Private Promise me you'll write

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Uncharted World, The Unknown Regions
| Objective | Write a letter

Your Imperial Majesty,

I humbly beseech

​

Jenn let out a groan, crumpling the parchment in her hand.

​

This was the seventh draft of her letter to Natasi, and she truly felt as if she was making less and less progress every time she tried to get back to it. Getting up from her chair, she paced around her tent nervously, her frustration reaching a boiling point. Ever since the gala on Naboo, she found her thoughts haunted by the Senator, no matter how hard she tried to put the matter behind her. Whatever she felt for her was inadequate, she knew that much: of all the people in the galaxy, she was surely the least permitted to entertain the thoughts she did! And yet, no matter how angry she was with herself, the Nite Owl could not help but think of that night, when she found herself graced with a chance to satisfyingly embrace her femininity for the very first time... and lost herself in adoration of someone who deserved to hate her, and all those like her.

Just one letter. That was all this would take: another attempt to set things right, and a way for her to close the book on the whole sordid affair. If only she could muster the will to sit back down at her table and write down that damnable letter at last... with a weary sigh, she walked on over to her bed, lying down and letting her thoughts drift aimlessly.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

A thought that angered her. Why, of all people, did she pine so hopelessly for this woman? Animated by the sudden rush that resulted from this state she found herself in, she hopped back up on her feet, walking on over to her desk hurriedly, the vibrant feather dancing across the parchment before her as she let her thoughts be brough to life.


Your Imperial Majesty,

Our chance encounter during Queen Kalantha's gala was a blessing. I am truly glad for that unexpected opportunity to face you once more on more amicable terms, and share in a polite conversation with you on equal footing, rather than as a prisoner and her captor. I cannot ever apologize enough for the part I played in your misfortune, just as I know you have little reason to accept any plea for mercy I could make not to extend your reprisal against my Clan as a whole.

Joined to this letter, you will find the crate recovered from the Ans Corvo. Revolutionary as the seeds within might have been to the Enclave to increase the output of their bread-basket worlds, I chose to confiscate this resource from them when I left them behind. It was, from a manner of speaking, spoils of war I acquired - and so I choose to return them to their rightful owner.

I hope you may one day forgive me for my actions. For all of our differences, I find you to be a remarkable woman, possessed by a ironclad will to see things through to the end. Dignified beyond what most would ever expect possible. Graceful in your demeanor.

Peace and safety be upon you,

Jenn Kryze

Natasi Fortan ​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"Your Majesty -- if you've a moment?"

Natasi looked up at the door of her study, where her Principal Private Secretary stood, looking somewhat amused. "What is it, Theo?" Natasi asked over the lid of her dispatch box. "I was about to begin the Home Secretary's latest missive and as much as his inability to use one word when twenty will suffice tickles me -- " She paused and set her pen down. " -- well, you've twisted my arm."

She rose and tugged the black satin of her blouse into place as she moved around her desk into the outer office.

Natasi recognized the seed vault instantly. It bore the scars and scoring of its role in the battle for the ANS Corvo along its edges, a scorch mark here, a pair of dents on either side where it had become wedged in the door. "It's been vetted by security of course, ma'am," said Theodore Glass. "And -- there's a letter."

"A letter?" Natasi asked dubiously. Glass took the envelope from his desk and offered it to her. Natasi regarded him curiously, then took the letter, running her finger along the edge of the envelope. "Make sure that crate gets to the Ministry of Agriculture. Ask them for a report as to whether they're still viable."

"Very good, ma'am," said Glass.

Natasi returned to her office, selecting the platinum letter opener that sat in pride of place on her sideboard. She had so little opportunity to use it these days, and of all the things she was expecting -- a letter, on paper, from a Mandalorian... It was all she could do not to quip about it being written in crayon, but she knew its provenance, and of all the Mandalorians in the galaxy -- perhaps paradoxically -- Jenn Kryze was one of exactly two for whom she did not harbor several metric tonnes of utter contempt.

