Turmoil in the Outer Rim!
Perpetrated by the evil Galactic Empire, the great planet of Mandalore has been brought low in a Great Purge!
Brave warriors lose their lives in great numbers, and innocents are slain in droves!
In the midst of such bloodshed, the leader of the Mandalorians, Bo Katan Kryze tasks one Carolus Mereel with the protection of both the history and legacy of the Mandalorian people.
Now, after a grueling campaign of evacuations and excavations, a large fleet of young survivors flee deep into the unknown regions, uncertain about their future…
In the shimmering blue tunnel of hyperspace, a metal behemoth hurtled along with reckless abandon. A Kandosii-class dreadnaught made in the time of the Mandalorian Wars, a marvel of engineering and the last of her kind; she had finally been returned to her former glory. Aboard this 1.36-kilometer-long war-machine rested the main bulk of the survivors of the Great Purge, a grand total of 40,000 souls in all. This was The Providence, the symbol of her owner's might and his right to rule. In the dim light of the holo-room of this grand vessel, lit only by the pale blue hologram representation of their ragtag fleet, stood four figures. Each figure was arrayed in personalized iterations of their people's traditional armor throughout the ages. One of the Neo Crusaders, one of the Mandalorian Civil War, one of the Nite Owls, and one in the likeness of Mandalore the Ultimate himself.
"And you're certain about this?" Carolus asked, raking a gloved hand through shaggy brown hair.
Dark bags hung under tired brown eyes. His skin, pale from lack of sunlight, clung closely to a well defined jaw. While wearing the style of the Supercommando armor set, his armor itself was styled to resemble that of the Mandalore's of old. Painted crimson on his arms, edges of the torso, and back; the center of his torso and legs were a dull grey. A half cape, of the same crimson as his sides, hung over his right shoulder. His helmet, painted in bronze with intricate carvings, rested atop the terminal before them.
"There's no mistake, we're almost clean out." Came the answer, distorted by the helmet on the young man's head.
"I knew we should have made the run, I told you we should have made that run!" Came a third voice, the youngest, this time from beside Carolus.
The three figures in the dimly lit holo-room turned to the fourth standing defiantly before them. Standing at 5'6", bedecked in supercommando armor painted green with a bisecting yellow diamond at the center of his chest to resemble the armor of the True Mandalorians of the Mandalorian Civil War, was a young man. Narrow jaw set in anger; normally pale skin now nearly as red as his short cropped red hair, cold blue eyes shot daggers into his elder company. The three turned back to one another, before turning back to him. One stepped forward, the tallest. Fully encased in ancient silver Neo-crusader armor, standing tall at 6'1", he was a virtual behemoth.
"And what would we have done Rollo? Would we send a contingent out and raid the mines of Kessel? With the Empire already hunting us?" The silver warrior challenged, his voice deep and feral.
"Yes! After all the times we raid Imperial facilities and pirate dens we suddenly draw the line with Black Sun? We've sent out parties before for old Mandalorian Cache's, Skald, why stop!? Did we suddenly lose our spines!?" Rollo shouted, his hands curling into fists.
The now named Skald glared at Rollo, the massive bulk of the Mandalorian Neo-Crusader armor towering over the younger warrior.
"Careful now boy, you may be the Mandalore's vel'alor, but we are still your betters. You'd do well to remember that."
"Enough! The both of you! We won't just magically get coaxium from the two of you arguing!" Carolus admonished, before turning to the only female figure in the room, "Nera, how much more time does the fleet have in hyperspace?"
The Nite Owl shrugged, her matte blue and grey armor reminding them all of their last great leader. Nera stood at the same height as Carolus at a respectable 5'10". Her short black hair and olive tanned skin rested on a once comely face, now marred by a jagged scar that left the left side of her mouth in a permanent scowl. Critical green eyes swiveled to meet Carolus' own.
"Not long. Thirty-seven standard hours, maybe less. We left with what we had. Stocked up on normal fuel, but hyperspace fuel is always harder to get. Divvied up what we had amongst the whole fleet, so at least we'll all be together when we fall out of Hyperspace."
"The Redeemed clans have offered to give the rest of their fuel to the rest of the fleet. One final act of penance, they say." Skald rumbled, crossing his arms.
"They'd at least be useful for once." Rollo muttered, loud enough to be heard by the others.
"No! They're Mando'ade… We can't afford to lose any more… We're all that's left." Carolus said, glaring at his charge.
"Then we can only hope to find a suitable refuge when we return to real-space. To be frank Manda'lor I'm not optimistic about our chances. We've shot ourselves into hyperspace far out in the uncharted regions and our people haven't had a moments respite since the final battle. The Ori'vod have been helping the Verdika and Evaar'la, but there's only so much that can be done on a starship."
"I know Skald." Carolus sighed, "Food and medical supplies are dwindling as well. Ammo is also a concern; as is the terrifying fact that Beskar is now incredibly finite. We took all we could, both from the Empire and from our ancestors… There's no more than what we already have. I know that's obvious, but I feel it needs to be said."
The room stood silent, the cold reality freezing their veins. In the mad dash for an escape they had yet to fully grasp the gravity of their situation. Now that they truly thought about it, it finally set in that it was all over. This was truly the end of an era. Not since the Taung's departure from Coruscant had such an event taken place, and with so few of them left too. Skald and Nera shared a look. Rollo shuffled, sending troubled looks to Carolus and Nera.
"Skald's right though, all we can do now is carry on and hope for the best. We've gone so far that even we don't know where we are, so at least we won't have to worry about the Empire following us… Nera, I want you to contact all the ori'ramikad adade on hand and tell them to prep for reconnaissance; scrounge up any probe droids we have while you're at it."
"Sir?" Nera asked, confused.
"Skald, get in touch with our dour friends on the Redeemed clan's ships and tell them they're no good to us dead. I want the traditionalist clans to keep them in line. Send a message to the rest of the fleet, I want every scanner we have to be searching for habitable planets. We're landing on the first one we find."
"Yes Mand'alor." Skald answered with a faint bow.
"Get everyone prepped for combat and all hands to battle stations when we drop out of hyperspace, we don't know what we'll be walking into." Carolus paused and took a moment to recall if there was anything else to mention before nodding to himself.
"You have your orders. Anything else, you bring it up with me immediately; other than that you two are dismissed, Rollo you stay behind." The two Mandalorian battlemasters nodded, giving a slight bow to their Mandalore before leaving. The door closed behind them; silence dominated the Providence's holo-room as Carolus turned to Rollo. Rollo knew he had made a mistake. He knew what he had done, but he also knew that he was right. If only they had more coaxium. Now the Empire could amble through the unknown regions until they found their hodgepodge fleet at their own leisure. The Mandalorians would be stranded in realspace, so they'd be limited to very close systems. They couldn't stray too far, because Ka'ra knew what kind of creature could be floating about in the void of uncharted space. Compound all that with the fact that there was no guarantee that the new planet- if there was one- had the natural resources to sustain their necessities and equipment, and you had the single most questionable plan inexistence. Rollo met Carolus' eyes in quiet defiance. He stood by his beliefs; he would not fold. Carolus gritted his teeth and hissed out a curse.
"Me'bana? You don't talk to me like that! Especially in front of others! Ori'buyce, kih'kovid! If you-"
"I'm right! You know I'm right! You keep me around so I can-"
"I keep you around to learn and very occasionally give me your own opinions! If you have a problem, you tell me in private, not for the whole of the Mando'ade to hear us! There is a fine line between council and insubordination, and you are dangerously close to the edge!"
Rollo stayed silent and Carolus took the opportunity to calm himself. With a deep breath Carolus spoke again. "Look, I know that what your saying is said with the best intensions, but we need to project an impression of strength, and I can't do that when my lieutenant is mouthing off to his superiors. Do you understand?"
Rollo's anger eased and he nodded with a sigh of his own. "I'm sorry, I…I…I'm just tired is all. I just don't understand why we did things the way we did."
