Achyan IIdikό
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Affiliation: Mandalorian Empire - Clan Vhett
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Post by Achyan IIdikό on Mar 21, 2016 15:36:24 GMT -8
**A VT-49 Decimator dropped from hyperspace and made for the planet below. The pilot growled at the protocol droid's insistense upon proper procedure and hailing frequencies upon atmospheric entry. Achyan groaned and shook his head at the continued persistence.**
::Ground Control, this is VT-49 Dha Tor requesting clearance to land and...::
**Achyan quickly cut the droid off and set in the auto pilot. He rose from his seat and moved to the quarters of the ship. He opened a locker and pulled a set of Black Tactical Beskar'gam. The Armor would be unmistakeable on planetside as a Spec Ops Member. He looked at the Armor and shook his head at the call sign "Zero". This isn't right he thought to himself, this is all wrong and now I'm involving her. His mind raced as he put on the armor quickly to get ready for his meeting with Zeta Squadron. Once ready, he picked up the datapad with his transfer orders and returned to the cockpit to find the droid still yammering about protocol. Wordlessly he sat back in the seat and brought the ship towards the spaceport below.**
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2017 16:40:11 GMT -8
The Sword of Damocles and The Blade of Escalus exited hyperspace above Concord Dawn. Damocles pushed his fighter ahead a little as he contacted the local orbital control, transmitting codes for himself and his brother. The pair of ships held their position for a moment then, before being cleared to land at Jai'galaar. The Kom'rk class fighter/transports headed down to the surface of the world then, angling towards their destination
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Post by Deleted on Aug 13, 2017 3:52:05 GMT -8
The orb the was Concord Dawn glistened as its sun kissed its surface, its warmth and embrace an ever welcoming sign for a world colonized my Mandalorians. Orbital traffic was at a minimum, but ships, most of Mandalmotors designs, decorated the the upper atmosphere of the planet's lush landscape, held in place by the ever-graceful caress of gravity. As always, the planet's southern hemisphere appeared shattered and scarred, forging a story of a not so pleasant past. Asteroids and chunks of rock danced uniformly with the fleets of Clan Vhett ships. War had ravaged this planet so many times in the past, but for now, things appeared peaceful. The Mandalorian Clan of Vhett occupied and governed the planet.
Sirens and alarms erupted from a spec in the distance as some kind of ship became trapped in the planet's gravity, pulling it inward for an embrace. The ship and its occupant hurled uncontrollably, main power having been lost a few days prior, its auxiliary power being only enough to ensure life support remained operational. The ship, identifiable as a Corellian CR90 Corvette escape pod, was heavily damaged and had been adrift for some time now. Fractures along the durasteel hull were evident, as was the carbon scoring that blackened the craft's surface. Head of heels the craft spun and flipped toward the planet, its occupant's only hope for survival in being rescued by a ship in orbit or that the pod would maintain its structural integrity through a collision with Concord Dawn's atmosphere and inevitable impact with the surface.
Aboard the ship, Kalmann seated himself firmly in one of the handful of seat the pod contained. He'd since replaced his buy'ce upon his head and belted himself to the seat he occupied. Preparing for the worst in this situation, the Vhett clansman was hoping for the best.
Truth be told, the last year had not been kind to this Mandalorian. He'd awoken days after the conclusion of a battle along the banks of the Massassi River of the Jedi occupied Yavin IV without the slightest memory or recollection of what had occurred. He'd fought through a concussed state and three fractured ribs.
Some Jedi had pulled him from the gruesome war scene and treated his wounds, only to hold him prisoner for nearly a year. It was only through the unintended side-effect of his Aliit'alor's escape from the facility that he'd been able to escape. Even since then he'd not been able to recall much of what happened; it was all just a blur. It happened so quickly. He didn't even understand how he'd made it as far as he had now, after having to jettison from the craft he'd managed an escape upon.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Aug 13, 2017 10:50:38 GMT -8
Being highly militaristic in nature it was likely no surprise that the Mandalorians of Clan Vhett paid particular attention to the security of their systems. Within seconds of the escape pods entry into the system sensors were reporting its presence to the analysts on boards the Concordian ships. From outer system sentries the information was relayed back to the flagship of the COncordian home fleet, the Marev Nakla, so that within a minute Admiral Cayne Tristan was listening to the report from an ensign as he stared at the approaching blip on the main viewer.
