Smashing Pumpkins

[Noviac Caligo]

There had been rumors about Ruusan for awhile now - nothing more than ghost stories, maybe overheard whispers being shot between a couple of port workers, in between shifts or on breaks; hell, it may have even spread a bit further, lingering fingers prying their way into more civilized conversation. Rumors, gossip - that sort of thing, all circling around a small, unassuming village known as Arkhan. Where the deep, grassy valleys, led by wandering rivers bled away into the mountains, deserts patched the surface of the planet; it was here that Arkhan lay, quiet and peaceful, almost serene. Therein, it was inhabited almost entirely by the Ruusanians, a species of hardy near-humans, who lived in relatively isolation to the outside world; technology, outdated and archaic, webs together a small hamlet nestled into the wasteland, bordered by a few, sparse wells and crags, populated only by rocks and dry shrubs, that seemed to swallow the horizon.

But despite its peaceful exterior, Arkhan was shrouded in a cold, cold fear; according to these port workers, these wayward pilots, these gossipers and storytellers, the Arkhanians were plagued by a horrible curse, one which elicited grotesque, visceral nightmares that blighted the nights. A nightmare which wormed its way into their homes, and whispered - something called them out into the desert; and some would obey - many understood it as the will of the Force, others more superstitious claims; but none every returned, leaving the town of Arkhan empty and near-abandoned, lined by dark houses and empty homes. Of course, here, it would always deviate; space wraiths, the ghost of Skere Kaan, dark Jedi, evil bedlam spirits, a dark nexus ...

Of course, no one ever believed those stories.​

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Following a rather urgent departure from Nar Shaddaa (particularly in relation to the Cartel's sudden and immediate, intense dislike for him), Noviac found himself on his way to the Inner Core, where he hoped to elude his pursuers - both from among the Hutt's ranks and elsewhere. It wasn't exactly a harsh journey - in fact, it was pretty much a straight line, with a few detours to jump ships, or change routes. Nothing ruins an adventure faster than a tractor beam or a bounty hunter hitting the ass-end of your ship with a torpedo. However, at some port or another, it became clear there was a rather severe roadblock: namely, pirates. Apparently, a good handful of them, according to this fantastic, trustworthy rumor, had assembled quite the ramshackle, ragtag fleet, and had begun ambushing travelers near a nebulae within the Teraab's stellar nursery.

AKA: a particular nebulae he was going to be traveling very close to on his initial route. Note: initial.

Now, no one in their right mind is going to risk running up and into the broadside of an unfriendly corvette, surrender their belongings, and getting blasted naked out an airlock; so, of course, after much soul-searching, to take a slight detour. Namely, around Ruusand - better yet, he could swap ships again; two flynocks with one stone as they say, or something. Nonetheless, this brought his attention to somewhere discreet, somewhere obscure: and thus, Arkhan became his destination. Empty, isolated, all locals - friendly sort, too (he hoped); it had a small, private port, too. His ship wasn't too bad - perhaps it wouldn't take too much bartering to exchange it for a older model; hell, he'd even take a speeder - ride it out to a different settlement a couple hundred kilometers south and search there, steal one. Besides, the thought of camping did sound pretty relaxing; he could even explore some old Jedi ruins along the way. And without the complimentary Jedi - he could go with that, for once. Knock on wood.

As he approached the planet, however, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling he had - a deep, dark and heavy feeling; it was like he had just swallowed a ball of solid lead, and it had finally hit the pit of his stomach. The hairs on his neck stood up on end, even - like something, somewhere within the fathoms of his heart, some portion of him he had never met, now asked him, no, begged him to turn around. "Face the pirates, not this," it cried; "Anything but this." He was far too stubborn a man to surrender this plan, however; he wasn't suicidal, but even as superstitious as he'd gradually become, there weren't many options outside of this. And he didn't have time to stop and think about them, either. So he descended, slowly, breaching the hot atmosphere with a rumble until the blanket of starts died away into a milky-blue sky, riddled with scarce clouds and calm winds. And there it was, below him: the sleepy, desert hamlet of Arkhan, awaiting his long-cherished arrival.

Spoiler

Yes, there are pumpkins in Star Wars. They grow on Endor. Look it up. Ewoks carve them for Hallowe'en. God bless George Lucas.

