Private Seafood and Shanties (CIS / Friends Social)

[Vian Sarad]

Mood Music: "Horlepiep" by Jan Rap

Orange sunlight began to dim on the seaside city of Kaadara, on the world of Naboo. Not far on the outskirts was quaint little tavern. The sea-eroded sign outside identified the spot as "Qwint's Place" in worn, painted-on Aurebesh. In an evening like this, it was filled with a couple patrons here and there.

Behind the bar, a Mon Cala was wiping down a glass. He was Qwint Akkaro, the eponymous owner of the joint. He was white with brown mottling, betraying his origins from Dac's polar regions. He set the glass down and moved toward the kitchen. He had a noticeable limp, along with the hiss of a small piston that made his false leg move along.

"Hooper?" He called out, "Hooper, my lad? Could ya haul in some more bottles of Ossberry ale? Tis gettin' a little low down here."

He received a couple of robotic tones in return as Hooper, his loadlifter droid, trudged from the kitchen toward the turbolift that moved along the different levels of the building. The cellar was mainly cool storage to keep the alcohol chilled and the fresh catches from going bad.

Qwint nodded to the droid before hobbling back to the front of the tavern, staring out to the crowd. The old Calamari seemed rather satisfied. Of all the ventures he had done in his 60 years of life, this was the one that brought him the most happiness. He went back to wiping down the counter, awaiting any new patrons that passed through the threshold....

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt
The Swirling Depths.
And Dawn of a New Era.

TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ]

Jhira regarded all of Naboo with the same wary regard a hockey player might a delicate piece of blown-glass sliding toward her upon the ice. She didn’t really mean to hurt it, but it was awful fragile, too pretty not to draw fire from someone, and Jhira had a job to do. It didn’t help that wandering around the place fully and armored and armored had not particularly endeared her to the inhabitants. She couldn’t even fight off a few bandits or wrangle out-of-control wildlife to ease their fear; Naboo just wasn’t that kind of place.

Yet despite how awkward it had all been, the trip here had not been wasted. They did a lot of ecological work on Naboo, so besides dropping off a cargo of rare cloths for the upper crust, and Flexicrix for the water-dwellers, she’d have a full cargo of useful goods for the trip back.

If she lived that long.

The Captain was beginning to think she wouldn’t, staring as she was at an exquisitely lovely, hopelessly gentle Calmari-run … ‘tavern.’ Jhira didn’t frequent nice little restaurants or places that handed it balloons. She went out to dives, taverns and bars. Places that would look the other way at her gear, or a small brawl. This was something else. A place where the drinks came with little umbrellas, she bet. And where she wouldn’t be able to read the menu, even though the locals would swear it was in Basic.

This… this …. This was adorable.

Frag, if anyone from the the Enclave found her here …

“Aunt, just try it. The food’s amazing!” Mia’s too-cheerful insistence was accompanied by a gentle shove in the center of her Jet Pack.

With a resigned sigh, and a fruitless prayer to the silent, absent gods, Jhira slipped into the small tavern, and cautiously made her way to the bar, where a quiet Calamari with a bum leg was busy polishing glasses.

See? Fragile.

 

[Kyyrk]

R E S P I T E

Wearing​

Kyyrk strode in from the street, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was a hot one. He'd been sent out here on yet another errand, but there was always time for food. If not, he would make time. Qwint's was a place he'd never been, but it reminded him of something. Rishi. As he stood in the doorway looking around, memories returned to him of the small tavern he'd frequented on his homeworld. Not unlike this one. The kind of place where the seafood was so fresh, you could pick which one you wanted out of the skiff. Most of the time, your food was still alive when you ordered it.

It was the stuff like this that he lived for. What he fought for. Knowing that at the end of the day, he could come home to a place such as this. Good food, good drinks, good...well, the company was always questionable. But today, it seemed to be slim pickings. The small tavern was rather empty, though it made sense for this time of the day. Kyyrk's gaze swept the small room quickly, making note of the patrons, the exits, hazards, the usual. Then he recognized one of the two figures sitting at the bar. Kyyrk strode over and settled himself on a barstool next to the familiar figure.

"Daggert Fish basket, and whatever ale pairs best with it." Kyyrk offered the Mon Calamari behind the bar a nod, and set a credit chit down as he sat down himself. "And whatever the good captain and her companion would like. Please and thank you." Kyyrk pushed the credit chit across the bar as he turned to Jhira. "Fancy meeting you here. I will say that looks much better on you than that damn dress did."

Jhira Mereel || Vian Sarad

 

[Mia Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt, The Swirling Depths And Dawn of a New Era.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ @Kyyrk ]

Mia gave a delighted laugh and followed her Aunt into the comfortable tavern. Amazing smells flooded her, and she froze for a moment to do nothing but try to tease out the subtleties of spices and spirits, both. Arriving a few steps behind her Aunt, she smiled reassuringly at their Mon Calamari host, and offered a carefully prepared greeting in Mon Calamarian

“Peace to you, swift-swimmer.” A faint frown wrinkled her brow, and she corrected the pronunciation of swim, to swing the word from meaning something like ‘swims faster’ to ‘swift hunter.’ She pause, to grin at her host, her eyebrows raised in question, as she swapped to Basic. “I’m just learning it, and I’m simply not sure what the correct greeting is. But whatever it is, well met!”

Settling in beside her overly-armed and armored Aunt, Mia ignored the menu to simply breathe deeply of the heavenly smells.

But what she smelled was the subtle perfume of fine armor weave, fastidiously maintained - what she heard was a deep, commanding voice laced with the wisdom of ages. It was almost like she’d not really heard Basic properly, until now! Curiosity had her turning to search the Tavern for the speaker before she realized that the stunning warrior with the deeply scarred brow and nose was addressing her Aunt.

Her Aunt, the most boring person in the whole galaxy!

Mia spent a stunned moment attempting to contemplate how Aunt Jhira had met first the Ramikad’alor armor smith she admired so much, then the Traat’aliit’alor Karjr, and now … him. The sorcerous warrior with the stunning, violet glow about his eyes, scars for days, and a voice that mesmerized.

