So I wanted to upload this chapter yesterday, had it all prepared before I arrived at home, I thought. You can't imagine how much I wanted to cry when I logged onto my computer and couldn't find the file I'd thought I'd transferred from my notepad earlier in the day. Especially as I was sure I'd deleted the thing off my pad. Hey, don't ask. Just know I was completely bummed last night. I ended up staying up way too late, doing dailies out on Illum, and yelling at the idiot griefers who decided to pummel my poor characters.

Which brings me to a couple of good news points this morning:

(1) Obviously, I found the file on my notepad. Touched it up a bit and here it is, bright and early this morning.

(2) Got my characters of Gaibriel and Khyriel done with their dailies on Illum. Gaibriel did a fantastic job during a HM run to take down Xeno. He's got more than enough helix-parts to get himself a fancy new legacy weapon, yay! Oh, and he looks hot in that Gree armor-set. Then Khyriel managed to sneak every single friggin' orb into the pylon, despite that jackass who kept hunting for him. Next time you're begging for heals, you jerk, I'll literally shoot a bird at my computer screen, trust me! Go pick on the Pubs, dangit! (Sorry, Gaibriel.)


They called him "Bloodworthy". Only because he swore the Hunt's purpose was to cull the weak from the ranks of true warriors, to prove one's strength. Not for wealth or privilege. Which isn't to say he begrudged such prizes, either. But he held the title of champion, firmly, only to show the galaxy as a whole that he was worthy of it.

And the name stuck. Better than the name of his homeworld did, even. That name was lost somewhere along the way. But he was quick to point out his world made true warriors, strong and capable. He swore they were tougher and greater than the Mandalorians themselves, said the code the Mandalorians held so fast to was really a binding, a hindrance.

"Keeps 'em so locked into rote step, there's no real advantage, no spur towards better. A real warrior doesn't let anyone or anything judge him unworthy. He just shows 'em the might and power he's capable of, cause he already knows it's beyond judging."


The Mandalorians were pounding the table towards the end of the meal, trying to keep the beat to the songs they were singing. Kastiel laughed as she watched them, her head swimming from the potent fruit-flavored liquor that Rykos kept filling her cup with. Artus watched her from his place at the head of the table, amused as she sang along using words she wasn't certain of the meaning to yet.

She'd have to learn mando'a, he thought. And Fett's warriors on Dromund Kaas had learned how interested she was in learning, too.

Speaking of Fett's warriors … he smiled with amusement as he noticed Rykos moving his chair closer to Kastiel's again. She didn't even consciously note the subtle movement, her lack of interest was so total. But she still scooted back slightly. The process continued for several more moments, until the bounty hunter was very practically sitting in Gault's lap. She pressed up against him, almost.

The Devaronian glanced over, grinning at the offending Mando as he pushed one single booted foot against the man's chair just as he was reaching over to try and touch Kas' knee under the table. Rykos yelled out a disagreeable sound when his chair flew back, but the rest of the Mandalorians cheered when he tumbled to the floor. Rykos just laughed as he rolled smoothly back to his feet, bowing low in a dramatic gesture towards the crowd.

"N'eparavu takisit," Rykos said, smiling towards Kastiel. She shrugged, looking confused at the mando'a words. "An apology, champion. Means 'I eat my insult'. Had no right to touch you. Your friend was right to boot me on my ass." Artus grunted approvingly from his seat at the head of the table, pointing at Rykos, "Hah, the Devaronian saved you, Rye! And you know it!"

Rykos blushed, then, even as laughter rang through the hall once again. He knew well that the warning in Artus' tone was real enough, no matter how much laughter ensued. Not that any warrior would cast disparaging views towards the Champion even if she'd taken dozens of lovers to her bed. Although Rykos strongly doubted it, too. But no honorable warrior would tolerate insults towards her, either. It was Mandalore himself who broke the nose of the soldier who'd snidely joked that Devaronian horns must give the hunter something to hold onto when she took her pleasure.

Artus had sneered down at the bleeding man, "Insult a Mando woman like that, and it won't be my fist you have to worry about. Mando women just take you apart! Learn the lesson today, from me, and be grateful for it."

Rykos was glad, now, when Mako suddenly diverted everyone's attention. The small female suddenly bent over as she endured a fit of coughing, gagging against the taste of the liquor the Mandalorians were passing around the table. "Oh, gods, I'm dying! How the hell do you people drink that stuff? It's like pure fire against the back of my throat!"

Mako leaned over the table, looking utterly pitiful as she hung her head there, desperately dragging cool air into her mouth. The sight produced another rowdy burst of laughter from the Mandalorians, who called out to her, "Don't let the tihaar get the best of you, Mako!" She enjoyed the ribaldry, actually. She happily threw her empty cup at one of the warriors, who laughed as he caught it up and filled it with more of the fruity brandy.

Kastiel grabbed the now-full cup from him, though, holding it up as more cheers sounded through the dining hall and fists pounded the table. The steady beat of their palms against the table's surface pulsed through the space as Kas gulped the tihaar down until it was gone. She tossed the cup into the air once it was empty again, laughing when the Mandalorians followed suit, all of them throwing their empty cups so that they fell with a resounding clatter onto the floor around the table.

