Dar'Manda

Beneath the T-Visor he wore, Bralor returned the smirk. It had been a long time since he felt the nerves of battle churn his stomach into pits. No. The only thing that sat upon his mind was that of blood, and it's memories. And yet, with the sound of a voice, another memory cross his mind. Delta Dubrillion. So long ago and yet so fresh in his mind he could remember the defenses he helped build as the salty breeze swept across his original neo-crusader armor. The clone he aided and befriended. Days before the wars. Days before reality. "The Clone?" He questioned the corporal as his blind face shifted toward him in disbelief. "If you speak of the Clone, Delta-73, then yes I knew him. A long time ago, when we both were welps. But I thought he was still over the Black Sun." The news was news to him. To hear that name after so long, to feel the sting of such comradely, he felt the pit of his stomach churn in ways he hadn't felt in decades. Captain Delta? It was almost too good to be true, and yet, he felt its truth like a knife. So the man he once called comrade and brother was no longer with the Black Sun and a superior nonetheless? "Interesting."

The thrill of battle, the rush to confront the war, it was as if his heart beat with drums as his blood boiled and his construed face hidden by the helm graced a smile. It was likely the same for the whole unit, but for Bralor, this was his life. This is what he lived for and would die for. A Dar'Manda seeking resolution, aiming to reach the heavens and beyond. "Rarely." He responded to Sergeant Liam, his gaze shifting from the forward to his CO across the way. "Before the call of the Crusade, I worked as a Hunter, both on my own and Black Sun. And during the Crusade, I usually led the Basilisks against the Alliance Forces." Didn't mean the concept didn't intrigue him though. War was war, and blood was blood. Didn't matter who's either belonged to. He was there to do the will of Kad Ha'rangir. The rest was rudimentary, mattering little to zilch. But since the call of the Crusade, Bralor had felt a more devious call in his heart, diabolical and malice. To wage war simply for war, no meaning nor cause, simply to face strength with strength and let fate decide the victor, it was estatic and exhilarating, like a drug with no ending to it's addiction. Could Liam and his comrades provide its release? Only time would tell.

The sting of the Sergeant's hand against the back of his head was enough to boil the Veteran's blood, the accusations of disrespect flowing through his cerebral cortex as he shook away the fading whelp. It was a humiliating moment to say the least, but if his Master, Kad Ha'rangir, wanting him to learn this lesson, then he would brand it to memory in fire. As the words faded in their echo, Bralor took to the run. Over brush and under towering foliage, he trekked the mountainous terrain with his unit, his physique at its peak even if his prime lingered in years past. Sweat was simply a byproduct and his breath barely waned. As one, the unit took to the course and as one, they would return, Bralor in tow. This was but a menial task. Wiping the sweat from his face and brow as Liam instructed this wayward soldier, Bralor found the armor and gear tucked away beside his bunk, quickly joining the others in progress as klaxons prepared the militia for march. With a smile, he adorned the helm he was assigned and embarked upon this new mission with gusto. Barely a day in and war had called him to battle. Blessed be Kad Ha'rangir.

Bralor stood before them with head held high, bearing himself completely with pride, his flesh as much of his story as his armor. There was no dishonor in who he was, what he was, and the life he had lived. Even if his ilk thought otherwise at his very existence. If he had been born another species, then perhaps his life would have been different. But for many a millennia, Mandalorians have distrusted and shunned the use of the Force, even if only to see. It went against their very core beliefs. And why even he shunned himself. Long had he seen himself through their eyes and sight that he saw weakness in himself, and through that, pushed himself beyond his limitations. This was why he carried himself with pride: even born in weakness, his scars told the story of a veteran soldier. Taking the armor and datapads in hands, he turned his sockets toward the woman and her gathering companions. "I take it that my experience pleases you then?" He spoke, his voice slithering with a smirk as he began dressing himself in the uniform of their company, her words etching his new path into his mind and heart. Perhaps, just perhaps, Kad Ha'rangir had placed him where his destiny chose to take him. Only time would tell if this was truly the case. When he was fully dressed, he fell in line with the others, his physique pressing the boundaries of the uniform he wore with a gentle tightness. With a nod of his head to Sergeant Liam, he signaled his readiness.

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."

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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."

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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."

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."

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."

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?"

