade on his back he stood. Kama and pauldron on for the ceremony he wept. There would be retribution, there would be blood, and he hoped it would come sooner rather than later.

"Gar shuk meh kyrayc" he said alone as he raised a flask to the straw on his helmet. "See you soon love."

The huge figure slowly turned to go. He had work to do.

 

[Anija Betna]

[member="Ordo"]
[member="Azrael"]
[member="Arla Balor"]
[member="Arrbi Betna"]

Anija stood not far behind Azrael. She didn't know him or [member="Mia Monroe"] well. But she understood who the woman had been. Anija sighed. She hadn't been at Coruscant. She'd heard what had happened, but part of her didn't want to believe it. Mia dead... And many were blaming Ordo. 'What had he done; or not done that had caused her death - even if indirectly?'

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and her buy'ce rested against her hip. She could feel the swelling of the anger and grief of the hundreds around her, and it made her feel a bit unsteady for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she recited the remembrance softly before lifting her head and staring into the flames.

'What has caused [member="Ordo"] to fall?' She had to know. Even the thought of it, caused her stomach to twist. He had raised her, trained her; given her a family. But she would do what was necessary. Stepping forward, she rested a hand on Azrael's shoulder. Leaning forward, she murmured in his ear. "I know we all want vengeance. Let me find him first..."

 

[Mac O Shenanigans]

Mac approached the pyre behind [member="Strider Garon"], and nodded as the old man turned. Their eyes met and the two men shared that look. This has happened too many times it seems. His normal jovialness was muted and his expression somber, matching the color of his solid black Great Kilt. Mac hadn't know Mia all that well, but she was a Vod and former Mand'alor, and that was all that mattered. Reaching into one of his belt pouches, Mac pulls out a small metal emblem. It was a simple Mythosaur skull with a soft metal backing. Using a set of his forge tongs, he placed it upon one of Mia's breast plates. The soft metal backing welded the emblem on, forever signifying her status as Mando'ad.

Turning around, he caught the comments of [member="Anija Ordo"] and approached her side. "I am wit' Anija. T'e trut' needs to be discovered." He didn't know why or what Ordo had done, nor did he pretend to understand Ordo at all. "'e is still Vod, at least for now..."

Not wanting to speak too much, he simply nodded and turned, catching sight of [member="Arla Balor"]. Clasping his hand upon her shoulder, he just stands there, not sure what else to do...

 

[Skye Mertaal]

The bounty hunter wouldn't be seen up by the masses. No, instead she would be standing back, far from casual view, feet spread a foot apart and seemingly silent as the grave.

She wore the full beskargam that Ordo had personally forged for her, the dark gun grey metal scuffed bearing the scuff marks and testimony of well worn armor.

While Skye Mertaal had not personally known Mia the Liberator, she knew her story; her courage and strength beyond what she had to endure.

It was something Skye could relate to and respect.

Hands would curl into tight fists, and while she gave no outward appearance of her mental thoughts, her mind would wander to the past. Another place and another life.

Words would come to her. Questions plagued.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.​

Those words had once drifted between her and Calab Torran many years ago, standing at a precipice of what turned into a bloody Galactic War.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

But at what price?

 

[Adenn Gra'tua]

Standing at the edge of the light produced by the pyre was Adenn Gra'tua, his eyes looking over the other mandalorians that had gathered, all in armor, all mourning, save for [member="Preliat Mantis"], who was blaming Ordo for unknown reasons. The bounty hunter hadn't been on Coruscant at the time of Mia's death, but he had heard that his 'father' had been, but he knew nothing of what happened, he felt as if he had gone and helped that things would have been different, but he recognized those thoughts as ones of guilt, or a similar feeling. Adenn watched Preliat walk off, wanting to stop him, but all that would happen would be violence, slowly turing back to the pyre he spoke "Why Ordo?" Clipping his helmet to his belt, then approaching [member="Azrael"] and Anija, wanting to know why their brother was threatened by the recently gone mando "Why has Ordo been threatened, has he done something to us?" He asked, turning to look around again before his eyes landed back on Azrael.

[member="Azrael"]
[member="Anija Ordo"]

 

[Arrbi Betna]

[member="Adenn Gra'tua"] [member="Skye Mertaal"] [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] [member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Buliwyf Jarhulda"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Strider Garon"] [member="Dante Zankar"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Gilamar Skirata"] [member="Azrael"]

Betna stood next to Anija, his arms crossed. Death was a part of the Mandalorian way of life. It came for everyone, there were no exceptions. You accepted it. You welcomed it. You walked with it every day, every second, of your life. You didn't fear it, for to fear the inevitable was to live half a life. They were a warrior race with a warrior culture and a warrior creed. Death was but a single facet of the Mandalorian people.

