Dark Tidings - 2

Vents hissed as the solar sailer settled comfortably into the hangar. A lone figure waited for the boarding ramp to lower, its dark cloak and cowl hanging in draped folds to the deck plating. A tall lean form emerged and proceeded past the figure who hastened to match step.

“Lord Tyranus, you honor us with your presence,” the cloaked figure hissed.

“Things are developing on Dac that will be calling me away, I’m only here to make sure everything is on schedule,” the tall figure replied.

The two figures passed a gigantic window overlooking a sea of stars above the blue green orb of Belderone. Docked in tandem with the orbiting construction facility was a massive warship larger than any the Confederacy had employed before.

“We are having trouble locating the signal. There appears to be some sort of shielding blocking scans so we are sending search teams on foot. It’s possible that the radiation leaks from the cracked core is creating the interference. We need more droids.”

“Shielding does not concern me, I want that ship,” Tyranus commanded flatly.

“What’s so important what was she carrying?” the hooded figure hissed.

“There is an artifact on board that is important to the Sith. It contains technical readouts and specifications. When the data is analyzed it will unlock the key to an ancient weapon that can lay waste to any star system.”

The figure paused.

“You are referring to Naga Sadow’s lost ship. . . ?“

“That is not your concern. Your only goal is to find that ship and deliver the crystals.

“There have been . . . complications . . .in our mutagenics project. Only a mutant strain of local specimens would be able to build up a tolerance of the irradiated areas to gain access to the ship and search for this artifact. We have been unable to adapt the droids to the radiation, so this was our only option. But we have lost contact with the project facility, some sort of local interference.”

“I suggest you solve this delay by any means necessary. Lord Sidious wants a tour once the core is online.”

“Lord Sidious is coming here?”

“Yes, and he is displeased with your apparent lack of progress.”

The cloaked figure bowed, “We shall double our efforts.”

“I hope so, Lady Salacious, for your sake.”

Lord Tyranus strode forward into the dark recesses of the station. The cloaked figure whirled and made her way back to the central command center.

Session 16 - A New Threat

Captain Paz Valodor checked the ion pistol clipped to her belt and the blaster strapped to her hip as she strode purposefully down the ramp way of the Mako's Run. Roughly two weeks had gone by since Shre'ka's tribe, the Ra'van'ti, had returned to their decimated village and begun to put things back to rights. Waving to the familiar approaching figures of Mrrowl, Shre'ka, EZ and his troopers, she punched a button and spoke into the intercom. "All right, Sparg, they're here. Seal her up tight until I get back."

The Illyrian's voice sounded tinny over the com's tiny speaker. "Aye, Captain."

"And keep an ear to the Holonet passive feed. Let me know if you hear anything important."

"Will do, Captain...but won't the droids be able to detect that?"

Paz sighed. "No, no. Use Shre'ka's bracelet thing to contact me."

"Oh, right! Gotcha! Will do!"

Shaking her head and smiling, Paz joined the new arrivals. "Anna mawe," she said.

Shre'ka beamed. Mrrowl smiled. "Anna mawe," the two felinoids responded.

The Mon Cal looked to EZ who was instructing two of his troopers to head off in AT-RTs on a recon mission. "What's up today?"

"I was thinking we really need to camouflage the IG-88s we've placed in a 300 yard circular perimeter around the outskirts of the Ra'van'ti's village," he replied. "Want to lend a hand?"

Paz nodded and the group headed out.

*****

The sun hung low in the afternoon sky by the time the group had finished their work. The two scout troopers had not yet returned and EZ was growing anxious. Trying to allay his concerns, Shre'ka searched with Sa'uuk to sense their presence, but was unable to detect them. Backing her ears, she reluctantly informed EZ of her discovery.

The trooper wasted no time. Gathering up equipment, he, Paz, and Mrrowl set out on foot. Shre'ka called her sa'naku and joined them, flying overhead. The group made their way through the dense jungle, searching for the missing troopers. They discovered the AT-RTs parked and left behind some heavy shrubbery, but no troopers when a patrol of three battle droids riding STAPs came upon EZ, Paz and Mrrowl and attacked.


The Togorian roared, charging toward the patrol, his vibroaxe prepared to swing. EZ and Paz weren't quite as quick. Bunched together, the droids opened fire on them with their weapons catching the Mon Cal and the clone in a deadly barrage. Shre'ka coaxed her sa'naku to dive down upon one of the battle droids. Grasping one of the droids in both of its powerful talons, the fearsome creature ripped the droid asunder as Mrrowl swung his axe down upon one of its companions. EZ and Paz return fire upon the third droid and just as swiftly as it had begun, the fight ends.

Paz slices into one of the droid's memroy banks and discovers locations of several Separatist outposts. Looking at the schematic of the outposts' positions, Shre'ka hisses in alarm. "They seem to be surrounding the area containing The Cave of the Ancients!"

Mrrowl growled low.

"That's not all," Paz warns. She points to another diagram on her datapad. "Look here. The Separatists have formed a blockade around Sorn 5. No one's getting in or out of here easily."

"Why would they want to do that?" EZ asked.

"That's what we should probably find out," Paz replied. "The Republic needs to be warned about this, but if we send a message they're bound to detect it."

"Perhaps not," Shre'ka said. "I could contact Jedi Ahsoka Tano with Sa'uuk if she is not too far away and let her know what we have discovered here. And the tribes should be warned as well. The Cave of the Ancients is sacred. It holds the history of The People."

Heading north, the worried group finds the missing troopers who have been killed in a fierce fight. They also encounter and are attacked by another STAP patrol. The group no sooner defeats them than Shre'ka senses a disturbance in Sa'uuk. Animals appear to be fleeing the area. The group makes their way forward, but shift to one side in a flanking maneuver trying to discover what is wrong. Soon they have their answer. Several crab droids and super battle droids are moving through the undergrowth from the east, heading toward the Ra'van'ti village.

The group attacks, managing to destroy the droids and Paz slices into them to gather more information regarding their numbers and orders.

"We need a plan," EZ said as they returned to the village with the clone’s fallen comrades. "We need to find out about these outposts." He turned to Shre'ka. "Perhaps you or one of your people could scout one of them out. The droids don't seem to consider the indigenous population a threat."

Mrrowl grinned at Shre'ka as her ears flipped back, gesturing to the waiting sa'naku. "Want to take a ride?" he asked. Shre'ka smiled, nodding.

