Mandalore

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

By the time they made it back to the main camp near the city, Mellanie was in a lot of pain. She was glad to see the white medics' post. One of the med droids immediately came over to her. It cleaned and bandaged her wound. "Supply shortages demand restricting bacta to life-threatening injuries," the droid said clinically.

 

Mellanie nodded, gritting her teeth. "That's fine," she replied. "Just patch me up the best you can."

 

It finished with her arm, tucking the bandage into a metal cuff that it had slid onto the stump of her arm. Then it gave her some painkillers and moved on to treat her sister. Mel was about to take them and get some rest when she overheard that the spaceport was under attack. She glanced at Araac.

 

"Oh no," he said. "Please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

 

"You're going, right? So I'm going with you."

 

"Mel, you've done your part."

 

She shook her head. "As long as I'm still able to fight, I'm going to. You're not going to let me sit the rest of this out while you continue to put yourself in danger." She shoved herself to her feet, then popped one of the pain pills. It'd keep the worst of the pain away while not fogging her mind. She glanced over at Kalyani; her sister was unconscious. For a moment, concern for her caused her to hesitate, but then she put her good hand on Jaesko's shoulder. "Watch over her, okay?"

 

Jaesko was about to complain, but caught the look in Mellanie's eye, then nodded. Mellanie squeezed her shoulder, then headed out, followed by Araac.

 

---

 

The two quickly made their way to the spaceport. They had replenished their weaponry in the camp on their way, and now joined the small but steady stream of reinforcements heading to the last holdout of the Sith armies. As they approached, Mellanie felt her adrenaline rise again, although it wasn't enough to completely banish her bone-deep weariness. So much death...

 

"Watch my 6," Araac said. She settled into position behind him, her eyes moving quickly across the port. Most of the enemies were in retreat, but not all of them. After a moment, Araac and Mellanie made it to the Mandalorian line. Joining their brothers and sisters, they added their fire to the mix. There was no surrender; these hut'uun would leave this sector or die.

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

Blade found purchase as Tresha's opponent's momentum spiraled out of control, at the erratic mercies of her failing jetpack. Wisps of steam curled around her armored boots as she regained her footing in the smoldering grass. It looked as though spectres from the underworld were grasping at her ankles, inviting her to sink into the earth that had borne her people for millennia. Tiny tendrils of vapor, small as the fingers of those whose lifeblood now evaporated in the heat of the residual fires around her.

 

A single crimson tear ran down the porcelain nose of a child who might have been standing except for the crooked curvature of her neck and the jagged droop of her head. The drop splattered on the ground, loud enough to send shockwaves through an empath's heart. Riddled with flechettes, the girl's body looked like a craft project the children might have demanded their caretakers should display, proud of their handiwork. Dressed in the ragged and grass-stained garb customary to such mandokarla children, her body now adorned the wall, this demagolka's gruesome hunting trophy. The wails from the little black-haired girl in the opposite corner would not abate, and the overwhelming scent of blood was peppered with the noticeable undertones of bile, vomit, and excrement, a smell that would linger long after Tresha replaced her helmet. "Stay with me?" the toddler whispered as Tresha gathered her in her arms, her jade-green eyes drifting out of focus as she fell to final sleep.

 

With a shuddering reality, her eyes locked on her target. The Huntress's mind had done its work, invoking the images that had led her to this hunt in the first place, driving her to a necessary final vengeance. Teeth protested with a dull ache as her jaw ground them together in utter hatred. Tresha's eyes glittered with a deadened light as her opponent lay gasping for breath before her in the damp ground.

 

Hesitation evaporated. Pity fled.

 

Charging toward her opponent, set on retribution, she almost didn't see the glint of the wire clutched in the other woman's hands. It was the movement itself that gave it away, but not quickly enough. While her momentum continued forward, she pivoted instinctively, throwing up her left forearm as though she bore a shield on it. As the garrote wire caught harmlessly on her beskar gauntlet, horrified eyes turned back toward her arm as the wire pulled taut. As though it were some sort of magic trick, the wire slipped into nothingness off the end of her wrist gauntlet into the soft surface of her flight suit beneath as she brought her beskad down towards the wire, intent on severing the heavy end of it before it was recalled to its wielder for another strike.

 

Searing hot agony threatened to stall her focus as she collapsed to her knees, pulling the bloody stump--where moments before her hand had been--tightly against her body, the sticky warmth of her own blood began to paint her chest plate a new shade as it mingled in the grass with the blood of those for whom she fought. But she knew, desperately, that she must not yet succumb to her pain: honor demanded recourse. In what would appear to be the final collapse of a brutally wounded opponent, Tresha brought her weight forward.

 

At the last possible instant that she might still retain balance, she brought the hilt of her beskad to her solar plexus and pivoted away, darting behind one of the more substantial veshoke, thanking the Manda once more for the air scrubbers that kept her from coughing in the billowing smoke that rose from the embers of the woods. Yanking one of the grenades off her bandolier as she shoved her beskad momentarily point-first into the soil, she ducked out from behind the veshok and pitched the grenade--not at her opponent, but at the already-burning tree she had ricocheted off of just moments before. The blast radius would be enough, should the adhesive projectile meet its mark, to cement her opponent in place.

 

Then Tresha would make an end of her.

 

((2))

[Moon Knight]

A sound like the rumble of thunder preceded the arrival of the Justice from hyperspace. At first, the ship appeared to be alone, and across the empty expanse of vacuum between it and Mandalore it hurtled intrepidly, apparently unconcerned with the hostile Dreadnaught heavy cruiser and support craft that had by now achieved space supremacy over the Mandalorian capital.

 

But this was due not to any recklessness, for moments later Mand'alor's vessel was joined by what seemed at first tiny flickers of motion blur which then revealed themselves to be ships of nearly every variety. They continued to file in from hyperspace, multiplying from a dozen to hundreds to thousands. These were the faithful defenders of Shogun, Ab'ki's death signaling the end of their vigil there. Together they fell upon the dar'jetii's fleet, not annihilating the vessels but neutralizing their shields and then boarding through numerous docking tethers, hatches, and hangar bays, beskar-clad soldiers pouring out of personal ships and landing craft to take the fight to the aruetiise on foot.

 

Those that did not dock descended rapidly toward embattled Keldabe. The spaceport was held by Kyr'tsad but ships found anywhere and everywhere to land, from rooftops and market squares to the fields beyond the Mandalorian capital. Still other ships turned upon the army that lingered still in the jungle, some bombarding their position while others landed troops to move upon their camp on foot. These were fresh troops, unwearied by days of fighting, greater in number than the invaders and deployed rapidly with careful coordination from Ops and Mand'alor their leader.

 

Fett himself, his arm in an improvised sling and his kit mired in the blood and grime of battles fought, accompanied by his riduur Mirdala and her vode Rhys and Verdeyuii, descended on the planet and entered the command center situated within the ancient tapcafe Oyu'baat.

 

"Ab'ki is dead," he announced. "Let us evict what forces of hers remain within our Sector."

