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Dar'Manda

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  1. His attention first turned to the male, the arrogant pride of the fallen still permeating from his pours. Yet, his conviction caused Bralor to falter, to poise the possibility. For Coruscant had been a blow known to all that was there, especially him. For it was his task, his duty to prevent the escape of Arasuum, to prevent the breeding of the sloth, and he had failed. The short Coruscanti had proven worthy more so than most and provided the exit that the followers of the weak God needed. "I know all too well the failings we faced at Coruscant." Bralor spoke with his own convictions, his barred teeth echoing his disgust and anger. "I fought Arasuum's Champion there and was unable to prevent the escape of our enemies, a failing that I can never live down and lead to the loss of Manda'lor at Chandrila. That shame is just many that I carry." Next his attention turned back to the female Lieutenant, her words angering him further, her questions of his feats childish and brazen. He could see her inexperience on her tone, whereas his was greater. Not only had he lived the life of a warrior, praise given to his Lord Kad Ha'rangir, but he had done so as a Dar'Manda. None could ever lay claim to such. He gaze toward the child as she approached and removed his helm once more. "Avert your gaze child." He spoke in a humbled tone as he began to undress. "You question my experience? I could question the same." He spoke in defiance as he removed his weapons, then chestplate, revealing the skin beneath his armorweave and the scars it bore. "I once held the title of Manda'lor Dar'Manda and was the one who presented the helm to our last after slaying the Greater Krayt Dragon I trusted with it. I slayed Ki Ordo on Ryloth for that very title and helm." His hands ran across the bladed scars on his chest. "And I felled Darth Furion at Selvaris before he was a Dark Lord where I was presented with this." Bralor stood before them now naked, his armor and weapons to the side. "This form, this armor, these weapons, all have been forged in many fires, each time tempered to be stronger in the name of Kad Ha'rangir. If following your Spider is the only way to forge me in battle once again, then so be it. But only Kad Ha'rangir can truly forge the soul of mine, the Dar'Manda."
  2. Bralor sat in silence for a moment as her words swirled in his ears, her visage dancing upon the Force as he looked upon her with a quizzical, demeaning gaze. With a sigh, he spoke, bringing his helm back to his face and replacing it. "No." It was a short answer, but his faith and determination spoke volumes when it came to serving another. He had no time nor will to serve another, especially one whom named themselves after an insect. No. Kad Ha'rangir was the Lord of War, he was the epitome of life and death, and Bralor held no desire for another. Though a Spider was a worthy hunter, it held no knowledge of battle, weaving it's web and laying in wait for weaker prey. Bralor sought greater. As he turned and began to reach upon Fenrir's saddle, he wondered why his God had even called him here if there was but only another, a Hod Ha'ran, claiming the Birth Place of the Crusades. His gaze turned back to the woman as his words echoed beneath his helm. "What significance does a Spider hold upon the battlefield? It is a Hunter, not a Warrior. A Predator of the Shadows that feeds upon those caught in it's web. Outside that, it is weak and meaningless, extinguished by the Fires of War that destroys it's trap." There had to be a reason Kad Ha'rangir had called him to this planet, had beckoned him to this world. Surely he had not been jested, nor his faith tested. There was a reason he was here. He held little reservation against proving himself to a false prophet. Battle was battle. But why lead him to a false God, a trickster of Hod Ha'ran. He was interested in the woman's reply.
  3. Bralor's attention turned to the commanding voice as it echoed across the stone, Fenrir shifting upon it's metallic limbs as it echoed a droned roar in defiance. Neither of them preferred the engagement of formal introductions, lest it be in the heart of combat where words meant little and action spoke all. Still, Kad Ha'rangir had called them here, and Bralor was not below letting things play out as his Lord willed it. He raised his hand in return. "I am no 'vod. I am Dar'Manda, and I have come seeking Kad Ha'rangir." Bralor spoke as Fenrir quieted, his Visorless Helm perked to the side as he sightless gaze fell upon each of them in turn and his vestige bellowed in the wind's call. "Our Lord calls for the clash of Beskar and the spilling of Blood. I have come to answer it." Reaching up, Bralor removed his helm, revealing the empty sockets of his lineage, the branding of Dar'Manda, a smirk crossing his scarred cheek as the taint of Tatooine permeated around him. There was a darkened call beckoning his soul to this place, to this war, and it mattered little which side he took. Only the path, the battle. "Death Watch has scattered, the Crusade abandoned, and the next battle has been perceived. Will you accept us?"
