Reports on…
“On the Matter of the Son-Tuul Fiasco at Arco’s Prison”
Folks,
Some of you might’ve heard a ruckus out near Arco’s holding block.
Turns out the Son-Tuul Pride thought they had themselves a soft target and a clean job.
What they walked into was a wall of Mandalorians not by accident, but by design.
For a while now, we let a few crumbs of information drift toward the ears that always itch for Mandalorian secrets. They bit down hard. Real hard. Sent a pack of “elite” hired guns to storm a prison they figured was lightly watched.
It wasn’t.
Aliit S’badai pulled the reins on coordinating our clans, setting every piece where it needed to be. Scouts in the shadows. Rifles in the dirt. Helmets pointed at every door those mercs could’ve dreamed of using.
By the time Son-Tuul’s finest got within spitting distance, the fight was already over. Some fell quickly. The rest tossed their weapons and begged for a capture instead of a burial.
Can’t blame ’em. Pride’s been sending folk into meat grinders lately.
Those we caught talked fast. Faster than the barrels cooled.
They pointed us toward a handler, a little rat named Draavek Holth, who tried to sprint out of the city like he’d forgotten we own jetpacks. S’badai trackers scooped him up before he hit the outskirts.
Under questioning, he swore up and down he wasn’t the one who started this. Said he was just the middleman.
Then he whispered a name like it burned to say it:
Thorpe
That’s all he gave. No location. No motive. No plan.
Just a name dropped in the dark.
Good enough for me.
We swept the streets, rooftops, alleys, and scrub beyond the city.
Didn’t find a trace of Thorpe. Didn’t catch so much as a shadow of Son-Tuul.
If they’re hiding, they’re hiding deep — and if they’re running, they ain’t looking back.
As for the survivors:
Those wanted by other governments have already been shipped to the folks who’ve been waiting to hang ’em.
Those under death sentence were delivered to the planets, promising to finish the job.
Those with cleaner records stay in Mandalorian hands until we decide what they truly are.
Son-Tuul hasn’t said a word. Not a denial. Not a defense.
Maybe they’re embarrassed. Maybe they’re lost.
Maybe they finally realized they don’t understand what a coordinated Mandalorian Aliit looks like.
We didn’t chase them. We just stood where they had to fall.
Joe Wales L’gyr,
Mandalorian, Iron Mando, Vod of Aliit S’badai