[Xae-Lin Ardel]

“Stang,” Xae-Lin swore as the Lambda-class vessel emerged in the space around Mandalore ((the planet...not the man )) on the outskirts of a space battle the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the days of the last Galactic War. Acting quickly, Xae-Lin called back to Frond with a warning just before she adjusted their course for Mandalore. “Here’s hoping we blend in. Judging from the variety of ships, I’d say we just came out in the middle of what passes for the Mandalorian Fleet. Hang on and pray we don’t get shot down.”

 

Her hand hovered over the communications panel as she silently weighed the options between sending out a comm burst to identify them as a friendly vessel or avoid calling unneeded attention to themselves and just make for the planet as best they could. Deciding that the Mandalorian people were certainly the type to shoot first and ask questions later, she opted that signaling their intent in the middle of a battlefield would be the better option.

 

“Hail Mandalorian space fleet, I’m Xae-lin of the Ardell clan,” she winced slightly, having opted to leverage Tros’s claim when she was still questioning it herself. “I’ve come to give aid my brother. Is he in Keldabe?”

----------

 

Soresh stayed close to Vi’ika, knowing that it was the first war zone Mirdala’s hunt partner had been in. While he hadn’t been tasked with keeping the hound out of trouble, the two of them had fallen in together once the city fighting and battle for the spaceport began. She’d gone on the hunt after letting out a baleful howl that had sent a chill down Soresh’s spine and he was hard-pressed to keep up with her as she tore through the ranks while he provided cover.

 

In the last few moments, however, the raven-furred sandhound had calmed somewhat and was now searching through buildings and rubble as though she were looking for someone. The two of them found several survivors of some of the bombings among the scores of dead defenders that littered the city.

 

Once again, Vi’ika came across another survivor ((Tros Ardell)) wearing black and red armor and signaled the med-evac teams he’d caught up with. “We’ve got you, vod,” he reassured the man as he began working on the worst of his injuries.

 

---

The Shogunite native stayed with his latest charge as they made their way back toward the medical tents, horrified when he came on the grisly scene the Death Watch had left behind. “Wait here,” Soresh bade the unknown man as he hid him away in another building while he went to investigate further. Please don’t let TeVerd be dead, he prayed as he entered what had been the primary med-center for this front of the battle, Or Tresha.

 

Several minutes later, Soresh emerged stunned from the scene, but still heartened that TeVerd’s body nor Tresha’s had been among those slaughtered by the cowardly Death Watch. It was hard to will his voice calm enough to relay the status of the medical ward to command, but he somehow managed it as he watched Vi’ika sniff around before finally disappearing down an alleyway.

 

When she didn’t come out again, he drew his sidearm and followed her path, an odd sense of dread creeping in the back of his mind. He saw the body of one Kyr’tsad slashed across the throat and riddled with blaster bolts as though he’d been used as a shield for someone and followed the trail of blood around the corner to where Vi’ika was laying next to the body of Soresh’s former mentor.

 

He now knew what had possessed Mirdala’s hound to her mission and all he could think was, Stang.

[Frond]

Frond's eyes were closed, but not in the way of a being who was catching some shut eye or the way most beings closed their eyes in fear; no, Frond's eyes were closed more like one who was trying to not be sick.

 

I remember. Space. Un-fun

 

It had been days since he had been able to stand out in the embracing rays of solar light, days since he had let his tendrilled feet embrace the sweet earthen nutrients of the soil. Thankfully, between the scrubbers and he and Xae's free exchange of Carbon Dioxide and Dioxygen, breathing was not an issue. Still, Frond was hungry.

 

As the ship dropped out of hyperspace, Frond's hand-like appendages grasped his seat."Space-Travel. Forgotten. Straining." he grumbled, pondering the decidedly Mandalorian twang his newfound Jedi friend had adopted. A slight smile crossed his face at the thought that they were coming closer to perhaps understanding the meaning of his vision. The Force was guiding them, even now, in the midst of the chaotic rabble they found themselves in. They would make it. The Force told him so.

[Terra]

((Great duel, a pleasure. Pity about the hands-based-weapons only agreement ))

 

The grasping tentacle of the Houjix takes Moltar...

 

The young assassin watched as her whipping strike found its mark, taking away the hand of her opponent, dropping her to her knees. Before her, twitching like an exposed seafish, lay the severed hand. Spurts of blood bubbling from the palm. She could almost taste it, feel the warmth of it spreading upon her tongue. Terra changed from a defensive stance and began to advance at a sprint, feeling the adrenaline pump through her limbs, speeding her heart. Her footspeed was almost instantly at full tilt, ten meters per second. She was hungry to repay the pain that coursed through her. She would strip the woman of her armour and feast of her flesh. She was only two meters away, a distance that could be covered in a heartbeat. Her fingers clutched the lightsaber before her, as the other hand flipped the garrot on a followup.

 

As he opponent rolled from her kneeling stance, utilizing her blade as a pivoting point, Terra altered her own advance, turning with the next step upon the ball of her booted foot to head off the tangential roll. She could feel the soil compact under the tread of her boots, the decaying earth of decades of rotting leaves. The young assassin could almost taste the lifeblood’s spray upon her lips, and her throat ached for satisfaction. A sudden veshok was the safety the woman found, before the demon could chase her down. There was no safety from evil, not on this planet. Ason's voice slithered across her thoughts

 

All of hell shall sing as you are unleashed…

 

The Mandalorian’s reappearance an instant later, weaponless but for a sphere born in her remaining hand. Its silvered gleam reflected in the firelight, pronouncing its curves and unmistakable form. A grenade. The woman pitched it as Terra took another long stride across the forest floor, her boot mixing her prey’s blood into the thirsty ash. The grenade sailed over her head as she passed another step, bringing the distance to one meter. Half the original distance was gone. She disabled her thermal imaging on her HUD, not desiring to be overwhelmed by whatever explosion was to come.

 

...Dishonourable duelists these Mandalorians…

 

A boiling wavelike explosion rippled behind her. The glop grenade had made its impact four meters behind, and its aerosol jets had ignited in the flames. The adhesive was less than flammable, but with its dispersion system spouting flames, it became boiling strands of rippling foam. It expanded quickly, and before it came a wave of smoke and a blossom of heat. She would almost be cloaked by it, the wave of fire, heat, and smoke, adding to the already smoke-filled air.

 

The chorus of hellsong, the voices of all her victims was at her back. It burned. Each sting of pain, bringing with it a cry of death. Infants smothered. Soldiers shot down. Lives of the innocent taken. One face singled from the horde. A blond head, eyes of ice, shattered by the sting of a thousand flechettes. His cry of vengeance ran along her spine, ripping through her defenses. A man shot down in a cantina, his former blade now her own.

