OOC Information: Welcome to the kick-off thread for the Return to Mandalore series. This thread is open to anyone who wants to hop on in, with those Mandalorians joining having answered a long-range hail from Ars Dagon, to return and explore the old homeworld!
A transmission had been sent out over an old Mandalorian frequency. Spreading far and wide, a few of those still tuning into that ancient frequency had answered the call. From across the Galaxy, homesick Mandalorians headed for the rendevous point set in the message, there to seek answers as to their heritage, and to understand what had become of their people. However, Mandalore has changed in the years since the war, and new forces have settled, pirates, raiders, criminals - whilst further afield, there are those forces at large in the galaxy, who may turn their attention to the planet in the hopes of unlocking its secrets.
Mandalore. The homeworld was a place that Ars Dagon had never expected he would ever be able to set foot on, and yet here he was. He had been here now for some time, some few miles south of one of the old dome-cities that dotted the surface of the planet, having touched down in his Firespray 31 a few days past, near the rendevous point set in his message. Here's hoping anyone actually answers, he mused to himself as he walked down the docking ramp and onto the sandy surface of the world.
His armour, with the usual attachments, looked perfectly in keeping with is surroundings, the ancestral home of the people that had seen it forged, the Mandalorians. In keeping with the 'Way of the Mandalore' a practice under which he had been raised, he was armed for trouble, a R-799 Micro Missile Gun stowed in his left hip holster, with a DL-18 Pistol on the right hip. A vibro-knife was stowed in his left boot, whilst a utility belt with a commlink, computer spike and medpack topped off the arsenal, and an EE-3 Blaster Carbine clasped in his hands as he surveyed his surroundings.
In the coming days, he hoped to see others of his calling respond to his muster, and with them at his side, Dagon could delve into the City before him, now long since abandoned, and see what secrets it contained locked deep within.
To say that Reiel was overwhelmed was an understatement in and of itself. She stood behind her buir as he maneuvered the ship they called home aside from the covert, gazing wide-eyed through the viewport at the homeworld of their people as the planet came to view.
Mandalore. Home of the fiercest, greatest warriors (to her, anyway) in the galaxy.
The younger Mandalorian could barely contain her excitement as the ship soon broke into the atmosphere. While the planet had been reduced to an inhospitable state after years and years of wars that ravaged it, there remained a sense of peace in the fact that Mandalore existed still – waiting for its children to return and reclaim their right to call the planet home once and for all.
Reiel wouldn't even be here if it weren't for a transmission from an old Mandalorian frequency her father had received during one of the usual two-men jobs they decided to work together on. It wasn't a secret that Clan Crowholde held on to hope of setting foot on the home of their ancestors, and so it's older members customarily tuned in on the secret frequencies, anticipation further building even in the absence of the call to return to their rightful home.
The ship soon landed a few miles south of one of the planet's dome-cities, taking particular heed of a Firespray 31 docked a considerable distance from their landing spot. She and her father then made haste for the weapons locker, quietly conversing with each other as the younger between the two armed herself with her preferred armaments.
While they considered it prudent to stick together as they explore the planet in search of the transmission's sender, Reiel's father eventually decided against it. Receiving a summons from the clan's alor, Wulfric was to return to the covert as soon as possible – being one of the oldest members of the clan and chief beroya himself, discussions about the covert's relocation to Mandalore (if it was immediately possible) had to be made. Bound by the duty the older Mandalorian had suddenly thrust on her shoulders, Reiel agreed to be left behind to search for the person responsible for the transmission instead.
(She felt bad about it, however. Dad deserved to be here more than her.)
Armed with her trusty DC-15A Blaster Rifle slung on her back, two vibroknives strapped to her utility belt lined up with a couple of frag grenades and flash charges, spare power packs, a medpack, and a DE-10 Blaster Pistol tucked in its holster on her right hip, the young Mandalorian began her descent down the ramp with her father walking beside her. She urged him to literally set foot on their homeworld before making his leave – even in her own awkward, weird way she wanted for him to have something to look forward to when he returned to the covert.
