The Spiral

[Ugoto Chivaro]

THE HELIX SYNDICATE

When you are a Mandallian Giant, like Rahgot, your employment opportunities are limited. People do not look at Mandallian Giants and say, “Here is someone who should be doing my taxes.” Or, “Here is the creature that will design the latest and greatest Star Destroyer to sail the seven sectors.” Rather, they often say “Here is the individual that I need in my criminal outfit, someone that will scare the living daylights out of any who would dare oppose me.”

Pollux did not see that when he found Rahgot.

After the Givin confiscated Rahgot from the slaver who owned him, there was an uncharacteristic intelligence behind Rahgot’s eyes. Rahgot was born into slavery, as most enslaved Mandallians are. To try and capture a live one would be suicidal. Yet despite being a little more than a pit fighter, a gladiator, Rahgot had taught himself to read. He paid more attention to the numbers surrounding the business of gladiator combat than his owner did. Rahgot was smart. Cruel and crude, certainly, but smart. He was destined for greater things.

As a debt collection company, the Helix Syndicate needed intimidating individuals. With his physically imposing appearance, standing some ten feet tall and weighing in at over seven hundred pounds, coupled with his natural intelligence, it was not long before Rahgot found himself in charge of his own little slice of the Helix Syndicate: the debt collection division.

Rahgot was merciless in his pursuits and directions. His men loved and feared him, a great combination when it came to productivity. Pollux was pleased with Rahgot, but not with his Enforcers. Some tasks involved too much finesse or strategy for the rank and file of the Helix Syndicate. He needed the cream of the crop, the very best of the Enforcers, to be put into a new division: the Specialists. More importantly, they needed a location from which to train both Enforcers and more Specialists.

The Helix Syndicate would accomplish both tasks in a single stroke.

Pollux had Rahgot present his best Enforcers. Whether they excelled in combat or some other role was of little concern, Pollux only wanted the best. These men and women came from a variety of military backgrounds, commandos for various governments, particularly extinct ones. These were veterans of a multitude of chaotic battles… Roche, Alderaan, Coruscant, Metalorn, Korriban, Atrisia… These were hardened veterans. The Helix Syndicate had a good policy of intentionally seeking out such individuals.

He ordered Rahgot to take these Enforcers, the first of the Specialists, to Dantooine. A location on the planet, the Taikaha Canyon, had been deemed the most optimal location for a stronghold and training facility.

There was a problem, however, that took the form of a Death Cult. Details were sparse, but it was clear the Cult was not open to being reasoned with, as most cults are. Whatever form the problem took was irrelevant to Rahgot. Standing as tall as he was and being able to crush battle droids with his bare hands and soak up blaster bolts like a sponge meant he could afford not to care. So long as he was being paid, he would solve the problem.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
EN-ROUTE TO SURFACE

Big, thundering footsteps shook the main loading bay as Rahgot entered. The Specialists, decked out in their new signature white helmets, turned to look at the Mandallian. By now they were used to the sight of their overseer. Somewhat. Was there truly any getting used to a being of this size? Rahgot licked his lips, savoring the sight. These were to be the future of the Helix Syndicate’s acquisitions branch. He was happy this task fell to him. A small droid teetered after him, tapping onto a datapad.

Datapads never lasted very long in Rahgot’s hands. So now he had a tiny secretary droid with tiny hands to help dictate his tiny business. “My finest warriors. Yes, this will be good. There will be great glory in this, yes. Good fights, very good fights.”

You could take Rahgot out of the fighting pit, but you could never take the fighting pit out of Rahgot. His quest was a spirited one, an ever-present desire for glory in combat. If he were not honor-bound to serve the Pollux for securing his freedom, he would have traveled the galaxy in search for a worthy adversary. The Pollux had what he called “higher ambitions” for Rahgot. Rahgot did not complain. He liked to test his mind as much as his strength.

Tests of the mind tended to last longer for one such as him.

