Khargav

Dull eyes met with thunderous echoes. Silence fell and rage died. Warhorns. Children cry. A small beep pulled deep at Khargav’s stirring consciousness, but more pain was all it brought. The Togorian awoke to a legion of machines around him performing a myriad of operations – none of which he understood. Big boxes with glass were flashing with numbers and squiggly lines. Tubes and wires were running every which way. Khargav couldn’t make sense of any of it. All the feline could make out was the terrible ache that covered his entire body. Points of pressure and stabbing pain drew his attention to areas that felt broken. Khargav attempted to move his arms and inspect his injuries. But he found that he was pinned to the slab that he was draped across, which was not an easy thing to do. The evac ship, marked as ‘Gammorean Bakery Ltd., was nearing its destination. And Khargav was roused for the ‘potential transportation and continuation of his treatment,’ whatever that meant. Steel claws raked across the center of Khargav’s forehead, causing stars and other images to burst forward. But, one strong question pushed through all of it, what of the girl? The last he’d seen, she was slung across his back and they were leaving together. She wasn’t the happiest and Khargav knew the pain in her heart. Were he any other, he would have let her die. But he’d suffered enough crippled innocence. He would not allow her death at the hands of a useless conflict. So, fighting the pain in his muscles, Khargav craned his neck around to try and find the girl. “Little girl? You there?”

Khargav's mind swam with a menagerie of impulses. Most of which, begged him to stop. The little girl, that had been resisting his help for the past few minutes, was now resting on his back. Khargav practically nestled the bulk of his lower intestines in the crook of his right arm when he approached the Black Sun checkpoint outside the starport with his hands out and empty. He showed no weapons and fought his own impulses to stay standing. He carefully approached the posted guard until they asked him to stop and watched as a spatter of blood laden drool spilled from his broken jaw. "Hello," Khargav said, the words stabbing into the base of his skull. "May I take a ship so I can leave this place?" The notion was weird, coming from a wounded soldier and one that seemed foreign in more ways than one. But Khargav did not realize how odd that question was. He'd never been in a situation like this before. He was not prepared for all social outcomes. And, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t really care. The soldiers considered the wounded feline as he approached. His armor was ruined and blasted, his entrails spilling almost like a rope from his torso. They were taken aback and almost shot him dead but their training and knowledge held them back. For this was no Imperial storm commando. They only used humans. He must have been one of the private bodyguards that Senator Mylos Karin employed as security at his private suite in the Silver Linque casino. That casino tower had been brought down by the imperial with much loss of life. They beckoned him through their lines and towards one of the last remaining evacuation ships black sun had mustered for the civilian population. Surprised by the sudden response, Khargav was too tired and consumed with pain to correct their mistake. Instead, once nestled in the confines of the evac ship, Khargav passed out. Within moments of the last boarding call, the evac ship made for space as quickly as it could. The lives of everyone on board were at stake. << Killshot Defense >>

