#{ v; mandalorian civil war }

[liviatrivia]

Some young mandalorian Satine Kryze in these trying times?

[ospreyeamon]

the falls of the revanchist jedi

The narrative doesn’t directly examine why the Jedi who followed Revan and Malak fell. It is spoken of as a given – they followed Revan into war, so they followed Revan into darkness. That’s not how people work though. That’s not even how people under the influence of the Dark Side of the Force work. Spending twenty years as Palpatine’s thrall didn’t prevent Vader from throwing his Master into the reactor shaft to save his son. Revan can murder every NPC available to be murdered until reaching Rakata Prime only to pull a 180, redeem Bastila, and be feted as a hero of the Republic, Sith-eyes and all.

All but one of the surviving Revanchist Jedi who followed Revan and Malak into the Mandalorian Wars followed them again into the Jedi Civil War. Even the Exile, that lone dissenting actor, can say that they would have fought with their fellows against the Republic had their connection to the Force not been severed; that they were unable, not unwilling. Yet, the Exile can also say that they would not have followed Revan and Malak in attacking the Republic, that they went to war to defend the innocent. Many of the other Jedi who joined the war effort alongside them must have felt the same way, in the beginning.

Many of the soldiers of the Republic like Carth Onasi returned home after the Mandalorian Wars were over, even those like Saul Karath who would bow to Revan again. What then are the factors that led every surviving Revanchist Jedi, save the Exile, to follow Revan from the Mandalorian Wars into the Jedi Civil War?

1) The Mandalorian Wars changed the Jedi who fought in them. The Exile’s dialogue provides the different reasons why they might have left to fight in the war – to protect the innocent, to test their power, to defend the Republic, to win glory – reflecting varying motivations of Knights and Padawans recruited by Revan and Malak. However, despite the differences in the initial reasons for defying the Jedi Council to answer the Republic’s call, they all would have gone through similar uniting experiences during the war. Terrible experiences. Shared hardship often serves to reinforce group identity.

Older Jedi like Kavar and Arren Kae had fought wars before, but the initial expedition led by Revan and Malak was almost entirely composed of young Knights and older Padawans. Military morality, ethics in warfare, tends to be rather twisted from the perspective of modern western civilian morality. Your ability to prosecute the war and the safety of your soldiers takes priority over the lives of enemy, and sometimes even allied, civilians. Ruthless is more than a virtue, it’s a necessity. Collateral damage is an inevitability. For young relatively inexperienced Jedi, raised on ideals of valuing all life and always seeking non-violent resolutions, the transition to military command positions where they were not only required to kill, not only required to led troops to their death, but required to give orders which they knew would directly result in the deaths of civilians would have been distressing.

We know that the Exile once led troops directly into a minefield during the Battle of Dxun, but I think that barely scratched the surface. We aren’t given the full laundry list of the Mandalorians’ war crimes, but at the very least it includes the crime of aggression, murder of civilians, use of child soldiers, and conscription of captured civilians into the Neo-Crusaders and for forced labour. Given this disregard for the lives of civilians, I consider it likely that the Mandalorians also used hostages and headquartered themselves inside buildings like schools and hospitals. I suspect both sides used poison weapons, nuclear weapons, torture, and executed prisoners of war.

2) The Battle of Malachor V was a purge and a crucible of conversion. Kreia, HK-47, and the recording of Bastila Shan all say it; “a series of massacres that masked another war, a war of conversion”, “the intention was to destroy the Jedi, break their will, and make them loyal to Revan … Revan was "cleaning house" at Malachor V”, “to convert the last of the Jedi who fought beside [Revan] – and murder those who would not”. The Jedi in the radius of the Mass Shadow Generator would have included the Jedi Revan did not believe would agree with the plan to invade the Republic.

I think many of the Revanchist Jedi had already been falling by inches before Malachor. The Mandalorian Wars were brutal and one of the major symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is emotional dysregulation. Irritability, anxiety, depression, guilt, anger – the ongoing effects of trauma make a person more susceptible to inadvertently drawing on the Dark-Side of the Force. Using the Dark-Side of the Force was forbidden by the Code enforced by the Jedi Council, but the Revanchists had been pressured to compromise their ethics in other ways to effectively prosecute the war.

For any Jedi who had not already fallen, the detonation of the Mass Shadow Generator was a final blow they could not withstand. They all fell – into the Dark-Side, into death, away from the Force.

This was the conversion that Revan desired. The moral conversation – the acceptance of actions that violated their previous moral code, the previous moral code that would not have permitted making war on the Republic. The conversion in the Force – pushing Jedi to the Dark-Side ensured that they would not be accepted back into the Order by the Jedi Council even if they desired to return.

3) The Jedi Council’s decision to exile the Jedi who returned to face them was a gift to Revan and Malak. The Council’s judgement might have been rooted in their discomfort with what the Exile had become but the reason they publicly gave is that the Exile disobeyed the Council to follow Revan to war. That reason applied equally to every single other Revanchist. By exiling the one Revanchist to return the Jedi Council exiled them all, whether or not they intended to. They may not have, but by deciding to keep secret the true reasons behind their sentence of exile they ensured the other Revanchists could interpret their judgement no other way.

Telling the Revanchist Jedi they would never be welcome to return to the Jedi Order ensured that they would never go back. Onwards was the only path left to them.

4) Revan was extremely charismatic and competent. The Revanchist Jedi had already decided that Revan and Malak judgement was better than the Jedi Council’s when they chose to defy the Council’s orders to follow them to war. Revan, Malak and the Revanchists then won the war for the Republic. In fact, Revan even discovered the shadowy threat the which had been the Council’s justification for sitting out the war through engaging in it, while the Jedi Council remained ignorant.

The Republic government probably bungled the early stages of the Mandalorian Wars by not intervening sooner. The Mandalorians were committing more than enough war crimes for them to justify it, but they allowed Mandalorians to expand their territory, build their forces and industry, and entrench their advantage. When the Republic did enter the war, it wasn’t because the Republic leadership had made a strategic decision, or even a moral one; it was because some corrupt politicians organised bribes to fast-track Taris into the Republic because it was under threat and they wanted to protect their business holdings there. The Jedi Council was also tangled up in the culture of corruption; Lucien Draay was given a seat on the Council even though he’d been accused of planning and assisting the murder of four Padawans because of his powerful family connections.

The Old Republic was more an aristocratic republic than a democratic one. Alderaan, Onderon, the Empress Teta system – they were all monarchies during this period, not democracies. If aristocrats could hold power through right of blood and plutocrats through wealth, then why shouldn’t Revan lead the Galactic Republic by right of merit and conquest?

Revan was secretive, but at least some of the other Revanchist Sith knew about the shadowy threat – the True Sith Empire. If the Republic was going to need to fight another war against an even greater enemy, surely it would need better leadership. Leadership like Revan.

[supersaiyanjedi14]

For Free Day for Sabine Week, I offer a selection of micros for our favorite technicolor Mandalorian in my own AU!

-Rebels Season 1

-Rebels Season 2

-The Force Unleashed

-A New Hope

-Pilot

-Galactic Civil War (two designs for the 3-year gap between IV and V)

-Empire Strikes Back

-Shadows of the Empire/Return of the Jedi

-Battle of Endor

-Wedding to Ezra (armor and dress)

-Mandalore the Defender

*credit for my pixels here

@sabineweek

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia (Din Djarin)

ori'skraan

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia

dark/haunted!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: The Mand'alor needs to feed to regain his strength, so you are called upon to fulfill the most sacred of your duties.

a haunted!Mand'alor!Din Djarin is granted strength beyond human limits by the Darksaber but at the cost of becoming a creature terrifying to behold who must feed like an incubus. Also, he has shadow tentacles. tbh; this is an elaborate setup for eldrich horror smut.

Warnings: dark, dub-con, tentacles, tentacle sex, rough sex, bondage, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), monsterfucking, author makes up stuff about Mandalorian culture in the name of monsterfucking, horror vibes, Mandalorian reader, Mando'a, satine kryze slander, Mand'alor Din Djarin, this may or may not become a series bcus I have a problem

Inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst.

also on ao3

In the days of the songs of old, before the civil war, before the pacifist uprising, and the slaughter of your people, being the Mand’alor meant something. It wasn’t symbolic; they weren’t a tool through which politicians passed their agendas; they were gods.

And when they died, their manda would join the others and become something stronger yet in the new Mand’alor. It was all ghost stories when you grew up. Something your brother would taunt you with, and when your buir found out, he was scolded, but the information was not denied.

An all-powerful ruler, granted extraordinary abilities by their dead predecessors. Terrifying, world-destroying power. And a beskar sword that could wield pure Force power.

They talked about the Mand’alor like a creature, this benevolent but merciless being who stalked in the shadows and called their mando’ade to arms only in times of true need. Who every Mandalorian worth their beskar would follow into death, whether by devotion or respect.

The real Mand’alor in your youth was much less impressive. Actually, she was fairly disappointing. She barely wore any beskar’gam, and you knew you could not serve her. Would not answer her call, for she was no real Mandalorian.

Never mind that you were ten.

After the Clone Wars, after the empire, after the purge, after… everything, you never thought you’d see Manda’yaim again.

But news travels fast through the galaxy, and when whispers began to turn to headlines, when every pub in town was brimming with the same news, when Mandalore was back in the hands of her people—

You waited. A twice-bitten striil burying her head in the sand. But you did reach out, and sent a ping through your connections until something echoed back.

It was true. And the call had been rung—return, it beckoned, for there is a Mand’alor on the throne at Keldabe.

So you went home.

Running Mandalore and protecting her from danger was a truly staggering feat. One supported by hundreds of other Mando’ade. Your brother pledged to serve on the royal guard, and you—well, before the Duchess, there was only one role you wanted.

You had been in training to be an attendant to the Mand’alor for years. Your time away from home had taught you that such a position was looked down upon by aruetti, the minding of a household diminished. But how could it be so when your services were dedicated to the Ka'ra? To protect and aid their vessel? To share the burden of living so that the Mand'alor can fulfill their oath to the people?

The Duchess had refused attendants, of course. And as she did not wield the saber, did not appreciate the grace of the Ka'ra, and so your job was over before it had begun. Though, as much as you disapproved of Kryze, you would have rather died to protect her than let that darjetii sit upon the throne.

