Korda the unyielding
Borosk's wind shredded across the jagged training grounds, carrying grit, dust, and the acrid tang of scorched metal into every crevice of armor. Jagged rock spires jutted up like broken teeth, scattered debris offering only the illusion of cover. The 19 recruits scrambled across the uneven expanse, durasteel clanking with every hurried step, hearts hammering.
Korda stood at the center of it all, a storm in steel. His chest plate gleamed darkly, worn edges scuffed from countless campaigns, the Jaig eyes painted sharply on his left pec, a mark of honor, of vigilance. His helmet rested at his belt, four tally marks carved into the brow, grim reminders of the four he landed with, who never left the planet. The Ashen Maw sat firm in his gauntleted hands, catching the weak sunlight, its edge like a promise of pain. He had asked
Aether Verd
if he could help train the next generation of mandolorians, heavy infantry, and he was apporoved to do so. Semi-hidden beneath his chest plate, Oro's small head peeked out, wide-eyed but alert.
"Move! Now!" Korda barked, and the sound of boots on stone rang sharp across the open expanse.
A grenade arced clumsily, bouncing off a rock. Korda snapped to the trainee who had fumbled it. Without hesitation, he shoved the nearest recruit back, sending him sprawling into a jagged boulder. "All of you! You answer for their failure!"
Recruits dropped into punishing push-ups, then scrambled into sprints, every movement observed and corrected. Korda circled them like a predator, Ashen Maw in hand, striking and adjusting, his armor creaking with his movements, the Jaig eyes staring silently over the chaos.
"Hands wet?" he barked, tossing blasters to the nearest recruits. Sweat and grit slicked the weapons. "Good. Now unjam them. Every second counts. Do it wrong, and you all pay!"
Fingers slid across slippery metal, sparks flying from misaligned components. One trainee smirked, rushing. Korda slammed a shoulder into his chest, spinning him to the ground. "Cocky, huh? Yaga Minor burned men like you. I don't want your name on a KIA file!"
Another froze behind a jagged rock, hesitation clear. Korda leveled his Ashen Maw, then fired a round into the ground just inches from their helmet. The shockwave rattled the recruit's armor. "See that? That's what happens the second you hesitate. The enemy won't miss. On Yaga Minor, they didn't. Do you understand?"
The recruits scrambled, hearts hammering, adrenaline coiling tight. Korda moved like a storm through them, shoving, pivoting, striking, correcting every flinch, every slow movement. Another stumble earned a shove into a shallow dip. "Think faster! Move harder! Pay attention! Durasteel doesn't save the slow-minded. Your team dies if you fail!"
Oro's tiny head remained tucked near his chest plate, silent but alert, eyes tracking every strike, every shove, every word. The wind stung their faces, dust cutting across their vision, sparks dancing across the rocks from mishandled blasters. Korda's shadow stretched over them all, Ashen Maw in hand, Jaig eyes glaring over the chaos, tally marks on his helmet silently marking lives lost and lessons hard-earned. Borosk wasn't Yaga Minor, but the lesson was the same: fail here, and the galaxy's records would remember.
'Sentinel' Janius Everwall
Norbert Oro
Korda stood at the center of it all, a storm in steel. His chest plate gleamed darkly, worn edges scuffed from countless campaigns, the Jaig eyes painted sharply on his left pec, a mark of honor, of vigilance. His helmet rested at his belt, four tally marks carved into the brow, grim reminders of the four he landed with, who never left the planet. The Ashen Maw sat firm in his gauntleted hands, catching the weak sunlight, its edge like a promise of pain. He had asked
Aether Verd
if he could help train the next generation of mandolorians, heavy infantry, and he was apporoved to do so. Semi-hidden beneath his chest plate, Oro's small head peeked out, wide-eyed but alert."Move! Now!" Korda barked, and the sound of boots on stone rang sharp across the open expanse.
A grenade arced clumsily, bouncing off a rock. Korda snapped to the trainee who had fumbled it. Without hesitation, he shoved the nearest recruit back, sending him sprawling into a jagged boulder. "All of you! You answer for their failure!"
Recruits dropped into punishing push-ups, then scrambled into sprints, every movement observed and corrected. Korda circled them like a predator, Ashen Maw in hand, striking and adjusting, his armor creaking with his movements, the Jaig eyes staring silently over the chaos.
"Hands wet?" he barked, tossing blasters to the nearest recruits. Sweat and grit slicked the weapons. "Good. Now unjam them. Every second counts. Do it wrong, and you all pay!"
Fingers slid across slippery metal, sparks flying from misaligned components. One trainee smirked, rushing. Korda slammed a shoulder into his chest, spinning him to the ground. "Cocky, huh? Yaga Minor burned men like you. I don't want your name on a KIA file!"
Another froze behind a jagged rock, hesitation clear. Korda leveled his Ashen Maw, then fired a round into the ground just inches from their helmet. The shockwave rattled the recruit's armor. "See that? That's what happens the second you hesitate. The enemy won't miss. On Yaga Minor, they didn't. Do you understand?"
The recruits scrambled, hearts hammering, adrenaline coiling tight. Korda moved like a storm through them, shoving, pivoting, striking, correcting every flinch, every slow movement. Another stumble earned a shove into a shallow dip. "Think faster! Move harder! Pay attention! Durasteel doesn't save the slow-minded. Your team dies if you fail!"
Oro's tiny head remained tucked near his chest plate, silent but alert, eyes tracking every strike, every shove, every word. The wind stung their faces, dust cutting across their vision, sparks dancing across the rocks from mishandled blasters. Korda's shadow stretched over them all, Ashen Maw in hand, Jaig eyes glaring over the chaos, tally marks on his helmet silently marking lives lost and lessons hard-earned. Borosk wasn't Yaga Minor, but the lesson was the same: fail here, and the galaxy's records would remember.
'Sentinel' Janius Everwall
Norbert Oro