The girl’s face tightened a little. She refused to surrender any vulnerability. The fact she was nine years old and cute as a button made visual deceit a little hard to perform. But her father was good at teaching her how to protect herself. He was part of a criminal organization that was privy to a lot of hazardous situations, so she was used to the tactics that came with self-preservation. “Easy code names. And, why should I? Do you want me to tell on you?” The girl retorted, a hint of youthful resistance laden in her pre-pubescent soprano. Khargav grunted a little. The effects of his fallen adrenaline high were beginning to fade. Searing chutes of pain began to cascade the length of his back. He attempted to wrest control of his arm, but burning stabbed his mind and triggered a reactive full-body recoil. Despite a growing interest to move on and find some way to escape his death, Khargav was finding groaning contentment in the fibers of his muscles. With every motion, there was an equal resistance; almost begging the question: what was the point? Did he leave and continue in the struggle between political giants that he couldn’t understand? Or did he stay and try to plead for his life to… Drift among the stars? The fizzing sound of the plasma cutters pricked his weary mind, indicating that he didn’t have a lot of time to flounder with indecision. But, what indecision was there to flounder with? Life be damned, right? There was no living with the Black Sun. There was no living with the Imperials. And there was no living with his family. There was no situation that he desired more than to just curl up and cease existing. His people cast him out. And all the rage in the world would not justify his need. Deaths of countless men and women would not assuage his pain. And the anguish he felt would find no respite. It would continue to haunt him wherever he roamed. Just as the Togorian squirmed in pain, the little girl heard her father’s comm device come to life again. << Garden snake, I’ve encountered heavy resistance. The Imperials have broken through and the governor ordered me to cover one of the perimeter checkpoints I ne-Ckshhhhhhhhhh….>> The line died. Static reigned. And then, when the transmission ended. Silence… The girl’s eyes began to well. Her innocent pale face turned into a furious snarl and she closed the trigger on her blaster pistol, sending waves of pain through Khargav’s arm. Her aim had shifted. She seemed content to cause him pain and shoot at his hand instead of outright killing him by shooting at his face as she had originally intended. “WHY!” She cried; more a demand than a question. “WHY?!” Khargav’s mind swam with the brilliance of pain once more. Indecisive wanderings were consumed with iron hot coals of all-consuming pain. The Togorian tried to make sense of his mission, but could not form a cohesive answer. He tried to rummage for some words to appease her. But she didn’t seem welcome to them. She fired once more into his arm and then proceeded to cry big whale tears. Her face was swollen and red with a feeling the Khargav deeply understood. He desperately wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to help her. The instinctive side of him wished to assail the Imperials for making her feel this way – which surprised him – but the pain of the moment quieted his speculation and only welcomed more pain. That, and he was dimly aware that his comforting would only increase the volatility of her emotions. “I WANT YOU AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS TO DIE. YOU HEAR ME!?!” The girl screamed, hysterically. With one pull of the trigger and her aim corrected to Khargav’s exposed head, the Togorian thought it was all over. He thought he would be free to let go and join oblivion. But, with the rest of his mind occupied, the Togorian felt a massive boom rock the foundations of the building. His ears felt the concussive waves, his chest against the floor felt the massive tremors, and the equilibrium of his whole body started to falter. The stability of the hotel started to rock and the girl’s shot missed, scorching the Togorian’s ear. The concussive force continued to test the strength of the floor beneath both of them, and Khargav’s thoughts scrambled. Wha-Wh-How-Whe? The Togorian looked around, denying the screaming anthem of pain in his ears and tried to scramble for some semblance of balance as the wild child continued to try and shoot at him. When his eyes spotted the window, he determined his course of action. But, what of the girl? Was he to leave her and just watch as the building crumbled? Did she deserve it? Was it his choice? Khargav’s barest instincts kicked him in the shins, calling him to move. He felt another burn in his leg as the rampaging girl kept shooting blind, but it did little to halt his charge. He caught the girl with his right arm as he sprinted toward the closed bay window on the other side of the hotel room’s living room. Her crying form attempted to struggle against his powerful arm, but the meat of his form would not give. His motion was determined and his course was irreversible. Both hit the hard glass, Khargav assured that his body took the brunt, and they fell together, tumbling in the open air. Blissful weightlessness gripped the Togorian’s senses and the wind pushing past him was dizzying him with its intensity. From this height, they would surely die. But he saved the girl, right? Right? Why? Khargav’s mind wrestled with his choices as the G forces knocked him unconscious. The girl, who was pointed toward Khargav’s rear, struggled to get free when she noticed the repulsor pack still attached to Khargav’s back. She flailed madly with her hands and let go of the blaster pistol to trigger the mechanism and stop them both from splatting to the ground. However, the pack was damaged. And, even though it halted a fair amount of their momentum, they still collided roughly with the ground and tumbled away. Glass, blood and building debris spread everywhere. The hotel started to crumble and fall in the opposite direction, which was lucky. But pieces of detritus still blew out to where the two of them landed. One smashed into the side of Khargav’s chest, and another smacked the girl on the head. Cut, and battered, the girl wriggled out of Khargav’s arm and sat up. Her eyes were wide. She looked at the hotel as it fell away from her and gaped. Tears continued to fall down her face and she struggled with what to do. The body of Khargav was splayed out beside her. And, despite her best efforts, he wasn’t moving. Why did he try to save me? The girl was trembling. She didn’t know what to do. She was told to stay home and stay safe. But her home was rubble and her father was gone. Her mother... She didn’t even want to think about that cow right now. What would she do now? Where would she go? Would it be worth staying here? She looked to the left and to the right, aimless misery reflected in her eyes. I just. I just want my Daddy. Moments passed. More rubble fell to the ground around them, narrowly avoiding their position, but explosions echoed from further away, indicating more buildings that were being destroyed in a very similar way. Khargav trembled. The impact seemed to rattle what was left of his mind, but little of his mind was coherent. Most of his motor functions were fed simply by will. Every synapse in his brain begged him to stay inert. Every part of his body cried to him and wept with each belabored push of his frail limbs. But he managed to wrestle his paw to the girl’s face. It was a simple gesture and one the girl was too distraught to resist. One part of his matted furry paw wiped away her tears, giving the girl something to hold onto, no matter how frail his strength may have been. She expected retaliation. She expected fury. And she was too caught in her own moment to adequately reflect on resistance. Vague thoughts swam through Khargav's mind, bringing images of his past. He felt beholden to this girl for showing him sanity. But, deeper than that, his protective heart pulled his limp frame like a marionette. He would not see this girl die. He knew not of other girls if there were any. But he wouldn’t let this girl die. Willful obstinacy powered his form and propelled him to his feet. He limped and it was clear he would need medical attention soon. But fierce, foolish determination and pride swallowed the blinding pain. Facsimiles of strength gave him the illusion of hope and motivated him to help the balled-up girl that was still reeling from the destruction of everything she held dear. “Where is the nearest way off this crazy thing?” Khargav asked. His voice was muddled with gurgles and rasps. More cuts and burns littered his massive form, but his tone was unwavering if a little sardonic. The girl was a heap of sobs and of little help. But with persistence, Khargav was given instructions. With begrudging permission, Khargav hoisted the girl onto his back and pushed on. Her weight added more fuel to the fiery coals that burned in his mind. Yet, simultaneously, Khargav never felt lighter.

