#dathomyr

A3, private commission

I had been reading up on Rancors in the Wildlife of Star Wars and in it, it said they were known from Dathomir, where the Night Sisters rode them so sort of went from there.

din   stands   there.   he   stares.   for   a   stranger,   his   stare   would   seem   as   unrelenting   as   a   tatooine   sun,   and   just   as   harsh.   the   emotionless   helmet   and   its   assurance   of   a   lifetime   of   violence   painted   his   simple   act   of   staring   into   an   act   of   intimidation.   people   have   outright   told   him   he   is   scary. the   truth   was,   din   just   didn't   know   how   to   react.   the   silence   stretches   a   second   longer   before   a   modulated   voice   tinged   unsure,   'you   twisted   your   ankle.'   it   didn't   even   look   like   that   bad   of   a   twist.   the   mandalorian   looks   to   the   still   bodies   they   had   just   been   fighting,   then   back   to   his   friend.   he   stared   a   little   longer. with   a   sigh,   the   warrior   approached   cara,   helping   her   up   and   wrapping   her   arm   over   his   shoulder   to   help   her   lean   weight   off   of   her   bad   ankle.   'you   need   anything   else   here   or   can   we   head   back   to   town?'

'yeah,   i   got   that   much'                  his   tone   is   strained,   back   pressed   against   the   jutting   frame   shielding   from   the   blaster   shots.   it's   a   straight   hallway,   the   only   way   out   is   through.   so   he   goes   through.                  the   mandalorian   rounds   the   cover,   square   forward   as   he   was   taught   so   the   blaster   shots   bounce   off   his   armor.   he   pushes   forward,   shooting   back.   a   cord   thrown   at   one   merc,   flamethrower   at   another.   one   last   shot,   and   the   fighting   is   quelled   down.                  maybe   it   was   his   fault   they're   having   to   fight   their   way   out   of   some   mid   rim   dungeon,   but   he   had   a   gut   suspicion   cara   was   welcoming   the   excitement. / @dathomyr

Shrewd eyes observe @dathomyr keenly for a fleeting moment, soon overwashed by a veil of apathy. ❛ I do not believe that is ideal. ❜

the silence isn't a comfort— rather, she views it as a prison sentence for the sins she's cast on this earth in the past years. however, even through all the wickedness, there's a rarity in her sight: someone actually playing the guitar. it would be music to her ears, literally, but instead, the silence remains adamant; a harsh reality to succumb to. it's outside the realm of gunshots and the overlaying sound of future carnage that envelope the wasteland in a tight grasp. there's a moment of hesitation before she decides on approaching the male, planting herself directly in front of him. arms akimbo, her eyebrows knit together.

          “ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐔 & i don’t recognize your face.”    her pacing steps are slow, casual, even as her blaster raises to aim at the other’s chest.    usually, myla wouldn’t be so forward with her accusations, so quick to draw her weapon, but the chain clan placed a bounty on her the last time they were planet side & it had taken weeks of carefully isolating & attacking their leaders to threaten them into rescinding it.    “so this is how it’s gonna go down: i’m going to ask you a very simple question & you’re going to tell me the 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑻𝑯.”