They say that after every storm, there’s a rainbow. Walking through the streets of Sundari, Venku had to agree. The fires had been put out, the bodies had been removed, and though the city was still in ruins it was already healing. Things weren’t perfect, but they were getting there.
The stars glittered above, shining through an atmosphere that was clear of smog for the first time in years. He’d seen this view on hundreds of planets now, but something about being here, being home on Manda’yaim made it ten times more stunning than anywhere else in the galaxy. As he walked the lantern lit street, the teen could make out the scent of smoke and sound of music ahead. His people celebrated their victory and the sound of it eased a tension in his chest. His people celebrated, so he would join them. Work could wait for one night.
Soon the trail of hanging lanterns gave way to fire light and the street opened to a wide clearing near the edge of the city. Rubble was stacked on the far side from when they had cleared out the space for the party. Looking at the large crowd, it was a good thing they’d done so, or they wouldn’t be able to hold half the people here.
In the middle of the clearing stood a large bonfire. Inside burned chairs, rubble, uniforms, and anything with the Empires insignia. They had raided the now empty sith fortress to make the fire and the view of its components burning merrily brought no small amount of vindictive glee. Mandalorians gathered around the fire. Some danced, feet moving in time with the music. Others drank and joked, hovering around the bar, a couple of fold out tables stacked with drinks, or scattered around the clearing. Out of the corner of his eye, Venku saw a ugnaught trying to lift a beskar’kad easily the size of a human and half as heavy as its male members. Judging by the cackling wookie beside him, he could probably guess who the blade belonged to.
Stepping away from the safety of his quiet street, Venku approaches the smaller cooking fires with their meats and soups and who knows what else positioned above it. It had been too ling since he last ate and his stomach growled in protest. Beside the fires stood more fold out tables, each one stacked with soups and meats and breads and other kinds of mandalorian cuisine.
“Coming through!” So focused was he on the food that the togorian didn’t even notice the gaggle of teens running past him, bags clutched in their hands. His world spun to the left as the first one clipped his shoulder only to spin once more as three more knocked into him. A hasty “Sorry!” Was thrown his way as they rushed on, precious cargo cradled in their arms. The group skidded to a stop before the statue of the Sith Emperor. It stood alone at the far side of the clearing. Already graffiti filled the tall platform and the lower legs. Laughing and giggling, they dropped their bags, producing cans of spray paint from its interior. Venku watched as the metal tubes flew through the air, tossed between the teens as they each laid claim on a specific color. The exchange took only a few seconds before they descended on the statue, paying their appropriate respect to the former ruler of the planet.
Chuckling, the togorian turned back to his task. It took a blessedly short time to reach the food and even less time for Venku to snatch up a plate of Tiingilar. The casserole burned as it slid down his throat. How long had it been since he’d celebrated with his people? How long had it been since he simply let himself enjoy something. It must have been before the battle. The next bite settled in his gut like an iron ball, dragging him down and stealing his appetite. Venku dropped the plate onto the table, leaving the sparsely eaten casserole behind. He stumbled blindly through the crowd, trying hard not to puke. “You okay, vod?” A young twi’lek leaned down from the statue, frowning at him as her companion painted a rude gesture on the statue's tree trunk like leg. “Lek!” The word slipped out of his mouth with a watery smile. The look she gave him only made the weight in his gut worsen. “I got an extra can of you want to join us!” Glancing back towards the bonfire and crowd of people, Venku considered the offer. He didn’t know these people, they didn’t know him. Yet they ask him to join them? He should just go back to the bonfire, grab a drink, and maybe find a friend. People crowded around the fire, talking, laughing, dancing, drinking. They huddled close together, leaving little room between them. The mass of bodies writhed and twisted as those within it danced. No, he couldn’t dive into their midst. He would die of asphyxiation as those around him stole his air.
Looking back at the girl, he smiled again, an easier thing, though not as free as it once was. “Why not?” She helped him up onto the platform, hauling him up the last foot when his arms began to ache from exhaustion. It happened faster than it should, and the look she gave him told him she knew it too. A neon blue spray can was pressed into his hands. “I’m Aiyin’atavagi.”
It was a traditional twi’lek name, though in mandalorian culture that meant nothing. For all he knew, she could have been adopted just as easily as she could have been born and raised mandalorian but been given a traditional twi’lek name as a nod to the parents racial culture . “I’m Venku.” Flipping the can around, he began to spray. The neon blue paint reminded him of Xan, with her painfully colorful clothes and makeup. The memory brought a smile to his face and lightened the weight in his gut. As the other teens laughed and joked around him, asking him questions and pulling him into their conversations. It was halfway through explaining the plot of his book that he realized this could be fun after all.
Objective one: Set up near the bar is a long table that has obviously been dragged out of the Sith fortress. Lined up along this table are mugs of ale and a sign identifying it as a “drinking contest.”
Objective two: Far away from the fire and crowds is a ring made of chalk. Several people surround the ring as two spar inside. It wouldn’t be a mandalorian party without a few brawls.