The girl’s expression softened a little, even though her hold of the blaster was not relaxed in the slightest. Her name, which she refused to divulge to the enemy, was unimportant. But her father was a member of provisional governor Cathryne Atali’s commando guard and he’d been calling in every few minutes to check on her. His next call was due soon. As long as she kept this monster talking, she’d be golden. Some part of her felt a little endeared to the large cat’s story. And the giddy more girlish part of her was conflicted on a deeper more whimsical level. But she stifled all of that. This was important. She didn’t want to die here; no matter what. “Umm… Well, let’s start with, who is Kazheera?” the girl said, faking sincerity. Although, it was clear, that some part of her was genuinely curious. Khargav heaved a large sigh, wincing slightly when his wounded leg stretched on the open floor and looked up at the little girl with mist in his eyes. He could vaguely hear steps clattering outside the door and plasma torches being fired, but most of him had already given in. He was resigned to his fate. It was disgraceful, but Khargav was not worthy of death by combat. He had disgraced himself long ago and was doing what he could to embrace what little paths he had left open. “She was… is… my daughter. And she should be around three years old now.” Khargav said. Liquid built to the corners of the beast’s gaze as he spoke and was held at bay, framing the Togorian’s brilliant blue eyes. “She had white fur like mine, but black spots right under her eyes. Her face, last I saw it, was beautifully simple with an adorable light pink nose. Her laugh was small and squeaky and ended in a small snorting sound that left Zhara and I laughing. I could hold all of her in the crook of my arm. My little Kazheera …” Each word stabbed like a needle in his heart. And each description drew power from his defenses until a steady fall of tears released from the corners of his weary eyes. “She was the light of my life. I swore to protect her.” A small beep issued from further in the apartment, indicating the girl’s father’s call and briefly interrupting the girl’s thoughts. But she was afraid to move. She didn’t know if, when she walked backward to answer the call, the monster in front of her would take the advantage and cut her down. Was it worth the risk? She asked herself as the big cat continued its story. If it wasn’t, she didn’t like the possible outcome. If it was… She wasn’t sure. Small sympathetic tears brushed her cheek at the cat’s sorrowful admission. But she fought the immersion and started walking backward with slow slight steps. Whether the risk was dire or not, not picking up the call would be worse. If she didn’t send word back to her father, then her father might risk leaving the governor’s side to come rescue her. And while that sounded nice, she respected his position enough to not disrupt his duty. << Black Adder to Garden Snake. What’s your status? >> The little girl reached her left hand to the comm device on the dining room table and flicked the outgoing button, watching the blubbering feline as she did so. She lifted the device to her mouth and responded: << Garden Snake to Black Adder. The garden is clear for now. Continue with Cobra. >> A sound of contentment came from the other line and then a response. << Roger that Garden Snake. Stay safe. >> Once the call was finished, the little girl replaced the comm and started to shuffle back to the Togorian who apparently hadn’t noticed her movement at all. Interesting… Does he not care? Why? The Togorian followed the girl with his eyes even as he cried and tracked her movements. But he wasn’t going to intervene. Why should he? It wouldn’t lead to anything. And, even before he had a daughter of his own, he vowed never to kill children. It was his philosophy. Children were capable of great good or great evil, but until they grew and committed to a certain path, they were innocent in the eyes of war and fighting. Khargav’s tears abated briefly and he looked up at the girl, his ears perking a little as she returned to where she was standing before. Curiosity begged his inquisition, but he sought answers with no hostility. “Why didn’t you report me? And, snakes? What is this?”

