The Daritha's Tavern

Non-Com could not have picked a better place in the entire town to conduct his stakeout for Plu Or'dinii, and it was not long before the doors swung open upon their well-oiled hinges, and the Aliit'alor of the Or'dinii himself stomped into his namesake cantina. The old warrior was dressed in his usual red beskar'gam, with it's purple accents and black joints, and all manner of kit and weaponry hung from his belt, his shoulders, and any other likely attachment point. All told, he rattled and creaked like a 200-year-old speeder bike, and if you were to listen inside that armor, his bones and joints sounded nearly as bad. Thirty years of war had taken a toll, although there was plenty of fire left, burning within the ages body.

Following closely at Plu's heels was a second Mando, dressed all in black beskar'gam, with a black cloak drawn over top of his kit. The second mando was an audible contradiction to the first, as quiet and stealthy as Plu was noisy and loud. The Aliit'alor's heavy footsteps showed that, at least while he was here on Lehon, he had no reason whatsoever to hide his presence, while his companion was almost utterly silent. The shadow had been trained so well in the art of stealth, that he could not take off the tactic, and move normally. For him, silence was the only means of travel he knew.

Plu and his silent companion threaded their way through the crowd, which in places hastily parted at the sight of their clan elder, and, reaching the bar, slumped down onto the two stools to the immediate left of the recently arrived Gung, in his green beskar'gam, accented with blue. "Barkeep, two of the usual, and make sure they're cold." He cried, as a short, stocky bartender hurried forward, then hear the words, and retraced his steps with a quick nod and a smile of recognition.

"Su cuy'gar, ner'tat!" Plu exclaimed, rising to his feet and accepting the man's outstretched hand, grasping his wrist in typical warrior style. Yes, the Admiral had introduced them some years back, on Manda'yaim, if he remembered correctly. And Plu never forgot a true Mandalorian brother. "I remember you quite well. Despite the stories you've no doubt heard, my memory is well and intact." He laughed slightly, and motioned to his companion. "Non-Com, this is Nuukh, one of my assistants. Nukh, this is ner'tat Non-Com."

"Su'cuy, ner'vod Nom'Com." The black-clad Mando replied in a deep, gravelly, and decidedly non-human voice. He nodded politely but did not leave his seat.

Plu reached beneath his chin and carefully unclipped his buy'ce, then rested it on the bar between himself and his aloof companion to his left. "By all means, let the drinks flow. I'm sure Nuukh will appreciate that." Underneath, a black skullcap, piercing grey eyes, and a heavily scarred, mauled face were revealed. Presumably, the old warrior had been disfigured in some long-ago attack, although he rarely revealed the true origins of the scars, and when he did, only in private and to the closest of family members. In fact, in the old days, he had warn a mask beneath his bucket whenever he went out in public.

He grinned a toothy grin as he caught sight of the barkeeper returning with two frosty mugs. "How is the old Admiral these days?"

Settling back onto his stool as he accepted a tall pint of the house ale from the barkeeper, Plu pondered his vod's report on the Admiral. His old partner in war and mischief had to be quite aged by now, although he had never known his brother's real age. But there were many reasons one might not eat in public, aside from ill health, Plu mused wryly to himself, staring at his own heavily scarred reflection in the side of the mug. He adjusted his mask, then raised it to his lips. The goblet would no doubt need to be re-polished after encountering such an ugly reflection.

"I'm glad to here it. He is a jate vod." The old warrior paused for a moment to drain the rest of his cup, his eyes glancing idly around the bar, before returning to Non-Com as he asked about the aliit. "All is well. The Siite have not troubled us for some time. We have a new peace with the Chiss, and we have recovered ancient maps from Thrawn's voyages. Every tuur, new verde are born to our vode, and hopefully soon, to me as well." His grey eyes twinkled. It was past time for him to raise up sons and daughters as the next line of Or'dinii warriors. "I am to be married soon."

"Past time." Plu muttered gruffly, his voice partially drowned out as he tipped the mug back, draining the last few drops of house ale from it's frosty depths. He let out a long sigh as he slammed the empty vessel back down on the counter, and shot the bartender a smile as he replaced it with a new mug, which had already been filled the instant Plu picked up the first mug. The man was experienced with Mandalorian drinking habits, especially the Aliit'alor's.

Wrapping his hands around the new drink in anticipation, Plu turned to Non-Com as he responded to the question. "There are two things, actually. First, how many warriors do you have at your command? Do you have starships? What about tanks and other ground troops? Are you prepared to defend the yaime of our vode?" He asked a generic question, to which any true Mando and follower of the Resol'nare would be able to answer yes, but what he really sought was an indication of strength. Did Non-Com have the numbers to handle any current or future assignments that might be needed?

Nuukh stirred as the conversation turned to military forces, dropping some of his aloof nature as he turned to study Non-Com through his T-visor. The largely silent operative hadn't ordered anything yet. Instead, he was eating and drinking with his eyes, watching everything that happened in the cafe. But now the conversation had piqued his interest. His job, first and foremost, was intelligence.

"Excellent." Plu responded, smiling to himself. "You have done well, ner'vod."

The silent Mando'ad scooped the datacard out of mid-air with a silent flick of his wrist, and nodded gratefully to Non'Com. "Vor'e." He said, his voice gravelly and heavily accented. Producing a datapad from some place within his dark robes, Nuukh slid the daracard into a slot along the side, and began to study the information closely. He seemed to shut out the rest of the room and the conversation, but in reality, he was listening closely, and carefully considering all that Non-Com said.

"Mand'alor has made a request of me." Plu continued. "He wants someone to personally oversee the defense of Manda'yaim while he leads his crusade against the aruetyc force wielders. I have already dispatched a fleet and several thousand troops." He paused, and motioned to his companion. "Nuukh will be leaving for Manda'yaim soon, to be my eyes and ears in the system. If an attack should come, he, or I, or Grand Admiral Rakata may call on you for reinforcements."