Mandalore

[Terra]

...Snap-Hiss…

 

The all too familiar sounds of igniting lightsabers found the young assassin in her perch amongst shattered granite. She stood from her kneeling position, keeping her back to the granite wall, avoiding any scraping from her jetpack on the rough stone. His words were filled with determination, as if a cold realization of the gruesome nature of war had befallen him.

 

"I know you're still here...I can feel you…”

 

Terra glanced at her UI, showing the blinking status of her ysalamiri as fully alive. It’s gentle churning purr sounded in her ears as she checked her rifle. It was down to half ammunition on the first magazine, but far more than enough to kill anything. The melodramatic voice of the twin’s AI piped up

 

...Visual on Force User, twin blades. Setting up attack vector…

 

Their words were cut off by the man’s continuation

 

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way… the choice is yours….”

 

The young assassin stepped from the granite outcropping, leveling the crosshairs on her UI to his chest. The man that was ten meters distant was a veritable patchwork of mismatched armor plating, layered in calico with silvered hair. The colours of the armor matched the fallen about him, who she had slain moments before, and in his hands he held paired blades of silver light. She passed her cowl about her, revealing her lithe and armored form, a mix of ebony plating and crimson symbology. A stream of haunting laughter greeted him, filtered through the amplifier of her mask.

 

“My my, is this where all the Jedi ran off to? To become unbeatable and fearsome sustenance farmers?”

 

The last words carried tangible disgust. Terra indicated the dead about him, their blood mixing the upturned earth to ruddy mud. Her finger tightened on the trigger of her rifle, readying a three round burst for his center of mass. A green light indicated a positive firing angle from her squad.

[Moon Knight]

The shield generator came back on just in time to deflect the brunt of the grenade attack, but ShadowFett's penetrating radar told him that both of the cultists were out of the fight. Meanwhile the Zabrak's armor had held up under the hits she'd taken and the squad was spreading out. They had him pinned behind cover and he knew he only had seconds before another grenade would find its way in. He needed a break in the suppression fire or a bit of misdirection, and it seemed like Tresha on overwatch had problems of her own preventing her from providing the window.

 

So he made his own. These ver'verde apparently didn't see the point of buy'cese and so he would educate them. From his gauntlet he fired a luma dart at the ground to the side of his cover. The dart was small but exploded in a brilliant flash of light so intense it would temporarily blind someone in whose field of vision it had landed. His own visor and those of his aliit automatically compensated for the flash to protect their vision. Fett immediately triggered his repulsor pack and went sailing over Mirdala's head, passing over a Dug that had apparently decided to take its chances against her and TeVerd in melee combat. That was already a big mistake, but Fett had the opportunity to take a couple snapshots at the small figured with his assault rifle and he did so. As he did, he caught sight of the predicted grenade sailing in towards the barricade and called it out to the squad over their private channel -- "Goore!"

 

Generally flying on a battlefield was a good way to get killed, so Fett kept his flight low and brief. Still a few shots from the Nautolan that had backed off several meters sailed past his head before he rolled over smoldering grass into the ditch that the Zabrak, Sullustan, and Togorian were trying to push out of while they regained their vision. He had them in a line so that they could not together turn and fire upon him even if they knew he was there. He dropped his assault rifle and, staying low, drew his disruptor rifle -- a sleek carbine that had enormous destructive power but spent its power pack in just a few shots -- and opened fire on their flank. The enormous Togorian looked that looked like he was wearing the hull plating ripped from a light cruiser took one of the hits full and most of his body disintegrated instantly.

 

Mand'alor's resulting position was a little bit tenuous, although his own team would back him up. More importantly he had the charging mercs outflanked with almost nowhere to go. Tresha, TeVerd, and Mirdala could shred them if they got a window, especially with the shield operator gone. Meanwhile there was another squad of Mando'ade that had picked up on the pitched battle and were closing as well, and Fett knew that the skirmish would be over in moments. The surviving mercs would have to pull back and fight another day or give their lives for Ab'ki.

[Ary the Grey]

The insult had stung more than she'd probably realized. One of the memories Aryian had clung to, and a large reason his wife had left him, was grovelling before the Emperor for a pact of nonagression, and in return Aryian would become a farmer on some imperial back world. In trying to secure protection for those he'd loved, he sacrificed everything, and still received nothing. Well, no more. Memories bring pain, better to let them go...right?

 

"I guess we're just gonna stand here like a couple of ***holes, then? Fine. I'll end this for you."

 

Aryian reached out with the Force, intending to simply snap her neck...but couldn't. In fact, he quickly realized he couldn't feel anything close to her. The lizard thing on her shoulder...so, she had an ysalamir. Clever. Even out here in the most hostile planet to Force Users that existed, someone had thought there were going to be some, and so had brought a kriffing ysalamir. For a very brief instant before he moved, he wondered if she also had a backup contingency for every other avenue of attack, like so many people he'd faced before. He had? Which people?

 

The Force swelled as the Grey Master instead reached out telekinetically, beginning to grab small debris, a pebble here, a small rock there, a chunk of shrapnel over here. The bits and pieces began to levitate from their resting places as his eyes softly glowed silver. Then, like a storm crash, they began to zip forward as Aryian hurled them with impossible speed, practically turning them into a hailstorm of makeshift bullets, many deliberately aimed at the ysalamir on her shoulders, but most simply in her general direction. The Force was with him, and he was one with the Force. Forgotten skills, found anew...

 

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT KIND OF FARMER I AM, I'M A LEAD FARMER, MOTHER****ER!!!"

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

Crouching behind the three-foot wall in her new perch, Tresha carefully scoped the treeline. Mirdala and TeVerd's attacks cut ruthlessly through the advancing mercenaries. A bright flash, tempered by her buy'ce, erupted just out of her field of vision, but she paid it no mind as she zeroed in to pick off two sentients in turn that had been dumb enough to advance in a predictable route from the cover of the trees and the outer fortifications towards her cousin. All limbs and leaps, a creature juked its way through her protective cover towards Mirdala. She had nearly gotten a bead on the Dug when the plaster wall before her erupted into superheated clay, spraying her visor. She managed to get a shot off, aiming a bit wide so as to not catch Mirdala in her line of fire in the event of a sudden movement, but did not wait to see if it landed, ducking down behind the cover of the remaining wall just as Kandor's warning crackled over the squad's comm channel.

 

Whoever was gunning for her, it was not one of the mercenaries on the wider field. But now, crouched behind the wall, the opposing sniper had her pinned down.

 

Army-crawling the twenty or so meters to the other side of the rooftop, she stayed low enough to avoid presenting a target to whoever might have pegged her location. The rooftop of the abutting building was close, but not close enough to jump without momentum, especially not with her position compromised. However, the heads-up from Kandor gave her another idea.

 

Lying flat on her stomach parallel to the wall, infrared sight keeping her apprised of sentient locations, Tresha scanned the treeline for anything as silently unmoving as she herself. In a cluster of bushes on the far side of the field, she noticed the one motionless enemy form still warm enough to be alive. A clean shot was impossible, especially through the foliage, but she had the advantage of height. Swiftly, she yanked a flash grenade off her bandolier. With as much force as she could muster, Tresha lobbed it the length of the short wall, aiming for the corner where she had been standing moments before. When the telltale blast sounded, she popped up onto her knee, and fired at the clump of bushes before breaking into a dead sprint across the rooftop, powerful muscles sending her hurtling through the air toward the next roof, a distance of about eight feet.