"Take care of yourself, ad'ika," her buir reminded her, leaning down to her level and briefly pressing his helmeted head on top of her's. "And look out for the brothers and sisters you will soon meet as well. Protect them as much as they would protect you. This is the Way."
"This is the Way," she complied, determined. Reiel could only grin sheepishly as her buir pressed a commlink to her hand, feeling embarrassed at his comment that it was the one device she always forgot and misplaced so easily.
"I'll see you soon, cyar'ika."
"Take care, buir."
She watched as her father's ship took off to the stars once again. Jaw tight with determination, Reiel started to make her way to the rendezvous point mentioned in the message sent through the old channel.
“This is the way”, the stars called as Cass flew past them, guiding her toward a single point in the entire universe that had no equal and held no comparison. This is the way. That way was toward Mandalore and yet, for all its significance and its signets, the only other way she followed was her own. Wonder how many Mandos I’ll find down there whose way involves never letting me see their face. A smile crept over her lips as she glided for the grey green globe, first out of amusement for the ways of her own people before her lips spread into an awe that would not be wrestled down.
Mandalore… The name echoed in her head like a whisper into silence, hearing the hum of her cockpit at the same time as the songs of fathers and mothers, their sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, all united in arms and armor. Mandalore… She had barely entertained the notion of such a feeling, her coming here little more than an uncertain feat, yet somehow she now knew that she was nowhere else but home. The planet told her so as surely as a Jedi could feel the Force. Mandalore…
The Y-Wing hovered over a dead sea of dust and dirt after breaching the atmosphere, its pilot allowing her gaze to wander over the lost world and watch its wind sweep away thousands and thousands of memories. Buried beneath the sky, beneath the stars. Buried but not forgotten. We remember you yet...Mandalore. What was covered could be uncovered, what was broken could be rebuilt, what was lost could be found. To do so, it would take the combined arms and armor, heads and helmets, of those children who had been taken away. The sons and daughters are coming home.
Casany Praxor’s ship landed upon the yearning ground, the desert bed holding her landing struts as though to never let them go. The Mandalorian hesitated in the airlock for a moment, taking a deep breath as though it might soon be stolen from her, before she exhaled at length and opened the door. A bone white light encased the world like a cocoon as a rush of air swirled around her body like a blanket, but she held no hand over her eyes and felt no breeze against her skin. Atop the ramp of the Winged Pike, Cass stood tall and proud in her red beskar with its golden trim, a red cape hanging from the shoulders for the wind to tease. A golden sun was nestled on a shoulder, a black anvil on the other, while above both was a golden helmet that Anvil promptly removed.
At last, the gust took her; hot and dry, angry and restless. She welcomed it. The hairs on her head danced amid a single braid that hung loose, and for half a heartbeat Cass had almost convinced herself to peel away every layer of armor and cloth as though the barren graveyard were but a beach for her to lay on. One day… The particles of sand were tasteless as she licked her lips, then sour then sweet. Watching the planet that watched her back, Cass took a deep breath and held it. When her helmet found her head once more, she breathed out, and the air of her home away from home filled her world within a world. Mandalore...
Roland's hood left his helmet as his head tilted to look at the distant shape of Concordia. Indyana and he had just come from the moon of Mandalore on their own search for answers. One thing the Lieutenant had been inquiring about in his free time was both the Death Watch as well as the Mandalorian Protectors. Sundari had not provided any decent results but that just meant he had yet to find them.
A few weeks later he received a transmission, rallying Mandalorian's home. Being the closest there, he thought it best to scout it out first. Mandalorian history was not the only thing to learn from after all. "These Mandalorians might be less indifferent than others." He said to his Pantoran companion. She knew to keep her face covered and a low profile was probably their best approach.
After a few days of monitoring ships coming and going in the system, the two of them left Concordia. It had not been too different from a normal stake out really. The Cobalt Viper thrummed as it moved over the landscape of Mandalore. Making a pass over the meeting point, he brought the patrol ship in for a landing and kicking up a cloud in the process not far from another firespray.
"Any progress with that droid we found?" He asked, more to just converse on the subject as he got out of the pilot's seat. The droid he had found amid the sands looked like it could have been salvaged. Roland was just curious if it had any record of the events on Jedha that day. But so far it looked like it had been damaged, corroded and who knew if even the data was uncorrupted. The ranger's balutar swoop had been repaired by the Jedi so he had confidence in her capabilities. "Are you sure you want to come along?"