Carolus nodded, pleased that his lieutenant was now behaving more rationally. Rollo's reason for his anger was understandable enough. Once they had gotten the Providence in working order, they immediately had set course to Mandalore, only for Bo Katan to instead order them to grab all that they could and go. A fleet's worth of ships ready for combat was diverted towards an evacuation effort. The only sense Carolus could make of it was that despite the size of the Providence and the support from her fleet, the Empire would inevitably overpower them in the end. That and the Providence and her fleet were the best chance of preserving their people's history. Rollo had been part of the excavation effort of the Kandosii-class dreadnaught and had seen the treasure trove of artifacts that were now what armed a large portion of their forces. Seeing the vast arsenal had convinced Rollo that they were more than well equipped enough to fight against the Empire in head on combat. Carolus' coronation as Mandalore after their escape had further strengthened Rollo's image of some sort of Mandalorian revival. Carolus had only agreed to become Mandalore in an effort to unite the survivors and to keep them from killing each other and themselves. Rollo was only caught up in all the possible implications and symbolism of the event. Carolus guessed that was mostly his fault. He had filled Rollo's mind with the legends and history of their people to the point that he had begun to emulate Carolus' granduncle Jaster's warriors and ideals.
"I know. There was little time to make a reasonable plan by the time the final battle came around. The whole thing was chaos. We'll get through this vod; we're past the hard part, trust me." Carolus said, walking over and resting a hand on Rollo's shoulder. Rollo's characteristic smile returned. A wide, warm smile that displayed his normal sunny personality and the mischievous glint in his eyes.
"I know, I know… Mand'alor." Rollo snarked, causing Carolus to withdraw his hand and lightly smack him over the head.
"Don't you start that crap with me you menace, I still haven't fully forgiven you for that stunt just yet."
Rollo laughed and donned his helmet before turning back to the hologram of the fleet. It was a thing of beauty to him. Carolus had called in favors the galaxy wide to get as many ships as possible. From Rebel cells he had fought with, to black-market dealers, to workers who worked in the decommissioning of old ships. Most of the Mandalorian Kom'rk and Fang class fighters had come from Nera, whom was something of an espionage savant. Rollo suppressed a shiver at the thought of what she was truly capable of. Producing 18 Kom'rk and 30 Fang class fighters out of nowhere like she did required some serious pull. Rollo supposed that that was why Carolus had appointed Nera as their head of intelligence. Someone who had skill, experience, and connections in equal measure.
Rollo turned his head back to Carolus, "So, thirty-seven hours… think you should address the troops?"
Carolus chuckled, "Oh, Nera will handle it. She always does."
-R-R-M-
Zael poured himself another glass of tihaar. Wayii! He honestly felt like he was going crazy. He was a surgeon, and a kriffing good one! He could go toe to toe with a medical droid and in the middle of a warzone and outpace the kriffing thing! Which he had done! Several times. Less than a month ago he was treating battlefield injuries like an artist making a masterpiece and now here he was treating little coughs and scraped knees! Every fiber of his being rebelled at the thought of going back out there again. The only reason he ever did was because the medical droid aboard the Coronet was always overworked, and he was the only other competent medical practitioner that knew more than slapping a bacta patch on the problem. Not that any of the kids the Mand'alor put on this tub ever needed surgery anyway. Zael sighed. He knew that he shouldn't be complaining. Mandalore forbid that any of these poor kids actually ever got hurt. He'd be disgusted with himself if any of them were ever to come to any harm.
Collapsing on his bunk, he noticed that Aemos hadn't returned yet. The wisecracking sniper was likely still teaching the younger ones how to disassemble a blaster in the Duchess' old throne room. It was always so easy to consider how similarly the to twins turned out. The sniper and the surgeon. The same looks, same jokes, same steady hands, and the same taste in drinks. They had gotten the majority of their looks from their mother, with the same dirty blond hair, the same dark eyes, and the same ever present farmer's tan on their skin. The only thing they had received from their father was his square jaw. Even their armor were the same beige and brown stalker variant as the rest of their clan. The only thing that could differentiate the two was Zael's brown kama, and the worn brown poncho Aemos almost always took to wear as a cape. Zael took another sip of his tihaar. Their alcohol still was running low again. They hadn't refilled it since the Providence's maiden voyage. He blamed his brother. Moron thought Zael could somehow distill more from their medical supplies, so he just stocked up on as many med supplies as they could feasibly stow onboard. They'd probably come in handy anyway. The Mandalorian's warrior culture tended to result in regular injuries.
