Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Word Count: 4,843
Characters: Crosshair, Admiral Rampart, Trinn Kryze (Original), Captain Mal Kryze (Original), Commander Reina Darr (Original)
Date: 9 rotations after âKamino Lostâ
Themes:Â NO romance, NO smut, simply a âwhat ifâ AU with OCâs-
This is an alternative canon- I wanted to write a fic that told the story of what could and would have happened if Crosshair had deviated from the canon path, and gotten out from under the Empireâs control sooner rather than later.
This starts with the decision to get off Kamino rather than sit and wait for the Empire to come looking for him.
One crossroad leads to another, and each decision made steers him toward a better future- one of redemption and a life of his own making.
Synopsis:Â After a longer and more personal conversation than he would have liked, Crosshair starts to understand the Galaxy doesn't work the way he was told, and realizes going back to the Empire would end disastrously for him.
Archive link: [ Crossroads ]
[ Part 1 ] [ Part 2 ]
Crosshair couldn't remember the last time heâd slept this well, or dreamt this vividly.Â
Before his generous benefactors had saved him from the perpetually wet weather on Kamino, he hadnât slept more than an hour at a time in eleven rotations (not counting when Hunter had knocked him unconscious during their escape from Kamino). So waking up now felt like coming out of a coma, or another life.
Everything looked the way it should, give or take spots of color change to delineate light and shadow. The familiar hum of a hyperdrive and flickering interior cargo bay lighting lulled him into a false sense of security.
But when he lifted his head and saw a T-shaped visor and the light catching the eyes of a dark lump staring him down from across the room, Crosshair screamed.
Adrenaline flooded him and he sat bolt-uprightâawake but still dreamingâpushed himself off the bench and crashed to the floor. Suddenly he was back on Kamino in the trenches of the Sickener, reliving some of his worst memories. Old wounds pricked, the phantom smell of rotting nerf overwhelmed his senses and punched him in the gut. He wheezed ragged, panicked breaths in and out as gnashing teeth snapped at his throat and Waylon Vauâs roaring voice rang in his ears. Everything shook and screamed danger as his eyes darted around in his delirium.
Hey, hey HEY! WOAH!
A dark figure shot to their feet across the room, their voice overlapping with the memory of Sergeant Vauâs. Crosshairâs hand reached instinctively for the blaster at his hip but slapped at an empty holster. A strangled breath puffed out of his lungs and he backed as far away as he could from the ghosts of his past, until his back hit the bench behind him. As the armored shape moved toward him, Crosshair shielded himself with both arms, but it didnât stop them from clapping both hands around his upper arms.Â
Come on trooper, snap out of it!
A good, hard shake jostled him just enough to wake him up. Crossâ brow hardened as he set wide-eyed focus on the woman in front of him before noting the dark purple armor ornamented with a blue Vizsla firebird. The horrific memories abated, reality bled through, and the panic relented. Right⌠thatâs right. He wasnât on Kamino anymore, he was on a Night Watch freighter.Â
Crosshairâs shoulders lowered and he shoved the woman out of his face with a short growl, turned his back to her and ran a hand over the silver stubble growing back over his scalp with an embarrassed sigh. No one had ever seen him like this aside from his brothers, the scared and broken child he still was in his nightmares. It was bad enough heâd gotten onto a ship with strangers and let them strip him of his weapons and armor, worse still that theyâd seen him at his most vulnerable physically. And now they were getting a glimpse at his karked-up psyche too? It was more than he wanted to share.
âYouâre welcome,â Trinn retorted with an indignant huff as she stood up, shook her arms and shoulders out and stepped away from him.
Behind her, the nails of an enormous Massiff clicked against the durasteel as it stood and approached the edge of its enclosure with a whine. Trinn leaned down to reach through the grate and stroked the side of its head with a Jateâdala, mirdala, and his stomach churned. Heâd never had much experience with creatures, aside from his brief ride on the local fauna on Skako Minor and Sergeant Vauâs strill snapping in his face, and those had been two very polarizing experiences he had no desire to expand on anytime soon.
âHow longâs it been since you ate last?â she broke after a brief silence.
Crosshair tensed and half-turned his head to look at her out the corner of one eye.
âYouâre shaking, worse than before,â she noted, hoping to ease his apprehension.
