Post by lion on Jul 29, 2015 20:38:29 GMT -5
(Just off the bat; there will be some violent, mature references in the backstory and attire. Nothing gruesomely detailed, but referred to.)
Name: Sarkh
Race: Trandoshan
Age:27
Birthplace: Dosha, Kashyyyk system
Allegiance: Self
Status: Self-Employed
Rank: Mercenary/Jedi Hunter
Height/Weight: 208.3cm (6'10)/ 161 Kg (355 lbs)
Appearance:
"You'll make for a fine hunt, Jedi."
(Faceclaim: Reptile (Mortal Kombat series)
By human standards, Sarkh is a big boy not only in terms of height but body type, thanks to a hardy lifestyle common to Trandoshans; solid boned, broad shouldered, modestly narrow hips, packed and powerful muscle under an almost armor-like coating of hardened skin 'scales' a shade of plant-like green, capable of lightening or darkening depending on the light and thermal needs.
Reptilian physiology extends to Sarkh's solidly built limbs; his three digit hands and feet terminating in sharp, non-retractable claws that make for some nasty weapons. However, the shape that these extremities take render human baseline footwear an impossibility to wear (Not much of an issue, as he tends to roam barefoot anyway), and blasters requiring specific tailoring to meet his hand shapes. Instead of shoes, Sarkh instead wears nerf-leather ankle straps, usually studded with flat-headed 'spikes', to assist in gripping soft-earth terrain; he won't often wear these on more synthetic surfaces such as metal, duracrete and the like.
Sharp fangs line his snout, broad nostrils upon the end of it providing a large intake of air to fuel Sarkh's body, whilst his forward facing, reddish-yellow eyes provide excellent vision both highly sensitive to motion and a broad range of the infrared light spectrum, affording the reptilian man a strong sense of visual acuity to his surroundings. Lacking ears, Sarkh hears instead through semi-permeable 'holes' in the sides of his head, less sensitive than other species.
Cold blooded, Sarkh possess a 'third eye', a special net of scales at the top of his hairless scalp highly sensitive to temperature and UV conditions allow Sarkh to 'sense' the temperature around him and react accordingly, either darkening his body scales to allow for better absorption of heat, or lightening them to reflect it and keep cool. Likewise, these modest colour shifts can indicate mood; a darkening of his scales may indicate anger, frustration or indignation, where a lighter tone may indicate pleasant-mindedness or mirth.
To protect his face (and particularly his sensitive muzzle) from attack, Sarkh dons an armoured mask made of light durasteel alloy. Sturdy yet light, this three-section (a larger piece for the upper jaw, two for the chin and lower mandibles) piece of armor provides Sarkh some measure of facial protection and anonymity, as well as surprise; when his mouth is closed, the mask appears solid, allowing close-range bites.
The most glaring piece of Sarkh's outfit, however, is the bone tabard; a self-made piece of attire crafted from the bones of the 'missing' Talz Jedi apprentice, Takfi; Sarkh's first jedi kill. The tabard serves as a secondary piece of armor, along as something of a mimicry of the usual practice of wearing pelts; the Talz bones are thick enough to protect against light strikes and even some fixed-blade cuts, and show proof of Sarkh's kill.
When not hunting, however, Sarkh's dress is fairly sparse and spartan; despite his wealth, the Trandoshan dresses for pragmatism over appearance. Shorts and tank-tops are a preferred dress garb; revealing more of his scales to the sun to draw heat, but when in cold weather, he will dress excessively to retain heat.
Personality:
Like most youthful men of the Galaxy, Sarkh is a vigorous, outgoing person with a lot of energy to burn; often giving him the appearance of always being on the go and active. To Trandoshans, however, 'on the go' and 'active' translate to outwardly aggressive displays befitting their culture as fiercely competitive prize-hunters.
However, don't mistake his aggression for simple-minded brutishness; Sarkh's motives go beyond simple drives for dominance or need to appear strong and tough but instead for spiritual reasons. Among trandoshans, these violent tendencies are actively encouraged in his devotion to the Scorekeeper; a feminine deity outside of reality watching over Trandoshans and their actions. An aggressive lifestyle like Sarkh's, revolving around hunting and capture of others, appeases the Scorekeeper and garners her favour.
Indeed; Sarkh sees his 'blessing' of his sensitivity to the Force as direct intervention on the Scorekeeper's part. To Sarkh, the divine entity must have imbued him with such ability due to favour, and thus, she gave him the tools to hunt prey beyond that of others before him, namely the Jedi.
Sarkh's no stranger to profit, either; his family being closely tied to the Czerka Corporation in regards to slaving rights over Wookiees centuries ago meant the Trandoshan had plenty of credits to his name even as a young man, thanks to the sheer profits drawn in at the time. As such, he knows little of the value of credits, and whilst he will try to certainly avoid being swindled if he can see it coming, he's far more liberal with expenditure. He's not had to work to earn it, after all.
It's also lead to something of a hypocritical streak, as Sarkh views himself as an honest man, he's not above being bribed or bought. It's not a bribe if it's a gift, after all, and he's got no problem working any arrangement to appear above board. Loyalty from Sarkh extends only as far as how you fit into his view of an honorable life; lesser beings like humans would struggle to earn Sarkh's respect, and therefore, he has little issue in turning on those seeking his services if money is better elsewhere.
There are some areas, though, that the Trandoshan is steadfast; his religion (specifically the rules of hunting and the acquisition of Jagannath points), and the honouring of the life-debt. These two facets of life are practically (and literally) sacred to Sarkh, and not something he will willingly break without extreme effort and reluctance on his part to do so, unless the situation demands it. Whilst nobody has managed to actually claim his debt, it's a thought that Sarkh has given some consideration; one day it very well may happen.
In terms of Sarkh's approach to combat, he lives for the thrill of it, but years of being exposed to it has given the reptilian man a cool head. He can think tactically (especially when engaging Jedi prey) using stealth and ambush tactics to surprise and overwhelm, but by the same token, worthy prey deserves a fair chance; he will refuse to use weapons that will rob prey of a fighting chance, such as gas grenades, but he's not above using underhanded tactics during the fight. Canned hunts, such as paying others to perform the hunt and merely claiming the right of killing, are despicable in Sarkh's eyes; the Scorekeeper affords no points for a hunt without struggle.
Ships/Vehicles:
Decommissioned BT-7 Thunderclap, Ashen.
Equipment:
(Ranged Armament)
Czerka Arms CZR-9001 Blaster Pistol
(Up Close)
Stolen Jedi Lightsaber (Standard-blade, Green)
36" serrated, single-edge Chalon sword.
5" fixed-blade Chalon skinning knife
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength-Superior
Agility-Above Average
Intelligence-Average
Charisma-Average
Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Telekinetic-Novice
Telepathic-Novice
Body-Novice
Sense-Novice
Protection-Unskilled
Healing:–Unskilled
Destruction–Unskilled
Whilst Sarkh is sensitive to the Force and has some remarkable potential, he is untrained and self taught; his use of Force powers are potent but technique-poor. He can perform feats to increase his body's capabilities, sense the presence of others and even manipulate the Force to move objects, but he has only begun to scratch the surface.
Combat Training:
-Unarmed Martial Arts*: Expert
-Swordsmanship: Expert
-Marksmanship: Below Average
*: Sarkh is a practitioner of traditional Trandoshani martial arts, rather than Teras Kasi or other contemporary styles of the galaxy; a multi-discipline 'sport' form designed to toughen up the reptilian youths, hone their fitness, foster a competitive mindset and harden them up for the potential rigors faced in the hunting lifestyle. Naturally, these techniques have been developed with a Trandoshan body in mind (in particular to take on Wookiees); humans can certainly learn if they find a Trandoshan willing to teach, but they lack the physical strength and durability the form demands.
Fighters of this form are often explosive in action; calculating and probing outside of their opponent's range to find openings to exploit before suddenly blasting their opponent with stiff power shots toward the head, throat, body, or legs and moving in to overwhelm. Grappling, joint locks and strangulation techniques (so as to not damage the pelt of the prey) are covered in detail; likewise with a focus on sudden and forceful action to control a fight, with pain compliance seen as secondary to outright disabling the adversary.
It's not a form every Trandoshan is expected to master, but most generally know in some way or another; especially those belonging to well-known hunting families, who view it as a 'better to have than not' measure against physically stronger and larger prey like Wookiees, who otherwise dominate Trandoshans claw to claw. A tool of last defense,
Force Training: N/A, Self-taught
Lightsaber Training: (Untrained, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master, Specialist)
Shii-Cho-Untrained
Makashi-Untrained
Soresu-Untrained
Ataru-Untrained
Shien/Djem So-Untrained
>>Sub-form Backhanded-Untrained
Niman-Untrained
>>Sub-form Jar-kai-Untrained
Juyo-Untrained
Double Bladed Combat- Untrained
*: Sarkh, whilst he possesses a lightsaber, is untrained in all forms of lightsaber combat; instead trying to teach himself the weapon from the base of his years of practice with a contemporary sword. Whilst inferior to masters of traditional forms, Sarkh's form is nevertheless competent enough to avoid cutting himself to pieces with it and even defeat Jedi who dare underestimate him.
Blast deflection, however, is something Sarkh has no real coordination over; he has the Force to heighten his reflexes, but tends to prefer using cover in a firefight rather than a beam of light.
Other Training:
-Pelting/Skinning Carcasses: Superior
-Concealment (stealth): Average
-Piloting: Average
Biography:
Sarkh, one of a clutch of four hatchlings born to slavemaster Saado and wife Khras, Sarkh's upbringing was one of extravagance; the family were regarded as one of the noble families among the Trandoshan castes owing to both political maneuverings and the age-old familial practice of raising dominant hunters. One of the few familial factions dealing with the Czerka Corporation during the latter's occupancy of Kashyyyk centuries ago, credits were practically as common as breath for Sarkh's family, paid in trade for Wookiee slaves and pelts, and even with the corporation's later departure, they continued their wealthy trades for both Czerka and independent needs offworld.
