Intro

[Jairus Starvald]

​

RISHI

This world concerned him.

The spaceport was basically one powder-keg just waiting to explode with the amount of timber used for their construction, the tensions ran high with the Imperial occupation and garrison nearby, yet crime was still on the rise. It would take only a single spark to make it all explode in spectacular fashion. Jericho would prefer not to be there when it did. They had send him to Rishi to explore, to find out more about the rumors of a hidden Mandalorian enclave that had existed here millennia ago.

He had leaped for the chance, until he found out just where the mission would be.

The tavern was... off-putting. It was a remote village fifteen clicks out from the spaceport, but just a shuttle-ride away from Tra'cyn Island. It was the biggest hint that Jericho had it was originally something of the Mandalorians.

Where the spaceport was still remotely civilized and you wouldn't be shivved in the back on the streets? This village had none of that. It was a common meeting place for several pirate bands and other outlaws. Something told Jericho that the only reason nobody had tried to rob him, was because of the Mandalorian helmet on the table.

Was rare for a Mando to be around these part these days.

Not with Ra returning and calling the banners to him.

But Ronan had always been a wildcard. He was currently scribbling something on a piece of flimsi, trying to figure out just what the best approach would be for the island. In the meantime hoping that nobody would try to start something with him, even though the looks and glances he was receiving... weren't encouraging.

At all.

He'd have to take his leave soon, if he didn't want this to turn ugly with his presence.

[member="Runi Verin"]​

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

Rishi. Fierfek. If ever there was a planet to lose yourself on, Rishi most assuredly found itself amongst the top five potential candidates. It was a den of thieves, cutthroats and ne’er-do-wells that, for varying reasons, had abandoned all pretence of trying to make it in the more civilised stretches of the galaxy. A place where one could let their wilder, less tamed impulses run wild, free from any semblance of law or judgement.

It reminded the salvager of Kol Atorn in that respect. Perhaps that was why she felt so at home as she made her way through the winding streets of the shanty towns, striding with a purposeful sense of confidence that came from both familiarity with the local color and the heft notched blade that hung from her waist. Knowing that the clearly weathered beskad, with a hilt worn smooth from trials of combat, would appeal to neither the good business sense nor survival instincts of any would-be stickup artist.

And so her entrance into the bar went without impediment, bells tinkling gently to announce her arrival to the assembled patrons, their gazes met in kind and dismissed in equal fashion. For their part, they were content to return their attention to their drinks and gambling, while Runi Verin found hers settling on the haggard looking figure that lurked behind the bar. In her experience, they were always the best source of information. Unfortunately for him, and insurance premiums of the establishment, information wasn’t quite on her mind at that particular juncture.

“A bottle of tihaar, chilled, and a glass.” She stated bluntly as she closed the distance between them, softening her tone with the distinctive chink of coin descending on hardwood. Ignoring the sidelong glances that the order of the traditional Mandalorian beverage brought her way. Interesting, however. Despite the obvious heritage of the island, it seemed there was little love lost for T-visor. Perfect. That not only suited her present mood just fine, but made things a lot easier. She nodded her head towards the kitchen that lay beyond the bar, “And a plateful of whatever you have on the spit over there, burc’ya.”

If the order of spirits hadn’t drawn enough suspicious glances her way, the casual use of Mando’a more than made up for it. Prompting a smirk to crease those grease stained features, the thin scars on her lip lending it a slightly lopsided, vicious appearance that was further accentuated by the burnt-yellow of those qukuuf tattoos. “Make no mistake, I ain’t looking for trouble,” the lie fell from her mouth so easily she could have almost believed it herself, her elbows resting lightly on the counter, those hard eyes firmly fixed on the bartender. “But I ain’t exactly shy, tayli’bac? Ne shab'rud'ni, shab’rudi’ni gar.”

There, as a look of utter resignation crossed the bartender’s face, she knew that that had done the trick. Not even needing to hear the tell-tale screech of chairs being shoved back, nor the jumbled, drunken cacophony of patrons attempting to find their footing, to know that the die was well and truly cast.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

The appearance of a new face wasn't lost to him.

