Forging the Future

"Here's why you can't exterminate us,aruetii. We're not huddled in one place—we span the galaxy. We need no lords or leaders—so you can't destroy our command. We can live without technology—so we can fight with our bare hands. We have no species or bloodline—so we can rebuild our ranks with others who want to join us. We're more than just a people or an army,aruetii. We're a culture. We're an idea. And you can't kill ideas—but we can certainly kill you."

―Mandalore the Destroyer

FtF(Solus)FtF

Thirteen year-old Doran Sarkin-Tainer normally didn't feel anxious or scared. He hadn't felt that way for a while, not since the adventure he had had four years ago when those emotions had led to him taking a life. Yet, at the moment, those were two emotions he couldn't exactly get a handle on. He had good reason to be scared though. Someone had just destroyed the entire planet of Sernpidal by smashing its moon into its surface. Not that most of the galaxy knew about the Yuuzhan Vong at the time.

Despite the many questions the destruction of the planet raised, the New Republic Senate was trying to keep a lid on the events. 'Not wanting to act rashly until the facts were truly established,' was one of the lines Doran had heard. Details were something almost no one knew anything about. The shell-shocked survivors of the Sernpidal incident had been quickly corralled away by New Republic Intelligence. Travel to the area was restricted, and the Senate was fighting itself into a stand-still. Some senators in the know wanted to start evacuating adjacent Outer Rim territories, a faction being led by Kuati Senator Viqi Shesh was trying to be a voice of reason by saying that there was no need to panic, Inner and Mid-Rim senators wanted explanations, and senators in charge of regions far from Sernpidal only cared because the talk about the planet was taking time away from their own sectors' issues.

Fortunately or not, with the connection his parents had with New Republic Intelligence, the consensus was that both his mom and dad seemed to believe something big was on the horizon. Something that most other people were brushing aside as nerves or as impossibility. Ever since his dad had sent his mom the packet of intel, Tyria Sarkin-Tainer had been unusually serious and grim. That only told the just-turned-teen one thing, things were really bad. In all the adventures he had had with his mom, he had never seen her so worried. Even when he had been kidnapped as a child during negotiations on one of the many Outer Rim planets, Tyria had remained level-headed and calm. He had never felt in the Force the level of disquiet emanating from her.

Which, of course, was the source of his anxiety and fear.

"Mom?" Doran said in a low voice, entering the cockpit of the Kell Dragon. Their modified gunboat was currently in hyperspace, traveling along the Hydian Way.

Tyria turned to Doran, her green eyes watering slightly as she tossed her blond pony-tail over her shoulder. Forcing out an unconvincing smile, she reached out for Doran and pulled him into a hug. "I love you, you know that Doran, right?"

"I know, mom," Doran returned the hug. "Tell me. What's wrong?"

Doran watched his mother bite her lower lip, no doubt trying to convince herself of something. Finally, Tyria breathed out, calling upon the Force to soothe herself. "Sorry for scaring you, Doran. It's just, your dad thinks this galaxy's in for a very rough time, and… and you'll have to learn a few more skills than we have time to teach you."

"Skills? More Jedi abilities?" Doran asked.

Tyria's lips thinned as she shook her head. "No sweetie. You've been taught before right? There is more to being a Jedi than just learning how to move things with your mind. I'm talking about survival skills, the ability to make it out of any scrape no matter how bad things get."

"And you can't teach them to me? You said once you were an Antarian Ranger."

Tyria took hold of both of Doran's hands, her eyes never leaving his. "I can, but if your father's right, and he normally is on issues like this, you'll need to learn more than what I can teach you. Learn more and at a much faster rate than I can teach you."

"What are you saying?" Doran searched his mother's eyes uncertainly. Only at thirteen, he was almost at eye-level with her, which was saying something considering her relatively tall height.

"Your father and I called in a few favors with the Mandalorians," Tyria explained slowly. "We managed to get you into a training camp for Mandalorian Protectors run by one of Mand'alor's lieutenants, a Goran Beviin."

Apart from being shocked that he was going to be training with Mandalorians, something in his mom's voice stuck with him. "Managed to get me into the camp? You won't be there?"

Tyria swallowed heavily as she shook her head. She squeezed his hands just a bit. "Both the Jedi Order and New Republic Intel requested my help, so I'll be teaming up with your dad and Master Skywalker's Jedi while you're training. Think about it this way, Doran. This will be your first solo adventure. You can tell me all about it when I come back."

"How long?" Doran asked faintly, the anxiety he was feeling traveling from his brain to his stomach. He had seen first-hand how dangerous the galaxy could be, and had faced those dangers almost every single time with his mom at his side. Now, apparently the galaxy was about to become even more dangerous, and he would be on his own.

At his question, Tyria was forced to look away. "A year, maybe."

"A year! Mom, I…"

"Doran, please," Tyria looked to him, using both her words and the Force to get her emotions across. Desperation, fear, anxiety, and an undercurrent of love brought him up short. "Please. Your father and I don't want anything to happen to you. And if what is about to happen to this galaxy is what we fear, than you'll need every advantage you can get to survive. This is the last thing I want to do too, but if anything were to happen to your father and I…we'd want to join the Force knowing that we gave you all the tools possible for you to survive."

"You're scaring me, mom," Doran said shakily. "This all has to do with Sernpidal, right?"

Tyria nodded. "Please Doran, do this for me."

"I can still call you, right?" Doran said faintly, the excitement about training with the Mandalorians slowly eroding his fear.

Tyria nodded. "You better, buster."

"Alright," Doran breathed.

"Don't expect it to be easy," Tyria warned. "The Mandalorians are some of the best soldiers out there for a reason. Show them your best and then try to go beyond that. Also, you'll probably be one of the youngest ones there, so…"

"Mom," Doran interrupted her. "I'll be okay."

Tyria fell silent, looking away once more to the blue vortex outside the cockpit. "You better," Tyria repeated, none of the good-nature of her previous statement present in her voice.

"So, where are we heading? To the Mandalorian home planet?"

"To Mandalore? No. We're going to their training facility on the mining colony of Gargon," Tyria wiped at her eyes and spun around in her chair to double-check their coordinates. "We should arrive there at the end of the week, so we have plenty of time."

"Time to do what? We're in hyperspace."