But it didn't mean it didn't hurt. He'd never met Mia, but he knew she had been Mand'alor. He knew she'd been a skilled warrior and a fierce soldier. Betna was no stranger to death, himself. His mother killed, his father missing, presumed dead. He lost many clan members, his family, on Myrkr when the prison was raided. Comrades had fallen in the field around him with nothing he could do. He was accustomed to it all... but it didn't mean he couldn't feel it.

There was a sadness all around. A distinct, keening ache of a lost friend, leader, warrior. To be robbed of a comrade, even one that you never knew directly, was still a theft. But despite the sad ache of loss and pain, there was one thing that could be felt underneath. A thrumming, vibrating thread of emotion. Something that was as common to the Mandalorian psyche, including the death of a comrade to an enemy. Especially the death of a comrade to an enemy.

Vengeance.

Not against Ordo, for Betna, along with Anija, felt there could be some salvation there. Not against the Mand'alor or the Field Marshalls, for chaos and death was but a part of war and none, as much as he could tell, had blundered to cause this death.

The Sith.

They would pay. They paid on Dromund Kaas. They paid along the eastern borders of the Mandalorian territories. They paid on Mandalore, when they attacked his people. They would pay for this and for all of the attacks on Betna's people. His friends and, as he looked at Anija, his family, too. The currency would be blood. Blood for blood. Death for death.

There was nothing that he could say or do that would mean much. What needed saying had been said. The doing wouldn't happen here, but on the battlefields across the stars. Betna knew all he could do was to prepare. To prepare and wait and strike at the heart of the enemy, wherever and whenever they hid themselves. And so Betna did the only thing he could. He sang.

A song of camaraderie. A sound of war. A hymn before battle. A dirge for the fallen. A litany of vengeance. The call of the Mando'ade.

[media]https://soundcloud.com/gmsoundtrack/star-wars-republic-commando-music-vode-an-brothers-all-extended[/media]​

 

[Anastasia Rade]

Anastasia hadn't had the chance to meet Mia and now she never would. During the woman's reign as Mand'alor she had still be a prisoner of the Sith and as of late she had been on Dathomir. Still she wished to come and pay her respects. The Mandalorian people had done so much for her and she was eternally grateful for that.

Even if she had a crystal ball and a better handle on her gift Anastasia didn't think even she would be able to see this coming. The war from the little she had heard had brought out an alliance switch but she didn't know much of that. It was just hersay at the moment. Even it was true now was not the time for such things.

If she could get her gift to work for her perhaps she could find out more and see who was behind all of this. She knew it Sith related of course, everything was and they needed to be exterminated. It would be good though to get them at the source.

 

[Not Ordo]

[member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Arrbi Betna"] [member="Skye Mertaal"]

The big man walked away slowly but stopped as he heard the young Betna begin to sing. He had done that once, sung for his brothers, sung for lives and deaths, but now he couldn't, likely never again. the tears in his eyes only increased as he thought of his wife and the happiness he wanted for her and his family, it was nearly too much to take. He looked off in the distance at the woman and her armor, master craft work of the sort he knew all too well, he wore a set made by the same hands, a long time ago. He thought of the words of old Edric the smith that had taught him and commed the woman, as he slipped toward his ship.

"In all things you do, you must handle all alike." the deep emotion filled voice would com across as he walked up the boarding ramp of the old YT-2000, "When you are the anvil, bare, and when the hammer strike." He closed the ramp knowing he was finished here, "I loved her like a sister."

With that the ship lifted off and headed skyward.

 

[Shane Sisko Skirata]

It was a shame but Shane had come back to see this. He didn't like seeing his brothers and sisters fall even worse was that there hadn't been them around to make sure the killer was gone. He didn't have much to say or anything she had been a leader for them and he would just make sure it was not in vain when the time came to deliver payback several times over.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

He could not even look his brother in the eye. He had been betrayed twice in this battle. Ember had not yet returned from the battle and from reports he had read over and over again, had been seen fleeing with Ordo, the new Dark Lord of the Sith. Mia now lay on the pyre before him, the price for their complacency and the catalyst for what would become a undoubtedly frustrating military campaign. But the Mandalorians looked the fool now.

