Forum:CL:The Sleheyron Butcher

Hey, I would like some advice, if this room is still active. The most recent post was back in October, so I'm only hoping. I'm seriously considering attempting my first novel. I have a good story, which I may ask your opinion about once this is reviewed. This is just a bit of a background story of one of the villains. It's been a long time since anyone has critiqued something I've written and I've never been critiqued by a fellow Star Wars fan. Hopefully, the critics here can give me some feedback, so that I have some ideas on how to make my writing better. I'm trying to take this one step at a time, so my writing quality comes first, then I'll present the synopsis for my novel. In any case, without any more babble, here is the unfinished backstory of the evil Bounty Hunter in my novel's storyline.

The Sleheyron Butcher (unfinished)
The dark red/black pool beneath Sor’vek’s body was slowly growing. The expensive new suit he had bought himself the day before was now tattered, burnt, and bloody. Unfortunately, though the day had started out promising, things had taken an unexpected turn. He couldn’t blame anyone for this, other than himself. It was his fault for not double checking the rules of the sabacc tournament, before coming out tonight. The Ord Mantell Table Tournament had only been official for two years and they were still working out the kinks. Now, as he bled out on the floor of the Drunken Bantha, Sor’vek realized that his own carelessness might have very well killed him.

So far, it appeared as though everything he had learned about exsanguinations was true. First, the dizziness had come. There hadn’t been anything he could do other than lie there helpless, as the room seemed to spin around him. When the spinning stopped, he had gotten really cold, which was followed by numbness. That had been a relief, considering it dulled the excruciating pain coming from his right shoulder. His educated mind knew that meant his body was in shock and was releasing endorphins to compensate for the multiple traumas, though it was also possible some of those nerve endings had been seared off. This meant only one thing was left. His vision began to go blurry and he noticed the lights dim slightly, though he knew that was very improbable. The cantina was already dimly lit, which meant it was much more likely that he would soon be loosing consciousness. The only thing that had not changed was the smell. It doesn’t help that I’m down here in the filth, he thought to himself. Even now, as his life was leaving him, the stench of the Drunken Bantha was as powerful as ever.

Everything had happened so fast. He had returned from the bank, bearing the unfortunate news that his account was frozen. This was the first year the tournament had begun to place holds on contestants’ accounts, due to an ugly ordeal that involved a top competitor gambling his declared credit line away the night before the prior year’s tournament. He wasn’t the only contestant unaware of its enforcement either. Others had been at the bank trying to access their accounts as well. Lunjitchka, a large Wookie with whom he had placed a bet, had been waiting for him to return with his money and was rightfully enraged at the news. Unfortunately for Sor’vek, the large heap of black and grey fur had enemies who were waiting for any opportunity to strike and they chose that moment to do so. Two males, one human and one Weequay, had rushed Lunjitchka from behind. The Weequay had led the attack by taking a large swing with his vibroblade and the wookie’s large frame blocked Sor’vek’s view. He had never seen it coming, until it was too late. Lunjitchka had moved out of the way just in time for the swing to miss him, leaving Sor’vek to catch the blow unhindered. The blade had struck his right arm very close to the shoulder joint, dismembering it from his torso. Sor’vek had screamed in agony and, to his surprise, Lunjitchka had reacted in a protective manner. One thing that the Wookie had not taken into account though, was his own strength. He had attempted to push the injured gambler clear of the battle, but had unintentionally shoved him against the bar instead. Sor’vek’s back hit the railing along the edge of the bar hard and he remembered hearing a muffled crunch amidst the uproar, as the breath was knocked out of him. He knew that didn’t bode well, considering he hadn’t felt his legs since that moment. Lunjitchka had proceeded to chase the two attackers out of the bar and a man, who had the appearance of a mechanic, had come rushing to his aid. Sor’vek had stopped screaming due to shock, but that hadn’t lasted long. All the mechanic had said was, “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.” He, then, proceeded to attempt using his macro welder as a cauterizing tool. Naturally, Sor’vek had gone into another bout of screaming, which culminated in him punching the mechanic a mere moment later. So now he lied there, slowly dying, with an unconscious man who tried to save his life laying next him. Fortunately, the man had seen his share of accidents and knew where to aim. The one pass he had been able to make with the welder had cauterized half of the wound, including the artery, though Sor’vek wasn’t sure how well. It had also singed his jacket and almost caught his suit on fire, but that was the least of his worries. The pool of blood was still spreading, though slowly, at a constant pace. The crowd inside the bar was beginning to calm back down and, just then, he caught a glimpse of his right arm. It was on the floor, about one meter past his left foot. It had been kicked around a few times, but appeared to be in good condition. He wasn’t quite sure why he cared though, because it wouldn’t really matter. It was highly unlikely doctors wouldn’t be able to reconnect it to his shoulder. Besides, by his calculations, he only had a few seconds left anyway. No, he thought, ''there is too much left undone! You went AWOL for a reason. Fight for what you came here for!'' He still had the will to live, though he knew that alone would not be enough to overcome physiology. Time seemed to be moving much slower now, so he wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed. All he knew was that he didn’t have long.

