Ni'm yaim [United Clans of Mandalore]

[Lina Djo]

She felt like a stranger, boots kicking up dust with each uncertain step as Mia moved through Keldabe. This face and this body were known only to a few, most were dead or missing, some liked to check in on her occasionally. None of them expected this. She paused at the foot of a great statue, lifting her gaze to stare at a face she'd once seen in a mirror.

Mand'alor the Liberator.

Mia Monroe herself, in all her glory. They'd captured her quite well she thought, stern expression on her face, armed to the teeth (some things never change). She looked younger than she ever remembered feeling, the weight of her failures aged her every waking moment and yet they glorified her in death. Raised a statue, named fort's after her. This olive skinned woman was much shorter in real life than this rock monstrosity led you to believe.

She took a step back, pushing her hood back as she did. She was not short anymore, gone was the olive skin and dark hair. Mia Monroe had been reborn, and been a real queen about it too. Enough was enough, her people needed her. It had taken a long time for her to realise these were her people. No matter how much she detested what they had done, no matter that she had lost her faith in the oversoul. Manda'yaim was her home, and its children were her people.

Too long she'd watched from the sidelines, peering at it all through the bottom of a bottle. It was past time she stuck her nose in and started cracking skulls. She extended her hands towards the statue of Monroe that was, coiling fingers of force around it. It groaned in protest drawing the attention of those nearby. Mia heaved at it with the force and the crack that followed felt like a punch to the chest as the noise ricocheted off nearby buildings. She let go of it, shoulders sagging slightly and watched as her statue toppled to the ground, breaking in several places it kicked up clouds of dust.

Stepping over rubble, she pulled herself up onto the pedestal and sat on its edge.

"Olaror sha ni vod." she muttered.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Things had gone rather strange and confused for the Mandalorians. Isley Verd had gone off and became the Mandalore of his own splinter-cell of Mandalorians, leaving Vilaz and his brothers and sisters of the United Clans of Mandalore wondering if they should follow the lead of this self-proclaimed leader or still follow the ruling to the Clan Council which really didn't impact on their lives on a daily basis. At the end, Mandalorians had more interaction with their respective clans as the Clan Father or Mother would dictate the rules and laws, so that there would be order and respect among one another.

The Redneck, in his beskar'gam and armorweave poncho, tried to get things off his mind as he walked in a chamber, with two WESTAR 34s and a Fett-Kal knife, which glorified fallen and old Mandalores and some important leaders that had led the Clans. He walked from the Mandalore the First's statue up until he was almost at Mandalore the Liberator's statue. He could see the one of Lord Mandalore, the last Mandalore of the United Clans of Mandalore. The Field Marhsal wondered if they would put one up of Mandalore the Reclaimer, but he'd doubt it as a majority of Mandalorians would view Isley as a false Mandalore. What were Vilaz's views on this? Well, he was confused yet he could care less if there was a Mandalore or not to rule him and his vode. As Mandalore the Destroyer once said 'We need no lords or leaders - you can't destroy our command'. There was a civil war, but they didn't need a sole ruler to solve that problem.

As he was walking by the statue of Mia Monroe the Warrior could hear the statue groaning and then it crumbled to the ground with the grace of gravity. Vilaz was confused, not scared and wondered what caused this to happen. He then saw a woman that stepped over the rubble and sat herself on the pedestal of the statue. It was a dead woman who somehow cheated Death and continued to walk on this plain of existence.

"Tired of that old look, Mia?"

[member="Mia Monroe"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat watched, incognito as he was. He had become a sort of menace, though [member="Mia Monroe"] would have nonesuch knowledge of it. He stared for a while, The Wolf glaring deeply at the woman who once held the title coveted by many but feared by more. He crossed his arms, a stranger to his own home as well. He stared for a while, at the woman who watched him grow from a frightened boy to a husk of a man. He rapped his fingers on his arms- Preliat had taken the more aggressive style of armor, stripping his armor at the shoulders, wearing nothing but a T-shirt under his tricep armor. He stood tall, aggressive- and damaged. She could feel it. He was what he hated most, he was slowly turning into something that the Sith were to many Jedi- a walking disturbance in the force. Such was the depth of his rage, his sorrow, and the maelstrom of emotions and burdens Preliat carried with him. He had advanced in age since she saw him last, several years past the age of 30 now. But she seemed to have cheated age and death.

He said nothing, but watched beneath his armor- and as his wife would say, his real skin.