Tales of the Mandalorians

[Dieter Schprokets]

The Mandalore looked at the three men in front of his desk. Alor'ads Slava Petrov, "Mac" McCreed, and old hand Anila Tor.

And the three Murcyur on the desk. Ancient blades, curved, 9 inches long, with Ebony sheaths. There were not many left in the universe.

The men looked expectantly, puzzled. They had been told to come here, but not why.

He told them.

"Consul Sagg'Tar'di has left, with all the Dha'wherd. I do not know where. The order of Consuls is crumbling."

Their faces registered their shock, except Anila. He had seen too much before to be surprised by the interplay between the Mandalorians and their Dha'wherd enemies/co-workers/rivals.

"I asked you here to take on the duty of the role of Consul. Those blades before you are not yet yours. They are ancient, but they have never been claimed. By your blood shall they be made yours. Like this."

The Mandalore drew his own blade, and drew it across the back of his hand. He would need stitches. He gestured to the others to do the same. They did so, without grimacing, without flinching. As he'd expected they would.

"The blood is to remain in the scabbard for one day. Then you may clean the weapon. Also.." He reached into his pocket and pulled out 3 signet rings.

"Signet rings of the Consul. Wear them with honour."

He dismissed the surprised (and somewhat bewildered) men to their duties, and as they left, he gave them one simple instruction.

"Oh, by the way, new contract. Blow up Kruger ships. As many as you can find. Good money in it."

Three men left the room, bloodthirsty smiles on their faces.

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