Onderon

[Darth Furion]

He listened intently as he walked, nearly colliding into the man when he stepped before him. If the force were, as Faust stated, a schizophrenic consciousness spread throughout the galaxy, then the dichotomy would indeed be very true. Julio followed the line of thinking a little farther on and began to think; if the force followed the laws of the universe, then there would be a whole spectrum of possibilities. Light and dark, good and evil, thus were the extremes built into life, and from that every shade of grey in between. So it could be sufficient to say that the light and dark sides of the force were not the only options, but merely a cardinal direction for one to align their path with.

 

But what was it that Faust said had defined Julio previously? The will to control? What did that mean, exactly? The drive to control one's life in the utmost? Guiding your own path towards the inevitable inferno that lay awaiting? As he walked, pondering the essence of the dark side, a mantra shot out of his mind like a star going nova, gone nearly as fast as it came, but before it left he managed to get a hold of one line.

• The force shall set me free.

That was it! That was the reason for such control; Freedom! By controlling something, it does not control you, but how to gain that control? Before he could continue any further, his mind sped up to catch up to Faust's continuing speech, still hungry for whatever knowledge he was willing to give.

 

He spoke of a chance for power, but at the same time talked of the price of said power. Did Julio really need such power over people, and if he did, how far was he willing to go for it? To be honest, he couldn't really say. No one would know what they would be willing to do until confronted with the choice. No amount of preparation could really tell you who you were until you found yourself with a difficult decision, or a difficult situation and faced it on the spot. Would he be willing to sacrifice Faust if it meant saving himself, or even for a chance at even greater power? Only through training and study could Julio begin to understand these hypotheticals.

 

"Then give me discipline." He finally said, his predatory golden eyes matching Faust's own unwavering blue.

 

Yes Faust, I will follow you to your prophetical inferno if you can help me gain back what I've lost. But i will not be thrown away like the sheep you feel such venomous contempt for. I will be a wolf, much like yourself.

[Vladimir Faust]

Faust tsks at that, crossing his arms and leading Juliio into a small, almost empty room, covered with small artifacts here and there, set in small alcoves.

 

"I cannot give you discipline. Like all things in life that matter, you must master it yourself." He surveys the room, seeing the first fruits of the archeology team's labors. "The best I can do is illuminate the path." Faust reaches into his pocket, taking out a large, heavy, round, and otherwise featureless grey stone, which he shows to Furion. Without another word, he crushes it in his right hand, breaking it into dozens upon dozens of small and irregular pieces, then lets them drop to the floor.

 

"Take as long as you need to reconstruct this rock," Faust orders, pointing to some strong paste on one alcove. "Use only what is in this room. Open yourself to the Force and sense the rock, and how it fits together. Once it's back in one piece, we can move onto the next step of your training."

 

With that, Faust walks out of the room, letting the door close behind him. It would be a while, he realized, remembering how Sith Lords like Barhom Zar and others used this technique to train apprentices back when Faust was just making a name for himself as a hunter.

 

In the meantime, Faust would treat himself to one small attachment and ordered a recording of one of the latest Coruscanti operas to play in his room.

[Darth Furion]

He merely stared at the crumbled sphere as Faust left the room, his face showing no disbelief or concern at his newly appointed task. To many reconstructing the stone structure would seem impossible, but to Julio, it wasn't that daunting of a task. True, it would take quite some time to put it back together, but six months of solitary confinement in a maximum security insane asylum worked wonders for expanding one's patience. Here, locked away in this room it was no different, instead now he had a little project to bide his time. The fact that his incarceration lasted only as long as the project was one of the lesser details that he pushed to the back of his mind, deciding it would not really help him in this matter. The broken sphere was nothing more than a three dimensional puzzle that didn't follow the rules of piece size and shape that normal puzzles did, but that certainly didn't mean it would be easy. He kneeled down and began to arrange the pieces in a manner close to the way they had fallen. Even at shoulder height, the pieces wouldn't have scattered too far from their original design. Once they were arranged in a series of rings, he took time to inspect each piece, rearranging the circles every time he noted similarities in pieces. The toughest part, he found, was that the outside of the sphere was nothing but a plain grey slate. If it had some design, even a simple speckled pattern, it would be somewhat easier to match the pieces together.

 

When he felt he did all he could to prearrange the pieces, he stood and moved to get the paste from one of the alcoves, careful not to let the long, swaying cloth of his pants to brush over his layout and mess up his thus far hour long work. He sat back in the exact same place he was when he was arranging the pieces, making sure his perspective stayed the same throughout the project. Picking up two of the larger pieces, he slid the pair together, making sure they matched. When he was satisfied, he set one down and picked up the paste brush, putting on just enough adhesive to keep the pair united, then picked up the second and pushed them together, holding them in place long enough for the paste to dry. When the paste finally did dry, Julio used his fingernail to pick away at the excess glue around the edges, ensuring the seams were smooth and flawless so the next pieces would go on without complication. It would be a long process, but anything worth doing was worth doing right the first time. Any mistake would cost him time. Turning the new stone in his hand, he noticed that the pair was a mismatch. At the bottom of the first piece there was a ridge that didn't match any of the other pieces. Realizing his mistake, Julio quickly tried to slide the two pieces apart, before the paste dried any further. It didn't budge, so he put a little more pressure on the joint. Despite his caution, the single stone split, only not at the seam. Now he had two stones that were paired wrongly.

 

He wasn't kidding when he said the paste was strong.

 

Setting the pieces down, Julio began to hear music from the other side of the door. It was too far away to hear it fully, but from what he could tell it was some form of opera. Julio felt just a little bit disheartened. Not because of the music, he was sure it was a beautiful work of art, but because he couldn't fully hear it, it acted as nothing more than background static, white noise that would take his concentration away from the task at hand. It had become a completely different game now. In the asylum, Julio could have spent hours, days even, on mindless tasks to keep his mind busy. Counting the steps of the guards as they walked past his door, figuring out their exact stride, even memorizing the tunes they hummed and whistled to keep themselves occupied on the long nights. But in all that time, Julio had done those things in complete silence, no other distractions to keep him from his work. He went back to his task at hand, now sorting through the pieces again, this time from every angle possible to make absolutely sure they were right. After two more hours, Julio let himself fall back to the floor to stare blankly at the ceiling. Between the white noise and the nearly infinite combinations the puzzle pieces presented, his mind was exhausted. His thoughts slipped from the project to figuring out why he couldn't do it. At first he blamed Faust and his damned music, and then blamed him for giving him such a task in the first place. He understood the purpose of the exercise, to develop patience and determination, to build will power and drive, but surely there were other ways than locking him in a room for hours on end to complete such dull task. Then he began blaming himself. Faust was right in giving him this exercise. He wasn't focused enough, he wasn't disciplined enough to complete the task. He knew what he had to do, but he just couldn't do it. He sat back up, once again staring mindlessly into the arrangement of stones. It was just like his memories, all scattered and broken, and he sat alone, unable to put himself back together. A piece here, a piece there, he realized the significance of every one of them, parts of a whole.

