Tatooine

[Rose Cariadus]

“Well then safety is what we bring, when all enemies lay at our feet.” She took a good swig of her cocktail and leaned heavily against the bar, her bright blue eyes searching his for any hints at his intentions regarding her. Did he see her as prey? An ally? She couldn’t tell as of yet. So she decided to probe further.

 

“I heard of that contract, strange not many more mando’s took it, it seemed very lucrative and more than enough to fuel your drives for decades. If you recognize me I was just a kid during the Augustine uprisings, I was one of the many children left clanless after it, Rose of Sharon Cariadus at your service. The last of the Caridadus to walk this side of the force.” Her eyes misted for a second. “We will carry our vengeance until I breathe my last breath.” Her hand went to feel the Deathwatch patch on her pauldron.

 

“Did you fight in the rebellion?”

[The Black Sun Armada]

A message comes in for Tros, requesting his presence for the upcoming defense of the Black Sun world of Onderon. It indicates additional credits to be earned on top of his already hefty contract.

[saberforce]

Tros kept his own eyes upon his empty glass for a moment as Rose spoke. She gave him what he was looking for-answers as to why she was here. Slowly nodding his head, he turned to look at her in the eyes directly now.

 

"No, Rose of Sharon Cariadus. I did not fight in the rebellion. My dar'buir did. He actually was responsible for the burning of some of the clans of my childhood home because of it. But to answer some of your other questions, I do not know why any others did not take up the contracts offered. They hold ties in places that they should not, much like Mand'alor."

 

Tros now turned his eyes away from her. While he did not always agree with the current Mand'alor, he was still Mando and would follow the Resol'nare. Although, he did wish there was a bit more then passiveness from his own people. His comlink buzzed for a moment, quickly letting him know of the message from Black Sun, making a request to pay him to help defend the planet Onderon. Finally, credits worth earning. There was a slight smile that came to his face. He was looking to get back into action since the mini-war that broke out on Manda'yaim that caused so much death and grief. At least in this battle, there is a chance to easily win. He turned his gaze back to Rose and waved his comlink at her.

 

"And as fate would have it, credits worth earning."

[Dar'Manda]

The desert plains of Tatooine, despite being calm and beautiful in the dead of night as billions of stars lit up it's darkened sky, was still a desert. And as dry and empty as the artificial heart that beat within my chest. Or so I figured it be. whether day or night, the desert remained the same as I. As I sat within the local bar that I often attended, ordering my usual drink, I noticed a few usual visitors walk in and make themselves a home within this out skirted establishment. Paying no heed, I went back to drinking, gazing upon my visage within the mirror behind the bar, still mindful of the metal that protruded from beneath the skin upon my face. Glass in hand as I went to drink, the barkeep Talis approached. "Friends of your's Atlas?" He questioned.

 

"No Talis." I spoke, finishing my drink and placing it before him, allowing him to refill it as he wished. "You know damned well that I'm no true Mandalorian. May have been raised by the last of my clan as one, but I'm as dead as they are."

 

And in truth, I was the last of my Clan, a clan that had survived ages, even millennia. A clan that had once held as much fear as it did respect. But I was the last of them, or so I knew, unless others existed outside of my knowledge. Or pretenders. Whichever, it no longer mattered to me. I was the last of the Bralor Clan. And with me, it had died, buried beneath all this flesh and metal. Only in spirit, did the name remain. With the glass still in hand, i finished it off before briefly realizing one approach from my rear before another walked over and started conversation.

 

"Talis" I indicated my moving with a motion of swirling my glass. "I'll be over there by the door." Standing up, largely the biggest being within the establishment due to my cybernetic enhancements, I wasn't easy to miss. My armor was black, definitely Beskar, though quite different in design than typical Mandalorian Armor. Beskar plates covered most of my form, similar to the armor of Stormtroopers with a spidersilk weaved body sleeve laying beneath, and a neuro interface running the tip of my spine toward the back of my scalp where my helmet rested within a housing, capable of springing forth in thin plates to cover my face if the need arises, only my rebreather needing to be placed before hand upon my mouth and nostrils should I decide to adorn my helmet like mask.

 

Turning away from the bar, I made my way toward a table near the door, my ryyk blade settled across one of my shoulders while my rifle crossed back of the other. Most patrons around here knew not to cross me, despite my rather lone stature and tendency of solitude. However, with this many Mandalorians in one place, I did grow quite curious as to their reason for being here, even as one of those who had arrived left, mentioning credits. I shook my head slightly in disgust. Even I, one considered dar'manda, knew credits were never the reason to fight, for the fight alone was worth it's weight in credits.

[Rose Cariadus]

As she said her goodbyes to Tros, her bright blue eyes caught a new set of armour. The colours, though they were not garish or odd were familiar. Then again, Ros had to remind herself, there were plenty of Mandalorians, and plenty more that more painted armour. Mix those numbers with the amount of plastoid look-alikes that wandered the galaxy, and she couldn’t even be sure he was a Mandalorian. Only one way to be sure.

 

She walked after the man as swift and as silent as a deadly feline as he made his way to a table and then the slid across from him. The armour that coated her rear end, scraping a nice gash in the booth stuffing beneath her. She regretted the move and the credits that would go with it immediately, but there was not much to do but forge on ahead.

 

She extended her hand to the man.

