Ask Breaking Bread

[Nox Solus]

The Solus clan had been nomadic for some time. Ever since they had fallen from power hundreds of years ago, Mandalore bombed and glassed, they had never been able to call a singular place home. Especially with the FWA, the prospect of their people claiming territory for themselves had been pushed aside so they could be a part of the peace and support each other in the alliance. For his people, they haven't felt the FWA's gracious hand support them in a vast amount of time and it was at a point in the galaxy where it was time for the Mandalorian's true nature to come out.

Nox found himself on Bandomeer, an outer-rim unclaimed territory that was occupied by various races and tribes. He sat on top of a land speeder in the desert and on a dune, his legs over the flanks as his feet rested in the sand, his arms crossed over one another on the handle. He wasn't alone as he was accompanied by another Mandalorian by the name of Cyrus. It was a fellow Solus and it brought comfort to him to work with another one of his clan. Mandalorians were a rare sight and fellow Badgers were even rarer. The heat would bear down on the two of them and would be an indication of what was to come as they had a long trek ahead. If they wanted to find the sand people or have the sand people find them, it would only be in the deep regions of the desert.

A helmeted head turned toward the direction of the fellow Mandalorian, "There are reports of raiding activities around the canyons. We should try our luck there first. Maybe, by chance, they'll find us and cut out the work." Another reason that Nox was glad for a fellow Solus was that there was a chance that it could all go south the moment they met. While most sand tribes were mostly just protective of their land, it varied from tribe to tribe. Nox had met both sides of the spectrum, his armor bearing some of those marks. The Mandalorian checked his chrono, "Have a few more hours before the sun begins to fall." His helmeted gaze then flicked over to Cyrus, silently asking for his thoughts. It was both their lives at stake if it didn't pan out.

@Painus

 

[Cyrus Solus]

Thrum-dum-dum-dum. Thrum-dum-dum-dum.

Gauntleted fingers drummed along the metal frame of a speeder bike, the soft pads of his gloves the thin barrier between bare skin and scorching metal. The sun over head bore down on them hard; it was fortunate he was wearing a thermal undersuit, otherwise this would have been more unbearable than it was. Cyrus panned his gaze slowly across the horizon, eyes warily scanning for signs of movement. Signs of activity. Signs of any kind of life. A bead of sweat slowly traced from his eyebrows down the bridge of his nose until a quick snort sent it plummeting below.

They were hunting for the natives of this region. Not for sport this time, but to talk. Long, long ago, their people had once claimed dominion over this world in the early days of their galactic conquest. Now, the few descendants of a once-mighty empire sought to reclaim their legacy. Millennia had passed since they controlled this world, however, and it was sure that these enclaves were hidden, known only to the natives who prowled these sands.

Cyrus let out a quiet huff and turned his head to regard his comrade. A fellow Solus, though he knew little about the man aside from their shared allegiance and that he went by 'Wolf.' It put him at ease to be alongside a Badger nonetheless, even if it was a man who he knew very little about. Clan Solus once held the galaxy by its throat and were now reduced to skulking in the shadows like furtive vermin, so finding any of his people inspired him with a longing to reclaim their past glories and forge new victories alongside kin. He grunted softly in response to the man’s statements, then returned to looking beyond the sands. Bleak.

”The canyons, then,” he replied after a short while, his voice hoarse and growlish, ”’Afore they burst out of the sand here and gut us for chatting like hens.” His eyes set upon the other man with predatory alertness for a cursory moment before he went back to keeping vigil over the area. Nightfall wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen. At least they’d have the cover of darkness and the advantage of infrared vision modes – at least, he had this – in their helmets to spot life much more easily. If he turned on that mode now, he’d get a mixture of jack and shit from it.

With a grunt, he threw his leg over the front of the speeder to straddle it and kick it into gear. It burped to life, blew a small cloud of sand behind them, and he cast his gaze back over to the other man, wordlessly gesturing with an open palm turned skyward for him to lead the way. Better to get a move on unless they intended to sit around and wait for the ambush to come their way. They had the supplies to last a few days out here in the wastes, but he'd rather not test out how long they could go on hardtack ration packs and stale water.

@Orbit

 

[Nox Solus]

Their destination was decided and made it time for them to start moving. Before they did, Cyrus made a remark about how they would be ambushed for their chattiness right then. Nox couldn't help the smirk that formed underneath his helmet, "That would be a sight to see." Two headless chickens running around after their attempt at a suicide mission in most people's minds. The Mandalorian kicked his foot down after his train of thought, the engine roaring to life as it lifted itself in the air slightly while he gave one last check of his equipment.