 

Frustration built as he stared past the rocks, looking for the answer somewhere beyond them. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand swung wildly along the floor, the small arrangement of rings cast into hopeless chaos as they clacked against the equally stone floor. By the force, he wanted to shout as he jumped up, unable to restrain himself from pacing around the room. God damned rocks, god damned trial, god damned distractions! It was all stupid, waste of time! Silently cursing to himself he continued to pace, frustration running its course into full blown anger. And then, much like any other time his brain managed to dredge a memory from the depths so his mind, he began to replay one of his conversations with Faust. It was through anger and hatred that a Sith controlled the dark side. And wasn't that what he was, or rather used to be, a Sith? If he could do it before, why couldn't he do it now? He turned his head to the floor, quickly scanning the spread out arrangement of the stones. Yes”¦yes, there was something there. Some sort of connection to the pieces. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but he could see it plain as day now. He stared harder, but in his focus the distinguishing aura around the rocks began to fade. Once again anger flushed through him; inwardly loathing himself just a little more for letting the image slip. But with the new wave of anger the aura renewed, and he once again could see the outlines of the original sphere. Mindful to keep his anger as his primary mode of focus, he sat back down, collecting and arranging the pieces of rock into a completely new design. Within an hour the stone was back to its original form, save for the series of cracks along the surface. Setting the stone sphere in front of him, Julio sat quietly in meditation, trying to focus even further at controlling this new sensation; at least he would remain there until Faust came to inspect his handy work. Long ago he was Sith, and in knowing that he had already overcome the struggle once before, all other difficulties would melt away before him. Belief was one thing, knowing was a completely different creature.

[Vladimir Faust]

"A brilliant effort, and exceptional time given your difficult task."

 

Faust took no pains to announce his entry into the room, slipping in quietly despite his heavy metal armor. Perhaps it was the faint sound of his music, still playing in the background. His face had a small, toothless smile on it, his eyes glittering with perhaps... Pleasure? Satisfaction? Something along those lines.

 

"A Sith's power comes from seizing control of the Force," Faust continues, going over to pick up the mended stone and examine it. "The one power that people seem to take for granted and is a Sith's most potent, is prescience or precognition."

 

The Hunter starts to juggle the stone in his hand, tossing it lightly back and forth. "By harnessing your anger, you can tap into the will or knowledge of the Force and know what it knows. It is everywhere, omnipresent, and would that make it any different than omniscient?" Letting Julio muse over that and meditate on it, Faust continues, the juggling picking up speed.

 

"It is my belief," he intones, his voice flat and regular, almost hypnotic to aid Julio in his meditation, "that when a Force user acts, they gain a flash sense of that omniscience: the Force's will in knowing everything around it, all at once, and the simple probabilities of cause and effect are laid clear. It is not merely seeing into the future, tearing through space and time, but seeing the most likely circumstances based on probability, given a snap-shot of reality. That is why Force users excell in combat and can use weapons like lightsabers. We reach out, we seize, and we know what the Force knows. The stronger the control over Force, the further they can see in the Force."

 

"That is how you could see the rock, and sense the fit of its its pieces. You took that knowledge, that sense of rightness and order from the Force, and used your body as a channel to impose it on this stone." The juggling turns into a blur, Faust's gauntletted hands coming closer together, the rock traveling between each hand faster than the eye could follow. He steps in front of Julio, standing a good seven feet distant. "Open your eyes, apprentice, and know!"

 

Both of Faust's hands extend, one empty, one holding the rock. Both arms launch forward with amazing force, the trajectory of his open palms capable of sending the rock spiraling at speeds capable of cracking open a human skull and splattering its brains, Julio's brains if he did not do something about it.

 

Only one hand held the rock though, amid two different possible trajectories. Which way to dodge in that possibly fatal split second?

[Darth Furion]

The Sith decided to remain in meditation as his master spoke, his words distant but held a strong precedence. They brought focus and direction to Julio's astral trek through the room and all its contents. Now he was acutely aware of the stone he just put back together. Every seam across the smooth surface, every weakness and strength in the structure he could see, and holding the stone was the very brazen aura of Faust, saturating the room so much as it made breathing somewhat labored to the apprentice. Even through the distance and distraction, Julio clung to everything Faust expressed, even the things unspoken or implied. His movement, the inflection upon the words he chose, there was a lesson in everything the man did. The real challenge was not in comprehending the things his master said, but seeing and understanding the things he chose not to say, and the way he expressed it.

 

"Open your eyes, apprentice, and know!"

 

Even before his master moved, before the words left his lips, Julio could feel the teacher's inflection, the tense inclination that preceded conscious thought. He moved before he knew fully why it was he needed to move, rolling to his left in a tight roll before coming up to his feet, his finger tips holding his balance like small stone pillars. Despite the natural shock of the stone sphere crashing against the floor some three feet behind where he was previously setting, Julio kept his eyes locked onto Faust, ready to move again should the need arise. As calm as he appeared outwardly, Julio felt the pangs of anger steadily growing inside him. It wasn't because Faust had just tried to bludgeon him while he sat in meditation; that was just a test. But because the stone he worked so hard to reconstruct, the one trophy to remind him of his triumph over the force, had been discarded and broken as if it were nothing. It was a trivial thing, really. The stone didn't matter, it was only a symbol, and symbols only had as much value or weight as you gave them, but it was still his symbol of triumph.

[Vladimir Faust]

Faust was far from dissapointed. He knew then his appretice had reasonable skill, cunning, power, and will. If either of those were lacking... well... someone else would have had to clean up.

 

Faust's gloved hands clap softly, giving out a steely ring through out the room.

 

"Well done, well done, Furion." The hunter chuckles. "You've done very well, though there is still much to learn." The moment passes and his eyes narrow. "I think it's time we started to give you a suitable weapon to focus your energies on." Faust draws a blade from his belt and snaps on his pale blue lightsaber. Though blue, the pale, frosty color set it apart from traditional Jedi blades. It almost matched the Hunter's eyes. "Our next project is going to be shaping a crystal from scratch, and building you a weapon that will make your enemies cower."

