Leandros Solus
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2018
- Messages
- 502
- Reaction score
- 217
Leandros had been a veritable figure of barely-controlled rage for… he couldn’t even remember. The sudden glassing of his homeworld by the Sith had left his emotions roiling inside him, just barely teetering on the precipice of snapping. His home had been annihilated just weeks prior, and the only thing holding him together was his daughter. By the good fortune of the gods he had escaped the destruction of Mandalore with her unharmed, though he now sported numerous scars from his battle with the Empress. The fight itself was a haze in his mind; fragments of it came and went intermittently, and he often struggled to remember exact details. All he knew was that he failed to kill her, and she failed to kill either him or his child.
Raz, however, could not be reached. The two separated at the onset of the attack to go rally their people in key locations after a final goodbye. To know that she had been lost was the ultimate wound he suffered; the love of his life and the mother of his child, gone, killed defending their home from invaders. He went days without eating from grief, and the only sleep he got was when his body shut itself down and forced him to rest, such were the profound effects of losing his Mand’alor on him.
The glassing itself played again and again in his mind, however, and every night since the attack he had a nightmare of some kind. Fires flashed through his thoughts, lancing through his concentration as the cacophony of chaos and thrum of war deafened him. It was not uncommon for Leandros to wake up in a cold sweat, desperately reaching for a weapon, only to find himself beside his daughter having passed out from keeping vigil over her. The conversations of why her mother wouldn’t be coming home, or why they had to move homes, were especially confusing for the toddler, and Leandros knew she wouldn’t understand until she was older. He was exceptionally more protective of the girl now, and rarely did he go anywhere without her in his sight. After all, she was a reminder of what he had lost and a hope for the future of their people.
Atlas was supposed to be a break away from all the carnage, even if only for a moment. The respite would do both him and his daughter some good, and the pirate haven seemed as good a place as any to escape to. Sandy beaches, warm sun, clear water, people who steered well clear of the ticking time bomb in armor – what was not to like? His daughter ran along the beach accompanied by three of his retinue. They were to watch her and Leandros knew they could be trusted; these warriors had been with him for years.
He needed a break and this bar seemed like the best place to take that break. While his warriors watched his kid, Leandros found himself inside and drinking alone. Hunched low over his beer, the veteran Mandalorian stared deep into the amber liquid, lost in thought. He paid no mind to the other patrons and zoned out, occasionally moving to take a sip, totally lost in his own world.
The sudden arrival of the gangers and their announcement of Sith in the bar shook him from his stupor, and Leandros lifted his head to get a good look around the bar. He recognized the armor of several Mandalorians milling about, the hulking figure of Burkhart, a few random patrons, and–
He blinked several times to be sure. His eyes were playing tricks on him; Hod Ha’ran was deceiving him, he had to be. Leandros shook his helmeted head, utterly appalled by who he was seeing. Was that the Empress? The one whom he fought on Mandalore? The very person who destroyed his home and took his wife from him forever? And she was betting on some parlor game with Mandalorians?
Something inside him, something wound up very tight, finally snapped. Leandros bolted upright from his seat, spilling his drink and knocking his table over. He was sat in a shadowy corner, not too far from the game table, but close enough to have his voice heard over the din of the forming chaos.
”Traitor!” he shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly. He ignored the Empress, his ire focused on the “Mandalorians” who were treating her as if she weren’t a genocidal maniac, his steely gaze pointedly fixed on Burkhart. ”Mandalore burns and you sit there with Sith?!” He knew the gangers would be just about ready to tear this place apart, but his rage overtook his rational thinking. ”Mand’alor the Chosen is dead and you would roll dice with the schutta who ordered the killing blow?!” His voice was at a roar, very clearly able to be heard over the chaos in the bar, such was the power of a man who’s been yelling orders over the sound of battle for decades.
The remainder of his retinue, the nine who weren’t watching his daughter, were nearby the bar and, upon hearing the new commotion, made their way towards it, curious but ready to do battle or defend their leader.
@Darasuum
Raz, however, could not be reached. The two separated at the onset of the attack to go rally their people in key locations after a final goodbye. To know that she had been lost was the ultimate wound he suffered; the love of his life and the mother of his child, gone, killed defending their home from invaders. He went days without eating from grief, and the only sleep he got was when his body shut itself down and forced him to rest, such were the profound effects of losing his Mand’alor on him.
The glassing itself played again and again in his mind, however, and every night since the attack he had a nightmare of some kind. Fires flashed through his thoughts, lancing through his concentration as the cacophony of chaos and thrum of war deafened him. It was not uncommon for Leandros to wake up in a cold sweat, desperately reaching for a weapon, only to find himself beside his daughter having passed out from keeping vigil over her. The conversations of why her mother wouldn’t be coming home, or why they had to move homes, were especially confusing for the toddler, and Leandros knew she wouldn’t understand until she was older. He was exceptionally more protective of the girl now, and rarely did he go anywhere without her in his sight. After all, she was a reminder of what he had lost and a hope for the future of their people.
Atlas was supposed to be a break away from all the carnage, even if only for a moment. The respite would do both him and his daughter some good, and the pirate haven seemed as good a place as any to escape to. Sandy beaches, warm sun, clear water, people who steered well clear of the ticking time bomb in armor – what was not to like? His daughter ran along the beach accompanied by three of his retinue. They were to watch her and Leandros knew they could be trusted; these warriors had been with him for years.
He needed a break and this bar seemed like the best place to take that break. While his warriors watched his kid, Leandros found himself inside and drinking alone. Hunched low over his beer, the veteran Mandalorian stared deep into the amber liquid, lost in thought. He paid no mind to the other patrons and zoned out, occasionally moving to take a sip, totally lost in his own world.
The sudden arrival of the gangers and their announcement of Sith in the bar shook him from his stupor, and Leandros lifted his head to get a good look around the bar. He recognized the armor of several Mandalorians milling about, the hulking figure of Burkhart, a few random patrons, and–
He blinked several times to be sure. His eyes were playing tricks on him; Hod Ha’ran was deceiving him, he had to be. Leandros shook his helmeted head, utterly appalled by who he was seeing. Was that the Empress? The one whom he fought on Mandalore? The very person who destroyed his home and took his wife from him forever? And she was betting on some parlor game with Mandalorians?
Something inside him, something wound up very tight, finally snapped. Leandros bolted upright from his seat, spilling his drink and knocking his table over. He was sat in a shadowy corner, not too far from the game table, but close enough to have his voice heard over the din of the forming chaos.
”Traitor!” he shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly. He ignored the Empress, his ire focused on the “Mandalorians” who were treating her as if she weren’t a genocidal maniac, his steely gaze pointedly fixed on Burkhart. ”Mandalore burns and you sit there with Sith?!” He knew the gangers would be just about ready to tear this place apart, but his rage overtook his rational thinking. ”Mand’alor the Chosen is dead and you would roll dice with the schutta who ordered the killing blow?!” His voice was at a roar, very clearly able to be heard over the chaos in the bar, such was the power of a man who’s been yelling orders over the sound of battle for decades.
The remainder of his retinue, the nine who weren’t watching his daughter, were nearby the bar and, upon hearing the new commotion, made their way towards it, curious but ready to do battle or defend their leader.
@Darasuum