Legendary Tales at Night (Armour Dev Thread)

[Krayn]

Mandalore​

Many years in the future.

“Sit my children.” He waited as patient as any father could as the five boys, young but stocky, full of energy and hope ran into the hut that the small family called their home. The youngest a girl of no more than three came in after them falling into the arms of her father with a happy smile that was matched by the caring stare of her parent. “Sit, sit. While we eat our meal tonight I shall entertain you all with a story.” He gave a warm look towards the female at the door, the children’s mother and his loving wife. A family in every Mandalorian respects.

The children did love his stories, they would each plead for their favourite but he would always be sure that each tale would be of some new content, something that taught them well, that taught them of Mandalore and her ways. Tonight would be no different.
“Tell us the story of [member="Ra Vizsla"] father, the great warrior beast who reformed our pride and destroyed the Dar’Manda with his booming voice.” Said the eldest of the children.
“No!” Yelled another, his arm throwing out at the other in childish aggression. “We heard that one yesterday, and the day before I want to here about the strength of [member="Anija Betna"] she who held the Clans together with her bare hands as the galaxy burned around her.”
“Yes I want to hear about her Buir.” The youngest girl stated with a smile.
“You always do wish to hear about such vast gods don’t you children?” The Father smiled. “However I shall save the tale of Ra Vizsla and how he crafted the great Trees of Ithor with his bare hands out of the clay he discovered in the heart of a star for a different night my loves. Instead tonight we shall speak of a different Vizsla. A young warrior who came into the galaxy from the furthest edges of the known galaxy, some say he was the bastard child of Kad Ha’rangir himself, others that the god had found a mortal shell that he could reside within as to escape the clutches of Arasuum’s prison.”
“Was he?”
“The son of Kad Ha’rangir! Of course he was silly.”
“Shush my children. The truth was never known, but listen to the tale and perhaps you will decide yourself. Now our first tale will be that of how our young warrior was gifted the armour of the gods and crafted it through their guidance alone. This is the tale of Maanis from Clan Vizsla”

 

[Krayn]

“Our tale begins on the shores of the Kelita River, not far from where we sit this very day. On a small farm owned and operated by a young Maanis who had yet to have his name declared properly by the Clan of Vizsla.
It is said that Ra, who had become Manda’lore of all the united clans was being opposed by another who claimed the title, an imposter of sorts from the farther reaches. This imposter Manda’lore held himself an Empire made up of Dar’Manda and thieves. Yet he posed a substantial threat to Mandalore, after all two Mandalores would upset the gods and Ra had every intention of going to meet the gods feast. So the call was made for all loyal Mando’a to pledge to their house and prepare for war.
Maanis, barely a man by this stage with little hair on his chin and even less women to his bed had to watch as his friends disappeared to war, the instructions strictly on the young man who held no known family claim, to prepare himself for when he was old enough to declare for Ra, Vizsla and Mandalore.
Years passed before Maanis, a mere farmer by trade was finally called upon. Yet he held no arm, no shell of Mandalore either for no family had existed to hand their own on. Truth held that he held no currency nor standing to afford his own Beskar’gam, he would have to march like many others into war wearing faceless armour that held no personal glory.
It would not do, for Maanis desired glory. He desired many things and without a Beskar’gam he would struggle to reach his stars.”

“He had no family?” The interruption was made from over the bowl of broth that was steaming below his second son’s chin. “How come he had no family?”
“Ah, we do not know Ivor. It is said that as a babe Maanis was found on the peak of Mount Beskar where he was raised by the story tellers of Old Clan Vizsla. Other’s say he was just always part of that farm, always in the field, always feeding, always cleaning from the day the galaxy was born and will remain as such until the day the galaxy dies.”
“Is he still there now?” There was a hint of excitement.
“It is unknown. The exact where abouts of Maanis’ farm have disappeared in time. One day we shall go and search for him if you like?”
“Yes please Buir.”
“Shall I keep going with the story now then?”
Nods all around.

“So without armour, glory, money or family Maanis had naught chance of becoming the greatest Mandalorian as he dreamed. Yet it was his dreams themselves that started his tale. Would you like to here of his dream he had that night?”
Quiet agreeance.
“Excellent. Brenj, fetch me an ale and then we will continue…”

 

[Krayn]

The Ale was good, smooth and thick like a proper ale should be. It cleansed the throat and made it easier to talk, which considering was a effect well deserved.
Anticipating eyes followed every mouthful, like a pack of scavengers waiting for their moment.

