Twisted Beginnings

[Hkeek Nkulla Keeza]

In Jawa Trade Talk, Hkeek Nkulla Keeza meant "Cursed Weapon." It was a name that had been given to him as a warning to others. He had accepted it without any real sense of what doing so meant. To him it was a title. Much like his ragged clothing, it was something that would do... for now. As he entered the city of Mos Espa, he wondered on what titles these other beings had been given. Were they things actually tied to their lives? How much of their identities relied upon these arbitrary words granted by others. Had any of them chosen their own titles?

His wandering brought him through the crowded street, and throughout he felt the tumbling chaos of the living. Emotions seemed to berate him just as their clustered commotion did. It was all rather annoying, and Keeza found that he didn't much care for the convoluted manner in which these beings seemed to compose themselves. He found himself wondering if they all at least suffered similarly. If they felt pain, would their screams match one another.

The road on which he walked opened up, and he saw more beings of varying species milling around what looked like booths. Behind these booths were either beings shouting at those walking by in an apparent attempt to get their attention, or they were seemingly negotiating on just what manner they would be handing their goods over.

A smell from one booth drew Keeza's attention, and he found himself quickly at it's front. In a small alcove behind it, a spit of meat rotated slowly over the pulsing heat of embers. Crisp fat lined it's surface, and it's juices dripped to sizzle delightfully into the red heat. The young man's mouth watered, and a need for that meat burst to the front of his mind. A Rodian sat in the shade behind the booth, eyeing the youth as he stared at the meat.

Keeza pointed to the spit. "I will take that," the boy claimed.

The Rodian looked over Keeza's appearance, clad in random rags, some sporting old blood stains, mostly not his. Regardless of whether the Rodian knew that, he was apparently aware that the boy had no money.

"Begone, slave. I have paying customers to attend to." He waved his hand dismissively and went back to staring sullenly at the passing people.

Keeza looked around for these 'customers' but saw no one approaching the booth.

"You have no customers," he spoke bluntly and took a step closer to the booth.

The Rodian turned his head to Keeza, and tilted it in an inquisitive jerk. Coming to his feet, he moved to the opposite side of the booth and leaned down to place his hands flatly upon the surface. Even bent over, he still stood half a head taller than Keeza, and the look he gave the boy as he lorded over him was one of disdain.

"If you don't get out of my booth, I won't even call the bruisers over. I'll come over there and wallop you until I can put you on a spit myself. Might even make a few coin selling your scrawny hide as bantha feed. Now, get... lost," he bleeped nasally. A wave of annoyance pressed on Keeza from the Rodian, and he realized that he would not get the meat by demand.

The boy stepped in closer to the Rodian till they were face to face and he could feel it's breath. "I said, I'll take that," he whispered as his blade slid quietly across the Rodian's throat. The alien was strange in that it's facial expression didn't change much between annoyance and surprise, but Keeza felt it's emotions press against him like a splash of cold water, followed by the warm blanket of terror as the vendor realized his life was bleeding out of him.

A few feet away, a Dug vendor let out a curse and started shouting for someone, but Keeza was too focused on the life slowly leaving the Rodian to care. As the alien's last rasp for breath left it's body a sensual shiver ran up Keeza's spine.

There was still yelling happening in the streets as he carved a healthy chunk of meat from the rotating spit. He felt many eyes on him as he walked from the booth, onward into the city. He let the juices of the meat roll down his chin as he relished in it's roasted flavor. The young boy was starting to feel a bit more amiable about city life.

[member="Clovis Torcularis"]

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

I hated planets that were covered in sand, even more so if they were covered in ice and snow. I was a creature of normal circumstances, but from time to time I found myself on desolate worlds, such as this one. And being taught by Master to learn patience, it was a process that I suffered to accept, nor wanted. But as my Master has demonstrated many times over, it was a concept that I should attempt to learn. Another lesson she was teaching me was not to be greedy, take only what you need; nothing more, nothing less.

And when my ears picked up on the exchange between some poorly dressed street urchin and a vendor, my curiosity to see this played out was overwhelming. Slowly I moved away from the kiosk I was browsing, only to see what theatric antics would be displayed this afternoon. The vendor, for all his greed, tried to upstage the boy, only to bear testimony to his lifeforce being spent on the hot sand. My Master, a witch that collected the bones of her fallen foes, had once told me that it was blissful to bask in the death of others, be it by your hand or that of another, and after seeing what transpired before me, killing for survival was the most blissful act of murder; and murder was a point of view usually reserved by those that were weak and unprepared to live in a turmoil ridden galaxy.

I watched the boy walk away, successful and content, in his life choices. However, the protectors of Mos Espa did not share in his sentiment, and thus the Hutts that ruled over this treacherous planet acted quickly, sending two of the most ugliest aliens I ever saw. They had a name, which I think started with a Q. They charged toward the boy, who appeared to be unaware of their presence, which I found to be strangely odd, considering I felt a whisper of the Force in the boy.

Extending my left foot out in front of me, I tripped one of the Q named aliens, and drawing one of my blades I sliced the head off the other. I whistled loudly to get the boys attention, even though the screams of the gathering crowd was louder than my whistle, and when I received it I barked, "Never leave business unfinished" while placing my right foot on the chest of the remaining alien. I unclasped my other blade, tossing it to the boy, nodded at his potential assassin, and said, "Business. Unfinished."