“There are reports. Reports of a cult in the Canyon that we desire for our own purposes. Yes. This Canyon will be where we train more of you! We will have it. There will be glory. Glory for all. We must find the cult first. Yes, and get them to go away. They will leave, alive or dead, they will leave. And there will be glory.”

Rahgot did have a peculiar way of speaking. With one hand he gripped an overhead bar for support. It bent. He nodded to the tiny droid and a hologram projected from the datapad, displaying a map. The mouth of the Canyon was visible, but several glowing dots on the outside of the Canyon were the main focus. Rahgot rumbled, eagerly anticipating what was to come. He loved fieldwork.

So much glory.

“First we must find the cult. These villages have been attacked. Farmers! Defenseless farmers. Small, pink things with no guns, no strength. There is no glory among them.” Rahgot was not above harassing farmers if there was some innate purpose to it, but there wasn’t here. No debts were owed. And if no debts were owed, then there should have been glory to seek in doing so. But if there was no glory, there was no point! “We will talk to them. Yes. We will know the things they know. They will find us this cult.”

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
ILDIGAN’S WATCH

The shuttle landed quite the long distance away from Ildigan’s Watch, a small sustenance farming community not far from the Taikaha Canyon. Rahgot did not want to terrify the villagers by thinking they were some sort of pirate raid, so they landed far off and proceeded to march there. This allowed the villagers to suspect it was a bandit raid instead. The villagers had long locked themselves inside their homes by the time Rahgot and his Specialists arrived. It was not as though they could miss the lumbering behemoth that was Rahgot coming over the horizon, could they.

Rahgot rumbled in discontent at the abandoned village square. “Farmers! Farmers, get out here! We are here to speak, not to harm.” No one came out initially, so Rahgot pointed two Specialists over to one of the larger huts, which he assumed to be the sort of town hall. “You, knock on that door. See who is home.”

He would have knocked himself, but Rahgot was worried he would have caved it in. Although if it came down to it…

The door open, and out popped a sad farmer. A human, perhaps middle aged. He had one large bald spot. A tonsure is what the people-who-can-grow-hair called it. Rahgot often wondered what he would look like with hair, but always decided he looked better as he did. The Mandallian Giantesses would love him. The farmer looked between the two Specialists with an alert look, but once he sighted Rahgot there in his specially-tailored Helix Syndicate armor, he lost every shade of color in his body.

He fainted, and one of the Specialists caught him by the chest. His wife came sprinting to the door. “Ovman! Ovman, no!” Then she, too, spied Rahgot. And before the Mandallian could say anything, she too had fainted. And the second Specialist had caught her in her fall as well. Rahgot was pleased that his men had prevented these farmers from dashing their skulls open against the hard ground, falling over like that. There was glory in helping people, however small the amount of glory was and however small these tiny, pink farmers happened to be.

“Yes. Well. This is rude of these people to nap so soon after receiving guests.” Rahgot was joking, but no one got it. “Try that other home. Yes, that one. There. Put those two back inside.”

Before the second pair of Specialists could get close to the door, it creaked open. A considerably wiser looking farmer, far older, edged out cautiously. He faltered momentarily at the sight of Rahgot, but held fast. He was only part of the way through the door and one hand was behind his back, as if he was hiding something. Rahgot resisted the urge to laugh. What manner of tiny gun he had would be useless, not that there was need for its use.

“Hello, farmer.” Rahgot intoned. “You have been visited by the Death Cult, yes? We are looking for them. Private business. It is better you do not ask, for I am not keen to tell. Yes. What is your experience with them? How many? Do you know what they are doing?”

The farmer, who happened to be the village elder, was quite taken aback by these questions. In lieu of any alternatives he decided to answer them earnestly, if only to get rid of this cyan-skinned colossus as soon as possible. He did not know what the Death Cult was doing or their exact numbers- only that they had kidnapped several members of this community in addition to cattle and supplies.

