A Healer for every Wound

[Laira Darkhold]

Ithor
Mother Jungle

Jedi Master Orn Pharr was not well known in the galaxy. Lacking flashy abilities or loud presence, the Jedi Master had hidden from public eye. For as long as he could remember there had always been younger, greater Jedi warriors than he who had held fame and glory while the ancient tree had been more than willing to sit in the back and heal their wounds with each battle. For generations they had come and gone, the old healer tending to them all.

There came a time in each being's life where they were forced to make a choice between what was right and what they wanted. When that time had come the Neti had chosen to follow the Path of the Jedi and forego his people, his family, and any chance of fortune or fame. He cast out any notion of personal gain and set himself to make sacrifices for every living thing in order to protect them from unnatural evils.

One of those evils had reared its head in the form of nuclear fire and destruction, and the Jedi had been powerless to stop it along with everyone else. However now there was a chance to bring about an end to the suffering that it left behind, a slim chance at that.

He dictated a message to the only Mandalorian in the galaxy that could properly assist him in his quest.

"I send you this message little one, in the hopes it finds you willing to do what must be done. Meet me on Ithor so that we can talk about the future of Manda'yaim. Something must be done, and if we are able, we must be the ones to do it.

Master Pharr."

[member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

Shia stared at the message in her hands and closed her eyes.

So, it came down to decisions like this. Stand by and do nothing, or do what others called the unthinkable.

Damn. Kaine. Damn. The Sith Empire and damn Ra too.

Damn all of them, for they surely would be. She knew. She was beloved of death - she didn't know what that meant, but it was pointless denying it. Now, with her eyes closed, she could feel the megadeath that had slaughtered this city. She could feel the weight of a million dead souls, the slow ripple as the energy of their death disappated. She couldn't save any of them - their lifespans cut unnaturally short. Nor, honestly, would she. That wasn't who she was - death plays no favours, so neither did she. But she could help people live well - because in the end, that was what was important. That was what had fascinated a part of her soul.

Damn them all. But no one ever said the right thing was easy.

She opened her eyes, looking around the plain home she lived in, she had to go.

[member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

Ithor

A small Mandalorian BR-0117 Resol'nare (always a funny name, Shia thought) transport slipped out of hyperspace, devoid of clan or family markings - not even marking its affilitation with any great power, let alone the Mandalorian Empire. It made no fuss, declared itself properly at traffic control, slipped into it's assigned lane and disappeared into the traffic of Ithor, only to slip out of the high traffic lane under stealth, replaced seamlessly with another craft and to slip into a privately owned dock far from it's assigned birth.

Clan Kryze had been nomads before, just because they'd settled didn't mean they'd given up basic tradecraft.

A testimony to what they sought to achieve, Ithor. The Jedi Master had been right to hold their meeting here.

Shia stepped out of the docking bay another anonymous Mandalorian mercenary and made her way to meet the Jedi. She seemed to be doing an awful lot of that, of late.

[member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The Ithorians were by nature, pacifist in a much stricter manner than Orn himself was and so they were some of his favored friends in the galaxy. They shared many of the same beliefs and respects as the Jedi Master and revered him for his connection to the Force and attunement with nature. In fact it was his deep connection to the natural world that made them agree to allow him to step foot on their planet's surface, a very rare blessing for outsiders.

The Neti Jedi smiled to himself, he could sense her, even as far away as she was he could sense her presence. He returned with communing with the Bafforr tree forest that surrounded him, happily exchanging stories off far away worlds and alien species with the hive of intelligent trees while they told him of their own experiences. Battles had been fought over Ithor, Mandalorians had come once and they had brought life and healing with them instead of hatred and violence.

~

The Ithorians had expected her arrival to some degree and once she arrived on one of their herdships Shia was greeted politely and informed that the Jedi Master was communing with the Mother Jungle at its heart, and that at his request she would be permitted to visit the most sacred of sites. On one condition, she took nothing with her but a set of brown robes to wear. Not even shoes or socks.

[member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

Ithorians were strange.

But not as unusual as someone might expect. Ecology was a lesson Mandalorians learned, and learned well. After all, their planet had been burnt several times. Never as bad as Ithor, with this latest atrocity being perhaps on the same scale of the Excision, and done by their own. Somehow, always, the Force was involved. But Shia considered it rather stupid to blame a universal force, rather than the people who wielded it. Most recently, any Mandalorian who didn't have a basic laypersons understanding of population growth and decline rates, volcanic winter, radioactive fallout and large scale tectonic movement was rare indeed, every news service carried it and almost everyone now knew someone working in the reconstruction effort.