However, affluence did not bring a sense of softness for Sarkh; youth might have been spent being waited upon hand-and-foot by attendants and personal slaves, but the hatchling's upbringing even from youth was physically rough. A society built around hunting lifestyles, after all, tended to start early to toughen up the next generation, and Sarkh and his clutchmates were not exempt; if anything, their position as the offspring of a talented figure only exaggerated expectation.
Sarkh was not the eldest, nor was he the youngest; far from the runt of his clutch but likewise seen as 'extra' in his father's eyes in terms of carrying on the family name, and whilst his mother Khras doted, it wasn't the same. As such, there was little attention paid towards the young Sarkh bar the bare minimum, and whilst Sarkh knew little better at the time, the lack of acceptance would set the boy on a path of 'by any means necessary' success that would bring him the renown he so desperately desired.
Sarkh's education was, from a young age, physical; he had access to tutors and educators among his retinue of slaves, but most teachings from his mother and father directly revolved around that of hunting. At the age of merely five, Sarkh was given his first knife, and at age seven, his first slugthrower pistol; prey were merely training dummies and prey droids to simulate the real thing. Competition among his brothers was actively fostered; second best was not good enough, and whilst the four youths were trained together and shared blood, they could not have had fiercer rivalries.
The promise of a real hunt, however, loomed closer with each day and for Sarkh it could not have been any more tantalizing a prospect for his blade to find a real, living target.
Name: Sarkh
Race: Trandoshan
Age:27
Birthplace: Dosha, Kashyyyk system
Allegiance: Self
Status: Self-Employed
Rank: Mercenary/Jedi Hunter
Height/Weight: 208.3cm (6'10)/ 161 Kg (355 lbs)
Appearance:
"You'll make for a fine hunt, Jedi."
(Faceclaim: Reptile (Mortal Kombat series)
By human standards, Sarkh is a big boy not only in terms of height but body type, thanks to a hardy lifestyle common to Trandoshans; solid boned, broad shouldered, modestly narrow hips, packed and powerful muscle under an almost armor-like coating of hardened skin 'scales' a shade of plant-like green, capable of lightening or darkening depending on the light and thermal needs.
Reptilian physiology extends to Sarkh's solidly built limbs; his three digit hands and feet terminating in sharp, non-retractable claws that make for some nasty weapons. However, the shape that these extremities take render human baseline footwear an impossibility to wear (Not much of an issue, as he tends to roam barefoot anyway), and blasters requiring specific tailoring to meet his hand shapes. Instead of shoes, Sarkh instead wears nerf-leather ankle straps, usually studded with flat-headed 'spikes', to assist in gripping soft-earth terrain; he won't often wear these on more synthetic surfaces such as metal, duracrete and the like.
Sharp fangs line his snout, broad nostrils upon the end of it providing a large intake of air to fuel Sarkh's body, whilst his forward facing, reddish-yellow eyes provide excellent vision both highly sensitive to motion and a broad range of the infrared light spectrum, affording the reptilian man a strong sense of visual acuity to his surroundings. Lacking ears, Sarkh hears instead through semi-permeable 'holes' in the sides of his head, less sensitive than other species.
Cold blooded, Sarkh possess a 'third eye', a special net of scales at the top of his hairless scalp highly sensitive to temperature and UV conditions allow Sarkh to 'sense' the temperature around him and react accordingly, either darkening his body scales to allow for better absorption of heat, or lightening them to reflect it and keep cool. Likewise, these modest colour shifts can indicate mood; a darkening of his scales may indicate anger, frustration or indignation, where a lighter tone may indicate pleasant-mindedness or mirth.
To protect his face (and particularly his sensitive muzzle) from attack, Sarkh dons an armoured mask made of light durasteel alloy. Sturdy yet light, this three-section (a larger piece for the upper jaw, two for the chin and lower mandibles) piece of armor provides Sarkh some measure of facial protection and anonymity, as well as surprise; when his mouth is closed, the mask appears solid, allowing close-range bites.
The most glaring piece of Sarkh's outfit, however, is the bone tabard; a self-made piece of attire crafted from the bones of the 'missing' Talz Jedi apprentice, Takfi; Sarkh's first jedi kill. The tabard serves as a secondary piece of armor, along as something of a mimicry of the usual practice of wearing pelts; the Talz bones are thick enough to protect against light strikes and even some fixed-blade cuts, and show proof of Sarkh's kill.
When not hunting, however, Sarkh's dress is fairly sparse and spartan; despite his wealth, the Trandoshan dresses for pragmatism over appearance. Shorts and tank-tops are a preferred dress garb; revealing more of his scales to the sun to draw heat, but when in cold weather, he will dress excessively to retain heat.
Personality:
Like most youthful men of the Galaxy, Sarkh is a vigorous, outgoing person with a lot of energy to burn; often giving him the appearance of always being on the go and active. To Trandoshans, however, 'on the go' and 'active' translate to outwardly aggressive displays befitting their culture as fiercely competitive prize-hunters.
However, don't mistake his aggression for simple-minded brutishness; Sarkh's motives go beyond simple drives for dominance or need to appear strong and tough but instead for spiritual reasons. Among trandoshans, these violent tendencies are actively encouraged in his devotion to the Scorekeeper; a feminine deity outside of reality watching over Trandoshans and their actions. An aggressive lifestyle like Sarkh's, revolving around hunting and capture of others, appeases the Scorekeeper and garners her favour.
Indeed; Sarkh sees his 'blessing' of his sensitivity to the Force as direct intervention on the Scorekeeper's part. To Sarkh, the divine entity must have imbued him with such ability due to favour, and thus, she gave him the tools to hunt prey beyond that of others before him, namely the Jedi.
Sarkh's no stranger to profit, either; his family being closely tied to the Czerka Corporation in regards to slaving rights over Wookiees centuries ago meant the Trandoshan had plenty of credits to his name even as a young man, thanks to the sheer profits drawn in at the time. As such, he knows little of the value of credits, and whilst he will try to certainly avoid being swindled if he can see it coming, he's far more liberal with expenditure. He's not had to work to earn it, after all.
It's also lead to something of a hypocritical streak, as Sarkh views himself as an honest man, he's not above being bribed or bought. It's not a bribe if it's a gift, after all, and he's got no problem working any arrangement to appear above board. Loyalty from Sarkh extends only as far as how you fit into his view of an honorable life; lesser beings like humans would struggle to earn Sarkh's respect, and therefore, he has little issue in turning on those seeking his services if money is better elsewhere.
There are some areas, though, that the Trandoshan is steadfast; his religion (specifically the rules of hunting and the acquisition of Jagannath points), and the honouring of the life-debt. These two facets of life are practically (and literally) sacred to Sarkh, and not something he will willingly break without extreme effort and reluctance on his part to do so, unless the situation demands it. Whilst nobody has managed to actually claim his debt, it's a thought that Sarkh has given some consideration; one day it very well may happen.
In terms of Sarkh's approach to combat, he lives for the thrill of it, but years of being exposed to it has given the reptilian man a cool head. He can think tactically (especially when engaging Jedi prey) using stealth and ambush tactics to surprise and overwhelm, but by the same token, worthy prey deserves a fair chance; he will refuse to use weapons that will rob prey of a fighting chance, such as gas grenades, but he's not above using underhanded tactics during the fight. Canned hunts, such as paying others to perform the hunt and merely claiming the right of killing, are despicable in Sarkh's eyes; the Scorekeeper affords no points for a hunt without struggle.
Ships/Vehicles:
Decommissioned BT-7 Thunderclap, Ashen.
Equipment:
(Ranged Armament)
Czerka Arms CZR-9001 Blaster Pistol
(Up Close)
Stolen Jedi Lightsaber (Standard-blade, Green)
36" serrated, single-edge Chalon sword.
5" fixed-blade Chalon skinning knife
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength-Superior
Agility-Above Average
Intelligence-Average
Charisma-Average
Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Telekinetic-Novice
Telepathic-Novice
Body-Novice
Sense-Novice
Protection-Unskilled
Healing:–Unskilled
Destruction–Unskilled
Whilst Sarkh is sensitive to the Force and has some remarkable potential, he is untrained and self taught; his use of Force powers are potent but technique-poor. He can perform feats to increase his body's capabilities, sense the presence of others and even manipulate the Force to move objects, but he has only begun to scratch the surface.
Combat Training:
-Unarmed Martial Arts*: Expert
-Swordsmanship: Expert
-Marksmanship: Below Average
*: Sarkh is a practitioner of traditional Trandoshani martial arts, rather than Teras Kasi or other contemporary styles of the galaxy; a multi-discipline 'sport' form designed to toughen up the reptilian youths, hone their fitness, foster a competitive mindset and harden them up for the potential rigors faced in the hunting lifestyle. Naturally, these techniques have been developed with a Trandoshan body in mind (in particular to take on Wookiees); humans can certainly learn if they find a Trandoshan willing to teach, but they lack the physical strength and durability the form demands.
Fighters of this form are often explosive in action; calculating and probing outside of their opponent's range to find openings to exploit before suddenly blasting their opponent with stiff power shots toward the head, throat, body, or legs and moving in to overwhelm. Grappling, joint locks and strangulation techniques (so as to not damage the pelt of the prey) are covered in detail; likewise with a focus on sudden and forceful action to control a fight, with pain compliance seen as secondary to outright disabling the adversary.
It's not a form every Trandoshan is expected to master, but most generally know in some way or another; especially those belonging to well-known hunting families, who view it as a 'better to have than not' measure against physically stronger and larger prey like Wookiees, who otherwise dominate Trandoshans claw to claw. A tool of last defense,
Force Training: N/A, Self-taught
Lightsaber Training: (Untrained, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master, Specialist)
Shii-Cho-Untrained
Makashi-Untrained
Soresu-Untrained
Ataru-Untrained
Shien/Djem So-Untrained
>>Sub-form Backhanded-Untrained
Niman-Untrained
>>Sub-form Jar-kai-Untrained
Juyo-Untrained
Double Bladed Combat- Untrained
*: Sarkh, whilst he possesses a lightsaber, is untrained in all forms of lightsaber combat; instead trying to teach himself the weapon from the base of his years of practice with a contemporary sword. Whilst inferior to masters of traditional forms, Sarkh's form is nevertheless competent enough to avoid cutting himself to pieces with it and even defeat Jedi who dare underestimate him.
