A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
The escort led our ship till it touched down before breaking off to resume patrol. For the first time since awakening did I feel a notion of fear. I was on the home world of ostensively a warlord, and I stood prepared to meet him in heavy duty but SHINY armor. I was not aware of how he would react. Passing me a cup of tea, my pilot appeared to calm my nerves
:: Drink this master, everything will be fine. Considering the Culture of the mandalorians, I would recommend if you meet Mand’alor, greet him with respect… but do not kowtow to him.::
I nodded and took the drink before I secured my helmet on my armor and departed for the Tavern.
I took a peak around the tavern… trying to find either of the subjects. Thanks to a link between my HUD and the shuttle, I was able to identify who people were. I was relatively sure that I had narrowed it down when a booming voice from the bar sounded
“Vod, Nari na gar buy'ce.1”
The source of the noise was a Besalisk standing behind the bar… while he was miming knocking on a helmet he was wiping down the counter and pouring two drinks. I advanced toward the bar, finally settling down to a stool … finally putting two and two together.
“You don’t speak Mando’a, do you offworlder? Primary rule here is no one hides in their armor. We all show our faces. I would enforce the other rules, but you try to tell a warrior culture not to bring vibroknives to the bar.”
I nodded and removed my helmet, placing it along side. As I gazed around the room I noticed that many of the warriors here were paled skinned bipeds… something the pilot would identify for me… minus seemingly one or two patrons and the Barkeep… I was the only Non-human in the congregated mass. I stroked my cheek Tendrils as the barkeep addressed me again.
“So, what will it be, neoade pel'gam2? Drinks are on the helm.”
“I can’t drink right now… I’m on duty”
“We all have our duties to complete, but right now duty is to enjoy the company of our Vod.” I pulled a data pad and holoemitter
“No, I mean, I am active duty. I am FS-525 of the GAJ. To complete my training, my path has left me here… I need to find a man named the Father who might help me finish my training.”
Not knowing the image of the individual, the father, which I was displaying was in the room. The man boomed with laughter as he waved over an armored individual
“Mand’alor, olaror jaon olar bal urcir Neoade pel'gam. Ibic cuyir Jetii’verd Cabur ta'na a dakajr yirhaou teh tabalhar.3”
1 Brother, Remove your helmet.
2 Crimson Skin
3 Mand’alor , come over here and meet Crimson skin . this be Jedi Soldier the Protectors sent a message about from patrol .
The voice startled Oax as he drank from his stein. He set the drink down, “I hail from Aliit’Ordo. Not like that name means much anymore, as all ner'ha'yr that I knew of were wiped from the galaxy with this damned plague." He replied, turning his buy’ce to reveal its emblem. He looked up at the voice’s owner but did not recognize who it was right away, "I appreciate the drink.”. Once recognition set it, Oax touched his forehead with two fingers while tilting his head in a sign of respect, then motioning to the spot across from himself, he offered his Mand’alor the chair. “This plague has taken everything from me. And I would like to just forget it all. I would offer you a drink, but you already paid my bill. But, may I ask what brings the Great Mand’alor to my table?” he asked before taking another long drink from his mug.
Reyn cocked an eyebrow as Oax answered that he was from Ordo, then returned his salute and smiled at his question. "As I am hosting a gathering here at the moment, it would be quite ill-mannered of me not to greet a new arrival. The plague has taken much from us all, and rest assured that that debt will be repaid." Reyn's face grew serious as he spoke the last, then lightened again as suddenly as it had darkened. "Your chieftain is here, he will be pleased to see one of his clansmen." Reyn turned to Cathaoir and waved him over, calling out to him. "Cathaoir! Already fortune turns toward us, one of your clansmen has come. This is good news."
The escort led our ship till it touched down before breaking off to resume patrol. For the first time since awakening did I feel a notion of fear. I was on the home world of ostensively a warlord, and I stood prepared to meet him in heavy duty but SHINY armor. I was not aware of how he would react. Passing me a cup of tea, my pilot appeared to calm my nerves
:: Drink this master, everything will be fine. Considering the Culture of the mandalorians, I would recommend if you meet Mand’alor, greet him with respect… but do not kowtow to him.::
I nodded and took the drink before I secured my helmet on my armor and departed for the Tavern.