With everything in order, Nox flicked his wrist as the bike let out a screech before launching itself forward, a cloud of sand erupting where he had been. The two would glide across the dunes easily, leaving a trail of sand clouds that he hoped would be spotted soon enough by the designated party they wanted. While the sun's rays beat down on his armor, the high speed from the bike helped cool him with the air circulating underneath and around his plates, his cape flapping behind him in the intense wind.

It would be dusk by the time they arrived at the canyon, the hours of travel in a straight line finally coming to an end. Nox eased his speed as he approached the edge before turning his bike to make it come to a complete stop. With the view from their height, it allowed him to peer down to the open-ended paths that appeared completely vacant for now, often used for travel or trading. The sky had darkened enough to make it viable for him to use thermals and he clicked a button on his helmet to activate it, his vision flooding blue as he scanned the area. After a few moments, nothing announced themselves or shuffled behind the rocks.

Nox glanced over to Cyrus, "Let's get down there. Possibly set up camp for the night." They hadn't been interfered with yet and ready to get off of the bike to stretch his legs. There was a path that led down ahead of them and the Mandalorian adjusted himself in his seat before he made his bike rumble forward and down it.

 

[Cyrus Solus]

"Yeah."

It was a curt, simple response offered more with a passing breath than any significant mark of commentary. For Cyrus, there wasn't much else to talk about. They'd either get ambushed or they wouldn't. They weren't dealing with too many factors here, he believed. They could run into a hostile group of natives bent on ramming spears through their skulls as gruesome warnings to other passers-by, or they could run into a group marginally more willing to talk with total outsiders clad in armor and armed to the teeth.

The outcome would be the same either way, he thought, and as long as someone's blood was shed in the name of his god, or they furthered the power of their people, it didn't matter much to him.

The trip was long, but uneventful. As the sandy wastes blurred together in his periphery, he did some thinking on the nature of their mission. Ultimately, they sought to boost their clan's power base, and anything that connected them with the titans of the past was truly a goal worth attaining. In the back of his mind rested that little kernel of doubt that they'd not find what they sought, but he quickly crushed that nugget and simply watched the scenery pass them by on their travels.

A great billowing cloud of sand and dust trailed the two of them as their speeders screamed across the desert, signaling their approach to the canyons ahead. As the sun set, it began to cool off, and nocturnal creatures began to crawl forth from their burrows to prowl the night, just as the Mandalorians did. In the shadowy distance, some beast howled and bayed at the setting sun; an eerie reminder that the two hunters were not alone, nor were they the only threats in the darkness.

The duo approached the edge of the canyon and quickly assessed it for threats. Finding none, their next reasonable step was to camp out for the night within. It was like setting bait for prey, except they would be the ones laying themselves in the trap. Something, if they were fortunate, would bite. Without responding with anything more than a bob of his head, Cyrus maneuvered his bike down the narrow path, watchful for any ambushers lying in wait.

The path came to a steep end some meters above the canyon floor, and they'd find little luck in going all the way to the bottom unless they wanted to wholly hem themselves in. Fortunately, paths like this had been worn down by something else for a reason, and the path ended at a small alcove in the sandstone wall. It was just big enough for the two of them to sleep with their gear nearby and with space between them, but the bikes would need to remain outside. Over the dull rumble of their speeder engines, Cyrus commed Nox.

"Let's set up here," he suggested, "We can rest and set out at first light."

 

[Nox Solus]

Both of them slowly navigated down the path, each taking their time to scan around them while also not losing control of their bikes. If those were lost, death would be practically a guarantee and that would be without the sand people's help. They eventually reached a point in the slope that their speeders wouldn't be able to get through without causing severe damage if it was even possible. Nox glanced over to Cyrus before he tilted his bike to veer off the path a little bit. It would be parked behind a rock formation and in the cover of shade as it gave some semblance of camouflage as he got on foot.

Nox took the more wore down sections of the path so that both of them could enter into the alcove. Darkness had fully fallen upon the canyon by that point as nocturnal creatures announced their awaking. Around them was vacant of any creatures but there certainly reminders that they weren't the only ones taking refuge among the rocks. While both of them could see in the dark and press on if they wanted, the added dangers of carnivores and such didn't need to be risked if it didn't have to be.

