Private Righteous steps on a wretched path

[Jenn Kryze]

Bounty Hunting was not a profession Jenn relished.

She was a warrior first and foremost- a proud heir of the traditions of her Clan, and a furious avenger bringing righteous retribution upon any and all Sith that happened on her path! Or most of them, anyhow- her fateful encounter with a former Sith on Eshan had shaken her conviction, opening her eyes to the idea that some of those who had left their wicked ways behind could be spared. A warrior did not go hunting for profit- they fought out of conviction for a cause... but she was a crusade of one, and she needed funds to keep herself running. Operating like a machine, she knew nothing else than the steady rhythm of sleeping, eating, and killing. When done properly, it was a chore, just like any other.

So it was that she accepted Bounty Hunting as a necessary evil- something to be frowned upon, but nonetheless useful. When a shadowy client offered an enormous sum for the elimination of a constant thorn in their side, she was quick to take the commission before someone else did, even though the clear lack of information on her quarry was notable. The only information given to her was a fix on her bounty's location, a picture of her visage, and a reminder of the generous sum paid for turning her in. "Dead, not alive", were the words of her employer- and she intended to be very thorough.

So it was that she analysed her target's progress, and elected to hide in a mostly-abandoned park she would have to go through. With a hand resting on the blaster still secured in its holster, she was a most fearsome sight to the civilian populace: in a manner of minutes, the park was all but deserted, leaving her to rest her back against a tree... and wait.

**
Jhira Mereel

 

[Jhira Mereel]

​

LOCATION: Old park, Jelucan, Outer Rim Coalition ?
Objective: Survive, talk philosophy.
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out
Tags: [ Jenn Kryze ]

Rocky, cold and beautiful, Jelucan remained one of Jhira’s favorite worlds. Even as a kid, her family would come out here to this stern, severe world, rent a few hoverbikes and explore the assorted old, historical sites and official parks. And now, desperately needing a break from the bleak, rather strange place she’d found herself in, she’d brought her son.

He raced ahead of her, howling like a young banshee, heedless of is COMM link. He had her finely honed kinesthetic sense, but his father’s height. Jhira had no notion if he’d be pilot, warrior, tech or something darker.

Please, not darker.

Balancing on one foot, he threw his weight all the way to the side, trying to miss the nearby waterfall — only to slam into the fiercely cold water Jhira’s laugher matched her son’s, as he burped and gulped his way free of the fast-flowing water. She was proud of him; he’d not been knocked off, nor needed his Lyra grav belt to stay with the vehicle.

But he was bitterly cold; the child’s armor he wore was merely plastoid, and not at all vacuum sealed. Young boys grew too quickly for such closely fitted gear. Still, once the current money crunch was over, she’d see about some Breshig Warforge flight-suits for the kids. Those were incredibly versatile, and could save their lives if the worst happened.

No.

Hitting a Full Throttle maneuver upon poor, rented hover bike, Jhira shot past he son, tempting him into a race. Despite how the old rental bike strained under the weight of her full Beskar, she shot ahead of him. Skill mattered, even on vehicles like this.

“Oya!!!!!”[/I] he screamed out from behind her. Let’s hunt!!!!! His child’s voice still high pitched, not yet deepened to a warrior’s thunder. But she heard his father in it, even so, and rejoiced. Aay’han. The bittersweet.

“Jii ni ganar gar, buir!!” the 11-year-old’s cry tore her from her memories, and with a fierce, wild laugh Jhira let him though the park. They raced, though she kept him to sun warmed areas, and kept a mother’s careful eye upon his vitals through her HUD display. After they begin to drop, yet before he was fatigued or chilled enough to crash, she brought the game to halt by angling beneath him, leaping off her bike, and tackling him.

“A Mando ti a Vuya Saha cuyir a cayatitr.”

The bikes went into hover mode, driving a few 100 meters before her control suite triggered their homing protocols. But she and her son landed, to walk to the only true shelter in the entire park. A small complex of three buildings; a small cafe run by a droid, a ‘fresher, and the rental for the hover bikes.

Usually, there was a line waiting to rent.

Jhira absently noted that the place was empty, this time. Her mind was upon food and warmth for her son. The same assessing gaze swept over the waiting Mando’ade, and she merely nodded, before turning back to her son. Gesturing to the battered Protocol droid in the cafe, she asked her son, “Me'copaani at epar, M’ika?” The soft lilt of the outer rim and the musical cadence of her Mando’a made clear she’d been speaking it from birth.

The boy dashed ahead of her, and Jhira turned to face the stranger whose grim presence had cleared the park of onlookers.

Spoiler

[/CENTER]

Oya!

[OY-ah!]

Many meanings: literally Let's hunt! and also Stay alive!, but also Hoorah!, Go you!, Cheers! Always positive and triumphant.

​

aay'han

[AY-ye-haan]

bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - remembering and celebrating

Jii ni ganar gar, buir!! - Now I have you, mother

A Mando ti a Vuya Saha cuyir a cayatitr. — a Mandalorian with a Jet Pack is a weapon.

