Asemir
Null Prime
OOC:
Hurray, RP thread! If you want to join, please inquire in the OOC thread. There’s already quite a few takers, so please check there first.
Also, this will be a slow thread, so keep that in mind.
OOC thread:
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/30014-wishing-to-start-a-new-rp/
IC:
Six.
Six wasn’t so bad. It could certainly have been worse. It could have been seven. Or maybe ten. Or twelve. Once, if his memory served him correctly, he had been up against twenty. In a boardroom. But they had been suits. Granted, they were suits with guns, and a couple of heavily armed bodyguards. Then again, he had had a swordswoman and Jedi at his side, so the twenty really didn’t count as twenty. Maybe sixteen.
Of course, he had also been far younger then, so it was probably closer to thirteen than sixteen or twenty.
So, yes, six. Six easy-to-dispatch foes. If it came to that. Which he hoped it wouldn’t. He just wanted to collect his pay and get out. Deliver the target and let it be that. He didn’t want to think what might happen to his prey once he turned her in. But that wasn’t his concern.
Asemir Lor’kora continued to unconsciously track those six men as he focused his attention on the leader. The heavyset man was bald and flabby, chest protected beneath a thick layer of ballistic cloth. He also reeked of some pungent odor that spoke of some failing body system, a smell that made Asemir want to breathe through his mouth.
(Untai would have been able to identify the illness by smell, but Untai had been the squad’s Force-talented medical expert who could have fixed just about any wound no matter how gruesome and fatal. Untai was also dead, killed years ago on the ill-fated mission to end Sivter’s terrible reign.)
The leader, going by the name Absalom, stepped forward and smiled. He ran a hand through the stubble of his beard and pointed at the kneeling Togruta at Asemir’s feet. “So, the Ghost has delivered at last. Took you long enough.”
Asemir shrugged. He expression didn’t change, which didn’t matter much because his face was concealed behind his armor. His voice was modulated, just barely to conceal his identity. “You can have things done quickly or cheap,” he said, “but not both.” He toed the bounty gently. “It doesn’t matter. She’s here. Do you have payment?”
“Of course. Dosha the Hutt is a very reasonable benefactor and fulfills all terms of a contract.” Absalom reached into his jacket and withdrew a credit chit. He tossed it at Asemir, who plucked it deftly from the air. Absalom took a step back and crossed his arms. “However, Dosha the Hutt is displeased with how long it took you to capture the bounty. Normally, he would order your death, but because he is so reasonable, he is willing to forgive your tardiness if you return the payment.”
The Forgotten didn’t reply at first. He eyed his opposition again. Six. Seven if he included the fat Absalom. The farthest one was ten meters away. Asemir shook his head. “The contract never specified a timeframe, just ‘as soon as possible’.”
Absalom shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Unfortunately for you, the time you took was not ‘as soon as possible’ for Dosha. Like I said, Dosha the Hutt sticks to the letter of the contract.” He pointed at the Togruta. “Give us back the money, give us the girl, and you can go.”
Six, he decided.
Easy.
The farthest thug died when the three-round burst took him through the face. The second and third started to reach for their weapons, but they likewise perished when slugs tore into their throats. The fourth lay bisected while the fifth fell to the sixth’s blaster bolts, bolts that had been expertly redirected by Asemir’s flashing songblade. The sixth died after the Togruta tore out his throat.
Six.
Which left one remaining.
Asemir, songblade in one hand and carbine in the other, stepped through the mess and faced the quivering Absalom. Sweat beaded on his shiny pate, and heavy breathing made his body ripple under his armored vest. The man swallowed once as the Togruta prowled up behind him. She leaned in close, her whisper more like a purr. “Tell Dosha that he’s next. I’ll be coming for him.”
+++
“Thank you for that,” Mirae Rystar said as they stood in the spaceport, duffel bag hefted over one shoulder.
“My pleasure,” Asemir replied. He gave her a smile, a genuine smile but a sad smile. “When will you be going after Dosha?”
“Always probing, aren’t you?” The Togruta seemed to seriously contemplate that question. “Honestly, I’m not so sure. It might be a while. I’ll let him worry for a while. Get him worked up and jumping at shadows.”
“That’ll also give him time to prepare, you know,” the Forgotten commented. The take-off of a departing transport momentarily nabbed his attention.