Tyria smirked, the first sign of genuine amusement in a while. "The Mandalorians, like most warrior races in this galaxy, are one based off of honor and respect. Being an outsider, Jedi, and child in their eyes, you won't start off with a whole bunch of it. In fact, I didn't mention your Force-abilities, so you might want to keep that under wraps. Mandos and Jedi don't have the friendliest of histories, and you'll be crippling yourself by using the Force there anyways."

"This is starting to look like a real fun adventure," Doran said sarcastically.

"Hush you," Tyria pulled out a datapad from the console. "This has several basic lessons in Mando'a, the traditional language of the Mandalorians. Try to get the standard 'hi,' 'bye,' and most used forms of respect down before we arrive. Don't forget the all important phrase of asking where the lavatories are. It should earn you a few points."

"And I'll just have to let my charming self earn a few more?" Doran said with a grin.

"That is if they don't shoot you. Force, your humor's as bad as your dad's."

Doran chuckled as he took the datapad and began scrolling through it. "Can you speak Mando'a, mom?"

"Just a few words," Tyria nodded. "When I was pregnant with you, your dad and I ran into a Mando tracking down a bounty. Trouble was, the bounty had intel the New Republic higher-ups wanted, and was also a really tricky son of a Hutt. The Mando turned out to be Goran, and we ended up saving his life after the bounty decided to blow a plasma conduit in his face. Your dad and I learned quite a few Mando curses then. After helping Goran get back to his homeworld, we were invited for a small thank-you dinner, and we picked up a couple more words then. "

"Is this another one of those cases where, even if I can use the Force to understand a language, it'll be more impressive if I can speak it?" Doran said sagely.

"Exactly," Tyria winked. "So go on, get to studying. I'll quiz you before we get there."

Doran lowered the datapad slowly. "Hey mom."

"Yes?"

"Be careful out there, okay?"

Tyria nodded, a tender expression softening her face. "I will Doran."

"And look after dad too."

"Definitely," Tyria nodded again. She pulled Doran into another hug. "You just do your best to survive and your dad and I will be okay. Promise."

FtF(T'ad)FtF

The planet of Gargon was definitely a place only a Mandalorian could love. Half the planet appeared to be a desolate, rocky, wasteland pitted with phobium mines and processing plants. The other half was a lush, untamed, sinister-looking forest that seemed to stretch on forever. Sandwiching these two halves were two equally hostile and remote polar icecaps that saw temperatures drop below 200 kelvin during the winter seasons.

Even its lone moon was menacing, containing the skeletal remains of the shipyard that had once created pieces for the Empire's two Death Stars. Scarred and cored to accommodate the crews and equipment needed to create the planet-destroying space-stations, the moon was a mere shell of itself. The metal framework of the construction yard remained where it was, a haven for pirates, smugglers, and other forms of scum and villainy. The irregular orbit of the planet itself—caused by ecological damage from the heavy mining and construction—meant that, for the heavily inhabited regions of the planet, the days were several times longer than the few hours of night the rotation allowed.

If one had a check-list, one would see that Gargon was the perfect place to train the infamous, battle-hardened, Mandalorian Protectors. Not so much a good place to train a thirteen-year old budding Jedi who's extent of survival training was camping out in the wilderness of Yavin IV and participating in a few paramilitary training courses.

Viewing the planet from space, Doran could feel the apprehension radiate out from his mother. "Mom, I'll be fine." He tried to reassure her…and himself. He had been on a few adventures in hostile climates before, but never for longer than a week. To think he'd be spending the entire year on Gargon?

"I'll take you in to the spaceport," Tyria said slowly, as if drawing out her words could delay his eminent departure. "Goran said he would meet you there."

"I'll be fine," Doran repeated, seeing the tension in his mother's shoulders and the way the elder Sarkin Tainer was gripping the steering column in a white-knuckled grip.

"And you've packed the extra ration bars and made sure you have your comlink?'

"Mom," Doran sighed. He leaned over slightly so that his head was resting on her shoulder. "I've got everything. I understand and can speak enough Mando'a to survive. I'm going to be fine."

"I know you will be," Tyria breathed, shaking her head. She forced out another smile. "At least I'll be comforted to know that when you make it out of this, your chances of lasting in this crazy galaxy of ours will go up."

The Kell Dragon broke orbit at its assigned time and began its scheduled approach to one of Gargon's many spaceports. There were others of course, not all of them legitimate or for public use, but the Shysa Starport was the only one that dealt with Mandalorian traffic and guaranteed an extortion-free landing.

A lone figure awaited them outside, dressed in full Mandalorian armor, his face hidden behind a standard Mandalorian helmet with green coloring.

"And there's Goran," Tyria whispered faintly.

"Mom?"

Tyria reached over and hugged Doran in a bone-crushing grip. "I love you. Good luck, Doran."

"I love you too, mom."

"This is as far as I go," Tyria gestured to threshold of the cockpit. "You have your own path to travel on now."

Doran collected his rucksack, filled with two changes of clothes, and various other personal affects. "May the Force be with you, mom."

Doran took one last long look around the Kell Dragon before stepping up to the airlock. He took in and released several deep breaths, feeling his nerves come alive like live wires. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he slapped the door to the airlock. The door cycled, then opened, giving him a face full of cold, dry Gargon air.

Blinking at the sunlight streaming down into the landing pit, Doran stepped out; his feet making contact with the dirt-strewn ground. The lone figure awaiting him stayed where he was, and Doran had a feeling that the man was evaluating him.

"Sucuy gar," Doran tried in his elementary Mando'a. He could sense from the man's grimace that his first attempt at the language hadn't been as successful as he had hoped.

"You're the Sarkin Tainer ad?" The slightly mechanical-filtered voice of the Mandalorian said, tone betraying nothing about how the man felt.

"I'm Doran Sarkin Tainer, yes," Doran nodded. He smiled weakly and held out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

The Mandalorian stared down at him for a very long time. It was only seconds, but it felt like minutes to the young thirteen year old. Finally the Mandalorian shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Err…thanks?" Doran scratched the back of his head.

The Mandalorian looked up to the cockpit of the Kell Dragon and nodded once, slowly and deliberately.

Good bye, Doran. Doran heard his mom send in the Force.

Good bye, mom. Doran sent back.

The Kell Dragon's engines started up again, and the gunboat lifted off without any further delay. Doran watched it leave with a small pang, but like his mom had done, forced himself to keep a smile on his face. When the ship was out of sight, he turned back to the imposing Mandalorian. "It is a great honor, thank you for taking me on."

"You will have no leeway here, child," the Mandalorian warned. "Nor will I be able to guarantee your safety. I can only teach you how to be the best. It will be up to you to be the best."