Days passed as I laid upon a bed within the medbay, not much to do but stare up at the ceiling with the occasional wander around the room with my sight to hinder the onset of madness as my wounds healed. Most were minor, scratches, cuts, bruises. But the seared flesh of my thigh was what kept me bed ridden and from walking out that door. But in truth, even if I was capable, a part of me enjoyed the moment of solace. It gave me time to quiet my mind, gave me time to think on things that had been happening as of late, of Kad Ha'rangir, of my purpose in his name. And so I did in those moments that I laid awake after each bacta dressing was changed for fresh ones. I was Dar'Manda. I was soulless. I held no place in the afterlife, in Manda. So why did he constantly call to me, invade my thoughts and control me at his every whim? I hadn't thought much about this since i accepted the offer on Tatooine during its invasion and the loss of Rose and Rru. I simply acted without thought, forever forward into his holy crusade as his hands because it gave me hope, it gave me purpose. I am Canderous Bralor, last of my clan, a lineage that dated back millennia. And I was the last due to our belief and ability to wield the Force. After all, any true warrior knew that you were supposed to use every weapon in your arsenal in order to gain victory. So why was my clan wiped out and I labeled Dar'Manda simply based upon such a powerful tool? As i laid there, i occassionally looked over toward the ancient armor that my clan had passed down since the years of the Old Republic, nothing left save for the Beskar Chestplate and Pauldron that bore our emblem, the only pieces left of it, my own blood now staining it. I knew I would repair it with parts I could find, but what would be the point? Rumors had been beginning to circulate of Manda'lore's disappearance and that the Crusade was all but in shambles after this last fight. And for a singular moment, i felt Kad Ha'rangir had forsaken us. "Rise Canderous." I heard the all too familiar voice speak, its otherworldly tone echoing so deeply in my head that I flinched in pain. "I have not forsaken you, only the leaders who led you down an unrighteous path." I gripped the bridge of my nose to quell the pain of my head, removing the covers from my form and sitting up on the bed's edge. "Unrighteous path?" I questioned, my thoughts upon the crusade having brought honor and chaos in his name. How could it be unrighteous? "They grew weak and complacent, fell to the allure of Arasuum, the allure of sloth." It spoke again, I finding myself confused even more by its words. We had won back Coruscant, rid the Galaxy of Kain, and defeated the Jedi here at Chandrilla. We were almost at Mandalore. So how had they fallen to Arasuum? "Have you recieved any orders Canderous? Have my followers left Chandrilla yet? No. For your leaders have none to give." There were truth in his words. Aside from the gathered Forces, no new orders had been issued, no movement in days now, and an ominous mood had beset the men for days now. I had even begun to notice that there were less and less footsteps walking the halls. Even with my blinded sight, fewer and fewer caught my gaze. It was if they were scattering to the wind. But if that was the case, what could... or should I do? That was the question that had been plaguing my mind for days now. "Rise and gather what remains of your armor and weapons." It spoke again as I rose from the bed to do so, almost buckling from the pain of the nearly healed leg as I did. "Go forth and preach the law of my word with your blades. Remind those of Arasuum that even through me, a Dar'Manda can regain his Manda." Never did I suspect that my next mission (@saberforce) would pass by that very door the moment I exited it.

And just like that, Chandrila's footnote was claimed, a mere stepping stone toward a greater honor. The battle had been but a blur for me, my actions not of my own, but the guiding hand of Kad Ha'rangir, an instrument within its grasp. I was merely along for the ride, a passenger meant only to bare witness. And when I regained control of my form, I sat there, floating among the stars as I gazed into the abyss of infinite. Then I felt a tug upon my waist, my harness disturbed by Hati's awakening form as she came back online. Reaching out and grabbing the line, I slowly pulled myself toward her. My muscles ached, my flesh burned, and my mind grasped at unattainable straws as I tried to piece together what happened. I managed to reach her and climb upon her saddle, my blinded gaze looking about into the debris and mutilated forms that surrounded me. But no life existed, only death. But that held no surprise for me. For death was one of my oldest companions, always there to claim everything i cherished and constantly remind me of who i was, a Dar'Manda, foremost and forever. Only now, I was a Dar'Manda of Kad Ha'rangir, a cursed and soulless being forged from the fires of death its self. Patting Hati, we headed toward the Dreadnaught that laid ahead of us, and when we landed, both of us fell out upon it's cold durasteel plating. Rest was what I needed, but there was no rest for the wicked in my singular case. Moments would pass us by as we laid there, finally a few of our kin coming to our rescue as I felt the tug upon my form as my armor was discarded and bandages soon adorned cuts and bruises. Laying there in silence, unaware of what had transpired, I began to wonder upon the horizon of what my life was beginning to unfold. Was I truly the voice of Kad Ha'rangir?

