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Grakkus was watching as she was studying the relics in his collection, providing her with gloves and a proper face cover for her work while she sat in the slave outfit, wearing an overcoat since the cold of space had made her shiver and nearly drop a delicate funerary jar. The men had been a bit disturbed by the angry puckered skin of the scar that filled the whole of her left thigh. The skin was discolored shades of red, white, and some black that seemed to hint at dead flesh under the skin layers. Grakkus was a bit annoyed by her demure attitude, wanting to give her a shock to try and entertain himself but the jar in her hands was supposed to be 10,000 years old so as fun as it would be, that piece was literally worth more than some planets. His servant took her clothes away as a way of trying to show his control of her, but she had done very little in response.
His ship was moving through hyperspace towards his home base on Nar Shaddaa. He had sent orders ahead of him to have his collection room set up to have her go through and start authenticating his Mandalorian pieces. He was hoping his centerpiece was worth the loss of the bounty hunter who had been wearing it, and the animals that had been killed in his fighting arena. It was decades old, but prior to now he had not had anyone who could authenticate the piece. What little the Empire had not destroyed of his original Jedi collection seemed to compliment the growing Mandalorian selection. Her being a descendant of the Mandalorian Jedi would make her a delightfully amusing bridge piece once she had outlived her usefulness. He would have to have his taxidermist do something about making the scar a bit more...appealing to look at. On the other hand he could put her in an outfit that would cover it...or just pose her in a way to keep it out of view. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully Grakkus contemplated his options for his newest acquisition.
She placed the jar back in it's case, writing something as she filled in the form, her penmanship a bit silted and scratchy, maybe her wrist had been injured during the capture process. He was speaking to his servant about some other business that he had in progress with the shipment of Death Sticks for his night clubs. He spoke in Huttese with his Nikto servant, smirking as he looked over some blackmail images he had of some of senators' party focused children in a few sectors that were a bit bothersome to his shipments. Ordering the blackmails sent out he ordered the men in the room to watch her as he wanted to go and take a bath with some of his favored slaves while this one worked. He expressly told them to not touch her while the artifacts were in range, their entertainment was secondary to his artifacts.
Andora smirked when the Hutt turned his back, working slower now that the men had orders to not bother her. He didn't need to know she could speak Huttese. She was using her right hand to sign off on the documents, so if these fake certificates went around they wouldn't match her normal writing. Being left handed had its benefits. She was reaching out with her senses to see what the men in the room were feeling, most of them bored at being stuck watching her stare at old things. It was hours of her slowly moving through the artifacts, taking long amounts of time even for items that were obvious fakes or that she had no clue about.
Eventually the Nikto comes and orders her taken back to her cell. The men move to grab her and she doesn't put up a fight as the controller to her collar was handed over to them. She was really cold as she walked barefoot on the metallic ship, the man to her left ripping her blanket away, them saying crude things in a variety of languages but she was trying to keep her temper down. They reached her cell, it more of a small closet with a thin padded mat that wasn't enough for her to stretch out on. One of the men put himself in the room with her, his comrades chiding him for going after the girl with the ugly scars. The controller was on the other side of the door, but since they couldn't see inside the room Andora focused all her energy into what she did next. The man tried to scare her by slamming her into the metal wall, and while she grunted at the pain of the contact, she didn't look at him. He was saying the typical lines, trying the standard ways men like him tried to frighten and scare their victims. A vicious smirk widened on her lips. She put her hands around his wrists, him looking a bit off put by her boldness and lack of fear. Andora started to use her powers, delighted as she watched him start to groan in exhaustion as she drained his life force from him. The man slumped against her as his legs lost the strength to hold him, his arms held up by her own.
Andora was feeling the most glorious rush of malevolent pleasure as she kept taking from him, wanting to punish him for his dark actions against others who had been truly helpless. He had enjoyed causing pain, misery, and suffering. Andora channeled that desire to inflict pain back to him, letting him loose more and more of himself into her as he was starting to shake as if he was having a seizure. He was close to death now, just a bit more and she would have his life as her own. Like a black hole his life force was swirling into her, it draining faster and faster, his flesh starting to look gaunt as his eyes rolled back. 'YES! KILL HIM! DO IT!'