It was Kastiel who noted movement near the doorway, though. She spun quickly, kicking out with one foot to send a single, hard cup flying through the air towards the door. The armored man entering the room, though, caught the thing rather easily, even if he did grumble at the effort. The Zabrak woman next to him snarled, "What did I tell you guys? Mandalorians are stupid crazy. We could wipe their drunk asses all over this floor right now. What say you?"

Kastiel shrugged. "Is that before or after you wipe the blood off your head?"

The woman sneered at her. "What blood are you talking about, infant?"

"The blood that'll spill over your face when I shoot your horns off." Kastiel smiled at her, then. "Don't get me wrong, either. They're real nice horns. I'd hate to see you lose them."

The man chuckled, his brown almond-shaped eyes crinkling. "I like her, Jew'la. She's got gumption. It'll take her far."

"Don't make me laugh, Bloodworthy. Real gumption would have her telling every Mandalorian in this room to stick their damn notions of so-called honor straight up their ass. Not sing along with them." Jew'la Nightbringer sneered at the entire gathering, taking perverse pleasure from the angry mumbles she heard. None of them had balls enough, she knew, to say a single negative word to her face. Kastiel didn't have balls, though, and she certainly didn't count on them.

"And you call me an infant? At least I don't throw a whiny fit when the big kids don't want to play with me."

Bloodworthy barked out a sound of amusement, then, heartily slapping an open palm against Jew'la's rigid back and ignoring the glare she shot towards him. He just pushed her into the room while Artus climbed to his feet. The Mandalorians were pounding the table again as the Hunt's champions entered. "Mandalore! We made it to your party! Now introduce the newest champion, so we can get down to the celebrating. Hell, that's why I came! You, there! Go make sure Mandalore's stocks of black ale haven't already been guzzled, quick! Defenestrator will get angry if you drank it all."

"I do not consume liquid beverages, Bloodworthy, as you are well aware." Kastiel was rather surprised the droid champion of the Great Hunt didn't clank his way into the room. Somehow, she thought, droids should clank. They had metal parts, after all. Metal was supposed to clank on metal. But the Defenestrator moved smoothly into the room, not even swinging his head to look around. Like a stalking predator. It was almost eerie, in a way.

Jew'la sighed loudly. "It's called humor, droid. Download a program. It might help."

Artus called out, then, his voice booming above the tumult of voices, insults, and challenges. "Friends! Champions! It's time!" Kastiel was wondering which one she was – friend or champion … both? - when several hard armored hands pushed against her back, propelling her towards the Mandalore. She shot the group behind her a hard-edged glare when she stumbled, but they hid there behind suddenly helmeted faces, looking duly Mandalorian. She just knew they were laughing behind those faceplates! "Kastiel Blade," Artus intoned solemnly.

Everything became quiet suddenly, all of the Mandalorians turning in near synchronization to face the Mandalore. Kastiel nodded as she stepped closer to him. Mako held her breath, actually reaching out to nudge Gault with a single elbow. He shoved her back, of course.

"Is that what you want? To be a Mando?"

"Mandoes saved me once. They were tough, strong. They destroyed the sons of bitches who killed my mother, and they did it without even breaking a sweat. Then they picked me up and carried me miles when others would've left me to die….Yea, Mako. I want that, to be a part of that, to belong to it. I want it, so that my enemies will stop to think twice before threatening me ever again."

Mandalore didn't produce some wordy document, then. No tomes or books, no law-making rule-enforcing dignitaries. There wasn't even a droid to document the occasion. Unless you counted the Defenestrator, who everyone knew wouldn't forget a single word or sight of the entire process. Very few knew Kastiel wouldn't forget any of it, either.

But Artus only stood taller, looming over Kastiel's upturned face. He looked down at her, at the scars that etched across her face and the implants spanning the soft flesh under her eyes. And he told them all his intention. He said, "Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad."

Word as action, the Mandalorian way. He called her his child. So she was.


The stars were sliding by outside the viewing screen in front of them. Kastiel watched them moving along, her hands clasped together behind her back as she stood there, pondering the worlds beyond their sight, teeming with life. And of dying, of course. There was never life without dying. It was how you lived in the meantime that was important, right?

Artus watched her, though. Not the stars. Perhaps because he'd seen more stars in the course of his own life than Kastiel. More likely he just found her rather more interesting right then. He eased himself back in his chair, raising a cup to his mouth to gulp down one last draught of ale. "Not right that I didn't tell you of the war before I asked you to join us, Kastiel. More that it's not right I'll leave you behind, leave you on your own to show them what it is we are, the best we have to offer. There's always been a Mandalorian, here, that held the title of Champion. But I would've liked to show you what it was to be Mandalorian before I marched off, too."

She twisted a grin towards him. "I wouldn't have changed my mind, though. You could've told me I'd go with you, rather, that I'd fight on your battlefields, and I would've done it."