"So you seek to defy me? The voice that haunted my mind spoke as I sat upon Hati within the blackened void, thousands of my brethren upon my back, deafening silence even amongst we legions. "I only defy the will that is not my own or that of my Manda'lor, your chosen one." I retorted as my unholy gaze shifted about the battlefield, the static of my vision blurred save for the cautionary figurines of what laid before us. "Yet it was I whom gave you purpose Dar'Manda, one who gave you sight where your kind is denied it by your birthright." It responded slyly, attempting to cause me to doubt my convictions, fully aware that it would hold no sway no matter which button it managed to push or string it managed to pull. "A cursed sight that ended my Clan and left me soulless, an unwanted touch upon the mystical powers that my enemies behold. I spoke as I patted Hati's metallic form, before looking both to my right and left flanks, knowing what laid ahead of us all, and what resistance would befell us. "But a power nonetheless, the very power you wage war against in my name, yours to be weilded." It spoke as I raised my hand high into the air, the semblance of my blade glimmering but for a moment against the star's reflection. "I choose the path my Manda'lor wishes, not you." I spoke as I dropped my blade forward and began the assault as thousands upon thousands of mounted Mandalorians burst forward like a swarm destined to cleanse a soon to be reaped field before harvest, its initial aimed being the Jedi Ship Ara-Lai... and any whom dared oppose us. "Oya! For Manda'lor!

The Darkness was a place of embrace, a void in which all were equal. Yet for those of my kind, it was the only life we knew. We could pretend to walk within the light among the others, feel the warmth of it upon our skin. But we always remained forever in our eternal darkness, unable to see what we felt, tasted, touched, or smelt. And that darkness is what we called home, for in that darkness, we could truly see. I held no need for a HUD within my helm, or sensors to alert me. No. I could see in ways very few could ever dream to envision, and very few things escaped my sight. This was why I was considered Dar'Manda, a soulless being incapable of redemption because i saw through what many of my ilk feared or disdained for thousands of millennia. I was touched by the Force. But this was also a gift, whether by the hand of Kad Ha'rangir or by fate, and I had long made my peace with it. After all, I once held the title that Terra now held. And now, I held promise of an afterlife by that very defining gift, the last of my Clan, a Dar'Manda with a soul. Unsheathing my blade, I knew what laid ahead. Whether the Imperials needed my help or not, I stepped forward from the shadows that had bound me, a hunter of the void, a beast of the darkness, and my blades stood ready to not defend them, but join them in what they faced upon the ground. I was a Master of War, born and bred for that singular purpose, and in the here and now, it called to the soul that resonated within me like the drums of war signaling the beating of death. Beneath the moonlight that glimmered across the twin blades, I charged forth with a roar that echoed with the power that flowed through me since the day I was born. And as the first of many stood against me fell, the mixture of hydrolic fluid and oil spraying across my armored form, I signalled my aid to those I stood amidst. It was their choice to define me as friend or foe, only I wouldn't wait for their approval as I charged toward the next that stood to take the place of the first, each falling to my blades as the tempered beskar carved their metallic forms up like filets and sliced into their mimicking veins. They were but fodder to their Master, and as such, I would treat them as so, all the while repeating the same rythmatic phrase. "For Manda'lor! For Kad Ha'rangir! For Dar'Manda!"