"Has there been any communication from the pod?"
His eyes left the screen to glance at the ensign studying a datapad. The man was young, maybe twenty one years of age. Most of his crew was new now, the Concordian forces having gone through considerable changes since the fateful war nearly a year before. Many of the veterans of said conflict had either sought to further their fortunes in private endeavors or had retired to the planet below, pursuing a path more fitting with their clan name. Loosing Corr so quickly after they had lost Cassus had hit the clan hard, the glue that had held them all together taken from them allowing the dissolution of unity and spirit. Cayne had done his best to offer leadership, to provide direction and meaning, but he was no aliit'or. At least Galaar had taken firm control and was intent on restructuring the clan in an attempt to build it strong once again, even if Cayne disapproved of laying too much faith in the leadership on Mandayaim. Both Cassus and Corr had worked hard to isolate Clan Vhett and Concord Dawn from the toxic politics that had often been the detriment of the clan, and Cayne had reservations in the direction the clan was going. Yet Cassus was gone. Corr was gone. What had their policy really done for the clan? Corr had still managed to be drawn into the madness of Ashrah and his crusade. Had still managed to find ruin in the chaos of someone else's war. Perhaps Galaar's way was the right direction to take. Perhaps they would be stronger within the fold of what was coming to be known as the Mandalorian Alliance. Only time would tell.
Finally the ensign had an answer for him, the five seconds taken three seconds too long in Cayne's opinion.
"Nothing, sir. Not even a transponder signal."
The young man then made up for his hesitation somewhat by supplying information before it could be requested, continuing in a professional manner.
"The pod is from a CEC vessel, possibly a Corvette-Class. The design is consistent with a model used in a variety of Corellian ships of moderate size."
Cayne could see for himself the trajectory of the craft. It would soon enter the upper atmosphere of the planet, making it more difficult for him to intervene from orbit. He was also familiar enough with the model of pod to know that it was designed for planet fall, with powerful repulsors negating any impact due to its rapid descent. He did the math in his head. It would be tight but they could get there in time. It wouldn't do to allow an unannounced vessel to land on the planets surface. History showed that bio-engineered virus' could have a catastrophic effect on a planet and Vhett was especially aware of such dangers.
His voice rose to a bark of command.
"Full ahead, helm. Bring us to within range. Tactical, ready the tractor beam."
The young crew snapped into action with practiced ease. Despite their inexperience they were very well trained. Cayne made a mental note to congratulate the academy down at Jai'galaar for their fine work.
The engines on the mighty ship roared to life, pushing the Marev Naklaa out from between the two Keldabe-Class Destroyers that flanked it. An Aggressor-Class Destroyer it boasted four main engines that glowed bright blue as it moved gracefully into an intercept course.
With the gravity of the planet aiding the warship covered the distance quickly as the escape pod hurtled towards the planet, effortlessly snagging it with its starboard tractor beam.
Cayne turned as the tractor beam began to draw the pod in, his eyes finding Captain Klay and giving him a nod.
"You have the bridge, Captain. I am going to see who out guest it."
Klay, a somber man of around forty, gave him an absent nod as Cayne moved past him to the turbolift at the back of the bridge.
A short while later he was standing behind a magnetic field watching the hanger crew secure the pod while scanners sought to ascertain if it was any threat. His patience wearing thin he nodded to a technician when the checks were done, indicating that he should open the pod. Twelve Concordian soldiers stood by, weapons aimed, as the pods doors slowly descended...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2017 2:01:17 GMT -8
There was a sudden shift in momentum as the pod became ensnared in a tractor beam. Kalmann's heart almost sank in his chest, somewhat in relief that he wouldn't be riding shotgun on a derailed roller coaster as it hurtled toward a planet's surface. However, the unknown of who exactly had the pod in tow, caused his stomach knot slightly.
