Log:New Alderaan: A Hunt in the Savannah

Ser Lars leads a hunting party

OOC Date: March 8, 2021
Location: New Alderaan
Participants: Bors Thul, Aubrei, Chani Tahn, Ban Iskender, Aryn Cole as Ser Lars Syrush/GM

It is a rainy day in the savannah, and our hunting party has just arrived in a nice region for hunting. Much of the terrain is green, with tall grass and trees that are erratic and spread out. It isn't dense like the forests in the valley, but it's beautiful even in the grey haze of the rain. Ser Lars, a Lord from the House Syrush, has been tasked with leading this hunting party to gather meat for the spring festival to celebrate the arrival of the new season, and the release of a herd of Thranta.

"Truth be told, I have never seen a Thranta before," Lars says, admitting his age in relation to the loss of the Alderaanian home world. "It is said their mournful cries used to echo throughout the valley and icy mountains of Old Alderaan. Some were even domesticated, and could fly travelers from palace to palace, cutting down on the pollution of speeders. Can you imagine?"

Ser Lars is near the back of his speeder now that it is parked, and he's begun to pull out spears and other hunting craft items. Ser Lars is a tall man, and broad with muscle. It's clear that he once was the First Sword of Delaya, the champion of the official swordsmanship arena, yet injuries from his recent involvement on Delaya have left him moving slower. "Do all have the means to hunt? Clean? Or otherwise help in our endeavors this day?" He turns to face the group, lifting a hand to tuck back his long hair and guide it from a handsome face with dark brown eyes. He had an easy smile, one that inspired others to smile too.

"Bespin, m'lord. There are still some there, brought before our tragic loss." Bors himself having never experienced the species of his lost birthplace. "They dwell upon the eternal clouds and Bespin has riders who tend them and live among them in a fashion." adjusting his rifle and how his power packs hang from his belt.

"You know... My arm for a proper sword. All I can find is vibro - one day I'll get proper forged durasteel." pausing to consider, "Mayhap I ask Lady Roth - she looked to have proper blades, eh?" and then he is flipping topics anew, brows knitting, "I should see about the House attempting to transplant some of those from Bespin to New Alderaan... to have the Thranta soaring as my parents told me of."

Aubrei sets the snare gun down, leaning it against her leg as she reaches for her helmet. Her blonde hair is adjusted with a press of her hand and the large emerald eyes lift to look over the others, a nod of her head given. "All good here," she responds to Lars who asks if she is ready. Her eyes track over the strangers as she lifts her helmet and with a steady pull settles the older armor into place to complete her look. She's even all green, ready to blend with the vegetation.

There is a rustle and then a KACHINK as she makes certain the snares are loaded and ready to go.

Thes mile that takes her lips can be heard through the vocoder. <"I can scout ahead if needed otherwise I am ready to go."> The water begins to bead on the outside of her armor and roll down, driven by gravity.

The beauty of the savannah might be diminished because of the greyed haze caused by the downpour of rain, but Chani finds serenity in that shower. The constant sound of it pattering against the ground, the trees, and the speeders creates a steady rhythm that reminds her of some distant place. She's grateful for the fixed canopy above that protects her from the deluge, however. The sound might be peaceful, but the rain itself is cold. That chill carries on the wind and suffuses her cheeks with heat so that the naturally dusky skin is tinted a deeper rouge. She gazes out on the open plain, vision unimpeded by her long, dark hair because she has it swept back. It's sleek and tight, gathered into a fashioned bun at the back of her head that's loose. The rest of her is kept warm by the insulation of her jumpsuit.

"I have never seen a Thranta, either. Just holopicts from.." She trails off for a moment. Whether she forgets where she saw them or just decides to not share the information, the result is a shrug afterwards. "Somewhere. They are beautiful creatures." Unlike the others gathered, Chani seems ill-prepared for the hunt. She carries only a two-foot, extendable metal spear, and it's an item she keeps fastened in its place on her back rather than readying in any capacity. Doubtful it would surprise anyone were she not to try to participate. The Naboo are quite renowned for the pacifism and dislike of violence, and although the hunt is to feed people and she has no question regarding the full use of the animals, there is still the matter of killing. Chani has never killed anything in her life.