An effort that was, with Mandalore only recently able to defend itself from invaders and with a cheerfully 'allied' Sith Empire sitting on it's border, not as great as it might be.

Shia understood the honour that was being bestowed upon her - she did briefly take a moment to check there were no lingustic errors and the standard 'no one who sets foot on the surface may leave' was being waived - that would not be unpleasant, exactly, probably fatal and deeply embarassing, but as ways to go it certainly beat a number of others.

"Thank you, master tender." She stated after she had changed. There was no sense in arguing - and the resol'nare was flexible, as the Ithorians were being by permitting this at all. Shia had never been a 'live in your armour' sort anyway - given her standard armour, that'd be a workout and a half on a daily basis.

One wouldn't say she meekly allowed herself to be guided - a Mando'ade walks like a Mando'ade, and one who (to her mind) and proven all she ever needed to prove to the universe like Shia Kryze walked like a predator in any environment or attire, but there was something... not humble, but a willingness to be humbled by the experience. After all, having nothing to prove is nothing like having nothing yet to learn.

Lessons like, how not to get eaten by exceptionally dangerous native plantlife were however, hopefully not on the experience list. She'd had enough 'fun' for seven years recently, and she wished that wasn't literal.

[member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Exceptions like the ones being made for Orn and Shia were not unheard of. During the Yuuzhan Vong War the Ithorians had gone so far as to allow full scale military forces to land on the surface to defend it and Orn may or may not have been one of the beings that assisted with Ithor's regrowth before the Four Hundred Year Darkness. Even since then others had been allowed on rare occasion with some exception and at several points the Mandalorians had conquered the world for their own purposes. The Ithorians were wary, but not uncompromising.

Orn was an elder of a species that lived to be thousands, no longer remembering how many years he had walked from star to star and from world to world. He had forgotten more about his own history than he truthfully remembered. Faces, history, information all cluttered his mind from many eras that he either had no recollection of or believed to have been as recent as the day before.

When the Ithorians delivered Shia to the surface in a grassy clearing, surrounded by tall Bafforr trees that swayed in the gentle wind. Storms rolled across the horizon, rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning in the distance. Orn sat peacefully with his back against one of the mighty trees, and did not bother to stand when she arrived. "Hello little one. I am grateful you agreed to meet with me."

Part of the reason he had suggested Ithor was its proximity to Mandalore, another that it was one of the few worlds capable of producing Bacta other than the now burned and devastated Thyferra. Years ago, Ithorian botanists and Vratix pharmacists had worked together to help create a biosphere on a few herdships that would allow some production of the miraclous healing substance. It provided the Mandalorian with the perfect excuse to her absence. The Neti's own preference for nature was but a bonus for the Jedi.

"I sent you that message so that we could discuss your homeworld, and I was wondering if you understood the depths of the damage it has suffered." The Jedi asked with a warm smile and soft brown eyes.

[member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

Shia drew her awed attention back from the forests around her - hunting was forbidden here, but a true hunter has respect for their prey, and Shia's entire family had been hunters for longer than most Kryze could remember. Well, than any could remember - it had happened sometime during the Plague.

Her eyes glittered like blades, like the very blades of death, in fact - as much a part of this world as anywhere else, and the fact she could feel it - and that she could feel the planet-death so long ago. A scar like that can be grown over, but it remains in the Force, even after centuries. She'd given up denying her gift - if it was a gift - by now, she simply did not mention it to others. It would not be a survival trait on Mandalore to do so.

"The planet is dying from the core to the exosphere." She replied quietly. "Oh, parts of it may live - with enough technology we may even save most of the species. Some of the Cuir Rekr - and I suspect Ra - believe we can steal enough technology to do that, but they can't see what those two murderers did." The quiet vehemence implies a special circle of the Netherworld is reserved for those people, but after a moment Shia waves that comment off. "I am sorry, that comment was unworthy of this place, or the honour I have been done by being allowed here, Master Pharr. I do not believe we were ever introduced. I am Shia Kryze, Alor of Clan Kryze and a Protector of Mandalore." Not a Deathwatch member, then. "I... do not understand all the science, although I have learned more than I think I would have cared to had our planetary survival not been at stake. But even today the situation is serious enough Clan Kryze is considering raiding or asking Clan Rekali for some of the remaining Worldcraft that were built, or commissioning our own to save as much of the fauna and flora as we can. Mandalore will survive, it always does. But the planetary biosphere may be reduced to domed cities once again."

