Mos Eisley - Tatooine

[Wyvernfall]

The sands of Tatooine blew hot beneath the twin suns that sucked practicably every vestige of moisture from the world. Dunes shifted beneath the shaping invisible fingers of the winds; never the same one day from the next. Occasionally cliff sides and jutting protrusions surfaced from the sands only to vanish again within days. It was against this backdrop that a solitary warrior trekked. Clad in blackened leathers and heavy robes, the desolate Tusken, Rruror’rur’rr trod. Exiled from his people, having seen beyond what this world offered, but bound to their way of life, the warrior moved led by the wordless whispers of his ancestor. They called to him on the wind, leading him to  shelter, to food, and water; to life.

 

It was a lonely existence , and one fraught with danger; for the wilds of Tatooine were amongst the most unforgiving in the galaxy. His people, while accepting of the mad Tusken, treated him with caution. And so, following the guidance that only he could hear, Rruror’rur’rr found himself making his way into Mos Eisley as the lunchtime crowds quickly scurried from their favorite haunts back to work, or for the lucky wealthy, to nap. Most gave the shadowy primitive a wide berth; stories of the Tuskens’ more threatening than the plethora of crime bosses that dotted the cityscape. At least the majority of them needed cause to bring harm upon others. Tusken Raiders on the other hand, were little more than monstrous animals that preyed on the weak and solitary. To see one in the city was as seeing a Sand Panther having slipped it’s bounds.

 

The winds blew, whispering direction to the subconscious of the desert nomad. Turning, he was drawn to the sounds of chaos that erupted within the shadowy halls of a nameless cantina. Rruror’rur’rr paused. Something familiar here called to him even as all manner of things and scoundrels seemed to clash with patrons. The former seeking to get in on whatever brawl was boiling over inside as the latter surged to escape any chaos before the enforcement goons of the Hutt crime lord who controlled this area of the city came to restore order and fear.

 

Smelling the air, Rru whispered, “Rose?” Was she here, was it possible? He could still taste her lips on his own. She had vanished into the cloudless skies and sands months ago. If she was here now, then he would not let her vanish again. Where she would go, he would go. Her people, he would make his people. The Tusken shrugged his worn blackened cycler from his shoulder.

 

The weapon slid into his hands, almost an extension of his very being. Pulling the weapon to his shoulder, he stared down the barrel, the antiquated scope painting a cross in his vision that settled onto a rather brutish Devaronian rushing through the front door with disruptor in hand. These invasive pests were little

 more than roaches. These lands belonged to those who had earned them, had guarded them for time eternal, and to those who proved they could hold them; not these invasion leech-lifes.

 

*CRACK*
 

The weapon kicked against his shoulder. The thick cloth robes absorbed some of the recoil, but still, Rru could feel the satisfactory pushback of the explosion that propelled the crafted chunk of steel forward. Scavenged from the desert dead, Rru used what the ancestors provided.

 

The round entered the Devaronian’s skull, contorting his face as the momentum of the weapon and thug flung him forward. The impact erupted, engulfing the devil’s head in a fireball, the pyro slug doing it’s job.

 

Beneath his masked shroud, Rru’s eyebrows raised in surprise. That was unexpected. Even then, Rru was gliding back the weapon’s slide, ejecting the hot brass into the slightly less hot air as another round was fed into the chamber with the slide being forwarded.

 

A traditional “Rhauau-Rhaaaa!” curved menacingly from Rru’s maw announcing his presence as the beastly cry carried supernaturally across the area

[Wyvernfall]

The jack-booted thug fell, hard. His demise brought a momentary pause from those rushing to join the melee. It was no longer just a brawl of sorts. Even here, when blasters were drawn in a frackas, escalating things, it was rare that higher powered weapons and surefire death was put forth as a go-to option in a bar room brawl.

 

By and large, a majority of the all too eager would-be brawlers veered off. Suddenly there were better things to do and places to be. Doubly so where Tuskens were concerned for where there was one . . . 