The Mandalorian turned to Cyrus, "I'll collect some branches and wood for a fire. Should help the announcement of our arrival." He expected a grunt as a response as he slid out his knife in the meantime and already turned to go and collect. After about ten minutes, Nox would return with his arms full of branches and wood. The wood was dropped in the middle of the alcove as he arranged it afterward to have it support a suitable blaze for them and provide ample lighting.

Nox leaned back until he fell back on his rear with a soft grunt. He slid his right leg in so his knee popped up and allowed him to rest his arm on top of it. His helmet flicked over to Cyrus as he gestured toward the firepit with his other hand, "Care to do the honors?" The Mandalorian was eager for acquiring his own equipment soon but for now, he would just have to make do with what he had.

 

[Cyrus Solus]

Cyrus set his bike into cover and heaved his pack off the side, trudging over silently to the night's shelter. With a quiet grunt followed by a thud, he tossed the gear against the rock wall upon which he'd be resting. The reprieve from the heat was welcome, but he knew they'd need to be vigilant this evening, especially if they were intending on drawing out the natives of this region.

He dipped his helmeted head to Nox as he offered to collect the firewood, replying with a simple, "Aye." While the man set off to gather the fuel for the night's fire, Cyrus reached up and removed his helmet. With a gentle click it came off, and he set it neatly on the ground in front of him. In the ten minutes of Nox's absence, Cyrus had removed his weapons and begun to maintain them; first, his rifle, followed by blasters and finally twin beskads. With slow, practiced hands, he dissembled, cleaned, and reassembled the blasters. By the time Nox had returned, he was sliding a whetstone along the edge of one of his beskads.

Schwing. Schwing.

The quiet shriek of stone-on-metal sang out into the night. Cyrus' eyes trailed Nox as he returned, piercing into the darkness behind him in the hopes of the man having been followed. He watched the other Badger set up the fire with idle interest, placing aside his blade for a moment upon his request. Affixed to his face was a near-permanent scowl, but he offered a cordial nod to the man and brought forth his wrist flamer. Taking up in the other hand a small bushel of kindling, he primed his flamethrower, providing just enough heat to set it ablaze and nestle it neatly in the middle of the fire pit.

It would take a few minutes for the wood to catch and provide them with warmth and light, but Cyrus was content to sit in silence as he returned to sharpening his beskads. He hummed tunelessly, gliding the whetstone effortlessly along the edge of his weapon before turning the blade over and repeating the process on the other side. In the far distance, the baying of predatory beasts at the moon grew louder.

After a while, the fire had come to life, and their little alcove was suffused with the gentle orange glow of flames. The cold of the desert night was kept at bay, and they were safe from the elements. All things considered, it was a fairly nice spot. They were even illuminated quite well in the canyon, and if the natives of this world had been stalking them, they'd have a much easier time locating the two Mandalorians now. Cyrus' eyes darted to his helmet in front of him, observing his reflection in the visor.

He lowered one beskad and plucked up the other, beginning the process of sharpening this one anew. His gaze panned up to Nox as he worked, light illuminated the rugged, time- and battle-worn features of his aged face.

"You are Solus," he curtly observed, breaking the silence, "I have not seen one of our people in.. some time. Tell me of your exploits." It was less an order and more of an invitation for discussion. Cyrus wasn't much for small talk, but finding kin out in the galaxy was a rarity, and he figured this momentary respite was a good opportunity to get to know the man with whom he would be fighting alongside.

 

[Nox Solus]

When Nox arrived back with the firewood, the sight he caught completely took him by surprise. It was Cyrus, with his helmet off and his other armament laid bare as he began to clean his own weaponry and pieces. Quickly, he averted his eyes to not catch any significant details. The Mando was a follower of the Old Way's beliefs and had yet to remove his helmet in the presence of anyone. It was the first time he had seen a fellow Mandalorian without a helmet on as well. If it had been off at that moment, Cyrus would have been able to see the shock that had been plastered on his face for a brief moment before he composed himself. For the remainder of their time, Nox would keep his gaze averted while he set up the fire, at least until he put his helmet back on.

After it had been ignited by Cyrus's help, Nox blankly stared into the fire as he felt the heat warm him up, his bes'kar helmet flickering orange from time to time. Unlike his kinsman, he didn't remove any pieces of his armor; only his weapons so that they didn't poke him at odd angles while he sat. His rifle was first as his legs were adjusted to be under him and crossed over each other, the weapon placed on top and aimed away from the other Mando's direction.

