A Family He Never Knew

[Gilamar Skirata]

The bright orange Niathal-class shuttle dropped out of hyperspace. A common civilian model shuttle it grabbed little attention until it began its approach to Mandalore. The birth planet of his "Father". Security was easy enough to get through, his awkward Mando'a and his understanding of the docking policies given to him through either flash training or broken memories. For all intents and purposes, Mordecai was a civilian here. Not a member of any clan, not a big business owner come to speak to the frantic MandalMotors...He was simply Mordecai.

Fools.

The shuttle landed in a spaceport near the outskirts of Keldabe. Payed for with stolen credits the man rolled out his speeder bike, locked up the ship, and sped off towards Gilamar's home which was in the forest that nearly surrounded Keldabe. The place was very quiet and sat in a clearing. Large for a man whom many thought to be a modest man, the home obviously showed his wealth, even if the home looked like a large simple wood cabin.

With a smirk he dismounted the bike and walked up the wooden steps of the patio and looked through the windows. A grunt escaped his lips as he kicked the door open, breaking the simple, archaic lock easily. It was dark within, messy as if he had left in a hurry.

Everything was where he remembered.

Why am I doing this?

You know why di'kut.​

Not you again Old Man. Why won't you leave me be!?

​

I am not done here. You don't understand anything whelp.​

"Enough!!!" he shouted, slamming his fist into the wall, shaking the glass case that was before him. Within was Gilamar's late wife, or at least her metal shell. Beaten and battered, badly burned and smudged. How had he walked through the home and into Gilamar's room so quickly without him noticing? Shaking his head he ran his hand through the brown mop of hair atop his head.

Shifting the rifle on his shoulder he began to shift through Gilamar's things. What he was looking for he did not know. It was as if some outside force was driving him to find something...And it wasn't the Old Man. Or maybe...It was the broken part, the part that not even the living Gilamar knew to exist...

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

It took a few hours to rummage around the house before the young man was strangely satisfied. What had he picked up? Or rather, what had he been told to pick up? A series of letters, to and from a Noire, a holo of Gilamar in his armor alongside [member="Azrael"], and a myriad of other knickknacks and bits. With the home of the Old Man sacked...It was time for the real reason he was here.

The wind whipped passed his hair as he sped into Keldabe. A bee line to MandalMotors Hall. Nearly fresh from his stasis pod the young man felt invincible. He knew what his body was capable of, what it could do. He knew that he could take even a verpine shatter gun shot to the chest and walk off the battlefield. He also knew that he couldn't take down several Ori'ramikade though...Or at least, he didn't want to so when the guard asked him to give him the blaster rifle he complied grudgingly.

It was easy enough to find his way through the hall. Gilamar's armor was on display now. He could see where the final blow had been dealt. A phantom pain shot through his abdomen and his hand involuntarily gripped his white shirt. "Old man...You should have left this for me in an easier place than this to get."

By the Manda, if you touch that I will karking end you!​

Please. Try me.

The internal exchange ended and the man's hand balled itself into a fist.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

"Hey, what do you think you're-"

It was too late. All the muscles in his core, back, shoulder and arm tensed and contracted as the clone made up his mind. His arm swung back and shot forward with the strength to dent metal, the metal knuckles in his bracers handled the rest. The transparisteel bent, groaned and cracked open. The seemingly glass case that held Mand'alor Gilamar Skirata's armor had been assaulted. Alarms blared, the Mandalorian guard shouldered his weapon and fired without a second thought.

The bolt of energy glanced off the alchemized leather of his jacket. He didn't have to see the man's face to feel the surprise. The BlasTech rifle flowed from his back like water into his hands in the ready position. There was a moment's hesitation as he wondered if he should use stun mode or just straight kill. Why did he care? He wasn't likely to see any of these people again for the rest of his life.

Don't kill him. Don't kill your vode​

"Damn it Old Man," he shouted, firing the blaster in full auto. Red bolts streaked unrelentingly into the man's false beskar'gam, killing him. He could hear boots approaching now. Cursing under his breath, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and shoved both hands into the hole his fist had created and pulled, peeling back the transparisteel to reach the treasures inside.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

The transparent case was slow to peel back. Even a man as strong as he was would have difficulty ripping the transperent steel box open. If he had a lightsaber he was sure that things would have gone much quicker. The boots were getting closer, and much faster than he anticipated. With a grunt he gave one last tug, pulling the metal away from his chest. The box groaned in protest and his veins began to swell with blood as he strained his body.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

With little resistance in the form of challenging combat, the young man stole Gilamar Skirata's helm from MandalMotors and fought anyone that stood between him and his ship, resulting in three deaths and a myriad of other injuries. Public property destroyed and Gilamar Skirata's helmet stolen. Sitting back with a deathstick between his lips and his feet kicked up on the dashboard of his transport he smirked, exhaling the pungent smoke from his nose.

All in a day's work. Now...What to do about those letters...

[member="Noire"]