Private Désert des Chacals

[Raymond J. Senée]

1st Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "SAND FOR SNOW" SAGA-

CONVICTED DRUG-SMUGGLER
SUSPECTED IMPERIAL GUN-RUNNER
CRIMINAL THREAT-LEVEL: C+

Tags: Martin S. Senée

DANCING WITH REDEMPTION I: SHUFFLING BETWEEN GAOLERS - PROLOGUE

​

SUMMIT QUARRY OUTPOST, MONGREL'S HILL,
STORM VALLEY, KORRIBAN (898 ABY)

First they rob me of a homeworld, then they force me into smuggling.

Then they snatch my freedom as the Fortans did my ancestors.
Carting me off in chains to die as cannon-fodder.... Kark this Galaxy!​

Kneeling fully-armoured with rifle drawn, trying to keep a steady aim despite the lethargy of dehydration, young Brandon Gowrie (Penal Callsign,"Serval") was in the process of fighting his way through a nightmare deployment when he realised he had hit lower than rock-bottom - finally broken by the Galaxy that spurned the realm he called home.

Forced to pray for divine intervention on the same planet where his father earned it fighting with Wasp in hand, (a blade his overseers saw fit to return to Brandon, but only in return for added years on his Penal tenure with Scavenger PMC) it was clear the youngest of Lord Aron's progeny had a long and arduous way to go before he could even hope for a right to wield the great Sting o' Frost someday. A thought that would have brought hope to some in young Gowrie's shoes, and though it was still somewhat a comfort to know it rested within his older sister's keeping, the Wild Child of the family's adult generations would still find it sobering to know the mountain he was climbing only seemed accessible from the bottom of a chasm-like crevasse.

'Dear Ashla, here I kneel as your humbled servant.... My cup overfloweth as ever, mine lesson learned. Mine penance paid under all the Mandates of Sedes Aurea.... All that your humble servant seeks, as ever, is a path to redemption, a means to live in your Light again - the only Light left in this Universe.'

Arising from his knees, standing with barrel raised to keep it from digging into the red sands beneath, the Tuath would only then turn to march back toward the ordnance-and-armour graveyard, the supposed-goldmine his masters had decided to scour for parts and salvage-projects. They were seemingly scouring sandcovered husks of the greatness that stood and fought for victory decades before, almost as if to capture that magic and use it for their own gains in the ever-intensifying mercenary warfronts of the Galaxy at the time, and on Korriban itself, (coupled with the influence of Sith Imperium growing over the region once more) there was no deeper low to where the young Tuath could fall in life.

Not that the Sith-affiliated Chairman of the Scavengers cared, only ever finding it funny when the mention of the convict's ties to the planet were brought into conversation, and in the understanding that such a low would only break Gowrie further, the urge to land, scour and sojourn on Korriban's surface was too much for Chairman Capaq to resist. Leading young Brandon to a three-month shattering of his will to escape, such that would only beget two potential results, death or dependence, but the young Goidel was nothing, if not inherently stubborn - as his tribal kin were in turn.

'OI, CONVICT!!!! LOOK LIVELY!!!! The Chairman wants a word with you! NON-NEGOTIABLE!!!!'

'I think you might wanna forget that for now, Gorm! GORM, GET BACK HERE!!!!', one of the payrollers suddenly yelled out from the nearest observation tower on the north side, drawing the grisled old Mirialan brute back from the northern entrance to the Quarry Redoubt, and almost as if by a flash, drawing away all immediate thoughts of a not-so-immediate future along with it. There was clear urgency to detect in the voice of Gormaz's peer after all, made all the more unavoidable by the fact the north observation tower was left in charge of people of the same rank or higher for the entirety of that deployment, so seeing the armoured brute stepping out again was enough for the payroller to continue,'FIND CAPAQ - IMPERIAL REMNANTS INBOUND!!!!', to which the Mirialan pivoted and ran to find the Chairman accordingly.

'Ashla, is - is this.... Your doing?'

DANCING WITH REDEMPTION I: SHUFFLING BETWEEN GAOLERS - PART 1

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SUMMIT QUARRY OUTPOST, MONGREL'S HILL,
STORM VALLEY, KORRIBAN (898 ABY)

What is that Imperial ensign? I Know its from Fel's reign.
I have the,"When", I have the,"What", and the,"How", at hand.