Both of them didn't mind silence and it was obvious. While Crys cleaned his weapons, Nox pulled out his knife from his boot and impaled it into the sand in front of him, the blade halfway submerged. His left hand was placed on that side's knee afterward while his other hand hovered over the body of his rifle. Nox's head would tilt down slightly and gave the appearance he was staring at the rifle but his eyes were shut. He slowly murmured words to himself while his right hand formed some type of symbol with his fingers. It would be moved up and down the length of the weapon, still hovering a few inches above the metal.

As the Mandalorian went through his ritual, Cyrus' words cut through his own and he opened his eyes, his hand stopped above the weapon before his fingers unfurled from each other. Nox didn't answer right away, his head lifted while his T-visor focused on the fire as he almost didn't know what to say, thinking of typical answers that he could pull out before deciding to tell the truth. "None, yet. At least not really. Everything I have done has been for my survival and that of our clan and people." Nox then looked back down at his rifle as he flipped it over to continue the process once more. "But everyone else in the galaxy is doing that in their own way as well." Everyone had their own clan, whether it was blood relation or not and it was sometimes the only thing that kept people going.

Nox made the symbol with his right hand once more and was about to continue murmuring the words before he stopped and simply dropped it against the barrel of the rifle. He raised his head once more as his eyes locked on the flickering flames in front of him. There was only one question on his mind for Cyrus and he couldn't get past it. "Why do you take off your helmet? You shouldn't." If it weren't for him being a Solus, his reaction would have most likely been much more vibrant but he wanted to understand his kinsman's reasoning at least.

 

[Cyrus Solus]

Cyrus enjoyed the silence in which the two worked, even when it took the other man some time to answer his question. The brief pause told him enough; a man who needed to consider his words when asked to explain his exploits either had something which he needed to keep hidden, or nothing immediately came to mind. It was not meant as an insult in the slightest; Cyrus was not a storied veteran either. He was just a survivor of old Mandalore forced into hiding in a galaxy that sought to destroy his culture.

The man nodded his head a few times at the response, replying with a simple, "Aye," of his own. For a few moments more, silence filled the space between them. Only the gentle sounds of the men tending to their armaments was audible over the crackle of the warm fire. Then came the question that he knew would come. Why did he remove his helmet? Briefly, the corners of his lips twitched upwards in a near-smile.

"You're young," he retorted with an amused, low growl, "Raised on the mutated ways of our dying culture." He raised his gaze to meet the man's averted helm, appraising the dancing flames in his reflective visor for several heartbearts. "I am of Old Mandalore. Before our people were scoured from this galaxy. But that is not the true reason," he continued, lifting his beskad and pointing the tip at the man.

"We are disciples of the Destroyer. It is not His way that we adhere dogmatically to the tenets dictated by Man." He raised the beskad and tapped the tip against his shoulder to emphasize the point, then pointed the weapon skyward. "It is His command that we bring conflict to this galaxy to destroy the complacent. To cleanse them in the purifying fires of war."

Cyrus set the beskad down on the sand and gestured to his helmet. "We wear His holy symbol in battle so that our enemies know only fear in its presence. It reminds them that once we held this galaxy by its throat while a legion of beggars wheezed for mercy. It is a reminder that we will return again, as we always have." He huffed quietly, reaching for his beskad and whetstone to finish his duties.

"I am among kin," he admitted simply, "Just as my weapons don't need to be holstered at all times, I don't need to conceal my identity. We honor Kad through bloodshed, not through refusing to be revealed among brethren." Finally, he looked at the man, gesturing an open palm towards him.

"Why do you remain covered?" he asked at the end of his explanation, the corners of his lips twitching once more. It had been the most the other man would hear of his hoarse, gravelly voice since their initial meeting, but it was a topic he found interesting enough. He canted his head slightly, then return his attention to sharpening his blade, awaiting a response.

 

[Nox Solus]

Nox couldn’t expect the answer he was going to receive when he asked his question. He half thought Cyrus to grunt and tell him that he did it just because it felt nice. Instead, he fully explained his beliefs behind why he was comfortable enough to remove his helm. He actually appreciated the Mandalorian opening up to explain, he had been on his own for too long, and being with a fellow Solus, it was nice to finally share words with someone who understood him.

It was brought up that Nox had been raised by the “mutated” ways of their culture and a flash of anger surged through him, his grip on the handle of his weapon tightening momentarily. “I was old enough to understand what I adhere to.” The Mandalorian hadn’t disrespected the other's way, he expected the same. His thoughts surrounding Cryus' choice to remove his helmet didn't make him think of mutation, just a misalignment that could be nudged in the right direction or at least be understood.