A second more of simply being stunned into silence, though, and Mia realized what he’d said.

She turned a horrified gaze upon him, and shook her head with all of the dismay any eighteen-year-old might muster, “No, oh no! How could you? I thought she was quite beautiful. Now I may never get her into a decent out fit again.” With a sideways glance at her Aunt, she insisted rather defensively, with all the air of a long-running argument, “It was too armored.”

Spoiler

GEAR


Miscellaneous
Slicing Kit
Bio Scanner
ECM biomedical Back Pack (in the Fleueline Weave to match the leather look of her armor)
Microthrust Computer Spike (3)
Vid-Vox Scrambler.


Armor:
Fleuéline and Sythleather, kimono-style long jerkin - complete with her Iron Heart. Appearance is of a fine black leather.
A custom woven-Nanosilk flight suit. The woven skill is strong enough to count as light armor yet lovely enough not to look it, with an unparalleled flexibility and a strength most organic silks could only dream of. She has carefully installed micro-circuitry all along the garment, to allow her cybnertics control the shape of it. Thus she never trips or snags upon everything, and it is tricky to grab hold of in melee combat.
At will, the silk-and-leather combination garment fold completely around her, creating a vacuumed sealed armor.
An elegant fold at the neck holds her rebreather until it is needed, and a cloth-like
Flexicris mask and hood are hidden in the extra fold of cloth at her back which allows for breathing. Though she only has about 15 minutes of air on board, she can hook into either tanks, air supplies from a ship or vehicle, or a more sophisticated rebreather for more time. She has dual-breathing lines, in case she needs to share air with another, and an encrypted COM. There is no HUD display or Tac assist system, and it is not powered armor in the traditional sense, only capable of wrapping around her in a sudden emergency.


Cybernetics:
Skill chip system - single slot.
Molecular Memory storage
NaviSystem for local/planetary purposes not hyper jumps
Remote Hacking - limited range, LOS and within the power parameters of her sensors.

Eye:
Optic capacitor (for a sudden Flash attack)
Sensor Suite with dampening
HUD
Holorecorder

Hand and arm:
Stun Capacitor
Scomp Link
Slicing Unit


Weapons:
Stun Staff
CS-33 Firespray Stun rifle

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt The Swirling Depths.And Dawn of a New Era.

TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ @Kyyrk ]

The smells were odd; rich, but not pungent. Not typically a fish eater, Jhira had expected a certain cloying heaviness in the air. An over abundance of fish smell, and sweating sea weed. Instead, as she slipped her helmet off, rich spices and the oddity of a fresh sea breeze soothed her senses. The colors, too, pleased; Jhira felt an odd sort of peace settle about her. A dreamlike, fragile thing; a place like this would not long be permitted in the world.

Fastening her helmet to her belt, it was natural then to remove her gauntlets. Glancing up to ask after the Catch of the Day, a powerful, armored presence slid into place beside her, and an ancient voice …

Ordered fish sticks.

A rippling laugh escaped Jhira; she couldn’t help it. “Fish sticks?” He ought to have ordered something she’d never heard of, that made the Calamari host’s eyes light up with delight at serving a true connoisseur. Her gaze met his with mischief and merriment still dancing in their depths.

The laughter died abruptly, anxiety in the flickering gaze that rested so briefly upon Kyyrk, before settling upon Mia as the youth sough to defend her Aunt’s wardrobe choices. How, oh how, could she protect such an idealistic, poetic soul from the beautiful pain Kyyrk embodied? Surviving a conversation with the ancient eldritch Knight required a delicacy of temperament and a certain wisdom that Mia simply lacked.

The dilemma froze Jhira; Mia could as easily fall helplessly in love with the man as decide he was her favorite uncle. She might despise him for the battles lost and time spent pursuing the Mando’ade during the war, or declare him her War Leader and follow him into battle. Equally, the child could wound, as be wounded. The idea of inflicting any more pain on the burden of woe the ancient Knight carried was repugnant; to make him feel unwelcome, both cruel and beyond dishonorable.

The first instinct, to banish Mia to the ship at once, was stifled at the exchange of credits with the host. Forcing a breath through lips gone dry, Jhira took refuge in basic courtesy, offering a polite nod to their host. “Either your Catch of the Day, or whatever you recommend for a Mandalorian, please; and a pitcher of whatever ale my friend is getting.”

“Spicy,” Mia whispered in an aside. “Just in case the you don’t get many Mando’ade here. Spicy, as in full-flavored, not only hot-spicy. Though the hotter the better, but spicy-flavorful. But I’ll take your Naboo fire-shrimp and a plate of whatever passes for oysters, please.”

Jhira turned in her chair to meet the glowing, violet gaze of the Wrath of Vylmira. Looking him up and down, a small grin appeared. “You look much improved, as well.” Her gaze traced the blue lighting along his chest, then flickered to his face with a faintly teasing look. Clearly … the color wasn’t her first choice. The tease eased into thoughtful care. There was no way to beg him to be gentle with her niece, nor to stop being … well. Himself.

Surrendering to the inevitable. “Kyyrk, this is my niece, Mia Mereel of Clan Fett.” A graceful gesture invited him to supply his own titles, or lack there of, to the younger Mereel who regarded him with some lingering dismay.

 

[Vian Sarad]

[

TAGS: Kyyrk | Mia Mereel | Jhira Mereel

Qwint noticed that his tavern had gotten much more lively when three newcomers came in. Two apparent Mandalorians and a grey fellow that reminded him of the archaic natives of Korriban. The old Mon Cala even curled his mouth into a smirk. "That's pretty good for the old tongue, lass. Haven't heard that since my days as a minnow back on Dac."

He turned to the grey man and the one being called "Aunt". The old fisherman thought a moment on their requests before giving a polite nod and a smile. He first turned to Kyyrk.

"Seein' that fried daggert basket is a bit on the heavy side, I think that some lager would pair nicely wit that." He spoke out loud, "I think I still have some Gold Squadron lager shipped in from Batuu. I'll have one of my droids come 'round with a pitcher o' that. B2! Get yer durasteel bum out 'ere and get these fine folks a pitcher of the Gold Squadron."

