The Gold, The Silver, and The Dar'manda

[Dutch]

Par’jila hung as low as it could in orbit overhead, its shadow cast in the bright moonlight over half of the only city for miles around. Even in the dark of night, the desert world of Ordo was arid and warm, with the structures of the ghost town supplying the only relief from wind-blown sands. Built by the Republic decades ago, once a port for the aid and observation of Mandalorians on-world. Founded directly after the Betrayer earned their name, now a new betrayer claimed dominion. It would appear derelict with its empty streets and blanket of fine sand, but the closer one looked the more evidence of life could be seen. Parked swoop bikes and speeders rested with minimal dust coverage, modern supply crates were stacked near them and Clan Lone banners were draped over or propped up against any visible Republic insignia.

The nearest one fluttered in the gusts as the shuttle ramp hissed open, a pair of wide, golden boots thudded down it slow, steady and deliberate. Where normally Mandalore’s armor would shine bright in the full moon light, the thick black bantha-wool poncho rested askew over his form obscured most golden plates. Long enough to hang to his knees, the poncho would flutter in the Ordo breeze as the feeorin reached the bottom of the ramp, and a silvery weapon which hung holstered from his right hip glinted briefly before being covered again. The colossal form paused, completely still physically, yet any who knew Dral well enough would know his mind was anything but. His shoulders- usually relaxed back, were now raised and squared off in a sign of ill ease.

Despite it being night, the moonlight was bright enough to not use his HUD’s nightvision as his horned helm turned slow to scan the area. He exhaled, and felt his heart clench as no indication of life chimed. It would be safe to assume frequency jammers had been placed throughout town, as any Mandalorian should to counter their kin. The Chieftain of Clan Lone must have known the Regulator would come to deliver the consequences of going against Mand’alor; all for the spoils of some Republic rimworld colony.

This was the first chieftain to do so, one who’d set the tone for other betrayers down the line, and the most wanted Mandalorian in all the Clans. Dral knew the entirety of Lone wasn’t to blame, as it was each Mandalorian’s choice to follow their Chieftain, but prayed silently to the Manda none would stand between him and his title’s duty. Still, he did not know how many supported Chief Ennio Lone and his renewed crusade, but he did know the ghost town could possibly hold hundreds of waiting warriors.

It would be grim, it would be bitter, and it could be violent.

“Ambush.” Mandalore said over the private channel he shared with the only other warrior to accompany him, local and encrypted well enough to stay open even with the jammers. Seemingly still silent to any who watched from the shadows, he did not turn to look at the silvery set of armor at his left.

“I hate this.” He added with solemn truth, and his gut twisted uneasily as his visor turned to look up at the dreadnaught above.

[Meira]

Below the blister rays, come, stand
Gleam and shadow, the crow calls
Entombed, forgotten 'neath the land
Evermore, the Traitor's halls

---

As the shuttle left the belly of Par'jila, Eris stood before the mirror in the cramped space of the refesher unit. Dipping her fingers into a small container of white paint, Eris traced three lines starting at the hollow between her collar bones and moving upward. They passed over the scars on her throat, along the underside of her jaw and up over her chin, ending just below her lower lip. She then placed a dot at the center of each cheek bone, just below her eyes. Stowing the paint, Eris considered herself in the mirror as she breathe deep and centered herself. When the paint had dried, she moved back out into the main space of the shuttle to don her armor.

Their descent was a quiet one. The ship flew itself for the majority of the process. Mandalore, usually quite a conversationalist, was pacing the halls of his mind. Eris knew, when she had brought her revelation to him, that he would approach the necessity of this journey with the mind of a man in mourning. But that was the burden of Mandalore, and she had not hesitated to place it on his shoulders. When the time came, he bid her come with him and Eris followed without question.

As the ship approached the city, Eris was obliged to take the controls for the last part of the landing. Something down there on the ground was interfering with the ship's sensors. When she finally had it settled at the edge of the dusty town, Eris moved to join Dral, catching her first glimpses of the seemingly empty place just as Mandalore voiced his assessment. Eris' eyes darted quickly around, taking note of the darker shadows between buildings and possible sniper nests in high windows and along rooftops. In the distance, some beast howled, but the air around them was heavy with silence.

"Sloppy" she sub-vocalized, allowing her comms to augment her damaged voice. "Can't surround us. Lots of cover." That had been why they'd landed at the edge of town, rather than the platform closer to the center. Mandalore knew they were coming in outnumbered. It was part of the statement. Whatever surprise these forsaken had cooked up must have been quickly improvised. While she and Mandalore didn't have the element of surprise, they certainly had the advantage of ability.

