Death of the Clans | Death Watch

[Ra Vizsla]

https://soundcloud.com/abdulrhman_allam/winter-has-come​

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S U N D A R I​

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Ra's emerald eyes looked upon Sundari, once upon Capital City of Mandalore, now a broken shell of its former self.​

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He traced the curvature of the broken dome up into the sky,​

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as the top of the city escalated​

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into the clouds themselves.​

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The beautiful architecture of the Mando'ade knew no limits, but even the domed cities had taken their fair share of the destruction from the cataclysm. It was amazing, the sheer destruction. Thousands of villages around the cities had sprung up, miniature domes, all of them seeking protection from the barren radioactive atmosphere of Mandalore. Manda'yaim had seen her fair share of destruction throughout the centuries. But still, she perservered.

And here, Death Watch would gather, hidden in plain sight.

Ra turned to one of his compatriots.

"We gather at the Blackgate, when the moon is fullest. Spread the word."

Blackgate was the southern most gate to Sundari, known for its obsidian texture. Ra ventured forward into the masses. Men, women, children. Covered in dust. Selling fruit, vegetables.

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Sweat on their brow.​

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Blood on their knuckles.​

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Pain in their shoulders.​

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They knew not that famed Ra Vizsla, the man who had salvaged the Clans and united them together on this very planet, for peace, prosperity...​

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...They knew not who he was.​

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Those days seemed so long ago.​

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There would be no prosperity this time.​

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Only more pain.​

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Ra stood by torch light near the abandoned Blackgate later that night. Several of his followers, those of Clan Vizsla who were the first to learn of his return, were already present.​

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They were the first to arrive.​

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Who else would heed Ra's call?​

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[Subject 37]

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Time had a way of making fools of anyone, everyone. It passed and slipped by, flowing through the fingers and never allowing anyone to catch it. Time was the crux of everything, it seemed to run out when you most needed it, seemed to drive away when you most wanted it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Heavy footsteps thudded against the wooden bridge, the loud clack of claws ringing out before the slight scrape of the heavy bone digging into the ground. A clang of metal rang out as Aryn slowly walked towards the small gathering, his expression grim, the eye that had been torn from his flesh sown over with thick threads. The other eye slowly fell upon the dim torch on the other side of the bridge, his fingers slowly flowing into large ham sized fists.

The giant stepped forward towards the end of the bridge, his good eye locking on a hunched figure in the distance.

Time had made a fool of him more than once. It had taken his family from him, It had slaughtered his people, and it had yanked away his revenge when he'd been at it's cusp. He frowned for a moment, ears twitching with displeasure as he took his last step forward.

Thump.

He peered down at the smaller men, his expression bare, the Beskar armor on his shoulders unadorned.

Aryn had asked but one thing for his allegiance. He had asked for one boon, and this time he meant to have it.

 

[Darth Athora]

A lone Corona-class frigate landed upon the surface of Mandalore, just outside of what was once Sundari. The long hum of the engines dying down was all that could be heard from the vessel. But then, the ramp lowered. At the top of it stood Xyloxan, known as Subject 61 by those who experimented on the once mirialan. Behind him were a squad of mercenaries who he had banded together under him.

Xyloxan stepped down the ramp, with his men close behind him. Once his boots hit the dirt, he turned towards civilization and made his way there. His reasoning for being on this planet was his own. Rumors and whispers had reached his ears. Some were more wild than others, but they all told the same tale beneath their colorful words.

And then, a messenger came before Xyloxan. He looked up at the statuesque offshoot and gave his message. "At full moon. Blackgate." Xyloxan's face was still as he nodded at the messenger. The messenger ran off in search of others and Xyloxan went further into the village, towards the Blackgate.

The call was sent and Xyloxan had answered.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Fewer men have been wronged more than Preliat Mantis. Fewer men in the galaxy had endured what he had, and continued to push forward. Preliat did not know what he pushed for anymore. Truthfully, even the Wolf himself was not sure of where his brother, or he himself truly stood among his people. He had been burned, figuratively and literally by an act of betrayal by his own people. And the same who did him so wrong, were asking for his blessing, for his aid, for his support, for his loyalty.

How dare they.

Clan Viszla put out a call.

The worst Preliat could do was hear the man out.

The Wolf appeared with little fanfare, the sound of a speeder's engines dying marking his arrival. The moonlight cast a grim shadow over him. He approached the lit torches, but said nothing. He had nothing to say, but he had plenty to listen about.