While the group gets some rest overnight, Shre'ka, using Sa'uuk, sends a warning to the surrounding tribes' Sa'uuk Mo'ats as best she can. Most seem to heed her warning, but one or two possibly do not take her warning to heart. She is merely a Sa'uuk Ro'at after all. Shre'ka also uses Sa'uuk to contact Jedi Ashoka Tano and informs her of the situation as clearly as she is able.

Early the next morning, Shre’ka and Mrrowl head north on the sa'naku to scout out the outpost in that area. Having given EZ a bracelet with tiny crystals similar to the ones she gave, Sparg, Paz and Mrrowl, Shre'ka uses Sa'uuk to show EZ what she sees as she and her mate pass over the small droid base.

They observe the outpost is comprised of a command center surrounded by a bunker wall mounted with blaster cannons at various intervals. Beside the command post structure is a power generator and a communications array. Several crab droids and mega droids patrol the outer wall. There appear to be three shifts of droid groups with two actively patrolling at all times while one recharges.

The two return in the evening, having had no trouble from the droids. The group discusses plans to take control of the outpost late into the evening and come up with an unusual one.

The next day, after traveling to the northern base, Shre'ka and Mrrowl approach the outpost with an "offering" of a crystal from the Cave. A patrol of battle droids level blaster guns at them, then take them before the tactical droid in charge. Walking inside the outpost's perimeter wall, Shre'ka uses Sa'uuk to drain the power from their generator.

The droids look around, confused, as Mrrowl and Shre'ka do their best to look on innocently. "What happened?" one of the battle droids asked.

"We appear to have lost power," another replied, scratching its metal-cased head.

"I can see that!" the other responded. "You better alert the Commander. And take these two natives inside."

"Roger, roger."

Escorted by the droids, Mrrowl and Shre'ka enter the command post. One of the battle droids with them makes its report to the tactical droid before it turns to them.

"Why are you here?"

Shre'ka fought to keep from flattening her ears. I could ask you the same, metal man, she thought. Instead she held out a blue crystal in her palm and tried to look as friendly and harmless as possible. "Anna mawe," she told the droid. "We come to bring the leader of the metal Sky People a gift."

The tactical droid took the crystal in its hand, gazing at it intently. After a moment it looked up. "Where did you get this?"

Shre'ka smiled, taking comfort in the certainty Mrrowl was subtly noting the placement and status of every droid in the room. "I do not know myself, but if you would like to know where more are, we can return to our village and bring back a guide for you."

The droid considers them a moment, then nods, waving them to the door. "Very well. You may go. Return with this guide as soon as possible."

Mrrowl and Shre'ka depart the outpost and make their way into the jungle perimeter to rejoin the group and the attack begins. With the blaster turrets out of commission, EZ and his troopers act as snipers to take out the droids guarding the perimeter wall. Paz and her bodyguard of two IG-88 droids help fight crab droids that are also protecting the outpost before joining Mrrowl and Shre'ka who fight their way inside the outpost where the droids have amazingly managed to get power back. Shre'ka calls upon Sa'uuk once more and is able to drain the power again as they manually break into the command center and take control of the outpost.

Shre'ka holds out her paw to the tactical droid. "I'm sorry," she tells it. "I'm afraid, I need to get my crystal back." The droid complies; handing over the crystal, but still puts up a fight, pulling a blaster. Mrrowl quickly brings his vibroaxe down upon it.

"Careful of its head!" Paz warns and Mrrowl manages not to damage the important component.

The Mon Cal captain manages to discover information regarding a mining operation near the Cave of the Ancients that is nearly operational or is operational as well as various other locations that have yet to be brought online.

"Not sure what they're up to here, but I think they mean business," Paz mutters as she studies the information.

"Looks like we need to scout the mining operation near the Cave," Mrrowl growls and the others nod ascent.

to be continued...

Dark Tidings - 1

Sorn V quietly orbited her mother as she had done for eons and millennia unaware she was the object of such a disturbance in the Force. The tiny band of lifeforms that huddled in her sheltering boles near their dying fire dozed blissfully under the growing menace high above them. Her emanations had now attracted a small cluster of unliving intruders circling her as an unwanted halo of mites ever seeking a fleeting taste of nectar for their parched wings.

Hanging in low orbit over the green blue globe was a collection of disc shaped objects, their torus silhouettes casting a menacing cloud over the serene coolness of the moon. These objects were then joined by other elongated shapes that completed a distinct formation. The Confederation forces maneuvered their blockade into a tight defensive position.

Aboard the command ship, the buzzing of mechanical servos, rasping of electronic static, and thrum of the power core drown out the imperceptible breath of the sole living passenger on board.

TS-429 approached the console where Tikkes sat at the holonet receiver. The blue projection of a cloaked figure hovered over the console and dwarfed the former Senator whose tentacles twitched nervously.

The projected image was lithe, feminine, and robed in black. A deep hood obscured its features but a gravelly female voice issued forth, "Count Dooku sends his regards, Tikkes. Events on Dac have escalated and now we seek your presence there for a conclave of Confederacy sympathizers."

"All is well then, Mistress?" the Quarren's tiny beak within his tentacles clicked.

"For the moment. We will need to proceed at Sorn V without the initial shipment. According to the Kaminoans, it will be some time before their research is complete and the initial specimens will be ready to work."

Tikkes leaned forward, "How will that possible without the specimens?"

The figure in the projection gestured casually, "You are to send a contingent of Quarren to Sorn V to begin mining operations at once."

"I will send a contingent of Quarren to Sorn V to begin mining operations at once," he echoed the acknowledgement.

"Good," the voice grated. "Once they have been dispatched you will meet Count Dooku on Dac."

"I will meet with Count Dooku on Dac."

The image abruptly vanished and the Quarren nodded to TS-429, "Prepare the ships to leave immediately!"

The tactical droid responded in a flat mechanical tone, "Do you wish for me to accompany you to your rendezvous at the homeworld?"

"No, I need for you to personally handle the enforcement of the mining operation on the Cathar world here. It is imperative that the initial mineral shipments arrive on schedule."

"As you wish"

The tactical droid clattered off to begin deploying his troops.

*****

Hra’tan collapsed awkwardly on his palette of soft furs and leathers within the makeshift tent he shared with Dan’oa. He attempted to stifle a grunt as his bruised ribs reminded him of the night’s parlay with Mrrowl.

