Log:Jedi Order: Blood Feud
The speeder that met the Jedi at Needleroot's starport was, at best description, ad-hoc. Old seeding equipment, avian hauling space, repulsor pads from cargo transport sleds and old thrusters to keep it stable and moving forward. Seating was hay ridden, smelled of old soil and fertilizer and the Zelosian behind the wheel couldn't look more in place wearing dusty field pants, a homespun button down shirt and nerf fur collared rancher's jacket.
"Glad you've come!" Qutha's voice raised to be heard over the rumble of the 'speeder' systems, "I've been working with some of the ranchers, introducing grass seeds from other parts of the area to 'heal' the soil, a sort of booster combination that the nerfs can spread with their scat! Then two of the ranching families got sight of the other and everything just sort of went... sideways?" the trip quick, but not reckless, "Some dispute I couldn't fully makeout over nerfs, but all I've been able to manage is keep them from opening fire again!"
The speeder bounces over small rises on the rolling plains that looks a mixture of hoof flattened and cropped so that one might play a game of Whack-A-Ball without running into the rough. Then the scent of nerf hits in all of it's pungent glory. "Dear oh dear..." Qutha can be heard muttering as some of the locals are putting themselves between two large farming families. Shaking new and old slugthrowers as well as a few battered blaster rifles in the air while shouting invectives at one another. The only thing to pause the growing argument is one small child in overalls pointing at the speeder moments before it glides up on its anti-gravs to a hault before the whole ruckus.
The contained wild hair that is Vhe's signature is made less likely to whip into someone's face due to the colorful scarf that binds up and around her head to be folded neatly into place with only a few springy whisps to escape here and there. For the moment they are nearly straight with the passing of air as the group approaches the scene that is unfolding. But that is not what has her nose wrinkling and eyes beginning to water.
"I always thought my mothers incense was a bit musky and questionable but this...." She coughs a bit and wipes her fingers at her eyes as she waits as they come to a stop. The air is thicker than, the smell more present in that moment and she quietly coughs again, trying to get used to it as she lifts her hand to press to the back of her nose just for the relief of a second or two before she gives in and bears it.
She lifts her hand to wave at the small child that points at them. "Greetings." She calls out, hoping to distract.
After receiving the broadcasted alert of their communications net from Qutha Buvu Pah, Chani Tahn made haste for Dantooine. She arrives before the meeting time, and rather than wander the rural world's city to discover its small wonders, she bides her time in the cockpit of the Eta-2b Interceptor she'd traveled to get there in. She's studying the lit up screen of her datapad when a speeder approaches in the distance, and a glance up from its scrolling Naboo characters allows her to identify her fellow Jedi without difficulty. The pale blue light from the datapad shuts off, removing its taint from her face, neck, and the dark brown and cream attiture covering her torso. A shift in the cockpit of the craft sees her stow away the device.
"Sky, watch the ship. If you have an emergency, notify me directly by comlink. Use a trio sequence. I may not understand the problem, but we can figure it out." The BB unit fit into the astromech slot of the craft acknowledges with a warble and Chani stands up in the confined space while taking care not to crack her head on the pulled forward canopy of the fight. Her robe untangles from around her thighs and waist and drops to cover her attire's cream trousers faster than she can stand. The brown leather of her boots create almost no noise as they articulate around her ankles, and the protective sole makes the edge of the cockpit a non-factor when she steps up and out of the cockpit to begin her descent along the side of the ship.
Sky shutters the fighter behind her. The multi-viewported canopy settles into place with a hiss of hydraulics drowned out by the rumble of the speeder that has drawn close. The young Naboo native slips off the edge of the fighter with a small hop, triggering a flutter of feyd-cloth robe and a shift of the robe's opening to briefly reveal a smidgeon more of the brown leather belt around her waist. Only her neck and head exposed to the elements, Chani's wide sleeves brush against her sides as she steps forward, with the robe flowing around her easy gait during her approach towards Qutha's speeder. She boards it with no small measure of skepticism for its safety written on her expression.
