The Chiss and the Verd’goten

 

[17:42] Vente'rro'rloth strode out from the barracks of the Mandalorian compound, clad in his scuffed but otherwise functional suit of polymer Composite armor -- the last personal effect he still owned from his former career as a trooper of the Chiss Ascendancy. Gripped within his gauntlets, 'Error' carried with him an EE-3 burst rifle issued by Jekai, and alongside his backpack of survival equipment, a serrated Vibrosword was strapped and buckled down; a gift from Jorval himself. Well rested after another evening abed, poring over his datapad on comprehensive Mando'a, the Ge'verd struck a vigilant look, gaze scouring the courtyard for his Alor, or Alor'ad.

[17:45] Nicci Ordo was finishing a comm at a computer console.  If one were looking carefully one would notice the helmet of the Alor staring back at her from the view screen.  "It will be done Alor," she replied to it, gruffly, before the screen blanked out in a hiss of static.  Nicci punshed the console a few times.  "Damn jungle.  Cannocks better not have eaten up the wires again." she jerked down a rather old looking radio and speakers all over the base would crackle to life,  "Bantov, get your kriffing ass down here and fix this shit!" she yelled, turning around and seeing a chiss she had never seen before.  "What the hell is this, you aren't Bantov..."

[17:50] Vente'rro'rloth halted as he made his approach only once a sharp voice barked out towards him. Tarrying at the threshold of the compound, the Chiss allowed his EE-3 Burst rifle to hang from its shoulder strap only to clasp his gauntlets behind his back, adopting a parade rest learned during his prior service. Shoulders squared themselves and boots parted to their width before the creature born of discipline cleared his throat to call out across the span between them both, "Su'cuy, Alor'ad," he hailed at first, "My name is Vente'rro'rloth, or 'Error', if my Galactic Basic name is easier. You might not remember me, though I was present when you fought our Alor for leadership of the Clan. I was tasked with dragging you back to a medical bay after your fall." He left it there for now, simply standing where he stood in his firm posture.

[17:51] Jekai Rau stood amongst Ordo assembly area A-3, as ships jetted overheard on engagement courses with the governors fleets above the icy world. He looked skyward, just momentarily, before looking over the numbers of mandalorians about. . [17:57] Nicci Ordo's face settled into a scowl, though it usually was, not that that could be seen under her helmet anyway.  "Your name could be mud for all I give a kriff.  It will be changing once you complete the verd goten anyway.  In fact I think I shall call you that.  Mud...or blue milk.  Yeah...blue milk.  No I do not remember you, why would I?  I just got my face kicked in, literally....and you aren't even much to look at.  So, blue milk, you're the scrub our Alor thinks is ready to ascend into something greater than an aruetii.  Don't look like much to me.  Our Alor is busy on the outer rim and asked me to put you through your trials.  But first, we are going to have a conversation."

[18:02] Vente'rro'rloth had grown accustomed to the 'tough love' of Jorval, if such behaviour could even be considered such. Though as the term 'Blue Milk' was coined, the discerning eye would note the prideful Chiss' jawline tightening a fraction beneath the thin cloth facemask he wore, teeth gritting as he bit back some verbal riposte. Instead, he opted for silence, simply remaining where he stood whilst those harsh, sanguine red eyes of his species studied the Alor'ad before him, taking heed of her word with attentive ears. Throughout her tirade, 'Error' stood largely unflinching save for the tightening of his jaw, its rigor only waning long enough to loose a few short words in Mando'a, "As you say." He uttered simply, in response to her mention of their much-needed talk.

[18:07] Slade Steele got off the Gauntlet Transport, rocketing in formation alongside other members of the Death Watch before breaking said formation and landing in front of Jekai, "My warriors are ready, and my pilots are prepared for combat. How will we go about this situation, Jekai?"

[18:21] Nicci Ordo couldn't help but smirk as he clearly seemed bothered by her calling him blue milk.  Good.  To ascend to something one must first had to understand they were nothing, and want it.  "Come closer kid I ain't going to shout across the room.  I realize you may have already done this with the Alor, but he is gone, and isn't the best at detailed reports honestly.  So you are going to do some shit again.  Now.  First of all, where are you from and why the hell do you want to be a mandalorian?" she asked.