 

“You must be new here, not much of a rind on you yet.” She laughed behind her ‘T’ visor before continuing. “But I forget my manners, I am Rose of Sharon Cariadus, May the blessing of Kad Ha’rangir and endless purifying war be with you stranger.” A simple test, one that she had insured with a blaster under the table. No reason to let an Arasuumite Mando get any traction on this planet. If he didn't see the triple slashes of the Kyr'tsad on her helmet and shoulders then said something pro Mandalore, then that was up to him.

[Dar'Manda]

I had long noticed my pursuer before I had even arrived at my table, as in truth, with my notable form, I half expected one of them to make a move toward me. I should have known it would be a sister before a brother, as they were more ruthless, cunning, and even persistent than most males within our culture. But I found still found myself half shocked as I took my seat and she slide in across from me, her hand extended.

 

"Forgive me 'Vod." I spoke, my amber eyes never shifting from the mutually amber colored ale that I had been drinking for a better part of the afternoon. "But Manda is lost on a one such as myself." Getting ready to take another gulp of the amber ale, my gaze still never falling upon anything but the drink it's self, I spoke again. "And you can put that blaster on the table or on your hip. I have no quarrel with you..." Taking the gulp, and letting out a satisfied sigh, lower my drink to the table, my gaze finally meeting her visor. "Yet."

 

In truth, it didn't take much to notice an arm hanging below the table and adding that she was Mandalorian just as I, it equaled that very highly possibility that she had a hold out aimed at me. Especially considering she had approached me, rather than the opposite. That gave me the notion that they were after something, or someone. And if she did decide to use the blaster, well let's say that other than a near useless leg and some burnt wiring had she managed to hit the right spot, it wouldn't do her much good. The slugthrower I held myself under the table as well opposite her's would do more damage, especially considering it was aimed at her liver.

 

"So tell me 'Vod. What brings you to a dar'manda's humble abode?"

[saberforce]

Upon having giving Rose a nod, he left the cantina and headed back to his ship, the Swift Justice and got it ready for take off. He was in hypserspace heading for his next contract within a manner of a half-hour.

[Rose Cariadus]

Rose laughed and with a casual fling, holstered the blaster pistol and shrugged overdramatically.

 

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t some di'kut Concord Dawn Mando'ade with visions only for farming. I am here to recruit for our cause.” She paused and leaned forward, the bright glow of the 'T' visor almost showing the menace in her voice. "We are going to purify the galaxy for Kad Ha'rangir, and bring everlasting honour and glory to our people." She laughed again, finally reaching up with a blue gloved hand to pull the helmet of mandalorian iron from her pretty head. She shook out her close cropped blue hair and ran a hand through it. She took a deep breath, smelling the stale ale that stained the tabletop and she grimaced. Her thin lips stretching into a half smile.

 

“Dar’manda eh?” Her hands moved along with her speech, at first almost looking like a nervous tick, but to a trained eye it was the kinetic language of the Lorrdians. Of which Rose was one. The hand gestures accented her speech, and one trained in the language could pick up more emotion and meaning than Galactic Basic could express. “Didn’t know we would find so many of our ‘Vod here on this desolate planet in the outer rim.” Her hands turned inwards, towards her chest armour, which like most of the feminine variant, only slightly exaggerated her figure. “I too am outcast, branded a Kyr'tsad, which I fully admit to, during the Augustine uprisings on Mandalore. What history or sad tale of woe brought you to this small cantina on a dead world?”

[Dar'Manda]

"If only..." I jested briefly as the young female before mentioned visions of farming. "No, I am no vhett. And this cause you speak of, what does it entail?" Holstering my own weapon, I sat in silence as she spoke of the destroyer god and removed her helm. In truth, she was quite fetching to look at, as she would make a fairly decent Oyay'Vod for the right Warrior. But the soulless such as I, a dar'manda, hope of such things were non-existent. "A just cause to say the least," I finally spoke up. "You bring honor to your 'vod and kin."

 

Thinking back to my own, my head slouched. In truth, all of these years of exile, of loneliness, of not having kin nor 'vod. I had forgotten what it was like to be around my own kind. "Yes, Dar'manda." I spoke, my gaze not returning to meet her own nor noticing her gestues at first. "But it isn't a story I would like to share." Turning around to gauge the others that had poured in, and I could sense their excitement. Despite the usual patrons I was used to, the air around me was ripe with it's thickness. It felt like a surge of emotion washed over the small cantina, and as the casual patrons I was used to stood at a distance in slight fear, the 'vod were in high spirits. I hadn't felt such in many years, not at least since Dubrillion.

 

"Not much to tale to be honest." I spoke, turning back and finishing my drink, raising it above my head without looking, Talis quickly noticing my usual gesture of needing a refill. "A friend of mine grew up here as a child, and being the outcast that I am, I figured it'd be a good a place as any to disappear upon. The Krayt make for good hunts as well, so I keep myself occupied." But in truth, deep down, I slightly admired their dream. I too, wished and ached for war.

[Rose Cariadus]

Rose ran her gloved hand through her sweaty blue hair. Her voice was questioning, but her bright eyes were filled with wonder. Seemingly forgetting the rest of what he had said about his sad past, she plunged on ahead, her voice raising with excitement that reflected her eyes.

 

“You hunt Krayt dragons?” Her jaw nearly dropped, “Is there a hunt coming up that I could go on?”

 

Then she realized her words and extended a hand apologetically. “I’m sorry I get a little too excited sometimes, though I do strive to bring honour to my clan, why don’t you join us in this upcoming war! There is enough honour and glory to share, plus hunting humans is a better sport I think.” Her smile turned an ugly hue. “And when we are tired of that we can come back and hunt dragons!”

