Author's Note: There are a few words spoken in Mando'a here, to which I've provided a translation for at the bottom of the page.
Concord Dawn - Mandalore Sector
3rd person POV…
In he local cantina of one of Concord Dawn's towns, an assortment of people were gathered to drink, gamble, or conduct more shady business. Like most cantina's in the Outer Rim, it was nothing more than the typical meeting place for scum, bounty hunters, and other criminals alike.
A trio of Twi'lek women danced at one side of the pub for the entertainment of onlookers, who'd either hoot and jeer or throw some credits their way.
Other bartenders simply sat in their booths to drink, some gambling, and others just giving any passerby a cold glare. A joyous uproar arose from one table as a gambler collected all of he money in the center, laughing in delight.
"Looks like I win again boys," the weequay gambler declares smugly, pulling the winnings to him.
"You didn't win that! You cheated!" a duros man exclaims, slamming a fist down.
"Says who, bug-eyes?" the weequays jeers. "You're nothing more than a common smuggler."
"Smuggler? I'll show you, you scum!" the duros snaps.
He leaps over the table and instantly goes for several punches. At once the bar erupts into chaos as the duros and weequay roll over each other, brawling angrily and sending fists flying. Drinks are thrown, people are shoved, and several more fistfights erupt between people. The dancers instantly scramble out of the way and move to the back with yelps of fright. The bartender instantly takes notice and tries shouting to quell the violence, but much to his frustration nobody gets calm.
The doorway to the bar then slides open, allowing a gust of wind to blow inside. All movement stills as everyone gets a look at the Mandalorian standing at the entrance of the bar.
The Mandalorian, for he could be nothing else, stands silently in the doorway for a moment, surveying the room. He's wearing armor with a gold and black style trimming, several scratch marks and smudges indicating signs of battle. Instead of the typical T-shaped visor, he had a simple horizontal visor, with a breathing apparatus attached to the bottom. Across his shoulders is a gray strap that goes down to his waist, carrying a single blaster pistol of Mandalorian design.
He then moves into the cantina with a powerful stride, sitting down at the bar up front. Seeing that he was seated, activity in the bar returns to normal as the fights quickly come to a stop, nobody wanting to risk accidentally hitting the Mandalorian.
After sitting down, the Mandalorian took off his helmet to reveal a rather handsome human man, looking to be in his mid-to-late 20s. He had a chiseled jaw and well-trimmed beard, dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He sets the helmet on the countertop and calls over the bartender, who was an Ithorian male.
"Can I get you something sir?" the bartender asks through his translator.
"Juma Juice," he requests.
The bartender pours the juice into a glass and then handsit to him, moving off to serve another customer. The Mandalorian takes a sip of the drink, placing it down just as a female Twi'lek with red skin comes sauntering over with a sway of her hips.
"Hey there handsome," she says with a sly smirk, stopping beside him.
He gives her a look but doesn't comment, going back to his drink.
"How about you and me go somewhere private and get to know each other hmm?" she asks with a seductive purr, leaning closer.
"Not interested," he replies offhandedly.
"Oh come on," she whines, slinking her arms around his shoulders and forcing him to turn towards her. "We can have all the fun we want, you and me. Maybe something more…"
As she talks, she slides her hands slowly down his arms and back, moving her lips closer to his mouth. However, he finally grabs her wrist to firmly stop her advances and holds it up between them, glaring at her. Clutched in her fingers was a sack of his credits, and she widens her eyes.
"I said, not interested," he warns her, ripping his credits out of her grasp.
The Twi'lek stumbles back nervously before scoffing, holding her head high and stomping off to find someone else to extort. He watches her go with narrowed eyes before turning back to his Juma Juice.
Finished in the bar, the Mandalorian walks back outside into the cool weather with his helmet held under one arm, ready to get on his business. As he's moving away from the cantina, an outspoken voice gets his attention.
"Well, is that not one Marcus Sohl?"
Marcus sighs, coming to a stop and turning around to see a familiar face standing feet away against the wall of the cantina. The man is also a clear Mandalorian, based on the orange and dark silvery colored armor he's wearing. He's a couple years older than Marcus, and also bears a close enough resemblance to him despite having very dark, almost black, hair.
"Raman," he greets dryly. "What are you doing here?"
"Nothing much, just catching up with my little brother," Raman replies, sauntering over with a grin on his face.
"I'm not 'little' anymore Raman," Marcus sighs in exasperation.
"Guess not. You've already got a few beauties lining up to kiss you in the bar while stealing your credits," he comments carelessly.