[18:30] Vente'rro'rloth had a life of following orders and instructions behind him, so following another set of simple instructions was met with no indignation on his part. Stepping forwards, the Ge'verd strode within talking distance before coming to an eventual halt, adopting his parade rest from only moments prior. As the question was launched, the Chiss gave voice in concise report, his tone somewhat flat and factual, "I hail from a planet called Rhigar, in the system its named after. Many outside of Chiss space are unfamiliar with the 'Unknown Regions' of space as the galaxy at large call it, though your star charts will have it listed in the Rata Nebula star cluster, if they're up to date. I served the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force, fighting for the Chiss Ascendancy for just over a decade before my apparent recklessness saw me dishonourably discharged for pursuing and executing a fleeing foe alongside my squad mates." This fact was still a mark of shame for Error, born of a race that took pride in discipline; a discipli [18:30] Vente'rro'rloth  broken by a momentary bloodlust.

[18:40] Nicci Ordo almost snorted at his military like stance.  This was fine for now, he was not one of them, but she hoped he loosened up later.  She had not expected him to get so close.  So of course she did the socially awkward thing and leaned in to look at him.  She had never seen a Chiss up close before.  Well a Chiss who was not the former Death Watch overlord, but even him never this close.  "You are awful pale for a Chiss.  You got some pantoran in you?  Or human?  Do you actually see red through your eyes or do you see normal colors?" she asked, then realized if he did see in red then that WOULD be normal colors to him.  "Nevermind, don't answer that last one.  So you were dishonorably discharged, and chose to join a people whose whole life revolves around honor?  Seems odd to me, and didn't answer my question in the least.  You could have ran off and joined a gang of pirates for being kicked out of the damn military, why do you wish to be a MANDALORIAN?" she asked.

[18:53] Vente'rro'rloth remained rigid in his posture; an unyielding slab of flesh and polymer that absorbed the words of the Alor'ad without much discernible reaction. His species were a dour breed to most, though his silence was broken in the face of her initial query, "My lineage is pure-blooded, with no trace of genetic contamination." he reported with the typical brevity of his kind. "The skin pigmentation of my race is varied, much like that of Humanity. My pale complexion is simply a matter of genetics; I was not born on Csilla, where my race has evolved a darker shade of blue through necessity brought on by the harsh, cold climate." He spoke no further of his eyesight, and the boon of improved vision in low-light settings. Instead, he continued with their prior discussion, choosing to answer her question regarding his reason for seeking out the Mandalorians, "I have a life of service with a storied military career. It was tarnished by one reckless act that saw me discharged from that service. Shame is something my kind [18:53] Vente'rro'rloth  weigh heavily, so I voluntarily went into self-exile. With no hope of returning to the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force and a poor resumé to present their allies in the Galactic Empire, I sought to pledge my service to another worthy power within the galaxy -- to give myself and my talents purpose above that of a petty criminal. The 'Death Watch', as you are collectively known, strike me as an ambitious lot -- a breed of Mando'ade with hopes of establishing a lasting empire of their own. I would see our homeworlds reclaimed, and the borders secured once more. The Republic that reduced your people to their current state will learn to fear and respect your name once more. Those are my ambitions, and I would wish to be part of it."

