Now is the Time [Open to all Mandalorians]

[Mia Monroe]

Not for the first time, Mia found herself approaching a Keldabe that lay in partial ruins, bringing the speeder bike up to a halt, MandalMotors Tower seemed to have been toppled in the earthquakes, as had many of the other tall buildings, the cities balustrade had disintegrated in places, granting her sneak peaks at what lay within as rubble strew the cliff face. She wondered how many houses and people had been lost to the Kelita River during The Burning. That's what some of them were calling it wasn't it?

She sat back in the speeder, chewing her lip beneath the t-visor helmet. She had done this. She took a moment to process that thought, turn it over in her mind and try to find some emotion to go with it. Regret perhaps? Maybe, somewhere in the deep pit of her soul there was some regret, but she couldn't bring it to surface today. Her belief that encouraging Ijaat to do what he did was the right path far outweighed and overwhelmed such emotions. She brought a hand to rest on her swollen belly and exhaled out of her nose.

Today she would have to be resolute in that belief, today she had no room for weakness.

Leaning back over she reached for the controls and kicked the speeder back into life, circling the city once to access the damage from the outside before picking the sturdiest looking bridge that remained and kicking the speeder over it as quickly as she could, not trusting it to hold for too long. It was strange just how much bearing a child altered your perceptions on the world. What was once a simple things that bore no ill will, could now reduce you to a hyperventilating mess. Less than a week ago she'd lost her footing on a set of stairs and stumbled. The idea that she could have fallen and damaged the child within her had forced her to sit down and take ten minutes to pull herself together.

She shook her head, picking her way carefully through the rubble with the speeder, sensors on her HUD feeding her a continuous stream of information, but for the most part she ignored it only interested in any life signs that lurked. There were a few, but not many. Most people had left for Onderon when the ash cloud that had clung in the sky for months after the Burning, became too much for many people to bear. Even now, there were signs of the thick grey mud that the ash had become that clung desperately to thin ledges and stone faces, but for the most part it had been washed into the Kelita River.

She found a spot in the city that had once born a statue of her and many other former mandalorians, now, it had been flattened, as had many of the buildings around them and for Mia it was the widest space that she was going to get. It also put her out in the open. At the clearings edge, she turned the speeder of an took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Not for the first time today, she questioned her decision not to wait till after the child was born. She'd had to make some serious adjustments to her armour to protect her heavily swollen belly and as a result it was mismatched in colour with he chest, back legs and arms a deep green, and her swollen belly covered in black. Still it would have to do.

Three days prior to this trip away from her ship, Mia had sent out a message along old mandalorian channels, knowing that the message would reach them all one way or another. She also knew that today could be the day she was murdered for her crimes, because that was a possibility she was acutely aware of. The message read:

Do you want to know why Manda’yaim burned? Because we needed to break. Because in order for us to move forward as a tribe, we needed a clean slate and nothing cleans quite as effectively as fire does. Hate me for it if you must. More than a few of you will try and kill me for it, and I accept that, but know this. Every time you do kill me I will return.​

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Every time.​

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Not to spite you, but for you, my people, my brothers and sisters, for whom I would give and have given everything. ​

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So save your energy, your ammo and your anger for a true enemy, for the rest of the Galaxy that holds us in such low regard and mocks us at every turn. The time has come for us to remind them what we are capable of.​

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Mand'alor the Liberator calls you home.​

 

[Atiniir Starrider]

[member="Mia Monroe"]
Atiniir watched as the shuttle that had brought him here flew away, off to who knows where. He didn't mind watching it go. He did not intend to leave until whatever the source of this message was had been resolved. He still knew precious little about the Mandalorian culture, but one thing had been made clear in every file he'd read, every conversation he'd had: Mandalorians answer Mand'alor's call.

Atiniir, dressed in his beskar armor, inherited from his father, a Mandalorian before him, walked into the ruined city, headed for where he hoped the message sender was waiting. He reached the city center, and there she was. Pregnant and still armored. Mandalorian to the core. Atiniir walked up, showing no fear, and saluted.

"You must be Mand'alor the Liberator, the one who sent the message," he said, "I am Atiinir Starrider, son of Kal Starrider and descendant of Atarik Starrider, Champion of the Great Hunt and warrior of Mand'alor the Avenger. I am here to answer your call."

