First Reply Dunes of Betrayal

[Hakon Fett]

DESERT, TANN PROVINCE
RYLOTH, OUTER RIM
0630 LOCAL

The wind howled across the red dunes of Ryloth, carrying with it the scent of scorched earth and betrayal. Hakon Fett stood at the edge of a jagged mesa, the barren wasteland stretching beneath him, stained crimson under the harsh light of the early morning sun.

Below, nestled in the remnants of a dilapidated mining complex, the traitors had dug in deep—former brothers turned outlaws, selling Neo-Crusader technology and equipment to the highest bidder.

The Field Marshal knew this day was inevitable. Their substantial growth in numbers due to the Neo-Crusader philosophy of fast tracked conversion was vulnerable to breeding pretenders—wretches who did not truly absolve themselves from their past, who did not truly take the Creed to heart. And yet, he mulled, it could very well be trueborn Mandalorians turncoats that shunned the Neo Crusader doctrine who sought to sabotage their brethren. One way or another he was to find out.

Hakon's grip tightened around his blaster carbine. A slight tremor in the air told him the time was near. These men were once his vode, but that mattered little now. They had chosen their path, and he had chosen his.

His visor scanned the canyon, picking out fortified positions and the faint flickers of movement among rusted metal and debris.

He had come not for glory, but to cleanse this stain from Mandalore's honor.

The comm crackled to life. “<Fett, we're in position.">

<"Hold."> Hakon ordered. He knew they were waiting for him to give the signal, but the traitors deserved to feel the shadow of their fate creeping closer.

"Today," he muttered under his breath, "they die as dar'manda."

 

[Fenn Stag]

WHAT DID I HAVE TO BETRAY?

Hakon Fett
​

What did he have left to betray?

What did he have left to live for?

The answer, cold as it was, as honest as it was-

Was nothing.

Fenn Stag, the Unforgiven, the forgotten, created for war-

Had nothing left to live for. So he tried to find it. In money, in women, in causes. And it brought him here. Brokering an arms deal. Facilitating the movement of weapons, armor, fuel, ammunition. Everything left over from one war, to transfer to the next. He stood silent, unflinchingly still in the wee hours of the morning, watching them move around.

Something caused his head to turn. Something on the perimeter. Not visible, no- his helmet turned towards the ridgeline. Something was out there. Not an animal. No. Something like him. A true predator. His hand gripped tightly the rifle in his hands, and he shifted his feet slightly. The only sign that he may have been unnerved, or at least, ready for something.

He clicked his teeth, but didn't air it out on comms yet. Nothing substantial, nothing true yet. Just a feeling.

​

 

[Hakon Fett]

<"Cleanse this stain on our honor.">

From the ridges and mesas enveloping the old mining complex, the wind howled a different tune. A wail. Several dozen rockets fired off from jet-pack mounted launchers lit the barren mesas and streaked through the morning air toward the abandoned mine.

The explosions were only the harbinger of the doom that came next: Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders, donned in armors of red and blue, surging into the sky from behind the rises and streaking downward towards the settlement raining blaster fire upon the dar'manda.

A strike from low orbit may have been sufficient, but this was too personal, too visceral.

Along with his small retinue, Hakon Fett charged toward the mine, his blaster carbine firing off at any visible targets.

They would not circle the mine like vultures, raining fire upon their former brothers. No. They would seek the intimacy of the melee, of blood spraying their visors.

Of honor restored.

Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

ALL I WANTED WAS TO BELONG

Hakon Fett
​

His instincts, honed, trained, made- were correct.

They were ambushed.

A symphony of violence, a chorus of uninterrupting waves of hate drew down on them. Mercenaries and Mandalorians flew every which way, and the fight was on. The chaos of the ambush was quickly overcome, and it became a pitched battle- albeit not a favorable one. They reacted quickly and efficiently, but an effective ambush was still just that.