Kalmann had been born here. Raised here. He'd learned everything he'd ever known here. Even so, nothing about it was recognizable to him. Everything he could remember was that of the past year. What he'd been told. The lies the Jedi had fed to him. His instinct and his will to live. He could talk in a language, but didn't know what it was called. The armor he wore he only knew was his, because he awoke on the battlefield wearing it. Hell, his own aliit'alor had aided in his escape, but until that point, he hadn't even been able to remember to man's name, much less what he looked like. Yes, the last year or so had not been kind to him. He didn't know what, or who, to believe. He didn't even know his name actually was Kalmann (it was); it's simply the only name he could remember when he came to after the war on Yavin IV.
He patted down his beskar'gam, reassuring himself that everything was there. The yellow, black and maroon coloring of the material, had an added dark crimson hue in patches, where blood had dried and since begun to flake off. The gauntlet on his right wrist housed a grappling hook device, MM9 rocket system, and ZX miniature flame projector, although they were useless without any ammo or fuel. His left gauntlet contained a broken PAC20 visual wrist comlink, depleted Dur-24 wrist laser and concealed dart launcher with a single lecepanine laced dart remaining. Secured into a holster on his thigh was a blaster buster with eight rounds and curved blade of his beskad lay caressed in its sheath angled across his back from right shoulder to left hip. The HUD on his buy'ce, or helm, crackled in and out of existence, obstructed bit the large crack which covered much of his T-shaped visor. The story his appearance gave was of a great conflict in which he very well may have visited Kad's gates, only to be turned away upon arrival.
The pod shuttered as it phased through the magnetic field and then touched down to the hangar bay's pristine floor. The door hissed in anguish as the ramp forced itself to a proper resting place. Outside the vessel, the men of Clan Vhett had already positioned themselves in a defensive manner, their commander among them.
Kalmann took a moment to steady himself and quietly think. To assess the circumstance and its possible outcomes. If things were to become aggressive in nature, there was no way he was going to survive, he simply did not have the resources at this point to hold his on. His ammo was depleted and half his gear broken. His slugthrower rifle has been lost somewhere amid the hundreds of bodies that eerily decorated the river bank back on Yavin IV. No. There simply was no hope for him if things escalated to that point.
Finally settling on an action to take, Kalmann lifted his buy'ce from his head and secured it between his left arm and rib cage. His dark beard was thick and speckled with stray auburn hairs; his face had begun to show the first signs of aging.
He stepped to the back of the craft and then to the ramp where all eyes, and weapons were on him.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Aug 14, 2017 13:33:16 GMT -8
The room tensed significantly as the man stepped down the ramp. The fact that the figure appeared to be a fellow Mandalorian did little to ease the heightened level of alert, if anything the fact that it was a fellow vod substantially increasing the danger in the minds of the soldiers. Caynes brow furrowed at the sight of the man. Weathered was an understatement. The guy looked like he had crawled out of a Sarlac and then proceeded to battle his way through a marching band of pissed off Barabels. His armour didn't really give much away as to the mans identity but Cayne knew one of his own when he saw one.
Stepping forward a pace Cayne reached up his hands in a position of passive ease. His manner was relaxed and his voice when it came was of softer tones, containing none fot he steel and command it had possessed earlier.
"Udesiir, ner tat..."
Cayne glanced over his shoulder and used his pose to indicate that his men should lower their weapons by lowering his hands. His eyes moved back to the man, eyebrow arching as he studied the features, noting the wild and somewhat confused look in the eyes. The man looked half-wild and wary yet there was a huge familiarity to Cayne. A familiarity that prompted him to take another forward step, drawing within two paces of the man. He could feel the tension in his men but they kept their postures at ease.
"Megin gar gai, verd?"
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Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2017 14:31:37 GMT -8
Kalmann tensed for a moment as his eyes surveyed the area of his predicament. Twelve or so men, clad in the same kind of armor as him, all but one with weapons aimed directly to his figure. Perhaps these were his people and maybe . . . just maybe, he wouldn't been dying today. Then again, maybe not.
He watched as the man with the commanding presence, relaxed and in return, order his men to relax. Kalmann relaxed a little now, too. The language this man spoke. It was familiar and he recognized it, however, did not know how. It was the Galactic Basic his Jedi captors had spoken to him, but rather a language he was more comfortable in speaking. "Have I made it home?" Kalmann pondered the words in his mind for a moment, before turning his attention, and focus, back to the man that had previously spoken.