There came an exasperated sigh as an old, grey and white RA-7 came shuffling along towards the group before passing to the taps and pitchers. The former smuggler then turned to the Mandalorian and smiled.

"Mando, eh? Well, tells ya what. I'll give you both in one dish." He smirked, "Catch of the Day is some fresh gooberfish. Used to run wit a Mando like yerself, fellow by the name of Rau. Gave me some recipes. I can surely whip up some gooberfish gihaal fritters, if that be to yer likin'."

With that he sauntered back to the kitchen. His peg-leg thumped against the wooden floor with each step, releasing a hydraulic hiss. It was not long before the sound of cooking machine being turned on, the sounds of fish being chopped, and the jovial half-sung, half-hummed tunes of some old shanty from Qwint's youth.

 

[Kyyrk]

R E S P I T E

Wearing​

Kyyrk chuckled as the girl objected to his observations about Jhira's dress. He was not a Mandalorian, nor would he ever be one. But there was one thing they shared: Nothing beat wearing a good suit of armor. He didn't respond immediately, instead offering a silent "thumbs up" with his right hand to Qwint at his suggestion of alcohol. To Kyyrk, it was all the same. Alcohol was alcohol.

He turned back to the pair beside him, and offered a nod of greeting to the younger Mereel. "Kyyrk Verros." He grinned at the look the child was giving him. He could tell she didn't approve of her aunt's choice in company. The woman invited Kyyrk to provide whatever titles he saw fit. But in this moment, he offered no titles. He was simply Kyyrk. "I take it you are following in your aunt's footsteps, given your...ah..." Kyyrk let the sentence hang, not drawing direct attention to her cybernetics. He did, however, lift his left arm and wiggle his fingers, a soft whirring noise betraying his own cybernetic hand.

Kyyrk's attention moved back to Jhira. "Really, you must be mindful of the warranty on those things." A roguish smile to Mia offered proof of his jest. "I hope your aunt hasn't told you too much of me. Most of it's true, I'm afraid." He held up a finger, finally offering a rebuttal to the girl and her claims. "And I did not say your aunt looked bad in that damn dress. Because she didn't. However, your aunt's heart will always lie in a good suit of Beskar. And for good reason. Can't find a better quality armor. Well, not for people of your skills, anyways. Some days I still miss the suit I used to own."

Jhira Mereel || Vian Sarad

 

[Mia Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt The Swirling Depths. And Dawn of a New Era.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ @Kyyrk ]

As pleased as Mia had been when the old Mon Cala praised her attempt to speak his native tongue, it was nothing to her fascination at the idea that an ordinary-seeming tavern owner had once run with a Mandalorian! But before she could squeeze in a question, he’d turned to her Aunt to discuss business, and Mia had learned long since not to mess with someone’s livelihood.

Besides, the merest chance that her Aunt liked the meal, meant she might come back. And Naboo was all kinds of fascinating to Mia. The Mon Cala’s thump-hiss when he walked made Mia curious just what sort of artificial limb he had. Her aunt would doubtless find the rhythmic sounds a bittersweet counterpoint to the song he released as he crafted their meal. But Mia was filled with an urge to fix it.

Before she could do anything self-destructive, the terrifying sorcerer was being introduced with the utterly incomplete simplicity of a single name. Mia glowered at her Aunt. What was the first rule of warfare? Information. And she had none! The eldritch warrior was courteous enough to offer two names, at least. Kyyrk, Clan …err. House Verros.

No rank, and all Force Users had rank of some sort. All of ‘em, even if they liked to pretend otherwise. But her Aunt gave her nothing. No affiliation, no tradition, no code, no warnings. The Captain was utterly unreadable, at least to the younger Mereel, who truly was uneasy.

The faint whir of gearing came from his black-clad fingers; she triggered her heat-and-structure analysis, trying to see past the covering. A truly fine Cyber-replacement distracted Mia - tech always distracted her. As did the fleeting, oddly disturbing question of how he knew she had any mods, anyway.

Well. The answer was horridly obvious, wasn’t it?

“Oh, that is a nice bit of work.” Mia inched closer, her onboard cybernetics having a bit of trouble reading his arm accurately. They often did, when the host was Force-Crazed. Err. Force Sensitive. “Is that Vylmirium??” The new material was almost unknown to Mia and she leaned in for a closer look.

“You’re in range,” her aunt said quietly.

“Kriff. Karkin’ Bantha dung! Zygot’s T-” Mia bit back more swear words, and eased back again, eyeing Kyyrk Verros, Sorcerer Cyborg Force Lord. Yeah. She’d been in range of a lethal attack too close for her to sense and counter before the blow struck home. Digging in her belt pouch, she offered a small, silver token engraved with a Sigil to her Aunt as forfeit.

“Aaaany way,” Mia said, sliding back with a faint frown as she tried to decide just where she’d have to be to have a chance at a block or counter.

“I was caught in the ground bombardment, when the Ssi-Rusk burnt out our world.” She spoke with unrelenting cheerfulness. “It was a little place, cute as a button with cotton puff-ball clouds and these giant trees with curly limbs that looked kinda like they wanted to hug you all of the time.”

He made a comment about believing what her Aunt had told her about him, only it was accompanied by the best smile she’d ever seen. Her heart skipped a beat, and she was stunned for a bit, missing much of what came next.

Calling that lovely confection that damn dress snapped her out of it, though. “My Aunt? She’s told me nothing.” Mia shook her head in aggravation. “She doesn’t talk, not for real, not like people do. She philosophizes.”

A pause, “Or teaches Mando’a, as the cure to all ills.” Before her Aunt could jump in with all the things she taught, Mia pierced her with an accusing stare.

“I only know about Mr. Armor because I was at the Oyu’baat, organizing our Great Nexu Hunt, and Mr. Justice because who else would you want on sensors, if you were about to dive into the Nether??”

Eyes bright, she turned back to the sorcerer and asked, “What about you? How did you earn yours?”

