#arasuum

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Star Wars: The Bounty Hunter Code: From the Files of Boba Fett - Mandalorian Deities by Mark McHaley

[kalevalakryze]

Taungsdays, Am I Right?

For Bo-Katan Week Day 5, Mand’alor Characters: Axe Woves, The Armorer, Bo-Katan Kryze, Original Mandalorian Characters (background) Pairings: Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Bo-Katan Kryze & Axe Woves, Axe Woves & The Armorer Warnings: none Notes: Look, listen, I’ve been reading nonstop between American government books, and everything I can find about the Taungs and old Mandalorian ruling structures. But, keep in mind, I am not a wise man. And my pen ran out of ink during all my notes, so I had to just. . . stop taking notes because I have no other pen, and I can’t concentrate without handwritten notes lmao. Maybe this counts as more of a character study. And it’s a little shorter than I’d like, but I think ending it where I did is the best option right now Word Count: 1,929 AO3 Link: Here!

“She does not stop often, does she?” The Armorer questioned to one of the few who held the title of the Mand’alor’s most trusted. The mug of pot soup was passed towards Axe Woves  as she lowered herself into a seat beside him. 

Bo-Katan had been moving nonstop as of late, between sitting through the many different politics required of a new world leader, expanding the new rule to the rest of the Mandalore system, and ensuring her people were still given an equal amount of her time, between training, to rebuilding, and even just to aid them in small errands, Bo-Katan Kryze was a blur of near constant movement. They only had nineteen hours in a cycle in the system, and yet, she was often busy for nearly fifteen hours each day. 

“It’s how she’s survived,” Axe surmised, taking the offered food with quiet thanks. His gaze did not move from the woman in the middle of the small arena, how she walked the younglings and even some of the children of the watch through a training exercise, stopping often to fix posture and offer words of encouragement between them all. “Kriff, might as well be in her DNA,” 

The light that filtered into the cavern from the green hued crystal above highlighted the yellow in her eyes, irises seemingly caught in an illuminated glow as she looked towards her two spectators with a small smile puling at her lips. 

“Would you elaborate?” The woman requested as she settled herself in, nodding her head in acknowledgment of a youngling that seemed excited by her presence. 

“It was always a rumor, that some of the oldest clans may have descended from the Taungs, our Progenitors,” The next time the Mand’alor glanced at them, her eyes seemed a warm amber, than the illuminated yellow they had been. “Their songs have been sung for eons, though much has been lost to history,” 

“The Taungs used warfare as a personal honor, but also to appease a god,” His gloved hand brushed over his stubble as he racked his brain for the name. 

“Ka Ha’rangir,” The Armorer supplied. The Children of the Watch did not have as much information as many of the Niteowls who had lived their history on the front-most lines, their convert had followed in the paths that were laid out by Mandalore the first themself. 

“Yes, and like with most religions based on an omnipotent being, there is a clearly defined ‘good’ and ‘bad’, for the Taungs, they strived to remove themselves from Arasuum’s temptation of stagnation and idleness. This was not a trait that died with the Taungs,” He gestured to the redhead that was now rolling on the floor with one of the children of the watch, giving a visual for how the moves she’d just taught would be used in combat. 

“Under Mand’alor the Ultimate, when the Taungs truly started to accept other species among their ranks, cross breeding was frequent, though many humans had been, supposedly, unable to survive the birth of a Taung, even if the child was only half Taung. Not all of our oldest clans have survived from those days, it was mainly Riduuroks that kept bloodlines alive as well, so, while unlikely to have found a Mandalorian descended from the first,” When he gestured to Bo-Katan again, it was to the woman wrapped in a headlock, before her sharp teeth pierced through the flight suit and arm of her opponent, until they’d released. 

“Even with less than a percentage of genetics that may have been passed down, they showed much more prominently in Bo-Katan, than they had in The Duchess Satine,” Axe had seen them both, and compared to Mandalorians’ they were obviously a different breed, in their own way. Even the Vizsla’s hadn’t been able to hold a flame to the traits of the Taungs that had stood out sharply in Kryze genetics. 

“It is safe to assume that these traits have clung so tightly through the bloodline, that she is simply hardwired like a Taung,”

“She is still human though, is she not?” The Armorer finally questioned, watching as Bo-Katan helped put bacta on the Mandalorian’s arm she’d bitten, who she’d sent off for water before jumping back into the lesson. 

“Without a doubt, and that has always been one of her flaws,” Axe shook his head “Worship and belief of Ka Ha’ragnir and Arasuum fell out of favor long before our time, though, with the way our lives, hers especially, have been led, I can understand some kind of base decline to the instincts of the Taungs. We have our songs, our ancient recordings, but we also have the behaviors passed from generation to generation about how our lives were to be lived and how to react.”

It was no secret that they’d all done unimaginable things in the name of survival, and their culture. It had always been written off as their bullheadedness and their way of life, though many had forgotten that it had once quite literally been in their blood. “Her flaw is not that she is human,” The Armorer’s voice was slow, steady, trying to ensure that she’d heard him correctly, while making sure her own point was known.

“No, no. That isn’t her flaw, but the activity is. When she… for lack of a better term: forgets that she’s human. The Taungs may not have needed to rest as often, and that may have been a leading factor to their belief and devotion to Ka Ha’ragnir and their pursuance of growth and change that she’s chasing subconsciously,” 

“You seem to have given this a great deal of introspection,” The Armorer noted. “We have not had a great deal of resources about our earliest ancestors, aside from the creed and the moments in history w have found that had defined a need for our existence as well,” 

“Being home has granted me more than my share of time to learn. We are all given an opportunity our ancestors had not, to be good at something other than war,” It was an echo of Bo-Katan’s own words. Axe was becoming a scholar and a rather skilled diplomat, now that they had access to records from the New Republic, and the old records from the Imperial Academy on Mandalore as well. He finally had the time to sit down and stimulate his brain with history, over battle strategies and espionage. “Lady Kryze has quite the extensive knowledge as well, more so about the more… dry aspects of our history. She has not limited herself to the governing past, or the past of warfare, but has extensive details about our prior trade, exports, and many other details I am sure had sparked her interest before the New Mandalorian rule had her splitting off.”

“What are we talking about?” Bo-Katan questioned as she dropped herself into a lower level of seating in front of the two, armored back pressed into both of their legs as she leaned back and actually sat for the first time all day. 

“You,” The Armorer provided, a gloved hand reaching to smooth out loose strands of sweat slick hair to calm any rising thoughts she could see gathering beneath a furrowed brow. 

“Why are we talking about me?” The redhead questioned as the convert member shed bitten earlier brought over an extra canteen of water, receiving a quiet thanks as the rest of the class let out, either back to the surface, their mentors, or their duties. 

“You are a big part of Mandalorian history,” Axe pointed out, when Bo-Katan’s lips parted to argue the point, he was quick to continue. “Think about it, Bo. For the first time in our history, Mandalorians are not at war, not with each other, not with the dar’jetti, and not with the republic. Our people are united under a common banner, and for the first time since our Progenitors, the Mythosaur is back, and has revealed itself to only you, You have wielded the dark saber on more than one occasion, and yet, you have proven that a successful Mand’alor does not need to hold a weapon to be successful. You’ve led us to a new age,”

Bo-Katan shifted uncomfortably against their legs as she drank and wiped sweat away from her brow. “That’s a lot,” The woman shed her gloves and reached to scratch at the back of her neck with sharer than usual nails. “But I didn’t do it alone, and I never would be able to do any of it, without either of you, and without Din Djarin, or without Paz.” There were many among their ranks that had given much more than her, had sacrificed more of themselves than her in the pursuit of their home. 

“That does not exclude your leadership and influence through it all, however,” The Armorer reminded, causing the redhead to nod as she processed. 

“This is true, I supppose,” A pause, and a small smile. “Mandalorians are becoming something new,” 

“Like those who were formed directly from the Taungs,” Axe chimed in, bringing an excitable expression from the Mand’alor.

“That’s actually so true,” There was a knowing smirk on Axe’s lips as he forced his elbow into The Armorer’s side, as their Mand’alor went into an extensive tangent about their similarities to the first Mandalorians, and the fall of the Taungs that had secured their system, how, in regaining their planets and moons from Imperial control, they were almost like the crusaders of old. It was almost comical, the way the woman of near fifty standard years could turn into an excitable teenager the moment their history was mentioned. It was a side that he’d never seen much of until they came home, but one he enjoyed nonetheless, as he’d always find something new to learn from her. 

Koska joined the trio some time later, her arm draping around The Armorer’s shoulders as she dropped her chin on Axe’s shoulder, listening as the Mand’alor spun the stories of their people with excited hand gestures and the like. 

Truthfully, it was the most down-time Bo-Katan had given herself since the most recent bout of hyper-activity. She kept herself leaning on The Armorer and Axe’s legs, one arm tossed back to rest on The Armorer’s thigh as she explained the Taungs’ last stand, and the different ways their culture had branched off since the split. 

Their history was sprinkled with the hazards and the costs of war and destruction, even her sister, who’d done all she could to do better by their people, had not achieved such a feat. Many of the prior Mand’alor’s held titles that would have them remembered for eons, such as Mand’alor the first, Mand’alor the Indomitable, Mand’alor the Ultimate, and Mind’alor the Great.Bo-Katan would be remembered as the World Strider, the Mandalorian who brought their people back to a life like under the rule of Mand’alor the Uniter. 

Their system found safety and security under her rule, and they found a boom in hundreds of those oppressed by the Empire to create new clans, searching for a people and a purpose among their ranks. 

Mandalore was thriving once more under their rule, because it wasn’t truly hers alone, no matter who they’d allowed to hold the title, they had each poured themselves to get to this point, and as long as she was standing, Bo-Katan would ensure their songs would never be lost, that they would be seen not as just another soldier in a war, but as the foundation of their rebirth. 

[cienie-isengardu]

Cienie's take on Mandalorian Culture: Arasuum - stagnation as symbol of death, not sloth

The Funeral Rites of Taungs and later Mandalorian Warriors. <> Kad Ha’rangir and mandalorian traditional weapons (part 1 — part 2 — part 3 – part 4 – part 5)

Mandalorians: People and Culture [Star Wars Insider #86, 2006] introduced Arasuum as the god of Stagnation and Sloth:

“Mandalorians were once intensely religious but disillusionment with the old fanaticism and worship of war itself gave way to a far less supernatural belief system among modern Mandalorians. They now regard creation tales, such as Akaanati’kar’oya (The War of Life and Death) as parables to illustrate a deeper philosophical meaning rather than literal supernaturalism. The stars were mythologized as fallen kings of Mandalore, and there are tales of the mythosaurs, but the pragmatic and skeptical Mandalorians look for allegory in these stories. The manda - best described as a combination of the collective state of being, the essence of being Mandalorian, and an oversoul - is not viewed as a literal heaven. Traditionally, the Mando afterlife is seen as a plane of spiritual energy in constant conflict between stagnation, and the opportunity for change brought about by destruction - a parallel with modern theories of cosmology. In Mandalorian myth, this conflict is symbolized by the eternal war between the sloth-god Arasuum - the personification of idle consumption and stagnation - and the vigorous destroyer god Kad Ha’rangir, who forces change and growth on the universe. Every Mando warrior who dies is said to add to the army of the afterlife, defending wives and children living in its permanent, peaceful homestead - the only place Mandalorians believe they can ever reach a non-transitory state of existence.”

This description of Arasuum was repeated in following tie-in sources:

Excerpted from “Industry. Honor. Savagery: Shaping the Mandalorian Soul” keynote address by Vilnau Teupt, 412th Proceedings of Galactic Anthropology and History, Brentaat Academy, 24 ABY [2012, published in The Essential Guide to Warfare]:

“After being driven from ancient Coruscant, the Taungs relocated to Roon and then wandered the Outer Rim, leaving hints of their passage in various species’ chronicles and histories. But they attracted little notice until they conquered Mandalore around 7000 BBY. At that time Mandalore lay beyond the galactic frontier - but close to the Republic’s outlying trade routes. Soon, rumors reached the Republic of worlds ruled by ferocious warriors. They served the god Kad Ha’rangir, whose tests and trials forced change and growth upon clans he chose to be his people. In opposition to Kad Ha’rangir stood the sloth-god Arasuum, who sought to tempt the clans and drag them down into stagnation and idle consumption. By waging war in Kad Ha’rangir’s name and according to strict religious laws, the Mandalorian Crusaders defied Arasuum and showed themselves worthy of favor.”

and 

Death Watch Manifesto [2013, published as part of The Bounty Hunter Code: From the Files of Boba Fett]

Our history begins with the Taung, the Shadow Warriors we honor as our Progenitors. They originally dwelled on Coruscant, but their enemies drove them into the Outer Rim. Their clans traveled from planet to planet on orders from their war chief, who interpreted the will of their now-extinct gods: Kad Ha’rangir, the all-seeing creator of test and trials; Hod Ha’ran, the trickster agent of fickle fortune; and Arasuum the god of sloth, an enemy whispering and seducing with promises of peace [...].