“Now where was I…”

“The dream Buir. The Dream.”

“Ah yes the dream…”

“That night Maanis went to sleep as he ever did, with his eyes to the stars and the ground on his back. It was a warm summers night, just like this one where the entire of Mandalore seems to breath a selective breath of relief with each nightfall. Just as I did as a boy and each of you do, sleeping in the field took preference over the rough warmth of the farms interior.
However as sleep took him Maanis found no easy rest. His dreams became full of laughter and panic, images of things future, present and past all came to him like a Mythosaur to its prey. Seven times did he awake that night and seven times did the stars put him back to sleep only to witness it all again.
Taking no heed from what these dreams meant Maanis took solitude in his work on the farm, training his muscle and reflex with tasks of strength and wit. Yet no matter how much energy he removed through the day it always filled his mind as nightfall came.
Three nights he accepted these dreams and for three nights he slept no more than the waking hours. Yet on that third day it is said he looked towards the Kelita and heard the same whispers that had plagued his sleep.
Taking forth his axe and rifle Maanis proceeded to follow the sound of the Kelita upstream, through the open fields of pasture and the forests of ancient holdings. It is said he passed through the Badlands, the scorched earth of infested jungle and Vong creations that held strong in his days all the while refusing to remove his path from that of the Kelita.”

“Vong?”
“What is a Vong?”

“Well children, long ago when the gods were alive and the stars followed them, there were a people called the Yuuzhan Vong. They were a warrior species much like ourselves, yet crueller and with little honour. They claimed much of Mandalore in wars that saw the galaxy burn and rise again from the ashes. Our people went to great lengths to reclaim Mandalore whole.”

“Where are they now?”

“Who knows? Here, there…anywhere. Much like any species in the galaxy.”

“Please Buir, tell us what Maanis did next?”

“Of course Brenj.
Maanis consumed by his divine insight carried on up the Kelita finally reaching the ancient slopes of Mount Mandalore. It is here that it is said he met the gigantic beast of shadow. A vast creature with tentacles and teeth all matched with a bad manner. Put there to guard the forges that sat atop of the Mountain. With his bare hands he ripped the creature’s head clean from its body, roaring at the heavens as he did, absorbing its strength as he drank its blood.”

“Are you sure that is how it happened?”

“That is how the tale is told. Maanis was a legend remember, all legends are half story, half truths.”

“So he killed it with his hands and drank its blood?”

“That is what the story says. What do you think, do you think a boy a few years older than yourself could do such a thing?” A curious glance was offered with a quirky smile.

“Never.”
“Ah, but you are forgetting. Maanis was a god in training wasn’t he? Or is it just an old man never letting the truth get the way of a good story?”

“I think he did it.” The littlest said with an arm pump. “He sounds strong and could do what you said.”

“That is the joys of legends isn’t it children. Making up your mind on what is real and what is story.”

 

[Krayn]

Outside the night had truly began to settle in, the last deep red rays of the setting sun had all but disappeared behind the horizon allowing the stars and the light of concordia take preference over the landscape of Mandalore. The heat was still there though, lingering like a haze across the land making the family want nothing more then to just sit there unmoving in the cooler breeze brought in from the southern plains.

“After slaying the great beast Maanis took its carcass and hauled it up the mountain. It is believed that the sprites that call the nature home aided him in his journey up through the rocky pass and eventually the snow covered cliffs until finally he reached the peak of the tallest place on the planet.
He would have rolled over then and died if he could of, but other plans awaited him. Through the mists he could still hear the singing of the voices, clearer then before, pulling him forward. Each step took him closer and closer to the very tip of the mountain and do you know what he found up there on the mountain top?”

“An Ice Bear!”

“Treasure!”

“Armour!”

“His dinner?”

They gave a laugh at the youngest boys response, clearly he still craved food even after his own meal had been devoured.

“No not any of those things. Manis found the forge of Kad Ha’rangir. The anvil to destroy the worlds and offer sacrifice to the god of destruction. How it came to be there is as much a mystery as to why it isn’t there any more. I think that Maanis destroyed it after his own task, making sure that there was never the chance to again use such a terrible device as that forge.”

“Why was it so bad?”

“Ah, go and bath children, then return I will finish the story before bed.”

 

[Krayn]

The children were freshly bathed and in all respects he usually would have sent them all off to bed but tonight was different. They seemed so attached to this story he was weaving, so amused by the legend that he had to keep telling it in the hope that somehow they learnt something from his tale.