Marcus rolls his eyes, figuring out what he meant and that he saw the whole thing with that extorting Twi'lek and continues his walk, Raman coming up beside him.
"Maybe you'll even get yourself a jetpack at some point for such valor," Raman continues with a drawl.
"Oh you bet I will," Marcus states firmly.
"Oh a little tense are we?" he replies teasingly, moving forwards to show off the jetpack attached to his orange and silver armor. He spreads his hands out with a snarky grin. "I bet you were wishing you were me right now."
"Yeah, as if I need a jetpack to beat you up," he retorts.
"You wish!" Raman shoots back.
"Hey, you may be older, but who's the one that got to the top of the class in hand-to-hand combat?!" Marcus states triumphantly.
Raman's face falls to irritation, and another voice chimes in with a teasing laugh in his direction.
"Oh kriff, that has got to hurt!" the female voice laughs.
Marcus looks over to see his older brother's girlfriend, Aathias Doojorr, skipping over to sling an arm around Raman's shoulders. She wore armor with dark red and white trimming, and had a head of flowing blonde hair.
"You boys keep it up, and I'll end up dying from laughter," she jokes.
"Oh is that so darling?" Raman retorts with a raised eyebrow.
"I'd listen to her if I were you brother," Marcus says with a whistle.
"Oh shut it Marcus," he scoffs.
There's silence for a moment before all three burst out into quiet laughter, smiles on their faces as they walked with each other to their ships. Passerby's along the way made sure to give the Mandalorians a wide berth, not willing to be entangled with the fearsome warriors.
"Anyways, what are you doing out here anyways?" Raman asks.
"Just wanted to get out, I guess," he shrugs carelessly. "Why were you following me?"
Raman and Aathias both come to a stop and give each other a serious look before facing Marcus, who narrows his eyes in confusion.
"Vi're ba'slanar Mandya'yaim, Marcus/We're leaving Mandalore, Marcus," Aathias says grimly.
Marcus blinks in confusion and bewilderment, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.
"Meg? Tion'jor!?/What? Why?!" he demands.
"Count Drezden is having the Clan move to Dxun, where we'll reclaim the Mandalorian Outpost there," Raman explains with a confirming nod.
"I don't understand... why would he have us do that?" Marcus asks, confused and lost.
"Because of her 'royal highness' Kryze," Aathias scoffs with a scowl on her face, crossing her arms.
"...Duchess Satine and her so-called 'New Mandalorians' either want us to drop our culture and traditions for what she believes to be the 'new Mandalorian ideal,' or leave," Raman states with a frown of distaste.
"Wh-what?! That's ridiculous!" he exclaims incredulously.
"Aruetyc di'kut," Aathias mutters.
"We fought for her in the Civil War, paid with our very own blood for her against Death Watch so that she could be the leader of Mandalore. And this is how she repays us?" he continues angrily. "I personally helped her and those two Jedi bodyguards evade a pair of bounty hunters!"
"Ni susulur gar vod," Raman says sincerely. "But the whole of Mandalore thinks her way is better, and now they want us out. Apparently we're 'too violent' for their tastes."
"Absolute rubbish. Any one of those raving lunatics doesn't understand what us Mandalorian's are all about. We're warriors! Not some peace lovers! I'm willing to bet she's just a plant by the Jedi to get rid of us!" Aathias declares.
"Seriously?" Marcus asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Makes sense doesn't it? They send her in to gain power for 'peace,' they send bodyguards to protect her, then she gets the position and starts preaching the same garbage they do," she explains with another scoff of disgust. "Hypocrites, the lot of them. They preach peace, yet just jump into the fray with their lightsabers wherever they go."
"Well, can't be more of a di'kut than Revan," he comments.
"Like that's supposed to be a compliment," she retorts, rolling her eyes. "This is a nightmare..."
"So there's no getting out of this?" Marcus asks Raman seriously.
"Unfortunately, no," he sighs grimly in response. "They've already exiled a few of the other clans to Concordia, and now they've turned on us. The only thing Count Drezden could do was let us have our own freedoms away from her control."
"I can't believe this..." he mutters, running a hand through his hair to convey stress. "What are we going to do now?"
"I'm not sure," Raman admits.
"I'll get our ship started baby," Aathias murmurs to him.
She gives him a quick peck on the cheek and, he shares a smile with her, then walks away down the street towards the docking bay. The two brothers both watch him go before turning to face each other, and Raman lays a hand on Marcus's shoulder.
"I know things are tough right now, but I'm sure we can get things sorted out if we stay together, just like always," he says reassuringly.
Despite his anger and sense of loss, Marcus still smiles back at him.
"Yeah, like always," he replies fondly.
