Post by Kuhblam on Nov 29, 2010 21:47:17 GMT -5
Ne'tra gal. Eh, I suppose I've had better drinks.
Sitting in the cantina alone, Ferrus took another sip of black ale before putting the mug back down on the bar as he placed both armored hands on his forehead, rubbing a headache away as he waited for his ship to finish repairs. Next to him on another stool, his dented black T-Visor helmet lay dormant but still as intimidating as if Ferrus had been wearing it. Picking it up and placing it in front of him, he quietly placed it back on his head as a feeling of comfort and familiarity re-joined his senses.
The entirety of the cantina was fairly quiet, save but a small group of drunken Mando'ade fooling around not far away from Ferrus' spot. Drowning out their drunken curses in Mando'a and shaking his head, Ferrus resisted the urge to strike them.
Crooking his head to the left and looking over his shoulder, Ferrus got a better look at the crew of seven, all of them human; well, maybe it was seven, but in his current position Ferrus could identify their exact numbers. Dressed in beskar'gam, Ferrus automatically identified them as soldiers in the Mandalore's service. Puke adorned their armored torsos like top honors bestowed from the highest of Mandalorian war chests, and un-serviced blaster pistols spun wildly from their fingers. Ferrus turned away dis-approvingly of their conduct. Mandalorians were disciplined, well-controlled, and most of all intelligent both on and off the field of war. These senseless degenerates were most likely new recruits fresh out of one of Concord Dawn's many military bases. It saddened Ferrus to see men like these representing the full might of the Mandalorian military; of course, he had chosen a different path.
The night might have gone on quietly for Ferrus had he not muttered supposedly quiet phrases to himself concerning the cantina's rowdy inhabitants.
"Shabuirs..."
"Watch your tongue, vod, before it is ripped out from inside your mouth."
Ferrus spun on his seat at the seven angry drunken kinsman arrayed around him, sloppily carrying a various assortment of melee weapons and blaster pistols.
Nine. I need to count better next time I'm in a bar.
"I am not your brother. On a side-note, you better back off before you get hurt, adiik."
It was probably was not the best choice of words considering the numbers, but Ferrus' honor demanded it of him not to back down to these fools. Behind him, the leader approached him and stood directly behind Ferrus, arms crossed.
"You would call us children? We could rip you limb from limb right now, you weakling stray."
Those last two words really made Ferrus angry. First the fact that he had identified who he was, and second that they had called him weak when they had most likely never even been off planet. Almost automatically, he stood up in the face of the leader at equal height before powerfully pushing him in the chest and forcing him back.
"Ne shab'rud'ni…"
The warning was well-advised and equally ignored almost instantaneously. Within seconds, the leader was moving in with two of his pals to grab Ferrus, who drew his besk'ad from behind his back and brought it down on the hand of one of the Mandalorians reaching for his armor. Connecting at the wrist and avoiding any armor-plating, the hand neatly fell to the floor spraying blood as the man cried out in pain, clutching his hand in his chest as he fell to his knees and Ferrus brought the besk'ad across in again in a horizontal slashing motion, nearly connecting with the other wing man as he dodged the strike and jumped back wards, weary of his friend missing a valued appendage.. Individually, it was apparent Ferrus could take these men easily. However, the others were beginning to approach, and Ferrus could tell it would get ugly soon even with all his experience. There would only so far he could go without becoming too tired, and Ferrus could tell the alchohol had both impaired his ability to think on entering the fight rationally whilst also impairing his ability in combat. They were sluggish, but so was he.
"C'mon, chakaars, show me what your made of! C'mon, don't be shy!"
His blade still in hand, Ferrus's gaze quickly scanned back and forth as he waited for another to make a foolish move against him.
Sitting in the cantina alone, Ferrus took another sip of black ale before putting the mug back down on the bar as he placed both armored hands on his forehead, rubbing a headache away as he waited for his ship to finish repairs. Next to him on another stool, his dented black T-Visor helmet lay dormant but still as intimidating as if Ferrus had been wearing it. Picking it up and placing it in front of him, he quietly placed it back on his head as a feeling of comfort and familiarity re-joined his senses.
The entirety of the cantina was fairly quiet, save but a small group of drunken Mando'ade fooling around not far away from Ferrus' spot. Drowning out their drunken curses in Mando'a and shaking his head, Ferrus resisted the urge to strike them.
Crooking his head to the left and looking over his shoulder, Ferrus got a better look at the crew of seven, all of them human; well, maybe it was seven, but in his current position Ferrus could identify their exact numbers. Dressed in beskar'gam, Ferrus automatically identified them as soldiers in the Mandalore's service. Puke adorned their armored torsos like top honors bestowed from the highest of Mandalorian war chests, and un-serviced blaster pistols spun wildly from their fingers. Ferrus turned away dis-approvingly of their conduct. Mandalorians were disciplined, well-controlled, and most of all intelligent both on and off the field of war. These senseless degenerates were most likely new recruits fresh out of one of Concord Dawn's many military bases. It saddened Ferrus to see men like these representing the full might of the Mandalorian military; of course, he had chosen a different path.
The night might have gone on quietly for Ferrus had he not muttered supposedly quiet phrases to himself concerning the cantina's rowdy inhabitants.
"Shabuirs..."
"Watch your tongue, vod, before it is ripped out from inside your mouth."
Ferrus spun on his seat at the seven angry drunken kinsman arrayed around him, sloppily carrying a various assortment of melee weapons and blaster pistols.
Nine. I need to count better next time I'm in a bar.
"I am not your brother. On a side-note, you better back off before you get hurt, adiik."
It was probably was not the best choice of words considering the numbers, but Ferrus' honor demanded it of him not to back down to these fools. Behind him, the leader approached him and stood directly behind Ferrus, arms crossed.
"You would call us children? We could rip you limb from limb right now, you weakling stray."
Those last two words really made Ferrus angry. First the fact that he had identified who he was, and second that they had called him weak when they had most likely never even been off planet. Almost automatically, he stood up in the face of the leader at equal height before powerfully pushing him in the chest and forcing him back.
"Ne shab'rud'ni…"
The warning was well-advised and equally ignored almost instantaneously. Within seconds, the leader was moving in with two of his pals to grab Ferrus, who drew his besk'ad from behind his back and brought it down on the hand of one of the Mandalorians reaching for his armor. Connecting at the wrist and avoiding any armor-plating, the hand neatly fell to the floor spraying blood as the man cried out in pain, clutching his hand in his chest as he fell to his knees and Ferrus brought the besk'ad across in again in a horizontal slashing motion, nearly connecting with the other wing man as he dodged the strike and jumped back wards, weary of his friend missing a valued appendage.. Individually, it was apparent Ferrus could take these men easily. However, the others were beginning to approach, and Ferrus could tell it would get ugly soon even with all his experience. There would only so far he could go without becoming too tired, and Ferrus could tell the alchohol had both impaired his ability to think on entering the fight rationally whilst also impairing his ability in combat. They were sluggish, but so was he.
"C'mon, chakaars, show me what your made of! C'mon, don't be shy!"
His blade still in hand, Ferrus's gaze quickly scanned back and forth as he waited for another to make a foolish move against him.