It'd been some time between the events on Concordia and coming back to Sundari. Thank the Force Roland wasn't exactly a talkative person, which left her space and time to study the droid databank Roland had found, as well as fixing his swoop as she promised. After all, if they were going to be working together she had to be useful. However, getting the summons back to Mandalore was... unexpected.
She took care to completely cover her face, arms, and chest in a poncho/veil, and for extra measure even wore a cloak to cover her over. Her lightsaber was hidden, and the Fallen Blade stashed away in a lockbox on the ship. Apart from that, she still had her handy alternative weapons, but she hoped it wouldn't come to that if anyone noticed her.
Hearing his question though, she glanced over, and golden eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled. In a way, his concern was touching. "So long as you don't mind my hovering, sure," she spoke up. She knew the dangers, the fact that the Mandalorians had a long, bloody history between them. And yet she wasn't going to hide away and snivel in his ship like a child. She promised she would stick through where and when he needed her or wanted her around, and she was living up to it.
Just to make sure, she checked over for her blaster, vibroknife and other small, handy pockets, before drawing her hood over her head and nodding once. As for the droid... she hummed, glancing at the droid part in question.
"It's likely a few thousand years old. I've pulled a few files from it, but they're so ancient that transferring it might take a while. I might have a few coding errors as well; it's... not a language I'm super familiar with." She propped a hand on her hip, humming in thought. "So long as you don't mind my sticking around, of course."
Talon sat in Dol's hangar, checking his gear as the Raza entered the atmosphere. He had no idea what to expect of the people who would be here, no idea what could happen as a result of this strange meeting he had been alerted to. Dol had been the one who was tuning in, as Talon had given up long ago on the ancient frequency. There didn't seem to be a point to listen in anymore--and yet...
They'd been together on a bounty job and after a bit of deliberation, had ultimately decided to take the risk and the time to answer the call. With that, Talon had slipped on his beskar'gam before fingering both WESTAR-35's. His E-11s was slung over his back, loaded and ready for whatever purpose he may need it for...
He flipped on his seeker droids and they buzzed to life, hovering above his shoulders, staring at him as if noting his nervousness and apprehension. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be here or not, even if he should be...Every time his feet touched the ground on the haunted planet, he didn't quite feel at home; he felt disappointed, guilty, ashamed.
Devree has been on Mandalore for two months when he received the signal. His ship was completely broken after an animal's attack. The hunt exhausted him. Yet, the message energized him. "Maybe there is something bigger than us, afterall," Devree wondered. The rendezvous demanded three days of forced march, Devree estimated. Other than that, he suffered shortage of supplies. His prey may had been caught, but without the ship, it was impossible to move it.
"Sand. Kark sand everywhere," Devree complained loudly. He opened up his emergency supply box that might still contained something to bite. The ship's previous owner unfortunately did not care to fill it up. Other than a handful of edible worms, it was empty. "At least you guys taste good."
The distance between the broken ship and those given coordinates - which could be also fake, for all he knew - was too much alone. Devree grabbed his commlink and broadcasted in hopes of getting a hand to make it in time. "I wouldn't miss that meeting for the Galaxy, but I need a ride. I'm sending coordinates, let me know if you'd take a free rider."
A U-Wing came out of hyperspace in front of Mandalore. Swifty the craft dive toward the planet, breaking into its atmosphere. Inside the vessel were four smugglers, a Gotal pilot and three Weequay enforcers in makeshift gear. Once they reached the surface, the pilot snorted.
“The bucketheads really did a number on this forcesaken world.”
One of the Weequays seated next to him rolled her eyes.
“What do you expect. They’re stupid brutes that hide behind their armors. Whatever the case it makes easy for us to loot this dust ball.”
The other two Weequays nodded and chuckled. Subsequently a new voice called out behind them all. “This dust ball will be your tomb.” Alarmed the smugglers twisted back to see who it was. They were immediately struck down by blaster bolts, killing them all in seconds.