 

[Cato Fett]

There hadn’t been snows that year. Instead, Cato stepped over a low puddle of fume and acid water, pulling plastic goggle-pieces from his face and pausing to scent the lingering brimstone. A typical local day seemed to consist of a blurry, orange dawn, overcast from sunrise to sunset with striations of cloud-born soot, the night plunging to almost hellacious cold. A pack of thin mutts emerged from scrounging under a former shop space, tepidly crossing a shattered concourse. Buzzards had taken to nesting in the partially slagged relay masts, fattened off their season’s take of unclaimed flesh left to slowly braise and cook on the now open ‘steppes’ surrounding the township.

Cato saw Keldabe like a poor pict after-image. The streets were wrong, peeled apart and restitched at dislocated intervals, a randomized jig-saw arrangement created through intense tectonic stress fractures. Clastic refuse, cooled and hardened mounds of puddled magma slipped from silent fissures, littered each road. Brittle pumice cracked and scattered under his boots. Girder bars poked from broken ferrocrete slabs nearly upended in the sidewalks. He smelled potash tar still cooking in pockets under the dirt, striding past fire-hollowed structures blackened and parched with soot and chalky ash. A two-story inn, a famous landmark out of brick, mortar, and long cedar logs, was unrecognizable; what remained was a solitary pole and flag bearing a familial badge arranged around a cartoonish buttress rendering.

He found her in a make-shift clearing. Toppled statues sprawled the burst flagstones. A child’s stuffed doll laid posed beside a giant, granite-cast face Cato didn’t recognize; the stone was rent, one eye gouged out in a scooped cleft, lips split apart and issuing a dry twist of dust when the wind whistled through. He picked the ragamuffin out of the debris and carried it with him through the field of fallen giants. [member="Mia Monroe"] waited by what had been her monument. The plinth base remained, along with boot toes and stone ankles. The other remainder, from the shins up, had toppled over and laid in cracked fractions along a gentle incline. The grass was pale, brittle as wheat chaff, and went with the wind when it drew up once more and howled.

He looked from her, to the ragamuffin doll, cleaned grit and sand out of its button eyes. Cato took a seat on the breastplate of a fallen war commander, settling in. Maybe more would come. Keldabe had always been an idiosyncratic ‘capital’, though he refrained from the word, a sort of centre for formal and informal political happenings. Since the Liberator’s age, many missives had originated in the system calling all brothers and sisters to stand below the banner and either hear wartime announcement, or bend the knee. Cato hadn’t time for it. Not for Keldabe, not for Mand’alor, not for many hollow promises telling of Mandalorian banners flying across fields of immortal victory. He’d his own affairs to see to it, and preferred privacy.

But just perhaps Monroe has the keys to the kingdom, he thought, and you need the means she can offer. Your name is poor and few want much to do with it. You’ll be operating a rifle through old age, with nothing to show for it, save on the long odds you just maybe pay off your debts and just maybe have strength enough to help your men stand when and if the time ever arrives. But does the Liberator need you? Cato shifted against the rock, pulling a cigarro from a shirt pouch, lighting it against the wind. And waited.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

The only thing more treacherous than a demon is a betraying angel. ​

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For so long, he waited.​

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For so long, he wallowed in his own sorrow.​

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For so long, he was nothing more than a wound, a festering sore in the galaxy.​

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For so long, he was nothing but rage.​

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For so long, he destroyed. He did not create. He did not help build- he destroyed. Himself. His life.​

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And when he found something- someone, to love, to create something. They created a beautiful thing together. A life together.​

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A child came.​

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A child that meant more than a thousand victories and all the fancy technology and medals to him. More than his titles, more than his conquests.​

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And she took it all away from him. ​

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And she had the nerve to ask him to follow her.​

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Bendak's House​

​

The people hadn't seen him in months. The mysterious ranch hand came back, not on a shuttle- but on a Firespray. And all he stepped off with, silently, was a shovel. He walked for miles, until he reached the house. Cobwebs had taken their toll. Disrepair. Neglect. But it didn't matter. His hands tightened around the amber-colored grip of the shovel. Mahogany eyes fell upon the nitrogen rich soil. And he began to dig, beneath the roses. It began to rain. Rain felt fitting. Thunder cracked. Clouds roll. Lightning flashed. The rain began to increase in intensity. The skies were opening up. Angels were weeping. Demons were wailing.

Ghosts. He smelled their burning flesh. He heard their horrible cries. He felt their angry, haunting eyes. But he kept digging. The ghosts swirled around him, encircling him. His past came alive. Demons from two decades ago appeared, taunting him. Taunting him to the nether. To the void. It was high time he joined them. That he was nothing but a monster. He hit the solid metal.

