While considered only a moon of Trandosha, that is hardly the defining trait of Wasskah. The jungle moon is instead best known as a game preserve used for hunting sentient beings. Its surface contains islands with sandy beaches and thorn-filled forests. It is primarily the jungle that will be seen by those who have been brought there against their will. However, with enough effort, one might escape to an island.

Beneath the jungle canopy, Wasskah is alive with the sounds of convorees, momongs, and other local fauna. Lush, green plants and vines cover the trees and hide the muddy ground beneath foliage. It is hard to find true daylight through the thick growth, but it is not impossible to come across bright rays of light.

While any sign of technology is nearly non-existent, some hunting nests remain to be discovered by the more tenacious of those trapped there. There isn't enough tech for a scavenger, but in a fight for survival every little bit counts. And every corner hides a potential threat.

You awaken at night in an open cage to a humid and vibrant jungle island filled with exotic flora. Any memory of how you got to this situation comes up blank, and the constellations in the skies say nothing as to where you are in the galaxy. However, a mark painted on your cage reveals a vaguely familiar emblem. The memory is fuzzy, but you recall recognizing the symbol as a crest for the Trandoshan Game Hunters: a league that kidnaps worthy prey to hunt for sport. You are now the next target of the hunt, and by the looks of the identical cages nearby, you are not the only one playing in the Trandoshans' most dangerous game.

Her head hurt, throbbed even, as she came to. Qyreia blinked at the darkness, her eyes squinting in the low light of night provided by the stars above. There was the sound of flapping wings and hooting as well, some kind of birds traveling through the thick canopy overhead.

Well that's not a good sign, was her first thought. Her last recollections had been flying her ship on a questionably legal supply run for the Clan, not camping outside. She shifted and sat up, rubbing at her eyes and noting with some alarm the lack of weight indicative of her usual armaments. Oh frak, what is going on now?

It was hard to make out much of her surroundings in the starlight, but she could definitely make out the bars that enclosed her. The muscles in her back tightened as she realized she was caged, her body already coiling in preparation of a fight as she got her feet underneath her. In a crouch, she turned around slowly, looking for her captors or at the very least, the door to her ad hoc cell. It was constructed of wood, she thought, or some kind of organic bits.

As she completed her one-eighty turn, her hand already moving to the boot where she could still feel her trusted knife, she found the entrance. She froze; it was open, but blocked by the bulk of a kneeling person. Her hand tightened on the grip of her weapon, ready to draw it and dispatch the lone guard before recognition began catching up with her aching head. In the dull light, she could just make out dusky blue skin, and a musculature that a shock ballplayer would envy. More to the point, he was facing outwards. It was if he was guarding her against anything approaching rather than trying to keep her contained.

The man's head turned slightly at the sounds of her moving, glowing red eyes taking her in.

"Miss Arronen," the big Chiss rumbled, "I was concerned you would not wake before sun-up. It does me well to see you stir."

"Strong?" she questioned, her voice little more than a whisper. "What the frack? Where are we? Where're my guns? And where, uh..." she trailed off as the man stood up. She was going to ask where he'd come from. Instead, she found another question more pressing. "Where the hell are your clothes?"

The Chiss stretched as he stood, accentuating the fact that he was wearing little more than a leather cloth covering his questionable bits.

"My own armor has apparently been confiscated, along with mine and your weapons. Truly, that Collective patrol was most unkind! I believe they decided we were of little worth, as we are neither of us among the 'talented' Arconans, nor hold any office. It would seem they saw fit to dump us on this moon, instead."

"Wait, Collective? Moon? Wait!" she growled, standing up and stalking up to him, a finger jabbing him in the midsection. "Were you onboard my frakking ship!?"

He looked down at her in bewilderment, "Well, yes. Mistress Vasano asked me to accompany you in case of any trouble, though she directed me to stay in the cargo hold to surprise any would-be attackers. I fear that when they disabled your vessel, that the ion weaponry must have shorted my own armor out. I was incapable of fighting them off before they could stun me as well. It all happened quite quickly."

Her jaw worked up and down several times before words would come out, her mind racing.

Schuttas must have gotten the drop on us, knocked out the systems in a hurry. And me, from the state of my head, she rubbed a sore spot near the temple, wondering if she'd hit it on a console. As his words sank in, something else lit the fire in her steely eyes. "I'm sorry, did you say Lucine told you to stowaway on my ship and not tell me?" she leaned forward again, hands planted on her hips.

