Arthos' ship is old.
Old enough that when it was originally rolled off the production line, the Mandalorian people were still arguing about Pacifism and Jango Fett's face hadn't been copy and pasted over a million times. But despite that it was still a beautiful ship, gleaming and well maintained because it was HIS. It had been his ship since the time his adopted mother had sent him off into the Galaxy after his initial training, to either thrive or die.
It was his ship but it was more than that - it was his home and the first thing, aside from his helmet, that could be considered his own property. Everything else he had gotten from the clan and he had known it could be taken away again at the drop of a hat. This though? The ship was his.
It had taken him a long time to finally accept others aboard his ship but it had happened. Only after he had started to earn respect, only after he had clawed his way to the rank of Rally Master did he bring others onto his ship.
"Coming out of hyperspace now Rally Master."
Sitting on the bridge, in overall piloting control, Arthos nodded to the Mando he had operating as his astro-navigation specialist. As they exited hyperspace, sensors burst to life as they began their final approach. There were over fifty Mandalorian warriors in the hold of his ship, all of them ready to act as the boarding party when they were ready. Still, they were not alone. He opened the com channel they had agreed, directly to the cockpit of Van'Aria Solus' starfighter.
"Solus, we're here." he spoke through his helmet as his grip on the controls tightened, "You have one squadron of starfighters and they have many more. Fight like a cornered nexu and give no quarter."
Ahead of them, both Defense Stations began to release their fighters, dozens of swarming out en masse.
"Bic cuyir a jate tuur par them at ash'amur."
It is a good day for them to die.
@Bread
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