Vashiir

[Vashiir]

Spoiler

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OF CLAWS AND KIN

CHAPTER 1​

“Don’t play stupid with us.”

a voice said, the shrouding thickness of the hood placed over his head allowed little in the way of awareness of his surroundings, save for the sound of footfalls echoing around him in a constant orbit. Vashiir gave no response, simply panting lightly to try and keep his senses about him, the dull ache of numerous savage blows ringing through his skull like a bell at high noon.

“Where is it? We want our credits.”
the voice said, the tone tightening up just before a sting ran through Vashiir’s jaw as he felt his head recoil from the blow, a grunt escaping him along side a few shuddering gasps.

“WHERE ARE THE CHIPS.”
the voice boomed, now grabbing his muzzle and tugging it forward, his wrists and ankles screaming as the ropes which bound them to the chair chewed into his fur covered skin.
“T-..They're gone.” He muttered weakly, his tone sheepish and laced with emotion, as if he were ready to burst into tears.
There was a brief moment of silence, before the voice outside of the hood started in lowly, quivering in rage.

“Gone…? ...GONE? What do you mean they're GONE?”
Three successive blows; left, right, left. Vashiir had to hold back the urge to vomit from the pain. If he let up his lunch he’d drown in the hood it was so tightly bound around his neck.

“I should kill you right here, Vashiir. I should pry the claws from your fingers and gouge your eyes out with them you little worm.”
a few more moments of pacing echoed in a rotation around him,

“Where. Where did they go. So help me if you lo-”

“I gambled them. Lost them all…” Vashiir said in a shudder, beginning to sob. “I thought the odds were good, a-and, And I was out of my own credits so-.”

Vashiir nearly lost consciousness from the blows he took then, several to his face and a few hard punches to the gut, feeling one of his ribs crunch under the blow, the broken bone aching with each labored breath.

“You lost 200,000 credits in one night?” the voice hissed, allowing a long moment of silence.

“Listen to me and listen closely Vashiir, you little bug bitten guttersnipe. I’m getting my money back. You, are getting my money back or I’ll have your family skinned alive in front of you, am I understood?”

Vashiir simply nodded through his heaving sobs, having given a pathetic whimper at the sentence while shaking profusely in his seat for fear of yet another blow finding him.

He then found himself thrown out of his tormentors grasp back into his chair, almost tipping backward onto the floor from the force. He would hear a few more footfalls before a heavy metal door opened and shut, his sense fading as he lost consciousness. The rest of the ordeal was a blur, being carried for a few moments, passing through various doorways, before finally feeling the hood being ripped from his head only to see the earth rushing up to meet him, the blinding light of midday stinging his eyes as they adjusted. In the distance, he saw his village across the open green field he’d been thrown into, the sound of a small craft hovering above him slowly fading as it reeled away back to where it came from.

The walk to the village gates was long and grueling, each step sent shocks through his body from the beatings it had endured, the Farghul barely able to see from over his swollen cheeks and the blood which trickled near his eyes and stung them. His village was a quaint place, small enough for everyone to know each other, but large enough to be on a map. Manufactured metal homes starkly contrasted the deep greens and greys of the evergreens and rocky mountains which hugged the settlement. Home at last, Vashiir hobbled toward his house, resting on the handle to the humble abode for a moment to catch his breath, before producing his key from his pocket, a small card that turned the red light on the panel to green when scanned, the heavy click of the door unlocking allowing him to scramble inside. What he found was terrifying for him, or rather, what he didn’t find. The house was cold and quiet, not a single soul inside. Where was his mother? His brothers and sisters? Why was there no warmth from a cooking meal or a childish squabble over who’s tail was longer? He rushed through the house, his heart pounding as he ran into room after room, calling for members of his family.

“Mother? Paniil? Zahl? ANYONE?”

He shouted desparately, feeling himself verging on tears once more. Finally, he’d find himself walking up to the kitchen table, finding a holo-chip laying in the center along with a small piece of paper with an emblem drawn on it in a scratchy hand. The symbol of the Cackling Cavalcade, the gang which was responsible for the aches which crackled through his body. Finding a device to play the holo-chip on, he played the recording. The projection that issues from the machine confirmed his worst fears as a familiar voice was heard.

