Heres the first chapter.

Chapter 1: Ver Ori'shya Beskar'gam

                                     Ã¢Â€Â¦Ã¢Â€Â¦Ã¢Â€Â¦Ã¢Â€Â¦Ã¢Â€Â¦.Two Years Later…………..

Kal sat back in Tra’kad’s pilots seat. He was completely exhausted. He had just turned in a bounty he had been tracking for several weeks, and hadn’t slept for more than 6 hours straight in all of it, and that much was rare. But it had paid very well, one of his best jobs yet. He had credits, more than most hunters his age. He had a ship that could take a lot of punishment and deal some back, a fighter armed to the teeth, the best armor in the galaxy, and some of the best weapons too.

The console beeped. He opened the message—apparently; he had a new job too. But that could wait.

He though back on his short career. Early on, it had been rough. Despite the reputation Mandalorian hunters had,  no one was going to higher one so young, with so little experience, for a private bounty, the cream of the crop. So he had to bring in whatever public bounties he could, and he slowly developed a reputation. He brought his targets in intact, and with decent speed. He always took the posted bounty—some hunters tried to haggle it higher, but that was bad business. But he never let an employer get away with paying him a cred less than the original offer. In the last few months, he’d gotten several private jobs, and things were looking up.

And maybe this new job would be worth looking into. He leaned forward, opening the message. The task was to hunt down a Moff named Taldran Wanted Alive, as intact as possible. No reason nor last known whereabouts listed. A picture was provided—he looked about sixty, clean-shaven, with no scars or distinctive features. 

Kal scrolled down, to read who’d posted the bounty. He raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t an individual, but a government—the Galactic Alliance. Intrigued, he read on. The posted bounty made his jaw drop—a million and a half credits. That was a fortune for a single bounty. To his knowledge, there hadn’t been five bounties over one mill in the last fifty years. It was a open bounty, but he still thought he had a chance. He dialed up one of his better informants.

“Crag. Crag! Wake up, you lazy chakaar!”

“What do you want?” The Chadra-Fan twitched its oversized ears and blinked rapidly. “Oh, its you Kal. I’m sorry, quite sorry, I just thought—”

“Never mind what you thought. You’ve heard of the Moff hunt?”
“Of course, everyone has. I suppose you want to know if I’ve heard anything?”

“You know I do.”

“Well, just making sure. First off, if you hear rumors that he’s on Corellia, or Duros, or Nar Shadda, don’t believe any of them. He was born on Corellia, and was stationed there as an intelligence officer there, back before Yavin and Endor, and he likely had contacts there. But even if any of those contacts are still around, I highly doubt there are any who wouldn’t turn him into for the creds.”

“Duros is also a dead end, but for a different reason. While there are a number of orbiting platforms he could hide on, and live comfortably, the Duros are curious, and love to stick their nose less faces into other peoples business too much, even if he did bribe them. Someone would have him by now.

“Lastly, I’ve heard rumors that he’s hiding out on Nar Shadda—that’s a load of garbage. No Moff, how ever desperate, would chose to hide there, not if it was the last place is the galaxy left to him. He couldn’t stand it there.”

“Well, Chag, your intel gathering must be getting worse if this osik is all you’ve got for me. I’m paying you, ain’t I? And I’m not killing you. So what gives?”

“Kal, my friend, you’ve hurt me, deeply. Of course I have more for you, and I give it to you gladly, as your friend—your credits have nothing on our friendship.”

“No, but they do help, don’t they? So what have you got?”

“What I have, is a very strong lead. One of my more reliable sources told me in good faith that he was on Adumar.”

“Adumar? Are you serious? Why in space would he be on Adumar? Its in the middle of nowhere, and there’s nothing there! ”

“That’s why he’d be on Adumar. Because it’s the last place anyone would look. And there aren’t many, if an, bounty hunters that frequent it. Its possibly the best place he could ever hide.”

“If its so perfect, how did your “reliable source” find out about it?”

“He dabbles is most everything, including the collection and sale of rare and unusual weapons. As such, when he heard about blastswords, he went as fast as he could.”

“He went all the way to Adumar for blastswords?”

“Well, I suspect he was casing one of the missile storage facilities for a few friends of his.”

“Ah. Continue.”

“Well, he was in Yegadon, and he saw our Moff. Apparently, he only noticed him because he was dressed in the most ridiculous outfit my friend had had ever seen, full local attire, blastswords and all. And because he keeps his ear to the ground for big bounties, in case he can pass the info on for some money.”

“And why’d he give it to you? Why not sell it?”

“He owes me a favor, a big one. The kind of favor that would put a bounty on his head before too long. So he shared it with me, to even the score.”

“Well, sounds reasonable. Whats it going to cost me?”

“So quick to the little things, my friend. You think I only tell you for the money?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, it is not so untrue. For anyone else, I’d ask a quarter. But for you….twenty percent.”

“Are you kidding me? Ten.”

“This is very valuable information, Kal, for a very valuable bounty. Twenty is my price.”

“Yeah, it is. But if I’m doing the work, then I get more. Fifteen.”

“Kal, you must be joking. Is this what I get for coming to you first with all of my best information? I tell you valuable things, and you undercut me.”