"I was under the impression that she had told you--" he began to reply.

"I can't believe it! She doesn't trust me enough to do a simple cargo run, so she sends her...her boy toy to babysit me! And not even tell me!" The Zeltron threw her hands up in the air and turned from Strong, stomping about her cage.

She heard a grunt from behind her, making her turn in alarm, assuming her Chiss companion was under an assault. The look on his face suggested his injury was less physical and more emotional.

"I do apologize for the stowing away, and I cannot speak to the Lady Vasano's trust or lack thereof. And while her and I's relationship is well known, I do not believe 'boy toy' is an appropriate label!"

"Oh? Really?" she snarked at him, hands on her hips again, cocked slightly to the left. "She's a manipulative, scheming tart who calls you up when she needs to relieve some boredom or put some muscle to work, what do you call that?"

The big man huffed and turned, walking from the cell. Q winced, wondering if she'd overstepped. Her head hurt, and she was frustrated with the situation, that much was obvious. It wasn't fair, Strong had never been anything but respectful to her, unlike his master who took every opportunity to leer at her and make lewd comments.

"Hey, big guy, uhh," she began, only to be cut off.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" the Zeltron asked, head cocked to the side, eyes scanning the canopy above. "Wait, the birds stopped making noise. Uh, Strong, have you seen anyone else around here?"

He gestured towards a nearby tree base, the bark scarred with slash and gouge marks. A few discarded, broken, and blunted spears lay around it as well. She noticed as well another cage nearby, made of a similar reed-like wood that was in much worse shape than her cell had been.

Must have been where he woke up, she thought, looking at the broken pieces scattered about.

"This place may be wild, but these cages are not new, nor are those spears. Someone uses this place to hunt, Miss Arronen."

"Great. I can guess what they hunt," Qyreia growled, plucking her knife from its boot sheath. "Bet ya ten creds, they know we're here, too."

“I am inclined to agree.” The Chiss briefly crouched to examine the battle-worthiness of the spears but found none to his liking. “We should leave.”

“I’m inclined to agree to that,” she replied as she followed him into the woods, grabbing the best looking of the dilapidated spears along the way. The haft was in fair condition, but the head was dulled to the point of near uselessness.

“I fear that will not help you, Miss Arronen.”

Qyreia bit her tongue. Kinda like how you weren’t much help as a stowaway or ship guard? “I like having some distance between me and whatever’s trying to bork me in the back.”

The jungle seemed to envelope them as they stepped into the foliage, densely-packed tree trunks and weaving branches pressing to either side. There was a pause in the large Chiss’ gait, as if to say “good luck” in the midst of so little maneuvering room. For once though, he was otherwise silent. With all the bombast that he usually produced, his tactical caution was almost worrisome.

“I feel like we should be moving faster,” she whispered, narrowly avoiding running into a woody protrusion, only to bump her head on another. “Gnh!”

“That is precisely the reason why we are not.” He tapped the tip of a pointed protrusion knowingly as they passed by. “We would also only fatigue ourselves, while our opponent could shadow us as they no doubt already know the land.”

It was difficult to tell if his voice was truly loud anymore, or if it was the abject silence that surrounded them. In the distance, the soft sounds of the jungle could be heard, but always out of reach. Whatever had silenced the woods in the prison camp was likely following them, or staying near enough to effect such silence in the attempt. Either case meant that they could be assailed at any moment and not know it was coming.

While not begrudging her large companion as a bodyguard of sorts, Qyreia was forced to relegate herself to following the Chiss’ steps. Glancing up revealed only the occasional sliver of sky, which offered little light in and of itself, leaving the ground bathed in extreme — but not complete — darkness. With her eyes straining against the dark, she could at least make out Strong’s large shape before her. The details were washed out in the blackness, but the occasional patches of dim light offered a glimmer of insight into her companion.

“How can you see in this?”

“My people are blessed with keen eyesight, Miss Arronen, even in the dark.” His voice seemed egregiously loud compared to the previous quietude, but its presence bolstered the Zeltron’s morale. “Though I admit, it is exceptionally dim here.”