Her blue half cape, emblazoned by the white glyph of the blood hawk, flapped gently in the breeze over her left shoulder, obscuring one of the two blasters that were holstered on her hips. Eris' arms hung, loose but ready, at her sides. That distant creature howled again. Above and to the right, something glinted in the moonlight. The red bolt flashed to life, careening toward them as the blast shattered the silence. Eris' form had already shifted her weight as her right hand flew to the blaster pistol at her right hip. It was free of its holster and raised toward the source of the shot, sending out her answer as she hopped off the side of the ramp and moved toward a stack of crates.

The night erupted in blaster fire.

[Dutch]

The shot splashed over Mandalore’s helm, the exquisitely crafted armor more than enough defense for a single bolt. It fizzled into the night, which was suddenly filled with various colored blaster fire. With Mandalorians, there was too much variety to give an accurate count of possible assailants, an advantage of its own Mandalore noted as he stormed the opposite direction from Eris. He breathed hot indignation at the botched assassination attempt, both gauntlets clenched as the feeorin channeled his fury. While he appreciated the logic behind it, Dral still hated the hubris, the dishonor associated with snipers.

Now positioned with his back against the wall of a derelict building for cover, Mandalore waited for the attack to halt. Each breath would be drawn through his nasal ridges, and each exhale breathed the heat of his core out through his mouth. His fingers flipped a panel open on the inside of his left gauntlet, keyed his vocabulator to broadcast, and waited for the pause. It did less than a moment later, and the feeorin waited a moment more in case something else appeared.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” The Regulator’s voice echoed mechanically through the empty streets. Still, nothing sounded, nothing replied, nothing except a third howl which sang into the stilled night. “Ennio Lone, come forward, and answer.”

He paused, and waited for something, anything, anyone, hoping someone would see reason and attempt to parley. But instead, there was nothing, and Mandalore hung his head. He had to try once more, give them one more moment, before the Regulator would kick in. Mandalore shifted off the wall to stand tall, and his visor turned to where Eris had taken cover. His left hand raised an open palm skyward, then shifted to rest at his breastplate. Allow Forgiveness.

“Any who stand in my way, will face judgement.” Dral’s voice echoed, intention clear in his tone as he nodded once her way. His golden right hand fell beneath the black poncho, and wrapped around the grip of his holstered hand cannon. “This, is your last chance.” Mandalore warned, his tone steadier, more determined.

A grenade landed in the sand near the corner where he stood in reply, and his grip released from the firearm to swiftly stoop down and grab the explosive. The massive Mandalorian exhaled sharply, and whipped the beeping grenade away. He moved with surprising speed for a man of his stature, rolling in the sand before he was back on his feet, running in the opposite direction. The grenade bounced off a speeder towing a power generator, and it bloomed into fiery oblivion as fiery wreckage rained.

[Meira]

Crouched behind the crates, Eris removed her second blaster form its holster. She held them each in hand pointed downward as she waited, listened. Their familiar weight was something of a comfort. When she held them, things were simple. Kill or be killed. She looked up to get a read on Dral's position, seeing him in cover along the wall of a nearby building. He signed. She sighed. The burden of being the good guys in this scenario was that they would have to show restraint while the dar'manda scum were not so encumbered. A blaster shot ricocheted off the corner of a crate, mere inches from her head and Eris ground her teeth together. With her guns in hand, she could not sign back to her Mandalore. That was probably a good thing, as she didn't exactly have anything nice to say.

As Dral keyed his comm to broadcast and began to speak to the whole of whoever was shooting at them, Eris turned and crept toward the edge of her crate cover. A thin cloud had strayed across the moon, dimming its light somewhat. Eris changed the display on her HUD to infrared and everything shifted from a mostly grey scale to blues and greens. Where lights still shone in windows, Eris would see a bright white. Looking upward she searched for where that sniper had been. A yellowish-green smear on one building's eves might have been the spot, but it was cooling now. Whoever had been there had moved on to new cover. Not total idiots, then.

There was a quiet thud on the ground over close to Mandalore. Eris whipped her head around in time to see the massive red form of Dral stooping and then throwing something. The way he moved caused a spike of adrenaline to shoot through Eris' body. Grenade. She too turned and bolted. When the explosion came it was the typical blast at first, then followed almost immediately by a larger explosion. Eris had fallen flat at the sound of the blast, but quickly hopped back up and turned. Everything in her field of vision was orange and red. The infrared filter useless now, Eris switched back to a normal view.

There was lots of movement now. Most of it was centered around putting out the fire spreading out from that power generator. That movement was perpetrated by unarmed and unarmored civilians, it seemed, and so Eris mostly ignored it. They would not have anticipated the explosion, but the traitors would be fools if they didn't try to use the chaos as cover for further attacks.

And just in that instant, a shadow came rushing from the shadows behind a building. Eris turned and shot from the hip at the being. The shot landed, but the figure was armored, and so it took two more to put him down. She'd taken a few steps back to give herself the room and time to shoot as the figure had rushed forward, and she now stood against the hull of the transport they'd brought down. More blaster shots erupted from the first floor windows of a nearby building. Holstering one of her blasters for a moment, she looked around for Dral. When she saw him, she signed toward him with quick, one handed movements.

Behind this row of buildings. Circle around?

[Dutch]

Mandalore found himself crouched as low as the armored feeorin could behind a large stack of supply crates several meters from his transport. The blaster fire raining down upon Eris’ cover gave him little anxiety, all of it was concentrated on the cover her silvery form took. She appeared fine, for the moment, and his eyes slid from her to the burning wreckage. Various Mandalorians worked together to calm the fires, the sight of civilians a surprising one. Perhaps this corner of Ordo had gathered more settlers than he thought. The situation was quickly getting out of hand, and Mandalore nodded once to Eris as she signaled her idea. Blaster fire unrelenting upon his shaman, the golden armor would use the distraction to shift and shuffle further from her and the shuttle.

He turned to run as quickly and quietly as possible, the massive man using the shadows to stay hidden from moonlight. Mandalore did his best to compensate for the momentum, to not get carried away while moving with urgency. His breath leveled out, and once at a good clip he carried it around the corner to set up his attack. The beskad would be heard before seen, and quick reflexes the only thing to save Mandalore as his golden gauntlets clapped just in time to stop the sword. Wielded by a gray suit of beskar’gam, the man tried to tug his weapon from the feeorin’s grasp with futility, and cursed. He backpedaled skillfully with Mandalore’s carried momentum, the tip of his blade still angled towards a chink in the larger man’s armor.

The black poncho rippled in the Ordo breeze, and as the beskad slipped between Mandalore’s hands it would scratch at an abdominal plate instead of piercing between them. A twist of massive arms, and the sword would be wrenched out of the gray armor’s gloves. While one golden gauntlet tossed it aside, the other would clench into a fist to slam onto the top of the other man’s helm. A sharp clang! would be lost in the thundering blaster fire on the other side of the building, and Mandalore’s assailant crumpled into a heap. He turned his horned helm to see if Eris had made it around her corner, but didn’t see her yet.

After waiting a breath or two, the feeorin made sure the gray armor remained still before he turned his visor to begin judging the best way to reach the hidden attackers.

[Meira]

Seeing his nod, Erish shifted her attention back toward the traitors. She had to be more careful now, so as not to hit a civilian. But she also had to play the distraction. Taking both blasters in hand once again, she shot wildly and high. Blaster fire rained on her in response and so she had to retreat slightly for more cover. But she'd gotten her desired effect. Most, maybe all, eyes were on her now... not on the giant Mandalore moving around through the shadows.

Once she felt Dral had been given enough time to get into position, Eris holstered her left hand blaster and grabbed a small object off her belt. Thumbing a switch, she tossed it onto a crate to her left, then quickly ducked and ran to the right to get behind the buildings. Eris counted three... two... one... in her mind, then heard the bangs and pops of the device behind her. The things had an official name, but Eris had taken to calling them poppers. They flashed, made noise, and even sent out blaster bolt-like sparks. The idea being that they would draw the eye, distracting an enemy long enough for one to say, get into the back shadow of a building without notice.

Eris ran down the length of buildings, knowing that she would have to get into position quickly if their ruse was to work. A shift in cloud cover overhead revealed the shadow of a waiting enemy just in time for Eris to modify her approach to where the form waited in the small space between two buildings. As she neared the gap, Eris lowered herself down slightly and pushed her momentum into her forward leg. It stretched out before her as her back leg curled in, allowing the woman to lower herself down and slide forward, just as the being swung out from the gap. The beskad cut through the air, mere inches above Eris' helmet. The traitor's momentum pulled them back and away from her as her slide slowed and she shifted to turn back toward them. Her forward leg -now her back- dug into the ground to bring Eris to a halt. She then shifted all her weight onto her other leg, which was bent and ready to spring her up and toward the traitor. She barreled into the other armored figure, knocking them into the wall of the building. They tried to swing their beskad back, but Eris rammed her head forward, giving them a nice Keldabe Kiss. She then brought her knee up between the traitor's legs for good measure. It connected, but might have had a better effect if her enemy was male. She could see now that wasn't the case.