Qutha's explanation on the way leads her to one question. "If they've already engaged one another in such an open manner, has anyone died?" Her voice is raised to compete with the engine's thrum and the wind whipping past them, though her penchant for binding her hair into a tight bun means the only difficulty in her interaction is struggling to hear him over the ambient noise storming around them during their trip over the plains. She goes without her answer as they're arriving, but the appearance of armed individuals doesn't bode well and may explain it for her. Disembarking the speeder, Chani's nostrils flare as the pungent scent of farm hits her. She seems unphased by it if her neutral facial expression is any hint.
Smells of livestock are still quite unfamiliar for Ban, and while the gentleman doesn't grimace at the odor, he does inquire quietly, "Is the scent of this place to be expected?" It's the most polite way he could think of to ask his fellows 'what the hell is that stink?'. He disembarks along with the others, a gloved hand steadying the ornate sword hilt at his side. Diplomacy: a much better thing to focus on. Green eyes scan the gathering, and he inquires of Qutha, "Which among those assembled are foremost amongst their kin?"
Vega's face is smooshed against the glass of one of the windows that show the outside, "Look at all the green." she had stated quietly to whatever she was carrying. Maybe it was a wild animal? One could never tell with the young woman. Her white hair has been braided back hastily to keep all of it out of her face while they are here. She looks to the others when the speeder stops and then proceeds to climb down from her seat to follow the rest of them to see if they could aid in the matter at hand.
Yuun came in his own ship, he was a little late as he was finishing up a few things of his own but still he wanted to be of some use. Upon landing and making his way over to where Vhe is, the smell of livestock doesn't really bother him all that much as he's been to Dantooine quite a few times as it is. For the time being, he smiles upon seeing many faces of the Order here.
Rune was happy to get out of the cockpit for a change, the younger of the two Ysannan having apparently found his calling and been spending most of his free time behind the controls of one ship or another. Currently he was enjoying the view, the wind whipping in his already messy hair and the green grass and new smells that assaulted his senses. He was used to living among creatures for a good long time, the scent of these no greater or worse than some of the ones native to Ossus.
However, as they approached the line of argument, with some townsfolk holding the two sides apart, his smile evaporated, hazel eyes shifting from one group to the next while he tries to make headway of the cacophony of voices that tried to shout the next one down. "Seems they are rather riled up at this point." The little girl also gets notice from the young man, his hand lifting to waggle fingers at the seemingly innocent youth. "Hello. I am Rune." the novice Jedi states, the hand that waggled turning to press against his chest in greeting.
This is not Aryn's first trip to Dantooine. Like Chani, Aryn had arrived early, but she had gone to visit the ruins of the ancient Jedi temple. With notes from a long couple of hours safely stowed aboard the Rainstorm, Aryn felt free to join the group. The ride was enjoyable, and Aryn spent much of it in thoughtful silence. Accompanied by her explorer's droid, she took to watching the scenery and finding a sense of peace with it all.
Upon arrival, her nose crinkles. The stench is not unfamiliar, but it lacks anything pleasant, too. "I would think so." Aryn answers Lord Ban as she disembarks their ride and stands by the gentleman's side. His question to Qutha is one she thought to ask as well, so she awaits the answer. A small wave is afforded to the younger of the natives. Charming clothing.
"According to some of other other ranch families, there have been fatalities when they've fought. At least a dozen between them." is Qutha's answer to Chani as the speeder's frame tick-tick-tick-ticks steadily in places where the thrusters have begun cooling. The Zelosian landing on the ground with a plopping sound of his boots hitting soft earth - and despite his discomfort for the behavior of the locals - for a turn the plant-man actually looks in place among farmers and ranchers. And not just for his clothes.
