Concord Dawn: Execution Day

[Praenuntius]

The day of the execution had come. Though they had waited weeks for the Alliance’s arrival, they still had yet to come. Their sources in the greater galaxy reported a secret meeting between Alliance and Federation. As to the details of the meeting, they could not say – they could only confirm that Alliance and Federation ships had moved to a neutral destination. Just what happened after that was clouded in the secret byways of politics that Zev had neither the inclination or the time to sort through. Even with his brief respite back on the Adenn Naast he was becoming more and more bogged down in the clerical aspects of running a government.

Ranah helped where she could, but she belonged with the people, not to be shackled to a desk and made to sort through endless reports on one thing or another. At least the reports weren’t full of complaints about what they did have. Shortages where cropping up all over the place, mainly in construction material, for the moment and Zev had solved the food crisis on Concord Dawn as well as Mandalore.

However today wasn’t going to be filled with the daily ritual of reports and decisions that only the Mand’alor could make. No today was going to be the day the ex-Mand’alor died for his crimes. He wouldn’t die today. Zev and Ranah had secretly decided on another form of execution. Thudding through the newly paved street, walking through the patrolling guards, the checkpoints set sporadically throughout the encampment, he would soon find himself staring at a door with no window. On the other side of that door was the ex-Mand’alor in a room that held no light.

He knew what he would find. A shriveled old man, savaged by his less than humane imprisonment, oh he had been given food and water, less and less with each passing day; the weight difference was stark, the skin complexion worsening. Zev nodded to the guards who unlocked the thick durasteel door and swung it open.

There in the middle, curled into the fetal position was the man who was sentenced to die today. Taking a deep breath, Zev had a tinge of pity that he dealt with sharply and firmly. The man had caused all of this and probably would have done worse if he had not been removed. He deserved everything he was about to get. Looking to the guard to his right, he pointed at the curled up figure, “Shackle him. Bring him up to the yard.”

They had the perfect spot for him to spend the remainder of his days on this planet, in this galaxy. A pole had been planted in the middle of a barren courtyard. There was only one entrance and that entrance would be blocked and guarded day and night. Ranah would be there waiting he knew, as would the Chieftains who had finally arrived. She still had yet to unveil the mask, he had not bothered her about it. He still had a foreboding deep in his gut. Something bad was going to happen.

[Nicole]

Zev had the right to be concerned, something bad was going to happen. It was going to happen sooner than later, and as Mandalorian patience ran thin over the last week, the Senator had hung from the gallows, his shriveled rotting corpse still swayed within the Concord Dawn breeze for all to see.

Mand'alor, however, had a different fate, he had survived the week, but only due to the Alliance's delay in arriving. When it became apparent that ample enough time had passed, orders had been issued from both the Resol and the new Mand'alor, the former leader was brought to the middle of the courtyard. It was well defended, but lining the outer perimeter were thousands, hundreds of thousands of Mandalorians set to watch. A few hoverscreens floated in air, revealing just what was going on in the courtyard.

Ranah stood silently in the middle of the courtyard, next to the pole where a container rested next to her, and behind it two towering Mandalorians in full body armor, both with a powerful disruptor riffle held across their chests. The Resol was wearing armor as well, minus her helmet as she awaited the little procession to arrive with their prisoner. It was mid-morning, but already the humid temperatures were beginning to rise, increased by the particles that had been blown up into Concord Dawn's atmosphere, particles which held the heat in, increasing the temperature of the planet. The fact that it was a Concord Dawn summer helped not either. Already a few droplets of moisture were forming along Ranah's brow, but she made no indication that she even noticed them there.

[Praenuntius]

The heat was oppressive, but Zev being a native was more than used to it, hence his lack of clothes beneath his armor. The breathers within his suit kept the interior quite cool in comparison to the atmosphere. However that would be offset by the armored plates and their searing heat which he had yet to work out a solution for. A cooling system would be costly and add even more weight to the apparatus and while weight didn’t matter, should his power cores be disabled it would mean his movements would be that much more sluggish.