A sliver of light fell across one side of him, flashing a shimmer from his knuckles. “Strong?”

“Yes Miss Arronen?”

“What’s that on your hand?” On this unknown alien world, he could have some alien leech on him, or cut himself on any one of the jagged carbuncles jutting from the vegetation.

He paused, raising it to the light, clearly more for the Zeltron’s benefit than his own. While it was hard to determine any color, she could make out the metal and spikes of the knucklers. “It was the only armament I could hide away.”

Qyreia nodded in understanding, silent until a thought entered her mind. “Where… where were you hiding it?”

The Chiss paused, then turned sharply on his heel and continued walking deeper into the woods.

“Strong?”

“I feel it best if we continue on,” he said with some urgency.

Despite still being curious, she decided it was best not to press the issue. It didn’t stop her from wondering where in the minimal loincloth Strong had hidden a set of very pointy knucklers. The more she thought about it, the more she regretted doing so.

The quiet reverie was broken when the whole forest seemed to light up in a grayish green hue, piercing the gaps in the thorny trees with ease. Strong had said that they were on a moon, but the world floating in the sky above them was large, its brown-and-green surface mottled with clouds, reflecting the sun’s light over them. It was by no means an instantaneous process, but compared to the pitch dark, even the planetary dawn seemed brilliant. Finally, they could both see equally well, more or less.

It made spotting the gun barrel, leveling itself in their direction, all the easier; and the forest quiet made Qyreia’s voice seem that much louder.

“Strong!”

Before she could render “Look out,” the Chiss instinctively threw out an arm, protectively tossing his mercenary companion aside just in time to narrowly avoid the red bolt of energy that lanced through the air between them. The Garmis scion withdrew to cover, vibroknucklers at the ready. In the shifting light, he could see his comrade recover, shuffling over to a nearby nook between two tree roots with spear in-hand. He wanted to assist but, with the blaster covering the open ground between them, it was impractical at best. Instead, he decided it best to draw the attention his way.

“Cowards! Face me honorably! Face the pinnacle of form and the Garmis family lineage!”

If his hunch was right, their hunter would keep his or her attention toward the Chiss. If he was lucky, then they would come out of hiding and face him. Sure enough, the wood near his shoulder exploded in a spray of singed and smoking splinters. He grinned as the adrenaline took to his veins. In his growing lust to truly get the fight going, he almost didn’t see the Trandoshan running around the back side of Qyreia’s tree, barreling toward him and brandishing a heavy sword.

Another red bolt dashed against the tree, and the Zeltron watched as the big blue soldier subtly hopped in place, like a boxer watching his opponent. With the action intermittent and mild though, she could hear heavy footsteps beating against the hard soil around the corner of her tree.

In the heartbeat she had to consider her options, she looked at the spear, remembering how the bladed head was all but useless. Frack it! Taking up the wooden end in both hands, she lurched from the tree and swung the haft as hard as she could.

The polearm clotheslined the large reptilian, catching it in the throat and shattering the dry, overused wood. Goddamn, I can’t believe that worked. Seeing the alien still moving brought her out of the temporary trance. She quickly snatched the knife from her boot and, with her voice quickly boiling over from growl to scream, lept on the supine and choking creature. Its clawed hands flailed and fought against her as she tried to bury the blade in its flesh.

The scuffle did not go unnoticed. From around the corner of his pockmarked tree trunk, Strong saw the blaster barrel turn toward his red-skinned compatriot. With his blood already pumping hard in his chest, he spun out from his position of safety and charged the sniper’s nest. The forest offered little room for a long range engagement. It was a short run for the massive Chiss.

His first strike was turned aside at the last moment by the Trandoshan behind the trigger, though it bent the firearm tremendously and tore apart the large lizard’s hand. In the ensuing fusilade of strikes between the two, Strong was clawed furiously across the chest, only to fury his knucklers into all the offending limbs on his opponent. Unable to resist, Strong spun behind the creature, locking its neck in the crook of his thick arm, and pulled. His heels dug into rootwork and soil alike as the creature squirmed, its neck stretching until, with a great heave, he heard a sickening series of snaps and pops. The Trandoshan quickly went limp in his grasp.

