The Purge | Mandalorian Empire

[Ra Vizsla]

https://soundcloud.com/abdulrhman_allam/light-of-the-seven
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Matthew 16:18​

Upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.​

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Ra stood atop the Citadel at Sundari, watching over the rebuilding of the Sundari Palace.

Mandalorian architects slaved around the clock to build it bigger, even more grand, to the Undying's specifications. It was a precarious thing - the coffers of Mandalore drained after the war, bonds had been issued by the Offices of the Treasury to ensure payment continued as this new era of stability and order swelled within the cities. Things were getting back to normal after the Civil War, as the dome of Sundari had already been fixed. However, there were several drastic changes to one's life if they lived on Mandalore.

The white and red colors of the new Empire Ra had created were paraded throughout the city centers of Keldabe, Cold Iron, and the new capital - Sundari. The militia had been tripled, and a curfew had been effectively in place since the lapsing of martial law. Death Watch, too, grew in number and openly walked among the people, prouder than ever.

Even more popular still, for the first time since the summer's drought, it had rained since the end of the Civil War. Whispers that Ra had brought it. Other rumors stirred that they were the tears of the Great Mother, or of the Liberator. Still, the winter rains had begun in Sundari, and the city buzzed with talk of it. Ra had brought the rain, they said. Mandalore wept. The blood of Monroe spills onto the streets even still.

The mood in the metropolis was rather... grim. Somber. Sad, even.

Yet, today was special. It marked the opening of the Transport Security Authority centers.

"Mand'alor?" The aide asked, standing to his side with a holopad. Ra placed his hand on it, and a green lock appeared on the screen. "Yes, Mand'alor."

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"Begin," Ra said.​

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And so it did.​

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Doors were tore down. Women screamed. Men fought back throughout the cities. Children wept on the streets.

"Mother!" they all cried.

"Father!" they roared in unison.

In Cold Iron, red sashes of "We are loyal to Ra!" were adorned outside the homesteads.

In battered Keldabe, fights broke out in the streets, accusations being thrown. "He did it, I know it! I saw him!"

Doors were torn. Houses were turned over. Militia men roared "By executive order of Mand'alor!" and families were pushed aside.


One particular officer pointed to a child. Two other militia men, adorning the red and white colors of the Empire, tore the babe and carried him out of the house and disappeared into the street. The Mother screamed. The Father cried, "Why?!"

The officer pointed to the list in his hand, and shrugged, bringing out his taser.​

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"It is our duty as Mandalorians to purify ourselves of the Creeping Death.​

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Your son will be back,​

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cured of his ailment."​

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Back at the Citadel, The Undying turned away from the Sundari Palace to the west, facing the east. His eyes set upon the Transport Security Authority Centre.

Hundreds were being dragged in by the military. Those who hadn't given written permission to undergo the treatment, or had outright refused.

Thousands more were volunteering in lines that wrapped outside the building.

All to get the new treatment for the Creeping Death that had, today, become mandatory.

"It is our duty," Ra spoke to himself under his breath.​

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"To Mandalore."​

 

[Nisha Decrilla]

Above the citadel a great white bird cast a shadow over Ra as it passed, swooping down low and over the TSA centre, The cries of outrage, pleas and attempts and defiance met with cold brutality. This was not an option, this was the only way to prevent another Mia Monroe. To protect all Mando'de from the curse that was the force. Malika let out a keening cry, beat her wings once, twice and rose on the cities thermals with a lazy circle, keen eyes watching the ground below.

A fight had broken out in the streets, she watched a force user escape three militia, launching the fourth through a shop window before pelting down the street to escape. Her wings tucked in and Malika plummeted, hot air whistling past her as she gained, extending talented feet and snatching him off the ground before he could get any further. He struggled hopelessly, angry bellows carried away on the wind. She soared over the fence once more, dropping him ten foot below, he hit the ground with a crunch and audible scream. The militi withing the camp moved in to tend to his injuries and his disease as Malika swept up to the citadel, shifting back to her human form as she landed, bowing her head to the Undying.

"Mand'alor." She greeted. "Only a handful of incidents so far. Two groups started to riot, but they were quickly dispersed. And only four deaths." Her lips twitched, one had been her doing, but the idiot shouldn't have stuck a knife in her foot. Of course she was going to drop him for that.

