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09-12-2025, 04:54 PM
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...
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...
