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Justice is a necessity for sentient life to find meaning in and of itself, and in its absence, men create laws. But some men realise how poorly these laws substitute the source of their inspiration. So they revolt, and are therefore branded as "lawbreakers". These men are cast out as lepers, as though there is something wrong with them instead of the statues placed above them.
For the law specifically states: "do not steal." But the governments reserve the right to steal from their subjects, and they call it a "tax." The law says: "do not murder." But the governments reserve the right to murder those they believe to be conspiring against their interests. And many men might take exception to these rules to which they are eternally yoked. But the government reserves the right to execute subjects who disobey their ordinances, and they do so under the preposterously self-righteous title of "capital punishment."
In what world, in what universe, and in what dimension does Justice then reside? Does Justice even exist, or do the masses wander aimlessly in search of some inception or concept of the mind, placed there by heaven knows what, only to never find it? Alas, most do not know, and many have given up hope of finding Justice altogether.
Yet there are those amongst the intelligent races who have concluded that they, with their great intellects, can make their own Justice; a Justice that is not contradictory and has no faults of which to speak. They call themselves God and fashion for themselves the ideas that bind our worlds together. It is these men who go down in history as the most brilliant (or, indeed, most insane) minds of their generation.
And then there are other men who have looked at life objectively, and realized in motionless and utter despair that Justice simply isn't good enough. That sometimes, when a man harms you so deeply, there is no punishment great enough to make amends for the offense. One is left with a steadily worsening wound, waiting for death to claim him, and he is told throughout the remainder of his life that he should be happy that no one else will have to suffer like him. Why should a man be pleased that no one else in the world will ever understand how he feels? And what lunatic, sadist or otherwise, dares to endure pain of such incomprehensible magnitudes in the realization that he, amidst the trillions of other living and thinking beings, is totally and utterly...
...alone?
Earlich "Hud" Mar is one such individual, Hud being the Durese given name referring to hunters. And he hunts, and hunts, and HUNTS for something more than Justice can ever offer, yet for all of his searching, he may never find it. And the realization of his hopeless pursuit has driven him to the brink of despair. Why then does he not give up? Simply because he is afraid of the Great Beyond, the Nether towards which all things must eventually go.
Of course, in his brief tenure in the galaxy of Legacies, Mar must make a living, and what profession better accomplishes his goal than bounty hunting? His life is made easy and the closest thing to satisfactory Justice is wrought upon those deserving of it; no situation could be more ideal for a man such as he. It is in the pursuit of this profession that we find our vigilante, searching for another head to earn his bloodied wages.
The environment in which he chose to find work was not unusual for a bounty hunter on Boonta. It was, to no one's surprise, a bar of middle-class custom, dark but not so dark as to be uninviting. The polished glint of dark mahogany and brass glimmered around the elliptical room, whilst green glass lamps dangled lazily from the ceiling. Thick, hazy smoke filled the confines of the room, dancing circles in a delicate waltz that enraptured and engulfed patrons while simultaneously inducing their further thirst. The noise in the room was entrancing; many individuals stood in a dazed stupor, swaying to the throbbing hum that echoed distantly in the background. The voices, ah! They blended so harmoniously!
View attachment 250
The room was hot, but not so hot as to be stifling, and Mar desperately desired to assuage his burning throat. The smoke further irritated his already itching esophagus, and he cleared it irritably. He strode up to the bar itself and smacked his palm upon the counter to obtain the attention of the barkeep. The bartender himself was a man of average proportions with a blank expression. His face looked as one that had absorbed too much cigarette smoke, and his eyes were gray and dull. Mar eyed the man feverishly for a few moments before parting his parched lips.