But its the,"Where", that vexes me still.​

Wise as the New Order's finest had always been, even when trapped in the thrill of a bloody, strategic advance on OPFOR lines, the would-be saviours (or gaolers-to-be) had set a wide, halting static-line from where they were digging in potential fallback positions already. Adding to the pressure was the running and tactical-aggression of their infantry, moving with near-impunity to hold the hills to the north, almost as if these Remnant Forces had known the topography of the region like the backs of their hands, a sight that could only make the young Tuath smile to himself with a sense of pride. Though there was a fair amount of perspirating nervousness drawing it wider than it's usual sneer at the time - not that anyone else could see it whilst the helmet of the Goidel in question remained firmly in place.

'Hurry the feth up, convict. If the Chairman wants you at these negotiations, then thats exactly what he's getting - move!'

Unsure of what to expect next, Brandon could only reply,'Yessir! Jus' gettin' my bearings is all - right behind ye, sir.', and continue following closely as the Mirialan grumbled his way downhill, marching northward with LMG supported proudly over-shoulder. Walking with enough firepower to cut the Tuath in half, and with little more than a three-round burst needed to achieve such carnage, it seemed odd that Gormaz could carry something so destructive with such ease, almost as if his high-calibre support weapon weighed little more than that of a Calavaran umbrella. Not that the face-tattoo'd Lieutenant had long to go on the red, sandy trail to the negotiation tent with favoured weapon considered, as within minutes both officer and ankle-tagged subordinate would reach their intended destination, traversing what felt like a mere stone's throw from the Redoubt at the summit of Mongrel's Hill.

'Theeeeeere's your Goidel, complete with his little sword as you can see, and rest assured, all the other Imperials with us are also on the way - contracted and convicted alike.'

Either he's gettin' ambitious, or he's low on credits - an' loathe to admit it.
An' there I thought he was committed to this,"Breaking the Goidel", caper.​

Snorting derisively as the Lieutenant pauldron-shunted him past the guards at the entrance, the Tuath would have no other choice than to let his fate carry him the rest of the way, careening to a fall with ankle-tag weighing him down as much as the muzzle of the Mirialan's LMG, pushed into Gowrie's backplate with executioner's intent at the time. However, the Chiss-born Chairman would not protest this safety measure, having heard the convict's derision on entry and taken mental note of his attitude already, holding his own derision back, but only until he was sure the unruly Tribal Human was secured. But Capaq's own mirth would sound much colder in contrast, wheezing at the sight of Gowrie's sneering face as another high-ranking mercenary removed his helmet for all to see, only then deigning to baulk,'Nothing funny about your current predicament, drug-smuggler! Keep those eyes gazing at the floor - as scum ought to.', with nought but pure hatred in his red-eyed gaze.

'Now as for prices, mine are usually non-negotiable, as my,"Take It or Leave It", policy is pretty-much the only thing about me that never seems to change.... But I understand that exceptions can be made, especially for realms in dire need of manpower.... Such as yours.'

 

[Martin S. Senée]

Désert des Chacals
No Objective to Display

BOOK FOUR, LONG RANGE SIGHT
› Her, Prologue ‹

KNIGHT-LIEUTENANT OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE
COMMANDING OFFICER OF THE JACKALS
HEIR TO THE SIEUR OF ANAXES​

898 ABY, Unknown Location
I was derivating in a Sea of Souls, looking for what She wanted me to see, feel and endure. My body was resting in the physical realm, while my presence in the Force could pace up and down a parallel space composed of existing and unbelievable places replicated from the real universe. She had brought me here. She had called me, one of Her worshippers, as She had called my father — Nukth — in the past. But I didn't simply believe in Her justice and Her wisdom. Even not considering the fact Her presence was real and people could feel Her — which meant Her existence wasn't spiritual at all —, I was convinced She had chosen me.

And this meant I had a mission.

That is why I was swimming in the Sea of Souls at the moment — if a moment could have ever existed in this reality. Maybe I would later come back to my body, and it would have been years since the day I left. But I had to look for the job She had given me — how could have I lived with a dead sense of responsibility? I could not give any sense to my existence in the physical world without the help of Her clairvoyance. Therefore, my trip within the Sea was needed, even if it meant losing entire years of my life.

That seemed worthwhile.

After an amount of time I couldn't describe, I felt I was near something — not my goal here, but something of importance, which could lead me to a part of the solution. Which could make sense, at least. The souls around me were forming ochre clouds; they were representing sentient individuals that I couldn't recognise only by their silhouette. I still cannot decide whether She was moving non-physical existences in order to organise them into meaningful structures and statues or not. But one thing I have been sure of since then is that I recognised my father.

It wasn't him.