She doesn't mention that the last time that happened, it was the Jedi who brought Mandalore low. She doesn't hold a grudge, but she does remember - and judges each Jedi on their merits. Master Pharr rates quite highly.

[member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The Jedi Master nodded and smiled at the young woman, listening closely to her words. His eyes watched her agitated but collected body language and how she held herself. What he passed for ears listened to her tone and inflection carefully. She was a killer. Born and bred to destroy life and brought up in a culture that glorified death like some form of reward. If Orn were not as polite or as kindly, he might have considered her blasphemous to his very way of life, but all the Jedi Master saw was a scared child, who knew enough to know to be frightened of what was happening around her.

"I am Master Orn Pharr, Jedi of the Green." The Neti spoke somberly. He was not sworn to any Order or Government, and had always disliked the Jedi being facets of a government, believing that they were shackles to a Jedi Knight's hands who by their very nature were sworn not to a system but to all life, responsible to protecting everyone and everything that lived. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Alor Kryze. I have spent some time on your world in my youth, and though I disagree with your people's pension for war and strife, I can feel their suffering and it is my responsibility and desire to aid all that suffer, no matter who they are or what they have done."

"It is not broken, like many believe. It is still breaking. Wounded and dying." Orn answered, shifting his weight to sit up straight for his guest his voice and expression becoming somber as he spoke of Mandalore's fate. "For all the gifts of technology, they cannot heal the Wound in the Force that has been left behind on your home. I can feel it, even now. A gaping, seeping, festering cut." A horrible and unnatural thing, the Force refracted and shuddered around one single point on the planet where fates had been wracked and destiny rent asunder. "Technology may buy you time, it may even allow for growth on the surface for a time. But until the wound is tended to, only the world's death is certain."

"I have come to know if it is possible to aid Mandalore as it stands or if it must be torn down so that it can be remade. I have come to seek your help in healing Mandalore."

[member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

What is the difference between a killer and survivor, in a galaxy riven by war between light and dark?

Shia will cheerfully argue the difference with anyone, arrogantly certain the righteousness of her beliefs as she is. But also not without foundation.

"War - or conflict - is a galactic constant, Master Jedi. Even your Order believes that, or light would never battle dark. But... you are right, and I am not here to debate philosophy with you, although I will happily do so. Do not believe that because we train for conflict, we seek to end life as a constant. That may be what Mandalore has become now - that may be what many of us are, it was certainly how we were born and there is strength in that. But it is not all we are, we cherish life because we know it to be precious and short-lived."

She sighs.

"Well, we... did, anyway. After everything that's happened..." She shrugs. "I... thought you might wish to discuss this topic, because I can smell that wound... no, smell is the wrong word... I can feel it, but do nothing for it. If she dies, my home dies that is... part of what I have become, I think. But Manda'yaim has always survived, just because I cannot use some mystic power does not mean I cannot ask for help."

She licks her lips, nervous.

"I... have brought another, aboard my vessel. One of the Cuir Rekr who was directed here by a wise and - frankly - terrible Warlock to seek healing for the wounds to her soul, the one who will likely shortly become Mand'alor. My friend, my... sister, in Basic. She... would like to speak with you, but I did not wish to presume to invite her to our meeting, let alone to the surface."

[member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Orn frowned slightly, not angry or upset, not even disappointed with the young woman. He was just frowning from the circumstances that had befallen her and her people. The Jedi was many things: a pacifist, a healer, a Jedi, but he was not a leader. At least not willingly. The Jedi rose to his feet and smiled at the young woman warmly. "I have no doubt your people will find a way through struggle and strife. It is my desire to help them, to ease their suffering. I aim to heal Mandalore itself and tend to the Wound in the Force that has opened on it, and I cannot do it alone."

The forest shuddered and shook in the wind, the storm rolling in with the first droplets of rain beginning to fall upon their leaves. Thunder shook the jungle and lightning split the sky. The trees around them rumbled, their telepathic link to each other serving as a node for the Jedi Master. On this world, he could sense everything that happened with their help, he could remember everything they had ever learned or born witness to. The death of the planet at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong had burned like a fire and after it new life had sprung. With the evil of the Yuuzhan Vong came the life and restoration of the Galactic Reconstruction. The Empire had torn down the ineffective republic and replaced it with the Galactic Alliance and later the Triumvirate. With each great evil the balance had found a way to restore itself, though often through avatars or unwitting servants. The Neti himself was a willing servant of balance and rebirth, a guardian of the Living Force and shepherd of nature. Perhaps his recent awakening was the tool the Force would use to restore balance to Mandalore. But only if he could find a way.

