Mandalorian Menace

Game Master Master of the Dark Forces

The year is 37 ABY. It has been one year since the conclusion of the swarm war, and the galaxy is experiencing a period of peace. The Jedi Order has been rebuilt, with their academy on Ossus training the next generation of Jedi Knights. On the planet Mandalore, reconstruction has been undergoing since the conclusion of the Vong war, where much of the planet was devastated, and over a million of the Mandalorian warriors were killed when the Vong attacked. In the city of Keldabe, four young warriors hope to join the ranks of the famed (and feared) Mandalorian warriors. These young hopefuls must undergo several trials in order to join Clan Revik, a prominent clan on Mandalore. They have been called to the Oyu’baat, a local watering hole. While awaiting their tasks, they may introduce themselves, and hold a conversation.

Vyr enter the 'watering hole' and sits down at an empty table. Black hair and grey skin mark him as something other then human but so far everyone has been kind. His right hand awkwardly rubs his left forearm where the identification numbers where once tattooed. His body it's gained freedom from the numbers oppression but the removal process has left the spot itchy. He orders and drink but doesn't drink it. It just sits in front of him. He want to make a good first impression and what he hopes will be his new comrades. This is making him very nervous not that he lets it show. He is good at pretending to be something he is not. The resistance teaches that from a very early age. Nothing to do now but wait and put on a good smile. Maybe he will flit with the waitress in the mean time. Too bold, not yet. Talk to the bar tender is a much better idea. He gets up and takes a seat at the bar. "Good day sir. Any local news that is note worth? I just arrived and I would like to get to know the area. Make some new friends and all that."

The bartender, a large man with a shaven skull, scarred face, and what looks to be a faded tattoo of a Rancor on his left arm, looks up and says, ‘News? What news? This is Mandalore! Nothing ever happens here. Where did you think you were? Coruscant?’ He roars in laughter. ‘Come on chap, have a drink.

Anders meanders into the Oyu'baat, thirsty from his trip from Concord Dawn.

What a stupid rule, "no drinking on a ship." Greedy or'dinii. Guess he thought I couldn't smell the liquor on him. That's what I get for booking passage on an aruetii vessel.

Anders grumbles up to a mostly-empty table and takes off his cap and jacket.

"Ni copaani buy'ce gal."

He nods once to the bartender, who appears to be talking to an alien, specifically the alien sitting at this table. Realizing that he has once again managed to make a social blunder, he apologizes.

"Sorry for the interruption. I'd like a Devaronian ale, five centimeters of Corellian whiskey, and a basket of wings. I'd also like to cover his next drink as an apology."

Anders nods respectfully at the grey-skinned alien as an idea pops into his head.

"Hey bartender, is the Nightsisters' game on yet? I've been stuck on a tin can for the past week, and I haven't been able to get my bolo-ball fix. Could you help a vod out?"

Axel lumbers into the bar and takes a look around. So this is the famed 'Oyu'baat.' Hmmm. Not much to look at. Still, should be a decent place for a drink.

He walks up to the counter and takes a seat on stool next to big-headed, grey-skinned alien, and another local the bar keep is talking to. "I'll have what's on tap," he says.

Vyr turns to the human who entered and bough him a drink. Okay then time to drink. Vyr downs his first drink in one go and gladly takes the second free one. A third human enters the place and sits down beside at at the bar. "Many thanks for this drink. I will take my time with this one. Bar tender, allow me to pay it forward. This man who just asked what was on tap. Buy him a drink on me and I second the call for some Limmie. It has been a while since I watched any. I mostly just played it as a kid. Are the Nightsister's having a good year, friend? My name is Vyr by the way."

A tall, slim man wearing a poncho strides into the Oyu'baat, his eyes roaming over the beings sitting within. He does not stop in the doorway, but with forced casualness ambles to an empty seat where his back is to a wall. Keeping his cloak on and his pack within easy reach, he scans the crowd for his contact from the Mandalorian clan. Failing to see anyone matching the description he was given, Tarros walks over to the bar to order a drink.

He eyes the trio at the bar warily, listening in while he waits for a chance to place his order with the bartender. They don't seem like Hutt agents, but you never know...
As soon as he gets a chance, he orders the cheapest item on the menu.