Ban Iskender disembarks the speeder along with the others, his gauntleted hand closing around the familiar haft of a hunting spear, weighing it in hand to gauge its heft, balance, and flexibility. "I have, see," the gentleman answers of the means to hunt. "This ought be quite the novel experience for us all."

"Ah, yes, Bespin. The home of the Cloud City. A grand station suspended in the breathable air of a gas giant. Remarkable ingenuity. More remarkable is the fact that Thranta have managed to survive all this time in that atmosphere. I have never visited Cloud City, but I have heard of it. It's said the Princess, Leia Organa, once visited though its hospitality was lacking then." Ser Lars laughed.

With everyone confirming they had something, Lars shut the back hatch of the speeder and took up his own spear. It was nothing ornate like Lord Ban's, but it was good enough to get the job done.

"Well, lead on, miss. You look more the adept scout than I. Mother above, it is a feat that I might still walk, much less hunt. So I will occupy our rear most position." Lars had addressed Aubrei, but his statement segued to addressing the rest. He took a measured step and sank the blunt end of his spear into the ground for balance. If he was still paralyzed, Lars did not show it. The same could be said for experiences of discomfort; they just did not register on his face.

"I too, have seen holopicts, though I trust they do them no service. I look forward to the release of the herd. It feels more symbolic, like another piece of our lost home returned. Perhaps, Lord Thul, you might learn the name of the family responsible for the transplant at the festival." Ser Lars continues to walk, turning his gaze out to the savannah and listening to the rain. It was nice, and relaxing.

"I hear they call you the Green Knight, Lord Iskender. I have also heard you know your swordsmanship. Perhaps, some day, you might find some time to offer me some instruction?" Lars stays near Chani, turning his gaze to study her a moment, offering a smile should she look his way.

Mention of Leia still drew a small frown from Bors, no spear hunting for him, he hasn't been able to get time to equip - so he'll just shoot his targets the new old fashioned way! "Perhaps we might find as such, Ser Lars. Mayhap not. It has been long years since the transplanting before even the Death Star - so it may be a name lost to history. The riders of Bespin themselves are not human, but are humanoid and have taken to the Thranta.”

Walking steadily as he shifts in his armor, shouldering his carbine and making mental notes to go hunting for spears and swords now that the Pantheon was no longer over Codru - better chance to seek out a forge and all.

Lars gets a nod before the visor of her armor sweeps over the others. <"Glad to!"> She sounds chipper even. She turns around chooses what appears the best direction based off the scuffed and near ruined markings they have mussed up with their presence. She slings the snare gun to her shoulder, the nerf hide sling worn down and weathered as she uses her right hand to hold the stock back so she can use her other to part taller grasses. It takes her a moment amidst the slew of tracks before she lowers to one knee and traces the edge of a track. <"These.">

She pauses for a second. <"If my HUD is informing me correctly, the native species most likely to be attributed to this mark are the manka and by the size...female. A small group moving together. Follow behind but I am going to see about getting ahead to see their numbers before we engage.">

Best to know the details as she starts forward, leading the group as she tries to use the tracks below to help discern details.

Leaving the confines of the speeder's cabin, Chani emerges into the rain with a gentle gasp of breath. The thick beads of water begin to quickly soak through her hair and run in little rivulets across her skin, winding trails down her temples and curving under her chin. The thermal glove beneath the jumpsuit keeps it from making contact with her skin, but it begins to dampen the utilitarian grey of the outer shell nonetheless. She's kept warm by it, at least. Her face feels the coolness, but the rest of her body stays a comfortable temperature. Exhaling slowly through her parted lips, Chani's gaze fixates into the distance as her mind casts off somewhere else. She can make herself more comfortable than the clothes allow.

But doing so requires not being distracted, and out of her peripheral vision, she has every reason to be distracted. Ser Lars' gaze turns her way and Chani's flits to the edge of her own. She finds her chin angling to the side and up at the behest of natural curiosity, only to confirm that the Alderaanian Knight is indeed gazing at her. He smiles. She offers one in turn also out of pure instinct. Clearing her throat, Chani's gaze rapidly finds the noble Lord Iskender. "Lord Iskender is a wonderful teacher. I had the privilege of studying some of the fundamentals from him. Having never held a sword in my life, I found his methodology enlightening. He truly cares for the art."