He followed her eyes to his shaking arm and tucked it closer to his body. Shab, he was so used to it by now he couldnât feel it anymore. âIâm fine.â
âNo, youâre not,â she half-mumbled as she approached and stopped to squat in front of him at eye-level, scrutinizing his face. He grunted and turned away from her to avoid eye contact, but she persisted long enough to confirm her suspicion.
âBreathâs sweet, thatâs ketosis,â she noted as she dug into one of the packs on her hip, then offered him a slab of Gihaal, along with a pack of biscuits, and a small handful of fruit and nuts. âYouâve gotta eat something, but do it slowly. Donât make yourself sicker than you already are.â
He stared long and hard at the rations in her outstretched hand and ran his tongue over his dry and cracking lips, debating whether or not to trust it even as his stomach gnarled and screamed at him to take the damn food.
âItâs not poisoned,â she insisted, snapped off a piece of the fishmeal and knocked it back. Trinn chewed and swallowed, popped her brows, and stuck out her tongue to show her empty mouth. âSee?â
Watching someone else eat when he was starving to death got the better of him. Crosshair snatched the food out of her hand like a ravenous strill and dumped the nuts and fruit into his mouth in one go with a quiet grunt of approval, and he chewed slowly, savoring the contrast of the salty nuts and barely sweet berries. He hadnât had anything with flavor in close to three weeks, rations had never tasted so good.
Crosshair scooted back to re-seat himself on the bench for the back support, and closed his eyes as he ate, his whole body releasing the tension heâd been holding onto for far too long.Â
Trinnâs footsteps moved away from him across the hold to rummage through a storage locker, then moved back and dropped a hydropac into his lap. He flinched and scowled at her as she plopped bodily onto the bench perpendicular to the one he was on, kicked her heels up on the bench beside him, and crossed her arms.
âSo how long were you out on that platform before we foundâja?â she asked as he tore off another chunk of the fishmeal.Â
Crosshair never had been much of a conversationalist, much less one to converse with his enemies- but he could tell she wasnât going to leave him alone, so he humored her, careful not to give away anything of value.
âNine rotations,â he replied out the corner of his mouth mid-chew.
She blinked slow and wide-eyed, whistled low, and shook her head. âAnd you were really considering letting us leave ya there?â
He grimaced at the question as he swallowed. Crosshair thought for sure heâd die miserable and alone before the Night Watch had shown up, insisting they could âsave himâ. Yes, he had considered staying behind again.Â
Because heâd already made the decision to stay.Â
Because he deserved the punishment.Â
Because⌠because after everything, he didnât believe he deserved another chance.Â
Not that any of that was her business.
âWhy are you helping me?â he asked after a brief silence, his tone prodding.
âReports said Tipoca was hazed in a stormâ, she replied, watching his reaction carefully. âAfter what we saw, we were shocked anyone had survived.â
He scoffed with a wry smirk as he cracked open the hydropac, lifted and sipped at it, then set a solemn gaze on the floor across from him. âIs that what theyâre saying?â
Trinnâs expression turned heavy with the weight of grave understanding, and she leaned forward with her elbows over her knees as she digested what heâd inferred. â⌠storms donât do that kinda damage.â
He glanced briefly at her, then looked the Gihaal in his hand, his eyes betraying his otherwise emotionless exterior. âNo, they donât.â
Most clones had considered Kamino their home, but heâd never cared for it. Maybe heâd have been more torn up about its destruction if heâd had more fond memories of Tipoca City, but instead he was just numb. That it was gone now didnât bother him half as much as the hard realization that things could never go back to the way they were, no matter how badly he wanted it to. Their squad barracks were the only part of Tipoca that had ever really meant anything to him, but even that had stopped being a place of comfort in the last six months. The last time heâd slept there, he was already alone, already othered; now it was sitting at the bottom of the sea, irreparable, like the damage heâd done. It was all too poetic.
