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Wounds not of War; Mandalore... 4 years ago...
Topic Started: Oct 24 2011, 02:53:54 PM (189 Views)
The Revolutionary
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TAKE OFF EVERY ZIIIIIIIIG

The clans of the Mandalorian culture; a proud warrior society that spans three millennia of glory and battle which had survived in relatively the same form throughout its long, turbulent history had had its share of galactic notoriety and acclaim. Reputed to be the best fighters the galaxy had produced; they and their greatest warrior – their Mand’alor – had led the Vode of various clans in times of peace, war and disillusion. Many names had held the title, some famed and others forgotten. Much had become myth in their far-flung past, but as things stood in galaxy of contemporary times; the Mandalorians lived well.

The Yuuzhan Vong had ravaged the galaxy near-of-two decades ago, and a Second Galactic Civil War had seen the Mandalorians lose Boba Fett as their leader; forever exiled due to Imperial spite. The modern galaxy had calmed – as much as it could, being a barbaric place – and new powers had settled… the foremost was the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances; born of the vision of post-Imperial era hope that many diplomats and senators had long held where the Imperial and the cosmopolitan citizen would intermingle. For the Mandalorians, this settlement provided security and certainty; a certainty that the criminal enterprises of Hutt Cartels and pirate bands machinations would be stayed as long as the Mandalorians were undistracted. The Mandalorians were unmolested by dishonour.

So this was where they found themselves. 58 ABY; the Mandalorian territories and borders were strong and well-defended, and the galaxy’s forces knew to respect their independence. Men and woman of many species – both Humanoid and not – lived as their fathers had before them; vital and strong.

An old Mandalorian drinking song resounded in the stone and wood rafters of a packed tavern. Drink flowed, and all patrons were pleased and merry. In a close-knit community like all true Mando’ade shared no-one was a stranger, and everyone knew of one-another.

“Vorgrun; my friend!” a voice called from across the tavern-house, provoking a sand-haired man with a ponytail to look to the direction of the voice; a smile of recognition adorning the defined-yet-young man’s face.
“Askaati I thought I told you it was your round the next time we landed in a drinking pool together!” Vorgrun said jovially as he clasped the Weequay’s fore-arm and shoulder in firm welcome; “Take a seat and get that round you promised!”

Vorgrun Hesk; son of Goraan Hesk and Hellcia Hesk; once both young, headstrong and passionate warriors who fell in love in battle and produced two sons of which Vorgrun was one – and the youngest. Despite the loss of his brother Ashaar to a glorious death Vorgrun followed his example fanatically. He became well-known as a rising champion among the Mandalorian warriors and his respect was hard-earned but not questioned once it was. The men at his table looked to him as an example, being younger and only a few years from their rise to adulthood.

“I’ve been challenged in the Battle-Circle by Jiik Vol; any advice?” A young green haired lad asked of Vorgrun, and Askaati affirmed the situation; “It’s his first combat in the circle; unarmed against a pole-wielding combatant.” He explained, making Vorgrun take a wistful moment to loll his head to the side in thought before answering;

“His size and reach are your main enemies. Remove the advantages of both; disarm him, and immobilize him. Beat him without the need to take his weapon as your own and you will prove that even against a better prepared enemy you have ability to win-out.” He stated with the wisdom of a constant Battle-Circle contender. Vorgrun had fought enough times against Askaati and other fellow Mandalorians that he had seen much of what it had to offer. Their culture was a constant proving ground; the Battle-Circle tournaments were the concentration of that dogma, and each victor enshrined the values of the culture in the minds of those who witnessed their matches.

Conversation moved to a planned hunt out in the expanses beyond Kedalbe, and Vorgrun’s attentions aimlessly wandered with his gaze, staring out across the tavern space. He liked this environment, this atmosphere of comradeship and boisterousness. In peace and the free-time it granted the bonds of brother and sister Mandalorians was cemented so that in the deepest struggles of warfare none would allow another to fall without them first sacrificing their lives.

A face passing in the throng suddenly snapped Vorgrun’s deep amber eyes to focus, and his muscles tightened in preparation. Had he seen who he believed he had? In a few moments he was proven correct. Out of the crowd came the voluptuous figure of a Mandalorian woman, short-cropped and curtained black hair masking caramel skin blushed with practiced lashings of make-up.

His back straightened, and his gaze narrowed into a hard-stare that immediately caught Askaati’s notice; hardening his expression into that of equal discomfort.

“Whose got your back up?”

“A woman who shouldn’t have come back into my life.” Vorgrun replied after a pause.

The women clad in leathers and combat gear seemed to provoke a murmur through-out the room. People who knew Vorgrun no-doubt knew of how close the returning lady and he were. Although she had not dishonoured the culture with her conduct she had certainly broken loyalty with Vorgrun himself. He remembered the day she turned on him; and equally remembered the wounds he gained at the hands of her new master…

She spotted him, and immediately noticed him staring her down. A curious expression levelled across her plump mouth; satisfaction. She started to walk toward where he was seated, and Vorgrun very sternly warned Askaati to do something;
“If she comes over here, there’s going to be a bloody mess by the end of it. You save her the trouble of dying… I’m leaving.”

Askaati quickly stood up and strode towards the woman Mandalorian and intercepted her; greeting her platonically;
“How’s it going, there? Listen I don’t know your name but-“
“It’s Helana; and I’m not looking to talk to you-“
“I’m afraid that the man you’re after wants to nothing to do with you, Helana. I do not know the specifics of why, but I respect his candour and restraint.”

Back at the table, Vorgrun stood up abruptly and cast some glasses to the floor; the smashing rendering the room deadly silent, all focused on Vorgrun and the source of his agitation. The quiet was defeaning, and as he stared into Helana’s eyes after three-years; he felt an anguishing anger and stormed from the tavern, leaving it behind.

