When Larik sees them pull their rifles he draws his Dragoon (set to stun) and points it at them. He drops his voice to its lowest register and shouts at them hoping they understand some basic, "Stop! You're defeated. We're battle masters from Clan (he says the clan name I can't remember off the top of my head). Enough!"

There is a pause, before a rough voice with a heavy accent replies "Battle Masters! Bahh, no clan respecting tradition would honour outsiders with such a title... So (I can't remember the name either!) have lost their way, no matter, they will bow before us soon. Now how about a trade, your bikes for our truck... With its passengers."

Queg takes careful aim from his cover at the speaker. "That doesn't sound like a very good deal to me!" he calls out. "Lay down your arms and we'll let you leave with the truck and only the truck."

Lalam stands idle for the moment, fingers twitching on the handle of his club. He doesn't see his bike, and it's making him very aggravated.

Lalam can't wait any longer. He lurches towards the nearest Krogan, waving his stick in their faces. "Where is my speeder bike?" he yells. They easily dodge out of the way, but somehow just stretching his muscles makes him feel better. He flexes and angles for a better position.

Swearing under his breath, Queg squeezes the trigger of his blaster as Lalam throws himself into combat. His shot goes wide, but he feels calmer for having blown off steam from the day in that one shot.

With a grenade flashing in their faces, an aggravated Weequay launching himself at them, and a hail of blaster fire zipping over their heads these Krogan are very unsettled. They extricate themselves from the rubble around them and back away from all these aggressive individuals into the husk of a building they accidentally entered... perhaps these people are Battle Masters, only they would have the skill to pull punches so expertly!

Lalam chases the fleeing Krogan into a ruined building. They seem a bit disoriented...he jabs one in the groin, and elbows the other into the lintel. He hisses into the face of the remaining Krogan: "Don't. Steal. My. Speeder."

Naught walks forward, speaking calmly: "Lalam, let us endeavor not to be excessive. Greater force can be conveyed through visible restraint." Addressing the remaining Krogan, she says, "Despite your best efforts to force matters, this Gand is still prepared to be merciful." Holding out one hand, she asks the Force to gather around the Krogan, imagining thick bands of invisible pressure around the Krogan, broad enough to not be painful, but implacable in their ability to hold him. "But this Gand also cannot allow you to seek out reinforcements too quickly. Those you would prey upon need more time to regroup. Perhaps you would like to hold still while this Gand's allies bind you in a more permanent fashion? That was a rhetorical question." Naught motions to Lalam and Larik, hoping they will correctly interpret her signal as "tie him up" and not "cosh him over the head."

Larik walks over to the rope and picks it up off the ground; a combination of dirt ash and rubble sticks to the quickly coagulating bright green blood near the middle. Dragging the rope behind him, he starts patting around his smuggler's trenchcoat before realizing somewhere along the line he lost his knife. He pauses and looks at the rope - all 50 meters of it - and looks back at the remaining conscious Krogan.

"You know what, we'll make it work," he says.

He and Lalam proceed to wind the rope around their captive, completely encasing the Krogan in rope. Larik tries to hide a smirk when he sees Lalam tug it extra tight around the Krogan's chest.

With that task compete, he turns his attention to the other Krogan they helped rescue.

"Where were they taking you?" he asks. "Why were you taken and not others?"

The big Krogan doesn't speak as you tie him up, being held by the Force seems to have shocked him. Possibly this is a manifestation of Shamans powers he has neither seen nor heard of before. In any case he doesn't even struggle, his bulging arms relaxed at his side.

The smaller Krogan are almost the opposite, to see their captors tied up has brought them back to life. One of the two you originally saw being loaded into the truck replies "Well sir we are the runts as they call us, born small and apparently of little value in a clan. I am the mother of 3 with another runt, my son is here but my husband was the one they beat back at our house, our 2 daughters were inside. These other Krogan are Runts from around the area as well, I don't know them all but the black mark on their neck is the branding we receive"

"My family have been farmers for a long time, not much grows here but foods food. Around our house are many small fields, most hidden by old buildings to stop thieves, but we also have animals too, little ones that are easy to keep locked up. Our part in life was to grow the food, some for us but most for the Phynot Clan, those guys" she points at the tied up Krogan "they would come regularly to collect from us."