One Neo Crusader, clad in blue, came at Fenn. Fenn was brutal and quick to react- kicking him in the knee, causing him to crash down, before he reached down, lifting his helmet off and jabbing a knife through his neck. He pushed aside the dead Crusader, another tackling him at the waist. Fenn screamed out in rage, dropping his rifle. He wrapped his crushgaunts around the exposed shoulders, crushing bone to get him to release. He dragged the Mandalorian up straight, and drove his fist into his chest, caving in the weaker part of the Mandalorian armor, and crushing his sternum in turn.

He screamed in rage, and charged another, using his jetpack to close the distance and drop-kicking the Crusader into a wall.

Fenn had a death wish, sure-

But his death had to be earned. He no longer wanted it to end by his own hand. No- he would meet death, in fire, covered in blood.

​

 

[Hakon Fett]

With the initial shock and awe billowing away into the skies with the smoke, the two forces clashed in a storm of a vengeful fury. Steel clashed against steel; blaster fire flashed across every nook and cranny; bodies fell with a heavy thud and helmets rolled off into the sand.

Blood and fire filled Hakon’s visor to the brim.

The carbine now hung inside his holster, a beskar spear taking its place in his grip. Blood dripped off its tip as he yanked it with ease out of a dar’manda’s chest. Another rushed him from the side, beskad flashing from above before a quick, surgical swing of the spear split his head off from its shoulders.

Fett whipped the blood off the spear’s tip with a sudden swing in the air, then growled through the chaos, “Where is your treacherous leader?!”

Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

Staredown

Hakon Fett
​

Fenn was the man that stood before the Golden-armored warrior with the spear and their leader- who he had only met in passing. He was hired for this job, it wasn't a cause for him.

Fenn reached down, picking up the helmet of the Crusader he recently felled. He yanked it from his head, his eyes still full of life. The sternum was crushed- he couldn't breathe, but he'd probably survive. Fenn looked down at him, his T-shaped visor showing no sympathy- or any emotion at all.

He threw the helmet in the sand- his cybernetic arm causing it to lodge halfway in the sand with it's raw power. He rolled his arm forward, and stared at the Mandalorian with the spear. He was unarmed, save for the crushgaunts. He curled his fists at his sides.

He pointed a single index finger at the ground between them as the world turned to chaos around them, even still.

"Through me."

 

[Hakon Fett]

Unfazed by the helmet tossed on the ground, Hakon's visor never left the dar'manda's form. As warriors, they had seen it all. Lived it all.

What mattered only was the battle and who came out of it alive.

"With pleasure." was all Fett said before surging forth at the man with a joyous leap in his stride. He thrust the spear in a series of straightforward jabs; keeping his distance, probing the enemy for his reaction.

For his weakness.

Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

BE AWARE OF WHAT YOU WANT

Hakon Fett
​

Fenn grew restless, anxious as the spear came forth. A stab- he managed to dodge the first few, but one shirked across the armor on his torso, and just lightly cut into the flightsuit, drawing blood. Not more than a superficial wound, but a razor-sharp blade cutting him made him cry out.

The blade was extended just beyond his torso, the tip of the spear drawing back. Fenn crouched slightly, hunching over, aiming his left shoulder forward-
And turned his jetpack on, just for a second. Enough to close the distance-

And to ram his body right at the other Mandalorian.

 

[Hakon Fett]

The counter came unexpected. A hundred kilos of beskar slamming into his chest like a battering ram, ripping the air from his lungs, and his grip on the spear faltering for a heartbeat. They tumbled through the air, bodies locked in a vicious embrace, before crashing into the hard, arid earth below.

Hakon swung the spear in a swift arc, and with a loud grunt locked it against the enemy's neck, pulling the haft tight with both hands. He sought to both stave off the flurry of punches he expected and, if possible, crush the man's neck.

Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

THUS SAY I

Hakon Fett
​

He rammed into him, sprawling out as they both impacted the ground. Fenn was better off from the impact, but only for a moment. The Golden-armored Mandalorian was vicious, cunning, brutal, and violent.