I took a peak around the tavern… trying to find either of the subjects. Thanks to a link between my HUD and the shuttle, I was able to identify who people were. I was relatively sure that I had narrowed it down when a booming voice from the bar sounded
“Vod, Nari na gar buy'ce.1”
The source of the noise was a Besalisk standing behind the bar… while he was miming knocking on a helmet he was wiping down the counter and pouring two drinks. I advanced toward the bar, finally settling down to a stool … finally putting two and two together.
“You don’t speak Mando’a, do you offworlder? Primary rule here is no one hides in their armor. We all show our faces. I would enforce the other rules, but you try to tell a warrior culture not to bring vibroknives to the bar.”
I nodded and removed my helmet, placing it along side. As I gazed around the room I noticed that many of the warriors here were paled skinned bipeds… something the pilot would identify for me… minus seemingly one or two patrons and the Barkeep… I was the only Non-human in the congregated mass. I stroked my cheek Tendrils as the barkeep addressed me again.
“So, what will it be, neoade pel'gam2? Drinks are on the helm.”
“I can’t drink right now… I’m on duty”
“We all have our duties to complete, but right now duty is to enjoy the company of our Vod.” I pulled a data pad and holoemitter
“No, I mean, I am active duty. I am FS-525 of the GAJ. To complete my training, my path has left me here… I need to find a man named the Father who might help me finish my training.”
Not knowing the image of the individual, the father, which I was displaying was in the room. The man boomed with laughter as he waved over an armored individual
“Mand’alor, olaror jaon olar bal urcir Neoade pel'gam. Ibic cuyir Jetii’verd Cabur ta'na a dakajr yirhaou teh tabalhar.3”
1 Brother, Remove your helmet.
2 Crimson Skin
3 Mand’alor , come over here and meet Crimson skin . this be Jedi Soldier the Protectors sent a message about from patrol .
Reyn heard the booming voice of the bartender and looked over at him with a nod, returning his gaze to Oax. "Excuse me ner'vod, I must attend to this. Drink and eat your fill, they will be work to be done soon enough." The big Taung turned away from the table and walked over to the bar, gesturing to the keep for a glass of narcolethe, taking another long draw on his cigarra. He downed the narcolethe in a gulp, and turned his eyes to the soldier in question. He was of a race Reyn had not seen before, and he studied him carefully with his emerald eyes. "Jetii, eh? What brings a jetii soldier to my sector, and to a gathering of my brothers and sisters?" Reyn pulled the cigarra from his lips and exhaled, still studying the newcomer intently.
Cathaoir was about to turn to the Mand'alor upon his call, but the single most devastating utterance made its way from the lips of a new arrival. The simple thing of introducing yourself as a Jedi soldier - as an ally of any who would stoop so low as to embellish the Force - was enough to make the teeth grind within Cathaoir's clinched jaw. This man had made one grave mistake and had done so in such an ill fated locale for not only had this man said such preposterous things, he had done since within the very sanctity of the Oyu'baat. The decree had been uttered in the very heart of all things Mandalorian. And that . . . that simply could not be.
The chieftain pulled himself from his booth - the same booth he'd previously been seated with the Mand'alor at, and marched his way in the direct of this new arrival. His pace was of a hastened fashion as he shouldered through a number of vode until he came upon the men that were clearly these "Jetii Soldiers." They were difficult to distinguish for the Aliit'alor. Carried in his left hand was his buy'ce, still carrying the marks of battle and war. Scuffs, scrapes and carbon scarring were just a few of the images this helm held. His right had pulled the Blaster Buster from his right hip and at this point the weapon was well trained onto the man identified as FS-525. A finger lay upon the trigger, ready to fire at the small of slights should the man attempt anything foolish.