"Understood, sir," Doran replied obediently, falling into step with the man. His mom had said the man was 'Goran,' but the man had yet to introduce himself.

"Your primary instructor will be Dinua Jeban. You will have the good fortune of informing her."

Doran again nodded. "How will I find her, sir?"

"If you belong here, you'll find her," the Mandalorian responded. "How old are you, child?"

"Thirteen," Doran answered, trying not to let being called 'child' get to him. It wasn't the first time he had to adjust to a different culture, and he knew that assuming one word held the same meaning across different cultures had caused many a conflict in the past.

"Then tell her to ready you for the Verd'goten. You will take it in a week.I will have no children in my camp."

Doran wracked his mind for the translation. It was obviously not one of the more common words, but at the same time 'verd'goten' sounded important. Hoping it didn't mean 'battle to the death' or something Mandalorian sounding like that, Doran filed the question away for later. "I will, sir."

They piled into a plain looking speeder, and soon they were darting across the desolate, dusty landscape of several abandoned mines. The trip passed in silence, so Doran took the opportunity to mentally map the immediate surroundings of his new home. There wasn't much to see. Mounds of gravel as tall as skyscrapers were piled up all around them like sand dunes. Some had tunnels at the base of them, others had droids aimlessly sifting through them. He occasionally saw collection-and-processing sites for the gathered ore spread out amidst the dunes, but the area was definitely lifeless and inhospitable. The temperature was a bit on the colder side, but not unbearable. The fact it was mid-day and the weather was just above freezing, however, seemed to hint at much cooler climates.

Doran was far from discouraged however. This was simply a new planet, a new place to explore, a new people to know. His mother had always taught him to treat every new encounter as an adventure no matter how dull or scary it might seem.

"Your mother is a Jetii. Did you inherit her abilities?"

Startled by the question, Doran looked to the helmeted man. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you a Jetii too?"

Doran looked to the man. He had the strangest feeling that Goran, if it was Goran, already knew the answer. "No sir. I'm simply a kid who was lucky enough that his parents had the right connections."

"Keep it that way," the Mandalorian nodded in approval. "You've come here not to learn Jedi tricks, but to learn how to live, how to survive. Even if it's a matter between life or death, if I've discovered you used the Force, that day will be your last at my camp."

"It's a good thing I'm not a Jedi then," Doran said, trying to inject humor into the situation.

"A very good thing," the Mandalorian inclined his head.

The speeder turned at several intervals and finally their destination came into view. It was a star-shaped mining platform of tremendous size, easily wider than two frigates side-by-side and just as long. Some sort of shaft extended down from the center of the platform and into a mesa of black rock below it. Above, spider-webs of metal walkways connected the platform to what appeared to be several decommissioned space-docks. An array of repulsor-pads the size of X-wings kept the docks afloat; which was a good thing considering nasty looking crystalline rocks jutted out from the ground in a literal and figurative show of breathtaking beauty.

"This will be your home for the next year, provided you last, kid. Do me a favor and try not to get yourself killed. Having a Jedi and spec ops soldier angry at me would be a tad annoying."

"No promises," Doran replied, his eyes still riveted to the sprawling aerial complex casting shadows on the gray rocks all around them. They passed into one of the shadows and the temperature dropped dramatically. Shivering, Doran hoped the Mandalorians were at least sane enough to keep the inside of the training facility heated. He highly doubted it though.

"Due to…recent events," the Mandalorian said, interrupting Doran's thoughts. "You'll be part of a much larger group of newcomers. Since I have no desire to repeat myself seventy times, there will be a mandatory assembly in the main hall after dinner. That gives you eight hours to find Dinua and start your training."

"Understood, sir."

The speeder angled into one of the tunnels in the gravel mound beneath the hovering platform, and Doran was treated to a rushed view of unstable-looking walls illuminated with evenly placed glow-lamps. The speeder continued on until it reached a platform just a little larger than it.

"This is your stop," the Mandalorian gestured to a turbolift tube that disappeared into the ceiling.

Grabbing his lone pack of belongings, Doran hopped out of the speeder. "Thanks for the ride Mr. Mandalorian."

Doran could swear the Mandalorian had rolled his eyes. "It's Goran Beviin, ad."

Doran grinned and saluted the Mandalorian while stepping back into the turbolift tube. "See you later!" Doran inclined his head at the impassive helmet that stared at him, before the turbolift platform activated and whisked him up into the air.

FtF(Ehn)FtF

Doran wasn't exactly sure what to expect when the turbolift reached its destination. He'd never met a Mandalorian before, much less been inside a Mandalorian home. Though his mom wasn't adverse to danger—in fact she had taken him on enough missions of varying peril that some 'normal' mothers might question her mothering ability—Tyria was scarily good at using her Force abilities to avoid missions with too much peril. Then again, it all depended on what one's definition of 'too much' was. He doubted many teens had an opportunity to take down a ring of corrupt Bothans, helped to end a blood feud just as it was taking off, talked with an honest Hutt, or brought a droid that actually worked from odorless Jawas. Only thirteen and he had already seen three corners of the galaxy, met Jedi from the Republic era…and taken lives. But he had yet to meet the renowned Mandalorians in any setting, cantina or otherwise.

When the lift platform came to a stop, Doran stepped down onto the durasteel floor and took his first look at the inside of the training facility. Evidently it was designed to ensure that any unwanted visitors up the lift tubes would face a relatively quick death. Stepping off the lift platform, he had found himself at the bottom of a fairly deep pit surrounded by curving metal walls. A lone ladder was the only way to leave the room, and Doran could tell from a low hum that came from it that the metal rungs were electrified.

Doran looked around the room, figuring someone was observing him. "Goran Beviin told me to find Dinua Jeban."

"Poor ossik," came the response from a well-camouflaged speaker box.

The electric current disappeared, along with its accompanying hum.

"Smarter than the last three dikute that came through though," a second voice commented with amusement. "I thought we'd have another crispy Mandalorian pretender."

Doran hesitated a moment, tentatively reaching a hand out for the ladder.

"Zap!" The first voice called out suddenly.

Doran nearly leaped into the air, his heart pounding. Glaring up at the ceiling, he gripped the ladder definitively and began climbing. "Very funny."

"Should have seen your face, ad. Couldn't resist."

"Bored with the guard duty?" Doran continued the conversation as he began his ascent.

"We didn't go through our training just to be glorified doormen," the second voice dourly replied.