 

*****

 

As Faust instructs his apprentice, a handful of engineers make an underground requisition through all but impossible to trace Imperial back channels, seeking to obtain a new prototype baradium missile, four of them with accompanying Ysalmari, for fitting in Faust's Bhelliom. As they do, modifications are made to the Hunter's ship to accomidate these new, fearsome weapons.

[Darth Furion]

A crystal...

 

The mention of a crystal did something strange to Julio. It was as if he were in a dream, only he could still see and hear Faust. He was like an invisible visitor to the dream, everything around him unfolding as if he weren't there. He saw himself sitting in mediation, deep in concentration, but there was something different about him, something that ran just beneath the surface. He sat before a small furnace, the heat of the flame so intense sweat poured off of him. Julio moved behind himself to look into the furnace, curious to see what it was that had captivated his other self's attention so thoroughly. Crouching low to look over his own shoulder, he could begin to see something hidden within the flame. It was some form of stone, twisting and turning with the relentless tide of heat, but all was not as it seemed. The rotating stone inside the furnace looked like something material, but Julio could see it for what it really was. Pain, anguish, hatred, every hue of emotion the mind could comprehend toiled in the inferno. It was evident that his alternate self was the cause of such a torrent, but the more he stared, the more he felt that it was he that was the origin of such passion.

 

Wake up, Julio...

 

Julio fell backward, startled beyond words. The vision, or memory, or whatever it was had faded and he was once again back with Faust. Who's voice was that? Had Faust called him out of the trance, or was it his other self that had cast him away? Regardless, now was not the time to have a potential break down in front of his master. He stood up, making sure his features didn't betray his curiosity or shock.

 

"Yes, master."

[Vladimir Faust]

For a brief moment, Faust blinks, taking a deep look at his apprentice, as if he caught the entirety of his flashbacks. It had been done before, yet, there was still something holding Furion back. The Hunter frowns, shaking his head. This would not do. Faust believed in control, and having these repressed memories surface presented a variable that could interfer with his remolding of Julio Furion.

 

Faust, as haughty as ever, sought to remake Furion in his image, even as he had Furion shape the crystal.

 

Outloud, he states something a bit different.

 

"You need to show some enthusiasm. You will be channeling your all into this. Consider the blade a work of art, and one that your passions will need to be channeled into. Anger, hatred, and all that other fun stuff." Faust's frown turns into a wan smile. "And with this art, you can extend your true calling to further heights, painting with your blade over the canvass of mortality."

 

*****

 

A short time later, Faust is pouring over a set of machines, each carrying varying amounts of minerals and synthetic substances in forms of being ranging from solid to plasma. Half constructed shells of lightsabers hang about the lab.

 

"A small workshop I had imported here," Faust explains modestly. "Your final blade will be a formidable weapon. It will be one capable of killing your enemies, inspiring terror, and great destruction. Yet," he adds raising a gloved hand, "you must consider the merit in being able to adapt and reinvent yourself. Even the great Palpatine could not seize power all at once, working in steps: Senator, Chancellor, then Emperor." Of course, Faust also thought Palpatine a fool, given how his reign endured, then ended, but that was something else for another day.

 

"As you grow, you will learn, and adapt; and I would think, your weapon would adapt with you. As you grow more skilled in the Force, you will build more power, fine weapons, until your ultimate blade is achieved, if it is even a blade at all." Faust takes out his own blue lightsaber and activates not the blade, but the sonic weapon in a controlled burst, shattering several small beakers along a wall. "And, if worse comes to worse, you have your previous identities, your previous weapons, to fall back on."

 

"A Sith believes in seizing power and control from reality. Here, you have enough toys to make anyone envious. Use whatever technology and skill with the Force you have to make a blade, and we can put it in any one of these sabers."

[Darth Furion]

Julio took the time to look over the machinery and workshop as Faust spoke, as always careful to catch every word that left his lips, and those that didn't. He had recognized the tools, especially the furnace, from the waking dream earlier, but none of it was the same. He didn't really expect it to be the same, he still wasn't sure if it was a vision or memory. Faust spoke of adapting, which Julio made a point to pay special attention to. The concept was something to look further into. Constantly changing with the situation, being ready to flow into any given change was the foundation upon which the idea of evolution was founded. He took the idea to heart, making a mental note to never stay the same.

 

"A Sith believes in seizing power and control from reality. Here, you have enough toys to make anyone envious. Use whatever technology and skill with the Force you have to make a blade, and we can put it in any one of these sabers."

 

Julio looked over the parts, then to the furnace. "I've already made my ultimate blade, I just don't know where I put the damned thing." He flashed Faust a smile, acting as if he were coming to terms with his memory loss by playing it off as an old joke. "But I suppose I can make a new one until I can find it."

[Vladimir Faust]

Faust doesn't return the smile, his eyes hardening. Humor could work here, but the Hunter was determined to dfrive his lesson home.

 

"Until you regain your memories, the Julio Furion that made that blade is dead. The weapon you forged in the past belongs to a deadman as well. It isn't your blade, not any more. When you do regain your memories, there is a chance it still won't be yours." Faust only then softens the look on his face. "This is a chance to start anew, from the ground up, and shape yourself alongside your weapon."

[Darth Furion]

I'll never believe that. My past isn't some previous life to be tapped into when conjuring obscure senses of deja vu , or an old layer of skin so that I can grow larger. Its a part of me, a part as important as any other point in the present or future. Without the lessons of the past, I'm nothing but an infant in a world of past experiences.

 

"Alright."

 

He said as he began to pace the room, further inspecting all the tools and resources at hand. He knew of a few of the raw materials intended for the actual crystal, but some of them didn't look familiar. The prefabricated sections were made of a few different metals, everything he'd need really, but something seemed amiss. He closed his eyes, the scene of the workshop burned into his vision. Julio began to revisit his memory, willing his mind to unlock his waking dream. Soon the image of the workshop he was in, and the one in his dream amalgamated into one. His mind searched the benches, scrying his surroundings to recall any of the previous materials he may have used.

 

"I'll need..." Something black, dense, some sort of stone. "...Hijarna Stone, a square foot of it, found on either the planet of Hijarna or...the fallen Hand of Thrawn on Nirauan. And..." Also black, but somewhat like an opaque glass. "...Obsidian glass on Mustafar, square foot. You could send some of your...brave soldier types to grab them for my while I work on the crystal." Julio opened his eyes, erasing the small stone work room of his dream. "If it pleases you, of course."

