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Kah Manet - Scourge of Lianorm

Lianorm Swamp
Naboo
26 ABY


The Gungan stood in the pouring rain, beads of water rolling down his bill and dripping from his ears. Smeared blood and caked on dirt quietly was washed away, the falling rain practically stinging the young Gungan’s eyes. Were it not raining, some may have said they saw tears around Kah’s eyes, but the only people around him were the corpses of his slain family. Their blood, a deep scarlet, began to pool and coagulate with the puddles of water on the ground. Barely a teen, and being the head of the household was thrust upon his shoulders. He was the last of his family, the only one unscathed in the attack. The remnants of his former home, the charred pieces of wood and leather, mocked him. Old memories moaned in agony, happier days and better times scorched away by flames and racism.

“Sir, we got another one over here. Kinda small.” said a voice in the distance.

The young Gungan turned around, seeing two human slavers in white and black armor staring at him, the nozzles of their weapons pointed at his head. Kah knew what they were, mercenaries. Men hired to hurt and enslave. The Young Warrior Kah Manet, so full of spirit and energy usually, was too broken and in agony to do anything against them. Under normal circumstances, he'd have at least attacked. Death was what he wanted, the feeling and taste of it. Even if he attacked and failed, his new friend Death could still embrace him and carry him away to his parents and siblings. But he couldn't will himself to do it, couldn't take the rampant wildfire that scorched his insides and wielded it like the weapon it would become.

“Leave him.” said the other voice.

“Bu­”

“Leave him, I said. We hit our quota. Empires need citizens to rule, they can't all be slaves. Run along, kid. Get outta here.” said the other voice, kicking him lightly with his foot.

A soft pain rippled through his body, the impact of the foot impacting the empty stomach of the boy. He hadn't eaten in two days, his family having fled their village once it was attacked. His father remained with the others, fighting back against the slavers with his brothers in arms. Gungans were warriors, and Kah had been trained for 10 years under his father in his family's style in Paonga. Fear of the unknown and what would happen to him gripped him as he began to walk away.

“Gotta love Gungans, they'll do anything you say.” said one of the slavers.

Kah stopped. He scratched his ears, their membrane a bit dry. He turned around and glared, lust for vengeance in his eyes.

“Name, mesa wan' know yah name.” said Kah, his deep voice slithering strangely out of his bill.

“Excuse me?” said the slaver.

“Ya'deaf? Name.” said Kah.

“Fett.” he said with venom.

“Right, I be dah one dat kills you.” said Kah

“I like that one, he's got spunk. You've earned your life, leave before I shoot you.” Said the other slaver.

Kah did so that time without hesitation. He propelled himself into the air a great distance, and with great speed dove into the depths of the swamp. The water was refreshing, but the memories of his dead family would not be washed away so easily. Kah wanted nothing more than to see them, but for now he would live them. He would fight for them. That that did this to his family, and all that enslave others, would pay. Kah would ensure that.



5 Years Later
Naboo
Lianorm Swamp


The sound of exploding metal burst forth from the pristine swamp, the silence of the forest smacked away by the blast. Gears and casing scraped together as the behemoth of durasteel fell forward, the front of the transport crunching against the earth. From the shadows of the unknown, the dark swamp that the humans had found themselves in boomed a cacophony of clicking noises. They encircled and surrounded the human slavers, tapping against their skulls like small hammers. The sound rose in intensity as the human's began to get more and more nervous, something the shadows found amusing.

Louder and louder, the clicks rained down until finally they ceased. As quickly as they had come, they fled. Some of the slavers tried to laugh it off, joke about how it was probably crickets. But the others knew, and you could see it in their eyes. They would all die tonight. There was one among them, however, that wanted a shot at the Scourge of Lianorma. Fett yearned for it to be him, wanted the glory so he could prove himself to his superiors. A Gungan freedom fighter had been raiding slaver settlements and freeing the captured prisoners as well as raiding and ambushing Imperial patrols and supply routes. Not a week went that patrols weren't delayed by an excursion against the Scourge and his men. But the patrols were never quick enough to take him down and they left with fewer numbers. Fett wanted to change that, and signing a contract with the Imperial's allowed him to do that.