She has still yet to draw spear into hand, but she follows the group along. Her booted feet part grass and leave tread patterns alike. She does nothing to ease her passing or attempt to avoid altering the environment around her. Not only has she never killed anything in her life, but she's never actually been on a hunt, either, and to the trained eye, it should be quiet obvious that she has zero experience in this kind of endeavor.

Ban Iskender's expression remains stoic at the mention of Leia. "Quite so," is the extent of his level commentary on Cloud City. As Aubrei finds a manka spoor, that swiftly pulls his attention. "Predatory felines. Ferocious of temperament, but a fine mark for hunt," he observes aloud. Turning an eye and raised brow toward Chani at her praise, he responds, "Mistress Tahn has been a mist adept student. If my instruction has been of assistance, then I am well pleased, but the credit is due the lady in the learning."

"Well, I say this newest transplant will memorialize their deeds, or inspire scholars to see who was responsible at least. A shame they do not occupy Delaya, though I suspect that is more a matter to do with the quality of air," Ser Lars says to Bors, gesturing with his freehand in a conversational tone.

When Aubrei calls out that the tracks she has chosen to follow belong to Manka, he nods his head, agreeing with Lord Ban's assessment. Though as Chani speaks up about Ban's instruction of the sword, surprise etches itself on the Knight's features. "Forgive me, mistress Tahn. I did not realize you were a learning swordswoman too. Perhaps, one day, we might learn from each other?" Ban's modest assessment of Chani earns an approving nod from the Knight, but he adds nothing more to the conversation, leaving the invitation to both.

As the trail wears on, the trees become a bit more dense and the rain lets up. Now it is more misty. Aubrei finds that her tracks take her to a camp that seems abandoned. The tents are still up but tattered and torn. Things have been tossed about the camp, as if something attacked it in a frenzy. There is no sign of death here, but the tracks tell a different story.

Ser Lars looks at a portion of the tent to find the scratch marks of sharp claws, and his jovial expression hardens a bit. "A shame none listen to the warnings of this frontier world. They say do not camp because of the wildlife, yet we find camping gear." He sighs. "Look about the camp for signs of what transpired. With any luck, they had the sense to run away."

A small nod about air quality, <"That is precisely why they are barred from Delaya, good Ser. the air is putrefied by industry, they swim only in such as the homeworld had, and Bespin, or here."> movements slowing some as he begins to assess, per Lars's comment on the camping gear, <"There will always yet be those who nary listen, Ser."> but his frown does remain while he kneels down some, <"Vacationers though, and irresponsible..."> looking over now to the one in beskar,

<"I say."> visor down and watching Aubrei moving off in her own suit, then gazing to Chani, Ban and back to Lars - opting to not interrupt further the discourse between Jedi before he sends a ping first to the Zelosian before speaking,

<"M'lady, do you spot the smaller track among the others?"> the concern is audible in his speech and one might even feel the noble gaze of eye through monocle as the man keeps his steady step.

What they eventually come upon causes Aubrei to draw at the snare gun, easing up out of her stalking position as she lets out a breath. She mutters and it barely registers on the vocoder as any sound. Stepping up beside Lars she does a slow scan. <"The beauty of the wild is often overshadowed by the risks that come inherent with it. This being said, I can understand the want to be near it but it appears the occupants of this camp were wholly unprepared. Let us hope we can find someone alive.">

The crackle of the voice through the vocoder belies the anxiousness that has settled over the young woman in armor. She is a strange creature with regards to her current company.