The aging Neti spoke slowly and with deliberation throughout the conversation, but now his words came drawn and long while he conversed silently with the Bafforr grove. "The last time anyone offered to help the Cuir Rekr, they simply threatened more violence upon the galaxy and those that would aid them. Before then, they sought to kill as many as possible with little care of which side they murdered on Utapau. They paid no regard for their own, for the innocents of Pau City, and of the warriors that opposed them. I have little reason to trust my offering of aid would be treated any different and I have no reason to trust any of them." His brown eyes fell to the ground, his labored words silent for some time as he remembering the massive form of the togorian warlord who had been in the caves. Orn had tried and failed to reach him in time to save the being while he had dealt with Shia and the other wounded. But it had been his actions and the actions of the Mandalorians that had cost so many lives that day without need or care.

"Give me a reason to trust her." He spoke at last.

[member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

Shia turns to look away, out at the forest.

Quite what she was thinking was unclear, even to her, for a long moment she tried to let her mind be empty - wasn't that what Jedi were supposed to do? A smile curved her lips, whatever she was - and wherever she went, she would never, ever be a Jedi. But somewhere in there, there was clarity.

Not understanding, that still eluded her on several levels. From the simple question of 'why are you here' to the broader question of 'what role do your people play in the galaxy now'. But clarity as to where she was, what she was and what she wanted, at least.

"The first time you mention was..." She smiled. "Either deliberately condescending, or very poorly conceived. I do not know which, but it was guaranteed to make a number of us angry for many reasons. If I told you the response was, by prevailing standards, a polite thank you - and that was how it was intended, you'd probably think less of my culture, so pretend I didn't say it."

"But that isn't a reason, so I'll give you the only one I have - why I'm loyal to her, even when she does things I think are wrong. Because having been practically born in the Netherworld - in Chaos, specifically - and having pulled her mother out, only to have her mother die in the Slayers bomb and the Liberators... liberation. Despite the error she committed on Dathomir because she thought Ra would want it, and because the Cuir Rekr and the people did want it. She apologised, then did the only thing she could to try and make amends and remove the cancer at the heart of the soul of the Mando'ade, she went right back into hell. For seven years. I know, because I went with her. Dar'yaim we call it - a place you want to forget, funnily enough, I'm not sure I do. But... that's not the point. She didn't do it because she wanted power, or anything else - she did it because she needed the answer to a question, to understand if the vod we call Mand'alor had been corrupted, had been brought back to life by the Sith Emperor. Not for herself, but for Mandalore - because if he had, everything we were doing was tainted."

[member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Orn continued smiling, the woman was what she said and claimed to be. Every bit what she claimed even if that wasn't what she wanted. "So I should trust her because you do?" He cocked his brow and released a mild chuckle through his bark, the hardwood of his limbs creaking as he moved. The old warrior had seen much death and suffering and none more than in the Field of Blades. Netherworld was hell, but it was not without its purpose. Nothing was made by the Force without purpose.

"Very well, I suppose I would not have asked for your help if I didn't trust you in some way. Call her down, but she must submit to the same traditions you and I have. No weapons or tools or war. Just a simple brown robe." He did trust the woman wanted what was best for her people even if it would weigh heavy on her own shoulders. It was the mantle of responsibility that she carried even in her youth. The Jedi pitied the bald woman greatly, for it was her kind that would continue to march out and die in the wars of others. "And I make no promises. I will not allow you or her stain this world as your kind has done to Dathomir."

Meeting the young ones was always an odd experience for the ancient Jedi Master. For how many centuries had every young woman thought they knew how things were and would always be? "In the meantime, you know why I have asked you here, but I do not know what you sought to find in me. Perhaps you could tell me while we await your friend."

[member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

Shia nodded and went to reach for something, then paused and smiled.

"I... can't call her, as you asked, I did not bring anything other than what I am wearing. I can do many things, but I am afraid telepathy is a gift my species does not possess."