Here he was, deep within the swamp, with a small force to end the Gungan resistance in Lianorm Swamp. Moss and muck covered everything, their armor and equipment caked in dirt and grime. Fett had information claiming the Scourge could be found here, this swampy hellhole tucked away from sight. He had hoped he had brought enough soldiers to flush out the Scourge and kill him, but he refused to underestimate the Gungan leader, having made the mistake in the past.

“It's him.” said one of the troopers, “Intel was right.”

“Yeah, defensive formations everyone.” said Fett.

“What tech they got?” asked a trooper.

“None?” asked Fett, “According to the source, they're down to nothing for food and weaponry. The Scourge has an electropole, trained as a Gungan Guard. He's deadly.”

As soon as Fett said that, the sound of a slug thrower could be heard, a projectile ripping through the eye socket of the trooper's armor. The white chest plate turned to red as it trickled down, the trooper falling down dead. As soon as his body hit the ground, the clicking erupted once more. Fett's men began to fire, hoping to hit a target they didn't see.

“What is with that?!” asked one of the troopers, unnerved by the sheer volume of the clicks. More slug throwers showered out, raining down upon the troopers. The shots that made their targets thinned the Imperial's, the dead piling up around Fett. A booma or two launched into the group of soldiers, blue lighting jumping out and making the troopers dance with pain. Fett began to yell with anger as he saw his troops get decimated by primitives, hidden by the foliage and landscape.

“Scourge! Get out here! Let's settle this!” yelled Fett, “You and me!”

His troops looked at him, and when they looked into his eyes they knew not to interfere. Whatever this was, Fett had grown tired of it.

“I'm telling my guys to drop their weapons, you tell yours to stop firing. We'll settle this grudge the old fashioned way.” said Fett, doing what he said he would. The fighting stopped, and the swamp was almost tranquil once more. Trees shout up all around them, the earth wet and soft, and Nature could almost be felt reaching some sense of balance. To the Gungans, it was something that filled them with pride. To Fett, it was just obstacles and places to hide behind, nothing more.

“Leave this place!” said a voice from the shadows, deep and full of anger, “If you leave now, you may do so with your lives. Failure to leave will result in your deaths.”

The voice was Gungan, but the small distinctions and vernacular that most of the species exhibited had been stripped from this member. Anger was palpable in it, radiating from the shadows and striking against the icy hearts of the slavers. Fett looked back at his troops, shaking his head at the shadows before replying with a loud no.

His no echoed against the trees, the leaves seeming to shake with the intensity of his words. A cool breeze swept through, Fett's eyes watering from it. His index finger went to wipe it away, and that's when the firing began again. Slug throwers launched slugs at their enemies, ripping through the tissue and flesh of the troopers. Fett fell down instinctively, trying to hide from his attackers. One by one, his men fell and with every death his anger increased. He offered them an olive branch, and they spat in his face. Before he knew it, however, his ability to fully take them on and crush the Scourge of Lianorma once and for all was over. His men lay dead, bloody and broken before him.

“Fett.” said a voice from the shadows, closer than the other voice had been. It caused Fett to whip his head around, staring at a blue gray Gungan with eyes as black as the night sky. His body had been covered in signs of a hard life, scars and a missing digit standing testament to the trials he had been through. Spinal ridges adorned his face, a trait most Gungan's did not have. His shoulder was adorned with the skull of an monster of a beast, his throat covered by a bone choker. The bones, Fett knew, were from slavers he had killed. This was the Gungan Fett wanted to see, wanted to kill. This was the Scourge.

“Kah.” said Fett, “I thought you showed mercy.”

“Tah dose who deserve it, yes. You? Da slayuh of inneecents? Butcher of me family? Nah, nah mercy.”

“I won't go easily.” said Fett with a smile, producing a knife.

“I know.” said Kah, returning the smile.

Fett lurched forward, hoping to tackle the Gungan to the ground and stab him in the sides. Too quick for him, however, Kah delivered a kick to Fett's face with lightning speed. A crunch of bone breaking erupted into the silence of the swamp, blood gushing from the slaver's nose. Fett's face contorted into a mask of rage, shaking the pain away from his senses and recovering to his feet. Kah just stood watching him, confidence flowing from the Gungan. Even if he lost, his Gungans had been instructed to ensure the death of Fett, no matter the fate of Kah. The title of Scourge would be given to another Gungan so his legacy could live on, so there was still a chance Naboo could be liberated, that his people could be saved.