 

[Joanes Quez]

As under Vizsla as his house was, Joanes would heed the call with nary a second thought. Reasons went into this, not the least of which were the reclamation of his catastrophied ancestral home by way of culture, and the end to she who still lived, one of two that were party to that destruction. The traitor Mereel was long-dead, meaning one less head to hunt down. Only a shame for the thrill he missed out on, having not been part of it. The youngest of his two daughters, Benita, remained at the homestead to tend to the flock, a thing for which her responsibility was increasing, in the wake of the ruin of Manda'yaim that pulled his own attention away from his family's work, in part, to see to those that fled and those that remained, that they would not suffer too much under duress of hunger. That too ran well enough without his oversight now, so that he might turn his sights to what laid deep in and heavy upon his heart and soul.

He tired of the squabbling that came to his ears from one source or another. The Mando'ade would be fixed by nothing other than a heavy hand. All else had failed.

His older daughter, Lyanie, manned the controls of the vessel that set down a short distance from the congregation point, carrying him and those men and women whom were of a scathing similarity of thought to his own mind, taken from the many he hosted on his land. He tucked his helm underneath one arm, glanced back towards his daughter through his group, and tipped his head once. "Stay with the ship. Do what you do best, ad'ika."

Minutes later, he and the few were under the same torchlight of a man who for all assurances had passed from this life, but one he felt a fire in his belly at the sight of. It was good. His only true shame was that his own son was not at his side.

 

[Scourge]

Scourge marched through shadowed alleys. His buy’ce was hidden within the recesses of his cowl. His hooded poncho rolled gently in the wind. He stepped upon the ashen earth of Manda’yaim carefully. His golden armor occasionally reflecting in the torch light. His arms hidden beneath the folds of his poncho, he gripped his sawed off Scattergun. Manda’yaim had not been the safest place to wander around in the dark since the breaking. But, Scourge had heard the call. Deathwatch needed him, and Scourge would answer. Even so, the lone voice nagged his conscience. She wormed her way through his mind and nestled herself at the forefront of his thoughts, weaving doubt and uncertainty.

It’s probably another trap She sang to him in her sweet melodious voice.

Whenever a fellow Mandalorian calls, I will always answer Scourge’s response was instantaneous, there was not a doubt in his mind about a Mandalorian’s place.

Like last time The woman mocked. This time Scourge did not answer so immediately. He was still unsure about what he had seen that day. Vod firing upon vod. After a time he deigned to answer

That woman and her followers are not Mandalorian. Merely upstart dar’manda Scourge told the voice finally. He had grown use to the Jedi that lounged within his mind. It was a terrible sentence for the both of them. A Jedi hunter, and Jedi, forever bound as one. It was a hardship scourge had learned to endure, but with each passing day the woman seemed to grow more bitter.

The woman scoffed and Scourge ignored her. He knew his duty. He knew those men and women were not Mandalorian. He didn't have to justify it to jetii scum. Still the woman had planted a seed of doubt and as Scourge marched through the alleys towards the blackgate his grasp on the sawed off grew even tighter. No matter how this turned out Scourge would not die here. He made his way to the bridge and began his crossing. He spotted the forms of others beginning to amass at the location and assumed it to be safe. Nonetheless his grip on his weapon did not lessen.

 

[Cato Fett]

Come and see.

Cato paused under the half-shadow of a tall, broken archway. The city entry was a minor merchants road, but it hooked onto the main thoroughfares, into the old bazaars and awned marketplaces. Message summoned for warriors, soldiers, any and all to come wait at the cornerstones of the Blackgate. He slid a hypo-needle out of a harness pouch and fed its short steel tooth between his shoulder and neck. A blood-warm numb traced through his still rawly savaged torso trunk. Medical recommendation asked for him to stay bed-ridden until a plasteel moulding could be printed and then surgically bolted to his loosened rib cage. Cato made do with a tight medicinal corset and copious bandaging. Pain he medicated with impromptu vial injections.

He was a pale spectre when he reached Blackgate. Passing fighters measured him, then strode along impassively. Another half-alive cripple limping on grit and the heat of pain, dime a dozen nowadays. His uniform was chalky with dust, with dark staining round a fitfully sewn patch, just above the diaphragm line. A dented slug-rifle with a torn barrel launch cylinder clattered under his arm. Cato found a vacant patch a meter before the gate’s highest capstone and came to a still. Then waited, swaying on his heels in the parching breeze.