As she scans the tents with the others she begins to pick through the debris as she nods to what Bors says, <"Yes, there were children. How daft could they be..."> she begins and stops, her boot pushes at something as she squats low and picks it up to inspect it. <"It was..not the Manka that did this..it would seem that with the lack of blood and this spent blaster cell they were herded out of here by humanoids armed with weapons. I am not sure we are going to be hunting for wild sport any longer."> She's committed herself at least to the task of finding the people. <"The Manka have followed wherever they went so we follow the manka.">

"Oh, no, please," Chani rushes to dispel any notion that she's an aspiring anything. "I wouldn't prove much of a partner for you." She's stepped in it, now. "I-I mean, I barely know anything about the sword. I've only started learning." The deeper color flushing through her cheeks is less the temperature and more embarrassment. She suddenly becomes very interested in searching the surrounding area. There's a hunt afoot, and she has done nothing to contribute to it save to make noise and fumble over her own words. Feeling the absence of Aryn keenly in that moment, Chani's gaze settles on the only other woman along and decides against suddenly speeding up to walk alongside her. A combination of lack of familiarity and the armor discourage her.

She elects for lapsing into silence and focusing on walking. The pant legs of her jumpsuit whisp together in a subtly audible rasp of fabric, and gentle squeaks of her boots sound as they glide along the wet blades of grass that graze along her legs and booted feet. Whatever silly moment she's having for herself, however, is not meant to last. Chani becomes keen on the conversation unfolding between Lord Thul and the armored woman. She's not been paying a single iota of attention up until this point, but the mention of children and a blaster cell and manka are certainly enough to rouse her out of whatever rut her mind has been stuck in. Providing herself a good mental kick, Chani swallows down her pride to ask a question aloud. "Forgive me, but what's going on?"

After all, if they're not hunting for wild sport any longer, it might be prudent to discover exactly what it is they are hunting out here in the rain.

Ban Iskender's countenance turns similarly stony at the details reported of the camp. "An abduction, Mistress Tahn," he states plainly at first. "Targeted, perhaps, but the folk of this site have been taken, and we must do all in our power to recover them, ere the worst transpire."

They need not look far, for a piercing scream in the fashion of a female child cuts across the calm patter of rain. It is no longer calm. The direction puts it north, in the vicinity of the denser trees, near the foot of the forest. As the group draws closer, they find a family high up in a tree, the father laid over a thick branch holding his daughter's arm and keeping her suspended above a den of Manka, roughly ten (10) in number. One jumps up high, swiping at the suspended female and missing her by millimeters.

The hunting party's presence does not go unnoticed, for the mother who held her young boy close screamed, "HELP US!" Promptly punctuated by the rasp of drawn steel from scabbard. "To arms!" Calls Ser Lars, the one responsible for drawing his sword.

Without arguing, the Knight hobbled toward the den in an effort to draw them away, making exaggerated motions with his arms and hand (the other held the sword.) "BACK! GET BACK! YAHHHH!" They were not getting back, and one bore down close to the ground making little booty adjustments, preparing to pounce the Knight as he was distracted with the others.

<"Fear I, good Ban, they fired in flight."> Bor's voice has a grimmer rasp to it, drawing up his carbine again, <"Best we make haste to either posited theory."> moving at a clip and finding himself unexpectedly correct. For a change. Jessika will hear of this, she may not believe it - but he has WITNESSES. Her ruing will be sweet as any airy whipped delight from the house kitchens!

He forgot one thing though, that he will not tell Jessika. He forgot to check his blaster charge and while he opens fire on the run, stride lengthening to carry him closer - the second press of the firing stud results in a dry cough and click from his weapon in chase of the bolt that strikes the flank of the leaping manka, to put it on the ground.

<"Worry not! Aid comes to thee!"> and also fumbles with a fresh power cell, because someone forgot to check gear!

<"The child!"> Aubrei stands unable to get her but the snare gun is lifted in response as the group reacts. She squares her feet and aims for one that is not too close to any of her compatriots. The snare-gun jumps slightly in her hand and hits her chest, her grip having slipped in the rain, spilling the snare shot just over the head of the manka as it disappears into the dense undergrowth of the forest canopy.

There is a concerned step forward as she means to dissuade the manka from the much more difficult meal and redirect them to the group that is armed. <"HERE! COME HERE YOU MANGY CREATURES!">

Lord Iskender's stoic face and his no-nonsense tone help sober Chani and allows the reality of this new situation to sink into place with its full weight. Her face erases all hint of emotion save for a measure of determination in her countenance. There's a piercing scream that chills her to the bone far more than the rain ever could. Hearing the young girl scream sets her adrenaline off and every primal protective instinct kick sets in. She races with the others towards the copse at the edge of the forest and comes across the frightening sight of manka swarming around the base of a tree. Her stomach churns when one of the cats takes a swipe at the child. The young Naboo woman draws her spear from her back and triggers its mechanism.

