Rom
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- May 15, 2011
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The thrum of the repulsorlifts slowly faded from the troop bay of the transport shuttle returning from a victorious engagement on some far-flung world in the ether of the galaxy as it docked with a Mandalorian Fleet cruiser to make its journey back to the Homeworld.. A rabble of verde disembarked, laughing and singing, patting each other on the back. The Alliance had fought harder than usual, but the kandosii mandokarla of the mando'ade had prevailed. For them, it was a time of celebration... Yet, a single verd remained on the shuttle looking over a data pad and memorizing the list of names it held, the dim light reflecting off of the blue and grey paint on the battered looking suit of beskar'gam.
Declan muted the external speaker to his armor and released a sigh. Twelve dead verde this engagement. Stars knew how many had died on the medical transport that rushed ahead of them; he would have to stop in the med-center and check on his vode. The young Lorrdian chuckled silently and stood from the bench, ignoring the field stitches stretching beneath the bacta patches that covered his muscular frame beneath his armor. No one expected an unrelated Mandalorian to put so much time and caring into another mando'ad, but Declan always had to be different.
Kebiin Cabur had a responsibility to his brothers, and it was one Declan took seriously.
Swinging the beige hooded coat up over his shoulders, the blue armored Mando grabbed his pack and set out from the hanger, a plan rucksack dangling from one hand and bouncing lightly against the holster on his thigh. His body cried out for rest, but he needed interaction with someone beyond staunching their wounds as he flew them out of the kill zone or placing bolts betwixt their eye sockets.
'I'll go to the cantina, just for a little while. I can sleep when I'm dead.'
Shuffling around a pair of batnor verde, Declan took his helmet off and waved back at a group of warriors from his transport, happily accepting a glass of tihaar from a red armored woman speaking in rapid fire mando'a. Her husband had been left behind when the lines first shifted during the beginning of the last battle, assumed dead. Declan had gone back and found him in the middle of being surrounded and got the wounded man back to their new camp.
Declan hated the praise, feeling that fighting for his vode was no different than what any other mando,'ad would do, but he certainly wouldn't refuse a free drink. Nodding his thanks, the tired Lorrdian knocked the glass back, the fiery spirit helping to deaden the constant thrum of pain his body emitted and collapsed in a lounging position in one of the booths along the wall. Removing his bes'bev from its sheath under his kama, Declan fiddled absent-mindedly with the instrument/weapon, considering whether anyone would mind him playing a few tunes.
Shrugging, Declan lifted the instrument and began to softly play the well known war hymn Vode An. If anyone wanted to complain, they were more than welcome too, but for now the young warrior just wanted to relax and forget; for at the start of the new day more names would be added to his daily remembrance, and he wouldn't be able to forget that battle ever again.
Declan muted the external speaker to his armor and released a sigh. Twelve dead verde this engagement. Stars knew how many had died on the medical transport that rushed ahead of them; he would have to stop in the med-center and check on his vode. The young Lorrdian chuckled silently and stood from the bench, ignoring the field stitches stretching beneath the bacta patches that covered his muscular frame beneath his armor. No one expected an unrelated Mandalorian to put so much time and caring into another mando'ad, but Declan always had to be different.
Kebiin Cabur had a responsibility to his brothers, and it was one Declan took seriously.
Swinging the beige hooded coat up over his shoulders, the blue armored Mando grabbed his pack and set out from the hanger, a plan rucksack dangling from one hand and bouncing lightly against the holster on his thigh. His body cried out for rest, but he needed interaction with someone beyond staunching their wounds as he flew them out of the kill zone or placing bolts betwixt their eye sockets.
'I'll go to the cantina, just for a little while. I can sleep when I'm dead.'
Shuffling around a pair of batnor verde, Declan took his helmet off and waved back at a group of warriors from his transport, happily accepting a glass of tihaar from a red armored woman speaking in rapid fire mando'a. Her husband had been left behind when the lines first shifted during the beginning of the last battle, assumed dead. Declan had gone back and found him in the middle of being surrounded and got the wounded man back to their new camp.
Declan hated the praise, feeling that fighting for his vode was no different than what any other mando,'ad would do, but he certainly wouldn't refuse a free drink. Nodding his thanks, the tired Lorrdian knocked the glass back, the fiery spirit helping to deaden the constant thrum of pain his body emitted and collapsed in a lounging position in one of the booths along the wall. Removing his bes'bev from its sheath under his kama, Declan fiddled absent-mindedly with the instrument/weapon, considering whether anyone would mind him playing a few tunes.
Shrugging, Declan lifted the instrument and began to softly play the well known war hymn Vode An. If anyone wanted to complain, they were more than welcome too, but for now the young warrior just wanted to relax and forget; for at the start of the new day more names would be added to his daily remembrance, and he wouldn't be able to forget that battle ever again.