The Gotal’s corpse slumped over the controls, causing the U-Wing to dive further. Nearly losing her footing and forced to hold on a panel Minerva Fhirdiad remarked. “Okay I should’ve let the scum land first then kill them.”
Until now She had been hiding inside one of the cargo crates after infiltrating onboard back on Taris. Minerva abandoned the cockpit and opened the hatch on the left side. Air gushed out, sucking small boxes and various tools out in the sky. The Mandalorian in turn jumped out.
Letting herself skydive for several minutes Minerva then activated her jetpack. Soaring the dust colored clouds. Through her t-visor she glanced upon the ancestral homeworld. It was a bittersweet return for her as she had scattered the ashes of her adopted father to fulfill his dying wish. Now Minerva had come to answer the ancient call.
I am here.
She thought, with determined eyes hidden by her helmet.
...contributing to the clan's welfare, and when called upon by the Manda’lor, rallying to their cause.
This was unusual, to say the least, having been summoned by a strange beacon allegedly sent by a Mandalorian no less. However, the Resol’nare demanded that C’kol appear, regardless of it’s validity. If it proved that this was a signal to lure Mando’ade in for the slaughter, he would deal with the perpetrators himself. Such was the code he upheld - they would find more than match in the enormous Mandalorian Protector.
But to his surprise... there was no such ambush. Instead, through his visor he could see many who heeded the call, descending on jet packs and ships in turn. Many had come. He knew not their ranks nor creed nor allegiance, but he knew they sported the dealings of his kin, and it was in this capacity he would arrive to heed their call and defend them should the need arise. Such a gathering had not happened since the days of the Empire. It was an honor to see such a sight, and hardly a far trip from Concord Dawn to Mandalore herself.
The young Rodarch descended in his white and green modified T-70T X-Wing, an old family relic the same as his armor. The starfighter has been commissioned during the Galactic Cold War, just prior to the attack on Hosnian Prime. It has served his father for generations as it now served him. His beskar likewise came from the ancient history of the Rodarch Clan, as was all the beskar his clan possessed. They had been among the few to survive the Night of Long Tears due to their residence on Concord Dawn.
As the landing gear groaned into the plains of his people’s ancestral home, C’kol rose from his seat and began to descend from the fighter - slowly. The Zabrak took the sight in once more. So many. So graceful and powerful in appearance, likely of all walks of life. A sight the likes of which perhaps may never be seen again. To that end, he double checked that his Westar-35 was on hand. Never an error to be prudent in one’s handling of such delicate situations.
His arms rose in greeting to the Mando’a before him who could see. His armor was as white as snow, in representation of purity and purpose. Accented within the white was the emerald of duty and blue of reliability. It was plain to see what he was, to any who knew to read the signs. His voices boomed and cracked with joy, but so too did it hold a small deal of sadness. There was reason it had been so long. Far sordid reasons in a sordid history of curse and misfortune. Luckily, fortune had found the lone Mando’a asking for a ride. @Devree Wren
“Tateyus, vod. Papta teh Ha'yr be Rodarch. (Spoken in Mando'a: Greetings, brother or sister. Hail from the Clan of Rodarch)”
Dolworth made final checks with Dusty making sure their systems were nominal. I have to remember to get the navigational suites updated, he thought to himself. However the current situation had made him a little tense and more forgetful than usual. He had only been to Mandalore once and it wasn't that exhilarating. He had wondered how different it would be now that someone had made the Call. He situated himself, keeping his blasters holstered, charged and ready to go. He looked over at Vizsla, noting the man preparing himself for whatever happened down there as the tunnel of Hyperspace collapsed and the visage of Mandalore spread across their view ports.
"Were on final approach Vod" stated Dolworth, looking at all final calculations and giving final clearances so they could land, "I'm not going to lie to you Talon...Something's not right about this..."
Ja’yr looked out his cockpit window into the stars far off glimmering in the blackness of space, “Mandalore.” He said to himself. He hadn’t heard that name since he heard was a little one. Being told stories of it and the battles his clan had fought though out the eras. He wondered if his father, and clan Ordo would be there. Maybe they had received the same transmission. Something in his gut made him feel at ease, what if it was another great purge. The transmission could be a trap luring unsuspecting mandalorians into a kill zone. He shock it his head, as if to physically remove the thought from his head. Jy’ra prepared his ship for landing on the surface of Mandalore. Time would soon what truely waits on Mandalore.
