Ranger Archive
Thread: Campfire Stories: The Lives of Elite Hunters
Entering the town, the hunter paused and squinted his eyes in the sickly glow the phosphorescent streetlamps were exuding. He hadn’t been in town for a while now, and his head was pounding with all the clamor and brightness of the big city. He started making his way towards the cantina, hoping to grab a few refreshing drinks and ease his mind from the past month in the wilderness by seeing a local entertainer performance. On the way, he stopped off at the local bazaar, hoping to find a newer weapon to replace his old, worn one and sell of his sizeable stack of natural resources. While browsing the markets, he overheard a local farmer complaining about a rabid creature terrorizing the country side. From the description of the creature, it sounded big…and dangerous. He knew that hunters were dangerously low in supply and he might be the only one in the area who could handle such an animal. Still, he had finally made his way back to town and it would be a shame to have wasted it...on the other hand, the local merchant also mentioned the sizeable reward the local authorities were offering for this creatures head. The ranger weighed his options carefully before slinging his pack over his shoulder and heading towards the closest explorers terminal. He was sure his trusty weapon was good for one more fight, and there was always time for music and dancing later. It was time to hunt.
The terminal was overcrowded with contracts, most of them for small prey and petty pay. And then, there it was. He saw that indeed, it was a payoff worthy of such a hunt. But where to begin? The terminal gave no specific location…only the description of the creature he was supposed to kill. However, the terminal also listed the location of a retired local hunter. Deciding that more information was needed, the Ranger quickly moved out to find this hunter. Perhaps he knew something a little more concrete. The hunter quickly found the old man and asked if he had heard anything about this creature. “The old man looked up and smiled. “Another young buck looking for a trophy. Sure, I’ll show you on your map where you might find him, though you might he might not be so happy to see you…nor you him.” The hunter smiled wanly at the old man and left. There was no time to lose.
The creature was quite far from town, and was always on the move. The Hunter decided to ride out to the location upon his trusty Cu’pa. He rode throughout the night, and upon reaching the area the old man had told him about, he dismounted. The moonlight was muted through the cloud cover, and an eerie pall hung over the entire valley. The creature was nowhere to be seen, even in a clearing this large. He stopped and listened for the sound of a call, but all was quiet. Even the insects were quiet. Strange. He knew that this creature he was looking for had been here, but how long ago he couldn't tell. He had to find more information before he could resume his hunt.
There, a hundred meters out! A fleeting shadow amongst the treesducked in and out of view. The Ranger felt his blood go cold, as it always did before combat. He slipped quietly back into the wood line, out of view. Perhaps it was nothing more than another hunter attempting to bring down this large critter. However, with a creature this large, he wasn’t willing to take any chances. Lucky, he hadn’t been in town long enough to change out of his tattered ghillie suit. He rummaged through his backpack, looking for the materials he would need to conceal himself from view. As he put camouflage on himself, he knew that luck had favored him this day, for being undetectable during the crucial first seconds of combat could mean the difference between life and death. Whether it was the dangerous animal or simply another hunter who wanted to make trouble for him, the hunter would be ready.
The Ranger made his way through the forest, stopping only to watch the shadowy figure he saw ahead. Crawling through the underbrush, he was undetectable. His skin tingled as he approached. He moved slowly forward, one hand reaching towards his weapon. He raised himself to one knee, preparing to engage the creature as soon as he saw it. Suddenly, the moonlight shown full through the cloud cover. There, dangling from a tree was the bloodied corpse of a small animal. Clearly, his prey was close-by. But where exactly? Using years of training, the hunter began to scan the area for any pertinent information. There were several sets of tracks, most of them from creatures large enough to be dangerous. But which way to go? He studied the broken twigs and trampled grass carefully. Ah…there! One set of tracks left the grass stained with blood and glistening in the moonlight. This was the creature he was after. But it appeared that the creature had a good head start on him. He had better get moving if he wanted to be the first to bring this creature down.
The hunter grabbed his gear and got moving. Leaving caution to the wind, he began moving quickly through the dense underbrush to the clearing ahead, Knowing his target was elusive and quick, he began to move at a sprint. He had to move quickly since this creature showed no remorse for killing and was headed towards a small town. He knew that peoples’ lives depended on his success, and he pushed his body as hard as it could. There was no time to lose.
Running through the wilderness, the Ranger had hardly realized that the weather had quickly made a turn for the worse. Rain was now falling heavily on his shoulders and he was soon soaked to the bone. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the storm clouds approaching from the West. He had seen this type of cloud before and he knew that there would be little hope of finding his creature in the maelstrom. These storms were dangerous, blowing debris about and often crippling the unfortunate adventurers who failed to find cover before the brunt of the storm had hit. The Ranger muttered under his breath. He had sold most of his materials to a merchant before he left and he would need some materials to create a campsite. He knew this area was rife with wildlife and he began to look for a few small creatures whose corpses would provide the materials necessary for a proper shelter. Looking back at the clouds he knew it was time to harvest as quickly as possible.
