Realspace burst into existence, lines of light reverting to pinpoints of stars. From beyond the canopy of his craft, Vance cast a look down at the planet of Mandalore that floated in the distance. Following the decline of the Jeewaa operation, the Sith Master had decided that expanding the search for resources was a necessity, for the supply needed for the Sith Order’s future was considerable. With the Orders’ presence known to the galaxy, there came to be a very distinct need for the ability to survive, a need to be able to support oneself without having to rely on aid given by other affiliates; this was simply a step for the Order to gain that required security, that state of independence...

Mandalore. For a long period of time, it had remained free of the touch of galactic domination; it had kept from the greedy hands of those that led the powers in the galaxy, instead remaining a financially fading planet due to the failed trade contracts and routes that it no longer held. In a sense, it seemed that with its own proverbial death, Mandalore had remained safest from those that would seek to control its resources and make what the planet had to offer as their own.

Vance would change this; with the galaxies attention on other matters, with the increase in battles and power mongering, the Sith had now managed to take advantage of a situation, while remaining below the radar. It would be Mandalore that would supply what Jeewaa had failed to, the planet that hung before the Sith Master, like a ripe fruit to be picked, would become the first of many resources for the Order.

Activating the flight controls, Vance began to pilot the sleek Sith Interceptor toward the planet. An immediate area sensor scan revealed nothing out of the ordinary, and save for debris and a small number of satellites, the planet seemed almost deserted of any orbital activity. From what Vance had gathered on the planet itself, there was only a single major city, with a collection of colony-like towns and gatherings through out the tropics. He had no doubt this almost uncivilized disposition of the planet aided in keeping the seemingly overlooked resources it had to offer secret, or at least ignored until more important objectives had been met.

Vance brought his craft down through orbit, breaking the atmosphere. Despite the readings on his sensor board, the Sith Master had the inclination that something wasn’t quite right. Yet, he continued, ensuring that his sensor jamming equipment was still activated. A standard procedure, one that Vance made sure happened when he came out of hyperspace; and even though he had a cloaking device installed in the craft, he didn’t feel the need to waste the energy required to activate and maintain the effect.

Flying low, keeping as close as he dared to the terrain, Vance’s sensors picked up the increased activity coming from, what he assumed, was the main city of Mandalore; there was light traffic, ion trails that seemed to follow designated routes, and for the most part it looked like it was all suborbital motion.

Vance decided against landing directly in the city, instead wishing to bypass the port landing requirements and take a subtler route for exploration. From within the confines of the Interceptor, the Sith Master found what appeared to be a suitable location for landing; and guiding the craft down through the trees, Vance touched down softly with his repulsorlift coils, the landing gear groaning at touchdown.

Unstrapping himself from the pilot seat, Vance began to power down the flight systems, placing the ship on standby. Moving out of the cockpit, the young man began to gather his few possessions, his cloak and lightsaber respectively, before he ventured to the rear ramp way that began lowering with the push of a button.

The rush of humidity hit Vance like a wall, causing him to scowl as the tropical heat of the jungle invaded the temperature-monitored internals of the craft. None the less, Vance pulled his cloak around his shoulders, before walking down the metal walkway with the clank of boots. At the base of the ramp, the Sith pressed the button on the remote he held, which caused the ship to activate the security measures installed. The ramp way retracted, the hatch closed and the craft shimmered as the most basic setting of the cloaking device was activated.

For a moment, the Sith Master allowed the jungles surrounding him to fill his senses. The Force flowed around him, the presence of many creatures reaching his conscious; Vance was mildly surprised to feel thought patterns directed at him, a sign of his being watched, seemingly discovered through means that he was able to guess almost instantly. The small numbers of sentient beings lurking nearby were all but silent; obviously scouts of some nature, and Vance had no delusions that his arrival was no longer secret.

There were no immediate threats, the Force simply alerting Vance to those who watched him. This made the man wonder, as for all intents and purposes it was almost as if the scouts wanted to lead him, to direct him toward a location. An ambush? A trap? Quite potentially, considering he was an off-worlder who had neglected any regulations they had for planetary visitation. Smiling, Vance decided he would see what happened. The Force would warn him of the scout’s intentions with enough time given to take action, and if an attack was on the horizon, then the Sith Master would be ready.