With a grunt of anger, the other woman pushed back at Eris, getting her feet planted somewhat beneath her and managing to push the shaman back a couple of steps. She brandished her blade, making a show of her skill with the weapon. Eris fired three quick shots and the woman fell to the ground. Turing, Eris moved quickly into position. Spotting the faintest gleam off Dral's armor across the way, she knew he was ready.

"I'm here." she subvocalized into their private comm channel.

Ahead, a crossing street made a T with the one they had been able to see down from the ship. There was still a faint glow from where the generator had exploded, casting some light onto the line of buildings ahead, but it seemed it had been contained. At the intersection of the street, one particular storefront bore the signs blaster fire and a barricaded enemy. The large glass window of the storefront was gone, only small jagged shards remaining along the edges. Inside, Eris could just make out what appeared to be piled furniture and shelving. Thrown together as cover, perhaps. She could not, however, see if anyone was inside behind it all.

"Thoughts?" she asked.

[Dutch]

“He tried to stab me.” Mandalore rumbled over their channel with a gesture of his thumb to the warrior he downed. He walked with a purposeful pace, beginning to feel quite over this cold welcome to Ordo. His visor was fixed where Eris had looked, seeing the same signs as her as he strode directly for it. A golden gauntlet reached and gripped a great tin of canned nerf from a stack of supply crates, a bulk one the size of the feeorin’s fist. He tossed it up, then caught it, and once more as if to gauge its weight before his figure cocked the can back and flung it with an athletic grunt.

“I’m not knocking.” He answered simply before the heavy hurtling canister obliterated a large hole into the second story wall of the storefront, the scared yelp of a sniper echoing as the Regulator picked up his charge. Mandalore barreled shoulder first into the incoming blasterfire, all of which disappeared into his poncho or ricocheted harmlessly off the golden carapace beneath. The plasteel door and frame did little to stop him as a quarter ton of Mandalorian made his way into the derelict shop. From within a series of haphazard blaster shots and the clanging of metal on metal echoed, and the sounds soon ended with the return of a silent night.

By the time Eris would follow in, the interior would be littered with what was once a barricade, now scattered everywhere along with several unconscious Mandalorians. All were still visibly breathing, and most had visible Mandalore fist sized dents in their beskar’gam. One was still awake, collapsed against a counter with the visor of his discarded helm facing Eris, and Dral crouched before him with both massive arms rested upon golden knees. The Regulator sighed audibly, as any disappointed father type would, and his mask faced the downed human steadily.

“Ennio Lone. Where is he?” Mandalore asked, but the black haired Mandalorian only stared back at the feeorin ruefully.

[Meira]

In response to her question Dral... well, he did something she would have considered very stupid if she hadn't known him. She watched as he heaved the can through the second story wall. As he charged, absorbing blaster fire like it was nothing, she holstered her blaster. As the sound of crashing objects and aborted blaster fire sounded from inside the shop, she sauntered out into the street. She turned, facing a number of gawking civilians who'd just finished putting out the fire from the generator. Most stared wide-eyed and open mouthed at the shop. Some glanced back and forth between it and her. She shrugged her shoulders at them.

A man came flying through the empty window, landing with a crushing thud just behind her. She didn't turn until she heard a faint moan and the soft scrape of his armor as he feebly tried to move. A swift kick to the head -which sent the helmet flying across the open street- ended any further ideas of getting up. When all the noise had died down, Eris turned back and followed in after her Mandalore.

To say the interior of the shop was a wreck would not do justice to what she saw. The amount of damage prevented her from having even the slightest idea of what service the shop provided to the community. After tonight, she imagined it would be best to just re-purpose the place as a toothpick emporium. Seeing that Dral had the only conscious combatant handled for now, Eris pulled one of her blasters from its holster and made for the back of the shop, where a stairway led up to the second level. At the landing, she pivoted, sweeping her sights upward with the stairs and continued. A closed door blocked the top of the stairs. Keeping low, Eris opened the door slowly, the pistol following along with the door to clear the room. There was rustle of movement, followed by one quick shot of her blaster and then the thump of a body falling to the floor. Moving in, Eris checked the body of the sniper and confirmed that he was dead. Nearby, his helmet lay next to the can Dral had thrown, the t-visor cracked. With an amused huff, Eris straightened up and holstered her blaster once again.