While Cyrus explained, there were points that didn't exactly rub him the right way but he let the man continue to speak. But as his words shed more light on his reasoning, Nox began to understand where he came from and how in his own way he was still dedicating himself to their god. One point that struck him that he didn't know how to feel about was that he around kin. The Mandalorian felt part of himself agree but then thought back what he had been taught. Mandalorians were their armament and vice versa, to take one-off would be like to remove a limb for him. While it could be reattached, it would never be the same as it once was.

Then it was asked why he remained covered. This time, Nox didn't stare into the fire and brought his eyes over to the other Mando and actually looked upon his face. He almost yanked his gaze away, for Cyrus' sake, but he kept it there and attempted to become comfortable with it. "Because I meant nothing to Kad before I put the helmet on. Kad was nothing to me until I did. Our weapons, armor, are one and the same as us. It is a piece dedicated to Kad as much as my hands are. It's not simply for me to remove when I wish, it's a part of me and an honor to him that it remains so, even with other Mandalorians. Amongst kin, they understand its true meaning unlike the rest of the galaxy." He hadn't been religious as a child but as he grew older, the teachings he learned had slowly ingrained themselves into him. Even so, it wasn't his only reasoning.

Nox turned his attention back to the fire and watched the flames lick the air. "My helmet has been with me through most of my life. The first time I killed someone, the first time I went to space, the first time I had alcohol. It's seen what I have seen, every step of the way. At this point, the idea is almost impossible for me to do." The Mandalorian barely remembered his childhood but he knew he hadn't at least been born one. When he had first received his helmet, that's when he took control of his life and had never looked back. It wasn't something he wanted to relinquish.

 

[Song Wren]

Around that time, the mechanized screech of a third speeder sliced through the quiet of the desert. A column of dust trailed in its wake, veering towards the Mandalorian camp, carrying another one of their own. Her camouflaged cloak billowed in the wind. By the time she came to a stop, the speeder’s dark hull glinting in the firelight, both men could probably already tell who it was that came to join them.

Song kicked the vehicle into park and swung down from it, sauntering into the camp quietly so as not to disturb the conversation. Of course, whatever discussion they might’ve been having, it was clearly over. Her entrance had quenched any chance of rekindling it. So, she took the opportunity and cut in.

“Our presence hasn’t gone unnoticed,” she said. “I could see the smoke from your fire from quite a ways and I don’t think I was the only one. Guessing that was the plan?”

It had to be. They weren’t exactly trying to be subtle. If the trouble came to them, it would be all the easier to deal with this problem. Song hated tracking enemies down, especially those with a home planet advantage and plenty of crevices to hide in. A hunt like that could take days, not to mention the risk of ambushes, and as exciting as that thought might sound to some, she wanted to avoid it on this particular outing.

She didn’t know these two Solus men particularly well. Certainly not well enough to trust them with her back just yet. But after meeting them on Lothal, Song at least had the confidence to accompany them on this mission as reconnaissance and support.

She settled down next to Nox, briefly considering joining Cyrus in removing her helmet before she thought better of it. She wasn’t religious or anything but she too had come to feel of her helmet as a second skin. For so long, it had literally been her identity, back when she still wanted others to believe she was her late brother, River. Now, it was a simple piece of solace. Something that made her feel apart from the outside world.

“They’ll be here before daybreak,” Song explained. “So, we should probably decide what we’re going to do about them, before they force us to get creative.” She glanced between Cyrus and Nox. “I’m open to suggestions.”

@Orbit

 

[Nox Solus]

Nox wondered what the fellow Solus would think about his words but their conversation was ended involuntarily. There was a screech, familiar to that of a speeder and his head snapped towards that direction. The expectation was natives but they weren't really the type to be using such vehicles. Their question would be answered when Song stepped into the reach of the fire and allowed it to illuminate her.

While their first meeting had been brief, he was glad to see her. She already seemed capable and another Mandalorian joining was never a cause of concern for him. Nox knew what to expect of his people, the ones who adhered to their clans specifically. She pointed out the fire and the obvious nature of it, "It appears now our successful plan."

Nox had reached out to her after their brief meeting as he had heard of her exploits before and knew that she was quite deadly with a blade. If everything went south, it would be comforting to have someone like that by his side if need be. But if it did go that way, then the whole point of the little outing would be a failure and that made him hope she was only an unnecessary precaution. Song sat down by him and he lifted his rifle off the ground to make room for her, the weapon returning onto his back as he reached forward and pulled his knife from the sand.