Walking purposefully, Vance continued to allow his surroundings to flood his senses. He felt the scouts, he felt the creatures that perked with his passing, he felt the jungle around him and Vance had the feeling that the growing sense of anticipation that swelled within him was almost to the point of bursting; he wanted to know what was in store for him, to begin the steps that would bring Mandalore under the control of the Sith Order, to begin the plans long since decided...

For what seemed hours, Vance walked with the hidden scouts as his only constant source of companionship. They were leading him, he had no doubt of this, and when the first sight of the city came into view, Vance had the feeling that there was no attack coming. No, if the roar of cheers that filtered across the river were any indication, it seemed that some kind of festival or gathering was taking place.

Excellent, Vance thought, coming to a stop at the bridge that led across the river, joining the jungle to the main portion of city. This will make blending in that much easier.

Walking, Vance looked to his left, catching a glimpse of movement. He saw a figure passing between the trees that lined the river, one of the scouts it seemed. Smirking, the Sith continued walking, the thoughts directed toward him seemingly pinpointing the grand looking building that was placed in the center of the city. Compared to the mixture of architecture that filled the city, a mottled design of various styles that seemed to be thrown together in patches that were more practical than stylish, Vance had a new understanding of the people of Mandalore and why they weren’t high on any galactic powers’ attention list.

Moving through the city, if it could be called that, Vance came to the entrance of what he could only guess was a meeting hall. The crowd within was almost deafening, whatever celebration occurring seemingly being enjoyed to the fullest. Perhaps a gladiatorial battle? Or perhaps some other kind of tribal festival? Either way, Vance knew that the scouts had stopped, they had led him where they had intended and they wanted him to enter.

He did...

The Guild Hall, most prominent of features in Guildstowne, was filled to capacity. Something of a cross between a tavern and a coliseum, the structure rose some dozen stories into the sky and spanned a full kilometer in diameter and it’s most auspicious of rooms was the Grand Chamber. Thousands filled its amphitheater seating while hundreds more gathered in the center dais that served as arena, stage and, podium for the gathered populace. Overhead a great fire burned upon the pyre, raining down hot ashes that cooled as they fell upon the hordes below and sending a great plume of black into the night sky. Countless voices joined as one to create a constant roar that echoed out into the jungles and across the river. This was a gathering of the people, a gathering under the one great man they all worshiped as commander and leader.

At the center of it all, seated upon a throne haggard by abuse, sat the man that everyone had gathered about to pay homage. An unassuming figure, the man appeared human enough though much of his frame was lost under the long-jacket he wore. His eyes moved back and forth among the crowds that moved about high in the rafters, lost in their celebration. With him on the dais were those he chose to keep closest, both friends and enemies. In one hand, locked in the grip of a dull chromatic gauntlet, he held a goblet of some unknown liquid while in the other rested the hilt of a blaster. This was the man who ruled the population, this was the man they called Mandalore.

Beff Pike had grown a certain respect for the title, though he had long avoided the mantle, and now he could imagine nothing else. Concord Dawn had become his home many long years ago and even after the Exodus he remained behind with the few thousand loyalists who continued to call the planet home alongside their leader. Things had changed since the old days.

Guildstowne was now the single largest settlement on the planet, ringed by a network of smaller cities each based around one of the large refineries that processed the ore they continued to mine. It had been impossible to conduct any formal census after the transients had left but estimates put the population between ten and thirty thousand fighting men and women. They were dirty and lost but they were still some of the best hunters in the galaxy. Over the years they had lost some of their luxury but gained a hardened edge that only this planet could provide as it had done once for the first Mandalorians and all those to follow. Nothing could do that to a creature what this planet did, Beff Pike had discovered this long ago and while the Exodus had not been entirely his own creation it had offered him and those most loyal to him, an opportunity they would otherwise have never found.