Blast deflection, however, is something Sarkh has no real coordination over; he has the Force to heighten his reflexes, but tends to prefer using cover in a firefight rather than a beam of light.
Other Training:
-Pelting/Skinning Carcasses: Superior
-Concealment (stealth): Average
-Piloting: Average
Biography:
Beginnings: (1-12)
Sarkh, one of a clutch of four hatchlings born to slavemaster Saado and wife Khras, Sarkh's upbringing was one of extravagance; the family were regarded as one of the noble families among the Trandoshan castes owing to both political maneuverings and the age-old familial practice of raising dominant hunters. One of the few familial factions dealing with the Czerka Corporation during the latter's occupancy of Kashyyyk centuries ago, credits were practically as common as breath for Sarkh's family, paid in trade for Wookiee slaves and pelts, and even with the corporation's later departure, they continued their wealthy trades for both Czerka and independent needs offworld.
However, affluence did not bring a sense of softness for Sarkh; youth might have been spent being waited upon hand-and-foot by attendants and personal slaves, but the hatchling's upbringing even from youth was physically rough. A society built around hunting lifestyles, after all, tended to start early to toughen up the next generation, and Sarkh and his clutchmates were not exempt; if anything, their position as the offspring of a talented figure only exaggerated expectation.
Sarkh was not the eldest, nor was he the youngest; far from the runt of his clutch but likewise seen as 'extra' in his father's eyes in terms of carrying on the family name, and whilst his mother Khras doted, it wasn't the same. As such, there was little attention paid towards the young Sarkh bar the bare minimum, and whilst Sarkh knew little better at the time, the lack of acceptance would set the boy on a path of 'by any means necessary' success that would bring him the renown he so desperately desired.
Sarkh's education was, from a young age, physical; he had access to tutors and educators among his retinue of slaves, but most teachings from his mother and father directly revolved around that of hunting. At the age of merely five, Sarkh was given his first knife, and at age seven, his first slugthrower pistol; prey were merely training dummies and prey droids to simulate the real thing. Competition among his brothers was actively fostered; second best was not good enough, and whilst the four youths were trained together and shared blood, they could not have had fiercer rivalries.
The promise of a real hunt, however, loomed closer with each day and for Sarkh it could not have been any more tantalizing a prospect for his blade to find a real, living target.
Developments (12-18)
At the tender age of twelve, Sarkh's wish came true; he and his brothers were ferried to Kashyyyk to observe and learn firsthand the trade and culture in which they would be raised, accompanying a slaver party to the Wookiee homeworld for a week-long jaunt, twice monthly. Under the guidance of Saado's hunting party, Sarkh and his brothers would develop the skills that just couldn't be taught on flimsiplast or datapad entries; the keen instincts necessary to read prey, to track, to properly think ahead to lay ambush.
Among the fellow Trandoshan hunters, all renowned in their skills and their guile, Sarkh sharpened the instincts that would make him deadly, and at age thirteen, he had his very first kill; shooting dead a young Wookiee male with his father's blaster rifle at a distance of thirty feet. It was the proudest moment of Sarkh's young life, exactly what he had dreamed it could be as the rifle kicked against his shoulder; the force of the weapon seemingly supernatural as it snuffed the life out of the proud beast in his sights.
Success, however, brought new lessons; hunters were not expected to just kill their prey but to properly prepare the trophy for presentation; such was the process the Scorekeeper required. With the assistance of his father's men to carry the corpse back to the hunter's camp, Sarkh would follow his father's guidance in the preparation of the body, observing the steps necessary to condition the pelt before removing the skin from its former owner.
Bloody, nauseous from the sight of innards and with the smell of death clogging his nostrils, Sarkh had never felt so alive; the bug had bitten and, with the thrill of his first jagannath points awarded, the young boy wanted more. But such an event raised questions, as the entire hunting trip Sarkh had seen the death of his prey in his mind, had even selected the hiding position out of a sense of familiarity.
On reflection, Sarkh had reasoned, he didn't recall even seeing the beast; the trigger pull had been purely on instinct; a sense that the target was there, regardless of whatever his eyes were telling him. When asking Saado about this, during the skinning of his prey, his father had simply stated it was instinctive; hunters should be able to feel the moments pivotal to their progress, guided by the Scorekeeper's wisdom and will.
It was around the age of thirteen, however, that Sarkh would take not just the first steps toward manhood both physically and culturally, but toward a path that his brother and even his father could not follow or guide. Arguing with his eldest brother over a favoured sparring sword, and losing the ensuing scuffle that began as a result of the verbal fight, Sarkh lashed out at his sibling with an almighty shove; not with his hands, but with the Force, knocking his brother over from two full steps away.
Fearful at this display of unexplained power, something he couldn't explain or begin to try to replicate, Sarkh approached his mother for advice for what to do. The answer, however, was far beyond what Sarkh could have expected; the young reptilian man had been born Force-Sensitive and, as a child, had almost ended up in the care of the Jedi, rather than that of his blood relatives.
It had been Saado's influence and the political situation Dosha had found itself in among the Republic that had stayed the Order's hand in claiming the boy, Khras had said; the Trandoshan people were hardly obliging to the Jedi for the most part. Furthermore, with Saado's unwillingness to even allow representatives of the Order near his offspring, it was a practical impossibility for Sarkh to have even had a chance.
Both physically and mentally, Sarkh would spend his early teen years developing into the man he would become; shedding his scaled skin as he grew taller and broader. The process was extremely uncomfortable; the sensation of skin drying and flaking bringing incessant needs to scratch away making it feel as if he were peeling himself out of his own flesh. It was during this time that he hunting trips became more frequent, that lessons in how to fight and how to trap became more intense; four clutch-brothers each brimming with hormones and agitated by skin-patches made for some violent competition.
It was a trying time for Sarkh, to say the least; above his pubescent woes were the struggles to comprehend the Force and try to understand just how to use what he had been given; having been given such a gift clearly had come with the intent for it to be used, but how? The Jedi, Sarkh knew, were no option; they had an age cutoff that he had well passed, and even if they didn't, the notion of spending the rest of his life surrounded by the sorts of people the Jedi associated with was hardly appealing.
So, what options were there? Learning how to levitate objects was hardly like learning to read and write; you couldn't just find a school willing to put you up for a few years. Whilst the rumour of other groups dedicated to the Force had always been around, they too seemed like mere offshoots to the Jedi; far more interested in the spiritual and ascetic lifestyles that Sarkh just couldn't find himself wanting to live.
The only option available, and the one that the young reptilian man followed, was that of instinct; self-teaching. Among his lessons of hunting, of weaponry, Sarkh would dedicate what spare hours he had of each day in his room trying to lift and move various objects with only his mind, often straining to the point of headache and mental exhaustion. It took six months for even the faintest wiggle of a datapad, but determined to stick with it, Sarkh took any small victory he could. It was a long road, after all, but like his other trainings, it one that promised much in his favour if he could master it; pain and discomfort now was a good trade for ability later.
And with each passing day, it got just that little bit easier.
The years went by without much event for Sarkh; his transition from youngling to man was celebrated on Kashyyyk with his first solo hunt; a rite of passage designed to show the skills developed through youth against some of the fiercest prey the Trandoshans have faced. With nothing more than his training to guide him, and his nascent abilities in the Force, Sarkh descended into the Shadowlands once more, only this time with little more than a purpose-forged sawtooth sword and, two days later, he returned; three pelts slung over his shoulder and pride in his heart.
A proven hunter, Sarkh would soon find himself being sought for; with four fine pelts to his name, and the son of a master slaver, his presence in less-than-traditional hunting parties became a sought-after commodity. It wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, after all; wookiees were not the only prey available to the Trandoshan people nor were pelts the only trophies worth collecting in the eyes of the Scorekeeper.
And of course, with the youthful desire to see the Universe beyond the realm of his home, the young hunter couldn't help but fall into mercenary jobs. The process was fairly uneventful for the most part; hopping from mercenary band to mercenary band as a hired gun or blade was fairly common practice and brought in a fair wad of credits depending on the job, and having trained for so long to learn to anticipate the instinct-reactions of people on the run, tracking targets down became child's play.
However, it was the hunts on his own that Sarkh found the most exhilarating and enjoyable; the thrill of pitting only himself against the target was far beyond team-organisation. Between jobs, the young man ensured regular hunting trips to Kashyyyk as he had in his youth, returning more often than not with a freshly excised pelt to show for his troubles. It was in these trips, where his safety was arguably threatened the most, that Sarkh found a stronger connection with the Force; his abilities felt heightened where they otherwise would not, even to the point of suspicion for the young man that he could hear the panicked thoughts of his quarry.
But eventually, as all things, routine became complacent. Wookiees were, while prized, no longer fun to challenge; the brutes were powerful but having spent so long facing them down, Sarkh could only find himself burned out on the prospect of capturing pelts. Bounty hunting had its charms, too, but that felt even less of a worthy task given the cowardly nature of the criminals he would have to chase down.
No, there had to be some prey out there that was different.
At the age of twenty two, Sarkh got his answer in the form of a young Talz male by the name of Takfi. Word had reached Saado's 'ears' of a young Jedi Knight being sent to Dosha, rumoured to be part of a delegation sent to show the Republic still had eyes on the illegal practice of pelt-hunting. Whatever his reasons for being there, however, it was clear that the Talz Jedi was unwelcome, and whilst many of even the strongest hunters opted to simply 'tolerate' the Jedi presence, Sarkh couldn't contain his excitement.
A Jedi, here, on Dosha? This was far too fortuitous an opportunity to simply let slide. Confiding his intent to his father, Sarkh staked his claim upon the Jedi, stating he would capture the interloper's pelt in no less than three nights if Saado would use his political influence to gain what information he could on the Jedi's movements. It was sheer insanity to even dare, but sensing his son's sincerity and the indignation of interference by the Jedi upon his people, Saado accepted.
For two days full, Sarkh tailed Takfi through his movements on Dosha, watching the Jedi go about its routine activities, cataloging what secrets laid in the robed creature's habits as he had so many times before. Whilst the Jedi's schedule was certainly work-centric and active, even Takfi had his failings; meditation during dawn and a leisurely stroll in the quiet of the night streets were common themes among the man's activities.