The road of the Mand'alor was narrow and there were few who still walked it... Another signal came in over the comms, an ancient call like the ancestors of all Mandalorians shouting out at once for their waywards tons to return. The heat scortched planet, the decrepit cities filled with vice and the worse among them: Sloth. the ancestors of the Mandalorian peoples would have wept in sheer sorrow and horror at the apocalyptic state of theit beloved world. they would have caste their sons from their airlocks had they known the state their descendants would leave the heart of the Mandalorian people and culture. I can, the Mistress groaning out of Hyperspace and finding a place to land among the others, Talon and Dolworth, the lads of the pack were together once again, though for what purpose I would still not know. @Talon Vizsla@Dolworth
Jy’ra's Blackfin Blastboat began it's descent down to the planet below. His ship shook and ached as it broke through the atmosphere. Most of the time his ship was faithful, but recently it gowned as if it was an old Corellian hound, its prime long past, and waited for its inevitable end or replacement. Jy'ra was no mechanic, well at least for ships he knew that every replacement and modification would cost a lot of time and money. These days that was hard to come by at least for Jy'ra. As his ship finally stabilized, in the air closer to the planet's surface the aching and shacking of the ship quieted, to a small rattling as if something was loose in an engine or a radiator was busted. His ship slowed and landed on the sand and ash-covered planet, he grabbed his westers and went out to survey the area. Nowhere near any sphere cities, he wanted to see the land for himself and that ancient battles took place. He stood there and listened he could his ancestors battle and cry for war as if he was they. He knew then he was home, He was on Mandalore, returned to his ship and put on a beacon, and would wait for an hour to see if any of his kind would meet him there before heading to the location of the transmission.
With the call having been answered, Dagon watched as various individuals began to arrive in drips and drabs over the next few hours, all of them having one thing in common - the distinctive second skin of the Mandalorian. He waited for the arrivals to gather around, before walking up to stand on a nearby speeder, ever so slightly elevating himself above the group so that he could introduce himself to them all. "Tateyus jupaoa'yr", he began "Ni kar'taylir ibac ketyu de gar ganar maviwah chaaj'yc at cuyir olar ibi'tuur, norac bat ta'hye vheh, bal par ibac gar ganar ner da'ha. Bic hiibir a vutyc dagu be'saya be runi at nalku'na mie juha, runi be a Mando." he continued, bowing his head slightly as a show of respect.
"Jorbe par ner juha gar cad olyay a pakod solus. Par ha'aragir, cuun adate ganar cuyir sacarhr, shukur bal ukoror akaryu. Vaumlarba de Sitilhaa ibac gupu iviye at jivaor tec Nirkata'i cu'e," what he said next would set the tone of their meeting. Had he called them as conquerers, or as protectors? "Asas wicar be staabi miai be oyacyir, solus ibac nalkahya kitiyasa'ase giaragr, bal jatur be Mando. Bic cuyir ner branr ibac ca'nara at nahu'neha ibac tkiriyr, bal ibi'tuur Ni dasa'na solus be gar at to ni." he raised his right hand, pointing to the domed city before them "E'yar'u mies ker, mhi liser mar'eyir meg mhi jaru cuyir. Cuyir gar ti ni?"[/i][/COLOR]
Gett'se had answered the hail that come from the sacred planet of Mandalore, trepidation in his heart. He had been to the planet once before, as a child. His Buir had brought him to the ancestral home of their people, a pilgrimage to show the young foundling the spiritual birthplace of their culture. They had camped out in the wasteland of the homeworld of their people, braving the harsh and inhospitable wilderness that the wars of their people had stripped of life long ago. It had been a valuable lesson in the early years on his path of the Way.
Now he stood among other followers of the Way of the Mandalore. Hunters all, clad in the iron skin of their people. He could feel the kinship in his heart with those that wore the Beskar'gam, the faces and flesh of their person's disguised as they outwardly displayed their souls of iron. He listened to the speaker speak, though he remained silent for now. He already knew who he truly was and saw no need to raise his voice for or against the speaker as he brought his intentions to enter the ancient and abandoned domed city that they gathered before.
