Pillar of Salt

[Preliat Mantis]

​

"Stay close- there are things here that do not wish us to be here. Things beyond our understanding."

Preliat's dense cloak, which protected him from the sand and the brutal sun, stood over his simple spacer clothes. He opted not to wear his armor, due to the intense heat of the barren landscape. He looked down at the ruined city below, where he survived the orbital campaign from Captain Larraq. The man brought an asteroid down on a planet, crippling the Sith. Preliat's life had taken a turn here, he'd cemented his place in the galaxy as a brutal warrior. He knocked a Sith off a building here, and barely escaped himself.

Yet here he was, with his daughter- on Dromund Kaas. Once, the prime of the Sith Empire. Now, they resurfaced and they were up to their old ways. As were the Mandalorians. But Preliat had brought his daughter here, a surprise trip. He'd told her little, only that he wanted her to see something important to him. They came to the entrance to the grounds of a great Empire- or at least, where it's cultural center once stood. Now, it lay in ruins. Preliat looked at the impressive structures, passively. It was much more violent the last time he was here. Now- dead silent.

There had been efforts to rebuild what the Sith had lost here, but this part remained untouched since the war so long ago, before Yasha was born. Preliat reached up to his hood and pulled it down, and took in a deep breath. The air was hot and jagged, like breathing in shards of glass. Hardly a place to live. He deduced that the Sith did not live here, but merely survived.

He looked down at his daughter, [member="Yasha Mantis"].

"Do you know why I have brought you here, Yasha?"

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“I will stay close, Daddy. Promise.” [member="Preliat Mantis"]’ daughter indeed stayed close to her father, wrapping her pale olive fingers into his worn palm. A surprise trip! Something important to her father?

Yasha ran full tilt to prepare. She forewent her armour for spacer clothes, appearing with her raven hair in a messy ponytail on the top of her head. Her cloak matched Ra’s, cut from the same cloth and as she tugged the top of it over her messy hair. Yasha searched from right to left, creeping closer to his side as the sand whipped and cut through the arid air and lashed at her face.

She saw the former seat of Sith power through the visor her mother made her, a series of darker pinks, oranges, and the brown and greys of sand. The sand melted, swam and cut. Ruins around them shuddered into her with the herald of their wars, tales of horror and battle. All that mattered was her father’s attention and the lesson he brought to teach. The girl knew better since they lost her mother, than to ask perpetual questions or speak extraneously.

“No, but I like travelling with you… even in a dust bowl.” As she peered up at her father’s chin, Yasha’s visor controlled the amount of light which pooled in. While the years she spent in the Netherworld became proportionately lessened with each passing day, Preliat’s daughter remained debilitated by daylight. Yet, the more time she spent with her father, and the Mando’ade, the more their ‘Little Rekr’ withstood a greater amount of light. The hope that her sight would continue to improve was as virulent as the hope for Manda’yaim’s rebuilding.

“Where are we, father?”

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"This is what used to be the seat of power, the full measure and might of the Sith Empire- the one that came before. When the Republic stood tall, and our people did not stand under Ra. At the time, Mandalore the Destroyer was our leader."

He continued on, speaking as he went. He moved like a wolf, a man born on sands. The desert was all too familiar for him, his feet used to spreading his weight evenly among the sand as to better balance himself, as to better move.

"This was the throne of many Emperors of the Empire, however-" Preliat pushed on a ruined door, blown apart when the Mandalorians pushed into the temple. "This is where power lay to the Sith. And now it stands in ruins. The Sith put their faith in monuments, in memories. In power only fleeting and temporary, only held by the strongest. However, the thing with the Sith, the Jedi, all of them- is that their strength, is subject to time. Eventually, they have an enemy that is more powerful and grows full of envy for what they hold. For the Sith, that was the idea of the Republic- and for the Republic, it was the threat of the Sith. And thus...lead the war here between the Sith and our people. A result of alliances and foolish notions of camaraderie."

He crouched down, and collected dust and ash into his hands.

"The throne in which Gilamar and I destroyed is not far from here. I do not wish to go there again. This temple will serve as due reminder yet, Yasha. What do you think I am attempting to teach you- to show you?"

He stood tall, and let the ash fall from his hands, into the stone below. If the two of them could feel the force, they would be nauseated by the darkness within.

[member="Yasha Mantis"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Ra wasn’t always Mand’alor? Who was better?” The necklace Ra gave Preliat’s daughter hung perpetually around Yasha’s neck. She utterly refused to take it off. It was a gift that reminded Ra of his mother, a talisman to banish fear. Yasha clutched it in her hand, to protect it from a wash of sand.

