Absolution [Mandalorian Crusaders]

[Keira Priest]

Echoy'la​

Little Sundari​

​

The Crusade was over. Their Crusade was over. It had been months at the very least since the fall of the Galactic Republic and One Sith, the two nations the now-fallen Mand'alor had called for the death of. For awhile their people had celebrated, reveling in their victory and the temporary larger galactic peace that had been brought about. But then came the question of what to do next, and none of them held the answer. There were no more large-scale wars, no more worry as to what world would be destroyed next by another conflict between two millennia old religions. And in that, the vode found...nothing. Her people found nothing. And that meant something had to be done in order to quell the stagnation.

So eventually challenges had been made, calls had rang out, and there was a duel for a new Sole Ruler, one who would lead them out of the shadows and into the light of a new galaxy forever changed by what they had accomplished. Except nothing was different, not really. The new Mand'alor thus far had been silent, and there was no rallying cry as to what the future of their people would hold. Nothing. Not a single word. And so that meant something more had to be done, something closer to home than the affairs on Mandalore. So Keira had made the call out to her people, the Crusaders. Or, what was left of them.

But, as with everything lately, there had been a silence. Very few of the once proud Crusaders remained, many having been lost to the stars as Echoy'la grew quiet. She couldn't blame them. Didn't blame them at all, really. Because she would have done the same, had she not been bestowed this responsibility. The true reality of it was that there was very little left for them if the state of affairs remained the same. The fire had died. The galaxy itself seemed to be holding its breath, uncertain of what was to come next. So that empty space had been filled with mercenary work for the lot of them as they returned to their roots, and there was an uneasy peace.

However, there was always one common theme in the life of anyone who called themselves a warrior, and that was the abrupt end of any perceived tranquility. The end for the vode had come all too quickly. The unthinkable had happened. Their homeworld was razed. Mandalore was no longer a place where any within their culture could set foot, and once more the Mandalorians were adrift. Again, they had nothing. And still the Sole Ruler remained silent, even in the hours that had passed since the tragedy. No word had come from any of the vode, no centralized voice rang forth to give them a cause.

What she had felt was indescribable, and had changed her decision from a simple one to something that weighed far more on her conscience. Millions of her people - their people - were dead. Her older brother was dead. There was no other way to put it, and the toll those deaths had taken on her mental and emotional state was tremendous. A strange sort of silence hung in the air on Echoy'la, none of them exactly knowing what to say or do. So again she had put out the call, and this time there was more of an urgency to it. It was not a request. She was speaking as the Warmarshal of the Crusaders, demanding that those who remained come forth.

It was they she stood before now, looking over those who remained with a pride in her chest for their tenacity in staying on even as it all became graver than it had been in a long while. Expressions were etched into faces more akin to stone than flesh, but there was still a fire there, a pride in their people. They were willing to press on no matter the cost, and it was that which would guide the Crusaders forward in the coming weeks, months, years. It was a vision and a mindset that was necessary to rekindle the cold embers and push them forward to something more than they had been in the past. But she wouldn't be around to do it.

"Brothers, sisters," The same opening as always, though there was no armored figure before them to deliver it. Rather, she was adorned in her street clothes, worn leather jacket taking the place of phrik plating across her torso, though she stood just as strong as ever, "Today is a day that will live in infamy. First and foremost, here and now I formally absolve our Crusade and bring it to a definite end. The Republic and Sith have fallen. What we set out to accomplish is done. It is finished." She paused, looking across the faces gathered to assess their reactions. No objections followed her words, though she knew they had thoughts of their own. Those would rise up later.

"I am going to say what is on all of our minds at this moment. Mandalore was razed. And with that, Isley Verd, the founder of this Crusade and my elder brother, is dead." There was more clamor this time, and they all shared concerned looks and quiet words. Rather than call for silence, she let them have their moment, as it was the least she could do. When all grew quiet, she continued, "I'm just as uncertain for our future as you are. I do not know what this holds for the Crusaders. None can say what will happen to us in the coming weeks, what Mand'alor will say or do about this atrocity that has been ushered forth.

"But I will say this: I step down as Warmarshal, and I relinquish the banner of Mandalorian." This time she spoke through the crescendo, pressing forward through the rising storm, "Ret'urcye mhi, vode. Ni ceta." There would be no more picking up the pieces. She had tried before, countless times, and to no end. This was no longer her fight. Perhaps it had never been. And so Keira Ticon did the one thing she'd pledged never to do again.

She walked away.