As he tossed the corpse off, he heard the sounds of Qyreia’s continued struggle, her boots and her opponent’s back scraping loudly against the hard forest floor. Strong jumped to his feet, only to watch the Zeltron plant a fist directly in the Trandoshan’s snout, stunning it just long enough for her to jam her knife right into the center of its throat.

The reptile struggled momentarily, and the merc jerked the blade roughly to the side. Finally, after a few more twitches, it stopped moving.

With a pink-knuckled grip still on the handle of her knife, the Zeltron rested her head against the back of her hands, breathing heavily and only barely registering the pain from the bleeding lacerations in her arms. When she heard Strong’s measured steps behind her — a far cry from the thicker, meatier sound of the Trandoshan’s footfalls — a wave of relief washed over her body. His feet stopped just next to the mercenary, and she managed a wry grin.

“I told you that spear would come in handy,” she said with an air of self-satisfaction, despite the subtle gasps between after every other word or so.

“I must admit, Miss Arronen, you were right. You could likely do with some medical attention, though.”

“Yeah.” She sat up, still straddling the Trandoshan’s chest and feeling every bloody cut with each movement. It felt good just to be alive, though. “How about you?” she asked, turning her head toward him. “How’re youDEAR FRACKING ASHLABOGAN!”

Her yelp did little to assuage the violence of her physical reaction, toppling backwards off of the humanoid and covering her eyes.

“Miss Arronen? Are you al-...?”

“Cover yourself, Strong!”

The large Chiss quirked an eyebrow, unsure of what she was referring to, only to find out after a brief examination. While not necessarily embarrassed, he did his best to camouflage the offending appendage.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Arronen,” he consoled as he knelt to help Qyreia back to her feet. “When the battle is up, the Garmis Hammer stands proudly.”

“Did you just… the Garmis Hammer?!” Before he could reply she merely waved him off, ripping the knife out of her dead foe. “Hutt-karking ass monkeys, this is… Well, now I know why Lucine likes you so much.”

“What was that, Miss Arronen?”

“N-nothing,” she sighed. “Let’s just go before someone else shows up. I’d bet creds these schuttas weren’t the only ones in their party.”

"You're likely correct, Miss Arronen, though by the look of them, and the lack of coordination...I suspect these hunters were inexperienced. I suspect that they sent their untested or unproven first, or that they pushed ahead of their fellows."

The large man crouched over the stabbed Trandoshan and began tugging at the patchwork of cloth and leather that made up the dead man's attire.

"I really, really doubt that'll fit, Strong," spoke Q with a rueful tone. She was pointedly not looking at him as she said this, her cheeks still dark. The sound of cloth tearing drew her gaze, the Chiss's arms bugling as he ripped apart a length of the shirt. She flipped her knife to direct the hilt at him, wincing as the gashes in her arm tightened from the motion.

Strong took the blade with an appreciative nod, cutting strips from the dead Trandoshan's shirt and setting them aside.

"I cannot speak to their cleanliness, but…," he looked at her arms and lifted the cloth in an obvious offer. She winced after offering up her right arm, Garmis tightly winding the improvised bandages around her forearm. They did the same with her left before he sat back and handed a longer length of cloth and puffed out his chest.

"Sure this is gonna be long enough, big guy?"

He simply shrugged and lifted his arms above his head to allow her to work. Qyreia realized after a minute of annoyance that she couldn't actually reach all the way around the Chiss to wrap his wound, her chest pressed into his back as she tried. He smelled of sweat and dirt and felt like a solid wall of muscle. Considering their circumstances it was somewhat comforting.

"What the hell did your parents fees you," she grumbled aloud. "Hold this so I can do it properly."

"My venerable parents believed in a healthy and well-balanced diet of both meats and vegetables! Also plenty of juice," proclaimed the son of Garmis while doing as directed.

The two Arconans stood and scanned the edge of the clearing for movement, looking worse for wear. Qyreia started heading the same direction they'd been traveling before, the sun and planet on the horizon already rising. Strong followed, grabbing up the fallen, and thankfully unused, sword that one of the hunters had been wielding. He inspected the edge and grunted, noting the thickness and chipped state it was in.

More club than a sword, what shameful upkeep of weaponry, thought the big man. He rested it over his shoulder as he caught up with the Zeltron, glowing eyes scanning the jungle. They marched in silence for over an hour, the sun rising in the sky and the planet filled more of the horizon. More than anything it was growing hot and humid, the Chiss finding himself quickly covered in a sheen of sweat. Qyreia beside him looked worse off, her hair sticking to her face and shirt to her back, her jacket having been shrugged off and slung over her shoulder some time ago.

“We gotta get out of the heat, Strong,” she finally begrudgingly said, as if not wanting to be the one to suggest they needed a break.

Strong glanced down at her, noting the bandages on her arms that were taking a similar color to her skin tone, and slowed his pace.

”Of course, I too am growing quite uncomfortable with this humidity. We should find somewhere with shade until the midday has passed.”

“Don’t patronize me, you could keep going in this for the rest of the day from the look of you. But we ain’t got food or water, sweating everything out would be bad.”

The Chiss merely grunted in reply, his ears darkening in embarrassment from his attempt to soothe the Zeltron’s pride. Another ten minutes of slogging through the jungle, the pair avoiding undergrowth and choosing their paths more carefully, finally revealed a sign of hope. Qyreia spotted an animal path, worn into the dirt, old but still visible. The Arconans nearly collapsed with relief when they followed it to a cave at the edge of a clearing, relishing the relative coolness the moment they stepped inside.

“Oh, frack me,” muttered Qyreia, leaning against a rock wall and sliding down to sit on the cave floor, head resting against the cool stones. She closed her eyes and tried to relax the muscles in her back, only now really noticing the tenseness that had built up ever since stabbing the would-be hunter. Sounds from further into the cave prompted her to crack one eye open, peering blearily towards where Strong was inspecting further inside. “We should rest, oh ‘Son of Garmis’, don’t you think?”

”Once more we find that we were not the first ones here,” rumbled Strong, his voice reverberating off the cave walls. It was darker where he was, or she was still too close to the entrance of the cave to have good dark sight. A sound of metal scraping stone caught the Zeltron’s ears, causing her to lean forward. The hulking man seemed to emerge from the shadows, settling in a cross-legged pose before her, one hand assuring his modesty as he did so. She doubted he was usually concerned, but her earlier reaction seemed to have had an effect on the Chiss. In his other hand he held…

“Are those camp cups?” she asked incredulously.

He reached out with one for her to take, and she found it filled with water. There was no hesitation, just a quick gulp that tasted vaguely of silt and moss. It was the sweetest water she could ever recall, at the moment.

”As I said, we did not appear to be the first to be hunted on this moon. This is sport to them. It is distasteful; I may enjoy honorable combat more than many, but this is not sporting.”

“Give me my kriffing blasters back and I’ll make it a fair fight,” she growled in response. “Well, hopefully that means we can find a way off this rock. Hate to deprive her Shadowness of her bed warmer,” the Zeltron said with a grin.

The Chiss shook his head and leaned back against the cave wall, the sheen of sweat already beginning to dry.

”It would be a shame, I suppose, to have to start an Arconan colony on this world with just the two of us.” That he managed to deliver the line with a straight face was a testament to the time he’d spent around his master, Bleu.

Qyreia snorted, “I’m pretty sure we’d make purple people. Not that either of us are the other’s type, I think.”

“Fracking thing is a weapon,” she added, muttering in Shyriiwook.

”What was that last bit?” he asked, head cocked to the side. When she simply grinned at him he shrugged, ”I am curious what you assume my ‘type’ to be, Miss Arronen. I find women who are quite capable of surviving, holding their own in a fight, and able to wrestle a full-grown Trandoshan to the ground quite attractive, mind you. Just because Miss Vasano prefers the theater to the dive cantinas does not mean I hold a preference for one over the other.”

She started to open her mouth to reply, not even sure where to start on his comments when a low whine filled the air outside the cave. Her jaw clicked shut, eyes going wide, pupils dilating.

“Those mother fracking, druk sucking, kriffing schuttas!” she jumped to her feet, her voice rising in volume with each expletive. Strong followed suit, though with more confusion. Her cup dropped to the cave floor, forgotten, and her knife practically appeared in hand. “I’m gonna kill ‘em!”

”That does sound like a ship,” began Strong, confused but grasping the hilt of his scavenged sword in one hand, his vibroknuckler on his other.

“Poodoo, that’s my ship. I know how she sounds. That’s the Katurno, that’s scum-sucking scaled pricks have my girl out there!” she shouted, running out the cave.