Not because he was looking for it, but because there weren't that many people walking in and out in this bar. It was the only dive in the town. The place where all the bastards of the place came to gather at the end of a day. Most of them were already here. The usual patrons. But Jericho wasn't here to make new contacts. He was here to drink his ale, write down his notes and then slip out before this would turn bad.

It didn't work out that way.

Not when her first order raised suspicion, then the words came flowing outta here like a gorram waterfall. Jericho looked up, eyes widening a fraction as she decided to break every little peaceful accord he had managed to establish.

Feth.

Already about five were standing up.

Big, big feth. "Ain't looking too kind out here for ya kind, kid." One of them shouted out from behind his table. Head like an ax-hound with one eye blind, not a knife, blunt damage from being hit over and over again. "Take a walk, ya?" Why they gave her a chance to leave was anyone's guess. Maybe try to get her off-guard outside, when she thought she was safe.

His hand was already brushing his buy'ce.

Didn't rise yet though. Ronan's words rose up: family above all. Whoever this girl was, she was Mando'ade and that made her family. So, if Runi got into trouble, he'd wade in.

But he'd rather not.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

Runi finally allowed her gaze to shift from the bartender as a guttural voice piped up across the bar, that jumbled and broken string of galactic basic seemingly enough to reward the speaker with the focus of her attention. Kark, if he didn’t have a face not even a mother could love. And like the unfortunate end of a Ronto it resembled, it seemed just as adept at spewing osik.

He was perfect.

“Can’t tell you how much I ‘preciate the offer, burc’ya.” She replied with a lazy shrug of those shoulders, the ease of the gesture belying the tension that was subtly finding its way into her muscles now that a decent prospect had volunteered. “but I just went ahead and ordered.”

“Then take it and go.” A rat faced scoundrel cut in from the side, his weak chin trembling slightly with either anticipation or fear for the storm clouds that were quickly settling in. From the way his hands shifted uneasily at his sides, Runi was willing to lay good cred it was the latter. That marked him as the brains of the little quintet that had arrayed themselves before her. Not that the bar was set particularly high in that regard. “We don’t need trouble, friend.”

A soft snort escaped the salvager, her dirty locks swaying slightly as she shook her head. “Ah, there seems to be some… Cultural differences going on here, so I’ll translate.” She pushed off and turned away from the bar, purposefully placing the sturdy hardwood counter at her back. “See, where I come from, when someone calls you a friend – a burc’ya – they don’t really consider you one. The opposite, actually. It’s one of those, whatchamecallits… Ironic terms of endearment.”

The mountain of ugly grunted and, like the avalanche of undercooked meat he resembled, shifted in her direction, taking a thunderous step towards the bar. “Only cultural difference we got here is what language to count your broken bones in.”

As threats go, that wasn’t half bad. Rat face might have taken the crown for the brains, but the first thug could turn a phrase when given the opportunity. Runi rolled her hand in response, limbering her arm from wrist to shoulder. Five against one weren’t the ideal odds, but she’d faced worse in her time. Of course, she had the corresponding scars to prove it, but that was neither here nor there.

Rat Face would be a problem if given the opportunity. But if Muscles here went down first, and went down hard, he wouldn’t be much on an issue - His own cowardice would see to that. It was the other three that would be the sticking point. While they were all clearly inebriated from the swaying and stumbling gait, even drunk could land a lucky punch and turn the odds in a free-for-all.
“I guess that’s ---”

She abruptly lurched forward, her boots resounding loudly on the splintered floorboards as she dived at the largest of the thugs, twisting deftly at the last second to put herself in the generous blind-spot his ruined eye presented her with. With a crunch her elbow met the inside of his knee, dropping his height enough that his descending chin was greeted with her shoulder, snapping his head back in time for a solid follow up punch to the throat.

“--- That, then.” She continued, stepping back to allow the gurgling mountain to unceremoniously hit the floor, clutching at his throat and labouring to remain conscious. Surprise had brought her that one, but it wouldn’t likely wouldn’t last. As ugly as he might have been, those scars were badges of fights like this. A veteran of taking a beating. He’d been up again in a few minutes, looking to salve his wounded pride. She needed to contend with the others before then, an easier prospect when they had just assumed she was a slip of a girl.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

Jericho knew they were done the moment he saw that look.