 

Tumbling into a roll on her heavy landing, her beskar'gam absorbing the impact, she let her momentum carry her back to her feet, and kept moving until she had gained some cover inside the doorway that led to the stairs from the rooftop.

 

"Heads up," she called over the squad comm as she crouched back down under cover of the wall, replacing the energy cartridge in her sniper rifle. "Enemy sniper on the horizon. I''m trying to get in a better position."

 

A group of tall evergreen trees clustered together stood on the other side of the building, and it was these that caught Tresha's attention as she reached for her ascension gun.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Kandor's short flight brought her out of the Force-suppressive bubble, allowing Mirdala to feel almost to the instant the two Force Users passed on as well as feel the spark from her danger sense as the Dug charged her. If any of Kandor's shots had connected, the mercenary gave no indication as he collided with Mirdala from the side. Already alert to the threat, she was prepared and dipped her shoulder low to allow his momentum to carry him up and over her. It bought her just enough time to sling the sonic rifle and draw her beskar kukris as she returned the favor. It wasn't long before the two of them were locked in a dizzying deadly dance of whirling blades and fists.

 

TeVerd fired a few rounds at the Sullustian and Zabrak as they charged in, determined to keep them from Mirdala as well as teach them a sound lesson for assaulting his home, his kind, and his family. He clipped the Sullustian in the knee bringing him down just as a flashing red light caught his attention with Kandor's call. Through their bond, he already sensed Mirdala was aware, an instinct that proved correct a split-second later as she kicked it into the air and back-handed it back toward the Zabrak woman with a combination of her kukri's and the Force. It went off just as it connected with the mercenary captain's chest. TeVerd made quick work of the two of them while Mirdala continued her fight against the Dug.

 

Mirdala didn't have any time to respond once she'd seen the grenade away from her, as her opponent was quick to keep things up close and personal. Fists and kicks were just as much a part of the fray between the two of them as their blades were. For her part, Mirdala did her best to get any distance between them to open up a shot for Tresha or one of the others, but this mercenary seemed to be especially determined to take her out. The Force was with her, bolstering her reserves of stamina to outlast the onslaught this Dug had no doubt thought to overwhelm her with. He was obviously a skilled fighter, but Mirdala was every bit as good as he was even without the Force.

 

Once more their blades clashed and clattered as he continued to go for the weak points in her armor. All it took was figuring out his pattern enough to throw the right feint at the right time, a quick reverse grip on her kukri that allowed her to throw an upward punch as she extended the hidden blade within her gauntlet just under his chin. As she withdrew, she brought the weapon down, doing as much damage as possible through his windpipe and severing at least one of the major blood vessels in the process. She kicked him away and fell back to back against TeVerd as she reoriented herself for the next fight as she heard a few shots ring out then caught Tresha's warning about the sniper.

 

The Force warned her about the shot just enough for her and TeVerd to duck behind the emplacement, narrowly missing taking the hit. Switching to the outer position with TeVerd she checked her read out against the placement of her team and other friendlies as they also dodged for cover, one of the reinforcements taking a hit to the shoulder and another to the chest, both dropping.

 

"We have to cover Tresha," Mirdala said to TeVerd, who was already prepping his portable canister launcher.

 

"On it. Might want to cover your husband though." He fired one of the incendiary grenades from his bandolier in the general direction of where he thought the shots had come from based on centuries of battle experience and prayed he was right.

 

Mirdala took a deep breath and flipped the sonic rifle's setting to Nautolan. Checking her HUD for similar life signs, she fired from her partial cover as Kandor fired from his position. It was time to end this fight.

 

((If this was too much for one post, please someone tell me and I'll be happy to edit.))

[Terra]

The heavy impact of waves of debris hit the young assassin like a typhoon upon an unprepared island. She was thrown backwards, and driven into the mud so hard she could feel her jetpack crack, and a large hiss began to shriek into her ears. A swarm of warning lights lit up on her HUD, shining like the glowbugs of Ord Mantell into the swelling darkness of the spinning world about her before the helmet was knocked from her head. The gravitational forces of the Force-User’s attack flattened her and for a millisecond the world passed from her vision. Her grip tightened on her rifle out of desperation, to find solace in the storm.

 

“Kriffing…”

 

Pain shot from the girl’s shoulder in swells of burning heat with every heartbeat. The coolness of the rain took the warmth from her face as she began to laugh, her crimson eyes glowing like embers as she looked at the man where he stood. A spray of scarlet left her lips as she leapt to her feet, tearing herself from the mud with a kicking rise. Her left shoulder leaked a steady stream of blood down her ebony armour, where a stone had torn through the underweave. The laughter increased as blood began to drip from the corners of her mouth, interspersed with flecks of partially coagulated ichor.

 

“Quite the farmer…”

 

With one gloved hand she withdrew the blade of Kitt Fitt, and ignited it with a satisfying shriek of its corrupted crystal. The blade rippled between silver and crimson, as if enveloped in the swirling clouds of Yavin. Terra pressed the tip of the blade to her shoulder, cauterizing the wound with the hiss of searing flesh. Her smile broadened, showing stained and sharpened teeth, a shocking addition to the face of a young girl. With her injured arm, she pulled the secondary trigger of the rifle, triggering its underslung grenade launcher, sending a flashbang towards the face of the Jedi along with a dozen armour-piercing rounds .

 

“Farm that then…”

 

The young assassin leapt backwards, scooping up her helmet before triggering the jetpack to propel her back to the lines of retreating mercenaries. Only one of the nozzles activated, sending her into an uncontrolled dive into the dark and churning waters of the Kelita river.

[Ary the Grey]

With every last chunk hurled, a new memory cropped up, one that he seemingly forgotten, but was now rising to the surface. His wife leaving him. His son's looks of confusion, not knowing who his father was after coming home from assignments the Order had given him. Losing friends he'd cared deeply for. Being torn in half to fulfill the whims of a sadistic Sith Lord and turned into a killing machine. Destroying everything his name had ever stood for. He might as well have been a sustenance farmer. Irony.

 

But through the hailstorm of death, there was a small flash, like that from a muzzle, and the Force hit him like a sack of bricks with an impending sense of danger. On instinct, a Force barrier flew up, but an instant later a light flash and a deafening noise caused him to lose concentration of everything. Pain ricocheted through his right arm and side as he dove left, hitting the ground with a dull thud. What seemed like leagues away, a jetpack lowly activated, getting softer quickly, the threat felt through the Force fading.

 

For a long time, Aryian lay sprawled in the mud, bleeding. The pain was intense, two bullets were still lodged in the rear of his arm, having been stopped by the backside armor plating. His first real foray into combat in what felt like forever, and he'd been laid low by one person. Humiliating, and humbling.

 

Up in the sky, the light show continued on as starfighters shot other starfighters down, or outright destroyed them. It was beautiful, but melancholy. So much sacrifice for such a spectacle. At some point, Aryian passed out, either from blood loss, or by will of the Force into a healing trance.

 

His dreams were turbulent.