As the Mandalore of Concord Dawn turned his gaze over this gathering he felt an undeniable swelling of pride. Here could be seen the galaxies best predators all celebrating together. Their union was Beff Pike; he was their only reason for cohesion. Sweat and stink filled the air mingling with the aromas of a dozen different intoxicants alongside the faint tang of blood. A prominent waft of cooking meat filled the olfactory sense, its source; a massive creature roasting upon a spit slung over the fire pit at the forward edge of the dais. This was a fire that could consume men whole. It roared and spat grease; it could make a man forget about the fire burning high overhead.

Mounted along the walls of the upper terraces were the greatest prizes Mandalore had to offer, killed and stuffed to be seen by all. Dead eyes and severed appendages that said these were people who would kill you without a moments hesitation watched the horde below with baleful stares. Higher still were slung the many banners from battles won. Proclaimed in ancient script were the places and dates along with honorable names that helped form the foundation of the Guild. Every inch of the Great Hall was a testament to what these people had done under the direction of their fearless lord. In everything Pike saw his own accomplishments and in everything he saw his people under him, reverent and bathing in the blood of his foes. This was bliss.

A flowing river of liquid hot iron formed a spiraling moat that followed the outer edges of the dais. Bubbling angrily as it passed, the stream spat furious pain at those who dared venture too close. The hardened metal was neigh indestructible. The river was yet another declaration of what the Mandalore offered his people through the land. Mandalorian iron could not be broken, its hardness unparalleled though out the galaxy and it could be found only on the planet these desperate few called home. From the ore they crafted the hand weapons that made them fearsome and from this ore they also crafted the armor that would make them undefeatable in combat. Massive stores of the stuff, refined and processed, lurked in hidden bunkers all across the planet surface. Since the Exodus they had not exported a single shipment of the product and so their stores were rich.

Another secret of his people lurked here in these crowds. It could not be seen from one group to the next but as a whole, it was undeniable. To the outsider most aliens look alike and so one may not notice the markedly high amount of well known xenophobes. Lost in the vastness there might have been a dozen faces repeated a hundred odd times throughout the crowd, a Defel here or a Barabel there. So it went that the Guild had been able to maintain its numbers despite the relatively low breeding rate. The secret was stolen long ago from a planet deep within the Unknown Regions with the aide of a reptilian species who now mixed with those who’d gathered here.

And there you had it, the Guild Hall in its full splendor. But none of this had been arranged in vain.

“Silence!” the Mandalore roared in a tenor that transcended the thrumming noise of the crowd further amplified by the architecture of the Hall. His voice climbed the walls and washed over the masses that immediately fell quiet at his demand and turned their attention respectfully towards the speaker. He had stood while his voiced echoed through the Hall, and in standing the man revealed that he was only slightly over six feet, far smaller then many of the creatures that joined him on the dais. As he stood the crowd grew short. Those who had been standing fell to their knees while those who’d been sitting moved to do likewise. In mere moments the only sound to be heard was the crackling of countless fires large and small alongside the bubbling river that flowed relentlessly through the Hall.

“You are the best there are,” he stepped down from the throne and walked among the kneeling loyalists on the dais. “Mandalore has made you better, harder. But it has nothing left to teach.”

A confused sucession of murmers moved through the stadium like seats and the Mandalore allowed this for a moment. He raised a fist to again demand their attention.

“This is a hunt. Today we have overcome the hunt of our home. Respect it as you would a fallen prey but do not fear it!” Throwing back the customary hooded cap that swept from brow to shoulders, Beff Pike turned in a slow circle allowing his presence to radiate through the impossibly hard glare that locked with the eyes of each. His stare commanded devotion. “An off-world human moves through our forest now. He is Sith. He is a warrior and hunter. My dreams have come through the Sea of Voices. This is an omen.”

With just a few words the atmosphere shifted to comfortable companionship. With just a few words even the most dubious returned to the fold. Beff Pike knew his flock.

“He comes now. Raise your voices to the sky. Welcome him”

Bloody murder screamed on the lips of a thousand voices. A tumultuous roar echoed out across the river and into the jungle. The Mandalore threw up his gauntleted hand and pointed.

The stranger entered.