"Gar cuyir nayc vod. Gar kapr jorhaa'ir cuun lalat, a gar pehir tec cuun jatur. K'olar kapr cuyir keye hiibir va gar cu'e ganar vurel gotal'ur."1Cathaoir's words were filled with an anger and hatred. The pain behind them was evident. It would be easy to tell that the Aliit had already come to their sentence in his mind as the Force had been behind the blight that had ripped his family and clan from his arms and any who served it were equally as guilty as the one who sent the plague to ravage the galaxy so. There were no exceptions. No rebukes. If one dipped so low into dishonor, they deserved nothing more than to be torn from the galaxy. The Force was the greatest sight against the galaxy and all who lived within it. "Bic cuyir gar bal mies emuurir gar o'r gar letye'ahya nalkahyada be kaicti subr gar juha asuba meg athu'neha mias marer tec sitilhaa. Gar kariya naas katkta ui kyr'am bal ibac cuyir ielye meg gar malyasa'yr cuyir dinuir."2
"You are no brother. You may speak our tongue, but you spit upon our values. Coming here may be the dumbest mistake your kind has ever made."1 "It was you and those like you in your cultist reverence of the diabolical power you call the Force which brought such horror upon the galaxy. You deserve nothing less than death and that is exactly what you will be given."2
The voice of Mandator was truly commanding. The voice had been filled with Mirth when speaking closely to another brother just steps away, but now it almost tiptoed the line between contemptuous and inquisitive. like the story of Fezzik, the Warrior King hat could snap any man like a twig… but wanted to understand the person first. I grasped the emitter so that the image canceled. Turning around i quickly reasoned that Mandalore, was also the title of the man that stood before me, who was Chief of this culture. Not knowing protocol i stood.
“Hail, wise Mandalore. I am designated as FS-525. I am a member of advance guard of an army that was prepared if the Jedi order ever had need to raise an army again. When I awoke after cryostasis that lasted decades, my tactical training was deemed insufficient and among three paths, i chose the one that led me here. I request you help to help me find the one that has only been taught to me as the fa…”
It was then that i opened my grasp around the emitter, letting the holo image stand… revealing that the man i sought stood in front of me as i spoke.
“…its you. Lord Mandalore, i request your help to prepare my mind and body for the tasks that will be asked of me. I know i am an outsider and likely not to be trusted. If you refuse me, i am gone…” Despite how many times i prepared i still didn’t account for being cut off by the armored man that spoke hard and fast in the foreign tongue. Not a word did i make out.
“Good sir, I know you are a man to be respected. But I request that you not speak so fast. I do not know your tongue. and…”
Again the man spoke cutting me off, but this time he spoke long enough for me to notice that he had pulled his pistol, and aimed it squarely between my eyes. Violence… now there was a language that transcended all boundaries. I took a moment and tried to use one of the techniques i had learned from my programing. If i executed it correctly in normal time the power would take place within the span of a calming breath. but for me would expand the time tenfold allowing my observation skills time to take in as much of the situation as possible.
‘not counting the two before me and the bartender, there are too many too count. if i pull my own, i would be shot before i could bring it up to fire.’
‘finger is on trigger, you reach to the holster, he will squeeze.’
‘if culture is based around honor, then atonement would be the best bet.’ I bowed my head and returned it to position.
“I am sorry sir if my presence has brought dishonor to those around me. If it will bring atonement in your judgement, let my blood wash among this gathering place.”
And just then the helmet began to speak… not of its own, but being used as a com link by the pilot back on the ship
::Uhh… sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, but there is a message for you from honoghr. You are requested to escort a young jedi to find a potential sample that could lead to a cure of the galaxy wide plague known as the Red-eyed death::
The words his Mand’alor spoke brought a renewed hope and desire to his soul as Oax looked to where his Mand’alor gestured and saw his Aliit’alor marching across the floor toward a new arrival sitting at the bar. For a moment Oax couldn’t believe his eyes, he was not the last, but on top of that his Aliit’alor was ALIVE. Just then he saw Cathaoir draw a blaster and level it at the newcomer, who was wearing Mandalorian armor, but it was shiny, straight-from-the-smith type of shiny. Oax could feel the tension rise as Cathaoir started to speak, to which Oax realized this was a Jetii soldier, not a vode, with that knowledge Oax quickly exited his booth and made his way toward the Mand’alor, Cathaoir, and the soldier designated as FS-525. As he moved he laid his hands on his dual WESTAR-35 blasters ready for a quickdraw if this Force associated soldier dared try to attack his Aliit, or Mand’alor, not that they couldn’t protect themselves, but he was loyalty and duty bound to do so.
The trooper apologized and hung his head, facing Cathaoir, seemingly accepting his fate as an enemy of the helm. Oax did not understand this move, he understood the Jetii soldier was doomed when he entered the Oyu’baat, but why he just gave up without even trying to fight? That is not the way of a warrior, it would have been to fight his way out of his situation or die trying. The Mandalorian Code would call for either Cathaoir or FS-525 to invoke a one-on-one trial of combat to settle this if it didn't come to blaster fire first. This show of weakness and surrender without a fight was unacceptable in a warrior, on top of that the soldier was on his Aliit’alor’s bad side, which put him on his bad side, “Ni cuyir ti gar ner Alor.”1 Oax stated awaiting any sudden movements by FS-525 that would indicate hostility, as this apology could be a farce as far as he was concerned.