The Hunter knew that there was no time to set up an extravagant camp this time. He was working against the clock, and he didn’t need all the amenities of a field base. What he was seeking was shelter from the approaching storm. Working with his crafting tool, he began shaping and bending the bone and hide he had harvested. He soon realized that mere hide and bone would not protect him from a storm of this magnitude and he began fastening all the joints with a little steel that he had at the bottom of his pack. He reinforced the walls of the structure, to ensure that the weather could not get in. Finally, he set his collapsible cot inside the main tent. He was going to have to stay the night. Besides, he knew the creature, like him, would be seeking shelter. He would continue his hunt tomorrow.
A thundering sound shook the Hunter from his sleep. The sound of rainfall has made him woozy, and he had found himself unable to keep his eyes open. He listened carefully, and realized that the storm had stopped. Light shone through the tiny slit in the structures doorway. It was morning and the sun was shining. There it was again! The entire structure was shaking now! The Hunter soon realized that this wasn’t thunder, but likely the creature he had been seeking. He hadn’t covered his scent as he was making this structure, and the creature he had been dutifully tracking was now tracking HIM!!! He sprang out of bed and began preparing for battle. He put on what little armor he owned and took out his weapons. He laid them on the ground and inspected them. They all appeared to be in working order. Now he brought out a handful of small, hand-made devices. He filled the pockets of his bandoleer with these devices and took several more out of his pack. He slung his backpack over his back, grabbed his weapons and stepped into the sunlight. He was greeted by a creature the size of a Rancor, with teeth as long as his forearm. Knowing that every second in battle counted, he took out one of the small objects from his bandoleer and threw it. This small trap could mean the difference between life and death for the Hunter.
The Hunter saw the creatures movements slow to a slow crawl. Moving deftly over the landscape, he evaded the claws of the beast by a few steps. He heard the creature struggling to break free of its bonds behind him and he knew that this would not be an easy fight. The creatures’ skin appeared thick enough to resist most blaster fire, and the traps could only slow it down so much. The creature appeared to be incredibly strong and resilient, but he knew that creatures this size were often much tougher on the outside than on the inside. Knowing that he had precious little time to waste, the Hunter drew his bow as the creature began to charge. He aimed right for the heart and let the arrow fly. The creatures’ roar pierced the air as the arrow hit its mark. The Hunter almost smiled with satisfaction as he saw the blood begin to flow. He knew that the creature was hurt, and scared. Few hunters took the time to find the weak spot of a creature. This one fact set him apart, and he knew it would bring the beast down
As the creature stood, eyes darting around as if the creature was contemplating running, the Hunter took another trap and flung it towards the creature. The trap exploded over the creatures head, trapping him with a thin wire mesh that was glowing brightly, even in the sun. Seeing the creature outlined against the sky, he took aim again with his bow. Again the creature let out a scream of pain and anger as it was pierced by the arrow. The creatures’ beady eyes caught those of the Hunter, and he knew the beast was staying. The ground shook again as the creature closed in upon the Hunter. He knew to look out for the claws on this beast and he watched the hands closely. The beast swung wildly, and the Hunter quickly rolled away. He dropped his bow and drew his dagger, jabbing the blade into the belly of the beast as he moved. In a moment of excitement, the Hunter pounced in, preparing to make the final blow with the dagger, right into the creatures’ heart. The creature, however was not dead yet and as the Hunter felt his dagger pierce the flesh of the creature, he felt the creatures’ teeth pierce his armor and tear into his shoulder. The Hunter felt his arm instantly begin to tingle and he recognized that this creature was also extremely poisonous. He had dealt with various poisons over the years, and he knew that he was in no immediate danger as the creature collapsed at his feet.
The Hunter took inspected the creature and determined that the hide of this creature was too tough to use for any practical application and the meat was foul and soft. He drew his dagger again and removed the head of the creature. This would insure that he had proof of his kill; as well as provide a nice decoration for whomever he could sell it to. As he stored his weapons and began making preparations to leave, he realized that his arm was still throbbing. He knew his body would eventually fight off the poison, but that anything which slowed his movement could prove fatal. He moved a bit into the woods and began scouring the area for herbs or plants he knew would help his body fight off infections and clear his mind for the journey ahead.
Satisfied with his hunt, the Hunter decided it was high time he took a rest. He knew that the city would provide a few comforts, but he also knew there were likely just as many headaches waiting there: merchants demanding the hides of rare creatures and chefs needing large quantities of meat only found on creatures that were small and often with very little meat on them. He drew his fingers together and whistled across the plains. Soon, his trusty mount came into view over the hilltop and paused obediently for its’ master. He fed his animal some of the tasty herbs he had found and climbed aboard. The mount seemed appreciative for the meal and set off quickly over the hillside.