Like a shadow, Vance walked down the long expanse of the main entrance hall. The thunderous roar of thousands of beings greeted his ears, almost made him wince as the sound grew into a crescendo as he came to a stop within the opening of the main chamber. All around various beings watched him; arms, limbs, extensions all moved as they cheered, eyes of all varieties stared at the new comer.

Beyond the edges of the chamber, Vance's steady gaze shifted to look at the central beings seated on the dais that appeared to hold the leader, as it were. The path leading to the dais top circled the central support pillar that the leader waited; the moat of super heated liquid flowed around that path, all giving to the idea that whomever walked up to stand on the dais was seen by all in the hall as they walked the circular steps. Arms concealed within his cloak, Vance began moving forward, stalking across the worn flooring of the hall.

As the Sith Master neared the first of the many steps to reach the dais, the crowd suddenly feel disturbingly silent. In an instant, the only sound heard were those of the fires that burned within the hall, filling the area with crackling above baited breath and intense stares. Vance didn’t pause; he began moving up the path, taking the steps at a comfortable pace that would ensure all would feel no sense of hostility. The melted iron that flowed down along the outer edges of the path licked and bubbled, threatening to catch Vance’s robes alight; but the Force kept the small globules that were sent from the main flow from touching him, and for what seemed an eternity Vance walked in deathly silence.

Smiling to himself, the Sith Master reached the peak of the stairs, coming face to face with a group positioned around the dais top. Admittedly Vance was surprised by the size of the dais itself, as seemingly it was larger than at first perceived from below. Spread out in an oval, it was large enough to house a good number of beings, with more than enough space to seat them comfortably without imposing on those nearby. There was an assortment of beings; from the central humanoid who wore a long jacket, to the armoured humanoids who stood close by, to the number of scantly clad dancing types who lounged and gave evaluating glances at the new arrival.

Vance’s blue gaze fell upon the shorter man in the jacket. He was the leader, the Sith Master had no doubt, despite the two nearby who could very well have been warlords in their own right.

“I am Vance Jas,” The Sith Master spoke, walking across the dais top toward the gathering. “I have come to this planet, to this city, to speak with those who are held as this societies leadership...”

“Leadership I have,” spoke the man in the long coat. “But a society by any standard description, this is not.”

The folds of his jacket bunched against themselves as he spoke creating a contrast between the blue base and its dark brown piping. His arms moved in a slow, fluid motion that encompassed the whole of the Hall. Turning about in a full circle and presenting his rear to the Sith as he did. No attack came and so he spoke.

“This,” his brows bunched above the rimless goggles pressed around his eyes. “This is chaos.”

Rumbling cheers echoed through the Hall anew, shaking the walls with a deep bass tremor. Feet, or what passed for feet, thumped against the floor to the clapping of fist, flipper and hove. On the dais their jubilation was more reserved and the two who stood not far from the speaker moved in response.

One clad in the armor of a Mandalorian and emblazoned with the symbols of the Deathwatch stood to the left while another; far larger and differently armored figure remained to the right. Each had watched with adamant attention as the visitor had moved towards their liege. They studied him for flaws, none of which were readily apparent. They judged him as they would any other potential enemy (indeed, as they judged any and all they encountered). They sized him up.

“What you have found, stranger, is the hunters den. Welcome to the Great Hall, home to the truest seeds of the Bounty Hunters Guild.”

Again the cheer went up though now impossibly redoubled. He played to the crowd and allowed them their shouts and screams until the noise again died away.

“I am Mandalore. You may call me formal. I am Beff Pike.”

Though just shy of six feet and not shockingly built something in the mannerism of this hunter bespoke of a far greater strength then simply observed. His eyes hidden behind their shades betrayed no emotion while possibly scanning beyond the range of normal sight for signs of weakness in others. A long cap with flowing cuts of cloth ran down his shoulders concealing the ears. Confronted with the stranger he had left the blaster across the seat upon the dais but yet tended to keep his gauntleted hand between the Sith and himself.

Vance Jas did not seem to the hunter the typical Sith. While his words had not been in outright question the implied query was far from a demand… or an interrogation. The Mandalore was not force-sensitive, though he did possess many strange and inexplicable talents that rivaled those of the Jedi. But he was experienced, and aged. His interpretations of the interloper remained vague and he intended to probe the man further.