“The ancient Mandalorian deities were led by all-seeing Kad Ha’rangir (left), shown here beside the trickster god Hod Ha’ran (central) and the slothful Arasuum (right).

The mentioned above works associate Arasuum with laziness and stagnation, even though those two terms aren’t synonymous, nor even closely tied to each other. Stagnation is, basically speaking, a lack of change that may be conditioned by various factors. Laziness though is a choice a person makes - a choice to not work or use as little effort as possible[1]. 

Arasuum is constantly accused of being sloth. In contrast, Kad Ha’rangir, as Destructor and as god sending trials to test his people plays an active role in mandalorian mythology. However, the same as with Kad Ha’rangir, I think the sources - and with it, in-universe knowledge - may not be accurate. Or more precisely, the modern academics’ conclusions are based on incomplete sources whose true meaning perhaps was lost over the centuries.

For example, Kad Ha’rangir is treated as one of the most important, if not outright the main deity, but as I was proving in previous analysis, sword - in mando’a: kad - did not have any special place in the culture of the original Mandalorians (Taung), as they hold mythosaur axes in high regard. Which puts into doubt the prominent position of god named after a weapon clearly favored by human Mandalorians who replaced the now-extinct Taungs. It does not mean there was never a god-Destructor in original mythology but rather allow us to assume the mandalorian culture has undergone many changes with passing time. If the Kad Ha’rangir himself may be a god reshaped to fit the needs of early human Mandalorians and their descendants, then the same could happen with Arasuum. 

Which is why I decided to analyze Arasuum and his role through the lens of three aspects:

Mandalorian language (Mando’a)

Official tie-in material 

widely understood Mandalorian culture

Let's start with the MANDALORIAN LANGUAGE

For those unfamiliar with Star Wars lore, mando’a is an official mandalorian language. Initially developed by composer Jesse Harlin as part of the soundtrack for the 2005 video game Republic Commando, it was expanded into functional language by Karen Traviss, the author or tie-in Republic Commando book series. The glossary included in her books evolved into a full dictionary and grammatical guide published on Traviss’ official page (archived version can be found here).

In short, Mandalorian language evolved from a few songs into a functional dialect that fans adapted and to this day are still developing for their own use. Understandable, the original mando’a published by Karen Traviss is an artificially created language but because it was made by the same person that at time shaped Mandalorian culture, we have a reason to assume the meaning of deities’ names wasn’t assigned at random.

And so we have a role of Destructor assigned to Kad Ha’rangir - in which kad is a word for sword/saber

while ha’rangir is derived from ha’ran or rangir, two words related to ash/destruction & hell. 

With publication of Bounty Hunter Code and The Essential Guide to Warfare comes Hod Ha’ran, another deity whose name and role correlate with similar meaning in mando’a:

The name of Arasuum brings an important detail - mandalorian language distinguishes between stagnation

and laziness.

As can be seen, there is no common element between those two words, as in: one word is not derived from the other, the way logically some meanings are connected.

If two names have direct correlation to gods’ mythological roles, why Arasuum wouldn’t be perceived by original Mandalorians the same as Kad Ha’rangir and Hod Ha’ran? And this is our first clue to understand Arasuum’s original role in mythology.

Arasuum, as his name suggests, remains the same. Is stagnant. In contrast Kad Ha’rangir is associated with vigor, the growth that happens to Mandalorian people. All three presented above source material associate Kad Ha’rangir with life (active energy), what from biological and symbolic perspectives is a constant change. Since both deities are part of the same myth titles as The War between Life and Death, logically thinking Arasuum, the unchanging god, should represent death as opposition to growth.

If we go with that logic, then facing and overcoming Kad Ha’rangir’s trials may mean surviving the hardship like fight (war). Each victory over death (stagnation) gives a warrior an unique experience that change them, though if the change is for better or worse may be secondary concern. Alive Mandalorian can’t stay the same, because those unable to grow will fail to survive another god’s trial and then will be lost to Arasuum. 

And this is the base ground for my theory that stagnation from mythological point is symbolic metaphor for death and with that, Arasuum is the god of death, not laziness.

The next part will explore the tie-in source material, with special focus on Death Watch Manifesto and political symbolism of Arasuum.

SIDE NOTES:

[1] Just to be clear here: no, needing to rest after hard work is not laziness, the same as lack of will to take action due to depression or other psychological or physical illness. 

[kad-dala]

An eclipse would hold a significant cultural importance because of "Maker comes to unmake" and the battle against Zhell under darkness of presumed volcano eruption.

I imagine Orthodox families devoting the total eclipse time to pray to Kad Harangir.

aww shit, ummmmmm mandalorian holidays?

Ooh. something I haven't thought much about, honestly, lmao. so bear with me as i completely 100% make stuff up lkasdjflkjasd galactic calendars are absolute Hell and mandalore doesn't abide by anyone elses rules so they do their own thing; apparently canonically mandalore's orbit is 366 days (boring) but the day is 19 hours (not boring!)

because the word for ten is two-fives i'm going to say five is an important number and that years are grouped into fives. there's some kind of big sort of 'yule' or 'new year' holiday at the end of every fifth year

also: mandalore, geographically, is apparently two-third's the diameter of Earth; however, Concordia is obviously fucking Massive if it has a breathable atmosphere, meaning Solar Eclipses are probably pretty common and could conceivably cover the whole damn planet every time they happen. so, there's like a mandalorian holiday every time there's an eclipse where you just bugger off to cook with family and don't have to go to work, and watch the eclipse with the kiddos (i'm not going to think about how absolutely insane mandalore's tides were before the oceans got boiled off).

Mandalore *used* to have pretty dramatic seasons (re: somehow being subtropical in many areas and having absolutely Bitter winters in the north and south) until the Dral'han, so seasonal holidays still exist even if they're a lot Less important than they used to be. Harvest festivals are a thing in like every culture and mandalorians are no exception - they're just a lot Bigger of a deal in places like Concord Dawn where most people are farmers asdklfjsdl

I imagine there's several holidays that maybe the NM tried to ignore a little bit re: celebrating the return of warriors after notable crusades or wars, wherein people are supposed to visit family maybe? just called various Homecomings

the date of the Dral'han and the date of the battle of Malachor V are probably pretty dour 'holidays', days of mourning etc. days where you recite your Rememberances in their entireties (tho you maybe should be doing it a lot more frequently than that lol), share stories from those past, etc. I can't decide if it would be good or bad luck to have a child born on one of those days but it's Some Kind of Luck or portent for their future birthdays are less important, but i'm sure after a successful verd'goten and the kid and mentors and whatnot get home it's a big Family Bash, passing the kid around to look at their shiny new armor lmao

there you go some stuff i pulled out of my butt

[ranahan]

Here’s a wild fan theory:

You see these blue triangles on Din’s gauntlets?

And these two little triangles on Boba’s (Jango’s) helmet?

And kind of here on Jaster’s cuirass?

I’ve pondered the significance (there was a post that made the connection between the triangles on the armour of various Mandalorians and clones, but I can’t find it anymore) and here’s my wild little theory.

You know what’s significant in Mandalorian culture and associated with the number three? The three Mandalorian gods Kad Ha’rangir, Arasuum and Hod Ha’ran.

So maybe for the Taung the triangle was a symbol of the three gods, the cosmic battle between growth and stagnation, and the Mandalorian faith as a whole. I like the idea of the triangle standing on one of its corners (“upside down”) ▽: the two upper corners are growth and stagnation, the bottom corner represents the fickle nature of fortune which may at any point tip the scales this or that way. The arrangement of the corners is also reminiscent of the iconic T-visor, and in that way, the T could be another representation of the idea of these teetering scales of cosmic battle.

After the Mandalorian Wars, the Mandalorians reinterpreted their old faith, came to view the gods as metaphors, and moved towards the belief in the Manda, the collective oversoul. And perhaps they also reused and reinterpreted a lot of the old iconography.

So for the modern Mandalorians, one triangle is symbolic of the Manda, the collective oversoul and shared identity. And two triangles… well, what’s significant in Mandalorian culture and associated with the number six? The Resol’nare, or the six actions. Or in Din’s case (his gauntlets are of course a pair, so 6 corners in total), The Way of the Mandalore.

And I like to think that the placement might also be significant. Perhaps Din’s are on his hands to signify honour: “the Way guides my actions.” Boba’s over his view plate might signify vision. Jaster’s around his kar’ta, perhaps justice or faith. Near the mouth parts, truth. On the back of the helmet or on the back plate, it might be a protective cantrip: “watch my back.” And on the shins or feet, a wish for the Manda to guide one’s steps.

[writerlyhabits]

Aliit ori’shya tal'din

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Your second day in the covert reveals both new and familiar faces; hospitality and hostility.

Chapter 3 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: lots of Mando’a, mild language, soft Din, awkward Din, protective Din [he’s got a wide range, okay?], original Mandalorian characters… maybe a little bit of angst? It’s mostly worldbuilding, so I think that’s about it. 

AN: A word from the author – “I’m in grad school, I take forever to write things.Soon I will start grad school again, which means I’ll write this instead of my dissertation. I’m quite fond of the Mando Legends Lore, if you haven’t noticed. I literally got Kad Ha’rangir & Arasuum tattooed on me.”

This is the third part of a sister fic for my one-shot (Courting) a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! She is also sharing it on AO3, so be sure to send her your love and kudos there as well! We hope you enjoy 💛

Translations, in order of appearance:

Aliit ori’shya tal'din: Family is more than blood

Rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?:  Are you gonna tell her to kiss your ouchies?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.: Be careful, sister.

Aliit: family

Ad(e): child/children

Kar’ta beskar: the central "diamond" of Mandalorian armor; lit. heart armor

Mirjahaal: peace of mind, "healing", general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Beroya: bounty hunter

Kurshi: tree

Sen’tra: jackpack

Buir(e): Parent/Parents

Akaanati'kar'oya: The War of Life and Death (Mandalorian myth), creation story

Verd'goten: a special trial for one to become warrior; lit. birth of warrior

So'haale: births

Urman'gedete: prayers

Eparave: feasts

Cyarir evaar'la: Courting

Alii'aliit: meeting of the clans, the closest thing mandalorians have to government or parliament; lit. "clan of clans"

Tsad: group (of people), alliance

Bes'ede: Mythosaur

Kandush : inevitable doom

Time moves differently underground.

With Odona, the hours passed quickly. As a team, you could disassemble and reconstruct nearly any ship in their small fleet, save for a few parts— which no one had yet found and delivered. The days were faster when the guardsman opted to join you in his free time, his first visit and subsequent dialogue with Odona still memorable.

To what do I owe the displeasure; Oh Mighty Protector of the Covert and Savior of Foundlings?

The pleasure of my company is for your friend, ‘Dona.

Why? Going to terrorize her again, Ik’? Ven’rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.

You had sensed there was a joke hidden within their jibes, one you were unable to decipher in their foreign tongue, but neither took the time to explain. Whilst Ikarus lacked use for the labor that required fine motor control, his presence disrupted the monotony of the many tedious and repetitive tasks you and Odona spent much of your time doing— their frequent banter kept you entertained throughout the day. 

The time you had spent in the medbay was shorter— the most common injuries coming from the older adolescents early on in their training, whose resilience and constitution had yet to strengthen— as well as wrist and ankle sprains from poor fighting forms, the occasional laceration from knife safety training; and at worst, injuries from the teens and young adults earned from a vigorous sparring session.

But with Din, the mornings and evenings together never felt long enough. The hours were reminiscent of your time with him and the Child in the Crest, the warmth of your aliit protected by familiar cold walls; the stone of the cavern both analogous yet antithetic to the durasteel of your former home. 

One forged of hands, and the other of time— one of the fires of a furnace, the other the fires of a planet’s mantle. Your time together before was that of contrivance, engineered— with agendas to follow and assignments to complete— your interactions affable yet somewhat artificial, a present barrier precluding your companionship from evolving into something more… More natural, more innate, more intimate. Here, your time together had been more candid, endearing— Din no longer shied away from any probing questions or physical closeness, which allowed that previous barrier to melt and slowly flow away like that of bedrock to magma, reshaping and remolding your times of leisure together to hours of unified repose.

The hours turned to days, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turn to this moment, where seemingly no time passes at all— blanketed in the familiar darkness of your room. The unlit and chilled space, at first an unacquainted oddity, now a comfortable companion to spend the sleeping and waking hours in. The ritual remains the same— awaken with the Child, have the morning trade-off with Din, make the caf, and begin the tasks for the day— like clock work, a well-oiled droid.