Jester wasn't sure what she was doing here, she wasn't a Mandalorian, didn't have any interest in becoming one, and till very recently didn't even know anything about them other than the stories every soldier seemed to hear. She had actually thought them to be a myth till she met the old man. He had hired her to protect his homestead, and though he didn't have much money, she had agreed because he had reminded her of her old man. Maybe that was why she had grown to like him, and had shared so much of her past with him. That was when he had told her about his past. His life as a soldier, his heritage as a Mandalorian.
He had offered to pay her a pretty hefty amount if she answered the call in his stead, help reclaim the world that he had never known. At first she had refused, she might like the geezer, but not enough to get involved in some stupid religious crusade. But the bag full of credits he had dropped in front of her had changed her mind. With that she could keep herself fed for months, maybe even get some decent equipment. So, against her better judgement, she had agreed.
"What are you doing here Anni??" She muttered softly to herself as she observed the crowd of armored figures, not one without a helmet to cover their mugs. She had heard one of them speak, but not a word had made sense to her. Whatever language these bucketheads spoke, it wasn't one she knew. All she could do was tag along, and hope she didn't get shot.
Three. Four. Five. Then ten then thirteen. As the welkin awakened, the once slumbering clouds parted to permit the pilots and the passengers from lightyears across the cosmos. Unnamed vessels descended toward the dead soil as though the planet’s gravity had hugged them toward itself. Struts lowered, airlocks opened, ramps kissed the desert and a dozen-plus armored figures emerged from their homes and their havens, each one bearing the wanderer’s weight upon their shoulders in their own way.
Cass glimpsed the helms of blue, yellow, black, grey—reliability, remembrance, justice, mourning. There was a combination of colors and especially so as each Mandalorian walked the world or stopped short, standing erect as symbols of a greater palette; signs of a unified gamut of themselves and of their person or clan from planet to moon, asteroid to star. She carried her own; her red-gold armor stood in honor and in vengeance, and she would have hers as much as they would have theirs. Soon… It was no pale echo as the word whispered from her lips, traveling no further than the T of her visor, but she knew that her brethren could hear it even if they were not aware of it. Soon…Soon the world will rise again and the galaxy will watch in wonder...
It was a pretty profound sentiment, for lack of a better way to put it; a tad fanatic, a bit fanciful, with a dash of drama. What are you even doing here, Cass? She might shake her head in answer, unfurling fingers to count down all the reasons that had brought a lowly bounty hunter to the rock and stone of her ancestors. Am I no less deserving of it? According to the Speaker, she was, and so were those who shared her perimeter.
Her boots were upon the dirt then, sunken and settled, her poise like a pike as she listened. The soul of a Mandalorian . . . Bowed. Broken. Pushed aside... The words echoed in her skull like an explosion in slow-motion. The time has come to bring back that spirit . . . A finger then, as Cass took a breath, gazing toward the domed city before them.
Who are you, Casany Praxor? “I’m with you...” She spoke to her helm, her other face, though none could hear her. “I’m with you!” She shouted across the dust, to that helmet and this visor, that face and this soul.
“They call me Anvil,” Anvil introduced, aware that every Mando and their mother might have a moniker of their own. “But I was born Casany of Clan Praxor.” She stepped forward, keeping her distance, still able to be heard. “Our host, he speaks of us as having been bowed, broken and pushed aside… Aye, maybe…” She had pistols at her hips, but she didn’t need them. It was a fist that she wielded.
“But I say that we are unbowed, unbent, unbroken! We are the Mandalorians, and once we were conquerors! What are we now!? Vagrants and vagabonds, perhaps, so many of us drifting between the stars to hunt our next bounty! Yet we wear our armor with pride even as the galaxy scoffs at it! Breaks down our beskar for credits!"
Oh, how far they had fallen, those who had once conquered as crusaders.