“Is there anything I can do to comfort you, dearest mri’te?” she purred as she tried to help him

“No, I just need rest.” He rolled to his good side in an attempt to relieve any pressure on his injured ribs and dozed. His mind clouded over from the masul, a fitful sleep soon took him.

Eyes.

Eyes in the darkness.

White, milky orbs floating in a sea of black drifted toward him, their deathly cataract-clouded pupil slits stabbed into the darkest parts of his soul.

Hra’tan.

The voice, a rasping whisper, grated in his mind’s ears. He twitched and began to breathe heavily, unable to escape the oppressive presence. Dan’oa stirred next to him and nuzzled closer, undisturbed by the unseen presence.

Hra’tan!

The voice commanded attention now. Hra’tan wrinkled his nose at the perception of the foul stench of rot and decay accompanied by the voice.

Hra’tan, my cub. What do you know? What have you seen?

Hra’tan began to twitch more and more violently. A wave of nausea overwhelmed him, a trapping weight of paralysis overwhelmed his ability to flee. One great gnarled claw swathed in rotten weavings and stained leather strips reached toward his brow and slowly forced its way into his head.

Hra’tan’s eyes snapped open in an unseeing gaze as the intrusive presence searched his thoughts.

Shre’ka. With a mate. And cubs. Shadow clouds him. He is very near, I can taste his darkness. Soon the Sa’ruk Chel’vek will be upon him and he will be mine.

Hra’tan twitched lightly.

You have done well, my cub! Anger, hate and dissention are festering in their midst. It is fueled by the guilt from their past and their fear of the future. An army of unliving warriors searches for them even now and soon you will all be mine. Now rest.

Hra’tan twitched one final time as the unwelcome presence of the foul intruder withdrew. His sightless gaze remained fixed as his shallow breathing began to wane.

Dan’oa stirred again oblivious to her mate’s distress.

Ca’el’esh reclined with a sigh. Within the dank confines of his cavern beneath the boles of the Dark Tree, Sa’ruk wrapped his fetid form. He caressed the clean edge of his brother’s blade with satisfaction.

“Soon, Fey'qua'ri. I will be coming for you as well.”

*****

From this distance beyond the village it was now hard to see, especially in the fading moonlight before dawn. Living plants had been coerced by Fey'qua'ri to camouflage the hide-covered dwellings of The People and the strange cold skyboats of the offworlders that had returned them home. Hopefully the cover would obscure the Ra'van'ti huts from the prying eyes of others. It was the eyes of the Sa’ruk Chel’vek (fierce shadow spirits) now that concerned the venerable shaman.

In Fey'qua'ri’s mind he could still see the glow from the fire and the soflty swaying embers of The People as they dispersed from the gathering.

Shas'tan sat next to Fey'qua'ri and passed the pipe back to him. The aged Cathar took a long draught of the smoke and regarded recent events. Tendrils of the sweet aroma wafted across his gray muzzle lit from the glow of the bowl.

"Many things have come to pass these last few moon cycles," the Mo'at began.

Shas'tan nodded.

"I sense that there is still much for Shre'ka to do."

Shas'tan nodded again, "We have seen many things, you and I. We have fought many times together and now have traveled across the ocean of stars to other lands I never thought possible. Although the purpose for the journey was of evil intent, I have hope for Shre’ka that it will make her more confident in herself, in her ability.” Shas’tan drew on the pipe and handed it to Fey'qua'ri.

Fey'qua'ri took the pipe and nodded this time. “I sense a stirring in Sa'uuk. My brother, Ca’el’esh, is at work. His rotting claws have somehow forced their way into our midst again and now I see this evil is wrought by him."

"Surely he must be dead by now."

The old Mo'at regarded Shas'tan with a flat look. The clan leader knew better than to question Fey'qua'ri's intuition. “Don’t underestimate Sa’ruk.”

Loss - Part 7

Ha'ko'no crouched beside a rotted tree truck, his hind claws digging into the soft shards of blackish brown bark scattered on the ground. An arrow nocked and ready in his bow, his dark brown eyes peered intently through the jungle, anxiously watching for any signs of pursuit. Black nostrils flared on his dun furred face and he breathed deeply, scenting the wind. His ears twitched with relief, the warm, moist air bringing only the reassuring odors of the tropical forest's myriad of creatures, and plants in various stages of growth or decay. His whiskers twitched in satisfaction. This was Ra'van'ti territory, but there was no sign of Ra'van'ti ro'ats following their trail. Good. Ur'ruk would be pleased.

Or should be, Ha'ko'no amended to himself, flattening his ears uneasily. Ur'ruk, their small band's leader, had become unpredictable of late, his moods subject to change at any moment. He had been gifted with a short temper to begin with and the death of his mate, Var'shao, had only worsened matters. He lashed out at the group's few remaining members indiscriminately now. As a young, newly appointed weaker hunter, Ha'ko'no's shoulders bore many claw marks of his leader's rages.

The adolescent male snarled to himself. Things would not be so bad and Var'shao would not be dead if they had not foolishly intruded so close to the Na'lat encampment only a pawful of days ago. Even On'ru, Ur'ruk's second in command, had advised against it. They could have hunted for what they needed even trespassing on Na'lat territory. It was unlikely they would have been noticed, but no, Ur'ruk was in a hurry to reach the Gathering. Instead he decided for the group to sneak into the village during the night and simply take the food and supplies he desired. And so, Var'shao had been shot.

Ha'ko'no hung his head. Ur'ruk's mate had not died right away. They had all managed to flee the village, but the Na'lat arrow had pierced Var'shao's belly. She had struggled gamely on through the night and part of the next day, but finally collapsed. Yowling in great pain, she had died shortly thereafter, the small band of fugitives gathered helplessly about her.

Her presence was now sorely missed. On'ru's mate had died of illness the past winter. Var'shao had been the last remaining female in their small band of shay'orz, what the Tribes called little clusters of nomadic exiles trying to exist as best they could on the fringes of tribal territories. She had been the only one who could sometimes talk sense into Ur'ruk or calm his rages. She hadn't been very pretty, Ha'ko'no reflected, her scarred coat a dull, dingy beige, her small yellow eyes set too close together, but she had been a decent hunter, certainly the best tracker of the group, and she had, in her rough way, looked after him.