“Crag, remember what I told you about not killing you? That could change. So….fifteen, and your life.”

The Chadra-Fan managed to look hurt, angry, and upset all at the same time. “Fifteen it is.” He agreed sadly. “I will see that fifteen percent, won’t I Kal?”

Kal stared at the screen. “Of course you  will Chag. I’m a Mandalorian—My word is honorable. Just be sure yours is too.” He cut the transmission. I hate dealing with him. he thought, and wondered if Chag was thinking the same thing.

Nice work!

Feedback is appreciated by everyone.

Prologue: The Warriors Beginning

Kal Goran was standing outside his family’s home, thinking. It was late, several hours after dinner. He wore only a tunic, for he had no need of armor on a peacetime Mandalore. Though that’s not entirely true, he thought. Mandalorians were never at peace.

He stared out at his surroundings. It was an old farmhouse, one that his grandfather had built himself years before. There was no farm now, but there was a barn for animals, which doubled as a private sparring ring.

A short distance away was another building, whose large chimney was belching dark smoke. Kal smiled to himself. His father must be forging again.

It was their family trade—had been, for as long as anyone could remember. Centuries ago, some ancestor had taken up the trade, and passed his knowledge from father to son—even daughter, occasionally. He had taken the name too—Goran was roughly translated as Smith in Basic.

It was a good trade—even when Mandalorians had been scattered far and wide, and could scarcely call themselves a culture anymore, people still wanted weapons and armor, even if it was purely ceremonial. Many of his ancestors had plied their trade in the service of rich aruetii who desired “authentics” for decoration in his mansion. Even a few minor Moffs had desired more exotic decorations for their luxurious palaces.

But in recent years, that had all changed. Mand’alor Fett had completed the task that Fenn Shysa had started—the reunification of Mandalorians and their society, and their return to the strength and glory not known since the days of Jaster Mereel and Jango Fett. Now, Mandalore was populated by several million, even after the Vong’ese had attacked and slaughtered a million Mando’ade. More were returning, and many needed weapons and armor, and the skill of the Goran family was still remembered by many.

Kal had spent many hours at the forge, crafting weapons and armor for various warriors. He was young, but had started far younger, having made his first blade at seven years old. He had crafted his beskad at fourteen and his current armor at sixteen. For the last two years, word of his skill had spread, and he had been commissioned for various pieces several times. But he had never been able to test his own skills as a warrior. He was eighteen years old. He knew it was time. Past time, really.

He started walking towards the forge. His father, Orar, was just pulling a midsized blade out of the bellows, hammering it into shape with one of his smaller hammers. It was already close to completion, and the hammer only had to fall once more,  and Orar plunged the blade into the waiting barrel of water. It hissed shrilly and let off steam, and Orar pulled it out, set it down, and looked up.

“Kal! I’m glad you’re here.” He held up the completed blade. “What do you think? Blades like this are getting more popular, lately.”

“It’s an excellent blade. Should serve its master very well.” Kal took a breath. “Buir, I need to talk to you.”

Orar nodded. “I know.”

Kal’s head jerked back slightly with surprise. “You do?”

“Yes. I’ve known this would be coming for some time. You’re a Mandalorian, and you’re a Goran—being a warrior is in your blood. And you’re of age—its time you proved yourself. That’s what you wanted to say, am I right?”

“Well…yeah. I can’t call myself a man until I’ve proved it to myself, and that means fighting, even if it’s just bounty hunter work. I’ve got my training and instincts, weapons and armor, all I really need is experience and a--”

“—ship. I knew you’d need that, and I’ve got that covered for you. I’m giving you my ship.”

“Tra’kad? But it’s yours….I couldn’t take it from you.”

“Kal, I’m an older man now—I won’t need it again. The rest of my life will be forging weapons and armor for others. I will fight if my Mandalore calls me, but if not, then I will stay here and do what I do best. I was always a better smith than a warrior. But you—you’re different. You are an exceptional smith, like all of our family. But you are also a born warrior, and that’s what separates you from me. That’s I’m giving you Tra’kad.” Orar took off his apron and hung it on a peg.

“But that’s not all I’m giving you. As you can imagine, I’ve made a lot of money from my trade—in your few years, you’ve made a few credits of your own. Some I’ve spent a few on upgrades for Tra’kad, but I still have most of it saved up, in various banks on Aargua and Mygeeto. I used some of it on a Bes’uliik.”

This time, Kal was rendered speechless. “Father…I can’t take it. That’s far too much.”

“No, its not. Its what you deserve. And you’ll probably need it. It’ll fit in Tra’kad, for when you need more maneuverability.”

“In that case—thank you. I’ll use it well, father.” He stepped forward, but Orar stopped him. “Not yet, son. There’s one last gift.”

Kal stopped, confused. What else could his father possibly have for him?

“Its nothing as flashy as the first two, so don’t be too expectant. He stepped over to his workstation, picking up a small blade. “I made this for you—a ge’kal. Its an armpit knife—you never know when it might come in handy.” He handed it to Kal. “

Kal couldn’t say anything for a moment. This was the best gift his father could have given him. He stepped forward and embraced his father.  “I’ll treasure it.”