'Do this, you must not.' A sudden light blinded her and she let him go as she raised her hands to her eyes, trying to block out the light that was not a physical vision but through the very force itself. By the time she was able to open her eyes there was a heavy wheezing sound as the man was gasping desperately for air as his body looked aged by decades. Her powers felt almost like a sheen of light had wrapped itself between her and the man, keeping her power structured and firm, feeding off the light instead of the man. The voice had been the same one to push her back into her body when she had pushed herself. It had been warm, soft, familiar almost, as much as a light could be. 'Example set you must. Learn from you, he does.' Andora slumped against the wall, her own heart pounding with the over flow of energy and adrenaline. Her flesh felt so warm, fighting off the chill of the space cooled ship.
The man deserved to die, why did it matter how she did it. She thought towards the light in her mind.
'A Vizsla are you not?' The light seemed to be humoring her good naturedly. 'Use power to protect you should. But give into darkness a Mandalorian must not. For then no more than a Sith you be.' It almost felt like someone was with her, but she had no idea who this was.
"I am a Mandalorian. Not a Jedi, not a Sith." She huffed as the man stopped shaking, his breathings starting to even out, but he was not looking any better.
'Exactly.' There was almost a good natured laugh she could hear in her ears. 'Called what are your people, beyond Mandos.' Andora was a bit confused, the speech pattern a bit hard for her to understand exactly what they meant. There was a hum as the light tried to think of how to reframe their intended meaning.
'Dha Werda Verda. Know this you should, yes?' The light sounded all too delighted with itself. The man was breathing, looking slightly less corpsey, but obviously not well.
"Of course I do." Andora had memorized it before she had ever started school. Her grandfather had made sure she and her brother had memorized the old classics before sending them to the pacifist schools that seemed eager to deny it's value. She remembered how embarrassed she had been when she had sung the poem in school and her teachers scolded her and called her dad to pick her up.
'Meditate on it. Poetry it is, it rhymes and repeats. But history it is too, and knowing it makes new rhymes yes?' The light faded away, Andora trying to understand the voice before it filtered out of her senses. The light faded from her completely, and it seemed it had been long enough she wasn't going to drain this man of his life anymore. She huffed in annoyance, pushing the near corpse off her bed and onto his side, yanking his jacket off and trying to retain heat as she lay on the pathetic padding. The door opened, someone wanting to check on their coworker. They couldn't see his face, assuming he was sleeping and shrugging as they pulled him from the room since it was against rules to stay with the girls overnight since they had to lock the door. The Gamorian who pulled the human out was curious at how light the man was, locking the door and leaving the man slumped in a heap on the floor.
Din was feeling an overwhelming sense of anxiety as he walked through the village. It was not the village he had grown up in, but the simple buildings, the people dressed in the maroon robes, and the mix of basic conversations intermixed with affectionate calls to loved ones in Mando'a dredging up memories of his childhood. It was a calm day, the warm sun and breeze felt so peaceful, just like before the droids marched into his home. Din shook himself, breathing deeply to focus on his task at hand, namely marching till he met the contact who would claim his prisoners.
"Pas verd!" (Hey soldier!) Din turns, seeing another person in armor, the style so similar but he recognized it as a much older set of armor, it had the scars of centuries of battles. Paint flexed off in some places, some dents, and what looked like re-wielded points. The Mando waves him over. Din marched, the cradle floating behind him, the child bundled in his blankets and toys, seeming to still be unwilling to be active. Behind that was a stack of carbonite frozen men floating along. It was worrying Din but he had to go through with his mission for now. Andora would have been so excited to see the New Crusader armor in active use. She had been teaching Pirpak their history even though the little guy probably wouldn't remember much of it. The soldier turned and walked off, the villagers paying them no mind, children looking on and waving before going about their important business of playing. Eventually they reached the central building in the village, it was a community hall, the largest building by far, and there were armored soldiers wearing a variety of armors, clan insignia painted and welded on armors, some wearing helmets and others having the helmets off and in their laps. It was mostly older soldiers from what he could tell, some younger ones around the room sitting under different banners. There were empty drinks and plates, young teens coming to collect the mess before being told to stay out. Everyone was heavily armed, and some groups seemed more tense than others. The younger soldiers seemed to be a more diverse mix of species which was good for their longevity.