 

The blade’s ignition added nothing to its weight. It screamed into her consciousness with the corruption of silvered light, tainted with red lightning. As easy to use as a feather-light beskad. The gyroscopic effects of a lightsaber handle had been difficult to get used to, under the training of Lord Ar-Pharazon, and she had almost killed herself several times before she got used to it. His hands on hers as he guided her steps, whispering grand tales of conquest over hundreds of Darth Mauls. She had followed his every whim, bending herself until she had become unrecognizable. She had done everything to please his desires, to become a warrior bound to his insanity, and like all the others, he had abandoned her. The hours in training now bore its fruition as she kept the blade to waist height , compensating for her opponent’s height. The Golden God’s voice came unbidden to mind

 

Trying to please those that will never be pleased? Why? Gold is fleeting, Gold is fickle, Gold is fun…

 

Agony tore away her memories, liquid flame searing its way through the flesh on her back, flowing around her plating to bite into the flesh around it. The feelings of lecherous caress were driven away. Every neve screamed, her body freezing mid-stride as the flaming wave began to ensnare her. A burning branch of Veshoke drove its way through her lower back, propelled by the projected blast. It rammed through her external oblique, reaching the tender organs beneath. Her momentum ripped the adhesive from her boiling flesh before it could set, exposing raw muscle beneath. Terra’s flesh melted away and dripped down her back. Blood bubbled from her lips as she could feel something tear inside of her as her front foot landed. All Terra could see now was the body of her opponent. All she could desire was the Mandalorian’s death. It was the only thing that stopped her from collapsing into the embrace of pain that was consuming her. All she could do was shriek as she channeled everything she had left into her attack

 

Die… Die… Die…

 

She swung the handle of her lightsaber as she made her own tumble off her momentum, freed from the expanding cloud of superheated liquid as it followed her. Only one arm would answer her call for death. She aimed the blade at her disarmed opponent, to strike across her unarmoured waist, across her weapon’s belt, an execution of Sai Tok, transitioning into Mou Kei as she passed behind her disarmed opponent where she stood beside the Veshok. A few flicks of the wrist and it would all be at an end, perhaps even before the blast wave took her. Her footspeed would carry her past The Mandalorian in her tumble, and an unarmed and dishonourable opponent was easy prey, even for a wounded predator. She would be taken out before she could recover her castaway sword. It would all be over in an instant, grenade’s toss, explosion, strike.

 

((3))

[Whispering Abyss]

((Narrative backpost))

 

It had all gone according to plan.

 

The double agent Hawke had planted in Keldabe had sabotaged defensive positions at the exact right time. The Sith troops, reinforced by Death Watch commandos, surged through the gaps, razing everything they could as they quickly surged to their goal: the spaceport. Hawke himself had killed a Mandalorian defender here and there, knowing enough about their armor to shoot them in their lesser-protected limbs to first cripple them rather than wasting rounds on their armor plating. With the spaceport secured, as well as the surrounding anti-aircraft weaponry disabled, the Sith could begin landing fresh troops and supplies directly to Keldabe, flushing the Mandalorians from their entrenchments.

 

Hawke tried raising the Sith forces on comm frequencies, but was met with static. Each comm frequency he tried that came back with nothing, his stomach churned a little more. What had happened? Ab'ki was never wrong, she had foreseen victory. She had personally sent him here to... But that was the other thing, too. She was known to lie and sacrifice the unworthy. Those in her inner circles were supposed to be above such treachery, but whatever she'd wanted here was big enough to lay all her cards on the table. Hawke taking Keldabe wasn't an important critical keystroke in taking the system, it was a distraction. He was the distraction.

 

Blaster and slugthrower fire began slowly intensifying outside the spaceport. Above, several ships began breaking through the clouds, none of Sith design. He was the distraction, and an expendable one at that. The battle began to rage, and slowly the number of his troops began to dwindle, and despite it all Hawke sat on a cargo crate in the middle of the spaceport and began to chuckle. He'd had such lofty aspirations, but this was how it ended, on some backwater little farming mud ball that the Mandalorians called home.

 

It had all gone according to plan. Just not his plan.

 

The one thing he could control, though, was dying on his own terms. Without another thought, Hawke put the barrel of his sidearm in his mouth and swiftly pulled the trigger, his light snuffed fast enough to not have to deal with the sound and the mess.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

The trip back to Manda'yaim had been a silent one as Mirdala had sealed herself within her helmet and turned her comms off until the Justice had emerged from hyperspace. Rhys and Vy'ika hadn't been up for much conversation either, but at least Kandor could get a read on their expressions and it wasn't likely that he missed their concerned glances Mirdala's way.

 

Her silence continued as they made their way to the command center where she punctuated his proclamation by dumping the severed heads of Fieyr and Ab'ki (lekku and all) onto the command console. In one movement she deposited the satchel into Kandor's good hand and deactivated her locator beacon before she walked out of the command center, leaving her brothers and husband behind.

 

---

 

There were still pockets of fighting within the city, she knew, but she soon found she didn't care. The sound around her was still muffled, but she had greater tools at her disposal to guide her through the battle zone as she wandered the narrow streets of the city. It couldn't save her from the emotional battle warring within herself. Her mind refused to make sense of what she knew to be the truth. She couldn't even think the words to herself and had thus settled well into her mental and emotional walls and defenses.

 

There she was determined to remain.

[Kalyani Wartide]

When Kalyani woke up she was lying on a stretcher with her armour partly off. The nurse checking on her looked familiar as she methodically checked the IV they’d put in her arm. The young woman swallowed a groan as she tried to sit up, partly from pain, partly from the knowledge that she was about to get read the riot act. “Ah, back with us again. You were supposed to look after that shoulder wound Missy, though I concede you hadn’t realised you’d been hit with more shrapnel.” The sound of heavy weaponry sounded in the distance and Kaly searched around frantically for her sister, “Where’s Mellanie?” Managing to sit up she went to pull out the IV, convinced that her little sister had gone out into the action again. That was where she needed to be too… She knew that Araac would watch over her but still she fretted. Kaly had to get out there again too no matter the risk of doing more damage to herself. “Hold on a minute you. Wait until the doctor gets here...” Kaly cut her off with, “I can’t wait that long and you need the bed for someone else. If you don’t help me take it out I’ll do it myself.” A determined look crossed her features. The nurse must have realised that she meant it as she moved closer to take it out properly so that the anxious young woman wouldn’t rip it out and do more harm than good.

 

“You’re up,” a voice stated behind her, Kalyani turning to see Jaesko standing there. Giving a nod she answered, “And soon ready to go.” Jaes gave her a sharp nod in return and Kalyani got the impression that her friend was anxious to get out there too. She seemed just as protective of her older brother as Kaly was to Mel. The nurse put a dressing around her arm where the drip had been and then checked the bandages over her shoulder wounds. She have Kaly some painkillers to take with her and between the two girls, they got her armour back in place, it being better than nothing even though some of it was filled with holes. Checking their weapons and replacing the cartridges for fresh ones the two headed out of the makeshift med center and back into the fray, each wanting to find their sibling.

[Moon Knight]

Kandor Fett stood, helmet off, in the middle of the command center, surrounded by the general hubbub of strategists and alor'ade as they expertly managed the influx of soldiers, hunched over a table-sized holomap of Keldabe and the surrounding airspace, his one good hand flat on the table as if to provide him with some stability. Utterly exhausted from days of fighting with scarce breaks between them and injured in several places, he focused through the continuous pain as he watched the battle unfold. Mirdala had left; not only that, but she'd shut off her comm as well as her locator, so it was clear that she did not want him to follow. She was locking him out again, as she often did when angry or grieving. And he was now belatedly receiving word from 2277 that Kirlocca, too, was dead. One of the very few beings he had considered a friend.

