A Hunting We Shall Go

[Darth Metus]

Dustig Sector, Haruun Kal

The hour was mid afternoon when the heavens above were disturbed by the roaring of engines. From the depths of hyperspace surged forth a single vessel, a Templar-class Light Freighter, which swiftly descended to the world below. The journey from the heart of Confederate space to the far-flung world of Haruun Kal was one rooted in ambition; for the pilot and his companion were on a voyage to seek out one of the more dangerous resources of the world. Known as Akk Wolves, the creatures were hulking beasts whose hides could shrug off the blade of a lightsaber; and were known to be the bane of many a wielder of the Force. This day, the pilot of the vessel, a Mandalorian known as Isley Verd, had commissioned the assistance of a new acquaintance to accomplish the task of rounding up and procuring a few of these deadly beasts.

Upon landing in the midst of a clearing, the beskar-clad warrior was the first to disembark from the Light Freighter. His footsteps, long and confident, bore him down the landing ramp and into the midst of the sea of trees that surrounded the vessel. Lowering himself to a knee, Isley placed a hand flat upon the ground and reached out with the Force; tapping into one of the innate abilities born of his Kiffar blood. Known as Psychometry, the technique was one that revolved around viewing the "memories" of inanimate objects. Of all the skills born of the Force, this was one that was exceptionally useful for tracking and hunting. A calm breath filled his lungs and the hours played before his mind's eye...a rodent walked by here, a snake slithered by there...and finally, he caught sight of one of the elusive creatures.

"They headed off this way." he said, rising to his feet. "Let's get us some Akk Wolves."

@[member="Serock Hoath"]

 

[Hira Mitsae]

As Serock stepped out of the transport, and felt the crunching sensation of the earth beneath his boots he sighed in satisfaction. He had never become truly comfortable with traveling the stars, his people were not made for such kind of shenanigans. Truly, from a young age he had been on ships, such was the life of a slave. But.. there was a subtle difference between big carriers, where long thick walls of metal separated you from the cold vacuum of outer space and the safety that laid in the ship interior. Or little transports, where he could practically feel the weight of the stars weighing down upon him. ​

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His own ship was from the first type, still had not named the damn thing. People were bugging him about it for ages now, and that only made it more annoying. What did it matter what the ship was called, a ship was a ship it transported you from one world to another and that was it. He was half of mind to call it the Broken Wodka Bottle, but for some reason he thought people would not see the fun in that. So he waited, until inspiration would find him and throw a name in his head.​

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Until that time.. it would always be called the Broken Wodka Bottle in his mind. Maybe even after its official christening. Broken Wodka Bottle... yeah!​

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As he looked around the place, searching for possible targets he could not help but note how Isley was touching the ground... looking for something? Oh God.. he was using that damn Hippy Voodoo Space Magic stuff. Why in the name of the Divines people needed that, when they could have a good ol' proper knife, some leather and fur to cloth yourself in and some booze to warm your belly? He did not know, nor did he really wish to know their reasoning. It was just strange, and unnatural. ​

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But then as Isley called out to him, telling him that he actually already found their target? Well.. call him impressed. Such a technique would have been excellent, in the cold and dark winter months. When meat was scarce and bellies were empty. Maybe.. there was something good about th-- “Shut up, Serock. Don't even think about it. You are not going to become some parfum-filled Space Hippy. Stick to what you know, and move on.”​

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And so he did, just giving Isley an acknowledging grunt and following his lead. This was the Hippy's area of expertise. Serock was just here to kill and collect some leather and.. maybe some fur for his new outfit.​

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@[member="Isley Verd"]​

 

[Darth Metus]

Over the course of his lifetime, the Mandalorian had stared into the jaws of a great many dangers. During his youth, he and his brethren stormed into the dens of Rakghoul and purged them for the glory of Mandalore! In his adult years, they ventured onto a derelict ship and faced down the spawn of hell...and lived to tell the tale. Year after year, Isley had become very adept at facing the unthinkable and walking away unscathed; and as such it built his confidence. If he could gun down an horde of Rakghoul, then a pack of Akk Wolves would be no problem. After the Grand Marshal sounded his affirmation in the form of a grunt, Isley hastened forward and began a brisk tread through the woods. His guard, as always, was up; and he relied upon the scanners within his helm in order to keep surprises far from being within the realm of possibility.

For several minutes, the Mandalorian followed the force-born trail that his Psychometry had placed before his eyes; stopping every so often to check the path through the Force. Their heading remained relatively steady, with the occasional deviation here and there. Isley walked in silence, as there was not much conversation to be made. He had a slight...understanding of the male who had accompanied him; an understanding rooted in the fact that he was of few words. That was something that Isley liked, as idle conversation grew tiresome after awhile. Ultimately, he would come to a halt at the edge of a clearing and signal for Serock to stop as well before dropping to a knee. Through the cover of the brush, he could see that they had finally found that which they were looking for: the pack.

They numbered in nine...and were larger than what the Mandalorian had expected. Humongous was the word to describe them. Covered from head to tail in bright, orange scales, the Akk Wolves all lumbered about the fallen carcasses of their latest hunt: a pack of something unrecognizable due to how mangled their fangs had made the bodies. Speaking in a low whisper, as to not draw the attention of the beasts, he turned to the Grand Marshal. "It's gonna take some doing to take them all down...any thoughts on how to proceed?" ([member="Serock Hoath"])