Marching Far Away [Mando and Friends]

[Azrael]

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

In Orbit around Mandalore
Shev'la Kal-class Cruiser


The bright and central star of the Mandalorian system burned fervent, radiating life-giving warmth and light to the nine planets surrounding it's centralized location on the Outer Rim. Massive and undaunted, the namesake of the United clans served as a flaming beacon to all of the Galaxy, of the inferno like spirit of these iron clad warriors. Known throughout the cosmos in shades both feared and respected -- the epitome of an honor bound class of warriors throughout the stars for ages past and ages to come.

Aboard the massive stealth cruiser, turned broadside to host a view of the majestic star that bound the system together in the grand laws of nature, a heavy set thrum of emotions beset each individual on board. A massive host of Mando'ade resided on this shuttle, decked out in their individual and expressive sets of beskar'gam. The shine of the star diminished to levels view-able glistened off the plates of besk'ar making them shine like the sun before them. Friends and loved ones of [member="Gilamar Skirata"] were also invited to attend this most solemn of occasions, as they would say goodbye to a leader, a father, a faithful friend, and a brother. Ceremonial flags were hung at half-mast along the large hangar bay that was filled with a sea of people, all with heavy hearts and burdened spirits.

Before them, a single star-fighter sat silent; The Vhe'viin interceptor. The cockpit dome was risen, giving plain view to a body laid within, arms crossed with several distinguished medals laid perfectly around the neck of a man they all knew well. Chief of clan Skirata, head engineer of Mandal Motors, and the most recent Mand'alor. His death, at the hands of Ordo on Empress Teta burned into the memory of many who had fought on that city-planet. They had only finished burying Mia Monroe when this tragedy befell them and beckoned somber tones to pay earnest respect to a man taken from them well before his twilight years. It was an honor to die in battle, and while they recognized that, the feeling of being robbed of their ruler was on each and every heart. His iconic armor was separated from the fighter as tradition. The hollow shell of that besk'ar would be moved soon to Mandalore and set up in the Hall of Heroes for a memorial to their faithful A'lor.

While not originally chosen for this reason, the colors of the Field Marshal's beskar'gam gave silent resonance to the feelings of loss and honor of his Father. Azrael never knew his biological father, and never really cared to. When he was introduced to Mandalore, and given his first true family, it was Gilamar Skirata that bonded with the young initiate. Taking the half-blood under his wing and teaching him the trade of Mandal Motors. It was Gilamar who had worked with Azrael side by side to craft the armor he wore with pride. The Kiffar laying in the interceptor was one of the greatest influences in his young life, and it had deeply wounded Azrael to know that he would be parted on this side of the Manda from his Father, and his friend. The gathered Field Marshals stood at point on each side of the vessel while the low chant of a Mandalorian choir sung in deep tones the all too hauntingly familiar chant.

The buy'ce clipped to his hip, Azrael's head remained bowed in silence. He'd already lost a sister, and a brother in this war against the Sith, and now he was saying goodbye to his Father. The Sith had taken his family, those he counted dear to him. He had grown up without a family, and now that he had secured one - it too had been ripped cruelly away. Pain, anger, and fury remained in the kettle of brewing emotions that threatened to spill out and bubble over. Tears lingered in the gray eyes while fists clenched in silent rage, and loss. The young man, son of Mand'alor was teetering on the edge of sanity within. For the sake of Gilamar though, he withstood the flood of emotions and braved the storm to say goodbye to his mentor.


OOC:

Spoiler

Anyone who is friendly with the Mandalorians may join this thread. No members of the One Sith are obviously allowed on board the ship. I did not tag anyone here, as a mass email message was sent out instead to all that are members of the faction. Please keep this thread restricted to Mandalorians and friends of Gil only, thank you.

​

​

​

​

 

[Anija Betna]

Spoiler

[member="Azrael"]
[member="Ordo"]
[member="Rianna Ordo"]
[member="Evi Sohl"]
[member="Arrbi Betna"]
[member="Atin Kandossii"]

Anija was only recently returned from Okyaab herself. Teta.... Coruscant. Those two events had changed the course of her life forever. Ordo had been a constant fixture in her life for over a decade, and now the man she'd accepted as her buir had been so cruelly ripped away. Coruscant had started it all. And a single blaster bolt on Teta had ended it.

