Forward: We all of us have things in our past we aren't proud of. Not all battle scars are on one's body. Some of us work tirelessly to do what good we can do to expunge those sins. In truth those wrongs we've committed will never be erased, they visit us in the darkest moments and haunt our steps around unseen corners. Everyone has a struggle in life. The key is turning that struggle into your weapon. We all fight our own battles, both internal and external. In that regard, we are all warriors, regardless of creed. Make no mistake: life is a war. So do not judge those who fall beside you before the conflict is done. Instead, bear them forth honorably and treat them as the fallen warriors that they are. The loss of a loved one/comrade is painful, make no mistake. But somewhere down the line, you'll be sitting in a cantina, a mug of ale in one hand and a blaster in the other. And you'll tip your cup to the sky in honor of your fallen friend and know that somewhere high above, they're tipping their own down to you.

To those who have been with me on this journey, I say thank you. To those loved ones and comrades taken from us all too soon "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum." This story is for you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of its character and while plot points are from various RPG games, I take no credit for their origins only of their application in the story therein. This a labor of love and not for profit though if Disney or Lucas Arts would like to hire my creative brain, I'd be more than happy to drop everything and come running. Please read and leave a review.

Mandalorian Redemption:

Chapter 1: Rogue

Unknown Moon: Mandalorian Space:

The snow crunched beneath beskar shod boots as the warrior swaggered along his path. A dreamscape of white powder spread out around him. The ominous howl of the wind was interrupted only the heavy footfalls in the ankle-deep powder. The pale pristine sheet was tarnished by the droplets of crimson that dotted his path. They match those that ran along the length of his long blade.

Reaffirming his grip on the newly acquired beskad, the warrior followed the trail of blood. He moved slowly with the caution of a seasoned hunter. The droplets grew in number the further he tracked. Soon they combined into splotches which than morphed into puddles. His prey had underestimated the severity of its injury.

Snow began to fall, peppering his armor and drifting across the path. The moment the flakes hit the blood they evaporated. What had begun as long stride marks had dissolved into staggering stumbling canyons in the snow. More blood pooled in these holes. The snowfall was getting heavier, but it wouldn't matter. Jarek's prey wouldn't get far.

It wasn't long before the scattered footprints and sprays of red fluid ended. In their place knelt a man in full Mandalorian armor. A stylized jai'galaar in mid-dive adorned his shoulder plate. The deep greys and blues of his outfit blended well with the landscape, but not enough to hide from the lone predator.

The man leaned heavily on one arm while the other clutched at his side, crimson flowed freely between his gloved fingers. As Jarek approached the helmeted face turned towards him. The bloodied hand raised toward the approaching Mandalorian. Between the bloody fingers, Jarek could see himself reflected in the visor. He didn't need to see his eyes to know the man was in fear.

Life's hardest choices are the ones that force someone to question their own moral code. Jarek's choices lead him here. Standing against those he had once called brothers and sisters.

He'd never bought all the osik that Mandalorians didn't fear death. They feared death as much as any aruetiise. The difference is that they accepted that death is the natural state of things. Death is inevitable. Those who fool themselves into believing otherwise are only causing more pain in the future. The true purpose of life is to live in such a way that beings will remember you long after you yourself have returned to dust.

Jarek barely gave the pleading gesture a moment's consideration. Casually he deposited the foot and a half-length of steel into the snow next to the wounded warrior. It landed in a puff of powder just out of arms reach. It was his after all. Next, he drew the Westar 35 blaster pistol from his thigh holster.

Jarek had sworn to uphold the tenants of the Mandalorians. He had promised to never compromise the honor of the Death Watch. Jarek was told he would be the sword that protected his people from the threats of the galaxy.

He had been a damned fool.

In the polarized surface of the warrior's visor, he saw Jilo's pleading tear-filled eyes and the blade ran home. He saw Gare's bloody rictus as his life ebbed away. Somewhere beyond the wails of the encroaching snowstorm, he heard the female voice demand, "Why? Why would you do this?"

At that moment he realized it was the kneeling Watchmen that was moaning the same word. "Wh…why?" he coughed and stumbled, and the words came weakly, "Why are you…doing this?"

Jarek could've offered some form of justification for his actions; why this warrior needed to die. He could've given enough validation he might've been able to convince his prey that he was in the right. Visions of his crew, his family swam before him. Images of purple eyes and a beautiful smile. Loved ones he might never see again.

The blaster was leveled, the sights lining up with the chest of the defeated warrior. He didn't deserve to know, and he didn't have the time.

"N…no…honor," the warrior managed to croak out clutching at his wounded side. Even suffering from blood loss the Watchman managed a defiant tone. "A mando…with no honor is no better than an aruetiise."

Honor is what separates them from all the aruetiise of the galaxy. It's their honor that bound them to one another as brothers and sisters, honor that keeps them true and calm in battle. It is honor alone that has led Mandalorians to victory a thousand times, and it is honor that will lead them to victory a thousand times again. Their honor is what defines them, what guides them, what molds their lives into something beautiful and worthy of showing the galaxy. And those without honor are lost souls, unworthy of living but too pathetic to die.

The worst fate for a Mandalorian is not damnation or eternal pain. It is to merely be forgotten. To be lost among the countless masses of dead passing to the next world with every hour that ticks by. To be forever separated from the actions of this world, until all memory of one's life and deeds are gone, and long past being remembered. To have not a single tear shed in memory of one's passing.

The weapon barked once, and the snow was stained in a great swath of red fluid.

"Tion ke'gyce ner kad al'ijaat?" Jarek said before kneeling and ripping the chest diamond from the dead man's chest. The piece of beskar was deposited into a pouch filled with others.

History may brand him a traitor to his people; a rebel or renegade without a cause. In the end, it didn't matter how history remembered him. What mattered is that he followed his own path. And that path had only one ending…

"I'm coming for you father," Jarek whispered to the storm, "I'm coming for you all."