After a time, three tall figures, clad in full beskar’gam stride into the Oyu’baat. One is clad in black, one in blue, and one in red, with a gold helmet. They all have large blaster pistols at their sides. They stride to the bar, remove their buy’ce, and can be seen ordering drinks. Without helmets, it can be seen that they are three humans, two male and one female. They walk up to the bar, and order some drinks. If you eavesdrop on their conversation, you catch a number of words and phrases, including: ‘new recruits,’ ‘mission,’ ‘survivors,’ ‘earn their place.’ One of the men, an older man, with graying hair and a complete suit of black beskar’gam eyes the four at the bar, and remarks:

A grizzled veteran of many conflicts, including helping oust the Imperials off Mandalore, and defending the planet from the Vong invaders. He looks to be about 60 standard years old, and wears a necklace with dozens of imperial dogtags on it, seemingly as trophies. ‘This group here looks like they could cause some damage, eh Drang?’

Younger than Grovan, but with many of the same facial characteristics, got a fair amount of experience fighting against the Vong as a young adult. He has short, cropped, black hair, and a long, braided beard. He wears a necklace with what looks like many Yuuzhan Vong teeth threaded onto it. He looks to be in his mid-thirties. He wears blue armor. ‘Shab, buir, I don’t know, they look kinda, you know, boracyk. How do you expect them to be helpful?’

Similar in age to Drang, but with long, blonde hair. She wears red armor, with a golden helmet. She looks just as dangerous as the other two, if not more. Throughout her blonde braids are a number of large talons and teeth. The left side of her face is scarred extensively, by what looks like an old blaster burn. Her left eye is completely gone. ‘Let’s give them a chance, if they fail, they die, and we don’t have to pay them, and they prove themselves unworthy of joining our ranks, riduur.’

‘Well, are you the group we’ve been looking for?’

"Su'cuy!" Anders salutes Grovan and turns back to the table, downing his whiskey. Yuck, Dad loved this stuff? I can't stand it. Anders' face screws up in a moue of distaste. He immediately switches to his Devaronian ale, letting the cool smooth brew wash away the harsh bite of his father's favourite whiskey.

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."

Having completed his duty as a son, he turns back to Grovan.

"Sorry about that. You looking for someone, buir?"

Anders looks at the old man, disregarding the younger two. A sixty-year-old Mando'ade is nothing to scoff at.

"I think, my new friend, that he is here looking for us. I am assuming that your three are the contacts that I was told about. Care for a round of drink before we start or is it bad form to offer what you hope will be your new superior officers drinks? I am rather new to all this Mandalorian stuff. My name is Vyr Sol'rova and I wish to be a new recruit." Vyr bows the the three warriors. A deep bow of respect.

Tarros stands as he sees the armoured Mandalorians enter the bar. As they approach, he walks over to the bar to greet them. Overhearing the conversation, he joins in. "Greetings. I'm Tarros Jek, and I've applied as well."

"Axel," says Axel, getting up off his stool. He holds out his fist to the older man. He has absolutely no idea what mandalorian customs are, nor does he really care. He goes with what he knows.

He also doesn't really know what the contract detailed, he sorta skimmed it over briefly. All he knows is Mandalore has long been a strong and independant world, with ties to no galactic power. A perfect place for him to lay low until that incident on Malastaar blows over. It is also fraught with mercenaries, so he hoped there would be good work for someone of his caliber. When the job got passed his way he signed without thinking. It was an easy way out of the biker gang, and that's all he knew. Guess now it's time to find out what I've got myself into.

Seemingly unimpressed by the four of you, eyes each of you up and down, utters two words, ‘Di’kutla aruetiise,’ and stalks out of the bar, followed by Raya, who seems no more impressed than Drang.

‘I apologize for the attitude of my son, he doesn’t take kindly to newcomers. Prove yourselves, and he may become more accepting. Stay out of the way of that wife of his, though, she’s a mean one. Ask her how she got her scars sometime.’ He turns, and on his way out of the bar, says ‘Take a couple rooms here for the night, they are paid for. Someone will be by at dawn to fetch you for training.’

Once the 3 armoured warriors left Vyr turned to the others. "Doesn't take kindly to new comers? His planet is missing a third of it's population and there is massive whole blasted out of it. The Vong nearly killed them all, like they almost did to all of us. I can't ever repay these men for what they did to save my planet but you would think be kinder those that want to join. Maybe it is my time as a resistance fighter but you don't turn away help. Ah, what ever. I am off to my room to get a good night's rest. Good night to you my new friends and I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow morning."

Hunh, so that's our employer, Axel thinks to himself as Grovan leaves. Bit of an uptight bunch. Big guy seems genuine enough I guess. I just hope this is all worth it.