She still didn't understand the how or the why of it, and she wasn't sure she ever would. What she did know was that many would view it as poetic justice. But she had seen his face on Aeten II. And she knew he would never have stopped fighting the control. She wasn't entirely sure what had allowed the sith spirit to gain entry to Ordo's mind, but she could guess. She knew that he had always feared for his family's safety. That alone had made her choice to join the invasion of Empress Teta difficult.

But she had gone anyway. As had many others. The United Mandalorian Clans had suffered heavy losses in the battle. Ordo and Gil chief among them. Gilamar Skirata. Mand'alor. She hadn't known him well, or really ever gotten to meet him personally, but she held a great respect for him nonetheless. And he has gone toe to toe with Ordo to try and get the Field Marshal to see sense. And he'd given his life for it. Beyond what she'd heard on Ordo's vid feed and anything Azrael had personally heard, she wasn't sure they would ever fully know the truth.

She stood not far from Azrael, her own buy'ce clipped to her belt as she leaned heavily on Arrbi. She still hadn't fully come to grips with everything that had happened over the last week or so. Tears traced silently down her cheeks as she tried to process it all. The sheer height and intensity of emotion in the hangar pulled at her like a strong tide. As the choir sang, she slowly recited the Remembrance under her breath. For Gil. For Ordo. And for all those who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

 

[Arla Ordo]

Arla was growing tired and ill at having to say goodbye to friends and family taken from them far too soon. She was moving through the gathered looking for her family. She spied Anija with Arrbi near to Azrael and moved that way, buy'ce on her hip like many present.

The very air seemed heavy with sadness every face in the crowd was turned toward the Vhe'vin Interceptor. The loss of their leader weighed heavily on each heart and mind of the Mando'ade. Arla put her hand on her chest over her heart where the dull aching did not seem to want to stop and with each breath it got worse.

It seemed it had all escalated so quickly they had all been on the lake laughing one moment and now stood here once again saying goodbye to another.

She felt a bit of shame her allit had killed his, another death on the hands of her buir and no matter what excuses had been given Arla could not reconcile all of the events and all the things done by the man who wore the face of her Buir. It was hard to separate the two. His actions whether his own or not had ripped into the hearts of them all, a deep rooted hatred of the Sith only grew knowing that they played a part in taking away their brothers and sisters. But today would not be marred by such thought, no it was not the day for that. Today was about honor and remembrance.

Her gaze moved to Azrael. Though she did not know the Mand'alor she remembered how he had spoken of him of the bond that they shared as close as any biological father and son. The words he said to her that day, The Manda adopts who it seeks, and brings us into the vode. Gilamar did that for me. She heard it in his voice that day how much Gil meant to him.

She edged her way toward him the last thing she wanted him to feel right now was alone, no one could replace Gil and what he meant to Azrael but he had to know that all his brothers and sisters were there for him, his grief while his own was also a shared grief. She put her hand to his shoulder holding it there long enough for him to know he had been touched, and hoping it provided some level of comfort but said nothing. There weren't enough words to express what she wanted him to know. She looked over to Anija greatful that she had Arrbi during this time.

Now safe among her family and friends she listened to the mournful sound of the choir chanting was seeping into her soul tears welled up and slowly traveled down her cheeks it was time to remember the fallen, and yet rejoice about the time they had shared.

Spoiler

[member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Arrbi Betna"] [member="Azrael"] @Evi Solh

 

[Anastasia Rade]

The galaxy was a cruel unforgiving place even on the outside. Any little bit of happiness was quickly taken away and replaced with pain and sorrow. It was evident by the pain on Azrael's face. This place was just as bad as being a prisoner perhaps even worse as she didn't know what was coming or whom that she now cared about would get hurt.

The Sith had taken everything from her. She never knew her parents nor would she ever. They had been killed the night her and her brothers were taken. She would never have a relationship with said brothers as one was missing and the other two far gone. The only thing she had was the little glimpse into the past the fates afforded her every once in awhile. The Sith had even tried to take that away. They were now destroying those whom had rescued her, those whom she now saw as family. It tore her up inside, all of it yet she wouldn't cry. Anastasia really didn't know how to cry anymore. She had learned at a young age crying was unacceptable behavior so she stopped that and now even barely showed any emotion.

So many deaths at the hand of the Sith and over what? What was the purpose of all this tragedy? In her eyes it seemed like nothing more than for the selfish ways of the Sith. The more Anastasia fought back against them the worse it seemed it get. In prison she at least knew what horrors awaited her but out here she had no clue. The only light amongst the darkness out here was that she nor anyone was alone in the horrors anymore. Really though, what kind of comfort was that?

