Hail the Victorious Dead!
Six hundred Mandalorians had breached the Malsheem, the symbol of Kainite power and majesty, the first Mando'ade to do so. Many had not survived more than a few steps. Very few survived at all. This was a minor miracle, considering that casualty estimates were at 100%. It had been a death mission, and yet, some few had made it back to tell the tale. Survival had never been their goal, so it was very much a bonus.
You see, the mission, despite appearances, had been a rousing success.
Having dedicated their lives to the cause, none of the deaths, however brutal, had been in vain. Despite the awful casualty rate, despite the loss of so many veterans to a doomed fight, the Mandalorians had come away with a prize that had exceeded all expectations. They had expected to successfully plant at least one tracking method upon the Malsheem. They had managed to plant all three, a beacon, a villip and a dathomiri witch rune.
So now, the Malsheem could be tracked. It could be followed anywhere in the galaxy.
It could be found again, and with the right attack plan, it could be destroyed.
The brave sacrifice of the six hundred, who had charged fearlessly into the very face of Death itself, into the very mouth of Hell, into certain and uncompromising Doom, had paid dividends to their people's future. Because of their willingness to lay down their lives for the cause, some future generation would have a better opportunity to strike at their mortal enemies, the Sith Order, and the Kainate of Darth Carnifex .
Thanks to the Six Hundred, who had died so bravely and so brutally, Mandalore could be avenged.
...
The broken warrior, noted as the Alor of Clan Rodarch, was thrown down before the huge and imposing form of the Dark Lord Darth Prazutis .
The ancient Mandalorian warrior laughed up from the floor, through a broken and bleeding mouth as his helmet was ripped off to expose his old, male and grizzled face.
It was not Arla. For she was no Alor.
"Arla escaped you, Dark Lord. You have lost." Archimedes Rodarch spat blood and broken teeth to the floor before Prazutis, defiant even in death.
The old man was already well on his way to dying and he knew it. He laughed into the very face of certain doom, knowing that his sacrifice allowed his Shakaajir Riduur Arla, and some handful of survivors to make it back to Journeyman and away from Tion.
The old man's laughter echoed through the hallways of Malsheem even as he faced his fate.