The Mandalorians had been dragged into this. [member="Adenn Gra'tua"]'s words caught over all others in the near deaf ears of Gilamar's recovering body. His eyes, which had been sad and solemn, barley open the entire service shot open, anger and rage filled his gaze as he shot up from his repulsorchair. Pure adrenaline fueled his body. "What has he done? He has become the very thing which we have come to despise! He watched as his new sithspit kath hounds murdered my daughter, your sister." His anger was apparent, and it was all that kept him on his own two feet. He jabbed a finger in Adenn's direction and began to speak again, "If any of you agree with Ordo, if you join him...You will be hunted and put down just as he will be."

And that was that. His legs gave out and he flopped back into his seat, anger replacing sorrow.

 

[Azrael]

Everyone showed grief in different and varying ways. Some would internalize the anger, turning it inward - burying it deep within their soul. Others - and outward display of anger and rage as the pain ate at them and fueled their wrath. Still, others would question and doubt what had really happened, have a loss of words, a loss of direction. With such a diverse and unique group of warrior people - it was understood there would be anger, and there would be sadness found in a great many forms. Azrael's form of grieving was the quiet and solemn kind. He took loss seriously, but he was not vocal about his pain - he never had been. For the half-blood, all of the anger and the rage built within him silently. It may have certainly soured his outward mood, but he bore it down - and released in aggression when he was on the battlefield where it belonged. This last week had been a very trying time for the young Field Marshal, both personally and corporately. The Mandalorians were a hardy people, and they bore the death of friends and loved ones and kept marching on. There was however a deep burning in the pit of his stomach that they were on the cusp of losing a part of them that they could not afford. While the Sith grew in strength, they did not. They needed to find their resolve again, and their passion. He was simply unsure how that was going to play out.

Gray eyes snapped from silent thought as his Allit Buir and Mand'alor shot up from his chair, bellowing in his anger at the Rally Master nearby. He honestly hadn't even heard the question. No doubt his adopted Father was furious at the situation. His daughter, his sister, and his former Mand'alor's body lay burning feet away. His lips curled in slight disgust before the placid face shifted as Gilamar flopped back down in his seat. His right hand coming to lay gently on the older man's shoulder as he looked towards Adenn and narrowed his eyes for a moment. He said nothing however, at least not directly to Adenn or Gilamar. Boots crunched over the dirt while he moved forward to the pyre's stone edge, becoming a focal point with the background of their Liberator's memorial to shadow his form.

"Mia Monroe was the first Mand'alor that I knew when I stepped foot on Yaim. She was the first Mand'alor that I answered to their call of battle. I watched the Liberator fall at the hands of the dar'jetti scum on Coruscanta. The last words that Mia Monroe spoke was of our vod, Ordo. She has called him Dar'manda for his treachery and distension into the form of the dar'jetti's new Dark Lord. Whatever you know of Ordo - whatever you think of the man that I called Ori'vod, know this. He is not welcome on Yaim - and I hold him personally resonsible for what has taken place. The Sith are our enemies; that is simple, but Ordo has betrayed the vode, and he will have a day of reckoning. Tonight however, we drink and look to the Manda. The legacy of Mand'alor the Liberator will not be forgotten."

Azrael quieted his tongue and turned to the pyre, his right hand moving again to press against his breastplate in honor of his fallen sister before he moved from the face of the crowd back to the side of his Allit Buir to resume his silence in honoring his sister. Whatever had been told to the vode, or spoken in secret, he wanted addressed. Ember hadn't returned, and there was no one from the Omega Protectorate who had seen what he had in the mix. He'd been their witness. The vode's eyes and ears for the last acts of their Liberator. He felt compelled to share.

Spoiler

[member="Mia Monroe"] | [member="Gilamar Skirata"] | [member="Strider Garon"] | @Babassa Willamina | [member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Bane Rade"] | [member="Kad Kando"] | [member="Garrus Garon"] | [member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Verz Horak"] | [member="Adenn Gra'tua"] |[member="Aedan Miles"] | [member="Ailyn Kelborn"] | [member="Arla Balor"] | [member="Anija Ordo"] | [member="Arrbi Betna"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"] | [member="Briika Tor"] | [member="Cabur Aranar"] | [member="Emberli Garett"] | [member="Ginnie Ordo"] | [member="Kable Detta"] | [member="Kila Cadau"] | [member="Michael Steelfang"] | [member="Mirshen"] | [member="Neskar A'toll"] | [member="Nolan Detta"] | [member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Skye Mertaal"] | [member="HK-36"]

 

[Aedan Miles]