Marcus and Raman share a hug with each other, grinning in a way only brothers could. A small grunt has them looking over to see an Ithorian man looking over at them weirdly.
"Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?" Raman demands threateningly.
The Ithorian quickly scurries off in fright.
The wide open plains were alight with red and yellow laserfire. Mandalorians of several different clans were scattered across the battlefield, yelling and charging forwards into the firefight, many taking to the skies on their jetpacks. The air was filled with dust and debris, making it even harder to see through the already darkened sky of late evening.
With his helmet on, Marcus ducks underneath a burst of laser fire and expertly takes out his attacker with a quick pistol shot. He looks up to the side and spots two more enemies approaching, and leaps to his feet with his blaster at the ready. Both Mandalorians comes charging in with their blaster rifles, but Marcus ducks to the side and raises his arm, firing a shot into the chest of one, and then spinning around to elbow another in his helmet. As the Mandalorian falls to the ground, he carelessly aims his blaster and fills him with several laser wounds.
He and his clan, Clan Ordo, were fighting against the Death Watch to help assist Satine Kryze escape from Mandalore. It's become too dangerous for her to remain in the current climate, which is why they were currently helping to get her out. Spotting his brother nearby, Marcus rushes over and blasts another Death Watch soldier who attempts to blindside him without even looking.
"Raman! Raman, how's the evac?!" he exclaims.
"She's out of the city! They're just trying to get her to a transport to fly out!" he replies loudly.
"In this?! They'd never make it through the chaos, Death Watch will shoot her down!" Marcus shouts incredulously.
"The Jedi said they had it covered! The Count has gone along with it!" Raman yells back helplessly.
"That's not good enough!" he says in exasperation.
The pair then duck behind a large mound as a rocket blows up mere feet away from their position. Keeping Marcus back, Raman looks out from their cover and spots a trio of Death Watch soldiers flying in their direction, the two on the sides priming their own jetpack rockets.
"Blast! Move!" he exclaims, shoving Marcus away.
They both leap away from their cover as two more rockets come slamming into the ground beside them, sending them tumbling across the dirt. Marcus groans in pain from the blast and looks up to see the three soldiers landing, rushing towards them with blasters raised. Just as he was about to whip out his own blaster in response, a green lightsaber flung through the air slices one soldier across the chest, and he falls down with a cry. The lightsaber swings around back to its owner, and Marcus looks over to see a two Jedi running forwards, Duchess Satine Kryze with them, as the older one catches his blade in the air.
The remaining Death Watch soldiers switch their targets and fire at the Jedi, but the pair both work to block the laser blasts, the younger Jedi protecting Satine. Raman wastes no time in getting to his feet and charging the soldiers, punching one in the head and getting into a brawling match, where he quickly overpowers him with furious punches and kicks. Marcus gets back to his feet and also fires on the third, shooting him once in the gut and then in the helmet, where he collapses to the ground. Incapacitating his enemy, Raman then shoots him dead before focusing on the three newcomers.
"Good timing," he comments.
"Good thing I spotted that in time," the older Jedi replies.
Raman nods at him before looking towards Satine. "Are you alright Duchess?"
"I-I'm well," Satine manages to say, flinching at every explosion with horrified eyes. "This is awful!"
"Master, we must get going. The Death Watch are getting closer," the younger Jedi urges, who Marcus deduces must be an apprentice.
"Of course Obi-Wan," the older Jedi replies.
"With all due respect, Master Jedi, how are you planning to take a ship out of this battle zone? They'll shoot you down in seconds," Marcus says, frowning underneath his helmet.
"Well, I'll just have to trust the Force then, shall I?" the Master replies with a small grin.
Marcus and Raman both glance at each other, not needing to see the others face to know they both had looks of confusion and doubt.
"Well, come along then, both of you! Time is short!" the Master urges, moving forwards quickly.
"Yes Master Jinn," Obi-Wan replies.
He grasps Satine's hand as they run along after Qui-Gon, taking care to avoid the ferocious aspects of battle on their way towards its outskirts. Marcus and Raman quickly revert their attention back to the chaos as another large group of Death Watch soldiers come running in their direction with war cries, intent on getting too Satine. They both quickly ready themselves for the coming battle, prepared to keep these lunatic back long enough for the Duchess to escape.
Raman gets into a fighting stance with his Mandalorian vambraces while Marcus holsters his blaster in favor of bringing out two vibroblades, which crackle to life with red energy...