“I know.” This time it was Mirae's turn to grin, a grin that revealed a maw of sharp teeth but it was reassuring nonetheless. “I’ll be fine, Asemir. You don’t need to say it. I know I’m not ready, and I need more training, but there are things that I need to take care of first. Don’t worry. I won’t be striking blindly this time.”
He didn’t say anything immediately, just a nod. He didn’t trust his voice. But after a moment, “Keep in touch Mir. You know how to contact me. Tell me when you’re ready and we’ll continue your training. Tell me when you’re going after Dosha and we’ll take him together.”
“I will,” she reassured him. The loudspeaker began to call for final boarding of her shuttle. The Togruta started to go, but turned back. With only a second of hesitation, she gave him a hug, which he returned fiercely.
And then she was gone.
Her warmth lingered with him.
+++
He watched her go, watched as her lithe form disappeared into the crowd. He continued to watch as her shuttle blasted off the tarmac and became nothing more than another star in the star-filled sky. He sighed.
It filled him with the same emotions he had learned to dread yet cherish. It reminded him of another day of his life. A long time ago. A day of contemplation, candles, a dark room. A mourning room. Two names to add to the one already on that small remembrance token. Untai. Lycis. Carved next to Nycha. All taken by the hands of Fate. Taken to return to whence they came.
And then Shyd. Not taken because of death, but taken because he had given her up. Shyd who had replaced Nycha in his heart, who had saved him from himself and shown him his place in the galaxy. Gone because he knew she could not follow where he was going.
Someone bumped into him, breaking the reverie. He uttered a brief apology, which Asemir returned before turning away from the landing bay. It wouldn’t do to lose himself in such contemplate. Remorse was for others, for those not trained in the Way of the Spirit. He could not let himself be imprisoned by such regret.
Mirae would contact him, as she always did. She would be safe and careful. Her wild days were surely over. He would see her again.
He turned away from the landing bay and threaded his way through the crowd. He became more aware of the dryness of his throat and altered his path towards a waiting vendor. He paid for a cool drink, courtesy of Dosha the Hutt, and slumped onto an unoccupied stool.
Asemir Lor’kora pulled out a datapad and started to scroll through his list of contracts. There was work to do. There was always work to do.
Hurray, RP thread! If you want to join, please inquire in the OOC thread. There’s already quite a few takers, so please check there first.
Also, this will be a slow thread, so keep that in mind.
OOC thread:
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/30014-wishing-to-start-a-new-rp/
IC:
Six.
Six wasn’t so bad. It could certainly have been worse. It could have been seven. Or maybe ten. Or twelve. Once, if his memory served him correctly, he had been up against twenty. In a boardroom. But they had been suits. Granted, they were suits with guns, and a couple of heavily armed bodyguards. Then again, he had had a swordswoman and Jedi at his side, so the twenty really didn’t count as twenty. Maybe sixteen.
Of course, he had also been far younger then, so it was probably closer to thirteen than sixteen or twenty.
So, yes, six. Six easy-to-dispatch foes. If it came to that. Which he hoped it wouldn’t. He just wanted to collect his pay and get out. Deliver the target and let it be that. He didn’t want to think what might happen to his prey once he turned her in. But that wasn’t his concern.
Asemir Lor’kora continued to unconsciously track those six men as he focused his attention on the leader. The heavyset man was bald and flabby, chest protected beneath a thick layer of ballistic cloth. He also reeked of some pungent odor that spoke of some failing body system, a smell that made Asemir want to breathe through his mouth.
(Untai would have been able to identify the illness by smell, but Untai had been the squad’s Force-talented medical expert who could have fixed just about any wound no matter how gruesome and fatal. Untai was also dead, killed years ago on the ill-fated mission to end Sivter’s terrible reign.)
The leader, going by the name Absalom, stepped forward and smiled. He ran a hand through the stubble of his beard and pointed at the kneeling Togruta at Asemir’s feet. “So, the Ghost has delivered at last. Took you long enough.”
Asemir shrugged. He expression didn’t change, which didn’t matter much because his face was concealed behind his armor. His voice was modulated, just barely to conceal his identity. “You can have things done quickly or cheap,” he said, “but not both.” He toed the bounty gently. “It doesn’t matter. She’s here. Do you have payment?”