[member="Ra Vizsla"]

 

[Atsushi Ono]

Kyrimorut had been a haven for Skirata still loyal to the Old Man, and had also been a place where they hid any who had asked to be hidden from Ra's inevitable plan to erase their kind from Mandalore. It was smart, giving a no kill order. Most would follow the order fearing Ra's rage and judgement as the man had proven to be quite the patriot and against needless killing of vode. Dorn lowered his hood and activated his night vision and helmet air scrubbers before busting down an old wooden door that led to an ancient stone staircase. Two canisters of Force Breaker gas filled the staircase and the room below. With no lights those inside shouted and their footsteps echoed in his ears.

"Remember, no deaths. Stun, and only if they resist too much." With his rifle raised he entered the hidden Vheh'yaim.

It was going to be a long night.

 

[Jor Kvall]

The Force was everywhere; it bound all life together and existed between every living cell. How could one hope to wage a war against that?

Jor would not have understood these things a few years ago, when he was younger. Before he had tasted battle and before he had taken his first life. He was still a nobody in the world of Mandalorians, but now at least he could claim veteran status after having fought in the Civil War. He remained now, as before, a faithful and unquestioning servant of Mandalore. His reasoning for joining the Death Watch had not been to fight against Force-users, though. He joined because Mandalore needed a strong, ruthless leader, and he craved a return to the ancient ways of times past. And there was the matter of personal honour; Clan Kvall could only be redeemed if he fought for a worthy cause.

The Force-user question was clearer to him now, though. It wasn't about fighting against the Force itself. It was a reaction to the disintegration and fracturing effect that Force-users had on Mandalorian society. A Force Master could be duplicitous; he could be tempted to serve many masters. That was no longer acceptable in the Mandalorian Empire.

When Jor forcibly kicked the door of a fellow Mandalorian's homestead down alongside [member="Dorn Skirata"], he knew he was doing so for a more cohesive society.

 

[Tal Vizsla]

Duty. Purity. Cohesion. Unity.

Empire.

When Ra had called them together against Monroe, Tal threw his entire being into the fight. He believed his Mand'alor could right the wrongs of the past and return his people to what they were meant to be. He believed it with every fiber of his soul. After all, was this not the man who had rallied the clans and lead them to greatness? Was it not the man that had overcome death itself to return and save his people?

He wasn't so sure anymore.

Not so long ago he had reveled in the thrill of carnage and savagery, but he was learning now just how much of that was the influence of another. Beginning to question just who and what he really was on his own. Guiding his own thoughts and actions. Before, he would have pledged his soul to a man like the one Ra had become, but now he was beginning to have doubts. The family he had found with his vode was the only one he'd ever known, and now they were rounding them up like cattle to be branded. Stripped of themselves and spat back out as something less.

It was a process he was all too familiar with. It hadn't been so long ago that he could catch a blaster bolt with a bare hand, or soak up lightning like a sponge. Losing that changed you, whether you realized it or not.

The memories swimming through his head also gave him pause. In every single one where the words Mandalorian and Empire came together, Millions died. Innocent millions. Wars were brutal and bloody, and Mandalorian wars were tenfold moreso than most others. Even then, Ra did have a point. Of all the wars he remembered, the force had been the focal point of hundreds, if not thousands of them. He wasn't sure there actually was a right side to this fight, and for now he would follow the orders of his ruler.


Dropping his Basilisk to the ground, he slid off onto the street in front of a mob. Leaving his hammer behind, he nodded acknowledgement at the officers trying to keep order, then charged his gauntlets and waded into the crowd. It was time to get to work.

 

[Not Ordo]

He didn't fully understand what had possessed them to leave him loose and he didn't particularly care. He had no interests in the force users or what they could do. The force was useless to him and if the people that used it didn't agree then kark them. Besides, his interest were elsewhere.

He held his rifle firmly against his shoulder as he trained his scope on the giant eagle. He had never encountered a shifter like her before. He had been good when he had cared to be but she was something else entirely. He followed her in his scope with his finger straight and off the trigger. She was phenomenal. A real treasure but tje way she flaunted herself. Those eyes that showed disgust when they had looked at him last time. She knew she had to know. She made him feel things he thought long since beyond him and now because of her ward likely completely impossible to express.