He regarded her. "That only makes me wonder what might've changed your mind, though."

She shrugged, looking back towards the stars. "My people. There's no warrior stronger than the one who fights for and is fought for, in turn, by his people. If you'd asked me to compromise them, turn on them, or allow them to be harmed – well, that would've proved problematic."

He hummed softly, resting back against his chair again. He was deeply satisfied, sitting there, watching the light streaming in through the viewing screen to shine across her face. She proved so many things to him, this hunter from out of the masses of the galaxy. Proved what the Hunt was all about, what it was designed to do, to find. "I know there's more to that statement than one small cyborg and snarky Devaronian, too. But I won't ask about the others, either. Just remember you're not fighting alone anymore."

The Mandalore stood up. The hall wasn't completely empty, he saw. There was still a small crowd of Mandalorians gathered around the table, playing pazaak with the Defenestrator. He grunted a sound of amusement as he spied them, there, wondered at the temerity of warriors who'd take on a droid in a game of chance.

"Mandalore?" He turned back to Kastiel. She'd crossed her arms across her chest when she faced the room again, frowning with curiosity. She didn't stammer out the question, either. She addressed him directly, certainly, so that he knew it was more something she'd been pondering for a time. "What is aru'tal? I don't know what the word means."

Artus sighed, then. He'd heard the whispers coming back from Dromund Kaas. Hell, it wasn't even only one of the warriors that told him what happened. They'd all wanted to know his feelings, how he'd react, once he was told Jicoln's son touched her. But he'd only listened to each telling, nodded, and then changed the subject.

Now he stepped closer to his own chosen fighter, the one he'd called his child. And he told her, "It means 'blood of the traitor'. A son of someone who's betrayed us, our traditions." She frowned, and he saw her eyes spark, then darken slowly. He wondered what she was thinking, actually. "It isn't a fair word to call a man, isn't right. We say, 'Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.' It means, 'Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.' But even Mandalorians sometimes doubt, I know."

Kas just stood there, stiffly, angry, her fists clenched. Then she muttered, almost growled, "They insulted him. For nothing."

He understood suddenly, like light flashing, saw what it was she was so angry for. It was Lek who'd warned him, as he was bent over his worktable crafting the armor that stretched across Kastiel's chest now, back when Tarro Blood still threatened her. "She hates him because of the old hunter, the one Tarro killed. Braden was her friend, and Tarro shot him down because of her. She'll make him pay for hurting one of her own." She was a protector, a defender. Harm someone she considered hers and she fought. Fought hard and furious.

And she'd lain claim to the warrior already. Determined enough, he thought, watching her. She'd have the man, he knew.

He considered who might deserve a warning of his ad's ferocity, before she beat the one stupid enough to say something in her presence now that she knew what it was, that insult. But as he watched her turn away to face the viewing screen again, her back rigid and straight with stiff pride and determination, he smiled, rather. Let them learn for themselves how strong she was, he decided. It was Kastiel he soothed, instead.

"It won't be easy, ad. But remember. I trust your judgment, respect your decisions. There may be those who question that. You will not. Do you understand me?"

She looked at him, her dark eyes liquid, deep. "What's the word for 'father'?"

"Buir is what we call father. Mother, too. The word is the same. There's no role more valuable in the life of a Mandalorian than that of a parent."

She nodded. "My father was strong, heroic even. He shaped me, loved me. You will never replace him, not really." Then she looked at him. "But I'll call you buir. Yes. I understand you."

It was an honor she offered him, a gesture of tremendous respect. He recognized it. Just as much as she recognized the blessing he'd offered her intentions. He placed one large hand against her armored shoulder, pausing. Then he turned and walked away. And she watched him go.


Now that Kastiel is learning mando'a, I have a good reason to include a lot of the translations in the actual text. "Ad", since I didn't translate the word above, means "child or son or daughter". As the story progresses and Kastiel learns the language better, she and Torian will speak that language, to each other, exclusively. At that point, the text won't neccessarily include the mando'a words themselves, even though they'll be using it. Just a heads-up.

The adoption process, as I described here, is nothing more than a simple statement of intention. The Mandalorians call it "gai bal manda" (name and soul). It involves nothing more than the Mandalorian's declaration "ni kyr'tayla gai sa'ad", or "I know your name as my child." That, along with the individual's adherence to the six rules of the Resol'narre (the Mandalorian code), is all it takes to become a Mandalorian. These aren't a people who stand on elaborate formalities.

It's equally easy to lose one's Mandalorian identity, too. The individual can renounce it themselves, or it can be taken away. Exile is rare but greatly feared by most Mandalorians. Jicoln's exile to Taris would be one example.

ihaar was a clear, colorless liquour traditionally made by Mandalorians. It had a very high alcoholic content and a strong taste, burning the tongue and throat as it was consumed. Mandalorians joked that it could be used to degrease engine parts. It was typically made from whatever fruit was available, making every tihaar unique as it took on the taste of whatever fruit it was made from.

One last note: I used information included in the SWTOR Encyclopedia to describe Bloodworthy, above.