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt The Swirling Depths. And Dawn of a New Era.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ @Kyyrk ]

Gold Squadron Lagger? Not a bad choice. Especially as fresh as it was likely to be, in such a place. The Mon Cala caught her attention with a warm smile, and an offer of some gihaal fritters. A sudden, fierce smile of her own answered. “Thank you, it’s been a long time. Currently, there is neither ocean, nor sea, nor even a Great Lake upon Mandalore. There’s plans to fix that, though.”

A sharp, astonished delight swept over her as he spoke of his friend. “Rau? A Rau yet lives? That is a name that has long been associated with honor and history. I’d love to hear more of him.” Even as the old droid carefully poured their ale with neither too much nor too little head, the Mon Cala headed back to prepare an ancient meal in a new way.

Maybe he was not so fragile, after all.

Kyyrk teased Mia in his gentle way, and upon a topic sure to please her niece. Jhira nursed her ale, watching the two with the patience of a predator. If she couldn’t protect Mia from a meeting like this, she was surely going to prepare the girl for the time when the fascinating warrior was a deadly trap, not an estranged, lost soul.

When he said, that damned dress, Jhira smiled. That smile widened as Mia poured out her litany of secrets kept. After Mia left a scattering of questions and had paused to sip her own ale, Jhira turned her attention to the Knight. She paused, as his coloring hit her once more, here in the warm, natural light of Naboo. That haunting sense of nagging, anxiety producing familiarity was there for a moment, then vanished in some trick of the light.

“I would back Beskar as the best armor for anyone,” Jhira said, her attention fully drawn to the notion he’d had Beskar. Had been gifted it, yet been denied a Clan. “What configuration did you choose?”

Because Mandalorian Warriors were not soldiers, stamped out to a code; they were Warriors, individual and unique, who just happened to have a the skills of a soldier.

Or naval captain.

Or a pilot.

 

[Vian Sarad]

[

TAGS: Kyyrk | Mia Mereel | Jhira Mereel

Soon the air began to seep with the smells of food. Some of the aroma seemed almost from a hover-vendor on Coruscant, as battered fish was carefully dropped into hot frying oil. Yet, as the fryer went, there came the sounds of something sizzling onto a pan. From there, the distinct smell of spices waffed from the kitchen. To the Mandalorians, it would smell close to homemade gihaal. Perhaps a little off, but yet so nostalgic.

After a few minutes, the sounds of earthenware plates being shuffled. The old Mon Cala trudged out from the kitchen, carrying two platters. He set them down on the countertop of the bar, in front of the respective customers.

"Fer the lad, the deep fried daggert basket." He gestured, and then to the other dish, "And fer the Mando lass, some gooberfish gihaal fritters. Both served with a side of flash-fried zuchii. Enjoy."

Kyyrk's dish consisted of deep-fried chunks of succulent daggert fish coated in what appeared to be some sort of coating reminiscent of a beer batter. Jhira's was wholly different. Four pieces of lightly coated, pan-fried fish fillets. The were golden brown with a noticable yellow-orange tint, indicating the presence of Mandalorian spices. Both dishes were lightly fried, baton-cut pieces of a green, zucchini-like vegetable.

Qwint moved back to cleaning the glasses near the counter. He looked back over to the patrons.

"And apologies on me manners. I'm the Qwint on the sign. I hope you enjoy your stay here."

 

[Kyyrk]

R E S P I T E

Wearing​

Kyyrk watched with a stoic look as the younger Mandalorian took an interest in his cybernetic arm, and was promptly told off by her aunt for placing herself in range. A single brow arched as Kyyrk looked to Jhira, then back to Mia as she sat back down. "I'm hurt that you think I couldn't just bean her with a tankard from here. But she is correct. It is Vylmirum. Didn't waste all that time inventing the material for nothing." Strange he would take credit for that. Anyone who knew about the metal knew that it was created by Lord Commander Voph, shortly before he was appointed leader of the Knights Obsidian. And he was certainly not this being that sat before them. Kyyrk lifted the tankard he'd been provided and took a long gulp. The man did have a point, after all. At this range? Even without the Force, anyone with half a decent aim would be hard pressed to miss.

He set the tankard back on the bar, the smirk of sarcasm painted across his face. His attention was drawn to Mia as she asked how he'd earned his cybernetic. "During an incursion into Confederate territory some years back. The planet of Felacat came under attack by a Sith known as Darth Sovryn. I led the team that destroyed her. Our duel lasted for hours, culminating in, well..." Kyyrk gestured to his arm. "I still won, though. Her arrogance was her downfall."

Though Mia was perhaps to young to understand, Qwint or Jhira may recognize the faltering look, as he turned to find his tankard and take another gulp. He'd won. But at a cost. He'd lost more than his arm that day. Someone he cared about, likely. But it was clear from his manner that he would not speak of it further. The subject was changed, as food was set before them. Kyyrk immediately lifted a hand to pluck a slice of fish from the basket and take a cautious bite. "Well met, Qwint. Kyyrk. And with cooking like this, I feel mine is a name you will come to use regularly." Or at least, as regularly as Kyyrk could afford to visit.

Then Jhira asked him about the beskar he used to wear. Kyyrk smiled, another memory returning to him. A fond smile. Like a being remembering his first love. "I don't know that you Mandalorians would have a proper term for it. It was so unlike anything you would have built." Kyyrk took another bite of his food as he remembered. "It was this ghastly cherry red when I first obtained it. Though I was friends with the Mandalorians, I did not earn my armor, nor did they offer it to me. It was taken from another. A Sith who had to be taught a lesson."

Kyyrk glanced at Jhira, unsure of how well versed she was in Sith culture. "I won it in a...duel of sorts. A thing called a Kaggath. An honor duel among Sith, where they pit their forces against one another. The winner keeps what remains. The loser? They got a gravestone." Kyyrk snorted in amusement as he remembered back to the event. "Never even had to draw my blade..." Though he'd not worn it at the party where he and Jhira had first met, he wore it now. Strapped to his back, the saber was an impressive size, large even for the titan of a man. The hilt was larger than most double-blades.