 

He eyed the heads of Ab'ki and Fieyr, a gruesome display but a definitive one. It had cost dearly, but the Shadow War was over. The reports were coming in from elsewhere in the Sector, where similar things were happening as were happening on Manda'yaim. The dar'jetii's death had signaled the end of a period of watching and waiting for her armies to materialize and ushered in a flurry of activity as they converged to expel those that had. The ships that she had brought, an impressive array of corvettes and frigates as well as the one Dreadnaught, were being seized. The Mando'ade would somehow come out of this with possession of a fleet that could stand up to the GA or Remnant.

 

Moon Knight shifted and could feel his kute rub against the bandages he and Vy'ika had administered on the flight over. He knew what he would have to do. The fleet would need a banner or there was no telling where it would end up. His people, these soldiers, would be as frustrated as he that aruetiise had taken the fight to their homes and done such damage, exacted such a price in blood. With the right move, Fett could help solve these issues and put the Mandalore Sector back on the map even as the threat of galactic war loomed. It was time for that.

 

There was a hell of a lot of work to be done.

 

"Mand'alor," someone was saying to him. He turned his head. One of the tacticians was giving him a concerned look. "You look like you can barely stand," she said. "We can handle things here. The battle is won. No one will hold it against you if you disappear and get some bacta and rest."

 

Fett studied her silently. Somehow he'd been standing over the map for fifteen minutes already. "Soon," he said. Mirdala's locator beacon had popped on again. She'd made her way back to the first aid center where they'd been holed up whenever that had been. Could it really have been the last time they'd slept?

 

He pulled his buy'ce back on and headed out the door in her direction. The streets were lined with bodies. For just a bit longer, they would have to rest for him.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

“Mird’ika!” Soresh dashed out of the first aid station moving to intercept his former training mate, knowing full-well what had brought her here. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Do you really want to see him like that?” He realized he was likely wrestling with his on protective urges having known that Mirdala had witnessed the murder by fire of her own parents. He was trying to spare her last memory of TeVerd from seeing him in his current state.

 

He saw her head tilt and for a moment he wondered if she was going to take a swing at him as her fists balled up at her sides.

 

She did.

 

He’d forgotten how quick and hard her right hooks could be.

 

“I’m not fourteen anymore, Soresh,” she growled, squaring up again as the fight with denial hadn’t yet left her. “This isn’t the first time. I don’t need you to protect me.”

 

He held his hands up defensively, “I know.”

 

“Better let her through.” Fett appeared from around the corner. His gait was uneven but deliberate as he walked up to Soresh, ushering him out of Mirdala’s path towards the med center’s entrance.

 

The other man glanced Kandor’s way but backed off. Any real stake Soresh had had in helping Mirdala navigate this situation had been given up through his inaction a long time ago. “I’m truly sorry, Mird’ika,” he offered before standing aside so she could pass.

 

Mirdala’s bucket automatically adjusted for the shift in light as she entered the dimness caused by several of the lights being run by generators. The scene before her was vastly different than what they’d left behind only a day or so earlier.

 

Where there had been neatly lined beds and boxes, chaos seemed to have upended the medical area. What order had been restored had manifested through the half-completed efforts of those still whole enough to lend their help to the situation. Blood covered the floor, more so than would have occurred through the usual work of patching up those from the battlefront.

 

Mirdala’s posture as she moved silently toward the back of the building had become tense, and rigid with anger once again. The medical staff that remained or had come in with the second wave was too busy with their work of saving the living to pay her much if any, mind.

 

She hesitated at a drawn curtain, suddenly torn between confirming past all denial what she knew deep down to be true, or hold out the hope that through another major miracle he’d reawaken and find her again, the same way they’d gravitated toward each other when she was very small, and again under the guise of Rale Sendak.

 

The last thing she could or wanted to imagine was TeVerd being murdered in his sleep. Seeing his body would bring confirmation of two things she didn’t want to admit to, so she stood there clenching and unclenching her hands.

[Moon Knight]

Kandor stepped up close behind her and put a hand on the curtain. He looked at her for a moment, no more certain of what they would find than she was, then drew it back. There were no two ways about this; she’d have to face it at some point.

 

Beyond lay the venerable Seeker, Vi’ika laying at his feet, his clothes stained in his own purplish blood as well as crimson. He bore numerous injuries, including a lethal chest puncture. Some of the wounds had torn apart the bandages that had briefly covered the last set. He hadn’t been wearing his beskar when he’d died judging from the patterns and the blaster burn along his side.

 

Suddenly, it was as though all of the tension left his wife’s body, but she somehow managed to remain on her feet. Wordlessly, she turned away from the makeshift morgue and walked out of the aid center, no longer able to deny the truth of her father’s death.

 

Fett lingered a moment, nodded appreciatively toward Vi’ika, and pursued his riduur, grabbing a stack of bacta patches from a nearby table as he departed. They were done here for the time being. A little bit of rest would certainly do him a lot of good, and it might just start Mirdala down the path as well. He caught up with her and gently steered her back towards the Oyu’baat.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

As soon as they were back in their room, Mirdala sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving for several moments before removing her helmet then her flak vest and body plates. Her hand briefly traced over the red hunt-partner sigil, set against a field of golden yellow, borne on her right shoulder plate, before she threw the whole thing across the room.

 

She’d failed him again. She was his hunt-parter and she was supposed to have his back. TeVerd had died alone and it was her fault.

 

Letting out a slow breath, she laid on her side, facing away from Kandor, curling up and letting the numbness overtake her. Exhaustion set in and soon restless sleep did as well.

[Moon Knight]

Though Mirdala immediately collapsed, Fett was slower to remove his beskar'gam, having to deal with his sling and only having one particularly useable hand. Still, the veteran warrior steadily shed his plates and equipment, surveying the damage to both his gear and his body. He'd have to replace his targeting rangefinder and the hose that delivered repulsor pack fuel to his flamethrower. His flight suit was torn in multiple places as well. It could be patched but he owned five identical ones so it wouldn't be badly missed.

 

Using his teeth to open the packages, he slapped bacta patches on his worst injuries and injected himself with another round of pain killers. He would need full bacta submersion to fix the elbow and he'd be able to get it sooner or later, but with the fighting done for the time being it wasn't critical.

 

He was still in desperate need of a sanisteam, but his exhaustion was now catching up to him in full force. He slowly crossed to the bed and lay down next to Mirdala, his eyes on her sleeping form. They'd made it this far, somehow. His life since she'd found her way back into it had been at times the best it had ever been, but so too had it been marked with grief and loss. They'd lost family and formed dreams only to have them shattered. He hoped that one day they would look back together on the first 6 weeks of their marriage from afar as a tumultuous start to something strong and enduring, but that made it no less difficult to be in the moment, to try and help his wife find some peace in this latest tragedy. Something he was still just learning to do.

 

Kandor rolled onto his side. He'd take it a day at a time.

 

As he drifted off into the long-awaited embrace of sleep, he mentally recited something that he'd never before seen fit to use. Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Kirlocca. TeVerd.

[Xae-Lin Ardel]

Civilian vessel, proceed to these coordinates and get the haran out of our combat arena unless you want to get shot down. I'll alert command you're coming, but I make no promises about your brother.