âHow bad were the casualties, really?â she asked with more urgency in her voice. âAre you sure you were the only one left?â
âThere were no clones left in that facility,â he replied, a slight twinge of annoyance in the edges of his tone. âThe Empire finished moving all essential personnel out of the city weeks ago, so if you were hoping you could convert more regs to your cause, it was a wasted trip.â
Trinn frowned as she sat back and crossed her arms again. âSo then what in the nine hells were you doinâ there?â she asked, side-stepping the accusation. âImps just left you for dead? Arenâtâcha onna them?â
The karking twitch in his shoulder gave him away again, and Crosshair grunted in frustration and looked away from her.
âAh⌠sore subject then.â
âClassified, if you must know,â he snapped back, at which she chuffed and rolled her eyes before folding her hands behind her head and slumping down to lounge.
âHowâd you survive that kriff-storm?â
He flashed back briefly to the moment he woke up to Omega struggling to free him from debris while the water rose around him, then to she and Tech guiding them through the tube system to the lab where theyâd been decanted. To AZI guiding their capsules to the surface, to the moment heâd saved the kid, then again to their angry faces as theyâd turned their weapons against him.
âI had help,â he admitted at last, wanting to close the book on it.
âFrom the Empire?â
He hesitated to answer, but found himself compelled to. â... from others, like me.â
âThought you said there were no clones left.â
âThere arenât.â
âSo they died? Or did they leave ya there too?â
âI chose to stay,â he sneered, lip curled, nose wrinkled and hackles raised. The accusation that Clone Force 99 had chosen to leave him behind again elicited a response far more severe than he expected, considering up until ten days ago heâd believed theyâd abandoned their loyalty to him. The heat in his own voice now surprised him.
 âWhy? Did you think the Empire was coming back for ya?âÂ
Deep down he didnât really think they were, and he knew it now. The day heâd first stood at the crossroads of his life, heâd found himself paralyzed by crippling shame. Despite his familyâs offer of forgiveness, he hadnât yet atoned, and he wouldnât let himself apologize until he did. He chose the way he did because to him, it had been the only choice that would make him worthy of redemption from his family.Â
So when these three had arrived and created a third branching path, with an offer for a fresh start and to atone for his wrongdoings without having to leave his fate in the hands of the Empire, he froze. Had he not been so sick and miserable, Crosshair wouldnât have agreed to board the Night Watch ship and just waited to die on that platform.
He kept telling himself heâd left with them for the sake of survival, but he couldnât shake the feeling that his path had already been dramatically altered by fate. Force, it had to be some sick joke. After all, what did his life really mean in the grand scheme of life-after-war? Crosshair didnât even know who he was without the Republic Army or the Empire. So how could the Night Watch?
Crosshair turned his back to her and shifted further away to lean his shoulder and head against the bulkhead door, closed his eyes and hoped she wouldnât ask anymore follow-up questions. For several minutes, she didn't, and he thought the conversation might be over, but it turned out sheâd just been digesting and analysing his words.Â
âYouâre still chipped, arenâtâcha?â
He shot her a venomous look as a warning, but unsurprisingly, she kept talking.
âSharp headaches, blind loyalty to an empire that formed overnight in the wake of genocideâŚâ She tapped the right side of her head, just above her temple. âAnd no removal scar. Weâve seen it before.â
âAnd what of it?â he sneered.
âWeâve freed dozens of clones from their inhibitor chips who are now fightinâ to free more of your brothers- some of whom swore allegiance to the Night Watch. Believe it or not, we know what happened wasnât the clonesâ fault.â
He scoffed. âDidnât take Mandalorians for jetiise sympathisers.â
âDidnât say we were, just know you clones were forced tâfollow orders against your will. I would have hated havinâ my autonomy stripped away like that.â
Trinn paused and shifted her gaze, tucked her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled on it as she considered what to say next. âWe donât care what happened to the jetiise,â she confirmed, âThe Order inherited a slave army and didnât question where it came from. It was corrupt to its core, and it needed to fall.â
Crosshair huffed in agreement as he shoved the last bit of the gihaal into his mouth and washed it down with the rest of the hydropac.
âBut so was the Republic, and so is the Empire. Nothinâs changed, the mask just fell off, and now Palpatineâs fashy without consequence cause no oneâs got the gettâse tâmake him stop.â
âAnd?â
âMirâsheb,â she spat, âThey teach you nothinâ of politics in the GAR?â
âSure they did, it just never mattered enough for me to have an opinion,â he drawled, the words curling and coiling. He was losing patience with this conversation. âItâs not like weâre citizens with a say.â
âWell it matters now, so lemme put it in terms you might understand a little better.âÂ
Trinn uncrossed her arms, put both feet on the floor, then leaned over her knees toward him and locked eyes onto his face.