“Vashiir…” the voice pleaded in a sobbing tone.

“Mother.” the Farghul croaked at the recording, moving in closer at the hologram of the still silhouette.

“I..I don’t know where I am, b-but.. they told me to say this;”

Vashiir’s mother would pause, swallowing hard and stifling a sob.

“For every week you don’t pay at least two thousand credits to us, we’ll cut something off of someone in your family.”

She said in a struggling, fearful tone.

“B-but we’re a-.. a k-kind group, so if you pay extra in a w-week, we’ll afford them a luxury.”
There was a pause, light incoherent whispering cutting the static lined silence for a moment.

“Y-you have seven days to make your first payment.” and then silence occupied the empty home once more.

Vashiir simply stared at the vacant space where the holo-projection formerly lingered, his jaw lightly slacked as tears continues to soak the fur beneath his eyes. Slowly, he'd press the tips of his claws into the wooden table top, dragging trenches into surface as a growl began to mount in his throat as he then grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it forward in his amalgam of emotions. He would come to regret that action though, as his broken rib shocked pain through his body, reminding him of the injuries he still endured. Standing for a moment with a hand placed over his abdomen, he'd lumber through the house until reaching the stationary medical droid they'd kept. There was never much need for the unit aside from patching up scrapes and cuts that come with day to day living, so Vashiir had to trust that it was capable enough to fix his wounds. Activating the machine and laying on the bed next to it, he'd find himself closing his eyes and drifting off as the droid set to work on him.

THE NEXT DAY​

Vashiir awoke to early morning light shining into his eyes from the blinded window which encompassed the makeshift infirmary their family kept in their home, small dust particles dancing through the sun's rays in a lazy flow. The Fargul was surprised to find that when he sat upright, his broken rib no longer stung him with each movement, and was solidly mended from the medical droids' efforts, as well as the rest of his wounds having been carefully closed and treated. Stepping out into the open living room of the empty house, he stared about the area with a listless emerald gaze.

He was still in disbelief with what was happening. He had never thought what he did would cause so much pain to him and his family, as it was just innocent gambling right? Well, it started that way. Things were getting a bit complicated when he started borrowing from local gangs, trying to pull a profit off of loans with each night of gambling. Most of the time, he was able to break even by either catching the gambling proprietors in their cheating and getting his money back, or winning legitimate bets.
He thought this last deal was like any other; Just hold on to the stolen credits until the heat was off of the Cackling Cavalcade, and he'd get a cut when everything had blown over. It was that simple, until he lost himself in a feverish bit of disparity in a losing streak, and ended up losing it all. Vashiir would catch himself being lost in his thoughts, snapping back to reality with a light shake of his head and a sigh. With a shuddering inhale, he'd set out of his house to face his situation; He had to start earning money, and fast.
At a quickened pace he walked through the village, the morning bustle of the market echoing around him in a backtrack to his thoughts. He couldn't get a regular job since there was absolutely no way to earn the kind of money he needed in a week doing something modest. Lost in his thoughts, he only barely noticed the crowd he approached, gathered around a crier on a platform holding an image on a screen he held up in the air.

“The Local Authorities are offering a bounty of fifteen hundred credits for anyone who can detain or terminate the ruffian Xal Buron.”

Vashiir had managed to catch at least that much, the undulating crowd which was alive with chatter made it difficult to hear the details from the back, but he did recognize the face which was displayed on the screen that the crier held. Xal Buron was a familiar Hapan, the handsome criminal made frequent stops into the seedy gambling halls which operated outside of the scope of proper society on Farrfin. Vashiir then turned and began to make straight back to his home.

He knew what he had to do now.