[19:06] Nicci Ordo just shook her head.  This conversation was proving actually very productive.  She was learning his biggest weakness when her Alor thought it would be something else entirely.  It was a very unique weakness, one she would have to really think on to come up with a task for it.  "Kyr'tsad." she corrected him when he said Death Watch.  She hated referring to herself as that.  She was not that.  None of the mando'ad who called themselves this were that, as far as she was concerned it was a label, forced upon them by the idiotic Mereelists who thought to be called "Mandalorian" you had to work as a pathetic bounty hunter.  "You wish to be a part of that hm.  Tell me did Jorval educate you on cin'vhetin and our culture at all?  Because with the way you speak, you are not ready to be one of us.  You are still so...attached...to your precious heritage.  Your...Chiss way of life.  Listen to you....genetic contamination.  Mandalorians were once all one race you know.  The Taung.  They used to believe in the purity [19:06] Nicci Ordo  one race.  Do you know what happened to them?  They died out.  Now one of the staples of our culture is not that mando'ad are one race, but many.  We are encouraged to mix and get as much variety as possible, because that brings true strength.  Do you know how many Arkanian mandalorians there have been?  None in recorded history.  The reason is because Arkanians are for the most part, racist assholes.  They think themselves superior in every way, so much so they actually played god with their genetics, scientifically splicing them into many offshoot races which they consider "lesser" for the sake of gaining a suitable blue collar workforce because Arkanians were too high and mighty to do that kind of work.  If you refer to my asking if you have other races in you as "contamination" you will not get far among a multi raced culture.  You must abandon EVERYTHING you have ever known and become reborn entirely.  Even your name will be gone once you have proven worthy."

[19:21] Vente'rro'rloth had indeed learned the term of which she spoke, and simply gave a confirming nod, "Cin'vhetin, or White Snow in Galactic Basic. A clean start." he repeated, "Aside from Vode'an, it was the first phrase of Mando'a I learned, albeit not from Jorval's mouth. Another of the Mando'ade, who's name I didn't catch, he taught me it on the first day I sought this life. He told me that that was what I had begun... That my past, with this dishonourable discharge, would eventually be irrelevant. Forgotten." It took some long moments, but the Chiss seemed to manage to swallow his near instinctual pride; a habit of his race's culture that was fiercely difficult to shake at times. As her earnest lecture continued, he even managed a subtle nod of his head in understanding. "You make a valid argument." he conceded at length. That alone, was no small feat for a species so fond of being accurate in all that they did. "Perhaps I was wrong to choose that word. Contamination. Though the truth of that fact remains.. I am of pure [19:21] Vente'rro'rloth  Chiss lineage, just as I'm sure the Mando'ade house pure-blooded Weequay, Quarren, and beings of other races. My genealogy is largely irrelevant as you said - amongst a culture comprised of all races, in amendment of the Taung's ultimate and final mistake." Mention of his name and its eventual change was met with a simple, concise nod of his head. In the past, he'd been referred to by military rank alone, so the loss of identity was stomached with an ease that some outside of a military life would struggle with. "As you say." he repeated again, in that perpetual discipline.

[19:28] Nicci Ordo chuckled, "Then simply answer my question as pure blooded Chiss.  Not free of contamination.  But it has enlightened me to the way your mind is still working.  We need to purge it, before we can bring you in as one of us." she looked him over, noting his military rigor.  What is a mandalorian...to you?" she asked.  "What do you see when you see me?  When you see Jorval?"

[19:32] Vente'rro'rloth opted to keep his answer exceptionally concise this time, devoid of any explanation, for there was precious need of one beyond the simple word he uttered, "A warrior." he stated in the most plain of terms, whilst those harsh, imposing red eyes of his scoured the polished surface of phrik carapace overlay that made up the Alor'ad's beskar'gam. The black lacquered suit of armor made for an imposing sight, and one that had likely been the last thing ever witnessed by many a victim slain at the hands of the seasoned Mandalorian woman. Feeling precious little need to immediately expand on his answer, 'Error' simply stood there in his routinely unflinching posture.

[19:36] Nicci Ordo frowned.  This was was going to be tough for all the opposite reasons people usually were difficult.  This guy had clearly had all the wrong tasks.  Of course he was going to bring home a trophy like it was nothing.  "Recite the resol'nare."