This morning is almost no different, and yet, you hesitate to leave your bed, your conversation with Din the previous morning still fresh in your mind— 

Din had sat aside the table, his body resting against the wall— unarmored, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, the same position as every morning. Once you handed him the Child and sat, caf in hand, he finally spoke.

“I’d like you to join me tomorrow,” he stated. 

The lack of pleasantries from him was unsurprising, though a teasing ‘Good morning to you, Din’ was a tempting response. Instead, you greeted him with a grin and an unobjectionable reply— 

“Alright, what are we doing?” 

He hummed, pleased with your immediate acceptance.

“The adults alternate supervising the ade. Tomorrow, it’ll be our turn.”

You gestured toward the Child in his arms, in a playful retort. “Don’t we supervise this ad every day?”

The Child cooed in his arms, his ears perked tentatively at his mention. Din sighed, with a smile in voice.

“We do. It’s tradition for all of the adults to care for the ade… All have wisdom to share.”

Skeptical, you thought: ‘What would I possibly teach them?’

You observed the Child resting so comfortably on Din’s chest— his tiny hand gripped tightly into Din’s clothes, right where his armor’s kar’ta beskar normally sat. It was a stark contrast compared to the Child’s behavior upon your first meeting. With any loud noises and sudden movements, he would shrink inwards in his cradle— as if he could make himself any smaller. Medical scanners made him grimace, unfamiliar places and people made his ears droop— seeing others upset made him wary. And yet, he was endlessly curious. Despite his initial unease with the two new adults in his life, the Child was quick to trust you both— and with his trust, his personality came through… his affection, his laughter, his love. 

From there, Din learned how to tend to someone outside of himself— what it meant to have someone that relied on him, and more colossally, someone that wanted Din, as he was. The Armorer branded him as the Child’s father, and the delighted squeal from the little one sealed the bond that Din had been trying to hide for so long. Just as the Child learned to trust Din with his welfare, so too did Din learn to trust the Child with his own mirjahaal.  

Perhaps it wasn’t the lessons they taught, but rather the connection they made, and the wisdom they sought.

With this, the true question then inverted from the skeptic ‘what would I teach them’, to the sanguine ‘what will I learn?’...

“...When do we meet them?”

—

To the ade, the former beroya is nothing more than a tall kurshi fit to climb. 

Somehow, Din appears endlessly patient and playful with all six of the young children. They utilize their limitless spurts of energy to continuously attack Din as a squad, bringing him to the ground— he’ll exclaim a faux wail, and collapse to his knees— and the collective giggles of the ade begin the cycle again. 

Whenever a child grows tired of their battle, they come to you— wanting to be tossed into the air, or onto the nearest surface. Supposedly being gently thrown around aids in their brain development, and ‘it’s good practice for their first sen’tra flight’, Din tells you. The logic is questionable at best, but hearing their joyous squeals makes the ever-growing muscle fatigue worthwhile. Even the child of the Djarin clan is as equally amused, his own little spirit mightily lifted by the experience of being with other kids again. 

During your time on Sorgan, the Child was happy to interact with the other children— but mostly, he watched them, rather than play. Perhaps he was still too shy or too wary to fully engage with so many people, but surrounded by these Foundlings now, he looks at home; like he belongs. Amidst this cohort, he’s made a new friend, Mara, the youngest of the lot. Her long and dark hair reminds you— and perhaps the Child— of Winta, Omera’s daughter. The two spent the most time together on Sorgan, and despite the little one’s inability to say, he misses her. 

Mara and the Child sit away from the squad play-fighting Din, in front of the single wall of volcanic tuff— embellished with crimps and pockets, graven by many hands. You watch them, as they examine the wall, looking up and down, side to side. Your eyes travel upward to the small cavate, almost eight feet from the floor. You watch as Mara looks to the Child and nods, and begins her ascent up— using her fingers and toes to grip tightly onto the various crevices in the wall— and the Child begins to follow.

You step forward, almost instinctively, wanting to call out to them to stop, wanting to reach out to the children to prevent a fall—

Then, from nowhere, Din appears at your side, extending his hand to stop you. “Don’t,” he says softly, “Let them try.”

You look at him puzzled, and he continues. “If you distract them now, they might fall…” he pauses, and turns his head to watch them, “...but if you allow them to focus, they can succeed. Watch…” 

The pair silently step closer, closing the distance between themselves and the wall, watching the two ade slowly make their way up to the cavate. Mara climbs inside first, and lays on her belly, reaching out to the Child to help him trek the final span of the wall. Once inside, the Child turns around, to face the entire room below him. He squeals a little clamor of excitement, proud of his triumph, before looking down to his buire.

“Good job, kid,” Din says. “Come on down, it’s time to go.”

The Child looks at you both doe-eyed, his ears drooping, as he peers over the ledge. He looks back to Mara, and back down over the ledge, contemplating his next move. 

You lean slightly towards Din, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t think he knows how to get back down.”

“He can do it,” Din says confidently. 

You challenge him, “He looks scared.” 

Din insists, “Then he’ll do it scared.” 

He steps forward once more, his body almost pressed against the wall, reaching one hand up. “Come on kid, climb down.”

The child’s ears droop even lower, letting out a quiet whimper, a little anxious look on his face. He looks back up to Mara, who gives him an encouraging “You can do it,” before he finally begins his descent towards you and Din. 

Carefully, his little clawed feet grip into the same pockets he used to climb up, and his hands hold onto the ledge. He looks down at his buire with a slightly quivering lip, then back up to his hands. Slowly, he presses on, his movements deliberate and cautious, gravity tugging at his little limbs with relentless persuasion, clammy clawed-hands threatening to slip free from the cold stone. His disgruntled babbling fading with each tentative step, footfalls growing more steady with every downward stride. 

His little foot finally reached something soft— the hand of his buir, waiting for his arrival. With an excited squeal, he looks to Din, holding out his clawed fingers for Din to grasp. Din takes the Child into his arms.

“Good job… I knew you could do it.” Din whispers to him.

With his ad in hand, Din looks back to the cavate, where Mara sits silently. “You too, Mara, come down,” he says. 

Mara, unlike the little one, is less graceful, only climbing down two feet of wall before leaping off. You instinctively reach your arms out to catch her, but are a few seconds too late, as she lands confidently on her feet, smiling up at you. She giggles, asking the Child “Wasn’t that fun!” and the little one cooing affectionately with a bright smile.

“They need to rest.” Din says, before leading Mara and the Child back with the other ade. You follow him in toe, and aid him while he attempts to settle the children in preparation for them to sleep. 

The chamber is bathed in the soft, warm light of the cressets along the walls. The ade sit and lay in a circle on the floor, looking up at the two adults expectedly, waiting for you both to join them. Din gently places the Child in Mara’s lap, seating himself amongst them. 

The ade demanded a story before they would agree to their midday nap, and with only one long sigh, Din relented. As you sit beside him, the tale of Akaanati'kar'oya begins.

—

In ages past, when cosmic realms were naught,

Two gods emerged, each with a purpose sought.

Kad Ha'rangir, embodiment of change,

A dance of growth, His essence did arrange.

Arasuum, the god of slow decay,

In stillness thrived, where life would fade away.

Eternal foes, in battle they engaged,

Ideals clashed, the cosmic script was paged.

Kad Ha'rangir, with eyes of vibrant light,

Envisioned galaxies in endless flight.

His very step, a ripple through the void,

Transforming all, where life and change enjoyed.

Arasuum, with eyes as deep as night,

Desired a realm where stasis held its might.

Decay His touch, a silent, withering breath,

A universe in stillness, touched by death.

In ceaseless clash, their cosmic struggle roared,

A dance of gods, where destinies were stored.

Stoic truths emerged from this grand design,

A tale of action, life's breath so divine.

"For action is the breath that life bestows,

A vital force, as mighty river flows.

Inaction, slow demise, a creeping shade,

A silent death in stillness' dark cascade."

Through galaxies and time, the story spread,

Of Kad Ha'rangir, where change was bred.

Arasuum's touch, a cautionary tale,

A realm in stillness, where all things frail.

So heed the moral, in verses spun,

That action is life, beneath the sun.

For inaction's grasp, a silent breath,

A slow demise, an encroaching death.

—

The ade rest together in a haphazard heap of limbs on various bedcovers and furs draped across the floor. Exhausted from their Beroya Battles and abseil adventures, they finally sleep, leaving the two adults to quietly watch over them together. In the chamber’s silent embrace, the air hangs heavy and chilled— a symphony of stillness envelops the room, broken by the muted shuffle of shifting bodies, and the hushed breaths of the ade. The only audible rhythm is that of the pulsating cadence of your own heartbeat and the rush of blood moving inside your head. 

Your eyes scan over the ade, finding a sense of calmness watching their steady breaths, in… out. 

In… out.

In… out.

Your gaze once again falls onto the Child, cuddled against Mara, also breathing steadily. In the gentle cradle of his friend’s arms, he looks peaceful. Had he ever slept this soundly on the Crest?... Who held him every night before us? Who will take care of him after us?

In the softest whisper, to not disturb the ade, you lean closer to Din, telling him the obvious— “He’s happy here.”

“...Yes,” Din replies, just as quietly. 

“Was this your experience, too? After the Mandalorians saved you?”

“No.”

His visor is trained on the little one’s sleeping face—the same face of a child who was once trapped in the suffocating darkness of a sealed cradle—a cage, a cage whose opening only revealed another prison, in the form of two bounty hunters hovering over him like… a B2 Battle Droid, with a blaster pointed in a child’s face. A child rescued from death at the last possible moment by a shiny warden, offering an adiaphorous detainment. 

“It was… a time of war. I was trained to fight in it. I hope… that they never have to.” Din says, his gaze scanning over the ade once more. 

“I thought all Mandalorians were warriors.”

He, too, believed the same notion for many years. Training from the day he was rescued to the day he became an adult, after his verd'goten, life became a perpetual streak of jobs. Commission, retrieval, payment. Commission, retrieval, payment… Until a strange, golden, aureate armorsmith joined his tribe, bringing tales of the “Great Forge of Mandalore,” and the songs of the artificers that echoed through the speos as they worked. He remembers the first time he kneeled in front of her small, austere forge, in a dark room beneath a busy market above, listening as she spoke of the ethos, the rites, the latria, the true way of the Mandalore. 

“No. Everyone is trained to survive. But… we used to live, too.” 

“...Until Mandalore was taken.”

“Yes.”

So'haale, urman'gedete, eparave, cyarir evaar'la, alii'aliit… A cultus he could only dream of, but never truly have. Spoken knowledge fades into whispers, slipping through his fingers like sand as the voices of the ancestors grow ever fainter. Each decampment a dissolution of tsad res publica, each step forward a battle against oblivion. 

“I’m sorry.” You lean over, resting your head on his pauldron. “...Maybe there’ll come a time when we’ll live in the light, on a planet that welcomes us.” 

Din knows that within every Mandalorian is a patchwork of unfamiliar faces and ever-changing landscapes, their solace and safety as elusive as a bes'ede itself—and yet they endlessly repugn the kandush they have faced time and time again, guided by the conviction that within the uncertainty of the cosmos lay the promise of a sanctuary forged from the resilience of their spirit. 

He tilts his head, resting it atop yours. “There will.”

Ali'nare vencuyanir yaim. This is the Way.   

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[sidhebeingbrand]

Time to Be Normal about Mandos on Main again

I really only have a main these days

TIME TO BE NORMAL ABOUT MANDOS ON MAIN AGAIN

This time it's about the presumption of loss built into their culture as defined by Karen Traviss and possibly hinted at in the new Didney canon

Blanket disclaimer that I am Aware of the Problematic Aspects of the Republic Commando Books. Like, I read the first trilogy, i saw them, I was there, Frodo.

But without those books and this author, we don't get Aayhan. Which is… it's neat.

hOkAY so in the RC books and KT's surrounding writing there are a few concepts that really Make mandos for me? Like as differentiated from any Noble Warrior People #253. 'A strong warrior code' is great and all but the specificity of the Mandalorian wordlview is…

I just like them, okay, I think they're neat.

SO ONE THING: is that Mandalorians used to worship gods. They don't anymore, but the concepts of them remain-- the god who represented the worst things in the universe, the one who would 'kill' your spirit, was Arasuum. A god of sloth and stagnation. The word arasuum still means 'stagnation' in Mando'a the same way that 'jovial' still means a good time bro even though the worship of Jupiter has strongly fallen off.

There was a trickster god, too, more neutral, and the Best god, the one mandalorians strove to emulate, was Kad Ha'rangir. Literally translates to 'the blade that makes ash?' A destroyer god, and a god of creation. The ideas are linked in the Mandalorian language-- creation comes from destruction, is only POSSIBLE with destruction. The greatest evil is everything staying the same. The greatest good is making new, and that comes with the end of things that are old.