The Hunter rode his mount until the sun began to set over the land. Night was fast approaching and he was happy to see the silhouette of a small structure before him through the brush. He climbed off his mount, and walked through the woods on a path that was all but imperceptible. As he exited the trees, a tiny cabin was there to greet his eyes. It was small, and the wind gusted through it, but it was the closest the Hunter had to a home. Tying his mount out back, he entered the structure and started a small fire. The light reflected off the many trophies the Hunter had collected, over the old weapons he no longer used, and over the scattered objects collected from a lifetime of travel and adventure. This was home. The Hunter collapsed on the cot and considered adding this most recent head to the many on his walls. Ahh, but that was a question for tomorrow and the Hunter fell fast asleep for the first time in a moon.
The Hunter opened his eyes to the sounds of birds chirping outside. He went to the window and saw the sun rising over the horizon. Grabbing a saucer and some feed, he fed his mount and headed back indoors. Without a second thought, he grabbed his fishing rod and strode out his back door. 20 feet from his back door was the best fishing spot on this planet, and he had been to all of them. He cast his line and began to fish, an activity he had done since before he could remember. Each year he had gotten better and he was again looking to break his record this year.
The Hunter fished until the sun was almost directly overhead. The simplicity of the sport had always appealed to him and helped to clear his mind. He knew that while a new trophy would make him feel good, credits were a necessary evil in this day and age. He went back inside with the day’s catch (he would break his next time, he told himself) and grabbed the head of the animal and latched it on to his mounts’ saddle, coaxing it to move just a little faster so he could make town before nightfall.
Reaching town just before dusk, the hunter tied his steed at the front gate, picked up his trophy and meandered into the city hall. His face was full of cool exhilaration as he stared into the faces of the locals. They were all gaping at the gargantuan head stuffed under his arm. With admiration and relief the Mayor handed the reward to the Hunter and hefted the trophy over his head to show how his administration had triumphed over the beast. The mayor turned to the Hunter and offered the Hunter a feast in his honor, but the Hunter only smiled and politely bowed out. Looking up at the “hunters’ moon”, he made his way back towards the Cantina for the show and the drink that he had earned
My dad told me about him. He said his dad had told him the story when he was younger than you are now, so I've no idea how old the tale is, but if you can't sleep there, kid, lay down near the fire and listen.
Seems he'd turned up in Wayfar Station back in the old days, a marksman from the Alliance. Too much brandy and living in the wrong sort of cantina had robbed him of his looks and, from what I hear, most of his mind. Said he could see things moving in the air, could even make it happen. Well, so he said.
Anyway, folks round the Station humoured him, kept him topped up with enough hooch to stop him from getting feisty. He'd turn up some mornings though, that dull look gone, a kind of sparkle in watery blue eyes and a bantha loaded down with hides and meat. Yeah, folk were glad to see him bring that in, I can tell you. My old dad gave me this belt, said it was made from the hide of a big dragon the old soak had taken down. If you can believe that!
From time to time there'd be strangers come into town looking for Old Reb. Odd people, not given to telling us much about what they were doing, but then again, when you live in the shadow of the old Bomar monastery, you learn not to ask too many questions. You do learn to keep your eyes and ears open tho. My old dad said these folk were part of some cult, refugees from the prison planet Dathomir. They never seemed to bring good news either. Probably rebels trying to stir up dissatisfaction. It's always us simple folk end up paying the price for their damned wars.
Hehe, yeah, sorry, I was forgetting. Never know whose listening, eh? Even out here.
Am Probably being unfair on them, with them being outlanders and all. But trouble did always seem to be close on their heels. Folks in the Station still remember how, oh years back, before I was old enough to kick a nerf into a milking stall, they all arrived in town. Maybe a round dozen of them. Scared everyone witless with talk of Tusken raiding parties, warbands! I mean, Tusken? Round these parts?
Well, something drew them down on us, cos there was a terrible battle. Tusken snipers opened up on the town in the night, their raiding parties charged in mounted on those foul bantha. No, no, I didn't see any of the fighting. Hah, our mum had shoved all the kids in the old water store under the house. Was dry, as ever. All we heard was the Tusken screeching and yellig outside. This odd hummng noise and the terrible smell of burning.
No, the townsfolk were alright. Somehow the strangers fought the Tusken back. I remember the funeral pyre the next day though. And their bones hung out like so many bird scarers round the edges of town.
Old Reb? Well, he went off with them for a while. Seems he was gone a clear year or more. When he came back he started trying to teach some of the younger folk in the Station how to shoot. Not just for hunting, but real sharpshooting. Taught my dad how to track, and kid, I don't mean just to track animals. Some say he could track a bird in flight or a man on a speeder as far away as, well, as far as needs be.
