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Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 08-08-2008
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The Goju Ryu jumped from Tau 23, and appeared in Kyushu. There, before the exiled Kusari, lay their native land.
"Good to see her again, isn't it gentlemen?"
The emotion on the bridge was thick. These men had not seen their home in years. John gave them several moments, then gave his first order in Kusari space in a very long time.
"Set course for Planet Kyushu. Let's see who's here."
The trade lane took their codes, and soon Kyushu was close.
"Break out of the lane!" yelled John. There, on the long range scanners, lay the Destroyer Chikuma. Commanded by..
"Sakai. Sahuro Sakai." said John. This was not fortunate. He knew this officer when he was a young Lieutenant, and now he was arguably the best Destroyer Commander in the Kusari Naval Forces. This was going to be ugly.
"Comms open. And best power up weapons." ordered Cabot. He grabbed the mike, and stood next to his command chair.
"Good to see you, young Sakai. How have you been?"
A pause, then an unknown voice on the open comms. "Who is that? This is the Kusari Naval Forces Destroyer Chikuma. Unknown contact, identify yourself!"
John chuckled into the mike. "Sahuro! Don't you remember your first posting? I'm quite hurt."
A longer pause. Disbelief contributing to it, to be sure.
"YOU! How dare you come here!" The enemy destroyer turned about and closed the distance to the Goju Ryu very quickly. "I will give you a traitor's death, Cabot!"
John spoke into the mike again as the distance between the two destroyers closed. "Sahuro, if you recall, Kusari betrayed us, NOT the other way aroun.."
He was interrupted in his monologue by an inferno/mortar combination battering his ship. The shock wave nearly knocked him off his feet.
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"Now that's a lousy way to start.", thought John, as he regained his composure.
"Bring her around, boys, and wait for the word!"
The old destroyer came around smoothly and the capital ship weapons toned the lockon.
"FIRE!", yelled Cabot, and the Inferno cannon blazed out several Terrajoules of shield draining power towards the enemy.
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And missed.
"Dammit!", yelled John. "Dodge that return fire!"
The inertial dampeners were strained to the limits as the old girl bucked and avoided some of the enemy return fire. But the shields were stripped by the other vessel's up-to-date weapons. The Goju's pilot brought her around for another pass. Again, the lockon tone sounded.
"NOW!"
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The Goju's Inferno and Mortar rounds landed, and the crew cheered loudly. For a moment, Cabot thought they just might win this thing.
Those optimistic thoughts were shortlived. The Chikuma came about and gave the Goju a horribly punishing volley.
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The shields were utterly ruined, and the hull was being smashed to bits. Damage reports flooded in from all over the ship. The readouts, those that were still working, flashed red, reporting systems destroyed, decompression, and power fluctuations. The reactor was now destabilizing. Capital weapons were down.
"Fire all turrets at will!"
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The Goju opened up with light weapons on the Chikuma, with no measurable effect. The reactor was on its last legs now, and the engines were failing. Soon the Goju was a drifting hulk.
The Chikuma was pelting the Goju now, like a cat toys with a mouse. They were sparing the mortar rounds, and that could mean only one thing.
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"Damn you, Sakai!", exclaimed Cabot. They meant to board the crippled vessel. Wouldn't even give the men of the Goju a clean death in space. And with the reactor offline, self destructing was not an option.
Cabot opened the intership comms. "All hands defend the bridge! Prepare to be boarded!"
The hull directly in front of the bridge creaked and groaned as it was peeled back like a tin can by the boarding vessel. Blaster fire could be heard in adjacent corridors as the defenders were overwhelmed there. Then it became quiet, and everyone on the bridge knew that trained Kusari soldiers were gathered on the other side of the bridge main doors, and they would not wait long to make their move. Cabot squinted, trying to see through the smoke that now shrouded the darkened bridge, then looked at his men and smiled.
"Gentlemen, this is what we came here for isn't it?"
His men all looked at him, and one of the gunners, Hiroshi Kawauchi, spoke up. "It's been an honour to serve with you, sir." The others nodded their concurrence. Some smiled. Others (the smarter ones, likely) looked terrified.
"And I with you. All of you." Cabot turned to face the bridge door, and several small explosive charges in series went around the perimeter of the door. It fell off its frame with a heavy clang.
"How's your swordplay, Sakai?!", demanded Cabot loudly, and he was answered by a hail of blaster fire.
Cabot dropped behind a control panel, which sizzled and popped against the onslaught. Some of his men took blaster rounds and fell, dead or gravely wounded. The young gunner Kawauchi took a blaster round in the face, and there are simply no words to describe how horrible that was.
