Daughter of Fen
The wayward Angel glided through hyperspace to Mandalore. She was running again, tail between her legs, her pride wounded and physically scarred for life. Twice now Darth Moridin had thwarted her, twice he had smashed her helmet, only this time he had gotten her with it.
She had been foolish to go after him. She hadn’t delivered his message to the Rebuilder; she had been arrogant and believed she could kill him. That she alone could protect Mandalore from the hell that was to come. Her arrogance had only been fuelled by the fact he was already occupied with two others, a zabrak who she believed to have been the smuggler Elias; and Darren, a freelance Jedi she had crossed paths with before. She could have slipped in, and finished him, but she jumped in too early.
As she lay on her bunker, she rethought every move, tried to understand what she could have done differently, how she could have one, yet every scenario she ran through ended up the same; with Moridin escaping. The gash across her face ran from her left cheek, across the bridge of her nose and up above her right eyebrow. She had cleaned it up as best she could and covered it in as much bacta salve as humanely possible but there was no way she avoiding a permanent scar.
The hyperdrive alarm trilled through the ship an she reluctantly rolled from the bunk and padded bare foot to the bridge in time to see the stars reappear. Mandalore loomed before them making her stomach tie into knots. “Set a course for Kedalbe and send a message to the Rebuilder or anyone close enough to get a message to him. Tell them I need to speak with them urgently and let me know when the reply.” She told bandit who gave an affirmative whistle in reply.
Mia left him to control the ship and found herself some fresh clothes, black combats and a fitted black t-shirt, she paused to glimpse at her face in the mirror and felt a fresh wave of anger at what she saw. The bacta slave had sped up the clotting of the blood at least so the gash had scabbed over but it was still awful to look at. She felt a lump form in her throat and wondered when she had become so vain.
Half an hour later she had shaken off herself pity and descended the boarding ramp with R9 beside her and a datapad in hand containing a full report on Moridin or at least as full as she could get, ready to meet whomever it was the Rebuilder had sent to meet her.
She had been foolish to go after him. She hadn’t delivered his message to the Rebuilder; she had been arrogant and believed she could kill him. That she alone could protect Mandalore from the hell that was to come. Her arrogance had only been fuelled by the fact he was already occupied with two others, a zabrak who she believed to have been the smuggler Elias; and Darren, a freelance Jedi she had crossed paths with before. She could have slipped in, and finished him, but she jumped in too early.
As she lay on her bunker, she rethought every move, tried to understand what she could have done differently, how she could have one, yet every scenario she ran through ended up the same; with Moridin escaping. The gash across her face ran from her left cheek, across the bridge of her nose and up above her right eyebrow. She had cleaned it up as best she could and covered it in as much bacta salve as humanely possible but there was no way she avoiding a permanent scar.
The hyperdrive alarm trilled through the ship an she reluctantly rolled from the bunk and padded bare foot to the bridge in time to see the stars reappear. Mandalore loomed before them making her stomach tie into knots. “Set a course for Kedalbe and send a message to the Rebuilder or anyone close enough to get a message to him. Tell them I need to speak with them urgently and let me know when the reply.” She told bandit who gave an affirmative whistle in reply.
Mia left him to control the ship and found herself some fresh clothes, black combats and a fitted black t-shirt, she paused to glimpse at her face in the mirror and felt a fresh wave of anger at what she saw. The bacta slave had sped up the clotting of the blood at least so the gash had scabbed over but it was still awful to look at. She felt a lump form in her throat and wondered when she had become so vain.
Half an hour later she had shaken off herself pity and descended the boarding ramp with R9 beside her and a datapad in hand containing a full report on Moridin or at least as full as she could get, ready to meet whomever it was the Rebuilder had sent to meet her.