Sundari - Mandalore
Marcus walks through the doorway into his housing unit, placing his helmet on a countertop. He stares at it for a moment, wiping off a smudge with his finger as he remembers the day he encountered the two Jedi who were escorting the Duchess off world. He, Raman and several others were assigned to go with them to help keep the Duchess safe, but the circumstances of the battle saw him and his brother unable to rendezvous at the ship, while the rest of the troop died before they could make it.
Footsteps from the stairs get his attention, and he looks up with a small smile to see his parents walking down the stairs.
"Marcus, there you are!" his mother, Ravella Sohl, greets happily.
"Su cuy'gar buir," he replies with a smile, hugging her.
"Jate at ret' ad," his father, Je'ric Sohl, adds.
He hugs his father as well and then separates, looking at them both. Outside of their Mandalorian armor his parents look like any typical husband and wife, although his father was certainly muscled and very strong, while his mother was more defined and graceful. However behind their outward appearances they were both among the top warriors in their clan. Ravella was deadly and precise, being a very flexible fighter with the body fit for an assassin, while Je'ric was big and powerful, one punch enough to knock a fully grown man out for at least half an hour.
"How are you guys doing?" Marcus asks.
"Oh, we've both been doing just fine. Your father here has recently gotten himself a promotion to being Count Drezden's top advisor," Ravella reveals cheerfully.
Marcus widens his eyes in shock, staring at Je'ric in amazement. Drezden is the Count and leader of Clan Ordo, and while he's a very kind and reasonable man, he's very tough on having people he knows will be efficient in their work and loyal to the clan. To be one of his advisors, let alone the top advisor, is a huge honor.
"What?! No way!" Marcus breathes out.
"It would seem so Marcus," Je'ric says with a chuckle. "Count Drezden was very impressed with my performance during the civil war, especially for my idea to ambush the Death Watch on Concordia."
"Well, congratulations father, that's great," he says happily.
"Well, sit down, sit down!" Ravella suggests, gesturing towards the living room. The family sits down on the couches, and she leans forwards curiously. "What about you Marcus? What brought you back here?"
Marcus sighs, his good mood quenched. "I heard about what happened, how Duchess Satine is exiling us from Mandalore."
Much like their son, Je'ric and Ravella lost their happy expressions and became more glum and bitter in an instant.
"It's a real mess, what she's been doing lately," Je'ric scoffs bitterly.
"Very unfortunate," Ravella agrees sadly. "I still can't understand why she would do such a thing. Sure, she is very much against violence, there's nothing wrong with that. But to exile us simply because we're warriors ourselves is unbelievable!"
"Ugh, tell me about it," Marcus sighs. "So Dxun huh?"
"Yes. There was an old Mandalorian Outpost there set up during the Mandalorian Wars that we can use as our camp. The wildlife there will also give us a good exercise in the absence of the typical fighting and contests we have with the other clans," Je'ric explains.
"Well that sounds stupid," he murmurs. "We shouldn't even have to leave Mandalore anyways."
"Marcus, none of us like it any more than you do, but there's nothing we can do about it now," Ravella says regretfully. "Not without starting another war with the Galactic Republic."
"Well there should be something we can do!" he retorts irritably. "We're Mandalorian's, warriors by blood! Not some camping beast hunters."
"Duchess Satine isn't giving us any other option," Je'ric states grimly. "I'm afraid that unless we decide to switch to her 'peaceable' ways, beast hunters are what we must be. At the very least those beasts can gather a good enough profit on the market. Who better to capture valuable hides from a monstrous animal than a Mandalorian?"
Marcus scowls but doesn't say anything, know his father is right. If there's nothing else his father said they can do to remain with Mandalore in spite of Satine's rule as Duchess, then he knows there isn't. Count Drezden and his father would've fought their hardest against the Duchess's wishes, but it eventually ended in vain.
He glances over at his helmet with a bitter expression, not liking the way things are going.
Nayli City - Chandrila
The market was filled with people bustling to and from several shops and stores. Walking through the busy streets was a young woman in her early to mid twenties, coming to a stop in front of a shop filled with fruits and vegetables. The woman in question wore a red and gray outfit with brown boots, accenting a head of flowing blonde hair, a rounded face, and stunning blue eyes. Several lust-filled eyes turned her way, but she ignored them in favor of looking over the food on sale.
"Any particular choice miss?" the old lady at the stand asks.
"Could I have a basket of Jogan and Blumfruit please?" she asks politely.
The old lady obliges, placing several of the requested fruits into a basket and setting it on the counter, a hand held out expectantly.
"That'll be a dozen credits," she states.
The woman hands over the credits and then takes the fruit basket, holding it under one arm as she makes her way through the streets. As she starts to leave the bustling crowds of the market for a less populated street, a scoundrel of a man steps out to confront her, a sly grin on his face.