“Storms had gathered atop of that mountain as Maanis guided by the crafting hands of the gods took upon the anvil like a parched man to water. He pulled slabs of Mandalorian Iron from the ground with his bare hands, ignoring it as it cut through his skin and tore into his flesh.
Inspiration came from the heavens as the knowledge of his blood came seeping through his limbs, each acting out of instinct as he beat out the chest of his mighty armoured form. The sweat from his brow cooled the heated metal, the fires of his will melting it again.”

“He made the armour with his bare hands?”

“Well no my son, he used the hammer provided by the gods.”

“Oh okay.”

“Before long Maanis had made himself a cuirass of bound Mandalorian Steel, its finish cooled in the blood of the great beast he had slain below on his approach through the mountains. Upon this armour was placed the magics of the gods and it would be that no blade would pierce it’s hide.”

“Then what Buir?”

 

[Krayn]

“Next my son?”

“Yeah he made the armour, did he go and conquer all the lands?”

“No, Maanis had only just started on his armour. He still had many parts to do. So with his eyes blind to the making and his soul fully in the hands of the gods he did continue.
By plunging his own two hands into the molten mess of metal at the forge did Maanis create himself two gauntlets that would allow him to crush the skull of a man.”

“He put his hands into molten metal?”
“Wow.”

“Didn’t it hurt?”

“Maanis was being delivered by the gods, pain was not a thing for him at this time only the crating of the armour he had so desired. He ripped the metal from his hands in order to allow the gauntlets to be made with the hammer and anvil, his own skin becoming as much a part of them as his soul.

It is said that again the gloves were blessed with boons from the mountain, allowing Maanis to withstand the blows of weakened arms. His strength would forever remain even weeks into combat.”

 

[Krayn]

The children were indeed gripped by the story that had been told so far. So much so that they had failed to notice the youngest slip to sleep upon the fur rug beneath them. Yet that was not his concern of now, she would sleep on calmly no matter the bed.

“With his gauntlets and his chest appeased Maanis did bellow out in challenge of the gods, he claimed the anything they taught him would be nought to his own inventive mind. He began to claim that none of this was there doing, in fact it lay purely on his own more mystical power.
Naturally the great divines thought poorly of this and they did send down lashing against his back, harrowing his soul with images of his death and of the great doors closed to him after his departure from the living.
Mannis took woe in this and challenged them all to combat to prove his worth, however they had other plans for him. More simplified ideals.”

“Buir?” The oldest questioned.

“Yes?”

“Did the gods allow him to keep the armour after this outcry? Did they punish him by taking it away?”

“No. The Gods had different ideas. They had a deal with the angry Mandalorian, they said to him that if he continues his task and makes the armour complete to their satisfaction they would let him keep it and wear it as a symbol to all Dar’Manda who he would face and do you know what Maanis answered back?”

“No.”

“No Idea.”

“What did he say?”

“He spat at them, cursed them but also agreed with them. He said that they had the power to make great things and he asked if he would be one of those great things. The gods whispered before letting him know that he would be one of their greatest as long as he allowed them to instruct him properly and he understood his place.”

 

[Krayn]

“Now do you all remember who it was that Maanis first spoke to on that mountain?”
“Kad Ha’rangir.”
“The Destroyer.”

“Ah, yes. You see to Maanis that is who all along he believed was aiding his hands, until he had claimed otherwise, then he had made a deal. However it was not Kad Ha’rangir who he had spoken to at all, it is said that it was Hod Ha’ran the trickster who had been baiting Maanis along all this time, wanting him to get angry and give up his foolish quest.”

“That rat.”

“Oh no.”

“Hod Ha’ran had no soft spot for those seeking glory, he preferred those who would play with their wits and test their mind against more sophisticated tasks and so far Maanis had only proven his brute strength. So Hod decided it was time to allow Maanis the chance to truly prove himself to the Trickster.
He was presented with the task of creating the face of the god. Intricate and frustrating it was a piece of art that would allow no place for a hammer.
Maanis would try and he would try, but to no end could he mould the parts into the shape he needed to wear the trickster’s smile.
Hod Ha’ran began to laugh at the poor broken man who had failed at his challenge. He laughed so much that storms of thunder broke out over the mountain and rain began to patter against Maanis’ flesh cooling the forge and the working metal.”

“What did Hod Ha’ran do Buir?”