He wanted to listen and reckon for himself.

 

[Silas Mantis]

Close behind [member="Preliat Mantis"], the younger of the wolves followed on speeder. They shared no words, but perhaps they shared purpose. Dismounting from his speeder, Silas neglected to remove his helmet, he was not the face of Clan Mantis, Preliat was, and recognition meant little to Silas anyway.

Shutting down the speeder with care, he turned and followed his brother to the lit torches at the Blackgate.

He didn't know the last time he'd seen Mandalore, it had been before the burning, before the carnage and death, before everything. It had almost been a happy place, in the Mandolorian sense anyway. Regardless he had once had family here, besides the grim figure trotting ahead of him. Underneath the helmet he could only look about at the others who arrived. There were many of them, all arriving to hear out Clan Vizla's words.

Silas was almost excited, he could feel something brewing here tonight under the pale light of the moon, something glorious, something worth fighting and dying for. Something truly Mandolorian.

 

[Lyanie Quez]

Engineer, mechanic, pilot, and single as feth, but her growing years being steeped in the strictest meaning of the Resol'nare made that last point significant, yet insignificant at the same time. She was less a soldier than those that gathered in a furtive way under the stark cover of night, but no less useful, and she climbed to perch herself atop the transport to watch, whether she could hear what was to be said or not. She reached the roof of the vessel, and dragged herself over the edge with a grunt, a light sheen of sweat upon her brow as she pulled herself to her feet, went to the bow, and sat herself down with her legs dangling over. She peered towards the Blackgate, her night vision acclimatising under once-light polluted atmosphere. Even then, she could see little more than shadowed figures. Good, then, that she brought the macrobinoculars up, too.

She'd have been in her own beskar'gam, but that climb would have been even more of a queen. Lyanie uncapped the wide ends of the viewing tubes, and pulled out a rag to clean away gunk and dirt. Whoever last used these, if she ever found out, would find her pulling on their ear, and not at all gentle. "Some karking people," she worked hard at the edges of the convex transparisteel left lens, until satisfied that her view would be as clear as could be managed. Bringing the 'nocs up to her eyes, she turned them on and checked her work, a grumble vibrating in her throat. "That's as good as it'll get. Fething smudges."

Then she turned her 'noc'd gaze to the gathering as it grew, and swept her view from one face to another, of those that were visible, only giving more pause to [member="Ra Vizsla"] and [member="Cato Fett"], for differing reasons. Like her father, it was a good thing to see the former, but the latter made her take a closer look. She wasn't the only one perched and separate, but it was more than that - the stance of his seated form indicated serious wear, or injury. No thought entered her mind on posture, because what matter was that to her, having never learned such? None, but an injured Mando'ad was something she had an eye for. She'd ran extraction for the war-battered before, so as an idle thing, she wondered what'd happened to this one. She increased magnification... ah, blood. No small stain either, and in a vital area. That was impressive in one way, and no surprise, for one of Manda'yaim's sons.

She also wondered what made him sit apart. There was more than one reason why that could be.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Ra's calling shocked him. He wasn't afraid of him, but he surprised to hear he was alive. Vilaz had been Ra's close, trusted lieutenants during the man's reign and the Munin gave him his loyalty.

Out of all the Sole Rulers he had served and answered to, none of them were as great as Ra.

So when the call was sent out, Vilaz and his clan were the few that raced to Mandalore to heed it.

The former Akaan arrived at Blackgate at the very front of a mixed crowd of Mandalorians that represented different clans. But he cared little who was here. WHat was important is that he was here, anxious to see the Mand'alor before him.

A Mand'alor that they needed.​

 

[Kad Tor]

They were not the same clan for Kad was the only of his clan to live, but he stood with [member="Vilaz Munin"]. Perhaps Kad's loyalty was misplaced, but he was the husband of his sister [member="Briika Tor"], and Kad would honor that above anything else. Kad was a leader in his own right as he'd taken to keeping the Dxun Outpost thriving. The lives which had decided to call the moon their home needed someone to follow, and Kad had become that.

Today was not about leadership or clans, but about righting the wrongs which had been done to his people. How could he stand with the woman who claimed to be the sole ruler of their people, the same woman who had claimed the lives of so many, included his parents? It was exactly that thought he voiced to [member="Artemis Lux"] before leaving Dxun. Kad would return, he wanted to return. Things had changed for him, and Artemis was even more part of who he was than she had been just weeks before. He did not need her permission to take action to avenge his parents, but he wanted her blessing nonetheless.

