Why am I here? Let's see if I can't explain that to you...

The galaxy is an expansive place. It reaches from one end of our knowledge to the other and fills all the spaces between. Our galaxy is the basis and reference to everything we here know, be it local or foreign. Variety is the spice that keeps the galaxy interesting, that which comforts and welcomes us. It is our galaxy that I call my Hunting Grounds.

I've taken contracts from the deepest worlds of the Core all the way to the Outer Rim. There have been hunts that have taken me half-way across the galaxy and back, while others have ranged no further then a single planet. And yet I am always amazed at the depth of each hunt, weather it be one that draws from one sector of the galaxy to the next, or one that isolates on a single planet. Some have found me pulled deep into the world of politics while others have gone no further then brief information gathering. But all the while, one thing is the same...

The breed.

It's true that the influences on my life alter my perceptions and grant new awareness: also granting new wisdom, new knowledge. However, at the core, I remain the same creature I was those many years past. Some people change with each impact in their lives, they pass into fad after fad never really understanding who they are. This is not true for me, nor is it true for the type.

Long ago I realized exactly who I was, who I am, something that saved me the struggle so many seem to endure on the path to awareness. Real and tangible being.

I am a Hunter. I am an efficient killing machine with no real morals or conscience, at least, not in the sense that most people perceive. To be sure, it is something I do extremely well and without compunction.

Every now and then, something will really just bother my baser tendancies. Bother them to the point of action on and of my own motivations. Rare is it that I succumb to my lesser emotions, as it tends to interrupt the flow of credits, but every now and again I cannot stay myself from action. It is the same for everyone like me, we hear a call as old as the galaxy.

This tendency has earned me a reputation among the industry of Bounty Hunters, but it is who I am. It is something I would not wish to change for all the credits in the galaxy. Nor can I if I wished, one cannot change their destiny. Plus, more often then not, it works out in my advantage.

For the most part I just follow the credits. As long as they don't cross with my nature. For the most part...

There are things I will not abide with, but then that is the case for everyone who shares the calling. In example, I do not care how much the pay, I will not tolerate being berated or abused by an employer. I think it is very vital for each and every employer to keep in mind just the sort of mentality they are dealing with... And in my case, reputation. Self-confidence, assuredness and pride...

And of course, I have my secrets. Probably more secrets then most tend to keep. Very few people have ever actually seen my face, or obtained concrete evidence that I am who I am. My aliases are so many and so varied most people just go on their assumptions. The fact that my history is so vague has been done deliberately, I doubt very much that I would be looked upon the same if a few of the facts of my past came to light. Such is the same with my very nature itself. Going on assumptions, most think me human or some species near there... Another fact that I just prefer to keep hidden. Other great men before me have thrived in shadow. Darth Vader, Boba Fett... But where they kept secrets behind their physical mask I am more like the examples set by Darth Sidious, or Prince Xizor of Falleen. My mask is intangible.

Hunting in a galaxy as wide as this, one must have weapons or tolls on which one relies. Some choose weapons of solid design, blasters, armor, explosives or a lightsaber... which is a fine choice for them. A very elite few choose other more intangible things to make their way in the galaxy. Skills in the Force, for example. The abilities of misdirection, as another. Or even the hallowed halls of power. Whichever their choices, obvious or not, a Hunter makes the best of them.

The same can be said of the whole breed.

So you see, it's really just a clever little term, "Hunter"... Like "Politician" or "Merchant". People tend to miss the brutal truth, that we are all of the same stock. They forget that we all came from the same brood.

We're Predators.

Like countless others, we exist to thin the herd and weed out weakness. Sith, Jedi... Bounty Hunter, Peace Officer... Politician, Merchant... We are all the same. We all exist to thin the herds of weakness. We remove all the parts that don't fit.

So you see, that is why I am here. That is why you are going to die.

It is much more simple for Fett. It was simple for his father, and his father before him. Nothing inspired deep thought that took the mind off of the task at hand. They called the Fetts cold calculating killers. Truth.

Each Fett was exactly like the one before. This was the third Fett cloned from the same DNA as the first, Jango. The clone of Jango had been Boba, and it was from Boba that Jango had been cloned.

Jorel existed to be a killer created soley with the goal of filling the name Fett. A role he was perfectly suited to and did just as well, if not better then the Fetts before him.

