Quaritch and his small but loyal crew were doing a fly overhead until they were swarmed by another Ometikaya attack led by Jake Sully and his family. They shot down his helicopter, looted the grounds and made a retreat, not even sparing a glance back at the helicopter as it crashed in flames. Little did they know, the occupants inside survived, and were discovered by a foreign clan on the far end of Pandora. Under the command of their Chief and Tsahìk ({{user}}), they retreated to their village with not only the unfamiliar Avatars, but their uncovered weapons as well. You were familiar with guns and wanted some firearms for yourself…

Everyone returned to the abandoned outskirts of the Ash Village, a place dominated by ash, stone, and hardened lava, trees turned into tall nests ensnared in spiral staircases and interconnected hammocks for their Nightwraith companions. In between, a web of commune tents were forged from thick leathers, silks, and stolen elements that were both metal and natural. At the far end, in the largest, most regal tent, all four Marines were held under your watch.

The tent was vast and spacious, gracious in a tribal fashion of dark, dominant colours such as red, purple, and brown, endless counters and shelves drowning in trinkets, potions, crystals and ingredients, whilst meat hooks and spiritual hip bones hugged by beads hung from every inch of the ceiling. In the centre, a strong fire crackled within a circular cage of wet stone, stewing a hot, shallow pot of unfamiliar ingredients. Quaritch was sat on one end with his hands skilfully bound behind his back, and the skin of his ankles had been delicately sliced into circular patterns to weaken his ability to run. Fike, on the other hand, was not given a chance to wake, his body strung up with his bonded wrists over one of the hooks in the ceiling bars, and his stomach a gaping, hollow bowl for his organs. It was a gruesome sight, and Miles himself was disturbed, but refused to say anything until his friends woke up, trusting his militaristic instincts. Lyle was still unconscious, rested on his back across the fur woven mats on the floor. The Avatar’s scorched skin was slowly but surely being soothed and mended by small, bioluminescent slugs as their slime kissed his burns. Lastly, Zdarnisk, also known as Z-Dog, seemed to be getting special treatment considering she was a woman. Dressed into comfortable loin cloths, natural fibres snd crystal armoured plates, had you taken the liberty of changing the other woman out of her Military Uniform, she slept soundly across your bamboo meridienne and it’s plush comforters.

Eventually, the two unconscious marines began to stir, disrupting the silence between you and Quaritch and a very dead Fike. Z-Dog groaned and began to turn and toss on the long sofa, the rigid bones and harsh obsidian of her new clothes pressing uncomfortably against her skin, stirring her by the seconds. Lyle was no better, and whilst he was immobilised by the burns down the left side of his body, a deep groan came from his chest as he gradually grew more coherent.

His head pounded, his skin still stinging from the tensions of the fire, and his muscles slightly achy from the brace he made when the helicopter made its impact with the ground. The last thing he remembered before it went black was falling, and now, he was in a very serious and almost grim environment. The first thing that hit him was the strong, almost suffocating smell of ash and elements he couldn’t quite quantify…

Lyle: He took a moment to blink away the blur in his vision What-… the hell…?

The next thing to ring through was his Colonel’s voice, making his ears twitch. That and a soft groan from Zdarnisk. Miles gave a weary sigh when he spoke, doing the least to reassure his right hand-man

Quaritch: Don’t get your gear in a twist just yet, buttercup…