Private (Not so) old wounds

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
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| Location | Ukatis
| Objective | Remember

The fire was all but gone from Jenn Kryze's heart.​

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The misery of failure had all but smothered it. The indefatiguable sense of purpose faded. The Kryz'alor could only look on in pain at all that was lost. Oh, she had spent the lives of her New Mandalorians, in the liberation of Onderon, the defense of Coruscant, the assault on Echnos, the battle of Tython. All of it, she now realized, wasted. What gains had they made? Coruscant had fallen, and the Galactic Alliance was dying, a death she had foreseen enough to pull back from fair Onderon, a planet she had so dearly wanted to set down roots on. It seemed her detractors had been right; to stand alongside the aruetiise had won her nothing but dead followers. The others had left, upon her fall into this profound melancholy of hers, leaving but the most loyal around her. Sometimes, lucidity brought her disgust - disgust at how she held on to the title of Alor, one she felt she no longer deserved, yet refused to let go of.​

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Jenn be aliit Kryze was tired. Tired of the endless cycle of it all. Tired of seeing her people fail and fall. Tired of the endless hatred of the Galaxy against them. It was all too easy, for her to keep skirting the very edges of known space, seeking tranquility on uninhabited world where she could grieve all that could have been. Sometimes, however, the wanderlust returned, if only for her to revisit past failures. To let those worlds who had shaped her journey blow their judgement against the cerulean beskar she called her second skin. ​

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Ukatis was as she remembered it - which is to say, poorly. A world defined, in her eyes, by bloodshed. A world she had never heard of before the time had come to lay it low - try as she might to admonish her, Karrys often told her of the dogfights fought over its capital, and how the Bes'kyrade had dominated the skies, in the days of the Mandalorian Enclave, now but a remnant of what it once was. Many were the eyes turned her way as she walked the surface of that world, the fear of the T visor still ingrained within them, and one she no longer cared to combat. Let them look, let them fear, let them hate. She was here to revisit the site of the great battle fought between Crown and Rebels, letting the rain wash over her as she held a spear in hand, gazing at the sky, immobile. Droplets of water against her visor.​

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Even the memory of absolute power could not rouse her from the depths of her own mind, how she had called down rain upon this battlefield, sent thunder unto her very palm, felt it sear and destroy her, yet another test of might before she could redirect it and annihilate all those who stood before her! But now, naught but silence. Silence and devastated earth to remind all of what had unfolded.​

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"Was it folly, to grant supplies to these people? To return to aid them? The folly of kindness..."​

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Corazona von Ascania ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Despite being poised to make great strides, Ukatis still clung tightly to certain prejudices. Among them was a wariness - and, in certain cases, a downright hatred - of the Mandalorian people.

One couldn't blame them, especially after the Enclave had rained fire down upon the capital. Clan Kryze's diligent presence as a kind, firm hand had done a great deal to soften their image in the countryside.

Axilla, though - Axilla was a different story.

When murmurs of a cerulean Y-visor began cropping up, Cora followed the path of their whispers. That was, until she could trace that familiar thread through the Force. All the way, until muddied boots landed beside those of an old friend.

The blonde tilted back her head, and let herself inhale the traces of humidity that still lingered in the air. It was cooler now with the approach of autumn, a certain crispness displacing the typical warmth of a late summer rain.

"Your kindness changed lives, Jenn."

Her voice came as a murmur, twining around the rhythm of the rain. Now that she tilted her head toward the Alor, Cora's breath curled in soft clouds between them.

"Your kindness may not have been returned, but that doesn't make it a mistake."

