Waves Crash, Clouds Roll

[Preliat Mantis]

The Cold Iron City. ​

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Unaccounted for. That's what they were. The rest of the belligerents of the fight had moved on. The Death Watch routed them. Mia's Mandalorians went this way, the Death Watch another. But- in the Cold Iron City, on a lonely street, a snow-bank held two men. They both came in the same way, from the heavens above. Preliat was lying face down in a snow bank- Ordo was about a dozen meters or so on the same bank that he crashed in on. Preliat had rolled, he could tell that from the impacts in the snow bank.​

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He was wary. Contusions and bruises must've covered his body. He could breathe fine, however- no broken ribs. He reached up to his cracked helmet, peeling the hooded bucket off of his head. He stood up, feeling the caked blood fall off of his face. He must've looked like hell- the blood had pooled in his helmet and across his face.​

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He let the helmet drop to the snow with a soft thud. Now, that the two were alone- their factions beside them, it was now not an external conflict, it was between the Rancor and the Wolf. And the Wolf had decided how the fight was going to go before they landed in the snow.​

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"She took everything from me, Jasper. Everything I could ever want- she took it from me under the guise of atonement. How could you, Jasper? How could you do that to me? You stand on the same ash that she buried your people under, and you claim loyalty to her." ​

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He reached up to his shoulder, and turned the magnetic locks of his jetpack off. The jetpack fell to the ground. Preliat took the beskad off his back, which lay parallel to his jetpack, as it had for years and years. He took it off his back and threw it at Jasper's body, letting it land in the snow near him. Preliat reached up to his arm, and pulled the tomahawk off of his arm.​

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And he waited for the Rancor to stir.​

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"I will take everything from you, like she took everything from me."​

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[member="Ordo"]​

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[Ordo]

Ordo sat up. He looked over at Mantis already to go another round. He reached up and pulled off his buy'ce then tossed it on the cold ground. Blood was dried on his face from the punches he had taken earlier. He pulled off a gauntlet and wiped the crusted crimson away with the back of a big hand.

He tosse the gauntlet by the helmet and stood slowly. He pulled off the other gauntlet and hit the quick release catches on his arms and upper body. They dropped to the ground with a hefty thud and he pulled off the body glove on his upper body. He had faught hundreds of men and beast. His skin was laced with scars enough to make him look like he had been pieced together in some science lab and he knew it looked monstrous.

He bent down with an exaggerated groan and picked up the beskad at his feet. He gave it a quick swing and judged it a fair blade.

"I didn't want this, Preliat." His deep voice filled with sadness, "I didn't want to pick a side. I didn't want any of this. I wish I had been here to stop her from the madness she gave in to, but I wasn't. I wish the worlds you and I had taken for the glory of Mandalore hadn't been abandoned. I wish we could ride back out into the stars like when we took Bastion or when we sacked Dromund Kaas, but that's long passed now. You want my death? I know you do, but this once, I want you to look at me for what I am. Just a man, a broken piece of meat that's only good for fighting and dying for someone else's war. I want you to know that I'm sorry for your loss and if I were your Buir, I'd be a proud man."

Ordo nodded once and dropped into a fighting crouch beskad held in his right hand down by his hip. His left side slightly forward, feet shoulder width apart. Left fist up in a guard by his head.

"Come take what you can, ad'ika." He said at last, "I'm ready."


[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat thought of all the things that he and the old man went through. He thought of them avenging their people at Dromund Kaas, being part of crippling the Sith- and part of the reason they never recovered. Falling off a building. Destroying a throne, wiping an Empire off the map. Preliat looked at Jasper more than a man, like he asked. He looked at him like a father, like the father he wished he had, the man who taught him so much, and bled with him through it all. He remembered the comfort he brought him after the Dark Harvest. Preliat curled his fingers around his tomahawk, and watched the snowfall pick up.

He snarled and charged at the only man whom he thought to call a father.

And he raised his tomahawk, and brought it across his chest, his powerful body contorting to put as much pain as he could, as much velocity, as much power into the blow. Jasper could block it, but Preliat was younger, faster- and more angry than he was. Jasper's blade entangled with Preliat's tomahawk, catching the head of his axe, and sliding down to the beskar handle. Preliat began to push back, and stared at Jasper. His eyes were welled with tears of frustration, or loss. Of anger. Of rage, of heartache and of betrayal. Jasper knew that Preliat did not care for Ra's stance on the force- ultimately it was an act made out of frustration that would be rectified when the Mando'ade were made whole again. But Preliat understood their pain more than anyone else.