"Get me a fire-water," he growled, hoarsely. "How would you like it?" asked the bartender, tentatively. "On the rocks and cold," snapped Mar impatiently, waving the man away. The bartender nodded his head and slumped off to meet the Duro's request. The chiming of glass and the pleasant trickling of liquor met Mar's ears, and he delicately licked his chapped lips expectantly. The bartender returned moments later carrying a glass of amber liquid, and Earlich snatched at the tumbler greedily. The bartender withdrew his hand quickly and stretched out his open palm. Mar glowered lividly for a moment before reaching into his overcoat pocket and producing seven silver credits. He reluctantly handed them to the barkeep, as though it physically pained him to be parted from the meager trinkets. Then, turning his attention to the glass and smiling slightly, he took a large mouthful of his newly-purchased beverage and swallowed gratefully.
Mmm, ah! Now this, this was ambrosia! How gently it wiped away the discomfort, not only in his throat but in his chest as well; he had visibly relaxed, somewhat. He again partook of a generous mouthful and pressed the cold glass against his glistening brow. Having soothed his desire for liquids, Mar took off his wide-brimmed hat and waved the smoke out of his face, staring around at the other customers with only mild curiosity.
The room was almost segregated by class and status. The main entrance was on the south side of the room, and the bar was positioned so as to occupy the center of the ellipse. Near of the entrance were the intellectuals and pleasant middle-class types, and as one went further and further back, the company became less and less tasteful. A ratty sort of fellow sat in one corner, muttering animatedly to a disinterested-looking Ryn. Another drunken sod chatted idly while a less-drunken sod attempted to pick his pockets. At the very back were shady individuals whose eyes gleamed from beneath dark hoods. Mar grimaced at the sight of them; they reminded him of...
Suddenly, there was a vibration on the bounty hunter's belt. Startled, Mar inhaled rapidly and fell into a coughing fit as the cantina smoke violated his sensitive lungs. "Kriffing smokers!" he wheezed, violently stamping his foot on the ground. After much huffing and puffing, the Duro eventually regained what composure he could muster and weakly withdrew from the confines of his coat what looked to be a small, flat holopad.
Examining it closer, Earlich perceived it to say the following:
"Vesajilic Bounty Office"
Wanted DEAD: "Roxton Dagger - Mandalore. Reward in the sum of 50,000 Republic credits."
Mar's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. So, the Mandalore himself was now up for grabs; this was simply too good to pass up. Mar, however, looked concerned; and he was rightly so, for the Mandalore was perhaps better guarded than any target he had ever been offered. High security was certain to present trouble... he needed a way to infiltrate the Mandalorian camps if he was to undertake this challenge. But what under the suns could possibly afford him such access?
Mar gingerly bit his lip as the cogs within his mind churned viciously, attempting without success to conjure up a brilliant plan of operation. Mar was usually good at finding the flaws in defenses, but in this case, only the strong points jumped out at him; vague ideas of sabotage and intrigue drifted through his mind in much the same manner as the smoke drifting through his lungs, but their shortcomings quickly flashed before his eyes and he abandoned them as quickly as he had conjured them up.
The bartender returned to find Mar in his aforementioned trance. "Er, can I get you something?" he asked, nervously. The Duro made no response; his lips moved wordlessly, and his eyes stared straight down at an undetermined point on the stone floor. The bartender moved slightly closer, examining with curiosity and fear the state in which he found his patron. Still nothing. He moved still closer and closer, until eventually his face was almost six inches away from the bounty hunter. Suddenly and without warning, Mar jolted as though he had been struck in the chest. "Aha!" he cried triumphantly, throwing his barstool aside as though it were a plaything. The bartender leaped back and clutched his chest, pained by the start he had so unceremoniously been given.
But Mar remained unaware of the scene he was making; he smiled broadly, and there was a dim glimmer in his eyes that was not there before. For he had indeed been struck, but not with a fist or a stone, but rather an idea. And oh, it was indeed a brilliant idea!
"Of course!" he thought, gleefully. "If one is to get close to the Mandalore, one must be Mandalorian! I'll simply kill a moderately high-ranking Mandalorian and take his ship and armor! Of course, I'll need a human to wear it; I don't think the Mandalorians are recruiting Duros much these days. But still, that should be easily arranged for a small fee. Say! I could turn in a bounty on the Mandalorian I kill and use the earnings to hire an imposter! Yes, it's all coming together now. Are there any other Mandalorian bounties listed?...