It was thier torture. A torment that t even the most sadistic force menace would never have thought of. They made him live. They made him exist like an animal just out of reach of a meal that would save it. He watched as she swooped and changed into that human form. The long legs that propelled her with that predatory grace. The arch of her back as she walked with pride and strength. His finger curled toward the trigger for a moment as he watched but movement from the far left caught his eye.

A man leapt through the air, beskad in hand. It was unnaturally high clearing several meters as he closed on the palace. Kal judged the distance and lead the attacker by instinct and took a breath. His finger squeezed and the rifle soundlessly bucked against his shoulder. A moment later the poorly trained sod was a head shorter.

He growled deeply in his throat and wished he had saved that round for the woman who had put herself so fully out of reach. She was a candle in the dark and he longed to snuff her out.


[member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Malika Mantis"] [member="Dorn Skirata"] [member="Jor Kvall"] [member="Tal Vizsla"]

 

[Adora Namadi]

Juste Judex ultionis​

Donum fac remissionis​

Ante diem rationis​

It would be a long day for the youngest Namadi. It'd be a long day for many, a long several days for a good portion of them. Adora had it easy, being confined to her own little workspace, performing a relatively simple job. The real work belonged to the Pazhkic'Dau, microscopic little creatures that made this whole force deadening process work. They were wonderful, fascinating, really, and fortunately visible to the eye so no kiddos undergoing the cure got needlessly freaked out by the syringe's contents. No, her job was only as hard as the subjects made it, which so far, hadn't been too bad.

The morning had been filled with a collection of those willingly choosing the cure and the younger folk who didn't have the strength or ability to really fight back. Her dialogue rarely went beyond the brief explanation of how the subject would feel for the next few days, followed by the generic, way too cheerful, "Be sure to get some rest!"

The job was simple, hardly worthy of even being considered a job at this point. Adora almost wished the subjects did fight back, anything to lessen the monotony that was becoming the day. That, or someone else would take her place so she could focus her efforts on a cause more worthy of the girl's time. Force deadening was something almost anyone could carry out, she could've easily been off working on actual research than this. Research didn't ask questions, did look up at her with wide eyes, asking why and when they'd see their families again, all answers Adora neither had nor cared to find.

Pie Jesu Domine
Dona eis requiem​

[member="Kal Ordo"] | [member="Tal Vizsla"] | [member="Jor Kvall"] | [member="Dorn Skirata"] | [member="Malika Mantis"] | [member="Ra Vizsla"]​

 

[Ronan Vizsla]

WAYLAND​

[member="Tamara Wren"]​

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He sat by the fire and studied the shapes they made across the wall.

The shadows coalescing together, moving about, blurring the lines and next to him the warm fire heating against his skin. Tomorrow... or maybe the day after, but somewhere this week the Empire would arrive with its representatives. The TSA would open an office, a center, where those that live on Wayland - dangerous, dark, depraved Wayland - could get their treatment without having to enter Mandalore. It had been... a tougher choice than Ronan had expected.

It was his addiction, he thought.

The clawing at the back of his throat when the realization hit he would be free from it forever. Instead of feeling satisfied, something woke inside him that he had not felt in decades. Fear. "Cabur." It took him a moment, before he slowly looked away from the fires.

Up to one of the Vizsla warriors.

"Your daughter is here." She would not like it. Spitfire... like her mother, stubborn... like him. But this was the road they had to follow. The sickness and hunger had to be burned out. If they did not, then they would always be at the mercy of this Force. Pushing them, prodding them, pulling them into one direction or another. A man's choices had to be his own, otherwise they lost their meaning. But when a mystical voodoo pool of energy was influencing your every turn?

Your choices had already been hijacked.

"Send her in."

 

[Tamara Wren]

Wayland​

@Ronan Vizsla​

They had stayed out of it. Not brought out armor, not loaded guns and oiled swords. Family and clan were on Wayland. Why go and bleed on a broken Mandalore? There had been no gain, he had said, in killing each other over a title that no longer held meaning. It would only have meaning again after, after something had once more been done with it.

And now something had been done with it. Ra, reborn, resurgent, a Vizsla once more the head of the Clans.

Which meant, finally, her father cared.

If she had wanted to go, to fight, her father wouldn't have stopped her. She could have, but while he had taught her how and she was capable, there wasn't the drive. Given a choice between fighting and not, Tamara would choose the later. But if he had gone, if her father had looked at her with heavy expression and asked her to follow him?

She would have.