While the desert sands met [member="Preliat Mantis"] like a long missed family member, his daughter’s feet held no recollection. Yasha stumbled at first, clinging to her father’s hand to keep herself from sliding around too much as the sand got in her boots. The girl’s chin was set in a grim jutting line as she watched how her father moved. If she watched closer, if she copied how he did it, then maybe his Yasha could walk on sand, too.

“The Sith used to live here? Like [member="Darth Carnifex"]? He smiled funny, like there’s a bunch of stuff he knew that nobody else did…” After returning from the diplomatic discussions with Ra and Aryn, Yasha had more than a few questions about their Epicanthix lineage. Why did the Mantis brothers come to Mandalore? As ever the sound of her father’s voice was a constant and near omnipotent calm to the girl’s nerve. She soaked it in, easing herself day by day into a less frenetic pace and personality.

Pressing her lips together, Yasha stared at the ash on its’ way curling through the air to the ground. It seemed to defy the currents around them, flicking in protest in time with the thudding darkness of the wicked place. A girl’s brow knit as she walked in the abandoned temple and scanned right to left across the ruins.

“The empire’s stuff got ruined, but… the people didn’t all die, did they? But you said their strength was temporary, so that can’t be it…” Yasha bit her lips and clenched her fists, gurgling out a disappointed grunt at her own inner failings. Why couldn’t she get it!? Daddy wanted to teach her something and she didn’t understand and why would he want his little girl to be incapable of understanding? Her shoulders rose as she tried to calm down the momentary panic of potentially disappointing her father.

No. Just breathe and check around. Figure out what she did know, and use it. It was the best lesson Preliat taught his daughter so far, to keep present in the moment, quiet and still, and take stock on what one did or did not have. To scan and reevaluate… not to panic like Mama. Not to get scared like a ghost cast in the void.

Yasha’s shoulders descended, her fists unclenching as she calmed and watched around her, cautious and open to the lesson of this place.

“What strength isn’t subject to time, Daddy? If all these battles are like the Sith’s power, then they won’t last. Things’ll go up and down and up again all the time… where does that leave us? How do we know what Ra or any leader’s doing is right? How can I protect you if anything I do is going to get turned to ash someday when I'm not the strong one?”

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"Strength, when measured through what the Sith value and perceive as strength- fades with time. But the Mandalorians-" He paused and sat down on a piece of rubble. He was getting older, standing and walking took more out of the man than it used to. He looked around the room, before speaking again. "Our strength is not from Ra's, is not from any Mandalore, the planet we call home or what battles we won or lost. The Mandalorians themselves, the idea of the Mandalorian, is what gives us strength." He tapped the ground with his foot and collected more ash with his hands, letting it fall again.

"The Mandalorians are not a race, I would hesitate to even call us a people. I would say that the Mandalorians are in fact, an idea. An idea that has survived and been subject to every horror there is- and yet we survive." He looked upwards at the roof, at the intricate carvings on it. "The Sith, the Jedi- every iteration of them that comes after one falls, is different than the other. Whether it be ideals or practice, the Sith and the Jedi that are in our time are vastly different than the Sith and Jedi of the old times." He looked back at Yasha.

"The Mandalorians- have not changed our ways. We still follow the resol'nare. We still wear the armor, and win our battles. Because the Mandalorians contain an absolute, unflinching resolve. Something that the Republic, the Sith Empire, the One Sith- and all those who came before, and all those who will come after-" The ash fell from his hand.

"Will not have. And can not have, in the sense that we have. Because the Mandalorians endure, and survive and prosper- while everyone else simply makes their way in the galaxy. No matter how far you push the Mandalorians- as long as there is one Mandalorian left, then there will be a Mando'ade- something that the Jedi, the Sith, the Empires that dot our galaxy, can not, and will not ever understand."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Did Mama die because she didn’t like the idea of Mandalorians?” She remembered little more than her mother’s fear, than Aditya’s avid desire to leave Mandalore, to save [member="Preliat Mantis"] from his nightmares and their Yasha from a life at war.

Her father spoke of horrors, of terror the Mandalorians survived. Cocking her head to the side, Yasha bit her lower lip and sucked on it. Whatever horrors the Mando’ade endured had little on living through the Netherworld. If they were all survivors of horrors, why did others treat her different? Yasha kept her silence and searched the ruined place for some divine meaning which could guide her through her father’s words. He looked old. Older than his birthdays put together in a row, and that more than anything was the horror which terrified Yasha in the night. Preliat needed to be protected, he needed to be healed of his pains.