And for Sarkh, these two simple activities were his opportunities, and in his dreams those two nights, the eager hunter envisioned his success; standing proudly over the fallen body of his quarry.
The young trandoshan opted for the evening, reasoning that a full day's work would weigh on the Jedi's mind rather than engage him rested. The dark of the evening would further assist in shrouding of movement and intention, and whilst the Jedi certainly had super-natural senses and reflexes through the Force, they still had eyes sensitive to light.
Suitably distracted, the Jedi would fall as any prey would; swiftly.
The attack came on the third night, as Sarkh promised; the young trandoshan posing as a derelict beggar along Takfi's route only to break off and follow the Jedi. It was an exciting prospect once the opportune moment arrived, Takfi all alone on the corner of two quiet streets under a failing glowlight, and with his heart leaping in his scaled chest with the surge of adrenaline, Sarkh sprung his trap.
Stammering a plea for credits, relying on the Jedi virtues of compassion to the weak, Sarkh stole the distance he needed to close with Takfi, only to savagely lash out at the Jedi once it became clear the Talz was focused more on his cred-pouch than the man in front of him. Feeling the Force surge through him, as he had on so many hunts, Sarkh drove his body into action; lashing out as fast as he could with a hard right handed swipe to the face, gouging the lower two of the Talz's eyes.
Acting on the sudden burst of surprise he could practically feel in his head on the part of the Jedi, who fumbled between reaching for his lightsaber and struggling to leave the awkward position he had been placed in, Sarkh used his punch to move into a clinch; delivering a swift knee to the groin of the male Jedi to further disrupt Takfi's thoughts, and a bite to his upper left shoulder to further dislodge the Talz's calm.
Keeping close, Sarkh denied the Talz the use of his lightsaber; imbuing himself with the strength necessary to hold Takfi clinched, pummeling the pained Jedi with every opportunity that presented itself. To Sarkh's surprise, Takfi came close to escaping several times with counter-strikes; but it was as if the Jedi were struggling not to merely escape ,but to figure out the reason why he was under attack rather than simply end the attack.
Distraction like that, unfortunately, was enough to seal Takfi's fate; using a foot-trip to send the Talz to the floor, Sarkh mounted the fallen Jedi and beat him senseless. The first three punches from above, using the gravity of Dosha itself, were enough to knock the light out of the Talz's multiple eyes. Feeling the Talz begin to slacken under him, and excited with the prospect of success, Sarkh changed tact for the kill; punching not for the fallen Jedi's face, but for his throat.
One strike, falling forward with all his might to drive his forearm into the Jedi's neck, was all it took to mash the life from the Talz; crushing the Jedi's windpipe and rendering all form of respiratory action null. Panting for breath, bloodied along his hands with both Takfi and his own blood dribbling from gashes he hadn't realised he'd taken, Sarkh could barely believe what he had done even with the body beneath him; hearing the last choked gargle for breath cut short as the Talz succumbed to lack of air.
He'd succeeded; he'd killed a Jedi.
Acting on habit more than sense, Sarkh took the body; like all hunts, proof of the kill was required in dedication to Her divine guidance. Undeterred as he had been with the Wookiees before, the young Trandoshan had no qualms in the grizzly work of pelting the Talz; carefully using the purpose-made knife to separate the layers of flesh as tidily as he could.
But unlike the Wookiees, there was more that this prey offered. Putting his knife to further use, Sarkh worked down to the bone itself; clearing the fleshy mess from the white matter beneath. Like many trophy hunters before him, it was common to wear something of proof of a high-status kill, and for Sarkh, he'd already had an idea of just what that could be; shaping thick portions of bone into a tabard to wear over his hunting clothes; mimicry of the wookiee-pelt cape the famed hunters of history donned in their travels.
Disposing of what couldn't be used; feeding the meat to his family's kath-hounds, Sarkh kept the Jedi's lightsaber and bones for himself; the fine white-furred pelt of the Talz gifted to the Scorekeeper as tribute in thanks to her guidance. Word of the Jedi's disappearance rushed through the city, and whilst an investigation took place, it was almost haphazardly lazy; few on Dosha had any kind words for the Jedi, after all, nor the Republic. Motions were followed, investigations conducted, but eventually, nothing but mere speculation turned up to find Takfi's killer.
Sarkh, on the other hand, had merely had the first taste of something he could only now find himself longing desperately for; the careful tracking and planning in attacking Takfi had awoken something in the Trandoshan youth that hadn't been felt since his first hunts, and he was desperate to feel it again.
In the five years that followed, Sarkh would work exclusively offworld; purchasing himself a ship with what money he had made as a mercenary in his early adulthood. Seeking out what he could only deem as worthwhile prey, Sarkh would spend the next five years aligning himself to whoever would face the Jedi, eager to pit himself once more against the Republic's guardians. Two more young Jedi would fall to him, practically turning him into a legend on Dosha once news reached their ear-holes, but for Sarkh, it was just not enough.
There were, after all, plenty more Jedi to face.
Roleplay Sample:
There was nothing quite like a fresh kill in Sarkh's eyes, as the trandoshan felt the adrenaline surge within him subside; his heartrate slowing as his breathing became shallow and evened out. The sensation of warm blood between the scale-plates; the gentle twinge of pain in his hands and up his arms that would surely require medical treatment now felt like the soft caress of a lover amid the chemical flood on his brain, riving him to a near euphoric bliss as he looked down to the body at his feet, numbed to the sheer pain he was actually undergoing.
What a fight the togorian had put up; the beastly felinoid's claws had been perhaps even more dangerous than its lightsaber, slashing deep enough to open the Trandoshan's right forearm in a bloody mess, along with a cut to the brow that had all but temporarily blinded Sarkh's left eye with the bloodflow into it. Of course, Sarkh had been confident of victory, but even as the young man began to search the robed body below him, the fear of potential loss had yet to fully subside. A runaway Jedi considered dangerous was certainly enough to have had Sarkh tantalised, but perhaps he had under-estimated just how dangerous those words had meant.
It was a lesson not to be forgotten, as the panting Trandoshan shifted on his feet; feeling the earthen soil move to support his weight underfoot. There was little but the pelt to claim upon the prey this time; Sarkh had been intent on claiming the rogue Jedi's lightsaber, but bisected during the initial stages of the duel, the weapon was beyond useless. Inwardly, Sarkh winced not from pain but from the embarrassment of the move; the swipe had been intended to remove the weapon hand, and rather than finding the wrist, Sarkh's blade had simply sheared through the palm. Granted, a disarm was a disarm, but the lapse in technique stood out like the blood-dribbling wounds in his arm and his face; painful and likely to be sore for some days after.
The scars that would form in the weeks to follow would serve as testament to the Togorian's prowess in battle, Sarkh mused as he began to hoist the hefty corpse upon his good shoulder, feeling the bone plate of his tabard press down against his scales. Further proof of an honest hunt; it would add value to his ragged pelt once it was removed and cleaned.
It almost made up for the loss of the lightsaber.
Among the fellow Trandoshan hunters, all renowned in their skills and their guile, Sarkh sharpened the instincts that would make him deadly, and at age thirteen, he had his very first kill; shooting dead a young Wookiee male with his father's blaster rifle at a distance of thirty feet. It was the proudest moment of Sarkh's young life, exactly what he had dreamed it could be as the rifle kicked against his shoulder; the force of the weapon seemingly supernatural as it snuffed the life out of the proud beast in his sights.
Success, however, brought new lessons; hunters were not expected to just kill their prey but to properly prepare the trophy for presentation; such was the process the Scorekeeper required. With the assistance of his father's men to carry the corpse back to the hunter's camp, Sarkh would follow his father's guidance in the preparation of the body, observing the steps necessary to condition the pelt before removing the skin from its former owner.
Bloody, nauseous from the sight of innards and with the smell of death clogging his nostrils, Sarkh had never felt so alive; the bug had bitten and, with the thrill of his first jagannath points awarded, the young boy wanted more. But such an event raised questions, as the entire hunting trip Sarkh had seen the death of his prey in his mind, had even selected the hiding position out of a sense of familiarity.
On reflection, Sarkh had reasoned, he didn't recall even seeing the beast; the trigger pull had been purely on instinct; a sense that the target was there, regardless of whatever his eyes were telling him. When asking Saado about this, during the skinning of his prey, his father had simply stated it was instinctive; hunters should be able to feel the moments pivotal to their progress, guided by the Scorekeeper's wisdom and will.
It was around the age of thirteen, however, that Sarkh would take not just the first steps toward manhood both physically and culturally, but toward a path that his brother and even his father could not follow or guide. Arguing with his eldest brother over a favoured sparring sword, and losing the ensuing scuffle that began as a result of the verbal fight, Sarkh lashed out at his sibling with an almighty shove; not with his hands, but with the Force, knocking his brother over from two full steps away.
Fearful at this display of unexplained power, something he couldn't explain or begin to try to replicate, Sarkh approached his mother for advice for what to do. The answer, however, was far beyond what Sarkh could have expected; the young reptilian man had been born Force-Sensitive and, as a child, had almost ended up in the care of the Jedi, rather than that of his blood relatives.
It had been Saado's influence and the political situation Dosha had found itself in among the Republic that had stayed the Order's hand in claiming the boy, Khras had said; the Trandoshan people were hardly obliging to the Jedi for the most part. Furthermore, with Saado's unwillingness to even allow representatives of the Order near his offspring, it was a practical impossibility for Sarkh to have even had a chance.
Both physically and mentally, Sarkh would spend his early teen years developing into the man he would become; shedding his scaled skin as he grew taller and broader. The process was extremely uncomfortable; the sensation of skin drying and flaking bringing incessant needs to scratch away making it feel as if he were peeling himself out of his own flesh. It was during this time that he hunting trips became more frequent, that lessons in how to fight and how to trap became more intense; four clutch-brothers each brimming with hormones and agitated by skin-patches made for some violent competition.