That feeling was what made the walk to this meeting so hard. It was impossible to not be aware of what was going on. On the edicts that had come out of Mandalore in the last week. Ra was Vizsla, and while her father had not raised banner for him, he would support him now. And but for one thing, there would have been no concern from his daughter.

Ronan Vizsla couldn't have kept the new laws from her, even if he had wanted to- and sheltering her from reality had never been his way. She didn't remember a time, for instance, when she didn't know why her mother had left. And now? Now she breathed in deeply just outside the door. Hoping. Dreading. Not sure what response from him she was looking for....

Because in truth, all of the possibilities worried her.

"Tamara?"

"Hmm?"

The guard reached up, rubbing a spot on his own face. She blinked, self consciously reaching up and rubbing the same spot on her own. Half dried ink smudged on her fingers and she pulled out a scrap of clean cloth, rubbing it away. She'd come directly from her studio when the summons had come, and while her finger tips were perpetually ink stained, going in with it on her face (other than the tattoos) would have been embarrassing. Eyebrows rose as she check with the guard, who nodded once.

He opened the door for her and she strode across the room. Lit only by the light of the fire, she knew without even seeing his posture in the chair that he'd been brooding hard over all of it. Or at least, part of it. Coming up beside him, she leaned over, kissing his cheek lightly.

"You wanted to talk to me papa?"

 

[Ronan Vizsla]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Tilted slightly watching her with a smile that was so rare for anyone else to see.

Even the eyes softened, where usually they were hard and searching and cautious. "My runi," Patting the seat next to him for her to settle down, he leaned back and returned his vigil to the embers and the fire. "Things are changing." Ronan had never been inclined towards the Force, going so far as to actively block it throughout his life and ensure it could not influence him more than it had already done in the past.

But he had never actively prevented others within the House, be that Vizsla, Wren, Saxon, to use it if they were so inclined. Refuse to teach his daughter, yes. But that was as far as he had gone.

"The Mand'alor actively opposes the magicks that has run through the Mandalorians for so many years." He looked over to her, grim, firm and unyielding. "I pledged myself to Ra once more- a treatment will be made compulsory this week, to remove the curse from all of us." There was a reason that Vizsla was telling her now. Even when he had refused to teach her all those years ago.

He knew.

Knew of the dangerous trips she made beyond the walls in the wilderness where the beast and flora hunted.

To train herself, to become better, stronger within those arts. Ronan had let it go- allowed it, but never spoke a word of it. But everything was changing now and the freedom that was available to them then?

It was no long here now.

 

[Silas Mantis]

He had to be careful not to kill the man. Beskar met flesh as Silas' prosthetic fist slammed into the head of the roaring Twi'lek before him. The man was angry, he'd sworn himself to Ra, bled for him, had family die for him, and the fact he was now expected to be subjected to Vizsla's cure made him feel insulted. The Mantis could respect that, he'd have felt the same way, but the disease could not be tolerated in any form, no matter the identity of the host.

The diseased man crumpled beneath the blow, falling to the dirt as Silas let out a harsh breath. The man was a warrior, a true Mandalorian, and even without armor he'd managed to land a good strike on his still healing ribs. The damned force had guided his fist right under Si's guard, and sent waves of pain rippling across his chest. He'd caught Silas across the jaw too, but aside from cursing himself for removing his helmet, it had little effect.

Nonetheless Silas had taken down the Twi'lek and as he fell the crowd surrounding them let out a gasp.

A sudden end to what had been expected to be a long fight. Reaching down Silas grabbed the man by his arm, pushing aside a lekku in order to potentially squeeze on the sensitive organ, and hefted him up and threw the man onto this shoulder. "We do not seek to dishonor anyone, what we are doing is preserving the safety of Manda'yaim from the likes of the Liberator's madness ever again. The disease that empowers jetti and dar'jetti alike has no place here, it is a gateway into madness." He addressed the crowd, the rest of his squad standing behind him tensely as murmurs went about the crowd. The men and women in his gathering party were a good lot, not Tal'Rekr, but there was no need for that kind of strength, so the assortment of Viszla, Saxon, Chorn, and he believed Munin troops did just fine. Did well keeping their cool even when those they'd been sent to collect got rowdy.

"Besides, we have no need of jetti tricks and dar'jetti curses, we are Mando'a," He began, looking out at the crowd. "We could take the galaxy with our bare hands if we set our minds to it."