And Jasper was fighting for the woman, trying to help her- that helped take everything away from Preliat. Preliat started to push on the blade, and kept one hand ready, in case Jasper made a move with one of his. To say that it was difficult to hold the Rancor with one arm- was an understatement. But the Wolf pressed on, but could not keep him at bay with one arm forever.

"She took our world, Jasper! And you fight for her! And you risk your life for her! She took my family, my home- your home! Our friends, our families, the clans- all in the name of redemption! And you stand among her conspirators, among her confidants! You betrayed me! You betrayed your people!"

Preliat's words were venomous, drawn out- and not as eloquent as his usual speech. It was desperate, reflecting the tattered psyche of the man whom Jasper found himself in combat with. He was becoming undone, becoming unwound- Mia was to blame. And Jasper was in his way, in his path of destruction. And he would feel his wrath, feel his fury.

He would feel his pain.

He would suffer.

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

Light from the setting Mandalorian Sun caught on the blades as they pressed against eachother. Ordo leaned in as they pushed at one another. The frustration, anger, and rage of the younger man could be felt on the air and it gave the Wolf strength. He pushed harder than Ordo had expected at first. He grimaced at the young vod's words. He knew, Ordo knew Mia was wrong for what she had done. He knew that to ask a people to follow her after it all was insane, but he also knew he would not give up on his clan.

The existence of clans had been the hallmark of Mando'ade for millennia, how could they give that up? How could he let the blood of his blood be wiped from they're culture simply because they could feel the force? He had little choice. He had to fight and maybe die, or run and forsake everything he was. It was no choice at all, not for any Mandalorian, and Preliat would understand that...someday.

Ordo began to push back, he still had not used the force against his Vod. It was just a tool for him, a skill he had been born with, and yet still a burden to bear. He pushed back and took a slow step forward.

"I fight for my Clan, Preliat." He said through his clenched teeth, "I fight for my children and their children. Let Ra and Mia have titles. I want my family safe from both. What could I have done? Run away? Let them sort it out while more died? Ra disbanded the clans, he wants to be king, not chief of chiefs. How can I watch our people become like aruetiise?"

He pushed harder, now. He knew the Wolf in the young man called for blood, and Ordo owed this man as much for not being there as he did for saving an unborn child. The child, at least, he had gotten the child away from his maddness. He wished he had been able to do the same for Yasha and her mother.

"Stop this Preliat." He said as he thought of how much he had failed his people even now, "Come with me, we can rebuild while others scramble for scraps. Let me be the Buir I should have been. Your family and mine, we can be what Mandalore needs, rebuilders, not destroyers."

Ordo shoved at the tomahawk to push it aside but didn't attack, he wanted his damned Vod back, but he wouldn't bend his knee to anyone again. Never.

"Preliat, I would be your Buir." He said as his eyes filled with unshed tears, "Just let me."


[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Tears of sadness from one. Tears of rage from another. One pleaded, one was unyielding. Unflinching resolve met unflinching empathy and love. The two were intertwined in destiny's thread. Preliat's leg- his real one, pulled back, straightening itself. At one point, Ordo comforted him in his time of madness, in his time of loss and of sorrow. Now, he offered nothing but betrayal. Preliat did not care for Ra, truthfully. The Death Watch was always a blight to the Mando'ade. He just hated Mia more. Ordo spoke of madness, of the insanity of the Death Watch- of the hope he had for his family. Of his clan. Preliat narrowed his eyes. His words solidified the venom in his veins, renewed his resolve.

"Mia took my family from me."

King of kings- be damned. Chief of the clans. None of that mattered now, none of the facts- none of the petty squabbles mattered anymore. Preliat only existed for one purpose for right now. And that was to take Ordo's life for his betrayal. Preliat had killed before, but this betrayal, this unflinching, steadfast adherence to the old ways, to the one who murdered Mandalore- filled his body with such hatred, such toxic rage that it echoed through the force in ripples, in waves. He fed his pain with memories, memories of happier times- taken. Of a wife. Taken. Of a family. Taken. Of a home. Taken. Of a clan. Taken. Of a planet. Taken. Images raced across his troubled mind, touching the sands of time gone past.

"She took my happiness away from me, Jasper."

It pulled darkness in, like a black hole in the force- he was a wound here, a wound in of himself that never healed- for he was the one that reopened the wound with each passing breath. His rage poured forth from his mind, bringing up long-forgotten deeds, long-seated anger. It powered his leg, corrupting him further- without Preliat knowing so. Preliat's cycle of hate perpetuated with the Sith magic that formed the powerful leg. Preliat's muscles tensed, then, he moved. He let the axe slip from his hands, and with his left hand, braced against Ordo's forearms to prevent a counterattack with the Beskad. With the other, a closed fist, he rapidly dropped his tomahawk, and went to hit a straight punch in Jasper's stomach.