“Of course. Dosha the Hutt is a very reasonable benefactor and fulfills all terms of a contract.” Absalom reached into his jacket and withdrew a credit chit. He tossed it at Asemir, who plucked it deftly from the air. Absalom took a step back and crossed his arms. “However, Dosha the Hutt is displeased with how long it took you to capture the bounty. Normally, he would order your death, but because he is so reasonable, he is willing to forgive your tardiness if you return the payment.”
The Forgotten didn’t reply at first. He eyed his opposition again. Six. Seven if he included the fat Absalom. The farthest one was ten meters away. Asemir shook his head. “The contract never specified a timeframe, just ‘as soon as possible’.”
Absalom shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Unfortunately for you, the time you took was not ‘as soon as possible’ for Dosha. Like I said, Dosha the Hutt sticks to the letter of the contract.” He pointed at the Togruta. “Give us back the money, give us the girl, and you can go.”
Six, he decided.
Easy.
The farthest thug died when the three-round burst took him through the face. The second and third started to reach for their weapons, but they likewise perished when slugs tore into their throats. The fourth lay bisected while the fifth fell to the sixth’s blaster bolts, bolts that had been expertly redirected by Asemir’s flashing songblade. The sixth died after the Togruta tore out his throat.
Six.
Which left one remaining.
Asemir, songblade in one hand and carbine in the other, stepped through the mess and faced the quivering Absalom. Sweat beaded on his shiny pate, and heavy breathing made his body ripple under his armored vest. The man swallowed once as the Togruta prowled up behind him. She leaned in close, her whisper more like a purr. “Tell Dosha that he’s next. I’ll be coming for him.”
+++
“Thank you for that,” Mirae Rystar said as they stood in the spaceport, duffel bag hefted over one shoulder.
“My pleasure,” Asemir replied. He gave her a smile, a genuine smile but a sad smile. “When will you be going after Dosha?”
“Always probing, aren’t you?” The Togruta seemed to seriously contemplate that question. “Honestly, I’m not so sure. It might be a while. I’ll let him worry for a while. Get him worked up and jumping at shadows.”
“That’ll also give him time to prepare, you know,” the Forgotten commented. The take-off of a departing transport momentarily nabbed his attention.
“I know.” This time it was Mirae's turn to grin, a grin that revealed a maw of sharp teeth but it was reassuring nonetheless. “I’ll be fine, Asemir. You don’t need to say it. I know I’m not ready, and I need more training, but there are things that I need to take care of first. Don’t worry. I won’t be striking blindly this time.”
He didn’t say anything immediately, just a nod. He didn’t trust his voice. But after a moment, “Keep in touch Mir. You know how to contact me. Tell me when you’re ready and we’ll continue your training. Tell me when you’re going after Dosha and we’ll take him together.”
“I will,” she reassured him. The loudspeaker began to call for final boarding of her shuttle. The Togruta started to go, but turned back. With only a second of hesitation, she gave him a hug, which he returned fiercely.
And then she was gone.
Her warmth lingered with him.
+++
He watched her go, watched as her lithe form disappeared into the crowd. He continued to watch as her shuttle blasted off the tarmac and became nothing more than another star in the star-filled sky. He sighed.
It filled him with the same emotions he had learned to dread yet cherish. It reminded him of another day of his life. A long time ago. A day of contemplation, candles, a dark room. A mourning room. Two names to add to the one already on that small remembrance token. Untai. Lycis. Carved next to Nycha. All taken by the hands of Fate. Taken to return to whence they came.
And then Shyd. Not taken because of death, but taken because he had given her up. Shyd who had replaced Nycha in his heart, who had saved him from himself and shown him his place in the galaxy. Gone because he knew she could not follow where he was going.
Someone bumped into him, breaking the reverie. He uttered a brief apology, which Asemir returned before turning away from the landing bay. It wouldn’t do to lose himself in such contemplate. Remorse was for others, for those not trained in the Way of the Spirit. He could not let himself be imprisoned by such regret.
Mirae would contact him, as she always did. She would be safe and careful. Her wild days were surely over. He would see her again.
He turned away from the landing bay and threaded his way through the crowd. He became more aware of the dryness of his throat and altered his path towards a waiting vendor. He paid for a cool drink, courtesy of Dosha the Hutt, and slumped onto an unoccupied stool.
Asemir Lor’kora pulled out a datapad and started to scroll through his list of contracts. There was work to do. There was always work to do.