Chupa La'Roi
#RealSpaceViking
The home of the Wookiees. The home of the Witches, whom the Wookiees called "Ghosts". The home of a small family a long time ago, a family of Arkanians and humans and half-Arkanians, brought together by love, torn apart by the hand of an Empire that is since long dead. The charred remains lingered on the soil to this day, though most had been swept away in the wind. The Wind. A fickle force of nature who cared not about the living or the dead. Only about moving the branches of the trees, of forming the waves upon the water, of moving the hair of a beautiful woman as she collapses to the ground, her last breath floating away into the ignorant Wind. Blowing the cape of the Emperor's Royal Guardsmen, tossing it around as it graced the dirt, as it turned to leave, as it passed over top the bodies of a loving family, no more alive than the Wind itself.
Chupa had lived here with his family for many years before the Empire had come calling. Recruitment was swift and unmerciful for all races in those days; especially those who dared to live in backwater, out of the line of sight planets like the Wookiee homeworld. He showed skill and willingness to learn, but every so often he needed to escape to his family. The Empire was not one to care about families, and a Guardsman was sworn only to the Emperor.
It was given the staff. To cut them down. To kill them. To silence them from his mind, to commit himself to the Empire. And he hesitated. He hesitated, and for that he was struck down to the ground and forced to watch as his Guardsmen did it for him. Men and women he worked with, ate with, slept next to on long journeys and stood beside against the Rebellion. They took turns killing his children, then shared the final stab into his wife.
He had three children. Two boys, one girl. As he sat in the transport shuttle, this day, eight hundred years to the date, he realized something which shook him to his core, which made tears form in his eyes, which made them cascade down to the cold metal floor without care, without knowledge, without mercy. Like the Wind.
He could not remember their names.
The shuttle landed, and as the ramp descended out into the murky forests of Kashyyyk, he could hear sirens blaring, vocal warnings about harboring criminals of the Republic, comm signals pinging left and right, but he cared little for those.
For on this day, he had sent messages to those he considered his friends. He sent them the last message they would read of his.
"Come to Kashyyyk. My death awaits."
Chupa had lived here with his family for many years before the Empire had come calling. Recruitment was swift and unmerciful for all races in those days; especially those who dared to live in backwater, out of the line of sight planets like the Wookiee homeworld. He showed skill and willingness to learn, but every so often he needed to escape to his family. The Empire was not one to care about families, and a Guardsman was sworn only to the Emperor.
It was given the staff. To cut them down. To kill them. To silence them from his mind, to commit himself to the Empire. And he hesitated. He hesitated, and for that he was struck down to the ground and forced to watch as his Guardsmen did it for him. Men and women he worked with, ate with, slept next to on long journeys and stood beside against the Rebellion. They took turns killing his children, then shared the final stab into his wife.
He had three children. Two boys, one girl. As he sat in the transport shuttle, this day, eight hundred years to the date, he realized something which shook him to his core, which made tears form in his eyes, which made them cascade down to the cold metal floor without care, without knowledge, without mercy. Like the Wind.
He could not remember their names.
The shuttle landed, and as the ramp descended out into the murky forests of Kashyyyk, he could hear sirens blaring, vocal warnings about harboring criminals of the Republic, comm signals pinging left and right, but he cared little for those.
For on this day, he had sent messages to those he considered his friends. He sent them the last message they would read of his.
"Come to Kashyyyk. My death awaits."