Reyn saw Cathaoir approach and produce his blaster, cursing the visitor. Oax rightly backed up his chief, and inwardly Reyn swore. Other chiefs turned to watch the ensuing scene. Reyn threw back another shot and turned to lean on the bar, looking at both Cathaoir and Oax with a measured gaze. "Enough. He is no jetii, he is clearly one of their clone slaves, he is no more responsible for that than you are responsible for who your own sire was. If you so dearly wish to fight, then it will be an honorable combat and not a summary execution against one who has offered you no violence." Reyn had another drink and lit another cigarra, then turned to the soldier again. "As for you, aruetii. Hold your head up and stop slinking back like a cur strill. False meekness will net you no points here. I don't know why you've come, but you've already been challenged. Your first lesson then, is on the house. Move the tables!" Reyn bellowed the last to the other patrons of the bar, who immediately complied and began to form a circle from his earlier chair. Reyn would have preferred the chance to speak to this man about his purpose more thoroughly, but the bellicose Ordos had forced the issue. No matter, a good fight was always appreciated, and a bit of sport would surely raise the spirits of this gathering. Reyn beckoned both Cathaoir and FS-525 to follow him into the center of the assembly. He walked to his seat and unhooked from each side of the high chair a long mythosaur axe. He tossed one to Cathaoir and one to FS-525, then sat down, calling for another glass and making himself comfortable, the helm sitting on the arm of the chair next to him. "This will be an honorable combat, no tricks. You are both armored, and so combat will be decided by the first to yield. Fight with courage and there will be honor for all. Begin."
"Tuur a vode srunehyaor at surhr emuurir ibic cuyir tuur val ga'gulya staabi at juha u'a tas ibac."1As he spoke, Cathaoir spun the blade in hand, measuring its weight and getting a feel for it. It wasn't unknown to the Ordo chief, but his preference lay with the beskar blade sheathed along the right side of his back. Even so, he knew how to handle the weapon in his hand and intended to do so to devastating effect. Death may not have been the intent of the Mand'alor's proposition, but accidents do happen, especially in the heat of conflict.
Cathaoir circled back to the rear of the newly formed ring, turning his back, for the moment, to the aruetii. He relished this opportunity to put this delusional servant in his place, beneath the heel of a Mandalorian, pleading for an end to his own existence for the offense he brought here with him. The time had come and it was now.
Spinning on his heel, the large mandalorian turned to face his opponent. The axe was hold in his right hand as his left slid the buy'ce onto his head. An unseen smile drew itself across his face, veiled beneath the iconic Beskar helm. From here he waited to see this man's next actions. Would he turn away from the fight? Would he even know how to wield such a weapon should he even have the strength to lift it? Would he man up and take on the veteran Chief of Clan Ordo?
Only time would tell.
1"The day a Mandalorian yields to swine like this is the day they forfeit the right to call themselves that."
Upon the command of the Helm, Oax moved from his aggressive stance to start moving tables and chairs from the center of the Oyu’baat. He did not have the hate for the Jedi or their soldiers as his Aliit’alor did, but he did love a good fight. And from what he knew of Cathaoir, the man was an excellent fighter, and this was going to be a great fight. The Jetii soldier on the other hand, Oax didn’t know much about. He didn’t care much either, he would either give up after a couple hits or get his face smeared across the floorboards of the makeshift ring, and Oax was going to enjoy every minute. In a way he kind of felt sorry for the man, he didn’t realize what he was getting into when he arrived.
After pushing the last table out of the way Oax returned to his booth, grabbed his buy'ce and stein then quickly downed the liquid inside. He then walked to the bar as the Mand’alor retrieved two axes and issued them to the combatants. At the bar Oax set his buy'ce down, and requested a refill of Tihaar. Turning and faced the ring, he rested his elbows against the bar, drink in hand, and awaited the beginning of the fight.