The fire of his heart burned bright, fueling his mad procession. Pale blue, nearly drowned in the great black flood of dilated pupils, stared deep into the souls of every man that crossed paths with him. He took his share of hits, but Khargav bat them away like flies with his massive claws. Despite the futility of their charge, they drew to him. Like a black hole of chaotic rage, they flocked to his mania and threatened to destroy his rampage. But the further he drew up the stairs, the further he sunk. Each thundering of gunfire that slammed into the superstructure of Bespin, rattled Khargav’s mind and shook his resolve as he tried to piece together some semblance of control. The building he was in, turned out to be a hotel. There were rooms honeycombed through the interior of the structure that ran up a large central staircase. There were twenty floors, and Khargav was tearing his way through floor five as a myriad of troops and civilians rained down upon him. Each of them was equipped to fight and they all peppered him with bolts as he rushed frantically up the stairs. A man with the name Wilhelm printed on the front of his denim jacket, fell from the railing of the central staircase as Khargav pushed his way forward. A blood-curdling scream rang out as Wilhelm fell and presumably crashed to the floor with a loud crunch. One after another they fell. One after another, blood crashed in waves of crimson across his claws. The giant feline’s tenacity defied logic or expectation. Men started to gang up on the feline, trying to toss him down the stairs, but the Togorian’s rage grew and they met their fate. Jaws hit the steel of stair and floor alike and claws rent flesh and bone like they were naught but tissue and glass. But, fatigue and weariness began to tug at the Togorian’s muscles. They cried out to the monster’s mind in a last-ditch effort to regain control of the panicked beast. Khargav’s pupils shrunk a degree and he sighed heavily as he sunk his claws three inches deep into a man’s throat, pulling some of his larynx free. The man gurgled his last breaths and his death signaled a brief decline in the troop activity. The Togorian had made it to the seventh floor and stood, breathing and waiting at the top of the flight he’d scaled. Silent and haggard, the Togorian scanned this level for any open room. He wanted to hide; to lick his wounds and calm down. This rage would get him killed and although he could take quite a beating, he still had his limits. One room, five feet from his position, was wide open. The automatic door had been triggered not too long ago, likely from one of the men that had assaulted him. Khargav barreled into it and smashed his claw into the door mechanism, jamming it shut. Too late, he turned to find a small girl standing about ten feet away. She was standing, open-eyed, at the portal between the kitchen and the front room. The girl held a large stuffed animal in her arms and was at a loss for words. Khargav was matted with blood, his armor was singed, and his face was a little mussed. But the girl’s eyes were stunning; green with little blue stars inside. Kazheera… You must be three now. Immediately, as if washed completely from his brain, the Togorian’s fury vanished. The massive feline dropped to his side when the pain of his wounds caught up to him. He scrambled for a moment to regain balance with his digitigrade limbs and turned to find a small blaster pistol aimed right at his forehead. The pistol had been hidden in the stuffed animal and was now held, trembling in the little girl’s hands. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right now?” The little girl said, her voice echoing the motion of her nervous hands. Khargav sighed wanly and groaned as a new pain afflicted his shoulders. The large cat shuffled a little to remove dirt from his fur and settled, sitting on the ground and staring at the girl. His eyes were big pools of blue. Sorrow drew the sea that his memories sailed across and he could not raise a hand to kill the girl. Her threat was beyond explicit. And now that Khargav’s foolishness had caught him, there was nothing to do but accept his fate. “I can’t,” Khargav said. “I have infiltrated your home. You have every right to kill me.” The little girl hesitated, her finger on the trigger. Her father had taught her numerous times how to hold a gun and how to shoot. And he knew that she would one day find herself in this position. But now, it was different. It was one thing to shoot a practice dummy and quite another to shoot a living breathing thing. Even if it was a monster; even if it had committed terrible deeds; she wasn’t sure she had the strength to kill it. She’d never killed anything before and the idea seemed too extreme for her to comprehend. And, she had to admit, it was strange that the beast hadn’t attacked her. “Why did you give up? Why fight at all?” the girl asked, her eyes glittering in the low light of the apartment and her fingers never leaving the trigger. Khargav cocked his head to the side a little and licked at his paw, trying to remove dirt and grime from a burn wound. He winced as the pain glared at his attempts to perform amateur triage, but he proceeded nonetheless. When he finished, he looked at the girl again and sighed through his bloodied snout. “Fighting is a way of life for my people. I fight like others put on clothes. It is not a question as to why I fight, but who I fight and what I fight for.” Khargav mumbled, the pain in his shoulders spiking again. The girl indicated that she wanted him to continue and Khargav begrudgingly agreed. She did have a blaster leveled at his face. “I used to fight beasts, and bring meat home for the other Togorians in my village. I used to find peace in the fighting I did to provide for and protect my family. But, after my exile, I have lost direction. I no longer truly know who to fight and where to go. I am a soldier without a field to fight; without an opponent to face. I used to fight for my daughter and soulmate. But I can no longer see them. I am not allowed to return home. So, I fight for others. I follow other commands and go where they tell me to go. It is… difficult.” Khargav lowered his head to the ground and laid fully upon the cheap carpeting that was now stained with his blood. He placed his head in between his two paws and let out a large weary breath. “You remind me a lot of her. Of Kazheera… I miss her very much.” The girl wasn’t going to give up her guard that easy. She was trapped in her own apartment as a war was waged in the main square. But she had to admit, something about the cat’s story perked her interest. That, and despite the blood caked on its fur, she kind of wanted to pet it. She fought the urge to get so close, but her mind wandered, trying to buy time. Someone would rescue her. “K-kazheera? Tell me about her. If you don’t mind.” The Togorian’s weary expression was graced with a brief smile. “What would you like to know?”

Anger sang to him through every sinew of his body. The flow of rage through the fiber of every moment was guiding him. Even as he passed through the portal of the small side building, Khargav couldn’t regain control of his body. He countered the fury with deep breaths, but it only leveled the intensity of his strikes. Loud booming noises erupted one every side and the ferocious feline would not relent. He was greeted by a handful of Black Sun operatives at the main door to the cylindrical building. They were all armed which made their dispatch justifiable. A few of them managed to get shots off, which singed Khargav’s white fur. But the others, they were barely able to exclaim before Khargav’s massive claws rent flesh from their bones. The first agent, with a large repeater, closed on Khargav and tried to smash the beast with the butt of his rifle. Khargav used the man’s forward momentum to change places with him and then sliced clean through the man’s right shoulder, severing his arm from his body. The agent shrieked for a moment or two before Kahargav plunged his claws through the bottom of the man’s head, cutting his throat and leaving him on the floor bleeding out. The next two got shots off and tried to rush Khargav, but the Togorian dug his tree-trunk like fists into their sternums. He then grabbed hold of them and slammed them together, followed by smashing them against the ground. With his grips still holding onto their ankles, he used their bodies to beat off the remainder of the small squad before Khargav moved to find some respite. He needed to quiet his rage or he would fight with very little direction. The fire of battle pounded, but Khargav was lost in its torrent. He needed to lead, but was being held back by his insatiable unpredictability.

Apparently whatever prayer he did was effective. Khargav made it to the city with little difficulty. Landing, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. The repulsorpack managed to lessen the severity of his descent, but Khargav’s inexperience meant that he didn’t know the proper moment to trigger the repulsorpack and he still tumbled to the ground. His bones rattled and his body shook violently. He could feel every joint in his body threaten to break. Yet, in addition to the hardiness of his new Imperial Armor, his people were made of thicker bones than general human stock. If he weren’t Togorian, he would have crumpled. But, landing hazardously through a field of gunfire and being rattled so severely, wasn’t without its consequences. Rage poured into him. He cared not for Black Sun. He cared not for the Empire. All the irritation he’d felt from the battle pits onward was catching up to him. Khargav’s eyes dilated. Every hair on his tail and body were standing on end. His tail was held low and furiously darting back and forth. His ears flattened against his head and his claws were bared. The Togorian hissed violently and then boomed into a loud and feral roar. Black Sun agents saw his descent and would no doubt know of his survival. So Khargav had already lost the benefit of surprise. Instead, the raging Togorian kept low to the ground and sprinted to a nearby building. A few armed militiamen came from both sides of the walkway he landed on to try and intercept him, but Khargav wasn’t seeing reason. The peaceful scenes of pastoral serenity that had filled his mind were replaced with scenes of seething anger. Hate was pulling at his body and he would brook no resistance. One of the militiamen shot him in his plasteel chest plate and Khargav slashed at him so violently that his face ripped off. The thin membrane that held his face to his head was severed and the man fell to the steel plating with violent gurgling screams. The next gunner was a woman. She tumbled a pace or so back to get a better shot and escape Khargav’s onslaught, but before she could fire, Khargav’s claws skewered her throat and dislocated her neck. The next two gunners tried to run at the sight of their fallen comrades, but Khargav grappled both militiamen with massive arms and sword-like claws. He smashed them together and then pummeled them to the steel plating until they stopped moving. The sound of more boots on the plated ground meant reinforcements. But Khargav didn’t stop to check. He had made his way to a small building on the outskirts of the city and was determined to push his way through this. A small part of his brain was trying to regain control of the adrenaline machine. And it hoped that the change of scenery might soothe Khargav’s feral charge. But only time would tell. It knew that furious and relentless killing was not the way to win this. Yet, rage was a bit more potent and could bring even the most logical creature to its knees.