[member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"I meant, have her called for I suppose." The Jedi responded politely with a smile. "You came down on something, certainly the Ithorians who brought you can retrieve her if you were to ask politely enough."

[member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

"Well yes." Shia replies. "But... oh, ignore my pedantry. Excuse me for a few minutes."

She departs back up the... well, it's not exactly a trail, or even a path, the gap in the trees she strongly suspects is created specifically for her - the Neti would hardly need it.

"Master Tender." She bowed to her guide. "May I request that you send a message to my ship? If you could ask that the small wolf come to visit us, as well as conveying the passenger who will arrive down. I... believe Master Pharr approves of her presence, and for what little it is doubtless worth I vouch that she will bring no harm to your sacred soil and will abide by your requests."

Then she turned and walked back down the path, less nervous now, taking her time to enjoy a sight she would likely never see again.

"Why did I come to you? No, that was not what you asked. You asked what I sought to find in you. I sought to find an ally who understood the madness overtaking parts of the galaxy - my people chief among those parts - for what it is. My people - their culture, their soul and their planet are dying, but ideas cannot be killed. Except that's a lie, isn't it? You can kill an idea, if you try hard enough. You of all beings must know that say, the Jedi today are not the Jedi of a thousand years ago? Where is the Old or New Republic? The ideals it tried to keep alive? The Galactic Alliance holds to different ideals. You cannot stop that change any more than you can prevent evolution - if you do, you generate a monoculture that will die out in one plague. But neither do you have to allow... this is getting into some very gardening-related metaphors... neither do you have to allow weeds to sprout, or harmful strains to breed."

She shrugs.

"Although equally, who is to say what is harmful, or a weed. That's subjective. So I suppose I was hoping for someone who while they might not share the same subjective outlook, could see past that and who could help me develop my own."

[member="Orn Pharr"] [member="Yasha Mantis"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"Life finds a way. It always does." Orn responded. In truth she was right in a sense, ideas did fade and fall the background. But she was also wrong in many ways. The Jedi of old were not prevalent but there were those that held to those ideals and traditions. The Galactic Alliance was different from the Old Republic but somewhere there was someone that wanted the same thing as the Ruusan Reforms. The Sith had been lead by more emperors in the last century than there had been in the last five thousand years, and yet they still had many similar beliefs and traditions as they had in the first iteration of their existence.

"Ideas cannot be killed, they can only be changed. There was a time when your people believed, in their core, that they should be forces of good. That they would die and struggle to uphold the tenants of their culture while standing as protectors. There were many who called the Ori'ramikade heroes and few who thought of them as evil and cruel." They were not the only version of Mandalorian Culture. The crusaders had been merciless butchers under Mand'alor the Indomitable and his successor. The Death Watch had been terrorists at best during their reign. But the same could have been said of the Jedi throughout history.

"You must understand nothing happens without sacrifice. If we are to ease your people's suffering, heal your world of its wounds, and in time heal your people, we must make sacrifices." Self-Sacrifice was easy, especially for those who held responsibility and revered it as they did. Sacrifice of another was quite difficult indeed. It was one of the reasons Orn did not often choose to lead, but instead preferred to walk the healer's path where only his own being was at risk.

Rain began falling upon the pair, large fat droplets of water falling from the canopy of the Mother Jungle to the verdant undergrowth they stood in. Clouds overhead darkened the sky with only the occasional flashes of thunderbolts illuminating the pair in the darkness now. Orn sighed with contentment as he soaked in the force of the world around him. The trees whispered around him in a thousand voices, <A pack the wolves seek, a shepherd you have found.>

[member="Shia Kryze"] [member="Yasha Mantis"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Katlaydr of the Cuir Rekr approached with silent caution. She was a creature incapable of being sensed by the Force, dead to it from the choice of her six year old self, to drag her mother’s dying body out of Hell. No gift of the Netherworld was freely given. No return was simple.

The helmet usually on her head covered her with an inhuman expression, a doll covered in metal forged in the Mandalorian colours of vengeance and justice. [member="Shia Kryze"] wanted this meeting. Shia wanted to heal the planet. Only three beings in the universe could possibly tell Yasha to show her face anywhere without armour. Shia, Kaden Mantis, and Gray Raxis.

Yasha knew absolutely Gray and Kaden would never ask something so blasphemous to the Resol'nare as this. Draped in grey from the hood covering her head to the boots on her feet, Yasha came to ensure safety and plenty.