I stood up straight as I considered that the weight of their anxieties were off of me. Never again would I challenge the helm on tactics, except in this case I considered that I was less portraying false meekness, and instead as an outsider with limited knowledge, a calculated risk… that was not going to pay off without its loss. By the time I realized that I was free to move, the Ring had been cleared. While the soldier had not been averse to clearing the area, part of him was glad he didn’t, as it did not give him an unearned ego over his enemy.
When Mand’ator tossed the axe to me, I reached out my right arm (the closest to the incoming axe) to catch it. Due to the density and the craftsmanship of the weapon, I did not have the stopping force to catch the blade single handedly. My arm faltered, and reflexively I let my right arm go slack enough so that the falter seemed intentional as I brought my left hand up to bring it to a stop in what I assumed was a lance based ready position. I turned my back to the ring to test the balance of the blade, twirling it hand over hand and spun it around its axis before grabbing my own helmet and returning my attention to the center of the ‘ring’
I nodded to Mand’alor to signify that the weapon was acceptable before donning my helmet. From the shuttle, my droid activated a translator matrix within the audio systems. I might not have understood what this man I offended said beforehand… but that ended now…. (Assuming of course we spoke during this duel.) I took a ready position with my right foot forward and my torso turned toward my opponent. I may not know how you were supposed to use this axe in combat. But assuming tactics of this weapons are similar to that of a lance and a two handed axe… I held the axe head high over my left shoulder with my hands apart in a ‘nimble’ grip… and chose to start the match on defensive to learn how the master wields this magnificent weapon.
Oax watched as his Aliit skillfully brandished his weapon in hand, then he watched FS-525 clumsily ready his bladed weapon. That’s when the words of Mand’alor Skirata finally made root in his mind ‘He is no Jetii, he is clearly one of their clone slaves.’ And he knew what he must do. Oax slammed his stein on the countertop, creating a loud cracking noise to be heard above the commotion of the gathered Mandalorians, then confidently walked in between Cathaoir and FS-525.
He turned to face his chief, a bold and dangerous move that could be perceived as a challenge of power, “Alor, cuyir bic jaru jara'i at rohak a adiik o'r a akaanir?1 This man is no Jetii, merely a clone of another man. He is not responsible for our clan’s annihilation. Let him go in peace and together we will hunt down those truly responsible.” He held out his hand to Cathaoir to accept the axe he wielded. The then reached out an arm behind him to accept FS-525’s weapon as well. Oax hoped that Cathaoir was not bereft of all judgement with the sight of the soldier in front of him and that he would make the right choice.
The Mandalorian Oax Aliit’Ordo stood there, arms outstretched, for what felt like ages before Cathaoir Aliit’alor Ordo responded to his request.
1Chief, is it truly honorable to defeat a child in a fight?
"Alor, cuyir bic jaru jara'i at rohak a adiik o'r a akaanir?" The words repeated over and over in his mind and the seasoned mandalorian could not help but let out a mocking laugh toward the belligerent man across from him. A man who wanted to be called Mandalorian yet struggled to wield one of the ancestral relics of his people. How could this man think himself vode when he didn't even carry the same skill a mandalorian child possessed? The audacity of this man, that didn't even carry a name, but instead carried an alphanumeric call-sign. But then again, a lot had changed in the last several weeks and his own temperament wasn't even as it had been before.
How could it be? In the time, Cathaoir had lost virtually everyone he ever loved. Everyone he'd ever really cared for. Everyone he vowed to lead and protect. An invisible enemy the swept through the citadel of his home planet and wiped his clan from the pages of history. A force no doubt derived of this diabolical power the miscreants deemed be the Force and it was this "Force" that sought the end to each and everyone he ever loved. His clan was his family and it had been taken from him by the Force and the dishonorable filth that worshiped it. And yes, that include their peons, men and woman that were no more than servants and slaves. They allowed the masters to think for them - their masters who couldn't hope to think for themselves when they too were control by that diabolical power they worshiped.
Perhaps, though . . . perhaps this man didn't have to be brought to death. Not today. No. There was much that could be learned from this man. But . . . he will never be called vode. No. Such a title was reserved for men and woman who earned it and as far as he was concerned, such honors would never be bestowed upon one that sought the Force. To do such would be to piss on the grave of every great vode that had come before. Spit in the face of every vode that still walked the stars of this galaxy and shame every such vode still yet to come. Such honors were far beyond this FS-525's grasp.