[Wyvernfall]

The Tusken’s newfound warrior companion had made with haste to get away at the approaching sandstorm. In yet another difference of cultural opinion, Rruro’rur’rr could hear the voices of his ancestors whispering to him as the winds began to pick up. Running out into the whipping winds, the Tusken fell forward on his knees facing into the wind bellowing a cry of rage, the pent up sadness, rage, and loneliness at the loss of his tribe, his bantha, and even his understanding of the universe exiting his mouth and being absorbed in the sand strewn winds that ripped at his tight ceremonial wrappings. The coarse sands of his homeworld tore by and around Rruror’rur’rr slowly piling around him as it swirled upwards restructuring the endless dunes of the planet.

 

As the storm passed, the Tusken found himself unburying himself from the dry sands that had nearly enveloped him. Had it not been for the guiding of the ancestors in the blindness of the storm, he surely would have perished. Shaking his sleeves off and sending bits of sand skittering across the sand swept landscape beneath him before he bent over and shook the sand off his robes and leggings. Once he was satisfied that he had deposited as much of the planet back to it as he could, he hefted his rifle, an archaic slug thrower that was as worn and weathered as he was, across his shoulder and set off in a seemingly aimless direction.

 

In truth, Rruror’rur’rr was following the whispers of his ancestors as they directed him to travel towards a nearby village that was little more than an outpost. Truth be told, Rruror’rur’rr had been a part of a raid over a decade ago that led to the decimation of the outpost’s local populace. After several hours of walking the sand colored buildings of the outpost came into view. Lying prone in the course sands overlooking the unnamed settlement, Rruror’rur’rr took in the entirety of the simple break in the rolling sands through the worn scope. Seeing no obvious signs of impending violence, he rolled gracefully to his feet, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he silently made his way sliding through the sands one side-footed step by side footed step down the dune towards the sparse outcropping of sand blasted buildings.

 

Aside from the ever constant whistling of Tatooine’s winds, there was no other sound on the sparse worldscape; but still, the whispers followed the Tusken. They always followed him, whispering guidance and wisdom to him in his times of need. Following the whispers, Rruror’rur’rr found himself making his way towards the dingy cantina at the center of town.

 

In this remote of a galactic corner things like automatic doors were a luxury. A luxury that soon broke down at the thousands of microscopic hands that were the swirling particles of sand that made up the planet’s surface. The aged metal door swung open with a relatively easy push, slamming into the rocky wall behind it. Peering into the gloomy interior of the cantina, Rruror’rur’rr stood uncertain. The ancestors had directed him here; but what would happen next? Gripping his gaderffi in one hand, still hanging from his bantha leather belt, he paused allowing his eyes, accustomed to the brightness of the twin suns to adjust. Inside he could make out the silhouettes of several heavily armor clad beings. warriors. he surmised. Are we to fight? The ancestors were not warning him of any immediately impending assaults, but still, he was tense here, in the lair of the enemy; intruders upon his sacred world. Standing there in the doorway he waited, allowing those within to make the next move. If there was to be blood, he was ready.

[Rose Cariadus]

On the surface of Tatooine, in the small city of Boonta Eve, in a even smaller cantina that smelled of stale alcohol and violence, the blue haired follower of Kad Ha’rangir sprang to her feet. In a swift motion she pushed the table down on top of Dark and leveleed her blaster at the Tusken Raider who had stormed through the doorway. Upon seeing no sudden moves towards violence from him however, Rose holstered her blaster and laughed awkwardly. She reached forward and wiped off the film of alcohol that she had spilled all over Dark and then strode over to the Tusken.

 

Daring to do what few on this forsaken world would ever do she reached forward and grabbed his cloth-wrapped hand. The music of the band started up in a lusty tune and she looked into his goggled face. She was either hideously drunk, or some kind of adrenaline junky mixed with a keen taste for bad decisions.

 

“Want to dance Tusken?”

[Wyvernfall]

With a barking snarl, Rruror’rur’rr yanked his hand back from the sudden lunge of the blue haired female before him; raising his gaderffi clenching hand to shove the woman back for daring to touch him exposed as she was to the world. How dare you?!? he thought, angered by the mere action of touching his sacredly covered being by an outside infidel.

 

Still….. It did take some nerve to come up to one of the desert’s most ancient defenders. Something he was not used to; she had pointed a gun at him, but had since holstered it and was not threatening him. With a low rolling growl, he lowered his gaderffi and glowered at the warrioress before him. Courage had to be respected; even if she was on his world as a defiler.

 

In a low slow gravelly basic, he responded, ”My people do not dance for the pleasure of outsiders.” Looking up and down Rose’ blue armor clad being, he could not help but appreciate her form, even beneath the armor, a compliment to her lionhearted take on life,”But the dance of the warrior is always welcome.” he tapped his gaderffi hanging at his side, subtly, the smile of pleasure twinkling at the edges of his raspy sand-strewn voice.

[Dar'Manda]

I had been sitting there in silence for quite a few moments, lost in memories of these last few years upon this dusty planet and contemplating her words and offer. In truth, I had grown tired of Krayt, though it's hide had managed to bide my cost of living, as well as the many Tuskan gaderffi I had brought in, and just as I was about accept her offer, I felt the table being shoved on top of me. Steam hissed from my form as the rebreather automatically found its self upon my face and my helm shutting close over my surprised look.