[19:42] Vente'rro'rloth did just that, with only a brief pause to draw on a single breath, "Wear the armor - the beskar'gam - and see to its upkeep and maintenance always. Learn the Mando'a language, and guard it closely from the ears of the aruetii. Should you sire young, or even adopt, strive to raise them as Mando'ade by every means necessary; to fail in this - to fail in your duty to teach your child these key survival skills - is tantamount to neglect, child abuse, and poor parenting." Another breath followed, seeming to be the only reason he'd even paused at all, "Contribute to your clan, be this through monetary investment in the upkeep and maintenance of its assets, or through plying your skill at a profession of your choosing. Protect your clan, and those who've earned the right to live amongst it. And lastly - though somewhat irrelevant at present - obey the orders of the Mand'alor, and answer his call when it is issued."

[19:51] Nicci Ordo smirked, "Well said.  Dunno where all the other bullshit came from in the explanations but, well said.  The Resol'nare, or Six Actions, are the central tenets of Mandalorian life. They are: wearing armor, speaking the language, defending oneself and family, raising your children as Mandalorians, contributing to the clan's welfare, and when called upon by the Mand'alor, rallying to their cause.  So when I say what is a mandalorian, and you respond with "a warrior", you are not wrong, but you are only seeing half of what a Mandalorian is.  It is a very...aruetii answer.  What is a clan?  And if you simply say a group of mandalorians I will knock you all the way to Onderon."

[19:59] Vente'rro'rloth might have allowed a smirk at her threat, but alas, he was Chiss, and humour was difficult to stir in their hardened hearts. Instead, he simply soldiered on with his answer, elaborating on the meaning of a clan. "A clan is comparable to a colony; each Verd within the clan serving as part of the bigger picture - part of the unit as a whole. I was told by... Jekai, I believe it was, that its not uncommon to see a cook or a tailor clad in full beskar'gam, as strange as that concept appears to aruetii. If a clan was built up of nothing but warriors, there would be little they could accomplish. A thriving clan of Mando'ade will have cooks, engineers, tailors, singers, dancers, warriors, farmers... Every conceivable profession you'd expect to find in any other culture or society." He left it there for now, brows notching in a subtle furrow as he retraced his steps and considered his own answer. "The Mando'ade are trained in combat, but they are more than that alone. Combat is simply a necessity to ensure their [19:59] Vente'rro'rloth  culture's continued survival in a harsh galaxy that would see them wiped out."

[20:05] Nicci Ordo shook her head.  "Incorrect.  It is actually, backward.  We are ALL warriors.  There is no such thing as a mando'ad who is not a warrior.  To be mandalorian is to be warrior.  We have warriors who can cook.  Warriors who are skilled with machinery.  Warriors who are skilled with cloth making.  Warriors who have nice voices to sing.  Warriors who know how to grow things from the earth.  But yes, in the latter you are correct.  Family, you will notice, is part of the resol'nare.  Quite a large part.  But that does not mean just blood family.  There is a reason we address our clan-mates as vod, and vod'ika.  Do you know what those words mean?"

[20:12] Vente'rro'rloth gave another subtle nod of his head, "Vod and Vod'ika," he repeated, "Brother and Sister respectively." The terms were part of his basic digest of Mando'ade, and of late, much of the more simple terms, greetings, and phrases were essentially ingrained in his head. "I make a habit of studying Mando'a every night before I sleep; at least an hour, after completing the rest of my chores and tasks. Aside from giving me strange dreams in a language that once sounded foreign, I've found its helped me remember much of what I read the night prior." Though this time, it seemed the Chiss decided his mention required further elaboration, to prove his understanding of the concept she referenced, "The unity of the clan is paramount. In that, you are all brothers and sisters in arms. It creates a lasting bond that's strengthened through adversity. This concept is understood by most soldiers of various militaries, although I get the feeling that Mando'ade hold dear to this more than most."