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

Mud squirted up, coating her visor, as a blaster bolt impacted in the wet soil. Mellanie ducked behind the barricade she was using as cover and wiped it furiously. It wouldn't impact her HUD but she still preferred to aim with her own two eyes. It didn't really help much; instead of a mud splatter she now had a semi-transparent mud smear, but at least it was a little bit of an improvement.

 

She leaned back out of cover and sent a flurry of blaster bolts towards her opponents. A Shistavenen fell, and she quickly hid herself again.

 

The Vevuts were holding their own. For a while it seemed like the mercs were going to push them back into the city proper, but now the tide had turned in the Mandalorians' favor.

 

Still, Mellanie hadn't been prepared for the reality of war. It had been thing to know people were going to die; it was another thing to have it happen right in front of you, to see family members cut down and know they weren't going to be coming back. But to her private surprise, seeing these things was only making her fight harder.

 

"Mel! Need you in the cafe!"

 

Araac's voice crackled over her comm. He and some of the others had noticed a group of enemies trying to flank them by sneaking up behind a cafe. Mel checked her ammo, then prepared herself to run.

 

There was a lull, and Mel took the opportunity to lob one of her few grenades over the barricade. She then took off running, darting from cover to cover until she was able to come up behind the cafe. She opened fire, and her distraction was enough to catch the mercy in the crossfire between her and Araac's group.

 

The current threat dealt with, they converged. Rhar gave Mellanie a casual salute. She returned the sentiment by slapping a new power pack into her blaster. "Oya!" she called. Together, the five Mandalorians turned and charged back to the main line.

 

But in those few minutes, things had started to go downhill. The last of the mercenaries had crossed the river, and the land in between was a maze of crisscrossing blaster fire. As Mellanie added her fire to the mix, she heard Rhar calling for support over the comm.

 

A minute later, cheers erupted from the assembled Mandalorians as a pair of Besuliik starfighters swooped down and strafed the river. Their powerful guns tore the opposing group to shreds, and as they looped back up inn the clouds, the Vevuts intensified their fire. A few minutes later and the southwest bank was secure.

[saberforce]

Tros felt the hard surface of the roof tops as him and his squad moved like clock work towards the southeast wall. Their armament was a random assortment from Tros' own A280, Raeshe and her RT-97C, to Caen's T-21B heavy blaster. The assortment was all that Shogun farmers had to use to defend themselves. While most were slightly outdated, the usages and skill behind every manda was just as deadly as any well trained trooper that they may face off against. Tros came to his spot and dropped to the hard surface with a slightly loud clanging sound. The sound was amplified by the fact the six others dropped next to him as Raeshe and Caen took their six units to their position as discussed during the briefing Tros gave them. Almost as soon as he lifted his own blaster riffle over the ledge, the aru'e were within the sight range of his visor on his buy'ce. Knowing that the time for hesitation was long gone, Tros gave a loud shout.

 

"Tra'cyar mav!"

 

Tros pulled the trigger and allowed for him and his vode to have an open spray of fire to keep at bay until Harketeer squadron could get into place. Once they arrived not he scene, that was when all of Shogun would get to show their strength in battle and redeem themselves for their past self-consuming wars.

[Dizzy]

The rain had eased off to a light sprinkle as Kalyani scrambled for more cover. When she glanced over at Jaesko and Dac she found herself just as muddy as her companions. There seemed to be a never ending steam of the enemy. Mel and Araac had gone with another squad over further so she couldn’t see where or how her sister was at the moment. For a moment she rested her head against the wall at her back, catching her breath before the squad she was in moved again. They rounded another corner, Kaly stopping for a moment to check her bearings when a voice behind her stammered, “S-stop! Hands Up!” Automatically she had swung around with her blaster rifle, pulling the trigger as she saw the enemy soldier. The enemy combatant was knocked sideways to the ground, Kaly’s eyes taking in the details of his neck wound and widening in horror. “Kriff’n hell!” she muttered as her back slid down the wall, her eyes glued to the body of the enemy she had just shot. He wasn’t much older than she was and she had just killed him… up close was so much different than a target in the distance. Her breaths became short as the blood from his wound mingled with the mud he now lay in.

 

Dac and Jaesko must have realized that Kaly hadn’t followed them around to their new position because Dac came back for her. In a glance he took in the details, Kaly’s wide look of horror as she stared at the body in front of her. “C’mon Kaly. We’ve got to go.” He gave her face a slap before he managed to catch her eye just as orders came across their headset’s that a new wave were coming in. “Fall back to Alpha 7.” He grabbed her arm and half dragged her around the corner just as more mercenaries rushed around the corner, one throwing a concussion grenade towards them. Instinct had Kaly reaching for the Force as she raised a hand and pushed hard, the grenade sailing back towards the enemy as she was pulled around the corner. She had only the basics with Force training, only what her mother and tutors had taught her, though that little bit may have just saved herself and Dac. She hoped that he hadn’t seen what she’d done as she didn’t want to explain herself. The explosion shook the building, some debris showering down on them before she shook her head, ears ringing. She was pulled to her feet, automatically running after Dac as he dragged her along until they dropped into a more defensible position. She was still pale and shaking so while others fired their weapons at the enemy he handed her a flask telling her to drink. Kaly took a swig, swallowing the hard liquor before coughing and spluttering. Her eyes watered though it brought a little more colour to her face. “First enemy up close?” he asked adding when she nodded, “We all go through it Kal. Try not to dwell on it. No time for that when we’re on the front line.”

[Nonpareils]

The first to die was Frik.

 

His death was merciful, quick, but still unbelievably painful as his molecules were ripped apart subatomically by the disruptor's blast, practically burning him from the inside out at the point of impact. He let out a brief roar of pain before silence befell him, and the remains of his charred corpse, mostly his legs and one of his arms at this point, tumbled back down into the ditch they had used for cover. In time, plants would bloom and cover the remains, using the organic parts for nutrients and erasing the traces of metal under fresh soil. Many years later, a mighty tree would grow in this spot, but those years were yet to pass.

 

Were it not for Frik's cry, Jirai would not have been distracted, the cryo grenade hitting her chest with a brief tink before detonating, encasing her and Nollo in a thin layer of ice, momentarily immobilizing them. Enraged, Jirai looked up, struggling to free herself, but her rage was met with a shot that met her between her eyes, killing her instantly, her light snuffed out before she could ever realize her true potential. Nollo thought he saw his wife and child as the ice froze him, stinging his skin, and he didn't even struggle because of the pain of frostbite. They stared at him, not a few meters away, just barely behind the remains of a small building, almost hidden by the hushed shadows cast from the still ignited luma dart. Their large black eyes were filled with curiosity and confusion more than sadness, as Nollo had dug his own grave, but his lies were the true wound upon his family. His head snapped back as the shot entered the large cavity that was once his right eye, blowing the contents of his skull out behind him in a charred salmon spray.

 

Kred fought, and fought well, his experience allowing him to generally hold his own with the Mandalorian he had chosen to fight, but she had more tricks up her sleeve than he did, and the last vision to grace his gaze was the mud he was weakly deposited in, many major nerves and arteries severed by her hidden blade that had torn through his throat. He tried weakly to fight it, to stop the flow of blood loss out of the gash in his neck, but couldn't. At least he finally knew what it felt like. He died with a grin on his lips.