Don't know what happened to Old Reb while he'd been gone, but he seemed taller to us kids. Stronger. Even more 'private' in his business if that's possible. He still went out and hunted sometimes, taking small groups with him for a day or two. Always seemd to have good luck on his hunt parties. The things we found! Dragons scales. Crystals that glowed and hummed as if they were alive. All manner of stuff.
Course, in time he drew more trouble down on us. I don't know why and it's not for us to question, but the Imperial troopers came looking for him one day. Strange thing was, everyone said they'd never seen him, and, whats more odd, I think we truly believed he'd never been there.
Then the Sith came. Well, you're old enough to remember that yourself. Terrible times. So many families lost somebody. And Old Reb never did come back to help, did he?
They found his walking cane and an old robe in the desert one morning. Out by the stone circle. There'd been one terrible storm there the night before. Eery blue lightning. Stone were scorched and cracked as if they'd been hit by lightning bolts. My dad took me out to see. You ever been up there yourself? Weird place, isn't it?
Sometimes I get the feeling that I can see things moving out there. Rocks, sort of twitching? Odd lights. Blue, fuzzy... Never did find out what happened to Old Reb. Reckon the lightning got him. Sad, really.
Folks in town tell their kids that he's still around, watching over them. Keeping the folks from the Station safe when they go out on a hunt.
Yeah, it was a good hunt today, wasn't it? Always seem to just 'find' critters when I wear this old robe. Heh, keeps me warm out here on the sand too.
You rest easy, kid. Maybe Old Reb's still watching over us after all. Oh, you're asleep? Good, good. You sleep well, am just gonna go see what's making that light over yonder. The pale blue glimmer...
)Message Edited by Owen-Lars on 09-24-2004 09:51 PM
At the bottom of the steep rock face, the old, dishevelled ranger stood casually looking at the man in front of him.
Fine armour; polished with the Bounty Hunter’s insignia emblazoned proudly on the right bracer. Expensive looking helm; communications mouthpiece, satellite navigation systems and multi-spectrum targeting wired up all round it.
Over his back, a sniper rifle slung casually from the Bounty Hunter’s shoulder, notches slashed into the grip numbered more than the old man could count at a glance. In his hands, without doubt the largest pair of pistols this ranger had ever seen. Both were clearly modified, with a scope atop each one and enlarged barrels for some insidious ammunition that didn’t bear too much thinking about.
And on the Bounty Hunter’s face, a wide, and not especially pleasant, grin.
“You took some findin’ old man.” The Hunter let his gaze slip briefly over and past the ranger’s shoulder and up to the sheer cliffs behind him. “Looks like this hunt is over now.”
The old man chewed impassively on some long gone tasteless tobacco, spitting a mouthful of browned saliva to the floor casually.
“Reckon so,” he replied, motioning softly towards the Bounty Hunter. “Fine load a weaponry yer packin’ there eh. Goin’ after an army or something huh.”
A vague smile was exchanged before the hunter put one of his pistols back in his holster and pushed back the visor on his helmet slowly.
“Just one old man this time. One old man who was a right royal pain in the butt to find.”
The ranger slowed his chewing down to the imperceptible and pushed his tongue under his top lip a moment before the hunter continued talking.
“You see old man, for all your antique ways, you just can’t beat a bit of technology. Shame you had to spend so much time running ‘cos it really just slowed down the inevitable. You’ve been caught by satellite for three days now, and if you had some cranky idea that moving at night, or staying close to packs of animals was going to make a difference, you were clearly, sadly wrong.”
The ranger nodded slowly and spat out the remainder of his tobacco to the floor. “Looks that way don’ it.”
The hunter brushed some sand from his flushed face and levelled the pistol towards his prey.
“On behalf of the Bounty Hunter’s League, I am hereby sanctioned to inform you of your authorised termination. You are also hereby given two minutes to make any necessary notification to your next of kin and to arrange your body to be collected.” The hunter’s face eased off slightly. “Make your last call old man.”
The ranger pulled absently at his gloves, tightening them onto his hand before burping slightly and tilting his head towards the probot to his left. Turning back to the hunter he put one finger to his lips.
“Can yer hear that, hunter?”
A pause and the ranger stood impassive.
“Can yer hear the ground shaking jus’ a touch?”
The Bounty Hunter narrowed his eyes a little and ever so slightly, let the edges of his gaze glance gather in the terrain around him.
“What is that? Duststorm?”
The ranger smacked his lips and counted the seconds tick by in his head.
“Yer see my man, I ain’t been runnin’ from yer. I’ve spent three days on foot leadin’ yer sorry ass here. An old man in this old place. The very place where they say old Krayts come ter die.”
The Bounty Hunter’s hand dropped a little as he felt the trembling in the ground begin to get stronger. As his view took in a ridge behind him, the unmistakeable horns of a fearsome dragon rose into view; blurred and distorted in the midday sun. The Bounty Hunter turned back to the old ranger, face flushed with heat and fear.