"Think of it this way, you're ensuring that future Mandalorians aren't the sort of idiots who grab electrified ladders."

"It doesn't help much. Doesn't take a lot of brains to electrify dikute."

"Come on guys," Doran continued conversationally. He did so, partly to be friendly, but also to keep himself from being terrified. "Work with me. What about the pride you'll get by ensuring the safety of us future Mandalorians? You can't just entrust the door to anyone. I'll even tell Mr. Beviin you're doing one heck of a job at your duty."

"Ad, we can turn the electricity back on at any time you know. You tell him that and this is all we'd be doing."

"And here I thought I was making my first friends," Doran said with a smile borne from pure nervousness and fear. He hastily reached the top of the ladder and pulled himself through a hatch.

After the freezing cold outside, the blast of warm air was a definite shock. Evidently the Mandalorians did keep their facility heated, heated at a balmy tropical clime with high humidity. The sudden change caused Doran to shudder. Sitting at a desk just a few meters away from the hatch were two Mandalorians in full armor, their helmets resting atop the desk. They both gave him half nods, attempting to be stern, but betrayed by the glimmering in their eyes and the twitch at the corners of their mouths.

"Su'cuy, ad," the Mandalorian on the right greeted. His deep tones immediately letting Doran know that this was the owner of the second voice over the intercom. "The name's Teroc. You sure you're in the right place?"

"Not at all," Doran said, taking a moment to look around. He found himself in a small transparasteel cube-like office, giving Doran a clear view of the many activities happening outside. The former mining platform had been transformed into a giant gym.

A series of heavy ropes replaced the electrical wiring of long-absent machinery and were strung out from wall to wall like jungle vines. These had a small handful of physically fit Mandalorian climbing on them at almost complete vertical and horizontal angles while in full armor. Several drill shafts appeared to been converted into swimming holes of some sort, and more individuals were diving in with weights attached to their arms and legs. A far wall had been converted into an obstacle course, with various hazards like gouts of flame and swinging metal balls adding to the danger. A shooting range was stationed across from this, adjacent to a section seemingly devoted to cardio exercises.

"What is this place?" Doran managed. "Some sort of fitness club?"

"This place is our workout area," the Mandalorian on the left said, his voice tinged with amusement. "The initiates here come here to blow off some steam. Your training facilities are located in the wings. You won't be allowed access to the center again until you get instructor approval. Wouldn't want you to hurt that baby-face of yours."

"Thanks for caring," Doran replied.

"Then again, you said you have Jeban as your instructor, right?" Teroc shook his head, an expression of sympathy on his face. "As big a boy as you are, she'll chew you up and spit you out. Two guys a lot bigger, older, and tougher than you already washed out because of they couldn't keep up with the schedule she set. So don't get too comfortable here."

"Already have a wager going, don't you?" Doran tilted his head.

The Mandalorians chuckled. "You're not all that bad, kid. Yeah, I've got twenty credits that says you'll be going home before the week is out. Shukir here thinks you won't even last past your first full day."

"If I last the full year?"

"You do that, you'll have the respect of our clan, and our apologies," Shukir replied, looking dubious. "Anyways, you might want to get going. Dinua Jeban doesn't appreciate training partners, even more so if they're late."

"Where can I find her?"

Shukir's partner took a moment to glance about the room. After a few seconds passed, he gestured towards one of the sparring rings. "She's over at the Battle Circle today, it looks like. I wonder what shabla made a pass at her this time."

Doran followed the Mandalorian's gesture. When his eyes stopped at the lone female in the circle, his mouth went dry and his eyebrows rose.

She was beautiful.

The female teen's loose workout pants and exercise tunic only enhanced her physically fit form. Her raven-black hair, tied back in a loose pony-tail, whipped around as she delivered a spinning kick to her opponent. The heel of Dinua's foot impacted with the jaw of her opponent, the sound of his teeth clacking together nearly audible over the sounds of the other activities occurring in the room. Her opponent, who had been a head taller than her with biceps almost as big as her slender face, swayed for a moment, then collapsed to the ground.

Doran thought that the match was over, but then another male stepped into the ring. Evidently he was the buddy of the one that had just been knocked out because he was gesturing at several others to drag the dazed combatant out of the ring. This new challenger was clearly a bit smarter, keeping his distance as he and Dinua circled each other in the ring.

"Well," Shukir chuckled darkly. "Aren't you going to go introduce yourself?"

"For some reason I feel safer in this cube," Doran deadpanned, unable to tear his eyes away from the deadly warrior woman in action. Her new opponent decided to launch an all-out attack, attempting to overwhelm her with his size and strength. Dinua, however, agilely continued to skirt along the outer edges of the fighting ring, goading her attacker with taunting strikes to his arms and legs.

Obviously frustrated, her opponent appeared to say something to her. It was probably the worst thing he could have done. Dinua's brown eyes flashed with sheer hatred, and she promptly lashed out. She was a whirlwind of motion, knocking aside his arms as she spun in for the kill. She slammed her elbow into the man's nose, then snapped a harsh kick into the man's left knee. As he went down, she grabbed one arm, twisted it, and promptly stomped on the awkwardly angled limb. Before the man could howl, she drove her knee into his face and threw him to the ground. It was clear she wasn't going to stop with that, and the others around the ring seemed to realize it. Before she could inflict a fatal injury to the blooded combatant, several of the observers quickly rushed in to subdue her. After a moment of struggle, she shook them off with a glare, grabbed a towel off the bench, and stalked off; her face expressionless.

"Go on," Teroc said with great amusement. "Good luck."

Doran swallowed, his mouth dry despite the humidness of the room. "Thanks…I think."

FtF(Cuir)FtF

As Doran trailed after the irate killer Mando-in-training, he briefly realized a glaring absence in his education. Though his mom was good at ensuring he knew his Basic, math, and history, as well as Jedi abilities and self-defense, for some reason she had neglected to explain the mystery of girls. Sure he had talked to a few around his age before, his best friend Sannah being one of them, but he never really had to approach one by himself. He didn't think he'd be exaggerating if he said that a single misspoken word to this Mandalorian could get him killed.

He shook his head, trying to rid it of the images of a very attractive teenage girl who probably didn't want to have anything to do with him. Though he was good friends with Sannah, she was still a little girl and just an occasional acquaintance with whom he could share his stories with. Dinua, on the other hand, was every bit the attractive young woman a guy might like; aside from the whole willingness to break your bones for talking to her.