A problem for a different day he quietly reminded himself. The Mand’alor was resplendent in his crimson battle suit, the gray T-visor hiding the calculating look on his face. The unease which he had felt when he first saw the shriveled, wrinkled form of the ex-Mand’alor had melted away when he saw those assembled, his beautiful wife among them. These where the judges demanding the execution, Zev was merely the executioner, so what if the executioner also wanted the Mand’alor’s death?

Stopping a few feet from the pole, he looked to his helmetless wife, admiring her regal pose before turning to the medical staff he had brought with. “Make sure he doesn’t die. You keep him alive until this is done, the elements will do the rest.”

The guards shackled him to the pole, binding his ankles securely first, positioning the ex-Mand’alor’s arms behind him and around the pole, they bound and secured them to the ankles with three chains. There would be no chance at escape. Zev meanwhile moved over to his wife while the medical team began setting up the apparatus that would monitor the man’s vitals.
“The prisoner is ready.” He held up a hand, “This is my sentence. I will be the executioner.” Reaching down with both hands he picked up the container of what he assumed was molten metal. He set it inches away from the ex-Mand’alor who he doubted had any idea of just what the contents of the box where.

He turned to Ranah, to the people assembled all around. They wanted a speech. A spectacle Ranah had called it. This where her stage, her area of expertise, but the Mand’alor – he laughed inwardly, drowning out the buzz of his mind, he was their leader. He spoke, they listened. It was that simple.

“Mandalorians!” His boomed over the projectors they had set up. “Today I bring before you a man sentenced to die. Justice will be served.” He regarded the nude man bound and chained to the pole. Walking casually across him, the jeers from the crowd had filled the silence his voice had left. Oh yes, they truly despised and hated this ex-Mand’alor and all that he had done. What they would see would no doubt shock them all, but Zev knew this was the greatest honor and greatest shame a man could ever be bestowed in the Mandalorian society.

Looking back to the crowd once more, his voice fierce and full of passion, “He once told you all to remove your armor. To be Mandalorian no more! This, osi’yaim(useless), sack of flesh is everything a Mandalorian is not. He was our leader! He was supposed to lead us not into the arms of our enemies but to parjai!(Victory) This,” his voice filled with such scorn as he looked in on the sunken man, still moving around the pole with each word he spoke, “aruetyc demagolka(traitorous monster) deserves more than a hanging. He doesn’t want to be Mandalorian?”

He laughed as the crowd howled in fury at the sentiment, over running his words as they picked at the rubble beneath their feet and began to lob stones at the pole. They were close to rioting he knew, he had drew them into this feverish pitch, he had done it a thousand times with his own men, convinced them they where immortal and not to be trifled with. Soon they would overrun the barricades that had been kept in place, Mandalorians were violent by instinct. “Well that is just too bad. He wanted to take his armor off so bad, I have decided he will wear it for the rest of his days.”

He had completed the circuit and opened the container full of the bubbling liquid metal. They knew what was going to happen then and they all quieted down in anticipation of the first drop to sear and meld with the flesh of the ex Mand’alor.

[Nicole]

Ranah's eyes lingered on Zev for a long moment as he approached before moving aside her to the bound man. Her head bowed at that moment, her eyes gazing down to the patchwork of dieing grass beneath their feet. She listened to Zev for a long moment, she didn't move, didn't seem to even register as the Mand'alor took the container of liquid metal and moved to make his speech.

Ranah said nothing before it, during it, but after it, as the crowd's shouting turned to an anticipated silence she knelt down, her fingers digging up some of the dirt in her palm and then she pushed herself back up, opening her hand and thumbing through it's contents. Her voice would carry, enhanced by the audio equipment stationed around. Even so he response came not as a shout, but a normal conversational tone.

"My people..." she began.

"The man before you is of our blood, of the same dirt that we all have grown and stood upon. He is a Mandalorian. " Ranah stated, her head tilting along her shoulder to cast one look upon the man hanging there, so weak he was resting against the chains that held his hands above his head.

"Is he incapable of making wrong choices? No. We were an oppressed people by a better armed force. He did what he had to do to survive - but sometimes, it isn't enough to simply survive. We as a people must be worthy of surviving. We must hold fast to our customs, our traditions, or oaths and our honor if we are to be as the Mandalorians of the past."

