The scorching heat of Tatooine's twin suns never abated in its merciless mission over the desert sands. For Ort’kuar, this meant waiting for several hours a day before heading into the Jutland wastes to track the day's quarry. Simply put, it was reckless to undertake a hunt in such temperatures, the only option was to wait until the heat dropped and the nighttime cold began to set in. He had been on the hunt now for three days, setting out from the distant village that had been set up, on his bantha, two massiffs in tow, to scout the route ahead into the rocky mountain range so that his tribe could make the move into the cooler mountains for the long summer ahead.
On day two of his scouting, the young Tusken had picked up the trail of dewback and - keen to see where they were headed (as a profitable score for the tribe they could make) - he had set up his makeshift tent, and settled in, intent on picking up their trail in the afternoon of the following day.
Now that time was here, the young Tusken gathered his things, dismantled the tent and stowed it back on the Bantha, collected his weapons and, with a whistle to his dogs, proceeded ahead on foot. From his knowledge of the area, around this time of day, local flora would be headed for the windward side of the large dunes, where moisture tended to gather, and thus under-sand plants grew, for their evenings eating. And so, it was in that direction he headed. The temperature was lower now, and with his natural resistance to the heat, born of a life in the sands, combined with the protection afforded him by his robes, he pressed on ahead, the massifs plodding along behind him.
Finally, he climbed a rocky outcrop and dropped to a crouch - spying the herd of Dewback before him.
One of them, a young buck, was slower than the rest, limping from a wound on its aft leg, presumably caused by a fight with another male. He clicked his tongue and whistled, snapping his fingers as an instruction for the dogs to advance, snapping and wailing as they did. Immediately, the herd moved, easily outmanoeuvring the dogs, who fell back following another whistle, leaving the herd to continue on its journey north.
The weaker buck was not so lucky. The dogs turned back to face it, snapping and yarling to keep it penned in place. On the outcrop, Ort’kuar unstowed his cycler, and took aim. Just underneath the creature's neck was the prime place to fire; and so he did, brilliant white hot slug firing from the barrel of the weapon and lancing across the desert, downing the weakened buck upon impact.
Sliding down the dune that rose up to meet the lip of the outcrop, Ort’kuar caught his balance and ran across to the carcass, striking the creature with his Gaderffii stick, he began to set to work on gathering the meat, to lug back to his Bantha.
So focused was he on his work, that he almost didn’t notice the newcomer arriving, only alerted by the deep growl of one of the dogs, and the yap of another.
He spun in the sand, bringing his rifle up to face the newcomer. Slowly rising to his feet, he watched as some twenty meters away a young human staggered toward him, dropping to its knees.
”Blaki kelebi min. the human shouted, his hands never leaving its side. The Tusken snarled behind his mask, a human! He clocked his rifle and peered through the basic sight, spotting that the human was clutching a massive wound on his side. ”Blaki, Minni ghey imukel. it begged again. Ort’kuar moved forward, seeing that the man was unarmed, and with a deft blow, cracked him over the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking him to the ground.
Quickly, he tied the man up, and began to drag him back to his Bantha.
*****
Some time later.
”Glecae nukrajoe?” the human implored, once more in a language Ort’kuar did not understand. He had been back from the hunt for hours now, and the human, tied to a post stuck into the rock, had not stopped carping on in a weird language. He had erected his tent, set a fire, and started cooking a meal for himself, and all the human had done was shout and cry.
He had considered sticking a rag in his mouth, and earlier had gone to try - only drawing back when he was the sigil of one of the local farming communities around its neck. Much better to keep him for ransom, he had figured.
Yet as the hours had passed, something had begun to unsettled him about the human. He was oddly growing redder, his temperature was rising, not falling, as the evening set in. Not caring all that much for the man's wound, he had not taken a closer look at the man's side, unskilled in medicine, it probably would have made little difference if he had.
”Shut up will you?” he snapped in Tusken, marking the first time since finding the man that he had actually spoken a word to him. The man shrunk back, clearly scared by Ort’kuars guttural accent and foriegn tongue. ”Pfffft. Coward.” he added, returning his focus to his meal, as slowly the human's eyes fluttered close.
Finally, some peace and quiet.
OOC: This thread is a dice DMed survival thread, starting off an AMS arc on Tatooine. If you would like to join, we're focusing on Tuskens and Tatooine natives, so drop me a DM here or on Discord.