He examined the holopad again and searched for Mandalorian targets. "Wanted DEAD: Heger Gymir - Mandalorian Head Armorer. Reward in the sum of 10,000 Republic credits." No, too important; the Mandalorians would not allow their head armorer to be an easy target. He'd have to try someone else...
Wanted DEAD: Kandosii Marren - Mandalorian Gamma Spear. Reward in the sum of 10,000 Republic credits." Yes... yes, this one was ideal. She's both gruff and unsociable; perfect traits for impersonation. What's more, she's high ranking enough to have security clearance but not so important that she would have much personal protection. Good, good... But what's this? A woman? And a tall one, no less? That could be more of a problem. Still, what is a hunt without any challenge? He'd take her, make no mistake.
Satisfied with the turn of events, Earlich breathed a sigh of relief only to fall into a hacking fit; that blasted smoke was at his chest again! Cursing smokers everywhere, Earlich Mar donned his wide-brimmed hat and, adjusting it hastily, he strode out of the cantina into the fading dusk.
For the law specifically states: "do not steal." But the governments reserve the right to steal from their subjects, and they call it a "tax." The law says: "do not murder." But the governments reserve the right to murder those they believe to be conspiring against their interests. And many men might take exception to these rules to which they are eternally yoked. But the government reserves the right to execute subjects who disobey their ordinances, and they do so under the preposterously self-righteous title of "capital punishment."
In what world, in what universe, and in what dimension does Justice then reside? Does Justice even exist, or do the masses wander aimlessly in search of some inception or concept of the mind, placed there by heaven knows what, only to never find it? Alas, most do not know, and many have given up hope of finding Justice altogether.
Yet there are those amongst the intelligent races who have concluded that they, with their great intellects, can make their own Justice; a Justice that is not contradictory and has no faults of which to speak. They call themselves God and fashion for themselves the ideas that bind our worlds together. It is these men who go down in history as the most brilliant (or, indeed, most insane) minds of their generation.
And then there are other men who have looked at life objectively, and realized in motionless and utter despair that Justice simply isn't good enough. That sometimes, when a man harms you so deeply, there is no punishment great enough to make amends for the offense. One is left with a steadily worsening wound, waiting for death to claim him, and he is told throughout the remainder of his life that he should be happy that no one else will have to suffer like him. Why should a man be pleased that no one else in the world will ever understand how he feels? And what lunatic, sadist or otherwise, dares to endure pain of such incomprehensible magnitudes in the realization that he, amidst the trillions of other living and thinking beings, is totally and utterly...
...alone?
Earlich "Hud" Mar is one such individual, Hud being the Durese given name referring to hunters. And he hunts, and hunts, and HUNTS for something more than Justice can ever offer, yet for all of his searching, he may never find it. And the realization of his hopeless pursuit has driven him to the brink of despair. Why then does he not give up? Simply because he is afraid of the Great Beyond, the Nether towards which all things must eventually go.
Of course, in his brief tenure in the galaxy of Legacies, Mar must make a living, and what profession better accomplishes his goal than bounty hunting? His life is made easy and the closest thing to satisfactory Justice is wrought upon those deserving of it; no situation could be more ideal for a man such as he. It is in the pursuit of this profession that we find our vigilante, searching for another head to earn his bloodied wages.
The environment in which he chose to find work was not unusual for a bounty hunter on Boonta. It was, to no one's surprise, a bar of middle-class custom, dark but not so dark as to be uninviting. The polished glint of dark mahogany and brass glimmered around the elliptical room, whilst green glass lamps dangled lazily from the ceiling. Thick, hazy smoke filled the confines of the room, dancing circles in a delicate waltz that enraptured and engulfed patrons while simultaneously inducing their further thirst. The noise in the room was entrancing; many individuals stood in a dazed stupor, swaying to the throbbing hum that echoed distantly in the background. The voices, ah! They blended so harmoniously!