Paradoxical, indeed, Natasi mused with a slight smirk. Some might call it personal growth, but -- no. Natasi was perfectly content to see the Enclave roasted inside their armor. The Mandalorians were dangerous, high on the fumes of their own nonsensical press about being honorable warriors. What a lot of tosh.

The little knife made short work of the envelope and Natasi separated it, drawing out the letter inside, and held it up for a critical read. Natasi was silent and still, but for her eyebrows, which communicated the running commentary going through her. A blessing, indeed... ridiculous. Equals? I must be back in the Netherworld. At least she has the good grace to apologize, though I'm sure she'd put a bomb under the lot of us if she had the chance... oh, for heaven's sake, what kind of monster does the woman take me for?

Natasi finished the letter, read it through once more, and frowned.

It demanded no response.

And yet --

Natasi settled in her chair once more, drew a mongrammed sheet of her own letterhead, announcing that it was From The Desk of Her Majesty Natasi J. Fortan, RI. Rather pompous, she thought. It would tickle the Alor, no doubt. She picked up the platinum-plated pen, touched ink to paper, and wrote --

Alor Kryze,

Imagine my surprise when I received your letter in connection with the seed vault that was confiscated from me when I came into your custody earlier this year. Even you must applaud my growth when I tell you that, on my honor as a Galidraani Girl Guide (for that is likely the only institution of which I am a member that you might not despise), I didn't even consider making a joke about a Mandalorian's facility with spelling and grammar. I feel like a whole new woman.

I want you to know that your clan has nothing to fear from me. It may surprise you to know that I find the notion of collective punishment morally repugnant. It is also a war crime; I believe I've made my position on those quite clear. The only people responsible for what transpired on the Corvo are you and the goons who sent you. Your clan are guilty of nothing that I am aware of, and justice demands that only those who have done the crime ought to fear retribution.

I hope that sets your mind at ease where your clan is concerned.

It's curious that you mention the Mandalorians seeking to improve their food production on their breadbasket worlds. It is a shame that they did not feel that they could approach their former allies in the Galactic Alliance, who would have been happy to share their knowledge as well as their resources. It is always a shame when violence is the only language a people understand, because it becomes something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, wouldn't you agree?

I renew my confession that I am puzzled you would have need for my forgiveness. I suppose I ought to take it -- and your assessment of my dignity -- as a compliment. As far as an ironclad will goes, I think it takes one to know one. I don't envy your position, Alor Kryze. You are attempting a fresh start for yourself and your people and I appreciate how difficult that is -- perhaps better than most would. It can be tiresome and stressful to live a life of a fugitive in the best of circumstances, but to do so while trying to lead your people to a better life. It is not my desire to make that harder for you, and yet the interests of justice demand that you answer for your actions. It is certainly a difficult situation for us to find ourselves in, but the first step to overcoming a difficult circumstance is to identify it, don't you agree?

I am running out of page here, so I shan't trouble you with more of my pontifications. I will leave you with this aphorism, handed down to me from my father on Galidraan: there are many ways to skin a cat.

Do write again; my private secretary was ever so tickled to receive a letter from you, and I endeavor to keep my security team on their toes.

I remain, as ever,
Sincerely yours,

Jenn Kryze​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

​

| Location | ???
| Objective | Oh, heavens, the good lady wrote back.

Another day, and another camp. Clan Kryze always kept on the move, never staying in one place for long, living in fear of bloody reprisal from all manner of enemies. The Sith viewed their people as beasts, and none would waste the opportunity to cull them like beasts; the Jedi, self-righteous peacekeepers that they were, might very well just come looking for problems as they often did and throw them within an iron cage to be paraded back to the Galactic Alliance. And the Mandalorian Enclave might very well just come looking for them and repay them the wages of treachery a thousandfold.

Not that there was anything left to betray on that particular front.