 

Still another of the crowd, a rather enraged associate of the fallen devil quickly whipped about drawing his heavy blaster pistol. He had the time to squeeze off one erratic bolt skyward as Rruror’rur’rr’s rifle cracked again dropping the thug.

 

*CRACK*
 

slide the bolt

 

*CRACK*
 

*CRACK*
 

Three successive shots were all it seemed to take and suddenly the influx of brawlers to the cantina was gone, replaced as several would-be weekend warriors ducked out and ran for cover.

 

Rruror’rur’rr slung his rifle with ease, hefting his weighted gaffi stick and at a quick lope dashed to the dimly lit door of the bar room. Inside it was a bloody mess, in part because of his own handiwork; in part because a one-woman wrecking ball seemed to be taking on the entirety of the local patrons.

 

A smile slid across the nomad’s concealed face as his eyes adjusted, with help from his goggles, to the dimly lit interior. There she was, none other than his Rose. The ancestors had not led him astray.

 

Hefting his club, Rruror’rur’rr gave another gutteral roar and added his own muscle to the fray.  The duel-ended gaffi stick spun in his hands as he used one end to sweep the feet of a patron using the momentum of that motion to crack another upside the head with a dense KATHUMP. Each move of his weapon, was an extension of his aura and self, and with each came a step closer to Rose.

 

He pressed forward until he was within striking distance of the female Mandalorian. There he swung his club, striking a rather hefty looking man square in the chest as he leapt with broken beer bottle in hand towards Rose’ backside. The man crumpled his momentum causing him to slide off the Tusken weapon with a thunder atop the bar as it creaked beneath his weight.

 

It would only be a matter of minutes. Undoubtedly someone had already alerted someone to the disorder and be it a garrison of troopers from whichever government of the week tried to claim the world, agents of the Black Sun or thugs of whichever crime lord ruled this particular block, someone was coming to restore order. When they did, they wouldn’t just be the local ruffians either. At best, a half dozen heavily armed Gammoreans would make short order of the mes. At worst, it would be something more official with official orders and weapons and armor. Brawls were bad for business in a place like this. 

[Wyvernfall]

As the body hit the floor, the din seemed to fade; well, except for the chittering of a rat. Normally that would call for some special attention. The desert rats were cowards at best, thieves at worst, dishonorable and plague-ridden regardless.

 

All lf that was pushed aside though as the chaos settled into a settling dust and moans of broken patrons.

 

Letting his club clatter to the floor, Rruror’rur’rr caught the arrmored woman in a tight grasp against his rough-spun clothes. He held his forehead to hers, willing his feelings of relief at finding her wash over them.

 

Slowly he nodded as they slid apart, a longing lingering desire drawing the moment out.

 

Catching his gaffi on his shrouded toe, Rru kicked the weapon up into the air, catching it easily. Reaching behind the bar, the Tusken instinctively seemed to know right where the Jawa was. Grasping a handful of stanky robe he hoisted the rodent free; holding it by the scruff much like a cat. He held the Jawa to face level for a moment, his cold hidden eyes staring into the hood. Even his rebreather could not completely do away with the smell.

 

No words needed to be spoken. The look spoke it all. A threat of legendary interspecies violence known between the two’s peoples for generation. The cowards and the defenders, the thieves and the survivors, the dishonorable and the prideful. It was how he saw them so it must be true. 

 

Dropping the Jawa in a heap, Rru motioned for the diminuative rat to follow. He then turned, his gaze softening as he beheld his Rose. He had so many questions for her. What had happened to her? Where did she go? What had he done? They would need to wait though. This was not the time or the place.

 

Heading towards the door, Rru made sure to step on as many downed pagans as he could. Outside, the whine of speeders grew louder. A pair of mismatched patrol speeders rounded the corner at speed, their targeting  sensors locking on the trio. “Targets acquired the crime lords head enforcer radio’d as he depressed the big red firing button.

Edited January 29, 2022 by Wyvernfall

[Wyvernfall]

Rru would have almost chuckled at the rat diving for cover in fear, had he not been dumbfounded by what he had just seen. The same little rat that seemed to be afraid of his own shadow had somehow managed to wing the speeder and send it crashing into the sands. Who knew what else what the Jawa had hit, but it worked.

