Author's Note: So I wrote this because I think there needs to be more on the BH/Torian romance. I see a lot of Quinn (and don't get me wrong, I love Quinn), but lately I've been falling in virtual love with the Mando and decided to write a little mini story about the BH story line from his perspective (to an extent; I hate writing in first person).

I'm trying to use a lot of Mando'a vocabulary in these stories, but because this is just something to kill time (and what time I have to kill is limited) I'm going to just admit here that I have not (nor do I intend to) learn the actual grammatical structure of the Mando'a language. The phrases and words I'll use come mostly from the "Wookipedia" page on Mando'a as well as the Karen Traviss site. So if anyone is really big into absolute accuracy, you can correct me or you can just skip over this story. (Gonna put some extra emphasis on "hobby" here.)

Since this story is being told from Torian's perspective, I've used "Mando'ad" and its plural "Mando'ade" to refer to the Mandalorians outside of conversations because, well, it seems a bit more proper. Probably won't go any further than that, however, if only because I'll start to confuse myself (as well as others, I'm certain).

That being said, I hope you all enjoy the story! If you have any constructive criticism or anything else to say about it, leave a review.

One

Dromund Kaas was truly a gloomy planet. The thick atmosphere and canopy of trees blocked most sunlight, leaving the world beneath constantly shrouded in shadows. But at least sight was still possible during the day; at night, the pitch-black world closed in, bringing all manner of nightmares to life.

Mando'ade don't fear the dark. Day or night, if the hunt was on it was on. There were no such silly excuses as "blindness" or "apprehension." Not to say that all Mando'ade were reckless, suicidal fools: they just knew how to handle themselves. If you couldn't use your eyes, there were still four other perfectly capable senses to get the job done.

Torian Cadera had been born for this life. The thrill of the hunt, the feel of his vibroblade sinking into the flesh of his prey, and, above all, that heady, sticky scent of blood that filled his nostrils and lungs with its intoxicating aroma…yes, this was life he savored. It was in the marrow of his bones, throbbing in time with each beat of his strong heart.

He ran the edge of his boot knife along a whetstone, eyes half-lidded and muscles relaxed. This was his mediation, his leisure. The gentle scraping of steel against stone was better than any kind of music to his ears. Torian lifted the blade in front of his eyes, inspecting its edges. Razor-sharp, perfect for a close quarters fight. He still preferred his electrostaff for most fights, but it never hurt to have the sharp dagger close.

"Copaani gaan, vod?"

Torian's grip reflexively tightened around the hilt of his knife as someone grabbed his shoulder from behind. Years of honing his battle reflexes made his muscles eager to spring up and slice the hand off; but his mind was rational enough to recognize the voice and he quickly suppressed his ingrained urge to fight. There were only a few people in the camp who would bother to talk to him and only one who would call him "comrade."

"No. Just checking weapons."

Jogo moved to stand in front of Torian, the corners of his lips raised in a cocky little grin. "Mind if I sit with you."

"Gedet'ye." Torian motioned towards the makeshift seat across his solitary fire, sheathing his knife as Jogo plopped down with a sigh.

"Any news?" Torian asked, lifting his electrostaff from its position on the ground so that he might examine its edge.

"Kohre says we're to have visitors soon."

"Who?"

"I don't know for sure, but rumor says it's the champion himself. Mandalore's new favorite."

Torian looked up from his weapon, interest piqued. "The champion? Why come here?"

Jogo shrugged. "Probably to strut around and show off his shiny new accolades. Who knows?"

"Shouldn't talk like that."

"Why not? It's probably the truth."

"Even so, the champion has earned the right. Not many cut out to win the Great Hunt."

"Yeah, well, if you ask me, it's a bunch of gundark shit. Man's not even a Mando'ad. Probably cheated to get his way in."

Torian doubted that, but decided not to press the topic. Jogo was a good warrior, but he often let his pride and jealousy get the best of him. It was for that reason that many of the others in the camp disliked him—not to mention the fact that part of their loathing came from the fact that Jogo insisted on hanging around the "disgraced son." Torian was grateful for the company—it certainly beat sitting alone all of the time—but there were days when he wanted to hit Jogo for being an arrogant fool.

"Do we hunt tonight?" he asked after a couple moments of silence.

"No. Our visitor should be here within the hour and until they get their business done, all hunts have been postponed."

Torian's brow furrowed in confusion. Jogo caught the look and sighed.

"Don't ask me. Commander Fett's orders. He says that we need to be stationary for the moment so we don't interfere with the champion's hunt. You know what I think?" Jogo leaned forward, the fire casting the smug look on his face in distorted shadows. "I think that he's afraid we'll get the champion's kill first. Wouldn't want the sonuvabitch to look bad, right?"

Torian chuckled. "Sure, Jogo. Should probably pull head out of your ass now. Might want to see champion before passing judgment."