Her eyes dropped to the dirt in her hand as it filtered through her fingers.

"He took the oath of the Resol'nare as did the rest of our men and women, our brothers our sisters, our sons, our daughters, our people. One simply does not choose which they will obey, and which they will not, one must obey all. "

Ranah turned to look to Zev who stood poised to carry out the judgement.

"Mand'alor Khandrr, it is the will of the Chieftains to see that justice is given this day, as Resol of the people, I charge you to carry out the execution of this Mandalorian."

[Praenuntius]

There was a pulse in the air. The quieted anticipation of a crowd on its toes, struggling to see what sentence would be. The ex-Mand’alor for all his weaknesses remained firm in the face of his judgment. Make no mistake, Zev had been born and raised on Concord Dawn, was born a human, raised a Mandalorian, what softness remained in the man he had grown into was becoming more and more scarce with each passing day. What pity there had been had now evaporated. The oppressive heat weighed no longer on his shoulders, as body tensed.

The booming voice of Ranah Vrei held the crowd intoxicated. Raising their fevered pitch ever higher, reminding each and every one of them who and what they are. Species mattered not, you were born something else and raised Mandalorian. He listened as she spoke, his head roaming the rows of people that had gathered to witness the execution.

Every point she struck upon was true. A Mandalorian could not pick and choose the rules they followed, the rules that made up the Mandalorian culture. In order to be Mandalorian, a Mandalorian had to follow those rules. The Resol’nare also stated that all Mandalorian’s where to rally to the Mand’alor’s banner when called upon. Zev shook his head, his focus having fallen yet again on the man who could barely stand.

Taking his cue from Ranah, he looked to the liquid metal once again. The easiest thing would be to toss the contents, but that would kill the man from the shock alone. No the process needed to be slower, more controlled, which is why the container held two scoops. Each would carry more than a gallon of the thick molten metal. Taking one out, he made no show of it as he stepped in on the man who still seemed unaware of the painful day he was about to have.

Looking once more to the medical staff, he saw their assurances and then poured the gunk like liquid over the man’s shoulder. The sizzling sound it made was background noise to the ex-Mand’alor who suddenly became animated, legs jerking beneath him as knees gave way, his bound arms tried jerking free as the man writhed in agony. Zev watched it at all, not a hint of emotion in his eyes, cold as the chains that bound him.

The entire process would take an hour and by the time the container was empty the screams had stopped, only a groaning noise could be heard bubbling from the ex-Mand’alor’s mouth. As he had told the medical team, they were keeping him alive through every pain filled second. Zev faced it every time he saw the pain wracked face of the man. He could not stop, would not stop. Some had cheered in the beginning, by this point there was little cheering. They all stared on in mute silence. This is the spectacle they had come to see.

The ex-Mand’alor was now covered from chest to toe in his own melted armor. Never again he would be able to take it off. Dropping the scoop in the container, Zev looked over his work, saw the tortured look of the Mand’alor wishing very clearly to be long since dead. No doubt the pain was excruciating as he looked over the visage, eyes where wide open, pupils tiny, chin trembling, drool running down to hiss over the still cooling metal.

He looked to Ranah and then to the people who had stood through the entire ordeal. “Justice is served! He may of lost his way, but he will never lose his armor!” Nodding to the medical staff and the two guards, he stopped to look at the Resol’nare before proceeding the very way they had come. With his exit so too would everyone else. He would die alone, but at least he was Mandalorian.

[Nicole]

Ranah took no pleasure in killing one of her own people. The look in her eyes, the deep dark depth showed her disgust of the whole thing and the burning hatred that the Federation had pushed her into killing one of her own. Perhaps if one thing was to come of it all, the Mandalorian people would know that betraying their people would bring a brutal punishment. Her eyes followed the Mand'alor as the display came to an end, soon enough she was following behind him, the two guard behind her took up position on either side of the former Mand'alor.

Once Ranah and Zev were gone, once all of the people whom had been watching were gone, once the square was empty of but the three men. Per Ranah's instructions they swiftly ended the man's life with a blade to the throat. The man paid his price, agonizing it out any further only allowed a shred of a miracle to exist that the man might survive. Ranah ensured he would not and that he would die well before she and the towering soldier before her would enter into the chamber where the rest of the Chieftains stood around a table mirrored after the one at Mandalore.