@Hkeek Nkulla Keeza

 

[Hkeek Nkulla Keeza]

[member="Clovis Torcularis"]
A singular focus seemed to press against Keeza's senses, and drew him from the single-minded intent to consume his meal. The strange presence drew his gaze away from his meat, more-so than the faint whistle he heard through the clamor of a crowd, braying like stray cattle. As he turned, his eyes fell upon a hooded figure, clad in fine, black robes who was in turn looking at him.

"Never leave business unfinished" he yelled to Keeza, and unclasped a blade from his waist. While his instinct was to view the weapon as a challenge, Keeza was surprised to feel more a sense of inquiry and curiosity than contention in the man. He tossed the blade casually through the air to the boy. Keeza wasn't fully aware of his hand reaching out to let the pommel slide firmly into his grasp, as he kept his focus mostly on the man. Something seemed off about the face which hid beneath his hood.

"Business. Unfinished." The statement had a strange and alluring sense of command to it, and while it was behavior he wasn't familiar with, it did have a strange sense of comfort to it.

The young man looked to the blade in his hand to the stunned alien on the ground. His vision blurred, his mind obscured by a dark tunnel of shadow. When he was able to collect his perspective, he stood over the body of the alien, the man's blade embedded in it's chest. It convulsed in agony and fear, and Keeza arched his back in pleasure as it's life left it.

All around them citizens shouted, ran, and called for help, but Keeza couldn't hear any of it. His whole world was encompassed by the moment he shared with the dying, and now this strange man. As he turned back to the man he realized that a human-like mask covered his face. While the mask had a bleak lifelessness to it, his pale eyes quivered with an intensity Keeza had never encountered in another. With his hand still on the hilt, and the blade still planted in the body, Keeza searched those eyes, feeling the strangers presence envelope him, prod him, and consumed his attention.

For the moment, he stood in complete silence, and overwhelming intrigue.

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

"There are many types of killers in our galaxy, I said kneeling next to the dead alien's body, placing my cold hand upon it's even colder corpse. I could appreciate a good killing, but what I couldn't appreciate is being robbed of conducting that decisive blow myself. Standing up to my full height, I pulled back the folds of my robe, exposing my two unlit lightsabers, while staring at the creature before me. Huffing through my mask, I said, "I know your type! You are the type that kills without pause or reason. Wait, no. You're the type that kills because you feel the desire to display your superiority over those weaker than you. No, you're the type that kills out of blind prejudice because you are to ignorant to know better.

I unclasped both of my weapons, held them out in front of me, then with special care dropped them at the feet of this person of interest. "Or perhaps you're the type that has an inborn fetish to kill those that are unarmed," I said stealing a glance at my two hilts. "Those weapons, make me unarmed by definition, but trust me boy, I'm far from unarmed or defenseless."

Through the Force, I called both my weapons to my hands, igniting them before they touched my flesh. Staring at the person before me, I said, "Or perhaps you are the type of killer that wishes to learn to kill from someone that has perfected it?"



@Hkeek Nkulla Keeza

 

[Hkeek Nkulla Keeza]

Chills ran through Keeza's body. The way this man spoke about death crashed into his body like the hot wind of the desert. As he spoke, Keeza wondered why he did in fact kill. The most thought he had afforded it was that it was always followed with a feeling of euphoria such as he hadn't felt with anything else in his life. The feeling of flesh parting beneath his blade was as synonymous with ecstasy as he had experienced.

Keeza had been studying the strange casings the man had tossed to the ground. He'd never seen anything like them, but something about them emanated a feeling of sheer power and authority. He had made the conscious decision to bend down and grab them for himself when they shot from the ground and back into the hands of the stranger. The boy's stomach lurched in shock as he sensed the man's psychic will pull the devices back to him.

Now the man stood before him, and his purpose was clear. He held out no hand, but a bloody offering none-the-less. What he was offering was the hilt of a well worn dagger and the gloves stained a dark color against the tarnish of blood. He was offering experience.

Keeza didn't know what this man called the power which had allowed him to call the devices back to himself, but as he had felt it he knew it to be familiar. He knew as well that he needed to understand it better.

"Teach me," was all he said to the man. In that statement was his submission. Within the words was his desire. And while he stood upon his feet and looked into the eyes of the masked man, his stance wasn't of challenge, but of acceptance. Within Keeza, he recognized this man as a counterpoint to things he could be. And so the words teach me resonated between them.

A shout rose from off to the side. While the man and boy had stood over the body of Keeza's victim some people had ran, while others stood in shock around them. A sort of circle had formed around them, and through that mass of people soldiers started to appear. First just a couple, then a dozen. All of them carried blasters and leveled them at the two killers.

Keeza became aware of their surroundings. The blade in his hand could maybe guarantee him one kill before their blasters took him. The masked man, though, bled confidence. That confidence bolstered him and his nostrils flared at the smell of fear and nervous excitement rising around him. His mouth twisted into a hungry smile.

"Show me," he implored.

[member="Clovis Torcularis"]