[Vladimir Faust]

"For the Hijarna stone, it will need to be harvested." Faust frowns, making a note to find some way to cut out his apprentice's patronizing streak. It was all well and good for unsettling an opponent. Mockery was one of the Hunter's favorite weapons. But to one's equal, or superior...

 

"An excellent choice, given its properties," he continues, trying to recall exactly what Hijarna stone did. "However, I think a small field trip is in order given the work you'll be putting into this stone. We'll be going to Mustafar first, and after that, we can hit up Hijarna for the other item. This way, you can pick out the materials yourself. We'll worry about shaping the crystal itself later."

 

A comm in Faust's coat goes off, and he frowns after answering it, putting it back inside his coat. "You'll have to go on ahead to Mustafar alone. Wait for me there."

 

*****

 

Having given the order to his apprentice, Faust takes off, boarding his ship, making sure his new missile firing system was in proper order. He figured sending Furion off to Mustafar would give him something to sweat about, find his materials, and when Faust arrived, he did have something fun and education planned for a new lesson.

 

But business was business. Faust punches in his coordinates, and the Bhelliom vanishes into hyperspace.

 

*****

 

Business as usual continues on Onderon, though under Faust's instructions, the research and delving into Onderon and Dxun's archeology continues, and following a few well placed instructions among troops loyal to him personally, even above the Emperor, word begins to spread on the down and low about a new cult, attracting those seeking status and power...

[Vihk]

Deep within the jungles of Onderon something stirred aside from the rabid beasts. Within the chaos of the planet's green hearth, there brewed life of a sort not seen in decades. Aside the green of the trees and vines that hung from high canopies there were men, women and children young and old yelling not from screams of pain, but from exertion.

 

Deep within the Onderon jungle lay an outpost devoted to a race of warriors long since forgotten within the galaxy. One that was upheld by codes of honor in battle. Some have called them savages; some have called them demons, but others call them brothers...

 

Vihk, wanting to retreat from the busted gunshop for a bit, had freshly arrived upon the surface of Onderon and was walking to what seemed like his death into the heart of the Onderon jungle. At the warning of others the Old Mandalorian was told to linger within the city for it was safer, but he ignored their pleas and instead crawled deeper into the jungle.

 

The cries of beasts from amongst the trees stirred a feeling from within him that hadn't been there since that Sith had blew him out of his own shop. A feeling not of fear, but of anxiousness and pride. Too long had Vihk allowed himself drift amongst the galactic outer regions after war had gripped him so, but now he would return to his people, if not for a moment, to see once again what it was like to be a Mandalorian.

 

Drexl's didn't scare him as his "foolhardy" walk through the jungle continued and it was only when he saw familiar walls that he slowed.

 

"This is Vihk Azinger requesting entry into camp" the Large Mandalorian grunted to a smaller, but superior officer that stood not two feet in front of him.

 

Their encounter was small compared to the busy activities occurring all around the camp as people scattered to and fro working either on the base or their training. The hustle and bustle of the people around seemed to not end under their obvious strains and once Vihk had set foot within the camp once more he could feel the life of his past flooding right back into him.

 

"it's good to be home"

[Guest]

Zcuth stood outside the gates of the settlement. He had spent all of three weeks in the jungle, criss-crossing and zig-zagging all of the different paths there were. He had run out of food early on, and had to resort to eating whatever vegetation he could and living off of the vermin, and just barely, he had managed to survive. All of this to pursue some random rumors that a group of Mandalorians had decided to setup camp on Dxun, the moon of Onderon. But it didn't matter to Zcuth, if the rumors were true, he would be more at home here then anywhere else in the galaxy. Here, he would find his legacy, his inheritance, his birthright.

 

The tall Human took a deep breath, his shirtless chest was somewhat chiseled, though nowhere near the extent of a true Mandalorian. It was adorned with scrapes and cuts, but not scars and wounds like a true Mandalorian. But here, here that would change. Exhaling his deep breath, the man called out at the top of his lungs,

 

"I AM ZCUTH AUSOTH! OF THE MINOR CLAN OF GNAST! SPLINTER OF CLAN BRALOR!" He called, his voice disturbing various avians in the trees behind him, "I HAVE COME TO YOU, BROTHERS!"

[Vladimir Faust]

While former Dark Lord and current Sith Master Vladimir Faust was engaged in a battle of cat and mouse, life and death on Mon Calamari, one of his conscripted and corrupted followers, a human archeologist by the name of Van Isel used a vibro machette to slash his way through Onderon's sweltering jungles. The other hand lay gripped at his side, resting near his only other a weapon- a single, modified sporting blaster.Armed with 3 days rations and a comm, he left his speeder behind in a secure spot a half day back from here.

 

Van's mission, delegated down from above was simple- go into the jungle and bring back Sith artifacts for the Order's splinter group on Onderon's capital, Iziz, for study and eventual shipping back to the main Temple on Coruscant. Van looked wearily over his shoulder, his normally brown eyes flickering briefly with a cold blue gleam, a sign of Faust's taint along with the Sith tattoo forcibly ingrained over his heart, hidden beneath his shirt. Dressed in white explorer's gear, he checks his only other companion on this venture- a modified Spelunker probe droid. The four legged droid, formerly used for mining, then combat during the Clone Wars, received additional modifications to scan for artifacts and read some of the ancient languages used on Onderon and Dxun including the Sith tongue and Mando'a.

 

Van Isel comes to an abrupt halt when he hears a loud cry pierce the jungle. His initial thought is it might be a beast of some sort. Ducking behind a tree and motioning for the droid to hide as best he can, he listens, hearing the call not too far in the distance:

 

"I AM ZCUTH AUSOTH! OF THE MINOR CLAN OF GNAST! SPLINTER OF CLAN BRALOR! I HAVE COME TO YOU, BROTHERS!"

 

Van scratches his stubbly chin as he hears this. While not too versed in Mandalorian history, he knew of their involvement here in the time of Revan 4,000 odd years ago. He recognized the clan name at least. A curious turn of events. If there were Mandos in the area- and this would be a dangerous gambit- he could spy on them and ply them for information.

 

And if he could find a spot where Mandos and Sith fought or worked together, perhaps a few artifacts to send back could be found- weapons, lore, alchemic pieces unheard of before, or, he thought, almost drooling at the thought, a holocron of lost knowledge.

