Renora soon learned that Mandalorians weren’t very good at giving instructions, which might very well have had something to do with their impractical and possibly uncomfortable habit of wearing large metalloid casings around their skulls and refusing to remove them unless their lives depended on it -- and only if you shoved a blaster down their throats, which was impossible, since they were still wearing their helmets. After she and Master Giddy finished their business with Commander Okun, Renora was taken below the massive, circular arena that served as the proving grounds for young Mandos eager to finish their apprenticeships, prove their worth, and earn the right to encase their heads in better quality buckets. A warrior with green and blue armor, dull and marred by years of pain and death, lead her to a wide, rusted metal gate that opened into the circular arena, and explained the basic principles of the upcoming game. Or, rather, he tried to explain the basic principles of the upcoming game. After all, Mandalorians weren’t very good at giving instructions.
“Two will enter. One will leave.”
“Seems fairly straightforward,” Renora nodded. “What do they do with the other one?”
“Huh?” the Mando said eloquently.
“You said that only one person leaves the arena.”
“Two step into the arena. One steps out.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said before. You mean to imply that one will be left alive, and the other will be dead, right? Presumably the one who’s not alive.”
“Two in, one out,” he repeated. Even through his vocabulator, he sounded supremely confused. He was lucky he wasn’t trying to conduct a conversation with a full Jedi Master. His brains probably would have exploded and leaked out the vents in his bucket.
“So you’ve told me,” said Renora, resisting the impulse to roll her eyes. “If the dead one is carried out, what happens to the live one? He or she doesn’t get to leave? Or is it that the live one gets to leave, and something happens to the dead one?”
The Mando was silent. He might have been weeping.
“Never mind. Consider it a Jedi’s attempt at humor.”
Luckily for him, the Mando knew exactly how to respond to this line. “There is nothing humorous about your situation, Jedi Ta’a.”
“There’s always something humorous about a situation. You just have to know where to find it. Sometimes everything beats down on you and it‘s nearly impossible to see. But sometimes,” said Renora, eyeing the tall figure standing three feet in front of her, “it’s right in front of your eyes.”
“You are wrong. There is nothing humorous about your situation.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes.”
“You really, really think so?”
“Yes,” the Mando spat.
“Okay,” Renora said reasonably. She was enjoying herself, but fervently hoped he wouldn’t realize that. Even more, she fervently hoped that Giddy wouldn’t realize that. “Why do you think so?”
“Do you see my beskar’gam?” said the Mando, pride prickling through the harsh, tinny tenor of his voice. He gestured down the front of his chest plate.
“Assuming that you’re asking me to look at your armor and not referring to some kind of obscene Mandalorian euphemism, yeah, I see it.”
“These markings I bear are the product of many great battles.”
“Really?” Renora said incredulously. “I’d assumed you just tripped and fell down the stairs.”
The Mando produced a sound that was a political compromise between a growl and a curse.
“I mean, it must be hard to see with that jug on your head,” said Renora.
He repeated the sound, but increased the volume.
“And I wasn’t sure whether you guys had discovered electricity.”
“Listen to me, girl,” said the Mando, making a swipe at Renora’s neck. The Padawan dodged easily, which made the Mando all the more furious. “Allowing you to set foot in this place of honor is a disgrace. We are a proud people. We do not tolerate a loss of honor. But we will allow you to fight our warriors. You will have no weapons, not even your Jedi sword. Your precious Master will not be there to guide you. You will be utterly alone, as a warrior should be, and you will feel what it’s like to look upon your own blood.” He shoved a gloved finger into the region directly north of her nose. “This is the way it will be.”
Renora was silent for a moment. The moment grew. The silence became deeper, longer, and decidedly more awkward. The moment grew. The silence become so stretched and hollow that it was almost possible to become lost in it. The moment grew. The Mando shuffled his booted feet. The moment grew. When Renora became certain he just couldn’t take it any longer, and began to fear for his mental stability, she broke the silence.
“Are you finished yet?”
“Huh?” asked the Mando.
“Are you finished yet?” she repeated.
“With what?”
“Your instructions.”
“Yes,” the Mando said in puzzlement.
“Good. You know, I don’t understand why you didn’t just say all that in the first place. It would’ve saved us a lot of trouble. And for the future (not that I’d be so bold as to correct a Mandalorian; I’m just offering a tip), you don’t have to make it so dramatic to get me to listen. I’m always honored to hear the words of a Mandalorian warrior, regardless of how obtuse he may be.”
The Mando faltered, uncertain of whether he was being praised or insulted, and unwilling to say anything that would leave him vulnerable to greater insult. In the end, he decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to think about it in detail, and that there were more important things in life than standing around thinking. He gestured towards the gate.
“Come,” he said simply. The gate gave a whine of protest as it sunk into the stone walls of the arena, and Renora stepped out into one of the Nine Hells.
It wasn’t literally one of the Nine Hells--at least, not to Renora’s knowledge--but it was just as good or just as bad as the real thing. The interior of the arena was circular and dusted in a thick, heavy layer of dense soil, and framed by rows and rows of hard wooden benches. As far as Renora’s Force-augmented eyes could determine, each and every row was absolutely packed. Each and every row was full of packed benches. And each and every bench was filled with Mandalorians.
