- Concord Dawn -
Concord Dawn was an Outer Rim world in the Mandalore sector, located near the border between the Outer and Mid Rim. Like the rest of its sector, it was frontier country, covered in jungles, forests, deserts and plains. The planet was principally an agricultural world, backwards in development, and the planet's farmers tilled its plains to meagre effect.
"How is it?" Jaster Mereel asked.
"Not very good. Brerrio Goss continues to do as he wants and what fills his pockets," Riox answered.
"What about Mandalore? Have they answered yet?" Jaster asked.
"No, not yet. But, Jaster, you are the Journeyman Protector, don't you have the authority to take care of a corrupt officer?" Riox asked.
"That's what it seems, but things are never that clear."
Journeyman Protectors, also known as the Protectors of Concord Dawn or the Concord Dawn Protectors, were an ancient group of elite Mandalorians who maintained balance in their warrior culture. Jaster Mereel had served Concord Dawn, his home planet, as its respected lawkeeper. The position suited him, as he had strong morals.
But a problem had arrived. His direct superior officer was a corrupt piece of garbage, and this problem disgusted Jaster. His entire being raged against such a man who, in Jaster's eyes, desecrated the great honour of being a Mandalorian. He saw it as disgusting and unworthy and watned to do something about it.
The only problem was that the officer, Brerrio Goss, was his direct superior and therefore held absolute authority on Concord Dawn. They had sent word to Mandalore, but no one had answered.
"What about our weaponry and the fighters?" Jaster asked.
"We have access to several Fang starfighters. It should be enough if we strike at Brerrio fast," Riox said.
The Concord Dawn Protectors acted as a militia of lawmen who were known and feared throughout the Mandalorian sector. The Journeyman Protectors used Fang-class starfighters. They were flown by the best pilots in the sector, resulting in the Fang-class becoming a common sight in the Concord Dawn system and across Mandalorian space. Most of the impressive starfighters were sold to the Concord Dawn Protectorate, but a small handful that made their way away from the Protectors were acquired by the Black Sun crime syndicate and resold.
"But a war with Brerrio Goss would be counterproductive. We would damage Concord Dawn greatly, and in the end, we might not achieve what we hope for," Jaster said thoughtfully.
Concord Dawn looked peaceful from orbit, and for those who only passed through. But that was the lie. From the ground, for those who lived there, the illusion quickly fell apart.
Concord Dawn, like the rest of its sector, was a frontier world, covered in jungles, forests, deserts and plains. Frontier worlds didn't get the luxury of stability, and Concord Dawn was no exception. It survived because Mandalorians lived on it and maintained order through the Journeymen Protectors and officers. It was a highly military-structured civilisation. Mandalorians endured.
Corruption, however, was another matter. And while it was the norm in the universe as a whole, it wasn't that frequent in Mandalore. Their code and way of conduct, as welll as rich culture and strong warrior honours usually stopped that. But not everyone was a true Mandalorian. Brerrio Goss was one such man. He was an officer, a bureaucrat first and foremost.
Brerrio Goss understood Concord Dawn far better than most outsiders ever would. He wasn't Mandalorian by blood, nor by creed, but by appointment, an officer bureaucrat placed by other distant bureaucrats who saw Concord Dawn as little more than a tax node and a staging post. He wore Beskar only ceremonially, as a status symbol and had never earned it.
He had turned the planet into his personal ledger. Goss skimmed from agricultural levies, redirected Protector patrols to "escort duties" for smugglers, and sold surplus Mandalorian weapons to Black Sun mediators operating in the sector. Entire shipments of blaster rifles and power cells vanished, only to reappear months later in the hands of pirates and slavers. The crime increased on Concord Dawn, and the small people were the ones who suffered.
When farmers complained, they were fined. When villages resisted these pirates, they were punished and killed, with no action from Goss. Jaster tried, but he couldn't be everywhere at once.
Jaster Mereel knew all of this. The people trusted him, and he took his position very seriously. He was an honourable man with a strong heart. As Journeyman Protector, he still walked the settlements himself. He drank with farmers, sparred with militia he trained, listened to their problems and dreams. Concord Dawn was his home, so he couldn't let things remain as they were. He had to do something about it. And since there was no answer from Mandalore, he had to do it himself.
.
The final line was crossed when a convoy with precious and essential cargo disappeared. Three grain hauliers and a medical transport vanished en route to the southern plains. There was no wreckage, no distress call, nothing. Goss blamed "bandits", the Black Sun Crime Syndicate, as he always did and ordered the Protectors to stand down while he brought in his own security forces. Those were non-Mandalorian mercenaries wearing mismatched armour and carrying non-Mandalorian-created weaponry. Although that wasn't special, since a frontier world like Concord Dawn didn't have a lot of money, they still had their Mandalorian pride.
