(MANDO) Family is More than Blood

[Arisalin]

Manda'yaim - Joruur bal Partaylir (Gather and Remember) - Late Evening

Joruur bal Partaylir - Mandalorian day of mourning for the dead during the war against the Galactic Alliance.

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The plains stretched for miles as ship after ship landed, pressing down on the beauty that made up the land around Keldabe. Men, women, and children all walked from their homes in the beautiful city, enemies, friends, it made no difference here on this day. This day was the day to remember the dead. The day to delve into the bittersweet memories that you had of those who had passed. Over ten years. Over ten long years of infighting, destruction, murder after murder of brothers and sisters. The blame was passed from one man to the next, but the dead don't see this. The dead are silent.

Members from so many Clans arrived, all gathering about and paying their respects. At the middle of their tumult? The massive forge, composed as a symbol in time for so many people. It carried all the had made the Mandalorians great. Honor, glory, pride. Every groove and plate was perfect. The artists who had made it had poured their souls into it's building. Now it was here for all to see.

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Elias walked slowly through the fields, getting closer to the already massive gathered group. His armor was clean, a fresh coat of paint across it caused it's black shine to almost glow in the shadows. Torches burned as he continued forward, reminding him of the men and women who had died. They were marching far away. Marching in a place where the sunrise was swift, and the winds cool. Faces swooped by his eyes, phantoms form the past. They showed no fear, just as he remembered them. One thing he thanked his memories for was he found it difficult to recall the flaws. He didn't want to know what the dead had done wrong. He wanted to know why they had done right.

The reasons?

Glory, honor, pride. These words were taken far to lightly in the dark days that surrounded the Clans. Men and women alike had forged lies around them, and done cruel things. He would not condone their actions. Did that mean that there was no hope?

No.

People had come hadn't they? The Protector knew in his heart, that if there was no hope, the fields around them would be charred. The city across the plains would be empty. The forge would be destroyed.

As long as a true Mandalorian lived, there would always be hope.




OOC

 

[Dargeth The Hunter.]

He grunted as he strode through the throng of people his helmet clasped tightly under one arm and the other letting his hand rest gently on the butt of his pistol, as he came up beside Elias he frowned as he looked down at the ground then suddenly his voice rose " I know I was not born of the mandlorians, but the renelo's found me, gave me a home and a reason to fight ". He lifted a hand to place it on his shoulder " your people are now mine, the fallen would be proud, my master, he often talked of our people ", he chuckled softly " ornery as a bantha and stubborn as a trodoshian with credits in his eyes, that's what he said " and hi chuckle turned into a soft laugh.

He had served under Elias on a few mission's and respected him but he had also seen the anger, the rage and the frustration, it was the same look that he saw every time he looked in a mirror.

 

[Loco]

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum..." intoned Aeden quietly.

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum..." Arya repeated at his side.

The tall Mandalorian shifted the shoulders of the heavy cloak he wore. Brilliant white, edged in blue with silver chasing- his fathers colors, his fathers cloak- over battered royal blue armor. His fingers toyed idly with the tarnished silver clasp at his neck, while his left hand rested gently on the hilt of his short beskad- another gift from a man that today was dedicated to. The more the young man reflected on it, the more he realized he truly had nothing for himself. All he had came from those who went before him...

Aeden and his clan sister Arya stood well away from the growing throng. They could see the forge just fine, and Keldabe was only a few hours by air from their ancestral home. The younger Atin'al clansman decided it was kinder to give the choice seating, as it were, to those who had traveled farther. He could visit the graves and memorials of Manda'yaim whenever he pleased.

His gold green eyes were impassive behind his visor, as he knew his sisters would be beside him. Hmph, sister... he thought. Vod. Aeden dwarfed the kiffari standing next to him in her evergreen plates in both height and breadth, but the woman was twice his age and her skills belied her diminutive size. If anyone, it should have been her taking care of their allit, but somehow it had all turned to him. Not just Arya and the children either. Many of his vode had been looking increasingly to him to take charge in his parents absence. That was part of the reason he'd come today- to measure himself against the others. The survivors of the decade that had nearly destroyed them all... Mighty clan leaders and viciously renowned soldiers had been seeping into the city from all across the sector throughout the day. Everyone had a representative, if he recalled the colors and markings correctly. Renelos and Fetts, the occasional Bralor, minor clans and free men abounded. And here he was, the barely blooded boy leader of one such minor clan. Aeden turned his gaze to his feet and began to shuffle along the edge of the gathering.

He'd thought such a congregation would be a boon to their peoples waning spirit, but the atmosphere was overwhelmingly melancholy. When he was small, a day like this could bring thousands to the bustling markets of the capital city of Keldabe- a huge number for such a small and nomadic people. Now, they hardly managed to collect a few hundred scattered souls for a galactic day of mourning for the losses they'd suffered in the clan wars, and the third Galactic civil war before that. There would be more if not for the blockade he knew. The thought didn't cheer him. He turned from the Forge to look out across the city, or what was left of it. The reconstruction would never really be able to hide the scars, not to one who'd known the skyline before. The purple sunset cast a mass of shadows, broken by dozens of torches and glow-lamps. There was a constant low hum of whispers, but none seemed keen to shatter the silence as such a gathering would normally be wont to do.

"Kote, darasuum kote. Te racin ka’ra juaan kote... eh, ori'vod?" Aeden muttered bitterly without looking at his sister...