Gently a hand reached for Azrael's. She knew that this death hit him hardest. They had a father/son type bond. Anastasia could only imagine how hurt he was in at this moment. She couldn't exactly understand her emotions or feelings fully but it hurt seeing [member="Azrael"] in so much pain. The worse was there was nothing she could do to help him. The only thing she could do right now was be here for him. She would stand by his side no matter what.

Her head was bowed low in respect as she chanted with the others. She hadn't met Gil personally but instead knew him by reputation. A great man had died in that battle and the galaxy was worse off for it.

 

[Varek]

​

Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.

The elder Skirata woman stood stoic. Silent. No helm adorned the female, leaving the thick braid of chestnut hair streaked with gray plain to see. Her jaw set tightly, and her hazel eyes would not waver from the sight that beheld her.

Gilamar Skirata is dead.

A woman of few words, her grief and sorrow would reflect in the line of her stance. In the rigidness of her back. In the lift of her chin. Gilamar may be dead, but his memory would prevail. It would strengthen. It would forge and temper the Skirata clan and beyond.

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la

For death was only the beginning.

 

[Muad Dib]

Death. A fickle thing. One that can come after an onslaught of full years and full heart. When the beskar'gam can no longer be worn by frail body. When you have loved and lost. When you have raised ad'ika and become ba'buir. But so to can death steal away life at it's beginning. A promise of life unfulfilled. Cuyir. But sometimes the life is stolen in the middle of life despite shereshoy.

The black and red armored mando who stood to the side near one of the walls was quiet. His buy'ce hung from netting on his belt, visor still scarred by the fresh lightsaber wound.His arm was around his riduur, [member="Chloe Hinata"], a constant source of strength in his life. Brown, blond hair hung limply over his yes from the recent shower in the fresher unit. Green eyes were troubled.

Atin Kandossi was here to pay his respects to a man he had never met and did not know personally. But he knew of his reputation and Gil Skirata was Mand'alor. So being mando'ad and one who kept the Resol'nare Atin had rallied to the call to arms, even if he had arrived late. Possibly too late. But despite what he felt he had failed to achieve on Teta all vode knew of their Mand'alor's fate.

So here he was in the aftermath of war where so many of his vode had fallen. Some he knew. Some he didn't. But they were vode an. So as the chants of the choir began again he joined in.



"Kote! Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an. Manda'yaim a'den mhi, Vode an. Bal kote, darasuum kote, Jorso'ran kando a tome. Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an. Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an. Manda'yaim a'den mhi, Vode an. Bal... Motir ca'tra nau tracinya. Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a. Aruetyc talyc runi'la solus cet o'r. Motir ca'tra nau tracinya. Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a. Aruetyc talyc runi'la trattok'o. Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an!"

 

[Lina Djo]

She was just another guest. Just another face come to see the Mand'alor off. No armor nor weapons to speak of. Never before had she felt so separate from her people. It was like peering at them all through a one way mirror, she could see them all, read all of their expressions even hear them. But to her they were deaf and blind. The chant sent shivers down her spine, brought flickers of memory from her own death. Her mouth went dry and she closed her eyes, taking several slow breaths to stem the unwanted rush of emotion.

Slowly, Mia began to work her way through the throng of people, heart racing, palms sweaty she passed [member="Anija Ordo"], her hand went to the woman's shoulder, she glanced briefly at her face, offering a reassuring smile before stepping towards the fighter, she climbed the ladder to the cockpit and leaned to press a kiss to Gilamar's forehead.

"Ret'urcye mhi, babuir." she said softly, before dropping back to the hangar deck and moving to disappear among the crowd again.

 

[Neskar A'toll]

Neskar stood still. A grimace etched itself onto his face. It was rare that he did not wear a helmet. This, he thought whilst clutching the battleworn, was a special occasion. The deceased was a great man, they said, though Neskar had never talked to him. He was Mandalore. Neskar had followed him into the flames of hell itself, had bled for him yet Neskar had never even spoken to the man. Did that matter? The words Skirata had resonated with the young man that Neskar was, and even now with the battle-hardened warrior that Neskar was now.

The cruiser was packed to the brim with grieving bodies. Guests, friends, every Mandalorian with half a heart was there. Neskar wondered why he was there, as he had no heart to speak of. Despite that moment of self doubt, the occasion nearly brought a tear to his eye. It was poignant, no doubt, but Neskar couldn't help but wonder what would happen next. He stood still and stoic, crowds shifting around him. He had a good view. His father had always told him that it was better to be cold and brutal than hot and ineffective. In short, he refused to allow his emotions to override his actions. With patience and calm consideration came the answers. But answers never seemed to come.