Fett stood up, readying himself with a guard. His forearms framed his face, his knife's blade pointed at Kah. The sight caused Kah to focus, images of his father fighting this man floating in his head. The sounds of his sister and brother being butchered by his men sang in his ears. Finally, after all these years, the one who had set Kah down this path would answer for his crimes. Fett launched a jab at Kah, who quickly swatted it away and landed a jab and cross­punch on Fett's broken nose and jaw. Fett howled in pain, thrusting his knife forward and swinging it wildly at the Gungan. Kah dipped and ducked out of the way, rising up and launching a flurry of kidney shots against this opponent. Before Kah could move out of the way, Fett brought up a knee to the Gungan's stomach. Wind came flowing from the bill of the Gungan, but he recovered quickly and delivered an elbow to the back of his enemies head. With a simple positioning of Kah's foot, Fett went flying forward and hit his head on a rock. The impact was such that the slaver was down and out, blood covering his chin and neck as his nose continued to bleed. Kah was disappointed, hoping for a better fight from his father's murderer.

The Gungan began clicking loudly, his troops coming from the shadows and circling around Fett. Two of the larger warriors grabbed his arms and began dragging him away, Kah nodding to them as they disappeared back into the shadows. The voice stripped of Gunganese came towards Kah, looking at the bloodbath that had ensued.

“Not a single Gungan died, Kah. That's a win in my book.” said the Gungan who possessed the voice.

“Shadows and treachery, that be dah way we must fight. Dees was but one more step towards freedom.” said Kah, his voice deep and raspy in comparison to the other Gungan's.

“What now?” asked the other Gungan.

“Wesa return to camp. Dah men deserve a rest.” replied Kah, walking into the shadows and disappearing into the darkness.


One Week Later
The Scourge's Camp

Kah gazed puzzlingly into the fire, pondering what his next move was. On the other side of the fire hung the captive Fett, wrists and feet bound to a tree. The smoke rose to his face, watering his eyes and choking him with every puff. His body was bruised, his nose swollen, and his eyes puffy and red. He was silent minus the sound of his breathing. Kah enjoyed it, understood why some of the slavers kept trophies.

“My Poppa.” said Kah, his deep voice trembling with the sad memory of a dead parent. Fett didn't stir, didn't even make a sound. Zero acknowledgment came from the human, believing refusal to speak the best option for him. Kah scoffed, shaking his head as he poked at the fire with an iron poker. Sparks of light rose in to the air and jumped at Fett, burning him slightly. The poker was red hot, the scent of scorched wood clinging to it.

“Mesa in no mood for dah games, Slavuh.” said Kah, taking the hot poker and moving it closer to Fett. His eyes widened as he felt the heat near him, but other than that his demeanor didn't change. Kah shrugged and dug the poker deep into the slaver's ribs. The Gungan looked at Fett as he observed the slaver grit his teeth and bite back the pain. Kah smacked the human in the face as he grit his teeth. Once. Twice. Three times. He took the poker and hovered it around the slaver's belly button, the sound of panic squirming from Fett was tangible.

“Were yousa dah one dat killed me poppa?” asked Kah.

“Yes, but if it's any consolation, it was a fair fight.” he said. “And I barely won. I'll admit a good fighter when I see one, your pops was one of them.”

The Gungan stared at the slaver, studying him to determine if there was any guile in his words. He clicked his tongue once or twice in thought, and when he determined he was being honest he crouched down. Beside the fire was a bucket of water with a cup within it, which Kah withdrew and brought to Fett's lips. At first the slaver wouldn't drink it, but when Kah glared at him and took a sip himself, the slaver finally accepted it.

“This is the deal.” said Kah, “You tell me dah truth, in all tings I ask, you can live. But dis means everyting. With the information you give, it'll earn you food and water as well as shelter. You won't have freedom for a little while, but eventually we can negotiate. You lie once, however, I kill you. Understand?”

“Not much of a deal, Gungan.” said Fett.

