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Myles cussed up a storm under his breath as he slunk down through the mine shaft. The place was a death trap. Literally. Death Watch had rigged it like a Sith Tomb, and put all sorts of deterrents from pit traps to falling spikes. The latter had him limping, and thankful he still had his leg. He had lost his buy’ce somewhere in the chaos and now had to rely on the penlight torch he used for inspecting his weapons in the dark. He was installing lamps in his greaves, regardless of how much Jaster would laugh at him. According to the tracker he had he was nearly at Mij’s location. If it turned out to be only the medic’s armour and not the medic, he would set off every one of those traps out of spite. Death Watch had had his friend for just over a week, which had been how long it had taken him to track them down. He had chosen stealth over massacre, because Jaster had asked him to bring back intel if he could. Yet, if Death Watch had done anything to Mij, all bets were off.
He heard a scuff of a foot fall ahead of him and froze. Then watched a beam of light wriggle across the far wall of the cave he had nearly stepped into. It flickered over a series of weird scratches that could be letters. He waited for the light to sweep down the passage he was in, because there was nowhere to hide. Only it slowly traced the alien script.
“Thou’rt rath'r distracting, hiding so. Doth useful be and holdeth the lamp. This needeth a full rec'rd.”
He froze at the sharp order from what sounded like a human woman. Her accent was weird, and the way she spoke sounded like she had stepped out of a Historical Holo Drama, the sort Jaster watched on long hyperspace hauls. He went up on his toes to get a peek over the rocks to see her and froze.
It was a woman. Wearing a dress. The long floor length kind.
He gingerly reached up to his head to check for injuries, but felt nothing but the bruise to his jaw. He checked around the rock again.
“Hie up, we has't not all night.”
Night? It was two in the afternoon on this part of Concordia as far as his crono told him. He inspected the woman; she had a respectable rifle over her shoulder and a belt with no visible weapons. In one hand she held the lamp, and the other was a, a data pad. He rubbed his eyes and checked again. She was looking directly at him now, an old biddy, or well, her dark hair was going grey at the temples.
“If thou wouldst not be useful, then be thou on thy way. Thou art distracting.”
“I’m distracting?” he spluttered and walked out over to her, and was relieved to see that despite the skirt she wore, she had armour over her torso, and arms, though he did not recognise the style.
“Aye, thy attention wand'rs. Thou’rt a stout young thing, here shineth t lamp up th're. Aye, anon holdeth t still while I scan these lett'rs.”
Myles dumbly stood holding the lamp with one hand and trying to get his head around the old style Mando’a she spoke.
“Uh, ma’am,” he said in his best dealing with a client voice, “do you realise you’re in a Death Watch base?”
“Death Watch, h’re?” her surprise was distracted as she stood on her tip toes and scanned the writing.
Myles glanced back the way he had come.
“How did you miss the six ships and over a thousand verde?” he croaked incredulously.
“I by the sou’ passage so ent’r’d. Knoweth thee that this be a Sith temple?”
“Uh—” Myles felt all the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I came in by the west entrance via the mine tunnels.”
The woman grumbled to herself in a mixture of Basic and a language he didn’t recognise, but he knew cussing when he heard it.
“They’ve breeched the walls,” she said grimly and glared back along the passage he exited. “They’ll not long liveth through such an intrusion.”
“What?” Myles croaked, thoroughly spooked.
“Thou doeth seem the traps to have avoideth, but once thee has't trigg'r'd the physical traps, any through the passages moveth shall trigg'r the spells.”
“Spells?” Myles didn’t care that he squeaked like a child.
“Aye, hmm,” she tapped him on the chest and that tight anxious feeling he had had dissipated. “That wast a constrict'r, t’wouldst crusheth the lungs 'r heart, depending.”
She inspected him then gave a firm nod and went back to examining the writings. It was as if the vice around his chest had lifted only to be replaced with the claustrophobic sensation of the terrible potential for greater and more dreadful things. It really didn’t help that the strong lamp cast very dark shadows on the water worn pillars and rocks in the chamber.
“C-can we leave,” Myles squeaked, “n-now?”
“Oh, hush, we’ve an hour bef're the traps doeth reset. I’ll thee the deactivation showeth.”
“Right,” he swallowed hard, then with a shock of panic realised that Mij was held nearby. “Uh, Ma’am, I really can’t stay. I’ve got to rescue my friend.”