The Mandalorian took note that she didn't remove her helmet this time and wondered what the circumstances were for her after his conversation with Cyrus. Every one of his people was different in their own way and it was quite a mixing pot of ideals and beliefs that he tries to understand but respect at the same time.

It was suggested a plan but right after she finished that, shrieks would echo around the canyon they were in, the sand natives purposefully announcing their presence as they slowly closed in. Nox slowly brought his gaze over to Song, "This shouldn't be too hard but just stand behind me and don't appear... as menacing." It seemed like the suitable word for what they appeared to most people.

Nox stood up from his seat and stood by the fire patiently, his weapons holstered while he simply held onto his knife comfortably with both hands down by his groin, it pointed vertically to the ground. With one motion, he turned on his thermals and saw the number of natives around them, more than a dozen at least and completely surrounding them.

 

[Song Wren]

Song took in their situation with surprising calm. This was far from the first time she had been faced with overwhelming odds. And for many of those times, it had just been her alone. Now, she was with two other Mandalorian warriors. The finest of Clan Solus. She would feel bad for the Meerians if they chose to fight, because they didn’t stand a chance. Let alone a dozen of them.

The leader of the pack was a short and brutish man, vaguely human in appearance, save for his pale hair and equally pale, pupiless eyes. Like Nox, he was also carrying a blaster rifle, and he pointed it at them menacingly. The weapons the natives carried look severely dated and in need of maintenance, but that didn’t stop them from leveling their muzzles at Song and her companions. She had no doubt they would shoot them, too, at the first sign of trouble.

“I’m thinking ‘menacing’ might be something we need about now,” Song murmured through her helmet.

After all, who was to say what the locals wanted? If the Mandalorians looked too menacing, they might attack; but they might also attack if they appeared too pacified and weak—after all, Nox had better equipment, and Song didn’t put it past this lot to pick his corpse clean of gear.

The Meerian leader reached for something, and Song’s hand fell to her own weapon, expecting danger. Her caution was rewarded. The alien produced a small, round device with his free hand, thumb caressing the trigger. A thermal detonator. Then, he started barking something at them in an alien tongue Song didn’t recognize.

The iron grip on her blaster hardened, ready to plug the Meerian leader if he went to arm the detonator. “Please tell me you know what he’s saying,” Song said. “Or the language we’re about to start speaking will be much more violent.”

@Orbit

 

[Nox Solus]

The native approached them, masked in some desert-type robes as more and more of them stepped out from the shadows. Nox stood there calmly as ever, his arms forming a V down his torso as he continued to hold his knife loosely in his hands. When the rifle was pointed at him, he didn't move an inch, even when he heard Song comment behind him, almost as still as a statue. This is what he had been afraid of and he was going to do his best to keep the meeting from boiling over.

The sand native was masked, leaving only the sight of the lead's one pale hair and purplish eyes that were quite striking. Nox took a slow step forward, even after the thermal detonator had been pulled out and multiple weapons pointed at them, he slammed his knife in the sand between the two parties. A step back was taken afterward, the native staring at the blade for a moment before all of them aimed their weapons at Song afterward.

Nox had traveled in these parts before, mostly chasing bounties and it left him to run into each other a few times. With a few curt shrieks, the Mandalorian gestured with his arms towards Song and then back to him. The natives kept their weapons up but didn't act out against her. Turning back towards her slightly, he stuck out his hand,

"No, do not do anything against them. Give me your knife and don't reach for your blaster again."

While the pair may have been able to take them without too much difficulty, that wasn't the point of why they were there and he was going to seize any chance to defuse it when he could.

 

[Song Wren]

As Nox stepped forward, the natives tensed. Click click click. Like fingers snapping. The sound of triggers being cocked. Song had been cut off, ringed by the dark, unable to reach for her speeder should the situation spiral out of control. The very thought made her skin prickle. It certainly didn’t help how casually Nox was taking this all in, nor how ready he was to yield.

She supposed it made sense. They were the trespassers here, the outsiders. If they wanted to negotiate peacefully, if Clan Solus ever had any hopes of gaining a foothold on the planet, intimidation was out of the question. If she hoped to leave this barren wasteland with more than a mild headache and sand in her shoes, Song would have to play it cool.

So, with a long sigh, she did as she was told.

“If that’s what you want—it’s your funeral.” She tossed him her knife and the edge caught in the moonlight. With her other hand, she loosened the grip on her blaster, raising her gloved fingers into the air for all the natives to see. Song felt startlingly naked without a weapon to hold.