It was a trying time for Sarkh, to say the least; above his pubescent woes were the struggles to comprehend the Force and try to understand just how to use what he had been given; having been given such a gift clearly had come with the intent for it to be used, but how? The Jedi, Sarkh knew, were no option; they had an age cutoff that he had well passed, and even if they didn't, the notion of spending the rest of his life surrounded by the sorts of people the Jedi associated with was hardly appealing.
So, what options were there? Learning how to levitate objects was hardly like learning to read and write; you couldn't just find a school willing to put you up for a few years. Whilst the rumour of other groups dedicated to the Force had always been around, they too seemed like mere offshoots to the Jedi; far more interested in the spiritual and ascetic lifestyles that Sarkh just couldn't find himself wanting to live.
The only option available, and the one that the young reptilian man followed, was that of instinct; self-teaching. Among his lessons of hunting, of weaponry, Sarkh would dedicate what spare hours he had of each day in his room trying to lift and move various objects with only his mind, often straining to the point of headache and mental exhaustion. It took six months for even the faintest wiggle of a datapad, but determined to stick with it, Sarkh took any small victory he could. It was a long road, after all, but like his other trainings, it one that promised much in his favour if he could master it; pain and discomfort now was a good trade for ability later.
And with each passing day, it got just that little bit easier.
Purging Fear (16)
At the age of sixteen, the Trandoshan would embark on what had become a fairly standard and routine hunting trip, along with three of his brothers, to Kashyyyk. Under the guise of learning their craft from other experienced huntsmen, it had been Saado's will to send his three most prominent sons in an effort to hone their skills in competition; each brother would seek to outdo the other two to gain favor. The drive to succeed would ensure each would relentlessly learn what they could, to gain any upper hand they could over the others.
For Sarkh, the target was already upon his back; his humble abilities within the Force had not gone unnoticed, and more importantly had not gone undesired. It wasn't fair, Osk and Nak had bemoaned, that Sarkh had been given such potential and they, deserving of more, had not. Osk himself having felt his brother's power first hand those years ago had already found himself jealous, and for Nak, the news that their 'last-hatched brother' somehow had gained these powers was laughable.
As the first-hatched, Osk was given the rank of hunts-master upon landing; the three huntsmen they had presumed to be leading them would return in three days time. Left unsaid but blatantly obvious had been the proviso, 'those who did not reach the landing site would be left behind', and as if there had been any lack of motivation between his two brothers out for his metaphorical blood, this was enough to ensure hard work.
The Shadowlands in moonlight always inspired a sense of fear, and whilst the experienced hunters could convert that fear into predatory awareness, Sarkh could only find himself feeling increasingly nervous; the Force calling to him the life-signs of aggressive beasts and seemingly warning him at every point. Osk wasted little time in flexing his authoritative muscles as the campsite was set up among a small clearing; offloading much of the menial labour to Nak and Sarkh whilst he himself set to planning the night's events.
For some, the joint oppression under their eldest brother might have driven Nak and Sarkh closer together, but there was no mistake that Sarkh was still the 'odd scale' in the equation, and the work was done instead in tense silence. Once the shuttle had departed, the hunt began; Osk leading the way with Nak in tow, leaving Sarkh to watch the camp; arming each of his siblings with humble blaster pistols whilst he himself carried a carbine. The disparity was once-again obvious, but defying a hunts-master was tantamount to sacrilege; even with the abuse of power, there was not a thought of mutiny among the younger brothers.
For Sarkh, the omission of his presence among the hunting band was an obvious insult, an exclusionary action to remind him of his place, but the indignity was quickly quashed by his nerves. The prospect of remaining idle among a well-lit and open area of the Shadowlands with naught but a blaster pistol to defend himself, without any perimeter tools, had the young man on-edge; visibility beyond the range of the humble glow-torches was poor, and it wasn't hard to imagine all manner of terrors among the shadows, lingering just out of view, as the night drew on and on.
Hours went by, with nothing but the chattering of wild beasts in the distance for company, and it wasn't until Nak's return that Sarkh had dared to take his focus away from guarding the camp. His brother was wounded, bloodied, dirty, stinking of burnt air and ozone, tired but alive; bearing not his blaster pistol but Osk's carbine. The display alone was suspicious enough, and whilst injury was obvious of conflict, it was conflict with what that had Sarkh hesitant.
Sensing the unsaid question, Nak was quick to explain; a pack of feral katarns had surprised Osk and managed to kill the eldest brother before a shot could be fired. Too distracted, Nak had said, arguing among the two had been their downfall. Nak himself had managed to pluck up Osk's carbine and fend the beasts off, but not before the wounds sustained by their hunts-master were fatal.
The story made sense, and were it not for the immense nagging sensation in the back of his head, Sarkh could have believed it, but there was just something that didn't sit right to the younger sibling in Nak's story that begged questioning. For a few moments, Sarkh's brain battled itself, his internal senses and the Force struggling against one another to try to place where the truth in the matter lay, but in the end it was the Force that won out, as the younger brother rushed to help his elder.
Something certainly was amiss, and surprised he'd missed it, the lack of his brother's blaster pistol had been the culprit. No hunter abandoned their weapon; whilst they would use others, their own was to be carried at all times. To abandon the blaster pistol, no matter how useless, was a sign of cowardice and grounds to have potentially zeroed Nak's already low score. Pointing this out to his brother, Sarkh couldn't have been more surprised at the result.
A right handed punch straight down the line, that felt as if it could have floored a rancor, bounced from his snout so hard that the world spun. The soft soil of the Shadowlands broke Sarkh's fall, but the punch was far from tolerable, as Nak quickly descended upon his brother in a fury. He was right, Nak said; Osk hadn't been killed by katarns at all but by the blaster pistol.
The two brothers had agreed to isolate Sarkh and use him as bait for a larger beast such as a Wookiee or even the fabled Terentatek, but neither brother desired to share the trophy, leading to a heated fistfight that eventually simmered down.
Or so it had seemed, Nak explained as he sat atop Sarkh's chest, his fingers finding his brother's throat. Overcharged to instability, the small weapon made for a perfectly fine energy grenade; Osk barely had time to think before he'd been smeared across the trees; a quick death but one that rendered Osk's carcass unsuitable for bait. The plan had been abandoned, but Sarkh could have proven to still be useful bait; Terentateks, after all, were rumoured to prefer Force-sensitive flesh.
All he had to do was die, without a shot fired, and he would be a prime lure. No trandoshan had captured a Tarentatek pelt in living memory, surely it was not such a hard task to honour his elder brother and hunts-master, and ensure their place among legends?
Desperation, and the burning in his lungs from lack of air, drove Sarkh into a fit. There was nothing to grab onto, and whilst the boy desperately bucked his hips to try to twist, Nak was right there with him; pinning his upper torso down to keep his younger brother in place. Every escape and counter-hold Sarkh knew, years of practice of the native arts, Nak also knew, leaving the younger reptile with a quickly-expending list of potential escapes as his elder brother proactively countered every attempt at the pass. Soil-logged claws swiping desperately, panic began to set in; it was impossible to breathe and every second went by adding only more to the misty black haze threatening to swallow his world.
There was nothing Sarkh could do; even the Force was beyond reach, too difficult to summon the will through the desperate need to breathe.
The sight of his brother's snarling face was utterly horrific to behold, the thought of his final sight on the mortal plane being the broad arms guiding the fingers crushing his windpipe bringing on a sense of fear that Sarkh had never felt before nor since. But luck, if such a word could have been used, offered a hand to the younger Trandoshan in the form of a sound, lurking just beyond the darkness, that brought the fighting brothers to an odd pause.
The battle-cry of a Wookiee. Unmistakable. It was rumoured that some were predatory enough to seek out landing sites and track hunting parties as a means of warding the reptilian interlopers off of their planet, and certainly it was believed that many of the 'missing' parties had fallen prey to these roaming beasts. To think one was here, however, was still a surprise; moreso when the towering terror charged not only into view, but clean hip-charged Nak as hard as it could.
Not only a wookiee, but by the larger build and the greyish pelt marred by dirt, a silverback. If Sarkh hadn't been scared before, he was now. With air quickly rushing back into his lungs, the lizard coughed and rolled; as swiftly as he could trying to get to his feet and at least offer some form of defense. Reaching down for his blaster pistol, Sarkh managed to draw down on the large beast and his elder brother, watching for a half second as Nak struggled from his back to try to wrestle the Wookiee atop him.
The elder trandoshan had tried to kill him, had come within a hair of throttling his little brother lifeless, but the desperate grunts and straining as Nak tried to restrain the silverback, only for the beast to hammer a violently wild right fist across the reptile's head was gut-wrenching. Lining the Wookiee up through the pistol's sights, the trembling-handed Sarkh pulled the trigger, only to find the true extent of his brothers' underhandedness in their plan to leave their little brother as prey.
The pistol was dead.
Panic froze the Trandoshan in place, but the silverback was unfettered by such things; with one mighty right hand it reared back and smashed against Nak's face. One powerful punch brought forth a sickeningly meaty crack, echoing off the trees, as the elder Trandoshan's body beneath it seemed to abandon its struggling efforts, instead going completely limp. There was no need for a med-droid; Sarkh knew just by the rich shade of red dribbling unhindered like an open tap from his elder brother's nostrils it was enough to know the blow had been instantaneously lethal.
Which left the Wookiee's rage squarely upon one final target in the camp, Sarkh himself. In killing Nak, the beast had saved the younger Trandoshan from one ignominious fate only to practically ensure another, and as Sarkh tossed the useless blaster pistol aside, the trandoshan could only steel himself as best as he could for what seemed to be the final moments of his life. As the beast rose to its impressive height, head and shoulders taller and at least half-again as broad as Sarkh, it roared its malicious intent; blood-curdling roaring that could have peeled paint from a speeder with its sheer power before suddenly charging the stunned-stiff teen.
Adrenalin surging within him, the Trandoshan barely managed to dodge the seeming asteroid-sized fist from smashing into his face as the wookiee threw its almighty right-handed haymaker; Sarkh using what instinct came to the fore to duck under the looping arm and head left to try to gain advantageous position. It was impossible to consider the silverback to have had any sort of education, but its recovery was swift and its response fluent; rather than gamble again on a strike, it correctly adjusted stance so as to present a solid front once more to Sarkh, rather than its right side.