"Some of you never take your helmet off, and this is your way, while others like me might remove it, and this is our way—but see that my helm sits my head as I speak to you now! And I speak to you now as a Mandalorian! Now, look around you, Mandalorians!” She looked around each one of them and the space in between. “This is your bounty! This is your hunt! This is your reward! Mandalore!”
With that, she raised her fist, and in it she could feel the grip of victory as surely as she could feel the handle of a pistol or the hilt of a sword. “Mandalore!”
Thirteen. A number considered to bring about bad luck in some parts of the galaxy, but Reiel was feeling the complete opposite of the sentiment. Never had she been in the presence of others of her kind, and standing among them while they speak along the lines of home and identity and – Manda save her soul–
Their words sent chills down her spine.
But with pride came self-doubt, and Reiel felt like an impostor among her own people. She followed the Way, yes; had sworn the Creed and told herself that being a Mandalorian had turned her into a clean slate – cin vhetin – and that whatever she did in the past was wiped clean when she took the mantle of Mando'ade. But who was she, really – surrounded by people who have been living their lives as Mandalorians since childhood?
Eight years. That was how long she'd been wearing the helmet, claiming to be a part of the race of the greatest warriors the galaxy had ever seen.
You deserve to be here, as much as your brothers and sisters before you.
You deserve to be here.
You follow the Way. Will die for your clan and your people. You deserve to be here.
Reiel Mal, you deserve this–
She squared her shoulders, politely excused herself while she passed through her towering brethren, and looked up at Ars and Casany with misty eyes. She deserved to be here.
Reiel had so many things to say, but it all boiled down to a few sentences. Spoken with pride and for her clan, for the foundlings who were the future of their people. For her brothers and sisters around her, and for the people who have been bowed, broken, and cast aside.
"I am Reiel Mal, of Clan Crowholde. For this endeavor, vode, I am with you!" She raised a fist, helmeted head lifted up as she turned to look at her brethren. "For Mandalore!"
The wind blew across the ash and sand covered plains. It was so quiet as if the planet it self had been killed and Ja’yr stood on its corpse. A small maggot just sat upon a once great beast. It sadden him to see his adaptive fathers homeland, in such a state and wonder if it ever could go back to the it’s form glory. As he waited he watched as ships landed to the place of the transmission. Ja’yr be his time to go join the meeting, with any luck his Kin would be there. *Ja’yr got in ship and flew closer to the transmission location* Getting out he saw at least 12 or maybe 13 other Mandalorians. He grow a little cautious of this meeting. Though when the man, who seem to be spearheading this meeting spoke mando’a he relax still curious. Then his kin began to ring out there clans and names. Ja’yr felt pride and a little hope for maybe the future of Mandalore. He stepped forward and said “I am Ja’yr Ordo of Clan Ordo, I am with you. My clan will be with you, till the blood of our clan is spent. I have none of my line or my brothers line to give to you. For Mandalore!
Earlier Minerva had descended from her flight, joining the assembly who for the most part wore the armor. It had been quite some time since she had been amongst brethren like this. This is indeed a momentous occasion. The ex-founding concluded, giving the group a silent examination.
Crossing her arms over the chest she listened to the speaker, announcing the purpose of this gathering. Each second Minerva grew more interested. For a moment she lowered her head and silently squeezed her fists when reminded of how far their civilization had fallen.
It is true as much as I hate to admit.
Subsequently Ars challenged them all to help him restore Mandalore’s former glory. There was brief silence before it was broken by declarations of support and chants. Minerva looked back and forth and couldn’t help but think.
The old man always said we Mandalorians were always stronger when united.
A sad smile formed on her hidden face, recalling her father, Jorel Merrik. Manda rest his soul. She stood there, watching the others and considered her choices. Forsake this invitation and go back to being just another blaster for hire or become part of a greater purpose. She still considered herself a member of Eisa’s crew but the choice was already made.
Then using both hands Minerva removed the helmet, revealing her sharp edge face whose brown eyes filled with newfound determination. Placing the helmet at her right hip she proclaimed.
“I, Minerva Fhirdiad, adopted daughter of Jorel Merrik will join you my kin.”
Putting back on the helmet she added. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go already!” Minerva suddenly rocket forth via jetpack straight toward Sundari.