She pauses for a moment, looking into your face for something, you suspect she is looking for any sign of treachery, before she continues in that gravely voice they have "Well my husband had a chance meeting with a trader a little while back, and the trader offered him trade for some of our food. Wonderful we thought, and for months that has gone on, but the Phynot's noticed..."

"The Phynot Clan have found themselves an old scrap dump, from before the fall. It's a treasure trove of old tech and precious metals that they are mining... With slaves. That's where they where taking me and my son... I just hope my husband and daughters are ok" she sighs at the end, her story told she now fears for what may come next.

Queg, who had walked over to inspect his speeder bike, clears his throat awkwardly. "When we fled the area where you were taken, I believe the beaten Krogan had retreated back within one of the buildings. I don't know if your daughters were taken, but I saw a little one crying in a window. It's what prompted me to attack that vehicle."

He gestures at the truck. "I don't know what might have happened after we fled, but one can only hope for the best."

Naught carefully keeps her expression impassive as the Krogan describes the scrap dump. She had been considering the vision she had had in the truck metaphorically. There was, after all, no galaxy in which her father would even leave Gand, much less end up on this forsaken planet. But if the scrap mine was an actual place, then it seemed logical that the Force was guiding her there, though whether it was to help the slaves or find something buried was hard to determine. At any rate, the fact that sentients were being held in servitude there was enough reason for her, though an expedition might have to wait until after they'd made contact with the Broker again.

Seeing that Lalam and Larik had secured their former assailant, Naught released the Force binding she had placed on him and turned to the women. "Then we had best get you back to your family so that you may determine if they are alright," Naught said, "and perhaps in the meantime you can tell this Gand what else you know about that scrap dump." She calls out of the building to Queg, "Queg, do you think that truck can be made functional again?

Queg looks over at the smoking truck and shrugs, securing away his hunting rifle in favor of the more versatile bow-looking weapon. "I don't know. It looks like it should run, but I'm terribly inexperienced with landspeeders. Not only that, but I'm even less experienced with mechanics and making repairs..."

The female Krogan chuckles "you have got to learn to look after your tools if you want them to serve you in need" then she walks purposefully over to the truck and pops open a service cover to begin fixing the problem.

Seeing the mother take charge makes him think fondly of his own mother, always taking charge and essentially running the family's trading post.

He wanders over behind the Krogan and watches her work, being careful to stay out of the way, but watching her intently, hoping to pick up a thing or two.

When it appears she's finishing up repairs on the truck, he thanks her.

"Ma'am, do you know how many people are in the Phynot Clan, or how many are running the mining operation? My friends and I, we don't take well to slavery. We were brought here for reasons that still haven't fully revealed themselves, but I think we might be able to help you in the meantime."

"Speak for yourself," Queg says to Larik, brow arched. "I came here to hunt Imperial swine."

She finishes replacing one of the fuses then turns to you with a sad expression on her angular face " they number over 200, all armed and capable fighters... They are a war band." She shakes her head " you would need a large force or far superior tactics to defeat them and rescue those enslaved. I don't know how many are in their control, but it's a lot, Krogan are missing from almost every runt family that we know."

Larik lets out a low whistle and gives no reaction to Queg's interjection.

"That's, that's a lot," He says. "We'll have to think on this."

Walking toward Naught's speeder, Larik passes shoulder to shoulder with the Rodian.

"You'll note I said 'my friends,'" he says. "Trust me, I wasn't speaking for you."

The Krogan all climb back in the truck "Follow us back to our house, I'm in a hurry to find my family" she calls from the drivers seat. She fires up the systems and takes off, with your bikes following, winding through the narrow streets faster than you feel comfortable with, her care for her family is obviously pushing her.