 

"Kriff. What the.... was all I managed to get out before my line of sight followed the aim of Rose' weapon and saw the Tuskan standing at the door way. Ignoring Rose' attempt to clean the alcohol she had spilt as I rose up, the twin Ryyyk Blades erupting from my cybernetic forearms as I stared down the beast through the red glow behind my blackened T-Visor, my astonishment at his bravery overwhelming my ability to clearly think straight. Yet I stood by, my blades at the ready despite Rose sheathing her own as two seemed to jest.

 

Hearing his grizzled attempts at basic, which was a surprise of its own, a threatening growl erupted from within my own form, a harsh variation of growls and clicks that the Tuskan would know as his native language which would loosely translate into "Fier'fek your ancestors, coward. Your kind knows nothing of the Warrior's Dance." Which was partially true, at least from own perspective. For I had walked this planet for many seasons alone, a hired hand to hunt his brethren among many other jobs. And I had dealt with many of his kind, all a hindrance and nuisance, like mynocks to space goers.

 

Despite poor Talis' attempts, whom stood off to my side, to quell my temper and urge me outside, my form stood firm. If this Tuskan wished to the witness the dance of warrior, I was happy to oblige. As the last of Clan Bralor, dar'manda or not, I was honor bound to do so, and unlike those they attacked in swarms, I would not go quietly into the night.

[Wyvernfall]

Shooting a glance through his goggled mask at offending warrior. Just another wannabe soldier of fortune that has come to desecrate our sacred lands he thought to himself, pushing the thoughts of the offending man from his mind. This was neither the time nor the place. His ancestors had called him to this dingy bastion of offending offworlders even if he did not know why…….yet.

 

Diverting his attention back to the attractive infidel who had dared touch him; awaiting her response. Rruror’rur’rr was aware of the fact that the she too could begin the flow of combat. Why start a second with an upstart who was more content to sit and drink his sorrows away than to go back to his own home and defend it himself?

[Rose Cariadus]

"Whoah whoah whoah, hold hip deadpool. No reason to cut this Noble Savage to bits now. Plus…”

Her hand extended and wrapped itself around the cloth covered arm of the sand person.

 

“I kinda like him, though to be really sure I gotta see what's under those wraps. I'm sure he's cute.”

 

She pulled him towards the dance floor and started a waltz. Her blue hair bobbing along with her steps as she whirled the Tusken around in a traditional Mandalorian dance. It usually ended with a sword fight and was reserved for ceremony and weddings but she didn't give a shite. Plus he could be good company in a fight

[Wyvernfall]

The Tusken was so taken back by the sudden and rather unexpected reaction from the blue haired offworlder that he had no choice but to be dragged to the dance floor in shock. What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?!?!? His internal voice cried in fear as he found himself whirling about the floor led by the shorter petite armored woman guide him across the floor.

 

Rruror’rur’rr had come quite far in such a short time. His tribe destroyed, kidnapped and taken to a far off world, fought to freedom, obtained a mystical mount as willed by his deceased bantha comrade, and now, here he was, willingly interacting with foreign trespassers of his world. Perhaps they were worthy of following the Tusken way he reasoned to himself as a way of justification as he held the woman and her exposed head in his arms as they moved.

 

She did have lovely features, even if the mere sight of them was a violation of the Tusken way, he appreciated the curve of her cheeks and the smile on her lips; not to mention the apparent softness of her skin. Beneath his breather and facial wraps, Rruror’rur’rr smiled. He was enjoying this; though if pushed would not admit it and gave himself into the dance and gave himself into the dance. Even though he did not know the moves of the Mandalorian dance, he tried to follow along, incorporating moves from traditional Tusken ceremonial dances, throwing a random Tusken war whoop into the mix as they moved across the dance floor, two elegant warriors from different lines, embraced in the battle of ceremonial dance. Yet still, how can I defy my people by doing this? And how can I be enjoying this so much? Is she even worthy of my attentions?

 

”You move as a warrior,” he growled in little more than a whisper, given how close they were as they moved about, ”Perhaps you and your people should come and show me your ways.”he offered, hoping that they would accompany him outside to prove their skills and more so to prove by prowess in battle that perhaps, he, was worthy of this woman, this offworlder’s affections. His tribe was gone, what else could stop him?

[Dar'Manda]

My head tilted slightly upon its axis as Rose' words rang through before I turned my vision back to the beast before me, my helm and blades retracting into my cybernetic form as I cooled my temper. If she welcomed him, and he minded his nature, whom was I to be the aggressor. Realizing that I was out of liquor, I wandered toward the bar as the two stepped outward onto the dance floor, Talis rushing to gather me a refill. It wasn't out of fear nor was it out of requirement. But Talis had known me for a better part of going on three years now, so he knew me well.

 

It has been nearly two-thirds a decade since I set foot upon the desolate planet in search of some sort of hint as to the whereabouts or fate of my childhood friend after encountering his sister years ago. But I had only found the remains of their homestead, ravaged by their Uncle and his kin, the Sith. Such seemed to be the theme of the Galaxy during our youth, my own story very similar due to a chance of birth. Taking a gulp of the brew, my gaze shifted back towards the Tuskan.

 

Silently I pondered his own story, but shook it from my mind after a brief thought. It wasn't that I hated him, but the cowardice ways of his kin. Supposedly they were the rightful descendants of this once lush planet, between them and their kin that scavenge. But unlike our forefathers, the Taung, their society had died with their demise, leaving behind these husks of their former selves. Yet, unlike their kin, these Tuskens grew to hate anyone outside themselves. And in cowardice, they attack in numbers upon the weak, fearing the strong, all while claiming a warriors path. And that sickened me.