Drawing in a deep breath, Kad stood with his support to one organization he never thought he'd stand with. Kad Tor had joined the Death Watch. It was an eclectic group of warriors. He noticed some faces who had joined him on Dxun for a time. It was clear lines had been drawn a long time ago and Kad had been foolish enough to ignore what was in front of him the whole time. The Mando'ade were at war with each other.

[member="Lyanie Quez"] | [member="Silas Mantis"] | [member="Cato Fett"] | [member="Scourge"] | [member="Joanes Quez"] | [member="Preliat Mantis"] | @Xyloxanm | [member="Aryn Spar"] | [member="Ra Vizsla"]​

 

[Muad Dib]

Another day.

Another Mand'alor.

Another gathering of vode who journeyed to Manda'yaim under the pretense of unity.​

As the man rode the swoop across the plains he contemplated the Fate of his people. Two had risen to claim the title of Sole Ruler. The thought made him chuckle without amusement. The idiocy of claiming that title while others claimed it negated the very title itself. But no one said the mando'ade were logical.

Easing the swoop to a stop he removed his buy'ce and hooked it to his belt. He was here to listen to the man's words. A man that, by all accounts, had died. Of course in this galaxy it seemed no one ever stayed dead. Both the self proclaimed Mand'alor were formerly from the other side. A cliff note that did amuse him for a moment.

As he walked through the gate glowing, blue eyes saw the crowd gathering. It was easy to see the ones who lived on Manda'yaim and those who had come back to hear the man, Ra, speak. The devastation left it's mark in their eyes and on their armor. Grime covered his own beskar'gam from work with the restoration. It wasn't easy, but nothing worthwhile ever was.

Sliding along the wall he hopped onto one of the crumbled columns and scanned the crowd. He saw several who had been there to hear the 'Liberator' and his eyes narrowed slightly as he joined them in waiting. Did the Mad Knight expect anything from this fallen Mand'alor? Not really. But he had been planetside and, just as before, one who claimed the title of Mand'alor called and Muad answered. It was part of the resol'nare, the last rule of being mando'ad. So he had come to hear what this one had to say.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The youngest Mantis was sequestered away for some time by her parents, to learn something called 'propriety'. Although the six year old had no frothing clue what propriety was, she expected it had something to do with not stabbing her nanny. A third time, anyway. How the child stowed away on [member="Joanes Quez"]' ship was yet to be discovered, but discovered she'd been. Curled up in an engineering conduit with arms full of turkey jerky, and her tomahawk strapped to her back. Even though, the child earned her passage to [member="Ra Vizsla"]'s call, possibly because her blood lust was adorable. There were Mando'ade there!





Mando'ade had battles! Battles meant fights! Fights meant proving that although she was six, she wasn't a child. Did a child defend one's mother in Hell?





Still clutching a handful of jerky, Yasha Mantis walked out from behind Joanes, whom she'd followed into the event and tugged at his belt.





"Hey! Mister Scowl-Bird-Farmer-Tough-Guy! Look! Lookit! Mantis! I'm a Mantis! See? There's a... uh oh. Aw glitter pickles!" Yasha slammed her back against the backs of Joanes' legs. "It's my Buir! I'm not 'sposed to run off since the last time I tried to stab a Wookie!"





Stuffing her jerky into a side pocket of her loose trousers, the girl hit the deck, scampering through the host of boots to find a place to hide. Pity she kept her head down a bit too far.





"Quick, me! Who's the baddest goonie to challenge to a fight and prove I'm tougher than Mama making dinner! Eep! Stop tawkin' out loud, Yasha!" She sat up and slapped her forehead, half-braided hair scattered around her face. "Oh! I did it again!"





[member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Silas Mantis"]

 

[Tal Vizsla]

Everything looked different this time.

And not just from the destruction that had been wrought. It felt different too.

It was almost as though he was seeing it all for the very first time, even though he had a dozen memories of these places. His mind was finally clear of influence outside his own, and that gave the world a brand new clarity to him. His armor hissed as he released his buy'ce and pulled it free of his head, inhaling deeply of the air of Mandalore. The scents and tastes of this place were intoxicating to him. Was this what it felt like to truly be alive?

For the first time since he could remember, a smile split the Umbaran's face.