“I’m going to be Mand’alor someday.” Yasha spoke with an assurance many in the galaxy would call prophetic. Had she not been Force Dead, one might wonder. “I’m going to protect you. The other kids don’t like me. They’re like a herd of bantha when a shriek hawk shows up, bleeting together... their parents look at me like you look at these ruins... but you don’t look at me like that. Uncle [member="Silas Mantis"] doesn’t. Neither does Ra or Strider. Are the kids Mando’ade? Do I have to protect them too? They’d never make it in a battle, they’re silly kids. Think just cause they can fire a rifle on a range they can fight. They’re like Mama... put them in danger and they hide in a hole until someone else fights the monster. She didn’t like it when I fought the monsters... but when we couldn’t hide, she fought harder than I did. It would’ve made you proud. I don’t understand Daddy. Why did Mama stop fighting when we got home? Why didn’t she wear her armour? What about the Resol’nare? How do I protect all of you if someone else can shoot it all away or nuke it out of existence? Why do all the Sith and Jedi think the only way to make it is to be the only ones left?! What does the Resol’nare mean when everyone keeps dying?”

Since her earliest days, Preliat’s daughter curled her innermost thoughts to her chest and wore them like armourweave. The moment she realized her mother was gone, Yasha kept quiet. Silent as her mother’s grave. It took Preliat bringing her to a decaying former war zone for his daughter to break open the shell and speak. “I try so hard, Daddy, and the only people who aren’t scared of me are you, Uncle Silas, and Ra. Even [member="Kaden Mantis"] and Auntie [member="Malika Mantis"]’s afraid of me. Why can’t I be Mandalorian like everybody else? What am I? Am I a monster like Kaine Zambrano? He made it out of the Netherworld, too. I remember.”

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"Your mother died because Mia Monroe and other conspirators plotted to bring Mandalore to it's knees."

He replied curtly, and ran a hand through his hair, before looking over his daughter. Strength matched only by beauty. The spitting image of her mother. He frowned- recalling many things about her mother in a singular instance. And how much Aditya had missed, and the direction in which Yasha was growing. She was becoming fast a woman beyond her years- to which she already was, in most regards. He turned his head to the horizon.

"I do not doubt you will lead the Mandalorians to greatness, if you but only willed it."

He watched his daughter go on her tangent, his ears processing the rapid rate at which her mouth was displaying her thoughts. Yasha took after him, being so reserved and so private with her thoughts. Preliat stood and crouched to be eye level with his daughter, before embracing her in a warm, honest hug.

"You are no more a monster than I. People will always fear the unknown and change. You are different, Yasha. You always have and always will be. Death and life are cyclic. I will pass, as will you. It is what we do with our time between those two dates is what marks our legacy on the galaxy." He cupped his daughter's fragile head in his hands.

"You have done more than most do in a lifetime and you have not yet even become a true adult. Embrace who you are and what makes you different, Yasha. It is what makes you strong. You are nothing like Kaine- you are Yasha Mantis, born of fire and so strong that hell itself could not kill you. The Netherworld fears your return, Yasha. That much I know."

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, and then measured up what he could of a smile.

"People fear me- not for who I am, Yasha, but what I have done and what I can do. That is what they are afraid of."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“I’m glad Ra killed Monroe… but I’m sad we didn’t get to do it. I’m mad I wasn’t big enough to stick my tomahawk in her face.” She let a further sadness hang in the air… through the war [member="Preliat Mantis"] killed Jasper, went off to a funeral, the more Yasha pictured the battles of the Civil War, the more she knew her father through his absence. The child fought more than her proper share. She battled and survived… Ra took care of her. [member="Silas Mantis"] took care of her. [member="Malika Mantis"] helped save her. Yasha took care of herself, and when she woke from her near fatal sniper shot wound, it was [member="Kaden Mantis"] who waited by her bedside. Grief shunted Preliat away, vengeance took him as it would always take Clan Mantis. There was no member of the Mantis family without a hotly coiled threat of violence, and yet there was no war nor distance which would rob her of the assurance of her father’s love.