  4. Bralor smiled as the voice responded. Kad Ha'rangir was indeed full of blessings, the middle aged Miraluka feeling his God's hands upon his life and in it guidance. Squeezing his thighs and shifting his weight, he turned Fenrir toward Onderon and what he hoped would be bountiful glory in the cleansing of Arasuum and Hod Ha'ran. His beloved Deity would be the sole survivor of worship, the only one worthy since he first felt his touch on Tatooine. A shiver went down his spine as he smiled. "Copy. Re-entry was beautiful as it was deadly upon the back of Fenrir, the blaze of the Droid's underbelly lighting up like holy fire as they shot across the sky. It wasn't quite the thrill of invasion, but still a beautiful sight for any to witness upon Fenrir's saddle, only armored plates separating him from the fire as he made his trajectory. And behind them, a singular trail of smoldering smoke like a screen of promised paths crossed. To be in the service of such a God, to be the one whom he weilded so openly with forgiveness despite his heritage and weaknesses, it only made the moment more boastful. "Blessings be to you Lord Kad Ha'rangir." Bralor spoke in a whisper behind his veiled helm, comm off, seeing only the sights his empty eyes allowed through the weakness birthed and cursed to him by Arasuum. "May I be your guiding hand in the wars to come, that my voice reach the battled hearts of the unworthy so that may find the truth you granted them at birth, and that my blade be your righteous flame, burning the false prophets and cleansing the Galaxy. I ask this in your name, my Lord. Grant me my redemption so that I may walk in your Halls upon Death." Bralor brought up his gaze just in time to see the stone pad marked Forthy Two, and with a quick squeeze of his thighs and a upward knee jerk, Fenrir stopped at a sudden hover as his feet touched upon the aged rock and settled. Dismounting, Bralor gazed around at the complex, taking in the sights. If this was truly Kad Ha'rangir's will, then it would be done. Death Watch had broken into shambles and only the faithful remained. He was one of them, but only in heart. For it was the call of Kad Ha'rangir and battle that drove him forward, and if the rest of Death Watch would not answer the Lord they vowed to followed, at least he would. He would honor his Lord daily. Now to see this welcoming party.
  5. Bralor laid backwards as he straddled Fenrir, which his writer forget to list the hyperdrive engine modification, and stared blissfully into the stars abroad from his position. No matter what planet he visited, he always enjoyed looking up at the sky and guessing which cluster of stars were which. It was something that he always found interesting and time consuming. But now his comm activated, and with a quick motion, kicked up to see the jewels before him. "This is Canderous Bralor, former Black Sun Lieutenant and Holy Crusader of Kad Ha'rangir." His voice came across sly, boastful and prideful, as his words slithered through the air waves. "The call of battle has lead me here, to the world where it all began, in hopes of finding another war to quench my lust with. Do you have need for warriors?" As his words departed, Canderous couldn't lie about the thrilling combination of fear and excitement that crossed his mind as Fenrir's charts loaded out a list of targeting systems coming online. Part of him wanted to open fire simply to see the outcome. But the other part, the part that drove his mind and heart equally, knew that this wasn't the will of Kad Ha'rangir and only Kad Ha'rangir would determine his set fate.
  6. A lone Basilisk War Droid erupted from hyperspace above Onderon, it's navigational charts directing it to the lone City of Iziz. Atop the mechanical beast sat a lone rider, unprotected from the rigid lack of environment save for the atmospheric Armorweave that snugged to his skin tightly. Opening a comm to the Sith Forces that surrounded the jewel, a voice spoke solemnly. "Permission to land requested."
