- Joined
- Nov 4, 2009
- Messages
- 3,133
- Reaction score
- 6
Kill them all, and you're a God.
The life of the Clan Ordo's finest killer and the Empire's best kept secret was so endlessly complicated. Born to a Jedi turned Sith father and a Mandalorian mother who left the clans after marriage, raised to be the best warrior, trained in Imperial halls to be the greatest deceiver and forged in battle to be the greatest leader, Apollo Ordo was many things. Most described his personality as cool and laid back unless something was done to provoke his fiery, oftentimes violent, temper. The fall of Corden Vencu from his position of Mandalore was an excellent example of such provocation.
Apollo had shed blood, sweat and tears to get the man where he was. Slain countless loyalist Mandalorians and pulled all sorts of Ubiqtorate strings to get them the funding en route to a successful rebellion in the Mandalorian Civil War. And now he was leader no more. The battle of Teth was also an utter failure. A complete rout of the Mandos sent there. Within moments of the news hitting the bridge of Ordo's Taung-class ship Apollo was bound for the hangar where his Tra'kad gunship sat alongside three other Ironfists, none members of his personal squad who would be in charge of the clan while he left.
Pzob. The last battlefield he fought on and it wasn't even a real fight. An immaterial brawl that took place in what was little more than a shared dream. A massacre of greenskinned pigs alongside a beautiful woman was a wonderful dream indeed but it did little to sate the Echani's thirst for a proper fight. As he breathed in the fresh air of the nonindustrial world his mind wandered to more wistful thoughts about the planet. Here true battles were fought. Where personal skill was what decided victor and fallen, not shinier guns or brighter armor, all fought with crude metal armor and axes. It was part of why he was akin to a god when he took to the field against the primitives with his Beskar armor, despite hundred-to-one odds.
Before long Apollo had made his way onto the third story of the large stone building that the twenty Ordo clansmen held while he was away. He sat onto the bed and leaned back against the dark stone wall, letting his body relax as he escaped from the galactic politics for a bit, from everything really. His white hair and pale blue eyes were revealed as he removed his helmet and placed it next to him. It was quiet.
For now, at least.
The life of the Clan Ordo's finest killer and the Empire's best kept secret was so endlessly complicated. Born to a Jedi turned Sith father and a Mandalorian mother who left the clans after marriage, raised to be the best warrior, trained in Imperial halls to be the greatest deceiver and forged in battle to be the greatest leader, Apollo Ordo was many things. Most described his personality as cool and laid back unless something was done to provoke his fiery, oftentimes violent, temper. The fall of Corden Vencu from his position of Mandalore was an excellent example of such provocation.
Apollo had shed blood, sweat and tears to get the man where he was. Slain countless loyalist Mandalorians and pulled all sorts of Ubiqtorate strings to get them the funding en route to a successful rebellion in the Mandalorian Civil War. And now he was leader no more. The battle of Teth was also an utter failure. A complete rout of the Mandos sent there. Within moments of the news hitting the bridge of Ordo's Taung-class ship Apollo was bound for the hangar where his Tra'kad gunship sat alongside three other Ironfists, none members of his personal squad who would be in charge of the clan while he left.
Pzob. The last battlefield he fought on and it wasn't even a real fight. An immaterial brawl that took place in what was little more than a shared dream. A massacre of greenskinned pigs alongside a beautiful woman was a wonderful dream indeed but it did little to sate the Echani's thirst for a proper fight. As he breathed in the fresh air of the nonindustrial world his mind wandered to more wistful thoughts about the planet. Here true battles were fought. Where personal skill was what decided victor and fallen, not shinier guns or brighter armor, all fought with crude metal armor and axes. It was part of why he was akin to a god when he took to the field against the primitives with his Beskar armor, despite hundred-to-one odds.
Before long Apollo had made his way onto the third story of the large stone building that the twenty Ordo clansmen held while he was away. He sat onto the bed and leaned back against the dark stone wall, letting his body relax as he escaped from the galactic politics for a bit, from everything really. His white hair and pale blue eyes were revealed as he removed his helmet and placed it next to him. It was quiet.
For now, at least.