 

[Darth Rixas]

Echoy'la's cold sun greeted Oron's pale, mocha skin as he trudged away from his ship and towards the meeting place of the last of the Crusaders. Time spent away from his Vod increased his longing to see, greet, and hold his comrades - yet, there was an unnerving sense of dread that clung to the air, a feeling not completely misplaced on the battered planet yet, upon his observation, questions flooded Oron's mind. He had not seen his vod in two calendars, yet upon his return he'd yet to hear from his brother Isley nor his sister Keira.

She's heading the meet.

An obvious fact, since she heeded the call for the Crusaders to pool at Little Sundari, but that didn't explain the absence of his remaining sibling's presence. Pulling his head from his thoughts, he approached the rear of the gathered figures clad in beskar and phrik. Sliding his helmet from his head, twisted locks of hair fell past his shoulders as his crimson eyes darted towards Keira standing before the warriors ahead. He felt no need to fight the smile that tugged at his mouth as his ivory digits revealed themselves under pink lips. He hadn't seen her since his leave for solo missions began, and catching up to her would be a well needed session. But the warriors gathered were still and silent. Chatter quieted and banter hushed with not even the clinking of armor to be heard. Furrowing his brow he quickened his pace as he pushed past his vod to the front of the gathering, before he stopped in front of Keira as she said;


"I am going to say what is on all of our minds at this moment. Mandalore was razed. And with that, Isley Verd, the founder of this Crusade and my elder brother, is dead."

"What?"

Dead? Dead. Raw and rampant, fear poured through him, bubbling through his consciousness and ripping at all in it’s path mercilessly as the Marauder attempted to comprehend the words that he had just heard, his gaze wide with confusion, with disbelief as he struggled within the mire of unquiet as the Crusaders' silence burst, some recalling events while some were the first to hear the news. Oron's chest snagged, his emotions sinking him ever lower in the murky depths, losing breath and consciousness to the demons that greeted him. He moved a gloved hand to grasph the shoulder of the Crusader nearest him, the armor shrieking under his coiled grip as he kept himself afoot. He forced himself to inhale. His breath tapered as it was drawn in, shuddering, audible, sticking in his throat and choking down the words, festering a pain that seemed to roll against his breast without restraint.

Isley. Dead.

His head fell, eyes flickering towards the ornately crafted weapon at his side, the glistening bevii'ragir that would hold the key to further retribution Oron would be forced to seek, revenge in the most acrimonious of fashions for the loss of his elder brother. Isley, who remained at the side of Oron, unassuming, unquestioning -ever willing to provide invaluable insight, advice, he whom was forever available - although, forever didn't seem to hold the same meaning nor weight as it had five minutes ago. Steadfast in his various quests and ideas, against the wishes of factions and amidst the insults they spat at him in return, Isley was exulted beyond so many in Oron's eyes and now, now...

Forsaken.

Had Oron fostered wickedness and vipers at his breast, inflicted death’s caress so ardently that now he should suffer as well? Is that where this grief bled from, through fate’s twisted tendrils that stretched towards the caprice of twilight, to snatch, taloned, the only thread of hope that remained with the sapphire clad Verd? Now he could feel his belligerent pulse slowing to a sickening crawl as the agony of loss weaved into his very being like a tapestry born of remorse – While realization gnawed at the corners of his mind - He was alone. There was not a single being with whom he entrusted more information to, more vulnerabilities, secrets, ideas, anything. More than losing a family member, a comrade in battle, or mentor- he'd lost a friend.

It would not pass unmarked. Unnoticed. One of the most glorious of minds he'd encountered would not fall in bloody battle to be but a name to float in mistold tales alone. Long fingers closed around the azure weapon at his waist, now the cloister for his agent of dispatch. He relinquished his grasp from the warrior next to him, opening stiff lids, allowing yellow, sulfurous orbs newly born out of anguish to drift upwards to Keira as she turned away. He was not certain his departure could be as calm - His heart called for pyres to burn atop the bodies of his enemies, to watch as their ashes climb towards the unassuming stars who still bore witness to the unending plight of both villains and heros alike...but, the Marauder's rush of adrenaline and power were draining by the minute, and his need to rest and think grew evermore by the second.

Stepping away from the nearest Crusader, the warrior asked did Oron need aid, to which he replied with silence. He dragged his feet, eyes half-open as unnaturally yellow orbs watched the ash white dirt of the planet rustle under his feet. He would need to take this walk alone, leave alone, as the last son of his Father's children.