After a few minutes you round a corner you recognise to see the house where all this began... Front door wide open.

Naught bit back a curse. She had worried about this possibility when she had come to in a truck retreating from the house, but the situation had left few options. That was all in the past now, and the current situation demanded to be addressed. She resisted the urge to run into the house and look about frantically. Such an action could well disturb clues that would be needed to track the slavers. "We need to figure out where they went and how long they've been gone," Naught said, looking at her allies, "This is outside this Gand's expertise. What can we do?"

Lalam hops off his speeder. Silence and an emptiness greets his senses. There's no tension in the air. Lalam recalls raids in his past life: times when you knew no one was around and all the buildings were empty. Something about how the air moves, freely, and a bit forlorn. It's more than he can put into words.

"They're all gone," he says, simply. There is still dust in the air, slowly settling, but as he looks far down the street he sees it rises past the windows, the further the higher. "I think they went that way," he points, "can't be more than a few minutes ago."

Lyka rushes though the house, desperately searching for her family and Larik follows close behind.

When it's clear everyone's gone, Lyka's emotional distress reaches a fever pitch and Larik realizes he has to do what he can to calm her and see if she knows of any Krogan that will help take down the slavers.

"We can't let them get away with this," he says to her. "My friends and I want to help but their force is too large. We want to reunite your family, but without the help of other Krogan we'll never succeed."

He's seen the same look of despair she's wearing on many people's faces before and he knows it means she's beyond being able to help right now. The best he can do is try to figure out how to comfort a hopeless Krogan.

Larik spends a few minutes rummaging through the kitchen, looking for anything that could be given to the angry Krogan to calm her down, eventually opening a cupboard full of bottles of some kind of Liquor. A dark amber coloured liquid fills each bottle and a wave of an incredibly strong odour floods the Humans senses as he unstops a half filled bottle. This should do the trick!

"Thanks Human for your company, this is something that no being should have to endure, yet its almost normal for us now." she says sharply as she take the bottle and almost drains it in a single swig. "Ahh, Boonda, made from the juice of one of the plants we grow, strong stuff, have some..." she hands Larik the bottle.

---------------

Lalam tracks the landspeeder for quite a while, keeping in contact with Queg via their comlink so the others can catch up when they are ready. Eventually the Landspeeder slows in front of a massive building, sheer white stone walls rise out of the dirt. Windows high up overlook the much lower buildings in the surrounding area, the view must be quite impressive from the top. On that top 2 gun emplacements can also bee seen, on opposite corners of the roof. They look to be offline at the moment but are perhaps a form of aerial defence not often needed here.

As Lalam watches the Landspeeder pulls into an opening in the base of the building, after a few moments a dull thud can be heard of some kind of door closing. the dust settles slowly and no obvious movement can be seen in the area surrounding.

Larik looks at the bottle and a flash of uncertainty crosses his face, but he knows he has to take a pull off of it. He just got Lyka settled down and doesn't want to offend her.

He clenches his jaw briefly and takes the bottle from her; as he brings it closer to his lips the aroma pierces his nostrils and he knows this is likely going to be a very unpleasant experience. Bringing the bottle to his lips he prepares himself for the worst as the pungent odor plucks his olfactory nerve like a harp. The warm liquid spills across his tongue and it's...delicious. He's never had a taste and odor be so different.

The liquor warms his mouth and flavors of fruits and spices he's never tasted dance on his palate. The aftertaste is just as pleasant, though he feels the warmth moving down his throat into his stomach. As soon as the heat fades away, he is momentarily rocked by an intense feeling of inebriation, more powerful than any he's felt before - and he's felt some doozies.

It also fades away, leaving a feeling of bliss and peace. And the desire for another drink. It's only through sheer willpower and the gravity of the current situation that he doesn't lose himself entirely in the bottle.