Suum ca'nara be parjai

[Dalyn Solus]

A Mandalorian war camp was, on the whole, the same in layout and function wherever it happened to be set. Temporary structures for those wishing to feel solid rock beneath them and the sky overhead rather than sleep in the ship quarters were set seemingly at random, a few fighting circles for practice, fun, or to settle disputes over a spilled drink, and numerous camp fires that cast long flickering shadows across the ground. The scent of tihaar and cooking food mingled with the cacophony of laughter, cursing, lovemaking, the clash of beskade, and tales of accomplished deeds in the rolling tongue of their people filled the night air and emphasized the bonds between them.

For the Mando'ade home was not necessarily a place but the people comprising it and, united by culture and purpose, even a prefab war camp held all the security and warmth of an ancestral homestead.

On a nameless moon on the fringes of Hutt Space one such camp was set and growing by the day as the warriors gathered beneath the banner of their Mand'alor. Raz Solus had promised her people vengeance and victory when the drums of war had begun their bloody tattoo and by all accounts she had delivered in spades. The principle systems of Hutt Space, along with the storied planet Onderon, had declared their independence from the fractured Empire and called for Mandalorian rule. Paired with a number of victories fighting beside the newly revealed Galactic Alliance, and a wave of cheer and alcohol had swept the gathered warriors into a frenzy.

Standing with his back to one of the larger bonfires, Dalyn Solus swayed and stamped one booted foot against the rocky earth to set the beat, a scuffed and worn bes'bev at his lips and a lively tune rising above the sounds of celebration. Warriors sat nearby passing around bottles of tihaar while others clapped to the beat or danced along. The music swept through the area, capturing the attention of vode passing by seeking food and drink, and the beat steadied and continued with the claps and stamping of many feet as Dalyn pulled the flute-knife away and began to sing.

"Ah lift Mando'ade up your face, still broodin' o'er the old disgrace when feckless Sith had stormed our space and set it all to burn! They brayed that victory was sure, soon surrender they'd secure, until they met at Nar Shaddaa with Mandalorian steel!

Curse and swear, Sith beware - the Clans will do what few would dare! Now, Darth Vrael, have a care - fallen is your star low! Up with blasters out with sword, on we go to fight the war - Mand'alor has given the word, follow her on from Concord!"

The song continued for some time, painting a vivid picture of the battles won and planets claimed in this new crusade, and when Dalyn brought the bes'bev back to his lips and played again the verde carried on singing the chorus until the young soldier ended the song with a flourish by tossing the bes'bev end over end to bury itself into the food table and taking a deep pull from a stolen bottle of tihaar.

Laughing and waving off demands for another song, Dalyn reclaimed his instrument and wandered to one of the smaller side fires, murmuring words for new verses under his breath in-between sips from the bottle. He was out of his armor for once, wearing simple linen pants and a nexu fur vest over his bare torso. Stoking the fire with the point of his bes'bev, he leaned back against a boulder and allowed himself a small grin.

It was good to be Mandalorian.

@Sreeya

 

[Raz Solus]

She couldn’t blame everyone for celebrating, not when it was such a grand victory that swept through Imperial Republica territory. Raz wasn’t a fan of the slugs, but even she couldn’t deny what a great win this was. The entire galaxy was beginning to recognize the Mandalorians as a force to be reckoned with. She couldn’t help but remember the early days of Clan Solus and how small and forgotten they were. Today they had become the most prominent clan in Mandalorian history and she was the first Mand’alor in centuries.

Raz was cheered as she arrived, but she raised a hand to quell it, wanting the focus to be on the shared victory. For a moment, she tilted her head to look up at the skies, “You smiling down at us today, Wyatt?” She asked quietly, smiling herself beneath her helmet. Raz still had his beskad on her, the same one that had stabbed into her leg. She had put aside their differences. She loved him in the end, and he lived and died as a brother.

She heard a man singing, knowing it must have been Dalyn. He was becoming quite well known for that, and she made her way towards him. He had a small circle of admirers, and she decided to join the throng, still completely in her armor. As she spotted him, she was actually taken aback by how attractive he was. It was always a surprise to see people out of armor, and she had never seen his face before. Thankfully, she had her own helmet on so he couldn’t catch her regarding him.