"This isn't incompetence," he told Riox and the other senior Protectors. "It's an occupation. He is slowly and systematically replacing us and anything Mandalorian to take more power for himself. Any longer and we will face being pushed away."
They were standing on a ridge overlooking Port Sundarex, one of Goss's administrative hubs. Below them, floodlights illuminated a landing port and an unfamiliar ship.
It was ugly. Very ugly, one that not even the most desperate people would look at more than once. A squat, asymmetrical freighter squatted on its landing struts like an animal that had long passed its prime and was now slowly decaying. The hull plating was mismatched in colour and showed extensive rust and sparks. Scoring marks that looked both frequent and old suggested very frequent repairs that didn't help at all. Its transponder broadcast a civilian code, but the signal cracked in a way that made the experienced Mandalorian pilots cringe.
"That ship wasn't here yesterday," Riox muttered.
Jaster watched as some of Goss' armed men loaded crates into the ship's hold, crates marked with Concord Dawn Protectorate seals.
"Someone's buying," Jaster said. "And someone new. I have never seen that pile of junk, I'm most certain. I would remember."
"You're right. Does that even fly?" Riox asked.
The men around them chuckled at that. That was when the ramp lowered, and a man stepped out. As soon as he did, Jaster's eyes narrowed. There was something about the man that made him tense, as if he were facing a dangerous wild beast. And Jaster was a very skilled warrior.
The man was clad in muted greens and khakis, his silhouette compact and purposeful, built around rigid flak armour that covered the chest, shoulders, and legs without extravagance. The armour was scratched, worn, clearly mass-produced, yet well-fitted and functional rather than ceremonial.
Beneath the armour sat heavy fatigues, reinforced for grime, shrapnel, and long campaigns. Webbing and ammo pouches were worn in symmetrical layouts, each holding power packs for the ever-present weapon at his side.
"A soldier," one of Jaster's men remarked.
"Indeed. But I've never seen such armour. What about you, Jaster?" Riox asked.
"No. Never. Hmm, this might prove fortunate."
.
Petyr looked right for the setting, and he felt great. For the first time in his new life, he was not shouted at and told to kill himself for the glory of some corpse that decayed on a golden throne, to act as a lighthouse for the Imperium. And honestly, Petyr never felt greater.
His movements were relaxed, almost lazy, yet his eyes missed nothing. He was attentive, and the training that had been forced into him allowed him to survive as cannon fodder longer than anyone else had.
However, what he had learned, experienced, and what he had become in the grim dark universe would not go away. He put on an act for the sake of it. He laughed with one of the mercenaries who helped him transport the crates, clapped him on the shoulder, and in that same motion, removed a data chip from the man's belt without him noticing.
When he had arrived in this faraway galaxy, Petyr hadn't had a plan. But that was different now. He had grand plans, and after figuring out where and when he had arrived, he knew what he needed to do. The Mandalorians were about to undergo a significant change, and he would be part of it.
Petyr paused suddenly, tilting his head as if he'd felt something. His gaze lifted straight to the ridge and met with Jaster's. For a brief moment, they locked eyes across the distance, and Petyr smiled disarmingly.
"Alright," Riox muttered. "I don't like that."
Jaster didn't respond. Something in his gut tightened, the same instinct that had kept him alive through and would continue to do so, for more battles than he could count.
"That man," Jaster said slowly, "is not here by accident."
They met two hours later in a storage hall on the edge of the port. Jaster hadn't planned it that way. He'd been tracking Goss's men when the alarms shut off, security doors sealed, and half the mercenaries simply… lay on the ground unconscious. There was no blaster fire and no death, only the unconscious forms of the mercenaries.
Petyr was waiting when Jaster entered, leaning against a crate.
"You're the lawman," Petyr said conversationally. "Jaster Mereel. Journeyman Protector. Man with a conscience problem."
Jaster held his blaster at his side, but didn't fire. His instincts had proven correct about Petyr. The man was a fighter, a warrior of the highest degree. He looked over the mercenaries and noted that they were still alive.
"And you are?" Jaster asked.
"A wanderer. Recently arrived here and was interested in Concord Dawn and its culture. But I was sorely disappointed by this blatant corruption and the use of mercenaries. Non-Mandalorian ones, as well."
"This is a Mandalorian matter."
Petyr chuckled.
"I know. But maybe that could include me as well."
He tapped the crate beside him. It opened. Inside were datapads, transaction logs, bribe trails, shipment records, and mercenary contracts. Names, dates, coordinates, enough evidence to hang Brerrio Goss ten times over.
"I was going to sell this," Petyr admitted. "Then I met your boss."