"And you're in my way of making her pay for that."

There were no more tears from Preliat. Only the blind rage.

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

The small hope Ordo had of leaving the war behind faded with every breath, He could feel the waves of hate and rage waft off the other man like the stink of corpses after a battle. Sickly, corrupted and all consuming. Ordo felt the sudden weight of the years settle on his heart and he wondered if he should hate himself for being too soft.

He felt Preliat push on his forearm and began to resist as a sipked gauntlet lunged for his stomach. Ordo turned slightly left and felt the spikes on the man's fist punch into his side instead of his intestines where they were aimed. He hooked his arm around and tried to trap Preliat's arm. Ordo had little chance of puncturing the the wolf's armor but he had the force still, and he would need it he was sure.

The lifted an armored knee toward the other warrior's inner thigh. Not a low blow per se but deffinately a soft spot even under armor. It was hard to keep balance from a blow like that and that was the idea. The man wouldn't see reason, he wouldn't see that Ordo wanted to help Preliat find a kind of peace that revenge would never bring. So, as his knee came up he kicked it back toward the back of Preliat's calf and pushed the man away, in an attempt to trip him and gain a small advantage.

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat's armor could protect him from blows, but not momentum and pure kinetic energy. The knee brought him off balance, and the kick sent Preliat backwards- onto his ass. The concrete cracked under the weight of Preliat's body, and armor, and how far he fell, combined. Preliat spit blood out of his mouth when he was knocked onto his ass, but was otherwise no worse for wear. Preliat had said all that he needed to say, and the thoughts were already there.

Preliat, lying from his back, lashed out to kick Ordo in his knee- and not with his biological leg. Force knew how bad the old man's knees were already.

Ordo wanted to bring Preliat peace. But the brutal reality is that there would be no peace for Preliat, no tranquility. All hopes of that were dashed over the decades of warfare, of heartache and loss. Having to endure the death of his family for a second time, let alone once, was aching enough- Mia compounded that. And it hurt Preliat to his very core to see Jasper on her side. To Preliat, to be with Mia was to insult the memory of his beloved, to say that they didn't care and that they were fine with her being murdered.

Preliat saw nothing but traitors. Saw nothing beyond the rage. He only saw a target at the moment, not his friend, not a father figure, just two soldiers in a fight.

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

Ordo bent his knee, instinctivly as the kick rocketed at him like a rocket-sled on rails. The motion removed a portion of his weight from the leg but wasn't fast enough to get it out of the way. The impact drove his leg back and momentum caused the big man to turn away as he fell. The plates of his armor could save him from some things but the sheer kinetic for of the kick was enough to crash a speeder.

Ordo could sense a darkness, a wrongness about the leg, the pain of whatever damage had just been done to flesh and bone cleared his head long enough for him to sense the acrid stench of sith alchemy. Ordo grimaced as he went down on his side with a heavy thud. He rolled away from the other man to gain distance from Preliat but the sudden sense of his adaopted daughter Ginnie made Ordo pause.

The sensation had come with the kick, and the pieces came into place for him in an instant. Ordo knew about the forge the girl had made. He knew her former clan had been Verd, and he knew another Verd who had no qualms about playing with what amounted to blood magic in Ordo's mind. Preliat Mantis, had gone to one of his babies, and let her use Sith blood magic to make him a better fighter? Had he known what kind of consequences that could bring, even now?

Ordo didn't need to ask himself really. Preliat knew. But just like Mia, He didn't give a damn about the price. He just wanted what he wanted.

Ordo felt the force flow into him. Light, dark, rainbow, in the moment he didn't give a damn. The pain numbed as he pushed up to try and make it to his feet first. Beskad still in his huge fis as he growled deep in his chest. Hypocrits! Mandalore, was being over run.

He didn't make it to his feet before his chest tightened. Why did he have to live to see everything he had fought for turn in on itself and become rotten? His people were festering like an unwashed wound, and he hated it. He got to a knee and tightened his grip on the bes'kad. Maybe, he should, just clean the damn wound of the festering people himself. He hated it. But rot, does not clean itself. Maybe he was wrong, and he would have to start with a half blinded son.



[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

He tightened his hands into fists and pushed up to his feet, following the man's movements with his eyes. [member="Ordo"] was right- the leg, and it's alchemical treatment meant that Preliat was innately stronger, was innately more savage, more efficient in combat due to his brutality. But this rage came not from within the foul sorcery of his leg, it was from within. Preliat did not know the damage his leg was doing to his soul. What the rage he kept in him was being cycled back through. It would never be let go, because the leg and it's foul Sith magic had tainted his soul.
Preliat's demons poured forth like a river. Ordo thought the Mandalorians as a wound, a festering, open wound.