“Now I ask of you a question of my own.” The fire crackled ominously above and Beff Pike moved slowly towards the Sith. “You must answer it now. I will ask you again soon. You will understand then”

“Why,” he began now nearing within a foot of the man. “Why are you here?”

“Leadership I have, but a society by any standard description, this is not.”

Vance watched the shorter man of the gathering atop the dais, content in the knowledge that he had chosen the leader accurately. For all intents and purposes, the crowd of the hall had remained silent, keeping their voices low, hushed, as they listened to the echoed words shared in the center of the vast expanse of building.

The leader, as no name had been mentioned, began turning as he finished his words, his arms out stretched as he looked to the crowds. When finally he came to a stop, his circling completed, his back was to Vance.

“This,” The leader spoke, his voice raised. “This is chaos.”

The crowds burst into cheers once more, filling the hall with a deep thunderous applause mixed with stamping and claps. Even expressions of pleasure were seen on those seated upon the dais, as they basked in the audience that seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be gathered for their benefit and sense of elevation.

Vance remained silent, his form hidden within the shadows of his cloak. He moved not, a shadow all but invisible compared to the bustling movement of the hall; he instead watched, allowed his senses to flow around the area, taking in stray thoughts, common feelings. And the entire time, Vance was aware of the two humanoids who watched him, each dressed in armor of an unknown type.

“What you have found, stranger, is the hunters den. Welcome to the Great Hall, home to the truest seeds of the Bounty Hunters Guild.”

At the leader’s words, the crowd increased its imposing presence two-fold, seemingly still able to raise the level of cheering and rolling ovation. Vance felt a grimace tug at the edges of his face, a scowl at the display threatening to overcome his neutral expression. For while the demonstration was humbling, the effect had long since been lost on the Sith Master.

“I am Mandalore. You may call me formal. I am Beff Pike.”

Vance remained still, simply listening to the man known as Beff Pike. He walked with a confidence, if somewhat deliberate in his attempts to appear unreceptive to the sudden appearance of a Sith, as he spoke.

“Now I ask of you a question of my own. You must answer it now. I will ask you again soon. You will understand then”

Vance kept his eyes fixated on Beff, watching as the other man came to a stop within striking distance. Although he stood slightly taller than Vance, the Sith Master did not appear to be looking up; instead, for the moment, both men were on equal ground, a mutual respect given to the other for the time being, one that seemingly was being held by the entire populace.

“Why, why are you here?”

“I have come to this planet,” Vance started, his eyes shifting to take in the two armoured figures who closed to either side of Beff, coming to a stop behind him. “To speak with you, the being who commands these people. It has long been my understanding that the people of Mandalore have been left in a state of lost existence.” The crowd had become silent, listening to the Sith’s words.

“I am a member of the Sith Order, and we plan to establish a foothold within this galaxy,” Vance continued, his voice low, despite the echo it sent through the hall. “We are in need of resources, those that you have, I believe. What I propose to you, Mandalore, is your willingness to align yourself with our cause, to aid us in our goal at bringing about a new age for the Sith Empire; and in return you, and your people, shall be brought back into the universe, to be accepted and recognized as you once were. As has been your blood given right since the ages of your ancestors.”

Vance reached out, his gloved right hand pointing to Beff; while at the same moment, there was a faint movement from the two bodyguards close by, their attention heightening. “I have come here to give you the choice. I am Sith, I could bring death to this planet and enslave your people. But instead, I have a respect of the Mandalorians, I know of their trials and tribulations, and I know that enslaving such a people would be an impossible task, for keeping with the short timeframe I have been allotted.”

Vance smiled, his hand returning to within his cloak. “An alliance. No longer will you be subjected to your exile on this planet. You and your people are bred for war, for the hunt, and I offer you the chance to stand with the Sith, as we begin the first steps that will bring us our empire.

“The Mandalorians were once feared by all, they once fought beside the Sith; both equal and respected. It is time to reclaim that blood pact, it is time for our people to become, once more, the unstoppable force that shall conquer this galaxy.”

The hall erupted into deafening pandemonium.