"After I reforged it, it was formed to withstand even the mightiest of blows." Kyyrk pulled out his datapad, and tapped a few buttons. He set the device on the counter, and pushed it over towards Jhira, an image displayed on the screen. "I never picked a name for it. But the men I served with named it the Desolation. Plated with Beskar and Cortosis, both gauntlets packed with enough weapons to make even your kind blush, added mobility systems...this armor was built to destroy Sith." Kyyrk pulled the datapad back to him, and took another bite of his food. "Or at least, that was its intended purpose. Then it happened."

Kyyrk smiled ruefully. His next words, perhaps, revealed more about him as a person. And certainly spoke to the kind of leader he was. "The second week of the third month, by galactic standard, 0400 hours. I deployed a small fleet to test the capabilities of my new flagship. Also won in the Kaggath. We flew the Iron Fist along with a small compliment of support vessels and destroyers. The Harbinger, the Bastion, The Aggressor, The Talon, The Override, and the Catalyst. It was a training sortie, nothing more. We were to travel to Denova, and meet up with another fleet, escorting them and their Baradium cargo to the factories on Morellia." Kyyrk paused to take a sip of his drink. But one might almost say it was for dramatic effect...

"We knew something was wrong when we couldn't make contact with Imperial command, nor with the fleet in orbit around the planet. The officers all insisted it was a mechanical issue. But those of us touched by The Force knew better. Red Alert was called, fighters preped, you know how these things go. Seconds before we drop out of hyperspace, we reestablish a connection. Immediately we were overwhelmed by distress calls. Denova was under attack. And it was on that day I faced the might of Zakuul for the first time. The armor may not have been tested against its original target. But it worked wonders on those Zakuul Knights..."

Jhira Mereel || Vian Sarad

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt The Swirling Depths. And Dawn of a New Era.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ Kyyrk k ]

Jhira’s smile flared, as Kyrrk teased about the in-range comment, a single eyebrow and a glance out the door suggesting in a subtle fashion that nowhere in the Tavern would be truly safe, should he decide to bean someone with his mug. But she felt no need to elaborate or explain; he’d doubtless tutored more young ones than she, in his long life. “Vylmirium? For your home—”

“Wait, no. It was a man with only one name. And,” the stare Mia settled upon Kyyrk was both satisfied at remembering and worried about the perceived lie. “A title. Lord Commander—”

“Hospitality, Mia.” Jhira said dryly, feeling a great deal of sympathy for Kyyrk, if he kept being confused with or blamed for the old Lord Commander’s sins. “If you are going to challenge his word, then step outside first. And I’m not replacing anything he breaks.” Beat. “Well. Except limbs.” But she looked up at Kyyrk seriously, for she took Kyrrk’s honor very, very seriously; as she did Mia’s safety.

Mia blanched, horrified. “What, no, I don’t want to fight him.”

“Then, as he is your host, either accept his given word and that you don’t understand, or let it go.”

Mia grew silent, and the talk returned to Kyrrk’s acquisition. A duel with Darth Sovryn, protecting Felacat. There was a surfacing of the pain he’d striven to mask in Mia’s presence; Jhira felt as if she might drown in it. When he lifted his glass, Jhira did hers in turn, though she spoke not a word.

Not in front of the children.

Even discovering more of his armor - one of her favorite things - could not keep Jhira focused upon Kyyrk once that heavenly smell wafted to her. The fish-vendor scent had felt comfortable, familiar and about as close to fresh fish as Jhira got these days. Then the spices hit …Turmeric, saffron, peppers. She was swept away, memories hitting hard. Her breathing staggered, the wound deep but somehow cleansing. Such a gift, the Mon Cala chef gave her. One more secret preserved, one more piece of her life returned to her.

Jhira did not cry, ever. But she lifted her ale and drained it, swiftly. There was not enough burn to match the tumult in her heart, not enough pain to ground her in the here and now. The heat signature of her armor shifted slightly, but Jhira rested with utter stillness, hand fisted around the empty stein. For long minutes, she sat so, scarcely breathing, caught in the past.

Mia, aware only of silence from her elders, eventually said, “I thought the Sith didn’t do duels; duels require both sides to adhere to a certain set of rules, and rules are … well. Against the Sith rules, right?”

As the chef appeared before them, a tiny shake of Jhira’s head was the only physical hint that she’d been far enough gone to expect someone else entirely to have come around that corner. A thousand worlds Mandalorians had been on, and each one left its own stamp upon the Gihaal. Its own fish, water, air. But rarely had a recipe anywhere, come as close as this one, to being right, at least for her. Jhira leaned closer to breathe in the memories, mouth watering. Sampling the first, painfully hot fritter immediately, a warm humm of pleasure escaping as the incredible texture hit her. Perfect. Crispy, salty, crunchy goodness around melt-in-the-mouth tenderness. The second was consumed at a more human-normal temperature, before she even tried the Zucchini. Realizing she’d ignored Qwint’s introduction, she glanced at him. “Vor entye, Qwint,” She murmured, her gaze catching that of their host. It was a gift he’d likely know the full value of, that she spoke the formal thank you - ‘I accept a debt’ - and in her native tongue. “I am Jhira Mereel of Clan Awaud, and this is my niece, Mia Mereel of Clan Fett.”

Only as she ate the last few fried zuchini, did she manage to ask her question about Kyyrk’s Beskar.

Whatever his un-Clan had thought of him, he clearly felt the right way about his armor. His real Armor. A low chuckle greeted the reveal that it had been garishly colored. The universe trying to tell him something, she suspected. “Oh,” she said dryly, “I know plenty of Mandos who paint their Beskar in dreadful colors.” The colors were a language, oath and grief and history and moral stance all-in-one. And just occasionally, a Mando couldn’t figure out how to say what they wanted without culture clash of the worst kind.

Mia choked on laughter but had the sense to not actually speak her thoughts upon the matter.

Jhira angled her head at the question Kyyk’s gaze shot her, listening closely. The notion of Sith duels was as odd to her as to Mia, but she accepted they could have some arcane traditions. “I’ve never heard of a Kaggath, before. I didn’t think Sith were allowed honor?” Or surely they would not betray so many alliances.