Preliat saw them as a animal caught in a trap. Cut the leg to save the body.

And it started with Ordo.

Preliat did not walk, but he did not run up to the old man. As he walked, he disengaged the magnetic locks on his armor, and finally dropped the gauntlets. He left only the lower body of his armor remain. He closed the distance as the last piece of the metal hit the ground. His gauntlets, stained red, lay in the snow-covered ground, a red and gold contrast to the white snowfall. Preliat raised his fist back, and went for Ordo's face.

"Do you know what it's like, Jasper? To have all that you love stripped away, made null and buried- she murdered her, and you stand as her protector, you stand as one of her minions!"

Tears mixed with the blood, ash, and snow mixed on Preliat's face.

"I was finally happy- I was finally whole again, I felt like I could get on with my life- and she took that from me! She took that from my daughter! From my brother! And you stand here- on the graves of thousands of our brothers- and you come to her aid! What about me- Jasper! WHAT ABOUT ME! WHAT ABOUT YASHA! I WANT YOU TO TELL MY WIFE THAT YOU FOUGHT FOR HER MURDERER!"

And then his left came down. He was going to pummel Ordo into submission- if any of them landed. He kept an eye on his arm with the beskad for a retaliation.

 

[Ordo]

The first blow came and Ordo tried to dodge his head to the left but the change in weight on his leg sent pain coursing up from his knee to his chest. The pain was like liquid fire rushing through his body and he felt his chest tighten in a heavy spasm.

"I'll tell her." Ordo groaned as he felt the weight of his body become a torture device, "I fought for...my...chldren."

The next blow came and snapped his head back violently as he strength wanned. He stumbled back. The beskar that a sith lord had melted down and poured into his very bones was more weight than his body could compensate for. No, one had known, but while his sister had been breaking Mandalore Ordo had been in a sith prison being broken, and no one came.

His blood was poisoned and he had known the day he rode out to fight, that it would be his last. He didn't know it would be Preliat that came for him though. He made an effort to fight. His mind wanted him to fight to end on his feet. He steadied himself as his muscles grew tight enough to burst. His heart was seizing in his chest. Pain radiated from his chest to his knee and back in waves of rolling fire. He growled as the veins im his body stood out on his skin and the cords of his neck grew taught like cables on a suspension bridge.

He lifted the beskad and swung it forward high right to low left at Mantis. He began moving forward his heart giving him no respite. He would swing again if he could but even if he hit Mantis it would be his last swing.

He fell forward as his big hand clutched his chest. He had known this would come. He rolled to his back and spit blood in vomit onto his face to run into the white snow.

He looked at the ball of rage that was Preliat Mantis.

"Cin Vhettin, ner vod." He whispered, "White snow."

Ordo clutched his chest and thought of all of the people he loved. Rianna, Gilamar, Mia, Strider, D'ral and Maeve. Ginnie and Arla. He thought of Siobhan and their Sith purge attempt. He thought of Ember and drinking tea on Yavin. His vision blurred. He thought of singing in the Ouyubat and drinking with Preliat. He thought of fixing ships and the smell of flowers on his ranch. He wanted so badly to go home. He looked at Preliat or what he could see of him.

"You remember where the heart is ad'ika?" He asked is a rasping whisper, "Make it quick."

Ordo leaned his head back in the snow and felt his strength seeping out into the cold dark night as clouds rolled over head and his failing heart made the blood sound like crashing waves in his ears.

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

The blows landed, and the Wolf stood tall over the Rancor. The beskad's swing cut him deep, across his face and across his shoulder. It was not a wound he could go without a scar with. The blade cut deep, spewing the Wolf's blood over the white snow in an arc pattern. The sun was starting to go down, further, settling into the horizon. Preliat watched Jasper fall to his back, a man defeated, a legacy defined by strength ending in bloodshed. Preliat's eyes filled with remorse. He recalled all the things he taught him. All the gentle words. All the comfort, all the support. All the love. The wars they fought together. The battles they won. The songs they sung. The drinks they shared. It came back to Preliat, the floodgates of memory spilling forth, unleashing a tirade of emotions.

He looked at the beskad on the ground. The blade that ended many lives, took sons from mothers, took daughters from fathers. He crouched down, and touched his face. The deep cut stung like a thousand ants biting him. A product of the metal cutting so finely along his skin, cutting deeply. He looked down at Ordo, barely standing himself. The snow picked up. It was quiet now. Preliat tightened his grip on the handle.

