Leandros Solus
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2018
- Messages
- 502
- Reaction score
- 217
Mandalore, Keldabe Ruins
1700 Local Time
1700 Local Time
Destroyed, all of it. Acres of farmland scorched, never to experience another harvest. Ancient mountains weathered into shadows of their former selves. Entire landscapes ravaged. In places, fires still raged, fueled only by their desire to consume. The cities, though, were the worst of it all. Once-mighty buildings reduced to rubble, nothing more than ash and memories of what stood in defiance to their oppressors. Ghosts of millions of dead Mandalorians haunted these ruins, their spirits denied the peace that honorable death would bring. In places, if you stopped long enough, the faint whispers on the wind still echoed with their screams.
Men, women, children, the elderly, the disabled; none were spared the insidious wrath of the Sith. Many fought bravely for their home, and all who stood in opposition died a hero’s death. So many Mandalorian warriors fell in battle that day, struck by an enemy unseen and unheard until it was far too late. The cowards who perpetrated the attack came, left naught but annihilation in their wake, and left to go on to their next conquest. Millions were crushed underfoot by the Imperial war machine and there was nothing that their leaders could do but evacuate as many as they could.
Charred corpses lay scattered about, features frozen in abject terror or defiance, their final emotions on full display. Women were found clutching the half-destroyed burnt remains of their children, the mothers themselves burned to obscenity. Warriors of all ages rested in silent agony, the candle of their lives long since extinguished. In many places and upon many destroyed walls, massive splatters of dried blood could be found intermixed with scorch marks and lightsaber gouges. In other places there was little evidence of life except for burnt shadows of bodies etched into the stone and metal, a permanent reminder of what happened. Body parts and corpses were strewn all over, some in worse shape than others, all in a horrid state of decay. In all meanings of the word, this was the scene of pure, unbridled carnage. Slaughter on a scale not seen since Medriaas years ago. The Mandalorians didn’t forget then, and they wouldn’t forget now.
Returning was painful. Leandros walked through the ruins of Keldabe, helmet in hand, the other clutching his daughter’s hand tightly. She was young, maybe barely even three, but she never left his side. The setting Mandalorian sun beat down upon their faces, but it didn’t bother them any. He was used to its glare and its warm radiance illuminated his weary, unshaven face. The sky burned a brilliant, fiery orange almost in somber remembrance of the scorched earth it looked down upon. He barely knew where he was going, such was the devastation of the city, but he pressed on, desperate to find something. Anything.
Leandros sent the call out to every surviving Mandalorian. Every clan still retaining its honor, every Alor, every man and woman who call themselves Mandalorian would receive his summons and would arrive where he chose. The site of what was supposed to be their end. The site where millions were now buried. The site where their sole ruler made her desperate final stand. The gravesite of Mand’alor the Chosen. The gravesite of Raz Solus, the fearless woman who brought her people from nothing to the most-feared people in the galaxy; The mother of his child; His wife; The love of his life.
Leandros finished his walk exactly where he needed to, his lungs heavy with ash and his armor coated in a thin layer of dust. He lifted his daughter up onto his shoulders to give her a break and took a few steps forward where it used to be.
This was once his home. The place he married Raz. Now, it was nothing more than debris. Memories, painful memories, rushed through his mind. Tears pushed against his eyes, demanding release, but he swallowed hard, saliva thick with ash, and gritted his teeth. He stared at the wreckage for several minutes and only was roused from his stupor by the fidgeting of his kid. He reached up and gingerly set her down, watching her poke her way through the debris ahead of them, her gaze fixed on something.
Leandros watched in a crouch with curiosity, wondering what it was that caught his daughter’s attention so. After a few moments, she turned to look at him, pointing downward. Pressing against his thighs, the War Councilor stood up and made his way over to her, looking for what it was that enamored her. Carefully, he lifted a block of wood and tossed it aside, reaching down and pulling up at the object. He removed a small frayed banner, somehow still partially intact, with various symbols of their people on it. Wordlessly he picked up a small stick and set about attaching the banner, content with his discovery. This was what he was looking for. This was what the gods were leading him to.
Leandros climbed out of the wreckage with his daughter and stood at the edge of the great field that his and Raz’s home bordered, standing with his banner, eyes towards the sky in anticipation. His helmet was on his head by now for the sake of his people not seeing the tears that now stained his dusty cheeks. He stood as still as a statue for a while, staring pointedly skyward, the only sound breaking the solemn silence being his labored breathing. Then, as if exactly on cue, the first ships arrived, breaking through the sky to land in the field and unload its passengers. Many more would soon follow, each carrying its share of Mandalorians. They began to gather, curiosity getting the better of them. This was where it all ended for many of them. This would be where it would begin for the survivors.
The children of Mandalore answered his call.
This thread is open to all Mandalorians! Respond to your War Councilor’s rallying cry!