In the aftermath of the Battle of Lothal, Mandalore decided to mark the first successful conquest of the unified Mandalorians in a traditional manner: with a potluck! In spite of his shattered leg, Fenyang had prepared his famous punch from his time in the Death Watch, a mix of Deucilian gin and Ithorian orange-lemon juice. It made for a deceptively strong drink with a pleasant enough taste, and there were enough straws so that the most devout Mandalorians could still sip on a drink . Campfires and cookouts covered the landscape, with clans, warriors, and tribes enjoying various stews, soups, and baked goods across the now-barren plains.
The army of Mandalorian war camps and caravans were joined by the formerly Sith-aligned soldiers, an uneasy reminder of the Mandalorian's current lot in the galaxy. Now was a time of celebration, however, and soldiers were expected to put aside their tensions after such a hard-fought victory. Lothal's Jedi Temple lay before them, still reeking of death and devastation. It still stood. Some of the enterprising members of the Mandalorian clans had petitioned Fenyang for the right to destroy the temple themselves - it was the type of initiative he could appreciate. Destroying one of these foul sorcerer's homes was half the reason he had selected Lothal, outside of its strategic viability and Fenyang's flair for the grandiose.
The Mand'Alor himself could not stand. His leg lay cast in a splint forged of iron, still wounded from the wicked trickery of that sorcerer. So, instead, he was slowly piloting a speeder around, too proud to use a wheelchair and too pained to stand.. Underneath his helmet, he puffed on a small, specially-designed vaporizer of marcan herbs, smoking them for their relaxing and mild pain relieving properties. One could say, he was rolling down the street, smoking on indo, sipping on gin and juice. Mind on his Mandos, and Mandalore on his mind.
The army of Mandalorian war camps and caravans were joined by the formerly Sith-aligned soldiers, an uneasy reminder of the Mandalorian's current lot in the galaxy. Now was a time of celebration, however, and soldiers were expected to put aside their tensions after such a hard-fought victory. Lothal's Jedi Temple lay before them, still reeking of death and devastation. It still stood. Some of the enterprising members of the Mandalorian clans had petitioned Fenyang for the right to destroy the temple themselves - it was the type of initiative he could appreciate. Destroying one of these foul sorcerer's homes was half the reason he had selected Lothal, outside of its strategic viability and Fenyang's flair for the grandiose.
The Mand'Alor himself could not stand. His leg lay cast in a splint forged of iron, still wounded from the wicked trickery of that sorcerer. So, instead, he was slowly piloting a speeder around, too proud to use a wheelchair and too pained to stand.. Underneath his helmet, he puffed on a small, specially-designed vaporizer of marcan herbs, smoking them for their relaxing and mild pain relieving properties. One could say, he was rolling down the street, smoking on indo, sipping on gin and juice. Mind on his Mandos, and Mandalore on his mind.