He tossed the shovel to the side and fell to a knee.

He opened the case which would've been his coffin. And he stared at the armor he was going to die in.

Beskar'kandar. It had the markings of a Field Marshal. The gauntlets had spikes on them. There was a golden shawl wrapped around the helmet, hooded like the old warriors. Preliat studied it for a while, and let the only sound he heard be the pitter-patter of rain. He reached out and grabbed his helmet.

The people saw the Firespray leave, and with it, the last time that they would see Bendak.

Preliat was not a man of words. He typed a singular reply- with no intent of a conversation. The message blipped a long while after Mia's- on the same channels. But the message was clear to whom it was to be received by.​

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You should run.​

- Mantis​

 

[Scourge]

[SIZE=11pt]Scourge’s Macrobinocular Visor panned across the cityscape that was once Keldabe. It had been some time since he had come to this place… Since before his incarceration in the deepest bowels of Belsavis. He had lost his clan shortly before and not many others would take a crazed Vong. Scourge had been forced to take work from gangsters and others of their ilk. Now the Mandalorians were scattered across the galaxy as had happened so many times before. A new Madn’alor took reign and called to her people. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Scourge decided to answer. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He was unsure what they could possibly do aside from rage against the dying of their kind. It seemed inevitable, that the Mandalorians would die out now. But, like their homeworld, Scourge supposed they’d come out of the furnace harder because of it. Satisfied it wasn’t a trap Scourge hopped onto his speeder and raced through the barren wasteland that led to Keldabe. Broken sets of armor and war machines still lay scattered from the Dominion’s fight over the sorry scrap of a planet. Crater holes pocketed the earth and Scourge imagined he could still hear the cries of the damned.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Such an unfortunate fate… [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]She spoke to Scourge. Worming her way into the grey matter of his mind.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]We had it coming. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Scourge replied with a smirk beneath his helmet[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]I still hear them screaming, so many lost souls… [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Her melodious voice whispered sadly[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]We’ll come out stronger because of it. Then we’ll remind the galaxy we are still here. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Scourge said angrily.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]That’s all it’s ever about for you. Revenge. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]She said and Scourge felt her fade. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It was true. Scourge wanted revenge. It was him against a galaxy that had screwed him time and time again. The Sith that cursed him with madness, the Jedi that imprisoned him, even his own Mandalorian people who had abandoned him. Still this call to arms was a new beginning for him and his people and through this he was sure he would have his vengeance on all those who had ever kharked him over. He reached the foot of a large broken statue and saw the new Mand’alor. A woman with a swollen belly. Scourge dismounted his speeder and rubbed some dust off his golden beskar’gam. He approached the woman and said nothing, opting instead to simply wait for her to speak her piece.[/SIZE]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

 

[Mia Monroe]

Mia watched them come from the rubble, child stirring in her belly the only sign of her apprehension as it stuck a foot into her ribs. She grunted and went to rub her ribs, only to recall she was armoured. I get the distinct impression that you are going to be a handful, little one. She mused to herself before stepping forward to greet the first who'd addressed her. "Su cuy'gar, Atiniir. Thank you for answering."

She had little more to say, not until more arrived. What if they don't come? She squashed the doubt with an iron fist. IF they didn't come it didn't matter, she would still make an impact with only a handful of them and more would follow in time. She didn't know any of these men, but that seemed oddly comforting to her. Still...she cast her eyes about, there was someone who had already answered her call and he should be here, so where was he?

No sooner had she thought it then the message scrawled across her HUD, there for all to see. She smiled beneath her helmet and shook her head.
Preliat was not the first to come looking for blood, nor would he be the last. She would deal with him like she had the others, then perhaps he might see past his fury and actually listen.

Her reply was audio.

​

"I do not run, little wolf."​

Her patronising would only serve to antagonise him more, but she would have been lying if she said she cared. She found herself a chunk of statue to lean upon, attempting to take a little weight off her already swelling feet. "We wait to see who else comes before I speak. I want to know how many truly remember times of old. Some will come for blood but I'll deal with them in turn."

[member="Scourge"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Cato Fett"] [member="Atiniir Starrider"]

 

[Ru Tetsuya]

Clan Skirata's Alor-Class dreadnought The Codex dropped out of hypersave above the Mandalorian homeworld. Clan Skirata's Rekr emblem painted on in typical Mandalorian style screamed to the surrounding ships that they were not to be bothered. Ru had taken House Skirata out of the burning ashes of Mandalore and kept them from the decay that seemed to be spreading throughout Mandalorian space again. With Gil nowhere to be found as of yet it was he and the elders of clan Skirata that came to at least hear what this traitor had to say.

