Private A Long Road Ahead

[Khael Vhijaric]

Mig Gred
PLANET: Manda
LOCATION: Manda Spaceport, The Blue Nebula Bar​

The place stank. Of sweat, cast to the greasy floor grating from a dozen different species. Of alcohol, fermented and brewed in a dozen different spirits, chemicals and intoxicants. Of gunmetal, tension and desperation. Not the worst place Khael had ever found himself in, but it was close. Of course, he had never spent so much time in as seedy a cantina as this. Previously it had only been during a hunt, when he knew his target was holed up inside and required forceful negotiations to shake loose. Recollections of those days slithered through his mind's eye faster than he could block them out, knowing what came next. Remembrances, from what seemed not his own life, flashed through his mind unbidden at lightspeed, one after the other relentlessly till he was forced to clamp his eyes shut from an intensely visceral, searing pain in his head. Each image of his murdered ha'yr'vode* shuttered through his skull one after another, lasting only a fraction of a second in reality but to his overwhelmed senses he experienced their last moments as if it was his throat that was cut, his torso bisected by a lightsaber, his throat that gargled its last, bubbling breath, his b-

CRACK!

The shattering of glass tore him from the mircin be marerlu'or* he was trapped in, but as he opened his eyes he was met with a wide-eyed, close-up Rodian's face, gasping snout almost touching the T-visor of his buy'ce. A shard of glass was pressed tight to the being's neck, blood beading on the shard's jagged edge. The hand gripping the shard was the Rodian's, but Khael's own gauntlet enveloped the small being's hand in a vice grip. He blinked, startled as comprehension budded. What the feth had just happened?

"Jee baucayan cah uba!" The rodian babbled inanely in his own tongue, "cha je killyaaa"

Khael recognised the language, he knew it was Huttese, but his splintered brain seemed to be powering up slower than a hutt dragging its corpulence to a refresher. He could translate none of the being's pathetic whimpering to Mando'a, but he was sure he knew Huttese.

"He begged you not to kill him, 'case ya too thick ta realise you walked into a bar owned by tha Hutts and don't speak Huttese!" The bartender cursed, then spat. "Kill him or don't, Mando, but you'll be tha one paying ta clean up tha mess," growled the mirialan bartender, stalking off exasperated.

"Uba puna puna mah bmasiua," the being whined, spit frothing the rim of its snout. I broke his drink? How...when?

"Do not feed me jehaate*, laandur'duse*!" Khael's quiet, stentorian voice snarled in Huttese. His mind seemed to be powering up on autopilot after a hard reset.

"Jee canta Konbouaheon baa gee yanay," came the retort as the Rodian bristled at the insult. Khael watched the being's brain catch up with what it's snout had uttered. To question a Mandalorian's honour? A foolish thing to say, indeed. Normally Khael would brush off the Rodian's words, but after learning on Scarif that his clan had borne the shameful brand of Dar'manda which thus extended to Khael himself, his temper had grown short, to say the least.

The Rodian's soft face crunched under the weight of Khael's duralloy helmet, blood spattering his visor, before he slammed the being's face into the metal counter till bone and flesh pulped. He dropped the body of the Rodian unceremoniously to the floor, then sighed and removed his helmet, placing it on the counter top. The bartender eyed him sourly from round the central pillar, rubbing his fingers together meaningfully. Khael just nodded, pointed to a shelved bottle and pulled out a handful of credits before tossing them onto the bar which were swiftly snatched up and replaced by a bottle of whiskey.

Nobody moved to help the Rodian. Nobody moved to clean the slowly pooling mess. In the seediest cantina on Manda, quite frankly, nobody cared.

Khael took a swig, enjoying the burn in his throat. He knew he shouldn't be drinking, but the lingering after-effects of whatever the feth just happened still gnawed at him. He knew his instincts would pay off. His prey would come, all that was required was a little patience... maybe a little booze.