“Nice ter know I could rely on yer fancy equipment ter get yer here – course, yer could kill me, but don’t reckon yer got much time before that Krayt gets it’s teeth in ter you. Then we’ll see how good that fancy armour is.”
The hunter, clearly stunned, lowered his pistol completely, in turmoil as to what he should do.
“Then we both die here old man? Or you know a way to outrun this thing?”
The awesome Krayt was less than a hundred metres away, closing in with fearsome step after step on the hunter’s scent.
“Outrun a Krayt? Heck no my man.”
In his head the ranger counted the seconds, and the two minutes had just gone.
“But I sure as anythin’ can outrun you.”
With that, the old man turned to the sheer cliff behind him and launched himself up with a speed that not many a man could keep up with.
And at the bottom of the steep rock face, the fine, proud Bounty Hunter stood shocked looking at the man in front of him, disappearing into the land ahead and all he could hear was the sound of the Krayt Dragon only a breath behind him.
And on a satellite, far up in the sky, there was suddenly only one human life form left in the old Krayt Graveyard.
Message Edited by Cambylobacter on 10-15-2004 05:03 AM
Message Edited by Phenix1050 on 10-15-2004 01:38 PM
Yourself and your brothers riding in, fleshing and skinning the carcasses before the flyers got to them. I'd lay up in the hide, watching you all work, remembering when I was learning the trade and had to rush in, work fast and get out before the bulls got scent of you and charged.
Oh, that mad run back to safety, eh? Leaping over rocks and gulleys, shimmying up the 'scarps as if you had wings in your heels. Hah! True, true, several tonnes of armoured temper right behind you does kind of focus the mind.
Good days they were son, great days. I know I never told you or your brothers, but, well, they're gone now I guess and, yeah, no point in getting us upset. Eh?
What I miss most. No, not the nights we'd all spend, camped up there in the highlands, taking turns on watch in case the locals got wind of our presence and decided to run us off. Or worse. The chat round the fires, seeing you lads beaming with excitement at the memory of the day, aye, that was always worth more than all the credits in Theed.
But no, what I miss most son, it's the smell of fresh clawed earth. The way it used to come in on the morning breeze as the bantha herds began grazing for forage. That musty, damp smell of the nights dew burning off in the dawn suns. I'd lay in there, behind your mother, my back to the wall, sniffing the breeze coming through the ventilators and know there would be one more good days hunt.
She'd stir, we'd day our good morrows, and the day would begin full of hope.
It's not been the same since, well, since we had to move up here to C-net. Aye, I know, we couldn't keep the old place going, just the two of us and with your mother gone I couldn't look after all you lads. Not properly. I only wish I'd tried harder to get you all to go live at your aunts... perhaps then you'd not have been there when the recruiting sergeants came looking for 'a few good men, steady with a rifle and not afraid to fight for their freedom'.
Aye, aye, I know, the Alliance was a noble cause. They're all noble causes. Och, never mind me, am just a silly owd fool. I'll be fine, I'll be fine bye and bye. Just let me sit by the window a little while, pretend I can still smell pantha poodu.
Those were the last words I ever heard from the old Ranger. That evening in the apartment in C-net. Shuttles roaring past outside, the smell of their turbines heavy in the damp air.
My wife and I found him the next morning, head tilted to the one side, his eyes fixed somewhere miles away. In his hands he held some datadiscs, letters from the commander of the Alliance unit we had all served in. Letters that wore my poor mother down, bit by bit, as they arrived.
We burned her remains on a pyre above the old farm on Tatooine, returning her to the planet as ash, the better to bring new life forth. Father promised her he'd come back to her one day and, today we we will spread his ashes on that same hillside, among the sweetgrass that grows there now.
I suppose it's the sweetgrass that's drawn them in, but the local farmers say they've never seen so may bantha in the valley on so many years.
There is a smell of moist, fresh earth from their foraging as I step forward to light the pyre.
There'll be good hunting Father. Travel well.
Possibly more drinking than resting or eating had gone on but, as the suns finally slipped below the horizons and a scirroco wind lifted off the dunes, the story telling started.
It'd long since become tradition for rangers to sit, their boots toasting at the fire, and tell tales of the one that got away, how the one I'd caught was far bigger than that one you caught, and to generally out-brag and out-lie each other, all in fun, of course, but it was game played with deadly intensity.
Old Mac'ol had kicked off with a story of his younger days as a Sector Ranger, when he'd, alledgedly, single handedly wrestled a rancor to the ground, ripped it's teeth out with his bare hands and then used one of the beasts own fangs to slit its throat open. Why he'd not just used the heavy armour peircing rifle he'd carried since he was in Imperial service nobody cared to ask. It was, after all, the tale that was the thing.
The twi'lek, Hyo'bre, told a terrible tale of slavery at the hands of the Hutt clan whose depravity is best left to the imagination. Tho' it's to be said, if you can imagine those levels of debauchery then perhaps you need to consult with a doctor... Her final escape and flight across the desert was the stuff of legends. And yet curiosly, none but these three seemed to have heard the tale before.