 

Briefly feeling the glass shatter in my hand as my grip tightened, I turned back to Talis asking his forgiveness and asking that he charge me for it. Yet, all the while wondering if I was any better than him. He may have been Tusken, and I Mandalorian. But besides tactics, was I the better to claim warrior? Again I shook the thought, claiming it to be a mere thought brought about by the Bralor Curse, a constant need to justify doubt of one's self prowess in combat. Hence why I changed my name and deleted the records of myself all those years ago in an attempt to rid myself of such doubt, leaving it up to fate to decide whether I would follow the doubtfilled life of my lineage or would I live up to my namesake's?

[Rose Cariadus]

Like Persephone to old Hades, Rose danced around the Tusken, twirling in beautiful circles, her Blue kama mimicking the bob and spring of her hair as they danced together. Her pale blue eyes wide and beautiful as she danced. Her mind on her distant past on Mandalore and Concord Dawn, and far away from this desert world. When he finally spoke to her she smiled and slowed her movement into a slow waltz, her arms around his neck and her face blissfully close to the rough cloth wrappings. Close enough that she could smell the rich spices that seemed to coat them.

 

“Outside deary? Where you have all the advantage? I think not cyar'ika. Let me show you how a Kyr'tsad that serves Kad Ha’rangir fights.”

 

She planted a kiss on the mouth section of his mask then immediately followed it with a furious headbutt and kicked him away from her. She rolled her head in an arc and cracked her neck, grinning maniacally as blood from the headbutt against sturdy goggles dripped from her scalp. With a flick of her wrist a vibrosword emerged from her vambrace and began to hum in the dark light of the bar as patrons scattered from the dance floor.

 

“Until surrender. Your move Cyar'ika.”

 

((1))

[Wyvernfall]

Beneath his shrouds Rruror’rur’rr smiled. He truly was enjoying the dance; but still, even though the ancients had brought him here, their whispers still urged caution with the foreign vixen before him; yet still, he pushed the voices from his head. He was enjoying the moment. Lost in the moment, he listened to her words, but did not take much heed in them; after all, he had invited her and her associates to join him in the sacred hunt of his people. Then, she kissed his mouthpiece, and in the moment, The Tusken paused, shocked at what had just happened. Who was he? What was he doing? His ancestors his culture, was he a traitor?

 

The nomadic desert warrior did not have time to ponder it further as the voices of the ancestor’s cried in an echoing crescendo within his soul warning him too late as the petite female he was wrapped up with on the dance floor drove her forehead square into his face, driving the strongly shroud seated facemask and goggles into his face.

 

Jerking his head back as the surprising jolt of pain rocked his face, he let go of the woman before him, stepping back as stars spun for a moment before his eyes. Instinctively, he reached down and pulled his jagged and well-worn gaderffi from the leather loop on his belt. In the same smooth movement derived from years and years of hand-to-hand combat he drove the lethal serrated flanged spear end of salvaged durasteel plating of his weapon towards Rose’s gut, the haft of his weapon sliding like greased Jawa innards along his hand until he was gripping the opposing end of his weapon with both hands, a short spear in the hands of a master. At that same moment Rose’s own blade appeared from her sleeve. Heeding the ancestors’ call to follow his ancient traditions d defend the honor of his people and even these lands. Rruror’rur’rr let forth a low snapping snarl. ”Graaa’grak’k’krarr!” Still, there was just something almost intoxicating about the woman before him and so at the last minute he pulled his blow slightly so as to avoid any potentially devastating injury.

 

They were now engaged in a dance that transcended time and culture: Battle. The dance of truth and understanding.

 

((1))

[Rose Cariadus]

With the fluid grace of a Lorrdian dancer Rose twisted her torso to the side, though she was not fast enough to escape all damage, it was enough to avoid the spearpoint and instead catch a jagged falange along her torso armour, filling the bar with the wicked screeching of metal on metal. The kinetic impact still emptied her lungs and she stumbled back a few steps and brought her arms before her. She thanked her stars for her beskar’gam and licked her lips in anticipation. With another flick of her wrist, the vibroblade detached from the vambrace into a more traditional blade, with handle and a thin guard. She kept her other weapons holstered and began shifting her weight from foot to foot, moving dexterously with the blade in a high guard as she watched her opponent.

 

“You spoke to me god, now give me your fire”

 

Her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed to slits and her face a cheerful grin of teeth and pale skin. She stepped forward and the pack slung upon her back lit its internal fire, allowing her to skim the ground and add the strength of a mandalorian jetpack to her next blow. A horizontal slash at his legs, followed by a hearty kick at his midsection.

 

((2))

[Wyvernfall]

The Tusken quickly withdrew his extended gaderffi after striking a semi-successful blow to the woman before him. With his legs slightly bent and tensed he watched as she flitted about probably looking for an opening he thought as he held his people’s signature weapon in both hands, arms crooked ready to lash out with either end at a moment’s notice when she got to close.

 

The blade the blue haired vixen was wielding hummed with an unnatural mechanical vibration; yet another disgusting reliance on technology. When she did lash out, again she used the foul technology to her advantage.

 

As the ancestors whispered warnings of her impending attack to Rruror’rur’rr, and he saw the speed in which she closed the short distance between him; he knew, instinctively that a crushing blow would follow. Turning his body so as to try and catch the blow; he exposed his heavily muscled right calf and backside of his leg, whilst simultaneously trying to catch the armored leg of his opponent along the haft of his metal gaderffi.