That look was universal all across Mando'a and it probably carried even further, if you know where to look. I am stupid and I want my face caved in. Well, that was how Jericho interpreted it whenever he saw it. Usually they were going for: Try me, I am the biggest bad in town. But Ronan would never forgive him, if he'd find out he had left a fellow Mandalorian out to dry when he could help.

A grunt as he rose, just as Runi moved in and knocked the first big guy out for a moment.

Take out the biggest one and hope the rest would fall inline. Not a bad tactic... but that didn't include a healthy dose of booze that kept them on edge and active in the moment.

He slumped down, rat face took a step back, but the other three... they stepped around their spokesman.

Until the sound of a crack bounced behind them. Looking back they saw Jericho with helmet in his hand and their guy on the ground. Didn't take long to figure out what had happened. "Could probably take one." Jericho stated, but his tone was exhausted. This hadn't been the plan. He didn't like one bit of this. "Two? Won't get you far, so take your friend and leave us alone."

Don't force this.

Please.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

Rat Face beat his predictable retreat, clearing way for the trio to step into the field. If not for the fact she was still outnumbered, she might have enjoyed the sense of gratification that came from accurately assessing her opponents a touch longer. Not that they would have given her the chance.

Her hands rose as she fell into a defensive stance, forearms and elbows aligning with the practiced katas that had been drilled into her from an early age. From their assumed positions in the advance, a shabby triangle of drunken outrage, she knew that the first blow would come from the thug on the left. Likely an ill-advised, drunken haymaker. All strength, no finesse. Dodging it would prove easy enough, but the second and third blows… That’s where things would get interes---

A meaty crunch dragged her from her thoughts of battle, the outside interference momentarily caching her off guard as she sought the source. Eyes narrowing as they settled on a familiar looking shaped helmet. The design might have been different, they always were, but the visor itself was always such a distinctive giveaway it was hard to confuse its origin.

It seemed she wasn’t the only Mandalorian in the bar. Her tongue clicked softly, her arms dropping a fraction as she took a few steps backwards. His presence, while not an unwelcome surprise, would likely complicate matters.

“Just when it was about to get interesting,” She muttered with another flick of her head, leaning back against the bar so that her elbows once more took some of the weight off her feet. “You might as well take his advice, burc’ya.” She placed a particular emphasis on that word once more, “You were struggling with one against five, but two against three? Even if pretty boy can’t hold his own, those are some long odds.”

The trio shared a long, drawn out glance. The kind that generally conveyed the sense that a silent, nonverbal discussion was being carried out. A notion further reinforced by the myriad of emotions that played out across their bland features in quick succession, flickering from anger to caution, caution to disagreement, disagreement to resignation. Resignation to…

Ah, she’d gaged the general IQ level of the bar well.

Two of the thugs paired off, turning to make a move on the interloper. The last one reaching for the vibro-knife on his belt, apparently deciding that an honourable fist fight was one thing, but being able to walk away afterwards was perhaps the better part of valour.

“I take it back, now it’s about to interesting.”

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

He had been a slave for most of his life.

But there was just something about fighting to the death over and over again in a slave pit that gave you a good wide look at what life had to offer. Formal training had only been given afterwards by the Vizsla warriors, but there was nothing formal about the range of emotions rushing through their expressions. Jericho saw the conclusion around the same time as Runi did.

But while she was keen to wait it out?

Jer was anything but. "Ah, chit." Fine then. The helmet was already swinging when the left one stepped in to punch him in the gut, crunched satisfying and the first one crumbled. Only allowed the second one to come in from his side, tackling him to the ground.

First hit Jer took on his elbow, second one on his shoulder, but by then he had managed to angle his knee and thrust it up.