"Zalmub Jarrui and Yahjam Calkin are the two heads" Qutha answers Ban, wringing his hands as he looks between fellow Jedi and quarreling natives - just before he realizes that their voices carried, just enough, over the small distance when,
"ANNIT'D BEEN ZEB CALKIN F'NIN' YEW DAYMID JARUI HAIN' BUSHWACKED HIM O'ER A LIE!!" A hand lifts among one family and agreeing yells go up before, "YOU STOP THAT CLAPTRAP BLATHERIN' OF YORN, VYUNI, YOU OLD DRUNK-POT!" one voice bleats from the Jarrui side raising laughter from them and howls of anger and more invective from the Calkins.
More heads turn, but a greater number to glare at one another across the small distance at that, fists and weapons raising and tension thickening. Teeth bared in hateful snarls, jeering and insults being bandied about and even some among the ranching families trying to talk others down. Anger and outrage saturates the area, jealousy and hatred on levels that are palpable. All things need now are a match to light this off. The overall wearing young miss waving timidly before she retreats towards the group keeping feuding families parted.
As the insults are being thrown, Vhe narrows her eyes and then looks to Yuun and the others around her. "Are they speaking basic?" The fact she has a hard time understanding a good half or more of what they just said causes her to hesitate - but only for a brief second. She takes a few steps forward with hands lifting at the same time but quickly does a side step spin and points down with one hand. "Animal feces...watch out." She reports, the buzzing of local insects offering a pinpointed position of the organic landmind.
She sets her foot down and approaches in the handspun cloth with its various brilliant colors, hard to miss really.
"I understand there are some differences here but I would say before this escalates and young ones hurt that we all take a step back so greivances can be aired and shared. Lower your weapons because harming one another is not going to solve your problems immediately. So let us just take a moment for now...please." She glances back and forth, hands still held slightly upwards while giving the group a bit of space still.
The unfolding situation before them is tense, but the banter passing between the Alderaanian nobles prompts a small smile to form on Chani's lips. Amusement is her forward expression, and it's laden in her tone when she asides to the Princess and Lord. "This is the typical smell for a ranch. It's, uh..," Chani's gaze diverts from them for a moment and her brows knit towards one another while she considers explaining the concept to them. "It's the animals." A polite explanation for polite company. Chani can't fathom the more commoner approach of blurting out to galactic royalty that the unpleasant smell assaulting her senses is nothing more than piles of poodoo that have either gone uncleaned or are being used as fertilizer in a self-supporting cycle of growing the grass the herd consumes. It's probably used in farming fields for miles around, but that fact need not be shared, either.
Her smile vanishes when the yelling starts. Considering Qutha's explanation that a not-insigifnicant number of sentients have died on both sides, any open sign of hostility is enough to set Chani on edge. Adopting a more passive expression, she sets her attention on the gathered and takes note of the jeers and howls of laughter resulting from a returned yell. She's more confused than stressed and half-turns her chin to Qutha in signal that her question is again for him. "Do they speak--?" Vhe beats her to the question and Chani's content to let the woman ask in her stead. Grass blades part and fold underneath her boots, leaving angled indicators of every step she takes even on a wide open plain like this one. As she expects, the banter exchanged by both parties is causing tensions to rise. She can see it in the faces of a few whose jaws set and whose weapons are gripped tighter.
"Perhaps we should ask the intervening family to step out of the middle of the two groups. They have children with them. I'd rather they not get hurt."
Ban Iskender murmurs aside, "We may require a translator droid." He is non specific as to which party might need it. A nod to Chani, "A fair concern, Mistress Tahn." The gentleman steps toward the middle, and raises his voice to speak with open hands, "Good gentles. Zalmub Jarrui, Yahjam Calkin, your kith and kin. We of the Jedi Order come before you all as those of our Order had in years past: as guardians of peace and justice. Whilst it is clear your ire burns hot, I pray you: look amongst your kin and know that there are those among you who would be endangered without cause should violence erupt. I ask of you: if only long enough for us to hear your truth, send your kith and kin to their homes, and speak with us. If you choose violence afterward, so be it."
