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Beyond - Legends JKA: The Journal of Ral'tha'ran. [DDC 2014]

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by windu4, Jan 31, 2014.

  1. windu4

    windu4 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    May 15, 2008
    Title: The Journal of Ral'tha'ran
    Author: windu4
    Timeframe: 14 ABY
    Character: Raltharan
    Genre: Diary Challenge
    Summary: In 14 ABY the Jedi Academy accepted a whole host of students from different backgrounds and experiences. One of these was a former slave and criminal named Raltharan, who was assigned to train under Corran Horn. This is his story.

    ----​

    My parents sold me into slavery when I was seven years old.

    I can’t really blame them. They were heavily indebted to the Black Sun even before I was born and that debt increased every year for seven years after they had me. One day my mom kissed me on the forehead and told me that she would always love me. Then two men who smelled like spoiled gutkurr dung grabbed me and threw me on a freighter cramped with my brothers and sisters my age. We were shipped off to Nal Hutta and the slavers ended up selling me to Rotta The Hutt, a crimelore fatter than his father who ruled the spice trade in the Inner Rim.

    I didn’t exactly get off to a good start. I still remember the impression I made upon Rotta. As soon as we entered the chamber Rotta looked over us with his clouded amber eyes and let out a dark chortle before twitching his tale. That had to be some sort of signal because almost immediately his men began to drag all the girls away. I remember a girl who used to be in my clan...her name was Moshi. She just started screaming my name and for some reason I thought I could make a difference. I remember it was an older Twi’Lek who was grabbing her and I just didn’t understand why he was doing this to his own people. I just jumped at him and ended up biting him on the ankle...he screamed before he kicked me off and for the next few minutes all I knew was pain.

    All Rotta did was laugh and when he was done he stared down at me and rumbled that I might have some promise. Then I was dragged away with the other boys and put to work in the lower levels of his mansion. For the next five years all I did was separate glitterstim spice and crystals from the hardened minerals and rocks that were imported to us from Kessel. It was grueling work and it wasn’t unusual for someone to lose a finger or a lekku in the process. Yet I was a hard worker and for some reason I managed to avoid injury. When I was thirteen years old they noticed that I had somehow escaped my work unscathed and figured that I might have some potential.

    That’s when I became one of Rotta’s thugs. They trained me how to shoot a blaster, how to ride a swoop bike and how to threaten other people. Then they doped me up on so many deathsticks that I stopped caring that I was a slave and I started kicking doors in. Somehow I managed to retain some shred of loyalty to my fellow slaves and tried to help them anyway I could. I learned how to skim creds just like the rest of the loan sharks without Rotta and his accountants noticing. I used what little money I could to help out my people. I made sure that Rotta’s whores were getting medicines and clean needles so they wouldn’t rot away with disease. I found a doctor who could give the younger children prosthetic lekkus and fingers if they lost them sorting through the minerals. I made sure that as many people didn’t have to suffer as much as Moshi and I did when we were children.

    Then one day it all changed. Now I have a choice. There’s a chance I can free the slaves that Rotta is responsible for torturing for so long. All I have to do is follow my instincts and trust that things will work out...whatever that means.
     
  2. windu4

    windu4 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    May 15, 2008
    Entry # 2


    It was another ordinary day. Which means that I had spent all night kicking in doors, waving around a blaster and screaming myself hoarse. By the time I got back to Rotta’s palace the sun was blazing down on Nal Hutta and the rest of the palace was asleep. Like Coruscant, Nal Hutta is a city that does most of its living at night. Except none of the night life is spending honest money, respectable or up to any good. Since I wasn’t due to check in with our watch supervisor I did what I always did. I visited my favorite Weequay at the bar in Rotta’s palace.