Jaster's jaw tightened. He naturally understood what Petyr meant by this. He was something like a mercenary, but the fact that he didn't go through with the sale spoke to his character.
"You don't know what you're stepping into."
Petyr's expression hardened. Not out of fear.
"I've seen worse," he said simply.
Silence stretched between them. Riox and his men waited for their leader's decision. Finally, Jaster holstered his blaster and nodded.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Petyr's smile returned, sharper this time.
"I want to watch a true Mandalorian fight for his beliefs, and I want part of the action."
.
They struck before dawn. They had chosen to act instead of react. A war was inevitable anyway, and from Petyr's words of experience, he told them that an attack was almost always better than a defence. Controlling the narrative was the key to success in a world that still had conventional laws.
Fang-class starfighters flew low over Port Sundarex, their engines roaring just loud enough to spread panic and surprise through Goss's forces without giving them time to organise. The Journeymen Protectors loyal to Jaster hit checkpoints with stun charges and precision fire. It was clean, disciplined, and as Jaster said, the Mandalorian way.
Goss's mercenaries broke almost right away. They weren't used to enemies who advanced so mercilessly and skillfully. They weren't the cream of the crop, since the Mandalorians held that position for a reason. They were fearless warriors fighting for what they believed was right, trained from youth and willing to die for it.
Petyr's ship, as ugly and unassuming as it was, proved its worth then. Concealed turrets unfolded from its hull, shredding anti-air weaponry with terrifying accuracy. The internal systems hummed with power far more technologically advanced than what its exterior suggested. Sensor jammers blinded the enemy comms, creating chaos and disorganisation.
Inside Goss's command centre, alarm and confusion were present.
"Do something about this! What are you useless shits doing?! Kill them!"
Brerrio Goss fled to the landing pad in full armour, barking orders and profanities that no one followed. His personal guards, who were once Mandalorians but whom he had replaced with ordinary mercenaries, fell around him, disarmed, stunned, or simply killed.
That was when he saw him, Jaster Mereel. Jaster approached him at the edge of the platform, walking forward with calm and contained rage. Goss drew a vibrosword and a blaster, his hands shaking.
"You can't do this," he snarled. "I have authority! You will be charged severely for this."
Jaster removed his helmet.
"No," he said quietly. "You abused your position and brought shame to Mandalorian customs. Your corruption poisoned Concord Dawn, and it ends today."
Goss attacked. He fired his blaster at Jaster. He might not be the most skilled fighter, but he was still a Mandalorian officer. So he wasn't without means. But against a man like Jaster, who never stopped training and fighting, sparring with his friends and supporters, Goss, who had grown lax and rather thick, didn't have a chance.
Jaster dodged the blasts and sped forward in a zig-zag pattern. He grabbed his vibro knife and slashed at Goss's hand holding the blaster. Blood sprayed through the air, forcing him to drop him.
"RAAH!! Damn you!"
Goss was desperate, sloppy, and fuelled by fear and desperation. Jaster was precise, dodging the slashes of Goss's vibrosword with ease. The fight ended quickly.
Jaster dodged another slash, moved into Goss's defence and stabbed him through the gaps of his armour.
"AARRHHH!!" Goss screamed.
Jaster disarmed him, drove him to his knees, and looked down at the man who had sold his people piece by piece. Snot and tears marred Goss's face as he begged Jaster.
"Mercy..."
"For Concord Dawn," Jaster said. "You shall get none."
He fired his blaster once, through Goss's head, killing him before he hit the floor.
.
Petyr moved through the port with practised ease. As soon as the fighting started, the decades of war surfaced, and he turned into the most dangerous and brutally efficient creature around. He fired his lasgun, killing dozens of mercenaries at once.
Each of his movements meant death, and the Mandalorians came to see him as one of their own, respecting his martial prowess.
By sunrise, it was all over. The mercenaries were either defeated or dead, the stolen supplies were reclaimed, and the evidence was broadcast across local channels before anyone could reach the wrong conclusions. Concord Dawn woke to a corruption-free day, and Jaster was content.
Petyr stood at the edge of the landing field as Fang fighters lifted off.
Jaster approached him.
"You could have taken power here. Sold what you had gathered for an immense profit," Jaster said. "But you didn't."
Petyr shrugged.
"I have a problem with men like Goss."
They shook hands, forearm to forearm, warrior to warrior.
"Mandalore could use a warrior with your character and skill. What do you think? Your desire for adventure and fighting would be more than satisfied. I aim to change the Mandalorians."
Petyr smiled and nodded.
"Sure. Sounds fun."
___________________________
The fighting was rather short. But this wasn't a very important or hard fight. We'll get into more later, a lot more.