Jenn missed having the roaring heart of a Forge at her disposal, free to work on the armor of her people. No, she had to content herself with precision work on more... quaint little projects. Like fine-tuning a blaster pistol's energy consumption following the specifications given to her by her pilot. Something that appealed to her meticulous nature, to be sure, but called to her skills as a weaponsmith rather than a metalsmith. At least it kept her busy, and her mind off of her troubles for a little while.

At least, until the flap of her tent was pulled up.

"A letter for you, Alor!" came Karrys' voice, her grin obvious in spite of the helmet on her face. Before Jenn could even hope to ask who it was from, the eccentric pilot dropped it on the table, walking on back out with a chuckle. "Sure wish I got mail from an aristocrat. Don't let Pollux know, he'll never let you hear the end of it!"

A groan escaped the Forgemistress, her tools set to the side along with the blaster pistol, even as her cheeks flushed underneath the helmet. Gossip was just about the last thing she wanted concerning this particular matter, in truth. With a SHUK, her knuckleplate vibroblade was brought out of its confines and carefully brought over to the letter. In a display of utter control befitting of a woman such as herself, Jenn carefully sliced the envelope open, carefully putting it down onto the table as she unfolded the letter itself and began to read.

Her heartbeat picked up.

Urgh. That lady and her titles, ever so pompous and arrogant. A changed woman? I can't tell if this is good-natured ribbing or more of her taunting from our early encounters. Despise- oh, stars, this is not what I- oh. Well, that's certainly a weight off the Clan's back, if not mine. Never thought she'd... respect me. I wish I could tell her.

A weary sigh escaped her, and yet... she brought the letter close, holding it against her heart. Respect wasn't quite what she sought from Natasi Fortan, but it would have to do. It was some measure of attention, in the end, and no matter how much she knew it would be better for all parties involved to go their separate ways, she was far too enthralled by the Galidraani aristocrat not to relish in the chance to share in her company. These words were not quite uttered by that delightful voice, nor accompanied by those subtle shifts of her expression that claimed the Mandalorian's full, undivided attention.

Slowly, almost tenderly, her finger brushed against her signature, a soft exhale escaping her lips.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

Jenn's letter was, no doubt, surprising. After all, who would expect a Mandalorian to write using feather and ink? Or to have such charmingly loopy handwriting?


Your Grace,

I would not bother to use your titles if I found them all so disagreeable, or your worth as a leader to be lacking. My personal feelings should not enter this relationship


Jenn tore the page in half. Why did she pine for her!


Your Grace,

Your response to my letter has proven to be unexpected, if very much welcome. Your assurances come at a great relief to me, as you may imagine: I "merely" need to contend with the risk of being found and harassed by the Galactic Alliance or the Mandalorian Enclave, without mentioning how the Mandalorian Protectors are now allegedly picking a fight with the Sith and risking bringing their attention upon us all. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me for feeling a surge of relief at the realization that I need not deal with a vengeful monarch's reprisal as well.

You had no need to comfort me so, but you strike me as a woman of your word, and so I take solace in the knowledge that one of my diplomatic ventures, at the very least, is bearing fruit.

As far as the Enclave's motivations go, your assessment is correct. When I joined them, they cared to build a haven for our people, and built diplomatic ties with neighboring worlds through trade and protection. Alas, the wisdom of our founder seems to have died with her, and they only seem to care about taking what they want and burning the rest, these days.

I never expected something resembling respect from you, my lady. I know that justice will catch up with me eventually - and I will embrace it when it does. But I have so much left to do before then. I must set my Clan upon the right path, and ensure that I can die and have the noble ideals I seek to instill remain as core tenets for years to come. I need to leave behind a legacy.

And, as I confided at the gala, I know no greater fear than imprisonment. The last time I found myself a captive, I was little more than an interesting specimen to a Sith alchemist. A curious beast for them to play with as they saw fit. They changed me, made me something I was not, and although I have come to relish in my new nature, it was a violation that left me scarred.

I would sooner meet the headsman's blade than relive those memories.

I know you understand.