[member="Gideon Newport"]

 

[Nichtmehr]

The irony was far from lost on Gideon. Not to long ago it would've been his ships and his men lurking in the nebula, hunting down anyone foolish enough to traverse through it. Now he himself was forced to take a detour to avoid such an encounter, his half broken freighter not suited for anything more straining than running out his enemies. For the time being he had set up camp in Arkhan, a small settlement where few questions were asked. That was partly due to Gideon not being in a talking mood, and partly due to his fearsome appearance.

He wasn't a man of impressive height or strength, but the various scars carved deeply into his body, some reaching almost from his head to his toes, told the story of who and what he was without the need to mutter a single word. That every inch of his clothes smelled like he had taken a bath in the most disgusting liquor brought in the most rundown bar on Nar Shaddaa certainly wasn't helping his case either.

Not that it had stopped him from spending most of his days and nights inside the only inn of the small town, a unnamed tavern that offered locally produced, and fairly strong, drinks to either paying customers, or to guests that looked like they lacked any sense of morality that kept them from pulling a trigger over little more than an alcoholic beverage.

The people of the town did their best to ignore the constantly brooding pirate occupying their bar. Only the innkeeper had made an effort to share a few words with him, probably to make sure that he wouldn't attempt to burn down the building for the disrespect of not talking to him. Loudly the bald man slammed his current glass, the ale inside already gone, on the counter. From the inside of his jacket he reached for a bag of credits, dropping what little he had left for the Innkeeper to collect and bring him a replacement for his drink in return. The man only looked at the meger outcome, before doubtfully shaking his head.

"Mr. Newport, I'm terribly sorry but I can't afford to sell my drinks for so little."

Gideon felt as rage surged through his body, and without a single conscious thought the revolver wandered from his hip into his right, the barrel almost touching the innkeeper's forehead. The weapon clicked once before the pirate released a sigh, followed by him lowering the firearm. It simply wasn't worth it. Casually he reached behind the counter with his left, taking an almost full bottle of a translucent liquid with him while the Innkeeper made an effort to hide his disgust.

"I'm taking this as reparation for your horrible service. Also it's Captain Newport for bilge rats like you."

With that the pirate staggered out of the inn, and into the small village within the desert.

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

The landing had been smooth enough, despite the fact he was denied access to the port; well, no one picked up. Unbeknownst to him, there weren't any port workers left anymore. So, gently, he set down over a rather derelict plataue which overlooked the majority of Arkhan, and the wastes which it called home; oddly enough, he felt rather surreal, excited - it was his first time to a desert. Like a child who had never seen snow, his thoughts immediately raced to dashing out into the sands, but this was quickly overcome by the somberness of adulthood and the repulsive reality in which he lived. As the engine died, and that cockpit slowly lifted, allowing him to face the hot wind that raced overhead, he was overcome with the sudden weight of his situation. It wasn't unique to him, of course, but he'd never really had a moment to sit back and reflect on it: what is meant to be all alone in the Galaxy, where the only people who knew your name wanted you dead.

Damn, that was real depressing.

He carefully made his way down the rock - steep steps carved into the sides (whether by hand or constant footfall, he couldn't tell); passing the ruin of a small hut, he ventured a few guesses why. Probably not the first to land here, at least over the last few centuries. Upon his descent into larger Arkhan, however, he was shocked by the sparsity of the people; well, for the most part - a few pairs of eyes peaked out suspiciously at him as he made headway through the decrepit streets, sandy and dark. The paths were mostly dirt, but where metal and stone made their appearance, they were still split wide by growing weeds and bushes. What lights were on flickered, one in particular exploded, vaporizing the glass and plunging that particular alley into a void; pitch black, a word he'd heard, and used, many times - but this was perhaps the first time he'd truly seen it. He could have sworn, in that moment, not even the depths of space was that dark.

However, time for quiet thoughts had long-since past as his direction intersected with that of a particular, scarred individual, staggering in from his left. Noviac did a double take, eyes scanning over the network of webbed scars that seemed more pronounced than any facial feature - and that smell. He stifled a gag and waved - though it was clear his gaze was elsewhere, a bottle dangling loosely from his hand. Nova pondered this act a moment - did he really want to talk to him? Then again, who better to ask what things were like here than a fellow outsider; hell, if he was lucky, the guy would probably just drop dead - he looked ready to. Free credits. But before he consider it further, he spoke: "Hey," said Noviac, "Stranger - where is everyone?"

[member="Gideon Newport"]