His men readied their blasters, but John waved them down. "No. Katanas only.", he said with a cold smile that could mean only one thing.
Most of his men drew their swords and prepared for the order. One poor soul who had no katana simply stood up calmly and was cut down instantly by a rain of blaster fire.
The time had come. "CHARGE!!!" screamed John.
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He led the way, rushing, ducking, and weaving to avoid the countless blaster bolts. Only about half his men got to close with the enemy. The rest were cut down by the merciless fire in the charge. Their only chance now was if the enemy had neglected to bring swords of their own. In the smoke, in close quarters, they had a chance to bring some of them down with them.
No such luck. Blades answered blades. John closed with the enemy ranks (God there had to be 2 or 3 dozen of them) and swung wildly. He did not quite decapitate one of the enemy, but medically it was the same difference, and slashed another's arm as he tried to level a blaster.
"Sakai!", he screamed, and found his nemesis not too far away.
His blade and Sakai's clashed only a few times, then a blaster round caught Cabot's right bicep in mid swing, and destroyed it utterly. As his sword dropped from his now useless arm, Sakai ran him through. The lungs, but not the heart. No quick death, not yet.
Cabot collapsed, and watched as the few men he had left were butchered by the boarding party. Within 30 seconds, the fight was utterly over, and those members of the Goju crew who remained capable were crawling towards each other, and the small group kept their back to the main control panel. The boarding party just watched them. The Goju crew had no blasters, and were too wounded to put up any more fight with their swords.
Commander Sakai approached the wretched pile of defeated men, and addressed them. "Well fought, Mr Cabot, but you, your crew, and this ship now belong to me. And once that wound of yours is healed, your propoganda value will be immense. Your execution promises to be a very fulfilling event for Kusari. I thank you for this, in advance."
Cabot laughed weakly. Blood poured out of his mouth, and he choked for a few seconds before he could continue.
"Unless the Kusari have found a cure for liver cancer, Commander, that outcome is quite unlikely. Unless your show trials are even briefer than they used to be."
The former Mandalore coughed some more. More blood, more froth. Sakai looked worried. He had to get his prize out of here and into a medical frigate, soon.
Cabot continued, "Maybe you should consider the likelihood that this is all actually going according to plan."
John reached into his shirt with a shaking hand, and grasped an object concealed there. "Welcome to our Seppuku." He pulled the object out. It's identity wasn't apparent in all the smoke.
"Kusari makes excellant grenades."
He pulled the pin.
"Best run, Sakai."
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Sakai's eyes widened in shock and he gave the order for his men to take cover. Most, including him, made it to cover, but some did not.
John Cabot and his men learned that those killed in an explosion do not actually hear or feel a thing. It was knowledge they would never share.
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Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 09-28-2008
New London Central Hospital
A red-headed lady stormed down the hallway and confronted Mandalore Dha Piruna and Consul Ranov'la Aran with arms crossed.
They would have rather faced Corsairs than Suzanne Bishop right now.
"What the hell was he doing in New Tokyo?", she demanded. "Don't you have other pilots for that? Why would you risk a Consul?"
Dha stammered a bit, then Ranov'la took the lead.
"Suzanne, he wasn't ordered to go, and he didn't ask permission, or even tell us. This was your husband being stubborn. It was a good paying job, so I guess he took it. And those Farmer's Alliance guys are usually pushovers."
She stopped fuming a bit, then nodded angrily. Her husband was going to get quite a blast once he recovered, that was a sure thing.
Dha asked, "How is he doing, Suzanne?"
She settled down a bit. "Not bad. He had lost a lot of blood. I guess he got to Deshima Station, then the Bounty Hunters smuggled him here on a AP Manufacturing shipment. The Strontium Dogs patched him up a bit more on Sheffield Station, then they took him the rest of the way."
Dha nodded. Those S/D boys were good blokes. Biting into the business, but good blokes, nonetheless.
"I gotta get my kids. Sorry I blew up at you boys. Looks like this is a case of classic Billy."
The Mandalorians just smiled, to convey their understanding. Suanne took her leave.
Dha and Ranov'la carried on to William Bishop's room, and found him sitting up in bed reading. When they entered, Billy gingerly lifted his shirt to show off a nasty gash on his left side near the bottom of his ribcage.
"Would you believe a farmer gave me that?", he chuckled, then winced.
Ranov'la sat, then raised his hands as if to say, "Well? Let's hear it."