Objective three: Bring your own objective
The stars glittered above, shining through an atmosphere that was clear of smog for the first time in years. He’d seen this view on hundreds of planets now, but something about being here, being home on Manda’yaim made it ten times more stunning than anywhere else in the galaxy. As he walked the lantern lit street, the teen could make out the scent of smoke and sound of music ahead. His people celebrated their victory and the sound of it eased a tension in his chest. His people celebrated, so he would join them. Work could wait for one night.
Soon the trail of hanging lanterns gave way to fire light and the street opened to a wide clearing near the edge of the city. Rubble was stacked on the far side from when they had cleared out the space for the party. Looking at the large crowd, it was a good thing they’d done so, or they wouldn’t be able to hold half the people here.
In the middle of the clearing stood a large bonfire. Inside burned chairs, rubble, uniforms, and anything with the Empires insignia. They had raided the now empty sith fortress to make the fire and the view of its components burning merrily brought no small amount of vindictive glee. Mandalorians gathered around the fire. Some danced, feet moving in time with the music. Others drank and joked, hovering around the bar, a couple of fold out tables stacked with drinks, or scattered around the clearing. Out of the corner of his eye, Venku saw a ugnaught trying to lift a beskar’kad easily the size of a human and half as heavy as its male members. Judging by the cackling wookie beside him, he could probably guess who the blade belonged to.
Stepping away from the safety of his quiet street, Venku approaches the smaller cooking fires with their meats and soups and who knows what else positioned above it. It had been too ling since he last ate and his stomach growled in protest. Beside the fires stood more fold out tables, each one stacked with soups and meats and breads and other kinds of mandalorian cuisine.
“Coming through!” So focused was he on the food that the togorian didn’t even notice the gaggle of teens running past him, bags clutched in their hands. His world spun to the left as the first one clipped his shoulder only to spin once more as three more knocked into him. A hasty “Sorry!” Was thrown his way as they rushed on, precious cargo cradled in their arms. The group skidded to a stop before the statue of the Sith Emperor. It stood alone at the far side of the clearing. Already graffiti filled the tall platform and the lower legs. Laughing and giggling, they dropped their bags, producing cans of spray paint from its interior. Venku watched as the metal tubes flew through the air, tossed between the teens as they each laid claim on a specific color. The exchange took only a few seconds before they descended on the statue, paying their appropriate respect to the former ruler of the planet.
Chuckling, the togorian turned back to his task. It took a blessedly short time to reach the food and even less time for Venku to snatch up a plate of Tiingilar. The casserole burned as it slid down his throat. How long had it been since he’d celebrated with his people? How long had it been since he simply let himself enjoy something. It must have been before the battle. The next bite settled in his gut like an iron ball, dragging him down and stealing his appetite. Venku dropped the plate onto the table, leaving the sparsely eaten casserole behind. He stumbled blindly through the crowd, trying hard not to puke. “You okay, vod?” A young twi’lek leaned down from the statue, frowning at him as her companion painted a rude gesture on the statue's tree trunk like leg. “Lek!” The word slipped out of his mouth with a watery smile. The look she gave him only made the weight in his gut worsen. “I got an extra can of you want to join us!” Glancing back towards the bonfire and crowd of people, Venku considered the offer. He didn’t know these people, they didn’t know him. Yet they ask him to join them? He should just go back to the bonfire, grab a drink, and maybe find a friend. People crowded around the fire, talking, laughing, dancing, drinking. They huddled close together, leaving little room between them. The mass of bodies writhed and twisted as those within it danced. No, he couldn’t dive into their midst. He would die of asphyxiation as those around him stole his air.
Looking back at the girl, he smiled again, an easier thing, though not as free as it once was. “Why not?” She helped him up onto the platform, hauling him up the last foot when his arms began to ache from exhaustion. It happened faster than it should, and the look she gave him told him she knew it too. A neon blue spray can was pressed into his hands. “I’m Aiyin’atavagi.”
It was a traditional twi’lek name, though in mandalorian culture that meant nothing. For all he knew, she could have been adopted just as easily as she could have been born and raised mandalorian but been given a traditional twi’lek name as a nod to the parents racial culture . “I’m Venku.” Flipping the can around, he began to spray. The neon blue paint reminded him of Xan, with her painfully colorful clothes and makeup. The memory brought a smile to his face and lightened the weight in his gut. As the other teens laughed and joked around him, asking him questions and pulling him into their conversations. It was halfway through explaining the plot of his book that he realized this could be fun after all.
Objectives
Objective one: Set up near the bar is a long table that has obviously been dragged out of the Sith fortress. Lined up along this table are mugs of ale and a sign identifying it as a “drinking contest.”
Objective two: Far away from the fire and crowds is a ring made of chalk. Several people surround the ring as two spar inside. It wouldn’t be a mandalorian party without a few brawls.
Objective three: Bring your own objective