 

And no matter how many rounds Bob fired, none of them hit their marks. Nothing like this had ever happened to the Nautolan marksman, where every single shot had missed its target. He was experienced with moving targets, and the chaos of a battlefield didn't phase him. At the least, he should have been able to wound one of them...at the least he wanted to avenge the deaths of his friends, the only family he had ever known. The sonic blast hit him in the upper chest and head as he still focused on the Mandalorian in the dark armor, snapping his spine and turning his brain to hamburger in the ensuing concussion. He was dead before his head-tendrils even touched the soil. But before his death, he was certain he had been graced by the presence of gods...he was merely on the wrong side of the gun. A pity.

 

That day on Mandalore, in the first night of the battle for Keldabe, the Death's Gate Pirates found themselves before death's gate. Whatever awaited them, it was no longer among the worlds of the living. No one would mourn their deaths, no one would contemplate their loss. The battle would continue, and their blood would nourish the soil.

 

And the battle raged on.

[Moon Knight]

ShadowFett watched his traat'aliit disassemble the rest of the mercenary team, both capitalizing on the opportunity he'd opened up and improvising to turn one of the many grenades against their enemies. The frost of the cryoban grenade still hung in the air, catching rays of sunlight and the glare of blaster fire as it settled upon the dust and bodies. He could barely register the sight before perceiving in the 360-degree vision offered by his buy'ce that there was a larger group of aruetiise approaching across the field in a sprint, spraying covering fire on and around his position that could easily turn lethal if he remained stationary.

 

He didn't. Dropping low he pushed himself up against the far side of the ditch. He propped his assault rifle up on the edge and took a few pot shots, using the tiny attached camera and his HUD to aim without exposing his head. He managed to bounce a bolt off a merc's armor and the group of them scattered or dropped low.

 

"Mand'alor," a voice said weakly. It wasn't over his comms. He looked up the ditch and saw a Mando'ad lying in a pile of rubble at the foot of a ruined pallisade. The man's left arm was mangled and along that side of his body his flight suit was soaked red. His green beskar'gam was riddled with holes along one side and flecked with blood. Protruding in parts from the holes were bits of skin and muscle -- they were exit wounds.

 

Fett launched a concussion grenade downrange at a large boulder where he'd seen several of his opponents take cover, aiming for just beyond it, then moved over to the fallen soldier, keeping as low as possible. Blaster fire screamed over his head towards the rest of his team. It only took one glance to know that the verd wasn't going to make it home. Even the man's visor was shattered on the left side, and Fett could see that he was blinking blood out of his eye.

 

"Mand'alor..." the man rasped again. He could barely breathe. Fett's grenade went off and he missed the next couple words. "...daughter and give her this for me."

 

A barrage of blaster bolts clearly intended for Fett streaked down from an angle almost flat with the orientation of the ditch. Two of them struck the dying Mando'ad on the left side. Fett pressed himself flat against the wall but one glanced off his shoulder bell, scarring the dark blue paint. Popping up, he returned fire, his rifle punching through the plasteel armor of the pair of troopers who had initiated the attack. Quickly he whirled around back towards the boulder where he'd fired his grenade, another mercenary coming around the side. Another burst of fire and that man dropped as well.

 

Fett came down on one knee. The verd in green armor was dead. He looked dispassionately at the man, reached down and grabbed from his closed fist what appeared to be a small metal carving on a string. He didn't recognize the symbol so he dropped it in a belt pouch. He couldn't hold his position anymore and he needed to get back to his team. Spraying the nearest enemy position with blasterfire once again, he used a small thrust of his repulsor pack to clear the ditch, then scrambled back around the fortification from which Mirdala had been covering his sides.

 

No time to pause. ShadowFett felt nothing; not fear nor sorrow nor anger. He changed out the power packs on his assault rifle and disruptor and checked in with the command center to see if there were other trouble spots where he could help out.

[Whispering Abyss]

Flint narrowed his non dominant eye as he focused intently, tracking the enemy sniper through his scope. After a moment, she rose a bit, aiming an ascension gun, exposing her head. Slowly, Flint exhaled, drawing a proper bead, his finger tightening on the trigger. At the last second, he saw the grenade thrown by TeVerd falling towards him, exploding in the air and covering him and the bush he used for cover with lit, sticky, incendiary slime. The immediate sensations of his charred flesh caused his shot to go wide again, and he would never take another shot ever again. The screams echoed across the battlefield briefly before going silent.

 

-------------------------------------------------

 

The mercenary forces were thinning, absent now in some spots on the assault line on the perimeter of the city. Groups of the mercenaries surged a final time, trying to gain a foothold in the city, while still others retreated to the treeline, met with blaster fire from the main Sith forces after they had made it into the forest a ways. After all, it was cheaper to kill the ineffective mercs rather than pay them for failure. It was unlikely they would be an effective bolster for remaining troops as it was, anyways.

[Terra]

...Terra… What have you done? That child was your friend and you… you… you killed her?

 

A flash of bright orange flame, a beastial snarl in the dark. Screams and blasterfire.

 

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

And I'll fear no evil because I'm open to it all.

The rod and staff were used to abuse me

In the name of what I mused was love

 

The taste of copper in the mouth, the shreds of flesh on the tongue, the gnashing of bone on teeth. Quenching the eternal thirst with lifeblood, only temporary before the coals turn to embers and glow brighter. The hunger stronger.

 

Surely goodness and mercy will flee from me all the days of my life

And I will dwell in these lands forevermore

Still I walk beside the still waters and they deny my soul

But I can't walk on the path of the right because I've always been wrong

 

Terra’s crimson eyes flickered open, consciousness returning to the feeling of her tongue playing across torn flesh, warm liquid running down her face and neck, staining alabaster skin to scarlet. About her, scattered upon the banks of the Kelita, were the bodies of a company of mercenaries in camouflage fatigues. They were strewn like driftwood in the sand, outlined in haloes of blood, moving only when licked by the dark waters of the River.

 

...I will make you a wound in the Force, to match the wounds you have caused to others…

 

She lifted her head, tearing her teeth free from the pale Twi’lek’s neck, each beat of his dying heart covering her in a shadowed rain. From the skirted woodline stepped her company, led by Harjav Fieldgrey. The shock on their faces told of her deeds.

For when I die my soul is damned…

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

As the adrenaline from the rush of battle began to ebb, Mirdala's body started to ache as she found herself back at one of rally points well within the cities fortifications. The spicy smell of food wafted through the air from one of the cookfires set up around the area to sustain the city's defenders, and it was then she'd realized she hadn't eaten since that morning that seemed a lifetime ago. Her armor had borne the brunt of the Dug's attacks leaving behind numerous scratches and scars within the crimson paint. With a sigh, she removed her helmet and looked around at the assembled verde around her as Vi'ika came up to meet her, the special harness meant for transporting ammo and power packs still on the hound's back.

 

Kneeling down, Mirdala worked to remove the vest. All around her the rest of the defenders tended to one another. Some ate. Others embraced in relief and joy to fight another day. Many received news of a loved one that didn't make it. It was interesting to watch as the assembled men and women processed the day's battle in any manner that best fit who they were as warriors. It didn't matter that things were far from over, for the sounds of distant fighting could still be heard above the constant murmur and bustle of the regroup and relief point. The sight stirred within her a greater feeling of purpose and amazement in the resilience and determination of her people. It made her proud to be counted among them. The days ahead would be hard, but she knew they could make it through.