“Well… whatever you did; he hates your guts for it.” Askaati said evenly, prompting Helana to simply shrug and turn the bar, simply stating; “Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you why…”

. . . The Weeqauy listened to her begrudgingly as they drank; Helana’s opal lips loosening as the alcohol eased her enough to speak about what had occurred between herself and Vorgrun. They had spoken at length about who she was and why she was here but not about the reason for this hostility;

“… He and I were raised together. His father became my adoptive one after my parents were killed and we were always at each-others’ throats trying to earn his approval, for different reasons. He didn’t want to be forced from his father’s favour, and all I wanted was approval to reassure myself. We also came of age together… in many senses. Our training provoked competition, which incited heated rivalry, and that eventually came to result in passionate love for one-another despite our combative relationship.” She explained, talking with a relaxed canter as she recalled the memories.

“I take it that didn’t last?” Askaati perceived, and Helana laughed wistfully yet with an air of regret and hindsight;
“No… no it didn’t…”
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The Revolutionary
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TAKE OFF EVERY ZIIIIIIIIG

… Three Years Ago;

An explosion that tore out of the ground with a searing white flash and a hail of stone and immolated a pair of supply carriers in its detonation. As panic and disarray engulfed the vehicles behind the twisted wreckage and shattered rubble, black-armoured soldiers splayed in all directions and flung themselves to positions of defence; but it was futile. They were already in a kill zone.

“Charges four, five, seven and nine Vorgrun.” An utterly satisfied feminine voice chimed from within a distinctive T-visor Mandalorian helmet, and the other obliged her indication by keying in the detonation sequence. One-by-one clusters of men were atomized in the midst of a thermal detonator charges going off. They had no-where to go, and their reaction had been foreseen and planned on. Groups of the troopers died instantly without the Mandalorians concealed in bluffs above having to fire a single bolt or engage a single enemy. It wasn’t honourable; but it wasn’t Mandalorian duty either. It was simply part of a contract – disrupt operations of Galactic Alliance Army supply convoys across this small haggard rock of a world and they along with their brothers and sisters would be well paid.

“Big finish, Vorgrun; Charge six!” Helana enthused, and Vorgrun only to happily obliged. The penultimate detonation set off a number of smaller explosives buried just beneath the surface of the ground; mostly flechette and fragmentation mines. Three final detonations – like three powerful strikes against the earth – blew several of the remaining vehicles and their escorts into the air, and left the others in no state of operation. The magnificent show of force left a deathly black and grey cloud whirling up through the earthen dawn sky. Surveying the surrounding area around ground-zero, both Helana and Vorgrun noticed that some individuals had survived the devastation; but where not in a good way and far from combat effective.

Helana stepped out onto the sheer ledge, attaching a rappel loop;
“Come on then darling; let’s sweep up what’s left.” She gamely urged. Vorgrun shouldered his assault rifle and followed her down the rock face to go clear up the remains of their ambush.

The still smouldering ruins of what was once a full and coherent convoy of military supplies now marked several hundred meters. Strewn body parts and blast-scorched earth left a unique odour that was only partial mitigated by the respirators of the two Mandalorian warriors’ helmets. The mortally wounded were finished off as they sought solace in the silence. Neither of the individuals wasted time nor energy looking to do anything more than confirm that their surprise assault had been a complete success.

Vorgrun’s gauntlet-mounted holographic emitter sparked to life as a contact came in, and he decrypted it with a readily available cypher that unlocked its security protocols. A figure of some authority spoke out from the pale-blue emitter, his humanoid features and overall aesthetic painting the picture of a professional mercenary in command;
*Vagabond Two, this is Nest; report.*
“Targets have been destroyed; remnants are being cleansed. Confirm E.T.A on Exfiltraition.”
*… Stand-by, Vagabond Two.*
A delay on confirmation from your superiors? Never good, especially when it came to getting as far away from your handiwork before those you inflicted in on arrived to force a bloody and fatal apology. Pacing slightly, he cast his gaze toward Helana about two yards away; scoping the surroundings. They’d be at this for over a week; stalking convoys and pre-empting until they caught one. He felt they needed some R&R, to give each other the tender love and care they’d both appreciate no-matter how brief it would be.
*Vagabond One and Two; Transit to momentarily given coordinates for extraction. *
“All received-“ “Watch it!”

Helana’s shouted warning caused Vorgrun to drop and twist, bringing his rifle to bear to behind him as he hit the ground, and he saw the surviving soldier that had tried to sneak up on him take a bolt to the face; then several more from Helana’s weapon before she turned to face him and let a bristling laugh out.
“Glad you had control of that…” Vorgrun thanked evenly to his counterpart who stepped toward him and looped an arm around his back suggestively.
“We’ll see about ‘who’ has control of ‘what’ when we get back to base, hmm?”

As she slinked off, leading the way, Vorgrun shook his head in humour; her mind was on exactly the same as his.

It was about an hour before their shuttle arrived at the canyon facility that was their home for the last month, and the both of them quickly found their way to their private quarters. Vorgrun had barely taken his helmet off before Helana’s hands clasped his face and she kissed him hard. After a short bout of that, Vorgrun reluctantly pulled away to advise;
“First things first, my love?” he stated; pointing at his armour. Stepping away and cocking her head Helana stroked some stray lengths of hair from her face and started to unbuckle her armour with a sultry look in her eyes;
“Can’t blame a girl for impatience when she wants something… so hurry up, Mandalorian.”

Vorgrun didn’t need to be told twice, beginning to strip himself of armour and attire. The business of washing the days of grime and dirt from skin could wait, for they had suppressed their desires and intentions for too long. Now, for at least a while, they could let go of responsibility and take to pleasure; be free for a time and not have to answer to anyone.
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