[20:23] Nicci Ordo nodded, "Yes.  Though a bit deeper than just in arms.  We are brother and sister in a clan sense, in a bond that is thicker than even blood.  Now, you are not one of us yet, so your...rigid stance I suppose is appropriate.  But I am going to stress to you that we are NOT a military.  The closest thing you could compare us to I suppose would be...a tribe.  This military stance.  I believe the arutii call it...parade rest?  You need to drop it.  All the military discipline and twisting of your mind around rank, gone.  When you fight along-side a mandalorian, you fight alongside brothers and sisters.  You obey Alor and Alor'ad as you would parents, even fighting them when you do not agree with an action they are taking.  To fight and win is to gain respect.  To fight and lose is to offer respect.  It is considered dishonorable to disrespect a victor in a battle between warriors, even between warrior and aruetii.  When in a military situation you do not get to fight your superiors if you feel one of them is i [20:23] Nicci Ordo  error.  Here you punch them right the mouth if you do not agree.  You fight, if you lose, you lose the argument.  Done deal, no grudges.  Rigorous discipline is for the battlefield only.  Among your daily life with your brothers and sisters, it simply is out of place.  It would be like standing at parade rest in front of your father or mother even to do it to an Alor or Alor'ad.  Keep that sort of thing on the battlefield."

[20:29] Vente'rro'rloth digested the teachings in silence whilst his mind waged war against its every near-instinct brought on by his race's native culture. For a time, the Chiss spoke not a word, and the subtlest twitch of his brows caused a faint notch to furrow whilst he sought to comprehend this practice which - on face value - seemed so ill-disciplined and wholly at odds with the fame surrounding such a reputedly disciplined band of warriors. That such discipline lay only in the field of battle struck the Chiss as odd, but he gave a subtle nod of his head regardless, "As you say," he intoned again, and - with some degree of awkwardness - his posture slackened. Without his blaster rifle clutched within his gauntlets, and no means of clasping his arms behind his back, Error's limbs seemed to sort of hang at his side, awash with an awkward uncertainty. "Is this better?" he questioned at last, doing his best to loosen up, in what was no doubt an amusing display of discomfort.

[20:42] Nicci Ordo was indeed amused by his awkwardness, but pleased.  She wanted him entirely out of his comfort zone.  She nodded when he asked if it were better.  "An improvement, of sorts.  Never forget that it is our almost savage-like nature that make us more formidable than any military in the galaxy.  We fight as a way of life, not because we are ordered to.  We are warrior, not soldier.  There is a fundamental difference in those two terms.  Militaries enforce disciplinary frivolities for the sake of maintaining absolute control.  A mando'ade clan does not seek absolute control. This is your family you fight with, the passion and raw emotion of battle lust has always meant to be unhinged from the chains of rank, saluting, uniforms, and repetition.  Tell me, would you be motivated to fight for the life of your father, or for some soldier you did not know?  Would there be more feeling in your heart for a battle fought to better the life of your family, or would you rather fight a battle to gain territory for a ruler [20:42] Nicci Ordo  bask in all the riches and you get a simple paycheck?"

[20:54] Vente'rro'rloth found this question difficult to answer. He knew, of course, what the ideal response would be for any Mandalorian, but to be born of a race so wholly devoted to duty, to discipline, and to logic... it was somewhat jarring, to say the least. "I know that the answer you'd hope to hear should be 'yes, it is better to fight in defense of your family', but that answer is somewhat harder to give as one of the Chiss. In a certain sense, we are no different to the Mando'ade in our views of clan, or family. Amongst the Chiss, we have Houses, rather than Clans. These Houses are akin to family, too. Many - like my own, and the most venerated clan, Nuruoda - are of military heritage. Those we fight alongside are of our House, and by extension, of our family. Though I grasp your lesson, this camaraderie you speak of is simply all a part of our duty, amongst Chiss." A pause followed, before giving a subtle nod of his head whilst his arms continued to hang to either side of him, "I understand, and even agree, although [20:54] Vente'rro'rloth  perhaps my race's behavior towards its House or 'clan', and the duty that comes with it would seem cold and distant, to someone who's lived as one of the Mando'ade for a long while. In short, we too are close to our Houses, but its viewed as our duty, where I imagine the Mando'ade do so through personal bonds. Perhaps with time, I will develop these attachments, too." It was a frank and honest response, gutted of all idyllic answers. Bonds and kinship would grow and be cultivated. To force them, would be false and merely duty.