A thin veil of anxiety wormed its way up Khargav’s spine and over his ambling thoughts. A thousand tiny hairs stood up on his back and the Togorian shook from the sensation of cold air as it passed into the open hangar bay. He sat by the shuttle, as instructed, and was doing what he could to pass the time. When he first entered, he busied himself with light sparring with his ax. Now, he was reading the back of a repulsorpack. On the back, where the thrusters were located, there was a moderately sized instructional sticker. It was written in arubesh, but Khargav followed along decently enough. The diagrams helped a lot. The instructions ran through how to fasten the pack to your chest and how to use it in an emergency should you need to navigate toward the ground. It was time-consuming. But that’s what he needed, something to pass time. That and Khargav’s curiosity wouldn’t abate for logical arguments made against it. Khargav even went so far as to strap the repulsorpack to his back and use it a little in the hangar bay while he waited for Major Pilon. A few of the officers looked at him and rolled their eyes. It was clear they didn’t see the mirthful contentment that Khargav felt when he satisfied his curious whims. But frivolity, like most joyful retreats, is usually cut short. As was the case when a pounding sensation hit the hull of the ship and sent Khargav sprawling. His over-large frame rattled on the cold durasteel floor of the hangar and he felt his fangs tittering around at the impact. The Togorian, usually accustomed to solid ground, was all-of-a-sudden realizing all the cons that came with flying on a ship. His heart rate accelerated to levels that were beyond average. His claws tried to find a root in the solid metal ground and his eyes were looking for an exit. His ears were squirming around, screaming to find respite from the thundering noise, and his muscles yearned for the fire of action. Fight, not flight, was his driving force. But he had nothing to fight. Khargav cursed the air and raged against the empty bay with little success. He scrambled for something, anything, that would help him through his torrential mental decay. It wasn’t until he saw the open hangar bay that he had any idea. It was crazy, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He couldn’t comprehend the damage that was being done to the Clout Lord and had no idea what the right course of action was. So, without the ‘right’ thing, he did the ‘crazy’ thing. Khargav mustered what courage he had, dropped his vibro ax, adjusted the seals on his repulsorpack and jumped out of the open hangar bay. The Clout Lord had positioned itself high above Cloud City. The Corvette was in the atmosphere, which was great, but the Khargav still had a very long fall ahead of him. The Togorian aimed his dive down toward the Cloud City platform and had enough wits about him to trigger the repulsorpack if needed. But the noises were louder out here. Whether it was dumb luck or poor aim, the gunners seemed to miss him when he started his fall. Khargav’s anxiety and fear were pulsing in his mind. But, some part of him couldn’t help but feel mystified by the sensation of weightlessness. He had never flown or glided like this before. There was something mesmerizing and uplifting about the whole ordeal. Even with the screaming wail of terror trying to seize his momentum, a small sound of enjoyment coaxed some peace of mind out of the big cat. He pictured the instructions to the repulsorpack in his mind and kept vocalizing them until he could trigger the pack through the thickest brain fog. And despite his rising confidence, he continued to fall. He was falling into a sea of gunfire, darting between cannons and turbo lasers that were meant to hit a target much larger than him. The Togorian prayed to whatever god that would have him. He asked that they spare his life so that he may die fighting, and not die in midair or when he collided with the ground. << KILLSHOT DEFENSE >>

Khargav had barely readied himself when he felt something odd. And the next few moments were a blur of back and forth. He couldn’t calculate what was going on and instead continued putting his armor on. The Imperials had given him a large plasteel breastplate, two large plasteel bracers, two large plasteel spaulders, and two large plasteel legplates. The entire suit of armor was jet black and gleamed in the low fluorescent light of the Clout Lord’s armory. They outfitted him with a small side-arm, and – by request – a massive double-bladed two-handed vibro ax. It was extremely garish by imperial standards, but Khargav didn’t feel like he was fighting without a melee weapon in his claw. Sure, fighting hand-to-hand had its advantages with his species and he enjoyed it from time to time. But he thoroughly enjoyed ax fighting. The heft of the metal weapon and the gravity of it as he swung. It filled him with indescribable euphoric glee. It even managed to assuage a portion of his nerves, but he still couldn’t shake a measure of his uncertainty. Still, he promised CoreSec and subsequently the Empire, that he would do this. And he did what he could to stay loyal to those that he owed allegiance. If they didn’t compromise his honor. And killing criminals hardly compromised his honor. But just as Khargav readied himself, there was a rap on the armory door and the familiar swish of its mechanical operation. “Lieutenant?” The word came from a captain that stood in the doorway. Khargav turned his head and looked attentive, but didn’t say a word. The captain took this as acknowledgment and continued, “you have been commanded to transfer to a shuttle with Major Pilon. You are going to land with him and investigate the enemy plea to investigate its legitimacy.” Khargav didn’t understand what he meant. He had no context to fill in the blanks that filled his mind. But, he understood the counter command and immediately stood and sprinted out toward the shuttles.

The small hairs on Khargav's head stood on end. His ears shifted toward the corridor and his nose twitched. The smell of stale cologne, mixed with a legion of body odor, pushed through the air. And the sound of clacking boots on durasteel poked at his ears. Haughty pride entered the room before he did, and a lethal enthusiasm took hold when Pilon finally spoke. On Kuat, Khargav didn’t have much time to size up Major Pilon. But from this close, the Togorian’s mind was given ample time and opportunity to assemble a full picture of his commanding officer: Major Pilon was four heads shorter than him. His body was thin, implying someone that had seen more of a desk than a battlefield. His hair was neatly coiffed, and his clothes were clean and pressed. The entire image was a direct conflict to how Khargav thought of 'army' officers. Granted, the Togorian army was more of a milita, but officers tended to look grizzled and mean. They stood eye to eye with you. Or, if they didn't, their will was powerful enough to compensate. It was an odd concept - the weak leading the strong - but Khargav was here to follow orders and make a good impression. And he was nothing if not loyal to those who earned it. When Major Pilon finished relaying Khargav's orders, the Togorian nodded a little and stood up to his full height. He offered a Togorian gesture of respect by crossing both arms over his chest and bowing until his torso was at a forty-five degree angle to his hips. "Yes, Major. All is clear."