And the Neo-Crusaders around him swarmed, and exchanged blows with the other Mandalorians and Mercenaries gathered. Neither side truly had an advantage yet. But the attack felt personal. Purposeful.

He couldn't punch or strike at him, he pressed his hands against the spear to prevent a choke. The other Mandalorian was above him, roughly the same build- just slightly shorter. Fenn stared at him hatefully behind his mask, before he bucked his hips and went to push against the other Mandalorian's torso with his knee to gain leverage- and hopefully extend his leg to drive him off of him.

 

[Hakon Fett]

"Not so easy," Hakon grunted, feeling the weight of the other Mandalorian's knees driving into his gut. Any lesser fighter would've been crushed by now, but this one, misguided though he was, still carried the blood of Mandalore.

With the next shove, Fett twisted, using the momentum to drive his legs upward in a fluid motion. He kicked into a front stand, his jetpack flaring under the command of an eye blink, stabilizing him in the awkward position and pouring further strength in his attempt to break the enemy's hold of his spear and crush his neck beneath.

Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

SUFFER UNTO ME

Hakon Fett
​

Fenn brought his armored vambrace up, blocking the spear with his forearm. He narrowed his eyes, and started to gather words into his throat. But nothing came for words-

Just a grunt, frustrating noises of defiance. His right hand blocking, his head frantically moving, a move designed to give the implication that he was being choked or panicking.

His left, however, reached to the helmet that he threw between them, still stuck in the sand- and grasped it, and went to firmly smash it on the side of the Neo Crusaders head.

Finally words came.

"Fuck you."

 

[Hakon Fett]

The unorthodox Keldabe Kiss hit like a thunderclap, black ink spilling over his vision. Fett tumbled to the side, disoriented, and caught a groan in his throat—too proud to give it voice, too consumed by the sudden surge of fury to surrender to the pain.

The deep instinct for battle snapped him back. He rose with a slight stagger, the haft of the spear in his hand grounding him. He rose the spear and jerked his head in a wordless challenge, daring the man to strike.

Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

AND YET I FIGHT, YET I SUFFER, YET I PERSIST

Hakon Fett
​

Fenn rose to his full height, curling his fists at his side, reaching up to his right forearm- a combat knife on one of his vambraces. One of the few things that he took from his father- always carrying a blade on the forearm, for quick reactions and for moments like this.

He stood silent for a moment, breathing heavily, letting himself catch his breath- the battle raging around them. He stared at him hatefully behind his visor, lowering his head, his gaze focusing downward.

"No easy meal for you today, vod."

He charged, knife in hand. He thought of all the ways he knew how to fight with a spear. What to expect. Spears were effective, but limited in their initial approach. He jumped up- intending to put his foot down on the spear if he thrust it at him. His hand with the knife turned the knife downward, flourishing, a flash of rapid movement in an already quick moving pace.

But it was a feint.

Because his left hand- came soaring towards the Mandalorian's visor, straight on, in a quick, albeit not powerful, jab. Enough to cause confusion and gain momentum in the fight.

 

[Hakon Fett]

Though often chastised by his kin for what they called “trickery,” Hakon’s mind for combat was as keen as his blade. He was no brute, no reckless brawler; each movement was stripped of all excess, every step calculated for effect. To him, true mastery lay not in flourishes, but in restraint.

In simplicity.

And so was his response now: as his enemy’s boot came crashing down to pin the spear, Hakon retreated, slipping beyond the next series of blows with minimal effort. Then he jabbed at his foe, wary of overextension and keen on maintaining the advantage his weapon provided him with—range.

Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

WE ALL MUST TREAD THE PATH

Hakon Fett
​

He let out a harsh cry of pain as the spear slipped along his torso- scouring the side of his stomach, piercing the flightsuit, blood splattering the sand around them. He had to react, he had to make the most of the painful exploitation. His armored vambrace came crashing down on the spear- while his leg extended forward, executing a front kick aimed squarely at the Crusader's chestplate.

Fenn never really wanted to be like his father.

But sometimes, he wished he had his father's mechanical leg at times.

He wanted this man to hurt, now.