Strong let out a rare curse in Cheunh and gave chase, stepping into the sunlight once more. The glare briefly blinded him but faded enough to show a YT-1300 hovering unsteadily while Trandoshan dropped from its boarding ramp to the ground. Two were already approaching, another jumping from the ship, and one appeared to have been over-eager and tried to approach the cave without his back up. That one was on the ground, a ragged gash across the throat from where Qyreia had launched herself at him, driving her knife across the windpipe. The Chiss began to run as she charged the next closest, and had a brief moment to wonder why no one was firing on them yet.

They aren’t armed with blasters or slugthrowers? How odd, thought Strong, noting that the last two to disembark were hanging back. The one closest, now engaging with the Zeltron, had a spear of advanced construction; made of metal with enlays. A weapon of a hunter, not the primitive spears they themselves had scavenged. The red-skinned merc was holding her own, stepping in and using her smaller size to drive her knife into the lizard man when the opportunity presented itself. The other two were slowly stalking towards her, their eyes flicking between the pair fighting and the hulking Chiss.

”Miss Arronen finds herself in honorable single combat, you knaves! You shall not interrupt!” bellowed Strong, charging with the club-like sword held high. He had a moment to question the weapons he saw the two wielding. They had knives on their persons, one of them even appeared to have a blaster pistol on his hip, but both held long poles with what looked to be hooks. Momentum carried him forward, even as he cursed himself for his overzealous nature. He swung the sword, hoping to end one of the two before they could coordinate, or at the very least destroy one of the catch-poles before it could be employed. The Trandoshan dodged to the side, letting the sword embed itself in the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Chiss saw before he felt one of the hooks catch his left leg, the hunter holding it leaning back with his full weight to try and pull him off balance. The Trandoshan’s eyes widened when the big blue man didn’t budge, but Strong still grit his teeth in annoyance. He was immobilized, to an extent, and that did not bode well. The other hunter showed sharp teeth and took the momentary distraction to hook the Chiss’s sword arm, circling back behind Strong to try and twist it backward. The son of Garmis growled, cocking his arm so the hook caught inside of his elbow and tightened the muscles through his core and hips, twisting to try and pull the catch-pole loose from the Trandoshan’s grip. Without the full use of his left leg, he found himself struggling, a tug of war battle that he was sorely handicapped for. A blast of air heralded the departure of the Katurno, wobbling in the air to the east.

“GIVE ME BACK MY SHIP YOU FRAKKERS!” he heard Qyreia shout, and the sound of a hissing cry of pain.

She tore the knife from the twitching hunter, several fresh orifices ventilating its insides while green blood pooled around its body. The ejaculation about her ship had caught the attention of Strong’s assailants almost as much as the Dosh death keen. The Trandoshan tugging at his leg hesitated on seeing the red woman approaching, green gore dripping from her blade. Its partner hurriedly growled out something, likely trying to refocus their efforts, but the lapse in attention allowed the Chiss an opening. Pivoting on his unhindered leg, Strong slipped from the distracted Trandoshan’s catch-pole and leaned in toward the one hooked in his arm.

The distracted Trandoshan’s attention was suddenly torn between the Zeltron and his compatriot. This was soon remedied.

“Hiyaaaaah!”

The scream tore through the grunts and groans of the melee as Qyreia leaped through the air, knife held high as she came at the skittish hunter. However, while it may not have been a large creature compared to some, it was certainly not small either, sporting the same stocky frame as other reptilians of their race. The merc was thus caught in the chest mid-leap and, with a sweep of the Trandoshan’s arm, was flung into a nearby tree, luckily bare of the large spines protruding from so much of the wood.

With only one opponent to contend with — at least for the moment — the tables had turned in the Chiss’ favor. He rapidly advanced, with the one Trandoshan still hooking him backpedaling to maintain the grip on his arm. With that, though, the reptilian’s grip slackened as it overcompensated for Strong’s maneuvers; a grip that the Chiss warrior promptly tested by halting in his tracks and throwing his arm back.

The pole slipped free of the Trandoshan’s grip with only minor resistance as it realized, too late, its error.