Vega's not one of the diplomatic types of Jedi. Not really her thing given she spends most of her time with droids and repairing ships and other things. The Echani gives a look between the arguing parties and there is a frown that drags her lips down a touch. She steps back a little, allowing the others to speak since that seems to be a stronger point amongst this group. She tries not to look too threatening, hands away from her lightsaber and all of that.
Yuun nods, "Yeah, I guess their version of it." he says to Vhe. Though when he sees Vhe move to speak to the arguing people, Yuun isn't a diplomat and honestly right now would not be the best time to try to act like one or even try it. He looks to Chani for a moment and nods his head as she starts to ask her question but yeah Vhe did answer before. Yuun looks over to Ban, as he too moves to begin speaking.
Looking at the two groups, Yuun moves up as well, his move is casual but he is prepared to move into action if need be. He watches the family moving to keep close as to keep anyone from attacking either side for the time being.
Rune barely understood maybe a couple of the words the locals yelled at each other but he did take in that they were words of an unkind nature. The young Force user looks to the rest of the group with a shrug and raised eyebrows, as has been stated and noted before, diplomacy is well out of his area of expertise. Hell, the man just learned how to speak properly almost a year ago... Regardless, Rune does what he can to help, a smile here, a motion of his hands downward there, trying to simmer the crowd before out and out violence erupts. If that does happen, his lightsaber is attached to his belt and he has no qualms standing in the middle of the firefight to deflect shots away from their targets if need be.
"What?" Aryn asks after Chani's amusement. Chani's comments afterward lead Aryn to gaze over the rolling fields and wide trees with fat bottoms and thousands of limbs spouting at their tops. When their number begin to address the commoners, err, good folk, Aryn stays back and gauges the reaction. Perhaps it is not well received and a new approach to diplomacy is needed. She scratches her head and quietly wonders what Leia might do in this instant. An errant memory of Leia taking on the role of bartender at a Shownar casino flashes through her mind, and Aryn clears her throat.
"Might there be a cool (temperature) establishment that could serve as neutral ground and provide beverage. Tempers might be assuaged with a proper.. pint." The last two words are foreign to Aryn, not that she doesn't know their meaning, only that she's never used them in this context. Being from New Alderaan, her family's tavern was often the choice establishment for many locals to find a 'proper pint'
"Sohm differn'zez I'd say AT LEAST!" one of the Jarrui step up, facing Vhe as both sides of the conflict hesitate some, looking at the newcomers and their clothes. Some weapons go down, others waver as if to decide to point at rivals or at the Jedi. Murmurs rising through the crowd and Qutha takes the moment to answer Chani in low tones,
"Local colloquial, some of it is a more rustic basic. I've heard it back home as well, usually temper thickens accents also." throat bobbing, the greenish tinge to the man's skin darkening as feels eyes on him.
Then the next speaks, Ban that is, two figures glare at one another across the small distance. A tall man and a short stout woman. Unwilling to give up a scatter-blaster, that being Zalmub, nor the outsized blaster pistol held by Yahjam; that pair at least breaks from the main groups who begin to back away some at gestures from their respective house leads. Some with snaky looks and others with dark glares aimed at the jedi.
But it's Zalmub who speaks first, for the Jarrui, "Fifteen years, we'se been watchin' them Calkin's reapin' benefits from our threadstock and now they're gettin' that green-eyed little flower-dandy to help improve their crop lands!"
"Excuse me! I was going to be doing this for all!" Qutha pipes in before he is glared at.
"Zal Jarrui, yor just lookin' to make a fit 'bout any thing and any way you can! Mr. Poofoo Zah said like he did now he's gonna work with everyone's land!"
"And Calkin is gonna be gettin' the benefit again! Better crop, better grow, better for the sale and slaughter! Fifteen years of us watchin' you reap what we sowed!"
"And ten since your Uncle Ohddi popped my Zeb in the back of his skull!"
"That's a lie! Zeb was lookin' him full in the face! T'was a duel fair and square!"