 

The bite of the buzzing vibroblade was horrendous as it tore through the cloth wrappings of his lower leg, separating sinews and flesh as it passed through him as easy as a stone through hot bantha butter. With a cry of pain and anger, his leg gave out beneath him, unable to support the weight of the full grown Tusken as his Achilles tendon was wrought in two. Tumbling to the ground, the Tusken twisted, his gaderffi, chest, arms, and flowing robes working in tandem, all extensions of his very being, the desert dwelling nomad that he was, trying to not only pull the woman down by her extended leg, but also attempting to catapult her and her accursed self-propulsion device into the nearby bar; with hopes that the lithe woman’s blasphemously induced momentum would be her downfall.

 

Crashing to the ground as blood spurted from his wound, he snarled incoherently, the animalistic instincts of any sentient being taking over; although, it was true that the ways of the Tusken Raiders did promulgate a closer affinity to such feelings than many more advanced cultures of the day. Even in his most basic instinctual mindset, Rruror’rur’rr was guided by the voices of his ancestors as he scrambled to not lose sight of the woman who only moments before had seemed content to dance with him to the strange music of the offworlders. Deep down, Rruror’rur’rr knew that such an injury quite likely had the potential of ending his life; even after his glorious homecoming, he would have no choice but to force himself deep into the desert sands to be consumed by the raging suns and sands of his homeworld. So was tradition. So should he die if he were to survive his current situation. He was a fool to have come, he chastised himself silently. A fool and the spirits had allowed him to give in to his own pride. This was the price. But pride or not, he would honor the ways of his people and finish what had been started. Even as blood soaked through his leg wrappings and began to slicken the floor beneath him, he gripped his weapon as he struggled to his knees, preparing for the next blow.

 

((2))

[Dar'Manda]

Silently in stillness, I watched the two before me ever so closely as they twirled about the dance floor like swirling pedals upon a fountain's drain. I would respect the girl's wishes, despite my own doubts, and only observe as she seemingly scouted the Tusken. My ears catching a tune playing in the foreground, having heard mention by another patron that the classic had been remade by some diva pop star by the name of Ammi Wolfstar, I chugged down my drink, awaiting the beast before me to make a favorable mistake. Yet to my surprise, it wasn't the beast whom made the first move. It was the young girl, whose blue hued hair mimicked the skies of Onderon, who struck first, a kiss of death foretelling her intentions.

 

At first, out of natural reaction and out of dislike for the Tusken, I went to move toward her aid. Yet, like the hand of an old friend pulling upon arm, the laws of our ways prevented me from interfering. The gears within my arms whirled as I clenched my fists in disgust, yet, this was her choice alone to engage this beast in the ways of our people. Even if his would not return the favor. Much to my surprise though, she managed to outmatch him at every turn, only briefly receiving the wind knocked from her sails as she continued her attack, the bar soon filling with smoke and fire as she added momentum to her attack using a jetpack. Truly she had this match rather quickly, or so I thought until the Tusken sacrificed an injury to regain the upper hand.

 

At first I considered some time of aid, whether via the strength and speed of my cybernetics or simply by knocking out everyone within the bar using the gas dispenser I had wired through-out my form. But, even then, it felt distasteful in aiding, despite my ill-will toward the Tusken. So for now, I'm simply stood and watched, hoping she could recover from the added momentum that the Tusken had added during his last attack and regain the upperhand. Yet, should he try something dirty, like using the slug thrower he held upon his back, he would find something very similar pointed in his direction within the palm of my hand, the same pistol that Rose had too found herself upon the near receiving end just a few hours before.

[Rose Cariadus]

Rose bit down on her lip as she began her strike on the tusken raider, her arm tremored and blood slung across the bar room in a wide arc that followed her sword. Some of the red drops misting into fine particles from the microvibrations of the vibrosword, which in turn covered her armour and face in the fine red sprinkling of tusken blood. She admitted to herself that she did not know much of the tusken culture, or even what this particular one looked like under his wraps. But his blood tasted good so that was a good sign. Rose drew her tongue across her lips, brushing the flecks of tusken blood across her tastebuds, discerning the copper and spice taste of the man’s species.

 

She did not have long to ponder the taste, as he countered her kick and sent her spinning into the bar. As the bar sped towards her, Rose flicked her hand, releasing the two handed grip of the vibosword and shutting off the microengines of the Mandalorian jetpack. This did nothing of course to break her momentum and she collided with the prefab bar with all the grace of an asteroid landing on a well populated planet. Drinks and patrons scattered to the wind and the wind left her lungs with a whoosh. She could feel the armour plating on her stomach collide with such a force into the bar that it dug through her underweave and split the skin underneath. She hissed through her teeth, struggling to regain her breath.

 

“Well done Cyar'ika, my turn again though.”

 

Normally she would not have relented anything to an opponent, but this was a ‘friendly’ duel, and it would not do to simply gun the man down. So she retrieved the vibrosword from where it had embedded in the bartop, taking advantage of his defensive posture. Slowly she circled him as she regained her breath, until she was ready to strike.

“So what beautiful face waits for me under that mask Cyar'ika?”

 

Then she stepped forwards and struck a blow for his chest, followed by a legsweep, aiming to put him off balance on his bad leg. Her blow was strong, and relied on the fact that he could not easily pivot or avoid it. If it was successful, she would follow it up with a flurry of strikes.

 

((3))

[Wyvernfall]

Rruror’rur’rr glowered beneath his face wrappings at the comments of the blood spattered woman before him. His blood coated the woman’s face with a fine pink mist, as the wound continued to seep through his leggings and began to pool on the floor. Gaderffi clutched in both hands, ready to strike with either end he tried to keep the armored technologically dependent beauty in his site. He struggled to turn about, knowing that his back was still exposed.