Ever at your disposal,
Jenn Kryze

​

Natasi Fortan​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi looked over the envelope at Glass as he delivered the second letter. "Another missive from my Nereidian friend," she observed. "Do you suppose the Strategic Operations Executive could trace the location from the envelope or the paper? Or even the ink? Some kind of... chemical analysis?"

"I couldn't say, Your Majesty," said Glass uncertainly. "I can ask the Director to send someone over if you like. They did scan it for any harmful substances, of course, or it wouldn't be here."

Natasi paused a moment. "I'm -- I'm not worried about that," said the Supreme Leader after a moment. "Not really."

She turned toward her study and selected her letter opener, slicing the envelope open and taking the letter out. Natasi was surprised to learn that she was actually eager to read the Alor's words. Her eyes scanned the prose, once, twice.

Alor Kryze,

Is there an honorific I should be using to address you? I'm afraid my facility with Mandalorian customs is -- as you can imagine -- rather limited. Please do advise in your next letter.

Don't you find harassed to be so unmusical a word? Certainly anything visited upon you by the Galactic Alliance ought to be fairly considered law enforcement, no? Alas, reasonable minds may differ. As for me -- I am interested in justice, yes, but I don't know that it would be fair to call me vengeful. That implies some kind of a suspect motivation and, as you will no doubt agree, my motivations are pure. Jenn, there are many different kinds of justice, and I can assure you neither the Galactic Alliance nor the Renascent Republic are interested in subjecting you to the unethical conditions of your previous incarceration.

I am aware that I am not likely to entice you into turning yourself in so I won't waste further time or ink, but consider what I said.

I empathize for your need to define your own legacy. Perhaps more than anyone else could. My father always used to say: 'where you sit is what you see.' Depending on where you sit in the galaxy, I am either a sainted savior, civilizer of backwaters, exhaustive public servant, royalty, and -- believe it or not -- some kind of sex symbol (the rumors of pinups bearing my likeness were unconfirmed, at least by me). But elsewhere I am a bloodthirsty conqueror, a tyrant, an Imperial. In some circles, this sobriquet is the worst thing you can call a person.

I don't write all this to gloat; I have unfortunately entered the profession of politics -- rather loathsome, if you ask me, but here we are -- and in this arena it's all: what have you done for me lately? Rather, if it isn't too pretentious, I offer some advice: the people who will carry on your legacy will be the ones who know you, not the galaxy. The galaxy's opinion is shaped by a corrupt media, galactic clashes of propaganda, and the like. Your children's opinions are most important; your clan's next. The people you will come to rule some day. I don't doubt that you will leave behind a significant and substantial legacy.

Well... that doesn't read as condescending at all, I'm sure. It wasn't meant in that way, at any rate.

By the way, it might interest you that some of the seeds you returned have sprouted. I wouldn't go so far as to say no harm, no foul, but suffice to say I am pleased. Perhaps I will someday send you some of the proceeds. If they continue to thrive I will enclose a photograph in my next correspondence. Until then, I hope you are well. We may not be friends, but I have long since stopped thinking of you as an enemy, Alor Kryze.

I shall endeavor to remain,
Sincerely yours,

Jenn Kryze​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

​

| Location | Owl's Rest
| Objective | Lost in ink

"A letter has come for you, Alor."

​

The last thing Jenn needed today was for Henryk to hand-deliver her a letter written by the woman she pined for. Another frustrating round of discussion with those in the Clan with a voice worth hearing, ending without anyone being satisfied - all she had managed to accomplish today was nourish the growing resentment against her rule as Alor. Accusations were levelled against her as she expressed her desire to finally escape the Galaxy, taking her warriors with her to rebuild their strength within the uncharted reaches of space, far away from the eyes of all who would stop them.

"Bring it to my desk, then leave."

"Why do you heed the words of a pompous Imperial, Alor? Do the aruetiise whisper in your ear, as some in the Clan suspect?"