The Darksaber granted him no power, and none after him. But when you arrive in the remains of Keldabe, where little stands now but stacks of cleared glass and hope, there are whispers of a man who had entered the Living Waters seeking redemption and returned as a monster to the surface with the blessing of the Stars themselves.

His advisors have explained as much as they know over and over again. It’s not much. Your regular duties are simple, something you had long mastered. Your other duties are less clear.

And so, you attend to him at all times. He fights you on it at first, gruff and stubborn. He doesn’t want you to draw his bath; he doesn’t want you to deliver his meals to his desk. But you do, and as the days tick by, he stops protesting you.

He even starts to anticipate your presence, greeting you with a soft kindness and accepting your service with quiet respect.

But the day was to come eventually. When he comes calling, you’re putting away Grogu’s clothes in the nursery.

There’s a knock at the door, but he doesn’t wait for you to answer. Fair, you suppose, since this is his son’s room.

“Mand’alor,” you say, inclining your head. You move to stand, and he sighs.

“Please, let’s not stand on decorum in these chambers.”

“It’s my job to, ah, 'stand on decorum,'” you say, smiling. But you resume folding the linens and small tunics.

“I wanted to let you know myself that you will be needed for your other duties tomorrow.”

Oh. The only indication of your reaction is a twitch of your fingers where they lay on the sleeve of a robe. “Yes, Mand’alor.”

“They explained to you what may happen?”

“Yes, Mand’alor, I understand.”

He comes and sits on the floor in front of you. Your helmet conceals your surprise, steady hands still working through the small pile of laundry.

“I’m sure they told you I did not want an attendant.”

“Something along those lines, yes.”

“Did they tell you why I changed my mind? Did they tell you what happened last month?”

You shudder a little involuntarily but hold firm enough to look at him and nod. “They also told me she’s okay.”

“Regardless,” he says, self-disgust oozing through the modulator. “I don’t wish for that to happen to you.”

“It may or may not,” you say. “We won’t know until then.”

“But you were trained for this. Do you know a way to ease it?”

“I did not complete my training, and I was too young to know the details. But…” you aren’t sure if you want to bring up your idea. It is, after all, without evidence.

“But what?”

“It’s nothing, Mand’alor. A theory and nothing more, but it isn’t worth the price.”

“What theory?”

“Just mine. Not even a fully formed hypothesis. Just a passing thought.”

“Tell me anyway.” His voice is soft. Nothing like you expect to face tomorrow.

“I just wondered if you were more familiar with me, if it might help.” You know he follows the Resol'nare in the way of the old songs. You have adapted to honor his Creed, as is The Way, and so he has never seen your face.

He's silent and you hope you haven't offended him. But he seems to genuinely considers your words.

And then he reaches up and removes his helmet.

“Kriff, warn me first,” you snap, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your visor with one hand.

“Your theory is sound. And we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“Yes, but in the Chamber, we aren’t meant to outside it. And I only meant that perhaps I should—”

“What does it matter?”

You almost scoff before you remember your place. “I suppose it does not.” These were his rules, after all. He has a greater understanding of his own Creed than you ever will.

“I accepted an attendant because they assured me it would help you survive. That I would understand your purpose, in the moment. If this has even a chance of ensuring your safety, then it must be done.”

You reach up, but he stops you before your fingers brush the bottom of your helmet.

“May I?”

You still haven’t opened your eyes, but the rough sound of his unmodulated voice asking to remove your helmet sounds downright salacious.

“Of course, ner Mand’alor,” you murmur and tilt your head back.

You startle when he touches you, not because you're surprised but because he's removed his gloves. His thumbs skim against your neck to break the seal, and his smooth fingers burn. He lifts it off as if the beskar were as fragile as an egg and sets it beside his own.

You finally open your eyes and gasp. He’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it, or if there are, they are lost to you. His stare is intense and enthralling, his eyes the shade and softness of damp earth.

Then you remember your station and quickly avert your eyes to the ground.

“If it’s any comfort,” he says, “I’ll look much different tomorrow.”

“I’m sure your other form is just as beautiful.”

“Thank you, but you don’t need to flatter me.”

The silence that follows isn’t quite awkward. It’s not the pause of uncertain hands and mouths, of stilted negotiations, but the way the air hangs thick before dropping into battle. It’s the feeling of sitting side by side with your vod, knowing you are safe but still may not make it home.

He sits for a moment longer before taking his leave. “You should rest,” he says before he leaves the room.

You assure him you will. But you won’t. If you’re going to be off duty for two days, all the more reason to finish your tasks, you reason. The crawling pressure against your breastbone calls you a liar.

You know, have known, that to fulfill your duty means walking into a trap unarmed and unprepared. Whatever you find in there, you will have to face with no weapon, no beskar, no allies.

It doesn’t stop you from shaking a little as you remove your beskar’gam in the antechamber. You’re alone. No assistants, no handmaidens, no witnesses.

You take a deep breath that carries you across the threshold. The antechamber locks behind you. There will be no leaving until he is satisfied.

You expected the ritual halls of your ancestors. This is a bedroom.

Yes, it’s a bedroom in a hall carved of beskar-veined stone, but it’s soft. There are pale, thick rugs on the floor and tufted seats in shades of gray. The enormous round bed is indulgent, covered in silks and soft furs. You sit, bare, afraid to hide yourself lest it angers him when he enters.

Will he be the man or the beast when he enters? You’re not sure which you’d prefer. To watch him transform or to be forced to accept his second form upon his entrance.

You’re saved from dwelling on it when the door slides open. You breathe only enough to feel it slip away.

The Mand'alor's shadow cuts the light from the entry. Silhouetted in the frame, he towers higher, wider than he had in the baby’s room. The edges of his form are hard to look at. ike your eyes can’t focus, can’t accept what they see. When he moves and the door locks, you realize it wasn’t his shadow. He is the shadow. It ripples from him, spreading across his torso and arms.

He reaches you in far too few steps. His broad hand cups your chin, and the shadows that blur the edge between his skin and the air cup you also, spilling from his fingers up your cheeks like a wisp of fog.

The Mand’alor does not speak. But when he looks at you, more eyes peel open. Four extra on each side of his forehead, black and slit like a serpent's, though his two original eyes are still brown.

He leans down, the tendrils that swallow him threatening to swallow you, too. When his lips meet yours, your mouth opens to draw a sharp breath. It does not receive it, as he licks into your mouth. It feels like you’re choking, the darkness sliding down your throat.

His hands find your arms, and the shadows crawl down them, never breaking contact with him but stretching, growing. They curl around you, lingering just on the precipice of incorporeal.

You break the kiss to gasp for air, and a wide smirk spreads across his face. “Such a pretty girl,” he purrs. You wish it was hyperbole, but the words come in a rumble from deep within his chest.

And you flush, heat bursting across your skin and pooling in your cunt. He takes a deep breath and his eyes, all ten, dart down to your thighs.

“Offering to feed me already, alor’ika?”

You shudder, but your legs part for him. You hardly notice, enraptured as you are by the way blinks ripple across his hungry eyes.

“That’s it, what a good little pet,” he purrs.

A shudder slips through, your nipples pebbling. He takes one in his mouth immediately. His tongue is rough, but his teeth are surprisingly flat. Human.

Though, you suppose, he’s not a carnivore. Doesn’t need the sharp fangs of nightmares to rend your flesh. Especially not when your flesh seems particularly eager to give him whatever he needs.

He licks the valley between your breasts and sets his teeth against the tendon of your neck. You tip your head to the side, and he rewards you with a famished growl and the sharp pinch of his bite.

You can’t quite breathe right, still. Your skin prickles and burns where his mouth travels down an extensive trail, tasting and biting and marking you. The restraint snaps when he reaches the crest between your thighs, the hunger overtaking him.

He’ll have plenty of time to savor you, anyway.

But for now, he dives straight in. You cry out and jerk your hips at the sudden sensation. Licking deep within you—unnaturally so, you suspect—the shadowy edges of him unfurl, more corporeal than before. Just the small taste has strengthened him so much already.

It splits into thick tendrils, blurry with no discernable edges, just a place where they meet your skin and where they pulse from his body.

They encircle your wrists and hold them just above your head, another pair wrenching your legs apart and opening you for him. He snarls, gripping your thighs in his hands and flicking the sandpaper of his tongue against your clit. You cry out, and a tendril slides into your mouth.

It’s nearly real, now, smooth and dense. Your eyes roll back into your head as it makes itself at home in your throat, fucking in and out.

He looks up at you and laughs into your pussy, the hot breath of air over your clit making you twitch.

There’s nothing to tether you, the slick silk slipping when you squirm, the tendrils connecting you to him, only him, and not the world around you. They lift up your hips, letting him drink from your well with fervor, and you jerk helplessly in their grasp as one slides up and caresses your ass, slithering over the hole and wriggling in.

There isn’t an inch of you that doesn’t feel raw. His shadowy limbs creep over your breasts, roll your nipples, smooth over your stomach, brush against your cheek.

When you cum, he snarls again, slipping two fingers into your cunt and curving them against you, pressing and rubbing, and it brings you over the edge again. He doesn’t let up, not until he builds you up and breaks you on his tongue and hand. Like cracking open a fruit and letting the juices pour over your hand.

He savors every drop.

The danger sneaks in unnoticed. You’re dazed, limp, and chest heaving, coated in sweat and his saliva. But his strength is growing, the tendrils no longer shadow but rendered into flesh, and his grip on you is bruising.

Neither of you notice. You’re exhausted, barely clinging to consciousness, and he’s ravenous.

“More, alor’ika,” he hisses. He forces himself to pull away, to crawl atop you and take.

When you had seen his cock, a brief glance when he entered, it was large but humanly so. It is certainly not, now.

He pushes in slowly, but for all the pleasure he wrung from you, it’s not enough. Could never be enough. You scream, but no sound comes out, thoroughly stoppered as you are by the shadow-limb.

You look up at him, pupils blown not from lust but from pain. Tears leak, and he leans down and licks them from you.

“So pretty when you cry,” he croons, extracting the tendril from your mouth so he can press his tongue inside.

“Mand’alor, please,” you beg through sobs.

The bones in your wrist grind as the tentacles pulsate around them. As he nears his peak, the force of his hips is cruel. You think of the girl from last month. The girl whose shattered pelvis will probably never heal right, even with the bacta bath.

“Ner Mand’alor,” you try again. “It’s too much. If you break me, you can’t have me again.”

He sinks his teeth into your neck. “I can have whatever I need from you.”

“Yes,” you say, trying to nudge his head away with your own. You bump his forehead in a weak attempt at a mirshmure’cya, jostling his damp curls and drawing his real eyes to yours. “Vor entye.”

He draws back a little, regarding you with ten unblinking eyes.

“I will hold you to that, ner ori'skraan,” he says and gives you his own Keldabe kiss. He fucks into you still, rough but not ravaging. The fevered kissing resumes as a tendril creeps down to rub your clit.

When he has drained every ounce of pleasure he can wring from you; he fills your raw, split cunt. It’s so much. It floods, and leaks from you, and all you can do is whimper until he begins to soften.

He reaches down between your legs and brings some of his cum to your lips. You accept the offering, the strange sweetness lingering in your mouth until your lips tingle. The feeling is slow to stretch through you, and by the time the analgesic takes effect, you’re already asleep.

[ranahan]

The Mandalorian Proletarian Uprising

Disclaimer: this post is 100% headcanons. I support your fandom-ordained right to make whatever kinds of headcanons and interpretations you want, even if they annoy me. That being said… I have some of my own.

You know how there’s a fraction of fandom who hold that the Old Mandalorians were a warrior elite who were oppressing the masses, and the New Mandalorians were the people rising up against their overlords? At least I’ve been getting those posts on my dash.

And at first I was annoyed, because that’s mushing together two completely different periods of Mandalorian history. And I have a half-written essay in my drafts about the demographics of historical warrior societies and how Mandalorians aren’t all warriors, actually.

But then I changed my mind. Because you know what? The Taung do seem to have been exactly the kind of bastards who committed several genocides and enslaved entire planets to their war machinery, either as soldiers or for churning out weapons and ships in factories. And yes, they do seem to have held that only Mandalorians had real souls. And that one had to be a warrior in order to be a Mandalorian, and the plebs aren’t mentioned. Which absolutely does make it seem like they were an oppressed and possibly (probably) an enslaved class.

So instead of brushing all that under the rug and crying about how my favourite blorbos aren’t imperialist assholes acshually, let’s say all that bad stuff happened. Let’s engage with it. Because there could be an interesting story here—good stories are all about conflict, after all.

So when did the people rise up?

So the first question is to ask when. And this is the part where I’m going to swerve left from the narrative I presented at the beginning of this essay. Because those genocidal warrior elites that annoy some fans? They were Taung. Who went extinct near four millennia ago. So that rather pushes back the date of our uprising.

Unfortunately it doesn’t seem like the masses rose against their evil overlords during the heyday of the Taung—they seem to have been going strong right up to the Battle of Malachor V, after which they are supposed to have gone extinct.

But then I remembered this little aside in this other headcanon essay of mine (which is also a good background to my headcanons):

As an aside: do you think the Mandalorians had a civil war afterwards? Now that these armies non-Taung Mandalorian warriors settle on Mandalorian worlds, where the previous non-Taung populations were little more than slaves? Did they fight it out or did they open up the clans again, for anyone willing to join?

So what if they did fight it out? Imagine this:

The Mandalorian Uprising after the Battle of Malachor V

The aftermath of the Battle of Malachor V is said to have been 300 years of diaspora and disarray for the Mandalorians. Let’s imagine what might have happened during those years:

The Mandalorian Empire has swept through the galaxy, gobbling up worlds and turning them into cogs for its hungry war machinery. Citizens of conquered worlds have two choices: join the Mandalorian armies or become a slave in their factories churning out ships, weapons, and munitions. The first option is presented as a chance to become a Mandalorian warrior yourself, to become one of the elites and find fame and glory and gold on the battlefields. The truth is that most of the press-ganged soldiers are little more than canon fodder.

The Mandalorian plague has seemed like an unstoppable tide, but suddenly Malachor V happens. Entire Mandalorian fleets have been vaporised, along with the Mand’alor himself and his top brass. The tide turns. The Mandalorian succession is in the air; their leadership in disarray. The Republic starts swiftly taking back the recently conquered worlds. The Mandalorian armies splinter.

And now many soldiers leave to find their fortunes among the wider Galaxy. But more of those ragged armies limp back to the Mandalorian home worlds and what territories they can keep a hold of. And now they try to settle down to governing them, according to their ancient laws and practices.

Only during the Mandalorian wars, the Mandalorian armies have grown exponentially. And they were grown almost entirely from the non-Taung populations. At the start of the war, clear majority of Mandalore’s citizens were Taung. At the end of it, they’re a small minority.

Many newly-minted Mandalorian warriors do buy into the warrior elite’s way of life—it benefits them, after all. But there are still huge tensions between the wish to return to the ancient ways of the Taung and the need to change how their society works in order to adapt to their completely different demographics. And maybe that tension holds for a while, maybe even decades. But eventually it snaps and a civil war boils over, because the warrior elite—now a small minority—cannot suppress their conquered masses forever.

And maybe that’s another reason why the Taung went extinct. They can’t have been all present at Malachor V, so I’ve previously suggested that they were effectively absorbed into the population, until a multitude could claim Taung ancestry, but there were no pureblooded Taung left. But maybe that extinction was helped along by the guillotine à la French Revolution. Maybe their oppressed subjects finished the job.

And unfortunately—like is often the case—it’s not just a single civil war. Like is won’t to happen, many people try to climb to the top and become the new king to replace the old one. So for decades or centuries, the Mandalorians suffer intermittent power grabs and uprisings, until they eventually settle on a new form of life and government.

Effects on Mandalorian culture

So why didn’t the Mandalorian culture go extinct? A large part of that is because the oppressed people, after throwing down their oppressors, adopted their customs as a mark of their new station in society. For better or worse, they too have been living in Mandalorian society and those are the customs of the free elites they know. If their own customs have been sufficiently suppressed, it might be only culture they know. This is not unusual if you look at irl history either.

Another part is that large parts of the Mandalorian armies (the cannon fodder) joined in on the fight. And many of them had been living as Mandalorian soldiers for years or even decades. It is their way of life too now, for better or worse.

The Mandalorian culture survives, but it is completely transformed. Anyone can be a Mandalorian now, regardless of blood. The old gods are abandoned in favour of belief in shared oversoul. Old philosophies and values are reinterpreted, and conquest is abandoned in favour of survival.

One of my favourite fanons is that Mandalorians have an abiding hatred for slavery. But I never knew how to justify it. And this here could be where it started—this slave revolution on Mandalore. Henceforth no Mandalorian would ever be a slave again.

And this could also help explain one of the dichotomies of the Mandalorians: how are they such consummate soldiers, yet have such problems with being governed? And this could be where the ethos of accepting no overlords could have been born. Mandalorians know having a tighter chain of command would make them more effective—but they also know what it would cost. And they would never take that bargain. It’s forged into the very soul of their national ethos, just like liberté, égalité, fraternité is forged into the French: Vode An.

Vode An makes for such a good working class motto, doesn’t it?

tldr:

Yes to Mandalorian peasant uprising against their warrior-elite overlords. But make it happen after the Mandalorian Wars, not in the modern days. Although you could certainly still see some ripple effects, internal tensions and biases to this day; just look at USAmericans, slavery and racism.

As always, this is just one possible way things could have gone down (and of course there can be more than one civil war in a people’s history). But I rather like it because it could explain some of those seemingly incongruous parts of the Mandalorian culture.

[attonposting]

Something I don't see many people invoke when writing Atton, and I wish more would, is the fact that his exiled Jedi crush is the General who pulled the trigger on the Mass Shadow Generator. That is a big deal! Him blowing up at the Exile over Malachor is nearly lost in the rapidfire shitstorm that's his whole confession, but Atton's on par with Mira for having personal beef over Malachor V. His headspace beneath the pazaak routine must have been a confused and angry mess once he learned that this ex-Jedi he was carting around was General Meetra Surik, or whichever name you gave your Exile.

Like, Atton was coming to grips with the fact that the Exile used to be a Jedi. They seem decent enough... clueless, and too much of a bleeding heart for their own good, they're the type of idiot who paints a target on their back every time they get out of bed, but at least they were a veteran instead of one of those worthless trust-in-the-Force types and they're not afraid to get their hands dirty when there's people that need to be shot. And hell, if the Jedi kicked them out, that's a point in their favor – maybe even enough for him to worry for them late at night after the juma's really kicked in, because sometimes they just seem so goddamn worn-down and look, he's not totally heartless. Anyone with eyes can see that they're lugging around some heavy shit; of course he's gonna wonder. And then he gets smacked with that.

Malachor V was huge to Atton. It's that theme of all of the crew's stories coming back to that single moment in time. Now, it's important to establish that Malachor is not a single event that broke Atton. He was already in bad straits by the end of the Mandalorian Wars, and heavily disillusioned by all he'd witnessed and done during them. It's not the end-all-be-all of his fall to the Dark Side and it may well have happened anyway. But Malachor was the capstone – a single terrible event that shattered the remainder of his faith. Atton was present during that battle (“You weren't there. You have no idea what happened.” -> “Oh yeah? Shows how much you know. Maybe you're wrong about a lot of other things, too.”) and alludes to trauma over it (“Wish I'd died there, that the storms had dragged me down into Malachor V”). My take is that he was among the forces arrayed for the space battle and barely managed to fly his way out of the gravity well, but you can interpret many different experiences from the loose constraints of canon.

No matter how you slice his involvement, though, Atton felt utterly betrayed by Malachor V. He'd already felt that the Republic was mismanaging its troops, that guys like him were being served up as cannon fodder while useless senators waffled over the measures they desperately needed on the ground and the Jedi sat on their Council thrones offering platitudes of protection while failing to lift a finger in anyone's defense. But here was the absolute worst of it – command straight-up lied to him, him and everyone else in that stars-damned clusterfuck, and sent them out as sacrificial lambs. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers laid out as bait for a goddamn trap. Didn't even get a chance to fucking fight, just a tongue-in-cheek “thank you for your sacrifice”, because if they'd signed up to fight then he guesses that meant they were already dead on paper anyway.