“I do will it. Who could challenge a grown Mantis and win?” The scar on his face meant nothing but a single sign that Yasha had to fight harder to protect an aging man. In her childishness, she could not see how fervently he protected her in all things. Yet, those days of the awakening intellect were coming. Yasha was a girl growing, and before she blinked, she would be the woman Aditya never saw coming. Preliat’s arms wound around her and Yasha remembered what safety felt like, she remembered how vulnerable and wonderful being someone’s daughter made her. While most Mandalorians considered vulnerability a sin, within the armour of her father’s embrace, Yasha let herself be made into the weak and fumbling child she was.

“I love you, Daddy.” Yasha wasn’t a sentimental enough child to throw her arms around her father. Not any longer. That time had passed with Aditya, obliterated by the civil war, by her father and Ra’s tutelage. Her arms threaded around his chest as far as she could reach, purposeful and tight. She tried to cover a sniffle as the ash of Dromund Kaas filtered around the ruin.

When he cupped her face, she turned her eyes down, smashing her lips together in an attempt to be as tough as he was. As unrelenting as the Wolf.

“I don’t want you to die… I’d raze the Netherworld to ash to get you back. I’d find a way… like Ra. Like your Yasha.” He spoke of natural cycles, life and death at the centre of the constant wax and wane of the universe and Yasha pondered it all in her heart. She defeated death before. She clawed her and her wounded mother’s way back before it could claim them. To hear that death was as natural as living, as welcome in some was a bitter liquid in her cup.

“Can we do good things too, Daddy? Or is this it? Warriors waiting on another war?” Preliat was more correct than he realized. The Netherworld spat her out for a reason. Yasha hid her truth in her heart… Aditya… Aditya had to die for Yasha to be freely capable of taking up arms. There was a beautiful curse in Preliat’s daughter, a curse of her genetics and her nurturing years.

“So people aren’t scared of me, but what I did? What I can do? Makes me feel a little better, I guess… did the Mandalorians destroy this place because of what the Sith can do? Is this what fake power gets you?” In the back of her mind, a whisper dug trenches and planted the seeds of a thought. To defeat Death, Yasha became Dead to the Force… was there still a piece of her in the dying lands? Was she twice accursed, like the Sith or Jedi? Would she ever even be able to die? Her cheek nuzzled into his hand, fingers twining around his arm to stay as close to her father as possible. The burdens of her short life were lifting, succoured by her father’s cognizance and his faith. The coiling ache of her mother’s passing was finally beginning to uncoil and lift, bringing itself up to inspection to be salvaged as fond memories, what few of them could be had.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"Ra killed Mia Monroe because fate itself willed it. Mandalorians never forget. She would never rule, truthfully. She would succumb to a man like me, even if she vanquished Ra. A great leader leads not through strength alone, but by consent of those who they lead. Fear is a temporary measure for leadership. People will always rebel against those who they fear. It is the natural law of all living things to overcome fear."

He gently touched the wound, lightly with his finger where his daughter suffered a near-fatal sniper round.

"Someone has challenged you, and yet you survive. Men like me, women like your mother, and girls like you- are a force to be reckoned with. Once you become older, and more experienced- you will see just how far you will be able to go. I cannot even fathom it myself."

Preliat Mantis was a tough man. A rugged man, harrowed by experiences that should have sent him either to insanity, or into the Reaper's welcoming arms. As appealing as death was, a release from all his pain and suffering, Preliat needed to live. Was fated to live, for the girl before him.

"My love is as deep as the oceans, and infinite as the stars."

He thumbed her cheek and rose to a powerful stand, taking her small hand in his, and continuing to walk, guiding her on the gentle art of walking balanced on the sand. He was an expert. In time, she would be too.

"We can do good. But keep in mind, most of the time, good for one, is not always good for another. But to us, the Mando'ade- there is no other. There is only your people, and your family. Beyond that, we have little control. So we shan't worry much."

Her question about the Sith brought out a deep sigh from the Wolf. He stopped their walk, as they came to a large, crumbling building that he assumed once used to be a study of some sort.

"Some will always be fearful of you, but mostly of what you can, or did do. We destroyed this place to remind the Sith of one simple fact. One undeniable truth, one guarantee beyond death in the galaxy."

He crouched, and brushed away sand. A piece of armor, broken from a Sith- who had fallen off of the tower nearest them, many years ago. By Preliat's hand.

"That the Mandalorians do not forget, and our vengeance is just and always forthcoming. Our retribution may come later, but it always comes. Just as the son touches Manda'yaim and Concord Dawn, so will the Mandalorians avenge their people, and protect their families. The Sith sought to undermine that, with their spells and incantations. We should them that our strength comes from our backs and people. We need not sorcery to be strong. And we never will."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]