 

[Runi Verin]

[SIZE=10.5pt][member="Jericho Vizsla"][/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]He might have lacked the raw, power form that many Mandalorian's seem to embrace, but it seemed the aptly dubbed [/SIZE]Pretty Boy[SIZE=9pt] wasn't a complete slouch in a fight. With the satisfying crunch of a [/SIZE]buy'ce[SIZE=9pt] meeting bone and cartilage serving as a crude starter pistol, Runi planted her heel against the flat of the bar and pushed off with an effort, once more relying on speed to give her the advantage in a close situation. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]With a startled oath from her part of the trio, she barrelled heavily into him before the blade was fully drawn and activated, catching his wrist with one arm while driving the forearm of the other into the man's neck as the tumbled to the ground in a heap. Speed would mean little in situation, but she had survived the streets of Kol Atorn. She was far from defenceless. Taking a pointer from her 'friend', she drove her head down hard into the bridge of the stunned opponent's nose. Once, twice. Three times until her own vision began to swim with the force of the blow. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Kark,[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" She uttered, punctuating the expletive with one more final Keldabe Kiss, sealing the man's unconscious fate and resigning herself to the headache it would no doubt bring about once her ears stopped ringing. "I really should have brought my own helmet."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]With a will, and a touch of the force, she pushed herself to her feet, palming the thug's vibro-blade as she moved. Actual walking was out of the question at the moment in time. Shuffling would have been generous. Instead she simply moved in a drunken serpentine, diagonal-like direction, half-stumbling without a hint of grace or even the illusion of it, towards her would be ally and his current problem.

"[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Let him go.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" Her voice was tired. The blade in her hand fuzzing into life lent it some weight, however. "[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Let him go or I open you stem to root, right here. I ain't gonna ask you a third time.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

It was a difficult position to be in.

The first kick between his legs had only made the chakaar angry and it started to rain down fists against him. That was good- angry fists were hard, yeah, but they were also dumb and unfocused. All of them missed his head, kept raining against his arms and every once in a while Jer managed to get a punch out. Throat, gut, he just landed one on his ribs and that crunched satisfyingly.

But everything froze once Runi's voice echoed through the room and the hum of the vibro-knife sounded next.

"Let him go or I open you stem to root, right here. I ain't gonna ask you a third time" Part of Jericho wanted to point out that didn't actually mean anything. A human didn't have any analogy to a a stem or a root... unless she was talking about... ew.

No, that wasn't something Jer wanted to think about now.

The di'kut was taking it seriously though and that was really all that mattered. He slowly raised his hands and got up, but before that could get any further Jericho kicked up and got him straight in the groin this time. He doubled over and with a grasp, then a swing as his helmet smashed across the thug's face. It knocked him out cold as he dropped to the ground.

Only then did Jericho spit some of the blood out against the floor. "Good move." One glance across Runi, before eyeing the rest of the establishment. The barkeep was hiding out beneath the table, most of the others had either left the bar or minded their own business in the corner.

No sign of rat-face though, bugged out while all of this was going on.

"Dunno about you, but I ain't wanna be here when that rat comes crawling back with more gihaal." One more kick to the second lad who had been knocked down by his helmet at the beginning of the fight and started to rise up again. The next couple of seconds were spend in silence from his side, gathering up his stuff, flipping a credit chit on the bar. "Sorry for the mess, friend, good ale tho."

Out he went.

Runi could follow or not, didn't make a difference to him.

 

[Runi Verin]

[SIZE=10.5pt][member="Jericho Vizsla"][/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]The salvager waited a spell, lingering in the disaster zone that was previously a bar, letting the battle song thrumming in her ears simmer down along with the ringing. It was only then that the vibro-knife was cast aside with a negligent flick of her wrist, the humming blade carving into the baked-clay walls as easily as it had through the air. Four down and only a few bumps and bruises to show for the effort. Not a bad tally.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Once more she found herself turning towards the bar, reaching behind the counter to grab the bottle of tihaar she had ordered before things had gotten out of hand. The meat plate she would leave behind. From the smell, it was likely burnt by now. The youth in charge of turning the spit no doubt having run out as soon as the first blow had been struck.