 

Sheathing his vibromachette, he tries to slip through the trees as silently as he can. He meant no malice for this young Mando, closing in and catching sight of a bare back in the distance. No, he would wait and see what happened, and if the opportunity to run off with artifacts presented itself, he would do so.

[Vihk]

Vihk grumbled slightly as he rolled with a haphazard thump off of his cot; the cushion barely lingered on as his mass gripped idly at the edge. Once his full body had hit though, the old Mandalorian looked hastily around as if ants had made their home in his trousers, but his eyes saw only stars as the vague wakeful sputters of his consciousness kicked in.

Gah... What a wake up call... I guess I should chain myself to the bed next time.

 

The residence he'd been assigned was quaint at best but it was all he could ask of his fellow brethren in their time of reconstruction. It was a tent of about 50 sq feet with a cot, a small chair and a small metal table that both looked as though they could use a good washing, but everyone was assigned similar living quarters with regards only to family size. No one was given a favorable treatment.

 

The old Mandalorian ignored the grime though, because he could feel the nomadic nature of his brethren gripping him as he sat there drifting in and out of consciousness. He knew they would be gone soon and knew that he should be ready at any notice to pick up and shove off. Why would he want to do that if everything in his life was given to him on a silver platter?

 

The dreams of his past glory had created a large cloud of translucent pride within him - which helped him sleep, but he knew it was only the past. However, living in a place like this, gave him hope that he would see a battlefield again someday. Vihk smiled, spreading his gray stubble from cheek to cheek as he ambled to his feet, but a loud noise at the gates brought his mind back to reality and his rear back down to the ground.

 

At first, he could really only hear the echo of a man's yells as they hit the outpost's walls, but the gate soon trumped it. The gate of the out post was fairly old; it squeaked like thousands of dying birds. Vihk had to clean his ears out every time he heard it, but it didn't really matter to the old man as he fidgeted into the single small metal chair, resting and trying desperately to gain at least a balanced footing before attempting to welcome the new Mandalorian.

[Guest]

Zcuth only nodded as the gates opened and he was welcomed into the camp. As he began to walk forward, he took the sticks that hung on either side of his hips and raised it up. The sticks then unfolded to reveal that they were both Vibro-axes, with a curve at the bottom blades so it can be hooked and latched onto things. The raising of the axes were a sign of greeting, for the Vibro-axe in the left hand was painted with the insignia of Clan Bralor, and the one in the right, with Clan Gnast.

 

As he approached the Mandalorians, he felt somewhat distant. They were all wearing their Beskar'gam. Zcuth had only hard of such things in tales his father used to tell him around the campfire under the desert night skies, and even those were sketchy. Still, he knew what they were, and he envied them. Putting his axes down, he spoke, a proud and clear tone, so that the Mandalorians would recognize that he was not lacking in morale.

 

"Su'cuy gar!" he spoke, "I have come here to train amongst you from the shambles of my clan upon Tatooine. I am the last of Clan Gnast, which left Clan Bralor and formed their own Clan after the Mandalorian defeat, many moons ago. My father and mother were both killed in battle. I have nowhere else to go, and I have heard talk of a Mandalorian rallying men here. I would ask you, who is in charge?"

[Vladimir Faust]

Intreagued, Van Isel, servant of Faust, trails behind this new Mandalorian, leaving on the faint rustle of leaves and the snap of a solitary twig or three to mark his passing. His eyes widen in wonder and horror when he realizes he has stumbled upon a whole encampment of Mandalorians here in the jungle. Once more scratching his stubbly chin, Van Isel considers his next course of action carefully. Should he alert the Order? Or should he investigate further and try to querry some artifacts and further information?

 

Motioning his hands up and down to weigh in the two options, he decides on the latter. Nearing the outpost and motioning his droid to follow closer, Van moves out into the open, and in curious mix of feigned and real good natured hailing, he waves towards the outpost, trying to get their attention. He would be honest, that he was a scholar, seeking lost artifacts and he hope this turn of events did not lead to his death. If he died though, it would be in service to the Order, so why fear?

[Vihk]

((Sorry for the delay, I was at my moms and there is little to no internet connection there...))

 

Immediately Vihk's aging eyes caught sight of the new comer. He didn't seem to be carrying his traditional Beskar'gam, but Vihk wasn't either. He had freshly risen and hadn't managed to find the time. It seemed however that this fact put the young Mandalorian at unease as he entered. Vihk noticed the man's expression and could only guess as to how his insecurities ran.

 

"Su'cuy gar!", "I have come here to train amongst you from the shambles of my clan upon Tatooine. I am the last of Clan Gnast, which left Clan Bralor and formed their own Clan after the Mandalorian defeat, many moons ago. My father and mother were both killed in battle. I have nowhere else to go, and I have heard talk of a Mandalorian rallying men here. I would ask you, who is in charge?"

 

He spoke with an only slightly quivering diction, but as the other Mandalorians seemed to amble about, Vihk sought his opportunity to introduce himself. The old Mandalorian stood stout and tall about the front of the young one and smiled slightly, letting the beard that gripped the sides of his face crawl toward his bald head.

 

"Su'cuy gar young one" said Vihk as he approached the young man, his arm outstretched, sliding it behind the man's back until it approached his right shoulder. "Udesii, we are all friends here. What you are approaching is a rather interesting lot I may say, because we don't have a leader. No Mandalorian has felt it necessary to claim the title here because it would be fruitless in our current situation." Vihk said as he led the man around the camp to the best of his ability.

 

"One way or another we have all been led here and we are just trying to gather right now. Our forces consist of many Mandalorians without their own Beskar'gam and a collection of many of the different clans across the ages. It is hard to say whether or not we'd benefit from having a leader or not due to the differing philosophies of the many clans, but we are currently devoid of troubles. Well... So far that I have been here we haven't had any trouble. I only arrived a few days ago, but I had family here years ago so I knew where it was."

 

Just as the pair seemed to be coming upon a rather interesting building however Vihk turned the man about and faced him. The Old Mandalorian laughed heartily and glanced back at the newcomer, "What manners do I have. My name is Vihk Azinger, and my family is descendant of the clan Ordo. Well... What's left of my family anyway."

 

______-_-___________

 

A few guards approached curiously the man that had approached and who didn't seem to be carrying a Mandalorian banner. His scholarly preachings were honest enough, but the droid wrought further inspection to this rather odd team. The head of the guard approached the new man and his droid, wearing armor of the Mandalorian protectors which hearkened back to the days of Boba Fett.

