OOC: Ok, I'm rather new at this, so advice would be appreciated!
Would be nice if someone would join this as well. I haven't really got any plans for this, so everyone is free do to ( almost ) whatever they want. Just don't kill off my character ;)
IC:
Leaving his apartment at the 67th floor, Torg'ri'mash headed for the shifter booth down corridor. As he walked he thought about his decision to leave the Ascendancy. If he had the choice again, he would surely do the same, but still... He did regret the fact that he could never again watch the beauty of his frozen homeworld. There hadn't been many rogue Chiss over the years, and almost all had swiftly been killed by bounty hunters seeking the price the Ascendancy always put out on its rogues. Only the infamous Grand Admiral Thrawn had been well enough protected to live without fear of retribution.
"The Celestial Gardens", he said as he entered the shifter. The Gardens always made him relax and think clearer, he felt. And now he really needed to think.
The anonymous datapad had been lying at his pillow when he came back to his apartment after his brief visit to the Hades Hive ( Well, maybe a bit more than a brief visit ).
The message had been simple enough. How much is your life worth to you? To him it was worth more than anything else he had. But was everything he had enough? He had a fair amount of money, won after a fluke in a sabacc game, and his X-wing wasn't one of the newest models, but it was a decent enough fighter, and probably worth a decent price. But he doubted it was more than the Ascendancy had offered for his head. Curse their damned screwed-up honor!
Finding himself a nice spot by a small lake, he lay down to think. And promptly fell asleep. Concentration wasn't exactly his strength.
His dreams were dark and confusing, as always. His tactical teacher at the military academy were standing over him, huge as a mountain, shouting uncomprehensible words, but the disgust in his voice was obvious. The teacher changed suddenly shape, and turned into a young chiss who stumbled backwards clutching at his own throat, a wheezing sound erupting from his mouth. Once again the scene changed, and he was standing alone in a frozen desert, with the white seemingly stretching on forever to all directions. He felt more than he heard his own thin voice - the way it had been many years ago - crying out a thin, wailing "help".
Would be nice if someone would join this as well. I haven't really got any plans for this, so everyone is free do to ( almost ) whatever they want. Just don't kill off my character ;)
IC:
Leaving his apartment at the 67th floor, Torg'ri'mash headed for the shifter booth down corridor. As he walked he thought about his decision to leave the Ascendancy. If he had the choice again, he would surely do the same, but still... He did regret the fact that he could never again watch the beauty of his frozen homeworld. There hadn't been many rogue Chiss over the years, and almost all had swiftly been killed by bounty hunters seeking the price the Ascendancy always put out on its rogues. Only the infamous Grand Admiral Thrawn had been well enough protected to live without fear of retribution.
"The Celestial Gardens", he said as he entered the shifter. The Gardens always made him relax and think clearer, he felt. And now he really needed to think.
The anonymous datapad had been lying at his pillow when he came back to his apartment after his brief visit to the Hades Hive ( Well, maybe a bit more than a brief visit ).
The message had been simple enough. How much is your life worth to you? To him it was worth more than anything else he had. But was everything he had enough? He had a fair amount of money, won after a fluke in a sabacc game, and his X-wing wasn't one of the newest models, but it was a decent enough fighter, and probably worth a decent price. But he doubted it was more than the Ascendancy had offered for his head. Curse their damned screwed-up honor!
Finding himself a nice spot by a small lake, he lay down to think. And promptly fell asleep. Concentration wasn't exactly his strength.
His dreams were dark and confusing, as always. His tactical teacher at the military academy were standing over him, huge as a mountain, shouting uncomprehensible words, but the disgust in his voice was obvious. The teacher changed suddenly shape, and turned into a young chiss who stumbled backwards clutching at his own throat, a wheezing sound erupting from his mouth. Once again the scene changed, and he was standing alone in a frozen desert, with the white seemingly stretching on forever to all directions. He felt more than he heard his own thin voice - the way it had been many years ago - crying out a thin, wailing "help".