But once she was disarmed, the natives seemed to relax. Barely. Only then did Song begin to look at them more closely, observing the way they were dressed or the rifles they held. The first word that came to her mind was desperate. Some wore cracked masks, revealing only braids of white hair, and others dark scarves pulled up to hide their faces, but neither could disguise the uncertainty in their eyes. The visible fear.

Song was thrust back into reality when the tribal leader’s voice reverberated over the sands. She couldn’t quite understand the words and glanced over to Nox. “What are they saying?”

@Orbit

 

[Nox Solus]

The natives calmed once he took hold of her knife but their weapons remained on her while their eyes followed him. Nox took the small of steps where his knife was implanted and submerged it right next to his. With a quick glance at the remaining natives and a few shrieks from some of them, all of them slowly lowered their weapons and kept them tight against their bodies.

Song wasn't the only one uncomfortable but the only thing they had to give up so far was their knives. If their blasters remained holstered, that appeared acceptable to the native party. The leader with the thermal detonator slipped it onto his belt but in the open view for the Mando pair. Nox ignored her comment as both he and the lead one exchanged shrieks and grunts, him using his hands more to gesture and help accentuate what he was attempting to communicate.

When he was asked about what they were saying, Nox glanced back at her, then to the native, and then back to her again, "Not exactly an expert but I think their offering passage to their tribe." The two exchanged a few sounds once more, "He's not... the leader, just basically in charge of this group." It wasn't exactly easy to decipher everything but he pieced it together as quickly as he could.

The natives drew back and grouped amongst themselves as Nox slowly took a step back before turning and facing Song. "When we go to the camp, we can't act without thinking. We're in their territory now." They may have been Mandalorian but it didn't mean he was willing to charge into every situation and blast his way out. When he glanced back, the natives had formed and waited to move out as they watched the two. Nox put out the fire with his foot before retrieving both their knives and holding her's out to take back, "You ready?"

 

[Song Wren]

“Passage? Well, I’ll be damned.”

Song was impressed. Instead of resorting to violence—an all too common quality among most Mandalorians—Nox had managed to defuse the situation. Soon enough they would be on their way to the Meerian tribe, no doubt to see whatever it was that was haunting the locals. She prayed it was nothing more than a few cases of the flu. Last time she’d been enlisted to help a native settlement, she'd fought through every manner of beast and creature in the Felucian jungle. She’d nearly died. Twice.

Then again, it had certainly been an memorable night. And fighting side by side a man like Nox would serve to make this one far more eventful.

As he ran through the next stage of their plan, Song nodded diligently. “You don’t have to tell me twice, Solus. I know when to keep my gun in my pants.” She took her knife from his hand and, with a dramatic flourish, slid it back onto her belt.

“I’m ready when you are, but what about—?” She turned to Cyrus only to find he was no longer there. The Mandalorian had completely vanished into the dark, melding with the dunes. Wherever he might be now, she had no idea. He must have disappeared once the natives had arrived. Probably to take a vantage point in the cliffs, or somewhere hidden to keep her and Nox in check should negotiations collapse.

Song couldn’t resist smirking then. “Never mind.”

With that, they were on the move, shadows trailing in the dark.

@Orbit

 

[Nox Solus]

Nox heard the shock in her voice at the revelation they weren't going to be killed but given escort. He would have been right there with her if he hadn't known about the desperate situation their tribe was in. With her telling him that she knew how to keep her gun in her pants, he wouldn't be able to help the smirk that touched his lips underneath, "Fair, I should be more worried about your swords, right?" Song was a well-known Bounty Hunter.

When Cyrus disappeared, she would be able to hear him chuckle softly after her discovery, "He has his own methods." The man's vocabulary consisted mostly of grunts and doesn't display match, Nox kinda liked it and knew the Solus could always be counted on. They were led through the valley, the pair escorted by a square formation of natives around them, a few of them as well above them on top of the rocks and scanning around.

The two were left alone peacefully, the natives didn't give them dirty looks or point their weapons at them as they walked together. Nox walked calmly, his hands casually by his side but in a non-threatening manner as he scanned from left to right nonchalantly. It had been some time in their trek and he gave Song a glance before asking in a conversational tone with how quiet the desert had been for them, "So, how did you learn your skill with the blade?" The Solus was quite curious.

 

[Song Wren]

“Swords and knives—and don’t you forget it.” Song smiled, raising her to sleeve to reveal the hidden dagger tucked under her wrist. When one of the natives turned back to her, she quickly lowered her hand, trying her best to look as least intimidating as possible. Which wasn’t easy, considering she was decked out in armor, but it worked. The Meerian returned to guiding them through the dunes, grunting a few choice words in his language. Probably nothing good.