I think it's likely that the way Malachor ends up attributed to Revan was revisionism that happened later, in the same way that Revan accumulated blame for the actions of Malak in the Jedi Civil War. Revan definitely had a lot of blame for what happened at Malachor, but Atton would have hated whoever made that call. Whether he chalked it up to Meetra Surik or Insert Better Exile Name Here or just the Republic in general, he was a furious, bitter mess... and I don't think he would have been so quick to follow Revan if he'd known just how much of a hand they had in Malachor's planning.

Fast forward a decade later, when he meets the person behind that call, the Jedi behind that call, and they're nothing like he would have expected.

And he knows this because he's already seen them in action, gotten to know them a little – likes them, even, and isn't that a damned thing he tries to avoid. Unless your Exile is unusually chatty, Atton probably learns this sometime on Telos; possibly from Lt. Grenn when they get arrested (specifically the fact that the Republic wants to meet with them, that'll set off some alarm bells, and possibly bring in the Exile's full/real name), possibly when they meet Bao-Dur and his habit of using military ranks, possibly from the Handmaiden Sisters when they end up in Atris's Academy, and definitely from the holorecording of the Exile's trial if he hasn't already clued in. If he'd known who they were on Peragus, Atton might've used them to get off the station and planted a vibro in their back as soon as he didn't need them anymore, but now he's seen the kind of person they are – the parts that are just like him, the parts that are better than him – and he doesn't know how to feel.

I like to think that while Atton comes to terms with it, and probably a lot quicker than he was expecting... he doesn't forgive the Exile for Malachor. And it's the same as how forgiving Atton for his crimes is missing the point, and not what he wants anyway. It's more about moving on. The war is always going to be there, but it doesn't matter anymore, because they're not the same people who made those calls. What's important is that he understands. And in the end, not forgiving them might even be comfortable for Atton. He feels closer to them – both on a personal level and an aspirational one – in that they've both committed truly terrible crimes, things that cannot ever be made okay, and the Exile still managed to pick themselves up and keep trying. He's got mixed feelings about the charity act, but the fact that they were able to stop running and face the music for what they did is what captivates him, because that's something he never had the grit to do.

[dapurinthos]

lucasfilm. lucasfilm we need to talk. again. your timeline does not work with the implications in the novels. you have these two pages in timelines:

thus we have:

42bby: dooku leaves order; mandalorian clan wars begin

41bby: padawan: obi-wan's 'first' mission. lenahra visit. and dooku visiting temple, disparaging banquet hall:

40bby: master & apprentice: mission to pijal. however. H O W E V E R this part of the novel exists:

making the implication that dooku has not even been talking to the order, let alone visiting since leaving two years prior.

(not to mention the mandalorian clan wars/civil war placement is also wrong, as it has to take place after the trip to lenahra because kiersten white wrote it that way but that's allowed leeway from me because they at least used a circa)

publishing order is: master & apprentice —> dooku: jedi lost —> padawan, with claudia grey & cavan scott coordinating the events in their novels, so i'm more inclined to take the 2-year silence as accurate over dooku visiting in the year after his departure.

which is a long way to say that i'm excising that scene from padawan (thus leaving obi-wan to discover orla's map to lenahra as one of his regular visits to that dining hall) and kidnapping it to a couple years later for galaxies.

[thegreenlizard]

Generation swaps, role-reversals & remixes on the mission to Mandalore (V)

Obi-Wan is adopted off of Bandomeer (or Melidaan) by Mandalorians—too bad they’re the wrong sort of Mandalorians.

(Timeline mashup/generation swap, Jango/Obi-Wan, happy ending/fix it)

Obi-Wan and the other slaves stage a revolt on Bandomeer and manage to free themselves. Afterwards, Obi-Wan is adopted/recruited by Kyr’tsad—after all, they’re in the business of recruiting, mind washing, and training young people to be their soldiers.

So Obi-Wan is trained up, put into armour and put on the field in the Mandalorian civil wars. Luckily Kyr’tsad indoctrination doesn’t completely manage to overcome his Jedi upbringing, so he figures out they’re in the wrong and makes plans to defect to Haat’mando’ade.

He’s been gathering information and looking for the right moment to make his move and deal the largest blow to Kyr’tsad he can manage, when he’s deployed on Korda-6. His squad advances on the downed Mand’alor, who’s abandoned by the traitor at his side.

Obi-Wan shoots a couple of the Kyr’tsad commandos in the back, ignites his jetpack, and bowls the Mand’alor over and up to the sky, and makes a run towards the Haat’ade forces like Sith hounds are snapping at his heels. Well, it’s just Kyr’tsad, but there’s a rather lot of them. When they get in range, Jaster manages to hail his forces and warn them that he’s coming in hot with Kyr’tsad in pursuit.

The battle is won, the traitor is found out, and the turncoat is put in the brig and interrogated. And it turns out he has a lot to say and his information—if it proves to be true—is going to cause so many headaches for Jaster.

But eventually Kyr’tsad is defeated, the Haat’ade gain a new member, and Obi-Wan and Jango can have their teenage romance. Only happy endings all around this time. :)

Alternatively, if Obi-Wan is recruited off of/after Melidaan, Kyr’tsad’s use of child soldiers hits him that much harder. It becomes a personal vendetta to bring down the elders and free the young of Kyr’tsad.

And since this is timeline-fuckery anyway, you could make Obi-Wan in his (early) twenties instead of his teens and pair him with Jaster instead of Jango.

[constantlymisspelled]

8 - The Position of Manda'lor

[Text in image is as below]

i) Requirements needed to be a candidate for Manda’lor;

a) Must have a clear bill of Physical and Mental fitness. b) Must be a member of Mandalorian society. c) It is not required to have been born or raised a Mandalorian, only that you have sworn the Resol’nare. d) Must have a majority ruling in the Court of Houses and among the Major and Minor Houses and Clans – separate allocations can be made for Manda’lors that have a majority vote amongst the electoral but not amongst the Houses.

ii) Responsibilities;

a) Rule and governing over Mandalore and its cultural aspects in times of War and Peace b) Governance of the Mandalorian Military and Reserves in times of Peace. c) Control of Military Campaigns in times of War. d) Disaster Management in Emergencies, including the management of the Special Emergency Services, the Manda’yaim Reserve and Home Guard.

iii) Oversight;

a) The House Alors, Sector Governors, System Governors and Ministers of Subject can challenge the Manda’lor on individual and broad decisions when relevant to their field, and when the outcomes of decisions affect them – personally or otherwise. b) The Manda’lor can be made to take a decision to a vote if the Clan and House Alors petition to the High Command.

[Text un image is as below]

iv) Commanding body;

a) High Command, the military governance of the Star Navy, the Mandalorian Mercenaries, the Hunting Guilds, the Armourer Guilds, the Emergency Services, the Home Guard, the Journeyman Protectors, the Reserve, and the Infantry. They rely on donations and stipends from the Houses, taxation, and the good will of the general populace. b) The House Alors (Major) have forty seats within a court called the Court of Houses, that can be petitioned to overturn legislation decided upon in lower levels of government. c) The House Alors (Minor) have over a few thousand seats, non-structured, and can be called upon for civil disputes that extend past the purview of one Clan Alor, or if a dispute is between more than one Clan.

[Text in image is as below]

v) Restrictions, Compliance and Declarations of Misconduct

a) Areas that the Manda’lor cannot act as ultimate authority is upon the fields of medicine, the outcome of a financial or court decision (although the Manda’lor can convey displeasure if they believe the outcome is unfair as long as they justify said displeasure) b) A Manda’lor cannot interfere or demand a recount of an election. The only times a recount of an election can be expected is if a large portion – more than five percent of an individual electorate – goes missing.

[I was not inspired by American politics in the least! WHat, how could you suggest-

Anyways, feel free to provide any criticism. I have read two conflicting opinions on this site and on most forums, that the Manda'lor was an absolute ruler, or only a cultural, or campaign symbol, and I can see points for both sides. My point is that Jaster, as a reformer, would try to marry those ideals together to create something more than the sum of its parts. A better Mandalore, if you will.]

[Back to main Codex]

[commander-krios]

The Mask of Mandalore

Fandom: KOTOR Pairing: Female Revan/Canderous Ordo Rating: Mature Summary: On the hunt for the Mask of Mandalore, Revan and Canderous battle with the past. Words: 2968 Additional Tags: Planet Telos IV, Post-Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Post-War, Mandalorians, Atris, Jedi, PTSD, Mild Gore

Read on AO3

Telos IV hovered below, a shell of a world, nearly destroyed in the bombardment years ago. The bombardment that Carth still secretly blamed her for, even if she didn’t give the order. Not that it mattered, not when the entire Jedi Civil War was her fault.

She hadn’t been to Telos in a long time. Even from her ship in orbit, it felt wrong. Not quite like Malachor V. That was a dead planet that devoured anything that came close, sucking it into its gravitational pull, sending ships and crew to a toxic graveyard.

No, Telos wasn’t as dead as Malachor, but the Force was thrown into chaos here, thanks to the destruction wrought by Malak and the Sith. 

It was the perfect place for a Jedi to hide.

“This isn’t Coruscant or Dantooine.” Canderous’ voice rumbled behind her, his height making it easier for him to gaze out of the viewpoint from a distance. “I thought we were going to retrieve Mandalore’s Mask.”

Yuehai didn’t bother glancing at him. Her eyes were for the half dead planet below. “It was moved here during the Jedi Civil War.”

“How the kark do you know that?”

He was annoyed at being left in the dark, but she needed to make sure she’d actually be able to retrieve the damned thing before she made promises. Like Canderous, she honored her word and didn’t want to be made into a liar or a fool if she was wrong.

“It’s a Force thing.” She opted for instead, not wanting to get into details about the connection she’d formed to the symbol of the man she’d killed. She could feel that it was on Telos, but with whom, she didn’t know. A good majority of the Jedi she knew were dead, either because of the Mandalorian Wars or the Jedi Civil War. And who would take such a morbid piece of history with them?

