A ghost wandered the back alleys of a certain city on a certain planet, blood seeping through durasteel armor and mingling with the pouring rain.
The blood wasn't spectral in any way, leaving behind a trail of red against the ground until the rain washed it away. The ghost leaned against the wall to catch their breath, helmeted head bowed as their body shivered from the cold and blood loss. Slung on the ghost's back was a set of Mandalorian armor comprised of beskar chestplate and helmet, while the rest of the medium armor was of durasteel make.
Pulling away from the grimy wall, the ghost gulped in a deep, raspy breath before resuming their trek. Their free hand blindly reached for a commlink tucked into their bandolier, but the device slipped past trembling fingers. The ghost grunted in annoyance and decided that the picking up the commlink wasn't worth their time any longer. Instead they plowed on, gait steadily growing unsteady as blood continued to pour from their injured side.
Perhaps the ghost ought to stop for a few moments to stitch up the stab wound. The ghost, however, knew that their pursuers could close in on them at any given moment, and stopping now would only prove to be troublesome.
Gritting their teeth and determination gleaming in their honey brown eyes behind the transparisteel of a T-visor, the ghost put one booted foot forward then another. And another. And another.
They only had one destination in mind. One place they knew they would be safe.
One person in this entire planet who was allowed to see their face.
And so the ghost walked on, the rain hammering mercilessly against their armor.
When she'd been given the order to pursue a chaku'pel'gam – skin stealer – by the Alor she was quick to follow the command, even more so when the thief's location was revealed. It was a blessing that the skin stealer had been holed up in Tinnel IV, and it was one less problem for the small Mandalorian. Even if the stolen armor wasn't from a Crowholde it was still her duty to reclaim it and to bring the armor back where it belonged.
Mando duties, as she'd called it.
She recalled a time when she'd been brought into the same mission back in Ord Radama once upon a time. She wondered how Gett'se was doing these days, and hoped that her vod was safe. Maybe the Viszla warrior was spending time somewhere on a jungle moon, gazing up at the stars?
Reiel stood bleeding on Carrick's kitchen, vision turning fuzzy as she dropped the stolen armor on the floor. Water and blood steadily grew into a small puddle where she stood, memories of how she snuck up behind the guards she trained so she could make it inside the Senator's residence already fleeing from her grasp.
Maybe she should've asked for help before she decided to follow the skin stealer's trail. Maybe she should've planned more carefully before storming the building the thief was holed up in. But Reiel Mal Crowholde could be a reckless idiot when treated to the sight of the Iron Skin of one of her vode getting turned into scrap.
Stealing Mandalorian armor to use as protectiom was one thing. But trying to scrap the whole thing?
The sheer, karking disrespect–
Reiel leaned against the counter as black spots danced on the edges of her vision, one gloved hand shakily pressing against her bleeding side. Kad.
Here's hoping that no security personnel walked in on her bleeding in the Senator's kitchen floor.
@Nefieslab
The blood wasn't spectral in any way, leaving behind a trail of red against the ground until the rain washed it away. The ghost leaned against the wall to catch their breath, helmeted head bowed as their body shivered from the cold and blood loss. Slung on the ghost's back was a set of Mandalorian armor comprised of beskar chestplate and helmet, while the rest of the medium armor was of durasteel make.
Pulling away from the grimy wall, the ghost gulped in a deep, raspy breath before resuming their trek. Their free hand blindly reached for a commlink tucked into their bandolier, but the device slipped past trembling fingers. The ghost grunted in annoyance and decided that the picking up the commlink wasn't worth their time any longer. Instead they plowed on, gait steadily growing unsteady as blood continued to pour from their injured side.
Perhaps the ghost ought to stop for a few moments to stitch up the stab wound. The ghost, however, knew that their pursuers could close in on them at any given moment, and stopping now would only prove to be troublesome.
Gritting their teeth and determination gleaming in their honey brown eyes behind the transparisteel of a T-visor, the ghost put one booted foot forward then another. And another. And another.
They only had one destination in mind. One place they knew they would be safe.
One person in this entire planet who was allowed to see their face.
And so the ghost walked on, the rain hammering mercilessly against their armor.
—·—
Reiel Mal Crowholde was a reckless idiot.
When she'd been given the order to pursue a chaku'pel'gam – skin stealer – by the Alor she was quick to follow the command, even more so when the thief's location was revealed. It was a blessing that the skin stealer had been holed up in Tinnel IV, and it was one less problem for the small Mandalorian. Even if the stolen armor wasn't from a Crowholde it was still her duty to reclaim it and to bring the armor back where it belonged.
Mando duties, as she'd called it.
She recalled a time when she'd been brought into the same mission back in Ord Radama once upon a time. She wondered how Gett'se was doing these days, and hoped that her vod was safe. Maybe the Viszla warrior was spending time somewhere on a jungle moon, gazing up at the stars?
Reiel stood bleeding on Carrick's kitchen, vision turning fuzzy as she dropped the stolen armor on the floor. Water and blood steadily grew into a small puddle where she stood, memories of how she snuck up behind the guards she trained so she could make it inside the Senator's residence already fleeing from her grasp.
Maybe she should've asked for help before she decided to follow the skin stealer's trail. Maybe she should've planned more carefully before storming the building the thief was holed up in. But Reiel Mal Crowholde could be a reckless idiot when treated to the sight of the Iron Skin of one of her vode getting turned into scrap.
Stealing Mandalorian armor to use as protectiom was one thing. But trying to scrap the whole thing?
The sheer, karking disrespect–
Reiel leaned against the counter as black spots danced on the edges of her vision, one gloved hand shakily pressing against her bleeding side. Kad.
Here's hoping that no security personnel walked in on her bleeding in the Senator's kitchen floor.
@Nefieslab
Last edited: