Though Spears May Spare Him

[Jor Kvall]

"Clan Kvall is weak."

Ruric Kvall's statement seemed to be exemplified by his own physical condition, as the clan Patriarch hung over a trough of spittle and blood and vomit, held weakly by his own hands as he rested in bed. Outside, the cold winds of Kalevala were visible through the window. Ruric hacked another mix of phlegm and blood into the trough before clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. His fingers grazed over his pockmarked face, the part of his appearance where his disease seemed to wage the most visible war.

In front of him, the young Jor Kvall gripped his blaster tightly between clenched fists. It was the only weapon he had.

"You may not like it, father, but I haven't resigned myself to this fate as you have. I will fight." Jor said.

"You will do no such thing," Ruric spat back angrily. The sudden flare of his temper caused yet another coughing fit. "You would do this to your father, in my weakened state? You would bring such grief before me?"

Suddenly awash with guilt, Jor couldn't help but to move towards Ruric's bedside and take his hand. His fingers grazed over his father's sores and pustules that were present on his knuckles, and the young man pretended not to notice them. He enveloped his father's hand in the warmth of his palm and met his father's gaze with his own.

"You are the last living heir of this Clan," Ruric continued. "The fate of our family rests solely on you. Now is not the time for settling old debts or restoring lost honor. Your place is not the battlefield. Your sole duty is survival."

Jor stood up from his father's bedside.

"Death comes eventually for the coward, though spears may spare him," He made a motion to turn away then.

"You dare recite old proverbs to me, your elder?" Ruric called after him. "A fool you are, Jor. Who do you think you are? You have no armor. You have no weapons. None of these things you've earned. You have nothing but foolhardiness masquerading as courage."

Jor crossed towards the doorway, but stopped short. "You never did have much faith in me, father, did you?" He said over his shoulder. A pregnant pause between the two men hung in the air.

"You will fail."

It was the last time Jor ever heard Ruric's voice as he exited the room with the hiss of the doorway. His place was no longer on Kalevala. The First Order would be his home now. As his ship enteredFirst Order space, he knew he would likely never see his homeworld again.

[member="Audrey Saint George"]

 

[Natasi Fortan]

FIRST ORDER HISTORICAL RESEARCH DIVISION REGIONAL HEADQUARTERS​

DEDJE CITY, HALM - HALM SECTOR​

​

The sand and dust was still sifting down from the rafters of the HRD building in Dedje from the last tremor when the next one struck. The building, though newly constructed (relatively), was like all other buildings in the city: susceptible to being pummeled and infiltrated by sand in the sandstorms that plagued it during the windy season. The tremors, on the other hand, were a new occurrence. And when they weren't a massive hazard to life and limb -- why, just last week one had collapsed a wing of the local market, crushing six to death and resulting in Force knew how many amputations -- they were a huge nuisance.

Audrey stood in the center of the archive room, between the dozen or so tall bookshelves containing records of the HRD operations in the area, resisting the urge to brush sand from her hair as it still rained down on her. She put her spectacles back on and sighed, but a moment later the shaking started again, this time in earnest. She expected it to subside, as the last dozen tremors had, but this one only grew in intensity, until the bookshelves were swaying... then rocking... then one toppled.

Into the next. Which toppled into the next. Audrey watched in horror as the shelves she had spent the last two months curating, painstakingly organizing, and stacking became piles of papers on the floor. After a few moments, the shaking stopped.

There was a knock at the door. "Ah... come in," Audrey called. Her assistant opened the door and peeked inside.

"Oh, dear," she said.

"Rather," Audrey confirmed. "What... ahh -- what is it?"

"The security contractors for the dig site have handed in their notice. Something about it being haunted. Shall we put out another advert for some more mercenaries?"

Audrey bent over and picked up a book, dusted sand off it. "I don't like that word. They're military contractors." She sighed and set the book down. "Send in somebody to give me a hand with these shelves, would you?"

"Right away."

[member="Jor Kvall"]