(It is probably a heretical view that one needs a balance between the two-- Mandalorian stability and tradition are old. The language lives and gains new words and new ways to use those words but it has stayed more comprehensible than, say, Basic, which seems to have undergone massive levels of change within Yoda's lifetime. Is that not the hand of Arasuum? I bet the religious arguments about that ended up with the opposing philosophers in traction and that was the Really Polite Discourse)

What remains in the culture now that the gods are gone is this-- that the universe is not a battle between Good and Evil, Kind and Cruel, but Stagnation and Creation.

(ANd I watch The Mandalorian which is not bound to the concepts in the RC, I know that, but I also see: Bo Katan sits on her throne, staring at nothing, defeated, in the hands of Arasuum Bo Katan rises to the moment, throws off her stagnation, becomes Active, becomes Mandalorian once more.)

But anyway ANOTHER THING is that KT writes the Mandalorians as spiritually nomads, no matter how stable their current living situation. The only TRUE home a Mandalorian is guaranteed is within the Manda after death. A Mandalorian is not bound to a planet. A Mandalorian is Mandalorian because they have a mandalorian soul. And to have a Mandalorian soul is to know that at any time half the galaxy is pissed off at you, and you're pissed off at the other half.

There is a cultural expectation-- somewhat lost in later days by Mandalorians who live on Mandalore, but certainly firmly embedded in the minds of the remnant Ha'at'ade, the last of the true Mandalorians, who lost their civil war and saw power and structure ripped away from them.

In fact, their culture overlaps strongly with the Jedi here: they know loss is inevitable, and has to be accepted. That's one of the REALLY HARD lessons of the Jedi, too!

The difference, and likely one of the reasons* that Jedis and Mandos have Historically Not Gotten Along, is their reaction to that principle. Mandalorians don't limit their attachment to the things they know they may lose. Oh, no, they go full bore the other way-- they pour their time and souls into the things they love, and they defend them bitterly, and when they lose them if there is a tangible culprit for that loss they will pour their rage and grief upon that culprit--

(*There are a lot of reasons to be fair)

But then when the vengeance is done, the thing is over. What's lost is lost. Rebuild if you can. Salvage if you can. But you shouldn't be trying to re-enact the past! (TOR. Looking at YOU TOR) You are building the future. You are adapting, because that is how a culture is immortal. The Mandalorian word for immortal, going back to god words, is dar'asuum, and that 'asuum' is-- yeah-- straight from arasuum. No Longer Stagnant: an exulted state where you rise above your inherent inertia.

You can't avoid building because what you build will be destroyed-- you're robbing the future. You're robbing your soul.

Mandos know that everything lovely ends in time, to make room for the new; if it didn't, it would be the most poison fruit. If you can't let go, Arasuum's sleepy fingers twine around your heart, make you slow, complacent. You fight for what you love because you are a warrior, and the Taung's ashes burn inside your blood, but when it is gone it is gone.

Even a home.

(Din Djarin says: You'll have to move the covert. Paz Vizsla says: This is the way)

And you rebuild it from the ash, if it's practical to do so. You break down the old forge and remake it into the new one. You take the shards of glass that were people and homes and infrastructure and the very ground of your planet and you make new things. But you don't rebuild the same. What a fool's errand. What a stagnant thing.

SO THESE THINGS are encapsulated in one of the signature Mando Cultural Experiences, which is Aayhan.

Aayhan is that moment of perfect fulfillment-- of happiness, of peace -- in which you feel the ghosts of those who are not there to see it with you. In which what you have lost tangles with what you have gained. In which you Remember as you Feel. Joy laced with pain to make the joy more piquant.

It's just such-- of course. Of course they have a word for that, of course they IDENTIFY that because what do could you possibly have, if you have lost nothing? Loss is part of life, it is essential, it is what keeps the galaxy turning and the stars burning until they too end. The rage keeps your heart pumping. The threat of it keeps you sharp. The grief throws your joy in brighter relief. Without the danger and the reality of knowing Everything Ends you are a stagnant shell.

Loss is assumed, in their language, in their culture, in the stories they tell and the sensations they seek. And it's when this comes out-- this shape of a culture that is NOT like the one we live in, that is not common in the Galaxy they exist in, which is just-- Mando-- I don't know, it just gets to me. I feel things.

(And Paz Vizsla demands to know why his people should fight on behalf of who have taken from them, due to whom they have lost so much, and it is a rhetorical question: he will answer it himself in the next breath: "Because we are Mandalorians!" )

[setaripendragon]

Sunlight by Hozier - in Mando'a

If you remember this post where I translated I See Fire into Sindarin, you probably won't be all that surprised by this. I've fallen head-first into the Star Wars fandom (admittedly second-hand, but still), and of course, being me, I went straight for the conlangs. Mando'a might not be the most fleshed out language of the GFFA, but it is the one with the most Culture, at least in the fandom, so it's the one I gravitated to. And honestly, I really like how... brisk it is? It drops unnecessary pronouns and verbs, barely bothers with tense at all, and contracts everything. It's so much fun to play with.

Sunlight isn't the first song I started translating into it (that would be Born For This from the Spiderverse movie), but it is the first one I've finished, because matching Mando'a to English scansion is hell. It struck me as a very Codywan song, which is why I picked it to translate (yes, I do imagine Obi-wan composing/singing it in honour of Cody pretty much every time I listen to it).

I did have to make up a couple of words because the dictionary I use didn't have even a near-equivalent to the concept I was looking for, and those will be marked with a * and I'll add the 'etymology' of them at the end. (If anyone knows any other Mando'dictionaries, throwing me a link will win you my undying gratitude.) I also had to get creative with my interpreations of the meaning of certain lines, since, just to pick the most obvious example, Mandalorians probably don't have the myth of Icarus like we do.

Any feedback, advice, or just general linguistics flailing is always welcome. Now, without further ado, here it is:

Tran'nau* (Sunlight)

Ni ru'nevor nau (I shunned the light) Ru'medinui naak be ca'tra (I shared in the peace of night) Ni nu'mirdi ba'slanar (I wouldn't think to leave) Par tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Tion'ad karta nu'redal (Whose heart doesn't dance) Dar'shekemi tra be ca'tra (Wouldn't abandon the stars of night) Sha solyc hettyc haa'it (At first burning vision) Be tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Ni r'echoyla ba'gar, tran'nau (I was lost to you, sunlight) Ru'miy sa kisen* ba'gar, tran'nau (Flew like a moth to you, sunlight) Ner tran'nau (My sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gehat'ik arasuum (The tale remains the same) Ru'rejor bal ven'rejor (Told before and told again) Runi ru'got* lo ciryc pitat (The soul that's born in the cold rain) Kar'mir tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Mar'e lis dinuir gai (At last I can give a name) Ba tracin haaranovyc (To a hidden flame) Sa kar'tayli darasuum (As love/knowing forever) Ner tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (My sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

An tengaana ba'ni, tran'nau (All that's displayed to me, sunlight) Ratiin kar'mir ba'ni, tran'nau (Is always known to me, sunlight) Ner tran'nau (My sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Tran'nau (Sunlight)

An ner alii'gai* lo gar gaan solus (All that I am is in your hands) Ke'juri ni ulyc, ner tran'nau (Carry me carefully, my sunlight) An ner alii'gai* lo gar gaan solus (All that I am is in your hands) Ke'juri ni ulyc, ner tran'nau (Carry me carefully, my sunlight)

Antuur* mhi cuy tome (Everyday we exist together) Kar'mir gar ner shereshoy (Know that you're my reason for living) Ner oya bal kyr slati* gar (My life and death belong to you) Ner tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (My sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Narbatir* sen'tra (Wearing a jetpack) Kyr'nayl'gam* briikasyc (I'm death-trap clad happily) Galar carud ni trattokor (Spilling smoke I fall) Chur tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight)

[*tran'nau = tra (star field)/tranyc (sunny) + nau (light)] [*kisen (moth) = kih (small) + senaar (bird)] [*ru'got (born) = ru- (past prefix) + goten (birth)] [*alii'gai (identity) = aliit (clan)/aliik (sigil/symbol) + gai (name). This is technically already a word that means 'colours', but I took that to mean specifcally the colours one wears on their armour, the 'face' they show the world, i.e. their identity.] [*antuur (everyday) = anay (every) + tuur (day)] [*slatir (to belong to) = slanar (to go) + ti (with). I took the inspiration for this from the etymology of the word 'belong' in English.] [*narbatir (to wear/to put on) = narir (to put) + bat (on)] [*kyr'nayl'gam (death-trap-skinned) = kyr (end/death) + gaanaylir (to trap) + 'gam (skin). Since beskar'gam is literally 'metal-skin' and the word for skin literally translates to 'soft-skin', I figured it could also be poetically used to mean 'clad in']

[average-transdalorian]

I promise this relates to dunmeshi, just bear with me

So! Mandalorians *did* have religion in the past. Modern ones (Canderous Ordo and onwards) are largely secular, and from Mandalore the Indomitable to Mandalore the Ultimate, they kind of worshipped the practice of war as a whole, but before that, it was *juicy*. There was a small pantheon with three *known* gods, those being Hod Ha’ran, Kad Ha’rangir, and Arasuum. Hod Ha’ran is actually the least important of the three; they’re a trickster deity, and probably a common figure in myths, but we don’t know much else about them. Kad Ha’rangir was the most worshipped; they were called a “destroyer god,” but they seem to be more about destruction as a method of *change*. Growth, life cycles, trying to make things better (although failing that, they still find making things worse better than leaving things be). Because struggle typically brings forth growth (and because Indomitable had a funky vision), worship of Kad Ha’rangir became worship of war itself. Anyways, Arasuum, the last deity we know of, was the god of sloth and stagnancy. They were set in conflict against Kad Ha’rangir, and Kad Ha’rangir would always win. Point is, Mandalorian religion held that stagnancy and sloth are, essentially, the least desirable outcomes

And today we saw the Golden Kingdom, a land of ultimate peace and prosperity. A land that has gone unchanged for centuries. The narrative seems to be implying that the stagnancy is bad, and, well. That reminded me of Mandalorian religion lmao

[echoedcrosshairs]

Mandalorian Proverb: Fortune Cookie Edition

“Adversity reveals genius, prosperity conceals it.”

In the old Mandalorian religion there was the destroyer war god Kad Ha’rangir was the god who represented universal growth and change while Arasuum was the sloth god that represented sloth and idleness. These two gods were the most important of Mandalorian beliefs, adversity was the progression of the culture, clan and oneself while being peaceful was falling behind, never growing or developing and was viewed as a disgrace.

Adversity reveals genius, prosperity conceals it.

Growth and change is found after the destruction of something both metaphorically and realistically, fighting always challenges one’s views and beliefs without growth we would never learn even in horrific events it’s challenges us to learn how to keep it from happening again. Adversity is the essence of life progressing us but when we grow to fat in our riches we become complacent and no longer pay attention to the battles in front of us and we move backwards, to at ease with the security to stop seeing.

[mayxthexforce]

Headcanuary - Day 12

Prompt: religion.

A'Sharad Hett

The Tuskens' religion doesn't center around a God, but around water. The story is that at first, there was a god or a few gods, but then one day they abandoned Tatooine, but not before telling the Tusken that from that point on, all the water on the planet was sacred and was theirs.

Carnor Jax

Through the years, Carnor held onto a lot of the beliefs he learned while he was a child in the care of the Thyrsus Sun Guard. These beliefs involved the honor of battle and the worshipping of deceased Sith Lords as entities who could provide the living with power and knowledge to face different circumstances.

Goran Beviin || Medrit Vasur

While Mandalorians do not have a pantheon. They have some people who allegedly did exist who achieved sainthood/godhood. The main three who Goran and Medrit believe in are Kad Ha'rangir, the destroyer god, bringer of change and chaos, but also the personification of growth and unity; Arasuum, the sloth god, personification of stagnation who tries to tempt clans into becoming selfish and self centered. They're polar opposites and are in an eternal battle against each other. Then there's Hod Ha'ran, the trickster, agent of fickle fortune and bringer of balance.

Mellichae

While Mellichae himself didn't see his cult as a religion, the people who followed him certainly did. Mellichae was like a messiah to them, promising them power and riches beyond their imagination, healing a few broken limbs, proving himself over and over to possess supernatural strength because the Empire kept sending people to kill him, giving them answers for questions that they believed would remain unanswered forever, and lifting things with his mind with such ease, in a time where people who could do that were little more than a distant memory.

[shipwreckinabottle]

crown of beskar and bones

Rating: Mature

Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV)

Relationship: Din Djarin / Bo-Katan Kryze

Word Count: 7940

Summary: the Mandalorian nobility did like their theatrics, aye, they did, and what better theatrics than a little princess preaching their worships in the Living Waters, even if the princess believed nothing more of it than fairy tales? 