Somewhere in the distance, Sor’vek began to hear a voice. He realized it wasn’t coming from anyone around him, but from somewhere inside his head. He knew that voice and he knew it well, though it was one he longed to forget. "So," said the voice of his father, "the Empire thinks you’re dead and now you’re just going to lie here and make it a reality. You actually have a chance to become what you were born to be. You’re telling me that you’re going to let that slip away? How pathetic are you?" It reminded him of how fond he had become of not hearing that hateful tone, though it was right. He had to hold on for as long as he could. Suddenly, what appeared to be shadows began to circle around him and he heard two unfamiliar male voices. They sounded as if they were echoing through a tunnel. Were they addressing him? “Sir…Sir?!” one of the voices said, “We’re with the Mantellian Medical Corp!Bold text Hold on, Sir! The medical center is right down the street!” Did he hear him right? Were these people really from the medical services or was he delirious from shock? If they were actually medical personnel, then he would have to come back and tip the bartender for calling them. Things began to go black, as the voices started to talk amongst themselves again. The darker it became, the farther away they sounded. Then, they were gone.

Many victims, who have come close to death, have said that they’re entire life flashed before they’re eyes. Sor’vek had always been skeptical of how true that statement was, but what he was now experiencing gave weight to their argument. If his memory was serving him correctly, then he was witnessing a different time in his life. He saw, smelled, and felt everything the same way that he had when he originally lived these moments. The only difference was that his decisions were predetermined, as he had already made them before. It was a strange and awkward feeling, almost a “high” of sorts, as if someone had slipped him some spice. As his brain adapted and the feeling wore off, he briefly wondered how his body was faring. One thing he was certain of was that it definitely was in worse condition that this younger version of himself.

The year was 31:4:29 GrS, according to the Galactic Standard Calendar, and Sor’vek was 17 years old. It was before he had joined, much less left, the Empire and still went by his birth name. He had made it to the final round of shooting at the annual Iseno Planetary Marksman Contest and was preparing for his final shot. The only other contestant who made it to this round had missed their target, so now it was up to him to claim his age class’s 1st place trophy. There was more at stake here, though, and his age had a lot to do with it.

The military tradition of Iseno was well known and the contest was often witnessed by Imperial recruiters, who would pay special attention to the young adults. Many an Imperial recruit had been chosen from those participants, due to their age and abilities. “Now up to fire, Bron Parthees,” said the announcer to a cheering crowd. Bron fell squarely in the category the Empire monitored and he was counting on it. He had noticed two men in green Imperial uniforms eyeing him earlier and saw them again now, at the front of the crowd. Bron’s father was standing in the same section as the recruiters. He was smiling, but that was no surprise. Shooting was the one thing that Wolf Parthees had never yelled at his son about. The main reason for this was because it had originally been his idea. Wolf had made his son learn how to shoot at a young age. Though Bron had been uncomfortable at first, he soon began to love shooting. He would regularly reserve a private shooting range and use his father’s rifle as a form of stress relief. Bron wasn’t really sure why his father still went by the name Wolf, which was the name he used during his days as a smuggler. He guessed it was some feeble attempt to hold on to a time when he wasn’t a complete mess. Now, Wolf was drunk the majority of the time, though he made sure to stay sober during contests like these. After the contest was over, his sobriety would last maybe a week at best. He had actually surprised Bron that morning with a brand new Sorosuub X-45, so that he could use it during the tournament. Bron had mentioned he would like to own one the year before, after IPMC was over. The winner had used one throughout the tournament. He had been thrilled when his father had handed the sniper rifle to him, though his father actually coming through on the request didn’t make up for years of verbal abuse. If a recruiter were to approach him that day, he planned on taking their offer and never looking back.

