Tales of the Mandalorians

[Dieter Schprokets]

John Cabot left the anteroom of the new Temple of Cay'lith in New London. His consuls Dha Piruna and Ranov'la Aran were awaiting him.

"Remind me again why I am doing this?" He asked, not impressed with the way things were going.

He had good reason. He was wearing traditional Mandalorian ceremonial dress. It could be best described as..

"..a bloody fur toga. You have me wearing a bearskin toga. This is a practical joke, right? The real clothing is on its way, right?"

He pulled a flask from the inside pocket of the "toga" and took a generous swig of whiskey, then another. Dha Piruna snatched the whiskey from the Mandalore's grasp.

"John, we don't want you TOO drunk. Think of your digni..."

His voice trailed off, as he took a closer look at the clothing the Mandalore was wearing. He shrugged, and handed the flask back.

Ranov couldn't take it any more. He ran to a broom closet, closed the door, and laughed so hard the other two thought he was going to urinate involuntarily, or vomit.

He returned in few minutes, wiping his eyes. "Seriously now, John, this is important. Our people are experiencing a cultural revivial, on account of the Cay'lith sighting." Other Ad'min had also been sighted, and the Mandalorians were now taking their ancient myths and traditions seriously.

"I know", sighed Cabot. "You seriously wore this stuff for promotion ceremonies?" He found himself wishing the Mandalorians were Scottish. He looked good in a kilt.

"Yeah", said Dha, "But we'll skip the human sacrifice part." He winked at John. "Ready?"

Cabot took a deep breath. "Ready."

They entered the main temple, the consuls behind the Mandalore. Cabot wasted no time getting to the rectory. He took his position behind the altar, and gestured that all should be seated. The Consuls stood behind him. Some of the Bretonians in the audience were clearly surpressing smiles. He tried to ignore them, and they were trying to look at anything other than John, for fear of losing control like Ranov had. John began.

"Mandalorians. Par'jila Verda, Vor entye Oyacyir!"

Triumphant warriors, thank you for your lives. Bad Bretonian accent, but what could you do.

From the crowd "Cuun Mandalore!" Our Mandalore.

John leaned forward, and began to speak a language he couldn't massacre; his own.

"I have gathered you here in celebration of the accomplishments of your brothers and sisters. We are here to promote those among you we feel able to command others."

John paused while the crowd burst out in a celebratory cheer (he had no idea what they said, but probably it was good), then continued.

"When the Mandalorians came to Bretonia, we adopted a Bretonian ranking system. That was a mistake, an unnecessary break from the past. There were no 'Admirals' or 'Commanders' among the Mandalorians. Just the Mandalore and Consuls, and their Warriors."

"We need another term for those who have proven they can lead men in battle. That term is Alor'ad; 'Captain', but more precisely, 'Leader of Men'"

The crowd was silent now, all trying to figure out where this was going.

"Dralshyar, and Amanda Woods, you are now Alor'ad, as befits your current rank." They respectfully nodded at the Mandalore. The Bretonian, Amanda, was smiling, likely because of his outfit, but it wasn't obvious. Deadly in a bomber, that girl, thought John. Better than I. He continued.

"The following are added to the rank of Alor'ad" He paused, and held up a list, and a number of rank insignia.

"Kyram Prudii. Anila Tor. Netra Taakur"

"Please come and recieve your rank from the consuls." He stepped back, and the consuls came forward. While the insignia were handed out, with bows and nods and thank yous, a priest came forward to chant some rites in Mandalorian. The only words John recognised were "Cyar'ika A'den Cay'lith" Sweet Merciless Cay'lith. He fought the temptation to grimace.

Once that was over, John came to the altar again.

"I have more sombre business now." He gestured for silence, and got it.

"As you know, Consul A'den Cote has not been seen since he left for a difficult mission in Liberty space, some time ago."

The crowd murmured, apprehensively. Did the Mandalore have news about what happened to A'den? Unfortunately, he had to disappoint them.

"We do not know his fate. We hope for the best, and the Dha'wherd are tasked with searching for him."

"But protocol demands a new Consul be appointed. And one of our most experienced men has just returned to us after a long mission."

John paused for effect, given melodramatic skills by the whiskey. Undoubtably a descendent of Winston Churchill, though brandy was not his choice of booze.

"Please come forward, Consul Kandosii!"

The crowd cheered. Kandosii was popular with the men, and was something of a religious leader now.

Kandosii came forward, and recieved the insignia of the Consul, then stood up with the other two Consuls, who nodded their congratulations.

John gestured for silence, then again received it. He continued now in a stern commanding voice which took those present aback:

"I have rewarded NO-ONE this day!!"

The crowd murmured a bit in confusion. He continued, trying to allay that confusion.

"The ranks come with no reward except authority. But they come with responsibilities. Specifically, the lives of the men and women under your command. The weight of this responsibility far outweighs whatever benefits of the position. Those of you promoted today have been given nothing but duty, and future heartache."

He paused and continued slowly, but forcefully.

"I have lost one hundred and seventy one warriors under my command since I began with the Mandalorians. I bear that weight. You must be able and willing to do the same."

All those newly promoted reacted differently. Mostly, they nodded in understanding. A couple, however, seemed taken aback.

The consuls looked at each other. They hadn't expected that morbid twist, but then again, it scored home a very important point.

The Mandalore completed the meeting with the usual formalities, his Mandalorian a bit better this time.

"Naas Ad'ika" Nothing More, my Children, loosely translated.

"Luubid, Mandalore" Enough for us, Mandalore, even more loosely.

The crowd took its leave into another section of the temple, where a hell of a feast was waiting. Some clients had paid very large bills recently, and the Consuls thought it should be spent on this event. John had agreed.

However, by this time, the Mandalore was quite sure he was allergic to bear fur. He'd have hives for a week.

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