First Reply A Farmer's War

[Armel]

Wistril, Outer Rim Territories​

While the galaxy looked to the core as the Alliance and Empire fought a war of annihilation in the periphery forgotten conflicts and violent power struggles had become a staple. Wistril was no different; raiders, colonists and farmers fought short but violent turf wars across the grassy plains, a problem that had worsened by a growing number of foreign fighters.

The farmlands were bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, an eerily beautiful end to what had been an incredibly violent day. Walking amongst knee-high grass an armoured Neo-crusader stalked and with a shouldered rifle he scanned the horizon for any movement. The day's fighting had ended and town which refused to swear fealty to the local warlord had been reduced to rubble. Armel had now taken on the long and unenviable task of hunting down the survivors. Of course he was not without the right tools for the job.

"Sibak! Untota!" he called out.

Grass began to rustle and the sound pounding paws against dirt filled the air. Darting out in front of the crusader two massiffs skidded to a halt, their paws digging into the roots of the long grass. Dropping to one knee Armel pet one of the massiffs on the head, the spines on its back bristled as he did so. The Zeltron reached into his utility belt and produced a bloody bandage that had been left on the battlefield. The darker of the two, Untota, approached, nose twitching Armel held it out to him. The massiff seemed to bury his face in it as he sniffed, the other watching curiously and after a few brief seconds it lifted its head with its nose pointed up in the air. Then in an instant it took off with the other trailing closely behind. Armel looked up and watched the twin wakes of bent stalks and wheat as they snaked across the field before turning sharply towards a farmhouse.

A devilish grin formed under his T-visor; his quarry was close and now the hunt would get exciting. He lowered his rifle, a cybernetic arm gripping it tightly as his jetpack began to sputter. After a few brief fwoomps from the nozzles an orange jet spewed out, propelling him into the air and he rocketed straight towards the farm.

OOC: Be the survivor, be someone caught in the middle, be the farmer, be whoever you wanna be gang.

 

[Zandra Ruus]

Zandra had heard tell of the dying embers of The Crusade far into the reaches of space, she could hardly believe it. To think a member of The Crusades was still alive! She had to see for herself, see if there was a way to connect to this kindred soul. Nothing could keep her from the backwater world of Wistril.

It took some days to understand the complicated situation of the planet, but her streetwise nature led her quickly to the root of the problem. Local warlords had been hiring a Mandalorian to do his bidding. This was not Zandra's fight, but she wasn't going to judge a fellow hunter for his work. So long as he was honorable in his duty, and worked in the way a true Mandalorian should, then there would be no quarrel.

That aside, she wished you meet with this Mandalorian, to see who still carried the banner for The Crusade. If he was worthy, she may attempt to parlay with him. If he was not, then she was planning on seeing his strength of arms first hand!

Her quest to find this crusader brought her to a burnt out village. It reminded her of past battles, of her mentor Sig Dryygo, wherever he had gone. Their battles left many a village in a similar state. Kneeling down, she ran a hand over a charred spot in the grass.

"Could be a flame weapon, definitely a smaller one. Wristflamers were all the rage..." She trailed off, following the well trodden paths "Now where did you go Vod? Can't have gotten far..."

Zandra had to move quickly, it was likely she'd lose the trail if she didnt. Tracks could be easily covered, but one thing was very difficult to hide. The howls of Massiffs and the sight of a heavy metal figure flying across the horizon!

"So you are alive, guess I'll be following your dogs then. Maybe we'll have a chat once you land."

 

[Armel]

Wistril, Outer Rim Territories​

The screech of the jetpack could be heard across the farmlands, and Armel came to a rapid landing, stirring up a cloud of dust and dry earth. He had not gone unnoticed; from the farmhouse, an elderly Zabrak farmer emerged with a cycler rifle in hand. Peeking through the closed door, he could just make out weary eyes watching.

"Evening, friend," he said, his voice flat and unhurried. Behind his helmet, blue eyes scanned the farmhouse and its surroundings. "Been an awful lot of fighting 'round these parts lately. Any of it spill out this way?"

"Just me, the family, and crops out here." The farmer put on a brave face as he spoke, but Armel could see his hands tremble. With his mind, Armel felt the farmer radiate cold—a cold he knew as fear.

"I was hoping for a bit more honesty." As he spoke, he snapped his fingers, and the two massiffs darted out from the wheat field, immediately locking onto the farmer. With erect spines, they circled the farmer like sharks, gnashing their teeth and snarling. "I've been following some bad men, and all the signs point them in this direction. I'll give you another chance to tell the truth."

The farmer seemed to ready his rifle as the hounds approached. "The only bad man I seen is the one standing in front of me," the farmer growled.

"Well then, you won't mind if I have a look around." Armel then threw the bloody bandage towards the massiffs. "Echoy!"

The massiffs broke into a dash, with noses against the dirt they began to circle the house, eager to pick up the scent. They raced past the farmer, quickly beginning to scratch and bite the wooden door behind him. A muffled shout and the sound of a commotion came from inside the house.

