Mandalore waited three weeks before he was assured of the Jedi Council's answer to his declaration of war, the delivery of fallen Jedi to the Dantooine Enclave. Within that week he began to move from the Hades System to the Dantooine System, knowing that if he were to threaten the Dantooine Jedi Enclave then the order would have no choice but to fight back.
Standing on the bridge of his flagship, The Ravager, Mandalore watched as his fleet decimated a task Force of Republic Ships, occasionally ordering his communications officers to relay messages ordering his fleet to rearrange. He smirked under his helmet; the battle was going exceedingly well. He had drawn the Republic in by crippling a group of refugee ships before supposedly slipping away. In reality, he had several sensors set up by his ships that would alert him when the fleet arrived so that his fleet could ambush the Republic ships at their weakest moment: caring for the weak.
It was a great tactical success, and almost immediately after arrival, his fleet began to slaughter everything, civilian craft and warship alike. He knew that at times civilians needed to die in order for a power to be triumphant in war, and he also knew that the Republic didn't feel the same way, giving him an advantage.
He watched silently as the Republic ships scattered and his victorious ships regrouped and continued their journey toward Dantooine. As soon as he was satisfied with the carnage, he turned and began to make his way to his quarters, the sound of his boots clanging on the metal floor.
"Soon…" Mandalore muttered, "The real war will begin…"
Meanwhile, the Jedi Council on Dantooine was convening, discussing the Coruscant Council's decision to back the Republic in the war against the Mandalorians.
Upon the arrival of the bodies of the fallen Jedi a great anxiety fell upon the entirety of the Jedi Order, all saw war was coming, but only a few realized the menace that Mandalore would become.
As before, there were those who still promoted peace, but even they realized that the only way that negotiations would be possible was if Mandalore was killed or captured.
Immediately after the council meeting ended, plans for a strike team were being drawn up. One of the few volunteers for the mission was a young padawan named Bastila Shan, a young woman brimming with self-confidence, power, and in possession of both incredible beauty and a powerful Force ability called 'Battle Meditation' that could potentially allow for the Mandalorians to finally be beaten.
Bastila sat in her chambers, meditating on the Force, her clothing fitting her figure perfectly. Her chestnut hair draped down to her shoulders, her light blue eyes remained closed as she levitated slightly, her pale skin a contrast to her hair. Despite her being a picture of peace, something was wrong.
As she meditated she received a vision. She saw herself and several other Jedi facing off against a dark figure emanating pure power. She saw the Jedi be struck down and herself be disarmed and beaten by the single combatant. After that she felt a sense of dread and oppression, as if something were looming over her every thought, and then she saw the face of a man most likely in his mid twenties.
The face was masculine; several battle scars were engraved into it, and it seemed to dominate her thoughts. His eyes were nonexistent, shrouded in shadow and his hair black as the darkest night. And the worst part of the vision was the unending flood of sensations that she was unable to describe, a mixture of ecstasy and fear, freedom and guilt.
Her eyes shot open and she fell to the ground, landing with a thump.
"What did it mean?" she whispered as she slowly stood. "Wait a moment… it can't be…"
She knew the face to be that of a Jedi she once knew, just a few years older than her, who she had trained with when she was younger. She remembered his name to be Revan, an orphan boy who had been rescued by Jedi responding to a distress signal from a crashed ship on Dantooine. She remembered vividly how he was always a magnificent duelist with the lightsaber and a powerful Force user.
The thing she remembered most fondly, however, was how they had trained together, lived together, and became very close. They soon formed a bond that was seemingly unbreakable and, even though the council frowned upon the emotional attachment, began to fall in love. However, when Revan turned sixteen, he started to show his Mandalorian heritage in training. He became angry, prideful, and power hungry. His tactical mind began to develop, and he became a master strategist, often drawing his opponent in and giving them the impression that they have the advantage, before striking his opponent down in a relentless onslaught.
She had seen Revan do this in games, sparring, bartering and daily life, but one day he took it too far.
She remembered vividly when she went out into the wilderness with Revan and their master at the time, Master Kreia. The resulting duel ended with Revan's first kill. His Mandalorian roots came in every respect into view as he mercilessly attacked Kreia before Bastila's eyes, executing her as she begged for her life.
Bastila sat down on her bed, pulling her double-bladed lightsaber off of her belt and holding it limply. She knew now that she would have to try to kill her last true friend, just as she now knew Malak had, and she recognized deep inside of her that Revan wouldn't be taken alive and for some reason she was bothered by that greatly.
She sighed and thought back, recalling the day that Revan was excommunicated from the Order, how she wept as he turned his back on her and everyone they had grown up around. She saw how enraged Revan was, how she could sense everything in him screaming at once, ordering him to slaughter everyone in the enclave, and how he assuredly began to come up with a plan for revenge immediately.
Bastila got up, clipping her lightsaber back onto her belt and walking out of her room, heading for the council chambers for her mission orders, a part of her not wanting to move for an unknown reason.
Mandalore entered his personal quarters and sighed softly as the blast doors closed behind him. Looking around, he took in the militaristic feel, the weapons and armor adorning the walls, along with his various trophy collections, including nearly two-dozen lightsabers. Walking over to the lightsabers, he reached out with the Force, using it to learn about every Jedi or Dark Jedi that had wielded the weapons at the time of their deaths.
He smirked, feeling no regret, but pride at his many victories. Striding over to his footlocker, he began to take off his armor. Kneeling in front of his locker, he began to ritualistically place his armor and weapons neatly into their proper positions within. He then picked up a small picture, crinkled by time and wear.
The picture was from his time as a Jedi; taken on Dantooine it showed his friends Malak, Bastila, and himself. He shook his head, his mind going back to better times, friendships, training sessions, nights in the wilderness and memories worth more than any material item. He felt a pang of guilt for his actions, his best friend, from as far back as he could remember, had died by his hand.
"Malak… My friend, I apologize, but this is war, and you were my enemy. I don't know how I will be able to kill Bastila, I know she's the one they will send after me." He looked at the picture, his thumb moving over Bastila's face, wishing he could see her on less violent terms, "And I know I will have to kill her… but I am uncertain if I can bring myself to strike her down when the time comes…"
He set the picture down and closed the footlocker, standing, and walking over to his closet. He threw on a stately robe and lay on his bed, thinking of his old friends. He knew that he had to kill Bastila, but there was a part of him that still thought fondly of her. Mandalore took off his mask, the same mask he wore when not in battle, the same mask he wore in shame when the Jedi exiled him, and set it aside, wondering how he would be able to kill the woman he once loved. Then it came to him: he wouldn't have to.