"[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]K'oyaci,[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" She intoned with a lazy salute of the bottle, moving to follow after her fellow Mandalorian, pausing only to stick the boot in on the first mountainous thug she'd dropped. Well, a few boots, truthfully. Now that her goal had been unexpectedly achieved with minimal destruction, a first by her standards, the last thing she needed was a second round.

The delay caused her to be a minute or two behind Jericho. Her shorter stride meaning she had to double time it to catch up before he vanished from view entirely. "[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]I had that handled, y'know.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" Runi remarked as she fell in step beside him, "[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]What you did, with you stepping In like that… You know I ain’t gonna thank you for it, right? All you did was get yourself some bruises an’ a whole lot of trouble. Only gonna get yourself killed making choices like that, Pateesa.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

At first he was alone and that suited him just fine.

This entire shindig turned six degrees complicated, because of that little stunt. He had been planning on maybe getting a room here somewhere while exploring the ruins of the ancient mando'ade enclave deeper in the island. That wasn't going to be possible now... not with what had just happened. He looked over to her, scrutinizing, when she stepped up next to him and their steps synced.

"Ain't looking for a thanks, buy'ce." Usually meant helmet, but with the way that blood was rubbed all over her visor and the way she had moped up those thugs on her lonesome? Bucket would do just fine for a name. "Choice's made moment you stepped on through. Either ya banged 'em up to haran or they caved ya face in, either way, next mando'ade on the menu woulda been me."

Even if she had won, took her drink and then left.

Runi's move would have caused him trouble either way. So, best to pick family over ten more minutes of peace, before rat-face came running back.

"Di'kut move to piss 'em off tho."

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]
Bucket?

She was going to let that one slide, on account of the obvious head injuries he must have suffered leaping to her defence. Now that was the closest he would receive to gratitude. She traced the edge of the bruise that was slowly forming on her forehead, fingers coming away with a light crimson where the skin broken, with the flesh having given way to the force of bony impact. "'lek, I'll admit it wasn't one of my smartest moves, but it served its purpose, Mesh'troan."

And not just, as he likely suspected, to take the edge off her mood. There were plenty of dive bars strewn across the promenade of the island's stilted town that would have suited that purpose. Plenty of dive bars with plenty of thugs. She could have chosen one far closer to her own ship if she was simply looking to get into a fight. No, that one had been selected with a purpose in mind. One that took the owner into consideration, or more accurately the local faction they pledged themselves towards.

"Real di'kut move was setting up in there in the first place." She countered, letting her hand drop to her side, tucking it in the thick confines of her spacer-leather jacket. "In case you ain't noticed, that stretch of this town ain't exactly friendly towards those of the Mandalorian persuasion," Her bleeding scalp alone could attest to that. " - an observation, I might add, that took me all of thirty seconds to make after landing on this backward, lizard-bird fethball."

She spat again.

"Ptwf. With or without me, sooner or later you'd have been on that menu just the same. Only real question is how they would've served your sorry shebs and what they would've paired it with."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

She ain't wrong tho.

This wasn't really his type of show. Not really. He had gone from pit fighter to sheltered mountain boy from one moment to the next, nothing much in the way of practice to figure out the beat of a slum of villainy. "Might be, might be." He ignored the dig and stopped for a moment. Re-orientating for a moment, before making a decision to go left and keep on walking.

"Liked the ale there tho."

Then Jer noticed that she was still following along with him and he stopped again. "Ain't sure where ya going, but I am heading out into the jungle. So." One more frowned scrutinizing glance.

Maybe she'd go away.

That would be nice- he hadn't been hit in a while, 'til she came around.

"Mosquitoes, jungle, all wet. Bunch-a ruins, so I will... see ya 'round, buy'ce."

She wasn't a complete idiot, so she would probably be fine. Jericho wasn't really being nice. Neither was she though and he didn't really like being around people. They were annoying, they kept him on edge and didn't give him the opportunity to relax. He didn't like their looks either. Always scrutinizing him, it reminded him off the auctions and the searching looks.

No, give him a good book and maybe some old ruins.

Better this way for sure.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

"The jungle." Runi echoed, not even trying to hide the flat tones of disbelief. She might have made planet fall within the last hour or so, but it seemed this guy was the textbook definition of fresh off the boat. Her hand caught him by the arm, "Fierfek, you're serious, aintcha? You do know that this entire island is currently a warzone, right?"