Her eyes shifted around the dark, searching for where Cyrus might’ve gone, unsure whether or not he’d chosen to trail them or move ahead to find this supposed camp. The man must have been remarkably stealthy, because not even Song could spot him in the shadows. “You think he’d ever be interested in teaching me a few of those methods?” she asked Nox, already knowing his answer. From what she learned about Cyrus on Lothal, the man was not really the type to air out his secrets.

As she drove on through the expanse of the desert, the wind spun circles in the sand, sweeping up her cloak, revealing the long, ceremonial blade underneath. It was her brother’s sword, given to her before he left Krownest to live the life of a bounty hunter. His last gift. Although Song had since moved on from his death, she could not deny the pang of sorrow she felt every time he crossed her mind.

“My father taught me,” she said. “He was merciless. Never once let up on my brother and I. By the time I was eight, we were already using real swords.” She snorted a laugh. “I almost cut my leg off twice. At that point, I was sleeping more in the infirmary than in my own bed. But it was worth it, in the end.”

She cast Nox a look over her shoulder. “What about you?” Song swept a hand toward the natives. “Where did you learn to speak, well—whatever it is they speak?”

@Orbit

 

[Nox Solus]

When asked about whether Cyrus would be interested in teaching her a few tricks, Nox just casted a glance back at her before watching where he stepped again. That was all the answer she needed to know about whether he was willing to teach her or not. His own clan barely saw him around sometimes.

Since they were talking about it, when the was blade was in view for him, he would look over to it, listening to her story about how her father trained her at such a young age. The sheathe looked specially woven and he wondered what meaning it held to her or where it came from. Every weapon was sacred to a Mandalorian for different reasons but it was also a part of their religion as well. Nox chuckled at hearing her slight snort, "Well, it seems all that pain turned out to be worth it in the end." Then he glanced around them, "Even though I don't suspect you thought you'd be here one day."

"My clan is still nomadic. We travel between planets in Mandalorian space, surviving off what we need. I've been here a few times, either chasing bounties or securing supplies." Nox smirked before letting out a short laugh at the memories that resurfaced, "Our first encounters weren't pretty but after visiting enough times, I was able to pick one up as a guide for a few credits." The Mandalorian shrugged his shoulders, "With a couple of nights in the desert with nothing to do, thought, why the hell not."

Nox then glanced back to Song, giving his head a little cock as sort of inaudible, eh. "They seem to tolerate my butchering of it now." Their trek would begin to draw to close however as they would be able to spot the haze of lights in the night sky off in the distance. A couple of their escorts let out shrieks, announcing their arrival or letting out a celebration. "This is the farthest they have ever let me gone though." He finally added.

 

[Song Wren]

“So, you got bored and decided to learn an entirely new language just so you could negotiate with the locals?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Color me surprised. Most Mandalorians would rather spend that time blasting them to pieces instead of trying to bring them to the table.”

She could name a few. Her father, namely. Although he’d taken great lengths to securing Clan Wren’s status and stability, he’d also taken extreme measures to make it happen. According to what stories she’d heard, those that resisted his rule had not met a very kind fate.

Song looked more closely at the natives, beyond the masks they wore. One was a boy, hardly an adult, a pair of playing dice hanging around his neck. Then a woman, barely visible wrinkles under her eyes, a hitch in her step. These weren’t hardened soldiers. They were just ordinary people, trying to scrape by a living in this dry wilderness. It was heartening to know that Nox wasn’t out to kill them. Inspiring, even.

“I respect what you’re doing, Solus. Not every man I know has the patience for this kind of thing.” Song caught the drowsy light of the camp ahead. “Clan Wren has always stayed isolated. After the Great Purge, there was no reason to trust anyone anymore. Since then, they’ve never thought the outside worlds were worth their time, but I’m holding out hope that will change soon.” She looked at Nox more pointedly.

These were the first steps.

As the natives began to shout, as if welcoming the group to their small settlement, Song sucked in a low breath. Before, she didn’t even think to trust these people, but now she was willing to keep an open mind. “Let’s go even further, then.”

There wasn’t much to look at. The encampment was a cluster of tents made of animal skins and leather, and several campfires dotted its length. A stream was gurgling into something of a wellspring, too, surrounded by palm trees and clotheslines. “An oasis,” she said curiously. “Explains why they’ve managed to survive out here for this long.”

@Orbit