Still hesitant despite having thrown the Zeltron so easily, the other hunter saw his compatriot struggle and then swiftly be outmatched, with the big blue man now in possession of the hefty polearm. Strong could see the inexperience in the creature’s stance — likely its first hunt — even as it lashed out with its own catch-pole. He responded by spinning about and knocking the attempt aside with his own newly-acquired armament, only to have the other renew its assault with the knife in its belt.

“Miss Arronen?!” Strong grunted out as he parried the knife. “Are you alright?!”

As if in answer, he saw the flash of red as the Zeltron charged into the scene from his peripheries with the spear of her previous foe in-hand. Her target, the more skittish of the hunters that had previously thrown her aside, turned in response to the outcry, just enough for the spearhead to bury into its hip at a shallow angle. The Trandoshan lashed out with his catch-pole, only for Qyreia to slip beneath the strike, yanking the spear out in the process.

While the red woman danced with her opponent, Strong’s red eyes caught the more seasoned hunter drawing the blaster from its holster, with clear intent to avail its compatriot of the smaller prey.

“Remember who your opponent is!” Strong swiped at the reptile’s arm, knocking the gun to the ground, and breaking both the heavy pole and the hunter’s arm with his knucklers in the process. While the Trandoshan struggled against the pain, the Chiss surged forward, knocking his opponent aside with a mighty right hook. “Qyreia!”

The break in his normal decorum was reason enough to grab the Zeltron’s attention. Seeing the hulking Chiss stoop in the course of his strike, grab the pistol, and toss it to her brought a certain fire to her gut.

Her opponent was too slow to intercept, and in an instant, the merc deftly caught the handgun, spinning it in her hand into a proper grip. Without skipping a beat, she extended her arm and fired, dropping the Garmis progeny’s foe with a pair of smoking holes to its chest. Then she turned the gun on the one she’d been so avidly fighting. A wild, devious grin crossed her features, and even the Chiss worried at what she might do.

“Alright schutta. You’re gonna tell me where my ship is.”

The Trandoshan hunter was clearly frightened, but only replied in Dosh.

“I am not sure he knows how to speak Basic, Miss Arronen,” Strong said as he approached, still somewhat put off by the whole ordeal, but glad it was over.

“Then maybe he’ll understand this.” She took a big breath belted out what was clearly Shyriiwook, “Tell me where my karking ship is or I’m gonna take out your reptilian gonads, shove one down your throat, one up your ass, and see how long it takes before they meet in the middle!”

Despite that Qyreia was hardly of any stature or depth of voice to sound intimidating, the Trandoshan cringed nonetheless, dropping to its knees and hissing frantically in Dosh. Clearly, this one had had enough for one day.

“How did you know it would understand the Wookiee tongue?”

“Because I paid attention in history class?” she croaked, her throat clearly throttled by the violent Wookiee-speak. “Trandoshans and Wooks have bad blood between them.” She narrowed her eyes at their prisoner. “Something about hunting them for sport.”

The prisoner only spoke more frantically, pointing eastward — or at least what passed for east on the moon — in the same direction her ship had flown in the course of their fight. That left Qyreia with a difficult choice: kill the hunter and prevent him warning his fellow hunters, or do the less vile thing and let him live. She’d spent enough time with Grot, the sole Trandoshan member of Arcona and Galeres — at least that she was aware of — to hear him rambling on about the Scorekeeper and points to know this lizard was in a precarious cultural position.

Strong and the prisoner both watched warily as the Zeltron fidgeted with the dials on the blaster. “I can imagine what you are thinking, Miss Arronen. This one has acted dishonorably, but I am also not especially fond of killing the helpless.”

Qyreia nodded, finished playing with the dials, and leveled the gun at the creature’s head. It had hardly a second to screech in Dosh before she fired, much to the Chiss’ surprise; even more so when she fired again in its chest. Strong seemed beside himself, unable to articulate his own feelings on the matter, but attempting to remain stoic.

“Relax,” she said consolingly as she re-dialed the pistol. “I put it on a stun setting. A heavy stun, but… yeah, he’s not dead. I think.” It seemed to console her blue companion, if only just.

They collected the salvageable weapons, largely relegated to the knives and one good spear, and moved on after finding little else of practical value on the bodies. There was only one indicator left to them: go east.