 

The comm was abruptly cut short after that. "Best welcome we could have hoped for, I guess," Xae remarked to Frond, noticing his droop for the first time. She quickly keyed in the landing coordinates and the circuitous path they'd provided her to route around the worst of the space battle and rose from her seat.

 

"Forgive me," she began. "I didn't realize how hard space-travel is for one like you. This might help." The petite Jedi reached out and placed her hand just above Frond's, calling on the light of the Force and directing the flow into the tree-like being.

 

Just before they hit the atmosphere, she buckled herself back in her seat and took them the rest of the way to landfall, just outside the city.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Mirdala stirred unwillingly back to consciousness and wiped the wetness from her eyes before looking over her shoulder to where Kandor lay asleep beside her. Guilt gripped her for not having looked after him better. Despite knowing that he was used to taking care of himself, he wasn’t alone any longer. And neither am I, a voice somewhere in the back of her mind reminded her, as she carefully rose from the bed so she didn’t disturb him.

 

The realization did nothing to alleviate the raw ache and the gaping hole she felt in her soul, but it was a good reminder. She’d shut him out before - the first time when it was believed that TeVerd had been killed alongside her uncle Hwulf in an ambush on Abraxos. It had lead to their ultimate parting, but the Manda had brought them both together again with the luxury of time and emotional distance from the people they’d been in that moment to provide a chance for them to choose to trust each other and entwine their individual journeys once again.

 

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome - we are one when we are together, we are one when parted.

 

Those were the first words of the Mandalorian marriage vows she’d exchanged with Kandor following her recovery from one of Ab’ki’s attacks. Considering how staunchly each of them upheld their word, she knew their journeys could never be parted again in this life.

 

She took what comfort she could in that realization as she shod the rest of her gear and headed to the refresher for a stanisteam, grateful when the water not only flowed clear but was hot as well. Whatever bombardment had initially been leveled against the city hadn’t been able to penetrate enough to damage the city’s underground infrastructure.

 

Scalding water pounded her body, but somehow it’s usual relaxing spell couldn’t penetrate the numbness she clung to like a lifeline. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. There was still so much work to do. Kandor hadn’t been wrong when he’d said that there were certain problems in the galaxy that only the two of them could solve.

 

He would need her by his side in the coming days, so she had to be there for him and for their people. She would not, could not let someone so close to her down again. Personal pain and tragedies could wait.

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

At any time, the sounds of agony were discordant and abrasive. Filtered through the tinny projection of her opponent's buy'ce, the sound drove a spike of chill into Tresha's hot veins. She had not counted on the wash of superheated adhesive, but positioned as she was behind the massive tree, a pocket of protection was afforded her, and the flames licking at her iron skin were repelled by her flame-retardant flight suit. Seizing the beskad from where it stood, aloft in the soft ground beside her, she wheeled around to the sound of a lightsaber's hiss.

 

As if in slow-motion, the demagolka proceeded towards her, the blade blazing at odds with the flames around it, competing for the honor of being regarded as more deadly. The sound triggered a recall in her memory, the jetii Aryian bestowing upon her the weapon which now dangled at her hip, and the sharpness of her mind and her vision when his hand had somehow imparted clarity. It was this selfsame clarity which she prayed for now. Her armored fingers tightened around the beskad as the blade of her opponent's saber carved a too-visible swath through the smoldering air.

 

In relentless hope, in cold fury, in justified vengeance, she threw herself into a tumble, smacking at her opponent's shielded gauntlet with her handless forearm, a blow which, if it landed, would not only redirect the sweeping strike from the jetii'kad, but allow for her good hand, clutching the tempered blade, to find its mark: the soft throat of her opponent beneath the lip of her buy'ce. Jade eyes swam in her mind as she did so: the murdered child calling for retribution, and Tresha's soul calling for her cousin's safety.

 

Then everything was fire and smoke and death.

 

Aliit ori'shya tal'din... forgive me, Mird'ika.

 

((3))

[Raynuk Montar]

Ruling for Terra vs Tresha Ad'Nort

 

First off, I really do love having the two of you on this site, because you always are so descriptive in your posts, that the pictures you're painting are so vividly visual. Terra's first post creates a very clear mindset for the combatant; forgoing unstoppable rage for the thought process of a self-identified psychopath, while Tresha... Well Tresha is simply out for vengeance; to make Terra pay for her crimes against Mandalore and its people, and has hunted Terra down relentlessly. As always, you both did an excellent job at responding to and conceding the attacks of the other, particularly the loss of Terra's Jetpack and Tresha's now detached hand. Thus... The ruling must follow.

 

There was a lot of tumbling in those last two posts, which leads me to believe you were both pretending to be in Dark Souls, and you both injured the hell out of each other. Terra's entire back is wrecked with jetpack shrapnel and burning, boiling goo, not to mention the (presumably) burning tree limb sticking out of her now. Meanwhile Tresha is missing her entire hand and is likely suffering from extreme blood loss at the moment. Neither of the combatants are likely going to survive this encounter, but there can still be a winner.

 

 

The Winner of the Duel is Tresha, But I want to point some things out in regards to why.

 

-Im aware there was some 'drama' revolving this duel; but I do not know all of the details, so thus I am ignoring it, and take the duel at face value.

 

-I am, shall we say, concerned about Terra's ability to effectively perform the tumble before her intended kill strike given that you stated she has a tree branch sticking through her lower back and into her squishy organs within. This impacted my decision.

 

-As far as outcomes, I don't think either character is going to make it out of this encounter alive.

 

-In the end, a large part of my decision was based on the amount of damage taken and conceded by both parties, and by my eye, Terra took more injury that would negatively affect her ability to continue to fight by having her jetpack explode on her, and then getting burning/super-heated goo rained on her along with a tree branch stabbing through her back. Tresha on the other hand, only has a missing hand to contend with, but that is a major injury.

 

-With that said, I do not think Tresha can divert the lightsaber as much as she wants to by slamming her forearm against Terra, who has momentum on her side with the blow, but Tresha has enough to not make the blow gut her.

 

Tresha wins, and gets the next post, and per the rules, may post capturing or killing Terra outright if she so wishes.

 

Two final notes:

 

1. This duel took way too long; over a month in real life from Terra's first post to Tresha's third, which is too long to potentially hold up others based on the result of this fight. You both at one time or another, took more than a week to get a post up in the duel. Hopefully you both are already aware of that and will, moving forward, strive to not have such delays when the outcome might heavily impact others in a big storyline like the Fight for Mandalore.

 

2. I love you both.

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

The silvery blade, clutched in her iron fingers, punched its way through the soft windpipe of the demagolka, and with a swift slash, Tresha had left the demon headless on the ground. Her buy'ce, in the absence of its seal, tumbled free of its contents, the juvenile face of the aggressor peering up through sightless eyes, the lip curled in a last, dying snarl over jagged, sharpened teeth. Her face was young, too young to have committed such atrocities, one who had never known the true comfort and freedom of aliit. The barest inkling of pity welled up within her.

 

Then the wall of flame hit, and with a guttural scream, she remembered no more.