 

"What are your actual intentions here and why is this droid accompanying you if you are indeed intending to do as you say?" said the Mandalorian guard captain with no further hesitation in his voice. The guard captain's carbine was raised to chest level and prepared to fire if the man didn't answer correctly.

[Guest]

The young one took note of the older Mandalorian as he walked across the base. He had obviously seen far more years then he, and it would also seem that he knew far more about battle as well, what with the way he carried himself. As the senior one talked, he listened, especially the part about there being no leader. This somewhat disturbed Zcuth, as he had come here with the intention of finding someone to follow under. Though now it seemed that not all was as it seemed. Zcuth pondered this, but only for a few seconds, as they had suddenly stopped in front of a building. The man introduced himself as Vihk Azinger of the Ordo Clan. Zcuth knew little of what the Ordo Clan was, for he had only broken fragments of information from his father. But he knew that they were large and well-respected.

 

"I see. With us having no leader, however, how would it be possible to survive? If the city ever caught word of this establishment...it might lead to our very destruction! I mean, not to be pessimistic here, but we wouldn't be able to last very long against an Imperial or Republic detachment!" As Zcuth spoke, his emotions began to flare up, in the confusion, he forgot who he was. Years of working and labor across the integrated galaxy had made him forget, partially, exactly who he was. And it did not occur to him that he was acting the age he left home at when his parents died, so many years ago.

 

Was it possible that, despite all of his travels, he had never truly gone beyond the age of 17? Was it possible, that, despite all of the books and datapads he had read about life and growing up, that he had never truly taken account into what they had meant? Was it possible, that, throughout all of his years, maybe the only thing he was paying attention to was the fact that, aside from here, there was no one else like him?

[Vladimir Faust]

Van Isel, as a servant of Faust, brooked no fear as he answered. Not a Force user despite his sensitivity, he had at least enough schooling in the arts to know that fear must be mastered. With that said, a sense of extreme caution measured his words as he stared down at the timeless armor of the Mandalorians. He slowly raises his hands.

 

"I am Dr. Isel, Van Isel. I'm an independant archeologist from the capital of Iziz, specializing in antiquities, particularly artifacts dating back to the Sith Wars and Jedi Civil War that wracked the Old Republic." Even as he speaks, his eyes study the armor, noting the descrepancies between the modern and ancient armors of the Mandalorians and how little has changed. "I'm out on an expedition into the jungles to procure research specimins. I had reason to believe there was an old battleground by Sith loyalists around here and to have my modified spelunker droid aid me in excavating it."

 

That was pure truth, though not the whole truth at all. Confident, Isel continues.

 

"I am rather surprised... and fascinated to find so many Mandalorians here. I've reviewed records of Mandalorian Beast Riders on Dxun. I did not know that enclaves still existed." He pauses, then tries a formal greeting in Mando'a, which he fumbles over. "My apologies," he adds hastily. "I am unpracticed in your tongue, though my droid can translate it."

[Joreel Ordo]

A Crusader-class Corvette came into orbit above the Republic planet of Onderon. The planet was mostly jungle aside from the city of Iziz where most of the inhabitants that were sentient lived. However, Ordo was not interested in the city as he knew his people did not reside there, at least according to the information he had from the old Mandalore Lords Council the Clan Bralor had existed deep in the Jungles of Onderon since they emigrated from the Dxun moon. The scanners on the Corvette did not pick up anything, so the Clan was good at keeping things quiet in their camp, or they no longer existed, though Ordo would hope the latter wasn't true. He brought the ship down toward the planet, landing in the jungles a few miles outside of Iziz.

 

Stepping out of the ship, the new Mandalore reached out with the Force to try and guide him to the Mandalorian Clan in the area, but to no avail, the life on this planet was extensive, from the Drexls to the Cannoks it was harder to feel out sentient life in this state, though not impossible. The range however made it harder for him to notice them, and thus he would have to do things the old fashioned way, or as old fashioned as a Force Trained being can be. The Mandalorian ran with the Force aiding him through the various pathways and trails in the jungles moving down each beaten path to see where they led. Some places led to crashed ships only to find skeletal remains decaying from decades, if not centuries of being left out to the feast of Jungle life.

 

It was a great many hours searching at least 120 miles of jungle on the planet before Ordo sat down for a breather. His mind was being beaten by the Jungle, that or his search methods were not correct. He sat down on a moss ridden log nearby and placed his hand on his the helmet of his Father. Meditating for a moment Ordo concentrated his energies on finiding the Mandalorian camp. His mind walked through the landscape of Onderon, mapping it out as if he could foresee the jungle seeing the paths and his mind zoomed across the landscape finding paths he had not yet travled, beasts he had not encountered, and finally a camp he had yet to find. It was still many miles out, but he had time and the determination to be there.

 

The Mandalorian got up and ran and slowed his pace to a walk when he came in view of the great ridden walls that were from his visions mere moments before. His cape behind him and his black and blue armor donned, Ordo walked up to the gate where a surely younger Mandalorian stood. Ordo walked forward with the armor of his father on him to the younger Mandalorian and spoke.

 

”œBring me to the leader of your Clan.”

[Vihk]

"You speak truth young one, but be calm. Udesii... It is foolish to raise a ruckus when no actual reason presents itself. The city is so far away they would literally have to make a concentrated assault through legions of Drexls to get here" said Vihk as he patted the man heartily on the back. "Now, theoretically I am the leader of at least the Ordo splinter group here, but I have been absent so long that I think it really doesn't matter anymore. I can tell you one thing though" Vihk exclaimed lightly as he once again bellowed heartily toward Zcuth. "I am certainly the oldest active man here."

 

Once again resuming the tour though, Vihk raised his arm to the building they were standing at and pointed its semi grandeur out to the young one he was with. "This, my friend, is the Communal Mess Hall. I know it may look a little dreary, but after a hard day's work it will look like the only salvation on Onderon. The rest of the outpost you see before you," Vihk continued as he resumed his pace down the path a bit, "is basically a really large gathering of Huts/Tents, A control building that you'll see over there, a barracks for the guards and the only Battle circle here which is over there." Vihk pointed his large muscular arm out to the indicated buildings. The Battle circle was currently being used by two Mandalorians fully ensconced proudly within their Beskar'gam, each of whom were from two different eras. The control building looked a little worn down, but active sounds could be heard as a few Mandalorians walked in and out of the structure in varying conditions of armor wear. The Barracks was really the only building that looked like recent work had been done to improve its structure, but its grandeur stood a far cry away from the other buildings anyway.