View attachment 250
The room was hot, but not so hot as to be stifling, and Mar desperately desired to assuage his burning throat. The smoke further irritated his already itching esophagus, and he cleared it irritably. He strode up to the bar itself and smacked his palm upon the counter to obtain the attention of the barkeep. The bartender himself was a man of average proportions with a blank expression. His face looked as one that had absorbed too much cigarette smoke, and his eyes were gray and dull. Mar eyed the man feverishly for a few moments before parting his parched lips.
"Get me a fire-water," he growled, hoarsely. "How would you like it?" asked the bartender, tentatively. "On the rocks and cold," snapped Mar impatiently, waving the man away. The bartender nodded his head and slumped off to meet the Duro's request. The chiming of glass and the pleasant trickling of liquor met Mar's ears, and he delicately licked his chapped lips expectantly. The bartender returned moments later carrying a glass of amber liquid, and Earlich snatched at the tumbler greedily. The bartender withdrew his hand quickly and stretched out his open palm. Mar glowered lividly for a moment before reaching into his overcoat pocket and producing seven silver credits. He reluctantly handed them to the barkeep, as though it physically pained him to be parted from the meager trinkets. Then, turning his attention to the glass and smiling slightly, he took a large mouthful of his newly-purchased beverage and swallowed gratefully.
Mmm, ah! Now this, this was ambrosia! How gently it wiped away the discomfort, not only in his throat but in his chest as well; he had visibly relaxed, somewhat. He again partook of a generous mouthful and pressed the cold glass against his glistening brow. Having soothed his desire for liquids, Mar took off his wide-brimmed hat and waved the smoke out of his face, staring around at the other customers with only mild curiosity.
The room was almost segregated by class and status. The main entrance was on the south side of the room, and the bar was positioned so as to occupy the center of the ellipse. Near of the entrance were the intellectuals and pleasant middle-class types, and as one went further and further back, the company became less and less tasteful. A ratty sort of fellow sat in one corner, muttering animatedly to a disinterested-looking Ryn. Another drunken sod chatted idly while a less-drunken sod attempted to pick his pockets. At the very back were shady individuals whose eyes gleamed from beneath dark hoods. Mar grimaced at the sight of them; they reminded him of...
Suddenly, there was a vibration on the bounty hunter's belt. Startled, Mar inhaled rapidly and fell into a coughing fit as the cantina smoke violated his sensitive lungs. "Kriffing smokers!" he wheezed, violently stamping his foot on the ground. After much huffing and puffing, the Duro eventually regained what composure he could muster and weakly withdrew from the confines of his coat what looked to be a small, flat holopad.
Examining it closer, Earlich perceived it to say the following:
"Vesajilic Bounty Office"
Wanted DEAD: "Roxton Dagger - Mandalore. Reward in the sum of 50,000 Republic credits."
Mar's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. So, the Mandalore himself was now up for grabs; this was simply too good to pass up. Mar, however, looked concerned; and he was rightly so, for the Mandalore was perhaps better guarded than any target he had ever been offered. High security was certain to present trouble... he needed a way to infiltrate the Mandalorian camps if he was to undertake this challenge. But what under the suns could possibly afford him such access?
Mar gingerly bit his lip as the cogs within his mind churned viciously, attempting without success to conjure up a brilliant plan of operation. Mar was usually good at finding the flaws in defenses, but in this case, only the strong points jumped out at him; vague ideas of sabotage and intrigue drifted through his mind in much the same manner as the smoke drifting through his lungs, but their shortcomings quickly flashed before his eyes and he abandoned them as quickly as he had conjured them up.
The bartender returned to find Mar in his aforementioned trance. "Er, can I get you something?" he asked, nervously. The Duro made no response; his lips moved wordlessly, and his eyes stared straight down at an undetermined point on the stone floor. The bartender moved slightly closer, examining with curiosity and fear the state in which he found his patron. Still nothing. He moved still closer and closer, until eventually his face was almost six inches away from the bounty hunter. Suddenly and without warning, Mar jolted as though he had been struck in the chest. "Aha!" he cried triumphantly, throwing his barstool aside as though it were a plaything. The bartender leaped back and clutched his chest, pained by the start he had so unceremoniously been given.