 

Rru nodded, shooting a cautious glance towards Kiv. He’d rather not get shot by the wild sand eater. With his gaffi in hand, he walked slowly after Rose; a determined nonchalant stroll, sure to keep a peripheral vision on the entryway to the cantina.

 

As Rose set to the grisly task of ending the goons. Before she could swing on the second downed goon, a humanoid bent into a crippled shape m, Rru caught the haft of the Mandalorian’s raised hatchet. “Maybe we find out who they are before we end this infidel. Give us an idea who we have picked a fight with.” His voice was a gravely growl. He prodded the downed man who let out an agonizing moan.

 

Meanwhile, the loss of a crime lord’s speeder would not stay quiet for long. In this case, the crash set off a remote alarm notifying the gelatinous crime lord’s minions of a problem. As they were responding to a disturbance,  the assumption that this was more than a few drunken idiots was forefront in their mind. It was time to send in the heavy hitters.

 

Gorgonzola the Hutt would not be appreciative. Either these rapscallions would feed his precious cats, they would repay their debt in service tenfold, or they would die in a firefight or tragic accident.

[Wyvernfall]

Even as they stood in the middle of the street, Rose’ hand stayed for a moment by the iron grasp of the Tusken and the dust blowing like the close of some dramatic spaghetti western, the Jawa prattled on. Beneath his reflective goggles, Rru scowled. Releasing the armed arm of his beloved, the black-clad barbarian turned to face the diminutive rodent. How fare he compare them? They were not kindred in any way. His people were fierce and free. The small one’s cowards, slaves to their fear of the off world demons. Oh how he wanted to kill it, to snuff out it’s life here in the midst of those it worshiped. They would not care. In the afterlife, he would finally see his mistake.

With his gaderffi in his other hand, Rru’s fingers twitched. It would be so simple. One fluid stroke. Only one thing held him back. His ancestors whispered in his ear, urging him to let the rodent live. He still had a purpose. The greater good would be served by his life.

 

‘A life directed properly’ Rru noted silently as a din down the street in both directions drew their attention. Gorgonzola’s goons had arrived, and quicker than expected. His base of operations, his den or palace, must have been close.

 

With a low guttural growl, Rru slung his gaffu and grabbed Kiv by the scruff of his collared neck, liberally and not too nicely tossing him up towards the nearest single-storied flat rooftop amongst the moisture vaporators and antennae. Pulling on Rose’ shoulder he whispered, “Leave him. We will fight them again on our terms.” before he clasped a rocky cleft and pulled himself up after the rodent. Atop the roof, the band of unlikely comrades began an asymmetrical retreat moving from rooftop to rooftop, leaping and scurrying to put distance between they and the encroaching bands of hired mercenaries. 
 

Several blocks away, Rru slumped behind a rock wall atop a stoney parapet several stories up. Having had to heft the Jawa several times, he turned his head to the rodent. “You stinkers are thicker than you look. What’d you steal from the offworlders this time?”

[Wyvernfall]

Rrur looked expectantly at the canteen only to have the Jawa drink it, or worse, douse his stanky self in it. Either way, when he handed it back, the thing was practically empty. Gingerly shaking it in his hand, Rru could hear the lack of water. He let out a low guttural growl as he returned the canteen to Rose as his head turned and his eyes settled on the Jawa. The disdain was practically palpable. 

 

Without taking his eyes off Klu, Rrur reached to his belt and grabbed a black melon. Pulling his foot towards himself, Rru’s knee rose in the air. He cracked the hard exterior shell with one solid crack. Raising the cracked melon to his masked mouth, he poured the bitter liquid down, slurping it hungrily. All the while his eyes remained beneath their reflective goggles on the Jawa until he had drained the fruit.