 

----

 

When she came to, she couldn't fully wake. Her eyes, try as she might, would not open, and the only thing she was aware of was the breeze on her bare skin. Every inch of her body felt like it was still engulfed in flame, and a claustrophobic panic welled up in her throat. Tossing to and fro, she began to struggle against felt restraints, her movements finally attracting the attention of an aide who hushed her reassuringly to no avail.

 

A hypospray pressed against her throat, and stillness took her. It didn't alleviate any of the claustrophobia, it simply removed the ability of her nerves to respond to her brain's impulses.

 

Robbed of her ability to move, and still unable to open her eyes, she did the only thing she could think to do: she reached for Mirdala through the familiar bond.

 

Nothing. Silence. Absence. Void.

 

Mirdala, if she was still alive, was locked down tighter than Tresha had ever felt her. The rest were too far away or had also died in the fighting.

 

Suddenly she wasn't sure if she wanted to wake up.

 

"Tresha? Osik!" the voice was vaguely familiar, but the hypospray had made her drowsy, and it was too much work to make the association in her mind. She stopped fighting it, the deep grief sealing her lips and drawing her into comforting nothingness.

[Moon Knight]

For once Kandor slept through Mirdala getting up, but nonetheless the sound of the sanisteam caused him to stir. His whole body ached and his kovid was full of cobwebs, but it was a marked improvement from the past day. He slowly moved to the edge of the bed, his arm practically useless. Flakes of dried mud from Shogun and Manda'yaim both rubbed off his skin and onto the sheets as he rose. The water of the spring in the Seeker cavern had left as much grime as it might have washed away, and he'd added layers of sweat since then.

 

A few minutes later Mirdala emerged from the refresher and Kandor had managed to grab a set of civilian clothes. His beskar'gam would at the very least need hosing down and quite possibly repairs before he'd suit up again, barring something dramatic.

 

He rose to greet his wife. "Morning," he said. He met her eyes, trying to get an initial read on her. Her jade seemed a bit guarded. "What do you say I get cleaned up and we go downstairs for some skraan?" He knew he had to get her to at least do that, so rather than wait for an answer he immediately entered the 'fresher and started his sanisteam. Everything was more difficult to do one-handed, but the amount of reddish-brown dust that was being rinsed down the drain at least meant he was doing some good.

 

Not long after he'd managed to get dressed convincingly and headed back out into the room, awkwardly trying to get his arm back in his impromptu sling with mixed results. "How are you holding up? Any physical injuries need attention?"

[Frond]

As the life giving embrace of Force spawned sunlight enveloped Frond's chlorophylled tendrils, he could feel the life returning bit by bit. Sunlight. Life When The Force Not. he smiled. His drooping fronds perked up as newfound life flowed through them. "Learn Must. your Skill." As much as The Force sustained him, Frond, like all plant-based lifeforms craved sunlight and water; even sunlight was option when he fell into a Neti meditative state, but that had not been an option for such a short trip. After all, Frond did not want to miss anything.

 

The ride planetside was a bit more bumpy than the majority of their trip. One could chalk it up to nerves, atmospheric distortions, the jetwash of their escorts, The Force, or even a loose durasteel armor plating; but it really did not matter. Soon enough they were able to come to a landing in the wartorn soil of the planet within site of the ravaged city billowing a wave of dirt and dust into the air across and above the adjacent medical camp.

 

As the landing ramp opened, Frond quickly disentangled himself from the ship, a combination of his viney tendrils and built in safety straps had ensared him enough to keep the tree-like being from moving during the trip - mostly. Stepping into the sheer uninhibited sunlight of the planet, Frond paused, his every pore inhaling the carbon dioxide in the air. His leafy bits trembled with excitement as the fresh air and sunlight hit them. Even with his newfound companions force-based sunlight, one just could not beat the real thing.

 

Feeling better almost instantly, Frond strolled forward, his bare wooded feet falling on the fresh Mandalorian earth. Nearby, he could see several thickly armored and heavily armored T-visored individuals approaching, not bothering to be stealthy, clearly confident in their overwhelming force. The Force Me Protects. Even with the sunlight and soil and CO2 and the armed armored assailants, there was something else. HE was here. The kindred of his comrade ((Tros)). The one who Frond had seen in the shadows of The Throne of Balance. He was here, somewhere, and he was in need.

 

Creaking his neck, Frond turned and spoke aloud to Xae who had not bound off the ship as quickly as he had, "Your Kindred Present Near" he said loudly with a crackling voice like snapping twigs as he turned to the approaching faceless Mandalorians and slowly raised his tendriled hands into the air in a universal sign of surrender.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

((Co-written))

 

“Here,” she offered, closing the space between them. “Let me help.” She gently maneuvered his arm into the sling, almost looking right through him as she did. Focusing on taking care of him was something she could handle, something she could control. She had to keep it together, she had to.

 

“Everything outside is still muffled, but I can wait. The worst I’ve got is just some scrapes and bumps.” She shrugged and looked toward the door, hesitating. “Can we eat in here? I don’t really want to be around anyone right now. We won, but it doesn’t feel like a victory and I’d rather not sour the mood for others.”

 

He searched her face, testing the sling a bit to make sure it was the right tightness. “Maybe we can have something brought up to us. It’s got to beat ration packs, right?”

 

What normally would have elicited a smile from her at their shared joke merely received a small nod of acknowledgment from his wife.

 

Kandor called downstairs and placed a simple order before turning his attention back to her. “Sector took a beating, but we ended up inheriting a bunch of ships from our guests,” he said. “Got to thinking, maybe we should start taking defense seriously what with everything going on with the aruetiise. Remember the Mandalorian Protectors from the Clone Wars?”

 

She nodded, apparently finding it easier in the moment to focus on the gains rather than the cost of those ships.

 

“I think now might be the time to bring them back,” he continued. “Open it up to some contracts, but stand ready for home defense. My mercenary days might be behind me, but it might open some opportunities for the Sector to get back on its feet.”

 

Mirdala sat back down on the bed and looked out the window as she fought back thoughts of the Seekers, who’d been keeping up the home guard in the shadows for years. With the Order nearly wiped out, someone would have to fill those boots. She couldn’t immediately answer him as her own breath caught as she tried to keep her thoughts under control. Mirdala fought them and she lost.

 

She buried her face in her hands and wept. Kandor crossed over to her, sat on her left and put his good hand around her shoulders as she turned and buried her face in his chest. “I’m sorry, cyar’ika,” he offered.

 

He held her for the several minutes she needed to cry, a knock on the door breaking the silence between them. Mirdala sat up and faced away from the door as Kandor rose and opened it just long enough to let in the young boy who’d brought up their food. By the time the boy had left, Mirdala was already up and wiping the tears away.

 

“I’m sorry, too,” she started. “It’s just hard knowing that, for so long, the Seekers were the home guard. There are now far fewer of us than there have ever been. I can’t think of a better time for others to step up.”

 

Kandor offered her a bowl of hot skraan. “TeVerd and the others did not sacrifice in vain,” he said. “With Ab’ki and her army gone, the Sector is safer than ever. The Protectors may never need to fight in its defense.”

 

She accepted the bowl from him but didn’t immediately start eating. The thought of her father being killed in his hospital bed turned her stomach and she rose to pace the room.