Hopping over the small fence which bordered the side of his house from the base of a large boulder which rested beside it, he made his way to the back yard, grabbing up a shovel which rested along the back side of his families abode near the rear door and made straight for a lofty tree which swayed as the morning breeze whispered through its canopy. He began to dig, toss after toss of the dark earth away from the hole he created for what seemed like hours, until finally the tip of the shovel was met with a metallic thud. He'd found it. Frantically, he'd climb down into the hole and begin brushing dirt away from the surface of the metal container before entirely unearthing it, yanking it from its long standing resting place. He'd set the container up on level ground and scramble out of the hole, kneeling before the lock box moving to flip the latches which held it shut, slowly opening the box as the old hinges squealed their age. Inside he found a paper written in a scratchy hand, laid over top of the contents of the container.


“Dear Vashiir


If you're reading this, then it means the time has come for you to either protect the house, or you've decided to set off on your own. Now just remember to stay calm and collected my son, flailing about and panicking helps nothing, and I know how prone you are to that from that time you nearly fell in the river at your aunts house. At any rate, inside this box is a blaster and a chip worth 750 credits. I really hope you remember how to responsibly use both of these things, since chances are I'm not around to show you how they both work again. I have faith in you.

Your father loves you.

P.S: I also left you something in here to remind you of home if you have to leave the planet. Take good care of it, it's been in the family for a while.”

As promised, inside the box was a DE-10 blaster with not much special to it besides some light claw scratches along the right side of the gun from when he was younger and his father was teaching him how to hold a gun ready, with an index finger along the side above where the trigger is. Just as well, there was a credit chip, and finally an interesting necklace. It appeared to be a hexagonal shape cut from rough stone, with some of the edges wrapped in a tough brown string, and in the center of the hexagon hung a beautiful green crescent moon, accented with gold to hold whatever the green gem was in place. Holding the jewelry in one hand and the blaster in the other, he'd stare for a moment at the objects, feeling the smallest security in knowing that his father had left so much for him. Tying the necklace around his neck and attaching the blaster and it's holster to the belt which held his robe like pants up, he'd stand and make for the door. Changing into fresh clothes once he'd gone inside, Vashiir wore no shirt, as was typical for Farghul, and a dark green cloth around his waist over top of a brown pair of loosly fitting pants, the legs of which were tucked into his ankle height boots. After having changed and freshened up a bit, he'd simply sit down in the center of the living room and think for a while, carefully turning his blaster over and over again with a listless stare, as he awaited what he must do.

LATER THAT NIGHT...​

As the sun set in the evening, orange and purple lined the horizon and bathed the lazily floating clouds in color, a proper crown for the distant mountains which bit into the sky eternally. Vashiir found himself sitting in front of his house, watching it for what he figured could be the last time if things didn't go his way this evening. He'd thought hard on his plan, and assumed what he'd aimed to do was his best course of action. Xal Buron was known for being a despicable person despite his good looks. There was a reason he came to Farrfin so often, and it wasn't just to gamble. The Hapan fancied Farghul men. Setting off down the road, Vashiir made way for the nearby docks; The small port was one of the many shady gathering points for disreputable people. He negotiated the blaster at his hip so that it rested under the dark green cloth he wore about his waist and sat hidden from view as he entered approached the port, already hearing the idle chatter of the bustling bar. Making his way inside, Vashiir made a quick scan of the scene. Loud music pierced the air and all but muffled all the conversation happening inside. All about various species of aliens could have been seen sitting around tables drinking, gambling, arguing and laughing. Scantily clad waitresses carried drinks on platters to different tables as the bartender placed a blaster on the counter of the bar as a rather unruly customer had been yelling at him, the patron promptly backing away and the keep afterward putting the blaster away back to where it rested under the bar top. Before long, however, Vashiir would spot his quarry. In the back under a blueish light which hung overhead and barely did much more than obscure the darkness, Xal Buron sat at a table with his men, playing a game of chance while indulging in their drinks. Steeling himself, the Farghul would take a deep breath, before forcing a smile and beginning to saunter toward the table, stopping just a few feet away and calling out over the music as he rested his vibrant green eyes on the Hapan man.