 

As for the tents, they were everywhere. Their patterns seemed organized, but it was hard to tell from ground level as they spread out by the thousands. There was even a slightly larger tent with a Med sign on it, but it looked a tad untouched.

 

The Old Mandalorian took pride in what his brothers had accomplished in the middle of a barren jungle, but in all reality the state wouldn't last and he knew it. They would have to move and he only hoped it would be to somewhere more secure. Vihk took a moment to gather his thoughts when he heard a rather large commotion being made at the front gate. His head shifted slightly and caught site of not only a scholarly looking gentleman, but a fellow Mandalorian who was standing stout in his Armor; the look of a warrior was about him. As Vihk stared more though something about the man seemed to push Vihk a little on edge.

 

"Alright Zcuth... It's time for us to part ways for now. I hope you have enjoyed the mini tour of sorts and I will see you later. I need to tend to something in my tent... Re'turcye mhi" Vihk said as the burly old one wandered in the direction of his tent with a somber but confident look washed over his face. He could feel something strange about the man that had approached the camp clasped in Mandalorian heritage that he hadn't felt in years. It was a surging confidence that had been somewhat absent from anyone and everyone he had come into contact with in the camp or out.

 

His steps weren't pressured as he felt them brush the coarse ground and once he reached his tent it was as if clockwork had just replaced his normal organ systems. He rapidly took to placing his ancient armor on piece by piece. The process had been lingering in his mind for years and like a child and their bike, he would never forget how to put it on. His armor was something of an empowerment to himself. He could feel the power of his pride surge as he continued; the power from each piece granted him even more drive to put the next one on as he finally finished the set with a small tear of adoration pouring from his eyes. He hadn't felt this alive for years and began to doubt his excursion from fields of battle. There is no truer, better or more perfect place for a Mandalorian than with his clan, set within the claws of chaotic warfare...

 

A few minutes passed, but within barely a break of thought Vihk had made it back out of his tent in his full red neo crusader Beskar'gam and made his way toward the newcomer. Vihk approached the man with complete respect and held himself high as his procession came to a halt before him. The guard captain seemed to follow, but still eyed the new Mandalorian suspiciously.

 

”œI am Vihk Azinger and although I am nigh christened the leader of this tribe, I am the eldest and claim responsibility for the people here. Now”¦”

[Joreel Ordo]

Ordo was approached by a man in a red Beskar'gam which was of a design of a much older and active time in Mandalorian history, much honor must have been seen and experienced in that armor, something Ordo strived to achieve in his time as Mandalore and that perhaps he can fill the armor of his father, or make one of his own for the people to remember him by. Ordo gave the man a quick nod. He was appreciative that in his time of selfish self training that another had sought to make the Mandalorian people united, at least in this corner of the Universe.

 

”œVihk Azinger, it is pleasant to see that not all Mandalorians have lost themselves to the ways of mercenary and bounty hunting work throughout the galaxy. You have a great setup here on Onderon, one that I do not wish to disturb.”

[Vihk]

The helmet crackled slightly as the old Mandalorian's words came crackling out of it in keen respect to the man before him. Vihk could feel a comely surge of pride at the man's greeting and was reminded of better days. "So you are the son of Darius? Nice to meet you... I served with your father in many bouts of warfare years ago" said Vihk as he smiled to himself, "I knew I recognized that armor. He was a great man." replied Vihk as he saluted Joreel where he stood. Finally respect and honor would once again return to the Mandalorians.

 

Vihk looked at the man with inquiry though, even if his penetrating glare did not pierce through his helmet he was slightly curious as to the current situation. Why did he come all the way out here to find us? And where would he have heard about us? The following inquiries though, Vihk felt, were best left until kinder company could be found. However, Vihk felt at a loss to acknowledging Joreel's previous statement... "Headquarters sir? Um... Well I could guide you to our barracks, but I don't think we have a formal headquarters."

 

Vihk remained in his confident stance and pointed to a big building that seemed out of place amongst the others. "If you follow me we can get started right away." Vihk's feet already started guiding him toward the barracks expecting the newly proclaimed Mandalore would follow. There was now what seemed to be a light spring in Vihk's step as his thoughts filled with glorious reminiscence. The air of the camp, although stifled by the suit, felt remarkably fresh and the ground beneath him felt as if it would never falter. He really felt as if his life meant something again.

 

____-_-_____

 

 

The Guard captain was a little baffled by the occurrings beside him, but nonetheless kept his carbine trained on the "scholar". The Mandalorian and his militia kept a certain distance, but closed on the pair of strange adventures slowly but surely. "You see... Sir. We have a problem with outsiders for two reasons. One... You're not one of us, and two... You could possibly be a danger to us if we should let you go. Now, we could let you go on your little project, but how do we know you won't spill to the entire galaxy that we are down here huh?" exclaimed the guard captain smoothly as he closed distance to the man until the captain's carbine was practically in the scholar's mouth...

[Vladimir Faust]

No fear.

 

Van Isel's remains confident as he answers. "Is that really the best thing to do, warrior? Granted, Onderon's jungles are dangerous, but if I fail to return, there will be others coming to look for me. Can you kill them all before your secret gets out? Or do you think you can depopulate this entire planet?"

 

Isel's calm is broken momentarily as a psychic shock hits him. Something was happening to the Master- something sending out waves of anger, pain, and madness. The scholar's eyes almost take on a cold blue glint as it hits. This gives the normally mild scholar and Sith worshipper take a more assertive, if not beligerant stance. Besides, these were Mandalorian warriors. Bravery and confidence alone would get him out of here.

 

"I'm going to suggest a bargain. Take it or leave it," he responds cooly. "Your culture is bound by its traditions and history. My job is to record those histories and traditions. You help me search, let me record your history, and I'll keep your secret. The alternative, is things get messy."

 

At that, his spelunker droid whirls, locking on the Mandalorian pointing its carbine at its master. While it was a mining droid, it was at one time used by the CIS during the Clone Wars and as such, was modified to include lasers and grenade mines. Recommissioned, it still possessed that initial fitting. Ironic Isel thought in the back of his mind if it was called into service once more against the template for the clones it once faught. Isel held no fear, but he would fight to defend himself.

 

"It's your move, warrior," Isel responds, unflinching, staring the Mandalorian right back and meeting his gaze.