Billy spoke with a rasp, from the tubing that was still in his nose. Tended to dry out ones nasal passages and throat.
"Heard an AFA was alone in New Tokyo, so I headed up for the bounty. When I got there, I lured him away from the planet, and engaged him above the trade lanes."
"Guy was pretty good. Call sign "Supernova". He messed up all my guns, save my Razor. But I kept pounding him with that, and eventually, he ran away. Don't suppose we can get paid for that, eh?"
Dha Piruna shook his head, then lectured Billy.
"No Mandalorian, not you, not me, not anyone, is to go into Kusari without backup. You quite likely could have died."
Dha continued. "I'm not going to punish you. Your wife is going to kill you anyway, when you get home. Just don't do it again."
Billy nodded, a bit meekly, but not much.
Ranov'la gave him a quick wink, then stood up. "Billy, we have to go. We are meeting a recalcatrint client. I'll come back later, and I'll smuggle in a beer or two." Billy smirked.
Dha and Ranov'la started to leave. "Wait." said Billy. "There's something else. It's important."
The two Mandalorians paused, and looked at Billy quizzically.
"Guys, sit back down. You may need to for this."
They took his advice.
Billy shifted up in his bed a bit more, wincing again as he did so, then began.
"When I was in Deshima station getting patched up by the Bounty Hunters Guild guys, one of the medics told me something I could barely believe." He had their attention.
"He said we might be interested in one of the Kusari Naval Forces pilots. New guy, green, but pretty good. Guess he was in that nasty scrap in Kyushu when the BAF sprung that Lord Brinkley."
Dha snorted. "Recruit a Kusari Naval Forces pilot? Madness!" Billy shook his head.
"No, no, that's not what he meant." Billy took a deep breath.
"The KNF pilot's name is John Miyagi." He paused again.
"Guys, he's John Cabot's son."
Dha Piruna and Ranov'la Aran turned white as the bedsheets.
Anyone who said this was an unexpected turn of events would be guilty of tremendous understatement.
Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 01-04-2009
Consuls Ranov'la Aran, Kandosii, and William Bishop entered the Mandalore's Office.
It was a bloody mess. The Mandalore, Dha Piruna, was passed out drunk at the desk. Papers, some actually quite important, lay strewn about the floor. A girl was sprawled on the couch. She came to, saw the three men and the looks on their faces, got scared, and left the room, quickly and quietly.
Dha had taken to the previous Mandalore's love of the drink, in a big, big way. But John Cabot, like most Bretonians, could hold their liquor. Mandalorians could not.
"Wake him.", said Ranov'la in disgust.
Billy kicked the Mandalore in the shin. Dha gave a muffled cry, stood partially up, then sat slowly back down. This wasn't a social call, and he'd seen this movie before, but not on the receiving end.
He shook his head, wiped his eyes, and asked groggily, "So who's got the blaster?"
Kandosii sat down, looked Dha in the eye and said, "We all do."
Dha looked alarmed, then poured himself a drink. Cabot's booze was long gone though, but Piruna had acquired the expensive tastes. He offered the bottle to the Consuls, who shook their heads.
"You guys mean business." Down the hatch went his shot. Might as well if they were going to blow him away.
"Our idea", started Billy, without pausing, "is that you would be happier knocked down to Consul. Do you agree? Or did you want us to just shoot you?"
Dha looked thoughtful, then said "Well, its a hell of a pay cut, but corpses make even less, so...."
He continued. "Guess I should have seen this coming. Haven't been the most active Mandalore, to say the least, right?"
Ranov'la shook his head. "Freeport One cut off our fuel privileges. The bill they would like paid, I expect, is on your desk. Has been for three months, they say."
Dha nodded. "Well, I'd rather just be flying anyway. Never did like the paperwork."
Kandosii answered. "Neither do I, but I intend to try."
"Really? You?" Dha looked pretty surprised. "I thought it would be you, Ranov'la, or you, Billy."
Billy smirked, "I'm told its too soon for another Bretonian Mandalore, and Ranov'la here says he doesn't have the time, or inclination. But it seems our young Mr Kandosii here is full of ambition."
The about-to-be former Mandalore Dha Piruna looked at the three men gathered before him. He began chuckling, then outright laughing loudly. The three others looked at him, wondering if this was some sort of breakdown.
Dha waved his hand to reassure them, then wiped tears from his eyes. "Our ancestors would be so disgusted with us.", he said.
Ranov'la asked quizzically, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Well", said Dha, still wiping his eyes, "this is the third time the chair of Mandalore has passed on without him being murdered in the process. It's disgraceful, really. Sure you don't want to blow me away? Tradition, you know."