 

[Garza]

I hated goodbyes.

I had never met the man in person. From the stories of my comrades and brothers in arms, I heard stories of how he was a man who would bring about an golden age of the Mandalorians and their plethora of clans. I looked to see that everybody here on the ship was mourning in their own ways. Those around the starship built as a casket for the man all wore their armor. It was a symbol of pride and love for this man. I felt the pain, knowing that this death was harder than the last.

I could see from where I stood a small square that was open from between the Field Marshalls. Just his face was there. Peaceful. wrinkles around his eyes and lips where he had been smiling in times. A sign that he had lived a life that was filled with happy times. I mourned for him, knowing that in order to have those happy times, you also had to have the painful moments. Life was not about living life, but in the pursuit of happiness for ones self, an for the livelihoods of those he cared for. Seeing his face, I knew that he had done that to the fullest.

I was learning more of the ways of the Mando'ade. I was silent while everyone else around me was in a hum or even part of the chant that was uttered in memory of this man. He was looked up to by many. I could tell from the sheer amount of pride that everybody held. The chant filled me with a broken heart, and a contrite spirit. I knew that these men and women, were brothers and sisters. It was here that I fully understood the meaning of calling each other as such. And the literal meaning of "Mando'ade" being "Sons and daughters of Mandalore" The entire culture of people, no matter the clan where you are in, the species you are, or the weapons you fought with, we were all family.

In hindsight of that, I loved the man who had died. He was a Father to me even if I had never met him. I had dealt with death. On the receiving end, as well as the one who caused it to many. However, this is by far the hardest I have ever, and probably WILL ever, deal with in my life time. Losing a Mandalorian, more importantly a Mandalore, was not just another faceless soldier. No, this was a Father, a brother, and a friend that I have lost. As well as all the others who stand with me here today.

The man who had killed Mandalore was gone as well. However, the revenge, justice, vengeance, or whatever you want to call it, was not over. The Sith turned the man into what he became. They turned the man against his own kind. This was not a transgression that will be forgotten, and can only be forgiven through the blood that will be spilt in his name.

I stood there. Looking, watching, and taking in all the information I could. This will not go without consequence. I could feel a burning in my heart. Knowing that now, more than ever, will I fight for the Mando'ade. Not for them, but for my brothers, sisters, children, and all others who allied with us.

 

[Rhodessa]

She stood their on watching in silence, as mandalore body passed before them. She was crying, but not for mandalore her twin sister Itessa died all so down their. She was unsure she died, but last anyone heard from her was after she abandon her fighter. This was after the traitor [member="Aedan Miles"] fired on her, she wanted to see bleed for it. She had heard the was bounty on his head already, it had cheered her up a bit. She manged to come out battle unscarred, well physically any way. She hardly new anyone here, so she did not speak encase she spoke out of turn.

 

[Rianna Organa]

She had considered wearing the long black robe with the well-known linen of being a jedi but as her fingers touched the fabric she knew that it would not provide comfort to those in attendance. No her showing up as a force user could make the grieving uncomfortable and think of Sith. She did not have armor for such occasions that was something else they were getting to. Rianna felt a stab of regret she looked around the room they were surviving they were moving forward but none of them would ever be the same.

Rianna entered the hangar the golden light of the sun touched the room hints of sparkle twinkled from the metal. The flags at half-mast acknowledging the passing of the leader of the mando'ade the soft whisper of air to cool the room made them reluctantly wave. A wave goodbye perhaps. Her dark eyes filled with her own pain scanned the hangar further the familiar armor of [member="Anija Ordo"] and [member="Arla Balor"] came into view. That was where she would go.

Rianna paused she could see [member="Azrael"] proud, strong, holding the emotions of his loss behind the façade of control. She focused on him for a moment she remembered when she lost her parents. Hatred for those who had taken them away, a pain so deep she wished she was dead to make it stop, and each day an agony knowing they was gone. Azrael was going to need all of his friends to support him through this but it would take time and there would be dark days ahead.

Time such a fleeting invisible commodity that there seemed to be so much of until there wasn't so much. Time a reminder that you may think you have enough only to find you wished you could buy more. Time was a friend and an enemy, today it was a silent partner.