“That’s not an answer.”

It wasn’t, but she didn’t have any other for him.

“We need to hail Citadel Station. Find a bay to dock in.” Sometimes she wished Carth had stayed on instead of returning to the Republic. But it was for the best, considering their turbulent friendship. Her astromech had already stolen his docking codes before he left, and he would be furious with her over that, but sometimes, she missed his honesty.

“Do you think they’re just going to let a Mandalorian and Revan walk around unchecked?” Canderous shifted so that she was forced to look at him, silver eyes reflecting the blue lights of the console. 

“That’s why you’re staying here.”

“The hell I am!” He snapped, moving closer as if he could intimidate her, but there wasn’t much left in the galaxy that could scare her. “You said we'd get the mask together. I’m starting to think you don’t understand the meaning of the word.”

“I understand perfectly fine, Canderous.” She glanced at the view of Telos again, feeling a sorrow that she long thought buried. “It’s just- you aren’t going to like what you see down there.”

“I’ve seen war torn planets before. I’ve been the cause of them.”

The image of Mandalore the Ultimate kneeling before her, golden helmet lying at her feet, head taken from his body with a crimson lightsaber and left to rot flashed through her mind. Her memories still weren’t complete, but she knew what awaited them. A past that neither had fully come to terms with, even years later.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Her voice lacked fire and Canderous immediately stepped back, watching her carefully. Like she was a thermal detonator ready to blow and he didn’t want to be in explosion range. Rage… that was something Canderous was used to, expected when it came to the former Revan, but this uncertainty… and the hesitation… It was new.

By the expression on his face, he didn’t like the change.

“What are you talking about?” He reached forward, tilting her chin so she was forced to meet his gaze. Canderous didn’t plead or beg, it wasn’t who he was. But she swore his eyes were doing just that. “Talk to me.”

Yuehai studied his face. He was so unlike Malak that she sometimes wondered how the hell she’d ever fallen in with him in the first place. But… he was a comfort in a galaxy she still couldn’t fully recall. He was strong, protective of what was hers… theirs. He trusted her with his life, his future, and she couldn’t do anything less.

With a sigh, she covered his hand with her own, squeezing gently. “I can feel the mask below. When I killed Mandalore, something happened. I don’t know if that was when I fell. To the Dark Side. But the Force marked that moment.”

“Jedi nonsense, as you said.”

She gave him a wry grin. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s all the same to me.” Lifting his hand towards his mouth, Canderous bit the skin of her knuckle gently. “I’m going with you, whether you like it or not. That’s not negotiable.”

“Stubborn bastard.” She murmured, fighting a smile at the triumphant look on his face. “I’m not going to protect you from whatever Jedi is waiting for us.”

Canderous smiled, white scars pulling at his lips. “The only Jedi I’ve ever been afraid of is you. I think I’ll manage. Grab that droid. We’ll need an Admiral’s landing codes.”

~~~~~

Carth’s Republic Admiral codes gave them permission to skirt around the Citadel’s regulations about being planetside and they landed the Ebon Hawk in a shielded area not far from where the lure of the Mask was. When they finally arrived in the Polar region, Yuehai had stepped off the ship, immediately pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders in an attempt to protect against the icy wind. 

“Who the kark would live out here?” Canderous barked out over the wind, holding a hand up to shield himself from a blast of snowflakes.

“Someone who wants to disappear.”

Canderous grunted, but the sound disappeared with the gusts, leaving nothing but the howling wind in their ears. Yuehai ducked her head, pulling her hood farther down to cover her face, pushing through the knee deep snow towards the only shelter on this part of the planet. It took far longer than either expected, the snow so thick that it slowed their progress considerably. 

Canderous shoved at the door of the building with frozen fingers, using what strength he could to open it enough for them to slip past. The building was silent, empty of decoration and furniture, not much but echoes as they entered quietly, the cold grey walls painted with shadows in the dim lighting. The freezing temperatures seeped through the walls and Yuehai’s breath puffed in little white clouds as they walked, each step loud in the deathly stillness.

There was a humming beneath her skin, as if the Force was reaching for her here, trying to pull her further in, guiding her to the place she was meant to find. She didn’t know if that was where the Mask waited, or something more nefarious, but it was too late to turn back now. 

As she stepped over the threshold into a large cavernous room, it was then that she felt the third presence… another Force user. One she hadn’t felt in years.

“You.”

The voice held a harsh coldness that Yuehai recognized immediately after years of being scolded by the same voice at the Jedi Academy on Dantooine. She turned to face a woman who looked more like a ghost than those that haunted her at night. Her stark white hair was pulled back out of her pale face, blue eyes as cold as the ice that covered the building outside. She wore the same white robes she always did and for a moment, the sight nearly blinded her in the unnerving darkness.

“Atris.” Yuehai said with little affection, holding a hand to keep Canderous from pulling his blaster. The last thing she wanted was to spill more Jedi blood. “Out of all the Jedi who might’ve survived the Wars, I’m honestly surprised it was you.”

The Jedi stood tall, nose in the air as she glanced between the former Revanchist and her companion, a Mandalorian crusader who would’ve gladly destroyed her once. “You’re a fickle woman, Revan. How many sides have you changed now? The Jedi? The Sith? Now the Mandalorians?” She laughed cruelly, the sound echoing. “I hate to have been so correct about you.”

“Yes, you sound positively upset.”

“Don’t mock me.” Atris snapped, hand hovering over the lightsaber clipped to her belt. “I know why you’re here. And you are not leaving.”

Canderous tensed next to Yuehai, but she ignored him, eyes never leaving the Jedi in front of her. Atris had never been much of a challenge during their years as a Jedi, but she was intelligent, knowing things about the Force that even the famous Revan didn’t. And they hadn’t seen one another in a long time. Many things could've changed since then. The anger, however. That was alive and well, it seemed.

“The Mask of Mandalore, Atris. It belongs to the Mandalorians.”

“When did you ever care about the traditions of a people who savagely destroyed those you meant to protect? To save? Wasn’t that the entire reason you went to war?” Atris pulled the lightsaber from her belt, but didn’t ignite it. 

“Ge’hutuun.” Canderous spat, venom dripping from his voice. He stepped forward but Yuehai threw her arm out to halt his progress. He could’ve pushed past her, but didn’t, his loyalty and respect for her staying his tongue and trigger finger.

“I will never give you the mask.” Atris hissed, the blue of her lightsaber coloring her white robes, her pale skin and hair in an azure glow that made her seem even more ethereal than normal. “I will die first.”

The air stirred as Canderous lifted his repeater. He would shoot to protect her, to protect the history of his people. To protect their future.

“This isn’t about you, Atris. Or the Jedi and Sith.” Yuehai glanced around Atris’ room, noting the many Sith holocrons that surrounded them. Holocrons that whispered their secrets, their power to anyone willing to listen. Corruption, deep in the heart of this place. “This is about the future. You and I… we are inconsequential to what is coming.”

Atris held her lightsaber in front of her, eyes flashing angrily. “Arm yourself, Revan. I will finally destroy you, I will bring justice to the Jedi you led astray… to the Jedi you murdered.”

If Yuehai fought Atris, the Jedi historian would lie dead at her feet. Revan had been forged in the fires of war, had bled and burned. Atris couldn’t win against one with so much death to her name. 

She didn’t want to draw blood here. There was no purpose to it but Atris’ revenge and she’d had enough revenge for the rest of her life.

“As much as you think you’re serving justice, you are letting your anger control you.” She paused as she tried to figure the best way to explain, but knew it would only anger Atris more. “The dark side is a quiet fall. You won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

“Forgive me if I don’t care what you have to say on the matter of the dark side, Revan.” She spat the name with disgust, with a venom that no Jedi ever had before. Not even Vrook disliked her as much as Atris clearly did. “Fight me.”

“No.”

Atris flinched as if she’d been struck, the haunted look of hundreds of dead Jedi in her otherworldly azure eyes. “How dare you? You would deny me retribution?”

“Let it go, Atris. Or it will consume you.”

The woman didn’t give any warning before she launched herself towards Yuehai, her lightsaber posed in a slash that would’ve easily cut a non-force user in half, nothing left of them but charred flesh and a surprised expression that would never change in death. Her own sabers found her hands immediately, crossing to block the attack before it could connect. Atris pushed against Yuehai’s defense, trying to use brute strength to break it, but the Jedi had never used combat in practice, not when she locked herself in the libraries on Dantooine so often that her skin rarely saw the sun.

“I will destroy you, Revan.” She spat between gritted teeth, muscles in her arms straining as she pushed harder against Yuehai’s unyielding wall. “And with you, all of these nightmares.”

Yuehai knew the desire to purge oneself of the awful haunting memories of the past, but there was no secret cure, no one action that would rid Atris of them. And killing Revan, or what she perceived as Revan, would only precipitate her fall to the dark side.

Canderous hesitated behind her, she could feel him through the force. Strong, dependable, a force to be reckoned with. But he trusted her instincts, trusted her abilities, and he wouldn’t intervene unless absolutely necessary. 

“That’s not how it works, Atris.”

The Jedi reached out with the Force, attempting to shove Yuehai backwards to the ground, but the former Revan knew more about how to defend against the Force attacks than she did. With her own Force Push, Atris flew a few feet back, landing in a pile of white robes, her lightsaber extinguishing as she lost her grip on it. With another burst of force power, Yuehai called the saber to her hand. Atris’s eyes burned with fury, her teeth bared but there was little she could do with Canderous’s rifle on her.

“You should kill her.” Canderous said, glancing at her briefly before stepping forward, repeater aimed at the Jedi on the floor. Unrelenting. 

“We came for the mask. Not to murder Jedi.” Yuehai returned her own lightsabers to her belt, turning her back on Atris without fear in her heart. She didn’t fear much now, not after everything she’d seen. That she’d done.

Atris had every right to be angry with her, but she hoped that it wouldn’t destroy her. Revan had destroyed enough to last several lifetimes.

~~~~~

Out of the viewport, the image of Telos became smaller and smaller until Yuehai’s keen gaze could no longer see it, leaving her in the dark expanse of space and stars, the quiet hum of the air circulator and the buzz of force in her blood. With a sigh, she slumped in the cracked leather seat, closing her eyes to the expanse of the galaxy.