The door slid open to reveal his doppelganger lugging in his Amban pulse rifle behind him. The perpetual grin etched onto his face grew larger upon seeing Zael's scowl.
"Quick, say something nice; I've spent the last 16 hours being an academy nurse and I'm ready to dive through the airlock." Zael griped.
"Those bags under your eyes match beautifully with that rats nest you call hair." Aemos cheerfully greeted.
"Gee thanks. Hey, could you take a look at the still and tell me what you see?" Aemos looked to the still in the corner then back to his brother.
"We're low on tihaar?" Zael nodded.
"Yes! We're low on tihaar! I don't know if you've noticed any further ner vod, but we're also low on fuel, at least the hyperspace kind."
Aemos rested his rifle on the wall beside his bunk before collapsing himself onto his own stiff cot. "Ah, I see… so what do you think the Big Man will do about it?"
Zael shrugged, crossing his legs and leisurely swirling around the contents of his glass. "Madam Spook had a briefing sent out to the whole fleet, read it before I came back here. Said they'd be sending out forward recon teams made up of specialists. Meaning that they'll put us on it."
"Meaning Mereel's probably gonna put the rest of the Protectors on it too." Aemos added, earning a nod from Zael.
"Which means all hands on deck! Meaning we're finally gonna get outta here!" Zael stood up to pace around the room. "Don't you get it? Freedom Mosy! Freedom! A chance to finally stretch out our legs again! We've been in hyperspace for so long that we'd need to refuel, that is at least if we had a place from which to get fuel from. Which we don't. So we'll need to find a place to make camp. That takes recon, which is where we come in!." Zael explained, growing more and more excited as he went on.
"I already knew that much, at least give me some credit." Aemos waved off, "What I'm wondering is why you'll think we'd both be some of the first on the ground? Me I get, scout and sniper and all, but you my grumpy, less handsome twin, I can't figure out. Why would they send a squishy field surgeon on a recon mission?"
Zael halted his pacing and gave Aemos a glare. Aemos shrugged, his ever-present grin turning smug. Zael placed down his now empty glass beside the still and walked back to his own bunk and picked up the datapad lying on the desk nearest to him. Tossing the tablet to his twin, he turned back to his bunk and sat down again. Aemos studied the info with a furrowed brow. The datapad displayed a message from Nera Skirata herself. The message, a new sitrep briefing, was as lengthy and detailed as they always were. This one, like all her other briefings, stretched on and on about the what's and why's of their fuel crisis and the rough plans the Mandalore had put in place. They'd reorganize themselves once they got out of hyperspace and send out probes and after a preliminary scan of a planet's surface to see if there was any immediate danger or civilizations, teams would be sent in to set up a foothold wherever they could. The whole thing reminded Aemos of the Taung's first founding of Mandalore. He liked that. They needed as much symbolism as they could get right now. Carolus' crowning as Mandalore had worked wonders for morale, but the events that necessitated it made the whole event relatively bittersweet. Settling on a new world would probably be the key to bringing the Mandalorians back from the brink. Nera had created a roster of those who would be the first on the ground and sure enough he found the names Zeal and Aemos Ciciran listed on one of the recon teams. He then read the other names on their team and let out a hearty laugh. The names Rollo Psyboa and Evet Kobrin stared back at him.
"Oh those two are going to tear each other apart!"
-R-R-M-
Evet Kobrin was currently in the process of trying not to ruin her past four hours of work she had made on her Kom'rk fighter, the Black Chariot. The poor thing had been damaged in their escape and had been forced to take refuge in the refurbished Absolution. The Sabaoth class destroyer, as the name suggested, was crewed primarily by Redeemed clans. Evet didn't know how to feel about this. Her role model Fenn Rau had fought for the Republic in the Clone War, then for the Empire after the Republic's fall, until finally aligning himself with the Rebellion after the fall of the original Protectors. Seeing as she was a recently anointed Protector herself, she found that she could not condemn the other absolved clans without making herself a hypocrite in some way. The original Protectors had regained some of their lost honor in the end, much like the Redeemed clans, so she knew she should feel right at home here amongst the others. The difference that she found that divided them was the traitor clans had fought for the Empire all the way until the Empire turned on them as well. The only thing that had saved them was the Mandalore's ardent belief that all Mandalorians were now united in a war for survival.