He shook his head sadly. He was not an exile himself but rather had been born to one. That group of shay'orz had been decimated during an attack from another outlaw band, leaving him to wander alone, trying to fend for himself. Ur'ruk's band had found him half-starved and taken him in. They had become his family, but with Var'shao's death and Ur'ruk's growing penchant for violence, Ha'ko'no found himself tempted more and more to desert the shay'orz and try to make it on his own. He feared if he did, however, that in his present state, Ur'ruk would track him down and kill him.

No, he thought, it would be better to wait until they got to the Gathering. There would be many shay'orz there. Maybe he could manage to join another group with a better leader and gain their protection. Perhaps, the young male dared hope, the band of the Anu'at of the Shay'orz. He was a giant of his kind, towering over even the tallest of the People by a good two feet or more. All the shay'orz paid his band tribute during the Gathering, either to curry favor or as protection from his wrath. Even Ur'ruk would not be so foolish as to challenge the Anu'at if he chose to take Ha'ko'no in!

The young hunter shook himself, coming back to the here and now, glancing up at the sky with a scowl. They needed to be on their way. No one was coming. They had committed a grave transgression against the Ra'van'ti, but they appeared to be safe for now. Staying low, Ha'ko'no slid deeper into the shadows, swiftly heading back to where his shay'orz and Ur'ruk no doubt impatiently waited...

To be continued.

R'iiilv Mrull - Part 7

Conversations ceased as the door slammed behind Sorzen. Every Weequay in the joint turned to look at Mrrowl, and an expectant feral smile spread across the big cat’s face. A swooper, full of liquid courage, leaned heavily on the back of his chair to push himself up from his table, responding to bolstering calls to action from his tablemates.

Drawing an oversized blaster from his hip, he staggered unsteadily across the bar; creating a wave of ducking heads as his wildly swinging muzzle promised a threat to anyone in its path. He cursed roundly as a hand on his chest stopped him cold. Looking blurrily to his right, he saw the Lieutenant restraining him. Angry, he twisted free of the restraining hand and stepped a little closer to the Togorian, shakily aiming his blaster.

A deep stillness of movement fell across the entire bar. Large jade eyes regarded the blaster wielding Swooper with utter contempt, and Mrrowl’s sleek pelt again rippled with muscles reorienting themselves for fast action.

Hand blurring, the Lieutenant’s blaster appeared behind the Swooper, the sound of a shot punctuated the cymbals and bass beat of the synthrock, and the blaster disappeared back into its holster in one fluid motion. Mrrowl chortled and gave a small nod of respect, as the nearly headless smoking body of his erstwhile attacker dropped to its knees, then crashed to the dirty floor. The Lieutenant swept the room with a hard look, then sat down at his own table, signalling the bar for another round.

Sour faces watched the Bith bartender hustle over to take care of the new mess. With the latest body headed for the dumpster, conversation slowly resumed, with an occasional sidelong look at the back table.

----

“Once in a very long while, I actually get to do something I’m going to enjoy.”

The thought drifted through the Twi’lek’s mind, leaving a little trail of warm sparks. Her days had been a haze of emptiness and misery since she had been sold to the markets at the age of 16. Now, the 18 year-old spent her time satisfying the whims of that bastard Sorzen and whomever else he drug in through the door.

Clutching absentmindedly at the collar around her throat, she shuddered, hearing her own screams as she was dragged out of her father’s arms, replaced with a credit stick that he pocketed as he turned away and left the room without even a backwards glance. The call of the auctioneer, leering men who ran their hands over her and checked her teeth as if she was an animal in the market, the filthy lizard-thing that loaded her into a cage on a ship and flew her away from the only home she ever knew...

“You’re Ree’Sara, you’re better than this....” she chastised herself. Releasing her nervous grip on the small eyebolt at the throat of her collar, she firmly placed her hands on the bar and regarded the Togorian at the back table. She’d been told, “Keep his glass full and make sure he finds his guest room down the street.” She’d been frightened when he’d entered, however, something in the way he tossed the nasty Weequay about, and that purr when she’d taken the drinks over, well, maybe there was something more than violence in the hulking creature. “Besides,” she thought, “the way his ear jumped when I touched it was kind of cute...”

----
Ree’s thoughts were interrupted in a fog of terrible breath, as a body reeking of sweat, fresh blood, and cleaning chemicals pressed against her from behind, trapping her against the edge of the bar.

A voice belonging to one of the Bith bartenders rasped in her ear, “You should get to it girl, or Sorzen will be most upset.”

A fresh gust of nastiness blew past her face as she struggled futilely against his weight for a moment. “Don’t you have something to clean Jinian?” she snapped.

Jinian’s fingers grabbed the end of one of her headtails, simultaneously twisting and pulling backwards. Hot tears sprang to Ree’s eyes and she cried out, her chin rising higher and higher in a futile attempt to lessen the searing pain.

“Sorzen should beat that insolent streak out of you whelp. You’re window dressing that should be seen and not heard. In fact, “ Jinian mused, a cruel edge appearing in his voice, “I should probably just save him the effort and take care of it my...”

Jinian’s voice ended in a cut off shriek as a large paw snaked around his neck. He froze as he felt the tips of barely extended razor sharp claws shallowly piercing his skin of his throat, very near an artery.

“Mrrowl new here, not know much. Know not treat female that way...” a very deep voice rumbled from a short distance behind him.

The Bith’s nerveless fingers released Ree’s headtail, and a sudden backwards pressure on his throat forced him to take a couple of quick steps back to avoid a lethal wounding. Relieved of the pressure, Ree bent forward over the bar, gently gathering up the organ and cradling it for a moment. Anger quickly replacing pain, she whirled, slamming her fist into the side of the Bith’s jaw. Mrrowl loosened his paw and let Jinian slump to the floor, making that odd, deep chortling sound again.

The bar erupted in laughter, accompanied by hungry looks at Ree. Other Weequay elbowed each other jovially, glad to see someone else getting the wrong end of the big cat.

Jinian sat up groggily. He swiped quickly at his neck with his hand, which came away slick with blood. His awareness expanded slightly to include two large, furry legs, and he cowered from the big Togorian, who was looming over him, a murderous glint in his eyes.

“Bighead ssssmart, bighead apologize to female. Mrrowl hear more bad thingsss ‘bout Bighead, beat Bighead with own armsss.” The big cat’s inch long claws sprung fully out, glinting wickedly in the neon lights of the bar.

Vision still swimming, hand tightly clasped to his injured neck, the Bith stammered out an apology.