  7. Identity Real Name: Titanus Dark A.K.A: Canderous Bralor, Atlas Dark Homeworld: Gargon Species: Miraluka Physical Description Age: 36 Height: 1.82 Meters Weight: 84.36 Kilograms Hair: Peppered Eyes: N/A Sex: Male Distinctive Features/Scars: Many scars litter his form from battle, each bearing a new prideful boast. Most distinguishing scars are intersecting scars on the chest and back where two lightsabers were driven through his form, forcing him to once use prosthetics to live. Personality/Traits: Titanus has taken on my personas and traits over the years, but the true persona he possesses is the one of conversing through combat. A former Member of Black Sun and a Bounty Hunter, he lives for the moment of combat, to test himself no matter the consequences. He's an avid preacher of Kad Ha'rangir and believes himself a living testament to the God's true path. Equipment Clothing or Armor: White Durasteel Helm with no Visor, White Durasteel Breastplate, Pauldrons, Rerebraces, Vambraces, Cuisses and Greaves, with Red Robed Fauld and Tassets, Vacuum Sealed Armorweave, Magnetic White Durasteel Sabatons Weapon: Twin Beskad Blades(carried), DXR6 Carbine modified with Silencer(carried), DXR-6b Disrupter Rifle(Fenrir), FA-3 Flechette Launcher(Fenrir), Model 22T4 HoldOut Blaster(carried) Common Inventory: Bandolier with 3x Reload Packs, Credits, Food Faction Information Force User Alignment: Chaotic Unlawful Current Faction Affiliation: Mandalorian Crusader, Black Sun(Former) Current Faction Rank: Crusader, Self Proclaimed Prophet, Black Sun Bounty Hunter(Former) History Force Side: Dark Trained by: N/A Trained who: N/A Known Skills: Force Powers Force Sight (Hereditary) Lightsaber Forms Miscellaneous Pre-Faction Background: Originally sold off to cover off his parent's spice habit, Titanus was adopted by the Bralor Clan of Mandalore. Shedding the name of Titanus Dark, he took on the name Canderous Bralor in honor of his Clan's founding. A well traveled spacer, Titanus is a veteran of the stars. Faction Background: When Manda'lor called for the Crusade, Titanus shed the name of Atlas Dark and once again took up the moniker of Canderous Bralor to follow her into battle. Ship Registration Name: F.E.N.R.I.R. Class: Fourth Degree Droid Model: Basilisk Manufacturer: Mandalorians Length: 7 Meters Armaments: Shockwave Generator Rods Laser Cannons Shatter Missle Launchers Pulse Wave Cannons Armor: Beskar Anti-Personnel Defenses: Due to Fenrir's design, both he and Titanus have a kinship bond that sets the two apart from the rest of the Mandalorians. Because of this, Fenrir will not allow another to touch him. Modifications: Appearance: Rather large for the usual Basilisk War Droids, this ancient beast sports the same design as the rest. Painted white by Titanus, it sports a red emblem of Clan Bralor. History: Not much of Fenrir's history is known, only that his saddle bears the name given to him. A wild beast like sentience, Fenrir was deemed untamable by many generations of Mandalorians until Titanus came to know him during the last Mandalorian Crusade.
  8. Dar'Manda

    Savareen

    For most of the trip from Kessel, I had remained in prayer, my chin resting upon the metal that rose above my breastplate and encompassed my head, hands stretched out with my palms facing me. But as i felt the shift of the ship as it exited hyperspace, i gathered myself to my feet and headed back to the main hold where most of everyone had gathered. Most of them were either cleaning their gear, a couple were playing a game of chance cube against the paneling, and the rest were going about their duties. So I sat down and began to sharpen my blades with a wet stone. There was something about the soothing sound of metal against stone that had always calmed my nerves, and not that I was nervous here and now, it did help relieve some of the tension I had been holding onto since our departure upon this job. I was new to the group, and knew very little, if any, about my comrades other than we had served Mandalore and Kad Ha'rangir without question and utter obedience. But i was still new, and after having been alone for so long after my stint as Mandalore Dar'Manda, I had grown complacent until Rose and Rru fell into my life. I had finished one blade and was about done when I noticed Tros walk into the hangar and briefly overheard him and Vrax talking when I saw Tros point in my direction. So I sheathed my blade across the small of my back and walked over, my eyes still draped in the leathered cloth that covered my eyes. "You have need of me, Vod?" I questioned, my tone echoing my relief. "I am ready."