Evet's mind turned back to her current source of ire. Her new orders were to shuttle one of the away teams to whatever planet was nearest. That part itself wasn't the problem; the problem lied in the team's members. The Ciciran twins were always welcome aboard her ship; Psyboa however, would forever be a menace in her eyes after what he'd done to her baby on Jeddah. Standing up off the ground to her full height of 5'7" and stretching, she dusted off her blue and grey Protector flight-suit. Her straight black hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Rosy cheeks resting on pronounced cheekbones supported expressive teal eyes. Evet grimaced. She looked to her flight helmet; her hero's mark, the Skull Squadron insignia was presented proudly on the blast-shield. Looking at it always helped remind her that this was real. That she had survived the Great Purge. That she had become something great. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her ship and returned to her work. Nera Skirata had ordered contingents of Protectors to follow the probe droids to the nearest planet after a certain allotted time. Evet hadn't understood why everyone seemed to believe that they'd immediately stumble upon some random planet once they dropped out of hyperspace, but she wasn't one to question one of the Mandalore's top supporters. Better to not question the head of all things vague and ominous. Especially seeing as the Mandalore had allowed Nera Skirata and Skald Ordo access to his personal honor guard.
She scoffed at the thought of her holding such a high honor. Her, a part of the Mandalore's personal guard. Even now, it seemed impossible, but here she stood. The embarrassing fact that she and the rest of the Protectors were scattered amongst the fleet instead of standing beside their leader did not elude her. The Mandalore had ordered a few Protectors to be present on each ship so to maintain a solid presence amongst the fleet. Of course this also made her to be slightly outside of the current command structure; being a Protector meant she was to only receive orders from Carolus...and apparently Skirata and Ordo at times. Most of the crew on the Absolution fell under the command of Skald Ordo, seeing that it was manned primarily by Redeemed clans whom were subdued by the traditionalist clans. His traditionalist movement had gained most of its traction during the war between the Mandalorians and the Empire, and major factions like the Children of the Watch had quickly solidified their footing as a legitimate party. Now considered an actual political faction with Skald at the head, the Children of the Watch became the most prominent of the traditionalist contingents. Most people however simply chose to lump all the traditionalist sects into one big bloc, much like they had with the less organized Redeemed clans.
The Redeemed clans were disorganized and conflicted but were fanatically loyal to the Mandalore. After the Empire's betrayal they had found themselves at the mercy of the very brethren they themselves had betrayed, and their fates seemed to have been sealed. Mereel's order for clemency on their behalf was not a popular one. Threats of mutiny poured in as the people cried out in protest and fights broke out throughout the fleet. It all came to a head upon the death of X'un Powel. The son of a small and uninfluential clan in the service of house Saxon, he had been troubled by an immense sense of guilt for his house and clan's dealings with the Empire. He himself had taken no part in his family's dealings, but he was the last survivor of his clan, so he had taken on his clan's dishonor upon himself. In his mind there was only one way of reclaiming his clan's honor. The tragedy of his ritual suicide had shocked the Mando'ade to their core, regardless of their opinion of the dishonored clans. The Mandalore's resulting anointment had given him the legitimacy he needed to enforce his decision of mercy and prevent any further bloodshed. X'un's death became a unifying tale to the Mando'ade; a message for all Mandalorians to either stand together or fall alone. The Tragedy of X'un and the Rise of Mandalore the Redeemer had made the few Mandalorians left an unyielding, unified people. A people who were about to find their new home.
AN: So I haven't written anything in years, but I felt that a story with an army of Mandalorians descending upon the world of Remnant and shaking things up needed to be made. If you haven't guessed it yet, some of the Star Wars parts will be AU; mostly because I'm trying to mash Legends and Disney Canon together with all the grace of a crashing eighteen-wheeler. I know some parts are a little weirdly written, like I said, it's been a while since I've written anything so I'm rusty. I'll probably go back and fix what parts I can if I can. I hope to make this story a long series, so if you like it please stick around; I want this story to be enjoyed. Thanks!