“Hmmm. Yes. I see. Thank you.” Rahgot said, waving to the Specialists. “We are to be leaving now. Come, come.”

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
WEKKELTON

Rahgot and the Specialists moved from Ildigan’s Watch without any further interrogation. Rahgot was interested to find out that the Cultists were not able to furnish their own supplies or induct others willingly. He suspected they were not intended to stay here very long, then. That this whole operation of theirs was to be completed and they would move on. Pollux would have preferred to simply wait them out, but there was no glory in waiting. None! Or precious little. Rahgot disliked cults and found that he quite liked the pink, nervous farmers of Dantooine.

Even if the feeling was not necessarily mutual.

Another village elder was now front and center before Rahgot, being questioned with the same intensity. “When they came, yes. You saw them? How many were there? Did you suspect very many more? I cannot leave unless you answer, small thing. Do not make me bother more people. Or worse! I could compel you! There is no glory in doing so to a small thing like yourself, so-”

“Contact, contact.” The commlink in Rahgot’s long, pointed ear cackled. “Moving in towards the east. They’re in robes.”

“Ahhhh. This is good. Yes. You can go.” Rahgot shoved the elder aside rudely, sending him skidding through the dirt, “Better to ask the cultists themselves! Yes, very much. Haha.”

The Specialists already took up positions around the east entrance. They were concealed from sight for the most part, training their weapons on the approaching cultists. Upon closer inspection, yes, all four of them wearing robes. Tattered and dirty, ramshackle and sewn together from various scraps of other clothes. Clearly this was an amateur cult at best. They had no weapons, no guns either. Just gaderffii sticks. They clearly did not need much to terrorize these farmers, but it Rahgot suspected if they had better weapons, they would use them. He gave the order to hold fire, preferring to speak first.

Rahgot had no need for hiding and guns as the Specialists did. He did not scorn them for it. If they were as large as him, they would have no need for hiding and guns either. They worked with what they had, and what they had were tiny pink hands. Better suited for guns. Rahgot was waiting when the cultists strode up, not the slightest hint of fear on their faces. Their eyes were glossy and unfocused.

“The Dread Master demands tribute. Give us two or we shall be back later, in greater numbers, and take more.”

“Two what?” Rahgot demanded. “What is the thing your Dread Master is wanting the small farmers for?”

“If you will not present them, we shall take them now by force.”

Rahgot furrowed his brow and bellowed, “Answer my question!”

This question seemed to set off the cultists, who brandished their gaderffii sticks and proceeded to charge at Rahgot. This, as one can imagine, was a bad idea. The first one to reach Rahgot was backhanded, flying several meters before crunching into the dirt. Rahgot grabbed the second one by the head and flung him to the side like a callous child would discard a toy- that cultist died before he hit the ground, neck snapping from the motion.

The third one managed to get close while Rahgot was still completing his throw, jabbing and swatting at him with the gaderffii. Rahgot snarled and grabbed the stick from the cultist with one hand, punching him in the gut with the other. There was the distinct sound of ribs shattering. That cultist would linger perhaps for another hour, but he was not long for this world.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
SYNDICATE CAMPSITE

A single shot rang out and Rahgot heard something thud to the ground behind him. He turned to see a cultist that had snuck behind him, his gaderffii laying on the ground as he writhed in pain. He had been shot in the leg, clammy cultist hands gripping the wound as blood poured out. There had almost been some glory to be had for this cultist! Well, a tiny bit. Maybe he could have caused a minor problem for a second or two before Rahgot squeezed his skull like a grape.

Which the Mandallian had been considering quite closely as he watched the blubbering cultist, then decided they would have use for a prisoner. “Come, come. It is time to be going, yes.” With callous disregard, Rahgot flung the bleeding cultist over his shoulder and made his way back to the makeshift campsite, their shuttle. The Specialists eventually caught up and followed closely afterwards.