Axel takes a moment to study the other three. The grey-skinned alien turns to go find a room for the night, leaving him and the two humans. Good. I guess there will be time to get to know the Duro later.

"So I guess we're working together then," he says to the two others. "I'm Axel. You should probably know that, since we'll be spending some time together."

Turning to the one who ordered a whiskey - the one who seems to know a lot of Mando'a - he asks, "that's a fancy bit of language you've picked up. You a local or where'd you learn that?"

"Tarros Jek. Pleased to meet you." Tarros slips a hand out from under his cloak and holds it out to the two remaining men.

Anders happily shakes Tarros' hand, and offers him a wing from his basket.

"Su'cuy, my name is Anders Karson. I'm from Concord Dawn, and I grew up in a Mandalorian community. I'm here to look for my mother, she fought here during the war. Dad and I haven't seen her since. Seeing as he just passed away, I thought I'd try to find her. Meanwhile, I thought I'd find work as an armorer or something."

Anders shrugs, munching on one of his wings.

"What about you, Tarros? What brings you here?"

"Ah, you know, trying to get away from it all..." Tarros shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flitting over the nearby patrons to see if any of them are listening in. His eyes refocus on Axel as he quickly changes the subject. "How about you, Axel? You seem like a strong guy."

The bartender suddenly interrupts your conversation, handing each of you a key to a room. He offers a word of advice to you: ‘So you’re the sorry bunch that is petitioning to join the Revik clan eh? Good luck with that, that Drang, he’s a tough trainer. He may never like any of you, but survive his training, and you may earn his respect. Don’t get on his bad side though, did you see the teeth around his neck? He took them from the Vongese he saw kill his mother and sister, after he tore them to pieces with that beskad of his, oh, you should have seen that, whirling and slashing, those Vongese didn’t stand a chance. Then his first wife, and newborn son were in his home when it got hit by a crashing coralskipper. He may seem hard, and he is, but he has lost much. He made a vow after the Vongese were run off, that he would not lose a single clan member, ever again. So, while his training may be harsh, survive it, and he will be proud to call you his vode, and will stand beside you in any conflict. So get some sleep, you won’t have many good nights over the next few weeks, if not longer.’

"Ah, you know, trying to get away from it all..."

"How about you, Axel? You seem like a strong guy."

Axel just grins and flexes a highly decorated bicep. "Heh, heh, you might say that. I guess I got some ghosts that haunt the places I've been, and I don't plan on goin' back. I know enough about mercs that I thought I'd try a gig myself. Got wind of a job down here and jumped ship, simple as that."

The bartender suddenly interrupts your conversation, handing each of you a key to a room. He offers a word of advice to you: "So you’re the sorry bunch that is petitioning to join the Revik clan eh? Good luck with that, that Drang, he’s a tough trainer. He may never like any of you, but survive his training, and you may earn his respect. Don’t get on his bad side though, did you see the teeth around his neck? Etc etc..."

"Shoot, is everyone around here in on this thing? I got no idea what's goin' on. I just signed up to break stuff."

Tarros shrugs. "Guess that guy's famous around here. I figure I know as much as you do."

"Well then, to clueless immigrants and desperate hopefulls." Axel raises his drink in a toast, then downs it and slams the empty cup on the counter. "Another," he says to the barkeep.

Anders scratches his cap.

"I don't remember signing anything... Nope, still nothing. And if I'm going to sign up for any of the clans, it would be clan Kelborn, my mother's clan."

Anders pulls a flimsy from his jacket pocket.

"This is her. Aerin Kelborn."

Anders sighs heavily.

"This picture is fifteen years old. Do you know how difficult this is going to be? I'm not even sure she's on the planet, but it's the best place to start looking. I guess I can see if clan Revik can help me find her."

"Well then, to clueless immigrants and desperate hopefulls." Axel raises his drink in a toast, then downs it and slams the empty cup on the counter. "Another," he says to the barkeep.

Tarros also drains his drink, wincing as the cheap alcohol offends his tastebuds. "I'll have another too..." His voice trails off as he pats his pocket. "Actually, just make it a water."

Turning back, he takes a look at the photo on the flimsy Anders holds out. "Your mother was a Mandalorian? Whoa."

"Yeah, she is. Was. Is. I don't know. I just know she left years ago and didn't come back. With Dad gone, I figure I have to try and find her."

Anders sighs as he finishes his ale and wings.

"I should go to bed..."

Anders pauses to see if anyone is going to keep talking. If not he's going to bed.

"Ahh, sorry, I mean..." Tarros flounders. "Sorry. Didn't mean to imply..."