“Better than any these got.” he said as he gripped the cheeks and jaw of Fett and forced him to look to his far right, a pile of decaying bones of slavers Fett had known. Months of raiding had created a stock of death, and the Scourge of Lianorm thought it was a good reminder to his enemies what he was capable of. “Do you understand? You killed my father and enslave oddas, and I wanted nothing more than to kill you. But you showed respect to the memahry of my father. Because of that, I'm giving you the gift of life. But it be a life of servitude. A sorta slavery bestowed upon you.”

“If I refuse?” asked Fett.

“Death.” said Kah.

Fett looked at the ground and sighed heavily. His bindings were too strong, and there were far too many Militiagungs to try and fight his way out. Besides, Kah would easily tear him apart unarmed with his training in Paonga and his near mastery of the art through his tutelage under his Father. If Fett did try to break out, the Gungan could easily deliver a kick so powerful it could turn Fett's testicles to pulp. Knowing this, Fett decided to take the deal Kah offered him. The Gungan grinned wickedly, leaving the former slaver in his bonds.

“Hey! Going to let me down?!” yelled Fett.

“You haven't earned it yet, slaver.” replied Kah with a shout, his voice echoing within the room.

The Gungan left the cave that housed Fett, the sound of the prisoner's thrashing easily heard through the hides of kaadu skin that hung in the doorway and acted as a makeshift door. Kah looked at the two guards of the cave, strong Gungans who had bled for the Scourge of Lianorm more times than he could remember. He patted each on the shoulder, nodding to them and exchanging pleasantries. They were equals, Warriors who had left their homes to end a threat. Kah liked to think they respected him for the way he treated them, unlike some leaders within the Gungan Grand Army who acted superior.

“If he continues, discipline him. He gon' be joinin' dee cause soon.”

The Gungan guard looked at the Scourge quizzically, not understanding what Kah's plan was. Kah just walked past him, deeming it unnecessary for him to know as long as he does what he is told. The Scourge walked back to his quarters, scuffing his feet against the dead leaf covered ground. He was unsure if what he was doing was right. If the slaver escaped, it was possible he'd come back and bring real harm to more Gungans. Kah didn't want that, the death of his family being too much for him to bear already. But at the same time, the slaver was a worthy enemy and he showed Kah's father respect and dignity. The Gungan felt he owed the slaver.


The Next Day.

Kah awoke to a blade to his throat, the wrist connected to the hand holding it rubbed raw by gnarled rope chewed through by the slaver. It would appear Kah's fear of his plan failing was an obvious one he shouldn't have ignored. It was foolish of him to think an outsider wouldn't try and adjust, especially one that used to hunt his kind. All this ran through his head as he looked into the crazed eyes of the slaver Fett.

“I asked you to let me go.” he said, the knife trembling.

“Yousa. Didn't. Earn it.” said Kah, his tongue ejecting out of his mouth rapidly and poking the slaver in the eye. The Gungan's left hand swiftly grabbed the raw wrist and pushed it away, delivering a quick right jab to his opponent's side. The slaver grunted, but retaliated with a knee to Kah's stomach. The Scourge exhaled loudly, but had done his best to tighten his muscles in time and reduce any significant damage. He thrust a fist forward, connecting against Fett's chin and knocking him off balance. Kah followed the strike with an immediate elbow to the side of the slaver's head, wrapping his other hand around Fett's skull to drive it forward.

The Imperial slaver Fett immediately dropped after that. His body lay sprawled out, his chest barely moving with faint breath. Kah looked down at the human, eying the knife that the slaver attempted to use on the Gungan, and deemed it was necessary to pay back an eye for an eye. The Scourge walked over and grasped the handle of the blade, examining the cold durasteel that fashioned the blade. He clicked in disappointment, circling the unconscious body of his attacker until he got to the head, to which he immediately dropped his knee to the ground, driving it downward with as much force as he could. A loud crunch roared, and Kah felt the warmth of blood on his knee. The Gungan continued to click as he got up from his kneeling position and walked over to the corpses legs. He took the knife and began slicing away at the tendons and meat of the Imperial slaver. The pressure applied by the Gungan made the fat slice away easily, and the meat gave little resistance as his hand made a cutting motion. When he finally made it to the bone, covered in blood and slightly out of breath, Kah was able to pop the knee socket out of place on the slavers left leg and tear it away from the body.