[Joreel Ordo]

Joreel was surprised that another who knew his father still lived as very few from before the new Mandalore's generation still lived throughout the galaxy. After the betrayal against the Mandalorians many years ago it had damn near wiped out the warriors of the Mando'ade. This recollection of the elder Mando placed his years more than likely as older than Joreel's father, still making the armor he chose to wear even more so peculiar. Ordo was so interested in its origin, it possessed his mind, and held his tongue for several moments.

 

”œFriend,”

[Guest]

Zcuth Ausoth watched from near a Battle Circle as the Crusader-class corvette lifted off the ground and blasted into space. It was rather strange to see it, and Zcuth, shirtless and sweaty from sparring in the Battle Circle, was wondering what exactly had been transpiring during his sparring session.

 

The fake fight had left him bruised and tired, but he had learned much from his sparring partner. An older, nameless Mandalorian who had won over him. Namely, to keep his feet on the ground and always keep the enemy in front of him.

 

'Hm.' Thought Zcuth, 'Wonder what that was about?'

 

Picking himself off the grassy ground beside the dirt of the Battle Circle, he slung his small mesh-armor tunic over his back and began to walk towards the barracks, when he noticed a Guard Captain and his squad standing with a rather strange-looking fellow. The Guard had his weapon presented, but the foreigner had a droid that seemed to be pointing a mining laser at him. Zcuth made sure his vibro-knife was stuck in the right pocket of his mesh-trousers, and began to walk over to the party. Getting behind the Guard Captain and his compatriots, he tapped one of the Guards on the shoulder of his Beskar'gam and whispered, being careful to not to let the outlander nor the Captain note that he was behind them, as they seemed locked in conversation.

 

"What's going on here?"

[Vladimir Faust]

A small beep from the droid gives Isel the heads up that more Mandalorians were gathering at the gate, alerting the scholar when he would have been otherwise caught off guard. The idea of punching the guard in the throat and running for it became a lot less feasible at this juncture... or did it?

 

With the guard captain, carbine still raised at Isel's face, staring off into space for an inordinate amount of time contemplating the Sith scholar's counter-offer ((well past 3 days...)), Isel acts, one hand flying out to bring its edge right against the Mando warriors throat. The scholar winces in pain as he hits the metal collar, but it's enough to daze the guard. He moves quickly, launching into a half-spin and batting the carbine that the guard raised up to his mouth away. With a feat of dexterity that amazes even himself, Isel grabs the carbine by the barrel and the stock, and rams into into the guard's face, smashing his helmet and sending him to the ground. Reversing the gun, he levels it at the guard, then giving the rest of the assembled Mandalorians a cool look, tosses the gun aside.

 

"If I'd wanted trouble," he declares loudly, "I'd have not approached your gates so brazenly. My name is Van Isel, or Professor Isel for my friends in the city. I am an archeologist and scholar, here with my mining droid, intent to excavate ruins from ancient Sith heritage sites here in the jungle. It was chance that lead me here, though I find your hospitality lacking. I do not appreciate being threatened." He glances down at the guard who raised the carbine to his face and a faint blue flash enters the scholar's eyes, gone in a second.

 

"Now, I wish to speak to your leader," he states cooly, "I am not a warrior, but I will fight to defend myself. You can overpower me, but I promise on my honor you will bleed for your effort if you try to kill me." Again, a gambit, one Isel wagered heavily on, but he figured above all, earning their respect was paramount by showing courage and a baskar will. He avoided looking down at the guard at his feet as he spoke.

 

"I am interested in your historical records, particularly any tales on clashes you may have had with the Sith during the era of Revan. I also admit I would be curious to learn how your culture survived here to this day, but," he shrugs, "it's up to you."

[Vihk]

Vihk's expressions leveled cleanly toward Joreel as he spoke and in order to more keenly respect the man before him he removed his helmet to show his eye contact never wavered. It was an interesting adventure to say the least as Vihk pulled the man into the barracks, but as the man talked it seemed that Vihk had less and less he could say in return. Each passing word from Joreel grew further admiration, but simultaneously rained down stress. With Vihk serving as only a pseudo leader, the task set before him was a large one. He would not refuse it, but the large Mandalorian could feel the burden of the camp as it rest steadily upon his shoulders.

 

The new Mandalore seemed to talk incredibly fast leaving no break for Vihk to fill in the blanks, but such was ok because Vihk was rather soft spoken anyway. When Joreel finished his oration, Vihk clamored to his feet and not only shook the man's hand but gave him a hearty embrace. He could feel the man's spine as it cracked, but it was never a good farewell if a few bones didn't rattle. In the end, Vihk just stood there and nodded subtly, as Joreel left in his ship...

 

The old Mandalorian gripped his helmet lightly, sighing heavily into the grass as he exited the barracks. It was not his place to feel the stress; if he was to become the leader of anything it would be his preoccupation to set aside the foolish sensation of hardship and move toward the glorious future that would await the Mandalorians. Vihk placed his red neo crusader helm once again upon his head and slowly made his way toward the front gate...

 

_______-__-________

 

What happened next was fairly sudden for the guard captian, but not entirely earth shattering. A subtle hand movement toward the bushes could only slightly be seen by his guards but would appear invisible to the man that just laid him out. Within moments of the guard captain's "knockout" of which there seemed only subtle proof as the man lay on the floor, three Mandalorians slid quietly from the bushes and disabled the droid. The four guards around the man now holding the carbine of the Guard captain, and several others if they were needed, sprang into action quickly sliding their arms in to disarm him and putting his hands behind his back.

 

Then, the Guard captain who was barely hanging on to consciousness although his helmet was clearly smashed, looked the scholar right in the eyes and crawled to his feet. "We will fight to defend ourselves too... Maybe you should think about threatening the Mandalorians, before you think about getting into our camp. We will let you get what you need, but the next time you pull any of this we will not hesitate to kill you" the guard captain squeezed out as he stumbled only slightly and let the four Mandalorians that had apprehended the man in question release him onto the grounds. The sheathe of the Guard Captain's helmet hid from the world his indignity as his pride was smashed; he could barely believe a scholar's hand had brought him down and the mercy he had shown was not something he preferred showing, but scholar or not the man had bested him and as such should be allowed minor privileges.

 

The other guards told the man that the droid's deactivation was only temporary and that he would be able to use it for whatever scholarly purposes he needed it for.

Another guard near the gate looked over toward Zcuth as he approached and responded in much the same tone as the young mandalorian, "This scholar wished to come onto our grounds, but as you saw he waned to make a fight of it. We are going to keep a close eye on him"