Memories of ages past began to resurface; images played across his minds eye. Beff Pike remembered, through the Sea of Voices, when a Mandalore long forgotten had made an alliance between his people and those who would bid for the galaxy. The results of that pact had become legend. Doubtless the Sith had their own ancient history that recorded the Mandalorians in their own light.

He waited for the chorus to die to a dull roar. He stared at the outstretched hand. He spoke.

"Your appeal sits well with my people." Pike turned cooly away, an outright rejection and insult. Yet, he spoke on. "Your appeal does not sit so well with me, however; I cannot ignore the desires of those I lead."

Moving away from the Sith towards the bubbling river of molten iron he remained silent. The moments ticked by uncomfortably as the crowd rumbled and grumbled it's own concerns. Less then half of those in attendance claimed a heritage not distinctly tied with the Mandalorians that lived millennia ago. Indeed these were not the same

"You do not mask your threat." He turned to face Vance now, his back to the moat of flowing metal. Below the brim of his cap, with his face framed between the flaps there-of, the warlord seemed to radiate an unnatural aura of sheer will. "With one hand you offer us glory while the other holds close the lightsaber you would hold against us."

"We have resources, yes." A gesturing hand waved over the moat. In the reflected sheen of his gauntlet the river seemed to grow calm. Kneeling, his hand slipped into the liquid with only minor resistance. Radiating heat washed over him, to no apparent effect, while he fished through the orange-red stuff. He seemed to find what he had been searching for and as he withdrew his arm a long shaft of hardened iron came with it. "You are Sith."

He held the shaft high still glowing a bright amber hue.

"Long ago the Mandalorian were feared though the galaxy. No were are legend and myth. Many here are not of Mandalore true though they have adopted it as home. You are Sith and know of the gulf between species and sect. I am Mandalore and it is true of us as well."

At the end of the shaft was a ball, a scoop filled with the molten iron and it flowed beautifully in its transparent orb. The Mandalore moved across the dais allowing all those watching to see the miracle for themselves. He then bowed and poured the cooling liquid into molds set at the edge of the dais. Long blades of flowing steel poured out and the blacksmiths moved to work. When Beff Pike spoke again it was to a chorus of thumping hammers pounding steel with the hissing scream of superheated water.

"Our trials and tribulations," he added with a flourish, again closing the distance between himself and the Sith to but a few meters. "These are our own to endure and we need no liberator. Our exile is our own."

Decorated murals and banners alike told the story of these people, each paid tribute to those who had come before but in no way would those who lived be bound by the actions of their predecessors. Between the works of art, tribal and warlike, was told a tale that evolved from the pages of the Bounty Hunters Guild through to the current incarnation; the Mandalorian Dominion.

"We are warriors. I doubt you would have such an easy time bringing to us death but your meaning is clear. I know the Sith well and through. The vision I have is much as it will be now. You offer us a place at the side of a Sith Order? Then you offer us nothing we cannot take ourselves."

As he spoke to the backdrop of hammering steel the smell of worked iron slowly seeped into the atmosphere. So too did the crowd grow louder, more unruly; the listened and shouted alike. The two figures who had shadowed him now stood at a distance.

"Mandalore offers you the right to reclaim the galaxy as the Sith should. We offer you the chance to fulfill your destiny here, now! Mandalore grows weary of a galaxy dominated by order." Now the crowd tasted the hint of war, the guild rose to it's many thousand feet (tentacle and hooves) and roared its agreement. "Too long have we sat and watched; sat and done nothing. So too have we watch the Sith sit silent. We will not bide our time any longer!"

A tremor echoed through the ground at their feet. As though an earthquake had been unleashed upon them, the great hall shook. Unimaginable in its magnitude it did nothing to disturb the audience who, to a being, had begun to adorn themselves in the armor and uniform of the Mandalorian Dominion. Beff Pike too threw off the long jacket.

Glinting iron, polished or dulled to personal tastes, filled the stands. Weapons; blades and pole arms of countless descriptions, filled the air with the waving sound of broken air. A motley army stood ready and screaming for the blood that the galaxy would give up. Some wore full suits, their faces hidden behind a myriad of helmets while others wore only plates or mail made from the same almost-indestructible alloy. Humming static filled the air where those with powered weapons stood and still others clutched their blasters with the same ferocity.