âFashyâs bad- it means they do what they want, when they want, lie to cover it up and explain it away however they want, cause civilians are none the wiser anyway.â
Crosshair knew the Empire operated in the blur between lines. Heâd already gotten away with cold-blooded murder several times, the memory of which made him shiver.Â
âWhatâs that got to do with the Jedi?â
 âEverything. They knew what Palps was planning, and they confronted him- but by that time, heâd consolidated power so effectively, he gave one order and wiped emâ out.â
Crosshair rolled his eyes. âDid your Jedi Commander tell you that?â he mocked.
âDarâjetii,â she corrected. âCommander Vizsla left the order halfway through the war. And yes, she did.â
His expression lit up at this revelation, and the lines in his face softened, a tell that he was still in there despite the controlled response. Crosshair, admittedly, understood nothing of the Jedi, other than that they were even more capable warriors than Commandos and could do things heâd once thought impossible; and that, according to General Skywalker, most of them had their heads so far up their shebs they were insufferable. For all their grandstanding about serving the greater good and having knowledge and wisdom beyond their years, theyâd turned out to be just as bad as the Republic they served. That any of them had seen through the corruption and managed to get out before the osik hit the fan was⌠enlightening.
âTheyâre still traitors,â he seethed instead through the pain starting up again above his brow.
Trinn shrugged. âTheyâre gone, so whatâs it matter? Any that survived are scramblinâ tâfind their place in a galaxy that doesnât want emâ anymore. You should know how that feels."
âHow progressive of you,â he patronized.
âIâve seen a lot in the last year thatâs changed my perspective,â she said, ignoring his tone. âAnd I think you all deserve a second chance- for the hands youâve been dealt, you deserve that much.â
It was the first time someone other than his family had shown him an ounce of compassion, and it was so foreign he didnât know what to do with it. Crosshair shifted to shake off her sympathy, but it still worked its way into his chest and settled into his chest, under his ribs, where it simmered into rekindled hope. Something he couldnât afford right now.
âIâve made my choice,â he reiterated, deadpan and firm in his delivery. Because a chakaaryc like him deserved to rot in the deepest, darkest prison in the galaxy until they finally met their end.
âYou said that already, but I think youâre missinâ the point.â
âAnd whatâs that?â he exhaled, exasperated.
âChoices can always be un-made- or, if ya donât like where youâre at, you can start choosinâ different.â
Crossâ jaw locked and he pressed his hand into his forehead over his brow as the stabbing pain shot through the right side of his head again. Whether he wanted to or not didnât matter, because as long as he had that chip in his head, heâd never be able to make a choice for himself again.
âListen- ah⌠what was your name?â she asked.
âCrosshair.â
âCrosshair- I donât know what kind of pity-party osik youâre on, but running back to the people who left you for dead isnât gonna work out the way you think it will.âÂ
The irony was, it would go exactly how he expected it to. âWhat do you know?â he sneered.
âI know when you hit rock bottom, itâs time to start climbin,â she answered honestly.
That she would insinuate to know what was dealing with both chaffed and soothed him. Of course she was still trying to recruit him, but heâd thought the Night Watch to be too self-aggrandizing to ever imply theyâd done anything wrong. Crosshair knew he wasnât the only person in the Galaxy with regrets, but heâd never expected to find camaraderie among Rebels. That raised more questions than he wanted to have.
âAll Iâm sayinâ is, yâainât dead yet, so you might as well fight like it.âÂ
Without his brothers, he may as well be- but she was right.Â
It was becoming increasingly clear that the galaxy as he knew it never really existed at all, and Crosshair didnât know how to reconcile that. He couldnât reconnect with his family, didnât have a purpose, held no value to the Empire as a soldier, and now he was realizing that what heâd been told about the Jedi was a lie. How could he have been so naive? Why hadnât he just listened to what Hunter had been trying to tell him for the last eight months?Â
And why the hell was he still trying to find his way back into Imperial favor if theyâd been lying to him all along?