 

A bowl of hot food being thrust in front of her face made her turn and roll her eyes at her brother. "Verdeyuii, I'm perfectly capable of getting my own skraan."

 

"Who said this was for you?" He joked, pulling it back and helping her to her feet.

 

"Rhys, if I were to place bets," She retorted with a wry grin.

 

"Ah yes...placing bets on the mother nuna would make sense, but in this case...wrong." He handed the bowl to her and looked around. "Where's your other half?"

 

Mirdala didn't miss the slight note of concern in his voice. "He's out doing Mand'alor things, checking in with command and the like. How was the fighting in your area?"

 

Vy'ika shrugged as Vi'ika rose suddenly and wandered off into the crowd. "They're a determined bunch of misguided ver'verd, I'll give them that. Still, they'd have to be to have thrown in their lot with Ab'ki so casually."

 

Mirdala sighed again and looked in the direction that Vi'ika had sauntered off. "We all live with the decisions we make," she offered before nodding her thanks and following her canine hunt-partner into the crowd.

---------

 

Vi'ika had been keeping her senses on high alert while Mirdala and Vy'ika had their exchange, something very subtle catching her attention with one of the groups. While she didn't get the sense it was a threat to her hunt-partner, there was an undercurrent of something so familiar to her that she felt the need to check it out. So it was that the great hound navigated the moving masses of Mando'ade toward the source of the feeling.

 

There was a group of them, all but one in what passed for standard variations of Mandalorian-style armor. It was this one ((Kalyani)) that she now sniffed out, curiously.

 

---------

Mirdala found Vi'ika sniffing around a group of gathered clan members ((Vevut)) and wondered what it had been about them that had drawn the sandhound to them. Her danger-sense wasn't going off, so she didn't think that her companion had somehow sniffed out some of the traitors, but Mirdala knew that something had to have drawn her partner's attention.

 

She gave a sharp whistle, calling Vi'ika back to her side. "If you're hungry," she said eyeing the bit of food the other woman had been eating, "I can always find you something. It's rude to go begging." A slight nudge of protest came from the hound. Mirdala nodded her understanding that something else had drawn the dog to this group, but she wasn't about to go interrogating them. Food was reason enough for now.

 

Turning toward the assembled clan group, she worked to remember which one the sigil belonged and offered up a warm greeting. "You'll have to forgive my hunt partner, she means well and has some family members that tend to spoil her a bit. I'm Mirdala Ad'Goran, do you mind if I join you for some skraan?" She gestured with her bowl and an open spot on one of the stacked crates.

[Vihk]

“Elek Mand’alor. Jiila!”

 

Minutes passed; minutes, that felt like hours.

 

Fire fell from the sky in a billowing river of amber smoke. A symphony of thundering cannons and blaster bolts echoed from all sides. Bodies littered the ground at its feet. But the war was not lost. Every skirmish led to the next; every step; every calculation; and every preparation was one second closer to the next bout. The midnight blue armor of the MAD-01’s chassis glistened and shone under the rain that fell. Its pristine paint was now burned and spattered with gore. Scores of blaster bolts had crashed into the thick beskar-plating with little effect on the droid’s internal mechanics. But smoke rose from the metal and the paint was worn in places. The mint condition of Vihk’s proudest creation was now covered in ample weathering. It started to resemble the verde that fought alongside it.

 

With every new barricade, a new challenge awaited. The MAD-01 hadn’t been battle tested, but it took to the macabre art like a fish to water. It crouched and assessed each situation as it passed. It grabbed cover and started rolling through numbers. The Mad One’s T-visor lit with a dull blue glow and tactical readouts of the battlefield sprung to life immediately. Those who registered as burc'yase were outlined in a green wireframe. Those who registered as aru'ese were outlined in a red wireframe. Dossiers sprang to life and the droid began to identify everyone on the field. Vode were assigned. Its mission was clear. Cabuor. Akaanir. Parjai. OYA!

 

The repeater fired up in its arm and the droid rolled to cover as others moved to act. One barricade after another, the MAD-01 sprinted. Dirt clods and rocks kicked up under its metal feet, but it kept going. Exertion wasn’t relevant. It had one drive; one momentum. It took a blaster bolt meant for a young man. It blew out a fortified siege position with its wrist rocket and mowed down an advancing force user with the assistance of two verde at its side. Servo motors hummed and metal clanged. Blaster bolts seared the beskar as it moved, lighting a dazzling display of blue as the droid made its way through the front. Its movement was poetic and ended with a small explosion near Keldabe’s main gate. Another rocket from its wrist sent several mercenaries sprawling to all sides, scattering their defensive position and allowing allies to pick them off.

 

When the smoke cleared and the MAD-01's orders were sufficiently carried out, the droid retreated to the command center for further instruction.

 

 

 

 

 

Elek Mand’alor. Jiila! (Yes Mandalore, right away!)

vod - (comrade/brother/sister)

verde - (soldiers)

burc'ya (friend)

aru'ese (enemies)

Cabuor (Protect). Akaanir (Fight). Parjai (Victory). OYA!

 

Edited May 13, 2017 by Guest

[Dizzy]

By the time that their squad had withdrawn back for what constituted a meal break Kalyani was feeling fairly numb. It was like she had gone on autopilot, going through the motions but her mind struggling to get through a fog. But for that one incident luckily she hadn’t had any more close encounters. She could not for the life of her stop thinking about it, every time she closed her eyes she saw him. She had sat down with Jaesko after getting a bowl of skraan and was more pushing it around her bowl rather than eating it. It did smell good. She only hoped she would keep it down as she took a mouthful.

 

Kaly looked up as another approached, looking to see if Mel had made it through. Her sister and Araac hadn’t come back yet and she was getting concerned. Dac had told her not to worry but she couldn’t help it. She caught sight of the sand hound, sniffing around the Vevut’s and was surprised when it zeroed in on her since everyone had a bowl of food. In the back of her mind, Kaly knew she should be concerned about being the focus of the predator’s attention but in the forefront, she found that she missed her mother’s panther. Zara had gotten Rascal before she and Kane had been born, so she had grown up with the aged black feline. Other times when she’d been planetside she’d found that she’d had an affinity with animals. Was that why it was looking at her? Kalyani raised her head when a woman whistled to recall the hound.

 

"If you're hungry, I can always find you something. It's rude to go begging." The woman’s words caused Kaly to give a slight smile as she berated the hound. She was short, her armor showing signs that she’d been in the thick of battle as well. "You'll have to forgive my hunt partner, she means well and has some family members that tend to spoil her a bit. I'm Mirdala Ad'Goran, do you mind if I join you for some skraan?" Kaly glanced around before shifting slightly to make room for the newcomer, figuring that she might be able to take her thoughts away from the man that she’d killed up close. She recognized Mirdala’s name as being Mandalore’s wife having heard the others talking about her… something about being a Seeker whatever that meant. Kaly also knew she stood out, being the only one in different armor. Although a little hesitant, when their eyes met she introduced herself, “I’m Kalyani Wartide.” As she spoke, she caught sight of her sister and Araac approaching and heaved a sigh of relief, “And this is my sister, Mellanie Dev and her fiancé Araac Vevut.”

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

With the destruction of the forces attacking their quarter came the chance for the defenders of Keldabe to regroup and have a breather. The Mandalorians retreated to their camp, and fires were lit to quickly heat up some food.