Jenn Kryze

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
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| Location | Ukatis
| Objective | Wallow

Some times, Jenn missed it.​

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Not quite the screaming of the dying, no- but the cacophony of battle, the smell of ozone as plasma bolts filled the air, the way one's body screamed and ached in brutal melee combat. War... made sense. Peace felt like a lie, some fabrication, forcing her to question her perception of reality as she looked around, and wondered if she alone was awake, if the people of Axilla were not alike heavily sedated patients in some sanatorium. They who had never known the true meaning to be found in life, blaster in hand, shaping the future of the stars with fire and steel.​

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From up close, Jenn seemed to lean upon the spear, rather than standing as this noble icon she had shaped herself to become in the eyes of so many. Her voice was hollow, the sheer aura of hope and confidence she held about her self faded away, leaving behind it a weary woman, aged by the emotional cost of her failure. Corazona's arrival was another mark against her - not so long ago, she may have relied on her (admittedly untrained!) ability to use the Force to strengthen her perception, but now... she was blind. Spiritually and metaphorically.​

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"I failed my people. I was meant to inspire them, show them a better path was possible for us, one of nobility and heroism, much as that word is foreign to us - but instead, I... fell to my own hubris, and from hubris into despair. They are gone, Corazona. I have been deserted and I cannot blame them. Who would follow a mad queen? Who would- accept to guard someone lost in the throes of her own lethargy?"​

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A bitter laugh filled the air, as she opened her arms a little wider, as if to regard all that stood before them, around them, still holding on to that spear, adding a tragically martial touch to the gesture. Grandiose, and betraying her yearning for battle, if only to occupy her mind.​

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"I had great power, and with that power came a duty. I failed in that duty, and now I live as an exile, hiding out at the edge of known space, lamenting my own fate. I used to pride myself on my independence, on how I alone was worthy of the title of Kryz'alor, given my only competitor was Sith. Every so-called Mand'alor, I denied; I reminded them that for their position to be earned, they must earn the approval of all Houses, and I would never bend the knee to them. It was strength, then. I had the backing of devoted warriors, rallying behind my banner, behind my words, and not my voice. And now, here we are. I repeat the same words, but I know what I am. A fool, past her prime, clinging to the tatters of something she no longer deserves."​

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Finally, she turned to the young woman at her side, planting her spear into the earth - it seemed the base of its length held a spike, meant for reverse-strikes, allowing for such an act. In a... perhaps frightening display, the melancholy was suddenly replaced by something else altogether - the errant fussing of a worried relative, her hands reaching out to turn the young Jedi this way and that, her helm hiding the way her features scrunched up with worry.​

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"Rán's scales, Cora, are you alright? I've been so worried about you!"​

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Corazona von Ascania ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

The setting seemed almost perfect for a siren's lament - the skies clouded with a thick, impenetrable wall of grey as the rain soaked the land like tears.

With the way the galaxy was, it had been difficult to keep in contact with one another. Still, a swell of complementary emotions surged in Cora's chest like high tide. There was the guilt, of course. The guilt of not being able to, or not being present enough to recognize a friend in need.

Then, there was the love. Some could argue that the guilt came from love. That the guilt would not exist if there had been no love for it to spring from.

Next came admiration, for even a woman who'd fallen from the height of her power was something to behold. Jenn's failures echoed her own, eerily enough. They'd both had a measure of power, the sort that could perhaps turn losses into victories if used in a particular way.

They'd both lost. They'd both retreated from the core like wounded animals, beaten and exhausted of fighting, always fighting for a future that seemed just out of reach.

Then, she laughed. The sound of bells nudging the wind chimed through the rain.
Cora allowed herself to be inspected, for the warmth of Jenn's concern could ward away the chill of any late autumn storm.

"Jenn- oh, Jenn, I am fine," came her assurance, trembling around another peal of withheld laughter.

She could practically picture the concerned pull of the Mandalorian's brow behind her visor.

"Arkania was a…harrowing ordeal. I was unconscious for weeks, and it took me months to be able to move about unaided. But more to the point…”

Suddenly, Cora seized one of Jenn’s hands and brought it to the flat of her stomach. A bit of mischief curled in the genuine excitement of her smile.

"Something wonderful has happened."

Jenn Kryze