"Kalmann . . ." He hesitated a moment, before continuing, unsure if that was truly his name. His voice was deep and carried somewhat of a soothing tone to it. "Ni mirdir.1" Even then, he questioned his own response and if he was questioning the words he spoke, there was no doubt the man he was speaking to would question them as well. Hell . . . just what he needed, more questions.
He looked to the floor briefly, before returning his gaze to the men in front of him. Who were these men? Am I home, at last or am I just prolonging an inevitable death for the entertainment of someone else? Who am I? What am I? Why can't I remember anything? As the questions flooded through his mind, an internal struggle raged, only hoping to keep his frustration with his circumstance at bay.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Aug 14, 2017 15:16:59 GMT -8
Caynes right eyebrow rose at the hesitation in the answer. His eyes narrowed as he studied the man further, gaze travelling slowly over the battered armour and grim stains. As his eyes rose back to the mans face he once again noted the confusion and trepidation in the eyes, eyes that lacked some fundamental part of themselves. It was disconcerting to see such emptiness, an absence that left overall picture of the man incomplete and lacking depth. He had seen similar things before int he shell shocked and the traumatic problems inherent in surviving warfare. This was something different though, something more substantial that the usual mental instabilities of those living through the horrors of combat.
"Ni suvarir, Kalmann..."
{{I understand, Kalmann...}}
He gestured to a blank panel of the wall behind him that was actually a cleverly disguised portal housing a one way piece of transparisteel. ON the other side the med-crew acknowledged the command and entered the hanger at a steady, even pace. Caynes eyes never left Kalmann's, watching closely for any hint of panic in the man. He would not risk the health of his men on a strange and was ready to draw his sidearm should he need to. When his voice came this time there was more command in it, adding more presence and force behind his words. He figured that even through the fog of whatever problems this man had a tone of authority and the steady assurance of a chain of command would be heeded due to previous conditioning of such things.
"Val enteyor me'dinuir gar mirjahaal..."
{{They must give you healing...}}
He gestured to the med-crew as he stepped to his left and forward a little, moving himself in a position to flank the nervous man. He gave a nod to the medical officer who readied a sedative.
"Me'copaani val bah gaa'taylir gar?"
{{Would you like them to help you?}}
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Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2017 16:10:44 GMT -8
Kalmann looked to the panel, his gaze falling upon the medical technicians as the team flooded swiftly into the hangar. He wasn't injured . . . not physically, at least. His Jedi captors had seen to that; he just couldn't remember anything from before the fight on Yavin IV. He wouldn't be able to recognize his family. A friend. A rival. No, this was something more, and likely something that couldn't be so easily treated by a medical professional.
He lifted his right arm from his side now, running his fingers through his dark, wavy hair - stopping only at the rear for a moment before returning to a relaxed position at his side once more.
The statement confused him, somewhat. He was suffering in no way physically. "Does my appearance give off that vibe? No, of course not.
Well . . . maybe? Why else would he have suggested it? What could it hurt? No. You don't need it. It's a waste." He struggled inwardly with himself as he mulled over the statement from the man. This was just ridiculousness. He was hurt; he just couldn't remember anything. The Jedi with their magics has tried and failed - no doubt trying to probe information from him. If the use of space magic couldn't help, how did these people think they could.
Kalmann shook his head, undoubtedly denying the man's offer. "Nayc. Ner shupu'cuyir va givihe"1 His answer was quick and confident. Although the man was likely right in his desire to get Kalmann treatment, Kalmann was in denial of truly needing it. The amnesia was just frustrating to have to deal with. "Ner Jetii thtabr ti etie kadir jurda sra ner shupur olyaor beraga."2 He grimaced with distaste for the two-faced Force-wielding bastards. They posed as a people of peace and justice, only to spit upon a man's face to get what they wanted. "E bal an tome'tayl a'yaou Vabi'au Cui'ganar eyaytir ner tome'tayl. Ni shi kar'taylir be ca'nara a'yao va ru'du."3 He raised his buy'ce to his face and stared deeply into the shattered T-shape visor, simply trying to remember.
