Scum and Villainy

by The Mountaineer Brony

Rating: teen
Tags: Star Wars, Violence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Death, Human, Storm King, Drama, Science Fiction, Capper, Adventure, Tempest Shadow, Grubber, Crossover
Length: 18081

Amidst the Galactic Civil War, a Mandalorian named Tempest Shadow forges her own destiny.

A fanmade work of a fanmade work. Takes place during the events of Snake Staff's Empire and Rebellion.

After the Clone Wars ravaged Equestria, the pony planet became known to the wider galaxy. Many brave equines raced offworld to explore new horizons and forge their destinies. And one particular unicorn saw a chance to forge a destiny of her own...

Having abandoned the servitude of the Storm King, Tempest Shadow has managed to work her way into the Outer Rim of the galaxy, and has found a place to belong; a place where she is no longer a misfit, a place where her warrior's way is valued above all else.

The ranks of the Mandalorians.

Now, after much training, she is finally ready to receive her armor and take her place in the rogue's gallery of galactic bounty hunters.

Published 2020-05-04 17:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-11-27 19:54:42 UTC

Prologue: Sister in Arms

Author's Note

Just a quick heads-up: Because I am a massive Star Wars nerd, this story is going to have a lot of technical jargon, lore, and/or mumbo jumbo that you may not be familiar with if you aren't a massive Star Wars nerd. Nonetheless, I'll try to keep it legible and interesting for those not Star Wars-inclined.
If all else fails, there's always Wookieepedia.

Prologue: Sister in Arms

The day had finally arrived.

Her training had been long and rigorous, but finally, the heads of the clan had deemed her prepared.

Tempest Shadow was to become a Mandalorian this day.

When Tempest had first heard of the galaxy of mystery and opportunity that had been opened to her planet, she knew what she had to do. She still remembered what had happened years before, when Equestria was first contacted by alien life. They had brought their war to her birthplace, but not to her home. Tempest didn't have a home. She had given it up after her childhood accident left her disfigured.

But now, she would have a home once more.

Once she had saved enough money, she slipped away in secret, abandoning the Storm King and any hope of finding her destiny in service to him. She chartered a ship off of Equus, one of the few that came to visit the far-flung planet, and made her way into this galaxy she'd heard so many wondrous tales of; perhaps there, she would find her destiny and a place to belong.

Eventually, she ran out of money somewhere in the Outer Rim, which put an abrupt end to her planet-hopping. Fortunately, by some chance, she had landed on the planet that would grant her her destiny: Mandalore.

Tempest found herself in awe of the Mandalorian tradition. A proud warrior culture who would accept any into their ranks, so long as they adopted their customs and swore to live by their code of honor. Most of the clans consisted of the tall, bipedal, hairless race referred to as "humans," but members of various other species had chosen to don the distinctive armor and live by the Mandalorian's Creed. Tempest, already well-versed as a warrior, felt pulled towards these ranks of stark, armored beings; she felt as though she had found her new home.

When she first approached the clan of Mandalorians she would one day join, she was met with great suspicion. The warriors weren't exactly sure what Tempest was at first, but after explaining herself, they accepted her as a "foundling" and began her extensive training. By coincidence, it would appear that Tempest had stumbled across the perfect clan for her: it was formed by foundlings from multiple species. Among her newfound brothers and sisters were not only countless humans, but Twi'leks, Zabrak, Nikto, a Quarren, a Rodian, and even a Wookiee. They taught Tempest everything she would need to know to join the Mando'ade: among them, tracking, marksmanship, close-quarters combat, piloting, and the Mando'a language. After nearly a year of training, she was ready.

Tempest Shadow's hoof-steps echoed down the corridor as she followed Sheryl Nighthawk, a young human female who had served as one of her primary trainers. Her armor, fittingly, was dark; mostly a very deep purple, but with scattered pink markings, including those on her helmet resembling a predatory beak. She wore a jetpack with extending wings, to fit with the bird motif, and her collar was lined with fur. She was tall and physically fit, with legs like columns and arms that could choke out a gundark. Despite her fierce appearance, she had a soft, caring voice and relaxed demeanor. Tempest could only imagine what she looked like, though, as it was customary to never remove one's helmet around others.

The two turned into a small room off from the main hallway, and inside found a man in armor, hammering at something on a forge. He looked up upon hearing the door slide open, his eyes invisible behind the eye screen of his helmet.

"Tempest, this is our armorer, Orar." Sheryl said with a gesture. "He'll get you suited up for the ceremony this evening."

Tempest gave a polite nod. The armorer set aside what he was doing and walked over to inspect the diminutive Mandalorian.

"So you're Tempest Shadow?" he said. "I've heard plenty about you from chatter around the compound. Finally completed your training, have you, foundling?"

"Yes, sir." Tempest succinctly replied.

"Glad to hear it. I was a foundling myself, and it's always good to see a newbie get their armor... though I admit, I've never made armor for one of your... proportions before."

"He'll guide you through the specs of your suit, Tempest. Make it how you want it." Sheryl said, turning towards the door. "I'll leave you two to take care of that."

The door slid shut and Orar turned back towards his workspace. Tempest took a seat across from his forge, watching him as he rifled through his supplies.

"We've only got enough beskar to make you a helmet." he said. "The rest will have to be made of plastoid."

"Fine by me." Tempest said. "The helmet is the most crucial part of a Mandalorian's identity. Fitting that it should be made of beskar." Beskar was a steel-like alloy created by the Mandalorian people. It was extremely strong and durable, and a point of pride for the culture that they should work it into their weapons and armor.

From one of his drawers, the armorer removed a small, squat droid and powered it on. The droid's sensors lit up and it began beeping; small legs extended from its body and it hovered in the air, heading in Tempest's direction.

"Stand up and let the droid scan you." Orar said, tapping on his computer. "It'll give me an idea of what plates I need to make."

Tempest stood in place as the droid ran its red and green lights over her form. She wore only a black body glove and simple horseshoes, but she figured that the armor she would receive would be similar to that which the Storm King had given her-- but far better. She saw a three-dimensional image of herself appear on the armorer's computer screen. He turned it this way and that, making occasional small marks in an attempt to surmise the shape of the armor.

The young mare was involved in many steps of the process, from choosing aspects of the design to test-fitting the plates. She chose a shade of purple that complimented her own to decorate the armor with. Stripes and other markings were placed on the shoulder pads and breastplate, and she chose to have a Mandalorian symbol, the jaing head, stenciled onto the flank.

"Where did you say?" Asked the armorer, no doubt befuddled behind his helmet.

"Here." Tempest replied, pointing to the flank of the computer model with a hoof. "Both sides."

"That's an odd place for a symbol to go..."

"It's cultural."

Fortunately, the armorer asked no questions regarding Cutie Marks, and continued his work as directed.

The helmet--the most labor-intensive piece--was created last. Tempest was very clear about what she needed out of it: the ability to use her horn and swivel her ears. A neck guard was added for extra protection, and a thin piece was left out for her mane, simply because Tempest wanted it so. The armorer asked her to leave so he could concentrate, but after several hours of melting, shaping, and hammering, Tempest received the greatest gift she could have hoped for: a finely crafted beskar helmet, made just for her.

"You won't be putting this on until the ceremony." Orar told Tempest upon presenting it to her. "Once you put the helmet on, it never comes off. Got that?"

She nodded an affirmative, but couldn't take her eyes off the polished sheen of the Mandalorian iron.

Now, the time for the ceremony had arrived.

Tempest marched down the aisle under the rise of Mandalore's twin moons. Her brethren stood alongside her, clad in helmets and armor of all shapes and sizes. Though they had been born across the galaxy, lightyears apart, Tempest had grown to respect her clan, and they to respect her; enough to take her in, train her, and bestow upon her one of the most noble honors in the galaxy. The right to be called Mandalorian.

The armor fit her perfectly. Atop a form-fitting, blast-resistant body glove, Tempest sported plastoid plates across her chest, back, and flank, as well as a new set of durasteel horseshoes, the front two equipped with Mandalorian vambraces. Though she kept her countenance stern, inside she was beaming with pride. She'd finally found a place to belong. A place to find friendship. She no longer had to survive on her own; the clan was her life now.

Sheryl stood upon the dais in front of her, along with the others who had helped to train her in this lifestyle. At the center of them all was the clan leader, an elderly man named Aren Velt. He had led this patchwork clan for decades, but his age had not yet rendered him weak. He had been present for much of Tempest's training, and had taken a special interest in her abilities.

Tempest took her place in front of the dais, helmet in the crook of a foreleg. She and the crowd stood at attention.

"Children of Mandalore!" Velt's deep voice rang out through the courtyard. "Today, we welcome a new sister into our family. A foundling. The first of her kind to accept the call of Mandalore: Tempest Shadow of Equus!"

The crowd of warriors let up a sharp chant of enthusiasm.

"Now," he continued "we shall anoint her into our way of life, and, as part of our order, she shall carry on the blood of Mandalore." The chieftain's sharp, helmeted gaze turned towards Tempest. "Approach, Tempest Shadow."

The unicorn walked forward until she stood before the clan elder, tall and imposing in his armor and heavy cloak, lit from behind by rising moons. The old man extended his hands toward her.

"Your helmet."

Tempest carefully reared up and placed the helmet in his hands using her forelegs. Velt brought it up and inspected it, turning it in his hands.

"A finely crafted helm." He said in a low voice. "The armorer has done his work well." He turned the helmet to face the crowd and held it aloft.

"This shall be Tempest's new face." His voice echoed once more. "From now on, she shall be but one in a legion. She shall protect us as we shall protect her. Her successes shall be ours, as shall her failures. Now, she shall recite our creed, and become one of our own."

The attention of the crowd collectively turned towards Tempest.

"I will wear the armor and speak the language of the Mandalorian." she said, projecting her voice. "I will defend myself and my family. I will raise my children as Mandalorians. I will support my clan and its welfare, and come to its defense when called." She repeated these tenets in Mando'a, and the chieftain knelt to her level.

"Then you are Mandalorian."

Velt carefully placed the helmet onto Tempest's head. Only her ears, mane, and broken horn remained visible. The crowd behind them burst into an uproar of cheers. Tempest turned to face them, the moonlight glinting off of the polished beskar.

With her face now concealed, Tempest allowed herself a proud smile.

First Blood

Tempest spent about a year doing odd jobs around Mandalore- mostly repairing ships and providing her services as a bodyguard -to save up enough money to acquire a vessel of her own. Sheryl, whom she now considered a close friend, was kind enough to help her with the first payment; a refurbished TZ-15 shuttle wasn't the most extraordinary craft on the market, but to Tempest, it was more than good enough. With what she had left over, she bought an astromech droid: R3-T6, or as Tempest affectionately nicknamed him, "Blinky." Together, the unicorn and her droid repaired and modified the shuttle, upgrading its weapons and engines, as well as giving it a paintjob and a new name.

Tempest christened her craft the Broken Horn.

It wasn't long after that that she was able to venture offworld and join the Bounty Hunter's Guild, a time-honored profession common among many Mandalorians, and was soon assigned with her first mark, hopefully the first of many that would bring wealth to her and her clan.

Tag Burqari. 31 year-old Weequay male from Sriluur. Wanted for murder in two systems and first degree robbery in four. Tempest's first bounty certainly wasn't on the level of intergalactic notoriety, but she was eager to bring him to justice anyway. This was one of many bounties that had been posted by the Galactic Empire itself, so she knew they could be trusted to compensate her well. After some research on her target in the Imperial criminal registry, she found herself on a course to Celanon, following up a lead.

Tempest's freighter dropped out of hyperspace with a jolt.

"Let's put the ship down on these coordinates, Blinky." said the novel huntress as the green orb grew larger in front of her. She reached out one hoof to tap on the touchscreen in the console before returning it to the steering wheel, both of which had been modified to work with her unique forelimbs. "We'll see if our tip-off was correct."

The R3 unit in the rear of the cockpit beeped an affirmative, accessing a control panel to help steady the ship while it entered the planet's atmosphere. Tempest was glad she had the droid around; though she considered herself a good enough pilot, any of the multitudinous tasks that the droid could handle to keep the ship running was one less Tempest had to worry about. If only she had a horn to focus her magic, she thought, then she might be a little more independent.

The Broken Horn touched down on a small landing pad outside of a bustling little village. It was evening, and the street lights were starting to flick on. Dark clouds in the sky suggested rain was on the way. A faint breeze rustled the leaves of the sparse vegetation. Aliens of various species went about their daily business as Tempest made her way down the street, leaving Blinky to tend to the ship. Though she did attract some curious glances, as she was likely the first pony any of the villagers had ever seen, her shining Mandalorian armor and her trajectory towards the tavern kept them from lingering too long. They knew she must have been on the hunt.

Tempest approached the doors of an unassuming building marked as a tavern. According to the tip she'd gotten from some other lowlife who allegedly had it out for the Weequay, he liked to frequent this establishment with his ill-gotten gains. Judging from the overall appearance of the place, Tempest could understand why: a small, dimly-lit dive on a backwater world with little Imperial presence, if any. What better place to spend money you had stolen?

The hydraulic doors slid open as the dark unicorn trotted up to them. She attracted a few sidelong glances from some of the patrons sitting closest to the entrance, but otherwise, she wasn't of their concern. To be completely fair, thought Tempest, there were plenty of other species in here just as odd to her as she must seem to them... although, to be even more fair, most of them were drunk out of their minds. Quietly, she went up to the bar, having to rear and put her forehooves upon it to speak to the bartender.

"What can I do fer ya?" asked the Abednedo, wiping his hands on a bar rag.

"I'm looking for Tag Burqari." said Tempest, her stern voice heard clearly from behind her helmet.

Suddenly, the humanoid sitting on the barstool nearest her raised his head and turned. He was wearing a red bandanna with a short braid escaping from underneath. His skin was brown and very wrinkly; he had small horns along his jawline and his yellowed teeth were showing in an ornery smile. Blue eyes gazed out from under a heavy, scarred brow.

"You must be lookin' for me, then." he said, his voice heavily accented. Tempest turned to regard him.

"I'm Tempest Shadow. I'm here to extradite you on behalf of the Bounty Hunter's Guild, on charges of murder and robbery. If you come peacefully back to my ship, I assure you that you and I will have no further inconvenience."

Tag laughed, glancing Tempest up and down. "You're the one sent to come an' take me?" He tilted his head to try and get a better look at this unusual talking equine he had recently become acquainted with. He chuckled to himself upon noticing the jaing head on her flank.

"You mus' be one o' them Mandalorians, ain't ya?" He scooted out the empty stool next to him. "'Ave a seat, mando! I'll buy y'a drink."

Tempest was silent for a moment before jumping awkwardly atop the too-tall barstool. She figured she had her bounty under control, so she might as well pretend to humor him. With a quick word to the bartender, Tag ordered himself and Tempest a drink; tall glasses of a dark brown liquid slid down the bar to them. While the Weequay tucked into his beverage immediately, Tempest had no intention of touching hers, instead simply watching her bounty from behind her cold, unfeeling helmet.

At last, the glass hit the bar once more, now about half empty. Tag sighed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"You know, mando," he said, looking to her. "I was once like you. An idealist. Believin' in the rule o' right and stoppin' the bad guy. But the day came when I learned somethin'..." He stopped to take another drink.

"I learned that the only rule out 'ere in this galaxy is the rule o' the strong. An' if you ain't strong, yer dead." He chuckled slightly, but Tempest just stared him down.

"So wot if I did some robbin' an' killin'? That's just how it is in the Outer Rim. Only the strong survive out 'ere." Tag polished off the last of his drink and grinned at Tempest. "You Mandalorians should know all about that. Some o' you are no better, I'm sure."

Tempest leaned closer to him. "Don't presume to see things through my eyes." she said grimly. "And don't presume to know the way of Mandalore. Men like you are cowards, and you deserve to be punished."

"Oh is 'at so?" Tag replied, mentally sizing up this so-called bounty huntress. He figured he'd taken on stronger foes.

"Don't suppose you've ever met a 'coward' like me, then."

In one quick motion, coming almost too fast for the unicorn to process, Tag swung his arm forward, smashing the glass into the side of Tempest's head. The beskar helmet wasn't even scratched, but the cranium inside was momentarily dazed by the impact and sound of the shattering glass. Immediately afterwards, Tag made a beeline for the door, other patrons shouting in surprise and alarm. In a few seconds, Tempest had gathered herself, jumping from the barstool which fell to the floor behind her. She broke into a gallop after her quarry; it was always preferable to take a bounty peacefully and alive if at all possible, though it now seemed as though that option had become less likely.

Outside, Tempest saw the Weequay running down the street into the village; when she called for him to stop, he whipped around, drawing his DL-18 blaster pistol. Though none could see it, Tempest's eyes widened in surprise. Tag's first shot narrowly missed her shoulder before the pony dove behind a nearby crate.

"You won't take me today, mando!"

As her opponent's continued shots pounded against her barricade, Tempest steadied her breathing, focusing for the task ahead. Gritting her teeth, she ignited her horn; sparks flew from the cracked and broken stub, just as they had since she was a child, but thanks to her training, Tempest had learned to conjure a faint magical aura. Concentrating on her shoulder holster, she slowly, delicately managed to draw her SE-14C and prepare it to fire. It took a lot of mental fortitude on Tempest's part to wield a blaster, and the pistol could even be seen to quiver slightly in the air as she levitated it.

She carefully poked her head above the crate, leveling her blaster at her target. Tag's shots kept hitting the crate or whistling through the air above her, probably due to his inebriation.

"Alright," thought Tempest "I'll hit him in the shoulder, maybe that will stagger him and buy me some time."

As best as she could through her helmet, Tempest lined up her shot through one of the blaster's twin scopes. Her horn sparked more furiously as she tried to exert her magic against the gun's sturdy trigger. What she didn't expect, though, was a sudden surge of her horn's energy.

The gun in wobbled in her grip, engulfed in a bright pinkish aura. The trigger squeezed off a shot.

The blaster bolt sped through the air as a red flash of light. Being made of energy, it didn't drop due to gravity-- but the shaking of the gun did alter its course. Instead of boring into his shoulder, the laser struck its target directly in his chest, burning a hole through his skin, ribcage, and heart, and exiting invisibly out of his back, its energy spent.

Tag Burqari gasped for breath. He staggered on his feet, dropping his blaster to the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head as he hit his knees, landing facedown on the Celonanian earth.

Tempest dropped her own blaster as silent shock overtook her.

She had killed for the first time.

The Mandalorian was snapped out of her trance by the increasing noise around her. Townspeople were beginning to gather and wonder what had happened. Shaking herself back into reality, Tempest rushed forward to present proof of her bounty and describe what had happened to the local authorities. They would provide her with a coffin to transport said bounty to the nearest Imperial outpost.

That evening, Tempest sat alone inside the Broken Horn. There was a plate of re-hydrated food before her, and her helmet sat on the table next to it. She ate slowly, almost begrudgingly; though it had been over a year since she'd left the world of her birth, she still desperately missed the food.

From within the back of the ship, the grey astromech rolled forward, beeping some affirmative to its master.

"Ah, good. Good job, Blinky." Tempest replied. The droid had reported that their "cargo" had been secured for the next morning's journey.

With a quiet, almost sad-sounding coo, Blinky approached Tempest, asking her if she was as troubled as she looked.

"Wh--no. I'm fine, I'll be fine. Thanks for your concern though, buddy."

Tempest was only partially right. Though it had been long since she'd abandoned Equestrian society, her childhood values still ate at her inside. Though she had killed the criminal in self-defense, and by accident, a bit of guilt hung over her. The ponies of Equestria valued all life as sacred, and were hesitant to even punish all but the most heinous villains. It was an attitude that Tempest told herself was foolish--look what it had gotten them when the Separatists invaded--but still, it was an attitude instilled in her as a filly, and she found it hard to dispel after she had violated it.

Blinky nudged himself up against Tempest's seat, for which she gently patted his dome.

"Thanks, Blinky."

Author's Note

{Insert MandoPony jokes here.}

A Complicated Profession, Pt. 1

That night, Tempest had the dream again.

Fire.

Fire from the sky.

Land and trees and lives being incinerated around her.

The very atmosphere roared and rippled as burning blue energy blasts rained down from the beyond and gouged great craters into the planet below. The Storm King's airship moved at full speed, trying to weave its lumbering mass between the laser beams as they fell, narrowly dodging total annihilation.

"Take evasive action! All hands to emergency stations!" the voice of the Storm King bellowed from the upper deck. "Tempest!"

Tempest Shadow stood in frightened awe as the energy blasts rushed by, blowing holes into the earth around them, tearing up trees, vaporizing ocean, and obliterating settlements.

"TEMPEST!"

The unicorn snapped out of her horrified reverie and turned to face her commander.

"Wake the hell up and go secure the forward rigging! Tell Grubber to batten down the hatches!"

With a sharp nod, Tempest galloped towards the front of the ship. The whole structure was swaying as the massive balloon holding it aloft was being blown back and forth by the turbulence generated as the lasers displaced air around it. Upon reaching the bow of the vessel, Tempest quickly took hold of the rope in her teeth, tying it more securely around its hitch. After repeating this for all the rigging, she stuck her head into a hatch below deck and called for Grubber.

"Grubber! Get topside! The Storm King wants those hatches battened!"

"I'm on it! I'm on it!" Said the diminutive honey badger as he stumbled towards the stairs. His characteristic lisp made him difficult to understand above the noise and terror going on around them. "This isn't lookin' so good, Commander! This ship isn't built for--"

Suddenly, Grubber was interrupted by a deafeningly loud noise and a great rocking of the ship. Tempest herself nearly fell over onto her side. One of the giant energy beams had grazed the airship's port side, tearing a hole in the balloon and shearing off part of the wooden gondola below. Fire began to spread across the deck as the great flagship rapidly lost altitude.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh, we're gonna die, we're gonna die, WE'RE GONNA DIE!" Grubber began to panic as he rushed up the stairs, past Tempest, and onto the main deck.

"All hands, brace for impact!" called the Storm King from the opposite end of the ship.

Tempest tried to run back up the deck of the collapsing ship, hoping to find relative safety in the main cabin, dodging barrels and crates as she went. But her hooves weren't quick enough.

She felt herself being lifted into the air before the impact came. Funny things happen when you're aboard a plummeting aircraft. In fact, Tempest didn't even feel any pain for a few seconds after hitting the deck again. It was only when she heard the thunderous crunch of the ship's timbers and the canvas of the deflating balloon fluttering above her did her body realize the tremendous pain it was in. Fortunately, she would be spared from the brunt of her misery by a falling hunk of wood striking her cranium and knocking her unconscious.

No more than a couple of minutes had passed before Tempest felt herself being shaken awake with little regard for her damaged body.

"Tempest?! Tempest! You gotta wake up! We need to move!" It was Grubber, rustling her with his little paws until she slowly revived. Other than mussed fur and a minor cut on his forehead, the honey badger seemed no worse for wear from the crash. Tempest slowly raised her head, though it pounded with pain and her vision was blurry, and looked at him.

"Ngh... Grubber? Wha-- ah!" She inhaled sharply, wincing as she felt her head and tried to find her words. "What's happening?"

With little consideration for her injuries, Grubber quickly pulled Tempest to her hooves, supporting her on his shoulder. "The ship's comin' apart, we need to MOVE!"

It was then that Tempest heard the creaking. A great lurching noise, louder than any creaking floorboard she'd ever heard. It sounded as though a massive redwood were tipping over onto her as the large section of the ship cried out in agony, breaking away. With but a moment's glance upward, Tempest and Grubber bolted from the wreckage as fast as their legs could carry them, the flaming hunk of airship sounding its death knell as it careened towards the scorched earth. The two of them just managed to escape certain death, riding the rush of debris out onto the open ground.

After the survivors had been extricated from the wreckage, those crewmen versed in first aid began to treat the countless injuries, their hospital a patch of empty ground on the barren plains, the airship burning away behind them. As she lay on the earth being carefully removed from her armor, Tempest began to realize the full extent of her pain. She wanted to pass out again, but instead grit her teeth through the aching, determined to come out of this nightmare a stronger pony.

As she expected with what mental clarity she had, Tempest had a concussion. Her inspection also revealed three injured ribs--two cracked, one broken--on her left side and various bloody scrapes and bruises across her body. Gravity had taken its toll for certain, but fortunately, the medical supplies had been salvaged from below deck, and Tempest was able to be bandaged up and given morphine.

Some time later, Tempest began to regain her senses, although her skull still pounded. She gently raised her head to inspect herself, and immediately realized she was more exposed than she was used to being. True, most ponies didn't wear clothes regularly, but Tempest did, and she, fittingly, felt naked as she lay there, tucking her tail between her legs. She saw the various bandages that had been affixed to her scrapes, some stained redder than others, as well as the tightly bound wrappings around her barrel, securing her injured ribs. It hurt her to breathe, but the morphine made it bearable. Tempest also laid eyes upon her Cutie Mark with a frown. She'd always hated it, the thing that kept her tethered to her past. That was another reason she wore clothes constantly: to not have to look at it.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Grubber approaching, carrying what appeared to be plates.

"Are you alright Temp-- I mean, Commander Tempest? They managed to recover a crate of rations, I figured you might be hungry."

Tempest wasn't sure if she could eat, but figured she'd need to keep her strength up. She motioned for Grubber to sit down beside her. The honey badger plopped himself upon the dirt and set the meal near the unicorn's mouth; a carrot, some bread, and what was probably applesauce. Carefully, and with gritted teeth, Tempest raised herself onto her stronger elbow to eat.

"Grubber... thank you for what you did back there." She said under her breath. Luna forbid anyone should hear Tempest Shadow express gratitude. "You saved my life. I owe you one."

"It's alright, Tempe-- Commander." He replied, making a meager sandwich to shove into his face. "I'm just glad you and I got out pretty much intact. A lot of others... didn't. Lots of bad, really bad injuries... lots of death, too..."

Tempest quietly munched on the carrot in thought. It could stand to be cleaner.

"How is the Storm King?" She asked after a while.

"Not good." Grubber replied, having already engulfed his food. "His fur is all singed, he's got a lot of cuts and scrapes, a broken horn, and he broke his left arm really bad. They were working pretty hard to stabilize him."

Tempest felt worry creep through her broken body. Admittedly, she didn't feel any particular affection for her employer, but she had joined him in the hopes of restoring her broken horn. Now, as he lay with his own body horribly beaten and broken, Tempest wondered if she would ever get her chance again, or if the Storm King even had the powers he boasted of.

The two sat in silence a while longer as Tempest ate and Grubber picked debris from his fur. The bread, Tempest decided, was old and stale, and the applesauce--it was definitely applesauce, despite its coloration--had an odd taste about it, but she ate them anyway, hoping it would nourish her. After some time, however, Tempest noticed that everyone else around the crash site was looking to the sky, even Grubber. Confused, she glanced skyward herself--and her jaw dropped.

Zooming overhead were sleek metal craft, blue and grey with prong-shaped wings. And they appeared to be taking interest in the crash site.

Tempest awoke with a start, bolting upright in her bed aboard the ship. Instinctively, she turned on the lights and glanced around. Her quarters were small and sparsely decorated, but she found no danger. Just her helmet staring back at her from across the room.

She sighed and rolled back over. She feared the memory of that day would never leave her.

The next morning, Tempest, her droid, and their newly-acquired "cargo" departed in the direction of home, making for the posting agency on Concordia, one of Mandalore's moons. As she brought the ship down onto one of the office's many landing pads, she could see countless individuals of more species than she could have imagined milling about in and out of the building.

"Must be a busy day for bounty hunters." She thought. "Is that really why they're all here?"

As she lowered the landing ramp, Tempest directed Blinky to run a standard diagnostic on the ship while she was gone, to which the droid beeped happily in reply. After going around to retrieve her bounty's coffin from the cargo bay, the newly-minted Mandalorian made her way through the crowds and into the posting agency, the long silver box hovering alongside her as she pulled it.

Inside, the throngs were even more densely packed as hunters, smugglers, and lowlifes of every shape and size stood around talking, looking at bulletin boards, or inspecting each other's weaponry. It was a lot for Tempest to take in; the last time she was here, it hadn't been nearly as busy, but she knew where she was headed, so she pushed through the crowds, stoically pulling the casket behind her. Along the way, she passed a group of bounty hunters looking at job postings on a hovering board, accidentally bumping into one of them with her cargo. The afflicted hunter, a tall, yellowish Trandoshan in a jumpsuit, turned and growled at her; Tempest uttered a quick apology under her breath and kept moving.

Not long after, she reached a central terminal, manned by several Imperial officers. Approaching the only available window, she saw behind the counter a thin human male, probably in his forties. He wore the starched, impeccably clean grey uniform typical of Imperial officers, complete with a small-brimmed cap, black gloves, and several metallic lapel pins indicating his rank. His face was thin and somewhat gaunt, sporting an expression of weariness as he tapped away on a datapad, almost certainly not very happy to be here.

But of course, his was the only window without anyone in line.

Tempest stepped up to the counter which, unfortunately, was too tall for her. Despite this, the officer spotted her in his peripheral vision and craned his neck to look at her.

"Yes?" Already, his sophisticated Core World accent was apparent to her.

"I've come to collect the bounty on this man." Tempest's stern voice came through her helmet. She had learned Galactic Basic quite well, though she still talked to herself in her native tongue. She tapped a hoof on the coffin, causing its lid to become transparent and reveal the corpse inside.

"Tag Burqari." She continued. "I have the warrant here if you--"

The unicorn found herself cut off by a loud sigh. The Imperial was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You didn't need to bring that here." He said with a slight air of disgust. "You can just come here, report your bounty, and we send a team to collect it from your ship."

"...Ah." Tempest replied, glancing briefly at the dead Weequay beside her. The officer turned, retrieving a comlink from his desk and flicking it on.

"Undertakers, please respond. We have a bounty hunter with a casket at the Platform Cresh terminal. Requesting immediate retrieval, thank you."

Though it wasn't visible to anyone else, except perhaps by her down-turned ears, Tempest felt embarrassed. She was brand new to this, how was she supposed to know what to do? Still maintaining his expression of disinterest, the officer turned back to the short quadruped before him, bringing up a new form on his datapad.

"Name?"

"Tempest Shadow."

Tempest detected a puff of air from the officer's nose. It would seem he found himself amused by Equestrian names.

"Place of extradition?"

"Celanon. 49° 55' 22.566'' North, 6° 17' 44.1168'' West."

"At least you're precise..." he muttered under his breath. "Date of extradition?"

"Yester-- a standard day ago." Tempest was still getting used to the concept of different planets having different day and year lengths. Fortunately, the standardized system, based on Coruscant, the Imperial capital, wasn't that different from Equus: 24 hours per day, 365 days per year, divided between 12 months.

"Collecting the bounty on one Tag Burqari... wanted for robbery and murder..." The officer continued muttering to himself as he filled out the digital form. Meanwhile, three white-armored Imperial stormtroopers had appeared to collect the coffin from Tempest. By the time they had left for the crematorium, the officer was done with his paperless paperwork.

"Go to the tellers over there and present your hunter's license." said the officer, jutting a gloved finger across the building "They'll settle your payment for you."

"Thank you." replied Tempest with a small nod. The officer simply waved her away with a noise of apathy.

The teller at said window was a black-plated RA-7 protocol droid, though again, the counter was a bit too high for Tempest's stature. The droid's face was expressionless, but still somehow appeared visibly confused when Tempest presented her bounty hunter's license clenched in her teeth, for which she allowed just the end of her snout to be shown.

"Imperial Peace-Keeping Certificate #79648617-- registered to Tempest Shadow." the droid read out in its buzzing digital voice. "Here to collect your recent bounty on Tag Burqari, I presume?"

"That would be correct." Replied the little huntress, receiving her ID card back. She wished her magic were focused enough to handle minor tasks like this without difficulty, but for now, she'd have to use her mouth. She was sure her clan would understand.

"Unfortunately," the droid continued "you will have to be rewarded the smaller of two bounties, as the target was not breathing when you brought him here. Would you like a direct transfer to your credit account?"

"If you can give me cash, I'll take it." Tempest still had wished she could have spared the crook's life, but she would have to accept that she didn't. Besides, even though it was the smaller bounty, 1,500 credits was nothing to balk at. After a few minutes, she was presented with a small metallic attaché case full of golden credit chips. She was still living hoof-to-mouth, and as such didn't have enough money to warrant a bank account; she kept what she had in a safe onboard her ship.

After stowing her money away, Tempest came back to look over the newer job postings, the crowds amid the office now beginning to disperse. Her eyes scanned the bulletin board, looking for something simple that she felt confident in handling. There were any number of jobs available, but one in particular grabbed the unicorn's attention. It wasn't an Imperial posting, but one from a crime lord named Drek Vilrein, whom the Empire apparently recognized as a legitimate business partner.