He hoped the call was just her surrendering to the clans. It would make all of this so much easier.

A shuttle descended on the planet holding Ru and his aide, a young Skirata girl, two years from her Verd'gotten.

"What are we going to find down there?" Ru Shrugged.

"Perhaps a fugitive come to confess their crimes and surrender her fate to us. Or do you think that's too hopeful?" Her silence was enough to tel him where she stood. Much of clan Skirata was furious when they heard the news. But with no word from Gil or even his younger brother Davin the clan was split between what they should do. If he had a tail he felt as if it would be spining in thought. Instead his ears twitched behind his Atrisian-inspired helmet.

 

[Muad Dib]

Swinging the sledge hammer the man broke the duracrete into smaller chunks. The rise and fall of the hammer was reminiscent of the Mando people. A great weight that was wielded and swung, gathering momentum and power until it destroyed with a resounding crash that seemed to silence the benign hammer laying among the rubble. But once again it was raised, powerful and mighty, to swing once again. A decent metaphor for the mando'ade.

Pausing the man wiped the sweat running in rivlets down his face before setting the tool aside to join his vode. The shattered walls of the once mighty building lay scattered in ruin. Of course it was difficult these days to decipher where one building ended and another began. The destruction laid waste with impunity upon the mighty and the low with no regard of station or origin.

An ode rang out from the company as the duracrete was tossed into a grinder that crushed and destroyed the once strong walls. The remains would be reused and one day soon new life would be breathed upon Manda'yaim. Back to the sledge the rise and fall of the hammer echoed in rhythm to the song.

There was a restoration process already upon the planet, Rianna Organa and Briika Tor heading up several renovations. He had joined. For this was Yaim for all vode.

Pausing as his comm beeped he set the hammer aside and moved to where his beskar'gam was deposited in the saddlebags of his speeder. Pulling out a datapad he read the message, a frown upon his face. Another Mand'alor calling out to the vode. What did this make, three or four in the past month. Shaking his head he stowed the pad and leaned against the bike watching as his Clan assisted in the reformation and restoration of Manda'yaim.

Thinking over the call to vode he watched as, as far as the eye could see, work was being done by the clans who had returned to the planet. This was what was needed. Unity. And through unity grew strength and the bonds of renewed brotherhood. It wasn't just the planet that needed to heal but also it's people. They were scattered and broken, but through the fire and pressure they would be reforged anew.

Throwing a leg over the bike he started the engine, moving toward the location that beckoned. It wasn't far and he had not taken a break as of yet. If it wasn't for that there was the strong possibility he wouldn't care enough to go. But added to that reasoning was the fact of who had sent the message. He had met the woman a few times through the Betna Clan. And the fact that he knew the tale of 'Mand'alor the Liberator' , and a curiosity spurred him.

Entering the cleared plain that the clans had freed from debris and ruin the previous week he drove slowly through a few of those gathered. He sensed her before he saw her and shut off the bike, crossing a leg over the chassis and pulling a bent deathstick from the pocket of his pants. Lighting it through the force he looked upon the pregnant, self proclaimed Mand'alor number four.

It was apparent she was with child, even without the benefit of the force. Shaking his head with amusement he inhaled deeply before scanning his glowing , blue eyes over the ones who had appeared. Some had a hungry look in their eyes while others reeked of desperation. He spat upon the ground at these. The others seemed to be hopeful, curious, or vengeful in varying degrees. He chuckled, not sure what he expected to come of this particular gathering. Memories ran long and hate ran deep with his people. The mando'ade didn't forget easily.

So he sat on his bike to witness the 'events' that was to transpire while slowly smoking.


[member="Ru Tetsuya"] I [member="Mia Monroe"] I [member="Scourge"] I [member="Preliat Mantis"] I [member="Cato Fett"] I [member="Atiniir Starrider"]

 

[HK-36]

[member="Mia Monroe"],


HK always tried to keep his fingers on the pulse regarding affairs of Mandalore and their clans, considering the droid's history of fighting alongside them during the Mandalorian Wars and helping out the clans from time to time whenever he could. It was natural then that once the droid intercepted the announcement, not being too far from Mandalore, there was some excitement equivalent building up within him. After all, new alliteration of Mandalorians always brought new possibilities and opportunities for more allies and profit to be made.