 

Mellanie stayed at the front line for a few minutes, her eyes sweeping the battlefield, looking for anyone in beskar'gam that was still moving. Her eyes caught something, and she darted over, hopping over the corpse of a deep-fried Trandoshan in the process until she reached the struggling figure. The yellow-and-black clad Mandalorian was struggling to breathe. Her armor had been crushed on her chest, and her right arm had been torn clean off. Mellanie knelt down beside her and carefully removed the woman's helmet. "Shhh, hey, I'm here to help you."

 

The woman drew a rattling breath. "Kyr'am...yaim'ol...aikiyc..."

 

"You're not going to the Manda yet," Mellanie replied. "Not on my watch." Carefully she pried the woman's armor plates apart. There was a gasp from the woman as air suddenly flooded her lungs. "Okay, now we need to get you to the medics. Here, come on." She reached down and helped the woman to her feet. After a second, though, she realized the woman wasn't going to be able to walk, so she scooped her up in her arms, suddenly thankful for all those long hours of lifting weights. She began to struggle to the med tent.

 

"Mel'ika!" Araac's voice cut through the mist and mud.

 

"Araac, help me get her to the medics!" Her fiance rushed over, and together, the two of them delivered the pale Mandalorian to the medics. Once outside the tent again, Mellanie suddenly sagged, and found herself caught in Araac's strong arms. "Sorry," she said wearily. "It's better if I don't stop."

 

Araac didn't release her. "Mel, you need to rest. Sit down, have some skraan. This battle is far from over, and I don't intend to let you wear yourself out before it is."

 

Mel shook her head. "But there are others out there who need help."

 

"The med droids will rescue them," he said, pointing to several who were doing just that. "Come on. I'm not taking no for an answer."

 

She was so exhausted that she didn't have the heart to put up much of a fight. Instead, she let him guide her over to the camp. With a sharp shock of relief, she saw Kalyani sitting by a fire, eating. She took off her helmet and met her sister's gaze, both of them silently communicating how grateful they were that the other still lived. Kalyani was being sniffed by a strange creature, the likes of which Mellanie hadn't seen before, and a petite woman in red armor had come over to introduce herself. "Su'cuy gar," Mellanie said. Araac grabbed them both bowls of stew and they sat down by Kalyani and Mirdala. "Is this your pet?" she asked Mirdala, pointing to the hound. "What is he? I've never seen his kind before."

[Ary the Grey]

Some time later, Aryian woke with a start as he was jerked off the ground. Several Mandalorian groups were combing the battlefield for survivors. Though they were just trying to put him on an antigrav stretcher, the disoriented Grey Master began flailing wildly for a moment, mad with lust for battle. Four men had to hold him down before he realized where he was. That was when the pain finally returned to his arm.

 

The armor plating on the side of his chest plate was still shattered, and his right arm was mostly intact but looked as if he'd put it through a wood chipper. Of course the medics wouldn't be able to do anything for him except amputate and offer an android replacement limb, the rehabilitation period for which would have lasted far beyond the end of however long the war was expected to last. Aryian knew it was pointless...he'd been in a healing trance and the limb hadn't healed. Either it was damaged beyond repair, or the Force had a will to leave the arm crippled.

 

Aryian sat by himself for a long time for the rest of the day, contemplating what had happened. Even the lightsaber in his right hand had managed to take a glancing bullet, rendering it inoperative. What little he knew of the Jedi healing arts merely rendered it numb enough to not give him a headache from all the pain. The evening found him with his arm in a sling, sitting by himself in front of a campfire, lightsaber on his hip, blaster at his side, Mandalorian liquor in his hand. For a long time he did little more than stare into the flames.

[Moon Knight]

"I'm sorry, Master," 2277's voice came through his buy'ce. "This symbol is not in my database, nor on the indexed portions of the holonet. I could perform a deeper search, but it will take more time."

 

Fett wrapped the string around his hand, getting another good look at the metal carving as he did so. His check-in with the command center had been brief. The attack had been ver'verde on all sides and had included a few jabs to test the mettle of the defenders posted on the west side of the city and the bridges, but it had clearly been a probe. Whoever Ab'ki's commander was considered the squads expendable, caring more about whatever intel they could gather than their actual success. Still, some of them had proven to be a handful for the defenders, and casualty reports were still streaming in. If the rest of the invaders were as capable as this first wave, the attrition plan wasn't going to work out. There were also reports of battles fought on Concord Dawn and Ordo, but most of the projected armies hadn't materialized yet.

 

"Don't worry about it, burc'ya. I'll do it the old-fashioned way," he said. He recognized the stylized skull on the carving as that of a shatual, of course. He used the hunt the creatures in the jungles here on Manda'yaim in his youth and early adulthood. Which aliit it belonged to however, if it was even a clan symbol at all, he didn't know. But as he began touring the camps, getting a finger on the pulse of the army that had answered his call after their first battle in defense of Keldabe, he began to show the small charm around to see if anyone else knew what it was.

 

Overall the Mando'ade seemed to be in fair spirits. Some had already lost family members, and there would be time for mourning, but in times of battle the warriors pragmatically focused on making it through each fight themselves and seeing to the strength and fitness of their comrades. Everyone knew what they were here to do. If they failed, they would have nothing to go home to, and so there was no reason to give less than everything they could to the cause. Some were maintaining their gear or making skraan, others were rebuilding the fortifications or trying to coax a little more performance out of the juggernauts and AA guns. Some were even sparring, sharpening themselves for the next battle.

 

He'd worked about a quarter of the way around the outside of the city before the shatual skull charm was labeled. "That belongs to Clan Dalab," a woman told him. "I'd heard that Gar didn't make it back. You're looking for a girl named Aduela."

 

Fett thanked her, checked with 2277 and got the location of the Dalab clan's camp. The walk didn't take long. The clan was composed of a few dozen verde in a number of tents. There was a large campfire going and what smelled like shatual cooking on a spit, with a number of men and women in armor sitting around it, their weapons close by. On the far side of the fire from Fett, there was a girl of about fourteen who was staring ashen-faced into the flames, clearly somewhere far away mentally. Some of the clan looked up and greeted Fett as he approached, but she did not.

 

"Aduela?" he asked. The teenager seemed to pull herself out of her thoughts and her eyes came to rest on him. After a moment she stood and walked around the fire, a tear rolling down her cheek. With her dark hair and olive skin, she reminded him a bit of how he imagined Mirdala looked at that age, though her eyes were brown instead of jade.

 

"Yes, Mand'alor?" she asked when she drew close to him. He pulled her off to the side a bit so the whole clan wasn't watching them.

 

He held out the charm. "Your buir asked me to give this to you," he said.

 

The girl fought to keep from sobbing in front of him. "What am I going to do now?" she asked meekly.

 

Fett put a hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes there's no easy path, ad'ika," he told her. "But you are strong and so is your family. Honor your buir and remember him daily, until someday you earn your place with him in the manda."

 

The girl lifted her head just a bit. "Is... is the manda real?"

 

He nodded. "Yes. I know for a fact that it is and he can watch and protect you from there," he said. His and Mirdala's experiences in the Temple of the Moon were proof enough of that. "So don't lose hope."

 

The girl took a deep breath and nodded. "I won't. Vor entye, Mand'alor."