Yeah. This definitely felt like home.

Unfortunately, he wasn't here for sightseeing. He had been summoned by Mandalore and in the first choice he'd ever made that he could call his own, decided to heed that summons. So here he was, making his way through the city to the Blackgate, full moon diffused by the dome above. Which, honestly, he was grateful for. Others might find the illumination beneficial, but full moons were as bad for him as noonday sun for most. He preferred the dark.

He arrived at the gate with little fanfare, and noted the presence of the others that had already gathered to hear Mand'alor's words. He'd heard talk of another that had claimed the title, and also heard that the devastation wrought upon Mandalore had been her doing. Really though, he didn't care much about any of that. This was the Mandalore he knew, and this was the Mandalore he would follow.

[member="Ra Vizsla"]​

 

[Briika Munin]

As soon as the Tarka'yayr touched down and the engines ceased to roar, Briika Tor exited the cockpit and followed her husband off their shared ship in like mind and step as they came for the True Sole Ruler's rallying cry to the Vode of Mandalore. It did not matter to Bree any longer that she would be joining Death Watch; the very faction that killed her and [member="Kad Tor"]'s elder brother. That was long ago. This was now, and something or more so someone had to be stopped and held accountable for their unspeakable deeds against their own.

[member="Vilaz Munin"]'s stride may have been longer than the petite blonde wearing a suit of silver armor by his side as they approached the Blackgate yet hers was even more determine to seek justice or more so vengeance upon the traitor of the Mando'ade. Even the mere utterance of this False Mand'alor's name made the Tor's blood boil. Briika's parents along with the other innocents killed that fateful day would be avenged; they being murdered in cold blood from afar for twisted reasons. The dalyc hut'uun would pay one way or another. And if di'kuts who followed the woman blindly got in Briika's way, they would receive the same fate. The Tor was done playing nice.

A helmeted nod was all the seasoned baar'ur gave to her brother and those she knew from past encounters awaiting [member="Ra Vizsla"]'s return from the ashes to lead the Mandalorians to glory once again as the man had before. There would be time later to talk. Now was the time to listen.

Spoiler

The hatred Briika feels for Mia I assure you is all IC. No OCC salt intended here or in future writings.

 

[Malok]

He thought the game had ended.

He thought the pieces clashing on the board had come to an end. The ivory king had tasted victory. He had broken the Sith. He had broken the Republic. Yet, his own demise was what concluded the Crusade. The best hope for the Mandalorian people died with [member="Ra Vizsla"]. All that came after were vain attempts at keeping a sinking vessel afloat. It was hard to look upon the work of one's hands in such a matter, but even Darth Metus had to be honest with himself. All that he did. All that the young Munin had done. All that the Liberator had done...It could not compare to the victories Ra won.

It could not compare to the chit that man got done.

He silenced the bureaucratic Alors.

He put to the sword the enemies or Mandalore.

And now, he Lived.

Submission never came easy for the Sith. He was never the sort to bow or blindly follow. He was always the sort to carve out his own path, to always lead his own. But in this regard, there was no denying the truth. To look upon Ra was to see the personification of everything he had worked for. Ra Vizsla was a united Mandalore. Ra Vizsla was a people who were feared across the stars. Ra Vizsla would not be slowed or halted by the whims of bloated Clans. And so Darth Metus had answered the call.

To witness.

To follow.

To see Mandalore restored.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

S U N D A R I​

Blackgate​

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Ra looked around the crowd that had slowly formed as the moon reflected above the Black Gate. He shuffled his shoulders, standing in his full armor, aside from his helmet which remained in his hands.

The wolfskin cloak that adorned his shoulders swept the ground as he walked to the middle of the congregation.

"My name..."​

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Ra narrowed his eyes, looking around the circle.​

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"....is Ra Vizsla, and I live."​

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He gave pause, to let that sink in.​

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"I fell during the cataclysm at Castameer. I awoke on Echoy'la, months later. The Gods have granted me a second chance at life, but time betrayed me of my people.​

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My pilgrimage since has led me back to Manda'yaim, where I have watched.​

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And observed.​

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And witnessed."​

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His eyes fell to Vilaz and Isley, and he scowled. He spoke to the crowd, but his following words seemed directed to very specific individuals in the crowd.​

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"I gave you my life's work. We had united the Clans. We had never been stronger.​

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It seems that the corruption we sought to end has returned tenfold.​

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The apathy of the Alors.​

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The degradation of our bloodlines.​

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The cancerous greed that we, together, evicted with the Crusades.​

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The destruction of our homeworld.​

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In my absence, you allowed this to happen.​

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You have no one to blame.​

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You alone shoulder this burden.​

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But the gods have seemingly brought me back to help ease it's weight,​

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and I return to you."​

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His helmet was solemnly placed upon his head, and the T-visor illuminated a bright red.​

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"Let those who would challenge my rule as Mand'alor step forward, now."​

 

[Subject 37]

Aryn said nothing, did nothing, his fingers twitched, his claws extending only the slightest bit, but he said nothing.