Atris.

She never expected to see her again.

The war had ruined so many of the Jedi who’d followed her, many dead or turned to the dark side, something she will always feel guilty over no matter how much she told Canderous (or herself) that she didn’t regret her choices. Because in the end, she didn’t regret many things. The Mandalorians had needed to be stopped and she’d done it. But maybe if she hadn’t dragged Malak along, if she hadn’t convinced the Exile to destroy Malachor, if she hadn’t fallen to the dark…

But there was nothing she could do now. Her path had been set the moment she defied the Jedi Council. 

The mask sat heavy in her hands, the gold shining unnaturally in the darkness. It was nothing more than an object, albeit worn by a warrior who’d been corrupted by something in the darkest reaches of the universe, somewhere unexplored, unknown. A place she’d traveled once and that she would most likely need to travel to again.

Canderous stood beside her, eyes on the mask as well, but when she glanced at him, she didn’t see the same torment swirling in his silver irises. Only determination, pride. 

Turning to face him, she held out the mask, waiting for him to accept it. “I know you would’ve rather won this in combat yourself-”

Canderous brushed his fingers against her hands, lingering briefly, and he met her gaze, a ghost of smile pulling at his lips. A sight she wasn’t graced with often. “You are the greatest warrior of our time, Revan. You honor me.”

He took the mask, testing its weight in his hands, eyes memorizing every detail of this small piece of history they now possessed. 

“Make the Mandalorians stronger, better.”

His eyes burned through the darkness as he met hers, his face covered in shadow as he pondered her words. With a sigh, he moved to set the Mask beside the pilot controls, a haunting specter witnessing a private moment between two people who were forced to be strong their entire lives.

When he turned to her, Canderous held a hand out expectantly. She stared at it in uncertainty. “Come here.”

Yuehai raised an eyebrow, an expectant expression on her face. “For what?”

“You stubborn-”

Groaning, she slipped her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet, wrapping her in his arms, his body strong against her, warm and comfortable… her home. He leaned down to press a soft kiss against her forehead and she relaxed in his embrace, resting her head against him.

“You won’t regret putting your faith in me. And your trust. I swear it.”

“I know.” She turned and pressed her lips against his shoulder, his skin and scent grounding her despite the nightmares that still swarmed her thoughts. “I trust no one else to see this through.”

Canderous tightened his arms around her, the two of them standing in the cockpit, watching as the Ebon Hawk floated through space, the two of them nothing but motes in a solar wind. She didn’t know what the future held, but for now, she was content.

That had to be enough.

[tangleweave]

Truth and Consequences

Fictober 2022 - [ Prompt 18 ]

{ Fanfiction: Star Wars (KOTOR II) }

“I met someone on Nar Shaddaa who says he knows you.”

Atton doesn’t even glance up from the console, but a scoff erupts from between his teeth. “Yeah? That’s a surprise, since I can’t say I really know anyone there.”

“Wed Mikpokaq.”

The gunslinger’s fingers had been in the midst of keystroke inputs, but he hesitates for half a moment before continuing his sequence. “Let me guess, he said I owe him money, too.”

“He says that you’re not ‘Atton’ at all. That you showed up on Nar Shaddaa during the Jedi Civil War.”

The pilot’s eyes flash, and he turns in his seat to face his anonymous companion. “I’m as Atton as Atton will ever be,” he snaps, “but since we’re going here, you caught me, he’s right, I did show up on Nar Shaddaa during the Jedi Civil War. Me and a lot of other refugees.”

The other remains impassive. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Atton’s eyes narrow. “No, because you’re asking about it – if I wanted to tell you anything, I would have come and told you. Anything else?”

“You seem terribly on edge for having been approached with hearsay. And you’ve been curiously avoidant of discussing anything about yourself before we met.”

Atton gets to his feet, though he shifts gingerly past the Force-sensitive traveler as he makes his way to the navigational panel. He keeps his eyes directed away from the other. “Is this an interrogation? If so, you’re terrible at it, especially for an ex-Jedi – or whatever you are.” Now he shoots a glare across the cockpit. “Why don’t you just crawl in my head and try to dig out whatever you’re looking for rather than asking about it?”

“Because I know better than to think of you as weak-minded.” Thick-gloved hands settle on hips as an icy stare meets Atton in reply. “And if you’ve got a problem, let’s settle it right now.”

Atton blows an irritated breath out through his teeth. “You know what?” He steps close and directs a finger into the exile’s face. “I helped you get off Peragus. If I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have even gotten off the administration level. And I’m still trying to help you now, but you’re making me wonder why I’m bothering.”

The exile’s face is maddeningly placid. “With or without your help on Peragus, the Sith still would have come to capture me.”

Atton scowls. There’s little he hates more than a fact he can’t challenge. “Yeah, well… I – I still helped you. Sort of.” He takes a step back and straightens his jacket. “Maybe you shouldn’t look a free ronto in the mouth before you buy it.” His business concluded at the star chart readout, he steps back towards the pilot’s seat.

“You should if a Hutt is giving it to you.”

Now he rounds on the exile, eyes burning and voice thick with contempt. “Hey, not once have I asked you about the Mandalorian Wars. Not… once.” He clutches the head cushion of his chair until his knuckles turn white. “I know about Dxun. I know about Serroco, and I sure as hell heard about Malachor V.” Normally he would let that point hang heavy in the air, but he’s on too much of a furious roll to stop. “So, what makes you think you’ve got the right to interrogate me on anything? You’ve got plenty of lives to answer for.” He sneers as he sits down and turns away from his companion, knowing full well the risk he takes in doing so. “All you Jedi do.”

Though Atton bites the title off as a slur rather than an honorific, and though it is a title the exile has been plain about having renounced, it slides without comment or challenge. It is clear to the former Jedi that just this mere line of questioning has somehow struck Atton to the heart, pierced it as though upon a lightsaber blade and reduced it to so much sweet smoke and ash.

“If there’s something you want me to answer for… then perhaps you should start by asking questions.”

Atoon spins around in his chair again. His gaze is nothing short of baleful. “Fine,” he snaps. “Fine. Here, let’s start with this. How did you even live with yourself after Malachor?”

The exile’s lips purse, a gesture followed by a head bow and a soft reply. “It wasn’t easy.”

“Oh, yes, not easy. It wasn’t easy for you. I’m sure it wasn’t.” Atton leans forward in his seat, intent on pressing his advantage in passion. “Is that why you went back to the Jedi Council? Hoping they’d kill you?”

The Force-sensitive’s eyes flicker towards the pilot. “It wasn’t like that.”

The feeble protest only drew more heat from Atton. “Wasn’t it? Maybe you thought they’d forgive you – or maybe you thought they’d execute you. But Jedi don’t kill, do they? At least, not their prisoners. Maybe you were counting on that when you went back in chains. So you got off easy. Exiled, brushed under the cargo ramp, another dirty little Jedi secret.”

His eyes become slits. “I’ll tell you this – all those Jedi at Malachor? They deserved it. Every last one of them.”

That draws a sharp breath from beneath the Force-sensitive’s hood. What emerges next is little more than a whisper. “They did not deserve it. Why would you even say that?”

Atton feels a surge of twisted triumph coursing through his veins as he stands up. Beside his companion, he might be equal height, give or take a couple centimeters, but their eyes are at the same level, and he stares unblinkingly into those stricken pools. “Because Jedi lie,” he charges. “And they manipulate. And every act of charity or kindness they do? You can drag it out squirming into the light and see it for what it is. The galaxy doesn’t need Jedi arrogance or Jedi hypocrisy anymore.”

The anonymous exile’s breath shudders out between them. “The Jedi Order was misguided… but the Jedi always meant to be guardians of peace.”

“Oh, come off it,” Atton scoffs. “Listen to yourself. The Jedi… the Sith… to the galaxy, they’re the same thing: just men and women with too much power, squabbling over religion, while the rest of us burn. At least the Sith are honest about what they’re killing for. They come to conquer. Obey or die. The Jedi? The Jedi are pacifists… except in times of war. They’re teachers… except when it comes to telling their students the truth. And when they save you, it’s only so they can see you suffer more.”

The traveler’s eyes burn with unshed tears. “Perhaps that is what you believe, but it is not my truth.”

“I can’t wait to hear what your truth is,” the scoundrel scoffs.

“My truth is… I pity you, Atton, that you should still harbor such embitterment and hatred, so long after those you deemed your enemies have perished. And I am no Jedi… not just because of what happened at Malachor, but for all that came before it. I returned to the Council to answer for my actions, and to renounce what would have been taken from me in any event. Perhaps I wished for death. I can no longer recall. Instead, I endure, and that is all I have left.”

Atton clenches his teeth. If there is anything he hates more than logic, it’s a person who refuses to be baited. Maybe he should simply drive his fist into the exile’s face and see if that would provoke a reaction. It would be so easy…

But instead, he rolls his eyes and steps back. “Whatever – just leave me alone. I don’t know why I’m wasting time with you anyway.”

He slumps back into the pilot’s seat, turning his gaze to the starscape before them. He can feel a tightness in his chest that tells him he’s run a marathon in this conversation alone… and he no longer feels that momentary satisfaction he got from seeing the tears in the exile’s eyes. Not a one had been released.

Maybe there’s just not enough left to give.

In the stifling quiet of the cockpit, Atton hears the exile’s voice lift over the hum of the engines. “You speak of your contempt for the Jedi who perished at Malachor V but you stop short of wishing the same fate for me. You deride Jedi pacifism, which tells me you held the Order in contempt for staying our ranks when the Mandalorian Wars threatened the Outer Rim… yet you say those Jedi who answered the call to action in defense of those territories deserved grisly death. You call Jedi arrogant and hypocritical, but are these features not systemic of any assemblage of beings which would dare to promote something greater than its constituent parts?”

Atton leans forward, arms parallel to one another as he grips the top of the console, and he hovers the tip of his nose above the screen, nearly huddling. “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me what you’re driving at.”