 

Only once the milky liquid was gone did Rru lower the melon and take his eyes off of the Jawa. Turning to Rose, “The Ancestors called me to you. What happened in your den of debauchery?” He explained briefly and countered with a question of his own. Those goons had been attacking Rose in that cantina before Rru had arrived. Truth be told, the Jawa had been late to the party as well.

 

”If we sabotage this Gorganzilla, perhaps it will plunge these offworld infidels into turmoil. I only ask that I be the one to pull then trigger.” He looked at Klu again, “maybe feed his cats one last time.”

[Wyvernfall]

Rru caught Rose’s tone, a smile playing across his shrouded face. She might be slightly annoyed; but like he, she needed conflict to thrive, to survive. “Here, princesses are trained in the art of war. In my culture, they do not need rescuing like a child or a people who hide beneath stones.”

 

Offering Rose a rough-hewn cloth wrapped hand, he pulled her to her feet and in for a firm embrace. “The Ancestors have deemed you my princess.”

_________

 

Rolling his eyes they began to follow the diminutive rodent. The Jawa scurried. The Tusken moved like a desert wraith, a true demon of the sands. As the wind blew he moved with it carried on the voices of his ancestors.

Soon enough they were atop a four storied, flat-topped warehouse, a trading post of sorts for less than licit imports and exports. On Tatooine, that could mean anything. Staring across the plaza, several monks lazed about, each armed to the teeth if one were looking closely. Beneath their robes they wore armor and carried heavy blaster pistols and carbines.

 

“Other methods.” He growled as he used the butt of his rifle to shove the Jawa towards the edge. “Get us in past the guards. They will create chaos once their overlord has fallen.”

[Wyvernfall]

Rru just shook his head. Half of what the Jawa said was nigh indecipherably through his squeaky odor-saturated accent, the other half either barely made sense or was technical enough that the Tusken’s head swam. He understood enough to note the shimmering dome and reported trap door the floating droid buzzed off towards as the Jawa made his way below. Soon enough the rodent was causing yet another scene. He seemed almost naturally talented at it.

 

With a swathed face, Rru turned to look at Rose, his body language a question of itself, as he shrugged in the direction of the buzzing droid. Scaling cliffs abd dunes was one thing, a cityscape’d dome another, and it was not like they could just waltz through town like the Jawa.

Unless…Rru kicked a sand-blasted set of shackles jumbled on the rooftop. He looked from the clanking chains to Rose and back. Maybe it was that easy. It was likely one of the oldest tricks in the galaxy, a ruse from a long time ago in a galaxy far far away.

 

Stooping down he grabbed the weighty shackles, holding them up for Rose’ inspection. “The peoples of the desert are not completely defenseless without their weapons.” He said as he shrugged his cycler’s worn leather strap from his shoulder.

 

As long the Jawa did not see where he stashed his weapons, he was sure they’d be there when he got back. 

[Wyvernfall]

Rru took the blaster and shoved it deep into his flowing robes. The shackles were uncomfortable on multiple levels, mentally and physically, even if he knew they were all a ruse. He stared lovingly at Rose for a moment, a warmth glowing in his heart at the thought of jumping back into action beside her. He was only called back to reality by her harsh words as she urged him forward, a captured prisoner.

 

Chaos hung in the air as they easily made it through the front doors without issue. It had been easy, too easy. How was it that these offworlders had ever been able to take ahold here?

 

Playing the part Rru yowled in his native Tusken pitch at the priest who addressed them, only to receive a solid  clip from the butt of Rose’s rifle to the back of the head. He would have been cranky had it not been warranted in their play. As such, he welcomed it, relished it even as he felt the guidance of his ancestors flood his mind. As he stumbled forward, the Tusken noted the shifty nearby acolyte. Was he going to be taken? Escorted to the gluttonous overlord the Jawa had promised?

 

The Tusken Raider crashed into the Lutrillian knocking the chirping comlink from his hand as they both fell to the floor. In an instant, amidst the flurry of bodies and the rough hewn sandy robes of both the false-bantha-worshipper and true-son-of-Tatooine, Rru’ was yanked to his feet by his supposed Mandalorian captor; but not before the potential saboteur lay unmoving and unconscious on the floor, the consciousness choked from his throat in the momentary frackas; a deft application of nerve pressure and inhibited bloodflow.