Something. Anything. If only he could get back something of what he'd been before Yavin IV.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Aug 16, 2017 4:11:05 GMT -8
Nodding his head at the mans words Cayne lifted his hand a fraction of an inch, stopping the medical officer in his approach. The man kept his face impassive as he adopted a stance of easy relaxation next to his commander, injector now held negligently at his side. Cayne's eyes never left Kalmann's, watching as the man studied his visor for a moment. It was difficult to read the man, perhaps due to this apparent amnesia. Even more difficult to plot the correct course.
Finally Cayne looked away, head turning to give a quick nod to the corporal in charge of the soldiers. The unspoken command elicited a nod from the man who turned and gave a sharp hand signal to his men. As one they shouldered their weapons and turned, filing out of the hangar bay and down the corridor beyond. As the corporal followed Cayne leaned close to the medical officer and muttered a phrase quietly in the mans ear. With a nod the man turned and gestured to the rest of the med-crew before leading them too from the hangar.
The silence hung in the air for a moment after the doors slid shut, just Cayne and Kalmann now occupying the room. Cayne blew out a breath and glanced to his right, spotting a cargo crate left over from a previous supply run. He breathed out a sigh and moved towards the crate, a large chunk of duraplast around two meters across and around a meter high. With an exaggerated grunt of exertion he sat himself on the edge of the crate, his posture at ease, and peered over at the battered figure.
"Ni suvarir gar chaab a bic nu'amyc ke'gycese ibac verde ganar mirjahaal tionir'la as yaim'la teh krybej."
{{I understand your concern but it is standard procedure that soldiers receive medical evaluation when returning from battle.}}
He gestured to the crate next to him, indicating that Kalbann should sit if he was of a mind to. Continuing on whether the man sat or not the Concordian Admiral drew a small datapad from a breast pocket and powered up the device. He had spent month compiling reports from the Yavin conflict and the detailed accounts were readily accessible to him, along with the unwelcome sense of loss and dismay. Too many had fallen in that ill-fated campaign and Cayne felt each one still to this day nearly a year later. The wounds to the clan had still not healed, perhaps never would, and every name Cayne turned into a statistic tore a piece of his soul.
There weren't many Kalmann's fortunately. One had returned with injuries, another was listed as KIA in a frigate explosion near Yavin Station. The third was listed as KIA on Yavin IV. That file barely depicted that man before him, the steady confident face a ghost of the war-torn man before him.
Cayne held out the datapad to Kalmann.
"Gar?"
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Post by Deleted on Aug 17, 2017 2:46:56 GMT -8
Kalmann saw the medical team cease their advance from his peripherals as the subject of his gaze continued to be the shattered visor of his buy'ce. They turned then proceeded to exits in a similar fashion to that which they had entered, followed shortly after by the twelve or so men that accompanied the apparent commander; his gaze turned upward as the last of the mando'ade left. Now it was only he and the apparent commander left amid the vast, pristine hangar bay, speckled with cargo containers, the heavily damaged pod and other bits and pieces suitable to any complex of its kind. A droid was heard at a distant end of the bay as it went about its duties as it programming instructed it to.
His buy'ce had since fallen back to its original position at his left side, though instead of beneath his arm, the helm dangled down, Kalmann's hand holding on gingerly to its brim.
As the gesture came from the man, Kalmann hesitated before eventually accepting the man's courtesy, seating himself on a crate across from the one he [Cayne] appeared to be approaching. As he walked the few steps to the crate, he replied to the man's statement. "Cuyir bic tya'narnr beyisr meh a vod yaim'ol pirusti sulye saryr a cayatr ganar gi'a? Meg ganar bic cuyir? A simir?"1 His tone was inquisitive as Kalmann was truly curious if standard procedures still applied so long after a battle had finished.
Taking a seat on the crate, he watched curiously as the man fumbled around with a datapad before pulling a profile and turning it his way.
The profile showed a mug shot of his face, only much cleaner and an apparent number of years younger. He looked different now, but the image shared several similarities to himself. Then . . . Kalmann read the text indicating a status of killed in action with the small moon of Yavin IV listed as the location. Kalmann carried the name. He shared the face. This "was" him and these people believed him dead. It was no wonder they were skeptical of his reemergence here and now. It was likely they [the Clan] had bid their farewells to their fallen, sending them off to join with Kad. He was dead to his clan,
but more importantly he was dead in a sense to himself. The empty husk of the man he had once been. A ghost embracing a new host. What was once there, had been lost, maybe to never be regained.
