Firsthand Insights

[Prennis Keeoli]

{ Location: The Silver Rest, Kashyyyk }​

{ Equipment: Gym clothes, field medkit, ​

holographic disguise matrix }​

{ Tag: [member='Amon Vizsla'] }​

~ † ~​

It was high time she had put off since the Grand Admiral had appointed her: Combat training. Sure, she had taught herself a little bit here and there--the very, very bare foundations--and had once asked a promoted stormtrooper to help her clean her sidearm, but when it came down to it? She didn't really know anything about self-defense. Prennis had no doubt that she was safer here in Silver space than she had ever been in the First Order's, both mentally and physically, but it wouldn't hurt to learn a thing or two.

But she had to find a teacher first.

And one willing to give her a lot of help, to boot. She was just a registered nurse, not a combat medic, so she hadn't been issued a weapon, nor had she bought one. It would be fine though, right? The people here had been nice enough in the months since she began working as a medical professional.

With a quiet, under-the-breath sigh, Prennis stepped out into the courtyard and started jogging the a path to the Ranger's base attached to the Rest. It was her best bet, she had decided this morning as she dressed for the gym. Of sorts. Maybe a firing range. Maybe a padded ring. She was keeping an open schedule. But still, her nerves continued to fray. The day was nice enough; the wind against her face helped quell her anxieties a bit but, as always, it felt wrong, probably was wrong for all intents and purposes, to ask for help from a stranger while continuing to be dishonest about her name, her past, even her face.

 

[Zef Halo]

If there was something Amon envied the Jedi for was their lack of bureaucracy. At least compared to the Antarian Rangers. Someone really up high decides something unequivocally and it gets passed down and down and down till it reached Amon. His datapad had flashed yesterday after the usual morning jog and exercise with the squad for a new detail. And by new, it really meant new.

Combat training a registered nurse.

Not a combat medic, not a Jedi healer.

A registered nurse of the Silver Service Corps. A corps he had just learned about yesterday. Amon didn't really keep up with anything other than what interested a Mandalorian - combat. While Prennis sought to find a teacher, the Grand Admiral with the crown of bureaucracy upon his head had already found one for her.

Amon stood dressed in typical short cargo pants and t-shirt, both of green military color with a datapad in his hand reading the little basic data they had provided him regarding this Prennis Keeoli person. Not much to go by other than a photo, name, age and physical attributes. He wondered why no one had bothered to give him her service record, if she had one, but chose not to dwell too much on something he had no control on.

The familiar sound of feet jogging down the path took his attention from the datapad just to see the figure of the same person he had been detailed to instruct in combat. As she neared him, Amon called out with in his signature toneless voice:

"Prennis Keeoli."

"I've been assigned as your combat training instructor." He stated. Back upright as always and his hands went behind his back in a clasp. "Amon Vizsla."

He dabbled over his next choice of words. Not really much of a social person and definitely below average in terms of social aptitude, hence why the Mandalorian was often described as laconic, aloof and cold.

"Leave your expectations of this training behind." He said coldly and paused for a moment. "You will be taught the way Mandalorians are taught."

A hint of pride and nostalgia in the last sentence.

[member="Prennis Keeoli"]

 

[Prennis Keeoli]

{ Tag: [member="Amon Vizsla"] }​

~ † ~​

Though she was a non-Force-using Jedi Shadow, but she didn't go about telling that to those who didn't need to know.

She came to a stop when she noticed the man approach and heard her name. Birth name and a hijacked last, taken in case the First Order Security Bureau was after her, though if they were their priorities would seem to be backwards taking into account the now-not-so-recent events.

"Oh," she began. "Pleased to meet you--" what should she call him? "--sir." If he hadn't taken that particular stance, Prenn would have gone for a handshake. Instead, she kept her hands at her sides.

Then, she gave a slightly confused nod. The way Mandalorians are taught? She hadn't the first idea what that entailed, but she could warrant a few silent guesses. She had helped treat the badly wounded from the current Silver invasion of Azure that had been sent back from the frontline. Before this, she had tried not to, though; doctors nor nurses had much of a place in the philosophy of war.

Wait, no. Sure they did. Thinking like that, having too much apathy, was part of what let the First Order continue to control her.

"I'll do my best." She gave a nod followed by a smile. "Where do we start?"

 

[Zef Halo]

Amon eyed her up and down as if he was analyzing the most challenging riddle in the galaxy. As a soldier, he had often ended up being patched up by nurses and doctors, but never Jedi - his distrust was too big, yet, to tackle. Nonetheless, the Mandalorian never paid much heed to those who 'fixed' him up. Socializing was never his strongest point but for a moment he regretted not learning a bit more about their type. How they thought, how they acted and all that.