"Those who are sick, please come forward, help us preserve Manda'yaim for your families, for all Mando'ade, for [member="Ra Vizsla"]." For a moment there was a pause, and then the murmurs resumed even more intensely than before. It hadn't been a good speech, but he thought it did well enough. Then an Ithorian boy came forward, his mother reaching out after him, worry evident even her deep black eyes.

"I want to protect Mandee yaam." The child stated, his species strange accent found when speaking basic straining to pronounce Mando'a. The mother cried out, and Silas gave the troops a nod, they restrained her, but when she prepared to unleash a mighty bellow the smashed a rifle butt into her face, knocking her unconscious.

Silas smiled. "Then come ad'ika." He said, offering out his other, biological hand to the child, who accepted. After that, others came forward with ease, and Silas' party would begin making their way back with a full compliment of Mandalorians ready to be cured.

 

[Kiegan Lysle]

The force was an evil, the simple existence of it in such fine warriors weakened them to the level of children. The cure that the newfound Mandalorian Empire offered to individuals was a way to escape such weakness, removing the wielders fixation and reliance on the force. One small treatment and the men and women could be accepted into the ranks of Death Watch, no longer plagued by the deviancies of the force.

All it took was one small treatment and they would be able to find reliance in themselves rather than the force, lead instead of being commanded.

It was with this mind that Tahn pulled aside a curtain to one of the treatment rooms, the woman he had rendered unconscious from the final battle in Cold Iron City still slung over his soldier as he moved towards the centre of the room. In their short fight Tahn hadn't seen the woman wield any signs of the force, but despite this his instincts whispered to him that she was capable of using such a weapon.

The unusually sterile room was prepared for such treatment, the professionals who would undergo the process stood to the side as the giant man laid the woman out on the operating tunnel in front of them before going near her side to restrain her with straps. This would prevent the girl from making any improper decisions while undergoing the process, a mild sedative being injected in her neck so as to weaken her usage of the force to allow the process to continue without any issues.

The Gold Wolf made his way to the side of the room, dropping the axe attached to his back against the wall as he pulled a small metal chair up to observe. He hadn't seen the process handled before and even for a ruthless man like himself parasites made his skin crawl.

The organisms were unbelievably small for the potential they held, the process to insert them carefully so that they could quickly make their way into the patients brain was something that Tahn believed he had to see.

So he sat and waited, holding vigil on the side as he waited to observe the treatment with a cold glare. He wondered if she would waken during the process and pulled the axe closer to his side in case the earlier display hadn't been enough, preparing himself for any desperate action the woman would take if she awoke to the many devices being pulled to her side.

[member="Mira Rekali"] | [member="Davin Skirata"]​

 

[Tamara Wren]

She perched on the edge of the couch, her own dark gaze drawn to the fire. That was a constant, growing up. A source of warmth, of comfort. When he was troubled, that was where he looked, and even if there weren't always answers within it, Tamara had found her own peace in the crackling of wood and the dancing of flames often enough. From the laying of the first tinders to the dying glow of embers, the simple process of building and tending a fire was a certain catharsis, too easily lost in a galaxy always pressed on to greater heights of technology.

At first, none of what he said came as a surprise. She had expected him to declare for Ra- not merely expected but would have been shocked if he had not. Even if he'd been unwilling to lead them to bleed, Ra was clan. And the news that the returned Mand'alore opposed the use of the Force was also not news. All of these she knew so why was he saying it as if..... she....

She tore her eyes away from the fire, looking at her father. Dark gaze searched his face, but all she saw was the Alor.

"Papa, you can't mean..... but I'm not dangerous to anyone. You- you know that I am loyal to the clans, and if you pledge to him, to Ra. I don't use it-"

She rarely lied to her father. In this case it wasn't a deliberate lie. What she meant was that she didn't use it on anyone, or even where anyone could see. It was something that didn't affect anyone else.

She didn't know he knew about her forays outside of the walls.

@Ronan Vizsla

 

[Ronan Vizsla]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Head tilted.

This was not the first time that Ronan felt that small ping of amusement whenever Tamara pushed a boundary no one else would have been brave enough to do. The lie was a small one, because she did not use it in the broadest sense of the word. But that did not matter to Ra, it did not matter to Ronan and it would not matter to the others of the Clan. "Oh, so those little jaunts of yours into the jungle were to pluck flowers and pet the wild wolves, yes?" Amusement coloring the tone, patient as well... far more patient than anyone else would have received for not immediately acknowledging the command of the Alor. But she was his, his, not just blood, not just family, a long time ago Ronan had to make a choice.