The farmer instantly raised the rifle at one of the massiffs. Before his finger even touched the trigger the slugthrower was yanked out of his hand by a fibercord whip and now lay at the feet of the Zeltron. The massiff, freed from the threat of the rifle, turned to the farmer and approached with a predatory slowness, backing the elderly Zabrak against a wall.

"Aran!" Armel barked another command, and the massiff stopped within lunging range, ink-black and unblinking eyes locked onto the Zabrak.

Armel took a few steps forward, his eyes locked on the farmer. He then turned to the massiff that was clawing at the door and brought it under control. He moved to grab the doorknob, but suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. His head turned back out to the fields, and he scanned the horizon. He couldn't tell what it was... another presence? Had someone followed him? Followed the hounds?

The Zeltron stepped away from the door and back out to where he stood before. Whatever it was, his gut told him someone else was out there.

Zandra Ruus ​

 

[Zandra Ruus]

Zandra watched with crossed arms as the heavily-armored Zeltron disarmed the old Zabrak. Her bet was that he was about to end up Massiff chow, but she was wrong. The beast stopped short of the old farmer and stood stone still as it's owner commanded. More restraint than expected from a Neo-Crusader, that impressed Zandra quite a bit.

In her opinion, there was little honor in needlessly killing some old man. However, raising a rifle was a sign of hostile intent, so he was in his right to defend his pet. Yet the old dalgaan'aad* didn't seem to really appreciate how lucky he was to be alive.

While Zandra was watching all of this from a small hill near the farm, it became clear that her presence was being felt by Armel. She was hoping to watch a little while longer, but that didn't seem possible anymore. She walked forward calmly, not trying to spook one of the large creatures as she approached.

It was clear she wasn't here to fight, as her beskads were tucked away on her back, and her blaster on her hip. While she could easily draw them at a moment's notice, she kept her hands away from any weapon. Instead, she raise a single hand in a wave, greeting Armel in a suitably informal manner.

"Su cuy'gar**, seems I have interrupted you mid-hunt. Sorry for that Vod," Zandra said, looking the man up and down as her left hand came to reflexively rest on the corresponding hip. "You're still wearing your Crusader beskar, respect to you. I'm just here to observe, as you seem to have everything tied up here. Maybe once we're done here, I can ask you a few questions?"

The chances of Armel needing her help were low, but she felt it best to offer it regardless. If she was going to interrupt this hunt, it was the least she could do to pull her own weight. She spared a glance to the old man, before shaking her head. Poor old fool...

Bastard, *You're still alive (informal Mando'a greeting)

 

[Armel]

Wistril, Outer Rim Territories​

An armored silhouette appeared on the horizon, and instinctively the Crusader raised his rifle to a low ready before turning to face this stranger. As she approached, he spotted something which threw him off completely.

"Beskar..." he said under his breath.

His mind started racing as he tried to figure out who this warrior was—perhaps a protector patrolling her beat, or maybe a bounty hunter who happened to pick up the same job. Either way, it didn't sit well with the Crusader, and so he readied to bark a new order to his massiff. But then she offered a wave and a greeting he did not expect.

"I didn't think I'd live to see another Crusader," he said, grinning under his helmet. "Before the Crusade I was a slave; this armour, it is my liberation," Armel proclaimed as Zandra spoke of his armour.

"But yes, the hunt," he said, his eyes locking onto the Zabrak farmer. His tone was cold as he spoke. "Don't worry, vod, I won't be long."

Armel's turned to the door and with a swift kick, sent it flying back, spraying the porch with splinters. The Zeltron disappeared inside, and the sounds of a fight echoed from within, followed by muffled screams. Barely any time had passed before another Zabrak came flying out the door, crashing into a heap in the dirt. Armel came next, and an elderly Zabrak woman followed, pulling on the Crusader and smacking his armoured body with weak, bony hands.

"Please, he's my only boy!" she wailed. The Crusader paid little attention, focused entirely on his quarry.

The fallen Zabrak did not move from where he fell; the sound of his labored breathing the only indication he still lived. Underneath the bloody bandages that covered his body was the uniform of the local marshals. Armel raised the rifle, and this time the Zabrak woman grabbed it. It wasn't long until the Crusader had thrown her to the ground, her wailing now reduced to uncontrollable sobbing.

Armel stood over the young marshal and ripped a bronze-colored pin from his shirt. The Zeltron held it up into the sky and inspected it, speaking to the Zabrak at the same time.

"Speak your final words."

The fallen marshal mumbled: perhaps a prayer, maybe even a final farewell. It didn't last long, and as soon as he finished speaking, Armel pulled the trigger. The sound of a blaster bolt echoed through the fields. Before the smoke had begun rising from his corpse, Armel was already walking toward Zandra.

"Olaror!" he barked and the two massiffs leapt from the porch and darted past Armel towards the track. By now the farmers had reached the body of the dead marshal, the sounds of their cries filled the air.

"You can ask your questions while we walk sister," he said as he reached her. "These two will make for poor company if we stay."

Zandra Ruus ​