For the sake of her people, Yasha would kneel at [member="Orn Pharr"]’s twig-like appendages if she had to. This was an opportunity for a completely new kind of Mand’alor. Unyielding to her enemies, yet near gentle to those who would bring a New day for Manda’yaim.

This would not have gone nearly as far if Shia herself hadn’t endorsed the Jedi flora. Healing was a selfish art. It created situations biased by non-judgement. Threaded needles stitching the fabric of conversations with somewhat ‘peaceful’ intent. It was easy to heal, when one had the means to deny violence.

Yet in the face of terror, a healer’s touch worked best after the wound had been made. It was not preventative, nor was it diligent in solving the issues presented.

So it was that the future Mand’alor of Manda’yaim slunk beside Shia Kryze. The emptiness of the Force around the girl was no small feat of Vong Shaping, but a wound scarified by the hatred of two parents who hated the Force with every ounce of their being… a hate which was not usurped by the babe in their once-contented arms.

Now Mama [member="Aditya Mantis"] was dead, and [member="Preliat Mantis"] was as lost to the Mandalorians as Yasha’s senses were to the Force itself. It was this girl, once thirteen now twenty in the flash of an eye, who fought beside Darth Carnifex on Utapau.

It was Yasha Mantis’ scream of horrible intent which broke the Mandalorians upon Pau City, and incited the worst of the riotous action.

It was Yasha Mantis who stepped forward with a cloak of grey, symbolizing grief, and stared at the tree creature. “Manda’yaim is a planet of sacrifices, Jedi. We stand in the ash of sacrifice. Hundreds of thousands dead. All for an evil named Velok, who poisoned the mind of Mia Monroe and incited her and Mereel to commit genocide… yet I care more about my people than past sins. Even Ra Vizsla taught me that Mia Monroe was Katlaydr first. She was a proud Mandalorian in the thrall of a Forcer's power, when she destroyed Manda'yaim. Thus, Ra taught me to keep her name in my daily prayers. He did not consider vengeance to be his mission. But his duty was to keep the rest of us alive. What is your promise to Manda’yaim?”

The Hell Wolf spoke for the legion of voices Orn sensed.

 

[Shia Kryze]

"You must understand nothing happens without sacrifice. If we are to ease your people's suffering, heal your world of its wounds, and in time heal your people, we must make sacrifices."

Shia frowned, slightly, her thoughts painly visible for a moment. Often 'we must make sacrifices' are words used by people who... are not making the sacrifices. But the Neti in front of her would genuinely never say something like that.

"I understand - and for my part, I am prepared to make them. I cannot speak for others, other than my Clan. But some of us remember the days when the Mando'ade were heroes and Ori'ramikade revered. We work to light the flame of those ideals and perhaps there is room to grow them once again on Mandalore..."

She trails off as she hears someone approach, turning to watch Yasha with an edge of nervousness she doesn't normally show. Oh please, Force, don't let me screw this up. Which is a stupid sentiment, Shia, because the Force does not guide your actions in that way, if Force predestination existed then... the world would be a weird place. Okay. Just don't screw this up, Shia Kryze. You have one shot to heal your vode and maybe start healing a little more than just her. But all of those people, even that planet, they're equally as important as she is.

[member="Yasha Mantis"] [member="Orn Pharr"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Orn swayed in the wind and rain gently the deep ley-lines of power he connected to thrumming with activity as the Neti stood rooted to the ground. The trees rumbled in warning, informing him of the coming of a being bringing a frown to his face but he continued speaking calmly with Shia. On this world, surrounded by a sentient forest with telepathic abilities, Orn could be made aware of every blade of grass. Of course his own mind couldn't possibly track every single life form on the planet, but the Mother Jungle could. It could watch patiently and inform the Neti of odd things or circumstances that brought it concern. On Ithor, Orn was at peace and one with the Force. "Sacrifices are not always of life. Sometimes they are ideals, beliefs. Sometimes as simple as our time and effort." He paused as the Force-Dead being entered the glade. "Most of the time it is pride that must be sacrificed."