Snatching one of the nicer bottles of Alderaanian Whiskey and an extra glass, Ree took Mrrowl’s arm and was surprised when, instead of leading, he meekly followed her back to his table. Oddly enough, no one dared to make a grab for Ree as she passed by.

Arriving at the table, Mrrowl reached out, his ears intently forward, and gently cupped the headtail that Jinian had a hold of. Leaning down, he looked closely for damage. “Head thing ok?” he rumbled quietly.

Ree reflexively shuddered in pleasure at his touch, then sighed in regret as Mrrowl, thinking he was causing her more pain, carefully let go. Her eyes widened in surprise as he bent over the table, and poured three fingers of whiskey into her glass, then six into his own. “Whissskey make head thing better.” he said, then showed his sharp teeth as he resumed his crouch near the wall.

“I, umm, think I’m supposed to do that for you.” Ree said softly, with a smile of her own. Looking around defensively for a moment to assure herself that no one was going to interfere, she finally sat down heavily in the chair that Sorzen had vacated.

“Female ssserve male?” Mrrowl replied in surprise, his ears canting in opposite directions for a moment before refocusing on the Twi’lek, “Mrrowl and female not mated, Mrrowl pour drink for pretty female.”

Carefully moving her injured headtail out of the way, Ree leaned back in her chair, incredibly puzzled. She’d seen a lot of creatures come through the bar over the prior two years, smugglers, swoopers, lowlifes, even the occasional well-dressed client to see Sorzen. Never had she seen a male of any species act this way. She even had a sneaking suspicion that the drink offering wasn’t designed to get her drunk and make her more pliable. Besides, she’d always wanted to try some of the “good stuff”, as Sorzen called it.

Catharese - 101

Over the next several weeks while on Sorn 5, Shre'ka will give both Paz and Mrrowl lessons on Catharese, the language of the Ra'van'ti people as well as the other known tribes. While the language is the same, most tribes tend to speak with varying dialects. The three usually meet at nightfall, during the evening meal, and anyone else who is interested is welcome to join them.

anna mawe (anna mah-weh) - literally "be at peace" or "may you have peace"; used as a greeting or as a farewell

van (vauhn) - "oneself" or "person, people"

te (tay) - denotes male gender

tan (tauhn) - denotes female gender

ma (mauh) - "parent"

ma'van'te - literally "parent person (who is) male" i.e. father

ma'van'tan - "parent person (who is) female"; mother

ha (hah) - "child"

ha'van'te - literally "child person (who is) male"; son

ha'van'tan - "child person (who is) female"; daughter
Please note: when referring to children not their own, most adults shorten these words to "ha'te" and "ha'tan" which mean "male youngster" or boy and "female youngster" or girl. The same word is spoken for plural or singular use.

So it follows that knowing

a (ah) - "sibling", then

a'van'te - "brother"

a'van'tan - sister

mri (mree) - "mate, beloved"

mri'te - "male mate, male lover"; husband

mri'tan - "female mate, female lover"; wife

'at (aught) is a suffix attached to many Ra'van'ti words that denotes respect

'ka (kah) is a suffix meaning "little, small" that denotes fondness, affection. For example, one might say a'van'te'ka, meaning "little brother" or an adult might say ha'te'ka to a male child, meaning "little one".

ro'at - hunter, warrior; "ro" meaning "to hunt, to battle";
Please note: Ra'van'ti children are not recognized as adults until they successfully kill a dangerous animal (that is, a large animal that could kill them without the use of venom, etc.) unassisted. Only then do Ra'van'ti earn the title ro'at.

mo'at - elder; "mo" meaning "having many years or much wisdom, old"
Please note: Mo'ats are most often trained for the position in which they will serve their tribe by the mo'at serving before them, but during unusual or rare occasions they can be elected by either the anu'at and other mo'ats of a tribe's council or by the tribe as a whole. Sometimes mo'ats are even self-appointed, usually after a duel or similar trial combat.

anu'at - leader; "anu" meaning "lead, guide"

ke'heh (kay hay) - no, negative

das (daws) - yes

dro - dead, soulless; Shre'ka called the Kaminoans in the lab "dro'ruk'naku, roughly translating to "soulless monsters lost in shadow"

mreh'vok ro (mray-vok-row) - "time (of) battle"; trial

masul (mauw-zul) - literally "water of dreams"; a potent intoxicant made from the roots of mosa flowers.

mas (mauwz) - dream, vision

ul (ool) - water

sa (sauh) - sky

shre (shray) - star

uuk (ook) - river

ruk (rook) - shadow, darkness; denotes one having lost their way or their spirit

Sa'uuk - Sky River; how the Ra'van'ti refer to the light aspect of the Force

Sa'ruk - Sky Shadow; how the Ra'van'ti refer to the dark aspect of the Force

Sa'ruk Mo'at - an elder of the Dark Side, a Sith Lord

Sa'uuk Mo'at - an elder of the Light Side, such as a Jedi Master

naku (nah-koo) - terrible or frightening monster

sa'naku - "terrible sky monster"

vek - vicious, savage, brutal

na (nah) - "of a pack or group"

vek'na - a cunning, vicious, and very dangerous land pack predator of Sorn 5

zas - wild, free, spirited

sa'uuk ah meh yah - Please note: This phrase has various meanings depending on the situation; "the Sky River is with us, me, him, her, etc.", "the Sky River be with you, him, her, them, etc."; basically "may the Force be with you".

So until the next lesson, sa'uuk ah meh yah!

R'iiilv Mrull - Part 6

“I have a few other bits of business that I must handle, Murrl”, said Sorzen, butchering Mrrowl’s name with an oily smile that was finally beginning to get on the Togorian’s nerves.

“Underssstand.” Mrrowl said, then pointed to his empty whiskey glass.

“Of course! Have as much as you want.” Sorzen indicated the Twi’lek that had caught Mrrowl's attention earlier. “My personal, erm, assistant will take care of you, and when you’re finished, she’ll show you where to stay for the evening. I’ll fetch you tomorrow to take you to the Dirty Mynock.”

The Togorian again displayed his sharp teeth, and Sorzen decided that was he was probably smiling. Beckoning a ‘Swooper Lieutenant over, he stood, and Mrrowl’s nose wrinkled as a melange of sharp scents filled the area. From the scents, the Lieutenant received a message - “This one will prove useful. Make sure the lads stay away from him tonight, I don’t want him damaged.”

Nodding to Mrrowl a final time, Sorzen dismissed the ‘Swooper with a wave of his hand and disappeared through a door at the back of the bar.