It all unfolded as the roof of the great hall slowly began to slide open to the dark and starry sky.

Mandalore stood at the center facing the Sith while a cadre of even more impressive beings, those who had sat upon the dais with them, moved to encircle them with their own weapons at the ready. As one, they cast their eyes to the sky.

A cluster of lights hung high above, too small and dull to be stars or nebulae. The longer one stared the better the shapes resolved. They stood gazing up at a war-fleet; the Mandalorian War Fleet.

"What I offer you is the strength to crush your enemies."

In full battle armor the Mandalore seemed all the more impressive. Plates of hammered iron integrated with woven mail covered chest, back and shoulder. His legs were lost to the sweeping robe of woven fibers that met with the floor (and had blended flawlessly with the long-coat he'd worn moments earlier).

From outside the circle the hammering stopped to be replaced by the sound of clattering steel as, tossed from beyond the dias, a single long bladed sword arced through the air to land noisily between Beff Pike and Vance Jas. Beff Pike eyed it.

"I wonder if you have the strength to take it."

Vance listened, his eyes narrowed beneath his hood. Mandalore spoke, his words spurred the crowd and caused the blood to rush; he was clearly their leader, he was the one they all respected, and Vance knew that as long as Beff was on his side, then all of the Mandalorians would be likewise.

"I warn you, Mandalore," The Sith Master spoke, his voice low yet cutting through the crowd to the ears of those concerned. "Do not confuse my offer with good intent, with a purpose of trying to free your people, of showing the Sith's good faith to your own."

Looking down to the sword that lay between the two, Vance considered what he would do, before looking back to Beff. "The Sith take what they need, when they need; yet, they also know respect, and give as such where it is earned... yet, respect does not mean we will not destroy this planet if you decide to side against our goals."

The crowd seemed to sense something was happening, and the roars and cheering lowered in volume ever so slightly, ears of all varieties straining to hear what was being spoken.

Vance had to admit that the appearance of the Mandalorian War Fleet high overhead had been a surprise; it had been the last he expected, and despite the realization that Mandalore was far from easy pickings, the Sith also knew that the planet was ready for what Beff proposed.

"You and your own will join the Sith in our spearhead attack of our enemies' resources," Vance said, stepping forward, closer to Mandalore. "You and your own will fight for my Order, you and your own will die for my Order, you and your own will bring the Sith to power; and during this great feat, you and your own will find the glory in battle, will have stories remembered for ages to come, and you will not be harmed, for the honor of serving the Sith shall provide you and your own with safety from our wrath..."

Vance reached out a gloved hand, the metal forged sword instantly flying through the air to meet his palm. Grasping the handle, the Sith Master continued walking toward Beff, before he came to a stop before the leader; staring at the other man, Vance allowed a moment of silence to pass over the hall, before he smiled.

"This is how it shall be. There is no compromise. You and your own will follow the Sith to eternal glory, or you will all die as you are left behind for time to slowly consume what little remains of your legacy."

Twisting the sword in his hand, Vance stabbed the point of the blade into the solid flooring of the dais. It pierced cleanly, before he released the weapon and allowed it to stand in place between the two; Vance on one side, Beff on the other, the sword a symbol. A decision.

"Will you take up arms, or will you simply allow the blade to remain?"

The choice remained simple: If the blade stayed in place, Mandalore and his people would be destroyed; if it was taken up, it would show Mandalore's resolve to enter the battle for the Sith, and to bring glory to his people.

"Such is the decision you now face," Vance said in a low voice, stepping backward, his arms retreating within his cloak. "Choose wisely..."

The sound of steel against sheathe spoke its own answer to the questioning Sith. A could shank against cloth noise that silenced the crowd faster then any command.

They had been strapped in cross-hatch fashion across the hunters back, previously hidden by the jacket. Each measured just two feet, single bladed and straight edged with a bold tang running the full length of blade and hit. Pure black, no light glinted off of their honed edges as the Mandalore brought each into view. Evil radiated from them.