/The war is won, and Bo-Katan returns home with sergeant Din Djarin at her side, only to find her home planet razed to glass and ruins, her people starving and unburied in the streets./

(a chapter in a grimdark fantasy AU, inspired / in the style of Peter McLean's War for the Rose Throne)(no, you don’t have to read anything of it beforehand.)

(read on ao3 here!)

(short preview below)

Bo-Katan wasn’t a religious one, she wasn’t.

The company priest was, aye, indeed he was, and in his divine madness, stripped the armor from his body and charged the fortified outpost with nothing but holy fervor and his bare cock dangling between his legs, spurned by days of being pinned down by mortar fire and claims of ghostly voices no one knew were of a divine or delusional sort.

Bo’s small company of men, starved and gaunt as they were, let loose a small cheer as the mad priest scaled atop a small rock outcropping, his bare buttocks glinting yellow in the sulfuric reflection of Florrum’s twin moons, only to quickly turn into groans as a burst of kinetic energy rippled through the priest, shredding him into mist and paste, bones separated from flesh as he simply spilled to the ground with a wet plop.

Aye, the disruptor cannons were effective killers at that.

-

There were times when Bo wondered it true, aye, she did, wondered if the soul of the insane priest had now joined Kad Ha’rangir the destroyer god in waging holy war across the unseen dominions, waging spiritual crusade against the eternal stagnation of the sloth god Arasuum.

She didn’t think so, to her mind.

She wasn’t a religious one, aye, but she wasn’t ignorant either. As princess of her people, she was learned of the myths and tenets of Mandalore, of all their religions old and new.

She was learned of Akaanati’kar’oya—the War of Life and Death; she was learned of Kad Ha’rangir—bringer of change and growth; of Arasuum—stagnation and idleness; she was learned of the collective oversoul of the manda; and the terrible fate befalling the ignorant dar’manda.

She was learned of their many gods, their myths, their proclaimed purpose to wage war; she could recite their many tenets from front to back—the Mandalorian nobility did like their theatrics, aye, they did, and what better theatrics than a little princess preaching their worships in the Living Waters, even if the princess believed nothing more of it than fairy tales?

Aye, she knew and was learned of it all, and all was theatrics for fools, to her mind. The maddened priest was a fool and a coward; there was no divine purpose, and he wasn’t fighting in anyone’s war but the Empire’s own, and this was his end, not to become Kad Ha’rangir’s holy crusader in some saintly purpose, no, he wasn’t—he was just a stain of blood and human paste on a broken, war-torn planet millions of lightyears from wherever he was conscripted from, dying for another man’s war.

-

Bo didn’t believe in gods, no, as she had written, but there was something she believed in. The priest was dead and that meant forty-seconds before the cannons recharged, forty-seconds for her to move.

She broke free from their cover, acid burning in her muscles from days of waiting and inactivity, and charged across the battlefield, armor scorched by returning fire and debris, explosions going off left and right incinerating allies and foes alike, klaxon warning systems blaring as loudly in her helmet as the screech of dying starfighters in the battlescape above.

She ran like the maddened priest, she did, and she ran and she ran and she ran, guided not by the gods nor war-madness, she knew the former as much, and slid into the rocky outcropping the mad priest had bunkered down the last days before his frenzied charge. And there, in the face of ungodly destruction and death and waste—Bo found divine purpose, aye, she did.

-

She didn’t believe in gods, didn’t believe in divine wars or oversouls or large sloths the size of galaxies bringing idleness and stagnation to their reality. But what she believed in, what she worshipped and revered and feared, like all foot soldiers past and present—was artillery. Was energy catapults and blaster artilleries and mortar launchers and anti-infantry batteries and mass-drive cannons and propelled turbolasers and whatever forces powerful enough to be deemed godly on the battlefield.

For what use of a deity in the sky, to her mind, compared to the shadow of an imperial dreadnaught descending upon the battlefield?

What use the fear of god, compared to the fear of a singular weapon powerful enough to wipe out hundreds, thousands of soldiers with but a single button?

Aye.

Power, destruction, death; those she could see with her eyes, and those she believed in. And while the magnetic interference from the planet’s sulfuric storms had rendered their ground-to-orbit com-systems all but useless, the old field-radio her company priest had left behind with his armor before his mad charge, the radio he had insisted on bringing along when no one else did, whether it was guided by the hammer of Kad Ha’rangir’ himself or just dumb luck, was still intact.

And so, Bo kneeled into the ground, blaster fire turning the world around her into a blinding kaleidoscope of colors, she kneeled like the mad priest offering his worships to an equally mad god in the center of a mad battlefield, and she kneeled and thumbed the coordinates into the old shortwave radio unaffected by magnetic interference and aye, for a moment, she believed, she truly did, as came a terrible roar from above and the heavens opened and she brought down divine justice like the smite of Kad Ha’rangir’s cosmic hammer.

There was a loud boom as orbital artillery struck, a burst of brilliant white light that short-circuited her helmet’s visor in a painful instance, and when she could see again, the enemy stronghold was all but gone, vaporized down to atoms, not even dust and bones left to bury.

-

She returned home after the war.

The Kryze castle, her castle, was ruins. The once lush hills now marred black with the scars of planetary bombardment and superheated glass and bones turned ash. The great cliffs were no more, flattened into nameless dunes, and the oceans were gone, vaporized into jagged landscapes of craters and glass-stones, fused and warped into an ugly stain of blaster marks and artillery strikes and half-buried starfighters jutting from the shattered plains, left behind like some husks of ancient creatures, mangled steel instead of bones.

Aye, the Empire had won, and across the galaxy—this was the cost.

Dozens of star systems bankrupted, smaller regions cannibalized, and Outer Rim colonies were left to die. People were sick and starving, hyperspace lanes were shut down, supplies had dried up, and trade was non-existent. Governments were imploding, civil wars were breaking out, conglomerates were absorbing territories against their will and putting the people to labor. Millions of broken, half-mad soldiers were returning home to find home no longer was, and a deadly new techno-plague, once unleashed by the Empire upon her enemies, had found none left and turned on its own people, causing entire regions of space to go dark.

But they had won, hadn’t they?

Aye, they had won, as she had written, and her home was razed to glass and ruins, her birthright crushed to dust, her people starved and unburied in the streets, all while she had won a war half the galaxy away, a war neither side wanted, for an immortal, faceless emperor no one had seen in centuries, who had beggared entire star systems and left her home to rot.

Aye, they had won, and these were the times they lived in.

[tailorvizsla]

Title: Emulsion Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x The Armorer Word Count: ~3500 Rating: NC-17 Warnings: Unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, one creampie, no plot whatsoever, Obi-Wan and Armorer have History, a lot of made up stuff about Mandalorian religion Notes: Hi, I guess it’s been a while since I last wrote anything. A massive thank you to Izzy who enabled me encouraged this. I gave the Armorer the name “Emilia”. Both Obi-Wan and Armorer are meant to be in their early 30s. Ignore the canon timeline, it doesn’t apply in my universe lol. No minors, please.

📚 My Master List 📚

Emilia leaned over the lip of the Forge. It was extremely early in the morning, but it would take some time before it was fully heated and ready to work. She opened the lamp of Kad’Harangir and scooped a few of the embers from within. She layered a bit of tinder over it and blew gently until it ignited. With one hand, she opened the gas mains, and then lowered the tiny flames into the deepest part of the Forge. The gas jets spluttered quietly as the flame took and spread around the casting basin, bathing the dim room in warm, golden light. 

She leaned back and closed the top of the lamp. Tonight, she would use the flames to light coal for tomorrow’s flame. She had gotten her coals from Sayyeh’s Forge, and she from her buir, and so forth for many, many generations. Emilia liked to think that the flame had been carried from armorer to armorer since the day Kad’Harangir had gifted it to them. She supposed it was much like how the Tribe bakers had passed down their own starters to their apprentices. The flame to bring warmth, and the bread to nourish - all at the heart of what they called home.

She adjusted the gas until the tall, narrow working flames quieted. As they cooled from white-blue to golden yellow, they shortened and softened into small, quivering globes. Once the bricks were heated through, she would be able to turn the temperature up to the blistering range needed to make the beskar sing.

Emilia turned away from the Forge. She hung the lamp on the hook by her tool box and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could feel the Everything surrounding her, like a cool, calming mist on her skin that soothed away yesterday’s troubles. Just as deeply, she exhaled, breathing out a word of gratitude. Arasuum had chosen to release her from his blissful embrace into Kad’Harangir’s waiting light once more. Emilia felt a stirring at her periphery as someone entered her domain. She knew who it was without having to look. 

“What brings you here, Master Jedi?” she asked. 

“What else but you?” Obi-Wan asked, standing at a respectful distance from her.

“You look tired,” she said bluntly. “Were you not able to sleep?”

“Despite spending my evening in meditation, I was unable to find rest,” he confessed, coming a step closer. “I…I am fine, Emilia.”

Liar. Emilia knew better. Despite his placid exterior, she knew that something was bothering him. She reached up to cup his face. His beautiful blue eyes drifted closed as he leaned into her touch. She felt a spark of warmth through her thick gloves, even though it was physically impossible. The calm warmth was tinged at the edges by sour anxiety and bitter sorrow, like the cold frost in autumn. His exhaustion bled through to her.

“You are more than tired,” she said. “You are exhausted.”

“Come now, cyare,” he whispered, not opening his eyes. “It is considered in poor taste to peek at someone’s emotional state, you know.”

She scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, even though he could not see.

“Then do not attempt to deceive me,” she said. “What is it?”

Jedi or not, Obi-Wan was a fine warrior. He was as confident in combat as he was in negotiations. He was a leader, someone who was confident in his skills and knowledge. Emilia could not imagine what had shaken him to his core. He remained silent for some time, leaning into her touch, accepting her comfort. She cupped both of his stubbly cheeks in her hands and leaned in to press her forehead against his gently. His breath hitched as his hands came up to settle at her waist.

“It has been years since I last fought. Since I last held a weapon,” Obi-Wan said. “I gave up everything…and now, I fear I may not be able to uphold the promise I made to you.”

She considered his words, turning them over and over in her mind. It had been ten years since she had last seen him. Obi-Wan had not been forthcoming with what he had done during that time, or why he had even put himself into isolation for so long. All she knew was that it involved the Purge. Perhaps it was the survivor’s guilt. Closing her eyes once more, she kissed the edge of his mind with hers. It ran far deeper than that, eating away at his heart and soul. In time, she knew he would confess to her. Obi-Wan could never hide from her. After all, how could he hide from the one person who could see his soul?

She withdrew. Obi-Wan exhaled and opened his eyes once more. He seemed lighter, less  worried. But still not whole. For now, all she could do was address the immediate issue - his insecurity in his skills as a warrior. Fortunately for him, she had many warriors here to help him regain his confidence.

“I may be able to assist.”

Paz especially had been itching for a fight with the Jedi. He often remarked that his Buir had told him all about fighting one properly. He would be honored to help. Then, she messaged Jala a set of measurements and asked if they had some spare kute and vests available. He was a bit thinner than the last time she had seen him, but she felt reasonably confident that they had something appropriate for him. The girl responded positively within just a few minutes, and Emilia made a note to scold her for being up at such an indecent hour. Once Jala agreed to bring some by, Emilia led the way to the neatly stacked pile of crates.

Jala strolled into the Foundry, a bag on her shoulder, and her hair gathered in an untidy bun on top of her head. She wore only her pajamas, robes, and a pair of ridiculous slippers. She handed the bag to Obi-Wan.

“I’ll need to check the fit before you go off,” Jala said.

Obi-Wan gave them both a look of confusion.

‘You may use my room,” Emilia said, nodding toward the door in the corner. “Don’t take too long.”

He disappeared into her room. Jala leaned against the table and gave her a smug smile.

“So,” she said. “How long have you two been friends?”

“Years,” Emilia responded.

The grin on Jala’s face widened.

“You two seem really close,” she said.

Emilia did not dignify that with a response as she sorted through the boxes. Finally, at the bottom of the stack, she found what she was looking for. For her insolence, Emilia had Jala help her put the other boxes back. Just as she was setting it down on the table, Obi-Wan came out of her quarters, dressed in the kute Jala had brought by.

The girl gestured him into the light, where she proceeded to circle around him.

“Go through some of your stretches,” she said. “I know your fighting style is quite different - I want to make sure it fits you properly.”

Obi-Wan obeyed. Emilia stopped to watch as he went through his basic forms. He was one of the most elegant verde she had ever worked with, she decided, as she admired his lean muscles. Jala nodded in the right places as he did as she bid. The kute were too big in some places, but he needed extra range of motion, so it would be fine.

“Everything looks good on my end,” Jala said. With a knowing smirk in her direction, “I’m sure Armorer can get you taken care of without my assistance.”