  9. Darkness was a state I had been used to my entire life, most of which I had spent hunting it rather than embracing it. So as we made our ways in different directions, newly self appointed Dar'Manda of Kad Ha'rangir that I had become, I embraced what I walked among and within. Turning the corner behind Tros, my blades at the ready and my forward finger guiding their aim, I stood back as Tros acted, remaining a silent observer as the events unfolded. Since my time coming into the fold of the Crusaders, my part had grown from warrior to historian, blinded eyes set to record the events of what I saw and preach the words of Kad Ha'rangir. And even now, under Tros, my role had not waivered. If this was what I was meant to be, then so it would be. As the crew member's head was bashing in, I quickly scanned our local vicinity and made sure we remained unnoticed as Tros went about his duty. Satisfied, I nodded in return to Tros. Bending down, I reached my gloved hand outward and touched the crimson liquid as it spilled out upon the floor, running it across my fingers and marking my face between my eyebrows with its thick texture in the name of my beloved Lord. As the power to the ship returned, we made our way to where the others began to gather, our path stained by the bloody footprints we left in our wake as we reached the others and the crewmen they had rounded up. As Tros and what appeared to be their leader passed words, I paced behind the lot ever so slowly, the blades within my hands clinched tightly, ready to pounce. And I almost did when the Zeltron spat upon Tros. Yet, I remained calm, watching and recording what I saw mentally as Monilar came in with great news. Then I watched as Tros and Vrax dragged off one of the members and a blaster shot soon resounded the quarters. I sheathed my weapons as the others began to move, and soon we all departed for the cargo we had came for. After the cargo was loaded, and Tros was back aboard, the ship soon shook with ferocity. I looked about amongst the others as cheerful grins conquered their faces and strangely enough my own. Within moments after, I found myself alone, kneeling within the cargo hold of the ship as I prayed in silence to Kad Ha'rangir, praising him for his rescuing of more infidels through his cleansing fire. No matter where my path led me, I was glad that his guiding hand was there to show us the way of his truth.
  10. The sudden shift of the ship beneath my feet signalled our exit from hyperspace as the rest of the men began the final turning of their armor and weapons check, myself sitting only in silence as we awaited the rest of our orders. So much had changed since I began running with my fellow 'vod, from our shortly live crusade until now where I follow Mandalore's second in command into the unknown, questions about Kad Ha'rangir and his purpose filling my thoughts for the most part. I tightly gripped my blade and slammed into the metal near my leg in disappointment and despite, one of my fellow 'vod tossing me a helm mumbling "You're going to need it." as I looked up. Tearing my blade from the metal, I rose and placed the buy'ce upon my head, sealing it tightly. It was time to act and I needed to get my game face one. I was growing accustomed to being in the openness of space, feeling its pressure against my form, the weightlessness of its atmosphere and how to maneuver myself within it. So when I positioned myself in weight, it felt almost as if it was second nature to me, like I've done it all my life. And in a sense, it was a tad bit freeing in a sense as we watched the target move into position and our gunner disable it. Without a second thought, we lept forward, some using proposition to make the leap, others like myself allowing our own momentum to glide us into place as the next stage began. Like blocks lined and tipping in a row, we responded to Tros' comm, whether in voice or in agreeing nod as we went down the line and as soon as the hatch was open, we made our move. But even beneath the buy'ce I was wearing, the noise of the klaxons and alarms tore at my hearing as we settled in, and once the airlock was sealed, I tossed the blasted thing aside. This was why I hated helms, and I'd rather much be deaf than blind at moments like this. Blades in hand, my blinded gaze shifting about, I followed closely behind Tros as we began to fan out.
  11. As my conversation with Tros took place, there was something off about the man. His movements, his reactions, his words... they seemed to hint at a sadness within. It perplexed me, making my wonder in silence as to what troubled him, if anything troubled him at all and my mind wasn't just merely playing tricks upon me. It was a difficult thing to read, my sight completely different compared to how others saw the Galaxy, and was why I never mentioned it when Tros spoke and began to leave the cockpit. "Right." Was the only words that escaped my lips, placing my hand upon his own as it sat upon my shoulder, griping it with a firm shake before releasing it and turning to follow him to the others. Moving past Vrax and Tros as they conversed for a brief moment, I would join the others after retrieving my weapons from the main hold where I had spent much of my time earlier, the twin beskar blades once again adorning my back. I only wished Hati had been able to join us, feeling a sense of loss over my companion as i moved to rejoin the group. She needed to stay with the Fleet, and I needed to find my purpose. In time, we would be whole again. As the others drew their weapons to the ready after Tros revealed the plan, I unsheathed the twin blades, giving Tros a strong unwavering nod. Perhaps he was my purpose.