"DUELS HAIN' FAUGHT F'M BUSHES YEW INBRED SACKA SLIME!"
Those beginning to back away coming forward again, weapons draw as tensions begin to mount.
It seemed to be working at first, Ban coming forward to add to a few things and the others seeming to ready themselves should things go pear shaped. Which..it does. She watches as the ground gained is lost in the play out of others stepping together looking ready to release shots and strikes alike. Her hands lift higher to try to convey their attention to her rather than on each other but she fumbles with the words. Their names are all a bit mixed up certainly, "Excuse...no..I..you! You there, no wait. Put down your weapons." That is hardly convincing as she flusters some and the colorful Ysanna is left a mere beacon of confusion when she had started out so strong.
An unfortunate event really for she is so flustered the next step forward to possibly place herself in the middle of it all sends her booted foot into a fresh plop of animal dung that only servces to multiuply the effect of the scent that rises up. She coughs a bit as her foot slides and squishes to the side.
The sheer variety of weapons employed by both sides both impresses and worries Chani. From simple harvesting weapons such as sickles to what look like ancient scatterguns and rusted slugthrowers, the young Naboo native also spies rudimentary pitchforks among the mob. She licks at her lips, wetting the dried out skin that threatens to grow worse on an open, wind-swept plain such as this one, and takes steps towards the middle group while Lord Iskender takes it upon himself to address the two families as a whole. The significant difference between High Galactic and low Basic make it sound as if she's hearing two different languages rather than the same one. It's common Basic she pulls from her own repetoire to address the farming family that called them to mediate in the first place. "I am Chani. Please, let's move your family away from the ranchers. We would like to protect your children and make sure they aren't hurt."
She gestures with a wide sleeve towards the Jedi as a whole, hoping to both indicate her comrades as a source of safety and to encourage the family to move away from the field of danger that grows closer to becoming a firefighting zone as time passes. The wind whips it against her arm, pinning the feyd-cloth fabric against her arm and folding the end of the sleeve of her hand so it is no more than a vague lump underneath. She smiles for effect, hoping the slight upturn at the corners of her mouth will match with the pleasant lilt of her voice to convey a sense of ease and calm. There seems to be little of that in their current predicament. Hearing Aryn's level-headed suggestion, Chani's encouraged to turn a glance over her shoulder at the Princess. She might have succeeded, had the sudden shock of hearing one of the family heads speak distinguishable Basic. It's there her gaze goes, instead, though she doesn't cease the endeavor of urging the family literally caught in the middle to move to safety.
Ban Iskender doesn't rush, but continues to walk forward toward a point between the two family heads, "I say again: you both are the elders of your clans, best suited to speak for them-" Turning to the Jarrui, he projects a firm authority through the force with his first words, "*Send your kin home*, and let us speak in peace." He includes the other with his next words, "So that before any of your family bleed this day, you shall know you did all possible to find justice, before bringing death on your kin. Surely there must be some suitable establishment, as her Highness suggests?" A suitable establishment for a proper pint.
Vega is watching the situation carefully, her gaze eyes focused on those who have weapons and seem more than willing to use them. She's waiting for someone to choose violence over peace...maybe so she can choose violence over peace for once? It might go through her head, but it doesn't telegraph through her form. She lets those better with the words go ahead and see how it turns out.
Yuun is watching as some of those here are lowering their weapons, happy that they've done that, but his attention turns to those who are still holding and pointing weapons. He didn't want to speak up right now just mainly due to, there are already those of the Jedi speaking already, he didn't want their words not to do what they need to do. Taking a breath and allowing himself to remain calm for the time being.
When he sees Chani gestures towards the Jedi to the family, he offers a bow of his head to them and a soft smile to indicate they will be safe as best he can make it. His gaze goes back up to the surrounding area to keep a better eyes on the others still gathered here. He hears Bans words and continues to hold his ground for now.