As she and Zev entered into the room there was a simultaneous metallic drum against their chests as armored fists bumped over armor in their salute.

[Praenuntius]

Zev was not aware of the order to execute the ex-Mand’alor nor would any of his troopers or their personal guard, ever tell him of that order. Zev was known for his cruelty and his cold pragmatism. The ex-Mand’alor deserved the death he got, but that did not mean Zev took any enjoyment in dolling out the punishment. Zev rarely took any joy in pain, suffering, or even killing another person. All too well he knew the fine line being killing because you have to and killing because you enjoy it.

There was however not even a shred of remorse or guilt over the sentence he had passed. The man was a Mandalorian he would die as one as well. Still troubled by the incessant wailing of the departed, he moved into the chamber. It looked precisely like the Communal Hall in Mandalore, complete with the heavy table where each Chieftain stood clasping their fist to chests.

Striding through the room, he was aware of Ranah and comforted by her presence, for a moment he thought she might linger, she had after all told him he was being too cruel. His boots thudded off of the canopied hall as he strode to stand in the placed offered him, slightly elevated above all the rest.

Zev was constantly reminded of who and what he was. He was a leader and all the burdens it carried with it weighed on his shoulders as he looked out over the heads of those assembled. Finally he brought his fist to his shoulder, a salute to all those who would make him Mand’alor. To hear his men talk, there was little opposition in the rank and file. Even less out in the population if he were to hear Ranah talk of it.

“Be seated.” He looked to the Resol.

[Nicole]

Ranah proceeded into the room, moving to stand at the location upon the table directly across from the Mand'alor. The location which was afforded to the Clan which spoke for the others, she took her seat after repeating the ceremonious clasp of her hand to her fist before she sat down upon the chair, not bothering to lean back against it as her cape pooled behind her. Her eyes were directly focused on Zev, as were the other men around the table.

When her mate looked upon her he would see only the cold hard eyes of a Mandalorian woman, a woman which was giving him her strength, her order. For him she would only allow to see the support and admiration.

"Aye Mand'alor."

[Praenuntius]

It was times like these that he wished he had a long, flowing cape like the rest of them. However in a practical sense capes tended to get in the way, where always getting muddy or needed constant attention and care. On the battlefield that kind of attention could take your focus off of the battle. He didn’t seat himself, instead he looked into the face of the first Mandalorian to pledge her allegiance to the new Mand’alor.

Bringing his hands up casually, he removed his helmet and set it before him, on the table. Those cold, nearly dead eyes gazed into Ranah’s and then slowly moved clockwise about the room until they came to rest upon her once more. His face was expressionless, jaws clamped tightly shut. Whatever he was thinking, no one could say. Even as he leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the table, his head was still elevated above their own.

“Am I your Mand’alor?” He looked around at each of them. They had been summoned first to Mandalore, where they might have sworn allegiance, but due to the Alliance they had moved to Concord Dawn and yet had to unveil the Mask of the Mandalore. Ranah had it and Zev had not seen it since. He knew she had taken it to the Adenn Naast and cleaned it as well as the armor. Though where the armor was, he couldn’t say.

He knew their answers before they would say it; Ranah had already spoken the words. He was the Mand’alor as she spoke for all of them. “I ask you to bring me whatever help you can, I get a list of demands longer than this table. I ask you to provide food and shelter for fellow Mandalorians and you give me excuses why you can’t.” His jaw bulged as the first hint at his underlying anger showed.

“Your Mand’alor demands more. These are hard and trying times no thanks to the Federation and their puppets. We need to band together. We need to rally what strength we have and unite all the clans and the people as one. We will rebuild and forge a mighty, united Mandalorian front. It starts here and now. I will not tolerate any more excuses. You will offer what you can and take who you can. Soon enough Mandalore and Concord Dawn will be able to support themselves and with it the larger populations.”

Finally he sat down and looked to Ranah. She would speak for them all no doubt, though it wasn’t uncommon for a Chieftain to speak his own mind.