 

Still, instead of striking for his open backside, as he had expected, she drove her humming blade towards his chest. As his ancestor’s warned him of the incoming blow they seemed to guide his hands as he flicked the curved club like end upwards. The screech of metal on metal filled the bar with an ear splitting cry; the ball of the scavenged spacecraft cast off gaderffi’s club connecting with the vibroblade and diverting it away from his chest and what would have been a fatal wound.

 

Taking advantage of the raised club, The Tusken swung the weapon forward at his advancing attacker, driving the point of the club-like end of his primitive weapon downwards towards the beauty’s upper arm and shoulder hoping to knock her arm away, possibly disable it, or at the least cause her to lose ahold of her accursed blade. The sweep of her armored leg collided with an audible THUD as her swinging limb connected with his robed, but unarmored upper thigh. Rruror’rur’rr gritted his teeth in pain. That was going to leave a mark! Still, he did not topple over; his center of gravity much closer to the ground and even wounded, he was much more solidly balanced on his knees and feet than one on their feet, much less a single foot.

 

Having already swung his gaderffi forward, The Tusken drove the spear pointed opposite end downwards at the leg connecting with his own thigh; a move of battle-hardened reaction more so than a conscious thought.

Rruror’rur’rr laughed aloud, his voice a deep cracking snarl,

 

’Rararararara! Grah C’rik C’graw-n’k” ((hahahahaha I do not fall that easily love))

 

If he could knock her to ground next to him, he could take away some of the disadvantage he was now at and attempt to grapple with her instead; using his hardened Tusken physique to his advantage over the petite woman before him and her reliance on technology to carry the day. Besides, if he was completely honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind rolling around with her anyway; regardless of the situation.

 

((3))

[Rose Cariadus]

His musk was overwhelming now, his taste and smell bit at her tongue like ambergris, folding over her tastebuds in a fine film of blood. It drove her mad, the full ferocity of his internal warrior shown in detail with every blow they delt. He was every much her match if he had some armour protecting his delicate flesh and meat.

 

The blow smacked into her sword arm, cracking against the plate armour and numbing her arm with the force. Years of training did not let her surrender the buzzing blade with ease, instead she turned the kinetic force to spin her arm into another dowards strike, this time delicate and carefully aimed at the base of his wrappings that covered his face. It was a glancing blow and would only seek to sever the thick bantha linen. She followed it with a very strong punch with her other arm to his facemask. Then the Tusken’s spear thingy hit the join in her thigh armour and drove to the quick. Her own red blood splashed up in a gush between their now fiercely locked bodies and her breath became a hiss through her teeth.

 

Dropping her sword she wrapped her hands around his head and dragged him down with her. She placed a kiss firmly on his lips and let go, Tapping him on the shoulder as she did.

 

“Now there there, that’s what I wanted anyway. What say we find a room in the medico together eh?”

[Wyvernfall]

Shock. Rage. Fear. Anger. Betrayal. Loss. The emotions swept over him in an instant as his expertly wrapped face covering was stripped away in an instant by means of the technological machination wielded by his beautiful foe. The blade as it expertly split his face from the wraps held against it, drew a line through the outer layers of flesh on his cheek as he was pulled down atop the Mandalorian in a passionate embrace.

 

In his own confusion, Rruror’rur’rr was unsure what to do. On one hand he was enraged that his sacred traditions had been violated by this offworld demon; very, very attractive and intoxicating demon. On the other hand, as her soft lips pressed against his, he could not help but be drawn in by the woman’s passion, mingling with and against his own as they toppled to the ground.

 

As quick as the kiss had been initiated it was over. Looking up at Rose, a look of confusion his face, Rruror’rur’rr shook his head, and muttered, a low guttural whisper, ”If only I could.” wiping streaks of blood off of his face as he sniffed and pointed towards his mangled leg. He had no doubt that his walking days were over. All that was left for him now was to go forth into the deserts and allow the viciousness of his world to overcome him. Though, he doubted he would make it out of site of the city in the state he was in.

 

All was lost and yet nothing was lost. His traditions were as tattered as his robes and body and yet, like them, he still clung to them. Reaching for his gaderffi, which had clattered to the ground a short distance away when the two had fallen to the floor, he slowly hefted himself to a kneeling position, his grizzled skin and stubble covered face doing nothing to cover the deathly glare he shot around the cantina at the patrons who dared stare at him. None were worthy to look upon a Tusken; but what could he do? None, but perhaps the armored woman before him.

 

With all the humility he could muster, he inclined his head to the Mandalorian warrioress, ”Please help me outside.”

 

It was a shameful act, but what else did he have to lose at this point? Here he was, all alone. The ancestors were silent; mocking him for his disgrace. Perhaps, he could go outside. Somewhere, in the vast wilderness laid another offworlder, one that his ancestors had seen fit to bless him with before he had dishonored them. Perhaps the Drexl of Dxun would still head their bond. Even in the stillness of the ancestors, Rruror’rur’rr could sense that his friend, his mount, his Raka, was near.

[Rose Cariadus]

"Sure thing Cyar'ika, let me just get my legs back under me."

 

She placed a blood soaked arm under the crook of his arm and lifted him up on the ground until he could lean on his stick. Then she grabbed a scrap of cloth from the counter, dunked it heavily in whiskey and shoved it into the hole in her leg. That stopped the heavy flow of blood for at least a moment, but it also made her gasp a little in pain as the high percentage alcohol began to soak the wound liberally.