Her eyes moved over to the window and she stepped closer, looking down into the street. With the fire out and the commotion done, the street had emptied once again. A few lights began to illuminate windows in the area. Apparently, the civilians deemed the danger to have passed. Did that mean that there weren't any more of Lone's men around? Surely this wasn't all of them. Even with the glow in the windows, most of the illumination along the streets came intermittently when the clouds cleared and the moonlight shone down. It was during one of the darker moments, though, when a small flicker of light caught Eris' eye. Down the street, nearby where their ship had landed, a figure leaned against a post under the awning of what appeared to be a cantina. The flicker of light she'd seen had been the small flame he'd used to light a cig. She could see its orange glow as he breathed in through it, causing it to burn brighter for a moment. She could not see any details of the man, spare that he was rather tall. Whatever clothing he wore was dark. She could tell, however, that he was watching her just as she watched him.

A sound from below caught Eris' attention and she looked away for a moment back toward the stairs. When she looked back, the man was gone. She scanned the streets for any movement, but saw none. After a few moments, she decided to let it go and turned back to descend the stairs and see if her Mandalore needed any assistance.

[Dutch]

“Ennio. Lone.”

Mandalore demanded again, his tone patient, despite the impatient turbulence at the edge of thought. As much as he admired Clan Lone’s loyalty to their chieftain, he couldn’t shake a feeling of disappointment. Tactically, it made sense for Ennio to send others, give them a chance at slowing down the Regulator, maybe even claim his mask for the glory of Lone. Mandalore had higher expectations for the chieftain though, and his absence was absolutely noted, and would absolutely be answered for.

“What about him?” Replied the olive-skinned human, the question swiftly cut off by the flick of a single golden finger. The bridge of his nose cracked and sprayed with red, now visibly crooked and bent, anymore back talk drowned by the bloodied nose which flowed openly. The human groaned and gurgled on his own blood, while a single blaster shot rang from upstairs. Mandalore recognized the sound of Eris’ weapon, and the following thud one of a body being dropped. He would need to pull her aside, once this was finished, and once again speak on the importance of keeping as many Mandalorians alive and able to fight as possible. Even if in momentary rebellion.

“I don’t want more Mandalorian blood than what you taste. Where is he?” The Regulator asked, one last time. The Lone Mandalorian glared back at him with chocolate brown eyes, silent for the moment, but those eyes speaking everything he didn't.

“Clan Lone before all, you’re no Mandalore of mine.” The human replied finally, his words choked through a throat thick with sanguine fluids and forming clots. His Mandalore sighed again, lips pressed in disappointment behind his mask as the massive man shifted his footing.

“Fine.” He replied as a single large fist rose to tap once upon the top of the Mandalorian’s skull, and the human quickly crumpled into an unconscious heap. With an almost gentle motion, Mandalore’s wide hands would grip both of the Lone man’s shoulders to shift him to sit upright, followed by him carefully rolling the unconscious fellow’s head into a position so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood.

',you’re no Mandalore of mine…'

The feeorin stood to his full height as both hands came to rest upon the belt buckle beneath the black poncho, and the horned helm turned to survey the interior while listening for more movement- but only barely heard the eerily muted steps of his Tal’galaar. Ordo for the moment seemed quiet. Perhaps, too quiet.

“Anything from your friend upstairs?” He would ask of Eris, though his attention wouldn’t seem turned towards her as he regarded his redecoration of the shop’s interior.

[Meira]

She reached the foot of the stairs as Dral was arranging his unconscious captive. She wondered what he planned to do with the man, but not enough to ask. Instead, Mandalore asked a question. Eris shook her head, but then saw that he wasn't actually looking at her. So she croaked out a "no", the rasp of her damaged vocal cords evident even through her comms. She waited, watching the feeorin until his gaze swept back in her direction.

"Street is clear." she signed. "They're back to drinking at the cantina. No love lost for them, I guess." she gestured at the unconscious man to represent Lone's men as a whole.

With a huff, Eris lifted her hands and clicked open her helmet's seals. Then, with a slight twist, she disconnected it from the rest of her armor and pulled it off. Her hair, braided and pinned up, loosened slightly but did not fall. The paint on her neck and chin had flaked, but only slightly. tucked the helmet under one arm, her other hand dabbing at her forehead with the hem of her blue half-cape.

"Not here. Not tonight." she signed, one handed. "The traitor still hides. Maybe the civilians know more. I want a drink." she wasn't as elegant in her signs using only one hand. And she really did want that drink, so she stepped past her Mandalore and moved through the hole that had once been a door.