The soldier that led him in brought him over to join the table he sat at, the clan insignia above it was Clan Vizsla's three claw marks, and across the way was another clan with a tree branch and flowers, more sitting under it. The man and Din the only ones left under the old war banner. The child was silent as they entered the room. Eyes and visors turning to watch as a man brought his child to a war council along with the five prisoners still frozen in carbonite. The man who had led him here took his helmet off once the door was locked, armed guards posted outside. Din went stiff as the man's face was revealed to him. The man raised an eyebrow at the way Din was staring at him through his visor.
"Problem hunter?" His voice was deep and raspy from age. Deep wrinkles and faded scars crossing a face Din had seen in the pictures over and over again.
"Catul?" Din whispered in confusion. The features looked so similar but the man before him was far too old. The veteran soldier blinked a bit, a sad smile on his face. He shook his head.
"Kaysh cuyir ner ad." (He is my son.) The man said in a hushed admission. "I am Vim Vizsla. Andora didn't mention me, I imagine." He sighed sadly. "Don't spare my feelings."
"No. She only mentioned her brother and father." Din replied honestly. Vim sighed, it clear his armor was not the heaviest thing he bore the weight of.
"Andora hasn't forgiven me then." He looked so tired in that moment, the armored shoulders sagging in defeat. "I guess it was foolish to imagine she would now that it's just us left. I had hoped she had when I learned what she did but...at least she's doing what's right for our people." The child cooed softly as he meekly peeked his head up behind his stuffed dolls. Vim looked at the cradle, his eyes crinkling in a squint as he looked at two large brown eyes between two large green ears. "You got a set of scanners on ya don't ya little one."
"Anra?" The kid gurgled up, hopeful at hearing grown ups talk about her. The older man's smile widened with some affection as he reached out a gloved hand for the child, three small green fingers barely wrapped around the thick gloved finger.
"She called him Pirpak till I can pick something." Din offered to the elder man. Vim laughed loudly, the others looked at him but none said a word as they were busy waiting for the carbonite to thaw and begin the interrogations.
"Soups were her favorite as a kid, my riduur Ree would make them for her all the time before she marched." (partner) The elder man took off his gloves, letting the toddler touch his calloused but aged hands. "She must believe in you if she gave up her freedom for your honor."
"I asked her to stay with me." Vim looked surprised at that statement, humming thoughtfully as he picked up the child and brought him closer to his face, the baby giggling and Din became aware of the dirty looks everyone was giving his son.
"Tkiriyr gar acar." (Mind your business.) That was all Vim had to say for the others to turn their attention away from the three of them. "I may look weak now but I used to be a powerful fighter." The man let the baby run his claws curiously over his face, the baby seeming to smile for the first time since Andora was taken. "Did she say yes?"
"She said she wanted to but...we didn't have time to finish our discussion before the ambush." Din clenched his fists again, wondering if it would be rude to just leave at this point. He didn't know any of these people, how could he make a choice for one of them as leader.
"So why are you here and not out there looking for my bu'ad?" (grandchild) The elder man let the child sit on broad metallic shoulders, looking out over the sea of armor, the child clinging to Vim's white hair.
"Death Watch wanted the prisoners and Clan Vizsla claimed rescue rights." Din clenched his fists because this man surely already knew this.
"Do you think she's in danger?" Vim seemed unbothered as Pirpak's claws left little scratches that welled up with blood from how aged his skin was. He simply moved Pirpak to his lap, bouncing the child in the way Din had watched Andora do.
"Whether she's in danger or not doesn't matter, I promised to protect her." Din huffed, the prisoners free of their carbonite and being wrangled by the guards with shackles into kneeling positions in the center of the room.
"Who will you cast your vote for? Most of the votes are already accounted for, the clans vote for themselves and we end up in a deadlock." Din looked around the room, not recognizing any of them. He shakes his head. "Who do you think Andora would vote for?" Vim handed Pirpak back as he cleaned up his scratches and put back on his helmet, the others in the room covering their faces as the blindness would start fading for some of their prisoners.
"Pirpak." Din answered without a thought, thinking about how she would do something like that to make sure he would not give him back to his own kind. Vim boomed in laughter again, the modulator of his helmet making it sound a bit more sinister than humorous.