Once they arrived, they put the cultist in the shuttle so his leg could be stitched up and he could be questioned. The medical officer informed Rahgot that the man had lost a lot of blood and it could be some time before he was ready to speak. “Fine, fine. There are other things we are needing to be doing anyway. Yes.”

That night, while the Specialists were eating aboard the ship and Rahgot was keeping watch, he observed the canyon. Strange flickering lights and foreign, unnatural sounds dominated that area. Rahgot had no skill in interpreting the signs of an active cult. Did these sounds mean they were just beginning? Were the lights an indication that the ritual(s) was coming to a head? It made no sense. Why dabble in magic when you could just kick and punch and shoot and stab?

Magic was for small pink people, Rahgot surmised. And just as he decided not to scorn the other small pink people who used guns, he decided it would be better to not scorn the magicians. They were just using the cards they had been dealt. If Rahgot had been born magical, perhaps he would use magic in addition to his incomparable physical strength. Would there have been glory in that, though? Then things would be too easy. Yes. It was already hard enough to find a good fight. If he added in magic to his already burgeoning arsenal of feats, it would be all but impossible.

He could conquer the galaxy.

There was glory in that. Maybe too much glory. Rahgot had simpler desires and no patience for government work.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
CANTARI SPRINGS

By the time Rahgot and his Specialists arrived at the town of Cantari Springs, it was too late. The village had been burnt to the ground. Rahgot ordered his men to search the rubble for survivors. Rahgot doubted he could personally assist anyone he found, or would even like to. It was just important to know how many cultists there were. Where they were located. A survivor might have seen, might have witnessed something Rahgot and his men had not.

The comlink crackled in his ear again. “Over here, we’ve got one.”

Rahgot turned to find a Specialist yanking a small human child, a girl, out of the rubble by her arm. She was coated with ash and soot, the poor thing. Farmers were already so tiny and frail, but this was basically a baby farmer. So fragile. So small. The Specialist guided her out of the rubble and shoved her towards Rahgot. Respectfully as ever, Rahgot took a knee so that he would seem less intimidating.

He was still four times her size and the movement made her think Rahgot was going to crush her. She started crying. Rahgot realized that his appearance could be quite intimidating to people, but occasionally it slipped his mind. He thought that he had a disarming enough smile, but the giant fangs that protruded from his mouth tended to put a dampener on it.

“Do not cry, small farming child.” Rahgot attempted to soothe the child. In accordance with his thundering baritone, the small child started crying harder. “Do not cry, do not cry. You must tell us what happened here. Yes, you must tell us.”

She kept sobbing. Rahgot was unfamiliar with the procedures for dealing with small children and getting them to cease the water works. He did hear once that a fully grown Arconan Grease Pig had the same cognitive ability as a three year old child. This child before him might have been older than that, but it reminded him that everyone loves food. Be they Arconan Grease Pigs, three year olds, Helix Syndicate Specialists, or shell-shocked small farming children. Rahgot held out his giant hand towards one of the Specialists. “Give me your ration bar.”

The Specialist dutifully dug through her backpack and retrieved a ration bar. Rahgot mentally noted to give her another one for her trouble later. He delicately unwrapped the small bar with his oversized fingers, giving the small farming child pause in her crying, devolving into simple sniffling. He then held it out for her to take. She gingerly took it from him and began nibbling on the bar. See? She was just hungry. Much like the Arconan Grease Pig, small children were prone to fits of hysteria and sadness when deprived of proper food.

Probably.

He let her finish the ration bar before speaking again. “You should tell us what it was that happened in this place now, yes.”

The small farming child explained in her simple ways what had happened. Rahgot listened intently for the most part. She had already been hiding when the cultists arrived and so could not name how many there were, just that they had taken everyone in the village before setting fire to it. She was able to name how many villagers there were living here, though. From this, Rahgot could hazard a guess as to how many cultists were needed for such an extensive wrangling of hostages.