Outreached, out-sized, Sarkh could only find himself relying on counter-fighting, keeping just at the outside of the Wookiee's range as it closed in like a firaxan shark. Every swipe and punch went horribly wide, not out of any lack of skill from the Wookiee but solely from Sarkh's reaction to hop backward and entirely refuse to engage. Panic once again began to rear its head; the mountainous beast was not only strong but fast, and seemed to know what it was doing. It wouldn't tire itself out, it seemed to follow Sarkh's every move; every dodge and attempt to gain a weak side or its back.
Three minutes of back and forth standstill ensued, nothing more than basic jabs and light probing strikes came from Sarkh as he tried to both land strikes upon the larger Wookiee and refuse to fully commit in fear of the reprisal. Several times, the furry hand that killed his brother had come close to making contact, and either by luck or by the Force Sarkh had managed to narrowly avoid its touch, but one mistake sent the stalemate tumbling.
Daring to try to take action, Sarkh attempted a hard low kick at the inside of the silverback's knee, and instantly regretted it. The lowering of the guard, the swing of the hips and the lack of mobility brought the Trandoshan completely into vulnerability. His kick, powerful in its own right, simply bounced off of the meaty leg as if hitting a dewback, literally no effect of impact other than to aggravate the Wookiee and facilitate a response; a savage left hand to the face.
Instantly, the world became watery as pain exploded across the Trandoshan's senses; a warmth drooling down his face practically immediately. The second impact, a dull thump against his chest, sent the reptile rocketing backward against the thick trunk of a Wroshyr tree; the large trunk solely responsible for keeping Sarkh upright as his spine pressed against it. Instinct had the boy raise his arms in a guard, but the Wookiee wasted little time in coming in full-force, swinging a punch that Sarkh just barely managed to dodge; following the urge to lower his frame and duck rather than stay in one place.
The sheer smack of the hand crashing into the nigh-metal wood of the tree was palpable, and as the wookiee screamed its pain at the likely fractured bones, Sarkh managed to wriggle out of the compromising position and gain advantage. Confidence surged in the trandoshan, and wasting little time, he sprung into action with a swift right footed hook-kick to the back of the Wookie's head; sending it crashing into the tree face-first and bringing it into a stumble. Quickly grasping the large beast from behind by the waist, Sarkh dropped as fast as he could, lowering his hips and twisting to drag the silverback down to the ground, where its height and reach could work against it.
The beast, however, had other plans; whether it was last minute reflexes or desperation, it ended up gaining the dominant position in the brief ground-tussle that followed, straddling Sarkh much as Nak had some moments prior. Pain blossomed like fire in the Trandoshan's right side, bringing forth a frenzied scream as the beast planted all of its immense weight upon him, choking the smaller man simply by positional pressure rather than the throat grip. Pain and asphyxiation began to work in tandem, threatening Sarkh's senses once more with an alarming speed as unconscious rushed, and with his life flashing before his eyes, the Trandoshan reached for the only lifeline he could find.
A handful of soil, thrown squarely in the beast's face, right in the eyes. The Wookiee howled and reared back, rubbing at its offended face to try to clear the dirt causing it discomfort, giving Sarkh the room to clear his hips from under the beast and gain a stronger position. Reaching up through the pain, the Trandoshan managed to sit up and isolate the beast's right arm, sliding his right arm over the Wookiee's own and around the forearm to secure the beast's elbow in a bent position, whilst his left hand gripped the Wookiee's wrist.
All it took was a sharp twist to bend the beast's arm, using the entire limb as a fulcrum against the shoulder, but by the Scorekeeper the beast refused to give any ground. Its strength was immense; every ounce of strength the Trandoshan could bring to bear was brought to the test as the Wookiee struggled to defy the pressure. Every degree of rotation was hard-fought for, the mingled hisses and shouts of pain and effort from both hunter and beast sounding off for a full minute as the balance tipped back and forth.
Finally, however, something had to give; with one almighty wrench and twist of the hips, pushing from the ground as hard as he could, Sarkh managed to bring the shoulder joint beyond its normal range of motion. The shriek of pain from the Wookiee was hard to ignore, as the rotational force applied to its arm forced its shoulder into dislocation territory; forcing the beast to roll with the force applied to its arm and abandon its pinning position or risk its arm being ripped clean from its socket.
But holding on like a war-dog, the Trandoshan refused to let go; rolling with the beast to pin it in place. With the force of gravity now behind him, squarely prone across the Wookiee's chest, Sarkh released the arm and rained down a series of savage elbows to the side of the beast's exposed head. Each strike was savage, bone-crushing by human standards, but it took no less then nine full-force strikes to the beast's temple to put it down; each strike disorienting the silvery-hided beast until its struggle entirely ceased.
It took a near full five minutes, from start to finish, but the beast was dead. Exhaustion had Sarkh practically motionless, begging for air to fill his lungs as he tried to cope with what he had just done. A single night had gone by, leaving him the sole member of his familial hunting party, with a dead wookiee beneath him, likely a broken nose and a rib or two to match, and two days left on the trip.
It hurt to even think, but crawling to claim Nak's blaster carbine from his brother's corpse, Sarkh would spend the next two days in the Shadowlands without even a moment of sleep, of rest or recovery, keeping vigil watch for any beasts to dare venture into the camp. When the huntsmasters arrived, there was little that Sarkh could bring himself to do to assist in the breakdown of camp; barely able to talk from dehydration, the boy had to be carried aboard the shuttle along with his kill.
The lesson Saado had intended for his boys, however perverted it had become by their greed, had been learned; trust was vitally important to succeed. If just one of his sons had come to learn such a valued truth, they were worth the effort it had taken to train them, and whilst the loss of two of his children brought bitterness to his heart, the promise of just one of them was enough of a comfort to endure.
And in killing a silverback wookiee with nothing but his fists and the unarmed art, perhaps even pride.
For Sarkh, the target was already upon his back; his humble abilities within the Force had not gone unnoticed, and more importantly had not gone undesired. It wasn't fair, Osk and Nak had bemoaned, that Sarkh had been given such potential and they, deserving of more, had not. Osk himself having felt his brother's power first hand those years ago had already found himself jealous, and for Nak, the news that their 'last-hatched brother' somehow had gained these powers was laughable.
As the first-hatched, Osk was given the rank of hunts-master upon landing; the three huntsmen they had presumed to be leading them would return in three days time. Left unsaid but blatantly obvious had been the proviso, 'those who did not reach the landing site would be left behind', and as if there had been any lack of motivation between his two brothers out for his metaphorical blood, this was enough to ensure hard work.
The Shadowlands in moonlight always inspired a sense of fear, and whilst the experienced hunters could convert that fear into predatory awareness, Sarkh could only find himself feeling increasingly nervous; the Force calling to him the life-signs of aggressive beasts and seemingly warning him at every point. Osk wasted little time in flexing his authoritative muscles as the campsite was set up among a small clearing; offloading much of the menial labour to Nak and Sarkh whilst he himself set to planning the night's events.
For some, the joint oppression under their eldest brother might have driven Nak and Sarkh closer together, but there was no mistake that Sarkh was still the 'odd scale' in the equation, and the work was done instead in tense silence. Once the shuttle had departed, the hunt began; Osk leading the way with Nak in tow, leaving Sarkh to watch the camp; arming each of his siblings with humble blaster pistols whilst he himself carried a carbine. The disparity was once-again obvious, but defying a hunts-master was tantamount to sacrilege; even with the abuse of power, there was not a thought of mutiny among the younger brothers.
For Sarkh, the omission of his presence among the hunting band was an obvious insult, an exclusionary action to remind him of his place, but the indignity was quickly quashed by his nerves. The prospect of remaining idle among a well-lit and open area of the Shadowlands with naught but a blaster pistol to defend himself, without any perimeter tools, had the young man on-edge; visibility beyond the range of the humble glow-torches was poor, and it wasn't hard to imagine all manner of terrors among the shadows, lingering just out of view, as the night drew on and on.
Hours went by, with nothing but the chattering of wild beasts in the distance for company, and it wasn't until Nak's return that Sarkh had dared to take his focus away from guarding the camp. His brother was wounded, bloodied, dirty, stinking of burnt air and ozone, tired but alive; bearing not his blaster pistol but Osk's carbine. The display alone was suspicious enough, and whilst injury was obvious of conflict, it was conflict with what that had Sarkh hesitant.
Sensing the unsaid question, Nak was quick to explain; a pack of feral katarns had surprised Osk and managed to kill the eldest brother before a shot could be fired. Too distracted, Nak had said, arguing among the two had been their downfall. Nak himself had managed to pluck up Osk's carbine and fend the beasts off, but not before the wounds sustained by their hunts-master were fatal.
The story made sense, and were it not for the immense nagging sensation in the back of his head, Sarkh could have believed it, but there was just something that didn't sit right to the younger sibling in Nak's story that begged questioning. For a few moments, Sarkh's brain battled itself, his internal senses and the Force struggling against one another to try to place where the truth in the matter lay, but in the end it was the Force that won out, as the younger brother rushed to help his elder.
Something certainly was amiss, and surprised he'd missed it, the lack of his brother's blaster pistol had been the culprit. No hunter abandoned their weapon; whilst they would use others, their own was to be carried at all times. To abandon the blaster pistol, no matter how useless, was a sign of cowardice and grounds to have potentially zeroed Nak's already low score. Pointing this out to his brother, Sarkh couldn't have been more surprised at the result.
A right handed punch straight down the line, that felt as if it could have floored a rancor, bounced from his snout so hard that the world spun. The soft soil of the Shadowlands broke Sarkh's fall, but the punch was far from tolerable, as Nak quickly descended upon his brother in a fury. He was right, Nak said; Osk hadn't been killed by katarns at all but by the blaster pistol.
The two brothers had agreed to isolate Sarkh and use him as bait for a larger beast such as a Wookiee or even the fabled Terentatek, but neither brother desired to share the trophy, leading to a heated fistfight that eventually simmered down.