[21:03] Nicci Ordo nodded, "That is in fact, why I asked.  I did not want the answer I wanted to hear, I wanted the truth.  Because in your heart, you will never be mandalorian if you continue to think like your old culture, then you cannot be mando'ad.  You will still be Chiss.  Cin

[21:08] Nicci Ordo says, "Cin'vhetin will never be complete, and you will not have earned the right to wear the armor.  You fight, not for survival but because you are told.  You fight with no heart, but for duty.  This is not so much about forming a bond with others as it is with yourself.  You will have three tasks.  Three tasks challenging your greatest weaknesses.  Are you prepared to face these challenges?" she asked, her voice turning very serious."

[21:11] Vente'rro'rloth understood the aspects he ought to work on, and gave a subtle nod of his head in answer to her question, "I am prepared to go through with this, yes," he reaffirmed in a tone that seemed to broker no compromise or doubt. Having come this far, and already taken the bold step of leaving Chiss space to go into self exile, there was precious little room to turn back now. To shirk the offer of a place amidst a Clan would likely mean a life amidst the barves and wretches of the Outer Rim, plying his hard-earned talents as an Enforcer for a Hutt cartel. For Error, there could be little that was more humiliating than such a debased profession. "What challenges must I pass to prove to you, Alor'ad?"

[21:16] Nicci Ordo nodded, "I shall give you only the first for now.  If you live through it, you may be graced with the second.  You are to travel to Onderon, landing at the edge of the jungle along the ocean.  I will be the one to drop you off.  Once there, you will leave all your weapons and armor and clothing on board my ship.  You will be completely nude when you enter the jungle.  You are tasked with surviving, for a week, on nothing but your wits and what the jungle has to provide for you.  At the end of the week, you will bring me back the tooth of a rancor, or you fail.  Die, and you fail.  Leave the jungle, and you fail.  Arrange for a friend to bring you armor or weapons, and you fail.  Accept help from anyone else, and you fail."

[21:29] Vente'rro'rloth halted for a moment, his mind going back to memories of his rigorous training exercises as part of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force. Born to a race that hailed from an arctic planet, much of the training exercises had covered harsh weather survival in cold environs, but in service of a military that found itself the invading force on more occasions than not, survival techniques in certain other climates were taught to him, in rudimentary levels, at least. The thought of being stripped bare of armament and brought down to utter nothingness brought about a faint grimace beneath his mask, though the Ge'verd offered no vocal objection. Complaints were viewed with contempt amongst the Mando'ade, he had read. To grumble about your lot in life, showed weakness. To shy away in the face of adversity, was to admit you were less a warrior than you ought to be. Instead, Error chose to present the world with only a resolute nod of his head, "One week to bring back the fang of a Rancor. Very well." He did, however, [21:29] Vente'rro'rloth  pause for a moment, reaching down to his belt in order to unclip a datapad from within one pouch, a gloved hand thumbing a few buttons in order to bring up Holonet. For a time, he spoke not a word, gaze lowered to the viewscreen whilst he brought up some information about Rancors -- a creature he had yet to even hear of. The sight of the monstrosity was met with a clicking of his teeth. "-This- thing?" he questioned, turning the device about in one hand to present a flickering holo image of a pug-nosed beast with squinting eyes and a broad, slavering maw of cruelly serrated fangs. Its small head sat atop a squat neck, its broad shoulders giving way to a pair of disproportionately long arms with scything, nimble clawed fingers. Made worse, all those predatory assets were compact into a stocky body that looked to put a charging Reek to shame.

