Rezyl's Datapad

Rezyl Azzir

Character
Independent
Rank
Citizen

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OOC
christhebarker
Joined
Jan 8, 2020
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Model XMZ-44567 Datapad
property of Rezyl Azzir
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If your read this that means I'm likely dead or your someone curious enough to look throught this, for all intents and purposes I'm writing this from memory - some mine, but not all. The facts won't sync with the reality, but they'll be close, and there's no one to say otherwise, so this will be the history of a settlement we called Paladrone and the horrors that followed an all too brief peace.

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|Biographical information
Homeworld
Age
Tatooine
17 standard years

|Chronological and political information
Affiliation(s)


_· The Mandalorians
_____· Aurren Rook

|Physical description
Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair colour
Eye colour
Skin colour
Human
Male
1.85 meters
60 kilograms
Brown
Hazel
Fair

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  • I remember home, and stories of a paradise we'd all get to see some day - of a Planet, "shining even in the night." Paladrone didn't shine, but it was sanctuary, of a sort.

    We'd settled in the heart of a range that stretched the horizon. sandy mountains that shot with purpose toward the sky. It was harsh but the peaks hid us from the world. We talked about moving on, sometimes, striking out for coruscant. But it was just a longing.

    Drifters came and went. On occasion they would stay, but rarely.
    We had no real government, but there was a rule of law. Basic tenets agreed upon by all and eventually overseen by Magistrate Loken.

    And there you have it...no government until there was. I was young, so I barely understood. I remember Loken as a hardworking man who just became broken. Mostly I think he was sad. Sad and frightened. As his fingers tightened on Paladrone, people left. Those who stayed saw our days became grey. Loken's protection - from the Tuskens, from ourselves - became dictatorial.

    Looking back, I think maybe Loken had just lost too much - of himself, his family. But everyone lost something. And some of us had nothing to begin with. My only memory of my parents is a haze, like a daydream, and a small light, like the spark of their souls. It's not anything I dwell on. They left me early, taken by pirates.

    Paladrone raised me from there. The family I call my own - called my own - cared for me as if I was their natural-born son. And life was good. Being the only life I knew, my judgment is skewed, and it wasn't easy - pocked by loss as it was - but I would call it good.

    Until, of course, it wasn't.

    Until two men entered my world. One a light. The other the darkest shadow I would ever know.

  • The man I would come to know as Aurren Rook, my third father and quite possibly my closest friend, came to Paladrone from the south.

    I was just a boy, but I'll never forget his silhouette on the empty trail as he made his slow walk into town from his ship.

    I'd never seen anything like him. Maybe none of us had. He'd said he was only passing through, and I believed him - still do, but life can get in the way of intent, and often does.

    I can picture that day with near-perfect clarity. Of all the details though - every nuance, every moment - the memory that sticks in my mind is the blaster on Aurren's hip. A weapon that looked both pristine and lived in. Like a relic of every battle he'd ever fought, hung low at his waist - a trophy and a warning.

    This man was dangerous, but there was a light about him - a pureness to his weight - that seemed to hint that his ire was something earned, not carelessly given.

    I'd been the first to see him as he approached, but soon most of Paladrone had turned out to greet him. My father held me back as everyone stood in silence.

    Aurren didn't make a sound behind his helmet. He looked just like the heroes in the stories, and to this day I'm not sure one way or the other if the silence between the town's people and the Mandalorian was born of fear or respect. I like to think the latter, but any truth I try to place on the moment would be of my own making.

    As we waited for Magistrate Loken to arrive and make an official greeting, my patience got the best of me. I shook free of my father's heavy hand and made the short sprint across the court, stopping a few paces from where this new curiosity stood - a man unlike any other.

    I stared up at him and he lowered his attention to me, his eyes hidden behind the thick tinted visor of his headgear. My sight quickly fell to his blaster. I was transfixed by it. I imagined all the places that the weapon had been. All of the wonders it had seen. The horrors it had endured. My imagination darted from one heroic act to the next.