Or so it had seemed, Nak explained as he sat atop Sarkh's chest, his fingers finding his brother's throat. Overcharged to instability, the small weapon made for a perfectly fine energy grenade; Osk barely had time to think before he'd been smeared across the trees; a quick death but one that rendered Osk's carcass unsuitable for bait. The plan had been abandoned, but Sarkh could have proven to still be useful bait; Terentateks, after all, were rumoured to prefer Force-sensitive flesh.
All he had to do was die, without a shot fired, and he would be a prime lure. No trandoshan had captured a Tarentatek pelt in living memory, surely it was not such a hard task to honour his elder brother and hunts-master, and ensure their place among legends?
Desperation, and the burning in his lungs from lack of air, drove Sarkh into a fit. There was nothing to grab onto, and whilst the boy desperately bucked his hips to try to twist, Nak was right there with him; pinning his upper torso down to keep his younger brother in place. Every escape and counter-hold Sarkh knew, years of practice of the native arts, Nak also knew, leaving the younger reptile with a quickly-expending list of potential escapes as his elder brother proactively countered every attempt at the pass. Soil-logged claws swiping desperately, panic began to set in; it was impossible to breathe and every second went by adding only more to the misty black haze threatening to swallow his world.
There was nothing Sarkh could do; even the Force was beyond reach, too difficult to summon the will through the desperate need to breathe.
The sight of his brother's snarling face was utterly horrific to behold, the thought of his final sight on the mortal plane being the broad arms guiding the fingers crushing his windpipe bringing on a sense of fear that Sarkh had never felt before nor since. But luck, if such a word could have been used, offered a hand to the younger Trandoshan in the form of a sound, lurking just beyond the darkness, that brought the fighting brothers to an odd pause.
The battle-cry of a Wookiee. Unmistakable. It was rumoured that some were predatory enough to seek out landing sites and track hunting parties as a means of warding the reptilian interlopers off of their planet, and certainly it was believed that many of the 'missing' parties had fallen prey to these roaming beasts. To think one was here, however, was still a surprise; moreso when the towering terror charged not only into view, but clean hip-charged Nak as hard as it could.
Not only a wookiee, but by the larger build and the greyish pelt marred by dirt, a silverback. If Sarkh hadn't been scared before, he was now. With air quickly rushing back into his lungs, the lizard coughed and rolled; as swiftly as he could trying to get to his feet and at least offer some form of defense. Reaching down for his blaster pistol, Sarkh managed to draw down on the large beast and his elder brother, watching for a half second as Nak struggled from his back to try to wrestle the Wookiee atop him.
The elder trandoshan had tried to kill him, had come within a hair of throttling his little brother lifeless, but the desperate grunts and straining as Nak tried to restrain the silverback, only for the beast to hammer a violently wild right fist across the reptile's head was gut-wrenching. Lining the Wookiee up through the pistol's sights, the trembling-handed Sarkh pulled the trigger, only to find the true extent of his brothers' underhandedness in their plan to leave their little brother as prey.
The pistol was dead.
Panic froze the Trandoshan in place, but the silverback was unfettered by such things; with one mighty right hand it reared back and smashed against Nak's face. One powerful punch brought forth a sickeningly meaty crack, echoing off the trees, as the elder Trandoshan's body beneath it seemed to abandon its struggling efforts, instead going completely limp. There was no need for a med-droid; Sarkh knew just by the rich shade of red dribbling unhindered like an open tap from his elder brother's nostrils it was enough to know the blow had been instantaneously lethal.
Which left the Wookiee's rage squarely upon one final target in the camp, Sarkh himself. In killing Nak, the beast had saved the younger Trandoshan from one ignominious fate only to practically ensure another, and as Sarkh tossed the useless blaster pistol aside, the trandoshan could only steel himself as best as he could for what seemed to be the final moments of his life. As the beast rose to its impressive height, head and shoulders taller and at least half-again as broad as Sarkh, it roared its malicious intent; blood-curdling roaring that could have peeled paint from a speeder with its sheer power before suddenly charging the stunned-stiff teen.
Adrenalin surging within him, the Trandoshan barely managed to dodge the seeming asteroid-sized fist from smashing into his face as the wookiee threw its almighty right-handed haymaker; Sarkh using what instinct came to the fore to duck under the looping arm and head left to try to gain advantageous position. It was impossible to consider the silverback to have had any sort of education, but its recovery was swift and its response fluent; rather than gamble again on a strike, it correctly adjusted stance so as to present a solid front once more to Sarkh, rather than its right side.
Outreached, out-sized, Sarkh could only find himself relying on counter-fighting, keeping just at the outside of the Wookiee's range as it closed in like a firaxan shark. Every swipe and punch went horribly wide, not out of any lack of skill from the Wookiee but solely from Sarkh's reaction to hop backward and entirely refuse to engage. Panic once again began to rear its head; the mountainous beast was not only strong but fast, and seemed to know what it was doing. It wouldn't tire itself out, it seemed to follow Sarkh's every move; every dodge and attempt to gain a weak side or its back.
Three minutes of back and forth standstill ensued, nothing more than basic jabs and light probing strikes came from Sarkh as he tried to both land strikes upon the larger Wookiee and refuse to fully commit in fear of the reprisal. Several times, the furry hand that killed his brother had come close to making contact, and either by luck or by the Force Sarkh had managed to narrowly avoid its touch, but one mistake sent the stalemate tumbling.
Daring to try to take action, Sarkh attempted a hard low kick at the inside of the silverback's knee, and instantly regretted it. The lowering of the guard, the swing of the hips and the lack of mobility brought the Trandoshan completely into vulnerability. His kick, powerful in its own right, simply bounced off of the meaty leg as if hitting a dewback, literally no effect of impact other than to aggravate the Wookiee and facilitate a response; a savage left hand to the face.
Instantly, the world became watery as pain exploded across the Trandoshan's senses; a warmth drooling down his face practically immediately. The second impact, a dull thump against his chest, sent the reptile rocketing backward against the thick trunk of a Wroshyr tree; the large trunk solely responsible for keeping Sarkh upright as his spine pressed against it. Instinct had the boy raise his arms in a guard, but the Wookiee wasted little time in coming in full-force, swinging a punch that Sarkh just barely managed to dodge; following the urge to lower his frame and duck rather than stay in one place.
The sheer smack of the hand crashing into the nigh-metal wood of the tree was palpable, and as the wookiee screamed its pain at the likely fractured bones, Sarkh managed to wriggle out of the compromising position and gain advantage. Confidence surged in the trandoshan, and wasting little time, he sprung into action with a swift right footed hook-kick to the back of the Wookie's head; sending it crashing into the tree face-first and bringing it into a stumble. Quickly grasping the large beast from behind by the waist, Sarkh dropped as fast as he could, lowering his hips and twisting to drag the silverback down to the ground, where its height and reach could work against it.
The beast, however, had other plans; whether it was last minute reflexes or desperation, it ended up gaining the dominant position in the brief ground-tussle that followed, straddling Sarkh much as Nak had some moments prior. Pain blossomed like fire in the Trandoshan's right side, bringing forth a frenzied scream as the beast planted all of its immense weight upon him, choking the smaller man simply by positional pressure rather than the throat grip. Pain and asphyxiation began to work in tandem, threatening Sarkh's senses once more with an alarming speed as unconscious rushed, and with his life flashing before his eyes, the Trandoshan reached for the only lifeline he could find.
A handful of soil, thrown squarely in the beast's face, right in the eyes. The Wookiee howled and reared back, rubbing at its offended face to try to clear the dirt causing it discomfort, giving Sarkh the room to clear his hips from under the beast and gain a stronger position. Reaching up through the pain, the Trandoshan managed to sit up and isolate the beast's right arm, sliding his right arm over the Wookiee's own and around the forearm to secure the beast's elbow in a bent position, whilst his left hand gripped the Wookiee's wrist.
All it took was a sharp twist to bend the beast's arm, using the entire limb as a fulcrum against the shoulder, but by the Scorekeeper the beast refused to give any ground. Its strength was immense; every ounce of strength the Trandoshan could bring to bear was brought to the test as the Wookiee struggled to defy the pressure. Every degree of rotation was hard-fought for, the mingled hisses and shouts of pain and effort from both hunter and beast sounding off for a full minute as the balance tipped back and forth.
Finally, however, something had to give; with one almighty wrench and twist of the hips, pushing from the ground as hard as he could, Sarkh managed to bring the shoulder joint beyond its normal range of motion. The shriek of pain from the Wookiee was hard to ignore, as the rotational force applied to its arm forced its shoulder into dislocation territory; forcing the beast to roll with the force applied to its arm and abandon its pinning position or risk its arm being ripped clean from its socket.
But holding on like a war-dog, the Trandoshan refused to let go; rolling with the beast to pin it in place. With the force of gravity now behind him, squarely prone across the Wookiee's chest, Sarkh released the arm and rained down a series of savage elbows to the side of the beast's exposed head. Each strike was savage, bone-crushing by human standards, but it took no less then nine full-force strikes to the beast's temple to put it down; each strike disorienting the silvery-hided beast until its struggle entirely ceased.
It took a near full five minutes, from start to finish, but the beast was dead. Exhaustion had Sarkh practically motionless, begging for air to fill his lungs as he tried to cope with what he had just done. A single night had gone by, leaving him the sole member of his familial hunting party, with a dead wookiee beneath him, likely a broken nose and a rib or two to match, and two days left on the trip.
It hurt to even think, but crawling to claim Nak's blaster carbine from his brother's corpse, Sarkh would spend the next two days in the Shadowlands without even a moment of sleep, of rest or recovery, keeping vigil watch for any beasts to dare venture into the camp. When the huntsmasters arrived, there was little that Sarkh could bring himself to do to assist in the breakdown of camp; barely able to talk from dehydration, the boy had to be carried aboard the shuttle along with his kill.
The lesson Saado had intended for his boys, however perverted it had become by their greed, had been learned; trust was vitally important to succeed. If just one of his sons had come to learn such a valued truth, they were worth the effort it had taken to train them, and whilst the loss of two of his children brought bitterness to his heart, the promise of just one of them was enough of a comfort to endure.
And in killing a silverback wookiee with nothing but his fists and the unarmed art, perhaps even pride.