But Mar remained unaware of the scene he was making; he smiled broadly, and there was a dim glimmer in his eyes that was not there before. For he had indeed been struck, but not with a fist or a stone, but rather an idea. And oh, it was indeed a brilliant idea!
"Of course!" he thought, gleefully. "If one is to get close to the Mandalore, one must be Mandalorian! I'll simply kill a moderately high-ranking Mandalorian and take his ship and armor! Of course, I'll need a human to wear it; I don't think the Mandalorians are recruiting Duros much these days. But still, that should be easily arranged for a small fee. Say! I could turn in a bounty on the Mandalorian I kill and use the earnings to hire an imposter! Yes, it's all coming together now. Are there any other Mandalorian bounties listed?...
He examined the holopad again and searched for Mandalorian targets. "Wanted DEAD: Heger Gymir - Mandalorian Head Armorer. Reward in the sum of 10,000 Republic credits." No, too important; the Mandalorians would not allow their head armorer to be an easy target. He'd have to try someone else...
Wanted DEAD: Kandosii Marren - Mandalorian Gamma Spear. Reward in the sum of 10,000 Republic credits." Yes... yes, this one was ideal. She's both gruff and unsociable; perfect traits for impersonation. What's more, she's high ranking enough to have security clearance but not so important that she would have much personal protection. Good, good... But what's this? A woman? And a tall one, no less? That could be more of a problem. Still, what is a hunt without any challenge? He'd take her, make no mistake.
Satisfied with the turn of events, Earlich breathed a sigh of relief only to fall into a hacking fit; that blasted smoke was at his chest again! Cursing smokers everywhere, Earlich Mar donned his wide-brimmed hat and, adjusting it hastily, he strode out of the cantina into the fading dusk.
...Five weeks later...
...Bounty hunting is much like regular hunting in that it requires patience. One cannot simply say, "I'm going to go catch a bounty today!" For if one does, one is always sorely disappointed. That is why the thrill of the hunt is so great; for one espies his moment and takes careful aim with heart throbbing and head pounding, and BANG! The prize is yours!
That was, at least, how Earlich Mar felt about the matter. And indeed, why shouldn't he? It was so much easier to just take his time. He had all the time in the world. Unfortunately for Kandosii Marren, her time in this life was slowly running out.
For Mar had tracked his quarry to the planet of Corellia, where his plans for her untimely demise were already taking shape. Through much intrigue and interrogation, Mar had obtained quite a bit of knowledge concerning Ms. Marren. Unfortunately, little of the facts he had concerning her drew him closer to bringing the Mando to heel... except one. Earlich had heard almost unanimously from his sources that Kandosii Marren was a great lover of alcohol. What's more, he had observed that she was a regular customer at a certain inn, where she often went for a night of heavy drinking. It was there where he intended to do the deed.
Apprehending Marren at the bar had several advantages and disadvantages. While Mar was consoled by the fact that he would not have to infiltrate Mandalorian security, accosting her in a public house posed one major issue; if he slew her, he would do so in front of witnesses. The Duro shivered at the very thought; it was so crude, so barbaric! He couldn't simply walk up to the woman and shoot her, much less loot her body in front of bystanders. Granted, many of the patrons would be so drunk that they would not remember that night's events the next morning, but Mar could take no chances.
Of course, there were many alternative methods of attack that evaded this issue, and Mar was prepared to try several. Having concealed upon his person his blaster, some wrist-rockets, and a small arsenal of poisons and sedatives, the bounty hunter felt certain of success. This feeling of elation followed him everywhere he went as he prepared himself for the fateful evening.