    I barely registered when he began to kneel, holding out the blaster as if an offering. But my eyes locked onto the piece, mesmerized.

    I recall turning back to my father and seeing the looks on the faces of everyone I knew. There was worry there - my father slowly shaking his head as if pleading with me to ignore the gift.

    I turned back to the man I would come to know as Aurren Rook, the finest Mandalorian this galaxy may ever know and one of the greatest Mandalorian to ever defend the innocent...

    And I took the weapon in my hand. Carefully. Gently.

    Not to use. But to observe. To imagine. To feel its weight and know its truth.

    That was the first time I held "Last Word," but, unfortunately, not the last.
  • Loken's men found Aurren Rook in the courtyard where this had all began.

    Nine guns trained on him. Nine cold hearts awaiting the order. Magistrate Loken, standing behind them, looked pleased with himself.

    Aurren Rann stood in silence. His Droid peeked out over his shoulder.

    Loken took in the crowd before stepping forward, as if to claim the ground - his ground. "You question me?" There was venom in his words. "This is not your home."

    I remember Loken's gestures here. Making a show of it all.

    Everyone else was still. Quiet.

    I tugged at my father's sleeve, but he just tightened his grip on my shoulder to the point of pain. His way of letting me know that this was not the time.

    I'd watched Aurren's every move over the past months, mapping his effortless gestures and slight, earned mannerisms. I'd never seen anything like him. He was something I couldn't comprehend, and yet I felt I understood all I needed the moment I'd seen him. He was more than us. Not better. Not superior. Just more.

    I wanted father to stop what was happening. Looking back now, I realize that he didn't want to stop it. No one did.

    As Loken belittled Aurren Rann, taunted him, enumerated his crimes and sins, my eyes were stuck on Aurren's blaster, fixed to his hip. His steady hand resting calmly on his belt.

    I remembered the blaster's weight. Effortless. And my concern faded. I understood.

    "This is our town! My town!" Loken was shouting now. He was going to make a show of Aurren - teach the people of Paladrone a lesson in obedience.

    Aurren spoke: clear, calm. "Not anymore."

    Loken laughed dismissively. He had nine guns on his side. "Those gonna be your last words then, boy?"

    The movement was a flash: quick as chain lightning. Aurren Rann spoke as he moved. "Yours. Not mine."

    Loken hit the ground. A dark hole in his chest. Eyes staring into eternity.

    Aurren stared down the nine guns trained on him. One by one, they lowered their aim. And the rest of my life began - where, in a few short years, so many others would be ended.

  • Then.

    Paladrone was ash.

    I was only a boy – my face caked in soot, snot and sorrow.

    I’d assumed Aurren, my friend, our Guardian, the saviour of Paladrone, would always protect us – could always save us...

    But I was a fool.

    Aurren, and the others, only a handful, but still our best hunters, our hardest hearts, had left three suns prior. Tracking Tusken raiders, after they had caused a stir.

    The stranger – the other – arrived the following day.

    She rarely spoke. Took a room. Took our hospitality.

    I was intrigued by her, as I was with Aurren when he’d first arrived.

    But the stranger was cold. Distant. Damaged, I thought.

    But I wasn’t afraid. Not yet.

    Only a child, I knew the monsters of our world to walk like men, but they were not. They were something alien. cold and savage.

    The stranger was polite but solemn.

    I took her for a sad, broken woman, and she was. Though, at the time, I didn’t understand how that could make one dangerous.

    As with Aurren, father made an effort to keep me away from the stranger.

    It wouldn’t matter.

    As the silhouette approached, fear held tight.

    The dark figure towered over me. Looking into me – through me.

    She smiled. My knees weak. All lost.

    Then, she turned and walked away.

    Leaving ruin and a heartbroken, terrified boy in her wake without a second glance.

    I’ve been chasing that stranger’s shadow ever since.
  • It was the fourth night of the seventh moon.

    Nine rises since any sign.

    The trail wasn't cold, but lukewarm would've been an exaggeration.