There was a cold in the room one that crawled slowly across the floor touching each person as it moved. It was a burning cold that reached out and touched Rianna. It was her empathy she felt their emotions the deep sadness that was shaking them all. They as a people had been through a great deal. The burn was the desire to take revenge for those lost the burn of a growing hatred infused with the sadness of an empire growing tired of loss.

The deep rooted sadness that for some slowly flowered into waves of tears Rianna wished there were words to comfort them. The events starting on Coruscant in the cold of a Sith Temple that ended on the rooftops of Empress Teta has made all of this possible. Jasper she thought look at what they have done. They being the Sith had managed to hurt them but what they may have failed to know is that these events would only strengthen them, make them mad, and give them additional reason to hunt and kill them. There would never be a peace between the two factions.

Rianna's pale blue dress fell to the floor covered by a black hooded cape she definitely stood out among multi colored armor of the mando'ade. Rianna looked for her family, the children as Jasper often called them. Most of them grown except [member="Ginnie Ordo"] and yet he called them the children. They had laughed many nights about that.

Rianna looked toward the Interceptor and bowed her head. The adorned body of Gilamar Skirata looked out upon those who mourned him a fitting end for the leader of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy. She had never met him but Jasper had always spoke of him highly they had been trusted friends. She wished he had come to speak with her perhaps things would be different but that was another path. The ability to see the future such a tenuous gift one moment the future shows one thing, the next another. Each person in the galaxy their actions affected the future whether they believed it or not. This was only one possible ending of the countless that could have happened.

Rianna sighed softly. Death. It was not the end another door would open so she believed, and transformation would make them into something else. So while mourning those that will be missed take comfort in knowing they will go on, and be seen again one day. An old teaching that she found comfort in.

How would all that had happened shape the future? Were they dark days ahead for them all?

Spoiler

[member="Arrbi Betna"] [member="Ordo"]

 

[Julm Surma]

Julm had been long gone from the affairs of his fellow vod'e for a long time, yet he had always been there in heart, always been there in soul. The Mandalorian slowly brushed through the crowd towards starship which held the body of Gil, their Mand'alor. He blamed himself for not returning to his people sooner, he blamed the Sith for such loss and tragedy, he blamed his father for keeping him from where he truly belonged. Julm slowly removed his helmet to honor the death of his vod, "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum."

The freehand of the Mandalorian clenched into fists as he slowly let the anger build inside him. He wanted revenge, he wanted justice...
He had not known his Mand'alor personally, yet even in this his exploits reached the ears of the bounty hunter from the depths of the underworld. Julm would avenge his clan, he had been willing to die for his people and would not stop until he had vengeance for his vod'e. Julm slowly moved to leave the ceremony, he had a Sith to hunt.

((OOC: Sorry for short post, posting on phone.)

 

[Briika Munin]

Briika Detta stood solemnly with the rest of the Tor'Detta clan as they paid their respects to Gilamar Skirata, their befallen Mand'alor. The blonde medic's buy'ce was off and clipped to her belt. In a front birikad slept the young infant daughter of her and [member="Kable Detta"]'s; born just a few months before the Invasion of Empress Teta. The vision of the precious golden-haired sleeping beauty was a stark contrast to the reason the Mando'ade were gathered this day; to watch their beloved leader march away to the Manda with the highest of honors. It was a vivid reminder that in life there is death, but there is also life again. Mesh'la would know of this day when she was older. Her buire would see to it.

Gil's name now would be added to the seemingly growing list of remembrances recited each morning starting with her eldest brother's.

Spoiler

[member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Kad Tor"] [member="Ralize Tor"]

 

[Devorah Verd]

She did not feel as if she belonged there, but still, she'd come.

Reasons there were in abundance, of course. Isley had spoken of Gilamar with nothing but warmth and praise in his voice for the Mand'alor that held their people together and led them through the darkness of times most recent. As the last member of Clan Verd, it was her duty to attend, to pay the respects of her own lost family to the man that had lain down his life for all them without a second thought.

Devorah sighed softly as she made her way into the gathering, carrying no weapons and wearing no armor, clad in a simple gown of midnight blue and a soft, silken cloak. She had deemed it best to forgo her Jedi robes, for it wasn't the Order nor the Republic she represented that day. Cinnamon curls were loose, and anxious fingers coursed through them briefly before she stepped inside the hangar to join the others.