It was a lot.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
SYNDICATE CAMPSITE

Upon returning to the campsite, Rahgot was greeted by the shuttle’s medical officer. “Your prisoner died of his wounds, sir. I was able to extract the information you requested before he passed.”

Rahgot gave a toothy grin. “This is good. Very good, yes. Where is the hidden cultist base? There is no time to lose. They grow bolder every day, and I fear their numbers grow to match! Yes. We must move quick-”

Being acutely aware of Rahgot’s tendency towards winding soliloquies and having other matters to attend to, the medical officer cut in. “Yes, well, The hidden cultist base is located at-”

“Don’t,” Rahgot rumbled, jabbing a meaty finger into the medical officer’s chest. “Interrupt me, when I am speaking. Yes?”

The medical officer rubbed his bruised gut gingerly and nodded. Rahgot continued.

“-ly. Yes. I could see in the eyes of these cultists, they were under hypnosis! They were cloudy and unfocused. There was little glory in killing them, unwilling as they must truly be. But one must do what one must do to defend oneself from those who wish them harm! Yes, you are a learned man. What can be done to break this hypnosis?”

The medical officer stared.

“I am finished now. You may continue.”

“Well, I’m no expert on… The Force… Or hypnosis. I’m more of a medical doctor, but I would guess that incapacitating the leader of the cult would break whatever hold he has over them?” The medical officer seemed hopeful rather than certain of this, but Rahgot paid no heed.

“Good! There is glory in this!” The Mandallian bellowed. “We shall be rid of the cult leader and the small pink farmers may return to their homes! There is glory in assisting those who need it most, yes. Great glory in doing this. Send me the coordinates of their headquarters and we shall make quick, glorious work of these cultists. Yes.”

The medical officer nodded congenially and excused himself to the shuttle. Meanwhile, Rahgot ordered the Specialists to prepare themselves for a protracted operation. Once they were locked and loaded, they departed immediately under the cover of night.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
TAIKAHA CANYON

The outside of the canyon was surrounded by forest and hills. The Specialists scattered among these formations, staying hidden in the face of the group of cultists hanging around the entrance. Some of them appeared to be brandishing primitive blaster rifles, the cheap kind typically used by farmers. Rahgot recognized the same glassy gaze among all of them through the macrobinoculars he was using. Hypnosis victims. The poor, small farmers. If only they knew what they were doing, they could have dropped their weapons and run.

Oh well.

“Start with the ones with blasters,” Rahgot ordered. “Light them up.”

Several shots rang out, and the three cultists with the good fortune to own a firearm ended up with the bad fortune of being dead. Sprays of blood splattered the surrounding walls as the remaining cultists, armed with gaderffii sticks, dove this way and that for cover. Some of them tried to recover the weapons of their fallen comrades but were kept pinned by suppressive fire. Except for one of them- one cultist with a blaster had escaped the initial cull. He could not see his enemy, however, and fired blindly into the treeline.

Eventually he overstretched his luck and caught an explosive bullet in his throat. If these cultists hadn’t been hypnotized, they would have broke rank after that. Nothing was more hostile to good morale than seeing your commander’s head get popped off by an explosive bullet. But the hypnosis held fast and the cultists maintained their positions. Rahgot let out a tremendous war cry and charged for the entrance. The Specialists kept him covered, of course, and two Specialists that had brought shotguns followed after him.

The suppressive fire stopped once Rahgot and his escorts reached the mouth of the cave and were within range for melee combat. Rahgot grabbed one cultist by the legs, utilizing him as a club to swat away two of his friends. Bones crunched, men screamed. Rahgot heard the sound of shotgun fire and more screaming close by, but he was too busy with his own cultists to care. Rahgot slapped aside one cultist as the man charged at him, then hit another one with his backhand in the same motion.