    We'd seen dual ships hanging low as they cut through the valley.

    Wasn't known pirate territory, but anymore that's a dangerous assumption.

    There were six of us then.

    Three less than two moons prior, but still, one more than when we'd first turned our backs to Palamon's ash.

    We took a rotation for watch during the night.

    Movement was kept to a minimum and communication was down to hand signals and simple gestures.

    We could hold our own in a fight, but only the dead went looking for one—a hard truth that cut in direct opposition to our reasons for being so far from anything resembling civilization, much less our safety.

    The Pirates had spooked Kressler and Nada, and, in truth, me as well. But, looking back, I think we were all just grasping for any good reason to turn back.

    Not because we would—turn back—but because it seemed to be our only real hope, and I think we all knew it.

    Forward. Where we were headed—into the unknown. And following the footsteps we were. It all just started to feel like a never-ending dead end after a while.

    Aurren never wavered though. Not once.

    At least not to any noticeable degree.

    It was his drive, his conviction, that kept us going.

    And—it's hard to think on—but if I'm honest, it was his death that rekindled my own fire. A fire that was all but exhausted on that cold night.

    He seemed confident we were close.

    But more than confident—sure. He seemed sure.

    No one else felt it—our own confidence and any enthusiasm we'd had was set to wither soon as Brevin, Trenn and Mel were cut down.

    The droid—Aurren's droid—never said a word to any of us. Just hung there. Always alert. Always judging. Not us, per se, but the moment. Any moment.

    I never got the sense it thought of us as lesser. More that it was guarded, wary.

    We knew it could speak. We'd overheard them a few times. Just brief words but no one ever pressed the subject.

    From time to time I caught its gaze lingering on me, but always assumed the attention was a result of the bond Aurren and I had. He was a father to me. At the time I didn't know why he'd singled me out as someone to care for. Someone to protect. After all the loss, I welcomed it, but looking back—taking in the arm's length at which he kept the others—I guess I should've known, or at least suspected there was more to it.

    We all woke that night, closer to the morning than the previous day.

    A clash of weapons split through the wood. Then more.

    Far off, but near enough to pump the blood.

    A familiar shots. "Last Word." Aurrens's Blaster. His best friend.
    Then another. A single noise, an unmistakable echo calling through the night. Hushed, cutting.

    One cut, dark and infernal. Followed by silence.

    We crouched low and quiet. Listening. Hoping.

    Aurren was gone. Off on his own.

    Maybe we were closer than we'd allowed ourselves to believe.

    Too close.

    He'd gone to face death alone.

    I couldn't admit it—not at the time—but he thought he was
    protecting us.

    After such a long road—years on its heels, a trail littered with suffering and fire—maybe he just couldn't take the thought of any more dead "kids," as he called us.

    The echoes faded and we all held still. No way to track the direction. No sense in rushing blind.

    What was done was done.

    The cadence of the noises told a story none of us cared to hear.

    "Last Word" it hadn't been. And somewhere in the world, close enough for us to bear absent witness but far enough to be a dream, Aurren Rann lay dead or dying. And there was nothing to be done.

    Hours passed. An eternity.

    We held our spot, but as the sun rose the others began to fade back into the world. Without Aurren there was nothing holding us together. No driving force. Vengeance had grown stale as a motivator. Fear and a longing to see more suns rise drove a wedge between duty and desire.

    By midday I was alone. I couldn't leave. Wouldn't.

    Either I would find Aurren and set him at ease, or the other would find me and that would be a fitting end.

    Death marching on.

    But then, a motion. Quick and darting. My muscles tensed and my hand shot to the grip of my blaster.

    Then confirmation of the horrible truth I had already accepted, as Aurrens's droid came to a halt a few paces in front of me.

    I exhaled and slumped forward. Still standing, but broken.
    The droid looked me over with a curious tilt to its axis, then shot a beam of light over my body. Scanning me as it had done the very first time we met.

    I looked up. Staring into its singular glowing eye.

    And it spoke...
 
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