The Togorian slowly peered around the crowd, his ears twitching as his eye glanced from person to person. Some around him he recognized, others he'd never seen before. The words the Mand'alor spoke stung, like willow wasps biting into the flesh. The head of Clan Spar said nothing, but his claws slowly dug into the palm of his hands.

Blood began to trickle.

He was right of course. Whether he spoke to him or not, it didn't matter. After Ra's disappearance things had fallen apart. Everything had been torn apart, the clans, the unification, all of it. The Republic and others had been sundered, but their destruction was not enough. His ears slowly twitched again, edging back slightly as his claws ceased their incessant digging into his own flesh. A rumble erupted from his throat, a low growl that spoke of displeasure.

Mandalore had been destroyed, and they had allow it.

Aryn said nothing, he only watched, waited. The Togorian had never wanted the title of Mand'alor, had never wanted or deigned himself to be the final leader of their people. He had only ever wanted one thing. Aryn waited for someone to speak, to move, to do anything at all.

 

[Strider Garon]

Strider wasn't around for Ra's rule, he was on ice till his brother gathered the resources to save his life. That being said, when he did return back to the living he had heard the sagas and all that he had done for the mandalorians. Was understandable to bare his disappointment for how far they as a culture had fallen. The mandalorians were their own worst enemies and a unthinkable price had been paid for it. Their treasured planet had been devastated by three mandalorians that justified their actions in the name of defeating complacency and the weakening state the mando'ade were in, trying to light a fire to ignite the beasts with in. An action the guilty will pay with their lives.

Now, Strider was already sold on the idea of Ra before he had even showed up to hear him out. Other choice was Mia the traitor and self proclaimed mand'alor which he had just recently tried to kill. He had waited so long for her to rise her head from hiding to get a chance at exacting vengeance for her role in the destruction of mandalore. They were so close in getting her and now her narrow escape haunts his thoughts almost every minute of the day. The physical wounds of that day were still fresh, but he showed no sign of suffering for had mastered the art of the 'Cold Face'. Then again, nobody would really notice since his face was scarred and ugly prior to the attack and the rest of his body was clad in armor, minus a jetpack that was destroyed.

Maybe this failure to capture or kill Mia will compound with past failures and the mighty Ra may not show favor to him or any of those that were involved. The burden of failure was always a hard cut to bare, but he could not afford to keep dwelling on it. He had to remind himself there will be other opportunities for success and victory. The was a plan in motion, he just had to be patient and see where he fell in the order of things. How the ex Field Marshal best serve the interest of the Death Watch.

 

[Riggs]

He had arrived, just another beskar armored figure among many. His buy'ce rested under one arm as he leaned against the wall watching and listening. It was always thus with him. Not a man of words he let his actions speak for him.

The proclaimed Mand'alor stood and began his speech which held sway over the gathered. It wasn't difficult to see that some gazed hungrily upon the figure of Ra in something akin to a fanatical fervor. The man who became Mand'alor and led their people to heights before his death was known among the mando'ade. The fact that he had returned from the grave, though not as unique as it could sound, was awe worthy enough to draw in the fervent mando'ad searching for something greater then what they had become.

The fact that there were several others that claimed the title of 'Sole Ruler' didn't deter the many from making the pilgrimage to the desecration that had become Manda'yaim in order to listen with hope.

Perhaps that was why Marev had returned himself. More likely it was the resurgence of Mia, the destroyer of Manda'yaim, that had prompted the man's return. He was on the surface that day, with his wife and newborn son. The synthetic skin upon his right arm tightened as his right hand clenched. Memories of fire flashing through his mind's eye and causing the phantom pains to throb.

Yes, he was here to listen to the return of Ra. But what he wanted was to see the final death of the one called Mia the Liberator.