Crosshair stared into one of the darker corners of the hold and lost himself to another shame spiral- anger at his circumstances, resistance to honesty with himself, embarrassment that he would have been so easily fooled, then acceptance of reality. Guilt gnawed at the edges of his pride. It didnât matter how anyone tried to spin it, heâd made those horrible decisions, and he needed to figure out how to live with it before he could really move forward.
The freighter rattled and shuddered around them as it dropped out of hyperspace, with an announcement soon to follow from who he assumed to be the pilot.
Arrival at Central City in fifteen minutes.
Trinn stood and collected his armor from around the hold, handing it to him with more care than before. âBetter kit up and be ready. The Commanderâs antsy enough as it is without sneakinâ through an Imperial fleet with a bogus transponder code,â she said with a friendly grin.
For the first time, Crosshair looked up to intentionally meet her eyes but wished he hadnât. How could she still be smiling after the conversation theyâd just had? Heâd snapped and snarled and given her every reason to dislike him, but sheâd never even flinched or taken the bait. Regs couldnât keep a lid on their emotional outbursts when provoked, and even Hunter would have lost his temper and knocked his lights out, but Trinn had nerves of pure beskar and the temperance of a seasoned warrior. Were all women like this or just Mandalorian women?
He took his chestplate from her with a curt nod and slipped it on over his head. ES Trooper armor never had fit him right, and he couldnât help thinking how much he missed his custom Kartan kit as he locked the thigh, leg, and arm plates into place over his bodysuit. Once the freighter finished its descent through the atmosphere, he stood and re-seated the pack onto his back, then curled a hand into the cargo webbing against the wall for support, and waited for the ship to land.
âAre you sure you really want to go running back to the Empire?â Trinn asked as she handed him his weapons.
It was the right thing to doânot dragging his family or strangers into his attempt at penanceâfor everyone. This was something he needed to do alone.
âAnd go where?â he questioned as he shoved his Deecee into the thigh-holster.Â
She shrugged. âNight Watch is always lookinâ for new recruits- most of emâ these days are former Republic soldiers and clones lookinâ to leave the Empire.â
As he slotted his rifle over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the Captain out of the corner of his eye, watching him like a hawk with arms crossed and head cocked. He really wasnât looking to be bodied by an overprotective cannonball anytime soon.
âPass.â
âWell if you change your mindâŚâ Trinn reached into one of the packs on her hip, pulled out a portable transmitter, and programmed it with her commpad. âUse this, and weâll find you.â
Crosshair takes in a deep breath and lets out a weary sigh as he reaches to take the transmitter; when he wraps his hand around and tries to take it, she holds it firm until he makes eye contact.
âWhatever it is you're so ashamed of, you can have a fresh start. You just have to be brave enough to commit to it.â
Commitment was something he knew well enough, but only out of necessity for survival or success. It wasn't something heâd associated with free will or choice. If he hadnât survived or succeeded, heâd have been long dead by now. Being brave enough to make a choice was a foreign concept that made sense the longer he thought about it, but was eerily uncomfortable.
A slap on the shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts and he flinched away from the bear hug that usually followed.
âJust think it over, doesnât hurt tâhave options.â
Crosshair pointed the transmitter in her direction and gave her stern look before pocketing it. âThis doesnât mean anything.â
Trinn just grinned wider, flashed a little teeth and crinkled her eyes. âSure it donât.â
Crosshair carefully walked down the ramp and dropped onto the dusty ground, glanced around the landing platform to find the horizon and his bearings, then started in the direction of the giant hologram of Rampartâs stupid, smug face. The Administrative poster boy for chain codes should have never been allowed near Operations Command.
What a load.
Not far off the main road, he spotted a comm terminal and crammed inside, dialed the Imperial base code, followed by the directory code for Admiral Rampart, then input his identifying clearance code.Â
He waited nearly half an hour before the bastard picked up.
âThis is Admiral Rampart. To whom am I speaking?â
His name caught in his throat for a split-second before he corrected himself. âCT-9904.â
âCT-99- youâre alive?â he scoffed with a laugh. âI assumed you were dead.â
Cross clenched his jaw and suppressed a growl, lip curled and fist shaking around the receiver. He shouldnât have been surprised in the least, but the way the rage flared inside him still burned from the inside out.