However, all of that quickly disappeared from the machine's calculations as he listened to the rest of Mia's transmission, particularly the bit where she confessed to being the one responsible for destruction of Mandalore and the huge causality upon her people the deed caused. The droid listened in silence, and once the message was over he continued to sit there silently, calculating, for few more minutes.

"Get me my armor."

HK finally spoke up to his Greycloak guards, his own copies he used as servants and his personal security,

"And my sword."

He added as the Greycloak leaned in,

"We should not do anything too harsh, we are representatives of droid interests no-"

"Get me my Force-damned sword!"

HK interrupted his companion, slamming his heavy metal fist into a nearby duranium table, forcing a large dent to form in it, almost breaking it in two.



[member="Preliat Mantis"] wasn't the only one who swore vengeance after the disaster for whoever was responsible, and he was not the only one heading to the meeting to seek it out either.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

He began to head to Mandalore. He set a course, and reached down to the seat beside him, where Aditya once sat.

The handle was still wrapped, adorned with letters, clad in brown leather. Worn from years of use. The blade was still razor sharp. Heavy at the top. But it felt light as a feather to him. He ran his finger over the edge of the blade. Close enough to shave with. He'd done it once, just to see.

Sharp enough to claim something with, too.

Preliat locked his eyes onto Mandalore on the map. Hadn't been there since the volcanoes erupted. How long was that? Months? Felt like years- like decades. But now he was coming home. To where he belonged. To where his destiny was.

 

[Mac O Shenanigans]

Mac was standing in the rubble that once was the Keldabe Kiss. Not much was salvageble, but his cousins were gahtering up what could be. It would take some time and hard work to get the pub back up and running. Thankfully there were several of his patrons who promised to pitch in. Afterall, when his vode got around to rebuilding Manda'yaim, they were going to need somewhere to blow the froth off a few cups...

Gathering up what he could from where his office used to be, Mac walked over to the bar area and bent down. There burried in the rubble still were a pair of old gauntlets. One of Mac's prized trophies. It had taken him several years to track them down, and when he finally found them, well... one could say that the gauntlets of one Jango Fett still looked ready for battle, despite being burried under the surface of Geonosis since before the rise of Palpatine.

Mac had recieved the coded message from Mandalore the Liberator, and since he was already at the Kiss, went ahead and grabbed the items he came for. Tossing the gauntlets into the back of his speeder with the rest of the salvage items, Mac took off for the location she was waiting. It took him a few minutes, and a couple sketchy paths, but he made it with no issues. Having moved his forge off planet to Concordia and one of the abandonded mines. There he had been working on rebuilding the ship he had found. Yes it was going to be a flying tank, a great base of opperations for him while on the move.

Stepping out of the speeder, he couldnt help noticing just how big Mia's belly was getting, Frak, he thought, I hope she doesn't pop right here... Although it would be fitting of a proud Mando'adika, to be born at the rebirth of the children of Manda'yaim... He strode up to her and offered his arm in a warriors handshake, "Mia, I must say you are looking muc' better t'an most ot'ers I 'ave seen lately... I'm 'ere for my Vode, for Mand'alor, for Manda'yaim..." Mac wasn't mincing words, and they probably came out more curt and harsh than he had meant, but he didn't backtrack on it. Even though they knew each other fairly well, Mac was making sure she knew just where he stood. As he turned to take up a seat on the edge of the clearing, he noticed Maud smoking casually and approached him.

"Vod, I know your busy 'elping rebuild, but I am in need of a few t'ings and wondering if you could 'elp me out just a bit..."

Spoiler

[member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Atiniir Starrider"] [member="Cato Fett"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Scourge"] [member="Ru Tetsuya"] [member="Muad Dib"] @HK-36

 

[Rhodessa]

[member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] @HK-36 @Muad Dib [member="Ru Tetsuya"] [member="Scourge"]

Rhodessa was not of any clans, she was just mandalorian fighter pilot and bomber. She been out of action for awhile, and did not know what to do for best. The woman asked her to forgive others, she not sure she could. She sat down, and listened as last thing she wanted was mandalorians to scatter to the winds again. So sat and listened to what they had to say, she heard one voice saying she should run, but then again that was by man who was with the first order, fighting with others. She wanted to hear what would be different this time, unlike every other time clans unite. She just sat and listened in her armour, not cheering, or belittling the idea just listening.