He lunged; the right blade coming in high with a sidelong chopping action. It was a ploy, easily seen and easily avoided. The point was simple; impress the crowd and set the Sith moving. Swung high and hard the angle was such that it moving away from the attack, Vance placed himself squarely opposite Beff with the long sword thrust into the ground between them.

“You talk as dictator but I am a warlord.” He spoke softly, alert and watching for the sign of a light-saber. A sea of voices sung of a million possible futures. Infinity played out between them. “But you overstep yourself. I will fight with you and die with you, if you are worthy. You think you have come here to test us. Look around Lord Jas, this test is yours and yours alone.”

“There is always compromise where strong wills are involved. You make your demands without validation. We have nothing to loose. We are too old for eager young Sith. We remember the first of your kind.” Somehow, as he spoke, he’d managed to transpose I for We. “We do not need you. You want us. Make us want you.”

“Take up the sword.”

Vance smiled, his eyes shifting to look at the sword that was embedded in the dias floor. For a moment he considered the words said, and he realized that all along he had known such was the case. The Mandalorians were an honor-bound people, and it was only expected that the Sith Master would have to prove himself in some manner for the masses, lest they never consider following him into battle.

Very well, Vance thought to himself, stepping toward the sword, reaching out to grasp it firmly in his gloved right hand. Have it your way, Mandalore...

Ripping the blade from the floor, Vance spun it in his hand, before changing his stance to that more fitting of defending; while he could rush headlong into combat, he had the feeling that there was something else on the horizon, a surprise, so to speak...

"Come at me however you wish," Vance said, his voice low as he stared at Beff with narrowed eyes. "Either way, you will have your test, and I will have an army with your people..."

Opening himself to the Force, Vance's perceptions began to alter; time slowed, allowing for more decisive and controlled reaction, and all around there appeared possible future lines about those in the immediate area. These possible future lines told of the potential decisions to be made while in combat, which allowed the Sith Master to judge his attack, or counter attack, accordingly...

Closing his eyes, Vance smiled faintly, prepared.

The Mandalore Pike attacked swiftly and with brutal ferocity. Each combatant had made their platforms clear with elaborate posturing so common to confrontation. The time for action was upon them.

Aware of his opponents skill and fully aware of his preparedness, Beff Pike chose a careful series of planned strikes to open. When fighting Jedi, and indeed Sith, careful planning is key. To kill a force-trained warrior one must be patient; one must plot.

His right hand, wrapped deftly about the hilt of one sword, carried the weapon in a tight horizontal arc while the left stabbed at the belly of Vance Jas. The air hummed, whistling a painful cry against the rushing blades.

Too fast the Sith brought his weapon up and between himself at the would-be warlord. The sharp sound of steel hitting steel echoed through the arena as both swords, first the inside then outside, we driven back. In one simple move Jas took the upper hand.

While Beff fought to recover his defense the Sith readied himself to attack. For a moment it looked as though the conflict would soon be resolved.

As the Sith claimed the Force as their weapon, the Anzati called upon the Sea of Voices for whispers of the future. Beff Pike consulted the soup often and was rewarded with the luck of his victims. Chance alone would not be enough to conquer this foe, however.

His tactics paid off. Before the Sith could carry off what could have been a fatal blow his attention was drawn to a new threat. From deep within the crowd someone had thrown an energy tipped spear. Beff Pike had planned this distraction, among others. It was intended to test the resolve of his enemy. As the bounty hunter saw it; Jas would be forced to choose between a potential victory over his adversary and his own safety.

The Mandalore was a deadly warrior in his own right but for all his skill he could not hope to match a trained Lord of the Sith in single combat. Particularly not this one.

His first “trap” failed.

The Sith called upon the Force, or so it seemed, and the spear changed direction. Vance Jas brought his blade across the Mandalorians chest. Beff Pike twisted sidelong, managing to deflect most of the blow. He spun with the force of the blow, the momentum carrying him through.

Perhaps the Sith had though himself victorious for he lowered his blade and easily back stepped away from the frail counter attack.

Beff Pike covered his chest and fell to a knee. One of his swords fell away. He tugged at his chest convincingly.

“Kark,” he cursed. “You fight like an infidel.”