And to think he was going to have to spend an entire year learning from her.

He sighed as he mentally reviewed his predicament. The attraction was far more than physical. There was something else about her that he couldn't get out of his head even if he tried. Without using the Force, during that brief moment he had watched her fight, he could tell that she was hurting. Hurting bad, and yet pushing on despite the pain. He had also seen similar pain in a survivor of the Jedi Purge he and his mom had stumbled across. His lessons with an Echani instructor had taught him how to learn about others through the way they fought; and he had learned much about Dinua in her brief flurry of motion. For some reason, his heart went out to the Mandalorian teen and he suddenly wanted to do something to make that pain go away.

Doran groaned, now realizing just how much he was regretting the obvious gap in his education.

He pushed aside the doors to the outer ring of the mining platform and was immediately inundated with a rush of cold, arid air. Holding up a hand to ward off the intense afternoon sun, he could see the figure of Dinua Jeban walk across a narrow catwalk to one of the floating platforms on the other side.

"Dinua Jeban!" Doran called out, his voice frighteningly loud in the deathly silence of their surroundings.

The teenage Mandalorian paused, but didn't turn around. Taking that as a sign, Doran hurried his way across the catwalk to catch up. Thankfully, the Mandalorian remained where she was. Leaping over one last length of ventilation piping, Doran came to a halt a few steps away. Small wisps of steam continued to rise off her sweat-slickened form as her exercise-warmed body chilled in the atmosphere of Gargon.

"Hi," Doran breathed faintly.

The Mandalorian teen's face could have been carved from stone as she regarded him without emotion. "What do you want, ad?"

"You're Dinua Jeban, right? Goran said to tell you that you were going to be my instructor."

The look of absolute disbelief was clear on her face as she looked him over. "Clearly he was joking."

"Errr…." Doran rubbed the back of his head. "I don't think so."

The teen looked away, muttering a series of curses under her breath. "You're trying to become a Mandalorian?"

"Not really," Doran shook his head. "Just trying to learn how to survive."

A thin dark eyebrow arched at the comment, but evidently it had been the right answer. "Combat experience?"

"Some."

Intense dark brown eyes bore into him, evaluating him, judging him. "At least my father didn't send me a complete lost cause this time."

"Thanks, I think? Wait, Goran's your father?"

"He is now," Dinua replied tersely. "Did he tell you anything else?"

Still slightly surprised by the revelation, Doran struggled to keep up. "Yes, something about preparing me for a verd-go-something or another. He wants to test me in a week."

"Verd'goten?" Dinua's eyebrows shot up. "You mean you haven't even…How old are you?"

"Thirteen," Doran regarded the Mandalorian, who looked him over once more.

"Big for your age. Are you just a human?"

"Yeah, got a bunch of my dad's genes. Started my growth spurt two years ago," Doran shrugged, a little self-conscious. "How about you? How old are you."

"Survive the Verd'goten and I'll tell you," Dinua shook her head. She continued the trek he had interrupted.

"What's a verdgoten?" Doran asked hesitantly. A door whooshed open and led them into a utilitarian metal corridor.

"Scared?"

"Not really. Last year, I got involved in some rite with a name I could barely pronounce and didn't understand. I ended up drinking two cups of bitter-beetle juice and dancing around a fireplace in a loin cloth," Doran deadpanned. "By the end of the day, I was apparently promised to some chieftain's daughter with the hopes that any offspring would be Force-sensitive and able to lead them to a new future."

Dinua halted in her tracks. Doran, realizing what he had just said, groaned. "Err…I don't suppose you'll forget about what I just said?"

Dinua, however, turned her stone-cold eyes towards him. "You're a Jetii?"

"Just in training," Doran winced, hoping that not being a full-fledged Jedi would give him some leeway.

Dinua muttered another curse under her breath. When she looked up at him, her eyes were full of loathing. "Great, I take it back. You're worse than those washouts that came before you. You're nothing but a dar'manda."

"A what?"

Dinua, however, advanced on him, pressing her forearm against his throat and grabbing his shirt. Her voice was but a whisper, but with lethal qualities. "Listen, dar'manda, I intend to become Or'ramikad, and I will not let you screw this up for me. You slow me down, I'll kill you. You embarrass my name, I'll kill you. You so much as use an iota of your Jedi powers when I'm training you…"

"You'll kill me," Doran, flatfooted by her initial surge of action, managed to push her back. "Yeah, I got it."

"Becoming Mandalorian is no joke," Dinua growled, her voice just as cold as the weather outside the building. "This is not a place to have fun, to 'enjoy' living. If you think it is, save me the trouble and throw yourself off the side of the platform."

"Alright! Geez!" Doran held up his hands.

Dinua took a moment to collect herself, when she did she began walking again, but at a much faster pace. "Verd'goten is a rite of passage from child into adulthood. Mandalorians are not considered 'adults' without passing it, regardless of age. It's a simple test of skills and survival; blaster, knife, hand-to-hand, endurance, hunting, and more. Most Mandalorian children are trained from a young age to ready themselves for it. We, on the other hand dar'manda, only have a week."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We are going to make sure you pass," Dinua said emotionlessly. "I hope you consider yourself in excellent physical shape, dar'manda. Because this next week will be nothing compared to any training you've had before. Get settled in, we'll begin tomorrow."

FtF(Rayshe'a)FtF

With the ominous threat of 'training' looming over him, Doran decided to try and spend the rest of the day learning about his home for the next year. The area he had followed Dinua into was the living quarters for some of the more experienced 'students' at the compound. His own quarters was on the opposite side of the decommissioned and re-appropriated, construction yard. The yard itself—shaped like two arches facing one and other and with a series of rusted-coated metal catwalks that tied the two halves of the construction yard together—was one of several unique, sprawling platforms that made up the Mandalorian training camp. Even given a year, Doran didn't think he'd ever be able to visit every single corner.

Once he had deposited his single sack of belongings in a room full of hammock-like bunks, he set out with the intent to explore as much as he could. But before he could get far, his stomach growled—loudly. With a sigh, he followed a series of signs and eventually came to a dining commons of sorts. It was jammed packed. But what surprised Doran the most was the diversity of those in the room. There were human, Weequay, Rodian, Rattataki, Dug, Nikto, Duros, and many others, all milling about around utilitarian metal tables spread throughout the room. He hadn't seen such a diverse array of species since his mother had taken him to Coruscant as a child. Of course, one other thing he noticed was that he was probably the youngest one in the room. He supposed he was fortunate his large build let him look a couple of years older than he actually was. Even then, he stood out amongst the grizzled veterans and uniformed twenty-somethings that filled the room.