 

Finally, after several long minutes, she stopped, looking out their window. “I should have been there to watch his back on the ridge…”

 

Fett put down his own bowl and rose. “You know it doesn’t work that way,” he told her gently. “You were each where you needed to be, and you each did your duty. TeVerd gave his life doing his.”

 

“I don’t see how being slaughtered in your hospital bed as being a dutiful way to give your life,” she replied, turning to face him and doing her best to reign in her anger. She wouldn’t make the same mistake she’d made on the Enigma - was it a little over a year ago? She wouldn’t allow herself to take out her anger on Kandor. He didn’t deserve it, especially after sticking by her every step of this tumultuous journey.

 

He drew back his head in surprise. “He died defending the first aid center from Kyr’tsad.”

 

Mirdala returned his expression with one of her own. “What do you mean? You saw him. He’d been stabbed through the chest.” She drew back away from him, fighting back her own memories of seeing him in the morgue several hours before. She’d never admit to Soresh that he’d been right.

 

“...In the hallway outside the infirmary,” he said. “The same place he earned his multiple blaster burns. His blood was everywhere.”

 

Looking off to the side for a moment, Mirdala mentally went through her steps in the makeshift hospital up to the point that she’d come to the curtain. In her haze, she realized she had missed the blood Kandor had mentioned. It didn’t completely dull the pain she felt, but it at least was comforting to know that he’d given his life defending those that couldn’t fight for themselves. He lived the lessons that he’d imparted to her. “I miss him. He should have gotten to see Ab’ki defeated.” Tears were forming at the edges of her eyes once more. “This war has cost me so much. I don’t know how much more I can bear.”

[Moon Knight]

Kandor gave her another one-armed embrace. "I know. With all we have seen of Seeker ghosts and Moon Knights, we can say with certainty that he is not truly gone, and that he is watching over you from the manda."

 

Just then his implant received a comm. He was glad to know the hardy device had made it through the ordeal, and it seemed to be fully functioning after the Sith lightning attack and a reboot. He pulled partially away from Mirdala and focused out the window. "Understood, we're on our way," he said after a moment, then turned back to her. "Mird'ika, that was Soresh. They found Tresha. She's hurt but alive."

 

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

 

A few minutes later they were headed down the street to the med center where Soresh had told them Mirdala's cousin was being kept. The Mando'ade around them were in a great variety of spirits. Some were celebrating the victory with a buy'ce gal. Others sat quietly together, experiencing loss and aay'han. The city itself bore the scars of the artillery assault. Most of the AA towers were in shambles, and rubble littered the narrow Keldabe streets. Small groups of individuals were working to clear some of the debris, but it would be a long process.

 

The med center itself was above capacity with wounded. Bloodstained beskar was piled under medical cots, stretchers, and hovercarts. Medics rushed about trying to triage and so direct their efforts.

 

Tresha was a sight. Battered and showing a pattern of burns, her left hand had been replaced by a bandaged stump. Kandor winced at the memory of losing his own hands long ago, but could vouch for modern prosthetic technology. He looked at his wife. "Can you reach her empathically?" he asked.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Upon hearing the news about her cousin, Mirdala had immediately slipped back within herself, not yet ready to face more heartache and pain. She’d remained silent the whole way to the med center, but her hand tightly clutched Kandor’s as he led her through the city. He’d become her lifeline and her grounding point in the chaos of emotions she fought to keep at bay for just a little longer.

 

Mirdala had to force herself to breathe as her eyes took in the site of her cousin’s battered, burned, and broken body. She didn’t even have the presence of mind to register how or why Tresha had gotten back on the battlefield despite her earlier injuries.

 

An odd sort of fear knotted her gut when Kandor asked about reaching out to Tresha through their shared empathic bond. “I-I’m not sure. I can help heal her body through the Force, but I can’t drag her back from the Red Dreaming if she’s not ready. That part has to be up to her.”

 

Finding a place on Tresha that wasn’t badly burned was hard, so Mirdala settled for resting her hands at Tresha’s temples, opening herself up to the physical pain that engulfed the other woman’s body. Somehow she managed to breathe through the sensation, as her face contorted with the effort.

 

Tresha...please...I can’t lose you too…

[Xae-Lin Ardel]

Xae hadn't expected a warm welcome to the Mandalorian homeworld, especially making their presence known in the middle of a war zone like they had. That's why she'd taken a few minutes to change into more civilian-looking clothes instead of the white robes she'd worn. Considering Frond's reaction to space travel, she didn't think it was likely that many of his species had ever made it to the Mandalorian world.

 

As she emerged from the loading bay, Xae raised her arms in a similar fashion to greet the Mandalorian defenders. Nothing about her appearance gave off that she was Jedi - dark blue pants, light blue top, brown vest, and boots that looked as though they'd blend in most galactic spaceports - and her lightsabers were carefully hidden within the ship. She'd made this journey as Tros Ardell’s sister and from what she knew about the Mandalorian people touting “Jedi” wasn’t likely to earn her any favors.

 

“I am Xae-Lin Ardel. My brother sent for me. His name is Tros Ardell and I need to find him.” Okay, so it wasn’t a total truth. She’d been the one to agree to meet him in Keldable when she was able, but it was close enough.

 

One of them wearing gold and olive green armor jerked his head toward her and Frond. “Check them for weapons,” he ordered his compatriots. “You’re a bit late answering the Mand’alor’s call girl. Nice of you to show up when most of the fighting was done.”

 

A woman roughly a head taller than Xae in pale green and purple armor patted her down and declared her clear while a much larger man in forest green armor with a pair of twin axes across his back checked Frond. Xae waited patiently for them to finish and return to the side of their commander.

 

“He didn’t mention there was a war on, and I’ve been out of pocket for a while,” she admitted.

 

“Convenient,” the gold and green armored one snorted as he rested his heavy repeater on the ground and sized her and Frond up for a moment. “There’s too much to be done to babysit wayward sisters. You’re just as likely to find him alive or dead. Be on your way and stay out of ours.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, waving Frond forward so she could secure the ship.

 

The patrol was gone by the time Xae turned back to the path leading into the city and turned to Frond in a low voice, “You’re leading this operation. I barely know the guy.”

[saberforce]

Tros honestly didn't remember much about what had happened after he felt the very sharp pain hit his lungs. Breathing was hard, still was. In fact, it almost burned to even take short breathes out of his own nostrils. There were moments of bright lights, darkness, and a general feeling of despair. He didn't need to actually feel his beskar'gam, he knew it had been blowout to some degree by the sniper. The blaster bolt must have struck just right to have gone all the way through him and his beskar'gam. With each moment he could see lights and other things, he was in pain. He was in pain while out of consciousness, but it seemed to be far worse when not. For now, all he could do was to wait though the pain and hope that the medics would be able to revive him to a point of mobility again. He couldn't care less about anything else. For all he knew, everyone who knew him and cared about him was dead. Maybe death is what I deserve... That was his last thought he had before he slipped for his final time into a state of unconsciousness....