  12. Tros brought up a good point as I stood there, my arms crossed with the fitting of my armor still tense from the fresh additions as I stared out into the staticed lines of hyperspace through my force vision, its allure always quite fascinating to me despite having only ever seen it'a true form through cybernetic implants I once adorned. It was a beginning, and any beginning was better than an end. "Only what I remember from my childhood, stories told by the Elders of my Clan." I spoke in earnest, my face turning from the forefront to his own. "But I've never been one to rely on divine luck. I'd much prefer to make my own."
  13. I was silent for most of the trip, choosing to be mindful of my own company rather than mingle among the masses. Outside of Rose, I was much of an outsider even among my kinsmen, a Dar'Manda whether this Tros chose to see it or even speak it. So after boarding his ship, I found myself a quiet place to reforge my armor within his hold, finding what little scrap material I could use for the process. Much of it was durasteel, a bit of leather, and a few bits of cloth. It wasnt much, but I couldn't leave myself exposed if I went into battle anytime soon. I laid out my cuirass and pauldrons to the side, gazing over what little remained of my ancestor's ancient armor. To myself, it was shameful, almost pathetic, and deep inside I wept at what I had done to it. As the last of my Clan, i should have taken better care of it. Yet, alas, i could not dwell upon it for long. This crew, thos Tros, they were Manda, and their hearts sung for battle just as mine had just recently and partially still ached for. I needed to be ready should the moment come, lest i be left wanting. So i began. Most of the durasteel were no more than left over shrapnel by the looks of it, so i forced to make greaves out of an old chainmail fashion, hammering and bending each piece into the next until a pattern began to form. And beneath it, i layered leather to lay against my thighs to keep from chafing. Yet, i was presented with some large chunckes of metal that i was able to use to make the vambraces and shin guards for the singular pair of leather boots I had found amidst the leather and cloth. Slowly my armor was beginning to take form before my eyes as I flowed into the process, disgusted in some aspects, but mesmerized in others. I held little left by the time most of the armor was complete, just a little cloth, leather and enough durasteel to forge half a helm. So I instead chose a different path than I had before. Forging what was once known as a bevor, I managed to encompass most of my cheek and jaw line as well as my neck by wrapping it around and sautering it together. With what little material I had left, I added cloth, leather, and a few slivers of durasteel to skirt over the embarrassing greaves and leather boots in a robe like fashion. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I stood up, saying a bit from both exhaustion and my legs having numbed from sitting too long. It was unorthadoxed for Mandalorian Armor, but it would have to do... at least for now. Just as I had finished dressing, I noticed Tros walking by. Grabbing the last piece of cloth i had, i tied it around my eyeless lids and began following him, and by the time i arrived, overheard the last bit of his conversation. "It isn't much as far as payments go for such a job..." I spoke in jest, leaning against the cockpit's entryway. "But it'll buy me some solid material to rebuild my armor properly."
  14. I watched in silence as the second took his leave, the first offering up his words in private after he had taken his leave. Beyond my exposed sockets, I gazed upon his visage in wonderment. So many of our ilk had began to abandon our cause, and like the vod before me, I still sensed a purpose to be found through Kad Ha'rangir. Just as I was about to speak, my mouth open briefly just as a voice spoke inside my mind. "Follow." "Canderous is fine if you are uncomfortable with my title," I spoke, extending my hand to meet his own. "But it is what I am. I have walked its path for far too long to know anything else, the last of my Clan, and no redemption to be found." A half hearted smirk crept across my face. "Perhaps I will find it in following you."
  15. It was a common occurrence, to be viewed as less than. I was a painful sting that I had bore my entire life. My clan had been wiped out by our very own people due to this, yet I had long let go the hatred I held for its stigmata. But as I stepped forth from the door in nothing but standard issue armorweave, the chest plate and pauldrons of my ancient armor in my arms along with my blades, I found myself face to face with its brunt realization once again, the sting never lessening as my blinded gaze fell upon the two before me. "Canderous Bralor." I spoke as my face shifted to the side, the empty sockets of my Miraluka bloodline uncovered by the disguarded helm I could no longer hide beneath. "But most call me Dar'Manda." His companion was like so many of our kin, their distaste for the tainted blood that coursed through my veins long considered a curse upon my Clan. I could never understand why some Mandalorians feared the Force, but we of Clan Bralor had always accepted it, another weapon of many within our ever filled arsenal. But this man before me, the one called Tro'solus, he reminded me much of Rose truth be told, and yet, there was something different about him even compared to her. Even though I was blind in the typical sense, I could still hear and see this as clear as day. "What did he mean by your ship, 'vod?"
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