By Sargon_Stryfe 3 Comments
Stryfe Family Homestead...
Nez Peron, Outer Rim...
Thirty Years Ago...
Golden crops glistened in the sunlight, waving in a soft eastbound wind alongside the branches of fruit trees in one of the largest orchards in the system. The trees seemed like an ocean to him from upon a lone hill, a place a young Sargon often ventured to see the horizon. He couldn’t do so otherwise, unless he climbed high into one of the massive Pink Starfruit trees, something his father scolded him for. But the hill sufficed. It had no name or bore any historical importance, it was a simple place. Sargon would grow to miss it fondly, more so even than the small house nestled amidst his family’s surplus.
On this particular day, Sargon, stick in hand, begun fighting imaginary enemies as he often did, his favorite of all was battling a vicious Krayt Dragon due much to a fable his father told him. It always ended with Sargon victorious, never harmed or hurt but exhausted as he sprinted, tumbled and rolled in action. A mere eight years old, Sargon glorified these stories although their significance would come to shape this lad as a man.
As Sargon heaved himself over his fictitious foe’s back, he executed a well done combat role and pointed his stick directly at the “beast’s” skull as if it were a blaster only to find his father’s shadow behind him.
Amun spoke to his young son “You haven’t killed the dragon yet, boy?” He said with a smirk on his face.
Sargon retorted quickly “I kill one every day! You only killed one once in your life!” He himself smirking, mirroring his father.
Amun nodded. “The difference is I killed a real one Sargon, but in turn that same Krayt took my brother that day; your uncle and namesake.”
A silence fell for a moment, only for Amun to enforce a set of principles and a lesson. “But your uncle was welcomed into the holy army of Kad Ha’rangir, he now lives forever, awaiting us to join him.”
Resting his hand on Sargon’s shoulders, the purple eyes of Sargon gazing upwards to meet the cold black eyes of his father, Amun guided the boy to descend down the hill and home. For food and further training but seeing as he had upset his son he began to speak “I kept the dragon’s pearl, blood red in color, I will show it to you sometime later after blaster training and some sparring.”
The story of the Krayt Dragon was Mandalorian rite of passage, His father Amun Stryfe, head of Clan Stryfe, was an impeccable warrior and a loyalist to the fallen House of Tamur; exiled from Mandalorian Space for warmongery and anti-Republic sentiments. Styfe, Vexx, Raze and other clans now sought refuge in the Outer Rim, mercenaries who practiced the traditional faith.
Hence, Nez Peron, the haven for an unblossomed Neo-Crusader movement.
Making a living as some of the finest merceneries in the galaxy, these particular Mandalorian clans were infamous throughout the Outer Rim and hired by the wealthiest and cruelest in the galaxy. Sargon however, secretly wanted no such lifestyle and merely wanted to grow beautiful things for the rest of his life but this was not the way of his people...
...This was not his destiny.
It was War.
Stryfe Family Homestead...
Nez Peron, Outer Rim...
Twenty Five Years Ago...
Sargon stood upon the lone hill, overlooking his family’s homestead, searching for the horizon but only found smoke and cinder rising upwards in a sea of fire in the night. His violet eyes, streaming tears, as shackled arms clutched for the distance but found only the stock of a blaster striking his back and he plummeted. Surrounded by a Trandoshan hunting party, large reptilian bipedals with savage teeth and a lust for sport, the young Sargon listened to a formation of hisses and growls which composed their language, Dosh.
“<This one will be worth something!>” Three stout fingers wrapped around Sargon’s skull, inspecting his skin and eyes as one continued. “<Mandalorians slaves are worth much in Hutt Space!>”
One beside him shook his head, large red eyes staring down at the boy with ruthless intentions. “<We should kill him...this one’s father killed four of us.>”
The first one hissed at the other, baring its teeth and salivated “<Yes, but we killed the rest and we could make a tons of credits from him and this pearl!>”
A large fist collided twice with Sargon’s head, this time by the leader of the hunting band, causing him to go unconscious “<Get him on the ship, I know a Colicoid on Nar Shaddaa who will pay a pretty penny for the likes of him...and Zodoh the Hutt for this.>” Holding up the deep red gem of Amun Stryfe.
He waved his comrades to the shuttle vessel, the largest of the Trandoshans lifting the Mandalorian orphan over his mighty shoulder. Grasping the lad, he spoke with an absent heart “<This turned out to be better than expected, a huge payout! I was just happy with Bellerophon’s money in the first place.>”
“<Yeah, well here is to hoping another Merc fails him next month.>” The leader jested as he boarded first with the others, and Sargon not far behind.
Leaving the Styfe homestead in ruins and flames, as the last Pink Starfruit tree, charred and old, fell from its height and crushed his home and the bodies within.
There young Sargon also left behind his heart...
...dead and burning.
To be continued...
Next: The Battle Circle of Nar Shaddaa