His focus shifted once more back to the datapad and out of his own internal conflict. He committed to a cold, hard blink and gave off a nod of agreement. "At a'uym ca'nara, ret. Jag ibac ganar gupu ba'slanar olar at akaanir e'yar kaysh vod bal vod, cuyir echoy'la ogir bat ibac ku'nr ti etid. Solus meg motir a'yaou gar ibi'tuur cuyir er katlase. Eo meg cuyir echoy'la bal vercopa at cuyir mar'eyir gupu sto."2 He shook his head and looked down to the floor. He'd surrendered to his own self doubt and accepted that nothing was ever going to be as it once was. For nearly a year,
he'd been fighting this. For nearly a year the only memories he'd had was those made during that time since the battle. The tale he told had been a virtual truth; nothing but the shell of the man that had left here remained. A walking corpse with a newly installed conscience. Some kind of lab project gone terribly wrong - or right - depending on the view one took.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Aug 17, 2017 18:06:24 GMT -8
He watched as the man studied the image on the datapad, reading nothing in the others expression other than the strange emptiness her had noted earlier. He was silent, giving Kalmann time to process the information. Time to organise thoughts that must have been tumultuous to say the least. Even after Kalmann fell silent Cayne stayed his tongue, gaze leaving the figure next to him to stare off towards the far side of the hangar.
His voice, when it came, was quietly pensive. Barely above a whisper.
"Ret bic te copaad be Kad ibac gar enteyor gote tug'yc. Ibac gar nau'ur gar'la chur te tracyn be gar aka'se."
{{Perhaps it is the will of Kad that you be born again. That you re-forge yourself in the fires of your trials.}}
The Concordian commander nodded his head slowly and with gravitas. It was obvious this was a man speaking from experience. Having weathered and endured his own trials. His mind flashed briefly back the near two decades previously. Another war. Another time. He, Corr and Cassus had made it back from Korriban all those years before. Another conflict against a mystical enemy who sought to circumvent the usual etiquette of combat. At the steps to the ancient Sith temple he would have fallen as so many had on that fateful day. It was only the intervention of Corr that had carried the battle, his headlong charge at the very doors of the Sith stronghold breaking the back of their defense...
Now as then he mourned lost brothers, their memory and sacrifice weighing heavily upon his soul. This time there was no Cassus to carry the burden. There was no Corr to stand strong in the face of such woe. Now there was only Cayne and an aliit'or who, while seemingly honourable and noble, most of them hardly knew. He blew out a small sign as the feeling of loneliness dragged heavily upon his heart, sucking the breath back in and straightening his back against the feeling.
He turned once again to Kalmann, his look sympathetic, showing very little of the hirt he felt within. Now was not the time to drop into morbid retrospection.
Indeed, it was a good day when a brother presumed fallen returned. Even if that brother could not yet see his path. With a slight smile Cayne leaned in slightly.
"Balyc ret bic ori'shya jaon'yc ibac verde haa'taylir baar'ur shekemir'la bid munitca'nara, nayc?"
{{And maybe its even more important that soldiers see a medic after so long a time, no?}}
Cayne stood upon finishing his sentence, the question of a rhetorical nature and not requiring of an answer. Stepping forward he stopped just short of where Kalmann sat and offered his hand to the weary warrior.
"Al'verde Cayne Tristan, Aliit Vhett."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 19, 2017 21:00:50 GMT -8
There was an emptiness Kalmann felt withing, even as Cayne spoke further to him. Was Kad truly pressing him to reforge himself through the fires of his trials once more. Had all that had come before not been enough - an answer he'd have if only he could remember such things. This was truly a difficult time, and a trying one. The confusion and unknowing hung heavy in the air around him. The Kalmann of before was no more, to be forged anew through inevitable challenges and times that lay ahead of him.
Collecting himself once more, he took Cayne's hand as he offered it, allowing himself to be pulled back to his feet. Looking the man in the eyes he asked in a soft and inquisitive tone; "Vaii cuyir cuun Aliit'alor? Ganar ogir cuyir miit be kaysh?"1 He was hoping for a name to be given in some kind of response. Something to at least compare to his own knowledge. To the word that had been given to him in the moments of his escape.