Ranov'la smiled. "No, old friend, just want you to get back in that gunship and start earning your keep. We'll clean up this mess." He glanced at the paperwork, and shuddered.
Dha smiled, nodded, and stood up. Too quickly. He wavered for a bit, then started to leave the room. He faced Kandosii, and asked, "Permission to sober up first sir?" He handed a very significant signet ring to him as he asked the question.
Kandosii took the ring, and put it on and looked at it in mild disbelief. He thought to himself, Mighty Cay'lith, what have I gotten myself into? He didn't give voice to his uncertainty though.
"Sure, Consul. Take your time. But get out there and make us some money, will you?"
Dha smiled wanly, then left the room, muttering something about a girl.
Ranov'la Aran looked like he'd just kicked his own dog.
But business was business.
Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 01-04-2009
Dha Piruna walked onto the New London Spaceport tarmac, and approached Kal'ika Vergubuir, who was doing some work on his Stinger.
He walked right up to him, smiled, and held out his hand.
Puzzled, Kal'ika held out his as well, expecting a handshake from the Mandalore for a job well done, maybe. (He hadn't heard about the recent bloodless coup.)
Instead, Dha placed an object in his hand, and winked. Kal'ika looked down and saw he was the proud owner of a Consul signet ring.
Shocked, he started to say something. Dha cut him off.
"It's worn on the left hand. If you ever become Mandalore, that ring is worn on the right, and the Mandalore always keeps his old Consul ring. Both my hands are lighter now.." Dha gestured to his empty ring fingers. "Kandosii is now Mandalore."
"Usually after a succession, its ripped off his corpse, and both rings are given away. The Mandalore ring goes to he who slayed him, and the consul ring goes to the most promising Alor'ad."
"We do things gentler, now. I'm no corpse, and I thought I'd reserve the right to pick the new Consul. You'll do fine."
Dha winked at the speechless new Consul, and walked away. As he did so, he yelled back;
"Not a very formal promotion, and I'm sorry about that. But I got the Mandalore's ring the same way. Same place even."
"Good luck. I'm going to go shoot at something, now, for money."
Tales of the Mandalorians - Drifter84 - 01-06-2009
Kalika stared at Dhas retreating back as he headed ( mostly ) straight for his gunship . He watched thoughtfully as the engines powered up and the vessel lifted , wobbled slightly before blasting straight for the New London sky . As it punched through the eternal cloud cover , he raised his hand in the Mandalorian salute , So long , my friend , Ill see you on the battlefield or in the afterlife May Great Caylith watch your back .
Looking again at the heavy signet ring in his hand , he carefully slid it onto his left hand and raised it to catch the light . Staring at it , he remembered his father and his dying wish that Kalika find and join the Mandalorians .
Do you see me now , father ? I am home . he whispered .
As he pondered his life course to this point , his mind light years away , a hand came down heavily on his shoulder .
Without thought , his hand whipped up , trapping the offending hand as he pivoted .
His opposing hand drove viciously up and into the hapless fellows elbow , forcing his torso ground wards as Kal'ika's eyes scanned for other assailants and his foot snapped towards the mans head to halt a whisker from crushing the ground crew foremans throat .
Jack muttered Kalika How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up behind me ?
Jacks eyes bulged slightly as he gasped Let my arm go if you dont mind , sir , especially if you want that Stinger to lift today . These bones o mine dont handle rough treatment like they used too .
The young Mandalorian blushed slightly as he released Jacks arm and stepped back .
Jack rubbed his wrenched shoulder ruefully , knowing that slight blush was as close to an apology for his undignified manhandling as he was going to get .
Grimacing at the discomfited , scarred young man , correction , young Consul , before him , Jack said Come along , young sir , lets finish up with the Stinger , shall we ? Cant have a freshly minted Mandalorian Consul flying around with a faulty throttle on his ship , now can we ?
As the grizzled old foreman shambled back to the Stinger , Kalika looked up at the sky and , for the first time since his father died , smiled .
Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 01-29-2009
Mandalore Kandosii sat back in the chair, feeling somewhat pleased with himself.
Enrolment was up, and the pilots were starting to rack up kills again. Old clients had paid bills, and relationships with new ones had been established.
The books were back in the black, and in general, things were looking up.
The successful career of Kandosii was due, in large part, to the status of his family. The Mandalorians were a hierarchal society, with competing noble clans continually jousting for power. The Clan Kandosii was an ancient one, and held high status. Only the Clan Piruna had higher rank. Both families traced their lineage back to the original Mandalore himself.