"A vode adiik malyasa'yr tarba sto be a at ui ibic katkeraor,"[1] Cathaoir scoffed as he cast the ax to the ground to his right side.
Cathaoir looked past the vode that had stepped between he and the man of make believe and stare deep into where there whimpering and utterly terrified eyes of FS-525 would be beneath the veil of his visor and spoke a singular phrased. "Jate'kara bruk gar buryeja'ye shebs ibic tuur, a bic malyasa'yr draar banar tug'yc."[2]
[1] "A Mandalorian child would serve more of a challenge than this filth." [2] "Luck saved your pathetic ass this day, but it will never happen again"
Oax silently breathed a sigh of relief when his chief threw his ax to the floor before glaring at the newcomer from under his helm. Oax turned to FS-525, grabbed the haft of the weapon to relieve him of it. After the man relinquished his grasp,“Come, you are no longer welcome here." Oax said as he put his hand on his shoulder and led him toward the door of the Oyu’baat, making sure to be between Cathaoir and FS-525, "Be thankful you are leaving with your life intact." Oax stated in basic as they walked, then when they reached the entrance of the Oyu’baat, "As a parting word of warning, never cross paths with Cathaoir again. If you want to live that is.” he said in a low voice as to not be overheard. After the man left the Oyu’baat, Oax turned around and walked back to Cathaoir, clapped him on the back with his left hand and pointed at the bar with the ax, “Ni enteyor di'karduye ner alor, a bic narir va aalar staabi at rala adiik akaanir a akaan kat'ubetr emuurir kak. Olaror rala mhi pirur.”1
The Mandalorian was inexplicably in high spirits all of a suddenly. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had successfully defused the situation, or he was about to get back to the bottle, or he now knew he wasn’t the last Ordo in the galaxy. He may already have had enough alcohol in his system to kill two men, but he felt very sober at the moment, “Rejorhaa'ir ni, mhi ru uhyih kyr'yc be ha'yr. Ogir enteyor cuyir sto dayn ogir. Anade Ni kebbur at lenedat cuyir kyrayc. A mhi iviye at jaal o'r ta'raysholan, ogir enteyor cuyir sto.”2 Oax asked as he walked over to the bar and retrieved his stein. He then realized he was still holding the mythosaur ax in his hand. He shrugged, leaned it against the bar and downed his drink.
1 I must apologize my chief, but it did not feel right to let the child fight a war veteran like yourself. Come let us drink. 2 Tell me, we aren't the last of the clan. There must be more out there. Everyone I tried to contact was dead. But we used to number in the thousands, there must be more.
"Cad olyay va'io atiu. A ibic cuyir va kyr." Cathaoir was still heated over the previous engagement and how the situation ended. He wanted nothing more than to end the man, the pathetic fool that thought it be wise to ramble on about that debauchery they call the Force. It was pathetic. The man was pathetic for a man that could not make his own decisions was no man at all. Therefore they would never be a Mandalorian no matter whose ass they kissed up to.
However, the grizzled chief's expression and demeanor seemed to change as he pulled the buy'ce from his head and place it upon the bar. There was a sense of life, however faint, in his eyes again. He was no longer the last surviving member of his clan. It was no longer all on his shoulders to rebuild. And however small, it was a relief to realize this.
[1]"There is no one else. But this is not the end."
Time had passed now. Days. Weeks. Months. It seemed as though things were returning to some form of normalcy deep within the heart of Mandalorian space and as the clans continued to lick their wounds, verd seemed to come and go. Ordo had not been so devastated as had been originally thought, thought that fact did not lessen the duress the grizzled Aliit’alor found himself to be in. This foul plague that had lashed out at the greater galaxy, seemed to have placed itself into some kind of remission, having run its overly destructive course.
The galaxy had been thinned. Combed through and stricken. Those unfortunate enough to have been chosen among the victims to this great death had been raked away. Their corpses now reduced to nothing more than ash in a desperate effort to lessen the chance of further spreading of the disease that had swept through, thus.
Cathaoir’s buy’ce lay anchored in an angle fashion atop his head. He held a mug which brimmed of a fiery liquor and sat, slouched-like, on a stool that rose by the countertop of the bar. His eyes were closed as his mind raced through the events that had transgressed in the months since the great calamity that had wiped upwards of half of all life in the galaxy from existence. A terrible fate, yet life would find a way to purvey, just as light would find a way to illuminate the darkest night.