Private Will You Stand? || Torva

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

The wind swept through shattered arches, carrying with it the scent of scorched parchment and the distant sounds of construction. Once, the library had been a monument to knowledge and culture. Now, it was a hollowed shell: scarred by flame, yet standing. It was here, among the blackened stone and broken shelves, that the Mand'alor returned.

Only weeks had passed since firebreathers crawled across Ketaris, razing cities in service of Yuuzhan Vong cruelty. Only weeks since Mandalorian warriors stood firm and turned the tide, putting down beasts that threatened to reduce the planet to ash. In the aftermath, aid had arrived swiftly. Camps were raised. Roads cleared. Food distributed. What remained of the population was brought into the fold of the Empire. Life, impossibly, began again.

And yet… not all returned to life as it was. Not all were content to rebuild and move on.

Some had questions. Others bore a hunger that did not come from empty bellies. They had seen something in the warriors who fought for them. Something worth understanding. Perhaps even joining.

Aether Verd did not come with a retinue of politicians or a parade of glory. Only the gold-clad Supercommandos stood beside him, silent sentinels at the threshold as he stepped into the ruined hall. He moved without ceremony to the center of the space, where stone had collapsed inward and left behind a single broken pillar. That was his seat. Nothing elevated. Nothing distant. Just another body in the circle, though the mantle on his shoulders was heavy.

His visor scanned the faces around him, each one marked by survival, some still wrapped in bandages, others clutching datapads or makeshift spears. They had been mustered in the shadow of ruin, and it was from that shadow he now spoke.

“I heard you were curious,” he said plainly, his voice low but steady. “Some of you want to know what it means to be Mandalorian. Others want to know what to expect as part of this Empire you’ve been welcomed into.”

He leaned forward slightly, hands resting on his thighs, posture open. “So I came. Not to give you orders. Not to drown you in slogans. I came to listen. To answer. To understand who among you would stand with us...not because you owe us, but because you choose to.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It was full of invitation.​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

It had been several weeks since the Burning of Ketaris.

In the aftermath, what remained of the people were gathered together to help rebuild their home, or try to. But for some…there was no home to rebuild. No family to connect with, to try and pick up the pieces. Ketaris just…wasn’t the same now, for some.

Some like Torva Vikar.

She was the last living member of her entire family - wiped out in a moment of terror and fire. In fact, the entire section of the city that Torva and her family had been living in had been reduced to ash. It would take years to rebuild…and so much had been lost, that rebuilding seemed nigh impossible. Some folks were eager to try, and accepted whatever aid and help they could get from the new powers that be.

Torva didn’t know anything about the Mandalorians; she saw them fight off the firebreathers with her own eyes, drive the creatures back and save her homeworld from total annihilation. They were too late to help save her family, and while there was some anger and bitterness left within her from that, she was smart enough to know that it wasn’t their fault that her family was gone. They did everything they could and while yes, many lost their lives…many more had been saved. Torva was thankful for that, though it didn’t dampen the pain of grief she still felt.

Her mother and father, gone. Her brother and sister…ash on the wind. She almost died herself, but had been pulled from the burning rubble of her home by an armor-clad soul whose name she never learned. A fearless warrior who had faced fierce flames and carried her to safety, to medical aid so her burns could be treated. Without their help…she would have suffered the same fate as the rest of her family.

That day, Torva joined many others who suddenly became refugees. Life was suddenly very uncertain, and the poor young woman was emotionally and mentally shut down, unable to process everything that had happened. Others tried to engage her, to bring her out of her shell, but she remained muted and withdrawn. Well, that was true…except for one thing. She - like a few others - voiced their curiosity about their saviors.

Who were these armored warriors, these ‘Mandalorians’? Why had they come to help, instead of the Jedi? What would they do now to Ketaris? The ruling body of the planet had been all but destroyed, and rumor was that the world had been brought into the fold of the ‘Mandalorian Empire’.

What did that mean for her, now?

These questions, and many more, echoed in the dark confines of her mind as she found herself sitting amidst the rubble of what once was a great library for their city. Against her back was a crackle and broken support pillar, and around her was a small group of other refugees and survivors. Like her, they had nowhere else to go and had questions about the armored warriors. And like her, some sported bandages that still covered healing wounds. Her left hand and arm was wrapped and bound, and underneath her new-ish tunic were more bandages, covering burns along her ribs and side. Her once long and beautiful coppery-red blond hair had been all but burned away. In the few weeks since the disaster, it had started growing back, but was short - making her look almost boyish in appearance. She was still young; she’d just reached her eighteenth life year a few days prior. Not that she had anyone to celebrate with anymore. Torva was reflecting on that when movement caught her eyes and caused her to lift her head.