Bron walked up to the shooting blind, a small one man hut with only three sides. A rectangular opening had been cut out of the wall facing the target range, at kneeling level. As he knelt, the young man took a deep breath. All he had to do was make this shot and he could put this life behind him. He found the target through his scope, set just below the ridge of a rock outcropping. It blended in well with its surroundings and had a small, slim rectangular profile with a four grid design. The target placement crew was definitely good at their job, considering that he almost panned past it. He let part of his breath out and began to make his aiming corrections, not focusing on the fact this was the longest shot he had ever attempted. After making the needed changes, he moved his hand back to the rifle grip and paused to let his muscles set. He slowly released a bit more of his breath, then pulled the trigger that would change the young mans life forever. There was a brief moment of silence, immediately followed by the buzzer sounding and the crowd erupting into a roar. Relieved, Bron let out a big sigh. He had essentially just made his ticket off the planet. The announcer came over the loud speaker with the shot report, “The target was successfully hit in grid one at 2.25 km, being tagged 1.2 inches from center.” He stood, taking a step back and getting a good look at the internal structure of the blind. How ironic, he thought, this set-up resembles Old Faithful. “Old Faithful” was a structure very similar to this blind, which he had used when he was younger, that he had scored his first wild game kill from.

After the award ceremony, the recruiters wasted little time finding Bron. He saw them enter the dining hall and begin scanning the room. It was the same two officers from the front row. He pretended not to see the recruiters, though continued to observe them out of the corner of his eye. They began making their way to him, once they spotted him at the table. Both were human, but the one with more medals on his uniform was taller. He removed his officer’s hat and tucked it under his left arm, revealing neatly combed black and gray hair. As they neared the table, they seemed to straighten their backs and shoulders even more than they already were, causing their crisp uniforms to tighten across their chests. I wonder how long it took to press those, Bron thought, as he acknowledged the two. “Good afternoon, Mr. Parthees. My name is Sergeant Eldon Marzo and this is Corporal Sonnil,” he said in a proper tone, “We would like to congratulate you on your win today.” “Thank you,” Bron replied and pushed his plate away. “You two are welcome to have a seat.” “Thank you, but our business can not be discussed here,” the Sergeant replied respectfully, “Is your father around?” If they were asking about his father, then that could only mean one thing. They were going to make him an offer. He knew he had to take control of the situation, knowing this could be his only chance. “No sir, my father left immediately after the award ceremony. I don’t talk about it much, but he has somewhat of a drinking problem. However, I turn 18 next month and will be responsible for any decision regarding my future.” After hearing this knowledge, Marzo’s brow furrowed momentarily. “I see. Well it’s somewhat unorthodox, but we’ll proceed without his presence. We only have a few hours until we have to leave and we need an answer before we do,” he said. His face suddenly took on a thoughtful expression as he continued, “Son that was probably the best shot I’ve ever seen a boy your age make and I’ve been a soldier for over 20 years. I know you think you’re good. I mean, why shouldn’t you? We think you’re good. However, the Imperial Academy can provide more tutelage and better equipment. You come with me and we’ll make you the best.” It wasn’t even a question. Bron had counted on an offer like this and already knew how he would respond, if one was offered. He looked at the table top in front of him. There was one other matter he would have to address. Once he committed to the Empire, there would be no turning back and he had not yet decided how he would proceed with things here. He would have to figure things out as he went along, because another opportunity like this would not happen again. “Do you need to think it over? This is a big decision and can give you some time,” the Sergeant stated. It was now or never. “No sir, I’m sure that the Empire would be a good fit for me. To be honest with you Sergeant, I just want to know what I need to do to get off this rock,” he responded bluntly. The Sergeant briefly looked at his fellow recruiter and leaned in closer to Bron, placing his gloved hand on the table for support. “Well, honestly, when do you want leave?” he asked in a hushed tone, “Technically we can’t take you until you are 18, unless your father approves. We can, however, come back and pick you up on your birthday. If you’re making your own decisions, we will stay out of the situation with your father. How that is handled will be on your shoulders and we will hold up our end of the bargain, regardless of what happens.” He stood up tall again, looming over Bron. “So are you with us….Cadet Parthees?” Marzo asked. Bron slowly pushed his chair back and stood, turning to face the Sergeant. “Yes, sir!” he responded. “Excellent! When we get back to our transport, the Corporal will explain the details of the enlisting process. Once he is finished, we can take you to your residence,” the Sergeant said, as he pulled his cap snug over his head. The recruiters turned and began to make their exit, with Bron following close behind. He realized, then, that everyone was watching them. Some people were clapping, while others had a strange uncertain look on their face. Their concerns were no matter to him. It was time he took control of his life. He blinked as he stepped through the exit doorway and opened his eyes to an entirely different setting.