âFortunately not.â
Rampart hummed, almost sounding disappointed. âI was told youâd lost control of the situation on Kamino. Care to explain exactly what happened?â
He hadnât had time to think about how to spin the lie, but still managed with ease. âThe rest of my team was killed by Clone Force 99.â
âAnd what of the rogue clones then?â
âDead,â he lied without hesitation.
âSo you finished the mission?â He hummed again in approval. âGood, yes. I assume then youâre expecting an extraction?â
âPreferably.âÂ
âAnd where might you be, exactly?â
Crosshair hesitated again, then replied, âCapital City, on Uyter.â
âNow how in blazes did you get there?â
âA passing freighter picked up my distress beacon and gave me a lift.â He didnât need the whole truth.
âHow fortunate,â he replied in a bored tone. âLucky for you, thereâs an Imperial depot outside of town. Find a way there, check in, and await further instructions.â
He blinked hard, head bobbing in surprise. âSir?â
âYouâd been listed as killed in action, it is going to take some time to reverse that paperwork. Not to mention, I donât even know what to do with you, CT-9904. Your team is dead, the ES initiative has been scrapped, and I no longer have use for you. So for now, stay put and await further instruction.â
Crosshair knew what that meant. Either he was about to be decommissioned, stuck on some backwater hellhole, or be disposed of altogether. Heâd heard rumors of what was happening to âretireesâ of the Clone Wars- marked for death, or disappeared to classified destinations. This was exactly why heâd been trying so hard to avoid becoming redundant, or worse- obsolete.
But Hunter was right, Trinn was right. No matter how hard he tried, the Clonesâ days with the Empire were numbered. Every day, more and more, he saw it, feared it, felt it: the imminent expiration of their purpose.Â
They were never going to find security or purpose again unless they fought tooth and nail for it.
Reality sank heavy in his gut like permacrete, and he swallowed hard and replied with a stoic, âYes sir,â then disconnected.
Shabuir, he hissed internally. He couldnât go back to the Empire now, but he wasnât exactly ready to ask his brothers or the Night Watch for help either.
But what option was there for a lone Clone deserter? Heâd need credits, food and shelter, so first heâd need work. But Uyter was a farming planet, and he was no farmer. And he was too thin and malnourished for manual labor. No, the only skillset he had was his Black-Ops training. But how the hells was he going to translate that into a career path outside of the Empire?
Crosshair looked around at the market square outside the terminal, and realized for the first time in a long time, he was struggling to see the bigger picture. It had all been so clear just weeks ago, but now he could barely see the path in front of him. He really should have had more respect for his brothersâ commitment to staying away.Â
And he should have gone with them.
Hey! Leave me alone⌠augh!
Down the lane, toward the end of the road, he saw a group of heavily armored men toss a Weequay into the street and laugh before they entered the business on the corner. He squinted to get a read on the business name and caught the tail end of the manâs whinging, something about, Damn Bounty Hunters, and huffed.Â
Heâd just been handed the answer to his problems on a silver platter. Bounty Hunting was the perfect translation of his skills into a civilian profession.
But without a ship heâd be severely limited, and with this damn trooper kit, he wouldnât be taken seriously. And he still needed a bucket.
He glanced around again, this time searching the stalls and storefronts, catching glimpses of clothing laid out on clotheslines outside the homes above. He could sneak around and steal what he needed, then go hock most of his kit for credits. Heâd keep the weapons and survival supplies, swap out his clothes⌠the plan was coming together quickly. Yes, this would work, all heâd have to do then was buy food and water.
With one final glance at the chain code message, he spat at the ground beneath it, turned down the nearest alley, and disappeared off the Empireâs radar.
[ Previous ] -- [ Next ]
Worldbuilding
The Night Watch: The name for the Mandalorian Resistance against the Empire, following the Imperial Reformation of Mandalore, which consisted of Bo-Katan Kryze and her Night Owls, the Protectors, what would eventually become known as âthe Clanâ, and most of House Viszla.
This Resistance was led by a former Jedi Padawan named Fae-Rao Viszlaâthe first Mandalorian to enter the order since Tarre Viszlaâand was aided by a group of mixed non-Mandalorians and clone deserters, who sympathized with the plight of Mandalore.