 

[Ria Misrani]

"What is he to be called?" Teyn called Tey asked of his beloved. The man was of a minor clan status and as he gazed upon the sight of his newborn son, and waited for his wife to name him. He watched the infant's sweet expression with a smile.

Amaya pooled her hair to one side as she rested a hand along the babe's sweet bassinet. "He shall be called Isley the Younger."

Tey nodded in acceptance just as he scooped the infant into his arms. "Isley, a good name for a strong boy."

The Scion of House Cardei turned her attention away from her son as she heard the footsteps of clansmen come across the wooden porch and toward her home. Their village on Concord Dawn was small, but it felt more like a community than anything else in the past. "I believe we have company," she told her partner as she stood to her feet. Taking a headscarf to conceal her features, the fabric pooled along her shoulders and covered much of them. A simple gown draped over the rest of her body, her hand outstretched for the door.

When she opened them she was greeted by her villagers. "Tell me why it is you've come."

"There is a message that you must hear for yourself." One of them said and as she looked over her shoulder, Tey had given her his nod of approval.

Without hesitation and escorted by the others she was guided to a small shack where their one holocommunicator had been. Amaya accessed this and heard for herself the message of [member="Mia Monroe"], she played it a few more times before deciding on what she would do.

****

"It's been a while," she said to herself as she gazed upon the prototype starfighter, Tey had arrived with their son snug against his chest. Tey and Amaya exchanged a set of looks before climbing up and settling into the cockpit of the Beskad. The last time she had taken the ship out, she engaged in a fight with someone who had gone after Vilaz Munin. Not that she could scarcely blame them, but the issue was a Mandalorian one and not meant for outsiders in her opinion. "Now to see if our people have the faith that the heart requires to carry on."

"Our people have always had the heart, it is the faith that has been troubled."

"And so you are right, Tey and so you are right."

The Beskad having since been repaired and renewed moved out of its docking clamps and moved into the atmosphere. She was eager to see what the Destroyer had to say for herself, Amaya would at least hear her out before deciding whether or not to join this little crusade. As the last time, the Mandalorians attempted to unite, it ended without so much as a bang but a faded whisper into the darkest of nights with no one to hear.

 

[Arla Ordo]

She played the message twice for all those that stood with her now.

"We are called home, but is it home? This we must decide. But I say this, let us go and see what is going on. It cannot hurt anything. We have lands here, and on Ordo that we have started building. Clan Ordo must have representation...are you with me on this?" It was not a decision that she would force upon them.

It took moments of discussion as they nodded and spoke, "It cannot hurt to look and listen"

"Ok..let's us go then"

Arla knew Rianna, and Briika had been on Mandalore rebuilding the hospital there. It couldn't be too bad, could it? But what was left? When she and @Verz Horvak has last been there it was smoking and the people struggling. But that was a time ago now.

Maybe it was changed.

The Clan was on its way home and would be there in two days time depending on jumps.

 

[Strider Garon]

The beskar clad warrior slowly dismounted from his custom swoop. His muscled acked from weeks of hard labor as he sifted through the rubble of his homestead on the outskirts of keldabe, taking what was salvageable and transporting it all back to his son's land on Concord Dawn. Of all the wars, the battles and violence he had survived with the plethora of scars as proof, it was age that was taking toll on him. An element of life that Strider had never thought would be possible for him. Arthritis played hell on his joints and the lack of sleep due to multiple trips to the refresher has made the old man more cantankerous. He has found that sitting, standing or any position held longer than thirty minutes his muscles begin to stiffen a if rigamortis was setting in. With every step he could feel the sharp pinch of the sciatic nerve pulse from his right little toe all the way up his leg, hip and spine and piercing the back of his brain like a archaic hand drill.

He snarled to himself with in the confines of his helmet, pushing himself past the pain unaided by medication of any sort. This day was a day to be taken sober and with sobriety his wits would be about him. A Mand'alors call was not to be taken lightly and he had yet to fail in answering it. So many has he had served in his long stay with the living. Many he has watched fall. Even he himself plotted and made noise to take the mantle and lead his people into glory like he knew he could. Strider reflectively rubbed his neck. His campaign was cut short by an assassin's blade and his throat and voice have never been the same since. His breif romance with death had changed him, he wasn't the hound of keldabe that he was so infamously known for. Chasing skirts and lying with paid whores seem not to be his past time anymore. The galaxy had seemed fit to grand him a second chance at life for how ever long that may be he knew it would not last. So he had dedicated himself to clan and family, the way he should have ages ago.