Guess he'd learn that now.

"The Shadowlands." Amon replied and without another word turned around heading to the lifts which lead to the Shadowlands.

"Some off-world fool has gone down to hunt a terentatek. We'll be going down to find him and extract him to safety." the Mandalorian elaborated as the turbolift descended. "He's probably already a carcass and we'll end up hunting one by ourselves. But if he is not - we are to do both. Rescuing the fool and killing the beast."

The doors opened into the darkness of the Shadowlands. Noises of civilization were far gone behind replaced by the eerie atmosphere of one of the deadliest places in the galaxy.

Kill or be killed. The only law here.

Amon opened up a crate right next to the exit of the turbolift. It had been left by the Rangers here for their own training hunting parties. The contents had a wide array of both melee and ranged weapons.

"Pick your weapon, Doctor." he ordered with a cool tone. "And don't die."

The Mandalorian stood over her like a statue fully expecting her to back off and go back up with the turbolift. Who would've thought their first combat training would include the risk of death?

[member="Prennis Keeoli"]

 

[Prennis Keeoli]

{ Tag: [member="Amon Vizsla"] }​

~ † ~​

But she didn't.

Instead, she knelt before the open chest. She didn't dig, but rather picked a single vibroblade tucked to the side of the box. She then stood to begin clipping the weapon to her waistband. As she did, she quickly milled over the information she had been given:

Hunting? A terentatek? In the Shadowlands? She was by no means an outdoorswoman--her occupation left little time for such time-intensive hobbies--so neither name brought their exact image to mind, but she could gather they meant no good.

Kill or be killed, indeed, it seemed.

She just hoped there would be another hidden choice along with the two Amon presented: heal. Of course, one prerequisite there was that the hunter was alive, the second that the two others weren't in danger of dying themselves.

"We nurses swear to do no harm, Mister Vizsla." As she spoke, she became aware she did not catch his rank. "Now, I think I might be doing some harm if I didn't go with you after that poor man, don't you think?" Prennis glanced up at the ranger once she finished.

 

[Zef Halo]

Vibroblade. Good choice.

What she said to him, he couldn't completely understand. As a tough bred Mandalorian, he still had trouble with the ways most humans used Basic. Idioms in Basic, for example, were completely misunderstood by the lieutenant. He instead opted to retort on her choice of weapon.

"Getting personal with a terentatek, Doctor?" Amon asked. He'd not expect her to pick a weapon that would bring her within an intimate distance of the beast. "Keep your wrists tight or you risk breaking them. Keep your wits about or risk dying."

Without further ado, Amon headed out into the depths of the Shadowlands before he paused when he caught the trail of blood on the ground. He grazed it with his finger before turning to the Doc:

"How long ago?" he asked her. If it was recent, they were on the right trail.

​

​

[member="Prennis Keeoli"]​

 

[Prennis Keeoli]

{ Tag: [member="Amon Vizsla"] }​

~ † ~​

What could she say? Something told her not to go for a blaster and, though she had no conscious idea why, she obeyed. She nodded after internalizing Amon's advice. "Right. Will--" --co. "--do."

A pause. Wilco? That wasn't a word, at least not one in her vocabulary. The nurse was normally so well-spoken, so where in the Void did that thought come from?

She closed her eyes and gave her head a quick shake as she followed the Ranger. When he paused and stooped to the blood trail, she drew closer to first peek over his shoulder and then do the same. Well, it certainly was still runny, not yet dried. Semi-recently she had read a forensics study that had found its way onto her desk at the Halls, probably by way of a Silver Shadows courier. It took a moment to recall the figure it presented for blood's average drying time, but she did and asserted the same: "Anywhere from zero to fifty-nine minutes ago." Though the specific outdoor conditions like temperature, ground moisture, and soil porosity likely altered that time stamp, she had no way to calculate by exactly how much and so didn't even wager a guess.

Then came another question, one she asked herself. Was the source of this blood still alive? If it was the hunter's, the answer meant more to her than if it was the beast's. Just like the liquid was not yet dry, neither had it coagulated. Fellow doctor Zanthier Madine, during Aes'ona's First Imperial years, had told her a body could leak fresh-looking blood for up to ten hours after death because livor mortis had not fixed.

Left with no clear answer, Prennis stood. "We're probably on the right track, but we should hurry." They'd find out soon enough.