"He's a bit young. But I will keep it in mind." Vim stood to his full height and seemed to roll his shoulders back as he moved towards the center of the room, and Din realized now why no one spoke against the elder man as he was introduced. Vim Vizsla, acting Alor of the Mandalore Resistance, formerly known as Death Watch. Din put Pirpak back in the cradle and closed it as Vim took to the interrogations with a vicious enthusiasm.
"Greef what do you got for me?" Cara and the Armorer were finally back at the ship all the way in the desert. Both women covered in sand, dirt, and blood from helping Din take the prisoners aboard his ship.
"Grakkus runs his businesses out of his palace on Nar Shaddaa. He's on a few persona non grata lists for different bounty guilds because of breach of contract. He tends to kidnap hunters he likes and they die in his arenas." Greef had been looking into their target when Cara found out who the transport ship that had run off belonged to. "Best be careful, he's known for dealing in all sorts of dirty business. Smuggling, illegal animal trade, drugs, grand theft, murder, slavery. The full sabacc of charges."
"Killed worse." Cara tossed back casually as she looked over some of the heavier artillery her new Mandalorian acquaintance had and would share for this mission.
"Nar Shaddaa is his turf, the Empire struggled to arrest him the first time. The Emperor sent in his controller to handle him personally last time." Greef's voice sounded a bit distant. The ship ramp closed and the engine hummed, lifting them up into the atmosphere.
"To handle a Hutt?" She had heard rumors about the man clad in all black who could wipe out an entire squadron, but had never run across him herself.
"He got himself a fancy set of cybernetics. He's been seen ripping people in half. Don't do something reckless Cara, I need my enforcer back." His tone was trying to play it off but she understood his worry as a friend.
"It's me and a Mandalorian, we can handle one overgrown slug." Cara ended the transmission as the ship was already in orbit, just needing a few more moments to calculate the hyperspace jump to Nar Shaddaa. Cara strapped in as the ship reoriented itself, and the star streaks were now filling the viewport. It was a few moments before the gravity switched back on and Cara and the Armorer could unstrap from the seats. Cara readjusting her armor as the other woman went into the back portion of the ship, the lock of the door telling Cara that she was taking some time without her helm on. There were pieces of armor cast in a variety of metals adorning the walls of her ship, and a range of weapons that any serious collector would be drooling over. Cara found herself enamored with the heavy weapons, some pieces definitely not legal, and could blow out a shoulder or too. The rocket launcher was really calling her name.
"I have the harness if you want to wield it." The Armorer came back, her furs removed and being cleaned, Cara seeing the woman's strong frame and corded muscles from hours at her work. Turning away with a small blush Cara refocused her attention on the weapon.
"If it looks like we need it. It might be better to try and sneak in and rescue her without too much attention. Maybe as a parting shot though, a nice kriff you."
"Let me take a look at your armor, I can't do much with the time we have, but it's not worth me taking you into the line of fire without something a bit more secure. Don't need two rescues." The golden visor looked at Cara, motioning expectantly for the materials. Cara Looked away as she took off her chest guard and the pauldrons. The woman took her armor and started to examine it.
Cara busied herself with washing the grime from her face in the fresher, huffing a sigh as she watched the layer of sand wash away from her skin. Din and that kid of his were counting on her to get back this woman, she needed to focus and get this done. She was going for an infiltration of a dangerous gang operation, and her associate would literally stick out like a sore thumb in that glimmering armor. They would need to do some reconnaissance, find her, and make it as surgical a strike as possible. It would be nice if they had some help but she didn't think she could reach out to any of her former rebel pals for help. Clan Vizsla was helping them with a line of credits, but she hadn't actually heard of any more Mando's meeting up with them. Drying her face Cara left the fresher and looked towards where the Armorer was working her craft skillfully.
"I thought Clan Vizsla was supposed to be leading this rescue effort, are they meeting us planet side?" Cara opened a pack of provisions, keeping her mouth occupied to help hide any blushing.
"Andora Vizsla is no doubt working on her own escape. We are coming to provide her support. It will be just us, her family doesn't have many soldiers left to spare. Clan Vizsla took heavy losses during the Purge, they refused to retreat till they couldn't hold the line. They didn't want to leave Mand'alor Kryze's body for the Empire, or at least that's what they said. I think they wanted to die in battle. Wanted to make amends for everything they had done, paying their debt the only way they know how." There was a heavy sigh that seemed to be drenched in sadness. "With blood."