It extends much farther than the two feet it started as, and Chani shows that her weapons training hasn't just included the sword. The grip she adopts is low on the haft near its butt, which means most of the spear is able to be manipulated far forward of her small form. It gives her a significant amount of range to compensate for her heavy lack of it, and the weapons lightness will make it well suited for quick jabs or momentum-filled swings. "Guard me! I'm going to try to help them!" Chani realizes drawing her spear is not the first thing she should have done only after the fact. She'll chastise herself about it later. For now, she drives the butt end of the weapon into the ground next to her so it's braced there and only one hand remains on it. The other begins to left, and Chani extends her perception far out from just herself. Her gaze settles on the struggling father desperately holding his daughter from height.

Ban Iskender hastens after the fresh trail, nodding once to Bors as he dashes, sodden green half-cape lank in the rain at his back. "I am most grateful for the correction, good sir, and take comfort that I were mistaken." When they find the pack of manka and the terrified folk in their tree, the long spear is held out to one side in his left hand before being swept vertically before him in salute, grasped in both hands and brought down in line with a charging manka. The braced haft flexes but holds strong with the first strike, driven deeper in the next moment to complete the kill. Pulling the spear loose, he nods to Chani, and steps to guard the other's approach.

Ser Lars hobble-hops to one side, avoiding certain death when a Manka has his name with a ferocious pounce. He swings his sword, catching the animal as it passed him by and spun in place from the momentum of his blade to follow-thru with a second strike. This strike was more powerful, deadly, and nearly cleaved the animal's head in two. He drew his blade back, stumbling a bit from balance and wincing from the pain. "Form a perimeter about the tree--"

"I'M LOSING HER!" The father screamed, his daughter's hands slipping from his own, wet with the rain. "SOMEONE CATCH HER!" Lars had not the dexterity, or the strength to close that distance, but he also did not commit the task to voice. They all heard the man. Instead, he turned to defense, pulling his leg back as a manka swiped at his foot and missed. "Blessed mother! They want blood!"

Ser Lars hefts up the spear in his off hand, preparing to throw it when the opportunity availed itself!

Around the survivors, a perimeter make. That's what Lars has said, well he didn't. But he did. Everyone heard it! Empty pak dropped into a hip satchel (musnt litter!) Bors has another out to slam home as he tries to help get in place. Catch a little girl? Likely to fuss that up, sadly and while he cannot say he lacks the reflexes, the ability is absent in his present state.

He does ready himself to be an armored cushion if it comes to that. Will it come to that? Likely not. One of these days he's going to start carrying a personal turret gun with him, something he can tri-pod mount - then he'll feel more at home.

Catching her breath as the child starts to slip there is little time for her to react to the manka swipping at her. Claws catch at the unarmored portion of her right leg and she lets out a sound. A cry of pain as she bites into her lip inside her helmet.

She chooses not the one engaged with her but rather the one in the way of the child, meaning to keep them off of her. As it continues to sweep upwards she aims and lets go. THe snare spirals through the air and slams into the manka set on seeking the child. It is slammed and pinned into a nearby tree but far enough and soon restricted to do any harm.

Letting out a breath she struggles to ready the gun, narrowing her gaze.

The child starts to slip and Chani's heart feels like it leaps straight up into her throat. All her determination is focused into trying to arrest that movement through exerting her will in the Force. She can picture it in her mind as the child remaining in place even without her father's hand holding her arm. The reality, though, is that when the girl actually slips, the mental image of it in her mind is shattered. Instinct takes over then. A whole different kind of will possesses her. Moving at a preternatural speed, Chani closes the gap between where she's standing and where the girl is falling. Her determination exerted through the mystical, binding energy of the universe compels her muscle fibers and body to move faster than should be possible.