With that, Jala grinned and waved goodbye as she swiftly exited. Obi-Wan stammered something as his cheeks were flooded with pink. She could feel his embarrassment, and it made her smile. Emilia typed in the code on the locking mechanism. Obi-Wan smiled as he recognized the digits as the date they first met. She lifted the lid and removed the protective cloth.

Obi-Wan lifted the blood-red chest plate from the case.

“You kept it, after all these years?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said, her voice as soft as his. She took her glove off and ran her hand along one of the bracers. “I knew you would return one day, Obi-Wan.”

“I am grateful, Emilia.”

She watched as he put the cuirass down and grabbed the greaves. He was hesitant at first, but he soon remembered how to put it on. He got both cuisses on, and then the codpiece. He faltered as he tried to position the first fauld at his hip, so she impulsively reached out to help. They both froze and stared at each other, her hands hovering just centimeters over the belt.

It was considered quite forward for her to to assist a grown verd in putting on his armor, especially since he was physically capable of doing so. If it had been his first time wearing armor, or if he had been injured, her assistance would be acceptable and encouraged. But…Obi-Wan had worn armor dozens of times. The only person who would help him dress now would be his riduur and no one else. He knew what he was doing, and he knew what her offer meant.

As she started to draw back, to apologize for overstepping, his hands caught hers. She flushed under her bucket as he guided her hands back to where they had been. Emilia swallowed hard as she carefully looped the belts into their buckles and tightened them until they fit him snugly. Obi-Wan wrapped the utility belt around his waist, clipping it to the one holding his trousers up. 

As he reached for the cuirass, she could see that his vest wasn’t tight enough. He inhaled so she could adjust the laces. Then he lifted the chest plate up. Emilia left the belts holding the pauldrons in place looser since he would be relying on his lightsaber, rather than his sidearm. Then he turned so she could lift the backplate on for him. Her fingertips just barely brushed up against his shoulders. Then he turned back around and leaned his weight against the table.

His pupils were blown open. His chest rose and fell quickly as he panted, revealing he was just as affected as she was. Memories of those many nights spent with him came flooding back, filling her with intoxicating heat. One strong hand dipped to her waist as he tugged her toward him, and she stepped between his lean legs. She pressed up against him to reach for the bracer, feeling the hard curve of his codpiece against her belly. 

He inhaled sharply. Emilia flipped the latches open for him. Then she tucked the edge of his gloves under his sleeves to make sure nothing chafed. When she leaned to grab the second bracer, he cupped her hip and squeezed, drawing a sharp gasp from her. Emilia pressed her knees together to keep them from trembling. It had been so long since she last felt this strongly for someone else. His hand trailed up from her hip to her waist, then skimmed over the karta beskar embedded in her breast plate up to her neck. 

He tilted her face up to his, his thumbs finding the edge of her bucket, and he paused, giving her plenty of time to back out. She had no intention of telling him to stop.

She nodded once and Obi-Wan lifted gently, revealing only her lips first. He could not help himself - he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. She deepened the kiss hungrily, tasting him with the fervor of someone starved of all food and water. Her bucket shifted uncomfortably, so Emilia wrapped her hands around his wrists and lifted. Obi-Wan’s eyes lit up with some emotion she could not name as she blinked a few times. He placed her bucket on the table and cupped one hand around the back of her neck as he kissed her again.

He nibbled on her lower lip before kissing away the sting. She did not know what it was about Obi-Wan that turned her into a blushing, quivering mess. His presence, his touch, everything about him was intoxicating. At first, she had been ensnared by the allure of the forbidden relationship between Mandalorian and Jedi. But now, she knew him, she knew the man he was, and she cared deeply for him, in a way she had never really felt for anyone before.

Emilia could barely think as he deepened the kiss, his tongue probing gently. So gently. She wasn’t used to such tenderness, to being touched so reverently. She dropped her gloves on the table and tangled her fingers in his luxuriously soft, silky hair. Wearing a helmet deprived her of many of her senses, especially her sense of smell. His scent hit her hard. Equal parts of nostalgia and arousal filled her stomach. He still smelled like that expensive soap he had brought along to the training camp. Oh, they had made fun of him for always looking like he had just stepped out of the Capitol building, even when scraping mud off his clothes. 

As she nuzzled his neck and sucked along his pulse, she inhaled again. She could pick up the faint notes of leather and gunpowder. Obi-Wan smelled like a man - clean, but not perfectly fresh from the shower, spicy in a way that clouded every rational thought in her head. She trailed her way back up to his jaw with greedy, open-mouthed kisses, her free hand falling to his codpiece to loosen the belt. Obi-Wan let out a little groan as she sucked his lower lip between hers and ran her tongue along it.

“Obi-Wan,” she breathed. “Please…”

That seemed to spark something within him. His grip grew tighter as he pressed his knee between her thighs. Obi-Wan undid the fastenings on her cowl and pushed it down. Sloppily, he kissed along her jaw to her neck, where he sank his teeth into her soft skin, returning her earlier kisses. He sucked her soft skin into his mouth, biting again and again. Emilia moaned softly for him, fingers tugging at his perfectly manicured hair. He had marked her all those years ago, branding his name into her heart with that first kiss.

She offered no resistance as he pushed her toward her bedroom. Once the door was shut behind them, she dropped the leather work apron to the floor and kicked it away. He descended for another hungry kiss as she pushed her trousers down. One arm swept the desk behind her, shoving everything onto the floor with a clatter.

Obi-Wan wrapped two strong hands around her hips. Easily, he lifted her onto the desk and stepped between her spread legs. Obi-Wan easily removed her chest plate and dropped it onto the desk. He unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it down around her elbows.

She almost felt inadequate in her plain brassiere. If she had known, she might have tried to make sure her undergarments matched. But Obi-Wan didn’t seem to care. His eyes darkened as he looped one finger under the straps and tugged, revealing her breasts to him. Her nipples were already stiff and aching for his attention. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered roughly before his mouth found her nipple.

Her head dropped back as she looped one leg around his hips and tugged him closer. He bit the top of her breast, adding another mark to the ones decorating her neck and jaw. She could feel his hands shaking as he squeezed her thigh. Their eyes met as his hand slid higher and higher.

His fingers traced a slow, lazy path around her aching, clenching entrance. Then one long finger dipped inside slowly, testing her readiness. A second finger joined the first.. Emilia gasped his name out, her back arching as his thumb found her clit. Her toes curled as he stroked that spot inside her. It wasn’t nearly enough for her - she needed more than his fingers.

“Yes,” she moaned, “Obi-Wan!”

He pumped his fingers in and out, sinking them in deeper each time, readying her for his cock. She tugged at his belt and dropped the codpiece onto the floor. She wrestled his cock out of his undergarments and stroked him from root to tip. A harsh groan escaped him. 

Obi-Wan pulled his fingers out and smeared her essence along his thick cock. Emilia arched her back, lifting one leg around his hip, and slid her panties out of his way. He grasped himself with one hand and he started to push in. The head of his cock popped into her, and he paused, teasing her. Obi-Wan caught her jaw in his hand, his fingers slightly sticky from her juices. 

He pressed his thumb against her jaw, covering her mouth with his as he prompted her to open up. She obeyed, and Obi-Wan’s tongue flicked into her mouth, lapping against the roof of her mouth in time with his gentle thrusts as he eased his cock into her. She had forgotten how thick and long his cock was. Her entire face blushed red as his pubic bone met her swollen clit. Their eyes met. His cheeks were even redder than before, his hair mussed and wild. She could see the bite mark starting to blossom on his shoulder. He looked so perfect.

She wrapped both legs around his waist. Obi-Wan slid out half an inch before pushing back in, fucking her slow and deep. Her eyes drifted closed as he moved. It was slow and unhurried as they sought their pleasure. Each time he pulled out, she squeezed tight around him, wrenching a soft moan from her lover. She ran her fingers up his chest, over the karta beskar, and then touched his cheek.

She could taste the sweetness of his pleasure. The comforting warmth of his happiness. He felt safe here. Desired. Loved. The realization made her breath hitch in her throat. She kissed him. Again and again. Sweet kisses against the corner of his mouth. Against his bruised lips to ease away the soreness. She gazed up at him, eyes half-closed, the fire inside fanning ever higher with each touch of his hand. She was close - so, so very close. Obi-Wan met her eyes, and he leaned in to press his forehead against hers in a Mandalorian kiss. She fell over the precipice, her back arching as she dug her heels into his thighs. 

“Wh-where?” he grunted.

“Inside,” she whispered back. “Always inside, cyare.”

Obi-Wan groaned. She felt his cock throb and pulse as he finished, filling her with wet heat. Together, they remained in their intimate embrace, their racing hearts slowing and the sweat cooling on their bodies. She rubbed his back gently. She could feel that some of the tension had left him. All too soon, she heard the temperature monitor chirp in the Foundry. It was time to heat it to working temperature, and that meant it was time for the verde to begin their daily routines.

Obi-Wan pulled out with a sinfully wet noise, and she let out a little moan. She was still sensitive and a little sore. She adjusted her panties and wriggled her pants back on. As Obi-Wan adjusted his clothing, she realized her bucket was still outside.

“I’ll go get it,” he said, his tone a bit sheepish. 

She really hoped no one had walked into the Foundry to see her helmet on the table. She had just enough time to rearrange her hair and adjust her cowl. Obi-Wan stole one last kiss from her before she allowed him to replace her helmet. 

“Wait,” she said, as he turned to the door. “I have something else for you.”

“More?” he asked. “Cyare, you will spoil me.”

She rolled her eyes as she went to the chest at the foot of her bed. Unlocking it, she found what she was looking for. Her two favorite pistols. She tucked them into the holsters on his thighs, along with a vibroblade. 

“You had better not lose those,” she said, but her warning held no true bite.

His eyes softened. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to her.

Obi-Wan pulled her into a tender embrace, pressing his forehead to hers as they stole just a few more moments together. There were no more words exchanged when he left, leaving her alone in the Foundry. She could still smell him, taste him. Feel him on her skin, clinging to her inner walls, tattooed on her heart. They’d promised nothing to each other, yet her heart ached at the thought of him not returning. The Lamp of Kad’Harangir seemed to glow even brighter for just a moment. She wasn’t alone, and he would be back eventually.

-

-

-

Mando’a Translations: Karta beskar - iron heart, the shape in the chest plate that looks like a hexagon. Cyare - my love Riduur - spouse Verd(e) - warrior(s)

[cienie-isengardu]

Cienie’s take on Mandalorian Culture: Kad Ha’rangir and mandalorian traditional weapons, p.2

part 1

There are in theory contradicting sources about Taungs - namely Death Watch Manifesto [Bounty Hunter Code], Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare Author’s Cut, Part 2 – Ancient Coruscant and Republic Collapse, all written within the TCW era (2008-2020) and Mandalorian song Vode An best known from the Republic Commando game soundtrack (2005).

The first source claims that Taung Crusaders “relied primarily on handheld weapons such as beskade and Mythosaur axes” and that those weapon forms inspire modern Mandalorian designs. 

Bounty Hunter Code also included an artistic version of Taungs proving themselves against Mythosaur, while using swords / sabers against the beast.

The problem with the Death Watch Manifesto lies in its political nature and so can’t be treated as an objective source. The point of Manifesto was to gain new loyal members of Death Watch (the loyalists of Old Faith) to fight against Duchess Satine Kryze’s pacifist rule. Text provided simplified version of the conflict between warriors and so called Faithless supported by Republic and Jedi from supposedly perspective of Tor Vizsla[3], including emphasis on repression that happened upon the traditionalists, such like exile to Concordia and intentional destruction of their culture:

“Seven centuries ago, their craven, hut’uune warships and Jedi bombarded our worlds. They incinerated Mandalore’s farmland and forests, leaving much of our homeworld a forsaken desert of fine white sand, and then occupied our worlds. They killed, exiled, or disarmed our warriors and suppressed our ancient codes. 

or

“Our secret operations on Mandalore and Concordia are producing more and more beskar, but Mandalorian armor remains hard to find - and the New Mandalorians treacherously destroyed many heirloom suits of beskar’gam.”

and

“Some of our warriors were exiled to the moon Concordia. Others - myself included - slipped away to resume the ba’slan shev’la”.