It was now the turn of Mac Lightingflyer, or Three Fingers as he was known to his friends. He had slightly fewer friends than fingers people would whisper behind his back though never, ever to his face.
"It was a night like this, at an oasis like this, that three friends sat telling tales to while away the hours till sleep took them that it happened"
The wind dropped to a respectful hush, as if unseen ears were trying to listen more carefully.
"The three rangers had been fishing and trapping all day. Drink, good company and a full belly had made them drowsy and ready to sleep. They sat telling tales, each in turn looking to outboast the other or to make light of a friends shortcomings. But it was good fellowship and all was in jest.
The desert moon slid quietly from her hiding place behind the dunes and cast a weak greenish white light over the rocks and endless sands. Shadows crept from the darkest places and, in adobe houses all across the planet mothers comforted fretful children saying "Hush ye, hush ye, bonny pet ye, the masked sandmen shall not get ye..."
Travellers had told terrible tales of bands of monsters out in the desert nights. Gaunt, frightful things, wrapped in cloth strips ripped from the corpses of their victims. Fiends that stalked the dune seas and raided defenceless farms killing the lucky ones and carrying off the others to use as slaves until they were of no further use. No further use but as food".
A low sussurating whisper came from the dunes and the three rangers jumped in fright. "Sand slip!!" They laughed and settled back into their bedrolls, the two attent, the one enjoying his moment.
"They do say that these fiends are nought but Tusken, raiders from the north who hide by day and come out at night to seek the weakest preys. But there are others who would have it that they are the long dead spirits of the first Tusken Raiders. Cursed to hunt, hunt, hunt until the suns rise no more by the priestesses of the Bantha' cults after they shamelessly defiled the last of their temples.."
"Aye, aye, Three Fingers, a good tale. It's been a good tale every time you've told it these past, what, thirteen years?" laughed Ma'col. "It'll still not keep us from sleep, eh?"
Three Fingers laughed under his breath and nodded agreement to his friend. "True enough, true enough. Still, makes you wonder. There must have been some truth to it once?"
"Maybes aye, maybes no. Night all"
With much grunting and shuffling down into their bedrolls the rangers settled down for the night, the campfire throwing dancing shadows out to the edges of the camp and through the laser fence that'd deter any passing beasts.
Cold moonlight crept across the stones arranged in a circle on the headland above the pass. The shadows seemed darker there, more solid yet shifting as if they had little form. From a distance it looked like figures sliding out from hiding places below the rocks.
Tall, gaunt figures, their features hidden below strips of cloth wrapped around their heads and arms. Each carried a long, thin barreled rifle and had a staff which seemed to be fashioned from old machine parts.
Standing in a circle the figures waited while their leader sniffed at the air, peered into the darkness and then with uncanny stealth and speed slid as effortlessly as shadows down the pass and out onto the dune sea.
The only sound as they approached the camp was a low sussuration, like sand sliding down the face of a dune...
DAY 4...
Journal entry.
It's day four here on Endor and this contract has been slow going. Seems like
these bugs know I'm here and have gone into hiding or something. Funny...I never
would've imagined spiders would taste so good. Whatever though, it's a living.
There's something that bothers me deeply about this trip. It hasn't rained since I've
been out here. As a matter of fact it hasn't rained the past few times I've visited this
planet. I'd say we were about due for a heavy downpoor soon. We'll see I guess.
That small band of Ewoks is still following me. Don't know why either. Curiosity
maybe, but who knows. They have actually been quite entertaining at times,
sneaking up to the edge of camp and just stopping to see what was going on.
I pretend not to notice, but they aren't exactly the best at hiding themselves. Every
now and then, it seems they've taken a liking to my droid. Too bad for them, I'm
not ready to give this little R3 unit up.
Those Ewoks are the least of my problems however. There's someone else on my
tail. People know him only by his first name but even that is enough to send a chill
down your spine. That is, if you know his reputation. Mallik. A name not even I
could forget. How could I? I was the one that showed him the ropes before he took
off galavanting around doing the empire's dirty deeds.
I remember when I first ran into him. He was just a young lad. No home, no
parents, no family or friends at all for that matter. Mallik was tough though. Lived off
the streets of Eisley which wasn't exactly easy, especially for someone as young as
he was. I had just finished delivering Quenker meat to this doc friend of mine.
I'd say it was about midday. The sun was high in the sky and hot. Yeah it was
definitely hot. My doc friend patched me up and thanked me. I went on my way.
Well, at the foot of the door to the medcenter lay Mallik, a young human boy. He
was all beat up and almost on his last breath. Now normally I don't help folk,
other than myself and those that hire me that is, but something compelled me to
help this little fella. So I picked him up carefully and lay him on a bed.