“Hey! Room for one more?” He said, giving his tail a light swish as he shifted his weight to his right leg, crossing his arms and waiting for a reply from the man. Xal would have looked up from his drink then, brushing a stray tuft of light brown hair from his vision as he skipped his brown eyes up and down Vashiir's form. Vashiir felt a chill run up his spine as the man appraised him, almost giving in to the urge to turn away and run. With a wry smile, the Xal would wave a hand lazily at one of his henchmen which sat beside him, then pulling the chair a little closer next to him and patting the seat, giving a nod to Vashiir. Xal then waved to the rest of the people at the table with a flick of his wrist, effectively excluding himself from the next round of the game they were playing and turning in his chair to look to Vashiir while propping his head up with his left arm, his elbow rested on the edge of the table.
“You don't look the type to come to places like this.” he said with a wink, lofting a hand and beckoning with two fingers to the bartender, the man behind the counter promptly beginning to mix two drinks.

“I figured I'd check it out... Things have been pretty boring for me lately and I wanted to have some fun.” Vashiir cooed with a smile, writhing internally at how he was exchanging words with this man. The Farghul was usually very reserved and never really concerned himself with romantic encounters, so naturally this particular endeavor made him feel particularly estranged from himself. As he finished speaking, a waitress came and set two drinks down, one pointedly infront of Vashiir, and the other near Xal. The suave Hapan would take up his drink and loft it in the air, giving a pointed stare with that same unrelenting grin of his to Vashiir.

“Then where better to start having fun than with a drink, ehh?”

Vashiir would fidget in his chair, the tip of his tail giving a light twitch before he took the glass up himself and rose it to meet Xal's own.

“How right you are.” He said with a quirked eyebrow while making sure not to let his true discomfort seep through his flirty outward disposition as he brought the drink to his lips, nearly spitting up the burning liquid as it slid down his throat.

“Good isn't it? It's my favorite drink to buy for my new friends.” Xal chimed, leaning in a bit closer to Vashiir as he reached a hand to place on the Farghul's knee. Vashiir started to reel away from the touch, but caught himself and smiled back instead.

“Yes it's.. very nice.” he said with a small pause, feeling his mind space for a moment as he spoke.. that was strange...

“So-.. What do you here then?” Vashiir said, once again.. that little lapse in his thoughts.
“Well-..” Xal said, taking another sip before setting his drink down and running his hand a bit further up Vashiir's leg.

“I like to come here and find nice boys like you and buy them drinks until they loosen up. “ Vashiir would find his vision blurring as it became increasingly difficult to focus on Xal, his words fading and melding with the neural beat of the music around him. He'd feel heavy in his chair as his senses betrayed him, seeing and hearing everything and nothing around him. “The damn drink” Vashiir found himself thinking with his last coherent thought, before his world melted into a puddle, his memories of the night mixing and flowing. He remembered being helped up from the chair, fading to him clinging to Xal as they were standing in the center of the bar with people dancing all around them, and finally he found himself limply laying on some soft surface, the man who'd reduced him to this barely functioning state over top of him, grinning down at him wolfishly. And then-..

Nothing.. Not until the next morning.


Vashiir awoke to the morning light shining through an open window in the back room of the bar he'd gone to last night. He felt a pang of fear, as he had no idea where he was at first, glancing around frantically. All he knew was that he was laying on a bed bound at his wrists, and he was fully clothed. The confused Farghul would struggle against his confinement, yanking his limbs frantically only to feel the rope bite into his skin and twist his fur uncomfortably. Lightly panting, Vashiir took a moment to assess the situation and take a look around, only to see that there was nothing nearby he could use to cut the confines which retained him. After a few moments of thought, Vashiir had an idea. He'd take a few moments to kick at heel of his right boot and eventually wedge it off, the garment tumbling off the bed and onto the floor with a light thud. Vashiir would take in a deep breath then, and then slowly exhale as he began to raise his leg up.

Vashiir had always been a very flexible person, and it was paying off for him today as he aimed to bring the sharp claw which adorned his big toe to the rope which held his right wrist. Slowly, he'd begin to carefully pluck at the many small strings which made up the larger product, whittling at the strength of the binding little by little by cutting them. Half way through this process, he'd hear a bustling in the room just beyond this one, followed by a voice cheerily humming. Vashiir would work faster, his leg beginning to feel cramped from the extended contortion he held it in, but he persevered nevertheless. The whistling came closer and closer, only a few steps away from the door, and Vashiir finally weakened the rope enough to be able to yank it apart by pulling his arm aggressively, then wasting no time picking at the rope with the much sharper claws on his right hand, quickly making short work of the rope.