The comment upon his blade finally drew her gaze fully to confront the evidence of what he was. Sorrow glinted in her gaze, for all that that blade had cost him. Exquisite, yes; the hilt was elegantly formed, and much larger than most. But then he showed them his armor, both Jhira and Mia crowding close to see. “Heavy armor, for a proper melee warrior. Looks like enhanced strength and skeletal structure. I’ve no notion if the spikes are crusader style weaponry or modern sensors.” A shake of the head, slow and firm. “Beautiful and terrible.” The lurid sith red permeated every crevice, every gap, every place mortal skin ought to be. Her fingers brushed over the betraying image of the Desolation, “Sith red,” she whispered softly. “It doesn’t suit you.” A wry smile flared; he knew Mandalorians well, to so accurately judge what would make one blush. He lay out an excellent sith hunting pay load, Jhira and Mia both listening in rapt fascination not even his history with Revan had matched.

What could you do? Mandalorians.

A rueful smile, filled with the painful, dreadful honestly of deep trauma followed. The moment he mentioned the date, Jhira knew it would be bad. When he listed the names of the ships Jhira straightened and attended, something formal in her bearing.

Mia breathed out a horrified, “Denova? Baradium-laden Denova? You fought the Zakuul Knights of the Eternal Empire?”

Which was far more than the simple name of a planet or faction would have told Jhira. Yet, that was the wrong question, Jhira felt. “Which Imperial faction held you?” She couldn’t quite say held your loyalty. No Imperial faction was worth the loyalty of a Valmyra’s Wrath.

 

[Kyyrk]

R E S P I T E

Wearing​

"The Sith do not care for honor, so much as they do power. Duels are often a formality. A chance to prove one's superior strength. And you had best bite your tongue, child. The Sith had more rules than I ever cared to learn." Kyyrk chuckled, the look in his eyes betraying yet another memory from the old days. This one....somewhat fond. "I would have expected you to know your history better, Captain. In those days, it was the Sith Empire against the Republic. The Sith were not as...divided as they are now. Such was the power that Vitiate wielded. The order he brought."

Kyyrk looked between the two women for a moment, then said, "The Kaggath is a tradition that has been held by Sith since their kind created the Sith Order. Two individuals agree upon a location. Typically a planet. Then, they pit their might against each other, until all that remains is a winner and a corpse. Star Destroyers. Soldiers. Beasts. Everything. The two Sith may use whatever means they have at hand to win the duel. I suppose that duel isn't even a proper term for it. Almost like...a private war. And though it does not hold honor in the same way the Mandalorians do, there is still a great tradition to it."

Kyyrk held up his index finger, then his middle finger as he listed the two rules governing the Kaggath. "You are not permitted to seek help. Your only assets are what you yourself command. Should you succumb or surrender, you and all your possessions exist at the mercy of the victor."

Kyyrk turned, and picked up his drink for a moment more. "It was a shame. I was looking forward to an excellent battle. Never even got to draw my blade." The fact that he'd already said he had won spoke volumes to what must have happened. He won an entire war without drawing his blade. He was quiet for a moment, then said, "But to answer your other question, they were neither. The spikes were made of Cortosis. A metal that lightsabers...ah...disagree with. Given that my head is still upon my shoulders, I would say they served their function admirably. And yes, I did fight the knights of Zakuul. Many times, on many battlefields."

Jhira Mereel || Vian Sarad

 

[Mia Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt the Swirling Depths And Dawn of a New Era.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ Kyyrk ]

Mia couldn’t help but grin back, when Kyyrk Verros, unknown Force User chuckled even as he scolded over her assumption about rules, and Sith. He was charming and magnetic, despite the brutal scaring he chose to show. His voice was soothing enough he might say nearly anything, and have it seem reasonable.

Yet the smile faded swiftly, brow wrinkled in concern, as her keen mind sorted through all he’d said, implied and avoided saying. First, he wasn’t nearly old enough to have done what he said he’d done. Or if he was, she didn’t want to know how he was still alive. The Sith life-extension techniques were not nice.

At all.

Second, he said, ‘Sith had more rules than I ever cared to learn.’ HAD. As in, had once had. You know, when I was with them. Because if he’d just learned about them as a third party, it’d have been …Have. Have more rules. As he carefully explained the Kargoth, Mia’s sense of confusion and unease grew. He didn’t talk like he’d been maneuvered into this … this private war. He spoke as a Sith. Whose only regret lay in that his people had been competent enough that he, himself, never saw battle.

The two rules about this ancient Sith tradition were most carefully stored away in Mia’s brilliant mind, to be considered later. But she could not quite bring herself to speak, not even when the conversation turned back to armor, tech and stopping Light Sabers. Though torn, the need to move away from the strangely alien man overwhelmed her desire to protect her Aunt from him.

Mandalorians weren’t allowed to admit to fear, and in truth, Mia very, very rarely felt it. But this … this unnerved her. And it shamed, the unwelcome fear, the sudden doubt in her Aunt’s judgement and competence. Shaking her head, she spoke suddenly, throwing as careless-seeming a smile as she could muster at the two of them.

“Ah, Qwint forgot my oysters. I’ll just …” So saying she picked left her ale upon the table untouched.

Sliding down the bar until she was even with the Mon Cala, Mia flashed Vian Sarad a grin. “You have any old war stories about Rau?”

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt The Swirling Depths And Dawn of a New Era.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ Kyyrk ]

Jhira watched her Niece retreat, a little disappointed but relieved over all. It could have gone much, much worse. Turning a crooked smile to the ancient Knight, she considered him for a moment, weighing how much of what to say. “I know the songs, chants and traditional stories of my people. I’m afraid if a particular conflict did not involve the Mando’ade, I very likely do not know precise details of it.” An easy shrug followed, and a faintly teasing smile. “I can always look it up.”

Thinking carefully, she finally asked, “I thought you said you had checked with the Imperial Command. Only the Knights of Zakuul were dedicated to protecting the Eternal Empire, or so I thought?” She paused, for him to clarify the situation if he chose.

“Thank you for the knowledge of the Kargoth; while I hope to never need it, it is good to know.” Glancing over at Mia, and really very happy the youngster was otherwise occupied, she shook her head, thinking upon Darth Vitiate. She murmured quietly. “It’s so funny, isn’t it? We need structure to live. But too much order has the same brutal effect upon the people under it as the chaos of unmitigated warfare.”