"New here?"

A voice from behind him caused him to jerk in surprise. He spun around and found himself glancing down at his chest-level at another girl around his age. Caring blue eyes shining kindly and with curiosity, the teenage girl held out a hand. "Su'cuy. Ni cuyi Tracyn Gedyc. Bal gar?"

The Mando'a was said in an accented, soft lilt, a gentle heart-shaped face framed by strands of brown-blond hair was tilted back as she searched his face questioningly.

"Sorry," Doran hastily rubbed his hands on his clothes and reached out for an abortive shake. "Err…Ni cuyi Doran. Doran Sarkin Tainer. Oh, and su'cuy. I got it right this time, I hope?"

At his use of Mando'a, the teenage girl before him giggled in what Doran found was a very cute way. "Nice to meet you Doran."

"So, you said you were Tracyn Gedyc, right?"

"Uh huh," she lightly slipped a hand into one of his and tugged him to a nearby table. "Verburyc ad be Manda'yaim."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. I'm not exactly Mandalorian," Doran apologized, letting the smaller teen guide him into a seat.

"Oh, sorry," Tracyn looked abash, her long hair falling to partially obscure her face. "I was just saying I was born on Manda'yaim, Mandalore to you Basic speakers."

"I was born on Coruscant," Doran supplied, warming to the girl.

"A long way from home," Tracyn smiled faintly. "You're new here, right? I've been here for a couple of months already and think I would have seen you before. You kind of….stand out."

"No kidding," Doran chuckled.

"Don't worry, you're not the only non-native here. All the proper Mandalorians only care about a person's character, not where they're from or who their parents are."

"That's a relief on two counts," Doran said with an exaggerated swipe of his forehead

Tracyn giggled again. "Are you liking it here?"

"I'll get used to it," he shrugged. "I've been to worse places."

Blue eyes twinkled. "Sounds like there's a story to tell."

"More than one," Doran laughed louder.

"You'll have to tell me some…oh no," Tracyn's expression fell, her blue eyes focusing on someone behind him.

Doran glanced over his shoulder and saw a group of older teens, the type that let their testosterone do the thinking, head their way.

"I'm sorry," Tracyn said, her expression pained "I shouldn't have started a conversation with you. Damn it, why can't those dikute just leave me alone!"

Before Doran could ask what she meant, the leader of the four approaching them proclaimed his intentions quite loudly. "Well, well. Looks like the Kyr'tsad ad'ika has gotten herself another playmate. We have to do something about that, vode. Can't let the Kyr'tsad reform in front of our noses, can we?

"Leave him alone, Kote!" Tracyn hissed darkly, her soft voice sounding feeble compared to Kote's bravado. "Usenye! Why do you have to be such an ori'jagyc?"

Doran noticed how several tables were quickly pulled to the side, leaving a clear lane for Kote and his flunkies. He also noticed that despite her words, Tracyn seemed to shrink at Kote's approach. The action awakened a protective instinct in him that overrode his survival instinct. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't the best of choices at the time.

"Look, I don't know what this kyrstad or whatever is, and I don't really care." Doran rose to his feet and kept himself and the table in front of Tracyn.

Kote, however, let out a barking laugh at that, holding out his hands. "Ooo, hear that vode? This or'diniika doesn't care. Well, if you want to be a Protector, you should!"

A fist lashed out faster than lightning. Doran just barely managed to move his head out of the way, but he still received a glancing blow that sent him staggering into the table behind him.

"The Kyr'tsad are nothing but trash," Kote growled, throwing a fist at Doran's gut, and then a haymaker towards his head. A spin kick rounded off the trio of rapid attacks. "Murderous, vicious, thugs!"

Doran blocked the attacks and spun away from the kick, but the impact of Kote's fists on his forearms left his forearms aching rather painfully. Kote had at least several more kilos in terms of muscle mass, and Doran knew any direct hit would likely end the fighting.

The handle of a something was placed into one of his hands, and on instinct, Doran lashed out.

Needless to say, Kote did not appreciate having a dinner fork jammed into his fist. With one wild swing that connected, the enraged Mandalorian sent Doran's large form sprawling over the dinner table and fighting for consciousness.

Towering over the dazed Doran, Kote pulled the fork free and sneered at the younger teen's crumpled form. "Start caring, ad. You keep hanging out with her, we'll do worst to you. Understand?" He punctuated the words with a vicious kick to Doran's downed form. Then, with a laugh, he gestured for his entourage and they followed him out of the room.

"Don't worry," Doran groaned, seeing a worried Tracyn crouched over him. "I'll get use to it."

"That mir'osik! Hut'uun!" Tracyn fumed, glaring at the door Kote had disappeared through. "Kaysh ni skana'din!"

"Tell me how you really feel," Doran grimaced as she helped him into a seated position. "Anyone get the number of the speeder that hit me?"

"That…person, is Kote Lok," Tracyn pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at Doran's split lip. "I know Mandalorians aren't supposed to care about their lineage, but his is one of those long-lived ones…somehow. Apparently an ancestor of his was even Mand'alore once."

"So he's like Mandalorian royalty?"

"He wishes he was one," Tracyn sighed, shaking her head.

Doran scrunched his forehead in thought. "What was that he was saying about kyr'stad?"

"Kyr'tsad," Tracyn corrected, bowing her head. "It's a splinter group from the main Mandalorian enclave that advocates the return of the Mandalorian Empire. Both my grandparents and my parents were active members."

"'Were'?"

The light seemed to leave her eyes as she recited. "This is the stuff of holodramas. My more famous grandmother was Isabet Reau, a Kyr'tsad fanatic obsessed with bringing about a new era for our people. Somewhere along the way, she had a lover who was killed by people unknown. Fast-forward three years and she discovers who killed said lover. She ended up going off the deep-end and tried to take on an entire clan by herself. Her body was never found, but the fact that the clan still lives kind of says which side won. My grandfather was Lorka Gedyc, Kyr'tsad's Overlord of the time. He and grandmother got together shortly after that lover of hers was killed, and had my dad. Then the mainstream Mandalorians tracked down my grandfather and killed him. My dad and mom were never married, had me young, then got themselves killed following the next Overlord. Happy story, isn't it?"

Tracyn's dead tone caused Doran to flinch. "Very."