The young Jedi feels ill-at-ease when it comes to talking things out, not that he's unwilling or even that he prefers an alternative to working everything out peacefully. It's more the point that he's rather incapable of doing so, instead letting the ones with more practice and better control of their words do the talking for him. The issue with that is, Rune ends up finding himself anxious and wary when the talking begins, wishing to help but not having the properties to do so. He very much wants to do something good, to further negotiations in any situation but, having tried to do so before and found his words only exasperating things, he's only been useful when action is needed. As such he stands ready, a steady smile affixed to his lips while his hazel eyes shift from one group to the next, hand clasped on the slick black metal cylinder attached to his belt, on guard in case he needs to defend.
Things appear to escalate and Aryn can feel that tingle in the back of her mind inducing a healthy perception of danger. With the sheer volume of scattershots and blasters, and melee weapons it would take a week to pick up what's left of them all! Clearing her throat, she joins Ban at the center of danger and brushes her cape back to reveal both arms. "Good folk, lower your weapons and return to your homes. Leave the discussions to your clan leaders, and /someone/ point out the nearest bloody tavern so we can sit /down/ and talk." The posh tone betrays a bit of frustration from Aryn who is annoyed at the display and content of their disagreement. She keeps this frustration from showing on her face, at least. Those aware of the ebb and flow of the Force likely felt Aryn's influence cast out, marshalled cleverly by the simultaneous wave of her hands in addressing both parties. Be it successful or no, remains to be seen.
Those being spoken to by Chani, and motioned away by the same, seem quite intent to aid the young woman who is taking the time to show them such concern as things are beginning to unfold. Several reaching to pull the naboo with them out of the sight of the firing lines. The community members who clearly wish this whole thing would be over and done with.
"Now now there missy, if we're getting clear of these gundark packs yore comin' with us, eh?" one voice floats out of the crowd - though if Ms. Tahn is insistent she not go, they won't struggle too hard.
"Nearest waterin' hole is Needleroot and we're fine to remain right -here-." Yahjam grouses, glaring at Zalmub who shoots back daggers of his own while both raise their hands - quieting their respective families who take to just glaring at one another and the jedi.
"Zeb Calkin took our best stud from the threadstock, fifteen years back."
Several of the Calkins begin lowering weapons and turning towards their vehicles, looking glazed and not a little confused for their life choices as they start away. The Jarrui looking confused to see some of their opposition suddenly turning to leave. The likelihood of a tavern barely a spec at this point.
"That's a damned lie, Zal!"
"He weren't branded yet!"
"If he was yorn then y'should've gotten 'em branded as soon as he could walk! Zeb got that stud from the trade markets and you know it!"
"We loose our thread, suddenly Calkin nerf stock has a shift like it had?!" Zalmub is incredulous, arms flung into the air now, exasperated. "Zeb stole that stud! Stole it, called it bought then branded it!"
"Twaddle! A fine story your Ohddi had, just so he could pop my Zeb in the back! Your Uncle Ohddi is a murderer!"
"Oh! And there's not a drop on your hands? Or any yorn?!" Zalmub stomps his foot, white faced with rage.
"Okay, I may not fully understand what they are saying but its obvious it is not going how we want or how it needs to go." Vhe focues on Zalumb the moment he foot stomps and she shakes her head. "No sir, not today. If there was a lake I would toss you in it." She may be mumbling to herself as the air remains tense and ready to explode, she is quick to reach out with the force. Wrapping her grasp around it she pulls hard, trying to wrench it free but finds that Zalumb has a rather firm hold - probably out of pure idignant anger that has made his face white with rage.
She watches as she is drawn up upon one foot in the following tug of war that happens. "Put the weapon down." Her voice is firm, deadpan and her hand extended perhaps signals that its extension is not wholly unexplainable...if he has an open mind.
