To the Mandalorian Encampment

The Outlander told Theron he'd catch up with him later and went to the speeder hangar, checking out his personal BH-7X speeder bike. He'd been awarded the speeder from the Bounty Broker's Association for the large number of targets he'd captured for them, and while he had faster and more advanced speeders in his collection, this one was especially rugged and it was a statement of his credentials in and of itself. The engine snarled like a hungry Nexu as he kick-started it, and soon he was swooping down the canyon to the bluffs where the Mandalorians had made their camp. It was surprisingly orderly for a temporary station, but Mandalorians had centuries of nomadic life and war campaigning as part of their culture. Our culture, he corrected himself. Mandalore the Vindicated had adopted him into his clan after naming him the Grand Champion of the Great Hunt, and he had befriended a Mandalorian warrior named Torian Caldera, who had taught him the language and cultural values most Mando'ade had learned in childhood. Torian had been killed by Vaylin during the last leg of the fight against the Eternal Empire, to try and break the Outlander's spirit. It hadn't worked. He'd recently gotten engaged to a Mandalorian woman named Jogotha, and so his clan at least lived on. Quite a few disenfranchised Mandalorians had started wearing the Caldera clan sigil in honor of his sacrifice.

Aside from the landing pads for shuttles, medical droid station set up for triage, and a neat row of latrines, there were only a few small sandbag structures dotting the campground. Most of the open area was filled with soldiers drilling - a shooting range over here, vehicle maintenance over there, pairs of soldiers in full armor practicing hand to hand combat inside sets of rope circles. On the bluffs, in a muddy trench, and across the hard packed ground, troops in full gear with loaded birgaan - backpacks - **** marched to get used to the burden.

As he parked his speeder bike next to a row of similar vehicles, he spotted Torch - Shae Vizla, now Mandalore the Avenger - standing near one of the sandbag bunkers. She was in her dark grey armor and wearing a helmet, but the golden aiguillette on her breastplate made her stand out. He made his way over to her, noticing a number of Mandalorians turning to watch him. He couldn't hear what they were saying on their helmet comms, but it was clear something was on their mind. Once he reached her, they extended arms and clasped each other's forearms, wrist to wrist. He'd been told the custom had been a way to prove that prove one had strong enough arms to drag a wounded comrade to safety. Shae wasn't a large or overly muscular woman, but the strength of the arm beneath the armor felt plenty strong enough for that.

"Su cuy'gar, Ori'beroya. Digur gar buy'ce ti aruetii?" she asked with an amused tone to her voice. It took him a moment to mentally translate - "So you're still alive, Great Hunter. Did you forget your helmet among the foreigners?" She frequently pointed out how he rarely wore a helmet outside of combat, while many Mandalorians essentially lived in their 'buckets'. He hadn't grown up accustomed to them, so they frequently made him feel a little claustrophobic.

"Su cuy, Mand'alor. Me'vaar ti gar?" He'd basically asked her what was new, though it was also used to request a military sitrep.

"Come inside, I'll give you an update. Care for a netra'gal?" she offered, heading into the bunker. It turned out the structure was just a shelter for stairway leading underground. Mandalorians frequently built underground for defensive purposes. There was a large table with a map of the galaxy, with clan indicators and numbers posted here and there on it under a series of bright lights. Once underground, Shae took her bucket off and set it on a nearby table, her long red-orange hair spilling out to frame her face. She had warm brown eyes that she usually framed with dark eyeliner, and though the war had given her frown lines and crow's feet from the effort of managing the clans, she still had a stern but attractive face. Shae reached into a fridge and got two bottles of netra'gal, the thick, sweet milk-beer that Mandalorians favored when they weren't doing serious drinking. She twisted off the caps and licked the slight spill of foam from each one before handing him his bottle. He took it and sipped the almost chewable black stout. If he didn't stop at one, he wouldn't need to eat for the rest of the day, he thought to himself. "Since you took down Vaylin, we're mostly just doing patrols and making our presence known to make sure the Republic and Empire behave themselves. I've been having the clans take the opportunity to rest and refit, get back up to fighting strength. Some of the clans are already getting a bit restive, though, and want to start carving out a bit of the galaxy for us, winning glory, all the usual things. Damn fools will get us into a war on four fronts if they aren't stopped. I'm going to need your help on that."

"You mean, use the Eternal Fleet to stop them? I think they'd like the chance to prove themselves."

"Got it in one. No, this has to be won through persuasion, not ****. Already people are questioning whether I'm fit to lead our people in the long term. No one doubts my ability on the battlefield. But for a peacetime leader? I'm already hearing discontent. I'd gladly hand over the kyr'bes if there was any promising successor available. Our people need stability. I'm not talking about founding a dynasty - that sort of thing is for the aruetii. But they need to see signs of planning for the future. And our future means family."