He thought of all the things he wanted to say. All the words that remained unsaid between them. The apologies. The promises failed. The memories, spoken in low, quiet tones. Preliat felt the guilt and the weight of his choices for a moment, and looked at the blade.

It was his words that shook him from his trance.

The heart.

The heart of a champion.

The heart of a warrior.

The heart of a father.

Of a brother.

Of a friend.

Of an enemy.

He looked towards the skies. He wondered why the Gods pitied him so, to make his time in the galaxy so full of strife, so full of heartache and so full of pain. He looked back down at his friend.

"I wish things could have been different. I wish things could have ended better. I wish...I wish it wasn't me."

He walked over to crouch near his friend. He took his hand into his, holding it with his left. He held onto his friend's hand, watching him in silence for a few moments, before speaking again.

"I never wanted it to end like this. I wanted you to be on my side. I wanted you to live and see my child grow, be the better man in their lives than me. I wanted so much between us- I wanted too much. You are my brother, and I will love you until the day I die."

The blade went for his heart in a straight stab.

"Cin vhetin, brother."

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Later...

The snow wafted from a tempestuous grey sky upon the Cold Iron ground. The crunch, crunch, crunch of Ginnie Ordo's cetare punctuated the disquiet city. Yet, the nineteen year old could not hear them. Sound was nothing to her but a fluctuation of waves on the bottom left corner of her buy'ce.

Bombs stopped falling. Troops hobbled out, the Cold Iron City taken. All quiet. All clear. Nothing but the dregs of recovery teams swelled the areas around the frigid north.

'Buir? Daddy where are you?' Ginnie's telepathic voice shouted. [member="Ordo"]'s signal had gone out here. She'd seen him fall from the sky entangled with [member="Preliat Mantis"].

Mantis... Ginnie remembered Mantis. She remembered rescuing the gorram amputee from the Sith prison, when [member="Aditya Mantis"] was pregnant with [member="Yasha Mantis"]. She remembered helping Preliat's wife create the man's prosthetic leg. Her fledgeling forays into Alchemy took hold of the then Field Marshall's anger and turned it into fuel. It was a child's mistake, cured by years spent with Ordo and [member="Rianna Ar'klim-Organa"]. Preliat was an open and cystic wound in those days, succoured only by the colossally patient woman who shared his name. Yes, Ginnie knew Mantis' beskar'kandar from a distance and a glance. She knew Yasha, who'd been her mother Rianna's patient for years. Ginnie knew Aditya, and mourned her name on the list of Manda'yaim's nuclear dead.

As her cetare crunched on the falling snow, a shrill and hellacious sensation swelled down her young spine. The Dathomiri Blood Trail Ordo taught his daughter to ply... Ginnie couldn't feel it. The back of her neck thrilled with pinpricks of a foreboding concern. She was not naive enough to wonder how such a feat could be. Ginnie's breathing was the only sound, arrhythmic as she came upon spots of crimson frozen in the snow.

The truth to Alchemy was its' infernal ability to cling to a practitioner's sins. Whether intrinsic in the struggle between aspects of the Force, or the serendipity of events, evil never let go. Work done in pain and anger cannot metamorphose into good. It must be inspected, brought back to the place of convergence and healed from the moment of disaster.

Ginnie rounded the street corner. Depressions in the snow indicated a drag out brawl. Ginnie walked past pieces of her father's Beskar'kandar, her rifle raised.

The snow was no longer pure white, the slate was not clean. It was as red as the ichor of life within Jasper Ordo, spilled upon Manda'yaim. One more son lost to the madness of [member="Mia Monroe"].

"Buir?" The rifle slung on her shoulder as the ice and snow at Ginnie Ordo's feet began to melt into pools of muddy water. She ran to the body of the monolithic warrior, heaving him into her arms.

"Buir!? Buir!" Ginnie yanked off her gauntlet and checked the pulse at Jasper Ordo's neck. She held her shaking hand against his mouth and nose. He was as still as the fallen snow. Ginnie Ordo began to pant, as the snow and ice around them dissipated into steam. The ground below the pyromantic goran'ika sizzled as as the shaking girl held her father's body in her arms.

A wail of abject anguish poured through the deaf girl's mouth. It amplified in the surrounding area, as a blanket of pure heat radiated out from her body to turn the snow for forty meters into vapour. A spike of fire shot into the radioactive atmosphere for meters around, charring the buildings, the street.

'Mom. Buir... I was too late.'

The duracrete beneath her was black as Jasper was still, forever marked by the outline of a child holding her father in her living arms.