Strider recognized Mia in the distance. He wasn't the only one there. Many had answered like the loyal mandos they are. It was in their tenants and they must obey or face the consequences. Just seeing the woman brought up many emotions, anger being very prevalent in the array. Then there was memories of the past, before she had aided in the destruction of mandalore. More precised, was a day on the beach.... one of those rare moments where the warriors lounged about relaxing in the sun and swimming. He remembered her and young offspring, the child playing in the sand. There was more to that day he remembered, but has no baring on this story.

He walked towards her, confident with each step he took. Was not aggressive nor threatening in his approach though he did have a gut feeling there were cross-hairs on him. Nothing he could confirm, though it may just be paranoia playing with his war ravaged mind. Tactically it would make sense. Mia would of been prepared for those that would come to avenge Manda'yaim. So he took his helmet off. If they are going to shoot, at least make it clean. His greying black hair lightly ruffled in the light breeze while his eyes, the good and bad one, gazed onto the re mantled mand'alor.

He dared himself to get closer. His hands at a safe distance from his holstered weapons. He needed to see mando that had betrayed them all, the woman that had burnt the planet and left it to ruin all so that the warrior people could rise up from the ashes stronger than ever. Maybe she was right, through out history the mandalorians have been stomped out to near extinction and had always found their way back from the brink. That was just the pure tenacity of their culture. The ebe and flow of their life in the galaxy.

The legendary warrior cleared his throat painfully before his voice would be heard. "Mia!' The name rasped through his tattered voice box.

[member="Mia Monroe"]

 

[Mia Monroe]

T-visors were beggining to line the clearing now, some armour she recognised, others she did not. The fact that they were waiting, that they hadn't all pulled out their weapons to kill her on the spot was a good sign at least. They were prepared to listen and that was all she could have hoped for. She straightened up as Mac approached her, taking his extended arm and clapping a hand on his shoulder as he greeted her. "Good to know, vod. Welcome home." she watched him retreat to speak with Muad and smiled beneath her helmet.

The smile slid from her features as a voice rang out, one she had not heard for a very long time. She turned her head to look at [member="Strider Garon"] who had removed his helmet a sign he perhaps wasn't here to fight, but she couldn't be so sure. Hands reached up to remove her own, tucking it under her arm she approached him cautiously.

"Su cuy'gar, Strider..." she spoke softly, coming to a halt at arms length. "Its good to see you."

 

[Strider Garon]

It took a feat of strength not to reach out and grip her thin neck, wringing it like a endorian chicken. Such an act of murderous violence would of been justified. Mia along with her counterpart Ijaat are criminals to the mandalorian people and have been wanted dead or a live for a very long time. And here she was, out of hiding, right here in the open and ripe for the taking. Hell, she invited all the mandalorians to show up. One would think such a call would of been an attempt to repent and turn herself in and answer for her crimes and beg for mercy of all those that she had victimized. But no, she had called them all here under the guise of Mand'alor, a title she had once held before and a title that she should never hold again.

He heard her soft words of greetings and his stomach almost wrenched with nausea. He could still hear the message she had sent three days ago in the back of his head had a scent of madness. Now, standing at a arms length from her, his own eyes gazing deep into hers he could till she was mad. She was mad when she helped destroy the planet, she was mad to think that her actions would save the mandalorians and she was sure as hell mad to think she was Mand'alor. was it space sorcery that had plagued her? Strider did not know, but he was certain that the warrioress before him was insane. That was the only way he could explain it all.

The old man looked down to the sizable rump of a belly she was carrying. She was with child. He sighed, if he was to kill her he would be killing the child as well. And the unborn was innocent of it's mother's crime. He looked back up, his forever scowled etched face wrinkled with time, scarred by war and weather beaten by labor. The look was cold and unforgiving, so was his tone of voice as it rasped through his injury "I am here to arrest you Mia Monroe, for the atrocities you have brought upon Mandalore and our people" He slowly drew mandalorian cuffs from his utility belt and tossed them to Mia. "Remind you, this is the only mercy you are going to get. Many will not take such regard for your unborn child's welfare in their attempts to exact justice upon you"

[member="Mia Monroe"]

 

[Mia Monroe]

Mia caught the cuffs and looked down at them for a long moment, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You're not the first to attempt this." she said looking up "nor will you be the last."