"How's it going darling?" he drawls with a smile.
"Just fine, thank you," she replies politely. "If you'll excuse me though, I must be on my way."
She attempts to walk by, but the man gets in her way again, making noises of disapproval.
"Now hang on a moment, we haven't introduced ourselves yet. What's the hurry?" he asks with mock hurt. "Come on girly, what's your name?"
Already knowing his type to be a drunk scoundrel, the woman discretely waves her hand with a disappointed sigh, looking up at him with a firm gaze.
"You will let me be on my way, and reconsider your life choices," she says softly.
The man's drunk grin fades and he straightens up with a blank expression.
"I will let you be on your way, and reconsider my life decisions," he repeats.
With that being said, the scoundrel turns away from her and starts walking down the street off to who knows where. She sighs again, not comfortable with using the Force, but continues on her way nonetheless. Most people with her gifts would've been sent to the Jedi Temple to train as a child, but she was a bit more different, having grown up in a much different environment from the Jedi all because of her name: Lara Shan.
...Shan. A direct living descendant of the ancient Jedi and Sith Lord, Revan, himself. Not that anyone else in the galaxy knows the significance of her lineage, of course.
Just over a thousand years ago, there were many people all baring the same name and blood connection to Revan, being a prominent family in terms of Force users. However, the Sith Lord known as Darth Bane decided to wipe out all of Revan's descendants to prove his superiority, killing every last blood relative... all except one. Since then, the surviving Shan's have remained in hiding to preserve their bloodline, with their name soon falling out of the pages of history. Revan, and other prominent Jedi such as Satele Shan were disconnected from the name, with the significance of it being lost.
Now, Lara is the only one apart from her father who still shares that same blood connection to the lost legacy of the Shan's.
Having walked through Nayli's streets for several minutes, Lara soon returns to her apartment in one of the poorer districts of the city. Opening the door, she moves inside the apartment and sets the basket of fruit on the kitchen counter, grabbing a Jogan and heading upstairs to one of the two bedrooms. Inside the room she greets her father, who was lying down on the bed as usual.
"Hi Dad," she says with a smile. "I'm back."
"Hello sweetheart," her father, Claynel Shan, greets.
"I got you something," she tells him, offering up the Jogan fruit.
Claynel sits himself up in the bed with some effort, using the wall as a backrest, and grimacing from his movements. Once he's sitting up the whole way he smiles at Lara and then takes the fruit with a gracious nod. Lara also pulls up a chair and sits down beside him.
"Thank you dear. You know you don't have to keep buying me these treats," he reminds her, taking a small bite.
"But it's your favorite Dad, and it's the least I could do," she replies with a sad smile.
Just over two years ago, Lara lost her mother to a deadly disease. Because of their poor financial circumstances, they were unable to acquire the proper help she needed in order to overcome the illness, and so passed away. Now fate seems to be against them once more, as her father is now suffering from another kind of illness. It's not nearly as terrible or as threatening as the disease that killed her mother, but it's left Claynel crippled and weak.
"I know Lara, but you shouldn't worry about me so much. You should continue on with your life, find a successful career path, have a family of your own," he insists.
"And leave you behind? I can't do that," she replies in disagreement.
"There's not much left for me to teach you Lara," he tells her with a soft chuckle. "Certainly not when I'm like this. Not when you're ready yourself."
"You know that's not what I mean," Lara reprimands him softly.
"I understand Lara," he says with a sad sigh. "Just... try and think about it. At the very least, you should know that you can't help me if you can't help yourself."
Lara manages a small upturn of her lips when he says that and rolls her eyes. "I know Dad."
"Why not try working at the medcenter further uptown? You've certainly got the heart and talent!" he suggests.
"If you're referring to Force healing, may I remind you that you're the one who said not to use the Force so publicly?" Lara asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh come on, you'll do great there!" he retorts with a chuckle. "Like I said, you've got the heart! The Force doesn't give you that!"
"I guess you're right, as usual," she replies, smiling in amusement.
"That's my girl," he says.
Lara smiles to herself with a thoughtful look on her face, and then abruptly stands up from the chair and heads over to the door.
"Where are you going?" Claynel asks curiously.
"To the medcenter!" Lara replies, grinning at him. "You said I should get a job there, right?"
Claynel laughs at her retreating form, and she grabs her bag on the way out the door.
TRANSLATIONS:
aruetyc di'kut - traitorous idiot
Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod? - Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?
ni susular gar vod - I hear you brother
di'kut - idiot
Su cuy'gar buir - Hello mother.
Jate at ret' ad - Good to see you son.