She's beneath the child when she fallls, though, and that's all that matters. She abandoned the spear before she even moved, leaving the metal weapon laying on the ground to provide herself with the use of both arms. She catches the child and arrests her movement, and very nearly topples over herself. Her mind reminds her to roll into a protective covering over the girl if that happens, but her stumbled footsteps manage to keep purchase even despite the slick ground. Clutching the young girl to her in a supportive embrace, Chani quickly begins to retreat back towards Lord Iskender, who she knows will do everything in his power to protect them. "Lord Ban!" She calls his name all the same. It's helpful to communicate when in the midst of a fray. She does not assume his attention can be everywhere at once.

Ban Iskender wards off a trio of the manka cats by swiftly turning to bring the point of his spear into their eye level as the predators begin to move in on him. Although instinct prevents the cats from deliberately impaling themselves, each in turn slinks a step back, and Ban turns straight backed to menace the next. One of the three is too slow in springing back, a d the gentleman lunges, driving the spear in deep at the root of its neck. "Admirably done, mistress," he commends Chani evenly as he pulls the spear loose again. "Your path is mine."

The cool, smooth reaction of Ser Lars slips when the claws of a paw catch his leg unsuspecting and he cries out in anguish. "Re--OW." There were ladies present! So he stowed the curses beneath a pained growl, and his attempt at throwing the spear ends in utter failure. He retaliates by dancing back and switching his stance to put weight on his uninjured leg. He also brings his sword up to engage once more.

With the girl caught, the family above hangs on and watches in disbelief as their rescuers deal with the manka. The girl cries and hugs Chani tightly while the boy and mother hold each other and cry too. What remain of the Manka's attack with coordinated ferocity, much like Ban had warned. Their temperament had transformed to something of bloodlust, and it was time for the kill now that they smelled blood on multiple people!

His right leg is going to end up more synthetic patchwork than actual flesh at these rates. Pirate thugs attacking the Cortess estate. Now a manka biting in with a crunching sound and a crackle in his armor, <"M'lady Mandalorian, a mote of aid?"> the words bitten out in a wheezing grunt as he finds himself suddenly pulled from his footing and shaken back and forth like a toy, <"OH! OH! Excelsior!!"> That's Bors's safe word.

It's not working. This giant feline is a -not- following the rules.

The shot from his rifle stopping the pressure and setting Bors to roll across the wet grass and then slide on one shoulder, firing a wild shot past another of the attacking beasts.

<"Ow!">

Success occurs in one breath and as Aubrei lines up the next shot it basically ruffles the fur of her next target as it just whiffs overtop. She stands there for a moment shocked but has the wherewithall to side step and dance out of the way of the next swipe meant for her. <"We have you covered!"> Aubrei even urges the manka to step back so she might force her way in an effrot to aid.

Bors is given a look. <"We will work together, names Aubrei, no lady here. But..I am called Fair Aubrei by some if you are so inclined."> Such a conversation to be had while saving a family and themselves from the wild hunters of the valley.

Retreating into the protective sphere of Lord Iskender's space, Chani ignores the young girl's crying only because she knows they are far from being safe. Keeping one hand scooped under the girl to help her cling to Chani's torso, her other arm lifts to try to ward off any of the animals seeking to injure them. Both Ser Lars and Lord Thul are accosted by the beasts, while Lord Iskender fends off a trio of them all at once. Chani focuses her inner self to fight against the fear that tries to rise up and conquer her thoughts. It is the mind killer and it will cause her to act irrationally. Extending her hand, Chani yet again exerts her will through the connection she shares with all life. Her mind exerts control over the physical world around them, and as if her outreached hand is somehow made all the larger and invisible, one is thrown off its feet to tumble side over side as if something has picked it up and tossed it away. At least one of them will not attempt to attack the group.

Ban Iskender remains swift and steady in his movements, finding a curious calm in the falling rain, and the way water sluices off the blade of his spear with each sharp movement. A short nod as she sees a cat thrown by an invisible force, and a sharp look to the side as he hears Set Lars cry aloud in pain. Two beasts still hunt.