The night air felt good on her skin, so Eris did not hurry her steps toward the cantina. Music could now be heard coming from the bar, simple notes easily pushed to the back of one's thoughts. She did not hesitate as she stepped up to the doors. With only the barest pause, the doors slid open and Eris stepped through into the main room of the cantina. Before her, a number of tables were scattered around the room. Most were full, their occupants playing at cards, dice, or just their drinks. The bar itself took up the entire wall opposite the entrance. Eris saw her own reflection in the mirrored back, obscured by the bottles of various size and color that occupied the shelves. The bar top was a rich brown, gleaming in the warm light of the space, obviously well cared for. The band, a trio performing on a small stage to her left, did not stop playing but many of the faces in the room had turned to regard her as she appeared in the doorway. A few quickly looked away again, while others watched her with mild interest.

There was movement in the mirror behind the bar and that familiar presence at her back told Eris that Dral had followed. When his frame filled the doorway, the music did stop. This time, every single face turned to gawk at the golden giant. Eris allowed the smirk to form on her lips, pulling one corner upward. "Mand'alor the Regulator." she rasped into the silence, knowing the chilling effect her damaged voice would have. She then stepped to the side so that they might all gaze upon their true leader. The silence stretched for several long seconds.

"Olarom Mand'alor!" The bartender's voice was deep and clear, filling the silence in the same way that the amber liquid he was pouring filled the glass he'd placed on the bar. When it was full, he held it up and out to Dral in a toast. "K'oyacyi!"

There was a momentary pause, and then the patrons of the cantina held up their own glasses and echoed. They all drank and the band picked their song right back up where they'd left off. The faces turned back to their tables, and while there was a wariness in the room, it was not an uncomfortable one. Eris considered that a good sign and made her way through the tables toward the bar.

[Dutch]

He watched as Eris passed, a small, hidden smile gracing his lips as she strolled away. The Feeorin couldn’t help but reflect on how fast time went, when only a couple decades ago she was a scared little girl cradled in his arm. But she was no longer that child. No longer afraid. Now she was the one to be feared, and any who were wise enough could see it in her confident gait. Even as she merely walked, and enjoyed Ordo’s night breeze. He continued to watch the woman as she walked through the Mandalore-sized hole in the storefront, partly to see if any attempts were made on her, but mostly in appreciation for his most trusted warrior. It was a true delight, to see someone whose origins were so similar to his accomplish so much. A fellow unbroken spirit. Eventually he did follow, after a slight shake of his helm to break his reverie.

Even with their welcoming party seemingly dismantled, Mandalore kept his wits about him as he followed Eris. He walked but a couple meters behind her, the silvery ghost of her armor eerie as she appeared headless, with sable hair and complexion lost to the night’s dark. The fact that she walked entirely alone, only added to the mystique behind the Mandalorian woman, her footfalls silent in the equally quiet street. Only the occasional smatterings of familiar chatter could be caught from the buildings they passed, most of the town seemingly returning to their drinks, or sleep, or other more intimate engagements. It truly felt like the Mandalorian frontier, down to the random bouts of violence followed by everyday peace, and felt like home, despite being so far from the core of their civilization.

Eris would enter the local bar, and the door would slide shut behind her with a slight shushing sound. He felt a slight anxiety- as any parental type would know- at losing sight of her, equally in thought of an ambush, and of what she might do without his steady hand to guide her. Still, his pace did not quicken, but kept on the casual stroll of an unfettered warlord. When he did reach the door, Mandalore had to stoop to enter and was immediately greeted by a sudden silence broken by his Tal’galaar announcing him. Instead of blasterfire, he would be greeted and toasted. Mandalore’s gauntlet rose to be placed upon the black poncho at his chest, and his horned helm would bow gracefully.

”Olarom, ner’droten.” he replied with gratitude, his deep voice gentle and warm. While the majority of the Mandalorians within were unarmored, and most that were had their helm placed nearby, but the Mask of Mandalore would remain where it was. The way of Mand’alor required one to be exactly that, when among their people; the sole ruler of all Mandalorians. Not faceless, per se, but to forgo one's individuality to represent the culture, the people, as a whole. Dral appreciated the warmer welcome, and it did much to balm the words which still stung in the back of his mind.

’You’re no Mandalore of mine...'