Her dark gaze found [member="Azrael"] immediately, standing in the front, surrounded by those seeking to offer the comfort of their presence and a softly spoken word. While her brother had spoken of Gilamar in terms of a vod, Azrael had done so in the words of an ad about his buir, with the attendant emotion plain to her sight. His pain radiated through the force and drew her through the crowd, though she stopped short of joining him at the front. There were others who approached him still and she did not wish to intrude.

Instead, Devorah took up the chant of the others, softly reciting the words along with them as she bowed her head reverently.

 

[Charlyn Nairne]

Chloe was here gathered with so many others to pay their respects to their fallen vod. A man she hadn’t had the chance to meet personal however she knew of his reputation as well as anything else there was to know of him. He was a great man and the galaxy would be worse off without him in it.

It was a shame what had happened during that battle and none of them gathered here would ever forget what had occurred. They would morn and lean on each other for support but as they always did would march onward always keeping Gil in their mind and hearts. The Mandalorian’s would trudge on in his name. The only thing he Sith did now was seal their fate. There was no backing down now and they would never give up. The galaxy deserved to live free of the Sith.

Arm wrapped around [SIZE=10.5pt][member="Atin Kandossii"][/SIZE] she sang along with the choir her head bowed.

 

[Olivia Dem'adas]

Olivia stood at attention facing the body of her fallen Mand'alor. She was silent and unmoving, arm cocked in a frozen salute as she stood and saw off the ruler of the clans. All that came before and all that would follow were forgotten for this moment. This moment was about honoring the man who had led them in war against three Sith Empires, a Fel Empire, a Horde, and the Galactic Republic. A man that had stood at the forefront when the clans threatened to collapse under the weight of the first Sith Empire and had continued to stand at the forefront as they recovered and grew. The man had done so much for the clans. In the end, he had given everything to them.

This moment. Was for honoring Mand'alor Skirata.

Olivia Dem'adas and the other members of her clan in attendance stood in unmoving attention, frozen in a state of salute and military discipline as they honored their fallen Mand'alor.

 

[Kad Tor]

Manda'lor had fallen in battle, one which had many casualties. Kad stood with his clan, a solemn look on his face. The Mando'ad had never participated in the funeral ceremony for a Manda'lor before. There would be contests later for a new leader, but that could wait. Kad already knew who had won his support, and his hopes were to seen it come to pass. For now, they were there to remember Gil. An arm moved to place a gloved hand on [member="Ralize Tor"]'s uninjured arm. While the invasion had seen the death of great Mando'ade, the battle had also seen the riduurok of others. New lives would come from these alliances.

Eyes looked to his niece already noting the cycle of life was represented in the ceremony. It fell to Kad's generation to bring about the next and ensure they were raised according to the resol'nare. There was a moment when Kad looked down and just listened as the choir sang. Under his breath Kad quoted his daily rememberance which now included the fallen Manda'lor. There were no tears shed for him. He had fallen in battle, with honor. No, today Kad was never more proud to be among the verde of the Mando'ade.

Spoiler

[member="Briika Detta"] - [member="Kable Detta"] - [member="Nolan Detta"]

 

[Kal Kandossii]

He didn't answer the call to arms. Not because he shirked his duty but because he was on a hunt and had just heard the news when he had got back to Manda'yaim. So he caught a ride up to the ship above to pay his respects to the Mand'alor, a man he had never met, and yet was a vod. And he stood there and watched the grief on the faces of so many around.

He dropped his head and let his blonde hair fall into his eyes hiding the guilt for not being there with his brothers and sisters on the front lines. If he was there maybe things would have been different. Maybe.

So he stood as those who knew the man shared their grief. He stood on the outside unable to help. Soon he would return to his forge and work to create something new that he would send to the Skirata clan in homage. And he would be there next time the Mand'alor or the Skirata clan needed help.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

There was a silence in Preliat's cell, as he quietly stared at the blackness of the wall before him. And he contemplated all that he lost. Gilamar was more than a friend, a father figure and a mentor. He leaned his head forward, letting silence mark his anger at his death, and his deep-seated sadness.

 

[Nolan Detta]

Standing amongst his growing family, Nolan watched as Gil was paraded in front of the audience. His Mand'alor had fallen, but in the field of combat, no greater honor there was.

Leaning on his crutch, Nolan was unable to wear his beskar'gam from the bandages, but he was a Mando just the same...


[member="Briika Detta"] [member="Kad Tor"] [member="Ralize Tor"] [member="Kable Detta"]