"Hey! Whose side are you on?"

"No sides. Just the hunt." Torian turned his attention back to his electrostaff, running its pointed end across his whetstone. Jogo sighed again, moving to lie down next to the fire with his hands behind his head.

"You've got such a one-track mind, Torian." A pause. "We need to get you laid." Torian could hear the smirk in his friend's voice.

"No, thanks. Hunt is all I need."

"Your loss. There are plenty of fine women in Kaas City that I know would kill to have a night with you."

Torian chuckled at the thought. Plenty of soft, weak creatures, certainly. Whores and dancers, women who had never once picked up a weapon unless it was to slide a blade between the shoulder blades of a rich client. They were beautiful, sure, but unlike Jogo and the others, Torian didn't have the desire to sleep with someone for the mere physical relief. The hunt was his aphrodisiac, his blood-pumping workout. Besides, the act of sex was perhaps the most vulnerable time for any person and Torian thought it foolish to leave oneself so open to a stranger.

Time passed as early dawn turned into late afternoon. Since there was no hunt, most of the warriors in the camp milled about, talking and drinking. Some wrestled, others tended to their gear in a similar manner as Torian had done. The air was tense with leashed bloodlust. Nothing more dangerous than a camp full of Mando'ade itching for a fight they were denied.

Torian felt the pull perhaps most keenly of all. Normally he was an expert at maintaining calm, collected emotions. But now he found himself beginning to feel restless and the fuse on his temper felt as if it had been burned down to a nub. Several times he almost stood up and joined the ring of wrestling warriors, thinking that the pleasant feeling of smashing a face into the ground repeatedly might lessen his tension. But every time he wandered close, the others shot him warning looks as if reminding him of his place: a part of the pack, but still an outsider.

He finally gave up on that endeavor and chose to work on some practice drills by himself. Basic martial arts crafted into a training regimen that Torian went through at least twice a day. Stripped down to nothing but a loose pair of pants, Torian closed his eyes and began moving as the pattern of his workout flowed through his muscles. He didn't have to think about what his body was doing; muscle memory did all of the work. Languid stretches and loose stances that could, at an instant, transform into lightning-fast punches and dizzying footwork.

Most Mando'ade preferred pistols and blaster rifles for the hunt, honing their marksmanship skills and claiming superiority. A precious few, such as Torian, reveled in close-quarters combat. Others had mocked his style as brutish and thus lacking in finesse, but Torian—and others like him—knew the truth. There was an art to killing something (or someone) up close and personal. It put you that much closer to the hunt, breathing the same air as your prey before putting them down. Torian relished the feeling and so he trained his body—again and again—for all the subtle reactions, defenses, and maneuvers that were often the only difference between survival and severed limbs.

Sweat lined the taut muscles of his bare chest and arms, running in little rivulets down his neck and spine. Dromund Kaas being the perpetually dark planet it was, the air was chill. But Torian barely noticed the cold as his muscles warmed to the exercise. In a way, he was almost grateful for the planet's cool temperature; doing his routine on a planet like Tatooine was tantamount to suicide by heat stroke.

"Torian!"

Years of training kept Torian from losing his balance at the sudden interruption. Standing on one foot, right arm extended in what could have been a vicious jab, he turned his head to where Jogo waved at him from across the camp.

"Come quick!"

From the way the other Mando'ade were gathering, Torian assumed that their visitor must have finally arrived. Thank the heavens for that, at least. The sooner the man got his business done, the sooner the war party could resume their normal routine. Despite his vigorous workout, Torian truly desired nothing more at that moment than to run into a den of angry Sleens and put his newly sharpened vibroblade to the test.

He quickly pulled his boots back on but didn't bother to don his armor as he jogged across the camp to where the others were gathered, Jogo at the helm as they stared down a slight figure at their center. Everyone was quiet, except for Jogo whose voice was already raised in a sneer as he questioned the champion. Torian sidled up alongside his friend, ignoring the disgusted glares of the others.

That was the first time he saw her.

Her. The champion was a woman. It wasn't unheard of, but Torian still found that he was utterly surprised. Short silver hair framed violet eyes and a pale face that showed the scars of battle as well as a simplistic working of cybernetic implants. Her lips were full and red, currently set in a hard line as she listened to Jogo's taunts. But Torian barely heard what his friend was saying; the sight of this woman—champion of the Great Hunt and favored of Mandalore—had him staring, speechless.

Her eyes wandered a bit, as if she was just waiting for Jogo to quit his posturing—which was no doubt the case. She took in the gathered warriors, some donned in full Mando'ad armor, others—like Torian—stripped to the waist. Some of the men seemed to be trying to show off, flexing bits of muscle here and there as her gaze fell upon them. When those violet orbs lit on Torian, he felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.