"Anyways, that's why Kote has a grudge. I'm an affront to the purity of his Mandalorianness and it goes against everything he believes in if others think that my way of life is a good thing. You should probably stay clear of me unless you want your head bashed in. Kote's definitely not afraid to do it."

"Well, at the moment, I've met exactly six Mandalorians. You, Kote, Dinua Teroc, Shukir, and Beviin. Of those six, only two haven't joked about killing me, you and Teroc," Doran tried to keep his tone light for her sake, but he was secretly wondering if he had made a mistake coming to the training facility.

"Teroc's also Kyr'tsad," Tracyn brightened. "He's supposed to be looking out for me and any other descendants of Kyr'tsad. Training for Protectors is open to all Mandalorians regardless of their past, but as you saw, not all Mandalorians are chummy with each other. Also, we're forbidden from becoming Or'ramikade, Mando Supercommandos, and a few other more sensitive positions. It was Mand'alor's way of compromising with the hardliners like Kote's clan who'd rather shoot us on sight."

"This is a training facility, right?" Doran said anxiously, glancing around the room.

"It is, but many Mandalorian clans aren't picky about who they invite into their clan. I'd say only thirty, maybe forty-percent of the people in this barracks were actually born on Manda'yaim or one of her colonies. The others are mercenaries, former soldiers, children of former soldiers, skilled armor-smiths, techies, and the random person in the galaxy who somehow managed to make an impression on the clan leader. The population of Manda'yaim is only a few million as it is, so it's not like we have a large pot to draw from. The instructors here have to really sniff out those fit to protect Manda'yaim and serve Mand'alor, and those just trying to get 'Mandalorian training' on their resume."

"That explains a few things," Doran sighed, immediately thinking about his promised training. "I'm in the latter category at the moment, so I hope my trainer doesn't hold it against me."

Tracyn's kind blue eyes searched his face. "Wait, you said you knew 'Dinua.' This wouldn't be Dinua Jeban, would it?"

"Yes, she's supposed to be teaching me all things Mando," Doran confirmed, watching Tracyn's blue eyes grow wide in shock and fear. "What?"

Tracyn looked down. "Kaysh gana birov haastale. Be careful around her, please. She's in a tough place right now has a jaro, death wish, too, I think. Being Commander Beviin's adopted daughter probably doesn't help much either. Listen to her instructions, but try not to take some of her harsher words to heart."

"I heard about the last couple of guys she trained."

"Complete nibrale…losers," Tracyn shook her head. "One of them was just a bounty-hunter trying to emulate the great Boba Fett. Lasted a single week. The other was a Mando from a prestigious clan. He lasted a month, during which, she utterly destroyed, humiliated, and even got him kicked out of his clan. Never heard what happened to him after he left the camp in just his skivvies."

"Great."

"Don't worry. I can already tell you're not like those other two. For one, neither of them gave me the time of day," Tracyn patted his arm reassuringly.

"Any tips then?"

"Be patient," Tracyn said softly, reaching out to grip one of his hands. "And remember. Some wounds take a very long time to heal. Come on, let's get you to the medbay. It's still another five hours until dark, so that should be enough time to patch you up. A tip to survive in this place? Avoid getting hit by Kote in the near future."

"On my things to do list," Doran grimaced as Tracyn helped him to his feet, his ribs protesting against any movement. Their height difference was almost amusing. Whereas Dinua had at least been as tall as his chin, Tracyn barely came up to his chest.

"What are you, a human-Wookie hybrid?" Tracyn grumbled, trying to support his weight.

"And what are you, shrimp? A Mando-Ugnaught hybrid?"

"An Ugnaught!" Tracyn repeated incredulously. "I'll have you know my cuteness is from my Ewok genes! Ugnaught my shebs."

The laughter of the two young teens echoed down the hallway, brightening an otherwise lifeless barracks. Unseen by either of them, their departure was watched by several individuals, each with their own plans and motives in mind. The place was, after all, a Mandalorian training facility, and no one there was looking for friends.

FtF(Resol)FtF

"You don't have to be here," Doran whispered, walking side-by-side with Tracyn towards the assembly hall.

"I know, but I didn't want Kote cornering you or something," Tracyn replied contritely. "We Mandalorians kind of have a saying. 'Always have someone watching your back, and if you don't, that's where the enemy will strike'. You stood up to me back there, the first one in the place to really do so. I'm just returning the favor."

Blushing slightly, Doran shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

The two of them stood out by not standing out. They were clearly the youngest, least armed and armored, and least scarred, ones present. Doran felt his nerves almost get the better of him as he tried to walk between a squad of veteran, battle-scarred soldiers, and he was suddenly grateful for Tracyn's support. In the center of the room was a raised platform, visible to everyone no matter where they were standing. Opting to remain in the back, both Doran and Tracyn pressed themselves up against a nearby wall, scrutinizing the others in the room.

There appeared to be about sixty others, some wearing clothing with their clan markings, others wearing custom-made armor or clothing denoting their military background. Most were clustered in groups around flimsiplast tables, talking in low voices with one and other and evaluating the rest of the crowd much like Doran and Tracyn were doing.

"Recognize anyone?" Doran whispered in a low voice.

"A couple of clans," Tracyn nodded, warily eyeing several larger individuals who edged pass them. "Some are on the bubble in terms of prestige. The Mando'ade, as they are now are kind of a dying race. With no glory, no sense of pride or honor in our heritage, only credits fueling our hunger. Many clans are in decay. For those clans," she gestured with her head in several directions. "Those men and women are probably their last shot at maintaining their clan's honor and dignity. After all, if it wasn't for the Resol'nare, our code of conduct, there is very little that separates a Mandalorian from a regular mercenary."

"The Resol'nare, that's the oath to wear armor, speak the language, raise Mando babies, defend your family, help your clan, and listen to Mandalore, right? Errr…from what you told me, do the Kyr'tsad follow it too?"

"Yeah," Tracyn smiled approvingly at his quick thinking. "My Kyr'tsad clan-mates follow the code, but replace Mand'alor with our Overlord. They don't recognize Mand'alor's authority, so many Mando'ade see this as a heresy of sorts. I'll tell you more about my clan later."

"Okay," Doran returned to his people-watching. "Are there any of your Kyr'tsad clan-mates in this room?"

Tracyn looked around again, her heart-shaped face darkening after a moment. "Not so much clan-mates, but there are Kyr'tsad in the room."

"Sounds like there's a story to tell," Doran mimicked some of the words she had told him earlier.