She turned and inspected him with bright dark eyes.
“I supposeth thee must, at that,” she stated and retook her lantern. She shuttered it so that the light was thrown in a concentrated beam ahead of them. “Lead on.”
Myles opened his mouth to protest, abruptly realised that suggesting she leave left him alone in a Sith Temple, and very gladly fell in step beside her.
He followed the tracker through what must be the main passage of the Sith Temple by the way the stone was finished. His companion gestured him around traps he hadn’t noticed. He was very glad for the lamp when they arrived at the cells. For all it took dropping two floors down the most dilapidated stone staircase. He dropped using his jetpack, and the woman shimmied down the wall as if she wore suction pads. Perhaps she wasn’t all human? They weren’t going to get back into the temple easily though, because the last steps had crumbled away and they had to drop to the floor below.
The cells were ancient, made by the Sith for their prisoners, and still efficiently holding prisoners for Death Watch. Mij sat at the side of his cell beside another prisoner who lay on the ground of their cell, sprawled out, asleep.
“Myles!” Mij pushed to his feet and limped over, his right arm tucked firmly against his chest. “Did they catch you too?”
“We’re getting you out of here,” Myles took out his picks and went to work on the cell lock. For some reason it clicked open within seconds. He was too relieved just then to question it, and pulled the door open and grabbed Mij who stumbled over to him.
“Let’s depart,” the woman turned abruptly then.
“What about—” Myles pointed to the sleeping verd in the next cell.
“He passed an hour ago,” Mij said grimly, “I’ve got his name and last messages.”
They walked in grim silence, Myles supporting Mij as his stride became a limp which slowed them significantly. The woman walked ahead of them with the lamp, leading them unerringly through the subterranean passages, until she halted before a large rockfall.
“The Temple’s grand stair wouldst to the surface leadeth,” she stated as she light swung in an arc over the cave in, “but caution serveth them to pull rocks our exit to thus conceal.”
“Temple?” Mij asked, then leaned against Myles and whispered, “what’s with the old-time Mando’a? Where did you dig her up?”
“In the Sith Temple above,” Myles muttered back.
Mij went pale under all his grime and Myles had to take his weight as the man swayed on his feet.
“This way,” the woman ordered and they followed as she strode away.
“She’s a Sith Revenant?” Mij croaked.
“No, you di’kut,” Myles did put an extra spring in his step, because he had heard stories and didn’t want to meet one of those, “she was copying the writing. She’s a scholar.” She had better be a scholar, anything else was too terrifying to contemplate.
“In a dress?” Mij managed through gritted teeth, hobbling along as best he could.
“She’s got armour?” Myles pointed out, for all it was certainly not Mandalorian armour.
They both did not bring up that point.
They heard the voices before they saw anyone. Someone was crying, while another was hoarsely yelling threats.
Mij froze and Myles scrabbled for his blasters and tried to put his friend down at the same time. There was nowhere to run in the long winding passage. Tor strode around the corner dragging a kid of about nine, who was fighting tooth and nail to escape. Tor did not notice them immediately, as he tried to pry the kid off his vambrace as the brat gnawed his armour.
“That’s Tor Vizsla!” Myles hissed at the woman. “Leader of Death Watch and will either kill us all or make us wish we were dead.”
“Forsooth?”
“Who speaks like that?” Mij breathed, then his face turned a nasty shade of grey the next verd around the corner was Montross. The traitor dragged a mostly stunned woman under one arm, by her clothing she was from mid rim somewhere.
It suddenly clicked into place for Myles. All their missions that seemed to go wrong in the oddest ways. The way the intel was not quite right about Death Watch. The way they could never get to the bottom of it.
“Traitor!” Mij yelled, and launched himself past the woman and Tor to plough into Montross.
“Trespassers!” Tor growled at them, “I’ll cut you down where you stand!” He brandished the hilt of the Darksaber.
Myles was too busy diving past him to help Mij down Montross, and drag the captive out of the fight to realise that this left the woman to face Tor alone.
There was the crackle hum of an activating light sword. Myles so badly wanted to see the Darksabre, but Montross would kill them both to keep their silence. There was a strangled yelp as Tor threw the child at them. Myles had to back off sharply as the kid stole one of Montross’s vibroblades, grabbed his mother and snarled at them like a feral lothcat.
“Thou wield thy lightsabre incorrectly, young ser—”
A second sharp hum buzzed through the air punctuated by Tor’s wordless shout of shock. The light turned from the warm glow of the lamp to a brilliant blue. Mij caught Montross across the jaw as the man gawked behind them. Myles managed to hit him with a stun blast between the armour plates and made sure the traitor went limp before he dared turn. What in the world was making all that buzzing and clashing noise?
He fetched his binders out of his hip pouch on automatic as his eyes were fixed on the battle before him. Tor Vizsla swung the Darksabre like a feral being, his lips drawn back into a snarl even as his dark eyes narrowed with focus. The woman, danced. There was no other word for it. She flowed around his blows and deflected his blade like a master schooling a child. Her own lightsabre glowed a brilliant blue, and for once, Myles was very, very glad to see a Jedi.
Tor growled in fury at her evasions and with a blindingly fast move, shot from the hip into her centre mass. She dodged. The slug shot bit into the wall behind her, spraying them with shards. Myles then abruptly realised that a lightsabre would cut through them all like butter. In perfect coordination with Mij, he grabbed Montross by the arms and hauled him up the passage. They didn’t get far.
The shouts had drawn the attention of Death Watch and people poured into the passage, only to stumble rapidly back out as the fight progressed towards them. No. The woman was driving Tor towards them. She sought open ground in which to have room to move. Everyone surged away, and for all some verd tried shooting at her, she snapped her blade to return the shots from whence they came with a pernicious vengeance that was distinctly un-Jedi like.
“Keep pressure on it, utreekov!” Mij growled at a verd hit in the shoulder where his chestplate met his pauldron. He then dumped Montross, and limped over to the man, and subpoenaed a nearby verd to help. Myles kept a firm grip on Montross, and dragged him out of the way as the fight spilled into the cavern that served as the mess hall.
“This be no challenge young ser, thy footwork is lacking, and thou flaunt thy saber instead of fight with it!”
“You would challenge me?” Tor managed to get past his near spitting rage to roar in fury.
“Tis nay challenge with thee as thou art!” she retorted.
“You mock me?” Tor’s voice skipped an octave in his outrage.
“Nay, I wouldst tutor thee! Thy feet!”
“Tutor me? I have wielded this blade for years!”
“Yet, t doest not chooseth thee. Relinquish the blade, alloweth t rest!”
“I would die before relinquishing it!”
Myles was not fast enough to catch the feral child as he surged past them and straight for Tor’s back. The man spun away from the Jedi woman, and would have bisected the child, had she not stepped between them to nudge the child aside and deflect the blade.
Myles watched open mouthed, along with the rest of the spooked Death Watch, as the woman pirouetted, flowed beneath Tor’s vicious blow, caught the dark blade against her blue one, and with a vicious twist flipped the blade from Tor’s grasp. She snatched it out of thin air as she rose up, and with a flicker of both blades, too fast to see Tor’s head was on the ground.
“Are Jedi allowed to do that?” Mij whispered beside Myles into the dead silence.
The woman inspected the blade, then tilted her head and looked a little to Tor’s left, and her eyes trailed up as if someone had crouched beside him, then stood.
“Tis not mine own duty,” she said firmly to thin air.
There was a beat of silence as if she were listening to someone, and Myles felt that icy tingle creep down his neck. There was a ghost. Jedi could see ghosts, couldn’t they? Mij crowded right up close to him, he crowded as closely back against his friend.
“Thou jest, Tarre! Who then whouldst this soul rul'r be?”
Tarre? She was speaking to Mand’alor Tarre Vizsla?
She laughed after a beat, bright and incredulous.
“Tis but a sup'rstition, the mask of the Mand'alor is a far most wondrous'r symbol!”
There was another beat of silence, and everyone in the room watched in stunned awe.
“t hath been lost, m're is the pity,” she grumbled and held out the Darksabre as if to give it to the ghost.
Her face fell, as she was met with refusal, and she powered down both light sabres at the same time.
Her eyes snapped to the very still room around her.
“Mercy! Is this how thee greeteth thy new Mand'alor?”
There was a very confused and uncertain rustle through the ranks.
“But you’re not Mandalorian, ma’am,” someone said from amidst the anonymity of the crowd.
Myles, with the brilliance of one with seconds to live if this went wrong, surged to his feet.
“I’ll adopt you! I know your name—”
“Jocasta Nu,” she said stiffly and Myles almost choked. Jaster was never going to let him live this down. It was her. Madam Nu. The draken who guarded the Jedi archives.
He cleared his throat.
“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Jocasta Nu,” he said, clearly, “welcome to clan Tal, House Mereel.”
The Death Watch verde hissed and growled at that.
Madam Nu lit the Darksabre, and by her glance, was listening to the ghost again. Myles shivered. Jedi Force osik was better than Sith Force osik, but only marginally. Yet both was better than dead.
“Oya!” she declaimed.
There was a beat of silence as everyone recalibrated a Jedi using a Mandalorian rallying cry. Then the realisation that they would have to face her if they did not, and the response was immediate and loud.
It took a week of alternately fighting to keep people from propositioning the Mand’alor, and fighting to keep them listening to her. Myles very thoroughly regretted adopting her, because – and he couldn’t believe he was saying this – she was worse than Jaster. She went through Tor’s records, and current organisation and set about ordering people around like she was planning a campaign. It was only when she ordered Mij out with several other verd and the eighty newly freed slaves and prisoners to be returned to their homes or nearest Jedi Medicorps facility that he realised that she was not going to be a figurehead. The more things she organised the more nervous Myles became. She ordered, ordered! (he couldn’t wait to see the reactions of the clan leaders), a meeting of clans in Keldabe. She used the old traditional way, of demanding tribute from every clan, and for them to send those to represent their clans, but she did not only ask for a warrior, she asked for those who oversaw the food, trade and greater mercenary companies.
They arrived in Keldabe, to find another two Jedi waiting for her. One a tiny Sephi woman in practical Jedi robes, the other a tall Neti, who had chosen to look more tree than human, but wore Jedi robes just the same. She greeted them in an even older dialect of Mando’a and Myles hastily downloaded a translator and felt his heart clench as it became apparent that both had known Tarre Viszla in his time.
He then clocked Jaster, waiting at the front of the True Mandalorian crowd and he strode across as fast as he could without it being seen as a flat-out sprint.
“Jaster!” he all but glomped the man.
“Myles, you’re alive! You sent no word! Did you find Mij?”
“Yes, alive and kicking!”
“Thank the Ka’ra!” he clapped Myles on the back, then eyed Madam Nu warily, assessing the new threat to his position as Mand’alor.
“You arrived with the new Death Watch Mand’alor, what happened to Tor? No one can tell me a tale I believe!”
Myles thumped his fist against the man’s pauldron.
“You’re really going to like her,” he stated somewhat manically, because he needed Jaster to be the buffer between him and his very rashly adopted daughter.
“Her?” Jaster sounded intrigued.
“Jaster,” he said as Madam Nu drifted in his direction, having left the two Jedi to argue with the unnervingly ever present yet invisible Mand’alor Tarre. “Might I present Mand’alor, Jocasta Nu, Clan Tal, House Mereel.”
He even managed to sound proud, rather than desperate.
There was a stunned gasp into the silence and Myles had never seen Jaster move quite so fluidly. He slipped around him and presented himself smartly before his Mand’alor with a bright thump to his chest.
“I’m Jaster Mereel, House Mereel, Leader of the True Mandalorian Supercommandos.”
Myles gaped after him, stunned. He knew Jaster had a thing for Madam Nu, but to not claim his hard-earned title of Mand’alor or at least issue a challenge?
“I’m aware,” she stated in that serene Jedi manner of hers she used when she was being polite, “your commentary on the Codes of Honour doeth provide a diverting read.”
Myles rolled his eyes skyward as Jaster predictably puffed up in pride.
“I didst wonder wherefore thee has't not approached house Viszla 'r Kast f'r their rec'rds, to furth'r thy research into the reason f'r the shifts of the int'rpretations of the resol’nare. Or the g'rane of the more closet'd tribes and clans, f'r their und'rstanding. Thou art heavily critical of the New Mandal'rian movement, yet doth has't not the sources to dispute their viewpoints as thee doth. They keepeth their own archives.”
Jaster thumbed back onto his heels, poleaxed. Myles wished Mij were there. Mij understood exactly the osik Jocasta Nu was capable of, and commiserated with tihaar.
Jaster rallied a moment later.
“There are many stark disagreements between us, which make it difficult to approach these excellent sources,” Jaster explained smoothly, and Myles really wished Mij were there. The di’kut sounded love sick rather than scolded. He shared a glance with Kal Skirata and the man stepped sharply over and tapped out in dadita on his vambrace ‘what-in-haran?’
“Remember Jocasta Nu of the Jedi Archives?”
Kal shuddered, they didn’t know her as such, more Jaster’s increasingly elaborate plans to get around her restricting access to documents.
“Meet our new Mand’alor, and my newly adopted daughter.”
Kal tilted his head incredulously.
“That’s not even the worst part!” Myles protested. “She’s got some Force osik going on and Tarre Vizsla’s ghost follows her around giving advice.”
“That must be impressive!” Kal said, and glanced about nervously as if expecting to be able to see the Force ghost, Manda knows Myles had tried every setting on his HUD to no avail.
“Right up until he reports the Death Watch scuttlebutt, which is a bet as to who will snag her as riduur.”
Kal put it together then.
“And you as her father had to sift through all the unsuitable verde?”
“No! She did. There is not a verd in Death Watch that isn’t somewhat in love with her, that woman can fight, recite our history that we didn’t know we had, and she argues with the gorane over points of law!”
“She can handle herself,” Kal sounded puzzled, “what’s wrong?”
“She wants Jaster, and is going to get him.”
They both looked across to the pair, who were now arguing over something on a data pad as if the rest of the clans were not waiting for an introduction.
“How is that a problem?”
“With Jaster distracted, Montross a traitor—”
“What?”
“—I’m going to be stuck chasing our supercommandos until Jaster gets his head out of his shebs!”
Kal considered this, realised that the other option was himself, and hastily clapped him on the back.
“Congratulations verd, on your daughter, future son in law, and rising responsibilities within the True Mandalorians!”
Kal then laughed and slung an arm around his back.
“You did think to tell your buir about this didn’t you?”
Myles groaned and dropped his helmet on Kal’s pauldron with a clang.
Myles dodged the stick the little green troll of a being wielded and stepped smartly out of range. Not that that meant anything for a Jedi. These past few months had taught him a hefty respect for not only their skill with their sabers but their speed.
“Stolen our archivist, you have.”
“She stole herself,” Myles pointed out accurately. “Can you imagine telling her what to do?”
The tiny Jedi twitched his long green ears and peered across the Keldabe library to where Jaster and Madam Nu were curled up in a padded chair he knew for a fact was meant for one.
“Knows the dangers of attachment, she does.”
“She’s attached herself firmly to the Mandalorian people, I’ve never seen such unity, for all the clan meetings are a bun fight and a half. She wins all her challenges, her policies do not alienate the orthodox or the liberal New Mandalorians, and she treats everyone’s issues like a communal challenge to overcome. She’s planting trees on Mandalore outside the domes. We don’t know what to do with her.”
The little being tilted his head and peered thoughtfully at the couple.
“Left the order, she has not. Requested to marry, she has not. Requested long loan of many data pads and holocrons, she has.”
“She knows her procedure,” Myles said slyly.
The tiny Jedi gave him a sharp stare, his ears flicking back.
“That she may build a satellite Jedi Temple on Tal lands, requested she has.”
Myles stared down at the tiny being, gobsmacked. She what?
“Me’ven?”
“With schematics and budgets, she provided us. With documentation bypassing the Ruusan Reformation, and our strict ties to the Senate she provided us. With research into a lurking darkness in the Senate she provided us. The younglings we would move here.”
It was then that it struck him the sheer scope of what Jocasta Nu was doing. She was living the Resol’nare, but with her whole soul and being, and somehow pulling the Jedi in with her.
“On Tal lands, you say?” he said weakly. “Let us see these documents.”
The Sith came, as Sith were wont to do, to treat with Mandalore. Only they found the domes gone and the forests thick. They found a temple guarded by verde with jetpacks. The Sith did not survive.
Translations
Mando’a
buy’ce - helmet
verd - warrior
di’kut – idiot (lit. forgot their pants)
utreekov – fool (lit. emptyhead)
Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad – I know your name as my child (adoption vow)
osik – crap
tihaar – clear spirits
oya – hoorah!
dadita – morse code
riduur - spouse
gorane - armourer
shebs – backside
buir - parent
me’ven – what?
Early Modern English – if someone wants to correct my best attempt please do so!
“Thou’rt rath'r distracting, hiding so. Doth useful be and holdeth the lamp. This needeth a full rec'rd.” -You are rather distracting, hiding so. Do be useful and hold the lamp. This needs to be fully recorded.
“Hie up, we don’ has't all night”. -Hurry up, we don’t have all night.
“If thou wouldst not be useful, then be thou on thy way. Thou art distracting.” – If you won’t be useful, be on your way. You are distracting
“Aye, thy attention wand'rs. Thou’rt a stout young thing, here shineth t lamp up th're. Aye, anon holdeth t still while I scan these lett'rs.” -Yes, your attention wanders. You’re a strong young thing, shine the lamp up there. Yes, and hold it still while I scan these letters.
“Death Watch, h’re?” – Death Watch, here?
“I by the sou’ passage so ent’r’d. Knoweth thee that this be a Sith temple?” – I entered by the South passage. Did you know this is a Sith temple?
“They’ve breeched the walls. They’ll not long liveth through such an intrusion.”-They have breeched the walls, they will not live long after intruding.
“Thou doeth seem the traps to have avoideth, but once thee has't trigg'r'd the physical traps, any through the passages moveth shall trigg'r the spells.” -You seemed to have avoided the traps, but once you’ve triggered the physical traps, anyone who moves through the passages shall trigger the spells.
“Aye, hmm. That wast a constrict'r, t’wouldst crusheth the lungs 'r heart, depending.” -Yes, hmm. That was a constrictor, it would have crushed the lungs or heart, depending.”
“Oh, hush, we’ve an hour bef're the traps doeth reset. I’ll thee the deactivation showeth.”-Oh, hush, we have an hour before the traps reset. I’ll show you the deactivation.
“I supposeth thee must, at that. Lead on.” – I suppose you must, at that. Lead on.
“The Temple’s grand stair would to the surface leadeth, but caution serveth them to pull rocks our exit to thus conceal.” – The temples grand stair would lead to the surface, but they concealed the exit by pulling rocks down.
“Forsooth?” – really/truly?
“Thou wield thy lightsabre incorrectly, young ser—”-You wield your lightsaber wrong, young ser
“This be no challenge young ser, thy footwork is lacking, and thou flaunt thy saber instead of fight with it!” This is no challenge, young ser, your footwork is shoddy, and you flaunt your saber instead of fight with it.
“Tis nay challenge with thee as thou art!” – It is no challenge with you as you are.
“Nay, I wouldst tutor thee! Thy feet!” – No I would tutor you. Your feet.
“Yet, t doest not chooseth thee. Relinquish the blade, alloweth t rest!” – Yet, it does not choose you. Relinquish the blade, allow it to rest.
“Tis not mine own duty.” – It’s not my duty.
“Thou jest, Tarre! Who then whouldst this soul rul'r be?” – You’re kidding, Tarre! Who’s going to be the Soul Ruler?
“Tis but a sup'rstition, the mask of the Mand'alor is a far most wondrous'r symbol!” – It is but a superstition, the mask of the Mand’alor is a much more magnificent symbol.
“t hath been lost, m're is the pity” – it’s been lost, more’s the pity.
“Mercy! Is this how thee greeteth thy new Mand'alor?” – Mercy! Is this how you greet your new Mand’alor?
“I’m aware, your commentary on the Codes of Honour doeth provide a diverting read.” – I’m aware, your commentary on the Codes of Honour provides a diverting read.”
“I didst wonder wherefore thee has't not approached house Viszla 'r Kast f'r their rec'rds, to furth'r thy research into the reason f'r the shifts of the int'rpretations of the resol’nare. Or the g'rane of the more closet'd tribes and clans, f'r their und'rstanding. Thou art heavily critical of the New Mandal'rian movement, yet doth has't not the sources to dispute their viewpoints as thee doth. They keepeth their own archives.” -I did wonder why you haven’t approached house Viszla or Kast for their records, to further your research into the reason for the shifts of the interpretations of the resol’nare. Or the Gorane or the more closeted tribes and clans, for their understanding. You are heavily critical of the New Mandalorian Movement, yet don’t have the sources to dispute their viewpoints as you do. They keep their own archives.