Me'copaani at epar, M’ika — what would you like to eat, little Mikan?

( ‘ika added to the end of the first syllable of any name or even many words is an affectionate endearment.)
​

​

​

​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

No. No, this isn't- this can't be right.

Jenn was thankful for the presence of her helmet, all too aware of the fact that her shocked expression would have completely given her away. The coordinates tracking the target left little room for interpretation: this was the target. A Mandalorian, clad from head to foot in beskar... accompanied by a child. A young child, too- possibly hers, which only added to the dawning horror that enveloped her mind. Shooting a foe in the back was a dishonourable thing reserved for the treacherous and the dar'jetii- who were quite often one and the same. Even as her mind screamed and raged for her not to go through with it, the muscle memory acted of its own accord. Killing came to her as easily as breathing.

Staring right at Jhira Mereel , she removed her blaster from its holster, her ever motion slow and purposeful- yet another attempt from her not to go through with what she was about to do.

I took the contract. I should've known what I was getting into. If I don't do it, someone else will.

You even listening to yourself, Jenn? Is this what you're turning the legacy of Clan Kryze into- a remorseless murderer? She's got a child with her!

Exactly. Look at her! She's probably Dar'manda, like that girl on Coruscant- someone else who let go of everything we are for love!

Jenn had been running herself ragged for years, and every last encounter in the past few days had been emotionally draining. A former Sith who longed for nothing else than peace- a Dar'manda who chose a path that brought her joy and took her away from her Clan, abandoning the Resol'nare. Physically fit, but mentally exhausted, she found all of her anger, her frustration, her loneliness and her hurt boiling over, threatening to spill out in a display of reckless violence. Her attempts to convince herself that she was above such a debased act ultimately fell on deaf ears. She was nothing. Her life seemed barely worth living at times, and here was a Mando'ade who had everything she wanted.

"Draw."

 

[Jhira Mereel]

​

LOCATION: Old park, Jelucan, Outer Rim Coalition ?
Objective: Survive, talk philosophy.
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out
Tags: [ Jenn Kryze ]

A Mandalorian.

Above all, a Mandalorian.

Exquisitely crafted Beskar, custom-made and exquisitely well maintained. The work of a half-dozen tech giants such as Breshig Warforge, MandalArms, Concord Specialized Technologies, and Roble Manufacturing sat side by side with scattered bits and pieces scrounged battles, derelicts and disreputable vendors. The whole of it cleverly adapted, turning the whole into something greater than the sum of its parts.

Jaig eyes adorn her helmet.

The Sigil of the True Mandalorians graced the center of her armor, the mythosaur skull snarling at her opponents, whilst the shield itself was worked into her Iron Heart.

Clan Mereel’s sigil overlaid with the image of a curled scroll lay upon her right pauldron.

Kot, Ijaat, Verburyc, Kyr’am (Strength, Honor, Loyal(ty), Death) was painstakingly engraved in the Mandalorian script upon the left. They were the key words from the Canons of Honor.

At her hip, a mediation band with the six runes for The Resol’nare. dangled, bearing both decompression damage and scorch marks.

A Mandalorian.

Draw. With no more than the inclination of the head and a shift in balance, Captain Jhira Mereel went from greeting a long-lost vod to combat ready. A slow nod of respect was given. Honor, courage and compassion all in one person were rare to find, these days.

“Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod,” Neither rote, nor without feeling, the formal phrases fell naturally as breathing.

“You can always kill me after we talk.” The soft lilt of the outer rim and the musical cadence of her Mando’a spoke eloquently of her heritage, making even Basic almost beautiful.

Spoiler

vod - brother/sister.

Honor my offer of truce, for I would not willingly shed my brother's blood.

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Her eyes roamed across the beskar enveloping the body of her soon-to-be foe, keenly aware of the complete dichotomy between the two of them. Where Jhira Mereel 's beskar'gam was a well-maintained, exquisite piece of craftsmanship assembled from reclaimed armour parts, her own was undeniably old. After all, Jenn was loathe to paint over what was, essentially, the history of her Clan: her adoptive mother had bestowed the armour of a great hero upon her, and to make it her own was a concept she found herself unable to truly entertain.

Even as the target moved into a stance that screamed "combat ready", she refused to draw first- in no small part due to the fact that this woman, who had done her no wrong and most certainly did not deserve her ire... was giving her a chance to talk things out, just as Darth Sanguis had done not so long ago. She didn't deserve this chance, not when she was threatening a Mando'ade as well as a mother.

You won't kill a Sith because of your worship for the notion of love, but you're considering doing the same to a mother?

Slowly, she shook her head, and did her best to cling to the burning envy that coursed through her mind. She was everything she strived to be, and she held on to her hatred, she could find it in herself to do this... or could she? Was this what she'd gone and reduced herself to- someone driven by jealousy for what others had?

"I don't want to kill you, vod. Not in front of your ad'ika, not ever."
Well, that was the truth, unlikely as it may sound- a cry for help, an attempt on her part to get Jhira to stop her. This didn't feel right, she knew that much- but she was slipping, her loneliness and spite threatening to break her. Even then, she could feel herself losing that battle.
"Cuy ogir'olar. Ni ceta, vod."