/////

ha'yr'vode - clanmates
jehaate - lies
laandur'duse - pathetic rubbish
mircin be marerlu'or - cage of nightmares

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig took a raged breath as he looked around Manda. There were reports a Jedi was missing, and considering how closely he'd worked with the SJC he felt obligated to take a look. And so here he was. A Mandalorian on the hunt for a missing Jedi. Somehow this seemed ironic. He would've kept going until he... felt something in the bar. The Alor looked around, not quite knowing what to expect before he walked in. And then there were the looks.

He walked up to the bar, noticing another Mandalorian there. He was a bit hungry, and maybe making a friend here would make his self given job easier. With that Mig walked up, sliding into a seat.

"Mind if I take this one?" Then he looked at the barkeep. "Any chance you have some good food?" After whatever response he got, he'd look at the Mandalorian, removing his own helmet for a moment.

"Didn't expect to see another Mandalorian out here. Bounties good in the sector?"

Khael Vhijaric

 

[Khael Vhijaric]

"Didn't expect to see another Mandalorian out here. Bounties good in the sector?"

Khael was caught, lost in his own memories - or were they those of his ha'yr'vode - as a voice broke him from his reverie. He turned to see a human, clad in what was clearly a beskar'gam but, curiously, without a buy'ce. It wasn't too strange a coincidence, sat as he was in the Blue Nebula, to see another Mandalorian, but there was just... something Khael couldn't put his finger on about this man. He wore the beskar'gam like a true Mandalorian, so he wasn't some pretender, and nothing about his stature or presence helped confirm Khael's suspicions, so he put his own feeling down to simple paranoia about his own situation.

Khael shook his head. "Not that I know of, vod. My business here is..." Khael said, glancing down briefly at the bloody Rodian staining the metal grate floor of the bar, "personal."

"What brings you here?" Khael asked, pretending to swig from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. He had murdered that jedi scum only days hence, and now a Mandalorian has turned up in this exact bar to strike up an apparently innocuous conversation with him?

No, he put this thought, too, down to the same unfounded worry he had felt before. A Mandalorian, hunting a killer of jedi? It was almost laughable of Khael held a sense of humour left intact after the murder of his entire clan. As it was, he did not.

Mig Gred

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig looked at the Mando, tilting his head a bit as he noted this was a personal visit. The Alor would just nod a bit, looking as some food came up for him.

"Well if it's personal I'll let you keep it to yourself, if that's what you want." He then thought of how to answer this question. What was he there for. He knew not every Mandalorian loved the idea of working with Jedi, his own sister included, but some took it to extremes. Either way, he took a bite and spoke calmly.

"Some allies of mine who helped my clan set up a new home after the Sith invasions had a friend go missing here. I was already close by and noticed the report, so broke off from a convoy escort and came to investigate." Mig didn't have the best mental senses, but he could tell something was eating at this guy. What it was though, he didn't know.

Khael Vhijaric

 

[Khael Vhijaric]

Khael only half-listened to the strangers' answer, his own thought-cage full to bursting with... Everything. He was unable to even be friendly with a fellow mandalorian after Scarif. The outbreak of plague on that damned planet, while harrowing and which under any other circumstances would be the most difficult time of his life, was a mere spectator to the news that he and his clan dar'manda. He couldn't give away too much to another mandalorian; there was no way of knowing how they would react.

Would this man, while seemingly polite, try to kill Khael if he revealed his clan? He might even offer more help than the last few mandalorians, but Khael couldn't take that chance. He was confident in his skills, but this stranger looked dangerous, and Khael could not risk injury or worse when he had only barely embarked on his gra'tua'aka*.

"I would offer my assistance, vod, but as I said my business here is personal, and my clan would not wish for me to divert my attentions. I wish you luck on your own endeavour," Khael said, hoping that would be the end of their interaction. He took a swig from the bottle with one hand while he tensed the other, ready for anything.

Mig Gred
/////

Gra'tua'aka - Quest of Vengeance