As death and destruction ensued, I knew my place as harbinger. It was not my place to end their lives, but to place them upon the path to Kad Ha'rangir. If they survived, it was by his will and his will alone. Our place was simply as messengers, illuminating his word amidst holy flames. Placing my hand upon Hati's metallic form as her flames of crimson flew forth in bursts, I held no doubt in my duty, reassuring the ancient beast that we were but our Lord's guiding hands. And that was when I heard her voice echo through my helm. "Belay the orders?" I questioned in silence, Hati reacting to my thighs as i squeezed them against the saddle for her to stop. "Wasnt that what i was doing? Leaving the weak in our Lord's hands while fleshing out the strong? Her words made no sense, our beloved Manda'lor." "Ignore her words. Thin the herd Dar'Manda." I heard his voice speak as I felt his grasp through my protective pauldron. "Allow my flames to cleanse the souls of the weak so that they may join me in the afterlife and leave the strong to grow in their desire for revenge." "But what of Manda'lor's orders? Isn't she your holy messenger, your voice among our people?" I questioned, feeling an uneasy presence drop upon my conciousness as I questioned both intents. "You chose her as your leader. That is why you chose me to retrieve the Helm ot Mandalore the First for her." "Forget her for now. She is being influenced by outsiders, those whom wish to control my holy crusade as their own." The voice retorted, a raise in its tone echoing of rage and displeasure. "You are the one who I chose to be my hands. You are the one I chose to grant those of Arasuum salvation. You are my Dar'Manda, and you will obey." "But she is Manda'lore. She is your voice, your eyes, your mortal form upon the Galaxy. I cannot ignore your will." I responded, my mind clouded and torn by what was being said, what was being told. "I cannot and will not disobey my Manda'lor, even if what you say is true. She is your chosen messiah." "Enough!" The voice shouted, the echo of enraged spit flying through its lips as it spoke, my own anger beginning to boil as the confusing began to tear at me, causing me to wonder if it was even Kad Ha'rangir that I had been following all along. "You will do as commanded Dar'Manda!" As I settled Hati just east of the village, nestling the beast among a grouping of trees, I dismounted her and told her to wait as I gazed off into the flaming distance, Terra's words echoing in my mind as well as those of the voice that I myself had been hearing and believing for so long. Who was I to truly trust? I was Dar'Manda, soulless, and only through this holy crusade could I find my place in the afterlife. But to be Mandalorian, to know the tenants, was to follow Manda'lor without question. I had trusted this voice to be Kad Ha'rangir, and it had proven its self to be true until now, as I doubted Kad Ha'rangir would forsake his chosen one. Shaking the doubt from my mind, I knew of only one way to get to the bottom of this. If this being was truly was Kad Ha'rangir and what he said was true, then she would become as I, and he would claim her life through battle. But if he wasn't, she would survive and I would know my answer. Unsheathing my blades and disappearing into the darkened forest, I spoke but a lingering line as I went to join the others. "Dar'Manda or not, i will not disobey my Manda'lore or her wishes. If you have a problem with this, then claim my soul."

The void of hyperspace was a truly mesmerizing sight even for one who held no eyes, its depth as unknown as its shallow pull upon one's consciousness and physical form. Its was a hard feeling to describe, like gravity without any gravitational pull. Especially to the near exposed form of one's own as we strode forward within its directional grasp. It reminded me of an old story that was once told by a now dead Elder of my Clan's name, one that spoke of a bridge that reached the immortalized drinking halls of Kad Ha'rangir where one drank the fermented blood of those ripped from the slothly grasp of Arasuum in death. And as we exited it, my mind embraced the thought that I had crossed such a threshold. But now, now was the time for action. I followed in suite of the others as we turned our direction, weaving through debris and carnage of events long past, revealing in the deathly handiwork of my lord's eternal will, whether it touched sentients or that of star systems, his works were self evident no matter where one stood in the Galaxy and our purpose was to finally reveal such truths to the masses, not by idle hands, but through action and revelations. It was the only way to purge the weakness of Arasuum and to become the beacons of strength and glory to those that would see our lord's works through our very hands. A task that only we, the chosen, could make into reality and present to the unfaithful. For seeing is the only true way of believing for those of weak mindedness. Recieving the coordinates from @Terra, I turned Hati's form toward the planet below. Hati and I were nearly of one being, one thought, one action. Our minds had melded perfectly, our faith in Kad Ha'rangir and of Manda'lor having brought our souls into unison. And we both reveled in the freedom we had been granted by it, finding peace in our pasts, and our thoughts in unison upon cleansing Arasuum from this Galaxy forever. Hati, like my armor and my Clan, was a remnant of ages long past, having seen many crusades rise and fall. But unlike the others, they failed to truly grasp Kad Ha'rangir's will. Only now, under this new Manda'lor, had it been truly realized, and we both knew it as we plummeted toward the planet's surface with blazing speeds, pulling up just mere meters from it as we headed toward her direction. Our orders were crystal clear. And as we neared the village, Hati released her cleansing flames upon the huts of the unfaithful and setting their souls aflame as Kad Ha'rangir reclaimed them from Arasuum's unholy grasp. Death would be slow and agonizing, and when we were done, we would leave their corpses hanging from the rafters for all to witness the merciful hand of our Lord. For their souls would join him in Manda, and there they would know his grace eternally.