The First of Many (22)
The years went by without much event for Sarkh; his transition from youngling to man was celebrated on Kashyyyk with his first solo hunt; a rite of passage designed to show the skills developed through youth against some of the fiercest prey the Trandoshans have faced. With nothing more than his training to guide him, and his nascent abilities in the Force, Sarkh descended into the Shadowlands once more, only this time with little more than a purpose-forged sawtooth sword and, two days later, he returned; three pelts slung over his shoulder and pride in his heart.
A proven hunter, Sarkh would soon find himself being sought for; with four fine pelts to his name, and the son of a master slaver, his presence in less-than-traditional hunting parties became a sought-after commodity. It wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, after all; wookiees were not the only prey available to the Trandoshan people nor were pelts the only trophies worth collecting in the eyes of the Scorekeeper.
And of course, with the youthful desire to see the Universe beyond the realm of his home, the young hunter couldn't help but fall into mercenary jobs. The process was fairly uneventful for the most part; hopping from mercenary band to mercenary band as a hired gun or blade was fairly common practice and brought in a fair wad of credits depending on the job, and having trained for so long to learn to anticipate the instinct-reactions of people on the run, tracking targets down became child's play.
However, it was the hunts on his own that Sarkh found the most exhilarating and enjoyable; the thrill of pitting only himself against the target was far beyond team-organisation. Between jobs, the young man ensured regular hunting trips to Kashyyyk as he had in his youth, returning more often than not with a freshly excised pelt to show for his troubles. It was in these trips, where his safety was arguably threatened the most, that Sarkh found a stronger connection with the Force; his abilities felt heightened where they otherwise would not, even to the point of suspicion for the young man that he could hear the panicked thoughts of his quarry.
But eventually, as all things, routine became complacent. Wookiees were, while prized, no longer fun to challenge; the brutes were powerful but having spent so long facing them down, Sarkh could only find himself burned out on the prospect of capturing pelts. Bounty hunting had its charms, too, but that felt even less of a worthy task given the cowardly nature of the criminals he would have to chase down.
No, there had to be some prey out there that was different.
At the age of twenty two, Sarkh got his answer in the form of a young Talz male by the name of Takfi. Word had reached Saado's 'ears' of a young Jedi Knight being sent to Dosha, rumoured to be part of a delegation sent to show the Republic still had eyes on the illegal practice of pelt-hunting. Whatever his reasons for being there, however, it was clear that the Talz Jedi was unwelcome, and whilst many of even the strongest hunters opted to simply 'tolerate' the Jedi presence, Sarkh couldn't contain his excitement.
A Jedi, here, on Dosha? This was far too fortuitous an opportunity to simply let slide. Confiding his intent to his father, Sarkh staked his claim upon the Jedi, stating he would capture the interloper's pelt in no less than three nights if Saado would use his political influence to gain what information he could on the Jedi's movements. It was sheer insanity to even dare, but sensing his son's sincerity and the indignation of interference by the Jedi upon his people, Saado accepted.
For two days full, Sarkh tailed Takfi through his movements on Dosha, watching the Jedi go about its routine activities, cataloging what secrets laid in the robed creature's habits as he had so many times before. Whilst the Jedi's schedule was certainly work-centric and active, even Takfi had his failings; meditation during dawn and a leisurely stroll in the quiet of the night streets were common themes among the man's activities.
And for Sarkh, these two simple activities were his opportunities, and in his dreams those two nights, the eager hunter envisioned his success; standing proudly over the fallen body of his quarry.
The young trandoshan opted for the evening, reasoning that a full day's work would weigh on the Jedi's mind rather than engage him rested. The dark of the evening would further assist in shrouding of movement and intention, and whilst the Jedi certainly had super-natural senses and reflexes through the Force, they still had eyes sensitive to light.
Suitably distracted, the Jedi would fall as any prey would; swiftly.
The attack came on the third night, as Sarkh promised; the young trandoshan posing as a derelict beggar along Takfi's route only to break off and follow the Jedi. It was an exciting prospect once the opportune moment arrived, Takfi all alone on the corner of two quiet streets under a failing glowlight, and with his heart leaping in his scaled chest with the surge of adrenaline, Sarkh sprung his trap.
Stammering a plea for credits, relying on the Jedi virtues of compassion to the weak, Sarkh stole the distance he needed to close with Takfi, only to savagely lash out at the Jedi once it became clear the Talz was focused more on his cred-pouch than the man in front of him. Feeling the Force surge through him, as he had on so many hunts, Sarkh drove his body into action; lashing out as fast as he could with a hard right handed swipe to the face, gouging the lower two of the Talz's eyes.
Acting on the sudden burst of surprise he could practically feel in his head on the part of the Jedi, who fumbled between reaching for his lightsaber and struggling to leave the awkward position he had been placed in, Sarkh used his punch to move into a clinch; delivering a swift knee to the groin of the male Jedi to further disrupt Takfi's thoughts, and a bite to his upper left shoulder to further dislodge the Talz's calm.
Keeping close, Sarkh denied the Talz the use of his lightsaber; imbuing himself with the strength necessary to hold Takfi clinched, pummeling the pained Jedi with every opportunity that presented itself. To Sarkh's surprise, Takfi came close to escaping several times with counter-strikes; but it was as if the Jedi were struggling not to merely escape ,but to figure out the reason why he was under attack rather than simply end the attack.
Distraction like that, unfortunately, was enough to seal Takfi's fate; using a foot-trip to send the Talz to the floor, Sarkh mounted the fallen Jedi and beat him senseless. The first three punches from above, using the gravity of Dosha itself, were enough to knock the light out of the Talz's multiple eyes. Feeling the Talz begin to slacken under him, and excited with the prospect of success, Sarkh changed tact for the kill; punching not for the fallen Jedi's face, but for his throat.
One strike, falling forward with all his might to drive his forearm into the Jedi's neck, was all it took to mash the life from the Talz; crushing the Jedi's windpipe and rendering all form of respiratory action null. Panting for breath, bloodied along his hands with both Takfi and his own blood dribbling from gashes he hadn't realised he'd taken, Sarkh could barely believe what he had done even with the body beneath him; hearing the last choked gargle for breath cut short as the Talz succumbed to lack of air.
He'd succeeded; he'd killed a Jedi.
Acting on habit more than sense, Sarkh took the body; like all hunts, proof of the kill was required in dedication to Her divine guidance. Undeterred as he had been with the Wookiees before, the young Trandoshan had no qualms in the grizzly work of pelting the Talz; carefully using the purpose-made knife to separate the layers of flesh as tidily as he could.
But unlike the Wookiees, there was more that this prey offered. Putting his knife to further use, Sarkh worked down to the bone itself; clearing the fleshy mess from the white matter beneath. Like many trophy hunters before him, it was common to wear something of proof of a high-status kill, and for Sarkh, he'd already had an idea of just what that could be; shaping thick portions of bone into a tabard to wear over his hunting clothes; mimicry of the wookiee-pelt cape the famed hunters of history donned in their travels.
Disposing of what couldn't be used; feeding the meat to his family's kath-hounds, Sarkh kept the Jedi's lightsaber and bones for himself; the fine white-furred pelt of the Talz gifted to the Scorekeeper as tribute in thanks to her guidance. Word of the Jedi's disappearance rushed through the city, and whilst an investigation took place, it was almost haphazardly lazy; few on Dosha had any kind words for the Jedi, after all, nor the Republic. Motions were followed, investigations conducted, but eventually, nothing but mere speculation turned up to find Takfi's killer.
Sarkh, on the other hand, had merely had the first taste of something he could only now find himself longing desperately for; the careful tracking and planning in attacking Takfi had awoken something in the Trandoshan youth that hadn't been felt since his first hunts, and he was desperate to feel it again.
In the five years that followed, Sarkh would work exclusively offworld; purchasing himself a ship with what money he had made as a mercenary in his early adulthood. Seeking out what he could only deem as worthwhile prey, Sarkh would spend the next five years aligning himself to whoever would face the Jedi, eager to pit himself once more against the Republic's guardians. Two more young Jedi would fall to him, practically turning him into a legend on Dosha once news reached their ear-holes, but for Sarkh, it was just not enough.
There were, after all, plenty more Jedi to face.
Roleplay Sample:
There was nothing quite like a fresh kill in Sarkh's eyes, as the trandoshan felt the adrenaline surge within him subside; his heartrate slowing as his breathing became shallow and evened out. The sensation of warm blood between the scale-plates; the gentle twinge of pain in his hands and up his arms that would surely require medical treatment now felt like the soft caress of a lover amid the chemical flood on his brain, riving him to a near euphoric bliss as he looked down to the body at his feet, numbed to the sheer pain he was actually undergoing.
What a fight the togorian had put up; the beastly felinoid's claws had been perhaps even more dangerous than its lightsaber, slashing deep enough to open the Trandoshan's right forearm in a bloody mess, along with a cut to the brow that had all but temporarily blinded Sarkh's left eye with the bloodflow into it. Of course, Sarkh had been confident of victory, but even as the young man began to search the robed body below him, the fear of potential loss had yet to fully subside. A runaway Jedi considered dangerous was certainly enough to have had Sarkh tantalised, but perhaps he had under-estimated just how dangerous those words had meant.
It was a lesson not to be forgotten, as the panting Trandoshan shifted on his feet; feeling the earthen soil move to support his weight underfoot. There was little but the pelt to claim upon the prey this time; Sarkh had been intent on claiming the rogue Jedi's lightsaber, but bisected during the initial stages of the duel, the weapon was beyond useless. Inwardly, Sarkh winced not from pain but from the embarrassment of the move; the swipe had been intended to remove the weapon hand, and rather than finding the wrist, Sarkh's blade had simply sheared through the palm. Granted, a disarm was a disarm, but the lapse in technique stood out like the blood-dribbling wounds in his arm and his face; painful and likely to be sore for some days after.
The scars that would form in the weeks to follow would serve as testament to the Togorian's prowess in battle, Sarkh mused as he began to hoist the hefty corpse upon his good shoulder, feeling the bone plate of his tabard press down against his scales. Further proof of an honest hunt; it would add value to his ragged pelt once it was removed and cleaned.
It almost made up for the loss of the lightsaber.