There was danger in that gaze. Danger, and beauty. For a moment, he wondered what she might look like with a smile…

A grin quirked at the edges of her lips as she moved her gaze from the half-naked Torian back to Jogo.

"—you think you're so special? These men have been out here for months now and you expect us to give up our hunt for—"

"Are you done?"

Jogo spluttered, looking down the few inches to her face in flustered confusion. "What?"

"I asked, are you done? The longer we sit here gabbing, the longer these men go without a hunt. It wasn't my decision to interfere, but I must do what the job entails, especially when it's a job from your leader."

The Devaronian standing behind her chuckled as Jogo's face began to purple with rage.

"Who do you—"

"My name is Phelara Gracchus, Champion of the Great Hunt and bounty hunter for hire. And you are?"

Jogo looked as if his head might explode any second. Torian quickly stepped in before his friend could open his mouth and make matters worse.

"Torian Cadera. He is Jogo. Welcome to our camp."

Phelara smiled at him, and Torian suddenly felt very dizzy. His brief fantasy of the gesture did not pay the proper respects her features deserved when she smiled.

"I was beginning to wonder if there was any civility left in the world. It's a pleasure to meet you, Torian. Jogo." The last she added as an afterthought, ever-so-slightly inclining her head towards the darker-haired man.

"You're here for a hunt?"

"That's about the gist of it. Mandalore asked me to bring him a trophy. What kind of creatures are you guys hunting down here?"

"Sith spawn, we think. Mostly just babies up here. Something down there, though. Something dark and powerful. Can feel its heartbeat in the walls."

"Well then, that sounds like a good start."

Jogo snorted. "Better hunters than you have tried. Go down there and you'll die."

Phelara's grin was far from friendly this time: sharp and deadly, just like the hungry vibroblade in Torian's boot. A hunter's smile.

"Sit back and watch. I'll show you how this thing is done."

"Ne shab'rud'ni…"

Torian quickly placed himself in between the pair, pushing Jogo back a pace. He pointed off in the distance to where a dark cave loomed in the mountainside.

"Over there. The hunting grounds. Suggest you move quickly."

"Thanks." Sharp eyes leveled on Jogo once more. "Try not to cause any trouble while I'm gone, kids."

Before Jogo could retaliate, she was off. Torian watched her and her companion leave.

"Why do you always drag me to these dangerous places?" the Devaronian was whining. "Why can't we, just once, have a mission that involves a cantina?"

"Gault, the last time we were in a cantina, I killed three guys."

"You got me there. I'm starting to think that maybe you need some anger management counseling…"

The rest of their conversation was lost to the breeze as they moved down the hill. It wasn't until they could no longer see the pair that Torian finally released Jogo and took a step back, watching his friend carefully to make sure that he wasn't planning on some form of retaliation.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, Torian?" Jogo snarled. "You'd take some aruetii's side over mine?"

"No sides, or'dinii. Not wise to work against agents of Mandalore. Besides, she is not aruetii. She is verd. Look past your own arrogance and you'd see it."

Jogo spat at Torian's feet, eyes blazing. Torian silently pleaded with the man not to continue, to drop the subject and move on. Either Jogo didn't notice the silent plea or he chose to ignore it.

"You keep this up, you'll always be aru'tal, Torian. Remember who your friends are."

Torian watched as Jogo stormed off, his heart aching. The man was right, of course. To maintain his position in the group—let alone throughout the rest of Mando'ad society—his best course of action was to remain the grunt, the "yes-man." Jogo was the only one who treated him like somewhat of a friend and Torian had spurned him. For what? A woman? An outsider?

And yet…and yet…

He found his gaze wandering towards the cave. Perhaps there was something more. No one—man or woman—had ever caused Torian to feel so flustered. The burning in the pit of his stomach that had started the moment he had seen her was the same aching that he felt one the hunt when he knew his prey was close. There had to be something to that…surely.

Quickly, Torian moved to his discarded armor and began to buckle it on. If the hunter—Phelara—managed to kill the prey she sought, then she was worthy of her title. If not, then she deserved death. Either way, Torian wanted to be there, to watch her in action and witness the killing blow…no matter which way it fell.

END NOTE:

Some translations:

Copaani gaan, vod? – Need a hand, comrade?

Gedet'ye – Please (not really sure if the Mando'a version can be used in the context that I used it, but oh well. Just go with it.)

Ne shab'rud'ni – Don't mess with me (strong warning, usually followed by violence)

Aruetii – outsider/traitor/ "non-Mandalorian"

or'dinii – fool/moron

verd – warrior/soldier

aru'tal – traitor's blood/traitor's son (this was used in game by Jogo and, looking at my little dictionary, "aru" seems to be the stem of either enemy or traitor whereas "tal" means blood)

Once again, the vocab and its definitions are from Wookiepedia and Karen Traviss's site. I do not presume to own them or the game or, really, anything else about this story other than the story itself.