The Moff's Hunt

[Krassus Horuset]

Part I:

The glow of the cig rendered the speeder’s tinted viewport briefly opaque as Kemma took another drag, the dimmed view of the thorny brushes whipping past giving way to the governor of Nam’ta’s own reflection. Dark circles ringed her deep-set emerald eyes, and her once vibrant orange hair, now streaked with silvery gray at the edges, was tied into a bun above her head. For a moment, Kemma barely recognized the woman staring back at her, so worn down by the pressures of recent years, yet the thought faded as the reflection was obscured by a soft plume of smoke. Her attention shifted from the window as the speeder door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

“We’ll be arriving shortly, Governor. I took the liberty of confirming our arrival with the Moff’s staff,” Ensign Ernhard announced with his distinct Kaasian accent, offering a curt bow before seating himself across from her again. His face was gaunt, his raven-black hair trimmed tightly in perfect military fashion. His Imperial Ensign’s uniform clung to his frame with meticulous precision, as if tailored to perfection.

“Very good, Ensign,” Kemma replied, taking a final drag before snuffing the cig in the ashtray. She regarded her new aide a moment longer as he gathered the datapads into his suitcase. Handpicked by Moff Graush, Ensign Ernhard Kolinth was effective enough. Loyal, diligent, and obedient on the surface. The embodiment of Imperial precision. But Kemma knew he was also the Moff’s eyes and ears in her office. It was simply part of the game played within the Court of Governors of the Atrivis Sector.

A court that had once again been summoned to convene on the sector capital of Horuz, at the Moff’s pleasure, to discuss the war. Normally such meetings occurred via holo-connection or at the Moff’s palace when he desired a more personal touch. But today, the location was different. Kemma and her staff had barely stepped off their shuttle when they were informed by the Moff’s aide, Ensign Loring, that the day’s meeting would take place at one of the Moff’s illustrious hunts.

Kemma had heard rumors of these hunts, though she had never attended one. The thought of such an event, rife with decadence, sycophancy, and debauchery, hardly excited her. Nevertheless, she obliged and boarded the landspeeder that would take them nearly an hour into the dense, toxic, barb-filled, and humid jungles of Horuz.

When the vehicle finally came to a halt, Kemma slipped the cig container into her uniform pocket and steeled herself. She ensured her Governor’s insignia was secure, placed her cap atop her head, and slid her pale fingers into her leather gloves before stepping out. She inhaled one last breath of climate-controlled air before facing the oppressive humidity of Horuz.

Sweat formed instantly on her brow as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She and her staff marched up the hill toward the Moff’s so-called hunting party. For someone accustomed to the austerity of wartime Nam’ta, the aristocratic spectacle was almost grotesque. The hilltop was alive with activity. Lavish tents, larger and better stocked than most hotel suites, dotted the crest. Tables overflowed with extravagant dishes. Attendants, slaves, servants, and courtiers moved fluidly among clusters of Imperial high society, each group engaged in its own web of pleasantries and politics.

Guests ranged from high-ranking military officials to sharply dressed nobles of Dromund Kaas, influential business magnates, scientists of the Imperial Science Bureau, and even Sith. Among the crowd, her eyes caught a familiar likeness.

Wilhuff Kaldon, younger brother of Ozil Kaldon and newly appointed Director of the Imperial Kaldon Industrial Group, sat among Imperial officers and corporate magnates. His new Imperial position had elevated him to a table closer to the Moff’s own. He offered Kemma nothing more than a passing nod as she moved past him. The hunt and camp itself truly a celebration of the strange social norms within the highest echelons of Imperial society. Even among the gathered masses, all in their own right important enough to be here by the personal invitation of Moff Graush, Kemma knew there was a clear divide to those with the eyes to see it.

The home planet and standing of Imperial Nobles could be distinguished by the knowing eye by the slightest variations in their otherwise highly fashionable attires. Marking them as haling from the Northern Territories or even distinguishably from the various worlds of the the Imperial Heartland itself.

The most prominent class of them seemingly of the Kaasian High Nobility of the Imperial Capital, to which kemma Knew, their host Maximilian Graush himself also belonged. Military officers mingled either among themselves or with the nobles and goverment officials from similar planetary backgrounds. There even seemed to be some divide between the Imperial Military officers depending on their belonging to the Imperial Nobility, or lack thereof. Not even military rank and prestige seeming to overcome the divide between family lines, sith blood ties and ancient ancestry that still reigned supreme among the highest echelons of Imperial Society. 

All of this was foreign to Kemma, an intricate and suffocating dance of etiquette, rivalry, and power. Centuries of scheming hid beneath laughter and fine wine, like a heavy fog that never lifted.

Even the faint shimmer of the ray shield surrounding the camp felt symbolic of this tension. Broad-shouldered Imperial commandos served as quiet sentries along the perimeter, the Moff’s personal fist reduced to background adornment. Little more than sentries lingering in the background of his aristocratic display that threatened to give Kemma a headache as she marched on into the center of the cesspit of decadence. Moff Maximilian Graush himself.

The Sector Moff of the Atrivis Sector was stood socialising at the far edge of camp, the cliffside that overlooked the clearing of the hunt’s killing field below. Ringed by several more commandos that stood nearby, acting as little more than glorified footmen as they held onto the hunting rifles of Graush’s esteemed guests. The Moff himself was surrounded by several shady-looking figures of the Imperial elite and military. Some she could instantly recognise as the other governors of the sector. The eldest of which, Governor Keersk of Imperial Gibbela, set his sunken gaze upon Kemma first, standing closest to the Moff.

If the Court of the Atrivis Sector’s governors was indeed little more than a kennel of dogs snarling desperately for the Moff’s favour, Governor Keersk was the one who barked the loudest. Old, entrenched and entirely too pleased with himself, he always sought to mount the dais above the rest of them. And over her in particular. Seeing Nam’ta and Kemma herself as little more than youthful upstarts and alien outsiders.

And so he cleared his throat to steel the Moff's attention away from his chat with an Imperial Admiral, setting his gaze upon Kemma as he spoke in his nasal tone. “Your Excellency, it seems Ralter has at last deigned to join us. How wonderful of you to finally arrive. We had been waiting...” He offered as he set his hatefilled eyes upon the younger Governor from over the bridge of his crooker nose.

Kemma did not acknowledge him, only offering the Moff a short bow as she came to a halt. Keeping her eyes fixed upon Moff Graush as she answered. “That would still be Governor Ralter to you, Governor Keersk… and I am certain the Moff can forgive my lateness. Such delays are inevitable when one’s system fights a war… and not only plays at one.” She hissed out, sparing only the briefest sideways glance to Keersk. Who parted his chapped lips to reply before he was interrupted by a raised, monstrous hand from the mountainous Moff who let out a bemused “Hah!”

His gibbs trembling like puddings as he silenced the display. The dealings of his governors amusing but no less unimportant. “Governor Ralter, my dear… how good it is to see you again.” Graush offered with a welcoming gesture of his arms, as an uncanny imitation of a smile tugged at his large lips. The rolls of his face gleamed with sweat from the Horuz heat and humidity, but it did not seem to bother the Moff in the slightest. His deep-set hate-filled black eyes shone with amusement at the day’s festivities.  “Indeed, your delay was expected… the duties of war can make latecomers of us all.” He said, voice thick as tar. “And I know how fond you are of overseeing things directly… yet I hope you find Ensign Kolinth a useful addition to your staff despite such?” He offered.

“He serves well enough, your Excellency…” Kemma replied, unflinching. “He is quick and efficient and never misses a detail in his reports. Something I am certain you know well.” She offered, her eyes meeting the Moff’s gaze. Her accusation veiled just thinly enough to be acceptable. And, it seemed, amusing.

The Moff simply chuckled, his cheeks rippling like pudding. “Quite right, Governor Ralter…” He offered before leaning forward subtly. “It is why I know as well as you that there are ample things for us to discuss today.” He offered, towering over the Governor of Imperial Nam’ta as his expression hardened.

But before another word could be exchanged, the tension was broken by the approach of today’s huntmaster: Colonel Demetrius Cabbel of the Alien Control Initiative, who Kemma knew all too well.

The Colonel had kept slightly off to the side, a finger on his earpiece as he gazed into the jungle with his binoculars, but had now approached directly, clearing his throat to grab the Moff’s attention. “Your Excellency. First patrol reports another flock of them should enter the killing field shortly.” News that seemed to make Graush once again perk up with enthusiasm as he smiled and let out an “Excellent!” Turning away from Kemma and the governors to the party itself, bringing his large hands to his lips to propel his booming voice over the festivities.

“Friends, to your rifles! There is good sport to be had!” He called out, as several individuals rose from their seats and moved to collect their hunting rifles from their retainers. Marching to the crest of the hill as Graush turned to his governors, shooing them away with little more than a stern glance. Kemma stepped back just a moment later than her more acquainted peers. Letting out a soft sigh as she set her eyes back to Moff Graush. Watching on as the Moff snapped his fingers.

A broad-framed commando that lingered nearby holding Graush’s rifle sprang into action at once. Moving forward to offer Graush the large rifle before he turned on his axis and knelt down into the dirt before Graush. The soldier angling his back forward, letting Graush rest his rifle upon his shoulders. The Imperial commando’s years of training culminating in service as a human bipod. A role, Kemma noted, he had fulfilled countless times today during this hunt based on the dried mud staining his knee pads.

Moff Graush popped his aim-assisting reticle back in front of his eyes as he rested the weapon on the soldier’s right shoulder and steadied his aim. Taking a deep breath as he adjusted his footing alongside other members partaking in the hunt. The rest of the nobles joined to spectate with bated breath alongside the cluster of governors as they waited in silence.

The silence lingered for some time, broken only by the occasional cough, before the familiar snarls and barks of Akk Dogs sounded from the jungle below. Soft at first, then ever closer. Closing in toward the clearing the hill was situated above, a rumbling in the brush moving right to left as they drove their prey forwards. Anticipation building. Kemma could not help but look to the clearing as well, waiting the final moments before… there. The first… prey? Would emerge from the dense, thorny shrubbery.

Kemma’s eyes went wide with shock as they appeared to be not beasts, but sentients! Humanoid aliens of all shapes, species and sizes appearing from the brush. Their clothes and skin torn and tattered by the barbs and thorns of Horuz’s inhospitable jungle as they darted into the clearing like scared hares. The Akk Dogs close on their heels when suddenly… BLAM. The first shot rang out through the clearing. Striking one of the aliens, a young Rodian, cleanly in the torso as he collapsed there in the grass.

A hail of bolts from the mound followed. The assembled line of nobility, moguls and officers alike reveling in the barbaric pleasantry as they fired away. Kemma watched on in horror as they picked off the aliens that darted across the field. Those who stopped were caught by the hunting hounds that chased them, the Akks tearing them to pieces.

The hounds’ Imperial handlers halted by the edge of the jungle clearing. Waiting. Blasters trained on the running prey, picking off any that were missed by the hunting party before they could disappear into the opposite treeline. Ensuring all died there in the killing field.

It was a massacre. One that made Ralter’s stomach twist and turn in her gut. And one the gathered masses seemed to delight in.

Kemma watched, sickened, as the clearing became a slaughter pit. Around her, the crowd cheered. The Empire’s finest; its elite, its masters, its nobles, basked in the pleasure of killing. And all she could do was stand there and bear witness...

[Krassus Horuset]

Part II:

The thorns did not simply cut, they clung, grabbed and tore at the body as if they were the claws of some hungry abomination spawned from the deepest of hells.  They hooked into flesh and cloth alike, barbed tendrils tearing at him as though the jungle itself wished to claim its due. The Twi’lek tore forward regardless, breath ragged, lungs burning in the wet, suffocating heat. Each step was a gamble, each stride a tearing of skin as hooked vines snagged his robes... or what remained of them.. Ripping at the man beneath.
Refusing to release without taking something with them.
By the time he tore free of one snare, another had already claimed him, leaving thin, burning lines of blood trailing across his chest, his arms, even along the length of his lekku, one of which now hung slick and darkened where the skin had split open under repeated strain.

Still, he ran.

His breath came in ragged bursts, lungs screaming against the thick, humid air that clung to him as much as the jungle itself. The heat was suffocating, the ground uneven beneath his boots, yet he barely felt it now. There was no room left for pain. He could only focus on the next step, and then the next. He had to keep moving, for no matter what agony the jungle itself bestowed on him, It would all pale to the fate that would befall him if he slowed down. The shouts of the Imperial soldiers cut sharply through the undergrowth, their commands and coordination precise and measured. Guiding the chaos rather than being a part of it. They were not chasing the chaos blindly. They were directing it. Driving it forward.

Driving them forward.