Turning back to him, she considered him thoughtfully for a moment or two before she recalled his difficulty with eye contact. Shifting away, she poured more ale, offering him some if he desired it. Between the two stories of his generalship that he had shared, Jhira was uncertain if he was both brilliant tactician and a gifted leader, or just a leader. That he would pay any price rather than loose a conflict was painfully clear to her. If he was just a brilliant leader, and not both, than someone else had to have made that dreadful call.

“Cortosis; that is powerful indeed. And it seems as if you had need of it.” Delicacy was not her strength, neither was falsehood. So she turned a touch, to lightly brush him with her gaze. “Were you yet trapped serving Vitiate?” There were other, deeper questions buried behind that one, but it was a very, very good place to start.

 

[Kyyrk]

R E S P I T E

Wearing​

Kyyrk nodded in a distant agreement as Jhira made her observations about order. "A lesson many of us learned the hard way." He offered no further comment. He felt he had nothing to offer that the woman did not already understand. He, of course, had held this as his foremost ideal when chosen to lead the Obsidian Inquisition. That there was such a thing as too much order. Absolute control was something sought only by tyrants. And absolute chaos was desired only by those who wished to exploit it.

His attention was diverted quickly when the woman asked him if he had been trapped in his service. She wouldn't understand. Not the truth, anyways. Mandalorians didn't believe in destiny. How foolish would he look if he said he did it from a sense of duty? "I was, in a way." Kyyrk made a choice. He would not lie to her. But he would change the truth. Change the truth to something she could understand. "It was not by choice that I was taken into the Sith. I got careless." He turned to look at Jhira. "I was living on Nar Shadda at the time. Those of us that survived what happened on Vylmira were in exile, more or less. We took no part in the war. It was none of our concern. We cared only for our own survival. In time, I had a family. Though my wife fell ill shortly after the birth of our son. She survived, but....she was absent for his upbringing. A long story for another time, maybe."

His gaze shifted towards Mia as he paused. "They found us. Found me. Cortrin was just a boy, no older than she is. I couldn't risk them finding him too. So I let them take me." His gaze turned back to Jhira. The look upon his face carried the unspoken statement that no sacrifice was too great for his child. "They took me to Korriban. Told me that I was nothing more than a tool. A weapon. Non-humans were barely fit for existence, much less service. But the Empire was desperate. The Mandalorian clans were not the close allies the Empire had assumed them to be. Resources were running thin. Sith were dying by the hundreds each and every day."

"My first test was to remove a problematic clan of Mandalorians. The Sith Empire didn't take kindly to this Alor thinking she held dominion over members of the Sith Order. It was to be an undercover job. Become close with the clan, determine if they truly were a threat, and eliminate them if so. It was there that I learned the ways of the Mandalorian. This, we have spoken of. Though rest assured, I was no villain to your people." Kyyrk paused as he took another gulp of his drink.

"So great was the alor's hubris that she declared Artus Lok to be a false Mand'alor, and she sought to take the title for herself through treachery. In the end, the dangerous elements of the clan were put down by their own. The Alor's name was stricken from history, and those of us who knew her swore never to utter her name again. Those members of Tal Ijaa that remained loyal to the true Mand'alor called her 'Mandalore the Imposter.' In the end, I remained in close contact with the clan, until the war drove us apart. But that task taught me things. Many things. And it caused me to question a good deal of what I thought I knew. But the Sith don't take no for an answer."

Jhira Mereel || Vian Sarad

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, Naboo
LOCATION: Qwint’s Place, Kaadara
Objective: Don’t break anything, don’t burn it down, and don’t get arrested.
When: After the Great Nexu Hunt The Swirling Depths And Dawn of a New Era.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Vian Sarad ] [ Kyyrk ]

That Kyrrk was a man who understood deeply had been apparent to Jhira from the start. The sense of distance in his subtle reply to the effects of too much order or too much chaos felt as a reaching back through time and space to all of the things he had not understood, all of the tragedy he could not now unmake. Too often, it seemed to her, he wore the burdens of an untenable past. Or at least, she hoped it was such an internal pain, and not Mia’s need for some space which wounded the Eldritch Knight.

When she asked about his time with the Sith, his attention came back to her with a nearly jarring swiftness. So many of his motions were deliberately soft and smooth in her presence that this stood out, to her. When he turned to look at her, a small, pained smile remained in place. Body coiled with tension, hand locked upon her stein, Jhira was attending very closely to everything he said. The tumult within was contained by will and honor both. Even mitigated to some degree by the soothing ambiance of Qwint’s Place and the meal she’d just consumed. Though nothing could truly ease the pain and fear any mention of the Sith brought her, she listened with a complete faith that he would not lie to her.

Ever.

He spoke of a family lost. Wife. Son. An estranged family, with too much time spent apart. She heard his soft, A long story for another time, maybe as both offer of and hoped-for reassurance of friendship. It surprised her, for there was nothing at all of magic or power about her. Well. Save the glory and wonder of being Mando’ade. A softer smile appeared.“I would like to hear of your family, some day. But … I’ll need stronger drink; I've no doubt it’s a direful tale.” Or else they would still be a presence in his life. Afterlife? Rebirth? What ever it was, when you were made into something utterly new.

If not quite utterly unique, anymore.

When he spoke of his beloved son, Cortrin, her tense posture eased some. She’d remember the name; it was important to remember the dead. Jhira was certain the boy was dead. A sharp smile flared, as he gave single look that spoke eloquently of a parents’ duty to their children. Yes. He should have been Mandalorian, though woe to the galaxy had he been. A sigh and she shook her head. Why, why did foreign powers never understand that the Mandalorians were a fractured, diverse people who rarely tolerated any leader sacrificing too many of them for someone else’s cause? Especially the ‘imperial’ or ‘Sith’ causes, which by their very nature ran counter to her own people’s intense individualism and sense of service.