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Mirdala extended her hand to each in turn. "A trade then? Knowledge for knowledge?" she smiled at the two women. "This is my partner, Vi'ika. She's a sandhound, they tend to live on the high tundras near the northern poles of Concord Dawn. They're commonly used as police and military animals almost as often as strills, neks, and akks are. Now what's 'fiance'?" the woman frowned as she tried to form the foreign word. "I'm guessing the two of you are newer to the sector?"

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

When Tresha finally descended from her perch high in the branches of the evergreens, it was with quivering muscles that she lowered herself slowly to the ground. Battle fatigue had long since set in, and she wasted no time in retreating to the nearest rallying point. Buy'ce tucked under one arm, she made her way through the assembled throng, where clans had gathered around campfires to share skraan, tally their losses, and celebrate small victories. The air was thick with fey shereshoy, each clan determined to live this moment fully and prepare for what might await them tomorrow. Wearied eyes absorbed it all with a kindly glow, but the gathered aliite sent a pang of apprehension through her as her thoughts turned to her own kin on Dawn. Quickly, she wolfed down some of the hearty skraan being passed around before wandering off away from the gathering. When she had reached a place of quiet solitude on the bank of the roaring river, she activated her comlink and input her buir's frequency.

 

Moments later, the form of her brother Aluir flickered into existence, the hologram floating above Tresha's wrist. "Su cuy'gar, Tresh'ika," he said simply. His face was bloodied on one side, cheek split wide open and eye puffing up to what would amount to a glorious black and blue bruise.

 

"Su'cuy, Aluir. Looks like you had your work cut out for you today," she said with a teasing glint in her eye. "Where is buir?"

 

"Tending to the wounded. All in all, the first wave wasn't too bad. You should have seen Trita and Valyin. Mandokarla little whelps, the pair of them like miniature hunt-partners that could probably have held the line all on their own if they'd needed to."

 

She let go a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she was holding. As much as she trusted the skills her baby sister and niece had been schooled in since their infancy and knew that they could pull their weight in any battle, chasing bounties was not the same as open war.

 

"What about--" she began, only to be cut off by Aluir's upraised hand.

 

"We're all fine, Tresha. Taen did a masterful job of organizing the forces, those ver'verde didn't stand a chance. Tell Kandor he made the right choice. And now go get some rest, you look like the backside of a Hutt."

 

A smile played at the corner of Tresha's mouth as she snorted in response to his comment. "You would know, vod," she teased. "Be well, and give my love to the others."

 

"K'oyacyi," he said simply, and then he was gone.

 

Blasterfire echoed distantly through the city, but she was barely aware of it, watching the water rush by in a mesmerizing swirl of endlessly renewing life. Much like the Mandalorians themselves, the river was constant, ever-new and always the same, strong and unmovable. They would outlast, bringing the might of millennia to bear as Kandor had said. With a slow exhale of the worry that she had carried with her into the battle, Tresha stood to her feet and prepared to relinquish her solitude. Knowing Mirdala was safe, at least for the moment, she had little desire to find herself mingling with the large group of families. But without anything better to do, she began to make her way back to the camps.

 

On the outer edges of the camp, she came across a man sitting alone before the fading and forgotten embers of a fire as the chill of evening began to set in. He had a hollow and forlorn look on his features that Tresha strongly suspected ran deeper than the injured arm he carried in a sling. His beskar'gam was patchwork, with no defining clan sigil or color, and he carried no helmet with him.

 

Quietly she approached, setting her buy'ce down beside her as she took a seat on an adjacent log. It was only then that she noticed the jetii'kad hanging at his hip.

 

"Su'cuy," she said in greeting. "Mind if I join you?"

 

She gestured with a hand, not just to the embers of his campfire, but to the glass he held in his good hand.

[Ary the Grey]

"Su'cuy . Mind if I join you?"

 

The voice jostled Aryian from his daze, and though well imbibed by this point, he was still coherent. For a moment, he wondered if she was a figment of the alcohol, as almost every other Mandalorian here had treated him with scorn and derision. But after a brief pause, he determined she was, indeed, real.

 

He gestured at a nearby seat, inviting her to a place at the fire, and noticed as she paused briefly gazing at his lightsaber. She motioned for the bottle, and he passed it over. Instead of questioning the companionship or her intentions, he simply tried some small talk.

 

"Crazy day, hm? Looks like we might be in for more rain."

 

It was uncomfortable conversation at best, but at least he tried. He reached out with the Force, pulling another two nearby logs onto the embers.

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

Taking a swig from the bottle, Tresha nodded appreciatively. The liquor he had chosen was well-distilled in the Mandalorian fashion, strong and hearty like her people. It was consumed to celebrate--or to forget. Passing it back to him, she glanced up at the dimming sky. His comment was self-explanatory and obvious, the kind of thing she might find herself saying in an untested social climate. But given the context of the current situation, Tresha felt little obliged to engage in meaningless banter. A death cloud settled over Keldabe, the first of many, and her soul felt heavy.

 

She knelt down by the coals, blowing on them gently, encouraging the fresh fuel to catch aflame. Brushing her long hair over her opposite shoulder, she turned back and regarded him. "I'm Tresha Ad'Nort."

 

Reclaiming her seat on the log, she maintained her quizzical study of the man. "You are unlike any jetii I've ever met. Not least because of your taste in spirits," she said with a wan half-smile. "Who are you? Why do you fight with us?"

[Ary the Grey]

The Grey master grinned a bit at the line of questions. "And you are unlike any Mandalorian I have ever encountered. Well...you kind of look familiar, but I don't quite mean that."

 

Aryian took a pull of the bottle, the liquor numbing his tongue a bit.

 

"I'm just a crazy old man is who I am. I used to be a lot of things. Jedi, warrior...husband...but now I'm only who you see before you. You can call me Aryian."

 

He channeled the Force once more, guiding the breeze into the base of the flames, stoking the fire so she didn't have to.

 

"I appreciate you using Basic with me, as well...I know a little Mando'a, but for the most part I can't understand most of a conversation without struggling, and the Force doesn't help much anymore. I mostly just hear skraan, skraan-skraan, skraan skraan skraan, skraaaaan skraan, skranny skraan...what does that even mean, anyways?"

 

He was dodging her second question, and hoped she wouldn't notice. He didn't really have a good answer for her, anyways.

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

Mirdala's question was so unexpected that despite the grim atmosphere, her exhaustion, and the death surrounding them, Mellanie smiled. "You're right. In much of the galaxy, fiance is a term for someone who you are going to be married to. Araac and I have made a commitment to each other, but we're not married quite yet." She squeezed his hand as he sat down next to her, then glanced back at Mirdala. "I know it's not quite how the Mandalorians do things. My mother is Dathomiri, and it's not quite how they do things either, but I was raised in the Core Worlds traditions, and my mother would kill me if I didn't have a big wedding." She took a bite of her stew. It was of some meat she hadn't ever tasted before, but it was hearty and good. "Kalyani and I came to Mandalore to be introduced to the family, and so that I could see my new home. Then we ran into a war." She glanced around. "Probably not the best time for a tour, huh?"

 

Her dry sense of humor wasn't always appreciated, but at least Araac gave her a wry grin. "Welcome to Manda'yaim, where we have tal, slaat, and kyr'am a-plenty!" he jibed.