"No worries, vod. It's been over a decade; I've had some time to get used to it."

Anders yawns and meanders over to his room, flopping to the bed.

I should have brought a change of clothes. Anders, you're a di'kut.

With that, Anders Karson-Kelborn falls asleep.

Tarros keeps his mouth shut and gives a relieved nod. After Anders walks out, he glances over to Axel. "I'll head off as well. See you tomorrow."

Checking his key for his room number, Tarros makes his way to the accommodations given to him. Glad they paid for this, he thinks, patting his pocket where his last trugut rests.

He finally takes off his poncho, carefully draping it over his pack, which he places beside his bed. He dozes off thinking of the trials to come.

Axel finds himself alone at the bar, now that the others have left. Well, alone except for the barkeep. Not to be put off of the drink by the plucky attitudes of his new friends, Axel orders yet another drink. "Suit yourself," he says as Tarros heads off to bed. Axel spends the next few hours chatting with the bartender and generally getting himself thoroughly sloshed before stumbling into his room and passing out on the bed.

Vyr just lay in his room for hours before trying to fall asleep. Today was supposed to be the start of his new life but his old habits had taken hold. He was no longer fighting under the nooses of the Tofs and he could relax. He should have stayed downstairs and gotten to know his new companions. Instead his miss trusting nature got the better of him and he left. He didn't have to pretend to be something that he wasn't anymore. There was no one left to deceive here but there were plenty that he will need to impress. Tomorrow he will need to actual speak with these men and get to know them. There are no more hidden bases or attack plans that he has to keep secret. Tomorrow will be a different day.

After a short night, each of you is awakened by a loud pounding on each of your doors, and a very loud shout of ‘GRENADE!’ and a silver sphere is rolled into each of your rooms.

WARNING: Implied Profanity!
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

Anders bolts upright in his bed, spotting the silver sphere.

"Goore!" He shouts as he flips his mattress into a makeshift barrier between himself and the grenade.

"Shabuir kalikir kad'la beviin!" Anders curses loudly from underneath the mattress as he waits for the grenade to go off.

I'm gonna kill that hut'uunla shabuir if that's the last thing I do!

perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Shouting rouses Axel from his sleep. His head still foggy from last night's drink he only half notices the small metallic ball roll into his room. A number of curses run though the foggy stupour of his mind and out of his mouth as he kicks the grenade back out the door.

Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

The shiny metal sphere flies back out the door way and Axel covers his ears waiting for the blast.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Vyr didn't see the grenade but he heard someone call out that there was one. He rolled the opposite direct of the door and flipped the bed on to it's side. He hoped that is where the blast would be coming from. The bed really wouldn't do much to stop the blast but first rule of grenade survival; get as much stuff between you and the bomb as possible and pray. Vyr lay flat in the floor and waited for the blast that he hoped wouldn't come. "I really hope that this is a test!"

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

A light sleeper, Tarros hears the heavy tread of boots outside his room. The pounding on his door brings him to full consciousness, and he is already reaching for his pack when the voice shouts "GRENADE!"

With a burst of speed, Tarros dives off his bed and takes cover behind it, holding his cloak over his nose and mouth in case the grenade will release gas.

Vyr jumps to his feet. "Yes, sir! I will be ready in a moment." Resistance fighting teaches you how to get ready quickly. If you are slow then you are dead and alway pack the night before. In less then a minute Vyr is fully ready to go. "Ready to move out, Sir!"
If she is still there then he will follow her out or just head down himself.

Where does he get off calling me a hut'uunla di'kut? My reactions were textbook! I didn't see where the grenade landed, only the direction. Unlike that chakaar, I'm not wearing beskar'gam. My reactions were perfectly reasonable. Shabuir.

K(Tactics): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21

Anders grimaces sourly as he looks around the room.

"I'd like to see your shebs sit on a grenade without armour, shabuir. See how you like it. I swear, if you weren't wearing armour...

Anders kicks his bedding petulantly, and then begins packing. Three minutes later, Anders is standing beside the aforementioned speeder, muttering under his breath about accidents, faulty grav plates, and plausible deniability.

Tarros blinks. "Okay."

He heads to the fresher, and five minutes later shows up at the speeder.

"Good?" Axel says, bemused. The armored figure just turns around and walks out. The *crump* of a grenade detonating out in the street tells him that the rest of the crew was probably awoken in a similar fashion. He hadn't even noticed the armored figure until it deactivated the live grenade he had just returned. "Good? Was that some kind of test? Shoot, me and the boys used to pull pranks like that on each other all the time. But live grenades? You could kill someone if they were out cold."