----

Quiet broke over the stairwell like a wave as the shutting door blocked the raucous sounds of the bar. The false smile left Sorzen’s face as he hurried up a flight of stairs, carefully stepping over a few he knew to be completely rotten, and stopped at the second floor landing. An unlit code pad hung limply on exposed wiring in front of an unmarked door. Movement of the air generated by Sorzen’s approach caused the pad to swing slightly back and forth, adding to a shallow arc shaped groove worn into the wall plaster.

Stabilizing the pad with one hand, the Weequay entered his code with the other. Metallic thuds from a number of bolts slamming back into grooves resounded throughout the quiet hallway, belying the sturdiness of the outwardly rickety looking door, which swung inwards on reinforced, silent hinges, exposing a room strewn with debris and broken furniture. Crossing the floor, and picking his way around scattered junk, Sorzen tugged the corner of a vanity, which swung aside on recessed casters, revealing a four foot high hole that had been knocked out of the wall. Loose bricks lined the short passage, with jagged edges like broken teeth exposed by the crumbling plaster.

Ducking through the hole, Sorzen entered a new room about the size of a small storage closet. Pausing a moment to pull the vanity back into place, he turned and entered a code into the panel guarding a door opposite the wall he entered through.

The hallway into which Sorzen emerged was everything that the building containing the bar was not. Sparkling marble floors, plush furniture, and fine art on the walls greeted him as he gave a small sigh of contentment. The only apparent access to this set of rooms was the passageway Sorzen had taken, though he had a secret bolt-hole in the event unexpected visitors were to try and corner him.

The bar made an excellent front, it’s dilapidation and rough clientele assuring that little attention would be paid to his operation, however, one had to be civilized about one’s living conditions. The clicks of his boot heels echoed in the corridor as he proceeded a few doors down the hallway, manipulated a keypad, and stepped into a room dominated by status lights, computer screens and a small holonet transceiver.

Punching in the Galactic Access Address for the Dirty Mynock, Sorzen listened as the connection tone sounded, followed by the harsh electronic screech of the encryption modules on either end exchanging their one-time codes for synchronization. Assured of the privacy of his communication, the Weequay waited until a slightly pixellated Trandoshan appeared in the air in front of him, digital interference occasionally causing the image to stutter as the signal strength fluctuated.

“Zesh, “ Sorzen snapped, “where is Viggo?”

“Zorzen, not expect you call.” Zesh lisped, “Viggo buzy, I run ship today.”

Sorzen frowned, his anger rising at the laziness of the Mynock’s Captain. “Fine. I have a new crewmember for you down here. Another of those Togorians seems to have...wandered...in. He’ll prove useful on the Mynock”

“Already have full crew!” Zesh whined. “Not need troublezome cat on board, not need bad cat zmell!”

Rolling his eyes at the lizard’s tone, Sorzen’s voice became hard, and he jabbed a finger at the flickering holo of the Dirty Mynock’s First Mate. “You do not have a full crew. I think Survee is about to have an accident while fixing the airlock no?”

“But Zurvee Zurzen nephew, Zurzen blood!”

“Don’t you tell me who he is, don’t you think I know?!?” Sorzen bellowed, slamming a clenched fist into the edge of the holotable. “I want him spaced, right now. You don’t even like warm bloods as it is!”

Zesh’s slitted eyes rolled back and forth, looking for help. He fervently wished Viggo wasn’t busy having “fun” with a couple of units of their latest acquisition, a dozen freshly purchased Twi’lek slave girls for Sorzen’s Dnalvec pleasure house. Convinced this was a warm-blood trap, Zesh’s brain was feverishly scrambling to find himself an out.

“Look at me you scaled sack of bantha dung!” Sorzen raged, his voice getting so loud it was beginning to overload the audio pickups on the table, warping the sound of his voice with crackles and hisses on the bridge of the Mynock. “You’ll do as I say by the time you make port, or I’ll make sure you and that utterly worthless Captain you serve are both sold to the spice mines on Kessel, after I order my latest acquisition to break every bone in your bodies!”

Zesh was finally looking somewhat cowed, and he seemed to fold into himself somewhat as he quietly hissed “Yez...Zesh do.”

Taking a deep breath, Sorzen very quietly added, “And you’ll remove that Togorian hide from your cabin wall. I don’t care where you put it, just make sure it’s locked up well out of sight. If our new friend sees that, it will cost me a lot of credits in damages and lost profits, and I shall be sorely, sorely disappointed.”

The Trandoshan’s eyes went wide in shock and rage for a moment, but at an answering cold look from Sorzen, finally responded with a dejected nod. “Wookie peltzzzz?” he quietly hissed, his eyes looking up hopefully from an anxious face.

“Leave those up if it makes you happy, I couldn’t care less. Kill this one before I order it, however, and you’re finished. No excuses!” Pausing to give Zesh a final glare, Sorzen slammed his hand into the call disconnect before stalking from the Central Command Room.


----

Carefully de-selecting the Captain’s Quarters from the Comm Control Panel, Zesh pressed the button to sound the “Attention” tone in the ship.

“Zurvee, bring tool, report airlock two, getting bad cycle indicator light.” Zesh hissed into the audio pickup.

Across the ship, a young Weequay turned off the holo he was watching and grabbed a battered red metal toolbox. Stopping a moment at the door to bark, “I’m on it!” into the comm unit, he cycled the door and turned towards the port side airlock, softly whistling a popular Tandalion song as he bumped the box against his leg in time to the music.

R'iiilv Mrull - Part 5

“Deception is a cruel act... It often has many players on different stages that corrode the soul.”

----
The crowd of ‘swoopers who remained standing parted reluctantly as Sorzen led Mrrowl to a corner table in the back of the bar. A ripple of grumbles and glares followed the Togorian as he walked through the mob. Anyone getting a little too close or attempting to hinder Mrrowl’s progress received a hiss or a hard swat from one of his massive paws, although Mrrowl mostly retracted his claws to avoid another full-on scrum.

In the background, a few loud, metallic bangs rang out, and the tinny synthrock began to blare from the jukebox again. A pair of Bith ran from behind the bar with mops to clean up the mess as the victims of the ill-timed grenade were dragged out of a side door to be buried properly, in a dumpster. Scanning for threats, the Togorian noticed a Twi’lek lounging against the bar, the green skin around her sapphire eyes wrinkled in amusement as she watched him cross the room.

Arriving at the table, Mrrowl looked at the tiny chair for a moment, snorted, and then batted it aside with a flick of his paw. He squatted on his haunches in the spot where it had been, his back turned securely to the wall. The chair impacted rotten plaster, tearing out a huge chunk that hit the floor, leaving a series of white, powdery rays pointing away from the table. The sudden sound caused more than a few hands to dart to holstered blasters before their jumpy owners decided that there was no immediate threat.

Looking across the battered table, Mrrowl took stock of the hairless outsider who called himself Sorzen. Dark brown wrinkled skin, deep set eyes, and a shaven head marked the Swooper leader. The left side of his face had numerous pockmarks, many with small scar lines crisscrossing them, as if an explosion had caused glass to scythe across his cheek. He wore a fine leather jacket, with loops of gaudy gold chains passing under his arm from the epaulet on his left shoulder. A slight jingle drifted across the table as he made a gesture towards the bar.

Shortly, two glasses of Alderaanian Whiskey were dropped into the table by the Twi’lek, who was wearing a diaphanous net outfit that consisted of little more than a top and some leggings. As she turned from the table, she gave her outfit a little extra swirl while winking at the big cat. Mrrowl’s eyelids drooped a little and he purred a moment in appreciation, a deep sound that both Sorzen and the waitress could feel resonating sympathetically in their chests.

Emboldened, the Twi’lek reached out and tweaked a furry ear, giggling as it instinctively tried to dodge her hand, before dragging her fingers down the side of his jaw. With a playful smile, she turned lightly on her feet and began to make her way back to the bar, nimbly dodging grubby Weequay hands as they reached out for a pinch or a grab. Mrrowl’s ears sprung full forward and he gave her dancing retreat full attention, his nose still full of her spicy alien scent.

“So tell me, why did you feel the urge to smash up my bar?” Sorzen asked, drawing Mrrowl’s eyes back to his “host”.

Mrrowl chuckled, displaying wicked teeth, “Bar wasss ugly before Mrrowl sssmash, Mrrowl improve look.”

A hearty guffaw escaped Sorzen. Forgetting himself for a moment, he almost clapped the big cat on the back before he recalled the huge claws that had been on display a few minutes earlier. “Well, it certainly isn’t exactly the Senate Floor now is it?” he wheezed.

Once the laughter had died down, Mrrowl’s face turned sober as he looked levelly at Sorzen and replied, “Need work, provide better sssecurity than little hairless beings.”

From the moment the first ‘swooper had taken his short and painful flight, Sorzen had hoped he could find a way to send this creature off to work one of the ships he had a stake in. A warrior such as this one would rake in tons of credits. And unbelievably enough, he was actually asking Sorzen to use him. Piles of credits began to dance in his vision as he pondered the possibilities.

Successfully keeping the avarice off of his face, the Weequay smiled expansively. “Well, it just so happens I know a few ship Captains! Why, the Dirty Mynock is putting in tomorrow evening, and I believe they have an opening; good ship that one.

“I have a room you can stay in tonight, and we’ll get you aboard the Dirty Mynock tomorrow evening. What should I tell the Captain your name is?”

Remembering the reaction of the Customs Agent, Mrrowl moderated his tone a bit, trying to speak his name with what he imagined was the way one would say it in Basic. While he managed not to rattle the windows, the yowl of his name caused Sorzen flinch a touch, and a few jumpy hands at tables nearby lept once again to blaster butts and knife handles.

Chuckling to himself, Sorzen, could just see the fear this dumb brute would strike in a boarding action or an illicit trade. All they had to do was make sure he stayed fat, dumb and happy until he had outlived his usefulness. The ruins of the front part of the bar attested to that little requirement.

R'iiilv Mrull - Part 4

“Deterrence is the art of producing, in the mind of the enemy, the fear to attack.” - Book of F’laar, Chapter 4

----

The bar had probably once been a reasonably nice establishment. Crumbling plaster, wood that was splintered from the impacts of heavy, hard objects, and a floor that looked like it probably had something lethal to most mammals growing on it attested to its current status as a complete shit-hole.

A jukebox that was more dents than not sat in the corner, the shattered glass from its front window still laying where it had fallen under a layer of scuffed dust. Synthrock music played tinnily from the speakers that remained - many of the sound alcoves were gaping holes full of torn wires. At the sound of the door shutting behind Mrrowl, a rough looking Weequay standing near the jukebox viciously kicked it to silence, adding a fresh series of dents to the dull casing, and every eye turned towards the new arrival.

Flinty stares met him from every occupied table and barstool in the room, adding menace to the sudden quiet. Each Weequay’s arm had a thin scarlet sash tied around it, with various symbols Mrrowl took to be rank of some sort embroidered near the frayed ends. There were enough weapons in evidence to stock a moderate arms bazaar, blaster pistols, rifles, even a missile launcher that had been carelessly tossed in a corner. The big Togorian breathed a mental sigh of relief when he didn’t see anyone reaching for that particular party favor.

A voice like gravel in a battered fuel drum echoed in Mrrowl’s head and a predatory smile broke out across his face. “Keep ‘em off balance, and keep ‘em guessing! They’re more unsure of what’s going on than you are...”

The room shook with an ear splitting roar as Mrrowl turned, grabbed a grungy Weequay in a torn leather jacket who was standing near the door, and threw him clear over the bar. Shattering glass underlay the rumble of his war-cry as the unfortunate bar patron’s head destroyed a couple of shelves of spirits, and bounced off of the edge of the back counter as his body hit the floor.

Spinning, Mrrowl’s right arm clothes-lined another patron as claws sprung from his left paw and raked deep furrows in a second Weequay trying to attack his blind side with a vibro-dagger. Grabbing the edge of a large table, it’s surface covered in crudely carved initials and lewd images, Mrrowl threw it end over end into a trio of Weequay; one holding a grenade and the other two bringing blaster carbines to bear. All three went down beneath the weight of the flying table, the sharp cracks of bones breaking followed quickly by an ear splitting THUMP as the grenade went off beneath the overturned table. The air in the room immediately turned hazy as dust loosened by the blast began to cascade from the ceiling, making it hard to see more than a few feet.

Off in the dusky gloom, the sounds of more thrown furniture added to the din as chairs and tables began flying in every direction - every Weequay in the bar clearing a fighting space, eager to meet this new threat. Mrrowl’s vision swam with stars as a metal pitcher smashed into the back of his head. Blinking rapidly, he dropped to all fours and used both rear feet to mule kick the offender, who collapsed with a high-pitched scream, clutching a stomach raked with deep gashes.