 

Mellanie snorted. It was probably a little disrespectful to be cracking jokes when so many had just died, but people dealt with pain in different ways, and this was Mellanie's way of coping--don't think about it. Crack jokes, because it was either laugh or cry, and crying wasn't an option right now. She took a few more bites, then spoke again. "Do you have aliit here in the battle, Mirdala?"

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

Shadows passed across this Aryian's face as he spoke of himself, and Tresha grew quiet, picking around in the flames with a long stick that she recovered from the ground nearby. An amused chuckle escaped her at his extremely limited Mando'a.

 

"Skraan in Basic is 'food'. And something tells me you haven't had any since all this started," she said, reaching into one of her belt pouches for a ration bar that she tossed toward him, trusting that his extrasensory instincts would obsolesce any verbal warning she might give.

 

The flames stirred in a wind that did not exist, and Tresha allowed her eyes to go out of focus as she stared into their mirthful dance. When she turned her attention back to Aryian, reaching again for the bottle in his hand, her eyes were thoughtful.

 

"My people have a word that does not translate easily into Basic," she began softly. "We are warriors, hunters, soldiers. Even our farmers know when to beat their plowshares into swords, in circumstances like... well, like the present."

 

Savoring the burn in her throat, she passed back the liquor. "We fight every battle in full awareness that it could be our last, so every day our goals are fairly simple: to live as much as possible until the fiery end eventually comes. Shereshoy is the essence of that. To hold family close, preparing to release them forever. To laugh louder than the next man, to refuse to look back, to wrap yourself in so much vibrant life that when the end comes, it means something."

 

She looked down at her hands, then back up to him, the warmth of her expression detailed in the fire reflected in her eyes. "There isn't much I know about the Force, and jetiise, but I know the look of a haunted man. I wish shereshoy for you, Aryian."

[Vihk]

The MAD-01 droid’s servos still hummed. Its programming was still operating at peak efficiency. And despite a very colorful chassis, mingled with scorch marks and dents, it had escaped with little, if any, severe damage. It looked out to the other verde. They were gathered together, enjoying skraan and the company of their aliite. The MAD-01 had no aliit. He had designations and targets. But it understood the tradition and values of the Mandalorian people to a T. The glossary of galactic knowledge that it possessed, helped it glean the nuances of their behavior. And although the droid didn’t participate, it wouldn’t let anything hinder the respite that its fellow verde deserved before the next wave.

 

The mechanical Mando’ad patrolled the perimeter of each camp. It sprinted past the Vevut camp, a small camp where only two verde conversed, other camps of varying sizes, and stopped only to shoot at mercenaries that still struggled to make for the opening that his verde presented.

 

It wished to receive additional commands from Mand’alor, but its programming seized the vacancy quickly. Cabuor. Akaanir. Parjai. The words pounded into its synapses and formed the core of its being. It would fight until ordered to stand down. It would stand vigil until ordered to retreat. It would protect and guard over the wounded. Such was the extent of its charge. The adjustable shield in its right arm projected outward in heater formation just in time to catch a thrown detonator and bounce it into a nearby ditch. The return fire was a spray of uncoordinated bolts from the repeater in its left arm, but a few bolts caught the assailant right in his center of mass, knocking him to the wrong side of a trench.

 

A few moments past with each perimeter sweep. Extra mercenaries that lingered on the line were eliminated and small reconnaissance probes were set at the far points of Keldabe’s borders. When it found a moment of relative peace between patrols, it deployed the small comm unit in its buy’ce.

 

“Perimeter Secure Mand’alor. Orders?” It said. Its voice was a deep baritone and it only ever spoke in Mando’a or galactic basic if the words were not common in the Mando’a vocabulary.

[Ary the Grey]

Aryian stifled a chuckle. So they were all talking about food? Everyone around here must be starving with all they talked about food. As she tossed him the ration bar, he went to catch it with his right hand...which was still the arm in the sling. Thankfully she didn't see it hit him in the face and land on his lap, completely his fault. He could have caught it with the Force were he paying attention, or put the bottle down...or...

 

He passed her the bottle again as she continued, explaining to him a new word. It wasn't a feeling foreign to him, but with all his experiences and losses, it was hard to find joy in battle. But...maybe it wasn't even that. She said it was more about life, about living it to it's fullest. Freedom? Freedom to experience life as one chose it, to choose to live to the fullest. Perhaps. He certainly had made many bad choices in the past, this war likely just the latest link in the chain.

 

For a moment, there was silence between them as he contemplated all this, but before she got up, he started speaking again.

 

"The Jedi are an ancient order of warrior-monks...more monk than warrior. They study and place their faith in the Force, an energy field that permeates the known universe, tying every being and object together on a very intimate level. They value patience, emotional restraint, and diligent rote practice. They learn to tap into the Force and listen to its will, using its gifts to help those who are in need. At one point, they were powerful enough to help and protect people on a galactic scale. Now..."

 

Aryian exhaled, his eyes staring into the fire, wet but not shedding a tear as memories came back to him. After a moment, his left hand went to his head, massaging his temples.

 

"...Now, they are few in number and can barely help themselves much less anyone else. A long time ago I might have called myself Jedi, but my path twisted and wound far from their teachings. I don't...I don't regret doing so...but I miss those I lost along the way. Parts of myself I lost along the way. If that makes sense."

 

Another long pause, and the Grey Master took another short swig from the bottle. "I think...I know this shereshoy. Finding it again may be difficult, but...I'll try. And, uh..." He set down the bottle, and unclipped his good lightsaber hilt from his waist, holding it out for her to take. "Here. Consider it tangible appreciation for keeping an old Jedi company. Careful using it, it has a strong gyroscopic effect that could cause you to cut yourself bad if you aren't careful. Force knows I need to make a new one anyways. And, uh...now you know a little about the Jedi."

[Dizzy]

"A trade then? Knowledge for knowledge? This is my partner, Vi'ika. She's a sandhound, they tend to live on the high tundras near the northern poles of Concord Dawn. They're commonly used as police and military animals almost as often as strills, neks, and akks are. Now what's 'fiance'? I'm guessing the two of you are newer to the sector?"

 

Kalyani let Mellanie answer first since she was the one getting married soon though she'd been very interested in hearing about the sandhound. Being a little cautious, she held her hand down palm out so that it could sniff her hand.

 

"You're right. In much of the galaxy, fiance is a term for someone who you are going to be married to. Araac and I have made a commitment to each other, but we're not married quite yet. I know it's not quite how the Mandalorians do things. My mother is Dathomiri, and it's not quite how they do things either, but I was raised in the Core Worlds traditions, and my mother would kill me if I didn't have a big wedding. Kalyani and I came to Mandalore to be introduced to the family, and so that I could see my new home. Then we ran into a war. Probably not the best time for a tour, huh?"

 

Kaly glanced up and smiled at her sister's attempt at lightening the mood, it helped in keeping her mind off darker thoughts. When Araac added his comment it showed just how well suited they were for each other. Indicating towards the sandhound Kalyani murmured, "She's beautiful." Then followed on from Mellanie she said, "Mum didn't grow up on Dathomir either, she and her brother grew up on Corellia. Our grandfather wanted them to have a more open minded upbringing than they'd get on Dathomir. Mum's also the co-owner of the Link though it's been scaled back over the years."