Mandalorian Lost

Chapter 2

9 ABY

"Dank farrik," I growl, flipping up a few switches on the control panel. The ship shudders and groans, forcing my head into the metal wall beside me. I hiss out a breath and glare at the offending metal. My scopes read out an optimistic report of the landing cycle, but the ship's constant lurching and sputtering give me a different idea. I raise my fist and bang it against the screen, watching as it flickers into a new report. Now there's a lot more flashing red alarms going off.

The ashen aura of Nevarro looms ahead, growing way too close way too fast. I swallow hard, pulling up slightly on the throttle. Hopefully it's enough to get me an easy landing.

I've heard dozens of rumors of an Imperial presence on this planet, to the point where I couldn't ignore them anymore. Nevarro is mainly a bounty hunting haven, if the research I've done is to be trusted, but I suppose even bounty hunters could use protection from the fallen Empire. It's the least I can do. I never liked to ally myself with hunters, even those that claimed to be in the Guild. There was just something so seedy about them, and that's coming from me. 

My ship practically falls through the atmosphere, and the view out of the glass cockpit window almost immediately floods with smoke and ash. Through a slight hole in the smoke, I spot a portion of the lava fields that aren't on fire.

At least, they don't look like they're on fire.

"Better than nothing," I mutter, steadying the throttle to allow the ship to ease itself into the safe spot. The ship doesn't exactly ease itself down, though, and groans as it slams into the rock below. The jolt sends me onto the floor. I smack my head against the ground and groan as I sit back up, gripping the controls to haul myself to my feet. "Piece of junk." I glare at the ship around me.

The silhouette of a town sits on the horizon, telling me it won't be too far of a walk to get there from my landing spot. From there, I'll have to do some asking around to figure out what kind of Imperial presence the rumors spoke of. A few stormtroopers wouldn't be a problem, but a stronghold will take at least a day of planning first.

One look out the window tells me I'll need my cloak to keep the ash off my skin unless I want to show up to town looking like I'm disintegrating, so I wrap my tattered black cloak around my shoulders. I purse my lips into a flat line as I wrestle with keeping it away from the weapons on my hips. Two blasters, a few knives tucked in my boots, and of course, the long beskar staff sheathed on my back. The staff tends to draw more attention than I'd like, but I can't bring myself to part with it after so many years.

Harsh beeping blares up at me from the cockpit, and I choose to ignore it and rush down the ship's lowered ramp. I glance back at the old hunk of metal and debate whether or not to connect a security alert to it. I'm settled a little ways from town, and I doubt anyone would be interested in stealing a Lambda class T-4a shuttle anyway. It's not a good look.

I give the shuttle one last withering glare before turning toward the town in the distance. My worn boots tap against the lava rock as I walk, and I let a smile tug on my lips. The smell of ash, the heat from lava rivers trailing lazily around me, and the dark rock beneath my feet all remind me of the only planet I ever saw as home. Memories of mornings spent rising with the glowing embers on Mustafar fade in and out as I make my way through the lava flats. Sometimes I miss that fireball of a planet. Only sometimes.

I frown when a particularly large chunk of ash spews from a stream of lava, planting itself firmly on the front of my black tunic. I brush it away as I cross into town, scanning the street before me.

Just as I suspected: bounty hunters.

They're crawling from every nook and crevice as I continue walking, hoping to find some kind of cantina where I can scope out a good source of information. Preferably a drunk one who's more inclined to rat out the Imperials. I catch sight of a dark skinned man with a thin salt-and-pepper beard and a crooked grin on his face. He looks promising.