OOC:

I thought of this story a few months ago, and recently typed up the first part. It takes place after the Halloween Among The Ruins storyline with my character on leave to aleaviate some stress, where he learns about... well... you'll see. I also suck at long "chapters", so don't expect alot.

Nal Hutta is a planet of thugs, miscreants, and all manner of lowlifes. This is where in order to survive, you really do have to kill, maim, murder, assassinate, bribe, and blackmail. Unless you’re born strong and born into a strong family, it is doubtful that you will live past your teen years. Good thing you were that lucky. - Rhyfelwer Garrarth to his son, Heliwer Garrarth, age 9


The “Spiked Ale” was a little known cantina in one of the many slums of Nal Hutta. Very few people frequented the establishment, even on special occasions. Indeed, aside from Heliwer and the barkeep, Johannson, there were only roughly five or six other patrons. The lights were fairly low, and had an omnificent red glow about them. In front of the trooper sat a half empty glass of an alcoholic beverage of which he could not remember the name or kind of drink. All he knew was that it was strong, and that he had gone through probably half a bottle of the stuff.

On the big trooper hung his Imperial dog tags, a dull silver with his name, rank, and serial number stamped on the two pieces of metal. A big black overcoat had a few droplets of rain resting on it where there had once been many. It was a very rainy night. Underneath the overcoat, he wore a brown vest and black pants, and under the vest was a plain white shirt. The overcoat also hid his two M3 revolvers, the two strapped to his waist and fully loaded. A smoking cigarette hung from his mouth, half gone. Combat boots splattered with mud held on to the stool, keeping the intoxicated man from falling over.

“Yknow anyone out thar that gone through the shit I’ave?” Heliwer asked. Johannson just shrugged and reached for the glass, attempting to take it away. The trooper quickly moved the glass and removed the cigarette so he could down the last bit.

“That ain’t gonna do ya any good you know.” The barkeep fruitlessly spoke, knowing that the trooper had already set in that he would drink the concoction. Of course, he followed through with his plan, the last few drops dripping on top his tongue. It was followed by a short belch, and the return of the cigarette to the mouth of the sergeant. “Listen, at the least, stay here tonight. There’s enough room in the storeroom. And before you say or ask anything, there’s just some bits of food in there. No more alcohol.”

Heliwer could’ve retorted something most foul, but his body felt like it was going to crash. Besides, it was about two in the morning according to the clock. So he stumbled about, eventually making it to the storeroom, where Johannson tossed in a blanket and a small pillow. “I know it ain’t much but-”

“It’ll do.”

With that, the trooper slid down on to the floor and was unconscious.

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The next morning, a bright light pierced through the little window. Heliwer groaned as the door opened and light shined into his eyes. “Someone here to see you.” Johannson called. The door shut, and the trooper just rolled over on to his side.

“Come now. That isn’t the Garrarth I know and love.” Spoke a gruff voice in Mando’a. A chuckle escaped Heliwer’s dry lips.

“What brings you here, Enriko?” He managed to reply. A set of strong hands lifted him up and snapped a few times in front of his face.

“I have some important news for you.” The Mandalorian responded, pulling out a file. “Better you be sober, or as close to being sober as you can, for this.”

Heliwer yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A manila file with papers stapled in it was tossed into his lap. Across the head of the file in dim red letters was the name GARRARTH.  “Heh. You sure do love the old ways gramps.” He joked, alcohol soaked breath permeating the air. As soon as he saw the name, though, all traces of drunkardness and the hang over disappeared.

“This is my name.” He growled. “What the hell do you think you are doing snooping around my family?”

“I discovered something I think you need to see.”

Still pissed, the trooper opened up the file to see a picture of his father and some notes underneath. After reading for about a minute, he threw the file across the room. “A brother? I have a fraking brother?”

Enriko nodded. “A bastard brother, but a brother nevertheless. Nathaniel Tilmar. Born ten years after you, went into the Rebel Elite Commandos for a few years, then went AWOL because he disagreed with the morality of his commander. Last known location was Dantooine.”

Heliwer stood up and straightened out his coat, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it. “So I’m going to Dantooine?”

“I thought you’d like to see your brother.”

He chuckled.

“Just give me the keys to the damned ship, Reeko.”