Muur'F'Laar - Part 4 - Betrayal

Betrayal is the only truth that sticks. - Arthur Miller

Murrv’s footsteps echoed around the dimly lit street as he walked home, his small bag of training equipment swinging at his side. As his eyes picked out dark alcoves and alley entrances, looking for threats, he pondered the look that Pruuna had given him as he left her apartment. Would his late brother’s wife wish him ill enough to do something drastic?

As if in reaction to his thoughts, his visual scan picked up movement ahead on the empty street, as a stout Togorian emerged from a crossing alley, the orange stripes on his jet black fur dimly reflecting the distant neon lights of a bar. Any doubt as to the young male’s intentions vanished with a hum as he brought a vibro-sword up into a mockery of a salute.

With a practiced eye, Murrv observed the Bravo’s stance and the way he held his weapon, and a small tendril of concern caressed his mind. This cat wasn’t a common street tough out for a quick score for spice, he had training, and likely from Weapon Master O’ruulth at the Academy if Murrv didn’t miss his guess.

A quick flick of the head showed Murrv a second Bravo stepping out of an alley behind him, this one with charcoal fur, and his ears turned towards his back in time to pick up another soft buzzing sound from the smaller newcomer.

“Out for a stroll youngsters?” Murrv called out with a smirk, as he dropped his bag to the street’s wet flagstones and drew his own vibro-sword, the tone of it’s soft buzz clashing discordantly with that of the Bravos’ weapons. “It’s not safe to walk around with bared blades you know, someone might get hurt.” he smirked as he sidestepped towards the edge of the street and raised his blade into a high-guard.

“There’s only one person getting hurt tonight, and it’s you old man.”, responded the larger black-furred Togorian as he began closing on the old warrior.

Having now pegged the larger of the two as the leader, Murrv distanced a little more from him by stepping backwards towards the smaller Togorian behind him. Using the glass of a shop-front, Murrv kept the flanking Bravo in view, his senses vibrating in a flood of endorphins.

Sensing an opportunity to end this fight quickly (and taking Murrv’s bait), the Bravo flanking Murrv lunged forward and swung hard for his neck, only to catch air as Murrv ducked the blade and counter thrust behind him, rewarding the youngster’s brash action with a deep score along his ribs. Following the thrust with a pivot, Murrv put the now bleeding attacker between himself and the approaching Leader.

“F’ellth, you fool!” the larger Togorian hissed. “I said to take him together.”

F’ellth’s ears flattened as he whined, “But he’s old and slow Rowwlv, you said so yourself!”
Murrv grinned wickedly at the two, continuing to slowly back up to keep them in front of him with his blade humming in a high-guard.

“Old and slow doesn’t mean unskilled you worthless cub, now do as we discussed!” Rowwlv growled.

Murrv sighed inwardly as his two attackers began to split apart, forcing him to keep backing up to avoid being flanked. He made a few feints to keep them off balance, aggressively slapping at the tips of their blades with his own to prevent them from finding a rhythm, but he knew he needed to even the odds quickly before he made the inevitable mistake that would leave him skewered.

Letting F’ellth move a little more towards his weak side, Murrv was ready when the youngster finally gave a quick thrust with his blade. A fast step back saw the blade pass harmlessly in front of the old warrior, at which point Murrv grabbed F’ellth’s sword-paw with his own and yanked, simultaneously parrying a slashing attack from Rowwlv coming at him from the right. Finishing his parry, F’ellth let his own blade carry between him and a stumbling F’ellth, bringing it across his body and cutting deeply into F’ellth’s midsection. The smaller Togorian collapsed with a cut off shriek, and Murrv stepped quickly backwards to avoid an eruption of foot-entangling entrails across the flagstones.

While he had not forgotten about Rowwlv, a sharp sting across Murrv’s strong-side shoulder, followed immediately by the prickly feeling of warm blood tickling his fur let him know that Rowwlv hadn’t forgotten about him either. Murrv responded by jumping to the left while quickly bringing his blade back up to guard the right side of his body, and he turned to face his last attacker, continuing to slowly circle away from the fresh carcass adorning the road. A quick glance at his shoulder brought bad news - the large bleeding gash meant that arm didn’t have long before it would numb and cease working, and while Murrv was pretty good with his weak paw, he’d need all of his skill to deal with this last opponent.

Rowwlv smelled the blood in the air, and he allowed himself a small smile. He stepped back a moment, watching the older warrior warily, content to wait for the blood loss to weaken his opponent.

Murrv bared his teeth in a snarl, and then drew his vibro-dagger with his left hand. “I’m not finished with you yet, boy!” he bellowed, stepping quickly forward and making a sweeping feint at Rowwlv’s head, with a change-up to a leg strike mid-swing. Rowwlv correctly anticipated the leg strike, and tried to parry low, only to have his blade trapped by Murrv’s dagger. Murrv angled his blade up with a cut to the groin, and as Rowwlv fell to one knee, neatly took his head off with a strong blow. Murrv’s eyes watched his own vibro-blade spraying blood into the air as it spun in a flat arc across the street from his nerveless fingers. “Not an instant too soon.” he wheezed quietly to himself.

Quickly cleaning his dagger on Rowwlv’s clothes and sheathing it, Murrv bent over, using his left paw to search through the corpse’s pockets for anything that might reveal the origin of this attack. As he pulled a small data pad from a cargo pocket, a blaster shot split the fragile quiet of the empty street.

Murrv’s body slowly toppled over, joining his late assailants on the cold, wet flagstones.

----
Rurrv F’laar, Elder Councilman of the F’laarian Clan, saved the work on his terminal and got up from his desk. Grabbing a small satchel, he climbed the stairs to the mosgoth perches on the roof of the small building.

Vullk nuzzled him as he got near, and he gave the huge flying beast an affectionate pat before tying in his satchel and hopping up onto the saddle that clung to the creature’s back near the base of its wings.

A fresh breeze brought the scent of the freshly blooming flowers that lined the street below, and Rurrv gave a deep voiced howl of satisfaction as, in response to a gentle tug of the reins, Vullk propelled them into the air, turning south towards the F’laarian Camp.

Clearing the edge of the city, Rurrv kept half an eye on the skies above him, wary as always for any signs of a wandering liphon on the hunt for a quick meal. The vast grasslands, dotted with copses of old growth forest, undulated off to meet the blue-green of the horizon.

A jerk of Vullk’s head was all the warning Rurrv had as a brief flash emanated from a small thicket of trees to his right, followed by a lengthening contrail streaking up towards him. Sawing on the reins, Rurrv put his mosgoth into a tight turn towards the missile, winging over into a dive that corkscrewed towards the fast approaching missile.

Through eyes watering from the shrieking wind, the Elder Councilman saw the missile’s smoky tail veer by on the left, for a moment fooled by the rapid maneuver, followed by a kink that belied the 20grav turn ordered by the guidance package as it reacquired the combined heat of cat and rider against the empty expanse of sky.

From within the thicket, slitted eyes narrowed in satisfaction as contrail and plummeting mosgoth merged for a moment, followed by an expanding directional starburst of steam and gore.

----

Back at Mrrowl’s home, a green light on Pruuna’s comm device activated as it chirped once, twice and then fell dark and silent.

Muur’F’laar - Part 3 - A New Purpose

"For my people it's the honor and glory of battle that rules us. It's through combat that we prove our worth, gain renown and make our fortunes." ― Canderous Ordo

Pruuna sighed as the sound of little paws smashing into cushioned pads resumed from the balcony courtyard. A glance through the kitchen window showed the now very familiar scene of Mrrowl using his arms and legs to strike practice targets attached to Murrv’s paws. Every now and again, Murrv would stop and correct Mrrowl’s form, or demonstrate a particular strike or throw.

While she wasn’t overly enthusiastic about Murrv’s repeated visits to work with Mrrowl on hand to hand combat, she had to admit that the physical exertion seemed to do the ten year old cub a lot of good. He’d stopped sulking, had seemed to return to a condition more approaching normal, and most importantly for a single mother - all of the activity meant there were no more arguments about bed time. Mrrowl was usually asleep very soon after dinner.

Seeing her child trained for combat still wasn’t sitting entirely well with Pruuna, however, Murrv had done a marvelous job stepping in to fill the void left in Mrrowl by his father’s death. She wished her son had latched onto a more passive role model, someone in any other profession for that matter, but she had to admit Mrrowl was thriving under Murrv’s tutelage. Shaking her head, a hard look crossed her face as she came to a decision.

Keeping an eye on the window, Pruuna picked up a comm unit and entered an access code...

----

The pad juked left, and Mrrowl leaned in to tag it with a left jab, only to get blindsided as the right-hand pad slammed into his right ear. As his head snapped to the left, a leg swept his feet out from under him and Mrrowl crashed to the ground.

“Don’t get fixated on your target Mrrowl! Have patience and wait for your opening. Rushing will just get you killed.” Murrv stated sternly. “Always try to keep threats in front of you - don’t sacrifice your vision of one to get at the other. Circle or pull back if you must, but don’t let them surround you.”

Shaking his head to clear it, Mrrowl nodded and got up off of the hard floor, resuming a “ready” stance. Murrv smiled inwardly to see the hard set of the cub’s jawline, accented by a squint of concentration that gave the boy’s darting stare a disconcerting flinty look.

This time, Murrv led with a fast leg sweep, and was gratified to see the cub easily leap over the sweep and tag both targets at once with his feet, ending with a tuck and roll that brought Mrowwl to his feet on Murrv’s weak side. From his new position, the cub gave two moderate jabs to the elder warrior’s left kidney before swiftly moving back out of range of a countering hammer blow.

Murrv winced at how strong the cub was getting as he rubbed his back over his aching kidney for a moment, then winked to allay the concerned look that Mrrowl was giving him. It was a good thing that he’d be off for the Academy soon, the old warrior knew that he’d be outclassed in no time.

“All right, all right little warrior. That’s enough hand to hand for today,” Mrrowl’s face fell, and Murrv smiled as he added, “but tomorrow we’ll work some more on the axe.”

At the mention of Mrrowl’s favorite weapon, his eyes and face lit up and he rushed over to give his Uncle a hug with a big smile on his face, before hurrying inside towards the smell of dinner.

Murrv nodded to Pruuna on his way to the front door, and his mind raced as he noticed that her teeth were bared in a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. Other than her call to come help with Mrrowl, he had barely spoken to her since S’ruul’s funeral. With a last look, he activated the door and stepped out into the corridor, keeping half an eye on his flank as the door slammed shut behind him.

Muur’F’laar - Part 2 - Legacy

"We have just the glorious dead—and the soon-to-be glorious dead. I'm one of the latter." ―Rohlan Dyre

----

Mrrowl sat on the floor of a condominium in the southern sector of Caross. The eight year old cub continued to ponder the new reality that had been laid upon his shoulders: his father would not be coming home, today, or ever.

Dappled light played across the living room floor in front of him as the late day sun did little to dispel his deep sadness. A small toy model of the M’rruuv Lrowwl lay at his feet, and he regarded it with an intense longing, as if willing everything to snap back to normal.

The door chime sounded throughout the apartment, and Pruuna, Mrrowl’s mother, brushed past him to answer it, her magnification glasses still perched above her eyes on her forehead. Mrrowl’s nose wrinkled a little at the smell of new plastic, hot solder and singed electronics that followed in her wake. Since word came of the loss of her husband, S’ruul, a few days earlier, Pruuna had begun working overtime creating and improving the logic circuits coveted by offworlders for their use in astromech droids. While her absorption in her work did little to comfort her cub, having no credits to put food on the table would definitely not be a welcome development.

Pruuna sighed inwardly as she ineffectually attempted to smooth her orange fur into something approaching presentable; that darned black fur in her stripes just never quite seemed manageable when she was short on time to primp. The inward sigh escaped in a whoosh of breath when she noticed the identity of their visitor on the small screen to the left of the door.

Shaking her head, Pruuna activated the door, which opened to reveal a tall Togorian with markings quite similar to her late husband and cub. Murrv was S’ruul’s brother by blood, as well as by clan. A heavy scar ran across his face, received in reward for his participation in a counter raid against a Sith slaver ship, and his fur was marred in many other places, almost a road map of past victories, and a few defeats.

“Murrv, “ she began as her eyes narrowed and her ears pricked forward in agitation, “I thought I told you he was not going.”