"Seeking capable bounty hunters to protect cargo en route to Manaan..." Tempest read the notice to herself. "Must be willing to work with other hunters and split a profit of 50,000 credits?!" Even if she had to split it between herself and multiple hunters, Tempest still couldn't allow something this lucrative to be passed up-- especially for something as simple as protecting cargo. She finished reading the post as she downloaded the commission info onto her gauntlet.

"Report to the Black Sun headquarters on Ord Mantell."

The voyage was long, as Tempest had expected, taking a few days even in hyperspace, though finally, the Broken Horn had dropped out of its jump, emerging just beyond the planet. The shuttle soared past Quantxi, the junkyard moon, its pollution easily evident from far away, before entering the atmosphere of Ord Mantell itself, a temperate blue-green world with many biomes across its surface. The Black Sun compound wasn't hard to locate: the main building rose like a grim obelisk from among the shanty towns surrounding it. The many landing pads about the base contained a collection of Black Sun ships, as well as some more unique ones that must have belonged to other bounty hunters.

After presenting her copy of the job posting and being allowed entrance into the compound, Tempest was led into a large bay meant for staging cargo. Inside, four other hunters stood mingling: a tall, gaunt, almost skeletal-looking being with sunken eyes and a perpetual look of anguish, a short creature with a pig-like face accompanied by a blackish, beaten-up droid, and a humanoid in leather armor and an orange helmet, leaning on a pike. Tempest couldn't identify the aliens, but the droid she recognized as a repurposed Separatist droid, a BX Commando, one of many kinds that ravaged her homeworld. She instinctively kept her distance from it.

It wasn't long before the door at the head of the cargo bay opened, out stepping a protocol droid announcing the arrival of Drek Vilrein, who followed shortly after. The crime lord was a human, shorter than some of the hunters but not diminutive. His face was angular, with a thin nose and narrow jawline bearing black stubble. His hair was swept back and messy, but he seemed to have wanted it that way. His skin was warm-toned and seemed to glow under the light. He wore an ankle-length, fur-lined coat that had seen better days over a plain shirt, bandolier, and heavy pants with countless pockets.

"I see my brave hunters have arrived." He said, throwing his arms wide. "I'm sure you will serve Black Sun well." The hunters collectively turned to face him.

"So you're the one who wants some cargo moved?" asked the porcine hunter in a gruff, accented voice.

"Technically, that would be my employer." Vilrein replied. "He had some other business to attend to, so here I am. And here you all are."

The droid placed a datapad into the man's hand, and he perused the names and information of his hunters.

"Harun Mekol," said Drek, glancing at the pale, skeletal alien "one of the few bounty hunters among the Givin, but with an intellectual prowess few other species can match."

The short hunter stepped forward with a snort, as if waiting for the crime lord to toot his horn.

"The formidable pair of Bulgo Woog and RA-ZR!" Their employer seemed to lean into his announcement, giving the Ugnaught the hype man he was looking for. "34 total kills to their name and wanted in 12 systems! I'm sure two hunters of their caliber will bring something useful to this mission."

Spinning on his heels, Drek Vilrein turned to face the helmeted being, who stepped forward and spoke in a language Tempest didn't know-- not that it mattered, since the speech scrambler in his helmet produced a buzzing voice that would've been hard to decipher anyhow.

"The infamous Boushh, here to add to his list of successes, I see." The crime lord and bounty hunter shared a nod. "I'm sure we've all heard tell of your track record."

Finally, the man turned towards the last hunter. There was a pause, one that felt longer to Tempest than to anyone else.

"And lastly, one 'Tempest Shadow.' New to the business, I see." Vilrein took a moment to survey the creature standing before him, an odd, armored quadruped calling itself a bounty hunter. The others regarded Tempest somewhat unusually as well; Bulgo gave an amused snort upon learning her name.

"Well," their employer continued without missing too many beats "I'm sure this will be the beginning of an illustrious career." Once more he turned, trotting out to the middle of the group.

"The Black Sun is lucky to have you all for this job." he said. "We've had issues running our goods to Manaan in the past; a certain band of pirates like to ambush our convoys, dragging them out of hyperspace and looting them. But I'm sure you all won't let that happen." Drek gestured to his protocol droid, who placed a holographic projector in front of them. The bluish light cast up a large image of a freight liner, a massive ship meant for hauling cargo.

"The five of you will take this unmarked ship, along with its consignment, along our smuggling routes to Manaan. We've taken a number of precautions to ensure you are not discovered, but should those pirates cause you trouble, the ship's auto-defenses will trigger to help you protect the cargo bay." The hologram zoomed inside the ship as he spoke, showing the layout of the bay and the locations of auto-turrets and blast doors throughout.

"What exactly are we hauling?" Tempest found herself asking. She winced a little as the other hunters turned their eyes on her, but their employer didn't seem fazed by the question.

"Mining equipment." replied the human. "Our operations on Manaan have opened a new seam of ore beneath the planet's waves. They'll need these supplies to extract it." The hologram faded away as a large bay door across the room opened. The crime lord extended his hand in its direction, revealing the aforementioned cargo ship.

"Barring any further questions," he said with a smile "your consignment awaits."

Author's Note

If you put in those GPS coordinates on Earth, you'll find a place I didn't know existed before writing this. Much like how I didn't know Celanon existed in Star Wars before I started writing this.

Also, it's not very clear how posting agencies work in Star Wars, or how one would collect on a bounty posted by the Empire (as opposed to, say, Jabba, who just gives you money with no documentation.) I hope the bureaucracy I came up with feels right to you.

Also, yes, I just realized that Tempest's ship shares its name with Vizago's crime syndicate from Rebels. Cut me some slack. :twilightblush:

(Decided to split this chapter into two just to get something out there, and to prevent it from being absolutely massive.)

A Complicated Profession, Pt. 2

Though traveling through hyperspace usually makes good time, the sheer distance the freighter had to travel, along with detours to avoid celestial bodies, meant that Tempest and her new coworkers had been hurtling through the cosmos for almost a week straight. The time passed slowly, the other hunters trading stories and boasts or maintaining their gear; the tall, white alien that Vilrein had identified as a Givin liked to show off how he could complete calculations faster than the ship's computer, his species being known for their hyper-intelligence.

Tempest found herself sitting idly in one of the ship's halls, just outside the cockpit. The hunter known as Boushh leaned against the opposite wall, and not far from him, Bulgo Woog was performing maintenance on his droid partner. The orange-helmeted hunter almost seemed to be inspecting Tempest with curiosity, and buzzed at her in his quick, choppy language.

"...I don't know what you said." she replied with a glance.

"He's asking what exactly you are." Bulgo translated from down the hall. "Some kind of dog?"

"I'm a pony, from Equus." Tempest replied curtly. "And more than that, a Mandalorian. I don't need lip from you."

Boushh continued to remark in his native Ubese, glancing between Bulgo and Tempest; his general body language suggested disinterest, while his tone of voice, or what Tempest could hear of it through his helmet, suggested mockery.

Bulgo snorted. "I didn't think they minted Mandos that short, either."

Tempest's eyes narrowed behind her helmet. Slowly, she got to her hooves and went to approach her antagonist, but before she could say anything, the ship lurched violently forward, throwing them both to the floor. The metal creaked as the ship was abruptly pulled back into realspace.

"What in the hell was that?" Bulgo yelled down the hall in the direction of the cockpit. Tempest looked up as Harun Mekol, the tall, pale Givin stepped through the door.

"We've got trouble." he rasped out. "Pirate trouble."

The hunters convened in the cockpit to look out the glass. Below them was a large, wedge-shaped Imperial ship, though it undoubtedly had seen better days: many of its guns were in disrepair, some of its armor plating was straight-up missing, and it had been 'decorated' with various tags and insignia, sprayed upon its hull with no attention paid to artistic composition. Accompanying it were three smaller beaten-up ships, likely boarding craft, who had their guns trained on them.

"Those blasted pirates have a hijacked Imperial Interdictor." said one of the Black Sun pilots. "They've pulled us out of hyperspace with its gravity well generator."

"That must be what's been happening to the other Black Sun shipments." Tempest deduced aloud.

"Pulling them out of hyperspace, boarding them, stealing their cargo, then blasting them out of the sky, like we're about to be." added Bulgo.

"We should get to the cargo bay and protect the consignment." Harun said, readying his blaster rifle. "Vilrein said there were auto-defenses to help us secure the shipment."

Light laser fire from the boarding craft strafed their ship, causing it to rock slightly and trigger its emergency alarms. Boushh's speech scrambler buzzed with activity.

"He says our guests will be here before long. Let's get moving." Bulgo translated. He and RA-ZR grabbed their weapons from the hallway as the group of hunters made haste to the cargo bay.

The cargo bay was dingy, and only looked dirtier as lit from above by yellow lights. It was rather spacious, despite being packed full of various crates, some of which were 20 feet tall and almost as wide. Upon arriving, the hunters quickly took action to secure the room; the Givin sealed off the blast doors from a computer terminal, Bulgo ran a diagnostic on the auto-turrets, and the rest of the hunters tipped over some of the smaller crates to form barricades. Tempest felt her heart beat faster as she readied her gun, thinking back to her encounter on Celanon.

A great noise could be heard from outside as the boarding craft breached the outer hull of the ship, depositing their parties of raiders into its halls.

Tense moments of silence passed inside the cargo bay. The hunters fiddled with their straps and weaponry; the calculating Givin sighted in his rifle scope, Boushh readied a blaster pistol while keeping his pike loosely slung, ready to enter melee at any time, and Bulgo prepped a blaster rifle nearly as large as he was. His droid, RA-ZR, knelt behind a crate, his blaster leveled perfectly at one of the blast doors, eyes cold, aim precise; though he'd likely had his memory wiped by his new owner, Tempest had no doubt that the droid had done this before, during the Clone Wars. It was, after all, in his programming.

Tempest's horn sparked and popped as she held her blaster ready, trying to steady her breathing as well as her aim. She had no idea how many pairs of combat boots were running towards her right now, intent upon ending her life. She closed her eyes and focused: "It doesn't matter." she told herself. "You'll get through this. You are Mandalorian. You are a survivor." Though she didn't look forward to it, she had killed in self-defense once already, and she prepared herself to do it again.

Tempest gave a long exhalation before turning back to aim down her scope, her gaze steely and determined behind her mask.

Loud, gruff voices could be heard from behind the blast doors. It wasn't long before they were joined by machinery powering up, and the sound of plasma saws carving through the sets of blast doors. The hunters carefully watched the bright lights and flying sparks as they carved large, rough semicircles through the metal. Soon, they knew, a motley crew of pirates would come streaming in, opening fire.

"Get this door open!"
"Almost there!"
"Let's make this quick."

From each of the two sets of blast doors, a large hunk of metal fell away, pushed away by the burlier pirates. As marauders of various species came pouring through the newly-opened doors, they began exchanging blaster fire with the hunters. A few stray shots hit other pirates, but it didn't take them long to focus their fire on the five defending their soon-to-be plunder. The auto-turrets in the ceiling activated and began firing on the invading pirates, but they didn't prove incredibly effective; the more skilled shots among the crew destroyed them before they could cause very many casualties.