So, keeping an eye on the general rotation of the moon against that of the planet and sun, they walked at a steady pace, making sure to not over-exert themselves. Two fights in, with plenty of cuts and bruises, and with no water to really speak of, they were at a loss for supplies. None of the hunters had brought water with them when they landed. Either they thought the hunt would be short, and thus did not need the supplies, or they had built up their internal stores prior to departing for the forest. Both options left the Arconans in something of a dilemma.

Their relaxed exertions paid off. By nightfall, they were footsore, but otherwise not completely lacking for energy. Strong was subtly excited by the prospect of greater glory in combat, while Qyreia only grew more and more invigorated as they inexorably neared the Katurno’s location. As the sun dimmed against the horizon behind them, and the planet’s reflected light likewise gone, they were met by the sounds of hisses and trills of Dosh speech, and the flickering light of several fire pits. Qyreia and Strong crouched low and approached from the concealment of the twisting, thorn-ridden trees, in an effort to see what they were truly up against. Even when the hulking Chiss tried to speak, his Zeltron companion instinctively covered his mouth, knowing his default volume was less-than-stealthy.

Several campfires were dispersed throughout the small clearing, with stylized lean-tos sheltering the dozen or so Trandoshan hunters huddled about the dancing flames. Most were armed with a bladed weapon of some sort — a sword or knife being the most common — with spears and clubs intermixed among the population. Judging by the intricacy of the tent patterns and adornments, only the most senior had firearms of any kind, with pistols going to the experienced hunters, and the elites toting rifles of various makes and models. The better the hunter, the better the gear.

Situated on a small dais, in clear view to all the hunters and the two intended prey, were the arms and armor of both Arconans: a blaster pistol, rifle, greathammer, and a large set of armor that none of the Trandoshans could wear without a good deal of modification.

A few whispered words and an amalgam of hand signals was all Strong had of the mercenary’s plan. It was simple, it was bold, and if it didn’t work it would likely get them killed or badly maimed.

When they confidently strolled out of the forest, brazenly displaying their scavenged weaponry, the hunters seemed momentarily aghast. Qyreia tried to ignore the Garmis Hammer’s potent presence.

“I want my ship back! Now!”

In a flash, the hunters rushed for their weapons. The duo had anticipated this. Strong rushed the nearest troupe, toppling them with a near-comical clotheslining with the spear haft, while the Zeltron shot in rapid succession, striking down two of the blaster-armed reptilians before they could even draw their firearms. The less experienced hunters hesitated, prompting a wave of pacifism among the ranks, until even the hunter chief had to settle back into his seat in acknowledgement. The hunt was over.

“Wherre arre the otherrsz?” he snarled in rough Basic. “The hunterrsz drropped into the forreszt.”

“I’ll tell you where they’re not.” Qyreia approached the chief, tipping the muzzle of the pistol at him pointedly. “Safe.”

“Miss Arronen. I believe we can board the ship without further issue.” Strong’s words were firm but, for the Zeltron, they were an admonition. They had won. There was no need for further retribution, even despite his disdain for the thus-far dishonorable conduct of the Trandoshans.

The Zeltron clicked her tongue, circling around the lead hunter toward the dais, slinging her weapons and covering Strong so that he could do the same. While she covered their approach up the boarding ramp, the Chiss entered the vessel with mild gusto, ensuring there would be no stowaways upon their takeoff. Once she heard his “all-clear,” she offered a sarcastic salute with the pistol, tossing it to the ground in favor of her own.

“Been fun, schuttas. Don’t recommend trying anything. We’ll have our guns pointed at this camp until we’ve hit hyperspace.”

The boarding ramp closed slowly, her gun aimed at the assembly until there was little more than a sliver of view. Strong was waiting for her in the cockpit, hand resting on the remote controls for the laser cannon turrets. With an appreciative smile, she settled into her seat and prepped the ship for takeoff. Despite the short time actually spent on the moon as prey for the Trandoshans, it felt like it had been a long time since she had seen her Katurno and held its controls.

The engines roared to life — hardly the whine of the inexperienced pilot that controlled her as part of the hunters’ arsenal — and they shot through the atmosphere and into the void of space in a hurry. Before long, they were enveloped by the white streaks of hyperspace. Only then did they both finally relax.

“What now, Miss Arronen?”

She stared out at the comforting dance of light just beyond the viewport. “I’m thinking food, water, nap, shower. Not necessarily in that order.”

“I like the sound of that.”