Though his armor looked by all signs the same as the stuff Jango had worn so many years prior, his is actually a very unique set. It boasts various changes and incentives inspired by Jorel himself.

Traditional in the way of the Mandalorian Warriors, Fett very much enjoyed the fact that the guild he inspired possesed the planet Mandalore herself. Having free reign over the planet had since granted Fett a few special treasures and peeks into the past.

The Fett tradition was something in and of itself and Jorel possessed memories of the Fetts passed. He knew of their lives in detail and had the privilage of their expieriance to call on. He was the perfect Fett and could over-come where others had failed.

Fett. The name held a history and reputation of its' own. It alone spoke volumes.

What did it all stand for?

History.



"It's tradition," a broken and stammering voice. "Long proud history...very, mysterious."

Picture four creatures, species unimportant. They sit around a table in a dank hole-in-the-floor tapcaf, the whole of their attention rapt on what had just transpired infront of their very eyes. Utterly frozen in their motions, all 9 eyes locked on the armored figure making good its' exit.

They remain transfixed on the spot for long moments until the armored figure departs with its' prey in tow. It takes what seems like an eternity for the figure to speak again.

"They was routed at Coruscant once. They vanished..."

Unfortunat for the speaker, no one seemed interested in resuming the conversation until the matter at hand was delt with. To this end, the Gran at the table spoke up in broken basic.

"iMagine that. In'e walks while we'd talkin' 'bout em?" one of his eyestalks had remained loked on the door while he spoke. "Talkin' 'bout Fett an' there'e iz."

All three agreed on this point and grunted as much, but the first speaker, a salt of a human, was insistant on finishing... or beginning... his speil. "No one knows much about 'em."

With a general sigh from the other three, they had conceeded to let him finish up. It was odd that Fett had walked in and shot a man no less then two lines in, but the human was bound and determined to finish. When he got an idea in his head...

"For centuries they'd been galactic protectors. They weren't Jedi, they just knew how to fight. Combat, you see, they were fighters. Honor bound fighters."

The speaker paused here to take a drink, then continued on.

"All the way up to near the Clone Wars, then they were almost wiped out. Routed in a battle at Courscant that had left them diminished they fled to unknown regions on the edge of the Republic Sphere. They ended up in the Mandalore system, on, wouldn't you know it, the planet Mandalore."

"They done turned the planet into a training ground for what was left and to train new troops. They had equipment that was hight of tech at the time, and still pretty darn hot today."

"The same time as the Jedi Purge was going on they got attacked on Mandalore. The battle left most of them dead except for the ones that were scarred and bloodied heros of the battlefeild."

"Jango Fett was one of those. He'd either been a hero or deserted. I don't know, but like the few that lived, he became a mercenary...a bounty hunter... Sold his skills to the highest bidders and ended up killing a few Jedi as I recall."

"Story goes that Jango was the baseline for the Clone Warriors and that Boba was one of them clones. Jango raised the clone like his own kid, probably had plans for the kid from the word go. Might have been why the Imperial elite were so close to the Mandalorians, like the Royal Gaurd..."

"Anyway, Jango up and gets killed by some important Jedi bloke and Boba sees it all happen first hand. Now, you can imagine what that does to a mind like his. So Boba grows up to be one of the best bounty hunters the galaxy knows. He were pretty active during the Jedi Purge, even killed a few, and on into Imperial age. Started to slow down during the Rebellion, then just up and vanished more or less before the Vong attacked..."

"From then on, details get really slippery. Suffice to say that Jorel ended up being a clone of Boba and reappearing to fill the shoes of the Fett name some time during the decline of the Vong invasion."

"So you see, he's an original Mandalorian Warrior, just copied a bunch of times. He's a standard of the name Fett and the Mandalorian tradition."

It had been the Gran that spoke first after the old human had finished up. "You sure knows alot." And the aliens cohorts had been forced to nod their agreement.

Before replying, the human reatched into his jacket for something then stated, "I'm something of a fan..."

This seemed to amuse the Gran and his buddies, one of whom replied, "What, you follow him around or something?."

"Oh no," urged the human. "We are partners."

Then, he had shot the Gran and his two friends in three quick pulls of the trigger.Standing and moving towards the exit, the old man had paused only long enough to offer a departing word of advice.

"Respect."