She turned away from him. "Hate. Anger. Pain. Three words that sum up what the majority of you are feeling. Hatred for me. Anger at what I've done and pain for those who died in the burning. And yet," she spread her hands "Here you are. You answered the call. Why? So you could lay eyes upon the woman who helped bring destruction to her own home, before you try to kill her? Or is it because you can see beyond the surface of my insanity? Ease makes decay, so I made things difficult for you all and I will not apologise for that."

She rounded to look back at Strider. "I will not bow my head like a good little queen and let you kill me the way you killed Ijaat, nor will I come quietly and let you lock me in a cell, and you know it Garon." She tossed the manacles in the dirt between them.

"Manda'yaim is broken. Mando'ade are broken. I BROKE YOU!" she pulled a bolter from her holster and pointed it at Strider, she'd no intention of pulling the trigger unless he forced her to. Angry tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away, turning her attention back to the crowd. "I swear, to all of you, that I will remake you. I will pay for my crimes by giving you more than my life. I give you my heart and soul. Let me lead you beyond the darkness, let me show you what we could be. WHAT WE HAVE BEEN!"

She looked back at Strider. "You so much as think about reaching for a weapon, I'll scatter your brains for all to see." she growled at him.

[member="Strider Garon"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Amaya Verd"] [member="Rhodessa"] [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="HK-36"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Ru Tetsuya"] [member="Scourge"] [member="Cato Fett"] [member="Atiniir Starrider"]

 

[Vilaz Munin]

He heard the call.

And he would answer back with not words of warning or threat. But with action. There were many emotions running through the man. The obvious were anger and hatred, but there was a mix of hilarity in him. Hilarity of a woman that dared to call herself Mand'alor and a Mandalorian. Hilarity of a woman that gave excuses to hide, showing how big of a liar and coward she was. He would go to Mandalore to avenge his family, and his comrades that died by the hands of their own. There was no necessity of what they had done. There were many ways of getting back to a clean slate, but this was not one of them.

And so the Concordian walked about the dirt and earth of a broken, yet healing Mandalore. Their mother was harmed enough for it to be tainted by the foul presence of Mia.

He saw a crowd of Mandalorians around the false Mand'alor which dumbfounded him. How could they stand around her and not bring justice to their fallen and to their home? Where they as rabid as this monster?

Vilaz wasn't the best Sole Ruler (better than the Lesser, however), but he would honor his people and his culture by doing what was right and needed.

"It's a shame your blood will taint Mandalore."​

​

A single slug fired from Vilaz, who stood amongst the small crowd, towards the Monroe.​

​

[member="Mia Monroe"]​

 

[Cato Fett]

Garon would be gone before he’d the wits to know it, the blaster effect peeling his skull bare of muscle, tendon, and skin, before the bone cooked to ash and scorched his greymatter to cinder. Suddenly, Cato was to the side, slug-rifle propped against his shoulder and sighting [member="Mia Monroe"] down the barrel irons with. The safety had been unlatched and a sudden, ashen cool had deposited itself over the broken clearing. Light glinted off the chrome manacles slowly burying under clastic dust and traces of desert silicone.

“Easy!”

...His mouth filled with a sudden metallic acid. Hairs raised across his nape and he cocked a glance through the small crowd that had ushered close to. Something dull, gunmetal grey, a notched slide around a grooved barrel, rose precariously and snapped on line with the Liberator. Bile filled his throat like a ship bilge, a chilly sickness sweeping up Cato from his scrotum to the base of his skull. Mando’ade prided themselves on observance of honour, but even then he understood they had license to bend those unspoken rules as they saw fit. Keldabe moaned in the afternoon heat, a grave stench filling the shattered procession of toppled stone. Moisture left his tongue.

He hadn’t worn casement. Eschewing even a vest. Cato never liked feeling slowed and prided himself on an agile combat approach. He flicked the safety back into its place, dropping the rifle behind his feet. Making the next six paces bracketed him between Strider, Mia, and the faceless gunner pulling his trigger in the crowd.

Something very hot and very solid smashed into his sternum plate, tumbling slug-fragments into the meat behind his shoulder blades. A weight rebounded off his backbone, shaking a tremor up his spinal chord. Cato Fett sighed a pink blood-mist, toppling as pain and an inexplicable weakness took the tension out of his knees.

But he was very, very tired of watching Mandalorians die, all the same...

[member="Strider Garon"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Amaya Verd"] [member="Rhodessa"] [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="HK-36"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Ru Tetsuya"] [member="Scourge"] [member="Atiniir Starrider"]