"Later," Tracyn breathed when the lights in the room began to dim.

Silence began to settle on the crowd, as all eyes turned to the central platform in the middle of the room. A second later, and a quintet of heavily armored Mandalorian soldiers rose up unceremoniously out from the center of the platform. Speakers along the length of the room made the leader of the five just as audible as he was visible.

"The law is not for the just," a voice Doran recognized as Goran, started. "It is not for those who do good or those who would uphold it. For they uphold the law within their hearts without anyone telling them to. The law is made specifically for those who will break it. There would be no law against murder unless there are people inclined to murder. No law against corruption, if there were no people who are weak at heart. No law against extortion, usury, and other monetary crimes if there weren't people who'd let their greed get the better of them. The law was created as a reminder to those who run afoul of it, reminding them where in society they stand and why they deserve the fates we the Mandalorian Protectors unleash upon them. Mandalorian Protectors are the judge, jury, and executioner, keeping our clans safe and united by upholding the law within their hearts. Most all of you in this room were adopted by one clan or another, each striving to prove to yourself and to your clan-leader that you are worthy of the name Mandalorian. Only some of you will succeed in this task. A select few will even surpass what is expected of you and be invited into the ranks of the Or'ramikad, the arm of Mand'alor himself. And a select few of you will probably die during training. But there is no reward without risk, no glory without effort."

One of the other Mandalorians stepped forward. "By now, all of you will have been assigned an instructor or training squad. You will obey every order given by your instructor or squad leader. You will not wear a single piece of beskar'gam until you've earned the right. If I catch any of you parading around in our armor before you've been given the honor to do so…let's just say I won't be very forgiving."

"One other thing," Goran continued. "Some of you may have heard the rumors of an impending alien invasion. Some of you might even want to fight. The Mandalorian Protectorate under Mand'alor have allied themselves with the Yuuzhan Vong against the New Republic. Do not question Mand'alor's decision, he is doing what is best for Manda'yaim and her people. If you feel that this is a mistake, leave this facility now. This will be your only chance to do so. If not, in the near future, should you make it through the training, there is a good chance you will be fighting the New Republic and their Jedi allies."

Doran's eyebrows shot up, and he felt Tracyn's hand tighten around his, the petite teen glaring daggers at Goran. He distinctly heard her mutter the words 'shabuirla ver'verd,' and felt genuine anger flare from her for a brief second. At first, he wondered if she had guessed his Jedi heritage.

But then, he had a feeling that she wasn't so much angry on his behalf, but angry about this Mand'alor's decision. If he recalled, ver'verd was Mandalorian for 'mercenary'. Given her background, the current Mand'alor was probably only proving the Kyr'tsad right in her eyes. And on some level, he had to agree. What man would sell out his own galaxy, have his entire people sell out the galaxy, for credits?

"In the end, only the worthy will be given the title of Mandalorian Protector. In the end, only the best will become Or'ramikade. So, train hard, train well, and trust in your fellow Mandalorians. When it comes down to it, only a Mandalorian can trust a Mandalorian in this twisted galaxy we live in. Tonight, get what sleep you can and prepare yourselves. Tomorrow, you shall begin your training and we will see if you have what it takes to truly live in this galaxy."

A Mandalorian in gold-colored armor stepped up next. "There are only a few rules here. One, you will always listen to a fully-armored Mando'ade like myself or one of the others. Two, as mentioned before, Mandalore is going to war against the New Republic shortly. So if we detect any transmissions, intercept any messages, or find out you are communicating with them in any way, you will be treated as an enemy combatant. Lastly, three, none of you are here because you want to make friends, but all of you are here because your clan leaders sensed the mando'kar within each of you. Fight amongst yourselves if you have to, but murder of another initiate is murder of a Mandalorian, and the punishment for such an act is clear. Everything else goes, provided you are ready to face their clan's retaliation. We are all Mandalorian here, regardless of where we come from, so do your best to remember that in the coming months."

A Mandalorian in red took up the orientation next. "For those of you unaware of Mandalorian politics, the Mand'alor has decided to allow several members of the splinter group Kyr'tsad to train with their brothers and sisters here. Regardless of what your clan has or has not told you about them, you are to leave the Kyr'tsad members alone. They are here by Mand'alor's invitation, and to move against them is an insult to Mand'alor and his honor. Mand'alor has his reasons, and in these times, we need to trust in his judgment even if we don't see the wisdom to it at the moment."

Goran finished up the briefing by holding out his hands. "This place is your home for the next year. Train hard, prove your mandokar, and one day soon, I will consider you a brother or sister in arms and we will be fighting side by side. Oya, live hard and return to your clans victorious and honorable. Report to your instructors tomorrow morning and begin your first steps to becoming Mandalorian Protectors. That is all."

As the five Mandalorians began to circulate through the room, stopping at some groups and bypassing others, Doran slowly released a breath. It had taken a while, but now it was finally sinking in. Here he was, in a military training camp preparing for some danger he knew little about, training with people who were being paid to fight the New Republic. And he would be here for a year.

The apprehension and fear must have shown on his face, because he felt Tracyn nudge him. He looked down to see her smiling gently, blue eyes tender with understanding.

"Ne'baat, Doran. Gar cuyi ne'solus… You're not alone."

"Not to sound ungrateful, but why are you doing this? Me interfering in Kote's thing was just the right thing to do, nothing special." Doran murmured, looking away and at the much older crowd around him. When she didn't respond, he looked back down at her.

Soft blue eyes earnestly bore into his watery brown and she reached up to gently brush the back of one of her hands against his right cheek. "We Mandos have another saying, Doran. Family is more than blood. Family is the company you keep, the company who defines the type of person you are, the people who'll have your back no matter what. I've only known you for a couple of hours, but I can already tell that you're a good person. So much better than some of the people here striving to be 'protectors' of the weak. I've got your back, Doran. Can I count on you to have mine?"

Doran breathed out a long, slow breath, his lips twitching as he fought back a nervous smile. "Yeah…yeah, I've got your back, Tracyn." He let out a weak laugh and rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly. "One thing is for sure, this is going to be one interesting year."

FtF(Kyr Tuur Solus)FtF

A\N: And now begins a five-chapter story arc that takes us through Doran's very adventure-full first week on Gargon. Next update…next week. Reviews are always helpful, what do you hope to see in this story =). As I said in my profile page, this is a modular story so though it's technically 'done' at five chapters, I'm leaving it open-ended so I can add additional story-arcs should the inspiration strike me.