The Mandalore was usually from one of the noble bloodlines. Commoners seldom achieved the title. The reign of John Cabot was an exception to that rule, but the Bretonian Mandalore had been selected for political expediency, to cement ties with Bretonia. The ties now cemented, (the Consuls and Mandalore having received Bretonian Noble titles), the upper echelon of the Mandalorians were quite happy to go back to their traditional hierarchies.
Consuls were usually also nobles. Consul Ranov'la Aran was an exception to that rule. They said he was an orphan, and he rose through the ranks the hard way. In battle. He was a hard, but fair, man, and his popularity lay with the common soldiers. He was, to tell the truth, quite popular with the average Mandalorians, more so than Kandosii, save for the latter's Cay'lith cultists. But when Dha Piruna had stepped down, only one "traditional" choice lay before the Mandalorians. It was Clan Kandosii's turn.
It was not a popular decision with the rank and file. And someone should have told Kandosii the story of Marc Anthony.
A package was brought in by a porter. It was large, and bore the name of the Mandalore, from the Consul Ranov'la Aran.
"Ah, Ranov, you found me the Canaria Ale." Cardimine content, 0.04%. Enough for an effect, but just below the limit (0.05%) for an illegal narcotic.
He brought out his dagger, the Murcyur, "Mandalorian Kiss", and opened the box, and fell backwards in shock, with a yell of surprise.
Inside the box were two severed heads.
Kandosii's guards had silently left their posts, and at the sound of his shocking discovery, four darkly garbed men filed into the room. They were immediately recognised by the Mandalore as Dha'wherds Sh'ehn, Ta'raysh, Cuir, and Solus.
Kandosii stood and regarded the Dha'wherd with a distasteful grimace. They gazed back at him coldly, without expression.
"So it's come to this, then?", asked the Mandalore.
"Yes." said Ranov'la Aran as he walked into the room. At the sight of him, Kandosii gave a sigh of despair, then sat.
"'Mandalore', meet Dha'wherd Rayshe'a, and Dha'wherd E'tad." Ranov'la was gesturing at the box. "They were on your payroll, so I am surprised you do not recognise them, though I suppose...", Ranov'la picked up one of the heads and regarded it quizzically, "maybe they are hard to recognise, like this."
Kandosii said nothing. He was staring with stoic defiance at Ranov'la.
"I needed time to find your moles. And having done so...", Ranov'la gestured again to the box, then leaned forward with eyes narrowed, "The Dha'wherd are now entirely mine."
Kandosii shook his head, sadly. He had hired the two dead men on his desk to confirm rumours that somebody significant was consolidating support amongst the Dha'wherd. Accurate rumours, it seemed.
"You have made a deal with the devil, Ranov.", he said with a tired smile. "You are just a vehicle to them, to gain them power. John was right to exile them." Dha'wherd Solus's eyes narrowed at the last statement, and he reached to his belt. Ranov'la gestured to him to stop, then laughed.
"My friend, I AM one of those devils." He lay a hand on Ta'raysh's shoulder, and smiled.
"I am no orphan. My father is Dha'wherd Kahn'taal."
Kandosii looked positively shaken. There could be nothing that could make this situation worse. Well now, actually..
"Kal'ika Vergebuir is with us. You have only your wealthy friends. And you know THEY cannot fight." With the last phrase, Ranov'la's voice positively dripped with contempt.
Kandosii closed his eyes, knowing this coup had been meticulously planned. Ranov'la never used half measures. There was no way out of this.
"Then do it.", he said. "Kill me."
Ranov'la did not answer for a second. Then he spoke softly.
"This is not personal. And it must be done our way. The Mandalorian way. Those who look to me will have it no differently."
He drew his own Murcyur. "You can keep the position of Mandalore. All you have to do is successfully defend my challenge, and kill me."
Kandosii opened his eyes suddenly, and moved like lightning. He had already drawn his blade to open the box containing the remains of the unfortunate Dha'wherd, and he was now determined to save his life. He intended to wound Ranov'la, and force a surrender. If he killed his challenger, he knew those honourless Dha'wherd monsters would simply kill him, and appoint someone amenable to them in his stead. They had done that before.
Ranov'la was not prepared for the ferocity of the charge and he dodged the thrust of the blade imperfectly. A nasty gash was made on his left cheek. Kandosii was younger, and faster, but did not have Ranov'la's skill with the blade. This contest was not to either's advantage.