Tempest squeezed off a shot at the first pirate she saw enter, a human male; it hit him squarely in the chest and he fell backwards, dead. A couple of other pirates returned fire, which she managed to avoid. Her next shot missed slightly, hitting her target in the leg. He fell to the floor, injured but still fighting. Boushh quickly shot the second pirate, muttering something to the pony he stood beside, which of course went untranslated.

Harun Mekol, behind them, was lining up careful headshots and felling a number of pirates. When a rowdy Ishi Tib tried to rush him with a vibro-axe, RA-ZR leapt atop the crates, blocking the attack with his own vibrosword, standard issue for BX Commandos. After dispatching the assailant, he fired on the mass of pirates with his off hand while Harun took the opportunity to find a safer position for a marksman, higher, and behind more cover.

On the opposite side of the room, Boushh and Tempest were being overrun by encroaching enemies. A number of them decided to crest the barricade and engage their foes in melee combat, a poor decision on their part. Boushh grabbed up his pike, twirling it about with ease to bash or impale those pirates that approached him. Though Tempest tried to fire on the Weequay that approached her, he knocked her blaster out of her magical aura; it clattered to the floor as she barely managed to avoid a bludgeoning by the metal rod he swung at her. Fortunately, she managed to find her footing and charge him, barreling through his legs and knocking him to the floor. As the pirate tried to stand, Tempest slipped beneath him; using his own weight as leverage, she flipped him into the air and slammed him to the floor.

As another pirate tried to rush her, she spun quickly on her hooves and bucked him in the chin, her durasteel horseshoes cracking loudly against his jawbone. A third approached from the opposite direction; again, Tempest spun, her rear hooves this time firmly impacting the unsuspecting pirate's groin. As another Weequay took aim at her with his blaster, Tempest lit her horn, shooting a small magical spark into the pirate's eye. Shouting with pain, he tumbled backwards onto the pointed end of Boushh's pike.

Suddenly, Tempest felt a searing pain in her elbow. Looking down, her flesh was charred and her hair singed; she'd been nicked by a blaster bolt. Turning to look for the source, she was greeted by an IG-series droid approaching from behind her, its dull chassis painted with pirate insignia. The mare gritted her teeth. Before she could assault the tin can, however, she found herself saved by the other tin can; RA-ZR fell upon the lanky droid with his vibrosword, which cursed loudly in Huttese as it was hacked apart.

The Mandalorian hobbled over behind a large crate to tend to her wound and analyze the situation. Already, close to 50 pirates lay dead or injured on the floor of the cargo bay, but there were still 20 or 30 left that were putting up a good fight. Whatever they were transporting, these pirates sure wanted it. RA-ZR was almost too quick to be caught, nimbly flipping about the battlefield, cutting down pirates at will with his blade and his E-5 blaster. On the opposite side of the room, Boushh's sure aim and his skill with the pike were proving almost as effective, though he was starting to be overwhelmed by numbers. Bulgo Woog rolled behind a crate near Tempest before popping up over its edge to rapidly gun down three pirates in succession. While he waited for his blaster to cool, he reached inside his jacket and tossed a small blue canister to Tempest.

"It's bacta, use it!" he said, before turning his attention back to the fight.

Tempest already knew what bacta was. It was a blue, viscous liquid, consisting of two varieties of bacteria held in a mucous-like suspension, that could heal almost any injury on contact. Ideally, it would be applied with a patch or the wound would be submerged in it for some time, but on the battlefield, Tempest would have to settle for this small spray canister. The medicine was cooling yet still stung slightly as she applied it, but she knew it would help keep her in the fight.

"Thanks for that." She called over the din of battle. Tempest glanced back in the direction of Boushh; the Ubese was fending off multiple pirates with his polearm, but could definitely use some assistance. She looked up towards the Givin in his sniper's nest and whistled to grab his attention; as he looked at her, she gestured in Boushh's direction before charging down towards him herself. The marksman spun around to begin firing on the group of pirates across the room.

Tempest joined in the melee, attacking the brawlers with her hooves and helmet as she dodged Boushh's swinging pike. He said something to her- barely audible over the din of combat -to which Tempest replied "Just let me help, alright?" She spun her head around and rammed her jagged horn into an unprotected knee. While the pirate yelped in pain, Boushh whacked him in the throat. When the taller hunter knocked another pirate to the floor, Tempest punched him in the head with her horseshoes. As one of the pirates, an acrobatic Noghri, climbed some crates to attack Boushh from above, Tempest managed to grab a fallen blaster in her aura and shoot him out of the air.

Finally, after dispatching a number by themselves, there seemed to be just one pirate left for them to deal with: a massive, muscular Klatooinian, taller than anyone else in the room. He angrily gnashed his teeth, saliva dripping from his doglike jowls as he approached them, cracking his knuckles.

"You want to play, then?" He growled out. "I need a couple more toys to break."

Boushh taunted him in Ubese and stepped forward, swinging the pike at his head. The bruiser caught it in one hand; reaching forward with his other, he grabbed Boushh by the throat, raised him up, and slammed him to the floor. Tempest leapt up atop his shoulders, battering his skull with her hooves, but his knobbly pate proved too thick. He reached back, grabbed Tempest by her armor, and hurled her into a large stack of crates; this shook the sniper's nest, and Harun tumbled backwards off the pile.

Tempest managed to get to her hooves to see Boushh wrestling with the Klatooinian, trying for all he was worth to keep his weapon between himself and the crushing weight of his foe. After shaking some sense back into her head, she charged once again, her horseshoes rhythmically clattering against the metallic floor. The thuggish pirate looked up as the noise drew closer, and was greeted by Tempest uttering a mighty battle cry. She leapt forward from her run and rammed her helmet against his face.

The Klatooinian fell backwards, howling loudly in pain and clutching a hand over his face. Suddenly, Tempest's visor became clouded by a dark trickle of something; it quickly became obvious to her that her horn had stabbed him in the eye. Not letting the gruesome thought get to her, she leapt atop the pirate, trying to subdue him with her strength, but he was clearly stronger. He grabbed the Mandalorian by her throat and rolled over, pinning her to the floor beneath him. His non-bloodied hand reached to his belt and drew a knife, raising it slowly above his head for Tempest to see. Blood ran down his grimacing face and onto Tempest's armor.

"Nee choo, murishani!" He said, preparing to strike her. Tempest didn't know Huttese well, but she could easily figure he'd told her to die.

And die she might have, if it hadn't been for a certain Ubese.

Running in from the opposite side with a cry, Boussh slid the blade of his pike into the pirate's ribs, eliciting a cry and a gasp, as well as a distraction. Tempest managed to knock the knife out of his hand, buck him in the stomach, and roll over on top of him, once again turning the tables. The boorish pirate looked up fearfully at the cold, steely visage of Tempest's helmet.

"Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur." She said proudly in Mando'a.

Boushh lowered the forward end of his pike towards Tempest; she took it in her hooves and drove it into her adversary's throat. He was still.

Tempest took time to clean up and rest after the battle. She worried that cleaning the gore off her horn would prove difficult, but it wasn't anything that enough soap and water couldn't handle. The ship's medical droid cleaned and bandaged her blaster wound, and she cleaned and polished her armor in her private quarters. Afterwards, she spoke to the rest of the hunters, as well as the ship's crew, about the battle that had ensued both within and outside the ship. Once the boarding parties had latched onto the cargo vessel, the pilots and crew had managed to seal off the cockpit and repel a small attack of their own. Then, once the hunters had dealt with the forces in the cargo hold, they sent out a mock all-clear signal to the pirate Interdictor, which deactivated its gravity well. They pretended to bring the ship in for a landing just long enough to attach a tracking beacon and jump back into hyperspace. A Black Sun fleet, no doubt, would be along to destroy the remaining pirates shortly.

As she idly walked about the ship, Tempest was approached by Boushh, who had Bulgo and RA-ZR in tow. The hunter leaned on his pike and pointed to the Ugnaught, then to the pony.

"I don't make a living translating for you, buzz boy!" the small porcine hunter said gruffly.

Boushh threateningly reached for a thermal detonator on his bandolier.

"Alright, alright!" Bulgo conceded, turning to Tempest. "Tall, weird, and leathery over here wants to talk to you."

Boushh looked at Tempest; neither could see the other's eyes for their helmets, but she could tell he was trying to be respectful. His sentences were short and chopped, typical of his language, so Bulgo had to add a bit more meaning in his translation.

"He wants to say that he was foolish to judge you so quickly. He might not be alive if it weren't for your actions."

Tempest gave a succinct nod. Her actions still weighed heavily on her mind. She would simply have to get used to taking lives, though she told herself she would do so sparingly. Many of the pirates she'd downed had woken up after the battle and currently sat in the brig, but the anger she felt when fighting the big pirate captain... well, she was doing that to save a life, she told herself.

Boushh continued talking, and Bulgo continued translating.

"He believes that you have the potential for a great career as a hunter... if you improve your aim. Razor and I think so, too."

"A F F I R M A T I V E." added the droid.

Tempest couldn't help but chuckle a little. "Thank you." she said with a nod, which Boushh and Bulgo returned.

The next couple of days passed slowly before the ship reached its destination, the watery planet of Manaan.

The ship slowly made its landing, charred remains of boarding craft still clinging to its hull, as a pony, an Ubese, a Givin, an Ugnaught, and a BX-series droid commando gathered in the cargo bay, long since cleaned of bodies and debris. Soon, the great bay doors opened up and a loading ramp extended out, revealing a landing pad built on the ocean, its surface slick with torrential rainfall. Numerous workers, both organic and droid, ferried cargo about on hovering lifts, loading up a massive elevator which would transport it to the mines far beneath the sea.

"Heh. What are the odds it's raining on Manaan?" Bulgo said with a bemused snort.

"Nearly always 100%." replied Harun Mekol, half joking and half serious. "That tends to happen on a planet covered entirely by water."

Boushh buzzed something through his helmet. "I agree," said Bulgo "let's go see about getting paid."

The hunters made their way out into the rain as some men brought several load lifters up to the ramp to begin unloading cargo. Shortly, they were approached by several Selkath workers, the short, fish-like inhabitants of Manaan; some of them carried cases filled with credits, and one carried a holoprojector. He held it out in front of him and switched it on.

Tempest was expecting to see Vilrein appear in the hologram, but instead, she was greeted by a tall green alien with a long black ponytail; he had spikes running down his back, a fierce brow, and wore purple princely robes. She had learned that this was a species called Falleen, and they owned and operated Black Sun.

"Greetings, bounty hunters." The alien spoke with a smooth, enticing voice. "I see that Vilrein chose a fine crew to protect my valuable cargo. I am Xizor, and on behalf of Black Sun, I thank you. Please, enjoy your well-earned reward."