Murrv’s paws rose as if defending against an attack. “Pruuna, I know you never totally approved of your mate’s activities, though they seem to have set you up reasonably well, but the boy deserves to see this, to receive the closure the ceremony will bring.”

“I’ll not lose him to the F’laarians as well Murrv! I couldn’t bear it!”

Pruuna’s eyes welled up and she half turned, only to feel a pressure as Mrrowl hugged her leg. As she looked down, her eyes met Mrrowl’s, and her tears flowed freely as she saw so much of her mate in his face.

“Pruuna, please. It is our way, and in time, may be Mrrowl’s way as well. Our family’s history has been guided and shaped by Muur’F’laar for centuries, and to deny that heritage to your son would be sacriligious. In fact, Togoria itself would not be here were it not for Muur’F’laar, and the F’laarian Clan. You owe it to our people to ensure that Mrrowl is provided every opportunity to serve his people and planet.”

Pruuna’s ears sagged as her face fell. “Fine. For the sake of the family, he can go. Promise me you’ll allow him to return here prior to beginning training, if that is the decision of the Clan Leaders.”

“Of course, “ Murrv replied, “he is still too young, you’ll have time with him yet.”

Reaching down, Murrv took Mrrowl’s paw, and led him out to the waiting speeder.

-----

The bonfire’s crackling boomed across the meadow, its light refracting off of the eyes of the various massive cats who had gathered. As the flames danced, more Togorians ghosted from the shadows of the trees in the surrounding forest. Jade and sapphire eyes shone in the flickering brightness as the keening sounds of the F’laarian Battle songs rose into the night.

They had come in droves from clearings and forested glades across the planet to pitch their tents together in brotherhood. Come to celebrate death, to celebrate life, and most of all to celebrate the newly founded legacy of their bretheren lost in honorable battle between the Privateer M’rruuv Lrowwl and those that confronted and stopped her from enriching her Clan and her People.

Most of the crowd were male. While there were a few females that were accepted into the F’laarian Clan, they were not the soft or frilly type - most were just as hard, if not harder, than their male clan mates. While those mated to F’laarian Clan members understood (or at best, tolerated) the quest for battle, blood, and victory through skill at arms, and certainly benefited from those pursuits, those methods of conquest no longer excited female Togorians. The males filled the role of the hunter, wandering the planet and the stars in search of a lost heritage, while the females were content to expand their wealth and prestige in the cities of Togoria through the creation of their electronic gadgets and droids.

In memory of the glorious fallen, the Clan sang and danced the stories of their dead brethren. The tales of their conquests and victories were repeated, reinforcing the oral history of the Clan, and new stories of the recent battle were committed to memory by all present for veneration throughout all time.

Sitting on a log, watching the warriors dance, Mrrowl was startled as a large paw clapped down on his shoulder. “Your father was a great warrior, cub. I’ll stand for you should you want to gain entrance into the Academy.”

Nodding mutely, Mrrowl looked up at a scarred F’laarian, who gave him a slightly drunken grin and lurched off into the crowd.

Murrv sat down next to Mrrowl and nodded in the direction the warrior had gone. “That was Elder Rurrv, Mrrowl. His word, plus your father’s deeds, will virtually guarantee you a spot at the Academy.”

Mrrowl turned to face Muurv, his ears back. “All these people are here for papa?” he asked, with a slight tremor in his voice.

“They are lad, as well as the crew of his ship. Surely he taught you about the glory of battle, and his role in the defense of our people and ways?”

“He told me stories sometimes, but mama would get mad...” Mrrowl trailed off.

Murrv smiled gently, “While the women may lead the planet, we defend it. Honor your mother, and listen to what she has to say, but always remember, it is our might as a people, and more importantly as a Clan, that keep Togoria free. Great warriors such as your father and his crew are the spear that backs the words of the Matriarchs, the spear which wards off those that would harm our people. One day soon, you’ll have an opportunity to train to join us. I hope that you’ll seize that opportunity lad.”

Nodding his head, Mrrowl’s attention turned back to the lines of warriors starting a spear dance near the fire as Murrv smiled inwardly at the seeds he had planted. This cub was destined for great things, and as he had promised S’ruul so many years ago, Murrv would guide him towards the true path of honor.