Ranov'la recovered from the attack, and spun to deliver a spinning backfist with the hilt of his blade to Kandosii's temple. Kandosii staggered and fell forward, but then rolled, and rose up facing his adversary, warning away the nearby Dha'wherd with his blade. They stepped back to make room, smiling. No matter who won this fight, they were going to gain.
Mandalorians did not tend to dance around in their knife fights. They did not waste energy or time. They knew how to go for the swift kill, and now the two men rushed each other again.
Kandosii took a cut in the forearm, winced, and recoiled. The other man's superior skill with a blade was a problem, now. So Kandosii got creative, feinted with his knife...
... and kicked Ranov'la's blade from his hand. It flew far across the room.
Kandosii, sure of victory, drew himself up to Ranov'la and drove his blade deep into his adversary's thigh. Ranov'la grimaced, in a substantial amount of pain.
"Do you yield?!?", demanded Kandosii, his face close to Ranov'la's.
Ranov'la was still standing, and he just smiled, then thrust with an unseen hand. Kandosii gasped, and began falling to the floor.
Ranov'la spoke, in some shock, but firm. "My father taught me to carry two Murcyur." He threw away his second blade, covered in Kandosii's blood. Then he helped Kandosii to the floor.
Kandosii held his right hand up to his left, and removed the Mandalore's signet ring. He handed it to Ranov'la, hand shaking. Ranov'la took the bloodied ring, nodded in respect to Kandosii, and put it on.
Kandosii then began to remove his Consul's ring. Ranov'la stopped him, and looked down at his own thigh, which still had Kandosii's Murcyur lodged in it.
"That blade is in my leg. It could have as easily been put through my heart. Why?" Kandosii was too weak now to answer, and Ranov'la sat painfully on the floor.
One of the Dha'wherd had begun to draw his own blade. Ranov'la held up his hand, and the Dha'wherd, after some puzzled delay, put his blade away again. Mercy was not a concept they were familiar with.
"He spared my life, so I spare his." Ranov'la leaned closer to Kandosii, looked at the other man's wound, then spoke. "Don't worry, Consul, you still have another kidney."
He barked an order at the Dha'wherd. "Take him to the infirmary, now. Return for me. I'll soon need some attention myself." He was losing quite a bit of blood.
The Dha'wherd left, carrying Kandosii with them. As they left, Ranov'la yelled after them, "No funny business! He is to be spared!"
Ranov'la Aran painfully limped over to the Mandalore's chair, and pulled himself into it. He allowed himself a moment of quiet, if painful, triumph.
It was not the first time blood had been spilt over, and on, that ancient chair.
Nor would it likely be the last.
Tales of the Mandalorians - tfmachad - 01-29-2009
"Warmaster, we think too often in terms of dualism... light or dark, right or wrong. But there are three sides to this blade, not two, opposed and similar at the same time. The third edge is the Mandalorian."
―Vergere
The Mandalorians (Mando'ade in their alien language, meaning "children of the Mandalore") are a warlike, nomadic group of clan-based people consisting of members from multiple origins. Their culture revolves around that of battle and war being a source of honor and pride in their community.
The leader of the Mandalorians typically takes on the title of "Mandalore". It is a simple thing to describe what the Mandalore represents as a figure. It represents a patriarch, a commander, a friend and a formidable adversary. The Mandalorians, as a people, are proud of and reverent to the one serving as their Mandalore while that one is strong and capable.
The Mandalore entered the hangar where three of his people - father and two sons - worked on his ship.
Not all Mandalorians constantly fight on the front lines. Some act as mechanics, medics, engineers and in a variety of other activities to the best of their abilities and with their people's success and sustaining in mind. However, all Mandalorians are warriors at heart, and all know how to fight.
Those weren't dock workers, but fully fledged warriors; all three of them, including the younger one. The Mandalore approached them, demonstrating little interest in his ship or in their work on it. They've noticed it and stopped what they were doing. Without even acknowledging the other two, the Mandalore addressed the younger one.
"Dha'wherd ad?" [Dha'wherd son?]
"Cuun Mandalore," [Our Mandalore] the young boy bowed only slightly, not losing the Mandalore's gaze. Respectful and yet ready, as it was proper to a trained warrior.
"Su cuy'gar, A'dika. Ke'adenii ad yaim?" [Greetings, boy. Are you the younger son?] Even though the seasoned warrior's words were friendly, his tone was neutral.
"Elek, Mandalore." [Yes, Mandalore.]