    I noticed the other enforcers who worked for Rotta. Not all of them worked because they were owned by the crimelord either. I’m not sure if I envy these men or pity them. I’ve never been one to have any kind of moral standing but if I had a choice...I definitely wouldn’t be doing this. There’s always been talk of us hoodlums earning our freedom if we save enough credits or prove that we can be on Rotta’s payroll as a bounty hunter. But Rotta doesn’t pay slaves to do his work and with all the lists of people that we need to shoot in the kneecap or rob it’s almost impossible to take on other jobs. It’s a pity because loan sharks are always stuck planetside...if I was a bounty hunter than maybe I’d be able to see the stars.

    “Give me a loaded eyeblaster, Sal.” Were the first words that came out of my mouth as I plopped myself down on a stool in front of the bar.

    Sal is the kind of man that doesn’t even bother charging you for a drink. The word “tab” isn’t even in his vocabulary. He spent half of his life on Kessel before he somehow managed to escape and found himself selling drinks and cigarras at Rotta’s tiny cantina. We all know that he can afford to give out free drinks because he’s running a gun smuggling business right under Rotta’s nose. I’ve been able to help Sal out with a few runs and he’s paid me well for it. It’s the only other job I’ve found time to do. If there was one man I’d ever work for it’d be Sal.

    Good old Sal had already started making the drink the moment he saw me enter the bar. “Hard night on the ton, boy?” Sal rasped as he dropped a single cube of ice into the glass before he turned and pushed it towards me. It stopped only a centimeter away from the edge of the table.

    “You could say that.” I responded as I picked up the glass. “This moron was shooting up when I kicked in the door...and his kid had been shoved into the oven. He didn’t want his boy to see him injecting that shavit into his veins...so instead he shoved him into this tiny, cramped orifice in his tiny apartment. I almost put a blaster between his forehead just for that.” I shook my head before tossing back the drink.


    “You were rummaging around in the guy’s oven looking for his creds, huh? That’s the most obvious place to hide extra money.” Sal picked up a rag that was filthier than the counter and began to wipe it down.

    I shook my head and then frowned. I hadn’t actually searched the oven, I had just known the kid was there. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was breathing too loud or if I had heard his heart pounding through the flimsy transparisteel. Either way it was disgusting to know that some parents supported that kind of habit when they had a little one to care for. “Nah, I just knew he was there.” I shrugged and tossed back the drink, welcoming the burning sensation in my throat. “So...” I leaned forward. “You got anything for me?”

    Sal’s wrinkled face somehow managed to form a frown. “I told ya, kid. I ain’t giving away deathsticks no more. Rotta’s sleemo supervisor has been cracking down and I ain’t comfortable with just handing them out. Besides, how are you gonna earn your freedom when your doped up all the time?”


    I hated it when Sal got all judgmental. I hate it when people try to hold me to some kind of standard. Don’t they realize that there’s nothing worth living for at this point? What am I supposed to do if I get freed? Shoot more people for credits? The best I could hope for was moving up on Rotta’s payroll so I could at least get paid. “You’re the karking worse, Sal.” I muttered. “All I’m left to do during the day is twiddle my fingers. I swear, if I have to spend all nights running around collecting credits from dopeheads sober than I’ll free myself with a blaster bolt.”

    Sal’s frown deepened. “Chill, Ral. If it means that much to you than I might scrape somethin’ together. But I can guarantee that you ain’t helping yourself.”

    I scowled. “Forget it. I’ll just get some from Rotta.”

    As I said this I felt a tingling at the base of my skull, almost as if I felt I was being watched. Actually, I knew I was being watched. I glanced at one of the mirrors suspended behind the dozens of foggy, half-empty bottles that were behind Sal. In the reflecting I could catch a man with shaggy, black hair wearing coveralls sitting in one of the booths. He was slouched in his seat toying with a glass of ale that was half-empty. It looked as if he was sitting there for awhile. “What’s that guy doing? I haven’t seen him around here before.” I questioned, temporarily forgetting the fact that I was fresh out of deathsticks.