The Selkath stepped forward with attaché cases, each containing a hunter's share of the entire payment. Tempest cracked hers open to look at the glittering credit chips. She could hardly believe it: 10,000 credits, all hers. It seemed a little unfair to her that Bulgo and the droid each got one case instead of one between them, but in the world of bounty hunting, she supposed, droids were given more equality. She tucked her case under her foreleg and turned back to the hologram.

"I unfortunately must be going now, but thanks to your efforts, Black Sun will continue to prosper and provide employment to fine hunters such as yourselves. We will arrange for an unmarked shuttle to ferry you back to Ord Mantell." With that, Xizor's hologram faded away and the hunters turned to head back to the landing pad and await their transportation.
Boushh's voice buzzed through amid the rain, causing Bulgo and Harun to laugh.

"What did he say?" asked Tempest.

"He said working for Black Sun is gonna get him killed one day." Bulgo replied. "But hey, the way I see it, money is money."

Tempest looked over to where the workers were unloading the battered cargo ship. Among crates of supplies and tools were the giant crates she couldn't help but notice earlier; they were unloading one of them, which seemed to be rocking now. She could faintly overhear someone say something about 'sedation' before, out from the opened crate, stepped a great, hunchbacked reptile wearing raggedy clothes and manacles on its wrists.

"...What are those?" asked Tempest.

Bulgo stopped walking and looked in the same direction.

"Mantellian savrips." He said, snorting. "Mighty strong beasts from Ord Mantell. No doubt gonna be useful in a mining op like this."

Tempest's ears perked up. She was concerned.

"A-Are they sentient?"

Boushh looked back over his shoulder and spoke before he continued walking.

"Who cares?" Bulgo translated. "We weren't to ask questions, just deliver the cargo and get paid." He began waddling back towards the landing pad, but Tempest stood there for a moment, watching.

There were at least three savrips being unloaded, all of them shackled and wearing rags. They sounded rather unhappy as the workers prodded them with poles to move them towards the giant elevator. She couldn't get a close enough look at their faces from a distance, but she could tell the three were concerned for each other and tried to stick together.

Tempest looked back down at her case of credits, speechless. What did she just do?

Author's Note

You can actually translate those phrases, by the way. :raritywink:
I also like how Boushh is referred to as "tall" despite being, according to Wookieepedia, 1.5 meters (4' 11"). Of course, it's tall relative to a little pony. :rainbowlaugh:

Sorry this took so long to come out. I wanted to make sure the first big fight scene was as good as it could be, plus I was sort of burnt out on Star Wars for a while there, but I hope you've enjoyed this story! More excitement to come, trust me.

Vode An

On her way back to Mandalore, Tempest let Blinky pilot the ship for a while so she could get some rest, but alas, sleep did not come easily to her. Thoughts of her previous mission lay heavily on her mind, unable to be discarded by her restless tossing and turning. Were the savrips intelligent? Did she deliver them into slavery? She supposed she shouldn't be worrying about it as much as she was, since the deed was done and she'd accepted her payment, but her sense of Mandalorian justice kept gnawing at her. Her teal eyes stared up through the darkness of the room at her ceiling; finally, Tempest resolved to get some sleep, telling herself that she'd take some time to relax on Mandalore and talk to Sheryl about her problems. She knew Sheryl could be trusted.

After its long journey from Ord Mantell, the Broken Horn dropped out of hyperspace and made its way toward Tempest's clan base on the surface of Mandalore. The unicorn slipped back into her armor while Blinky put the ship down on an empty landing pad. Sure enough, upon the sight of the shuttle bearing a unicorn's profile on the prow, Sheryl Nighthawk came rushing out to greet her old friend. The boarding ramp dropped down and Tempest exited; upon spotting Sheryl, she allowed herself a smile.

"I thought I'd see you around again." She said, trotting out to greet her.

"Tempest!" Sheryl chimed. "It's good to have you back." The human woman knelt down to take her diminutive friend in a hug; Tempest wasn't expecting this, but she returned the embrace with her forehooves. She had forgotten how nice it felt to be hugged.

"C'mon, I'll treat you to lunch. I'm excited to hear about your first trip offworld."

Tempest took a second to process Sheryl's words before falling into an amble beside her. She supposed that, now that she was no longer a trainee, but a full-fledged Mandalorian, Sheryl trusted her enough to dine with her, which would mean removing her helmet. Mandalorians, as Tempest had been told, were not to remove their helmets or armor in public, even around other Mandalorians, and in private, only alone or around other Mandalorians whom they trusted. Sheryl knew what she looked like, having helped train her, but Tempest had never once glimpsed Sheryl's face. Perhaps since she trusted her enough to cast off the mask, Tempest wouldn't feel so odd about opening up to her about her concerns.

"Well, it was certainly more exciting than I could have expected." Tempest said, looking up at her friend as she followed her into the compound. "It's a rough galaxy out there."

"I'd imagine." Sheryl replied. "I've never had a chance to leave Mandalore, but I think I'd feel more comfortable here than anywhere else. This is home, y'know?"

"I get that." said Tempest. "It's home for me too. But I've already come from way out in the Unknown Regions to get here. I figure I might as well see what the rest of the galaxy has to offer. I can feel it calling me. It's my destiny."

"Can't argue with that, I suppose." Sheryl's smile was hidden behind her helmet.

As they took refuge from the bright sunlight of the courtyard inside the compound proper, Tempest and Sheryl passed by a group of four human children wearing foundling robes. They were being watched over by two elder warriors, who nodded to their sisters-in-arms as they walked past.

"Are they new?" asked Tempest. "I don't remember kids being here when I left."

"Yeah, they were rescued a few days after you left, actually." Sheryl replied, glancing over her shoulder at the children. "A group of our brothers got called up as mercenaries for a conflict on Ord Cestus. One of them found the kids huddled in a culvert in a bombed-out village, hiding from all the fighting. Couldn't find their parents- probably dead -so he brought them back."

"They will make fine Mandalorians, I'm sure." Tempest said, though she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness for them.

Before long, the two had reached Sheryl's private quarters on the base: a small, spartan dwelling, much like Tempest's, but it did possess its own stove and a window to let in the sunlight. The door slid shut behind them and Sheryl quickly got to work gathering ingredients for their meal.

"Please, make yourself comfortable, Tempest." She said upon noticing her friend awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. Tempest turned her head abruptly as though she'd been startled out of thought, but quickly found a seat at the small dining table nearby.

"Would you like some tea?" Sheryl inquired as she began boiling the water.

"Tea would be fine." replied Tempest, somewhat quietly. She still felt a little uncomfortable, never having been in a situation like this before. After a few seconds, during which Tempest quietly waited for Sheryl to look at her again, she gestured with a hoof to her helmet, quizzically. Sheryl gave a quick nod, and Tempest slowly reached both hooves up, removing her helmet and setting it on the table.

In a few minutes, the tea was ready, and Sheryl returned with the pot and two small cups to the table. Sitting down, Sheryl reached up and removed her own helmet, looking upon Tempest with her own eyes for the first time. Tempest was a little surprised to learn what her friend actually looked like. Sheryl was fair skinned, with a sharp jawline, small nose, and some freckles on her cheeks. Her eyes were a deep brown and alluring, and she had a scar on her left brow, much like Tempest's scar on her right. Her hair was a pale strawberry blonde, looking at various times more red, brown, or golden, and was styled in a lopsided fashion: one side covered her ear and occasionally swept into her face, while the other was kept short, though not trimmed to her skin.

A smile began to form on Tempest's muzzle, slowly growing larger as her eyes scanned this new face. Sheryl brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and grinned in return.

"I'm not that familiar with humans," Tempest said "but... you look nice."

"Thanks." Sheryl replied with a suppressed chuckle. She acted as though she wanted to follow that up with something, but didn't, instead pouring the tea for each of them and bringing hers to her lips.

"I like how you've done your mane." Tempest said after sipping her warm, fragrant drink.

Sheryl actually gave a proper laugh this time, though a small one. "I call it hair, but thank you."

"If you don't mind me asking, Sheryl..." Tempest inquired with a tone of wariness in her voice "how did you get that scar?"

The young woman ran a finger over the aged wound, smirking. "It's like we're sisters, aren't we?"

The unicorn simply smiled.

"I got it when I was... twelve, I think." She continued. "A friend and I were trying to learn knife tricks and we got a little too careless." The two of them shared a chuckle; Sheryl waited a moment before asking "And what about yours?'

Tempest cradled her teacup between the knees of her forelegs. "I was much younger, just a filly. Playing with friends in the woods... went to get a lost ball and got attacked by an animal. That's also how I..." She let her speech trail off, but gestured to her horn with her eyes.

Sheryl gave a nod of understanding. "I'm sorry to hear that, Tempest... What kind of animal was it?"

"Not sure what you'd call them on other planets." She replied. "On Equus, they're called Ursa Major, a very large bear of sorts."

Sheryl shrugged. "Never heard of it on Mandalore. Heh, then again, there's not much of anything living on Mandalore."

Tempest glanced out through a crack in the window blinds. She had been taught that the surface of Mandalore had been rendered into barren wasteland centuries ago, during the planet's civil wars. She didn't quite know why, but there was something about the flat, dusty landscape stretching off into the distance that she found oddly comforting. When she turned back from her thoughts, Sheryl had moved and was standing at the stove preparing their meal.

"Do you want to come help?" She asked. "Figured I could teach you some old Mandalorian recipes."

"Uh... sure." Tempest said, getting down from her seat. It took some time, but Sheryl showed her how to prepare the ingredients, as well as their names in Mando'a. It had been years since Tempest had had a home-cooked meal, much less any meal she had a part in making. By the time the two of them sat down with piping hot bowls of tiingilar--a thick stew packed with numerous spices and vegetables--Tempest could probably have gotten by on just her personal satisfaction at how well it turned out.

But she had to admit, the food was nice too.

"The recipe usually calls for meat, but I've seen your teeth." Sheryl quipped. "You don't exactly look like a carnivore."

Tempest chuckled as she wiped her mouth. "I'm not. But still, give me this recipe! My mouth is on fire and I love it!"

Sheryl returned a jovial laugh. "I'll make sure to before you leave again... speaking of which, you haven't told me about your trip yet! How did it go?"

Tempest swallowed nervously and glanced at the floor, smiling.

"You claimed your first bounty, didn't you?"

"Yeah! Yeah, of course!" The pony replied happily, though her ears were still uneasy. "And I helped escort some stuff and fight some pirates, I've got to tell you about that, but..."

"But what?"

The room was silent for a moment. Sheryl watched her friend, concerned. Tempest sighed.

"Sheryl, I..." Tempest forced herself to speak. "I need to talk to you about something."

Sheryl spent the next several minutes listening intently as Tempest told her of her moral dilemma; how the culture she was raised in put a sacred value on life, and how uncomfortable she felt the first time she killed, but also how it had gotten easier when her life was at stake... and how that made her uneasy, too. During this time, they had drifted away from their bowls of food and wound up sitting on a small couch in the lounge area as Tempest poured her soul out to the only confidant she had.