Corr - a man identified to him as none other than his own chief - had broken him free of the shackles of the Jedi. Whether that had been the intention or not,
it meant a great deal to the man that stood here now. A man that would going to any length for his fellow brother, was the epitome of what he believed a man should be. A bulwark titan to stand strong in front of his people and shoulder the brunt of all that lay before.
Perhaps it was all just a fantasy, but one that was deeply seated in his beliefs. Somewhere - at an earlier time - had made that a crucial pillar to his ideology, something he clung heavily to.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Aug 21, 2017 12:16:46 GMT -8
Cayne couldn't help but allow a shadow to cross his features at the inquisition about Corr, a slight wince tightening the eyes and setting the jaw. He gestured towards the door, indicating for Kalmann to accompany him, and began walking, his gait slow and even.
"Corr Kyrayc, ner tat..."
{{Corr is gone, brother...}}
His voice was quiet, his words simple. He knew from experience that it was better to say it quick and low, don't get flowery with ones delivery of the information. He had had a guts-full of platitudes and mourning from those who never truly knew the man they claimed to miss. Who didn't know that such softness and pandering would have repulsed Corr. Firm in his belief in Kad and the Manda, Cayne, like Corr, was comfortable in such things as death. What was uncomfortable was the rudderless list of the clan absent their leader. He missed his friend and the clan missed its father but both he and Vhett would endure.
He nodded slightly at his thoughts as they passed through the hangar doors and into the corridor. A left turn took them towards the turbolift, Cayne returning a nod with an armoured figure who passed carrying a datapad and a blaster.
"Echoy'la Yavin IV"
{{Lost on Yavin IV.}}
Reaching the turbolift he called the cab and, when the door slid open in front of them, waved Kalmann inside.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 23, 2017 2:13:21 GMT -8
"Nayc. Corr cuyir su dayn ogir. Eu."1 Kalmann paused in his response to Cayne, combating the thought the Corr may have been among the bodies scattered by the Massassi River of Yavin IV. He'd seen his Aliit'alor before coming here. Hell, it was Corr who had freed him from Yavin IV and from Jedi there that had imprisoned him there. "Bic cuyir Corr meg mav ni bat Vabi'au Cuir."2 He pounded his chest plate twice with his right hand for emphasis that he was indeed the one who'd rescued him.
However, the fact that Cor had yet to reemerge among his clan here was disturbing. How had he beaten his Aliit'alor here? His pod had been damaged. He'd simply drifted for the last few days now. Had something else happened to Corr? Maybe there was another mission he had yet to accomplish. He shook the malevolent and dire thoughts from him mind and turned his focus back to Cayne. Accepting the Mando'ade gesture, he followed then man, boarding the turbolift as the car arrived.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Aug 24, 2017 2:10:20 GMT -8
The door slid open on the level housing medical and science allowing Cayne a moment to reflect as he waved Kalmann forward. While he didn't doubt the mans word he was hesitant to put too much faith in the mans memory. The conversation had demonstrated the frailties in his recall of events over the past year and beyond. It would be fooling to put too much stock in any debriefing. It also wasn't the first time reports of Corr's survival had been presented. Running a seafood restaurant on Man Calamari and working as a male gigolo at Tasticakes were to of his favourite, or at least had become so after his initial anger at wasted time had subsided. Still, despite reservations, that faint stirring of hope could not be held back.
Stepping out of the lift and moving down the hall towards medical reception he allowed his voice a reflective tone.
"Ret... Al ogir nayc miit be kaysh yaim'ol."
{{Perhaps... Though there has been no word of his return.}}
He stopped just inside medical and turned to face Kalmann. His tone was soft but there was a hint of command to it, the suggestion backed by authority.
"Ganar udes'ika. Duumir be'mirjaahal bah haa'taylir bah gar. Ni liser ganar kai'tome bal pirur gotal tsikala..."
{{Have a little rest. Allow the medics to see to you. I can have food and drink made ready...}}
The same chief medic from the hangar appeared in a doorway leading back into the treatment rooms, an inquiring look on his face.