[Nicole]

Ranah's eyes stayed right on Zev's as she rested her hands upon the table, fingers interlaced. She said nothing, nor did any of the other Chieftains around the table as Zev spoke. Ranah knew all too well what Zev was getting at, she was beginning to become quite the expert on their new Mand'alor, afterall, he was her husband.

In the end, not a word was uttered until Zev finished speaking, then the table seemed to burst into conversation among the other clan leaders, Ranah pushed herself up to her feet, attentions drew to her as words hung in the air. Her fingers swept her cape back to the side, hand clasping something strapped to her back as she pulled it free with a few snaps that held it in place popping free.

Zev would know instantly what she held in her hand as she drew the original Mand'alors Mask back around, it had been released from it's modified helmet and restored back to it's original open face. Ranah merely tossed the Mandalorian armor sculpted helmet down onto the table, sliding across it to land just infront of Zev next to his helmet with a metallic screech gaining everyone's attention to it instantly.

"I trust none of you will dispute the authenticity of this." she stated, adjusting her cape back behind her she placed her hands down upon the table as she glimpsed from one leader to the other before looking back to Zev.

"Our former Mand'alor is dead, and Zev has shown all the traits that bind a true Mand'alor to the title, and as a special honor, we have been returned the Mand'alor's mask. I could have claimed the right myself, the truth is, Zev as earned it. I give unto him the last piece that tradition requires for him to be our Mand'alor." she stated, drawing her blade into her hand, fingers clasped about it's hilt she tossed it upon the center of the table, clattering and finally spinning to a stop.

"If one of you believe you are more worthy, now is your chance to prove so."

Ranah, always one for the bold stood by, waiting, eyes all glimpsed around the table, a deadly silence fell over them all, in the end another of the Chieftains stood, pledging his Clan's support unto Zev. Soon the others followed, slower in the beginning but increasing until all the men, both old and younger had pledged themselves to Zev Khandrr.

Ranah's hand extended towards her blade as it snapped back to her palm, she sheathed it back on her side and took her seat, as did the others once more, her eyes focused directly across the table at Zev.

"By unanimous vote of this council, we recognize you as the one true Mand'alor, Zev Khandrr. Let there be no further question of it, as we will defend your right to that title." she spoke, finally leaning back against the chair now without a mask strapped to her back.

"As it is your will Mand'alor, Concord Dawn and Mandalore will be restored."

[Praenuntius]

The obsidian crown of hair he wore so elegantly seemed to contort and deform with each turn of his head. Wide shoulders sat tense, lending a fierce credence to each motion of his body. Arms still before him, with each movement his fingers dug into the cold hard stone of the table. A rising din surrounded him as Mandalorian Chieftain’s resplendent in their polished armor leaned over the table, each trying to vie for his attention. Giving them their due, nodding his head respectful, Zev said not a word. Ranah saved him as she always did, slowly rising, the Chieftains would take notice one by one and the tumultuous sound of their joined voices would quiet by one every passing second.

By the final, Zev’s sterling eyes glared into each Chieftain as they reseated themselves. An august chill pall fell over the place. An uneasy quiet, why was she standing? They all looked to her finally. Losing his glare the icebox his eyes resembled trembled with a tingle of excitement. Would this be the moment?

The ruddy gold of the mask refracted all of the light, seemingly adding a brilliance that had simply not been there before. Breathing life into the canopied room, Zev slowly pushed to his feet, hands never left their places on the table. When the screeching was over silver orbs moved to Ranah and then to the knife she pulled loose and flung to the middle of the table. Muscles relaxed instantly, poised and ready as the balls of his feet rocked back in anticipation of the strike that would never come.

Instead what he was received was a verbal pledge from each Mandalorian assembled. Fist thumping to chest, Zev watched Ranah. His scrutiny shivery with each breath taken, a numb determination seem to fill his visage as the last of the Chieftain’s finished, leaving only Ranah and the Vrei Clan to swear their allegiance. She already had Zev knew, but the men gathered around them had not.

With the knife recalled and a seated Ranah, he looked around at the young and old, the Mandalorian’s who had come from all walks of life, from all over the galaxy. Taking the mask in one hand and then the other he held it at his chest. Muscles tense once more after a few more seconds of silence he slipped the ruddy gold helmet over his head, lucky for him it fit, a bit big, but it would do.