Muur’F’laar - Death Before Dishonor

“The conversion of Mandalore from the greatest clan of warriors ever known to a society of limp wristed pacifists represents the single greatest threat to the F’laarian Clan and Muur’F’laar (the Way of the Warrior) that we have encountered in our history...” - S’ruurn F’laar, Grand Marshal

----

Bright strobing light combined with the pealing of the battle alert aboard the Togorian Privateer M’rruuv Lrowwl (Void Stalker), the two combining into a signal that was sure to awake even the deepest sleeping Togorian aboard ship.

The Captain, S’ruul F’laar, a 2.9 meter mass of charcoal fur with black stripes appeared to instantly spring from his bunk, almost colliding with the cabin door as its hydraulics slammed it open at his rapid approach.

Gaining the bridge, S’ruul’s steady gaze took in his First Mate, who immediately snapped off “Three Fast Corvettes sir, their beacons are indicating they’re Weequay under Tagta the Hutt, 5 kilometers off the starboard bow. They’re blocking the hyperspace entry points for our primary and secondary Fleet RVs.”

“We probably shouldn’t have hit that spice freighter yesterday with Hutt support so close...” S’ruul responded dryly, as the lights dimmed slightly in concert with the shuddering of the cruiser as a spread of torpedos impacted its shields.

Taking his seat, S’ruul calmly continued “...flush the primary and secondary RV hyperspace computations and get the computers working on the coordinates for the tertiary and quaternary RVs. Full shields forward, and get the lasers firing on the lead Weequay ship.”

As if on cue, the thumping of the Lrowwl’s array of heavy laser turrets reverberated throughout the ship, and the lead enemy’s shields flared crimson under the onslaught as the Lrowwl began a turn for the approximate heading of the tertiary RV’s entry point.

S’ruul’s voice cut through the rumbling of impacts on the hull and shields, snapping “I need that solution!”, just as the fullisade of lasers from the Lrowwl burned through the front shields on the lead Weequay ship, followed quickly by an expanding plasma bubble as the enemy ship’s reaction mass exploded. In response, the volume of fire from the remaining two ships increased as their Captains risked burning out their power relays in a race to be the first to destroy the interloping pirate ship.

“Primary impacts on the hull sir, we have breaches in multiple compartments.” S’ruul winced internally at the desperation in the Operations Officer’s voice. The lights flickered and then went out, accompanied by a heavy cascade of sparks from a power node on one of the Bridge’s aft bulkheads. As support personnel scrambled to get main power rerouted, S’ruul gave a toothy grin as the second Weequay Corvette exploded. “We may yet get out of this mess...” S’ruul dared to think to himself.

“Sir, hyperspace solution in 15 seconds!” came a relieved voice from the navigation station.

“I need all the weapons and shields you can give me!” S’ruul yelled, “Screw the life support, hell, screw everything but the hyperspace drive and Navi-Comp, just get me more weapons and shields, NOW!”

A green “solution complete” light bathed the face of the Navigation Officer’s face, and in relief, S’ruul raised a hand to order the jump, only to grimace in dismay as the green light snapped back to red and the proximity chime sounded.

Three additional Weequay ships snapped out of hyperspace less than a click in front of the M’rruuv Lrowwl, their shields immediately springing to life and their lasers flickering out to rend the hull of the wounded invader.

“Full power to engines, ram the bastards...” S’ruul growled, his eyes sparkling in anticipation as a loud throaty roar of approval resounded throughout the Bridge.

At such close range, the three newly arrived Weequay ships had little chance of evasion as the Lrowwl rapidly accelerated, it’s engines glowing an intense blue. There was barely a shudder as the Lrowwl impacted it’s tormentor, the gunship’s core penetrating deep into the Togorian Privateer. As the burning wreckage of the gunship penetrated the Privateer's core, the Lrrowl violently exploded, leaving only a single Hutt ship to watch the demise of it’s bretheren as the rapidly expanding ball of incandescent gas enveloped the two nearby ships, instantly turning them into ovens.

For the crew of the M’rruuv Lrowwl, every one a Togorian of the F’laarian Clan, it was an honorable death...