The handle on the door turned and the door had begun to swing open just as Vashiir reached down for his blaster hidden within the cloth tied around his waist, pulling it free from the holster and firing at the door with a reckless shot. The blue bolt of energy flew up and to the left, blasting a hole in the wall as Xal reeled away from the impact, before dashing toward Vashiir and leaping onto the bed and pushing his arms to his sides, twisting the wrist of his right hand to make him drop the blaster and slamming his forehead into Vashiir's to daze him. Xal panted heavily as he stared down at Vashiir, a crazed expression playing across his features as he giggled down at the Farghul.

“Did you get too excited and wanted to come find me?”

He said through gritted teeth, moving down to look Vashiir in the eye, hovering his face just above the Farghul's own.

“Your death was going to be my evening entertainment.”

he said aggressively as he attempted to reach for the Farghul's throat. Vashiir, still dazed contested the man as best he could, struggling to push the Xal's hands away from his person. Eventually Vashiir managed to push him off by kicking with his legs, and he scrambled for his blaster, but was unable to locate it. Desperately he darted his eyes around the room looking for something, anything he could use as weapon. The closest thing he saw was his boot that he'd kicked off earlier. Quickly, he'd grab the footwear just as he felt Xal grab his leg and begin dragging him back, Vashiir flipping over and hurling it at his face, causing the man to fall back with his hands covering his nose. The Farghul would then jump to his feet and leap down on top of the man, beginning to wildly hurl his fists down to pummel the man over and over, with each hit Xal resisted less and less. Vashiir continued to punch him over and over, grunting desperately until he came to his senses, looking down.

His eyes would widen as he stared down at the now lifeless corpse of Xal, his once handsome face nothing more than a bloodied mass at this point. Vashiir would give a whimper in fear as he stared down at his blood covered hands, shaking profusely. He'd just killed a man with his bare hands-.. He never thought it would go like this. He thought he could just shoot him and be done. Vashiir couldn't linger on this for too long though, since Xal's men were just the next room over, and sooner or later they'd realize something was wrong. Vashiir would move over to where Xal laid, pulling the vibro-knife from at Xal's belt. He'd heard of what you had to do to claim a bounty, so he aimed to get it over with quickly. He'd turn on the knife, the dull vibration sound filling the room as Vashiir grabbed a handful of his captors hair, then beginning to saw through his neck to separate the head from the body. He'd find himself shuddering and gagging as he forced through the tough bone of his spine, after finishing he'd let go of the head and dry heave a few times, tears filling his eyes as he tried to focus. He'd grab the sheet off of the bed and begin wrapping the head in it, then making swiftly for the window after retrieving his boot and slipping it on. Tossing the head through first and climb through after it.


The walk back to his village was long and quiet. It felt like these past few days had lasted years, like he could scarcely remember when he didn't have a care in the world. When his family was safe, when he wasn't scared, when he felt okay... Upon reaching his village, he'd find his way to where the crier he'd seen before. Finding his way to the building for the local authorities, he'd enter and sheepishly stand in the lobby, holding the crimson and white sheet. The man behind the desk would look up at Vashiir, and then down to the sheet. He'd begin to slowly rise from his seat, and Vashiir would speak up.

“I-I'm.. I'm here for the bounty on Xal Buron...” he muttered, raising the sheet up and setting it on the desk, not minding the papers strewn about on it. The desk attendant would take a peek inside the sheet and loft his eyebrows for a moment, before setting the sheet wrapped head on the floor and producing a credit chip, handing it to Vashiir.

“1500 credits, thank you for your service.” he said plainly, as if the transaction were business as usual.

Taking the chip, Vashiir wandered from the building in a daze, heading off for his home. He had made enough to keep his family safe, when combined with the money his father left him. But Vashiir couldn't help but wonder just how hefty a toll he's paid so far, not just in credits.