Stepping towards the small group was another one of the armored warriors…but this one seemed a little different. She couldn’t quite place why this particular individual felt this way - maybe it was what they were wearing - but her bright blue eyes never looked away from the figure, even as they sat upon the broken pillar just a short distance away from her. Everyone else in the small gathering watched them too, with various expressions. In turn, the figure in armor regarded them from behind a shadowed T-visor on their helm, and Torva found herself wondering just who was behind that helm.

A voice rang forth, a male voice. Low and steady and strangely calming.

“-Some of you want to know what it means to be Mandalorian. Others want to know what to expect as part of this Empire you’ve been welcomed into.”

The man paused as he leaned forward slightly, resting hands upon his thighs. His posture was open, welcoming. “So I came. Not to give you orders. Not to drown you in slogans. I came to listen. To answer. To understand who among you would stand with us...not because you owe us, but because you choose to.”

The silence that filled in the space when he finished speaking was deafening. Torva’s eyes flickered from individual to individual, watching and waiting to see if anyone else would speak up first. When no one else did, the young woman felt a rare surge of courage, borne from the curiosity that burned within.

“I…I can’t speak for everyone here but I guess…I want to know everything?” She paused for a moment, blinking once in surprise at the tone of her own voice. She had hardly spoken in the weeks since the Burning, and her voice sounded raw and cracked. Nevertheless, she carried forward with her questions. “You came to help us, but I don’t even know who or what you are. I hear rumors…that we are a part of some empire now? Are you a part of that? What’s going to happen to us?”

Around her, others nodded their agreement to her spoken statements, eager to hear what this man had to say on the topics. Torva was eager too, though she felt the tremors of uncertainty and fear. What is going to happen to me? -echoed her voice in her mind, a question she didn’t speak aloud, but one she desperately wanted an answer to.

Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

Aether waited.

The wind passed through the hollowed library once more, rustling ash and memory, but still no words came. Not at first. His gaze moved slowly across the faces around him, reading the tension in their shoulders, the weight behind their eyes. They were not without thoughts. He could see it in the way some clutched their datapads tighter. In the way others leaned forward ever so slightly, as if pulled by a need for answers.

Then one voice rose.

It belonged to a young woman wrapped in fresh bandages, her voice raw from disuse. She asked not with accusation, but with longing. Who were these warriors? What had become of her world? What came next?

Aether smiled behind his helm.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone genuine. “Those are the right questions.”

He clasped his hands together, armored fingers clicking softly, and inclined his head toward her. “If I were to give you every detail, we would be here until the stars turned. So let me give you the brief.”

He turned, extending one hand toward the warriors flanking the room.

“We are Mandalorians. Our homeworld is called Mandalore. We come from a warrior culture, shaped by war, by hardship, and by honor. We follow a code called the Resol’nare. It teaches us to be armed, to be vigilant, to raise our young in our ways, and to defend our people. Most of all, it teaches us to care for our own.”

He looked back to the gathered survivors.

“That now includes all of you.”

He let the words settle before continuing.

“Before the attack on this world, your leaders reached out to the Empire. They asked for help. In exchange, they pledged that Ketaris would join our fold. We agreed. We came. And though they are gone now, we will still honor the agreement. Ketaris is part of the Mandalorian Empire.”

His voice was calm, certain.

“This means you are citizens under our banner. It means you will not face the next threat alone. It means your homes will be rebuilt, your wounds tended, your lives protected. We will restore this planet, but we will not keep it in our grip. Once Ketaris can stand again, you will choose a Warden, someone from among your own, to speak for you in the affairs of the Empire. I am the Mand’alor, the one who leads our people, but I do not rule from afar with deaf ears. I will know your needs through the voice you choose.”

Aether shifted slightly on the broken stone pillar, then leaned forward, his helm scanning the room once more.

“As for what happens to you, specifically…” He nodded toward the group. “You will each be interviewed. You will be asked what you need. If you wish to stay here, you may, within the camps we have raised. If you wish to begin again elsewhere, on one of our other worlds, we will help you. You will not starve. You will not be left without shelter. You will not be forgotten.”

He let those words carry.

“Now,” he continued, “there is another path.”

His voice deepened, not with threat, but with the gravity of choice.