Yet the shouting was the least of his worries.  For they were all continuously drowned out by the choir of hellish, hungry snarls. The Akk Dogs. He could hear the way they tore through the brush, hear the wet snaps of branches beneath their weight, the guttural hunger in their throats as they charged through the shrubbery. The barbed vines sliding off of their scales, unable to find leverage. The hounds gaining on the aliens with a logic defying cruelty. They were close enough now that he no longer needed the Force to feel them. They were right behind him and he knew it...
Yet he reached for the Force anyway.

Whether out of reflex, training or desperation he could not tell. For he had long since given up his belief in the Force as a force for good, on the belief that it would aid him, get him and the others out of this barbed hell. Time and time again had he tried to call upon the Force, his ally, his sole companion, and time again nothing answered him.  Or rather, not the current he had known, that he had looked for. There was no serenity, no peace, no steady guiding presence his Master had taught him to trust. If the Force was his ally, it had abandoned him. And when he reached out now, all he was answered by was Fear, and terror. Fractured and distant, as though buried beneath the pounding of his own heart. Yet there is not supposed to be chaos... There is harmony...

The words came unbidden, a memory forced into the present, fragile and out of place in this cruel world. An echo of softer times that would not help him now as he stumbled, catching himself against the trunk of a low tree as the jungle tore another strip of cloth from his back. And as he looked to his side, for but a fleeting moment, he saw them again.  The others. The ones who had been released into this hellish jungle with him three hours ago... Or at least those that were left of them. 

He had tried in vain to keep them together. Tried to steady them as they fled through the choking undergrowth of barbed vines and toxic trees. An elder Rodian who could barely who could barely walk... A young Iridonian girl whose hands would not stop shaking as their prison transport descended... A Devaronian who had laughed too loudly, too wildly, as the Imperial guards joked and jeered as they told the aliens they had a 5 minute headstart, as though madness might shield him from fear...
He had told them to breathe. To focus. To trust him... To trust in the Force.

He had told them they would survive... He had not meant to lie...

The Rodian had fallen first. dragged down in a tangle of limbs and teeth as the hounds were unleashed before the others could even turn. The girl had frozen soon after, her wide eyes locked on something he could not see until it was too late. And the Devaronian... He had run, yes, run until his strength failed him, run until the jungle itself rose up to hold him in place. Laughing until his voice went hoarse as the beasts claimed him too.. 
And to his greatest shame... He himself hadn't even stopped to help them. He had not looked back. Because in his heart he knew that to do so would have been to die with them. He had to keep moving. He had to run... And he did. 

A branch whipped across his face, snapping him back to the present as the undergrowth began to thin. The dense canopy above fractured as beams of harsh sunlight pierced through for the first time since the chase had begun. Blinding him, his vision overwhelmed as he pushed forward without thought until the jungle ended. Abrupt and sudden, as if he had fallen off the world.

Stumbling into the clearing with a sharp intake of breath, the sudden openness disorientating after the suffocating press of the jungle. Light flooded his vision, the sky wide and merciless above him, and for a brief confused moment he simply stood there as the other tattered and torn aliens darted out of the jungle, flushed out into the open as the Akk Dogs closed in. 

Emerging besides him, behind him. Figures just as desperate spilling from the treeline. No one spoke. Others froze in place at the harsh light. Others simply continued running in mindless, desperate silence. A silence that lasted only a heartbeat until a loud crack splitting through the sky broke it like the blow of a hammer. 
A sharp, echoing crack of Blaster fire pierced through the sky as the Rodian beside him collapsed mid-stride, a smoking wound punched clean through his torso. The Twi'lek Padawan turned instinctively, confusion giving way to understanding just as the second shot rang out and the barrage began...

Blaster fire rained down from above, precise and unrelenting. Cutting through the scattered group with brutal efficiency. One after another they fell, bodies jerking, collapsing, screams rising and vanishing just as quickly as the bolts that silenced them... And then the hounds emerged... There was no cover, no direction to flee that was not watched. This clearing a killing field. This wasn't a battle... It was a hunt.

His  danger senses flared! He moved on instinct alone, reacting to that invisible pull on his body, twisting as a bolt tore past him close enough that he felt the heat of it against his skin. He lost his footing, crashing hard into the dirt as the world narrowed into fragments of sound and motion. A hellscape of screams, snarls, blasterfire and distant cheers. Cheers from above... Above... He looked and saw them. 