The weighty glares of Imperial soldiers, clouded around Khargav as he sat in the Clout Lord. But he didn’t let the oppression bother him. They weren’t accustomed to an alien – especially an alien as unique as Khargav - on their vessel. Prejudice was not uncommon. The Togorian sat in an open-backed chair in the dining area of the ship. His ears were flattened to his head and his eyes were closed. His tail darted back and forth behind the chair and his breathing shifted between heavy rolling sighs and small meditated inhalations. The thrill of battle filled his mind. Images of hunting evoked the adrenaline that fueled their survival. His pack would thrive on the feel. Claws enticed and jaws slavering, they would stalk and wait. They looked at their quarry with eager eyes, but let the moment hang until one tantalizing second, they leaped into action. A few hits were all it took; a simple movement. Yet, that exhilaration was worth life and death to his people. Some would never understand the nature of the hunt. Politics bred corrupt complexities that the packs never wanted. The females went to create a structure they wanted to create. But they understood the simplicity that the men craved. The females were patient and fed the simple habits of their male counterparts without derision. It was a harmonic coexistence that was alien in this world of backstabbing and lies. Travelers would tell Khargav of the virtue in the galaxy and of heroic feats accomplished on planets far from his home. But Khargav had yet to see them. His exile sparked a journey through festering piles of greed and dishonor. He only hoped that this path would eventually see greener pastures.

With nothing left to say and no arguments to broker, Khargav waited out the rest of the trip in silence. Zalis, to her credit, was very officious. She took a few calls from agents out in the field, delegated her droids to menial tasks and steered the ship carefully into one of the link’s many hangars. It was a quiet and orderly affair, made all the easier by an AI that helped Zalis guide the ship into the proper bay for servicing and repair. When they were appropriately docked and everything was ready to go, Khargav stood to his full height and stretched. It had been a while since he could shake out his fur and really feel like himself again. It was nice. No more fights that ended in dishonorable cheating; no more lackluster combat, and no more enterprising business men using him for their own personal gain. Now he was in the driver seat again and was willing to push himself as far as it took to prove himself. When the Togorian scaled the steps, and made his way to the docking bay proper, Zalis stopped him and indicated that she had a call from one of her officers, a man by the codename ‘Delta.’ Khargav didn’t acknowledge that he hadn’t the foggiest idea who Delta was, he merely nodded and was resolved to finish it. "Go and find yourself a doctor. Then you can be on your merry way and do the bidding of Black Sun as you see fit. I believe many other agents and operatives could use your help or support. I will remain here until my task is complete." Khargav acknowledged her orders and followed the instructions given by their holographic guide. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The arrival of Black Sun officials signaled the Link’s exterior sensor unit. Idarah’s voice chimed in the ship's main computer and welcomed the Nimbus as it entered the Link’s orbit. With only trivial landing procedures to maintain, Idarah assisted as Zalis maneuvered her ship into the correct landing pad. Her voice was cheery and professional with every step and when Zalis exited her ship, a live hologram of Idarah was there to meet her on the tarmac. “Hello, Mrs. Krales. It is nice to finally meet you. Preparations, logos, banners and other minutia have been squared away during your journey. Please, make yourself at home and I will assist in any matters you need. " Idarah said, her voice coming from all around instead of strictly coming from the hologram itself. “Oh, and Mr. Khargav, your appointment is arranged in medbay 4, I will guide you there as soon as you wish.” ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ OUCH! Getting a new tongue hurt. Khargav was inwardly pleased that the hospital staff had been replaced by machines, because if there were any live flesh and blood beings, they would have been bloody pulps on the ground by now. As it was, a few of the machines were scattered in pieces around his bed and he had a searing pain in his mouth that was only slightly starting to fade. When he could think straight without his brain clawing at him, he fumbled in a satchel at his waist for the Black Sun comm that Zalis had given him. He pressed the button and spoke for the first time in at least a month. “Th-thank you… I will never forget. You give me much and I will pay in kind. I will report to D—elt-a.” Khargav said, struggling to form some of the syllables. Then, with a single grunt, the giant cat leapt from his hospital bed and made for the nearest shuttle off-world. Coruscant, here I come!