Raz took a seat nearby, clapping when everyone else cheered him after he finished. She grinned at him, “You flatter me,” She called out, “Normally people have to die to have a song written about them. I get the luxury of hearing it myself.”


@Rom

 

[Dalyn Solus]

Lifting his bottle in acknowledgment of her words Dalyn took a pull of the homemade spirit and rose to his feet in a smooth sinuous motion, unconsciously embodying the predatory stalking of the grey and white furred Nexu he had once hunted and now wore in place of his usual armor. He crossed the space between himself and Raz, the flickering fires highlighting the amusement dancing behind his eyes, and dropped into a seat next to the Mand'alor, offering the bottle to her with a crooked grin.

"That's because most skalds are singing about legends of the past to give hope to the people in the present. I'm fortunate enough to be serving in the crusade that's building that legend... though I might leave out the vegan menu. Everyone expects the warlord to be eating the flesh of their enemies and drinking from their beskar-enameled skulls, and I'd just hate to buck tradition."

His laugh was as musical as his bes'bev, clear and lilting to carry through the night air. He wasn't sitting so much as lounging, an easy-confidence and surety in his posture that carried into his voice. The respect for her deeds was present, but he refused to fawn. Like all good skalds he had learned what he could about the subject of his song before writing it, and had learned two things concretely and had a good feeling on the third. First, she had been a bounty hunter like him before reclaiming her rights as Alor of Solus. Second, she had assumed the title of Mand'alor not out of a hunger for power but because it was a duty thrust upon her by her people and circumstance. And as for the hunch, Dalyn would wager his Cyar'ika and his hammer that she was already very very bored of the distance such a Mantle placed between the leader and their people.

Or he'd get the slap of a lifetime from her prosthetic arm, but what was life without some risk?

@Sreeya

 

[Raz Solus]

Raz remained seated as he approached, watching him curiously. She caught the way he was relaxed and at ease, and she found herself envying him. It was difficult for her nowadays to find ease in her surroundings, even with all the victories they had been experiencing. Raz looked ahead of herself, gazing at the flames. She tilted her head when he spoke again in response to her commentary, a smile appearing beneath the helmet.

“You know about my embarrassing eating habits?” Raz chuckled, shaking her head. It had become a running joke among Solus, but she had hoped it hadn’t escaped her immediate inner circle. She nodded, “Yes, that’ll definitely have to be omitted from history,” It was surreal to think that she would be remembered down the line. She hoped her people would continue surviving and thriving, but she knew in that world she would go down as the first Mand’alor in 500 years.

She was silent for a moment, simply enjoying the peace. Raz took the bottle from him, lifting the visor just enough to take a swig. Her eyebrows went up in surprise, “This is strong stuff. Not local,” She remarked, looking at him, “Where’d you get it?” Raz handed the bottle back, “Don’t think I’ve seen your face before.”

@Rom

 

[Dalyn Solus]

Grinning, Dalyn accepted the bottle back and held it up, the firelight dancing in the reflection of the clear spirit. Most tihaar was as unique as the person that brewed it, and this blend jogan fruit and varos berries was particularly strong but left a sweet aftertaste behind the burn. It was the bard's favorite drink; it reminded him of home. Waving the bottle in salute to a warrior at another fire, Dalyn let loose a bark of laughter at the rude gesture he received in turn.

"One of the verde over yonder's from the same village as I am. His father takes the fruit we grew on my mother's farm and makes the best tihaar this side of the Perlemian. He hears you like it and I guarantee you'll end up with a cask or three every harvest."

Tipping the bottle back for another drink he gave a sigh and passed it back over to Raz while using his bes'bev to stoke the fire, the grin dying a little on his lips as he stared into the flame. His helmet remained with his armor aboard the ship, ready to be donned in a moments notice but put away for the impromptu celebration. The iconic T-shaped visor was the viewport through which he'd seen planetfall on dozens of worlds and witnessed death and destruction and suffering at levels he never considered possible. In these rare moments of peace, surrounded by fellow Mandalorians with the air filled with cheer and song rather than screams and blasterfire, he wanted to take it all in with his own eyes - the eyes behind the warrior mask.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he twirled the bes'bev between his fingers and offered it to Raz with a slight smile, trying to pass off the moment of melancholic silence with a teasing joke.

"Surprisingly, it can be a bit hard to play this with the helmet on."

@Sreeya