Axel shakes his head and immediately regrets it. He's still dizzy with the after effects of last night, but he grabs his bag and puts on a new shirt to freshen up a bit. He shows up at the speeder just as the others arrive.

"The rest of you get a rude awakening too?" He asks when he thinks he has a moment.

Anders says nothing as he glares at the speeder.

Cutting the connection to the grav plates would be too conspicuous. Actually, that would be too lethal. Man, why did I have to inherit Dad's anger problems? Maybe I should just mod their comlinks or something. Hmmm. Not a bad idea. Change all their contacts to Neimoidian bankers or Sullustan fast food joints. Or maybe a Zeltron dance academy. Yes, that's perfect. Let's see that chakaar do business with all his contacts messed up.

Anders snickers lightly under his breath.

"The rest of you get a rude awakening too?"

Tarros looks up. "Yeah. I heard four voices yelling, so I figure they did the same to all you guys."

Waiting on a large speeder in the predawn light, outside the Oyu’baat are the four warriors who have rudely interrupted your sleep. In this light you can see that the one who visited Anders is very tall, in excess of 2m tall, and wearing armor with a dull golden sheen. The female who visited Axel is wearing mottled orange and black armor. Vyr’s Twi’lek visitor has faded, chipped green armor, and Tarros’ visitor wears what looks like black armor, but upon closer examination you see it is actually a very dark blue. The golden armored one gestures to the seats in the back, saying ‘Get on.’

The speeder heads out of Keldabe, passing through several areas of lush farmland, punctuated with numerous patches of ruined, scorched land where nothing is growing.

After around 45 minutes, you arrive at a farm, and disembark. Looking around, as the sun peeks over the horizon, you can see a large barn, with some animal sounds coming from that direction. There are also a number of houses a little way off from the barn. You also see a large table set up, next to what looks like a crude sparring ring. On the table looks like some crude weapons, mostly wooden. There are several piles of what looks like metal plates on the ground, and numerous wood and straw dummies set up around the yard.

Striding out from the barn comes an unarmored, and shirtless Drang. In the dim dawn light, he is an impressive figure to behold, incredibly broad shoulders and large muscles betray a life of hard work and fighting. There are numerous large scars on his torso, and the names Nirta and Vang tattooed on his left shoulder.

‘Gren, Serena, Ffon, Trask, thank you for bringing these chakaar here, it’s time to see what they have got.’ He states as they arrange you into two groups, Axel on one side, and Anders, Vyr, and Tarros on the other. ‘Now, do you know why I have separated you? It’s because Axel here was the only one to pass the test this morning. In sending the detonator out of the room, he removed the immediate threat, and also possibly killed his attacker with his own device.’ He points to a fenced in area a short distance away, filled with grazing nerfs. ‘Now, I want to see each of you do 25 laps of that corral over there, that should be around five kilometers. Axel, since you passed the test, you are only required to run 20 laps. Once you finish, you may eat breakfast. It will be ready in 15 minutes, so if you want it still hot, I would hurry.’

Axel is put out of sorts by this singling out. While he has always prided himself on staying fit, he has never been much of a runner. Spending time in the biker gang, he got accustomed to riding just about anywhere. A 5 Km run does not sound like his idea of a good time, even if his distance is lessened by his success this morning.

At the same time, he is being made an example of - someone the trainers hope the new recruits will look up to. Axel has never been a leader, in any sense of the word. He merely did what came to him instinctively (and that while being hungover.) He didn't anticipate being made an exemplar, and doesn't want the attention, but what is done is done.

In the end he is left stunned, dismayed, and embarrassed. All he can manage to say is "Er, okay.." What goes through his mind is a little more in depth. I still feel wasted from last night, and breakfast isn't really on my mind right now. These guys mean serious business about this whole training shtick. I'm gonna have to cut back on the festivities for a bit, but maybe that's a good thing. We're trying to get ourselves cleaned up here, Axel ma boy. Maybe this is for the best. A nice morning jog could do you some good, clear your head, get some fresh air.

Axel heads over to the field with the others and starts jogging around the pasture.
Endurance: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26 Yup, feelin' the burn, and it burns so good...
He sets off at a brisk pace and takes a good gulp of air into his lungs. Unfortunately, that particular wisp was laden with a pungent waft of animal dung. Whew, did I say 'get some fresh air?' What was that, Bantha turds? "What exactly do you suppose they keep in that barn over there?" he coughs.