[Wyvernfall]

Rru let out a husky chuckled growl as the blood of the so-called monk misted into the air and sprayed over his black Tusken robes.

 

With a twist of his wrists, the so-called shackles fell free. He looked at Rose and cocked his head, the most he could do to show the smile beneath his shrouds, the joy to be by her side again in a fight; even if it were because of that diminutive stink-rat. 
 

He places his arm on the warrioress’ shoulder pauldron and leaned in, their foreheads touching in a sign of affection. No words needed spoken. It was enough. They both knew what was to come, even if the playing field below was as of yet unknown.

 

On padded feet, the Tusken made his way down the shadowy stairs. At the base stood a single guard decked out in piecemeal armor that was more for show than protection, leaving large areas of flesh exposed to vent against the planet’s brutal heat. The Nikto did not even see it coming. With gloved hands and roughly shod arms, the Tusken reached out and in a single swoop had yanked the guard from his feet back up the stairwell and into the darkness. His kicking feet were all the noise he could give as the desert warrior choked the life from him, the Nimto clawing helplessly at the muscled arms that claimed him. Once the guard stopped moving and fell limp, Rru laid him on the stairs and looked to Rose holding up a fist before pointing into the lair of the beast.

 

He only paused as he heard the squeaky words of the Jawa carrying over the sudden silence that fell over the crowded court of debauchery within. He knew that squirrel wasn’t to be trusted! After the Hutt, he would see to it that he throttled the stank out of the Jawa as well.

[Wyvernfall]

Stepping into the room, the durasteel door slammed shut behind them and the screeching of the Jawa began anew. Rru paused. If his face had been exposed, the shock would have been apparent. He had not expected to come into the court of Gorgonzola on this side of the gladiatorial pit.

 

Frozen as he was, the Tusken’s head slowly turned at the low snarl of one of the large cats, his eyebrows high and his eyes wide. That complicated things.

 

The voices of his ancestors swirled around the black-robed nomad, urging him to action. Spurned onwards at unnatural speed, his heavy clothes obscuring his movements, he charged the seven stalking cats whose eyes now glinted as they began to hunt.

 

The Tusken trusted that @Rose Cariadus would spring to action, her lethal beauty annihilating those that preyed on them both, maybe even the Jawa. Rru leapt into the air, his body tucking into a roll as he cleared the first charging feline. From the folds of his robes, the Tusken produced the hidden holdout blaster Rose had pressed into his hands before their ruse began. Squeezing off a pair of rounds as he came out of his roll, the Tusken shot the largest cat behind the jaw. The cat fell in a slump just as Rru’s feet touched down to the sticky floor at a run.

 

He did not stop moving from there even as a pair of the cats turned to give chase. This was no dune hunt with endless hills of sand to vanish between, rocky crags to disappear into the warm shimmering air. Here, in this enclosed space, the danger was even greater; regardless of his lack of gaderffi and cycler. Two less well aimed rounds erupted from the blaster as Rru squeezed the trigger singing the cats’ fur as they skimmed atop their shoulders.

 

As one of the cats leapt, claws extended, Rru turned, throwing the pistol up as a ragtag shield, catching one clawed paw with it as it screeched beneath the dense sharpened nail. He caught the other paw in his swirling robes, his momentum as he fell and the cat’s forward surge being transformed into a throw over himself sending the cat tumbling past.

 

Rolling with the collision, Rru was back on his feet, scarred blaster held at the ready.

[Wyvernfall]

Rolling back to his feet, the Tusken was already moving as another level

of unfettered chaos seemed to break loose. In an instant, the field of play changed. They were no longer confined to the energized walls of the cage with the feral beasts. In an instant, the cats had turned upon those who had tormented them from beyond the veil.

 

The desert nomad slowed as he watched the carnage begin to unfold. It was not every day one got to watch as the infidels destroyed themselves, choking on their own vain aspirations. It was a short-lived rest. The boxy droid that had stood relatively unnoticed  and unassuming by the slimy slug’s side morphed into a murderbot of campfire story proportions. 
 