Just before leaving for the certain inn, Mar entered his ship's washroom and inspected himself to see that nothing was out of place. Mar had spared no effort in donning an appearance he believed Kandosii Marren would find to be attractive. And indeed he made for a suave figure; his firm jawline and tight lips were lined by a tiny amount of stubble, making him look more ruddy than usual. His face had been smoothed of its sullen countenance, and the man looked years younger than before. To accentuate the debonair personality he was trying to achieve, Mar wore a long-sleeved collared shirt and left it open towards the top. The rest of his attire was composed of a button-down vest beneath his usual overcoat. The effect was casual but smart, and Mar beamed at his new appearance. "Maybe I should look like this more often," he said, admiring his handsome features.
But alas, the time had come to depart, and with long strides Mar entered the ship's cabin and seated himself in the pilot's chair. It shifted mutinously beneath him, but after wrestling with it for a moment, the ottoman quickly submitted to his will. Having adjusted himself for takeoff and fastening his seat-belt, Mar reached over to his left and flicked on the ignition. The ship rumbled to life with gusto, pleased to finally see use, and in a few short moments The Black Gavel was on route towards the aforementioned destination.
...Bounty hunting is much like regular hunting in that it requires patience. One cannot simply say, "I'm going to go catch a bounty today!" For if one does, one is always sorely disappointed. That is why the thrill of the hunt is so great; for one espies his moment and takes careful aim with heart throbbing and head pounding, and BANG! The prize is yours!
That was, at least, how Earlich Mar felt about the matter. And indeed, why shouldn't he? It was so much easier to just take his time. He had all the time in the world. Unfortunately for Kandosii Marren, her time in this life was slowly running out.
For Mar had tracked his quarry to the planet of Corellia, where his plans for her untimely demise were already taking shape. Through much intrigue and interrogation, Mar had obtained quite a bit of knowledge concerning Ms. Marren. Unfortunately, little of the facts he had concerning her drew him closer to bringing the Mando to heel... except one. Earlich had heard almost unanimously from his sources that Kandosii Marren was a great lover of alcohol. What's more, he had observed that she was a regular customer at a certain inn, where she often went for a night of heavy drinking. It was there where he intended to do the deed.
Apprehending Marren at the bar had several advantages and disadvantages. While Mar was consoled by the fact that he would not have to infiltrate Mandalorian security, accosting her in a public house posed one major issue; if he slew her, he would do so in front of witnesses. The Duro shivered at the very thought; it was so crude, so barbaric! He couldn't simply walk up to the woman and shoot her, much less loot her body in front of bystanders. Granted, many of the patrons would be so drunk that they would not remember that night's events the next morning, but Mar could take no chances.
Of course, there were many alternative methods of attack that evaded this issue, and Mar was prepared to try several. Having concealed upon his person his blaster, some wrist-rockets, and a small arsenal of poisons and sedatives, the bounty hunter felt certain of success. This feeling of elation followed him everywhere he went as he prepared himself for the fateful evening.
Just before leaving for the certain inn, Mar entered his ship's washroom and inspected himself to see that nothing was out of place. Mar had spared no effort in donning an appearance he believed Kandosii Marren would find to be attractive. And indeed he made for a suave figure; his firm jawline and tight lips were lined by a tiny amount of stubble, making him look more ruddy than usual. His face had been smoothed of its sullen countenance, and the man looked years younger than before. To accentuate the debonair personality he was trying to achieve, Mar wore a long-sleeved collared shirt and left it open towards the top. The rest of his attire was composed of a button-down vest beneath his usual overcoat. The effect was casual but smart, and Mar beamed at his new appearance. "Maybe I should look like this more often," he said, admiring his handsome features.
But alas, the time had come to depart, and with long strides Mar entered the ship's cabin and seated himself in the pilot's chair. It shifted mutinously beneath him, but after wrestling with it for a moment, the ottoman quickly submitted to his will. Having adjusted himself for takeoff and fastening his seat-belt, Mar reached over to his left and flicked on the ignition. The ship rumbled to life with gusto, pleased to finally see use, and in a few short moments The Black Gavel was on route towards the aforementioned destination.
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