- OOC
- Aurius
- Joined
- Nov 18, 2020
- Messages
- 6
- Reaction score
- 5
The bedroom door shuddered closed as the Zabrak man withdrew from the day, throwing his shirt to the misshapen pile of clothes on the floor. His eyes wander upwards, glancing keenly into the wardrobe wherein sits a suit of white Beskar armor. It is clear that it had not been worn in some time. But the Galaxy was changing, and the Mandalorians - if rumors were to be believed - had begun to resurge. And those rumor required checking. For as far as he knew, he was the Alor of Clan Rodarch - it’s last member. And if that wasn’t the case, it was his duty to reunite the Rodarch under one banner - though that need not be his.
Pushing the thoughts aside for the moment, the Zabrak settled into the futon he called a bed and pulled the large wool blanket over his body, covering it from the arid climate of Mandalore. The armor had been his father’s, and his father’s before him. And now, it had passed to the Mandalorian’s son - an outsider taught in their ways and inducted into their creed. A foundling of sorts, though not beholden to the Way of the Mandalore. Now, even as dreams took him, his mind filled with the ancient stories of the past. Tales of wars fought, victories won and terrible terrible loss. Tales of the Jedi, the Sith, and of the Republic that would make even the most veteran soldier’s skin crawl. The sounds of blaster fire and the whirring of vibroblades guiding his thoughts into an uneasy nightmare.
A nightmare where there was no Clan Rodarch. No Manda'lor. No Mandalorians. Only their enemies, standing over the bright fields of the homeworld.
Any member of Clan Rodarch was required to tame an Asharl Panther and bond with it for life. They would protect the animal, as the animal would protect them - the bond was always unique. A Rodarch that lost it's Asharl would sometimes spend years in mourning, and the same went for their guardian spirit.
The lonesome, winding roads of Tatooine were barren and empty. They had known he was coming - he made a public broadcast days before his arrival, in the hopes that someone might arrive before him. That is why he had arrived already fully clad in armor, instead of sporting something more inconspicuous. His armor specifically made it virtually impossible to react to a situation with stealth and guile, even in darkness one could see the slight sheen of the white of his frame. It was simply the way the armor was designed - his father had been a a member of the Mandalorian Protectors. His reasoning was that so Mandalorians could recognize him from among the crowd, and know he was a there to defend them against others, and themselves. In ancient times, the Kalyr Alor Rodarch, a legendary swordsman, utilized a massive vibrosword in combat wearing the very same beskar.
Making his way to the local cantina, the Mando took his seat, not bothering yet with a drink. A server would come to him. Cu gently nudged C'kol's leg with his snout, trying to lay underneath the armored titan. With a disapproving look, the opal guardian dismissed him to sit beside him on the bench, instead of trying whatever nonsense was about to begin. The server arrived, taking his order with a stutter and a number of lengthy pauses.
"A glass of spotchka, cold and clean, if you please. A hind leg for Cu, the best you can find."
"Uh... yes sir, and uh... if I may ask..."
"...yes? Speak up, I don't bite. The panther does."
"...hahahaha... yes... yes it does... How would you be... paying today?"
"Oh, with credits. Don't worry, I'm not going to shoot the place up."
The woman looked unconvinced, so C'kol simply drew his blaster and put it on the floor with a sigh.
"Satisfied?"
Pushing the thoughts aside for the moment, the Zabrak settled into the futon he called a bed and pulled the large wool blanket over his body, covering it from the arid climate of Mandalore. The armor had been his father’s, and his father’s before him. And now, it had passed to the Mandalorian’s son - an outsider taught in their ways and inducted into their creed. A foundling of sorts, though not beholden to the Way of the Mandalore. Now, even as dreams took him, his mind filled with the ancient stories of the past. Tales of wars fought, victories won and terrible terrible loss. Tales of the Jedi, the Sith, and of the Republic that would make even the most veteran soldier’s skin crawl. The sounds of blaster fire and the whirring of vibroblades guiding his thoughts into an uneasy nightmare.
A nightmare where there was no Clan Rodarch. No Manda'lor. No Mandalorians. Only their enemies, standing over the bright fields of the homeworld.
*****
The time had come to depart from Mandalore. One would expect that finding warrior Mandalorians was no difficult matter living on a planet inhabited primarily by Mandalorians. But it was not so - these Mandalorians were primarily the pacifists, and those who were not had retired from their fighting days to return to their ancestral home and live in relative peace. For the safety and security of the Mandalorian Coverts offworld, nobody save the Alor of respective Clans knew where they were located - and he was certainly in no position to call a meeting with them. A clan of one member held very little standing, and if anyone saw fit to answer his holocall it would likely be out of pity or duty. And honor compelled him instead to seek them out on his own accord, and either adopt himself into their fold or find others willing to proudly bear the mantle of the Asharl. His own panther walked beside the shining white figure, a jet black alien thing only a fascimile of it's namesake, with two sensory tendrils at the base of it's ears and enormous retractable claws.
Any member of Clan Rodarch was required to tame an Asharl Panther and bond with it for life. They would protect the animal, as the animal would protect them - the bond was always unique. A Rodarch that lost it's Asharl would sometimes spend years in mourning, and the same went for their guardian spirit.
The lonesome, winding roads of Tatooine were barren and empty. They had known he was coming - he made a public broadcast days before his arrival, in the hopes that someone might arrive before him. That is why he had arrived already fully clad in armor, instead of sporting something more inconspicuous. His armor specifically made it virtually impossible to react to a situation with stealth and guile, even in darkness one could see the slight sheen of the white of his frame. It was simply the way the armor was designed - his father had been a a member of the Mandalorian Protectors. His reasoning was that so Mandalorians could recognize him from among the crowd, and know he was a there to defend them against others, and themselves. In ancient times, the Kalyr Alor Rodarch, a legendary swordsman, utilized a massive vibrosword in combat wearing the very same beskar.
Making his way to the local cantina, the Mando took his seat, not bothering yet with a drink. A server would come to him. Cu gently nudged C'kol's leg with his snout, trying to lay underneath the armored titan. With a disapproving look, the opal guardian dismissed him to sit beside him on the bench, instead of trying whatever nonsense was about to begin. The server arrived, taking his order with a stutter and a number of lengthy pauses.
"A glass of spotchka, cold and clean, if you please. A hind leg for Cu, the best you can find."
"Uh... yes sir, and uh... if I may ask..."
"...yes? Speak up, I don't bite. The panther does."
"...hahahaha... yes... yes it does... How would you be... paying today?"
"Oh, with credits. Don't worry, I'm not going to shoot the place up."
The woman looked unconvinced, so C'kol simply drew his blaster and put it on the floor with a sigh.
"Satisfied?"