“It would be a terrible convenience if everything you claim about the Jedi were objectively true. If all is as you see it. But I believe you realize, because you must… that reality is far different from what you wish it to be. Moreover… as I examine it, nothing of which the Jedi stand accused in your tirade has any bearing on your past, save that you were a refugee during the Jedi Civil War. And for reasons I cannot discern, you remain a steadfast companion to me in my travels despite your contempt for my history… and my so-called ‘interrogations’.”

“Yeah, well, when you don’t have anywhere else to go…”

“No, Atton. It is more than that. It must be. The Jedi Order was arrogant, and terrible prices were paid by many who could not afford the coin. The atrocity of Malachor V is upon my shoulders… but…” The exile trails off.

The pilot frowns and lifts his head. “But what?”

“I don’t think this is your problem.”

Atton’s frown deepens at that remark. And he struggles for several moments to think of something to say in reply.

But even before he can begin to put any words together, the exile has already left the cockpit.

~*~

[stellevatum]

V: Cin Vhetin

Timeline :  2182/2183 - 2185 CE ( 23/24 - 26 Years Old)

Fresh of the spaceship stranded in the Milky Way, forced to work all sorts of jobs and try to make a living in this new galaxy full of potential.

After taking some credits and some potentially unstable but experimental tech from under the nose of her Master, Kar defects from Republic Intelligence. The plan was to reach the Unknown Regions and settle there, away from the clutches of Palpatine until such a time where she felt the Outer Rim was safer to explore once more. Knowing that this was the point of no return, and it was very likely a one way trip for many, many years, Kar was prepared to go it alone.

However, there were some willing to come along with her. Her sister has little love of her other  Alor’ade relations, and her Mirdalaan relatives gone, places her future with her sister. Several disenfranchised clones soon joined  as well after having found out about the neural chips and knowing what fate for those who know of the truth. All were willing to follow her into the unknown– regardless of what hardships they would face.

The small crew had almost made it to the Unknown Regions until a glitch in the experimental hyperdive landed them elsewhere– somewhere in the Sahrabarik  system– whole other galaxy away. With no knowledge of the civilizations residing in this new galaxy and left with a language barrier– they would start their new lives harder than imagined. But in a new galaxy, away from Palpatine’s reach, was a blessing in disguise. 

Omega would be their first home– had it not been for Kar’s Force abilities, finding a means to break the language barrier would prove difficult. It wasn’t long before they could acquire translator tools, leading to more resources and understanding. The clones would adopt the surname of their progenitor, Vhett. While they would not keep their origins entirely secret, openly stating their clone status may be risky and dangerous.

With no other discernable skills other than war, it was no surprise the group had taken to mercenary work to keep them afloat.  With Kar’s pragmatism and charisma, and their reputation of being skilled and professional, it was no surprise that others from this new galaxy would join the fold, impart their knowledge and start the seeds of a new Mandalorian tribe and faction. As their reputation grows, allies and enemies are gained– the Blue Suns becoming the latter after several crossed paths. 

After an attack on Kar leaves her family in a desperate state, the clan was manipulated into get help– with strings attached. Holding no hard feelings for her clanmate’s choices, reluctantly accepts the deal with The Illusive Man. Kar would now become a subject of interest from a fringe group known as Cerberus. Having been curious about her biotic-like abilities, they first attempted a mutually beneficial exchange, but over time it became less so for her and her own. 

Having reached a point almost akin to being back with Palpatine, Kar would not stand for it longer. Once again, she was breaking her yoke and making a departure. Not without taking what she was owed. Operatives were known to target her for some time, eventually they would focus on other targets. 

In the meantime, Kar would begin the start of her network and many of her projects that would come to fruition in the years to come…and get the attention of the Citadel Council. Thus the start of the Mandalorians becoming a recognized group in the galaxy with colonial rights.

[ospreyeamon]

revan as the ghost

I had the odd experience of playing KOTOR 1 and having my Revan, then playing KOTOR 2 and discovering that I liked its Revan more than mine. Revan as Narrative Ghost/Controversial Historical Figure is far more interesting to me than Revan as main character.

Part of it is that 2 fleshes out Dark-Side pre-amnesia Revan into a more compelling character. All of the juicy hints about the deeper plan and purpose behind the Jedi Civil War, the past relationship with Kreia who is as preoccupied with her former student’s legacy as with her own, the probable betrayal of Revan’s own forces led by the Exile at Malachor V.

The motivation of preparing for the future great war against the True Sith is great because it doesn’t preclude the other motivations of vengeance, power-lust, and the love of warfare. Revan might have despised the atrocities of the Jedi Civil Wars as evils necessary to save the galaxy. Revan might have subconsciously latched onto the True Sith as an excuse to solve the problems with the Republic and Jedi Order using outright warfare because everything looked like a nail after the Mandalorian Wars. Revan might have just been acting with an eye to the long-term logistics of forcibly holding power in the Republic post-conquest and was never planning on fighting the True Sith Empire because Revan thought it was a real threat, but because another war would be politically convenient. Revan might have slid from one to another over time.

Maybe Revan always considered himself to be loyal to the Republic, even if the Republic didn’t always appreciate the form that loyalty took. Maybe Revan decided that democracy doesn’t work and the Republic would be better off under a competent autocrat. Maybe Revan decided that the structure of the Republic’s constituent governments – mostly monarchies, aristocracies, and corporate plutocracy – meant that it wasn’t a real democracy and believed a benevolent dictatorship could be used to build a foundation of true democracy. Maybe the future long-term structure of the Republic’s government wasn’t a major consideration, with Revan taking the pragmatic view that the best government for the Republic would be the one that enabled it to survive.

Supplying that backstory as a jigsaw of character dialogue was an excellent choice, especially since it also works well for the events of the first game. Brianna the Handmaiden believes Revan showed the desire of his heart when he killed Malak during the Battle of Rakata Prime; Kreia thinks she’s completely wrong about that.

All the characters have at least heard of Revan; the Exile, Kreia, T4-M4, Mandalore, HK-47, and the Jedi Masters knew Revan personally. And, beyond being a mere person, Revan represents things to people.

Kreia is invested in the idea that Revan was always driven by some vision of a greater good, that she never became primarily ruled by hatred or power-lust. Kreia has a low opinion of those she views as dominated by emotion and is unwilling to believe her prize student ever fell into that trap. She really wants every choice her old Padawan made to have been well-informed and well-considered, always feeding towards Revan’s larger goals rather than undermining them. (Yet, there are a couple of Revan’s actions, like killing Malak, that I feel Kreia would have preferred to blame on the Force, on the unfairness of the universe, rather than on Revan.)

It’s a major blind-spot in Kreia’s assessment of Revan. Cutting Malak’s jaw off but keeping him as her second-in-command – seemingly not expecting any negative effect on Malak’s loyalty – is unlikely to have been anything but a short-sighted emotional outburst on Revan’s part.

In contrast to Kreia’s narrative, I think that Revan’s disappearance in unknown space between the games was unplanned and unwilling. Revan apparently spent years attempting to build a massive logistical staging ground for a war with the True Sith; locating the Star Forge, invading to capture Republic infrastructure, brutally converting captured Jedi. Why, after previously engaging in such large-scale preparation, would Revan leave to fight the True Sith alone, without telling anyone but T3-M4? Why would Revan leave without warning Admiral Carth of the Republic Navy and battle-meditation master Bastila Shan about the threat?

More likely, I think, that Revan’s memories were returning in tatters and scraps. Revan became increasingly sure that there was something important she couldn’t remember; some vital secret that would explain so much, and spell disaster if not uncovered. Revan’s journey to unknown space began as a temporary trip retracing a past journey, searching for prompts to resurface those memories. Something went wrong.

Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Revan despaired of the state the Jedi, Revanchist Sith, and Galactic Republic were in after the Battle of Rakata Prime and the “end” of the Jedi Civil War; despaired of the mess she had apparently made trying to manipulate the Republic and Jedi into forms capable of standing up to the True Sith. Maybe Revan came to doubt his previous assessment that the True Sith Empire were planning to invade the Galactic Republic, since it had been more than a decade since the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars with still no sign of them, and left to do some quiet scouting without raising what might be a false alarm that triggered an avoidable conflict.

Another judicious choice of character trait with KOTOR 2’s Revan was – and even post-amnesia still continued to be – secretive. Revan kept the grand strategy for the Mandalorian Wars close to her chest; good for operation security, but also good for hiding your plan to purge your own forces. Even HK-47 and Kreia, who were close to the Revanchist Sith’s upper command structure, aren’t certain what Revan was trying to achieve because Revan didn’t tell them. When Revan vanishes between the games, it is seemingly without having told any of her companions save T3-M4 where or that it was to investigate the True Sith Empire. That repeated failure to share information provides another justification for the ambiguity.

That bled through when I replayed 1 and imagined a new Revan, a stranger even to himself.

How did you change so much? Could you change again?

You remember your mother’s face, remember her voice as she read to you from the histories she loved so much, but the records in the Jedi archives imply that’s impossible, that you were given to the Order too young. You remember racing your swoop bike across the fields of Dantooine as a teenager; as a teenager you were a Padawan studying in the Enclave there. How many of your memories are real? How much of you is real?

Is there a monster slumbering under your skin that might awake, unravelling the person you are now to take your place? Did the young Revan have all the Jedi Masters fooled, rotten from the very beginning? Might you eventually live your life haunted by nightmares of committing another person’s atrocities?

More frightening than the idea that you and the Revan lost to amnesia are different is the idea that you are the same; that your past choices won’t be beyond comprehension or justification. If you remember, will you understand why you started the war? If you remember, will you understand why you bombed Telos? If you remember, will you discover that you have been the person who could make those choices all along?

[supersaiyanjedi14]

Another piece of my Star Wars AU, this time looking at my take on a preexisting character; Tarre Vizsla, the first Mandalorian Jedi Knight.

For the purposes of my AU, Tarre's story takes place during the events of the Knights of the Old Republic games and comics, as I quickly became attached to the irony of a Mando Jedi coming into being during the Mandalorian Wars. Around the time Tarre was introduced, I also got attached to a series of headcanons and ideas of that very concept explored by @naaklasolus, which I contributed to via anon messages (this was long before I made this blog). With that out of the way, let's get into character history.