“Foul technology,” Rru whispered under his breath as he dove for cover, a blast of sheering concussive energy rippling through where he had just been standing. He lost the holdout blaster in the frackas as he clamored to avoid successive blasts before sommersaulting midair to land behind a rather solid-looking stone bar counter. Even there, he could feel the concussive blasts as they chipped away at the polished countertops. This would not last for long.

 

Chancing a glance about the end of the bar, the Raider took in the cacophony of the scene, loud and chaotic. Even so, over it all, he could hear the whispering voices. His ancestors, even in this place, had not abandoned him. They were here, offering him their guidance. As if in slow motion, Rru took in the whole of the scene. He saw as the droid ripped the room apart with wonton destruction. He watched as the cats devoured the unprepared onlookers, goons of the lowest caliber. The Jawa scurried as his kind always did. His beloved stood, a sentinel of destruction as she danced the dance of her people, kindred to his own, in fiery grace. Some blasphemous amalgamation of man and metal seemed to be making a scene upon the Hutt’s raised throne. He saw it all in an instant; but they were not what caught his eye. What did, would have been hard to miss. The massive slug oppressor, deity of the offworld scum, seemed to be wriggling towards the exit intent on fleeing, allowing others to die in his behalf.

 

’such a coward’ Rru mused silently, as another clatter caught his eye. Kt was dim in the din, but it rung like a struck gong carried by his ancestors. A weapon, worthy of a child of this world, fell to the floor from the hand of fallen alien goon.

 

Looking from the frightened flopping slug to the gun and back, Rru steeled himself. He knew exactly what to do, exactly what must be done. Taking a moment to time the mechanized demon’s blasts, Rru leapt forward, a streak of brown sack cloth, at the most opportune moment. Carried on the backs of those who had gone before him, he moved almost faster than the eye could see.
 

“Must destroy.”
 

Rolling forward, he grabbed the cool steel weapon in his gloves hand. Alighting to his feet, Rru snapped the six-chambered cylinder open, only one slug had been expended. That meant Rru had five to his cause. and he was moving again, dropping to a slide on his hip and leg across the smooth polished stone floor, he slid beneath a blast of concussive death, his momentum carrying him back to his feet. All that stood between he and his wuarry now was a single pig-faced guard and it’s primitive axe. Exposed to the world about him, the porky one’s armor was more for show, at best for a melee brawl. It did little to stand up to the leveled silvery steel barrel of the slug-throwing cycler the Tusken leveled at his face. The desert nomad did not hesitate as he pulled the trigger. The hammer arced back and fell forward. An explosive charge detonated within the gun sending a burst of flame from it’s barrel enveloping a durasteel hollowpoint bullet that flew out of it and impacted the porcine face, demolishing it in a splatter of blood and brains. The green pig-man slumped to the floor, dead. Blood spray hung in the air. The roar of the gun echoing through the din of the battle within the hall.

 

Before the pig hit the floor or it’s blood began to pool, Rru was already stepping over the being, all but forgotten, an infidel slain for his sins, as the sandman advanced on the quivering Hutt. With his thumb, Rru cocked the gun and leveled the large barrel of the heavy metal handgun at Gorgonzola. No words needed spoken. The Hutt’s sentence was set. It needed but carried out.

 

From behind his reflective goggles, Rru regarding the fear in the slug’s eyes. A part of him relished it. Here was one who had tormented his people for a generation, one who had delighted in their pain. Rru took no such pleasure in this moment. His will was steeled as he did what needed done, but he derived no joy from it. The sinner would pay for his sins. All he had had to do was leave, he had not. Now, it was too late.

 

Smoothly, the Tusken Raider squeezed the trigger as another gout of flame, another bullet, roared from the maw of the weapon. The retort of such a judgement jumping in the warrior’s hand as he felt it kick through his arm.

 

Judgement had come for Gorgonzola.