Well, warzone was perhaps a slight exaggeration. There was a conflict on the island alright, but thus far it had primarily contained itself to the fringes of the town and surrounding areas. Petty brawls and the occasional stabbing were the only evidence presently spilling on to the streets, but it would only be a matter of days - if not hours - before things finally reached a tipping point weeks in the making. She didn't need the force to tell her that much.

She jerked her head back towards the bar, "Those thugs back there? They belong to the Thaggoth Cartel. Nasty bunch of wannabe pirate and cutthroats that set up camp here about a month or so back. Don't let those thugs confuse you, they're some real heavy players. Heavy enough to push the Mando Enclave out by force."

Her hand fell back down, swapping with ownership with the tihaar laden right so that she could gesture to the sprawling greenery that surrounded them. "And they're still out there, killing anything and anyone that steps too far out of this osik heap. No quarter, no mercy, no campfire sing-along. Everyone is an enemy until proven otherwise, 'lek?"

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

...Jericho hadn't known that.

But that didn't really change anything either. "Alor Vizsla ain't the kind of man who would accept that as an excuse." Feth, Jer could almost picture coming back home with empty hands and be summoned to share his findings. Well, I am sorry, Alor, but there was this gang war around the whole place and I couldn't get to the place in question right away, sorry.

No, the first time he had met Ronan the man had massacred an entire building full of slavers followed up by slaughtering his owner's family, then burning him down alongside his house.

If there was one thing that Ronan would not understand it was walking away from a fight.

"Prefer to take my chances with these ones than Ronan." He eyed her hand on him and she seemed to get the drift, pulling her hand back. Jer still didn't like to be touched by people. No matter for what reason. His body was his own... it was. They couldn't take that away from him anymore, but that didn't mean it didn't made him think of those days again.

Every touch.

"I will be fine, buy'ce." Jer finally said, but this time without the inflection of bucket. "Ya got better things to do, people to beat up, stuff like that, 'lek?"

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

Vizsla? Ronan? Feth, now she knew she should have carried on in the opposite direction. She grunted sourly, "Ronan always expects results, true enough. That I know first hand." Memories of the masked Mandalorian saving her hide in the war forges of Muunilinst were hardly counted amongst her most treasured recollections. If the island wasn't a warzone, that man most assuredly was. He felt like an open wound in the force; a fitting mirror for those he opened in the material world. "But those results ain't gonna mysteriously manifest themselves after you get killed ten paces into the foliage."

Her hand tightened around the bottle. Knuckles turning white with the strain she exerted. She couldn't believe the words that would come tumbling out of her mouth, hating herself for every begrudging syllable. "I owe an entye to Aliit Vizsla. Both to Ronan and, 'lek, to the man that stood before him as well." It was mostly for the latter that she made the next offer. Kol Atorn had been a harsh and fierce crucible. It would have been harsher still without Grim and his exiled compatriots keeping order and some semblance of peace for the gutter trash to etch out their meagre existence. "I was going to find someone of value to trade to the enclave for safe passage, but if you say you're going into that jungle..."

She shrugged simply, not bothering to voice the next sentence. Trusting that he could catch her drift, although not particularly caring if he failed to do so. It wouldn't change the fact she was committed to this di'kut little plan of his. She should have let that thug get a few more licks in before bringing him to heel.

"Fierfek."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

The surprise wasn't that she had heard of Ronan, but that she actually knew him personally. The Aliit Buir kept mostly to himself back on Wayland. Hadn't always been the case, of course. When Ra first came into power Ronan had fought for the Clans, saved their asses before Ra even came along. Beat back the Death Watch before the Clans could he smashed.

But things were different now.

"An enyte?" That wasn't a trivial matter. It made him look back to her again, scrutinizing but without the naked distrust this time.

Entye was a matter of life and death, simple as that.