And still, she didn't make a move, the hold on her blaster growing weaker as she stared into that helmet, her fingers trembling as she considered the horror of what she considered doing.

**

Spoiler: Mando'a Translations

Cuy ogir'olar - It's irrelevent.
Ni ceta - Sorry (I Kneel)

 

[Jhira Mereel]

​

LOCATION: Old park, Jelucan, Outer Rim Coalition ?
Objective: Survive, talk philosophy.
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out
Tags: [ @Jenn ]

The Hunter’s attention never wavered from Jhira. The weight of that anguished, heavy gaze noted every detail, every damage, every weapon the Captain carried. Almost as if something about Jhira surprised or wounded her?

I don’t want to kill you, Vod. The hand trembled, which held that deadly blaster.

“I believe you.”

So fully, so deeply did Jhira focus upon the tormented hunter before her, trying to ascertain the truth of her, that it felt as if they existed in a place outside of time and space. Hands to the side, Jhira took a slow, measured step forward.

Not in front of your adi’ka, not ever. The soul behind the ancient beskar’gam wept, the pain bleeding through in the anguished voice.

Another measured step, almost hypnotic in it’s rhythm as she stepped well within the range that even a low-power setting could be lethal. A third.

Jhira didn’t think it was low power; the Captain-and-mother was gambling her life on that slight tremble of the hand, the insistence that Jhira draw her own weapon.

“Thank you. He is ‘Red’ Mikan; just turned eleven this year.”

It’s irrelevant. I’m sorry.

The fourth pace placed Jhira close enough to rest her hand over the Hunter’s blaster. The Kryze warrior need only twitch a finger to deliver a fatal blow. But if she did not fire, if she did not resist, Jhira would gently nudge the gun aside, her voice soft and calm.

“Udessi. Let’s talk, Vod. Let me help you get out of this; to make your choices and your wishes relevant again.”

Spoiler

Udessi -"Calm down" or "take it easy"

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Suddenly, it felt as if she was in a dream: her perception of the world around her narrowed to Jhira, and her blaster, and herself. Everything seemed to blink out of existence, her reality reduced to self, tool, and target. A target that was now daring to approach her, her every step measured and cautious... as if she was not being faced by an unstable bounty hunter with a shaky hold on her blaster. All she had to do was raise the weapon, double-tap the woman before her... and collect the bounty. It would be so easy, considering how vulnerable her foe had made herself during her approach... but, for each step Jhira took towards her, Jenn's resolve melted away.

The mother spoke of her child, and that was enough for Jenn's mind to go blank. She couldn't do something so cruel, so debased. A child so young did not deserve to have his mother taken from him. When Jhira gently placed her hand on her blaster, she did not resist- in fact, her grip grew weaker and weaker... until she eventually dropped the weapon altogether, finally releasing a breath she was not aware she had been holding. Oh, Jhira's words were caring, understanding... kind. It was killing her.

"No! No, no, you don't understand- you're not safe." Her head felt as if it was on fire, her body weak and her resolve broken: all that was left before Jhira Mereel was a woman who felt truly broken and pathetic. "They're after you. I don't know who- someone wants you dead. You have to- get somewhere safe."

Even now, she truly felt unable to open up to her, to explain why she felt so miserable: she had been raised to be strong, and she failed to be the indomitable bastion she was meant to be. All she could do was warn her- keep this woman and her child safe.

 

[Jhira Mereel]

​

LOCATION: Old park, Jelucan, Outer Rim Coalition ?
Objective: Survive, talk philosophy.
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out
Tags: [ Jenn Kryze ]

The sharp, stinging relief as the Hunter dropped her gun hit hard, weakening Jhira’s knees and making her head light. Reflexively, she caught it before it could hit the floor, reversing it in her grip. So great was the anguish rolling off her troubled vod that Jhira was half afraid of a bomb or grenade held in the other hand.

A shuddering breath swept through the Kryze Hunter, and the words the Hunter spoke put a shot of fear right through Jhira’s heart.

It made no sense; who would want her dead? Later, that was for later!

“Come, vod, let’s get inside, and compare notes.” Jhira spun her HUD up, and silently contacted her ship for immediate pick up. “The Echoy’la Sun will be here soon.”

A clasp to the shoulder, and Jhira indicated the Café turning to keep their retreat covered.

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Jenn wanted to disappear- to hide from Jhira's gaze, to bury her shame under the earth and run from what she had been so close to doing. That she was not strong enough to go through with the atrocity was hardly of any comfort to her: she felt weak, so very vulnerable and pathetic. What good was she, if her strength was lesser than that of the previous warriors who wore the ancient beskar'gam protecting her form? Strength and honour were all- adherence to the old ways was supposed to drive her to greatness.

At the very least, Jhira Mereel 's words shook her from her sorry state: if there was the prospect of battle to regain shed honour, then she would take it. A clasp to the shoulder reinforced that idea: with nothing more than a meaningful nod, rushing to the Café as fast as her legs could take her.