The most difficult one ever and yet it had been the easiest one as well.

If you choose her, you cannot have me, Ronan.

And so Vizsla had chosen and never regretted it even once. It shaped a bond and the trust Ronan showed his runi was unimpeachable. "You are my daughter, Tam, I have always treated you like an adult from the moment you could walk, the moment you could hold a weapon. Your loyalty is beyond dispute, but everyone will abide by the Mand'alor's decree. I cannot and will not make an exception here." She knew why. It was forged into her from her first little steps.

Duty to the Clan above all.

Nothing mattered more than family.

 

[Briika Munin]

Transport Security Authority Center

Briika Tor-Munin carefully readied the hyposprays that would inject the non-sentient organism known as the Pazhkic'Dau directly into a Force-sensitive's blood stream to start the process of severing the Force from them. This 'cure' would cleanse those born with the 'disease' and make the Mando'ade as a whole stronger for it. There would be no more Mia Monroe's to destroy them from within using the power of the Force for their own personal gain.

For Briika the only good the baar'ur had ever seen come from the Force was that of healing abilities her friend and medical colleague, Rianna Ar'klim-Organa, had used time and time again to help the Mando warriors wounded in battle when they served together in the Mandalorian Medical Corps. The Force had no other use amongst them in her opinion.

The golden blonde nodded to the security officer in charge. "You may begin bringing in the first patients for inoculation."

[member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Malika Mantis"] [member="Dorn Skirata"] [member="Jor Kvall"] [member="Adora Namadi"] [member="Kal Ordo"] [member="Tamara Wren"] [member="Tamara Wren"] [member="Silas Mantis"]

 

[The Spark]

The Force was a gift to all, but there were some who were able to harness the energies and use them for good or evil. For Mira, she never saw the Force as a weapon, merely a tool on her belt – something she could use to her advantage to gain the upper hand. It was a means to gain knowledge, a way to feel beyond a natural sense and understand the unknown. She was able to touch things that normal people couldn’t, and she enjoyed it. Mira considered her powers and abilities as a blessing, never as a disease or a crutch to rely on.

She groaned softly, turning her head right and then left, attempting to shake away the fog that hung over her. Her crimson eyes attempting to focus on the physicians and medical droids scurrying about, and then the guy sitting in the corner. ‘Where am I?’ She went to lift her arms, but was stopped short by restraints, causing her to jerk reflexively. Panic settled in as she felt no connection to the Force around her, just an empty void. Her vitals began to skyrocket as adrenaline coursed through her veins, the fog lifting quickly. Crimson eyes widened as she screamed. “LET ME GO!” She bucked against the restraints, pulling until her back arched, muscles tightening.

The sound of the bindings beginning to strain against the sheer pull of her weight and pressure became obvious as the doctors and medical droids began to step back. “I SAID LET ME GO! YOU KARKING BASTARDS! I’LL KILL YOU!” She spat as the right arm restraint snapped free, sending a strap and parts flying into the air. With the release of the right strap, Mira moved to free herself from restraint on the left side, using her feet as best she could to push away droids and physicians with needles attempting to jab her with sedatives. “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

With little fanfare, she freed her left wrist and immediately snatched up a pan filled with devices, undoubtedly the medical devices meant to sedate and cure her – and without hesitation she used the pain and devices as a means to hit things. The devices would be flung across the room, the pan would be used to swat, deflect and bash incoming objects while she hacked away at the restraints on her ankles.

Mira was in full adrenaline, panic mode. It would take a lot more than some pansy physicians and droids to bring her down. Even the weird guy in the corner would have his hands full.

​

[member="Tahn Vizsla"] | [member="Davin Skirata"] | [member="Lok Munin"]​

 

[Jak Skirata]

"She's gotten in over her head."

The blistering wind blew his cloak violently, his hands tightened around a toy Mira had favored as a child. It had been the only thing Falcon could find in his frenzy that would help Davin track her.