[Wyvernfall]

Behind his black clad mask, Rrururror’s eyebrows arced high in surprise. He had been so intent on ending the bulbous threat to his way of life, cutting the head off the snake that trespassed through the sacred sands of his homeworld and his dead tribe. The smell of roasting Hutt was not entirely unpalatable. It was the screams of the slime lord that really made the situation less than celebratory. Well, that and the babbling of the midget. 
 

The rest of the scene played out without  Rru’s notice, so focused had he been on his target. Now, as he scanned the chaos, taking it in for the first time, his heart sank at the carnage. He had been a part of it. He lived a brutal life. His people were a brutal people. As he looked over the carnage, as the Hutt’s screams withered into popping boiling fat, his heart sank. The voices of the ancestors seemed to fade and he felt hopeless, alone. Tears welled in his eyes as he took in the carnage. Three beings stood; all that remained of a room full of goons, spectators, and combatants. Three, the Jawa, the bionic blasphemer, and Rru, the black-clad survivor, stood. That was it.

Through his hidden tears, the Tusken saw @Rose Cariadus lying crumpled slumped against the wall. Letting his revolver clatter to the floor, Rru rushed towards his fallen love, falling to his knees as he slid towards her. He took her armored hand in his own. It was solid. Slowly he lowered her battered head from where it lolled off her shoulders down to his lap, crasdling her shoulders and helmeted head in his arms. She was still alive. He could see it, almost sense it; had the voices not grown silent they would have surely told him. The slight rise and fall of her chest beneath her armored weave and plates telling him all he could know. She was alive, but for how long? How bad were her injuries? He strained to hear the words of his ancestors but the silence hung heavy in his ears.

 

Scooping up the armored woman, her unconscious limbs splaying freely as he stood, his powerful bedouin-honed calfs tensing, the Raider stood. He walked over towards the babbling Jawa and with a swift kick from his wrapped booted foot lashed out at the diminutive rodent’s midsection in an effort to shut him up. They might have sliced off the head, brutally so, but the body of the beast that was this criminal enterprise, still flailed with it’s dying gasps knowing not that it was mortally wounded. Throwing back his head, Rru let out an anguished angry Tusken yowl that carried on the air, through the ducts, and beyond the room. It was pained. It was a challenge. It was a warning. Any that stood before him would be struck down. The woman in his arms, his only kin and tribe that remained. These people had taken it all from him. They would take no more.

[Wyvernfall]

Seeing the other two beginning to leave, Rru scooped up Rose’ body and followed along. He figured that they would be his best chance to get out without getting killed. Even if they got ambushed, he eyed the Jawa warily, at least the two had shown they were of some use in a fight.
 

Surprisingly, they were stealthy enough to get out without getting caught. A side door through some servants’ quarters and the distraction of Hutt on flambé  seemed to draw a good bit of attention away from them as people squabbled over what was left. Maybe a few cares about what had happened, but most were inly concerned with getting their piece of the pie.

 

Outside, the half-robot did not dilly dally as she made her way off towards the landing ports of the city.  Seeing a band of rather gruff looking fellows adorned in Mandalorian armor, Rru deposited Rose on the street and began to make a scene. Pretty soon they were chasing him off of one of their own. Rru knew Rose ought to be safe with her own. He had seen that much.

 

Quickly he grabbed his gear, slinging it back about his waist, shoulders, and chest before hurrying to catch up with Zeris and Kiv. His beskar gaderffi glinted in the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the blackened robes that shrouded his persona. He did not say a word as he fell in line with the others, straining to listen to the wind for a whisper from those who had led him since before he could remember; but the Ancestors remained silent as the thoughts of what Rru had done to the Hutt weighed heavily on his mind.

 

It did not take long before the group arrived back at The Crate. Rru stopped short, standing still staring up at the craft. He had been off world before. It was not something he enjoyed. As ge looked down at the sandy flooring beneath his feet he kicked at it. His mind drifted back to his family, his tribe, his mount. They were all gone. He was alone, except for Rose; and their paths seemed destined to cross and separate like the viney roots of the hubba gourd.