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

Finally, finally, Mellanie looked around and saw no more enemies to shoot. All that were left were the Mandalorians and the dead. It almost seemed unreal. She holstered her blaster. Quiet, she looked around. Several people were sitting, staring. Others were starting to cheer and celebrate. Mellanie just felt like she could sleep for days. She was numb. So much death, so much loss. And now it was time to see just who had been lost, and to strive to put Keldabe back together. She took a step, then wavered. She would have collapsed had Araac not caught her. "Nu'nari, Mel'ika," he said immediately. "Ulyc." Letting her lean on him, he escorted her back to the med center. The med droids were overtaxed, and too busy to attend to a person who wasn't dying, so Araac set her down outside the main door of the center, ran in, grabbed a fresh dressing and bacta bandage for her arm, then returned and changed her old one out. "There's a shortage on painkillers," he said quietly. "But I'll get one if you want me to."

 

Gritting her teeth, Mellanie shook her head. "No, let the others have them. I'll live."

 

"So atin'la," he said fondly.

 

"How about you?" she asked.

 

"A few burns, and I think I hurt my knee pretty badly, but my beskar'gam saved me from most of the damage," he replied. "Nothing time won't heal."

 

She bit her lip. "The rest of the clan?"

 

He shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone but Jaesko since this last charge started." He must have seen a flicker of determination in her eyes, for he quickly shook his head again. "No, don't even think about it. You need to sleep. Come on. We'll find out tomorrow."

 

She couldn't even argue with him. Rather, she allowed him to help her over to a private home that was open for use as a barracks. An elderly woman, too old to have fought, but young enough and Mandalorian enough to have stayed in her home in the middle of Keldabe during the fighting, helped her get comfortable on the couch. Mellanie was really starting to feel the pain from her arm, and her head was swimming. Araac stayed with her for a few minutes, which was long enough for her to fall into a blessed, deep, dark sleep.

 

--

 

Mellanie had fallen asleep quickly, but Araac was still too restless from all the fighting. So after he was assured she wasn't going to wake up anytime soon and be looking for him, he headed back out to do what he could to assist in the beginnings of cleanup. Eventually, he found himself in a small team who was searching through the bodies, looking for people they could still save. The job ranged throughout the whole battlefield; a few turns would take one far from where he had started. Pretty soon, almost all of their supplies were used up. The group was about to go back to restock, when Araac spotted the wreck of a man he recognized. It was one of the men he had fought with in the streets--was it only a few hours ago? Wearily, he climbed over to the man. He was extremely beat up; it looked like he had taken a large blaster bolt that had punched right through him. He was in bad shape, but still breathing, hovering in and out of consciousness.

 

Together with his team, Araac loaded the man onto their last stretcher, and began pushing it towards the med center. Once they arrived, the med droids took one look and immediately rushed him to surgery. Araac let out a long breath. Now he was really tired. He trudged back to the house where he had left his riduur. Without even bothering to take off his armor, he collapsed into a chair next to her, and fell asleep himself.

 

 

 

Nu'nari: don't move

ulyc: careful

atin'la: tough

riduur: partner/spouse

 

[saberforce]

With a quick duck around, Bas'lan moved quietly in black trousers and a white shirt, sporting a Mandalmotors jacket, as he was careful to not let his true nature be discovered. Being found as Kyr'tsad after the battle would have surely gotten him shot and killed where he stood. He normally wouldn't have even risked it, but since his last son, the last heir was apart of the battle, he needed to make sure that he was still alive. Despite the fact that Tros would shoot him where he stood upon seeing him, as his own son declared him as dar'buir, such a thought was no where near as important as seeing him one last time. His only hope was that he was not in a body bag.

 

Moving quietly through the hospital, taking slow glances at wards to see where he may find his son, he caught glimpse the face... while not conscious, his own son had a very distinct face that he could pick up from anywhere. He took a very long moment to observe him from the window. He then whispered, "Ni partayli, gar darasuum Tro'solus Ardell." After a long moment passed by, Bas'lan turned and left the hospital as quietly and discreetly as he could, to head back to the spaceport to leave for the unknown regions.

 

But as he walked, he spotted something from a glance that made him stop dead in his own tracks..."ad'ika?..." He lingered... watched. There was no way. She was dead. She had died long ago. But even more so, why would she be here? The two held no knowledge of each other, both barely even knew him enough to fully understand the truth of their pasts... Is she real? It was something that Bas'lan couldn't quite understand or get past. He needed to find out. Slowly, he began to move towards her, close enough to touch her, to which he did. Right on her shoulder. He needed her to turn around and look him in the eye so that he would know the truth...

[Xae-Lin Ardel]

“I don’t think any of them back there was him,” Xae-lin remarked as her lips twisted up and to the right in consternation. “It might have helped if I knew what he looked like under the helmet, or if I’d been somewhat focused on learning what he felt like the the Force, or if I’d actually gotten his comm code. This is like looking for a needle in a haystack!”

 

Her shoulders drooped for a moment in defeat before she added, “Come on, Frond. Let’s check the next one. We’ll either find him or we won’t and we’ll just keep on going until we do or I find his armor.”

 

She continued to pick her way among the groups of Mandalorians that were any combination of milling about, partying (more than a few winking her way), or somberly gathered together. It should not have been an easy crowd to navigate and it wouldn’t have been were it not for the unusual nature of her companion.

 

They’d just started down the next street when she got the distinct impression she was being watched. Turning to the Force, she sensed no ill will, just a sense of shock and disbelief mixed with concern - a presence that was vaguely familiar. Deciding it was best to continue on her mission until confronted, she shifted her gaze up to Frond as someone reached out and touched her shoulder.

 

Turning, she looked up and saw an old man in a wrinkled and dusty MandalMotors jacket and paused. “Can I help you?” She asked giving the man a good hard look.

 

She knew him. The years had worn him down, but there was no mistaking the sharp gleam in the turquoise eyes that were an exact mirror to her own. There was no mistaking the way the Force surged through her and through the connection that bonded the daughter with the father.

 

“Bas’lan?” It came out as a hushed whisper, followed by a more hesitant and extremely uncertain, “Dad?

”

[Frond]

Truthfully, Frond did not know where to go next. The Force had shown him the Mandalorian sibling of his newfound Jedi friend, Xae, but the decision to seek out the man in the vision was his, well, mostly; Xae had helped, a little. Together the dup had begun searching the area, unsure where to look or even who to look for. Frond could tell, though, somewhere nearby was Xae's relative, their force signatures were too close not to be. Thankfully, Frond's rather odd appearance combined with his head-taller height over most of the surrounding Mandos and his black plant-made robes along with their distinct odor of soil and foliage, carved a wide enough swath for the to continue their search of the less-than-state-of-the-art medical facilities relatively unhindered.

 

Still, they had not found their quarry. Was it possible he knew they were hunting for him and was trying to avoid them? A step in front of Xae, Frond pressed forward; time was running out, he was sure of it. Suddenly, Frond became aware that Xae was not right next to him. Turning she saw him, a man, but not the man in his vision, but a man with a Force signature close enough to be one and the same. Bas'lan. Dad? To eye, more meets.

 

Sensing that his usually well composed comrade was put off her game by this sudden appearance, Frond turned and with a few large steps was upon Bas'lan and Xae. "Jedi. Trouble, this man?" he queried, pointing a wooded viney finger at Bas'lan in a somewhat high-end-private-school-instructor-who-knows-how-to-use-a-ruler-to-gain-compliance-through-fear type way.