Jenn spun around and closed the distance between them far more rapidly than one might expect. Henryk was taller than her, stronger than her, and clad in far more of their people's hallowed metal than her. It made no difference. Stopping right in front of him, the shorter woman's Y visor all but pierced his very soul, the sheer rage taking hold of her almost palpable.

"Speak to me in such a manner again, Alor'ad, and I will have no choice but to repay your insult with a duel."

For a moment, the two of them merely stared one another down, silence hanging over them both... until the titan of a man eventually bowed his head in deference, and brought his closed fist to tap over his heart. Without another word, he departed as instructed, leaving Jenn alone with her thought-

And with a letter she dreaded to open.

But Jenn could not resist it. She never had a chance to do so. After all...

The heart wants what the heart wants.

Slowly, carefully, she sat down upon the uncomfortable stretcher she used as a bed these days, bringing her knuckleplate vibroblade to the letter to carefully slice it open as she had one before, the calm and measured pace she kept all but abandoned when her eyes came to rest upon the elegant handwriting of the Galidraani aristocrat, practically feverish in her excitement!

Her heart skipped a beat when her eyes looked over the sight of her own name, etched upon the parchment by the monarch's delicate fingers. The Mandalorian read it again and again, drunk in adoration of what was surely nothing more than a benign show of familiarity. Oh, but how her mind wandered! What if the good lady chose to utter her name, and grace her ears with such a sound? What if it held something more? All of that and more tortured her mind, even before the idea of the exquisite noble as a pinup began rapidly boiling her brain...

I have better things to do than pine hopelessly as a youth would for a noblelady with more than enough reason to meet the notion with derision, if not spite.

Perhaps Henryk and the others were right. Perhaps she was allowing her judgement to be clouded, for she accepted the words held within the letter as truth: that Natasi Fortan could even show her such sympathy was a revelation tempered only by the fear of being pitied.

Restlessly did she shuffle over to her mess of a desk, dipping her quill in ink - and letting her thoughts be brought to life...


Your Imperial Majesty,

Alor is a word charged with meaning, and many translations in Basic - but all of them harken to the role of leadership attached to it. By calling me Alor, you acknowledge me by my proper title, and the only one I possess other than that of Forgemistress. Referring to me as you have for all this time is the correct form of address, fear not. And if it were not, I would hardly begrudge you the use of another term, given the insular nature of my people's culture.

One of the greatest misconceptions in the Galaxy is the notion that Justice need be separate from Vengeance. There are times where both intersect, indeed: pursuing your vengeance against me, for instance, would be little more than meting out justice for my crimes. I would never dream of implying your motivations in this matter to be anything but the product of rational thought and proper adherence to the justness of your cause.

I must thank you for your advice, madame, for politics are a game I would have rather done without. I took the mantle of Alor for myself because no other would, you know. Nobody in the Enclave was willing to stand up and denounce the Crusade from within, and so I did, rebuilding the Clan I was once a part of around me and my ideals. It is a mission I pursue to this day, as you well know, but there are days where I falter, and find myself wondering if I was a fool to think myself capable of being any sort of a leader. My daughter, bless her gentle and soaring heart, thinks of me as a terrible fool for listening to the advice of outsiders at all - to say nothing of my plan to leave this Galaxy behind, so that I may rebuild the Clan around the noble ideals of Truth, Justice and Honor without fear of all I have built being snuffed out.

Enough spent writing of my own misfortune. I am glad to hear that I could somewhat rectify the terrible wrong I committed. Too little, too late, I am keenly aware of that, but I will take some measure of comfort in the knowledge that the entire miserable affair did not result in a total loss.

I believe I would very much have liked to call you friend, your grace.

Ever at your service,
Jenn Kryze

​

Natasi Fortan ​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Things had been regrettably busy for the Senator for Aegis. Too many balls in the air, too many plates spinning, had kept her shuttling between Aegis and Coruscant and thus, to her dismay, Jenn Kryze 's latest missive had sat un-replied for too long. After a long and particularly arduous day of meetings, briefings, and receptions, the Supreme Leader padded into her bedroom of the private retreat constructed for herself and her absent husband-to-be with a cup of cocoa -- which she had made herself and, rather predictably, burned -- and a stack of correspondence, the Alor's letter at the top of the pile.