 

She hauled the man out of the building and placed him down on the edge of a Jawa’s recently purchased speeder. Who reacted violently to the idea of blood soaking his paintjob. Rose simply flipped him off, and when he approached, jibbering like a maniac, Rose shot him in the face with the flechette gun embedded in her arm’s armour.

 

As the Jawa lay dying in a pool of grey-blue blood, she becan the medical treatment of the Tusken. She pulled her metal sealed IFAK from her belt and opened it by slamming it into the speeder’s chome edging with one hand. The IFAK split evenly along the seams and Rose fished the antiseptic hypo from the centre. She pulled the rough fabric away from the Tusken’s wounded legs and applied the antiseptic with a press and wave of the hypo. Next came the bacta, then the medi-stapler. That was rough but it was better than letting them peel apart. She looked up to the tusken’s face, now highlighted by the harsh Tatooine sun.

 

“Cyar'ika, you look handsome! Tell me of yourself!”

[Wyvernfall]

Gritting his teeth in pain, Rruror’rur’rr leaned heavily on his-until-recent-foe and his gaderffi as he hobbled outside, leaving a trail of blood from his injured leg behind him. Truth be told, the wound itself did not hurt as much as one would imagine, courtesy of the vibroblade’s vicious effectiveness at tearing flesh from bone and sinew.

 

As they ventured into the bright sunlight, the Tusken squinted in the bright light. He was unaccustomed to viewing his homeland through anything but his mirrored protective eyewear. The scorching sun searing his eyeballs into pinpoint pupils as they fought to contain the light.

 

Breathing heavily, he willingly allowed himself to be flopped atop a speeder, accursed mechanical machination that it was. Even better was the fact that the owner of the vehicle was one of his accursed sandswept neighbors who had fully embraced technology and the fear that it inevitably induced in those who became addicted to it.

 

With a snarl that was more animalistic than human, Rruror’rur’rr wrenched forward in pain, grabbing at his leg while Rose stapled it shut, containing the severed tendon within his mangled leg. Rocking back, clutching his leg, he hissed in pain. His cries combined with his image drawing the stares and wide berth granted to them by the odd passerby or four that shuffled about their business.

 

The Tusken’s cry permeated not only the harsh warm dry air all around them, but also rippled through the force, his ancestral guides carrying his pain beyond the range of normal hearing.

 

As he grimaced and focused on blocking out the pain, he cared a glance at the blue haired woman tending his wound. She certainly was strange. They had danced, fought, and bled; then she had kissed him and helped him outside where he was now tending his wounds. All while she intentionally or unintentionally defiled his most sacred of customs. Perhaps the ancestors had truly abandoned him. He had failed them more spectacularly than any of his own and now he would die; as was only fitting. Still, he was not dead yet. How else could he fail them?

 

With nothing left to lose he stared into the blue haired vixen’s eyes, ”What is cyar’ika? he queried as he turned the clearly non-Tusken word over on his tongue. ”Why do you treat me so? Your kind are prodorissac, yet still, you are quite beautiful. Like the blooms of the molo shrub as the first light of the elder brother wash over them. We,” he continued, allowing the words to flow more freely than he had ever before when conversing with an outsider, as he struck his chest with a closed fist,”have survived here for time eternal. Having driven off The Builders and will defend our homeland from those accursed descendants of the exile…..”

 

Rruror’rur’rr’s voice trailed off as his mind caught up with his mouth, his hands clenching to fists beneath his thighs, as he came to the realization that perhaps the ancestors had branded him a prodorissac as well, like so many that The Builders of yore had exiled from their sacred home eons before. Closing his mouth, the Tusken pursed his lips, clenching his teeth within his closed mouth, his eyes squeezing shut as a single tear trickled down his face. Inwardly, the demons raged as he struggled with the sudden connection of knowledge and circumstance: The Tuskens of old had banished many of their most arrogant brethren who had not properly cared for the land to the space beyond their sacred homeland. Perhaps, the ancestors had deemed him arrogant and uncaring as well, had killed his bantha and banished him. His wounds at the hands of this offworlder were simply punishment for his audacity to return.

 

 

((Prodorissac = betrayer))

[Dar'Manda]

As the duel between the two warriors drew to a close, I find myself more intrigued by the Tuskan more than the hate I held normally for his people. He not only held his own against a skilled warrior, he fought true. It made my mind wonder of this strange desert beast. So as the two limped out of the Cantina, I followed as well, saying not a word as I left credits for my tab and then some, chugging the last of the amber ale as I did.

 

Once outside I merely observed, letting my forbidden vision fall upon the two as Rose tended his wounds. As an observer, it was a warm sight to see two combatants settle differences outside of death, a test of strength to further hone their skill before the true battle took place. But as I gazed onward, I noticed more than I meant to, especially concerning the Tusken. It seemed we weren't so different as I had first thought.

 

Letting go of my forbidden vision, I approached cautiously, yet less threathening, my cybernetic gaze meeting the man's beneath the mask. "We are simple warriors," My tone groan in his native tongue, as I took a look as his wound, nodding to Rose that it would suffice for the time being, and beginning to tend to her own using a similar, yet veteranly trained use of the same kit. "She only wished to test your skill, not kill you. If she had wished your death, we would not be having this conversation."

 

Just as I finished the last of the suturing on Rose, I turned my gaze back toward the Tuskan as I stood. "Tell me Tuskan. You're not originally of this world, are you?