Rahgot turned to look to his right, spotting a cultist who had managed to scoop up a blaster pistol. The cultist squeezed off one shot, then two, and finally a third as Rahgot barreled towards him. The first shot went wide, but the second one caught Rahgot in the shoulder and the third in his gut. Not that this slowed down the Mandallian at all. You could afford to take a few blaster bolts like that when you were Rahgot’s size. Before he could get off a fourth shot, Rahgot had grabbed the cultist with both hands, gripping his head and his blaster arm. Rahgot grit his teeth in effort as he tore the blaster arm free, then tossing the cultist one way and discarding the arm in the other.

With that settled, Rahgot checked behind him. The other specialists had joined him among the various cultist corpses. It did not appear as though they incurred any casualties. “This was entertaining.” He announced over the sound of mass reloading. “Not good for glory, yes, but fun. We must move. There is yet farther to go.”

And yet more cultists to encounter.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
TAIKAHA CANYON

Sensing a disturbance at the mouth of the canyon, the Dread Master dispatched reinforcements. They were better armed than the other cultists, most of them had blaster rifles, but no better armored. Armor was an even more difficult commodity than weapons to come by here on Dantooine. There were twenty of them in all, and they made their way through the winding canyon with great haste. They would do whatever was necessary to fulfill the dreaded will of their master. Such was the terms of their enthrallment.

They crept down the path cautiously, prepared to encounter the interlopers at any given point. They moved quite some distance… Still nothing. Eventually they reached the entrance, finding the corpses of their allies splayed about, either shot or crushed.

“Where are they?” One of the cultists demanded. The others responded by fanning out, searching around.

“Up on the ridge!”

Higher up, the canyon sported several ridges which provided a nice vantage point over the lower paths the cultists had traveled down. And upon looking up, they saw only the muzzle flashes of the Czerka rifles brandished by the Specialists. They returned fire in vain, having been blindsided by the sudden ambush and the flinging of several flash grenades. The cultists scattered for cover. Some scattered into pieces on account of explosive rounds and fragmentation grenades.

This was to become the least of their problems, as suddenly another figure appeared on the ridge. This one was almost three times the size of the Specialists, and in his gargantuan hands he held… A boulder. As it turned out, this canyon was freely populated with an assortment of heavy rocks that were good for flinging. Especially flinging downwards at cultist reinforcements.

“YEEEEEEEEAARRRGGGGHHHHHHHH!”

The roar of a Mandallian Giant as he heaved boulders towards unsuspecting foes was enough to break most men. And it did. For a moment, the hypnosis that held sway over these poor men faltered. Then when the boulder landed, crunching two cultists beneath them, it snapped completely. Bewildered, freed, and terrified, the cultists immediately broke rank and fled. Rahgot tossed another boulder for good measure, crushing one and trapping the leg of another. The survivors, four of them, fled for all they were worth.

“Let them go!” Rahgot bellowed. “We will follow them.” Rahgot resolved that he enjoyed throwing rocks, however, and took a smaller one with him. It was about the size of a human head. He reasoned that it could come in handy depending on what was up ahead. One could never be too careful.

A single shot rang out as a Specialist finished off the cultist that had been pinned by the rock. With that settled, they began their pursuit, most of them returning to the lower path while a few remained on the ridge in order to give supporting fire.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

DANTOOINE
TAIKAHA CANYON

The cultist encampment was a sorry sight. Cages of destitute farmers encircled the clearing. There were two distinct pits, all of which were filled with corpses in various states of dismemberment. There was a central altar, upon which a headless corpse with an open chest was strapped. Perhaps if Rahgot had not spent too much idle time flinging boulders, they might have interrupted that sacrifice. Seeing that the majority of the cultists in the encampment were still armed only with clubs, sticks, and clunky, outdated blasters, Rahgot wasted no time charging in.