He followed Eris toward the bar, and noted the wooden stools there which would surely break under his fully armored weight. That didn’t bother him, as he preferred to stand- especially in an area where known hostiles could still be active nearby. So Mandalore would lean over Eris, his sizeable golden form looming over the smaller, silvery armor to cast a shadow across the various nearby bar patrons. With an almost gentle dexterity, a single gauntlet would side to his belt beneath the thick poncho, and retrieve a fat stack of credits which were then placed in a small tower upon the bar.

“For whatever she drinks. You may take equal to it as gratuity. The rest, is for telling us what you know of Clan Lone. Numbers. Location. How long they’ve been on Ordo.” Mandalore said, leaving no room for any counter-offer.

“And be honest. She’ll know if you’re lying.”

[Meira]

She set her helmet down onto the the bar as she pulled out a stool. She positioned herself as Dral approached, placing the stack of credits down for the bartender. She calculated the number of drinks she might be able to work out of that pile and gave a half smile. It would do. For his part, the bartender did well to seem properly impressed by Mandalore's offer. He was a tall man, barrel chested and strong, though the grey and white in his short beard showed he was at the end of his prime. He was in plain clothes, but a display at one end of the bar showed a set of well used green and black armor. The man produced a glass and set it before Eris. From behind the bar, he lifted a bottle and showed her the label. He lifted a brow in question and Eris nodded once. He poured, replaced the bottle, and turned his dark green eyes back to Mandalore.

"'S not much I can tell you, to be honest." he said, one hand lifting to scratch at his chin in thought. "Some o' them come into to town every now an' then. They buy supplies and head back out. They're in the hills somewhere west o' here." he gestured in that general direction. His eyes drifted back toward Eris, who sipped at her drink, her own eyes fixed on him. He then looked down at the stack of credits on the bar and his jaw tightened.

Eris looked around. The place was well kept, clean, but it was not exactly what one might call modern. All was in good repair, but very obviously old. What Dral brought would go far, she was sure, in much needed updates to the place. And yet, the man hesitated. Eris' brow furrowed slightly as she turned her gaze back to the bartender. Ordo was not exactly a bustling metropolis. What they had here, they worked hard for. And much of it they made with their own hands. They had the spirit of Mandalorian independence in spades, she thought. And with that, would come a stubborn pride and reluctance to accept what might be seen as a handout.

"Fair trade." Eris said to the man, her voice a harsh rasp as she gestured with her head toward the credits.

The man sighed. "Look, them Lone boys pay or work for what they take. They been fair to the town." He'd barely finished the sentence as his voice ran out of steam. His eyes turned and alighted on the armor on display. "But I know my duty." Seeing Eris had emptied her glass, he filled it again and the scooped up the credits. "What I don't know, my boy can tell you." He gestured past Eris and Dral toward a row of booths that sat in the shadow of a loft area opposite where the band played on their small stage. Only one booth was in use, and it had a single occupant. From where he sat in the shadows, the details of his features were not visible, but the glow of a cig hinted at the lines of his face. Eris tipped her glass slightly toward the bartender before taking a sip and stood from the stool, collecting her helmet.

"Here." the man said, setting the bottle he'd been pouring from onto the bar for her. "Fair trade."

Eris tipped her head this time and took the bottle as well before turning and moving toward the booth.

[Dutch]

The Regulator stood ominously still behind Eris as she worked her magic, and listened to the dialogue between her and the bartender. Mandalore noted the twang to his tone, an increasingly common sound in the Mandalorian frontiers, mostly due to the increased number of outsiders (namely former Republicans), who had joined them in the recent decade. For some types it instilled a sense of distrust, he knew this, wariness common in the current cold galactic climate. Especially among the Mandalorian people, but Dral didn’t let the lad’s accent be anything more than that.

Even so, the Mandalorian soon found himself lulled by the candor given, and distracted by a neon sign which reflected upon his golden carapace in glinting purple and blue. Handmade by the look, a blaster pistol would cock back in a rhythmic motion, pouring an electric orange beverage across the bar's mantle and into lettering which spelled out ‘Saviin Sarsaparilla’, the popular brand name shaped like a bottle at the other end of the wooden bar. The Feeorin could almost taste the beverage’s bubbly, syrupy delights, could hear the laughter of his grandchildren as they cracked open a case at carnival together. Saw the one he handed little Eris the first time she broke bread with her future people, fresh from leaving a life of slavery behind. An Eris who just coolly closed their contract with a fellow Mandalorian with barely a hushed phrase.