"Thank you for your concern. Let's get the children out of the way first and I'll join you." Divorcing her attention from the main mob is never something she commits to. Chani devolves into doing little more than nodding, maintaining her smile, and helping point out where to stand so that the farmer's family moves from being somewhere dangerous to being behind the assembled Jedi, but her gaze flicks towards the rising voices and shouted claims whenever they start to pitch. The boiling emotion of anger threatening to bubble over is impossible to ignore as a resonance in the Force. More impossible to ignore is the sensation of danger. It's more than the physical trigger of her pores tightening and the hair on the nape of her neck wanting to stand up. It's like a subtle whine in the back of her skull, like her ears are ringing from a blaster discharged too close. Chani is tense, too, but that begins to ebb once the family has finished moving and the children are now safe behind the diplomatic peacekeepers attempting to diffuse the situation. Or stop it from escalating.
Stepping away from the gathered pair of mobs, Chani ensures to keep herself between the last stragglers of the farming family and what might be a wall of blaster fire at any moment. Were this a less volatile gathering, Chani might not have been able to stop herself from jerking her gaze around towards Aryn. Somehow, the near-curse in the Princess's core world accent sounds so alien that it's bewildering, but distraction at this moment in time could be disastrous. Chani turns to face forward at the ranchers determined to let their pride do the talking rather than let someone ease them down from their rivalry.
Ban Iskender's voice sharpens as tempers flare anew. He sounds less a refined diplomat in the moment, and more an officer as he upbraids Zalmub, "There are children here, *sir*. Innocents, *sir*! Would you be so blind as to spark violence heedless of such? /Send your kin home/, *sir*, and behave as a head of household." A firm gesture of his gloved hand accompanied the projection of his will toward the Jarrui elder.
Vega looks to the others as tempers flare and she really doesn't want to roll into this with both feet in her mouth like a little space gremlin. She steps back just a little, just in case start to go pear shaped and she has to think quick on her feet. She really doesn't want to see blood shed, but she also doesn't want any of her fellow Jedi hurt in the crossfire that might happen.
Rune begins ushering the folk away with his one free hand, waving them back toward their homes, away from this conflict, away from this argument. He hopes that the words of his fellows have convinced enough of them that, if there is bloodshed, it is relegated to a very few and not the wholesale slaughter it looked like it was before. Thankfully the large group with Chani moved away and seem more interested in returning to their work, to their fields, or even to 'get a pint' than to continue backing up the heated emotions of a couple of too proud hillbillies.
Aryn feels endangered as tempers flare and no one heeds reason. Control of the situation is key and losing it is not an option. Ban reasons and Aryn shows solidarity by unclipping the curved hilt on her belt and activating it a second later.
A sapphire blade of energy expanded from the hilt and Aryn held it out to her side, its tip nearly touching the ground as it casts an eerie shade of blue over those in close proximity. "Do as the gentleman commands. Drop your weapons and back down. All we want is to discuss and end this disagreement. /Everyone/ can go home healthy, whole, and ready for the next day's work. We can not accomplish that if no one is listening.. so please..." Aryn says, glancing to all present. Her voice softens with the following word, "..listen."
Zalmub's expression goes to one of staunch curiosity as his arm jerks out and he tries to find whatever is fiddling with his scattergun. Forced off balance, with one leg kicking back and out slightly to offset.
"Zal what'n hells fire are you doin'?" Yahjam snarls, confused, irritated, but now amused before Ban's hard words shock her silent. Watching the leader of Jarrui blink rapidly, lips pursing and then a hand lifting to wave off his family as requested by Lord Iskender. Across the way those Calkins whom hadn't left now flabbergasted as well.
More to be said or acted on halts when the lightsaber comes out. Some of those watching simply cut an run as holodramas of laser sword swinging death machines come to mind, legends, tales, all those things that bumpkins with, often so proudly, their distant and heavily tinted views of things outside of their immediate culture. Zal and Yahjam's weapons are on the ground and their jaws are hanging dumbly at the storybook weapon come to life.
Those of the other groups not running now are most certainly making distance at an almost jaunty fast walk.
But people are listening now.