It was nightfall in Carasuum, a small and humble township on a remote moon far removed from Manda'yaim. The sun was set for almost an hour, but still the skies were tinged a faint crimson, and coruscated with the first stars of the night. The land and its surrounding hills were black, but for the glare of the occasional landspeeder or the sparse, communal fires that adorned the hillsides. Throughout Carasuum, just after dinner could be heard the sound of children sparring one another, and reenacting the battles and glories of proud and distant lore. Many of the elders sat about the village square, tired (but content) from tending their fields for much of the day, and sharing with each other reverent tales of the adventures of their youth. But one man was absent from the festivities of the night. Marcus Ordo sat alone, alongside the comfort of a smoldering firepit in the atrium of his otherwise dark and empty homestead. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back as if to gaze upon the stars, and his chiseled form sweating under the heat of the fire. "I am alive," he said aloud, "but you are gone. I remember you, so you are eternal."
It had been a tradition of the Mando'ade for a thousand centuries; an act of rememberence of one's ancestors, in which one would speak this oath and recite the names of lost family members, loved ones, or even friends and other members of the aliit. In an era of instantaneous communication and commerce, an era of the future, the Mandalorians were unique for their respect of the past and regarding their heritage as a part of themselves. They took pride in their traditions, and few more so than Marcus Ordo. He was a vigorous and tempered man of forty four years, who bore the scars and wounds of battle both on his body and behind his tired, blue eyes. His was the gaze of a man who had seen many glories and many defeats, and too many of either to count.
"Canderous Ordo," he said to the flame, continuing the ritual.
A distant ancestor of Marcus, there were precious few warriors in history more famed or fearsome than Canderous Ordo. In his very first battle (so the tale was told), he'd freefallen through the atmosphere for a harrowing 80 kilometers, dodging self-guided projectile and beam weapons with only fifteen centimeters of searing hot armor plating to protect him. It was an example of the ferocity and dedication he would later show as Mand'alor, when he reunited the fractious Mandalorian people behind a noble and common purpose. Both he and Marcus were similar in many respects; both were conflicted men who were tried and tempered by their respective times, and both were passionate for their heritage.
But while Marcus was indeed a man who, like many of his clan, sported the ego and the self confidence of one who has been tested in combat, even he would never dare liken himself to Canderous, such was his ancestor's prestige in Mandalorian history. But nonetheless, Marcus would always be mindful of Canderous throughout his own battles and conquests. His own life had begun simply enough: Marcus was born to a family of extraordinary lineage, but modest means.
(to be continued, shortly)