Khargav toiled for a few minutes, trying to communicate without the use of his mouth. He accented his thoughts with growls and tried to play some of the scenes out with sometimes disastrous – albeit hilarious – results. A droid carcass was still smoldering on the ground when he turned back to Zalis and listened to her response. "So you're a mute. That could be a problem and a huge advantage depending upon which way you look at it. There is technology to help you speak or communicate if that is something that you wish, as the resources of Black Sun are immense. If you so choose not to though, we had better come up with a way to have quicker communications with each other and future agents. That would be a key in the work that we do. And I am sorry to assume that you want to work with us, or else you had the option to leave." Khargav watched a for a moment while the human sat. He understood what she said and he realized that, in the end, he was given a choice. It was the same choice that he knowingly followed earlier, but she was giving it back to him, which was… Odd. He hadn’t had one before. At least, not since Togoria. Ever since Togoria, he was passed around like a prized animal and only allowed out when there was combat. It worked in the short term and was enjoyable, but Khargav felt incomplete. He still felt incomplete. He decided, he would travel with this woman and with her organization. He would fight with her and see what he could do to earn her trust. He was, after all, an honorable warrior. But, first things first… Khargav motioned to one of the droids to move closer. Based on his last spectacle though, the droid was a bit skeptical. It paused and looked at the Togorian with cold robot eyes - as if to say, “are you crazy?” - but after a moment or two of persistent urging, the droid moved closer. Then, Khargav began pointing inside his mouth and made a few gestures toward the mechanical man in the hopes that it might be able to translate his movements. The droid paused for a second or two. It was trying to process his request. The Togorian’s communication was rather rudimentary and involved a lot of cross referencing. Yet, when the Togorion made one last attempt at his gesturing, the machine signaled that it had received all necessary data to give a basic translation. “Miss, I believe the Togorian is asking for a synthetic tongue implant. He tried to say that mechanical prosthetics are not desirable. But, he continued, if they are the only way, they would be okay as well.” The droid intoned. It looked back at the Togorion for confirmation, but Khargav’s hand was placed on his head. “Either that, or he said that his grilled fambaa tasted awful…”

Khargav nodded silent affirmation to Zalis’ greeting. He then answered with a bow of his own, which signified a customary greeting of his people, and used a common hand gesture to show her respect. He then resumed his place at the side of the ship and followed behind her when she went to climb the ramp. "We are heading to a Casino that was recently bought by Black Sun. I have a need for a new room there and new policies. Let’s travel together. Along the way, you may tell me your story and what your desires are. Don't mind the droids, they follow me for security reasons and can become background noise." Khargav nodded his head once more, but realized a slight problem as the pair climbed aboard the Nimbus. Namely: Khargav had no tongue. He couldn’t tell her of his story because he couldn’t make words. He could growl, but that would only tell her so much. Realizing this, Khargav thought it over as the two of them got settled and the ship took off. With one final look, back at Coruscant through a side window, Khargav settled himself in the Cargo Bay. He was a large humanoid - - standing at a good ten feet tall and lumbering around at a good six feet wide - - he wouldn’t comfortably fit in a lot of places. When the course was set and the ship had taken off at a good speed, Khargav sent for Zalis. He tried to use hand signs with the droids to ask them and it took him a few tries, but they finally understood his request and went to retrieve her. In the meantime, Khargav removed his Durasteel Breastplate, revealing all his battle scars. He made his injuries visible to her. He exposed the nub where his ear had been, the small bump on his right paw - which was the size of a large dinner plate - where the claw on his hand used to be and, if asked, he would even show her the flesh left behind in his mouth after the pit owners cut out his tongue. It was meant to be a visual display of his story. He knew it might be grizzly to her and it wasn’t the best way to introduce himself, but without power of speech, he really had no other way to communicate with her. He looked down at the Durasteel, bearing his history for all to see. It wasn’t shameful, but it didn’t feel pleasant either. They were memories of the shame that he left his family for. They were memories of his misdeeds. And they were memories of the pit manager and loathsome lackeys. He had no qualms removing them from existence. Their absence meant a positive end for a great few that suffered back in the pit fighting ring.

Khargav Takosh Identity Real Name: Khargav Takosh A.K.A: Meat Cleaver Homeworld: Togoria Species: Togorian Physical Description Age: 21 Height: 12’ Weight: 965lbs Hair: His fur is pale grey with black stripes Eyes: His eyes are winter blue Sex: Male He is covered with a myriad of scars and battle wounds. He is also missing an ear, the small digit of his right hand, and his tongue [He has a new Synth tongue]. Equipment Clothing or Armor: [imperial Additions] Large plasteel breastplate, two large plasteel bracers, two large plasteel spaulders, and two large plasteel legplates. The entire suit of armor was jet black. [Togorian racial hardiness] “They had extremely dense bone tissue, allowing them to endure greater physical trauma than beings with similar physiques…. (Wookiepedia)” Weapon: [imperial Additions] He has a sidearm. Standard military issued blaster pistol. [Togorian racial hardiness] He has retractable claws on his hands and feet that are as sharp and deadly as any sword. He has also fought with a Greataxe (But does not own one). Common Inventory: Nothing… Faction Information Non-Force User Alignment: Neutral Current Faction Affiliation: N/A Current Faction Rank: N/A Background: Born unto his ancestral home, the planet Togoria, Khargav experienced much. He grew as all Togorian males did. He roamed the countryside with the packs of nomadic felines and hunted prey until they grew weary. One day however, Khargav was exiled due to a heinous act that dishonored his name and his family. Determined to win his honor back, Khargav traveled the stars with little to his name. Eventually he found work for a band of pirates that then sold him to a pit fighting ring. They were determined to break him and push him to the limits of his honor bound fighting, but he denied them their bounty. It took one ear, one claw, and his tongue for him to get his revenge. Now stuck with a twelve-foot half-ton liability, the owner of the fighting ring is looking to sell the Togorian to the Black Sun, to see if he can get some of his money back.