A Mandalorian wouldn't claim to be bound by it unless that was the case. Anything else had a chance of forsaken their entry to the Manda. Soulless, a state of being you would not even wish your worst enemy for certain. "...I can respect that sort of bond. I have.. similar ones when it comes to Ronan." Jer would still be a slave if not for him and his actions.

He was afraid of him, but Ronan was still his liberator.

That meant something.

"I aim to explore the old ruins at the heart of the island, buy'ce." There was something that Ronan wanted there. Something important but feth if Vizsla knew what that was. "If this will fulfil your entye, you can join me."

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

"The ruins?" From her scans of the island, she knew there shouldn't have been much out there beyond a few piles of crumbling duracrete. Certainly nothing that would have warranted the Alor of Vizsla's attention, let alone the potential lossof one of his clansmen. Her lips pursed into a thin line, mirroring the fine ones that riddled her bruised and bleeding brow. "You're sacrificing your life - our lives - for a bunch of rocks and a few rusty trinkets?"

Of course, she knew that there could be more than that. She had after all went in search of treasure in a similarly fool-hardy manner what seemed like a lifetime ago. An adventure that had led to both success and failure in equal measure, as well as a partnership that...

She unscrewed the cap of her tihaar bottle and took a lengthy swig, ignoring the burn in favour of downing enough of the Mandalorian brand of courage that this wouldn't seem like such a terrible and ill-fated idea after all. With a spluttering couch she gave another spit and passed the bottle towards her comrade.

"Fine, have it your way." It was easier to simply resign herself to her fate than fight it at this point. As much as she detested the idea that some power had control over her existence, she had long since learned that the force would invariably have its own way sooner or later. It led her to cross paths with this di'kut after all. "It won't repay my debt, but it should be enough to place a reasonable enough down payment, long over due."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

What was there to say?

Yeah, just a bunch of rocks and rust, but when the Aliit Buir commanded you, you didn't ask questions. You fething got on your way and hoped for the best. More often than not it turned out alright- nobody had believed that going to Wayland was a good idea. Somehow Ronan had made it work, so people had stopped questioning him all that much. "Didn't ask you along, 'lek?" Jer reminded her over the lid of the bottle, before taking a good sip from it.

It burned nicely and that made him hum a bit, before passing it over again.

"So any risk there is, ya takin' ya'self." That was the simple truth. Sure, this was better than wandering alone bare-assed across the jungles of Rishi with a full-blown war raging around him. Jer had a far better chance of survival now.

But he hadn't asked her and he wouldn't take that responsibility. Wouldn't accept that.

It had only been a few years, since he had been allowed to be responsible for himself rather than be at the whims of one owner or the other. It was still a weight that made him confused at times. It took effort to move at his own accord and make his own decisions. "Aight- I got a speeder nearby, we can use that to get on the way, but word has it the jungle gets thick down there, so we will have to hike a fair bit." Once she gave a nod, they would be on their way.

Three streets further at the edge of town.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

The salvager scoffed into the bottle as she accepted it back, chancing one last burning sip from the bottle before tossing it aside with a clatter of glass. A drop of Mandalorian courage was all well enough, but it wouldn't do to be more than simply buzzed where they were going. "In case you ain't noticed, Mesh'troan, I can take care of myself."

Which was fortunate. If things came to ahead, at least Pretty Boy had the weight of his Clan name at his back. Even out here, in the middle of the sticks, the name Vizsla still carried something. As a clanless Mandalorian, if by choice if nothing else, Runi wouldn't have that advantage. Sure, she might have had a soul as her name suggested, but she was fundamentally a nobody in the grand scheme of things.

"You just keep all that concern for yourself, 'lek?" Runi muttered as she once more joined his side, resting her hand on her beskad to ward off both the local thieves and reprisals from the cartel. Feth, Rat Face would have spread the word by now. Already she was missing the bottle. "I've been in far worse places than this." And wasn't that just the truth. From Impregnable prisons to space stations full of Starweirds, her travels just kept one throwing her into one bad situation after the next. It was a sad state of events when a jungle full of hyped up Mandalrorian killers barely registered on the scale as anything beyond your average Taungsday. "You on the other hand, struggled to handle a bar full of drunken aruetiise. So, y'know, full confidence."