A line of figures standing upon the ridge overlooking the clearing, the silhouettes of them and their camp stark against the sky. They did not move like soldiers in the battles he had trained for. They did not advance, they did not take cover... They all simply stood, watched and fired. As if he and the others were nothing more but a good sport. 

In that moment of brutal understanding something broke with him. Fractured. Not a clean break, but a slow, grinding collapse as everything he had taught, everything he had held on to, found no place in the reality around him. There was no serenity here. No balance. No guiding light. There was only fear and beneath it something much darker.  An akk Dog Lunged at him as he lay on the floor, jaws wide, its body pouncing with lethal intent. Drool and blood spilling from his mouth and clinging to his claws. He saw it too late to think, too late to reach for the calm he no longer possessed. But as he reached out in fear, terror and rage... The Dark answered anyways. Not as a whisper of a peaceful serene wind, but as a violent surge as he screamed in anger and the creature was wrenched sideways mid-leap, thrown back into the ground with such force that the telekinetic force alone shattered it. Tearing the creature limb from limb in a tangle of broken limbs that did not rise again. The Twi'lek staggered back staring  his breath hitching as something unfamilar coursed through him, as fear made way for Power. 

And as he looked to his side to another movement, another threat, the Imperial Handler at the edge of the clearing raising his blaster as his hound was torn asunder the Padawan answered its call. His hand shot outward in rage as the Soldier choked, pulled upwards into the air by his neck with such Force that it might have snapped it outright. His weapon slipping from nerveless fingers as he clawed at his throat in silent panic. The Twi'lek did not hesitate,  pulling, dragging the man toward him with brutal force before slamming him into the ground once. Twice. Again until the body went limp, the neck twisted at an unnatural angle. In haste he reached down to seize the Blaster without thought, sending a suppressing hail to the Other Imperial handlers that now shot at him before he turned and aimed upward toward the ridge. Towards them. 

A scream tore from his throat, raw and defiant as he fired. The bolts streaking upwards, before they suddenly struck the shimmering ray shield that enclosed the camp. Each impact flaring brightly against its surface. 
--
Kemma noted that the reaction to the fire was imminent. Officers of high military rank, their chests decorated with medals, Governors and Imperial Noblers all flinched, dodged and screamed. The illusion of detached amusement shattered in an instant. She remained still however... And so did the Moff. His lips curled up in sly amusement even as his Bodyguarding commandos suddenly sprung to attention, ready to take out the threat. "Not so hasty, not so hasty!" He bellowed out. "This prize is mine~" He almost purred out, tongue stuck out of his mouth in focus as he pulled the trigger.
The Twi'lek down below fell silent in an instant. As the Moff's bolt tore through his chest, his legs gave out... And the alien fell to the ground. The Imperial handlers below gunning down the last of the straggling aliens...

Moff Graush lowered his rifle with a faint grown, handing it back to his human bipod as the kneeling commando rose. He sighed as he removed his hunting gloves slowly, his expression shifting from his previous excitement to one of mild annoyance as he turned toward Colonel Cabbel. "Have a letter written... Inform the family of the fallen Soldier that their son died a heroic death defending the Empire... Killed in action in the fighting on Nam'ta. The Empire thanks him for his service." His thick tone even, as though reciting a routine order.

Then, after a brief pause he snapped his fingers. "And have the Twi'lek's corpse collected! I would study the creature's brain... I would like to have it displayed in my palace."

The colonel snapped to attention, offering a sharp salute. "At once, your Excellency."

Graush dismissed him with a flick of his hand, already turning away as attendants moved to restore order to the gather following the unexpected rush of excitement. "My friends, my friends! Calm yourself... A new chance to hunt will present itself a few hours from now! For now, eat your meals, share in the drinks and hospitalities of Horuz, yes?" He offered with a boisterous laugh that made his gibs tremble like puddings.

Yet as he turned away from the crowd his face fell instantly into its familiar cruelty, Kemma noted, as his gaze shifted back to the Governors. "You as well, Governors... Return to the festivities." He ordered before his tone softened by a fraction as his eyes lingered on kemma. "Governor Ralter and I have things to discus... Walk with me, Kemma Dear."

He commanded before he strode off towards his tent. The Largest pavilion of them all, cresting the top of the hill. Kemma followed him.