The Mandalore looked the boy straight in the eye and, with a finger pointed to his chest, said, "Gar yaim, gar akun, verda." [Your home, your war, warrior.]
There were six acts one needed to follow to be a Mandalorian, known as Resol'Nare. They consisted of: wearing armor, speaking Mando'a, defending yourself and family, raising children as Mandalorians, helping the clan succeed and sustain itself, and when called to arms by the Mandalore, rally to his cause.
'Gar yaim, gar akun,' was a call to adulthood from the Mandalore himself. It turned out to be a call to arms of sorts as well, as the Mandalore mentioned for the young man to follow him, giving him his warrior's name, "Ni ti, Ranov'la Aran." [Come with me, 'Ranov'la Aran'.]
The young man followed the Mandalore without hesitation, never looking back to his father and brother.
Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 03-03-2009
Consul William Bishop stood to at the briefing room.
"Right.", he began. "We are doing well on the Corsair Contracts. Don't kill too many, that's the golden goose.."
Some snickers in the audience at that.
"In recent news, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have received rights to fly through Baffin, and may also continue to buy equipment from the Zoners at Omega 49, as needed."
He continued.
"When flying through Baffin, if one of those TAZ folk give you the 3rd Degree, just advise them that we have paid for passage."
"Also, the passphrase in Baffin that we are to use is 'Hail Eris, Queen of Baffin.'"
"Or Bafflin. Either works."
Some of the men in the audience looked a bit put out..
"Yeah, I know.", Bishop explained. "Its a little odd, but they are good, if eccentric folk, and more importantly, quite well off..."
"So lets keep them happy, eh? Try to get a bit more work outta them. A happy client pays bills promptly, and doesn't always check the disbursments."
Bishop was done. And so were his pilots.
"Dismissed."
Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 04-12-2009
The prisoner eyed his visitor suspiciously.
"So you're my lawyer. Why would I need a lawyer, Gaijin?"
The pudgy, and rather sloppy Bretonian sat down heavily, opposite to his client, and responded with a voice which betrayed no patience whatsoever with this arrogant young Kusari commander.
"This is Bretonia, so you are the Gaijin here, and watch your attitude lad, seeing as I'm the only friend you have in about 5 lightyears."
"As to why you would need a lawyer, I'll describe briefly to you the rather serious situation you are in. You know the HMS Thames?"
At that name the young Chujo looked up and nodded. "It was a training Dunkrik we inadvertantly destroyed in the operation to invade Leeds. That was a tragic accident of war. The death of its crew is a stain on Kusari's honour. I know. I was there."
The pudgy lawyer was silent for a minute. Then he spoke slowly in a soft voice.
"You were not only there. The ship you so recently commanded, the Goju Ryu, which now floats in space near Stokes in about a million pieces, fired the fatal blow into the hull of the Thames. The Crown's position is that you deliberately destroyed that ship, knowing it was essentially defenseless, with malice aforethought. In short, they are to hang you as a war criminal, and I am tasked with the wellnigh impossible and thankless job of defending you."
The prisoner was livid with rage, but silent. His lawyer continued.
"As a Bretonian, I could not care less if you hang, and in fact relish the prospect. My niece was onboard the Thames. She was 18."
The prisoner stood and faced his council, who backed off, taken aback by the young man's intensity.
"The fault", the Kusari snarled, "of the death of that ship, lays with her commander, who should NEVER have taken her into battle with limited strength, and with an inexperienced crew, against an experienced Destroyer task force! It was all over before we even knew it! Four salvos was all it took! FOUR! Two of mine, and two of Chijin's! Find that idiot commander's corpse and put HIM on trial for incompetence!"
The lawyer looked at his client and gave him a tired smile.
"I do believe you, you know. But truth is the first casualty of war. The Crown has selected its scapegoat. You know that word?"
The prisoner nodded, resigned now.
"You will likely hang. I will be honest with you. I do not care. But as your lawyer, believe it or not, I will do my best to defend you. We are like that, lawyers. Actors in a play, sometimes, where the outcome is almost predetermined, but we dig in our heals, and fight, and sometimes we win on a technicality. Maybe I'll find one in this case, though I doubt it."
The lawyer picked up his satchel with a shrug. He left some papers on the desk and gestured at them.
"We can meet again later. If you wish to contact me, tell your guards, and they are obliged to relay your wishes to me. Review those papers."
He left.
Chujo John Miyagi sat staring blankly at the papers in front of him for a very long time.
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"Visitor", the guard announced.
"Tell the fat bastard I haven't finished looking at his documents. He can come back when I ask him."
"I'm not particularily fat, and my parents were married."