A sharp look and wrinkled brow greeted the notion of an Alor thinking she held dominion over the Sith. “Were the Sith in question living in the Alor’s territory or attacking her people?” It was the only answer she could think of, for he’d told her already that he had found her Clan to be very honorable. A slow nod followed, as she parsed through all of what he said.

“It seems odd to me, that the Clan didn't simply break apart, each to follow their own chosen leaders.” Even now, she could not imagine turning upon her own as so many did.

A slow shake of head followed. “An impossible position to be in, for all of you. Sometimes a leader - even Mandalorian who should know better - becomes so enamored of power, glory or principle that they fail in their basic loyalty and duty to the actual people they command.”

A silence flowed around them as Jhira fought off her own memories to focus upon what she knew of Clan Tal Ijaa.

“I am glad they taught you something of honor, and the different types of strength, even if they did not all live it.” Sipping her ale, she let a finger trace patterns in the frost upon the chilled glass. “Did it help you to balance the weight of your childhood oaths against the demands of the Sith?”

 

[Vian Sarad]

TAGS: Kyyrk Verros | Mia Mereel | Jhira Mereel

Qwint was only half listening to the conversation as he kept on with his cleaning and doing small tasks at the bar counter. The discussion of Sith culture would have made others unnerved, but Qwint was not the type to judge. He had spent so many years across the Galaxy that he had met all sorts. Some good, some bad, but all had a story. The only thing he was concerned about is the unholstering of blasters or the igniting of lightsabers. Of many things he would not stand in his tavern is violence of any kind. It would be met with a gentle keelhaul from Hooper. Qwint was soon approached by the younger Mandalorian, prodding a question about Rau.

"Well now." He gave an almost grandfatherly smile, "Lemme think a moment. Me memory ain't what it used ta be."

He gently leaned forward into the counter, eyes looking up in thought. His eyes seemed to light up as memory came into his mind. He turned toward Mia and nodded

"His name was Kad Rau.....or was it Kal?" He thought out loud, "Human, and around the age where he could be yer grandfather by now, youngling. Armor that was beige and brown, almost the color of the sand over that aways."

He motioned out toward the beach that was a kilometer or two toward the ocean from the tavern.

"Brave man, but not a typical Mando." He chuckled, "If I be rememberin' correct, he was rather fond of songs. Might have had the shell of a warrior, but he had the heart of a musician. Helped him out a couple times to bring supplies to a refugee camp that was in Mando territory."

He drummed his finned fingers as he thought more and more.

"In that time, we became good friends." His smile grew more, "Told him my dream for this place, and gave me some old Rau family recipes for gihaal and brewing net'ra gal. Oh, and that fruit cake...what by Dac was it called...?"

He seemed to stumble over his thoughts a little. Qwint hated when his memory slipped him like this. It was an unfortunate reminder he was getting older. He shrugged, and returned to conversing with Mia.

"In any case, the gihaal was the only successful replication so far. He told me to keep it on hand in case any of his people passed my way." His smile seemed to drop some, "Honestly hope he's alright. What happened on Mandalore with the Sith Empire has certainly made me wonder if he got out before the worse of it."

He gently picked up another glass and began cleaning it.

 

[Kyyrk]

R E S P I T E

Wearing​

Kyyrk actually chuckled as the woman mentioned his wife and son, and a desire to know more of them. And also her desire for a stronger drink to augment her acceptance of the tale. "Even in our circumstances, we were a relatively normal family. Well, aside from her absence till the boy was already grown." Kyyrk took a sip of his drink as the screams filled his head. The wail of a woman losing the thing she loved most dearly. He could once again smell the burning flesh as the red blade errupted from his chest. In that moment, he had been proud of his son. "He and his mother didn't see eye to eye on many things. Not that I can blame him. Things were never the same after we reunited."

Kyyrk shrugged. It was what it was. No family was perfect. Yet there was no malice in his voice. He'd accepted whatever happened. "As for your querries on the Mandalorain, no. Her clan resided on Dromund Kaas, though they had strongholds throughout the galaxy. They invaded the Sith, not the other way around. And perhaps, in another world, the schism would have ended in peace. But Tal Ijaa had earned the ire of several other clans. I was never able to confirm this, but I believe she was declared Dar'Manda by Mand'alor Lok himself." That would have said enough. It was more than brother quarreling with brother. The rogue elements of the clan had been deemed a threat to the Mandalorian creed.

"In a way, I suppose my time among the Mandalorians did prepare me better. After all, it did influence a good number of things, as you've seen already." Kyyrk took another bite of his food and chewed quietly for a while. "In the end, it didn't make a difference. I found myself able to uphold both the Sith Code, and the Vylmiran Code with no conflict. Easy to do when your job is to hunt Sith." He chuckled quietly at this observation. "I only started with Mandalorians. After that, I was sent to dispatch all number of troublesome elements. Something I found I was quite good at."

Jhira Mereel || Vian Sarad

 

[Garm Oligard]

Kyyrk Kyyrk Verros|| Jhira Mereel Jhira Mereel || Vian Sarad Vian Sarad​

Garm looked at the blue sign with curiosity in his full Commander's uniform. With his ship in drydock for repairs, the commander had nothing better to do but comb around Theed for something to eat. Land food was always better than the ship's mess hall. His cook tried to replicate a homecooked meal for his crew as much as possible but they scrambled out like ants from a hill for some real grub. The Daedra's growling stomach echoed his crew's opinions and so he went inside the fine establishment, hoping to find something to quench his hunger.

As the Alien walked in, He sighted the two Mando one a young lady just out from being a child and one much older with the look of authority, with the same colors and symbols onto their armor deep in conversation with someone he had only seen on holomag covers. He was the Great Lord of Blades, Champion of the Fallen Planet, Vylmira's Wrath, the Great Obsidian Big Daddy of them all in the flesh, Kyyrk-Xho Verros himself. Well if that wasn't an endorsement for this little dive, he didn't know what was. The Daedra moved his way through the bustling restaurant, trying not to let his tail tangle up the server's feet and flippers as he tried to make it up to the counter. He calmly took a seat and gave a small smile to the old Mon Cal who must be the owner of the establishment. "Hello there, what are the specials for today. I do have a hankering forSlitherfish Stew but I'm also open to suggestions."