"She's gotten herself mixed up in things she doesn't understand." He took a deep breath as he remembered the message. A worried father, a lost daughter. He owed much to the Rekali, this was the least he could do. He didn't want to think of the things Death Watch would do to a Force using Mandalorian. He had heard plenty of rumors by this point but they were honestly too despicable to be true. He knew Ra, not personally, but the man who had led the Mandalorians a few years ago would not stoop to such lows.

"Please, find my daughter."

He fell from his perch into the fortress through a hole left over from the recent assault. It was quiet here. Most of the Mandalorians and Death Watch had moved to the city proper. He took a breath and concentrated on the toy and reached into the Force, looking, calling. It had gotten him this far, he must be close.

"Mira...Mira....MIRA"

[member="Mira Rekali"] [member="Tahn Vizsla"]

 

[Kiegan Lysle]

Tahn slowly raised from his seated position as the woman rose from her unconsciousness into an immediate rage, flailing against the scientist and his devices. Shock could be scene throughout the body language of the doctor as he quickly backed away from the woman, his tools of the trade being knocked away as she thrashed against the table.

The Gold Wolf held his calm disposition as he waited for the doctor to regain control of the patient, at least until the girl managed to free her left wrist from the restraint that held it.

Tahn immediately picked up his axe and came towards he as she began flailing in an attempt to fully free herself of the restraints, bending an elbow to cover his head as he drew near her. Despite her desperate actions she was still a Mandalorian warrior and trained force user, Tahn preferred to not risk getting smashed across the head with a steel tray.

He protected his head with his left arm as the right hand holding his axe sought to press the weapon against her chest and shoulder, seeking to press the woman down against the operating table. He would prefer not to knock her unconscious, instead hoping to keep her awake for the operation she would undergo.

"Don't make this harder on yourself than it needs to be."

The voice came out calm as Tahn tried to lean his weight on her, using the massive size difference between them to restrain her and allow the doctor to finish his work.

[member="Mira Rekali"] | [member="Davin Skirata"] | [member="Lok Munin"]​

 

[Ra Vizsla]

"Mand'alor." She greeted. "Only a handful of incidents so far. Two groups started to riot, but they were quickly dispersed. And only four deaths." Her lips twitched, one had been her doing, but the idiot shouldn't have stuck a knife in her foot. Of course she was going to drop him for that.

Ra clutched the balcony's edge, seeming deep in contemplation as his aide left him.

He looked over at the building site of the Palace.

"Ensure the Transport Security Authority has our full resources at their whim today. A peaceful transition today is required."

The Mand'alor's gaze peered out towards the TSA. The depths to which their society would reach to prevent the tragedies of the Insurrection... there was no stopping point.

 

[Tamara Wren]

It was easy to say duty to the clan above all, but ultimately, much harder to do.

In a way, if it had been easy, then it meant less. When nothing was difficult, nothing challenged ideals and assumptions, they grew weak and festered. Claim loyalty without trial and all one had was lip service to an ideal that they had never known sacrifice for.

Up until now, that had been the path of Tamara's life. Loyalty to clan, putting family above all else had been easy. Good. Her father had made it that way, even handed, stern when necessary and gentle when needed- at least to her. No family relationship was perfect and without roadblocks, but Tamara had known from a young age just what her father had done when he had decided to keep her, despite her mother's intentions. There was never a time she could remember that she had not known, deeply and intuitively, that she was wanted. And loved. He had never once put the weight on her that came from the choice her mother had forced him to make. Never made her leaving Tamara's fault or responsibility. He could have. But he didn't.

Tamara had the good grace to look embarrassed when he called out her untruth. But that feeling shifted slowly instead into something else. It faded, replaced on her face by searching and once more only finding the Alor on his face.

Ronan had three tones. One he never used with her, but she had witnessed. Another, was father. This one, was the hardest. It held the weight of responsibility not merely to her, but to the clan. When he spoke as Alor, he wasn't speaking at Ronan Vizsla. He was speaking with the entirety of the clan beneath his features. And in those moment there was no arguing. She knew, already, that nothing she could say could change his mind.

She swallowed back the desire to argue. Part of her understood, after all. But the larger part of her wanted to scream and cry and kick, to yell in his face that it wasn't fair. That she wasn't like them. Not one of the dangerous ones. Of course, sometimes it's not possible to swallow it all, and the words, sullen and bitter, left her mouth before she could stop them.

"Never thought I would see the day our people sunk to the same bigotry we denounce in the rest of the galaxy."

@Ronan Vizsla