While my doc friend took care of him I stepped outside to try and find out what
had happened. To my amazement I see 4 Imperial recruits bloodied and
unconscious in the middle of the alleyway. Unfortunately for me I chose to assess
their injuries just as a squad of bucketheads came down the opposite side of the
alley. Now I know I didn't do anything wrong but the Stormtroopers had a different
opinion. As fast as I could I ran back into the medcenter, grabbed my doc buddy,
grabbed the kid, stuffed my pack with as many meds as I could grab with one hand,
left the medcenter, and hopped on my Kaadu. Unfortunately my doc buddy was shot
in the back as we made our escape. I never stopped to check if he was still alive
but I doubt he made it.
Mallik and I headed to the safest place I knew of. The graveyard. No one in their
right mind would risk going there. It wasn't an easy trip. I can't even begin to tell
you how many squads of Stormtroopers we had to avoid in the desert. Not only
that, but the mountain squill seemed to crave fresh Kaadu. Strange though. Now
that I think about it I didn't see many Tuskens or Jawas. Once we reached the
graveyard I decided it would be best to keep heading north. I knew of a little oasis
where I could refill my canteen. I walked it because my Kaadu was getting tired
too quickly from carrying Mallik's limp body and my weight.
As soon as we arrived at the oasis I set up camp, and tended to Mallik's wounds.
He was in bad shape, and I mean bad shape. Surprisingly resiliant for such a
youngster though. While patching him up I noticed something. He had a mark on
his right shoulderblade, a tattoo of sorts. The same tattoo that I've hidden from the
Empire for many years after they murdered my parents. Mallik was the son of a
Jedi like I was. Perhaps his parent or parents suffered the same fate as mine I
don't know. I never asked him.
Through the years I taught him about living a nomadic life outside of cities.
Showing him how to live off of the land and animals around him. He was a quick
learner. Teaching him how to fire a blaster rifle however, was a different story.
Just like how I wasn't so good at using my fists when he tried to teach me.
Those were the good times I had with Mallik.
Over the years anger and hatred had built up inside of Mallik. Maybe he didn't
like being an orphan. Maybe he didn't like the lifestyle we were living. I don't know.
One thing was for sure. He was good at hiding his feelings from me. I realize now
it's because he was much stronger in the force than I. Which was fine by me. I
chose not to follow the path my father had. The path of a Jedi. I knew what the
dangers were. Mallik wasn't like me though. He didn't realize he posessed such
powers, and I didn't feel it was my place to tell him. As it turns out I wasn't the one
who told him.
Six years after that hectic day in Eisley, and a few short months before Mallik's
training as a ranger would be complete, we were hired to gather Rancor meat
on Dathomir. I felt this would be a great opportunity for Mallik to show me what
he has learned. He did fairly well, I must admit. It was I that made the mistake.
I was so concerned for his safety that I failed to notice the force witches approaching
from the south. By the time they swept through the area on their rancors it was
already too late. I couldn't help Mallik. There were far too many of them for me to
take on by myself. I hid, and when the coast was clear I searched the area like
I've never searched the area before. The tracks led into the mountains. Into the
mountains I went.
Those witches didn't kill Mallik. They tortured him like I've never seen any being
tortured before. While doing so, and to the witches delight, I sensed the anger
building stronger within him. I felt so helpless because I couldn't help him. The
closest I could get to the force witch camp was not close enough. Mallik knew I
was there. Every now and then between torture sessions he would look up at me
hiding in the mountains. He couldn't see me because I was too far away, but he
knew I was there.
Weeks went by. I didn't move. I just stayed in my spot on the mountain side and
watched those blasted witches torture that boy from dawn until dusk. His cries
echoing off of the mountains waking everything that was sleeping. After awhile
the cries stopped. He had been broken and was now theirs to use how they
pleased. I thought they were going to kill that boy by making him fight their rancors.
But instead they groomed a fearless warrior who's anger and hatred became
raw power that was unleashed on his enemies in combat. After each rancor
that fell, he gazed in my direction as if to say...why have you let them do this to me..
The anger that I felt within him became more focused towards one individual.
Me.
I eventually left that spot on the mountain side. Rumor has it the Empire raided
that camp and Mallik.... well he turned on his captors and aided those Imps. He
eventually agreed to help Vader in hunting down what force sensitive beings there
still were in the universe. That is once he finishes with me.
So like I said, there's no way I'd ever forget that name. As I close out this journal
entry I'll say this. To this day I'm glad I didn't get to teach Mallik EVERYTHING. I
live off the land because I not only have to, but it is the only safe place for me now.
I am a ranger and my story is still being written every day of my life.
End...
(Uudoo closes a small book quietly)
"Well R3...We have a squad of Stormtroopers to our West and Southwest, Mallik
still a day behind us to the South, and we still have a lot more bugs to kill."
"Let's get a move on it."