This raises a question: how close to the truth is the knowledge provided by the author? If warrior culture were systematically erased for ages within Mandalorian society, then there is a high possibility that author’s knowledge is either 

incomplete - the ancient tradition was passed in secret for ~700 years and from the start was designed to uphold customs that warriors should consider sacred, thus the only one correct and right version to believe. After such a long time Tor Vizsla (and Death Watch members in general) may simply repeat already whitewashed “history lessons” that for ages fitted Faithfuls’ needs. In that case we could assume the author himself does not lie on purpose and simply presents the knowledge passed through generations between traditional Mandalorians.  

deliberately present information in a way that fits the Death Watch’s rhetoric to manipulate/encourage readers to the author's case. This doesn’t mean Tor is lying about events per se, as Sith War, Mandalorian Wars and Republic attack on Mandalore did happen and have confirmation in different sources, however the manner of presenting is clearly non-objective. This is especially noticeable in a way Mandalorians are separated into Faithful working hard to keep their culture alive and thus in symbolic way face and overcome the trials of Kad Ha’rangir (the warrior / positive god) while Pacifist choose the easier way and follow the Arasuum (negative god) or how the text focus so much on connecting modern Mandalorians to their mythical-historical progenitors as Mandalore the Ultimate (who opened Mandalorian warrior ranks to anyone worth of the title) and Taungs in general. 

Of course, those two options don’t exclude each other and may easily co-exist, as the author operates on knowledge passed down to him while presenting it in a favorable way to potential members of Death Watch. Which leads me back to Taungs using swords and what traditional weapons means. 

Taungs at some point needed to pass down their metallurgist knowledge to humans and other assimilated Aliens so it is very possible that their blacksmiths in fact had made those types of weapon, especially in a period of time close to Mandalorian Wars. The new warriors (Neo-Crusaders) needed to be properly equipped  - and many “recruits”came from Republic territories thus could be more familiar with sword fighting than using axes, so the author may not be wrong about ancient Mandalorian design on which the modern beskar swords are based to some degree. With Mandalorian culture existing for over 7000 years, both (Taung) axes and (Mandalorian human) swords at some point became seen as traditional Mandalorian weapons however there is no way to say for sure did Tor Vizsla had a proper knowledge about Taung battle methods or did he stretched the facts for propaganda, as another cultural tradition that humans shared with the ancient Mandalorians?

Considering the nature of the Death Watch Manifesto and mentioned destruction of warrior culture by New Mandalorians (Republic), I tend to favor the latter possibility. Especially when the three most important ancient Mandalorian (Taung) deities presented in the same Manifesto carry no sword-like weapon. Which again raises a question, what is the point of a god called Kad (sword) if the available picture (interpretation) shows him with a Taung-like traditional ax?

Hod Ha’ran too carries an axe while only Arasuum either is using ceremonial(?) cane or his weapon is deliberately held blade down, as a sort of symbol of giving up warrior nature (that author of Manifesto clearly ties to “traitorous” pacifism).   

The ancient Mandalorian deities were led by the all-seeing Kad Ha’rangir (left), shown here beside the trickster god Hod Ha’ran (center) and the slothful Arasuum (right).

This is even more palpable, as:

🔶Mandalore the Indomitable was presented with a typical mythosaur axe and spear - weapons both used by the Taung leader in original comics.

Comparing his image to other important figures from Mandalorian history, this Taung is the only one that holds a traditional weaponry while the Ultimate (and some unnamed characters) has a blaster and the rest don’t hold any armament at all. Interestingly, Tor is pictured twice - first, with a sort of technologically advanced spear/lance(?) and secondly with a darksaber.

The lack of blaster connects him the strongest with Indomitable yet not with the gods who use solely axes. 

🔶the sabers used by Taungs, as far as can be seen on the Mythosaur picture, don’t resemble the presented above sword design (it does however fit the author’s description “a single-edged, curved sword”). One may argue that those two types represent different eras, which is a fair argument - with a culture reaching 7 thousands years there is no reason to think the armament didn’t evolve according to the needs of warriors who took part in endless war campaigns. However, from a propaganda purpose solely, I find it interesting how the author didn’t try to connect each bit of lore of original Mandalorians to swords and in result, highlight the importance of the Darksaber. Instead we are told that Taungs used both swords and axes and the book even presented a bunch of unnamed warriors with sabers, yet the Indomitable and Mandalorian gods are tightly tied to axes first and foremost. It could be really easy to present both of those figures with mentioned single-edged, curved swords that Darksaber resembles to some degree and keep it as a continuation of a great, old tradition. Yet the best known Taung mythological-historical characters do not use swords at all.

Another source, Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare Author’s Cut, Part 2 – Ancient Coruscant was published on starwar.com in 2013 (and still can be read there). This in-universe text gives us some insight about historical education and archaeological works in regard to Taungs and prehistoric Battle of Coruscant:

Nor, says Hu, can we say anything about the Battalions of Zhell, or the Taung legions that confronted them. “When enthusiasts stage recreations of the battle they tend to use replica great axes and swords known from the excavation of Taung burial sites on Roon,” he says. “But by the time the Taungs reached Roon these were ritual objects -- species capable of traveling through hyperspace don’t still rely on edged weapons. Nor do you find such weapons still used by societies as sophisticated as the Zhell nations. It’s as if you staged a recreation of the Siege of Ramsir with the Imperial Army limited to parade sabers.” Hu says he knows it may be unromantic to imagine the confrontation at Zhell occurring between armies that possessed aircraft and atomic weapons. But he urges us to look deeper and examine the qualities of Dha Werda Verda that have kept the poem alive for eons.

(For those unfamiliar with the history of prehistoric Coruscant - Zhell nations were the ancient enemy against whom the forefathers of original Mandalorians fought for control over the planet. Ultimately, Taungs were driven away from the Coruscant and it is generally assumed that Zhells were humans.)

It is understandable that in-universe researchers won’t have the same knowledge as star wars fans familiar with Tales of the Jedi: The Sith War or Knights of the Old Republic various media - and in result in-universe assumptions may differ from “truth” (lore). Here are some vital details to take into account: 

🟢For one, Taungs (ancient Mandalorians) were capable of traveling through hyperspace yet still used edged weapons during fight, as was proved in The Sith Wars. So the assumption axes or swords were solely ritual objects before Taungs even got to Roon doesn’t hold true. The traditional axes and swords may have some ritual importance (and thousands years later Din Djarin, a modern Mandalorian will claim, “weapons are part of my religion”) but their primary function is still fulfilled on the battlefield.

🟢The second detail worth examining is that axes and swords are mentioned solely in the context of graves. Source does not provide any additional information about the nature of those old burial sites and so there is no way to tell whether Taung cremated their dead (a continuation of prehistoric Taung funeral rites known from Dha Werda Verda poem?) or preferred skeleton burials. We don’t have any clue where the weapons were placed in the graves, if swords and axes were next to each other and if not, which kind of weapon were more often found in the closest immediate vicinity of the remains. There is also no information on what kind of advanced research was conducted on the blades to test if those were indeed battle weapons or items forged solely to fulfill the cultural/religious purpose. Due to lack of additional data, we can’t exclude a possibility that in one grave several weapons could be deposited and only one or two truly belonged and were used by the dead while the rest was simply grave goods - like the trophies taken from defeated enemies, a parting gift from the Taung community or, in case Roon was inhabited by other species (conquered and dominated or living peaceful alongside warriors?), a grave good related to a different social group and/or culture. Additionally, a specific funeral rites like cremation may not leave enough organic remains for a proper science research. If Taungs co-existed with other species, the graves with swords could belong to non-Taungs, either as a sign of honor /good relationship between separated cultures or as sacrificial burials on the occasion of Taung's funeral (as sacrifice of a slave/conquered people). Of course, those are just possibilities worth taking into account though sadly, we do not know the extent of in-universe archaeological research in that regard.

With such a large period of time Taungs spent on Roon, there is a great potential to create a proper correlation between type of weapon (its shape) and the chronology of burials and to theorize which weapon and when were the most popular. Similarly, there should be research done about correlation between type of weapon and alleged age, status and battle injuries of dead. As in, a certain type of weapon may be more often found in graves of esteemed adults (warriors) while the juvenile ones equipped appropriate to their age or lack of fighting experience. 

Of course, Roon burial sites are older than 7.000 years and so archaeological excavations won’t solve all Taung cultural riddles and will depend a lot on the type of burial and its state of preservation but the point is, fiding swords in Taung graves does not automatically means it was their traditional weapon.  

Thinking more about the issue, I’m intrigued by no mention of spears - and sure, organic parts such as wooden spar wouldn’t survive to modern times without proper conditions yet the stone or metal spearhead could. Especially since there are more examples of Taung using spear and spear-like weapons than swords.

The Essential Guide to Warfare gives an illustration of Taungs on prehistoric Coruscant (Notron) and if we take it at face value, spears are presented as a common weapon. 

In the same sourcebook, The Indomitable was presented as holding glaive(?), while The Sith War also featured spear-like weapons used by Taung!Mandalorians alongside mythosaur axes, including Mandalore himself.

In The Essential Guide to Warfare even the Ultimate was presented with a spear - and doesn’t this picture resemble the prehistoric Taung leader?

Of course, over time Taung & early Mandalorians’ weapon preferences could change, yet the spears and axes are present in both a prehistoric and ancient period of their culture, while swords themselves either fell out of favor or have never been that common to begin with. 

🟢 The third matter is that Taungs in times of living on Roon weren’t Mandalorians yet. Galaxy at War sourcebook states that they “battled the native Human nations for control of Coruscant before being driven off and forced to flee to the Outer Rim world of Roon, where they remain for millennia until the legendary Mandalore the First leads them to conquer another world.” 

Of course, Taung primary culture is what Mandalorians were based on, yet millennia is a long span of time and so naturally cultural changes happened within their society. There is no clue if Kad Ha’rangir even predates the Mandalorian era or if his cult evolved once Mandalorians for good started their holy crusaders and destruction brought to many species. On one hand, if Kad Ha’rangir was a part of mythology existing during the Roon era, then we could argue that using swords could become a sort of religious taboo once Mandalorian culture came to life. Thus Taungs relied on mythosaur axes (probably based on the great axes mentioned in Author’s cut), spears and similar weapons while swords were sacred and maybe played a special religious function. However, if that was true, then why would Taung!Mandalorians accept human warriors / vassals to carry a sacred weapon? 

Ancient Mandalorian society is implied to have more rigid structures than modern one, with a clear division into warriors and non-warriors social classes. If non-Taung part of society and newcomers could join Crusaders ranks before the Sith War then they should follow the same religious and/or cultural practices. Which could explain the general lack of traditional swords between Mandalore the Indomitable’s soldiers seen in the comics regardless of their biological species. At the same time Star Wars Miniatures included in Bounty Hunters set presented Mandalorian Blademaster - the set is not limited to one era but considering that 

A) Mandalorian miniatures don’t have Neo-Crusader typical armors - if anything the shape and gray-black colors resemble Ordo Canderous’ armor[4] who according to KotOR Campaign Guide was already a warrior before Neo-Crusaders dominated Mandalorian culture

B) includes Mandalore the Indomitable and basilisk war droid rode by a warrior with again, no Neo-Crusader armor 

C) various additional quotes and description on cards 

may as well imply the Sith War and/or pre-Neo Crusaders culture.

Of course, there is no way to tell for sure if said Mandalorian Blademaster was meant to represent Taung or human/non-Taung species yet the existence of warriors specialized in swordfighting may suggest using swords was not a matter of religious taboo in the original warrior culture. At least not during the twilight period of their religion, as in the Indomitable’s times Taungs were said to worship the war itself, not gods in their primal version. 

If we go further into the Great Adoption era, swords become more and more visible between warriors, as was presented:

on already mentioned illustration from The Essential Guide to Warfare

and here it is important to note that swords are held by Neo-Crusader(s) and Mandallian Giants. The latter were one of the first alien species included into Taung!Mandalorian ranks, before humans and Great Adoption.

Star Wars Miniatures also introduces Neo-Crusaders using swords such as 

Mandalorian Marauder - KotOR set - with description “For years the Mandalorians were content to raid worlds on the Outer Rim, but during the Mandalorian Wars they began launching assaults across the Old Republic” suggesting the era of Great Adoption (opening ranks to non-Taungs) 

Mandalorian Jedi Hunter - Dark Times set - with description “Some of the scattered survivors of the Mandalorian Wars seek out Jedi to punish for their humiliation”. This model (quote) is clearly representing the post-Mandalorian Wars era in which Taungs are believed to be extinct. 

yet still didn’t dominate the ratio of melee weapons. So we have previously mentioned KotOR Campaign Guide with majority of characters described as humans and whose stats of traditional weapons varied from unarmed, dragger, knife, mace, vibroblade, vibrodagger or bayonet while mythosaur axes are solely mentioned in regard to two Taungs, Mandalore the Indomitable and Ultimate. 

From the above set, Canderous Ordo (future Mandalore the Preserver) has a dragger gauntlet, while the KotOR II Prima Guide advises to equip Ordo with swords.

