“Mando’ade,” a voice rumbled through the speakers as Ala'ar crossed the crew quarters. The holo image would be in the cockpit, the crew quarters being designed for audio only, but Ala’ar recognized Demeer’s authoritative voice boom across the corridor, as he made his way towards the cockpit.
“I am calling all Aliit to an important Tsad Droten! Bal an Mando’ade are invited to Concordia in ta’raysh cuir toor. The old tradition of sha'kajir will be in force during the joruur'rir, so that all may partake and participate equally,” Demeer explained. “Until then, Ret'urcye mhi,” he said before his holo finally winked out as the transmission ended.
Ankira never thought she would hear a calling of the Tsad Droten. When she heard Ala’ar walk up behind her, she turned around to watch him.
“Seems we have been called. After we drop the prisoners off we should get ready to travel to Concordia”
She wondered how many Mando'ade would show up. She had heard the stories, but never heard the call or chance to go herself.
“Have you been to a Tsad Droten before?”
“Never,” Ala'ar said, shaking his head.
“Exciting times, for certain though. I heard rumours that there are usually inter-clan games, where we compete clan against clan! They haven’t held one in several decades now; I’m wondering if the traditions will be upheld..!” There was a small gleam of excitement in Ala’ar’s eyes at the prospect of seeing some friendly competition.
Ankira frowned slightly, it had been a few years since she started to travel alone and away from her aliit -- her clan. Even though she still had contact with them, it would be strange to see them again. What would they think if they found out she travelled with someone from another aliit?
She shook her head slightly and looked up at Ala’ar,
“It will be interesting to see which aliit will show up and with how many. Perhaps I will get the chance so see my own aliit again. I haven’t seen them in the last few years.”
"Only one way to find out," Ala'ar said with a grin.
"Mandalore was once a beautiful place. Our records show that the lands were green and lush; that food was plentiful, and that our people knew peace, but now we live in a world that rains ash, whose lands vomit fire, and our people bloody their hands to secure enough food to scrape by during the winter. Mandalore was perhaps beautiful once, but it isn’t any longer," the greying old man said, the bonfire casting shadows on his weathered face, exaggerating the creases into chasms; making his eyes seem wilder, and his glare more menacing.
Despite his age, the old man seemed as tough as Beskar, and his skin rougher than sandpaper. What was left of his hair was grey and white, his military style brush cut a few weeks too long.
No one dared interrupt Babuir Oryk, when he spun the Mandalorian stories around the campfire, even the fire seemed to restrain its crackle to let everyone else hear him speak.
"The truth of our past is hidden there," he said pointing up into the night sky where Manda'yaim — planet Mandalore — lay transfixed on a small sea of stars, a beige grey crescent that had once been as green as an emerald and whose seas had once been of the clearest hue of blue. A stark contrast to the muddied brown and dark that now mired the planet’s surface.
"And though this truth is hidden under layers of superstitions, legends, folk tales, or myths; scattered about are remnants left over from those ancient times. The Mando’a did not originate there. Old records mention a great journey, or exodus, by the first ones to espouse the Resol’nare. Though no record speaks clearly of how long ago they settled the luscious lands of Manda'yaim, they all agree that when the first Mando’a came to these lands, they had found a paradise."
It was rare to see the old man look so solemn, but he seemed very old then, and perhaps even fragile as the weight of the present and the work needed to restore Mandalore to its former glory seemed to crush him. Everyone knew that one of his biggest dreams was to restore Mandalore; to give the planet a new life, but he believed that he wasn’t ever likely to see it in his lifetime, nor his children’s children’s lifetime.
The very little progress he would see would eventually be cruelly ripped away during the clone wars and the decades that followed under the Empire’s rule, but ignorant of what lay ahead, the old man simply shrugged his shoulders.
"There is evidence that their civilization lasted a very long time, but all that remains of it is the Resol’nare: Our lore, our beskar'gam, our language, our families, the ancient vestiges of their once thriving metropolises, and the Ba’akaan nau’ur Cabura — the Great War Forged Guardians — monuments or statues — the smallest of which stands twice as tall as the tallest Mando’a — and still stand to this day, standing silently as an testament to those ancient times. They continue to watch over the ancient cities of our forefathers."
At the mention of the Ba’akaan Cabura, some of the children and the youth around the fire leaned in to listen more attentively -- their eyes wide -- for legend had it that the Cabura were once mighty heroes who defended Mandalore. Many believed that the Beskar’gam — the Mandalorian’s armour — was inspired by these great guardians, and that these heroes could do great and terrifying things before the lands were shattered. Surprisingly, some still stood to this day, undamaged by the millennia that separated them from the first Mando’a, gigantic statues overlooking certain parts of the baren landscape.
"Why the lands were broken remains a mystery, but we have a few inklings as to how it happened," the old man said, waving a cautionary finger.
“The best theory in my mind, is that there were two factions, likely separated by ideology. When tensions arose, one group used biological weapons, the other built the great constructs of steel and fire — the Ba’akaan Cabura. Both sides had created doomsday weapons, both ready to unleash them onto the world with little thought of how fragile a paradise like Manda'yaim was. As the conflict grew, one side grew desperate enough to strike with those weapons. Their enemies, reeling, did the same and retaliated in kind; as a result, the lands were torn asunder, shattered. The seas dried out, mountains were flattened, Manda’yaim’s forests and luscious fields withered and died, as did thousands of the ancient aliit.”
“Despite the atrocities of war, life is tenacious... Even millennia later, life has found a way to adapt, despite the hostile and poisonous landscape; therefore, there is still hope. Life endures, despite the odds. The plants and forests that did survive the shattering, now leech poisons from the soil and are thus poisonous themselves," he let the people around him imagine what that could mean, the fire crackling.
"When I was a younger man, some decided to reclaim the broken lands and adapt to them. Their success is slow, there are many creatures (Monstrosities) that now make life in those broken lands even harsher, but the lands are finally recovering, lest we forget the lessons of old,” the old man warned, “we could resettle them.”
He crooked a finger at the children, his eyes blazing with a new heat.
He beckoned for one of the children to come forward. A young girl did so, and Babuir Oryk smiled as he tousled the little girl’s hair, and placed a small box in her hands.
The curious suddenly gathered around her as her tiny, delicate hands opened the box. Within was a small thorny flower.
“Life has returned to the Shattered Lands,” Old Man Oryk declared.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:46, Wed 09 June 2021.