When all was said and done, Sheryl sat pensively for a moment, her hands interlocked with two index fingers pressed against her lips, chin resting on her thumbs. She had to think carefully about what she wanted to say, and how to say it. Tempest waited, ears back, unsure of how her friend might respond to this flood of information and emotion. Finally, she spoke, looking at her friend somewhat awkwardly.

"Tempest..." She paused and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad that you trust me enough to tell me all of this. Really, I'm glad that you think that highly of me. But that being said, Mandalorians aren't usually emotional creatures, and I'm not quite sure I'm suited to help, so... take what I'm about to say with a grain of salt, okay?"

The mare nodded silently.

"I can't claim to know everything about your former culture, Tempest, or how things work on your home planet; and, even if I did, it wouldn't be my place to say that those beliefs are right or wrong. But notice that I said former culture. As in, yours no longer. Because you cast that aside when you became Mandalorian. Actually, from what little you told us about yourself when you showed up at our gates, it sounded like you had cast that aside before you even left your own planet. You were searching for a new life, and left behind everything that weighed you down to find it. That search lead you here, and you chose to follow the way of Mandalore. Do you regret that?"

"No." Tempest said firmly. "I meant those words when I said them. This clan has given me more than I ever had before. For the first time in my life, I feel free of stigma, free to pursue my own destiny."

"Then embrace it." said Sheryl. "A true Mandalorian knows that when she kills, she kills with purpose. To avenge, to make right, to defend herself or those she protects. So long as she doesn't slay her own kin, any death dealt by a daughter of Mandalore is death rightfully dealt. Kill with discretion, but do not be afraid of it."

Tempest took a few slow breaths to calm herself. She focused her eyes on a spot in the middle distance as she repeated Sheryl's words in her mind. Indeed, she was a Mandalorian, and glad to be one. Everything that happened to her before--her scarring, her time with the Storm King, the Separatist invasion--were just stepping stones leading her to now.

She silently thanked her past for bringing her here, and then she let it die.

Damn Equestria, damn the Storm King, damn the entire planet of Equus... Tempest Shadow was a child of Mandalore.

And she would never look back.

Tempest and Sheryl embraced each other in a hug as the Broken Horn's landing ramp extended. It had been about three days since their talk in Sheryl's quarters, and Tempest had reaffirmed her commitment to the Mandalorian way of life. She had Sheryl take her for target practice to try and improve her aim with her weak aura--it was getting there--and she insisted on only speaking in Mando'a the entire time, which wasn't required by tradition, but it made Tempest feel better.

Blinky beeped and whistled from the ramp, alerting Tempest that the ship was ready to take off. She and Sheryl bowed to one another in one last goodbye.

"Ret'urcye mhi, ner vod." said Sheryl, calling Tempest her friend, or, in the literal meaning of the word, her sibling.

"Ret'urcye mhi, Sheryl." Tempest replied. The phrase could be translated as "goodbye," but more literally meant "maybe we'll meet again." Being a Mandalorian had numerous associated hazards, after all. The two locked unseen eyes through their helmets once more before she turned and entered her ship.

Taking her place in the pilot's seat, Tempest carefully brought her ship up off the landing pad and sent it hurtling upwards through the atmosphere, headed for the moon of Concordia. The young bounty hunter was ready to hunt another criminal, and this time there would be no remorse.

Author's Note

Title is pronounced {vo-day ON}. For those who don't already know what this is, punch it into YouTube and you're in for a treat. :raritywink:

It translates to "brothers all", but in Mando'a, there's only one word for brother and/or sister, so it still works for these two. Besides, it was too fun a reference not to include.

(Behind the scenes, this song got stuck in my head while writing this chapter. So I'm going to say it got stuck in Tempest's head too once she heard it.) :rainbowlaugh:

An Unwelcome Guest

Nine months later.

The Broken Horn touched down outside the home of Hallor Sargantin, a moderately wealthy Twi'lek nobleman who lived in the highlands of Ryloth. The well-kept manor estate seemed rather defenseless to Tempest's eyes, but she did suppose that not everyone liked living behind walls and laser turrets; then again, she thought, if he had lived behind walls and laser turrets, there wouldn't have been reason for him to hire her for the mission she'd just completed.

Before the landing ramp even dropped down, she could see the man and his wife running towards the pad with anxious looks on their faces. As Blinky finished the touchdown and began lowering the ramp, Tempest stood from her seat and turned to address her guests behind her.

"C'mon, girls. Go to mom and dad."

The two Sargantin children, one around 14 or 15, the other only seven or so, stood and began to disembark. The older one paused to thank Tempest, to which she merely nodded.

Mr. and Mrs. Sargantin exclaimed in both relief and joy as their daughters ran down the ramp and into their arms. The mother dropped to her knees and clutched the little one for all she was worth, while the older girl threw her arms around her father's midsection and did the same. Tempest walked slowly down the ramp, silently watching the display. As soon as she was visible to him, Hallor threw up an arm towards her in gratitude.

"Thank you, thank you, master huntress, for rescuing my daughters!" He said, his emotion making his accented Basic harder to understand. "If it weren't for you, I-I don't know what we would have done... and my children would still be..."

"They'd still be on a slave ship." Tempest finished his sentence. "Hate to interrupt a family reunion, but do you have my money?"

"Yes! Yes, of course!" said Hallor, before shouting back over his shoulder in his native tongue. A shiny, chrome-plated protocol droid waddled towards them holding an attaché case. It had to stoop somewhat awkwardly for Tempest to take it in her hooves, but she didn't mind the temporary embarrassment; after all, she'd almost certainly never see these people again.

"Everything is there, I assure you, plus perhaps a little extra for your trouble." Hallor said, still holding his daughters close. His red-orange skin seemed to flush with emotion as he searched for more words. "You have... no idea how much this means to us... thank you, again."

Tempest tucked the case under her foreleg and bowed slightly. "I appreciate your patronage." she said.

Without another word, she re-entered her ship and took off.

As she departed, Tempest thought about how smoothly that rescue mission had gone; though the Twi'leks often found themselves abducted into slavery, they were a proud people with a fighting spirit. The slave ship she'd raided contained almost entirely Twi'leks, and once she'd killed a few guards and rescued the sisters, the rest of the chattel were inspired to rebellion and quickly took over the ship. Though Tempest knew she couldn't eliminate every injustice in the galaxy, let alone see to it personally, she was more than happy to occasionally ruin a slaver's day.

Now that it was all said and done, though, Tempest was kind of glad to have the two children off her ship. The rescue itself had been physically tiring, but the younger child asking endless questions and arguing with her sister over why she couldn't push all those buttons on the consoles was even more mentally taxing. Tempest decided that she didn't particularly like children, or at least other people's children, and jokingly wondered why she'd ever been one.

"Blinky, do you have the coordinates for our next hyperspace jump?"

The little grey astromech chittered an affirmative string of noises.

"Go ahead and take over whenever you're ready." Tempest said, rising from her seat and removing her helmet. "I'm going to get some rest." As the pinpoints of starlight streaked around them and turned to bluish light, Tempest trotted back to her quarters for some much-needed shuteye.

The sleek blue craft with pronged wings swooped about over their heads, chattering amongst each other in droidspeak. Tempest wanted to get up and move away from them, but her body hurt too much. Various storm guards grabbed their weapons in case an attack was imminent.

"Uhh..." said Grubber, taking slow steps backwards as he looked up. "This doesn't look good..."

Before the flock of vultures could decide what to do with their newfound quarry, suddenly, a bolt of green energy seared through the sky and blasted one of them to pieces. On the ground, everyone's attention turned to locate the source: coming in from the opposite direction were four boxy-looking ships, atmospheric craft, that seemed to belong to the opposing army. The droid fighters scrambled into an attack formation, engaging the gunships in a brief skirmish above the survivors of the Storm King's zeppelin. The prong-winged craft were quickly dispatched by an assortment of deadly lasers, their wreckage strewn about the crash site, and one of their scorched chassis even falling into the flaming wreckage of the airship nearby.

Afterwards, the boxy craft landed in a circle around the survivors, their side doors opening to disgorge several tall bipeds in white armor. Accompanying them were some in cloth uniforms, pushing what appeared to be hovering gurneys with various lifesaving equipment attached. They spoke in a language Tempest couldn't understand; in fact, no one seemed able to communicate effectively until a white-coated unicorn medic hopped out of one of the craft. His horn glowed brightly for a moment, and then the strange babbling of the bipeds made sense.

"Wha--now? Now. Okay." said one of the medics in a gruff, accented voice. He turned to the group of survivors at large. "We're a medical corps with the Grand Army of the Republic. Who among you is the most injured?"

Various storm guards moved quickly about, indicating the most mangled of their number, including the Storm King himself. The biped who seemed to be the lead medic waved his arms to his fellows, who rushed forward with stretchers, while the armored ones, likely soldiers, guarded the perimeter. Along with the unicorn doctor was a white earth pony mare with a pink mane; her strength and the doctor's telekinesis helped get the bulkier primates up onto the gurneys.

"Grubber, help me up." Tempest muttered in his direction. "Take me over there."

With some effort, Grubber helped Tempest onto his shoulder and assisted her in standing. The two of them carefully hobbled over towards the bipedal medics, all of whom seemed to share the same face and voice. Despite her painkillers, each step was still mildly agonizing, but Tempest grit her teeth and continued with careful steps. By the time she reached the medic who'd addressed them, he was looking over the Storm King's injuries. As Grubber had said, he seemed in very poor shape.

"Get some bacta patches on him to stop the bleeding and see if you can get an IV in. We'll have to do more once we get back to base camp."

"E-Excuse me..." said Tempest through her clenched jaw. The medic turned around, at first expecting someone at eye level, before looking down to find the pony who'd addressed him.

"That's our leader. Is he going to be alright?"

"He's not conscious right now and he's lost a lot of blood, but once we rush him back and get him hooked up to our machines, he'll probably be fine. Are you in need of help?"

Tempest winced as her side flared up. Grubber spoke in her stead.

"She broke some ribs and has a concussion. I think I'm alright though."

Two of the gunships took off, loaded up with the most severe of the injuries. "Our last two are going to be full up soon, but we'll be back." said the medic. "Do you think you can wait until then?"

Tempest glanced around at her injured crewmates. Normally, she wouldn't trust strangers, and would encourage her allies to do the same, but currently, she didn't feel she had much choice. Plus, she was worried about the Storm King--but not in any personal capacity, of course; he had promised to restore her horn, and once he'd recovered, she still intended to hold him to his word.

"I'll go now."

"Alright." He turned to call to another medic over his shoulder; the only way to tell them apart was by rank insignia. "Hey, Rio, do you think you can fit this one on your ship?"

"Yeah, I think I can manage." He jaunted over to Grubber's side and extended his arms, carefully allowing Tempest to rest herself against them as the superior officer informed him of her injuries. Supporting her rear half under one arm and resting her forelegs on the other, the clone carefully lifted the equine up off the ground and carried her over to a waiting gunship. He sat down with her carefully, and Grubber waved goodbye from a distance as the craft pushed away from the ground.

"Excuse the close quarters, miss." said the clone. Before Tempest could reply, another one had come over to assess her situation.