He was not able to see, nor to take a stroll in this reality since he wasn't Force sensitive. At best, he could only feel Her at certain, precise moments. That fact proved once in a while that the Force was something real, that She had an impact on the physical world, and that all this was not just crazy. So I stood — well, I was resting weightless — looking at this reproduction of my father. Another detail that showed it was not him was the fact he appeared way much younger than he should have been now. He looked like him when I was a child.

The only way I knew him.

898 ABY, Korriban's Space
Seth, go and look after him, were the last words Martin had heard from his father or whichever accumulation of souls that was supposed to be him. After several other trips within the souls' realm, Martin had finally found the target of his quest and its location. The way it was linked to his father was the reason why it was he who appeared to Martin as an extension of Her, Ashla. Now riding his personal attack shuttle known as 'Thermidor', the young Lieutenant approached the cockpit glass, so he could see the planet he and his crew were heading. The treasure was here. Near.

He could feel it.

After a couple of minutes spent going through both upper and lower atmospheres, the vessel landed on Korriban, near Mongrel's Hill. Martin had got in touch with a certain Capaq, who was responsible for the Imperial base nearby, employing prisoners of all kinds. It was he who detained what the young Knight was interested in. And he stood right in front of him at the moment, accompanied by two other sentients.

Here — the man on the right. The objective he had been looking for.

«Now as for prices, mine are usually non-negotiable. (...) But I understand that exceptions can be made, especially for realms in dire need of manpower.... Such as yours.»

«Don't try to fool me, Capaq. I ain't one of these freakin' Lost-ish scumbags you've known before. Understand that 'am gonna kill you and your dogs if you lie t'me.» Martin replied. «Lemme see his face so I can be sure it's him.»​

 

[Raymond J. Senée]

2nd Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "SAND FOR SNOW" SAGA-

CONVICTED DRUG-SMUGGLER
SUSPECTED IMPERIAL GUN-RUNNER
CRIMINAL THREAT-LEVEL: C+

Tags: Martin S. Senée

DANCING WITH REDEMPTION I: SHUFFLING BETWEEN GAOLERS - PART 2

​

SUMMIT QUARRY OUTPOST, MONGREL'S HILL,
STORM VALLEY, KORRIBAN (898 ABY)

'Don't try to fool me, Capaq. I ain't one of these freakin' Lost-ish scumbags you've known before. Understand that 'am gonna kill you and your dogs if you lie t'me.'

Definitely Yinchorri.... An' they appear t'be looking for me specifically.
Gig's up, is it?

Naaaaaah.... The Anaxsi have their own ways t'consider.​

The Scavengers were all quite taken aback by the threat, and the sheer audacity of it's execution to boot, as no such statements were ever made idly among warriors, and certainly not whilst in the midst of the most-cutthroat of elements involved. Yet the look in the commander's eye brooked no idle wisps of flimsiness in the slightest, and not even so much as a mere dare to try their luck against the Imperials, just the fiery, unflinching spirit of beligerent obstinance - the guarantee of a quick death at the first sign of ill intent.

'Lemme see his face so I can be sure it's him.'

'You heard the man, Gorm.', the old Chiss drawled to his closest subordinate, but with red eyes firmly fixed on the Yinchorri, expressing something akin to the resolve shown by the new arrivals. All the while, the Goidel would watch on in absolute silence, with eyes continuing to dart back and forth between Capaq and the increasingly-familiar face staring back at him as the renegade Chiss finally growled,'Take his helmet off so that we may see the Tuathan's face!', an order of which his Mirialan subordinate followed without question. Revealing the face of a man of two names already, the Tuath-born Human responsible for smuggling weapons and Spice to the Galaxy's great detriment, an underweight, sub-coherent shell of the greatness still pulsating in his bloodstream.

'Greetings from the Reaver Clans of An-Tuathann, Sir.... For I represent not the Kellas' Claw now, not if I dismay my heritage in my current - predicament.'

A few chortles of derision would be heard, but the true disdain would be seen upon the faces of every Payroller in attendance, markating a clear sign that the addiction had beginnings before the Tuath ever got the chance to meet the warband of the renegade Chiss, absolving them of any perceived involvement in the Wild Child's choice of extracurricular pasttimes. This was all on the convict, and everyone there would know, thus no protestations would be offered to the reactions when he concluded,'Gowries don't fall this far from grace, Sir. An' Gowries don't get addicted t'Spice either, aht's aw me - it was fun while the fun was there t'last though.... Not gonna deny that, not even for a second.', trailing off as he reached into a pocket on his flak-jacket for cigarras and a lighter.

'Forgive me for asking, Yinchorri.... But... Are you - sure this is the convict you're looking for? I mean - honestly, name your price, but I get the distinct feeling you might be wasting your time with this one.'