Cayne wouldn't make Kalmann get checked out but he hoped the man would decide to do so. Many who had been through the rigors of combat would need to speak to someone as Cayne would much prefer it were done sooner rather than later. Aside from the well-being of his men, something which had always come first to Cayne,
there was the rather cold and callous matter of whether and when he would be combat effective again. Career military had to ask such hard questions. It came with the stripes.
"Vi jorhaar'ir tug'yc suum."
{{We'll talk again later.}}
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Kaine Australis
The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Kaine Australis on Aug 30, 2017 9:35:16 GMT -8
A single Bes'uliik fighter popped out of hyperspace in the Concord Dawn system. The sleek fightercraft angled in on a general course towards the coordinates Sidara had provided for the Fett Homestead.
Aboard the fighter were Sidara Vercopa, one-time fiancee of Corr Vhett, and General Kaine Australis, aliit'alor of Clan Australis, who Sidara had approached in hopes of searching out the fate of her lover. To his surprise Kaine's investigation had turned up a lead; a commando that had seen Corr alive following the battle after which he'd disappeared. Knowing he was potentially alive had led the pair here, to his home. If he was alive, he'd have made his way back home. Kaine hoped to find his old comrade and deliver the happy couple a reunion. Also it would be good to have a drink with his vod and talk of affairs. Kaine always had time for a vod.
Kaine, at the controls, sent a recognition signal to the fleet in orbit, identifying himself. It wouldn't do to play games, there was a time and place for that, and this wasn't it. The text comm was accompanied with Kaine's personal signature. No one would have the stones to fake it. He called back to Sidara, sitting behind him.
I'll just let them know we're here and where we're headed. Wouldn't do to cause a fuss.
Now, if they were busy, they'd know who was heading in, and barring any troubles, Kaine and Sidara would make their way down to the Homestead. The Bes'uliik continued on course for Concord Dawn, approaching the atmosphere...
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Ashrah
The Mandalorian Assembly
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Post by Ashrah on Aug 31, 2017 18:55:19 GMT -8
The old freighter turned war ship broke the atmosphere with a lurch, suddenly smoothing out in the cold vacuum of space. The eerie silence that accompanies the background of any space voyage soothing reminder that not everything in this galaxy was irritating. He looked out the cockpit window at the darkness, the planet below, and all the other wonders I am far to tired to describe. He was about to lament some sophmoric blathering about the beauty of it all when the com scratched to life. A familiar voice coming through the speakers. He arched an eyebrow behind the faceplate of his buy'ce and turned to look at Corr.
Kaine? He's still alive?
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Sept 3, 2017 15:29:55 GMT -8
A guttural snort sounded from behind the demonic helm as the huge shoulders heaved their barbed outline in a nonchalant shrug. He had pulled his gauntlets off during the trip up from the planet and now flexed his gnarled hands as if only now discovering he had control over them. The voice that followed the absent grunt was every much a barbaric sound as had ever been heard on this site.
You Australis' are like cockroaches...
He would have spat but such a gesture would be rather unpleasant in a full helm. Instead he offered another gargling grunt before reaching forward and activating the ships weapon systems.
We could always rectify the situation...
He only had a vague recollection of who Ashrah referred to. Unfortunately, anything other than a solid ally was flagging up as an enemy at the moment. Hell, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't blast the man next to him given a lapse in concentration. Didn't someone once say a good Australis was a dead Australis? Hmm... Maybe that was paranoia speaking.
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Ashrah
The Mandalorian Assembly
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Post by Ashrah on Sept 3, 2017 18:34:36 GMT -8
Let's see what he wants first. If anything. Don't think at me like that. I've had a lot of time to....think.
He blinked once and hit a switch on the panel in front of him, opening a channel to Kaine's ship, making sure that whomever was aboard would hear his next statement
Besides, we can always shoot holes in him later.....This is the Fortuitous, Ashrah of Clan Australis, former mand'alor blah blah blah. What do you want Kaine?
His normal gruff rocks in a blender tone came through, conveying not so much annoyance as boredom. He had said more in the last 3 hours than he had in the last year, and his own voice was irritating to him. He silently chuckled at how annoying it must be to Corr....he shook his head slightly and focused out the view port at the Mando fighter the signal had come from, and waited for Kaine to respond. Or not. He really didn't care all that much.
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Corr Vhett - puts the "Laughter" in "Manslaughter".....