From even a few yards away it would have been difficult to spot the hide. Low in the grass, built over a natural dip in the ground, the ghillie suit and scrim net had been interwoven with local grasses to break up their outline. Looking for all the world like another rats nest, the hide had been home to k'alum and his observer te'lia for the past week. The rats that scavenged round the edge of the hide looking for food scraps or worse added an air of authenticity to the disguise.
He dipped his face down onto the dirt beneath him, slowed his breathing and listened. First close, then far. The regular sound of his own breathing was matched by that of his sister, the only other twi'lek k'alum would have trusted to work with him like this. Outside the nest he could ear the rats scurry and then much further out he detected the sounds of the Rorgungan camp stirring.
The unmistakable sounds of soldiers waking in early dawn. Coughing, hawking, passing wind and laughing among themselves, safe in the knowledge that their patrol droids would alert them to any danger. Metal clanged against metal as ration packs were heated and served out. The warm smell of freshly reconstituted meat stew travelled far on the wind.
The rumbling of their stomachs startled both twi'lek into full alertness. "Drink, now" he gestured with his lekku. They both sipped carefully at their own liquid rations, warm from their body heat, alive with bacteria and tasting like nectar as the protein soup trickled into their guts.
A gentle tap on his shoulder alerted him to the presence of a larger figure in the Rorgungan camp. Their target had risen and was walking amongst his men, slapping their backs and laughing loudly, his dark eyes skittering about watching the horizon for any signs of danger. The lack of chatter from the patrol droids had disturbed him, though they were reporting in regularly and didn't seem to have come across anything. The small comms pack in the twi'leks lair made sure that the droids kept on their patrol routes, made sure they only found what the twi'lek wanted them to.
A small glowing green dot to the edge of his vision flashed twice to signify an incoming message. k'alum slipped the mini-HUD into the retaining band on his headress, touched a finger to the pad in his palm twice to indicate he was able to take the message. The green dot blinked out and was replaced by a red dot. The go signal was about to come in. A gentle kick withthe side of his foot alerted his sister who slipped forward a few inches, raised the disruptor rifle on its stand and looked intently through the scope.
"Three, unarmed. East and west of the main tent. One, sentry, armed, south. Facing away. He's... " she laughed quietly "he's getting rid of last nights beers, uch the smell.... Target is centre of camp, seated. Reading a map?"
"kay kay" her brother hissed. His own rifle, a long barrelled, heavily modified blaster was already trained on the forehead of the target. The Rorgungan officer drank his tea, consulted his maps, listened to the chatter of his own comms, totally unaware that barely 90m away two assassins lay in deep cover. Waiting.
The steady red dot blinked twice, steadied, twice, steadied then burned bright green. "Go"
Two clicks, pause, two clicks. The green dot blinked out. "We're on our own now..."
"As always"
A flick of a button on the HUD changed the display to show the nearby hostiles as red dots surrounded with a red circle. Aggressive and deadly. Perfect. Two waymarks glowed, the first showing the camp, the second showing their exit route. There would be no time to think once the target was down, just run and hope the waymarks held up.
In the camp the Rorgungan stood, folded his map, dropped it on the field table and stretched. His great fat green face filled the scope as k'alum gently squeezed the trigger, stopping just halfway to the point of full travel. The officers head tipped forward, his eyes swivelled towards the lair, directly towards the muzzle of his assassins rifle.
There was a flash of light, a barking sound as the highly charged bolt of energy leapt towards its target.
With barely a pause to check that the officer was falling, his head split by the release of energy against unprotected flesh, both twi'lek flicked to full automatic and spreyed the camp with a hail of suppression fire. The patrol droids erupted in balls of flame and shards of metal as the demolition charges blew them into the camp.
Not one shot in retaliation. Smoke and flames burst from tents and bodies as the twi'lek raised themselves to their knees, still firing, and then fled back from their nest, back from the rats, back from the bloody mayhem they'd unleashed. Long legs carried them effortlessly towards the treeline, heavy weapons were slung over shoulders, small spraysticks were readied for any unfortunate encounters and, withthe press off a thumbswitch, a small minefield extending from inside their lair and out for 20m in all directions went live.
"That'll keep them busy, heh?"
Sprinting up the near sheer escarpment the two Antarian Rangers seemed gifted with unnatural speed and elegance as they leapt into the waiting shuttle.
"Good hunting, k'alim?"
"Aye sir, as ever..."
"Grand!! You have both served the Alliance well, this will be long remembered, you will be rewarded a hundred times when the war is over...."
"To be honest sir, I'd settle for some real food, a bath, and a chance to get out of these combats for a day or two" grinned k'alim
The rodian officer turned, smiling to himself, "I've never understood the twi'lek. Marvellous hunters, expert marksmen, and yet you're happiest when you are dancing??"
From out of the breast pocket of her ghillie suit t'elia was already unfolding a pair of hotpants "Somebody mentioned a dance??"