However in modern times, human Mandalorians are more commonly tied to swords (and knives or vibroblades in general) than axes, as can be seen in various sources:

A Practical Man

"And my name's Briika," said her hard-eyed mother. Her name came from the word for "smile," and Beviin enjoyed that kind of irony. She could shrivel anyone with that stare. "Those crushgaunts are illegal. But you know that." "I just like antiques," Beviin said. He patted the scabbard on his belt, rattling an ancient saber in its sheath. "I've got a proper beskad, too. On the road for a reason?"

and

It could have ripped Beviin open like a canister. But his armor was forged from beskar, real Mandalorian iron that even Yuuzhan Vong weapons might not penetrate. He reached into his belt and drew his ancient beskad, a short razor-edged saber forged from the same.

Republic Commando: Triple Zero

"I opted to take on Vau. He had a real Mando iron saber, and I was unarmed.”

Collapse of the Republic sourcebook

Jango Fett: Open Seasons 

Star Wars Miniatures

Mandalorian Quartermaster whose design clearly was inspired by Death Watchman from Jango Fett: Open Seasons.

Star Wars – Clan Wren Unit Expansion 

Card: Beskad Duelist (x)

The Clone Wars

introduced Darksaber

and the characteristic art seen in Pre Vizsla (and later in Duchess Satine)’s residence

and the mural decorating the city:

All presented there ancient(?) Mandalorian warriors carry a simple, two-edge(?) swords. 

Sidenote: Darksaber originally was introduced as heirloom passed down in clan Vizsla, not the item representing the right to title of Mandalore. However since the later lore presented Tarre Vizsla, the first and for now the only New Canon Mandalorian Jedi, there is a question - should TCW!art be seen as a cultural shift from Taung weapons to human swords inspired by the figure of Tarre and his legendary darksaber?

Star Wars Rebels

presents Darksaber as ancient and culturally important weapon:

"I didn't know Mandalorians developed a type of lightsaber." "We didn't. This was one of a kind. Legend tells that it was created over a thousand years ago by Tarre Vizsla, the first Mandalorian ever inducted into the Jedi Order. After his passing, the Jedi kept the saber in their temple. That was until members of House Vizsla snuck in and liberated it. They used the saber to unify the people and strike down those who would oppose them. One time, they ruled all of Mandalore wielding this blade."

Forces of Destiny: Art History

(the short animation can be seen here)

The statue of Tarre Vizsla though wasn’t presented in full details, clearly was built to represent the legendary Mandalorian holding sword blade down that brings to mind the medieval-like knights.

The Mandalorian

follows the The Clone Wars and Rebels take on Mandalorian culture with an even greater importance put on Darksaber and its meaning for warriors. The show treats Darksaber not only as an ancient relic and as a valid claim to the “throne”, but also as mystical item that may not accept its wielder like it did with Paz Vizsla (though this put under question all previously Mandalorians using the sword who were far away from heroic side of characters) and may even be cursed, as said Armorer:

If, however, it is not won in combat and falls into the hands of the undeserving, it will be a curse unto the nation. Mandalore will be laid to waste and its people scattered to the four winds”

Looking at the sources, it can’t be argued that some major cultural changes happened to Mandalorians and the further from Taung hegemony era, the swords became more prominent and in some cases, like Darksaber, are vital to secure “line of succession”. This shift is as much about weapons as about warriors themselves, as modern Mandalorian society is dominated by humans - although how much of an important role religion (Kad Ha’rangir) played in this change is up to debate.

Even if Taung society living on Roon used swords - whatever as weapons or ritual objects - during Mandalorian era this kind of weaponary is hardly seen used by confirmed Taung warriors (BHC so far is an exception) while modern human Mandalorians moved away from the axes in favor of swords, especially Darksaber.

[Next part] further sources to dispute

SIDENOTES:

[3] I say supposedly, as I support Jango Fett’s doubt it was written by Tor Vizsla. C’mon, can anyone imagine Legends!Tor writing anything like that?

[4] For better comparison, the typical Crusader and Neo-Crusader armors look like this

Ordo’s own armor resembles the Neo-Crusader type however it seems to still keep some elements from the previous kind. Ordo himself took part in the Mandalorian Wars yet as a veteran he was bitter about how his people from proud warriors degraded into mercenaries and criminals. When he became a Mandalore, he tried to bring Mandalorians back to the honorable ways which is why I personally count him more as example of pre-Neo Crusader Mandalorian culture.

[krispyswips]

Familiarity

Episode 3 let's fucking go and some more snippets. I'm just going to continue this until...whenever. maybe I should just put these on ao3.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3: Din has some memories in the forge and is told about this magic kind of water.

Din was told that the waters weren’t magic and maybe they weren’t. How could water be magic?

One of his first experiences in the forge, he had a million questions.

“Goran, what is that?” He asked pointing to her tool cabinet.

“What are you doing?” He asked as he stood a safe distance away as she prepared a tub of water. There was nothing magic about it but then she turned to her tool cabinet taking a vial.

“What are you putting in there?”

“Just some water,” She replied. Din cocked his head to the side, confused since the tub was already clearly filled. But then she poured just a single drop from the vial and from that single drop something seemed to bloom within the water. The powerful plume spread across the tub in gossamer blue and green until it settled in the water as a murky white.

“Woah,” he gasped, “is it special?”

She nodded, “Yes. We don’t have much of it, so we have to be very careful. It’s a special water that seeps through the walls of the caverns in Mandalore. It’s water that has soaked through raw beskar. Did you know that beskar is not so durable as you think?”

Behind his mask, the boy wore an incredulous look. The Armorer made an amused sort of sound, halfway between a chuckle and a hum, “Once you heat it correctly, it becomes very delicate and that’s how I shape your armor. And if I were to dunk it in normal water it would just collapse and that’s no good, is it?

“But even a drop that changes things. The metal stabilizes and becomes tougher. You know the story of Arasuum, the sloth god but he’s not just a sloth god. They say Arasuum is stubborn, bold, and tougher than any mountain. But they say that Arasuum blessed the earth of Mandalore with a gift of that formidability.”

“I thought Arasuum was lazy, the bad guy.” Din interjected.

“You are correct, he is lazy. He is a sloth god after all. So when I heat up the beskar, the refined earth of what Arasuum blessed, perhaps it is very lazy and breaks. But that’s why they say that after you heat up the beskar it needs to be reminded of its purpose, its home, and we do that with this special water so that Arasuum knows that he is supposed to be stubborn, strong, and dependable. Perhaps Arasuum is a bad guy in some stories, but it’s always more complicated than that. Maybe he could be both the bad guy and the good guy at the same time.”

Perhaps the water was not magic. Perhaps it was not blessed by some figure in an ancient story. Perhaps the mythosaur did not live in it. But at 40 and as Din watched that single drop hit the surface of bucket, that familiar bloom of green and blue and ephemeral white, it made Din feel as entranced as he did when he was a child.

And if that water could make Arasuum become a good guy, if it could redeem him, if it could save Bo-Katan Kryze, then that was magic enough for him.

[akalenedat]

I'm the strong one, I'm not nervous Ni kotyc solus, ni naas chaabyc I alone am strong, I’m not afraid

I'm as tough as the crust of the Earth is Ni sa atin sa pel’gam be me’suum I’m as tough as the skin of a planet

I move mountains, I move churches Ni shaadla cerare, ni shaadla me’sene I move mountains, I move starships

And I glow, 'cause I know what my worth is Bal ni drali, jorcu ni kar’tayli ner ruusaanyc And I shine, because I know in my heart I am reliable

I don't ask how hard the work is Ni ne’tioni megin umaan bor I don’t question the difficulty of the task

Got a rough, indestructible surface Gana beskaryc, caburyc aranov Got an armored, guarded defense

Diamonds and platinum, I find 'em, I flatten 'em Meshuroke bal beskar, ni mar’eyi bic, ni shukala bic Gemstones and beskar, I find it, I crush it

I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded, but Ni vore meg gar dinui, ni skuku meg gar verbori, al- I accept what you give, I break what you hire (me for), but-

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus Ni’aala aikiyc kaden sa verd bat vheybej I feel as desperate and angry as a soldier in a minefield

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

Was Hercules ever like, "Yo, I don't wanna fight Cerberus?" Tion vurel ru’sirbu Kad Harangir “Ni ne’copaani akaani Arasuum?” Did Kad Harangir ever say “I don’t want to fight Arasuum?”

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I'm pretty surе I'm worthless if I can't be of servicе Ni urmankala ni nibral meh ni ne’lise pirimmuy I believe I’m a failure if I can’t be useful

A flaw or a crack, the straw in the stack Kih'hupur ra aar’ika, trac’ika A small injury or little pain, a small flame

That breaks the camel's back Hetti an akay haran Burns until all is annihilation

What breaks the camel's back, it's Tion’megin goteni tracinya, bic What birthed the flame, it

Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa Mishuk sa kih, kih, kih, megin draar kyrdi Pressure like small, small, small, that never ends

Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk megin shuk, shuk, shuk, akay gar trattoko Pressure that will crush, crush, crush, until you collapse

Give it to your sister, your sister's older Ke’dinui gar vod, gar vod ruug'la'shya Give it to your friend, your friend is older

Give her all the heavy things we can't shoulder Ke’dinui kaysh an burk’yc akaan mhi ne’parji Give them all the dangerous fights we can’t win

Who am I if I can't run with the ball? Tion’ad ni meh ne’viini ti rugam? Who am I if I can’t run with the ball?

If I fall to Meh ni trattoko at If I collapse to

Pressure like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa Mishuk sa marev, marev, marev, bal bic ne’tengaana Pressure like a fist, fist, fist, and the hand won’t open

Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk sa sol, sol, sol, akay goore jarile Pressure like a count, count, count, until the bomb lays waste

Give it to your sister, your sister's stronger Ke’dinui gar vod, gar vod kotishya Give it to your friend, your friend is stronger

See if she can hang on a little longer Haa’tayli meh kaysh atini kih munit'shya See if they can endure a little longer

Who am I if I can't carry it all? Tion’ad meh ni ne’jori anaybic? Who am I if I can’t bear everything?

If I falter Meh ni trattoko If I collapse

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry somethin' is gonna hurt us Ni haaranovo ner aal’briike bal debaani, ni baati adate jurkadi mhi I hide my nerves and it declines, I worry people will threaten us

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

The ship doesn't swerve, has it heard how big the iceberg is? Me’sen n’ami vaii, tion susulu tra’ruus orine? The ship doesn’t change direction, has it heard the asteroid is the biggest?

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I think about my purpose, can I somehow preserve this? Ni mirdi par ner narser, tion’lise ni ret’yc tayli ibic? I think about my purpose, can I possibly preserve this?

Line up the dominoes, a light wind blows Paru verde, johayc ke’gyce Form up the soldiers, the command is spoken

You try to stop it tumbling, but on and on it goes Gar kebbu nari alor, al bat bal bat ibic taabi You try to be the leader, but on and on this marches

But wait, if I could shake the crushing weight of expectations Ke’pare, meh ni parji jaon ibic mishukla ke’gyce Wait, if I claim victory over these overwhelming demands

Would that free some room up for joy Tion parjai mav ca’nara par briikase Would victory free time for happiness

Or relaxation, or simple pleasure? Ra briikasak, ra pakod shereshoy? Or a run ashore, or simply today’s joy?

Instead, we measure this growing pressure Ashi, mhi ja’haili ibic mishuk drashaa Other, we watch this pressure grow

Keeps growing, keep going, 'cause all we know is Drashaa, ke’taabi, jorcu an mhi survari cuyi Growing, march on, because all we understand is

Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa Mishuk sa kih, kih, kih, megin draar kyrdi Pressure like small, small, small, that never ends

Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk megin shuk, shuk, shuk, akay gar trattoko Pressure that will crush, crush, crush, until you collapse

Give it to your sister, it doesn't hurt and Ke’dinui gar vod, ne'kadala bal Give it to your friend, no hurt and

See if she can handle every family burden Haa’tayli meh kaysh brali anay aliit akaan See if they can succeed with every family war

Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks Ja’haili vaal kaysh aarayi bal tal’gala al draar ramaana Observe while they suffer and bleed but never die

No mistakes, just Naasad shabe, shi No mistakes, just

Pressure like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa Mishuk sa marev, marev, marev, bal bic ne’tengaana Pressure like a fist, fist, fist, and the hand won’t open

Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk sa sol, sol, sol, akay goore jarile Pressure like a count, count, count, until the bomb lays waste

Give it to your sister and never wonder Ke’dinui gar vod bal draar mirdi Give it to your friend and never wonder

If the same pressure would've pulled you under Meh tatla mishuk shukala gar If the same pressure would crush you

Who am I if I don't have what it takes? Tion’ad ni meh ni ne’ramikadyc? Who am I if I’m not able to face any challenge?

No cracks, no breaks Naasad shupure, naasad aaray No injuries, no pain

No mistakes, no pressure! Naasad shabe, naasad mishuk! No mistakes, no pressure!