Post by Dutch on Oct 18, 2015 17:22:35 GMT -5
This is open for all/any Mandalorians to join in 
The battle was won, and the treaties signed. Clans Ordo and Jendri were united for the first time in generations; the world of Gargon theirs to settle. The cities were of classic Republic architecture, but the banners were of mythosaur skulls and clan emblems. The Mandalorian warriors had feasted for a week straight, pockets of singing in Mando’a still common through the streets even after two weeks of occupation. In the recent days civilian transports from Mandalorian space had begun to arrive, bringing with it merchants and laborers. As far as the eye could see men and women worked with high spirits to clear rubble and set up shop.
All together a collection of Mandalorians worked to tug a tow cable, the raising of a stone pillar their goal. Intermittent cries of ’Nar dralshy’a! sounded by the dozens that pulled. With grit teeth and soaking sweat they strove, just another addition to the melody that filled the streets of Gargon.
Seemingly hundreds sang, streets filled with the same soulful rhythm to the time of tools on stone. High up a statue of some Jedi, a woman strapped to the head worked in the mid-day sun. Half the Jedi’s face already had been transformed into a Mandalorian face-plate, the half T of a visor replacing both eyes. With only a hammer and a chissel she worked, singing softly along with her vode.
The timing revolved around the beat of a blacksmith’s hammer. A broad weequay with a stern brow, he worked tirelessly before a great forge as his half-dozen sons toiled beside him. Together they forged picks, shovels and support struts to aid in the very excavation into the ruined city. His eldest son sang hauntingly well, the proud smile on the weequay wide and toothy.
Mandalore’s own small smile of affection would go unseen, hidden behind the mask of her helm. Entirely clad in the gleaming silver beskar’gam the Reclaimer was now known for, she strode among her people. In the gentle wind lengths of ceremonial green cloths wound around her waved. Her business with the Jendri and Ordo had gone quite smoothly that day, the forum with both clans ending earlier than expected. They returned to work, and Mandalore returned to visiting planetside before needing to return to her flagship.
A great crack sounded, and one of the cables being used to raise the earlier pillar snapped. A collective cry of surprise sounded. Some of the pullers stumbled, a few fell from the sudden shift of weight. Boots skid across dusty concrete, and defiant shouts of Mando’a echoed through the streets. Pure gut instinct kicked in, and Mandalore sprinted directly for the struggling line. She slid in to fill one of the abandoned sections of cable and all four hands gripped it tight.
Alongside her brothers and sisters, Mandalore grunted and struggled to help guide the stone slab the last few feet upwards.
The battle was won, and the treaties signed. Clans Ordo and Jendri were united for the first time in generations; the world of Gargon theirs to settle. The cities were of classic Republic architecture, but the banners were of mythosaur skulls and clan emblems. The Mandalorian warriors had feasted for a week straight, pockets of singing in Mando’a still common through the streets even after two weeks of occupation. In the recent days civilian transports from Mandalorian space had begun to arrive, bringing with it merchants and laborers. As far as the eye could see men and women worked with high spirits to clear rubble and set up shop.
All together a collection of Mandalorians worked to tug a tow cable, the raising of a stone pillar their goal. Intermittent cries of ’Nar dralshy’a! sounded by the dozens that pulled. With grit teeth and soaking sweat they strove, just another addition to the melody that filled the streets of Gargon.
Seemingly hundreds sang, streets filled with the same soulful rhythm to the time of tools on stone. High up a statue of some Jedi, a woman strapped to the head worked in the mid-day sun. Half the Jedi’s face already had been transformed into a Mandalorian face-plate, the half T of a visor replacing both eyes. With only a hammer and a chissel she worked, singing softly along with her vode.
The timing revolved around the beat of a blacksmith’s hammer. A broad weequay with a stern brow, he worked tirelessly before a great forge as his half-dozen sons toiled beside him. Together they forged picks, shovels and support struts to aid in the very excavation into the ruined city. His eldest son sang hauntingly well, the proud smile on the weequay wide and toothy.
Mandalore’s own small smile of affection would go unseen, hidden behind the mask of her helm. Entirely clad in the gleaming silver beskar’gam the Reclaimer was now known for, she strode among her people. In the gentle wind lengths of ceremonial green cloths wound around her waved. Her business with the Jendri and Ordo had gone quite smoothly that day, the forum with both clans ending earlier than expected. They returned to work, and Mandalore returned to visiting planetside before needing to return to her flagship.
A great crack sounded, and one of the cables being used to raise the earlier pillar snapped. A collective cry of surprise sounded. Some of the pullers stumbled, a few fell from the sudden shift of weight. Boots skid across dusty concrete, and defiant shouts of Mando’a echoed through the streets. Pure gut instinct kicked in, and Mandalore sprinted directly for the struggling line. She slid in to fill one of the abandoned sections of cable and all four hands gripped it tight.
Alongside her brothers and sisters, Mandalore grunted and struggled to help guide the stone slab the last few feet upwards.