[21:29] Vente'rro'rloth halted for a moment, his mind going back to memories of his rigorous training exercises as part of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force. Born to a race that hailed from an arctic planet, much of the training exercises had covered harsh weather survival in cold environs, but in service of a military that found itself the invading force on more occasions than not, survival techniques in certain other climates were taught to him, in rudimentary levels, at least. The thought of being stripped bare of armament and brought down to utter nothingness brought about a faint grimace beneath his mask, though the Ge'verd offered no vocal objection. Complaints were viewed with contempt amongst the Mando'ade, he had read. To grumble about your lot in life, showed weakness. To shy away in the face of adversity, was to admit you were less a warrior than you ought to be. Instead, Error chose to present the world with only a resolute nod of his head, "One week to bring back the fang of a Rancor. Very well." He did, however, [21:29] Vente'rro'rloth  pause for a moment, reaching down to his belt in order to unclip a datapad from within one pouch, a gloved hand thumbing a few buttons in order to bring up Holonet. For a time, he spoke not a word, gaze lowered to the viewscreen whilst he brought up some information about Rancors -- a creature he had yet to even hear of. The sight of the monstrosity was met with a clicking of his teeth. "-This- thing?" he questioned, turning the device about in one hand to present a flickering holo image of a pug-nosed beast with squinting eyes and a broad, slavering maw of cruelly serrated fangs. Its small head sat atop a squat neck, its broad shoulders giving way to a pair of disproportionately long arms with scything, nimble clawed fingers. Made worse, all those predatory assets were compact into a stocky body that looked to put a charging Reek to shame.

[21:42] Nicci Ordo chuckles,  "Yep, that thing.  Should be pretty easy to spot, you may confuse it for a mountain at first," she grinned.  "Oh and one more thing.  At the end of the week I expect to be introduced to the alive rancor you took the tooth from.  You kill it to get the tooth, and you fail.  Anyone can kill a thing and take a trophy.  To have respect enough for something's right to exist is much more difficult, especially I imagine to you. This test is not for you to go on some senseless trophy hunt, but to learn something of deep value, the way of the warrior, not the soldier."

[21:50] Vente'rro'rloth had already been hatching plans to take the fang from a living rancor; having deemed it easier to perhaps knock a tooth from its gaping maw, rather than slay such a formidable creature. That this was now a prerequisite of the task even managed to paint a subtle smile across the Chiss' features, betrayed only the faint tugging of his thin cloth facemask. "As you say..." he repeated again, although this time, his tone seemed to betray some faint edge of mirth for once. For a moment, he'd wondered if she expected him to kill one, but seemed glad that she didn't. "In which case.. I am up to the task." He left it there for now, his mind wandering off to formulate a step-by-step action plan, prioritizing reconnaissance for the first day, during which he'd attempt to source a supply of clean, drinkable water, soon followed by the establishment of a safe perimeter in which to erect a shelter to live beneath the canopy.

[21:54] Nicci Ordo nodded.  This whole Death Watch thing had not sat easy with her.  She had lost the fight to the Alor, when she challenged his decision for the second time to go in that direction.  She would never allow the honor of her clan to be tainted, even through conquering, by senseless killing, raping,  and outright murder of the defenseless as the Death Watch of ages past had been.  For this it was important that her verd be just as capable of respecting life as they were of taking it.  "Good.  Get some rest tonight, tomorrow is when we leave."

[22:01] Vente'rro'rloth gave one final nod, taking heart in the fact that he'd be permitted to savor the warmth and meager comforts of the barracks once more before he'd be flung into the depths of the jungles of Onderon. Alas, he wagered his sleep would be fitful at best. Before him lay one arduous and potentially deadly task, and the night before his mission would be spent doing research on the jungles of Onderon, their indigenous wildlife, along with its varied fauna, studying what should and shouldn't be eaten, and which beasts would pose a near-human species the greatest threats. "I'll make all necessary preparations and get some rest." Error assured, seemingly intent on taking his leave to begin his work. He did pause however, and perhaps in something closer to the warmth displayed by beings of different races, the Chiss managed a muted grunt of acknowledgment, "Nnh, and I appreciate the lectures you've given me today. This gives me something to reflect on." In truth, Error doubted he could afford himself much time to sit [22:01] Vente'rro'rloth  reflect on her words whilst surviving in the treacherous jungles, but he'd endeavor to attempt it nonetheless.

[22:06] Nicci Ordo merely grunted at him.  She was not a person of many words and this had been more than she had spoken to anyone in months. She was socially awkward always but, never when teaching the cultural essentials of the mandalorian civilization.  She had said all she felt she needed to, and left the building to get her own sleep.