The Kusari rolled out of his bunk, and looked up at his visitor. He was tall, thin, and was wearing a black tunic, with an odd insignia on the epaullets.
"Who are you?", he asked tersely.
The visitor smiled, and sat. "I'm somebody who knew your father."
At those words, Miyagi tensed, then stood. "You're a Mandalorian. I've met some of you. In the cockpit." His tone gave no illusion of goodwill.
The visitor ignored his attitude, and continued. "Your English is excellant. Your mother taught you?"
John nodded slowly. "I'm not interested in small talk. You are my enemy. I understand the difference between chivalry and familiarity. Or do you typically engage in meaningless blather with your sworn enemies?"
The Mandalorian smiled. "Of course. Let me introduce myself. I am Dha Piruna. Your father made me Mandalore when he returned to Kusari. A position I held for some short while, before it was taken from me, in our manner."
He sat and turned to face Miyagi. "You are, believe it or not, a Mandalorian. You are son of a former Mandalore, and like it or not, you are one of us. Under our tradition, you do not even have the right to reject your heritage."
Miyagi started to smile, then laughed for quite a while, but bitterly.
"You MUST be joking. I was born with two ancestries, opposed to each other in a brutal conflict, and now YOU propose to add a third? What's next, do I have another visitor from Rheinland claiming I am his heir?"
Dha Piruna looked sadly at the Kusari, then pulled a bottle from his tunic and threw it to the prisoner.
"Got that past the guards. Its an excellant single malt Scotch. It was your fathers. A birthday present he never got to drink."
The prisoner looked sadly at the bottle. "Thank you, but I don't even drink." He attempted to hand the bottle back to Dha, who waved it away.
"Then start drinking now. Prison is a good time to start. Or trade it for something. I don't care. I just thought it was something you should have."
The Mandalorian stood, to leave, but then he walked close to the Kusari, so he could not be overheard, and leaned down to where Miyagi sat on his bunk, and spoke quietly.
"The Thames was not your fault. The Mandalorians know that. A good many of the Bretonian Armed Forces know that. But the Crown will press for a propoganda victory with this trial of theirs, and the deck WILL be stacked against you."
He leaned even closer now, and spoke in a harsh whisper.
"Know this. The son of John Cabot will NOT hang as a scapegoat. We WILL not permit it. On that you have my word."
The Kusari looked up and saw the grey eyes of a hardened killer, and knew Piruna spoke the truth.
The Mandalorian said no more, but left quickly. The guard closed the door, and pretended not to see the bottle.
Miyagi looked down at his father's Scotch, and reflected on his three heritages. Two in conflict.
And now perhaps, all three.
Tales of the Mandalorians - Dieter Schprokets - 05-10-2009
Dhawherd Solus poured his morning coffee, and sat down to drink it.
It was not precisely coffee.
What happened next was excruciating, but quick.
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The lithe Golden Chrysanthemum gathered her things from the small dark bedroom quietly. The small blaster fit neatly back in her purse.
Before she left, she turned and waved at a pallid figure on the floor.
Dhawherd Etad was in no condition to wave back.
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In the distant corners of Sirius, the assassins were being assassinated. Poisoned, shot, stabbed, electrocuted, blasted out of space. The means were as varied as the people carrying out the deed.
In an office in New London, a young woman sat at a desk. She picked up a phone, spoke into it briefly after hearing the man at the other end report, and hung it up with a smile.
Ranovla has heard what we have done to his men. He is fleeing New London spaceport as we speak. Shall we let him go?
The man opposite her, also smiling, nodded. His base was the Dhawherd. He cannot threaten you. He may even fly for us again, once hes over this. Business, not personal. Well request the signet ring. Hell know better than to try to keep it.
The woman thought briefly. Then spoke.
True enough. Now that it is over, I am going to continue to count on your support. I trust I have it? Do you seriously have no designs on the Chair, yourself?
The man laughed. I never expected to get this far. I do not harbour the same amount of ambition you do, Mandalore Blane. You, I think, are just getting started.
The woman looked carefully at her guest, trying to judge his sincerity. After a few seconds she relaxed.
Your support is appreciated, and will be well rewarded, Consul Bishop. You have spoken to the others?
He nodded. "Only just. They accept the new reality. Ranov'la's ties to the Dha'wherd had always made the others uncomfortable as well. What we have done, though brutal, will be popular with the rank and file."
She breathed a sigh of relief. William Bishop raised a glass of scotch and toasted the occasion.
"To the second Bretonian Mandalore."