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Kal and his warriors were already moving to take up defensive positions when Skjorn started towards the shipyards. Ramail followed suit, content to be following the orders of her friend. He'd led them competently so far, and the Clan Lone warrior had no grounds to believe his next order was a...

Ramail would let Skjorn's comment about her alor sit in the air for a while. She took a sip of her drink. "Yeah," she said. "Kryzes and Wrens. But as you say, the ancient alliances don't matter anymore. From what I've been able to learn about our history, it seems like those alliances played a...

Ramail answered Skjorn's question with a snort. She had learned that he had a more jovial view of war than she did. She enjoyed it, alright. But with a quiet reverence moreso than fun. She hit the deck when Vix told them to, and so did Skjorn. A smooth action that between them seemed almost...

Ramail stopped in her tracks. "The Force?" she said, unable to keep the disdain from coating her lips. "No. I can't say that I do. Why would our Gods want anything to do with this... this freakish power?" She looked at Srucayr with genuine confusion. For all of her life, she had known the Force...

Ramail followed Reshelle for half of the way as they moved into position. After they passed the duo on patrol, Ramail veered off and snuck off towards the compound. There was a bit of climbing to do to reach the cave, but nothing that she couldn't handle, although it did worry her that the...

Ramail sat on the walls, observing the scene as it unfolded. She didn't look away when the head slaver was executed. Neither did she particularly relish in seeing it. She was there for the job - nothing more. Therefore, the ensuing proclamations made by the slaves didn't really interest her. She...

Skjorn blended efficiency with the flair of a Crusader. Intimidation tactics or just the way of a natural brawler? Ramail couldn't tell. It didn't matter. As long as it worked. Her own approach was a little more clinical, a product of years upon years of bounty hunting and mercenary work. She...

Ramail was silent for a moment.“They’ve become reclusive. I never questioned it until recently. My alor is a-“ she paused, searching for the right word,“- careful man.”She gazed knowingly at Skjorn. “Not one for causes.” She cupped the tea with one hand, eyes observing the rising steam. “We’re...

Ramail passed under the breach in the wall with Srucayr. She wore a mask of focus behind the T-visor, digesting the older Mandalorian's words carefully. She had been out of the loop for so long. Clan Lone lived a life of survival. Of making ends meet between one job and the next; of dying in...

Having heard the Jedi's confirmation that she had apprehended the slaver, Ramail turned and climbed back up the ladder to the utility shed. She was happy that she didn't have to go searching for the rat in the tunnels. Now, she figured she could just sit back and relax, watching the proceedings...

The wait felt long, though in realtime it wasn't. Perhaps a quarter of an hour? She didn't keep track of the time on her chronometer, fully confident that Skjorn would launch the attack at the right time, whenever that would be. In the mean time, Ramail had to sit with the pre-engagement...

Ramail held back a wince as Srucayr mentioned the clans that would never change. Her own clan had yet to decide whether they would join the Orar'da'yadr. She believed they had to, in order to survive. And the covert's cause was a worthy one. Srucayr was a testament to it. But her alor was...

Ramail sipped the tea for a moment, inhaling the steam, letting the warmth cool her blood. She seemed to relax a little. It was but a moment, though. She sat the tea down, crossed her arms. She had given Skjorn heat about his aruetii waist hold, as he put it. Perhaps more than what was called...

A lifelong commitment. That frightened Ramail more than she had expected. Being a mando'ad was a lifelong commitment if done right, of course. But somehow it felt less grand, less absolute than a lifetime locked in service to their Gods. One would have to really, truly believe. And Ramail found...

Ramail sat at the helm of her own rowboat, a mixed group of Orar'da'yadr warriors filling up the other spots. Looking over at the Wren woman and her warriors, all sporting the same colours, she couldn't help but feel a stab of regret that her own clan hadn't committed warriors to the cause...

Ramail stared at the door to the utility shed, considering Russo's message. She didn't particularly want to chase a rat through the sewers, but she was also just about ready to have this mission over with. Her eyes rolled and a sigh that sounded more like a grunt escaped her lips. "Kriffing...

Ramail counted herself lucky that the landing ramp area was darker than the hallways of the ship. She wasn't comfortable with the emotions her face was obviously displaying, no matter how hard she tried to hold them back. She made a point of putting on her helmet as fast as she could. Her voice...

As soon as Ramail felt Skjorn's hand on her waist, she grabbed his wrist and squeezed it tightly while wrenching his hand away. "Oh no, buddy," she said defiantly. "You better lock that guy away before I take him off your hands." She offered Skjorn a thin, sarcastic smile. "So to speak." The...

Ramail shoved Skjorn in the shoulder, grinning. "Look at you, jare'la. You scared of your rivals?" She stretched her limbs, circling the shoulder joints, trying to loosen up. She didn't like being sedentary for too long. Body wasn't made for it. She took her glass, this time sipping the alcohol...

Ramail traced the rim of the shot glass with her finger, thinking. "Well," she said, raising an eyebrow at Skjorn. "If you need to get out there, we could go treasure hunting, see if we can uncover some of our people's old ruins or something. Wouldn't mind playing archaeologist for a while." Her...