Aedan Miles crouched in the shadows near the group his usual bright violet hues dim and downcast. How could this be Field Marshal Monroe dead... Field Marshal Ordo.... not just a Field Marshal but someone the young man had looked up to the one responsible. Clenching his fist as tears started to drip from his eyes onto the ground before him. The force around him filled with the sadness of the people here but emanating from him was a very different and dangerous feeling. Anger was all he felt lied to and led on by the man he respected and looked to as a father figure. He had even made it so his clan was a sub clan of the great Clan Ordo he had gone to war and fought alongside him fighting against anyone who dared oppose the Mando'ade. Turning the young man stood up and pulled his helmet on over his face hiding it from view as he muttered back to the statue of [member="Mia Monroe"]. "He will pay I am sure of this... He is most likely to return to Okyaab VI I will go there to do something about this myself." Walking away his face hidden behind the helmet of his Werde Beskar'gam a recently done skull painted on the front of the helmet with the standard T shaved visor clear on it. What had been yellow was repainted into Violet and the shoulder cape he wore was crimson. He walked away knowing that he was most likely walking to his doom he was a weaker fighter when compared to Field Marshal Monroe but he had to do something. Looking up at space as he walked he muttered mostly to himself as his anger swelled and grew within him. "I am coming for you Ordo." [member="Ordo"]

 

[Carbon]

It was rare to find Emberli anywhere other than nowhere, but he was there, Mask of Mandalore settled onto his face. His battered old armor, lined with the fur of a great beast, stood silently nearby, watching the proceedings with the quiet calm of a man who'd seen far worse and yet had found a way to sink to a new low.

That new low was the death of a woman he'd tried to convince, long ago, not to commit suicide. It was her own flesh and blood that was her downfall, as was the fate of all those who consorted with the Sith. His broad shouldered form stiffened, squaring itself. Glaring at her body, his set lips quivered faintly before solidifying their strength.

He'd fought, long ago, to keep this from happening. To keep the Sith from harming his people. A shame they seemingly were unable to do that now; a damn, damn shame. Perhaps this would be the catalyst they needed. But this wasn't about the Sith, this was about Mia - a woman who'd far and away surpassed the expectations he'd had for her a long time ago.

She'd made him proud, but he'd never gotten to say. Not that she'd needed it. She was Mandalorian after all. So there he stood, impassive, saying goodbye to yet another friend.

 

[Siobhan Kerrigan]

Since this writer got tired of postponing doing stuff with Sio because she's in a coma, we shall presume that by the time of this thread she has woken up, even though that has not happened yet in her recovery thread. Because [member="Mia Monroe"] is just that special and her dying really ought to get Siobhan to stop ghosting around in the netherworld!



Siobhan could barely stand as it was, even with the best care from Firemand and the healers Tegaea had called to her sickbed had provided there were wounds that had not healed yet. Strictly speaking she should not be here but rather still in bed recovering. Her doctors had been quite adamant about that, but Siobhan had furiously dismissed their claims. Even though her powers might be diminished after her near death experience they knew not to argue with her.


Because Mia had died. She had perished by the hand of the Sith and Siobhan had not been there. That knowledge was like the stab of an icy knife to the heart. So she stood here alongside the Mandalorians though a bit away from them. Her sole concession to her weakened state was the cane she was leaning on, forcing herself to stand tall and straight despite the pain it was visibly causing her. Nonetheless she wore her beskar'gam, though it weighed heavily on her shoulders, because it seemed fitting to her. She might stand indomitable as ever, but her eyes displayed a strong and profound grief.


The sorrow was intermixed with hatred so strong that it was almost overwhelmning, though she forced herself to clamp down upon it. Hatred for the Sith, disgust for the Protectorate for having launched such a foolish assault on Coruscant in what had turned into a complete debacle, hatred for Ordo the traitor, for know she knew that he had taken the crown of the Sith and was what the Mandalorians called dar'manda. His reasons for this were irrelevant, whatever words he might have to say likewise. There could be no mercy for traitors, no understanding for Sith. The only solution was to make them all burn.


You bloody foolish, frustrating, brave woman, she thought to herself as she stepped closer to the pyre. The Protectorate had charged into Coruscant and accomplished nothing at all during the battle. Anger rose inside her stomach like bile, but that was not what this day was about. Today it was about Mia and what she had meant to those assembled. Of course, she had gone to fight the Sith, showing a dedication Siobhan had always admired and respected in her.


Siobhan had never been a woman of many words. Well, she got dramatic a lot but profound speeches full of meaning were not her thing, but then she doubted Mia needed. But she had always had the feeling that the Liberator understood her. "I'm sorry...for not being there. I'll make them burn...the Sith, Ordo. Every one of them for you," she said softly, almost in a whisper.