“Did he throw Maanis from the top of the mountain.”

“No he didn’t. In fact all he did was laugh. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed. He laughed so much that he fell from his seat in the clouds and hit his head on the mountain Maanis was sat upon. Hod hit his head so hard that it split and his blood poured across the top of the mountain and into the furnace of the forge, his godly soul creating a flame so hot that it made the metal within so soft that Maanis was quick to grab a handful of the molten metal with his bare hands.
Do you know what he did then?”

“No Buir?”

“Please tell us.”

“He ran up to Hod Ha’ran and threw the metal in the Trickster’s face. He held it there against the withering form of the god who eventually pulled Maanis away with his powerful arms, the god rose tall and strong with metal dripping down his face, a face that looked ready to slaughter the man for being so sure of himself. How dare he attack a god.
Then Hod pulled the metal from his face and looked upon it with his naked eyes, seeing a tortured and cruel face staring back at him.
The laughter caught in his throat, but soon came bellowing out. The idea of his own visage so terrified amused the Trickster greatly, so much so that he cast the metal down towards Maanis and told him to keep his helmet for he may not have passed the test, but he had given him a good laugh.”

“So he let Maanis pass the test because of a laugh?”

“You’re making this up now.”


“Am I?”

 

[Krayn]

“As the storms started to subside our young Mandalorian found himself with a fully forged Cuirass, Helmet and Gauntlets as per the design of those who guided him, yet for all strength in the world these things offered him he was still missing one thing that would bring it all together. Do you want a guess at what this was?”

“His weapons?”

“Boots?”

A quiet moment of reflection from the smallest of the boys before he spoke out with a suddenly spreading and knowing look. “The will.”

“Exactly Ithor.” The smile across his face was fast and full of pride. Perhaps they were indeed learning. “Maanis was strong, he had heart and now he had a suit of Mandalorian Steel but what he lacked was the respect or indeed the right to bare this suit without first a test.
Hod Ha’ram had fled from the mountain top and now finally as the sun appeared on the horizon Kad Ha’rangir himself finally approached the young man with challenge in his purpose.”

“Ah so he was not Kad Ha’rangir himself then!” Victory thick in tone.

“The Destroyer could take many forms, perhaps even multiple versions of himself without ever even knowing that he was speaking to another part of himself. So yes it could be that Maanis and Kad were seperate people, or it could be that that they were the same, or perhaps even both of the above are true. Who am I to decide?”

“That is so damn…confusing.”

“Legends my boy are never clear, open for the interpretation of those who tell them but as I was saying.
Kad Ha’rangir approached Maanis and bellowed out a challenge. They would face off against each other in a duel of strength, but not in pure combat ability but rather in their strength of arm. For it was Kad’s want to duel an arm wrestle with Maanis, much like his younger days when all the clans would partake in such activities before battle.”

“An arm wrestle?”

“Yes is it so hard to believe?”

“Kinda.”

“Well they struggled against each other for four days and four nights, each unable to get the upper hand on the other. Finally however on the fifth day the sweat pouring down Kad Ha’rangir’s arm caused him to slip and Maanis threw his opponent down into the mountain causing it to split in two and spew volcanic destruction across the plains around it, destroying the forge, the armour, Maanis and his godly opponent in one violent explosion.”
“What he died?”

“What?!”

 

[Krayn]

“Yes he died.”

“But…The rest of the story?”

“Very well. The next morning the steel blue eyes of Maanis awoke in his own farm yet again. His memory of his journey hazy but there and the aches of his ordeals very much present. Yet to say he was the same man would be mockery, for this Maanis was not a local farmer turned militia any more. No he was something for more.”

“What was he?”

“Yes tell us.”

“He was a Vizsla, honoured warrior of Mandalore and well suited for the cause of the clans.”

“He had no armour though?”

“Yeah it got destroyed.”

“Did it? For every tale I ever heard of Maanis Vizsla after would make mention of his armour, white and blue and crafted by the gods they would say. How he ever got it however will always simply remain a legend. Now…

Off to bed.”

The boys were put to bed, the youngest female child slid into her own after falling asleep several hours ago. Each child was parted with, goodnights and parental bonding before the weary and soar throated old Buir made his way to the other part of the hut, where with careful hands he removed a small chest from beneath a bench.

Carefully lifting the lid he gazed upon the contents within, Mandalorian armour of white and blue and with a cheeky smile he whispered quietly. “Made by the gods they say…”

He couldn't help but laugh.