He could see the darkness surrounding the Void around the woman, though he could not sense her, Yasha's presence was sickly and dulled. It spoke of one who like Shia had said, had been born in the Netherworld of the Force, but that did not make her inherently evil. Her choices are what determined that factor. For all the power of a Jedi Master, none were omniscient, and Orn was no different. On Ithor, omnipresent, but never all-knowing. In truth, other than the occasional rumor he knew nothing of the Hell Child. "Manda'yaim is a planet of pride. Every great atrocity your people have committed unto themselves, has been because of pride." It was a hefty generalization indeed, but not without merit. The Death Watch had been formed of Pride. Mia Monroe had been too prideful to seek aid until it was too late, Ijaat had been too proud to bend the knee to someone he could not trust, Vilaz Munin had been to proud of his new title to allow anyone to help his dying people. RC-212 had always imagined himself on the throne and before him there had been so many others.

"Tell me Shia, Cuir Rekr, what sacrifices you have made for your people. Do you go hungry to ensure that they eat? How many billions have been spent on new warships? How much on new homes for your kin? How many hours have you spent rebuilding the broken homes they live in?" Orn didn't ask the questions with accusation or anger, but more genuinely asking for his own knowledge so that he might better judge the women before him. Certainly he could be surprised, though he had a guess as to what had been more important to the Mandalorian Empire in its early days. No dictatorship, no matter how great a demagogue could survive without the tools of war and the promise of prosperity.

[member="Shia Kryze"] [member="Yasha Mantis"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“That’s an utter lie.” Yasha shook her olive skinned head, raven hair tucked in a braid behind her neck. “Pride did not send that warhead into the volcano and pride did not bring Ra Vizsla back from the Manda. Madness brought Manda’yaim to her knees, coating us in ash. Mia Monroe was not proud, she was sick, and no one had the knowledge or prescience to save her. It was not pride which returned Ra to his Throne. It was desperation.”

A hard line from a cautious creature stepping closer to Shia. She flicked her fingers through hand signals, ‘Trust. Question. Right Path? Tree dangerous?’

Although she trusted Shia with her immortal soul, Yasha could not yet believe that the answer to Mandalore’s environmental problems would be solved by a sentient tree who opposed them in Utapau. The girl who was three months old when her and her mother were pitched into the Netherworld held her feet in a defensive posture, hands in front of her stomach. “I will give you one thing. Vilaz is a prideful son of a rancor.”

The tree, a curious creature, swayed and asked questions of Yasha which betrayed the ignorance of the outsiders. Shoulders still bowed, the girl moved like a hungry predator in a den of too much meat.

“Is he serious?” Yasha whispered to Shia. She cleared her throat and peered at [member="Orn Pharr"] with eyes the colour of amber, hardened like petrified sap. “All my hours are spent on Manda’yaim’s safety and plenty, being I have no name for… nothing has been spent on new warships for we have none. I've sent teams of Mando'ade to reactivate warships we already had, to habituate stations along our space so they had a place to go. I’ve made deals with banished clans for food, brought in prefabricated housing, and taken in my fellow Mandalorians to the point where I have no house of my own. I am Katlaydr. Famine is the title of the Cuir Rekr member, who focusses on science and welfare. It is my place to serve my people. Who do you think opened the discussions with Clan Raxis, and invited Gray, a known Force User and pacifist during the Civil War home? Who do you think has him sitting beside her in council? Who do you think went to MandalMotors to open up every available space for those who had nothing? Who do you think has been using her dead mother’s company to build as much shelter in the outliers as there are already in the cities? Who opened the Palace to scientists and engineers and councillors to work on returning the landmass to something which could sustain hunting beasts and crops? I spend all my days on protecting my people. It took seven years to glean the right to sit at the feet of Ember Rekali and learn how to rule and protect my people… I, who sat as a child at the foot of Ra and learned. I, whose father is the Wolf. He knew keenly that to a Mandalorian, a hand out is a slave’s collar… so he called us to take to the stars and claim what we needed. To unleash our negative emotions and pains on those who had plenty so we could bring home what we needed. To give us the ability to fix our own problems in our own borders… but my Shia… oh Shia. You’re given to wizardry to heal that which our atmoscrubbers are breaking to try and solve. Don't stand there accusing me of being nothing but a warlord glutting on spilled blood like it were milk. We may hunt the stars, but we love our families more than ourselves. Even Ra taught me to be tender to our people, and hard as beskar to the Aruetii. The truth is far more complex, and you know it.”

If Orn Pharr wanted to speak with the most pliable and sensible of the Cuir Rekr, she was standing weaponless before him. There was a chance on Mandalore, one chance at a ruler who took the wisdom offered to her, and integrate it into a new sort of Empire. What would Pharr do with his one chance to impact the future rule of a yet unclaimed Mand'alor?