His surroundings were different, though it only took a moment for him to recognize where he was. He remembered how short a time it had seemed to take for him to get from recruitment to the place he was standing. On Bron’s 18th birthday, just over one month after speaking with Sergeant Marzo and Corporal Sonnil, Bron had come home from work to find his father passed out in the middle of the kitchen and had taken advantage of the opportunity. Within 3 hours, he had contacted the recruiters, recorded a holomessage to leave for his father, and boarded a transport to the nearest Sector Naval Academy. It had been a pleasant surprise, when he found the curriculum to be almost easy. Bron had impressed his instructors with his weapon skills, though what had intrigued them even more was his natural adeptness in general electronics and engineering. Studying or practicing a new process, for long periods of time, had been virtually unnecessary for him. Imperial Academy instructors had orders to watch for this kind of talent, or intelligence, and were prompted to move these specific cadets through the system faster. The Empire deemed them a class above other cadets and wanted to get these assets higher training as quickly as possible. A proposal to transfer Bron to the Imperial Naval Academy had been made and accepted, resulting in his SNA graduation three months early. Once at the Imperial Naval Academy, his natural talents had been quickly noticed and it wasn’t long before he had been deemed best suited for the Advanced Technologies and Robotics Division. It was a science division dedicated specifically to developing the Empire’s new robotic and ship technologies that, over the course of five months, honed Bron’s natural skills to perfection. That had been followed by five months of internship at various locations. When he graduated at the top of his class, they had recommended him for top priority assignments and the next couple of years had passed quickly. Not long after the Battle of Yavin, he had been transferred to the Arc Hammer to be a part of the Dark Trooper Project. After five months on the factory ship, he had been moved to Gromas 16 to be a primary developer for that branch of the project. Time had seemed to slow down, since Bron had no longer been moving from one assignment to the next, and he had begun to get restless. He hadn’t realized how restless, until an accident had occurred during a field test and he had to destroy a Dark Trooper in order to save a fellow worker. Pulling the trigger on that ion rifle had been almost as exhilarating as winning the shooting contest on Iseno. After the incident, he had begun craving that feeling again and time only made it worse. He had longed to feel that freedom that rushed over you, as you pulled the trigger and took matters into your own hands. It was the same feeling that had led so many famous snipers to develop a “god complex.” There was nothing else quite like it and he had forgotten about it, until that day with the ion rifle. He had begun making plans to escape, not long thereafter. It had only taken him a week to make the decision. Apparently the Empire hadn’t had as strong a mental grip on him as he had thought. His high ranking at the facility had made it easier for him to make certain changes go unnoticed, allowing him to get all the pieces into place over a two month span. Everything was ready and he was only waiting for the right time to act. Bron had “awoke” in what was easily the second, if not the, most important day of his life and he was about to relive those moments, in all of their glory.

His day had started early, as did everyday for a lead researcher in the Imperial Navy. Each morning at 0500 hours he was required to take a turbolift down to the Dark Trooper holding level, or “The Cell,” as the interns liked to call it. There, he checked with security to make sure nothing strange had occurred overnight with the troopers. He then took a different turbolift up to the lab for any morning readouts and to make any changes needed to the schedule for the day. Everything here was recorded, every test, every sample, every calculation...everything. The station on Gromas 16 was a large facility, though his time here caused Bron to see it as much smaller than it actually was. He sighed, as he thought about the monotony of it all. He simply couldn’t take it anymore, which led him to think about what was in his private storage room. He had found the room by accident one day, when he was still new to the facility. He made a mental note of it and thought that maybe he could put it to use. He eventually did, though he was the only one who knew about it. He couldn’t help, but allow himself a thin smile. The time for action was coming.

He had discovered several months ago that there was no security coverage of the storage room, by becoming friends with the captain in charge of security. The captain had been with the Dark Trooper project since before the Battle of Yavin and had benefited from it. In the two years since the destruction of the first Death Star, he had risen in the ranks and was now head of security at one of the most secret and most important stations in the Empire. He had mentioned in passing, during a discussion about security systems, the only part of that area security saw was the administrative hangar. It was then that Bron had actually found a use for the room and the lack of security had worked to his advantage.

Several hours passed, as Bron went through his daily motions......

That's all I have so far, but I can write more. I hope that's enough of a taste to get a little advice. I know this is going to be a process and it's going to take some time. Any advice would be great, though. Thanks. Darth Grimnok ( talk )  08:55, January 5, 2013 (UTC)