| Drasek_Cale | Date: Monday, 14 April 14, 8:23 PM | Message # 1 |
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| The sunsets on Mandalore were beautiful. Standing at the edge of the moderately sized lake, looking up at the yellows, pinks and oranges of the sun's reflection on the few clouds, Drasek Cale breathed in deeply, then exhaled. It was quiet out here, far from Keldabe or Sundari. It was even a good fifty kilometers from Enceri, and that was as remote as remote went. Here, with nature around him, Cale took another deep breath, then looked down as something nuzzled his left foot. "At least you feel fully at home here," he commented softly at the strill that had come to rest its muzzle against his boot. An odd creature, strill were intelligent, loyal and more than capable hunters. This particular one he'd had for a while now, prior to his coming here. 'Tython,' he'd named the strill; homage to the Jedi of times long past, of an age when the Jedi believed in more than the pompous fools in the Temple did now.
The strill brought back thoughts, though. What did it take to make one a Mandalorian, exactly? Out here, alone for several months now, Cale had come. He'd built a vheh'yaim of moderate size, partially submerged in the ground and topped with a grass roof, to keep it hidden from the air, more or less. The windows were narrow, as he'd heard, paned with transparisteel and while it had but six rooms, there was one with a hidden trapdoor that lowered into a tunnel, braced and dug by hand, which traveled a good three or four hundred meters to a small redoubt in a nearby hillside, which would serve as an escape, or a place to hide. It was hardly primitive, though. There was a kitchen, a bedroom, a small medical facility should he become injured and even an armory. In that armory were a number of interesting items; some he'd purchased long before, some he'd brought with him from Baltimn. Others, he'd bought here.
One such item from Baltimn was a cut-down Bryar rifle; a Bryar pistol, now, emblazoned with the Cale family coat of arms. It had been in the family for over eight generations, a gift to one of his ancestors. Another item was an Adventurer slugthrower rifle, this one his. It was one of the weapons his father had bought for him, or rather, for the memory of him. Looking back, to when he'd first come to his empty home, Cale realized, from the equally empty room that would have been his, that his parents had always hoped he'd give up the Order. The rifle he'd found there, kept immaculate in a case, just like everything else in the room. A room fit for a duke's son. His mind wandered again, considering the other odd assortments he'd purchased. A beskad, good for cutting underbrush and, in his spare time, to train with. So different from a lightsaber and still so useful. Rounding out part of his new collection was a full suit of beskar'kandar, topped by the iconic T-visor helm reminiscent of Mandalorian shock trooper armor. Sitting on a stand, it kept silent vigil upon the room, with none the wiser of the crushgaunts tucked into the helm. Both of those items had cost him a small fortune; the crushgaunts more than the armor, what with their illegal nature. Still, out here, nobody came to bother or investigate. He went into Enceri rarely, and when he did so, he usually wore the full suit of armor, which he'd painted a sandy-colored gold, trimmed in black. It suited him, after learning what the colors meant to some. Revenge and justice.
Outside, covered by a small thatched lean-to stood several dozen barrels of fuel and assorted power cells, next to a parked 22-B Nightfalcon speeder bike. It was his ride around his property, as he thought of the unsettled area, and it served to get him into town when he needed. A little further away, under a much, much larger constructed cover, complete with woven-vine draperies on the sides, was another building. This one housed his personal ship, a heavily-modified Cutlass-9 fighter which he'd renamed the Ara'nov. All of it was part and parcel of the life he'd built here, along with small crops that he'd planted himself, and a number of other small improvements he'd taken to make the place habitable, but hard to find.
Out of a six-room home, he'd never questioned the fact that one room he did not enter. Whenever he passed the closed door, he considered it 'storage,' though he never went within. Never questioned why either. He didn't stop to think that perhaps there was something he didn't want to see there, or that perhaps there was something he shouldn't see. It was just... storage.
Like most times, when he went to ponder the thought, his mind slipped away, to the Resol'nare. He'd long-considered the six tenets of the Mandalorian lifestyle; it was something that had prompted his move here and departure from all he knew. Still, there were things to be sorted out. Things that would require time and meditation, and there were certain elements of his old life that he would never be able to leave behind. The lightsaber in his vest pocket was one of those. His command of the Force was another. Still, each day he had here... was peace. It was a good day.
Taking one last breath as the sun set fully behind the mountains, he patted Tython lightly on the head, then turned to walk back towards his home.
Drasek Cale
Former Duke of Baltimn
Former Jedi Knight
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