Banks helped her out of her clothes and into a short nightgown and then a silk kimono as Natasi re-read the letter. A faint smile on her lips.

"Good news?" the ladies maid asked, as if she cared. Her eyes did not linger on the letter as she gathered the mistress' things for the laundry.

"Not especially," said Natasi. "Only -- have you ever -- ?"

She paused a moment, remembering for the thousandth time that however real Banks looked and sounded, she was still just a Human Replica Droid. She had been with Natasi -- part servant, part bodyguard -- for going on sixty years now. There was nothing about Banks that Natasi did not know; Banks did not have a personal life, did not have a history.

"Ma'am?" Banks asked quizzically, cocking her head to one side. Uncanny.

"Nevermind," said Natasi. "That will be all. Please wake me at five tomorrow. I'll have tea and toast here, on a tray, and then I'll take Duke out for a ride at half five. Would you please let the stables and the guards know?"

"Of course, ma'am. Good night."

Natasi took her coca and her pile of letters to a comfortably overstuffed armchair and placed a lapdesk over her legs and took out a pen. After sipping her coca for a moments to let her thoughts settle, Natasi uncapped her pen and began to write:

Alor Kryze,

I must apologize for the tardiness of my letter. It would not be inaccurate to say that I have been delayed by my official duties as Senator and Supreme Leader, but that would not be the full picture. Indeed, I have been -- with the Prime Minister of the Renascent Republic -- interviewing potential successors to my Senate seat in addition to my other obligations, which has put rather stringent limitations on my time. But this would not be a complete statement, the truth but not the whole truth, if you take my meaning.

I have been consumed with doubt as to whether to suggest this to you, knowing now what I know about you. Nor have I been terribly excited at the prospect of seeing it done myself, knowing that my wounded pride demands -- vengeance. Yes, despite what I have said before, in the darkest hours when I lay awake, woken by a branch tapping at the window in the rain or the settling of the house into a cold sweat of terror thinking that your allies have overcome my security to finish the job, my soul cries out for vengeance, not justice.

This, I think, is why most civilizations do not seek to ask victims of crimes or their families to prosecute the perpetrators; in fact in most civilized places those with such a personal connection are barred from participating or even from sitting on juries. It is wise, I think, that law overcomes base desires such as vengeance. It is short-sighted, destructive, and perpetuates a cycle.

However, with all that being said, I would like to propose something... unorthodox. I do not know whether you know Jedi Master Valery Noble . I haven't met her personally, though by all accounts she is a fair-minded individual. I propose that we might seek her counsel in a mediation of sorts. If she is unavailable, she might be able to recommend a Jedi who could serve. And be assured that my position as a Senator will not warrant me any unfair advantage with the Jedi; they are not particularly fond of Senators as far as I can tell. Perhaps we can work out some sort of -- I don't know what, really -- that qualifies as justice while not subjecting you to that which would be intolerable for you.

Please do let me know your thoughts.

I enclose a copy of The Prisoner of Southport which was one of my son's favorites. It is, by all accounts, a tale of swashbuckling and romance etc. as recounted by a man imprisoned in the Gold Tower of Southport. It's standard Galidraani fare, I'm afraid, but I found it while moving some of George's -- that's my son -- things and I thought it might appeal. A holofilm was made of it in the late 780s but I don't think it does it justice. It is a gift and I invite you to keep it, but please bear in mind it is a first edition and dates to the Plague years, so it may benefit from gentle handling.

Enclosed also my best wishes for the settlement and safety of your people.