Up on the ridge, the Specialists provided covering fire. The few cultists that did have weapons found themselves being picked off by sniper fire, forcing them into cover. And there they were flushed out by the Specialists on the ground, armed with more tactical close-range weapons. It was a bloodbath, and certainly not the kind the cultists had intended for tonight. The captives cowered in their cages, but Rahgot did not notice. He was rather enthused by their presence, for whenever there was an audience to witness his feats of combat, it increased his glory. Once a gladiator, always a showman. Rahgot scooped up one cultist in his free hand, squeezing him until his spine snapped - a process that did not take long - before flinging him into another cultist.

Rahgot mistook the horrified cries of the imprisoned farmers for that of praise.

“YOU FOOLS!” Boomed a voice, and Rahgot turned to look at its source. A Dathomiri woman had appeared behind the altar, brandishing some sort of staff. Swirling currents of green energy surrounded her. “My work here is just beginning! It cannot be stopped!”

She held the staff upwards, virulent energy gathering. Rahgot suspected she might zap him, or one of his specialists. He remembered the rock he was carrying and knew what he had to do. Rahgot gripped the ridges of the rock securely, planting himself firmly in the ground and pointing his shoulders at the target. He stepped forward, opening up and flinging the rock. Rahgot knew it was a perfect throw because the rock spiraled as it sailed, nailing the Spellweaver in the face.

There was a sickening crack as she flew backwards, leaving only her staff and few flecks of blood where she had originally been standing. Someone in one of the cages vomited, which Rahgot took as a good sign. Back in the pits, it was never considered a good night if someone didn’t hurl by the end of it. Not even a moment after the Dathomiri’s corpse landed, like someone flipping a switch, the energy vanished. Only a few minutes later, the cultists started surrendering as the hypnosis wore off. A few minutes after that, the remaining cultists were killed, as the Specialists did not find hypnosis a strong enough excuse for the piles of corpses this woman had amassed.

“Open the cages!” Rahgot ordered. “There is glory in freeing the farmers, yes. Much glory!”

After the first cage was opened, a woman nearly tumbled over herself as she sprinted forward, towards Rahgot. The Mandallian struck a heroic pose as she approached. “Save you thanks, small farmer! Rahgot did nothing for you, but in the name of glory! Yes. But! You may still wish to erect a statue in-”

“Gerald! By the Force, Gerald! No!” The woman screeched, falling to her knees in front of a corpse that just happened to be lying near Rahgot. A cultist. Rahgot recognized it as the one whose spine he had snapped only a few paragraphs ago.

His heroic pose slacked. “Oh.”

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

THE HELIX SYNDICATE

Ultimately, the Helix Syndicate was unable to determine what the purpose of the ritual in the canyon was. All of the cultists that might have been willing to testify were now dead and the farmers were terribly reluctant to talk about anything after seeing Rahgot’s bloody work. This did not seem to phase the Syndicate very much, as uncovering the motivations for the Spellweaver had never been even a side objective. The only thing Pollux cared about was that the canyon be cleared for the construction of a stronghold.

The pits were filled in with dirt, as identifying the mutilated corpses would only be a waste of time. Any other signs of the cult’s activities in the canyon were similarly destroyed, including the altar and the cages. None of the farmers returned to claim the corpses of the cultists that they knew, so they were simply incinerated along with the Spellweaver. Not long after Rahgot announced his mission’s success, construction began. Several of the lower paths of the canyon that would lead to the site of the fort were filled with minefields. Electric fences went up. Anti-aircraft emplacements constructed.

Warning signs were sufficiently placed. The local villages informed of the presence of a new military installation. As long as they stayed away and minded their own business, there would be no trouble. In the coming months, these villages would come to enjoy the presence of the Helix Syndicate, as they often made quick work of bandits, marauders, and pirates as part of their training exercises. Anything, of course, would have been better than the cult’s presence.

Rahgot reluctantly handed over his Specialists to the fort’s garrison and Deglarch’s supervision. They would oversee the training of all future Helix Syndicate Specialists. For his role in proving the need for an elite branch of the Syndicate, Rahgot eventually had a nice statue of himself erected on the grounds of the fort.

And now, the credits roll.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gKqPkHDZOI​