Ser Lars kills the beast responsible for maiming his leg, then kills a second, this one injured already. Both strikes are firm, and heavy handed, spilling blood in the mud. He isn't safe though because a third Manka takes hold of his same leg and pulls him off balance and off his feet. Lars hits the ground with a loud "oof," losing his sword and drawing the dirk on his belt to go after the damned thing mauling him!

Two Mankas are still trying for kills, and one was cast aside by Chani's stunning efforts, but its focus comes back and it joins the other two! "ROOOW ROOWWWWLL!" A manka screams, swiping toward Ser Lars while he's down, contending with another.

<"Bors of House Thul, m'lady!"> Bors continues to fire while he is down, bolt skimming across wet grass like a stone of coherent fire that hisses into a small spurt of disturbed soil, leaving a divot in its wake while the Alderaanian gets to a kneeling posture - the next bolt charring the shoulder of the creature swiping at Lars, dodging back to snarl and hiss at the noble.

<"It's SO ANGRY!"> scrambling to get to his feet and back pedal for cover, <"All yours, Fair Aubrei! Pray take thy shot!"> because he likely won't get a chance to act before he is chewed upon anew!

Steadying her next shot as she twists out of the way of the next strike coming for her, she yelps a little and back steps, aiming as the creature before and the one behind it next to Bors gives her some thought. She suddenly drops to the side and in midfall to the ground she depresses the trigger just after Bors calls out. She grunts and lands but the snare slams into the one near her and it carries the other manka into the one near bors. THey slams into the ground, tangled together in the sticky stunny mess.

Laying on the ground a moment she grunts, pushing herself up as she tries to get a look around and ready to help keep the creatures at bay only to find that all ...yes all have been neutralized. <"Well done! Is everyone okay? I can tend to the wounded.">

"Ser Lars!" Chani's shout is little useful beyond a general alert that the Knight has lost footing and is being set upon by the creatures. Like with the last one, Chani's hand makes a sweeping gesture that forces it to lose its own footing in a sprawl of flailing claws and wiggling body. It provides the opening necessary for Lord Iskender and Lars to retaliate, bringing the frenzied battle to an end. She's panting with effort. The rain is cool, but the heat of surging blood through her system leaves her sweating underneath the downpour. It feels almost pleasant against her heated skin rather than inducing any kind of chill. Clutching the younger girl to herself, Chani rapidly approaches the tree she fell from to seek shelter under its boughs and keep the young girl from getting too chilled. She sighs in relief now that the ordeal is over. She is, however, ever mindful of their injured. "Is Ser Lars alright?" As clueless as she is to hunting, Chani is equally clueless when it comes to injuries, and she feels Aryn's absence most keenly in that moment.

Ban Iskender hastens his step toward the last of the predators once Chani has cast it back from Lars. The spearman wounds the beast at the forward shoulder, but the dense muscle and bone is enough to stop the thrust from piercing deep enough to prove mortal. With both hands on the haft, he leaves the weapon buried. One black brow climbs as he notes a net carry one manka into another in the background.

The final kill goes to Ser Lars, who slides his dirk into the heart of the animal and spills it over with a grunt. Rather than rise, he lays back and sighs, looking up at the sky and the rain in that moment. The pain reminded him that he was alive, and recovering still, from former injuries and now new ones. To be defeated by wild foe felt like something he should be humbled by, but then he laughs and laughs harder. A slow rise to his feet just as the family came down.

"I am well, Chani. Worry not. If the Rist did not kill me, this foe will not either. Thank you all, and I believe this family owes their lives to the group as well."

Picking up the spear Chani discard, Lars leans on it and nods to the father, who has joined them on the ground. "Why were you out here? Did you not see the signs forbidding those who visit from camping?"

"We saw no signs, sir. We are but refugees, fleeing Coruscant and striking out on our own. Our shuttle left us in a village, but we were traveling to the city named Bastion, hoping to make our start there."

"Well, you may travel with us then. Perhaps a visit to the palace too. We shall see you all fed and taken care of. The young ones will feel better with warm meals in their bellies. Come. Lord Ban, I think I heard you are a Captain of the Dragoons. Can you retrieve our speeder so we can load these game up and carry them back? I do not think I can move beyond this point, for now." He winces. The rain falls. And it is another New Alderaan day in the cold!