    Sal shrugged before he leaned forward. “He was actually asking about you. Said that he owes Rotta some creds and wanted to pay up. Said you were the only guy he wanted to talk to.”

    I exhaled noisily. “Mine as well keep my day interesting.”

    I stood to my feet and after swiftly glancing around to make sure that nobody was paying too much attention to me I strode across the bar and dropped in the seat across from the mystery man. “You were asking for me?” I questioned as my right hand dropped to the blaster on my hip. I don’t trust strangers.

    The man turned from his drink to face me and I quickly realized I hadn’t seen him before. For one thing he was human, and I don’t meet many humans who owe Rotta the Hutt anything. He certainly didn’t look like a dopehead. His eyes were a dark shade of emerald and weren’t glassy like most human addicts eyes are. His face was smudged with grease which suggested that he was some kind of engineer and while his coveralls weren’t fancy they weren’t tattered or ripped apart like any junkie who lived in the lower levels of Nal Hutta. In other words he didn’t even look like a native. “You ever think that you’re worth more to the galaxy than this, Raltharan?”

    Both of his hands were cradled around his glass so I wasn’t too worried about him reaching for his weapon. However, the frank way he addressed me was insulting enough for me to unholster my blaster and point it at him from under the table. “who are you?” I questioned.

    The man shrugged. “You can call me Kyp. I’ve been staking out Rotta’s operation for a few months now. That piece of slime disgusts me...I haven’t seen this many slaves since...” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Anyway, you never answered my question.”

    “I don’t answer those kinds of questions.” I said. “However, you’re going to answer mine and you’ll be quick about it too. I don’t like strangers and I don’t like it when people waste my time.”

    The man who called himself Kyp shrugged. “What questions do you have?”

    “I have one question. Why are you asking for me? You’re not some kind of dopehead. There’s now way you owe Rotta any creds or else you wouldn’t be here. Furthermore, I don’t like the way you look.” I wasn’t sure how to describe it. The man just felt dangerous. Almost as if he was in full control of the situation. Like he already knew the answer to his question.

    “It’s simple.” Kyp leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m here to free you...and as many people as I can if you want to help. You see, I think that you’re special. I think that you can do great things for the galaxy and that you can prevent people from the living the life that both you and I had to suffer in our youth.”

    That offended me just a little but I chose not to say anything. I’m only nineteen...I have plenty of years ahead of me. Though I do have to admit that I don’t want to spend the rest of those years as a slave.

    “I used to be a slave like you, Raltharan. Than one day a man helped free me and I learned that there’s much more to the galaxy than mining spices.” Kyp leaned back in his seat. “Can you help me?”

    I scowled. “Even if I did want to help you I’m not even sure if I believe you.”

    Kyp shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me. Tomorrow Rotta’s going to be having a census. He’ll be counting the new...” Kyp’s lip curled up in disgust. “...stock that he’s getting in from Ryloth. You’ll be there to help.”

    I nodded. Since I spoke Twi’Leki it would be easy for me to organize the new slaves that would be coming in. It hurt me deeply to do this. All of these children always looked up at me...there lekkus quivering and their eyes brimming with angry tears as if I had betrayed them. But I hadn’t. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. “Keep talking.” My thumb twitched over the safety, ready to blast this man in the gut. The fact that he was even stirring up a little bit of hope angered me. I had tried to escape before...and the scars from my attempts had never truly faded.

    “All you have to do is seize the moment...and trust your instincts." Kyp responded. "You are more than what you think you are, Raltharan."

    The safety on my weapon popped off and my eyes narrowed in anger. “Get out.” I hissed between clenched teeth. “Or else Sal will make me scrape your guts off of the table...and I hate doing that which is the only reason you’re still alive.”

    Kyp shrugged. “I understand. Just listen to what I said. If you’re not free by the next time we see each other than you can shoot me.”

    With that Kyp stood and walked out of the room...and since then I’ve been more conflicted than ever before.
     
    mulberry likes this.