Still crouched, and slowly circling to watch for additional threats through the clearing air, Mrrowl finally realized he was in trouble as a large space opened around him. He noticed dozens of muzzles representing the finest collection of weaponry he’d seen to date, and all were pointed at him. With a prolonged hiss, he squatted down slightly, getting ready to pounce into the nearest cluster of Weequay.

“STOP!” rang out a voice in accented Basic, as a large Weequay with elaborate embroidery on his armband stepped from the crowd, empty hands held out in front of him. A quick glance at his clothing showed the big cat that this particular brigand was far better dressed than the mob, and Mrrowl immediately picked him out as someone with some rank. Stopping his slow circle to focus on the large newcomer, Mrrowl immediately prioritized him as someone to kill as soon as possible.

Silence again fell over the bar, interrupted only by moans from the injured. Mrrowl’s muscles bunched and writhed under his coat, still poised to spring as he bared his teeth and murled very low in his throat at the interloper standing in front of him.

“You’re a big one, aren’t you? Do you speak Basic?” the large Weequay asked, hands still held out in a gesture of peace.

Mrrowl’s eyes narrowed and his ears paused their scan behind him to flip attentively forward, but he said nothing as he considered the alien standing in front of him. Jade eyes sparkled with barely concealed glee as he pondered tearing off the Weequay’s arms and beating him with them.

“I am called Sorzen,“ the big mercenary offered, not liking the look he was getting from the Togorian one bit, “I’m sorry if my compatriots here, err, were less than cordial. Perhaps we can chalk this up to an, uhh, misunderstanding?”

Sorzen turned to the barely restrained mob of Weequay surrounding him, making lowering motions with his hands. He made sure, however, that he didn’t turn enough to lose sight of the hulking Togorian, who still looked ready to spring. Weapons were very slowly lowered and holstered, and the collection of Weequay began to reluctantly right the tables and chairs, sitting down with grudging mumbles and sidelong looks. Mrrowl finally relaxed slightly, giving Sorzen a wary look in between visual scans of the room.

“Why don’t we talk over a drink.....?” Sorzen prompted, trying for a name.

“Drink.....yessss.” replied Mrrowl, baring his sharp teeth in what Sorzen fervently hoped was a smile.

R'iiilv Mrull - Part 3

“If you know yourself, but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat.” - Ancient F’laarian Saying

----

The laminate corner of the desk was curling up....again, exposing the cheap near-wood core. Mashing at it with an ink stained thumb just caused the entire desk to wobble alarmingly, complete with the not-so-subtle sounds of overstressed fasteners failing in their struggle to hold the “wood” panels together. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to fix the meddlesome thing.

The Weequay bureaucrat in charge of processing the few visitors that came through the spaceport sucked his teeth in frustration as a very dark shadow fell over the desk, interrupting his attempts to fix the corner. Looking up from the troublesome faux wood veneer, he was momentarily perplexed by a solid wall of charcoal fur blocking his vision.

The soft crackling of old adhesive heralded the troublesome laminate curling back up unnoticed as the Customs Official’s eyes traveled farther and farther up, to meet the steady gaze of the Togorian who was eclipsing the natural light from the nearby window.

“Name?”

“Mrrowl!” howled the large cat at the top of his lungs, rattling the windows.

Involuntarily ducking the aural assault, the Customs Official found his hand scrabbling for a blaster that wasn’t there, before a dim memory of Togorian customs overrode his reflexes. Frustrated at losing his composure, he tried to regain the upper hand, snapping “Is that three ‘R’s or four?”

A display of sharp teeth accompanied by broken hissing sounds was all he got in return.

“Uhh...anything to declare?” the functionary stammered.


----

There wasn’t much to see today. The heat had driven sane folks inside, leaving nothing in the dusty street but the occasional stray druulg picking amongst the overflowing dumpsters for scraps. On either side of the dirt boulevard, two broken lines of dessicated trees poked out of the hard packed surface. Those specimens that hadn’t yet been chopped down for firewood or toppled by a wayward speeder hadn’t had crowned themselves in leaves in recent memory.

A dull roar from the nearby spaceport rattled the glass sitting on the rotten wood table next to an old Weequay. The shade of the porch wasn’t doing much to help with the heat, but the shade and open air provided a relative coolness that was a welcome respite from the oppressive temperature inside the shop behind him. The conditioning unit hadn’t worked in a month, and credits for a new coil would take a while to raise. Leaning out, exposing his face to the unrelenting sun, he was able to pick out the rapidly retreating shape of a YG-4210 leaving an oily smear across the sky as it departed. A wistful look crossed a weathered face, and he leaned back into his chair lest the heat take him.

Tas-rev had seen a lot in his time. Hutt Palaces, small skirmishes and wars, even a couple of Heavy Cruisers slugging it out during a blockade, and more bar fights than he cared to count. What he had not yet seen in his 60 some-odd cycles was a Togorian on Sriluur, the Weequay homeworld, never you mind strolling casually down a street in the seedy Orchard District of Dnalvec.

Even with Sriluur’s proximity to Togoria, the big cats were rare as the tooth of the mythical hen, unless, of course, one was so daft in the head as to go to Togoria itself. Not even the most cut-throat pirates went anywhere near Togoria; those that did were generally never seen again.

Despite the distance, Tas-rev’s rheumy eyes had very little trouble making out the slightly blurred figure, the sun reflecting brightly from its glossy, charcoal colored coat, black stripes reflected a deep bluish. Squinting a little, Tas-rev was shocked to realize that the brute was wearing nothing more than a belt with a vibro-blade strapped to it. “Savage brute...kinda like a wookie...” the old Weequay muttered to himself.

Speaking of bar brawls, Tas-rev’s mouth widened in a gap-toothed grin as he saw the Togorian stop in front of a notorious Swoop Gang bar, rumored to be run by a powerful crime syndicate. Pausing to consider it’s sun battered facade for a moment, the big cat thoughtfully tapped the chrome handlebar of one of the swoop bikes parked near the door with a large paw, before ducking under the lintel and squeezing through the door.

“That pelt would make an excellent throw rug.” he thought idly to himself.

Snatching up a bronze tipped walking stick that looked suspiciously like the polished hip bone of a large animal, Tas-rev hobbled as quickly as possible across the street to see the show.