I shall remain, as ever,
Sincerely yours,

 

[Jenn Kryze]

​

| Location | Onderon Highlands
| Objective | To the (not so) bitter end

Just as Natasi had taken quite some time to respond to Jenn's letter, the Alor proved to be... worryingly late to give her answer. By now, word had surely reached the monarch of the brutal battle for Onderon - Imperial remnants occupied the planet, kept the Queen under close watch, and crushed any sign of resistance from the locals, executing swathes of hapless civilians as a means to punish those who still dared to rebel. And when the Galactic Alliance launched an assault to liberate the world, their ground forces found unexpected allies in the form of Clan Kryze, returned to the galactic scene in spite of their Alor's prior belief that their time was past.

Few in numbers as they were in the grand scheme of things, the Mandalorians acquitted themselves well enough that coverage of the battle showed them fighting alongside Alliance troops in a support role at times - when they were not reinforcing those pockets of freedom fighters still fighting within the capital of Iziz itself. Heavy casualties, combined with the chaos following the snatch and grab performed by the Imperials, left more questions than answers... and the beskar-clad warriors were not quite in a hurry to answer any of them. They lamented their dead, recovered their armor, and yet they did not depart from Onderon in the wake of the battle.

It would be quite some time, indeed, before Jenn's letter reached Natasi - and perhaps it was the only proof she might receive of the Alor having survived the intense fighting reported in Iziz.

Your Majesty,

It seems we are even in terms of tardiness. A great many deal demands my attention in these troubles times, and it seems I now shoulder a greater burden than ever before. The warriors of Clan Kryze flocked to my banner because they believed in the vision I offered for our people, and I have done my best to lead them onto a more honorable path than the one you would know from the Mandalorian Enclave. But it is only today that our resolve was truly tested, and I was made to face that which all commanders worth their salt understand, yet loathe; I spent their lives to see that ideal brought about. The lives of warriors who chose to fight and die for me and the future I offered them, for that of the people of Onderon. Victorious as we may be, I cannot help but wonder if I truly am an able leader, to grieve so deeply for those I have lost.

None who entertain the thought of ever harming you may call themselves my kin. I feel all but powerless to aid you, and I truly loathe such helplessness: I know the terror you feel all too well, and the reality that I caused so harrowing an experience shames me. My people are the greatest warriors in the galaxy, but even noble warrior-knight cannot slay the demons that lurk in one's mind, may they be yours or my own.

I see the merit of your thinking, my lady, but I must respectfully disagree with your assessment of justice, although my own perception of it is undoubtedly colored by my people's culture. As a war criminal myself, I know the notion may appear farcical to you, but I truly believe that there should be bloody recompense for those among my people who keep on waging war against the weak and helpless. Vengeance sets an example, a reminder of what awaits those who stray from the path. I offer forgiveness to all those who come to my Clan with a desire to redeem themselves, but those who cannot feel shame for the great evil they have wrought will only ever earn swift retribution by my hand. If the Mando'ade are to be treated with respect, then we must be worthy of it through honorable deeds, rather than fear.

I am well acquainted with the Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order, and, in truth, I hold her to be my truest friend. I would follow that woman within the jaws of Haran itself, for she is a noble and selfless soul. Valery Noble gave me a chance when few others would, treated me with respect, and even provided me with fair and wise counsel. I know of no other who could deliberate more fairly, although I would certainly respect your decision if you were to feel that the friendship I share with her might render her a rather biased arbiter of justice. Your idea holds merit, and I stand ready to meet with you at a location of your choosing to put a close to this chapter of our lives.

Romantic tales happen to be my favorite, as I turn to the world of fiction to escape from the often harsh reality of the galaxy. After all, one cannot deny the appeal behind a world of our own making, where good prevails against evil, love triumphs against prejudice, and courage is justly rewarded. My possessions are few, but prized, and I will treat this book with the same care I would my beskar'gam or my quill.

Thank you kindly for this gift, Natasi. I truly relish a chance to escape from the world around me, and a good read can be captivating.

Anxious as they may be, I suspect my people are eager to finally set their roots somewhere and shed our current nomadic lifestyle. I hope to speak of this matter with you when we meet, should you care for it.

Ever in your service,
Jenn Kryze

​

Natasi Fortan ​