Witch-Hunt: Chasing Ghosts

[Uhtred Wardruna]

Witch-Hunt: Chasing Ghosts​

Jervo's World was one of the most prestigious swoop-racing and swoop-dueling rings in the Core Worlds. A large network of arenas housed in a massive, interconnected space station in orbit over the tropical world of Pantolomin, it drew swoop racers from most parts of the galaxy. The Old Empire wasn't well known for being partial to the sport, and they obviously wouldn't have been welcome within Imperial Republica even if they were, but most of the best racers were from outside its boundaries anyway. Imperial Hutta, the Outer Rim and Wild Space, the Fringe Worlds and the Colonies, and even beyond. But the one thing everyone knew was how dangerous the swoop tracks could be. And not just the racing itself, that part was always obvious. Riots and brawling and escalated violence came with the territory. However, barely forty-eight standard hours ago, even that took a grisly turn for the worst.

At the terminal near the Aurek track, it was claimed that a power conduit had been ill-maintained and become polarized, looping in on itself until it eventually ruptured, detonating violently. Several patrons were killed, many more injured, but like all great industries, it didn't truly keep people away, and Jervo's World was still as busy as ever just two days later.

"Hey, Tarus! Check this one out. No burns... no shrapnel wounds by the look of it, either. What's the chart say on her?"

The local medical facility had its own morgue, as inglorious as it was. But it served it purpose.

"Let's see... uh..., a new arrival. Only name we have down for her is 'Thaela', came onboard with some kind of stick a few days ago. Nothing much on her, probably just shoved her corpse in here with all the rest after the bombing, didn't bother to do a proper autopsy. Run a scan on her and I'll log it."

The first medical worker sighed and shook his head in mild annoyance.

"I don't blame em', I'll bet she just suffered some kind of lethal concussion force, maybe some major internal contusions or hemorrhag.... whoa."

"What it is? Something else?"

"That's... one way to put it. Her... her cranium..."

"Ah. Must be some kind of traumatic brain injury, then, right? What's the scanner reading?"

"...nothing."

"Ah. Well, then the cause of death must be something else. Keep looking."

"No, I mean... it's reading nothing because there is nothing. Her... brain. It's gone."

Uhtred loved ships. He loved flying them, loved working on them, loved stealing them. Call it part of his heritage that called to him, space was good to him. But stations? Stations were... different. They were stagnant, immobile, and when they got big enough, tended to get as stale as any overpolluted, overpopulated city. But he wasn't here to enjoy the races, not that he cared much for swoop-racing to begin with. He was here to search for one of his own. Thaela of Clan Urlack, a seer and respected member from among her kindred within Clan Wardruna. It was rare, but not unheard of, for a seer to achieve great honor from within their clan. While she was supposed to have returned to Bandomeer days ago, no one had even gotten word from her since her arrival at Jervo's World.

"This place smells of grease and stale food", Uhtred said, sneering as he and his brother passed through the terminal. Crowded placed never sat well with Uhtred anyway. "I've known a few Imperials, they love order, having every little thing in its place. I doubt we can access whoever leads this place, but perhaps we should find a security office? What say you?"

@Xorism @Nefieslab

 

[Valar Dohaeris]

What the hell was he doing here?

Oh that was right - he was doing this because he was convinced by another sith that station living was the best living. That while he was here he would be knee deep in Xeno ladies. He was already beginning to doubt how sober he was when he agreed to the plan, even if he did actually kind of like the guy who'd suggested it. Sighing a little bit, he could already tell that today was going to be another pain in the backside when he was sent by the security office to speak to a pair of Duecalians who had arrived on the station.

Naturally the station was free and open to all... and in practice it was cagey and wary about anything to do with a people of raiders and warriors just showing up. As far as most of the Galaxy was concerned, they were one step down from Mandalorians after all - except they had large wolves rather than giant bassilisk war droids.

And already it was clear that one of them hated stations. Well - clear to a Sith who could feel his emotions through the Force at least. As he approached, he rolled his eyes a little bit before his mask. He kept his mask on to hide the scars he had alongside the left side of his face... the scars that tugged painfully whenever he smiled or frowned. They weren't the only scars of course. His left arm was covered, from fingertips to shoulder, in burns. Burns and the surgical scars from where the surgeons had had to do several operations to save his arm from being amputated entirely.

It burned every second of every day and Valar hated how ugly and red and scarred and burnt it looked. He hated his arm with a furious passion matched only by how much he hated the Mandalorian witch who ruined it in the first place. He wore his robes and gauntlets religiously to avoid anyone seeing his gnarled arm.

Especially, as was the case here, someone he knew.

"Uhtred." he greeted the man who had aided him in some of his personal missions, "What are you doing standing here on a space station? I believed you hated them!"

@Xorism @Korvo