His titanic form shifted to let the bottle-toting shaman move from the bar, now headed in the direction the bartender noted with little hesitation. Mandalore however, did hesitate for a moment. He watched the neon sign go through its cycle once more, T-visor turned to follow the blaster pistol pouring forth neon sarsaparilla before the Feeorin finally did shift to lean closer. His massive gauntlet pressed into the bar next to the comically small glass next to his thumb, and the horned helm turned to face the tender.

“None of this is easy.” The Regulator said in his slow baritone, the tone a gentle balm, leaving no question as to whether he was enjoying this task or not. “But it is worth it. It is necessary.” He added before the great warlord turned to follow his shaman.

[Meira]

Helmet tucked under one arm, glass and bottle in the opposite hand, Eris moved across the room toward the shadowed figure in the booth. After a few moments, the heavy footfalls of Mandalore followed behind her, a solid and constant comfort. As she stepped under the loft's shadow, her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, allowing the details of the man's face to become somewhat clearer. Dark eyes watched her from under low, thick brows. His hair, a nearly black brown was just long enough to hint at waves and was swept nonchalantly back and to the side. A short beard, cropped close, accented a strong and square jaw. By the way he sat, or rather lounged like a languid cat, in the booth made an exact estimate of his height difficult. But, Eris was safe -as she almost always was- in the assumption that he was likely at least a head taller than herself. Like his father, this man was dressed in clothing rather than armor. The rugged fabric was worn, but well cared for and fit well on his lean frame. Every aspect of his demeanor presented him as a man entirely at ease in his surroundings. He puffed again at his cig as Eris stopped beside his table.

She set the bottle down with a soft clunk, label facing toward the man. Her eyes moved from his to the empty glass just in front of him, and then back to his eyes. His did not shift for a long moment. They stared without hesitation right back into hers. Then he let the smoke out from his lungs in a long, slow breath as he swept his eyes over the rest of her. A twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at a smile as he sat himself more upright, lowering his feet from the cushioned seat across from him and pushed his empty glass toward her with the back of his hand.

"Now you musta paid a pretty penny if pop gave you the whole bottle." he mused as Eris set her helmet and her own glass onto the table before pouring from the bottle into his glass. His eyes moved from watching her to just behind her shoulder as a bigger shadow darkened the area. "Then again," he said, dipping his head slightly toward the hulking figure behind her, "only the best for Mandalore."

He took the glass when she finished pouring and lifted it. "To what do I owe this honor?" has asked as he waited for her to refill her own glass. When she did, he gestured for her to take the seat across from him. Eris lowered herself into the booth. "Has my daddy volunteered my services?"

"Lone." Eris rasped.

"Ahhh..." the man smiled and nodded. He held his cig over an ashtray, tapping it lightly to allow the gray end to fall away. His other hand rocked his glass in a gentle circle, absentmindedly. He brought the cig back to his mouth and inhaled, the end glowing a bright orange and then quickly fading. "Not an easy man to find. The hill country can be difficult to navigate. Can get turned around real quick." he nodded.

Eris set her glass down on the table between them. It made a solid, impatient thump. Her eyes stared into his, brows furrowed to emphasize her stern expression. The man's smile widened, the slightest tip of his tongue showing just between his teeth.

"Alright, alright." he said, placating. His eyes glanced quickly over to the bar where they found his father watching him. They then moved to the stoic Mandalore. "Strong silent type?" he asked, his head tilting almost imperceptibly toward Eris.

Annoyed, Eris signed not worth it to Dral and began to rise from the table.

"I don't know," the man said with a chuckle, "I'm worth quite a lot."

Eris' eyes shot back toward the man, widened slightly at being caught off guard. His chuckle continued as he slowly stood from the booth. She'd been right. He was a head taller than she was. He stepped close, looking down at her with his lopsided grin. He lifted her glass from the table, putting it into her hand and then clinking his own against it before swallowing his drink in one throw. Setting the empty glass on the table, he snubbed his cig in the ash tray stood back up.

"Meet me at the edge of town in half an hour." he said, then dipped his head to the both of them as he began to walk away. After a few paces, he turned back toward them, walking backwards for a moment. "Rohlan Spar," he said, placing the palm of his empty hand to his chest. "Since you asked. But my friends call me Clay. Bring that." He pointed at the bottle on the table, dipped his head toward Dral one last time, and winked at Eris, before turning and stepping out the door.

Eris' mouth curled into a slight frown as her eyes continued to watch the door for a few moments before she shook her head and looked at Dral. She took a deep breath, knowing that this man would be testing her patience, but also knowing that he was needed if they wanted to end this business with Lone quickly. She let the breath out with a sigh and downed her drink.

I'll go get the supplies. she signed.