"Why tell an outsider all of this?' Cara roughly swallowed her food.
"So you understand. This is the way of our soldiers to do, or die trying. You have no such obligation if this fails, nor to continue this if we succeed. She and I will be joining the others for battle." She turned back with the armor, laying it before Cara. "I will not ask you to fight our war."
"What do you mean they are gone?" Gideon was clenching his fists as his communications officer informed him that his Death Troopers had all been arrested. Then kidnapped from prison. All this before his other soldiers could fly out and silence them. The blaster shot hit the officer in the chest, the armor the only reason the man was grunting in pain and not dead.
"How many troopers do we have to get this job done?" He turned on the bridge to face the other side of the pit, the troopers there snapped to attention as the other man was taken away to the med bay. Gideon pursed his lips as he awaited an answer.
"We have 9,700 troopers in the garrison Sir."
"How many on the entire ship?" Gideon hissed. His temper was already on edge.
"46,785 Sir. But we need a bare minimum crew of 5,000 to maintain systems on the ship."
"So I have an army of 41,785 troops." Gideon said, a chill running over the crew.
"We will be taking the children as soon as the Duchess is ready. Is that clear?" Gideon tightened his grasp on his blaster. "When is the Duchess going to be done?"
"It will be done at the end of the week Sir." The same officer responded.
"What about the Beskar Sir?" Another officer asked, blueprints for the armors up on his console.
"We can scavenge it once we wipe out the cities. With the transmission blockade no one will know what has happened for at least a week. The main priority at this point is sending recruits to the training facilities. Understood?" A chorus of yes sir filled the bridge before Gideon walked towards his quarters. Once in his office he pulled up his private communication line, waiting for Ordot to answer.
"Moff Gideon, we have opened up several new Beskar mining sites an-"
"I know. My reports have already told me. I'm pleased with the work you have been doing. I'm sure you'll meet our quotas. I'm so pleased in fact that I want you to make a public announcement in the near future so you can take the title Mand'alor. I want it broadcast to the entire system, and let's make it a real public relations event. Have as many school aged children there as possible, it always looks nice for the cameras." Gideon smirked, seeing Ordot take the bait without a second thought. The man agreed and Gideon hung up, letting the old fool think himself ahead of the game. After the announcement went public, They would cut transmission to run pregenerated propaganda from the ship. Once the Duchess was used against the city's life support systems they would have two hours to take as many children as possible before air ran out. The overwhelming numbers he had would easily crush the meager security the city had of 8,000 protectors, and no doubt the announcement would draw out Death Watch. Their numbers would easily be wiped out by the Duchess. Gideon was determined this time to finish the purge he had started. There would be no Mandalorians to threaten the Empire ever again. Only troopers to serve them in crushing the Republic.
Xig had freely told Vim everything, his brother's threats doing nothing to silence the younger man from laying bare his soul. Vim had still taken his time pulling out similar confessions from the others. The only man refusing to answer any direct questions was Braig.
"Bu'cala bal ibic kyr." (Confess and this ends.) Vim said, his armor having multiple mists of blood spray decorating the old armor. Braig glared up into the visor before him, spitting out blood as he looked up at the man with a self righteous smirk.
"Gar rudara sooran ner buhr." (Your granddaughter sucked my cock.) There was a hushed silence in the room as they expected the veteran to kill the prisoner for saying that. Vim simply pointed towards Din.
"Bal la copaanir kaysh a'lyayao." (And she wants his instead.) Din was thankful his face was hidden at the very unexpected statement. Braig looked bewildered at the retort, not sure how to proceed if that didn't provoke the old man to violence. "She divorced you for failure as a husband to perform. Since I have no great grandchildren it's not hard to guess where you are lacking." There were snickers in the room, Braig's face twisting in shame, puffing out his chest to try and recover his pride. "Now confess your crimes." Braig didn't speak, shamed into silence, not that his confession was needed, just wanted. With a sigh Vim made to turn and leave before delivering a heavy punch to Braig's stomach, his full body weight and momentum in that blow. The man coughed up more blood, vomiting on himself, and slumping into his chains as he groaned in pain. Vim kneeled down, yanking Braig's hair, pulling his bloodied and bruised face to his visor. Vim squeezed Braig's throat as he leaned in to whisper menacingly in his face. " Projor ca'nara gar jorhaa'ir yirhaou kaysh emuurir ibac. Ni malyasa'yr sarlu'e bas neral gar gar srukre epan b'amr." (Next time you talk about her like that. I will personally feed you your own guts boy.)