Kah stopped what he was doing briefly to wipe between his eyes, but then he went back to working on the other knee. Various blessings and prayers were given to the Ancient Ones, thanking them for this gift. He sliced the dagger into the meat, applying a great deal of strength until he hit the bone. The Gungan dug his fingers into the wound and started tugging on it, digging the tip of his blade and pry the meat from the bone. He made another incision opposite his other one, and yanked the flesh away. The warmth of a small fire licked at the Scourge's neck, it seeming to grab the piece of meat he threw through the air, the flames seeming to burp as they chewed through the leg meat.

A few more slices, even more tugs, and finally the bone had been laid bare. He repeated the process for the other leg, except with a slower and more tired disposition. The adrenaline started to leave his body, his body starting to ache slightly. He hadn't gotten much rest, and his strength was refusing to overcome his fatigue. It wouldn't be long, but the short span of time it took to clean the meat off the bone felt like an eternity. When all was said and done, two shin bones had been peeled of their meat and left bloodied and drying by the heat of the fire. The Gungan grumbled as he pried himself off the log he had been using a seat and walked over to the corpse of Fett.

The tip of the blade touched against the cloth that clung to the dead slaver, tearing it away as the Scourge sliced into the fabric. He yanked the shirt away and revealed a heavily inked canvas of human skin. The Gungan began to think of his parents and brother when he did the next part, slicing into the skin in such away that would allow him to peel it and tan it. These daggers were made in the memory and honor of those lost to the evils of tyranny and greed. It helped Kah when he thought of his family, especially when he forced himself to do terrible things like skin a human and mutilate his corpse. It soothed his mind, in a way. Made him forget.


Four Days Later

The fire crackled as it chewed through the fresh, dry wood that had been carefully placed in a tipi fashion. A boiling pot of water hung over the flames, the orange and yellows licking against the durasteel pot. Kah dipped a large wooden spoon into the water and stirred the contents of the pot, the contents seeming to clink off the sides. The Gungan snorted at the smell that came up from the stew, the rancid stench of cooked human. He had placed the bones in boiling water to make sure all the pieces of flesh left on the bone would come off. Kah lifted the spoon out of the water, one of the bones rolling back and forth gently but resting nicely otherwise on the spoon. The Gungan inspected the bone, seeing it clean of any and all meat and pristine. He clicked in satisfaction as he took the bone and rested it on his log, fishing out the other with the spoon.

“Kah.” said a voice from behind the Scourge, his head turning and spotting his lieutenant. He was a short Gungan, orange skin with green eyes, but he was strong and hit harder than any Paonga Master Kah knew. His name was Harkan, and he was the one who officially gave over leadership of the resistance group to Kah. The Scourge respected the man, and motioned for him to come over.

“Yessah?” asked Kah, his eyes examining the bone that was in his hand.

“Dat wasn't dah end of dee slavers.” said Harkan, showing Kah an image on a datapad that revealed a clan of Trandoshan slavers. They weren't Imperial, bearing no insignia and being alien made it unlikely. They could be freelance, or trying to earn points for the Scorekeeper. Either way, they were trespassing on Lianorm. Trespassing on the realm of Kah Manet, the Scourge of Lianorm and Protector of its People.

“Where dey be?” asked Kah, taking the tanned leather he had made from Fett and wrapping it nice and tightly around the clean bone.

“North, be east from where Fett lost.” said Harkan.

“Tech?” asked Kah.

“Oursa scouts report muy tech. Minefields, droids, dah works. Roughly 20 Trando, 30 droids, two large turrets. A shield generatuh surrounds it too, so catapult is capoot.” said Harkan.

“Dah Imps be gone, for now. Deysa be back, but not for a w'ile. For now, send dah scouts out to learn patterns and observe. Have dem report back every hour.” replied Kah, holding the bone clubs in his hands as he got used to the feeling of it. He would utilize the weapons until it broke, and when they did he would fashion daggers from them, as his father had with the kaadu bone. “Deysa preparin' fah war...we'll give them a war.”