“The firebreathers were not the only enemy in this galaxy. There are worse things. Things that would see your world burn again. We will stand against them. We will fight until our last breath to keep you safe. But we need others to stand with us. If you are brave enough, you may join us. Learn the Resol’nare. Become one of us. Not by blood, but by creed. Or, if that is not your path, serve in your own way. As a healer. As a builder. As a protector of your community.”

He turned his helm back to the young woman.

“Does that begin to answer your questions?”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

Torva was relieved to hear that she had asked the right questions, on behalf of those who had remained silent. She continued to watch the armored man, though something about his nature and the genuine way he spoke to them helped lower her guard somewhat. Instead of being on edge, she instead relaxed a little more to listen to what he had to say: that they were Mandalorians, whose homeworld was likewise called ‘Mandalore’. They were a warrior people, bound by a code and shaped by hardship, war, and honor. Their code seemed to be their guide in everything they did, and from what Torva could understand - it was why they were here on Ketaris now.

It came to her as a surprise that the government officials of her world had reached out to the Mandalorians for help - and in turn had surrendered the planet over to the Mandalorian Empire. She’d heard rumors and whispers, but to hear it was true, now made her understand why these warriors had come when the Firebreathers made their appearance. Ketaris belonged to them, all her people were now citizens of the Empire.

And that included Torva.

At least they would be provided for, protected. Ketaris would be rebuilt, people would be able to pick up and move on with their lives. A brief glance around to the others who listened to this man, told Torva that his words hit home. There was hope in eyes and faces now, where before there had only been uncertainty.

But for her, there was still an empty place within her.

Her mother and father had been immigrants to Ketaris, when they had been young. Her father had come from a different place, from a different culture, that was very tribalistic and had traditional values and beliefs that most Ketarians found odd. The men were the heavy lifters of her father’s society; the warriors, the workers, the blacksmiths, the hunters and fishers - so on and so forth. They looked after the women, as women were not particularly allowed to be on their own. But all the men in Torva’s life were gone, now. Without a man to support her, as she had been taught from an early age, she felt lost.

Torva’s attention, having drifted somewhat to be within her own thoughts and worries, returned to the man seated amongst the small group when she heard him announce that he was the ‘Mand’alor’...the leader of his people - which included Torva and those around her. She blinked at this, finding some awe in that understanding. To her understanding, leaders or rulers were people in fancy clothes with aides and servants…and yet here was a leader in armor. Who walked amongst his people, spoke to them, heard their voice directly.

It was something she could respect.

The Mand’alor shifted in his seat, and as he leaned forward the various flickering lights glinted off the visor of his helm as he looked at them all. He continued, explaining further that they would each be interviewed individually to see what they needed; if they wanted to stay here or be moved to another world that fell under the banner of his Empire. He assured them all that they would not starve, that they would not go without shelter and that they would not be forgotten. That seemed to settle well with most present, as a collective sigh of relief could almost be felt and heard. He remained quiet for some time to allow his words to truly settle over the group of refugees, before he spoke once more about another option available to them all; a different path.

The Mand’alor offered the opportunity for those who wished to do more, who were brave enough, to join him and his warriors. To stand against the other threats beyond the Firebreathers. A couple of men nearby seemed to glance at each other, sharing a glance of understanding and growing conviction. Strangely enough, Torva felt something stir within her heart upon hearing this option made available to them all. It went against everything she had been taught and yet… the offer was made to them all, men and women.

She’d seen women in armor, female Mandalorians. She had eyed them with envy, feeling a longing in her soul that she didn’t understand. The men in her life…they wouldn’t approve, they would block her, they would -

They are gone. It’s just me now. Just my…choices. Who is here to stop me, except myself?

“Does that begin to answer your questions?”

Torva’s gaze turned to regard the leader of the Mandalorians for a moment as she tried to wrestle her thoughts back under control. She nodded after a moment, affirming that he had, and then some. She was about to speak again, when the two male refugees spoke up and asked if they could take up the Mand’alor’s offer - to join in the ranks of the warriors.

Once more, she felt a pressure in her chest, a tug - a push. But there was a sense of fear within her - the fear that came before one took a leap into the unknown. She hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. There were other options available to her that were not the path of a warrior. She could serve her community in a way she’d been raised, taught…

And yet her mind kept going back to that offer.

“I…I’m interested.” she blurted, surprising even herself. Torva blinked a couple times and felt her mouth go dry. She swallowed, trying to clear the lump before she shared more than what she expected to: “I mean…my family raised me differently, women were not supposed to be…fighters, or protectors. But…something about it just…calls to me? I don’t know how to explain that…”

Aether Verd ​