"What's wrong with this one?"

"Broken or otherwise injured ribs, a concussion, and various lesions."

"What about this horn?"

"Oh, no, no..." Tempest spoke up. "That's... been like that..."

Tempest found her dream interrupted by a series of beeps and whistles.

She rolled over in bed to find Blinky sitting nearby, rocking back and forth happily on his wheeled legs. Checking the chrono, it had been a little over two hours.

"We're there already?" Tempest said with an impressed snort. "This hunk o' junk makes pretty good time."

The Mandalorian donned her armor and took to the cockpit once again, this time back in realspace and looking out over the crystal-studded planet of Christophsis. She brought her ship into the atmosphere, transmitting the number on her hunter's license when asked for identification. The Empire may have been oppressively rigorous with its rules and regulations, but being recognized as an official "peacekeeper" allowed her access to most Imperial airspace. That said, they didn't pay for fuel, repairs, weapons, or food--that's what hunting bounties was for, and after this next job, she was confident she'd have the credits she needed to upgrade the Broken Horn with a couple of concussion missile banks, and as long as she continued to stay on the Empire's good side, they might not care that they'd been installed by an illegal outfitter.

She cruised through the clouds until the ship's sensors pinged with an alert that she was near her destination, a small tavern in a seedier settlement away from Imperial overwatch. The old man who gave her the assignment assured her that it would be a simple job and perfectly safe, despite the fact that Tatooine was a nigh-lawless planet firmly within Hutt Space. Tempest knew by now that no job was "perfectly safe," but danger wouldn't stop her from earning a living in this galaxy. She'd grown plenty accustomed to dealing with the armed and dangerous during her career as a huntress.

After spending a day planetside to familiarize herself with the blistering twin suns, copious amounts of sand, the frequently dangerous wildlife, and the occasionally dangerous populace, Tempest set out into the vast, rolling dunes in search of her quarry. A certain Ithorian had missed his bond payments big-time after getting out of jail, and he'd foolishly decided it was best to kill the last bondsman that had been sent after him. But now, it was Tempest's turn, and she didn't intend to die on the scorched sands of Tatooine.

She'd heard tell from the local bar crawlers of a little smuggler's den in the wastes just south of Anchorhead where a lot of folks went to lay low from the law; she'd been watching the place from about 200 meters for several hours now, taking shelter beneath a small rocky outcrop. She kept her macrobinoculars trained on the doors and windows, looking for any sign of life inside. From the speeders parked outside, it was evident that someone was there, and she occasionally saw a droid puttering around a garage area performing maintenance, but aside from potential shadows inside the main building, Tempest hadn't seen any sign of her mark yet...

...Until something small and furry was angrily flung out of the door, followed by the angry Ithorian that had thrown it.

The sudden commotion almost made Tempest jump a little. She continued her quiet observation as the small furry creature, wearing some kind of cloak, scurried away from the grasping hands of its assailant and tried to hide among the various outbuildings as the hulking alien pursued it. A couple of sabacc cards were left fluttering on the wind, leaving Tempest with no doubt that inside was a gambling bout gone wrong. Taking one last swig from her canteen, she set her blaster to stun and slowly crept across the desert floor towards the scuffle.

Upon drawing closer to the small arrangement of buildings, she could hear several other beings laughing loudly and clinking glasses from within the gambling den--clearly, the Ithorian's companions were content to let him deal with his grudge on his own. Tempest was careful to keep low as she passed by, following the footprints of the two aliens through the coarse sand.

"Wonder what that thing was he was chasing?" She thought to herself. "Probably a Jawa. If so, that's the fattest Jawa I've ever seen."

Eventually, the trail went cold, the two having lost each other somewhere within the old outbuildings and storage sheds that lay behind the garage. Tempest kept her blaster level, trying not to exert too much magical strength from her temperamental horn as she stepped quietly through the yard. The wind occasionally rustled some ratty tarps that covered old machinery, but other than that, all was quiet.

Suddenly, the huntress' ears perked up, swiveling in the direction of a minute sound. Something had moved up ahead; casting her eyes that way, Tempest thought she saw something go behind a large, dingy cloth draped over an old starship engine.

"Gotcha." she thought.

Slowly, the unicorn approached the metal cylinder, laid on its side and pitted with sand and rust. She readied her blaster as well as her nerves for anything that might happen next. With a forehoof, she slowly reached for the "curtain" that separated her from her quarry and pulled it back with one quick move.

Much to her surprise, however, she wasn't greeting by a hulking, sand brown Ithorian. Instead, she found herself looking down towards a small furry being in a cloak... and as the light of the twin suns invaded the chamber of the old engine, a face from her past emerged.

"...Tempest...?"

Tempest's ears couldn't help but cock to the side in confusion.

"...Grubber?"

The same toothy grin from years past crept across his face.

"I recognize that horn! It is you!"

The mohawked honey badger leapt forward and threw his arms around Tempest, catching her off guard. She quickly pushed him away with a foreleg and pointed her blaster skyward for safety's sake. She barely had enough sense about her to speak at all.

"Wha... G... Grubber? What are you even doing here?"

"Well, that's kind of a long story!" He said, fiddling with his claws before launching into a rapid-fire, almost panicked explanation. "I left Equus not very long after you did, spent some time hitchhiking around the galaxy, built a little reputation as a partier, maybe sort of a gambler--of course, you need money for that, and I wound up here and met this big guy named Jabba who let me organize some events for him, but now I kinda owe him money, and I was trying to win some from that big guy with the weird head, and I probably shouldn't be talking so loud since I think he's still looking for me."

There was an awkward silence as the two long-lost former allies eyed each other.

"So what have you been doing?"

If Tempest's eyes could have been seen, the roll they produced could have knocked the planet out of orbit.

"You might say I'm here looking for the big guy with the weird--"

Suddenly, the enraged Ithorian leapt out from behind the ship engine, growling and making a lunge for Grubber with his leathery hand. With her horn crackling, Tempest quickly leveled her blaster and squeezed off a stun blast into his chest; he gave a pained shout and collapsed to the sand below. She was glad she hadn't dropped the thing, as she'd been levitating it for so long her head was starting to hurt. She turned back to look at the honey badger, who was staring up at her with wide eyes and pursed lips.

Sighing, Tempest holstered her weapon.

"Help me tie him up and bring him into town, and I'll give you some of my time."

After turning the Ithorian in to collect her bounty, Tempest decided to spare a few credits and buy Grubber something to drink. During their sojourn in a corner booth, she took time to explain her profession, her new life, and why the helmet doesn't come off.

"Wow... so like... you really have quite the job, don't you? Zipping around the galaxy, catching the bad guys..."

"It's not so much about good and bad, Grubber. I'm considered a law enforcer, yes, but I do whatever I need to do to put food on the table. I've done things that most wouldn't consider 'heroic,' but they did pay well."

"Yeah, I guess I get what you're saying." Grubber replied, watching the ice swirl in his glass. "I mean, hey, when we worked for the Storm King, we did some pretty unsavory stuff too."

Tempest felt a sour feeling creep up from her stomach. She leaned in close, glaring at Grubber through her visor.

"Don't say that name in front of me ever again."

Grubber awkwardly drummed his claws on the table. Tempest sat upright against the wall, watching the rest of the cantina out of the side of her vision.

"I was a fool to think that that bumbling cretin could ever follow through on his promises... just like I was a fool to think that my friends were ever loyal to me... but, I've moved on from that pony I was. I've let the past die... and if you hope to make anything of yourself in this big, strange galaxy, I'd recommend you do the same."

Slowly, Tempest maneuvered out of her seat at the table and onto all fours. She glanced back at her old companion once more.

"Goodbye, Grubber. Watch out for yourself."

However, Tempest had barely made it out the door when she heard clawed feet scrabbling to catch up. She ignored his protests as she walked towards the docking bay.

"Wait! Tempest!" Grubber called, his stubby legs finally managing to close some distance. "We were friends, weren't we?"

"We relied on each other for survival. That's different." She replied. "Besides, I told you, I put that life behind me."

"Still, that's got to be worth something!" He said, trailing along. "I mean, you know you can trust me. Heck, I saved your life once!"

Tempest had a brief flashback to that fiery day when war came to Equestria, when Grubber helped her to her hooves to escape the destroyed airship, but quickly shook it out of her head.

"And I thanked you then." she replied. "Now leave me be. Equestria is just a memory for me now, nothing more."

"Come on, Tempest! Nobody can make it through life completely on their own." Grubber continued to plead as he kept pace with her.

"I've done perfectly well for myself so far."

"But you weren't completely alone. You had us! And look at you -- surely someone helped you get to where you are now?"

That remark stopped Tempest in her tracks. The bustling crowds around the two of them faded away as she thought about Sheryl, about Orar the armorer, about everyone back on Mandalore who had helped her join their vaunted ranks. Sheryl, especially, she realized she considered her friend, perhaps the first true one she'd had since childhood.

Reminded of all this, Tempest sighed loudly. Slowly, she looked over at Grubber. "What is it you want?"

"Just let me tag along with you for a bit. I promise I'll be useful! I... kind of, sort of know my way around a ship!"

"You just want to get away from Jabba and the people here who want you dead."

"Even so, I think you'll find that I can be an acceptable, if not exemplary first mate."

Tempest felt her eyebrows arch. "Big words, Grubber, did you pick those up from Jabba?"

"Nope, but I did pick up--" Grubber then proceeded to enunciate a somewhat lengthy Huttese word rather poorly, though in a fairly accurate imitation of Jabba's booming voice. Tempest had become mildly proficient in Huttese in the past nine months or so, and felt the need to correct the clueless badger.

"Grubber, that's the name of a venereal disease."

Now it was Grubber's turn to stop in his tracks, allowing Tempest to get a few steps ahead of him.

"I thought he sounded like he was insulting me when he said it..."

As Tempest walked further away, she called back over her shoulder. "I already have a perfectly serviceable first mate, Grubber. But if you absolutely insist, I can spare enough fuel to get you off this rock, at least. Though, I'm dropping you off where I see fit -- and you'll have to wait until I take care of some business first."

Grubber quickly picked up the pace again. "Yep! Yep, no problem! I can accept that, thank you! Thank you very much, Comman-- I mean, Miss Tempest."

"Miss Tempest?" She scoffed. "And since when did you learn manners, Grubber?"

"Believe it or not, that was also from when I was at Jabba's. Clearly, I didn't learn enough to not make myself some enemies..."

"That's another thing;" Tempest added, "you are not to disembark from my ship until I tell you to do so, and you'll keep your chattering to a minimum, got it? You're not here to reminisce with me, I'm saving your skin."

"Got it, got it, stay on the ship... don't make more enemies..." Mentally, however, Grubber was sure he could somehow wheedle Tempest into a few good conversations along the way. If he really played his cards right (perhaps a poor metaphor given his recent streak of bad luck), maybe he could even convince her to let him stay longer.

Tempest, meanwhile, just silently hoped that she wasn't making a mistake by bringing her past this close to her present again.

Author's Note

This chapter has been a very long time in the making. :facehoof: