The Story Of Pq'narc

Pq'narc stirred on the straw makeshift mat. Slowly he opened his crusted eyes to stare at the tent ceiling. To his side, Alina groaned at his movement. Slowly he rose, stretching with a long yawn. Pq'narc looked down at the large gash on his left leg. The yellow puss oozed out dripping down the red skin. Pq'narc chuckled at the young Aconouran den man who died giving him that wound.

Slowly the white sun rose over the valley, glinting on the spears shoved into the ground. Pq'narc stood in the middle of the Sti'va city, hundreds of low brown buildings surrounding him. A few fires still giving smoke from yesterday's siege.

The four dens of Mandalore had attacked Sti'va in 2499, making it the trophy piece. Pq'narc and all his warrior brothers were fighting for the survival of the Sti'va den. Today is the day, Pq'narc silently thought to himself. He raised his sword arm to scratch his forehead. We cannot survive another full siege. Pq'narc quietly walked to the Commons area for breakfast.

While eating the small piece of bread, Pq'narc vomited abruptly and saw in mind's eye several armies marching toward the den. Within seconds Pq'narc was at the center of the town ringing the city bell sounding alert. The entire Sti'va den came alive. From above, the brown city seemed to meld together in rapid preparation.

Today is a good day to die, Pq'narc said to himself. He had painted his face with blood drawn from his arm. In his left, muscular arm he held a long scimitar that glinted gold in the sunlight. How did I see that this morning? Within minutes after Pq'narc announced the attack the watchmen called out several clans approaching.

The battle quickly ensued. The outcome was obvious from the start: only five thousand of the Sti'va den were left alive, fighting the combined forces of thirty thousand.

Behind Pq'narc cool blue water flowed, starting to turn red. He, along with his comrades, were hopelessly outnumbered. Pq'narc had suffered several scratches, and not a limb on him did not ache, or bleed. Two hours had passed, and Sti'va was not taken.

Pq'narc turned left and stroked downward ducking, removing the leg from one opponent. With another deft move, Pq'narc beheaded the warrior attacking from behind. Pq'narc's movements seemed to be guided. He no longer thought of what was occurring, only the importance of survival.

Again, in his dance of death, Pq'narc dipped and came up the chest line of a poor fellow. Another bow and turn and a fourth opponent lay dying. Pq'narc came to himself and looked at his surroundings. At least ten lay dead around him, the battle raging namely to the Ulyna. His great den of Sti'va was burning to the ground. Not a single green entity was left in sight. Pq'narc turned to drink from the stream traveling through the city but found it to be thick, and clotted with blood. The sun burned on his skin, high in the sky.

Suddenly Pq'narc was overwhelmed with grief. The world cried in pain to him at once. He heard the many voices of the dead screaming in agony to him. The universe had just placed all pain on him. Pq'narc saw the stupidity of the war, the pure insanity. Why must the five dens who lived together so well fight?

Pq'narc cried. Tears mixed with blood, and sweat streamed down his tired face. He collapsed to his knees, holding his face, shunning himself from the world he had done so much harm to. Slowly Pq'narc rose and walked toward the red stream. Timidly he raised his blood-spattered scimitar and brought it down quickly upon both wrists. From above a pocket in the battle formed around him, seeming to sway in synchronous motion.

Pq'narc's breath came in gasps. Slowly his reflection swayed in the stream. Tears continued to stream from his face. Pq'narc felt a sharp pain in his back. From the size of the blade, he could tell it was a knife. The world faded out of consciousness and he found himself alone, naked in a plain. The world glowed all around him. Each living thing held a blue aura that seemed to reach him. Pq'narc felt warm and accepted the energy which sparked out to him.

A majestic tree, rising several hundred feet into the air encompassed him, healing the wounds from the battle. Pq'narc felt completely serene.

Slowly Pq'narc awoke. At first, he felt the powerful grief overwhelming him. Then he thought of his world, his people, and a warm sensation spread throughout his body. Slowly Pq'narc rose from the ground. He heard a thud behind him as the knife in his back slid out and hit the ground. All around him those who were battling stopped to stare as he passed among them.

Pq'narc never looked at his wrists, he knew himself to be fine. Pq'narc no longer saw the world or the people. He felt them. They were in his mind, they called out to him, speaking. Slowly he walked among the dying and laid his healing hand upon their wounds easing and healing the wounds. At a cry from within a building, he moved the hundreds of pounds of ruble away with a sweep of his hand. As one pile moved from physical pressure, another rolled to the side by will. Pq'narc emerged from the building holding a young crying child. A father quickly came who was fighting to protect the house and took the child from the newfound God.

All fighting in Sti'va had stopped. All the Mandalorians were attempting to look at the one who had healed others and saved the child. At the end of the day, Pq'narc sat down and entered a state of meditation. Again he found himself naked on the plains. He understood why the world had given him this power. He was to lead his people to unity, strength, and prosperity - the triangle. Pq'narc emerged from his state of possession to recognize his newfound skills. When he opened his eyes again the leaders of all five dens sat around him, foreheads on the ground in reverence. "Warrior Eminence, we come to serve you," they stated in unison.

"Lift your heads," Pq'narc said, "we are all fellow warriors here." Slowly Pq'narc rose, and with tears of passion and joy, he raised his arms slowly to the sky. With all the might in his body, Pq'narc yelled, "I AM MANDALORE!!!"

All the Mandalorians that night felt the mind of the Warrior Eminence. They felt his call and saw his face in their minds. High cheekbones, with round eyes. A widow's peak, and long black hair falling behind his shoulders. The most dominant feature, the element burned into their minds, was the star imposed over the triangle. The symbol had become embossed onto his forehead. Unity, strength, and prosperity echoed in their minds. That is Mandalore Py'narc the people thought. That is our ruler, our God.

The peace the Mandalore Py'narc brought has lasted to my day, the year 13,419. I tell this story as Mandalore Dy'eDrin, still reveling at the unity started in 2500 by my fellow warrior; more than ten-thousand years ago. May we all live to fight many more battles.