In my AU, Vizsla was born on Mandalore in 3988 BBY, becoming a fully realized Mando warrior just in time for the initial raids of the Mandalorian Wars. However, the young Tarre and many of his clansmen quickly became bothered by the atrocities committed by their people, Tarre's uncle Lord Laax Vizsla specifically taking issue with the actions of the field marshal Cassus Fett. The genocide of Cather was the last straw, the pointless butchery made all the worse by the death of Tarre's cousin Dutoa, who attempted to stop the killing (her mask was later found by Revan when the attack was discovered). Laax lashed out at Fett, but was killed in the ensuing duel, forcing the 15 year old Tarre to flee with a handful of other Clan Vizsla defectors. Valuing Mandalorian ideals ahead of their warmongering leaders, the renegade Mandalorians reluctantly surrendered to the Republic and provided valuable military intelligence. It was during this mission that Tarre's Force-sensitivity was discovered by Revan, who offered to take the young man as a Padawan, an offer he accepted. As the war progressed, Tarre distinguished himself as an incredible frontline commander, while his training under Revan, Alek and Meetra Surik allowed him to develop into a formidable Jedi. However, despite embracing Jedi philosophy, Tarre retained his reverence to Mandalorian ideals, gradually learning to balance the two cultures. At the same time, he began to notice the toll the war was taking on his master and quasi-father figure, a growing darkness growing in Revan that disturbed him. When the Battle of Malachor V arrived, Tarre led the ground battle and personally defeated Cassus Fett in single combat, though the use of the Mass Shadow Generator further worsened his strained relationship with Revan. After the battle, Tarre elected to return to Coruscant with the Republic fleet while Revan and Alek traveled into the Unknown Regions, both to vouch for his masters and be a much-needed companion to the traumatized Meetra Surik. The Jedi Council, despite their reservations about the boy, agreed to let him remain a Jedi and offer him Knighthood. Tarre initially refused in protest to the council's heel-dragging and subsequent scapegoating of Meetra, but Meetra convinced him to stay, saying his can better serve both his people and the galaxy at large as part of the Order. When Revan and Malak returned to terrorize the galaxy, Tarre stepped up to lead the Republic military to counter the Sith. His reputation from the Mandalorian Wars preceding him, the Senate granted him the title of Supreme Commander, the irony of a Mandalorian leading Republic forces not escaping them. During the Jedi Civil War, Tarre suffered several close Jedi friends falling to Dark Side, his own Padawan killed by Sith assassins, and a cruel session of imprisonment and torture at the hands of his former mentor Malak. Despite this, he remained strong and endured, becoming a legend to both the Order and other scattered Mandalorians. Revan's capture and amnesia allowed Tarre to interact with and slowly repair his relationship with his old master, though Revan remained ignorant of the truth until after the confrontation aboard the Leviathan. After Malak's defeat, Tarre joined Canderous Ordo in helping to repair and reorganize the splintered Mandalorian clans, took the redeemed Dustil Onasi as his apprentice and completing his training, and was even invited to join the Jedi Council. However, victory was short-lived for the Mandalorian Jedi, as Tarre's reputation and heroism made him a priority target for the Sith Triumvirate's Jedi Purge. Forced into a confrontation with Darth Sion on Naboo, Tarre Vizsla gave his life to allow Dustil to escape with a ship full of younglings. Tarre Vizsla would be memorialized by both his clan and his Order, the two organizations revering him for his courage, justness, and will.

Other notes; -The Darksaber was built in emulation of the distinct beskad sabers of Clan Vizsla, the clan reknown for producing exceptional swordsmen. Tarre owned his own blade while serving the Mandalorians, but it was appropriated by Cassus Fett after he went rogue and abandoned altogether after Fett's defeat on Malachor. -Despite his sour relationship with the KOTOR era Council as a whole, Tarre eventually became good friends with Master Zez-Kai-Ell, who helped the young man adjust to life on Coruscant after a lifetime of war. -Tarre died in 3952 BBY at the age of 36. He had no children of his own, so leadership of Clan Vizsla went to his second cousin, the great-great-grandfather of Shae Vizla. -Tarre possessed a gift for tinkering and modifying weapons. Aside from the Darksaber, he also constructed a shoto short lightsaber calibrated to resemble the kal daggers carried by Mandalorian Crusaders. -Naturally for a Jedi coming from a martial society, Tarre was an exceptional lightsaber duelist, mastering Forms 1, 2, and 4 alongside Jar'Kai dual blade fighting. -Tarre is not particularly gifted with Telekinesis, but he compensates by focusing on Control and Sense based Force abilities; Healing, energy diffusion, and various subtle telepathic powers are his specialties. -One of Tarre's lasting ambitions was to aid considerably in rebuilding and resettling the Cathar people, his way of making amends for his peoples' actions. -Tarre's dying words were "Ogir cuyir nayc kyr’am, ogir cuyir te Force" ("There is no death, there is the Force" in Mando'a)

Credit for my pixels here.

[pickleslice]

i think there’s probably like four mandalorians left in the galaxy that care about the title mandalor. like it’s been like two hundred years since anyone has genuinely claimed that title in conjunction with the dark saber. bkk is just obsessed with redeeming herself and being the leader and freak she’s wanted to be her whole life and has now drug a random man into this mess

[azems-familiar]

Revan Adarii

(art by stellorc)

Revan Adarii is, by and large, the most powerful Jedi of her generation. she has an effortless command of the Force that's half-instinctive, half trained skill, and she remains the youngest ever officially-acknowledged weaponsmaster of the Order, being named a master of the jar'kai variant as an eighteen-year-old padawan. trained by the Jedi seer, Master Arren Kae, Revan spent her teenage years struggling to reconcile Arren's certainty that she was meant to save the galaxy with the older masters' distrust of her, mostly due to her anger, her arrogance, and her unthinking charisma, all traits reminiscent of fallen Jedi Ulic Qel-Droma, who had nearly torn the galaxy apart just a few decades previous. Revan's determination to be a good Jedi was offset by her unhealthily-dependent friendship with her best friend, Alek, but even with her struggles, had she been born in a peaceful era, she would've mellowed over time and become a very good Jedi master.

instead, when she was twenty-two years old, the Mandalorians launched an all-out invasion on the Republic, and the Jedi Council, sensing an influence at work that could spell their downfall if they didn't investigate it before acting, refused to go to war. unable to sit back and just watch, and unwilling to listen to the Council's advice, Revan gathered up every Jedi she could find who would listen to her and went to war, rising through the military ranks to become the Republic's Supreme Commander only a year after enlisting. between her arrogance, a growing dependence on the beskar mask she'd found on Cathar, the savior complex Arren had drilled into her head as a child, her anger, and her utter refusal to lose, Revan fell a long ways by the time she ended the Mandalorian Wars at Malachor V.

the story goes as it does; in investigating the force behind the Mandalorians' attack on the Republic, Revan found the hidden Sith Empire, and after escaping from captivity and hunting down the Star Forge, which Vitiate had planned to seize for himself and use against the Republic, she waged her own war against the Republic she'd so recently saved in the name of unity against threats in the unknown. she permanently scarred her best friend and partner's face early on in the Jedi Civil War, and the resentment that built between them eventually boiled over when Malak turned on her and fired on her flagship, destroying it utterly. Malak fished her mask out of the wreckage and assumed control over her empire.

unbeknownst to him, Revan had survived; taken prisoner by Bastila Shan and with her mind wiped by the Jedi on Dantooine, she believed herself to be a Republic soldier by the name of Shala Dral. retrained by the Jedi and sent after the Star Forge once again, Shala struggled to balance her interest in Bastila with dreams and memories that didn't match up and a concerning feeling that the Jedi was hiding something from her. everything came to a head when she was captured by Malak and the truth of her identity was revealed to her, and she spiraled downwards into the dark side in a desperation to reclaim her identity before being confronted with a fallen Bastila and the realization that the Sith weren't what she wanted on Lehon.

Revan saved Malak on the Star Forge and, with him, Bastila, Canderous Ordo, and Mission, she disappeared into the wider galaxy before the Jedi could talk to her (or the High Council could try to make amends for what happened). she spent the next four years raising a family on Dxun and helping Canderous rebuild the Mandalorians as a form of penance for her actions on Malachor V before Qatya arrived on the planet, looking for Jedi, and brought along with her Kreia - a very fallen Arren Kae. Kreia brought Revan's savior complex back to the forefront and Revan left her family, disappearing into the Unknown Regions to once again search for Vitiate and attempt to kill him. she left behind a pregnant Bastila and a child with Alek as well as Alek himself, but after a couple of years Alek followed her and the two of them engaged in an ultimately futile attempt to kill Vitiate that ended up with Alek dead and Revan in stasis.

three hundred years later, Revan was broken out of stasis by a revanite Jedi master and the Jedi he recruited (Arielle, mostly, unaware of his affiliations), and she ended up with a small fleet and a Rakata station. the person the Empire sent to stop her was Baras' prized apprentice, Kydra Adarii - Revan's descendent, who was very quickly and easily swayed to her side. Revan traveled with them as they worked for Baras, giving them her own mission objectives and training them herself in an attempt to get Kydra onto the Dark Council. Kydra being named the Wrath instead was just as useful to Revan's agenda if not more so, and the two of them worked together to plan Revan's attempt at murdering Vitiate once again, which was foiled by the combined efforts of the Republic and Empire both.

after Zakuul invaded, Revan managed to jailbreak a few of the GEMINI droids and add their Fleet ships to her own small fleet, and she offered her services to the fledgling Alliance as a military commander and coordinator. she met Senya on Odessen and the two of them bonded over shared Vitiate/Valkorion trauma and grief. Valkorion used Senya against Revan in their final confrontation with him, after Arielle had cast him out of her mind again and he'd found refuge in a former Horizon Guard, and in their final fight against him, which took place in Revan's mindscape, Revan was the one to kill him with electric judgement - using the light again for the first time since she'd woken up out of stasis.

as of the current era, she and Senya are together romantically and have a daughter, and Revan lives on Odessen, remaining the Eternal Alliance's military commander and working with a few Jedi to slowly heal and find her way back to the Jedi way. she also remains in close contact with Alek's Force ghost and Bastila's holocron.

(reference sheet of her various outfits and looks throughout both kotor and swtor coming soon! will be linked here when i get it)