Thread: Hunter
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mustardcheese's Avatar

08.31.2012 , 11:26 AM | #1
Well, this is my first time posting on the SWTOR forums. I'm doing so because I'd like to share with you all a little story I've been writing in my free time for a while. Please, post your thoughts, critiques, opinions, etcetera.

There are no real spoilers for any part of the TOR story, and it takes place during the same period of time as SWTOR.

Table of Contents
Chapter One- Bounty on Hutta Page 1 Post 1
Chapter Two- The Chase Page 1 Post 2
Chapter Three- Dealing with Hutts Page 1 Post 3
Chapter Four- B7 Kuati Oppressor Page 1 Post 4
Chapter Five- The Neon City Page 1 Post 5
Chapter Six- The Grey Cartel Page 1 Post 10
Chapter Seven- Yymir the Grey Page 2 Post 1
Chapter Eight- New Acquaintances, New Adversaries Page 2 Post 2

By Drilian

Chapter One- Bounty on Hutta

It was raining. Not the pure, refreshing kind of rain more common on some of the nicer planets in the system. No, this was the acidic kind of rain that stung open eyes and stained clothes not already dirtied by its’ foul drops. Three men stood grouped together, leaning against a low sandy wall that had clearly seen better days. Each of the men was dressed differently. Two wore simple clothes, coated with dust and dirt. One of the two wore a set of old goggles. The third man wore an armored flightsuit. Dusty and cracked, the old plates of armor over the grayed tight suit weren’t the slightest bit intimidating. The armored man’s face was covered by some sort of spacers’ helmet. A black visor and dirty plasteel armor plating with tubes sprawled between a breath mask of sorts and a backpack situated near the left shoulder. The only exposed skin was a patch between the mask and visor, which showed portions of the nose and cheeks. The skin was tanned, yet covered with grime.

The two plainly dressed men wore blaster pistols on their belts. Nothing fancy. Not the kind you’d see Imperial or Republic soldiers fighting with. These were the kind sold out of the back of a cantina, claiming to be Balmorran quality with imitation leather handles and metal so rusted you’d think it came straight from Raxus Prime. The third man carried something more battle-ready. It wasn’t much of looker either, but it at least seemed like it would be good for more then just shooting pestering rodents.

The two simple men spoke with accents similar to those of moisture farmers, and bore yellow stained teeth. One clearly hadn’t shaved in a long time. The other looked too old to actually care. The armored man spoke calmly, while the farmers spoke frantically and excessively, swearing whenever possible and throwing their arms in desperation to extenuate their predicament.

“I swear, if I ever get my hands on that son of a gundark, he’ll be bleeding for days!” Cried one.

“Please kind sir, ya gotta help us! We ain’t got much to give right now, especially since that thief ran off with two month’s worth of credits!” Exclaimed the other. The armored man, who had until then been leaning with his arms crossed, raised his right hand, silencing their torrent of pleas.

“I don’t work for free. You want your money back? Fine. But I’ll need something in return.” The man said, his breath mask distorting his voice, giving it a robotic sound.

“Damnit, now didn’t we just tell you that we ain’t got a thing to spare!?” Cried the older of the two farmers, clearly growing angrier as the conversation continued.

“Listen man, we just need some help. Get me and my dad back our credits and you can have whatever you want from us. Just please stop that scum, before he leaves Hutta!” The younger one said, clearly trying to make up for his father’s anger.
The armored man sighed.

“Fine. I’ll find your money.”

The armored Bounty Hunter slowly walked through the backstreets of a Huttese slum, stepping over puddles of muddy rainwater. The slum was set in between two huge Hutt compounds, locked out of both. The only open side exited out into a chemical marsh, a desolate wasteland where nothing lived except for the giant predatory beasts, mutated by the excessive exposure to dangerous chemicals that resulted from Huttese adrenal manufacturing.

The Hunter walked cautiously, his right hand never straying from the blaster pistol at his side. While he wasn’t afraid of fighting whatever the slums could throw at him, he still wanted to avoid unnecessary conflict. He looked dented enough already. As the hunter turned a corner, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a man dressed in rags sitting against the wall of a shack made of sheets of aluminum. The hunter nodded at the man, who nodded back, in a sort of greeting meaning that neither meant harm.

The bounty hunter heard a noise coming from a distance away. An angry shout, from a human clearly. The hunter tapped a button on his wrist-mounted datapad. An audio recording played in his helmet. Standing still for a moment, he listened. No, it was certain. This was the man he was looking for. He turned off the datapad and pulled his black visor down, covering his eyes from view of others. He then started walking towards the continued noises in the distance, this time at a faster pace. He didn’t want to lose his prey, for fear of having to spend more time then was needed on this rock of a planet.

The nearer the bounty hunter got to his target, the louder the noises got. Originally, it hadn’t been more then shouting. Now, there were crashes to be heard, along with what sounded like fighting. The hunter approached what passed for a bar in the slum, before the door burst open. A man flew backwards, hitting his back on the opposite wall. Another man stepped out from the entranceway, a pistol in his hand. He quickly shot the man on the ground, before he could get up. All was silent after the loud bang caused by the gun discharging. The hunter stood there, watching the man who he knew was his bounty stand over the dead victim. It took the murderer a few moments to look to his side, where he noticed the armored man. In the time they spent glaring at each other, the hunter slowly drew his pistol, letting it hang by his side. This was more then enough for the thief, who, after a few more moments of silently standing, took off at a dead sprint away from the bounty hunter.

The chase had begun.
Drilian, Level 50 Gunnery Commando
My Threads: Hunter: A Fan Fiction | The Expansion is a Good Idea