An unspecified amount of years ago, in the Mandalore system…

A whistle distracted me from my walk down the street. I spotted the person it came from out of the corner of my eye. One of the many drunks in Sundari. “Hey babe, how about coming down to the club with us and havin’ a little fun?”

“Buzz off, drarsek,” I said, shooting him a particularly stinging insult in Madalorian. Although few people know the ancient language, many know what the curses and swear words mean, even though no one’s translated them into Galactic Basic, as far as I know.

I patted my twin blaster holsters, and they slunk away. I may be what many would call pretty with my grayish eyes and my short-ish blond hair I like to wear in a bun. But let’s just say that if looks could kill, thanks to me there would probably be another couple hundred people dead. I love a good stare-down, because whoever’s on the receiving end tends to run away screaming.

I’m Mandalorian to the core. I love fighting. It’s exhilarating, and if you’ve got a really good cause as an excuse to kick someone’s butt it’s even better. And that’s why I joined the Death Watch.

 I can still remember the day they found me, all those years ago. And that, whomever you are who found this first-hand account of what I’ve seen and done, is how the story starts.