Vim turned, grabbing a rag to begin cleaning his armor, having Xig taken separately from the others. Once the room was cleaned Vim removed his helmet, ordering a helmet of tihaar. It seemed everyone else took this as their cue to order more food and drink, it had been hours since this started, others taking this as a chance to stretch or move and discuss the troubling news about what Gideon was planning.
"What do you think?" Vim asked Din as he also reached in to pick up the awake Pirpak.
"Kai'tome." Pirpak squeaks out, Vim ordering over food for the little one.
"If that weapon can wipe us out in our armor...our only chance is to stop it from the air. Evacuations won't be possible. It'll trigger hysteria and Gideon would gladly shoot down civilians trying to escape." Din rolled his shoulders back as he thought through the information he had. "How many do we have to fight?"
"Considering how they feel towards the Pacifists...I'd be lucky to get 400." Vim looked around the room, nodding to the clans he knew he could count on.
"Even if it's to stop Gideon and save children?" Din helped Pirpak by cutting slices of fruit and cheeses.
"Many of them see those children as Dar'manda, and others are still scared from the Purge. Not many will risk this." Vim took a large drink from his liquor, its sweet scent drawing Pirpak's attention but Vim easily held it out of the small child's reach. "Yer not old enough." He lightly scolded the kid, who tried to cry only to be shocked into silence when his nose got booped, sitting down and rubbing his nose to fix the odd feeling. "Each clan gets one vote, it helps keep smaller clans from being ignored." Vim said helpfully to Din.
"How do we know who we are voting for?" Din still didn't know any of these people.
"That's the part that comes next. Best head to the refresher, some of these fools like to talk for ages." Vim chuckled, raising his glass and draining it.
"Saba, what has your mind so troubled?" The man asked the Barabel beside him. "I can feel your distress from here." The two were meditating in a private section of the cave. His x-wing parked to protect it from the elements of Barab 1.
"The little light from yesterday...it felt so sad." Saba was a sub-adult Barabel at 14, her clan so proud of her, being the first Barabel in recorded history to ever be gifted with the Force. Saba's clawed fingers came up to grip the little metal token around her neck. The skull was of a creature she had never seen, but her parents told her it was a gift from her fifth parent who had been taken off world. This other parent had been gifted with the force, and her mother Zalle was convinced it was this war sister that had blessed Saba with Jedi magic. "It felt like...like this one should help it, like it is part of Saba's nest."
"You're not close to being done with your training Saba." He chuckled, the irony not eluding him. "What will you do?"
"This one does not know. This one wants to help, but not sure if she can do it alone." The man thought of his pupil's words, thinking back on what he had been hearing through the Force and the cry for help yesterday. He had managed to get a message from his sister about the rescue mission she had done for a group of researchers, and it seemed that the force was moving pieces into place for something. It wasn't calling to him, but he couldn't send his pupil on her own.
"What do Barabel's do when the nest is in trouble?" The man ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, thinking he may need to cut it soon.
"The Clan goes to fight and protect the nest." Her red eyes looked to her teacher, hoping that was the correct answer to his question. Her brownish red scales are a stark contrast to the beige robes she wore.
"Well...what will you do?" He smiled reassuringly at her, knowing that it was the Force moving her, and he had to let her go and learn what it was going to show her.
"Ask the clan to go protect the little light." Her eyes were bright with delight at her teacher's blessing, bowing respectfully to him as she stood. "Will Saba be allowed to learn when she comes back?" He seemed to be thinking about something, calling over his droid and giving her a small data card.
"When you are done, come find me to finish your training." She nodded, storing it into her pouch as she easily scaled the rocky terrain and rushed to her clan to inform them of what she needed. "May the Force be with you Saba."
Chapter end