Dropping his arms, he couldn’t help but feel empowered by the cold metal that encased his head. How many Mand’alor’s had worn this very helmet? How could he ever fulfill their expectations, carry their burdens? The look he gave them all was that chilly determination, the same determination he had shared with Ranah on her night back.

He may not of wanted the mantle of leadership, but he was thrust into it and he could think of no man better to take his place. A woman perhaps, but she would not. “Your Mand’alor.” He breathed out in a low, gruff voice.

He took in a breath, jaw clenching as he bit back the emotion that welled up from the pit of his stomach. “I will not forget what happened here, or across the sector to the Mandalorian people, my people. The Federation will pay, blood for blood, Tyne does not suffice, a feeble senator does not. The Mand’alor yearns for blood, the blood of the Federation!”

He began to walk slowly around the gathered. “We are not foolish. We are not going to waste our lives needlessly. We will wait for this Alliance, we will see what they offer and when we are strong once again we will strike. I’ve already sent agents to infiltrate Dromund Kaas, they will prepare for our arrival. In the meantime, you all have your orders, restore Mandalore and Concord Dawn, build ships, build defenses, the time for war is coming! When the time has come, I will raise the banner and we will burst forth like a great horde of locusts. We will scour the Federation and rid the galaxy of their stain upon history and at long last, we will have our vengeance!”

He stopped behind Ranah, glowering over her head, through the ruddy gold mask.

[Nicole]

Ranah lingered after everyone had gone. Sure there had been the collective "Oohrah." to Zev's speech, a few passed words back and forth about how things would be accomplished, a few other loose ends tied up, in the end it left Zev at one end of the table, Ranah at the other, her eyes peering across the table to him, an arm perched on the armrest of the chair, hand tucked beneath her chin.

Her golden eyes reflected Zev and his mask, a simple smirk slowly creased her lips.

"It suits you." she replied, gazing to those stormy silver orbs that peered out beneath.

[Praenuntius]

The debating had been succinct. The Mand’alor had laid a plan out before them. While scarce on details, he knew each would act in their own unique way to fulfill the plan as he had spoken it. Zev had every faith in the clans to sort their own business while adhering to that which bound them. The helmet fit as well as it could, obviously having been made for a Taung, and had not teetered off of his head.

It felt right and comfortable. He felt more like a leader and because of that confidence he had inspired his followers. As they sat there across the table staring at each other while the others cleared out, he could only hope she was just as pleased. When she finally spoke, praising the way the helmet looked on him, he could only grin back at her.

“I could get used to it.” He replied cooly, those granite orbs living up as they were left utterly alone. Standing up, he removed the mask slowly; using both hands he placed it beside his helmet. Looking back to Ranah, he gestured toward his end of the table, “C’mere.”

[Nicole]

Ranah's eyes glittered slightly as Zev smiled, it was in that moment that she knew he was pleased and his confidence in himself had returned. She watched as he removed the mask, placing it upon the table and beckoning her over. She pushed up out of the chair and casually made her way around the table to him. When she arrived she leaned her hip against the side of the massive slab and glimpsed to Zev, her eyes having never really left his as she circled around.

"As you command, Mand'alor" she teased him with a grin.

[Praenuntius]

He chuckled, that deep throaty sound that meant amusement, those hard eyes kept with her own. “Oh is it Mand’alor now?” He moved towards where she leaned on the table, wrapping one arm around her hips, he didn’t tug just yet, no he moved forward and grinned with those full lips of his.

“As Mand’alor you swore to obey.” The reason for the grin became evident as he pulled her forward. “I want you for the next couple of hours.” Lips pressed so gingerly to the corner of her mouth as he pulled her nearer the plates of their armor thudding together. Bringing those supple lips to her chin, he bit softly, a prelude to what was to come.

Tilting his head back into hers, nose crinkling against her cheek, he bit harder along her jaw, a slow exhale creating a low growl. “What does my Resol say to some intense physical stimulation? After all, we have to keep in shape if we’re going to be fighting a war.”