Loharr Talem
Legendary Member
Character Backstory: Apprentice Loharr Talem
Notable Kill: Django Hollo
Year: 145 ABY
~~~~~
The cantina was abuzz with news. Despite being on nearly the other side of the planet, the Imperial newscaster spoke the truth of the matter. He was back.
“Welcome back to the Imperial News Network. Before our break we had just received word that a family of 3 was murdered in cold blood on the Outer Rim world of Dantooine, in its capital city of Garang. Their bodies were found assembled in a well lit square around midnight. The local security forces have since failed to locate where the family was murdered. Security Chief Hollo has determined that it was indeed the work of the Corpse Sculptor, the deranged serial killer who reammerges every 3 years like clockwork for the last 30 years. Thus far, security forces have no leads on the culprit. Now, moving onto….”
The news casting shut off, followed by an immediate grumbling of cantina patrons.
“Who the hell shut the news off? It was getting good!” Shouted a Quarren patron.
“Shut your tentacles, calamari face!” Dana hissed, entering the cantina, a young boy clad in tan robes and medium-length black hair. “Loharr let’s go. Our contact said he had a job for you.”
As soon as Dana and Loharr entered the cantina, the atmosphere went dark. Still lively, but the mere presence of those two put a major damper on everyone's mood. Eventually, Dana and Loharr entered the back room, where a Weequayan man sat. He was clothed in rather extravagant clothes.
“Dana! Little Loharr.” The Weequayan said, in a scratchy, gruff voice. “I hear you’re in the market for another job?”
“And I hear your wife left you again…” Loharr said, “Give me the damn puck.”
“Sassy little brat isn’t he, Dana?” The Weequayan asked.
“You knew what you were getting into Odsolna…. All the kid wants is to kill, and he has a real talent for it. You’ve also given him 9 other contracts that he has completed without fail.”
“You have a point, Dana… but it was a real low blow bringing my wife into this….” He slid a bounty puck onto the table. “Again…”
As the bounty puck slid across the table, before stopping and began to project its target. It was the visage of a popular shop owner in Dantoo Town, but Loharr sensed that Odsolna was holding back on him.
He tilted his head over to try and see in the Weequays’ jacket as he and Dana conversed and he saw another puck. He wanted it. He stretched his hand out, doing so beneath the table so the others wouldn’t get suspicious.
The bounty puck gingerly rose from its spot in Odsolna’s pocket and gently floated across the air to Loharr’s hand. He set the puck on the table, slapping the other one away as it deactivated. Turning the new puck on, it portrayed just words.
“What the?!” Odsolna exclaimed, “How did you…?”
“He’s talented, Oddy, you know that.” Dana said.
“I want this one.” Loharr said, his eyes staring blankly at the projection, never blinking.
“No you don’t kid…” Odsolna said, attempting to reach for the puck. His hand was promptly stopped by a knife blade being stabbed between his thumb and index finger, Loharr’s small hand firmly gripping the handle. “Nevermind…. So you do….”
Dana gave a hearty chuckle, before turning her attention to what the puck displayed. Her chuckle quickly died down and her tone turned serious. The name of the target on this puck? ‘The Corpse Sculptor’.
“You sure, kid?” Dana asked, “Not even the security forces have been able to get this guy… and it's been 30 years.”
“I’m sure…” Loharr said, “He shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”
“Alrighty then.” Dana said, “Feel free to take the speeder, Garang is pretty far away from here. Just bring the speeder back in one piece, you got it?”
“Yeah, yeah… whatever.” Loharr said, pulling his knife from the table. “I’ll be back soon anyway....”
Taking the puck, Loharr turned and left the backroom. Passing through the moderately active atmosphere, which had returned after he and Dana passed through the first time. Exiting the cantina, Loharr jumped into the speeder that he and his mentor arrived in. He kicked the pilot droid, and away he went.
Over the course of the travel period, Loharr had prepped weapons. A simple short sword and several knives that could be used in a pinch or as ranged weapons. Additionally, as he travelled, he scoured the holonet for any info on his proposed target.
He first looked for the Corpse Sculptors first recorded kills, the ones from 30 years ago. Then 27 years ago, then 24, and so on and so forth. He was looking for patterns, habits, anything he could use to discern his target's identity or the next victims.
Then, just as Garang was coming into view, Loharr took notice of a detail. His target had a habit of alternating between 3 kills, 2 kills, then 1 on one kill cycle, and on the next it alternated between 2 kills, 4 kills, and then 3. Meaning, up until this cycle of killings started, 105 sentients had been murdered by the Sculptor. 108 if one counted the recent string of deaths.
But on top of that, there was another pattern. A simple pattern, of stupidly easy proportions. Each killing cycle always returned to the same 3 locations. Why would he have not been caught yet? Unless…. Yes… that must be the reason.
Upon finally arriving in Garang, the sun was setting, illuminating the cloudy sky with a golden orange hue. Thunder rumbled off in the distance indicating that if things took too long, it might start to rain.
So he got to work. He let the droid park the speeder and jumped out, instructing the droid to retreat to the edge of Garang, so that it wouldn’t be stolen. It or the speeder. It would really suck if he got stranded here.
He knew his target's next destination. The warehouse district on the north side of the city. He couldn’t rush. If he attempted to intervene before the right moment, his target would get away. Meaning people had to die for the Sculptor to be killed.
A grin plastered itself on Loharr’s face. The thought of splattering someone's blood across the floor got his own blood pumping. His bloodlust was rising and it felt good. Before too long, the 13 year old assassin found himself silently scouring the northern warehouse district, avoiding the lights to remain hidden as best he could.
He must’ve circled the entire district half a dozen times over the course of a few hours, but nothing occurred. His bloodlust desired to be satiated.
Then, just as he was about to scream and shout in unparalleled anger, a clatter erupted from a nearby warehouse. At this hour, all of the warehouses were devoid of workers, managers, or otherwise.
This was it.
Silently making his way to the warehouse, he slowly entered in through the cracked doorway. Once he was in, he stuck to the shadows, avoiding detection as he had up until this point. Sneaking around behind nearby cargo containers, Loharr eventually got a visual on what made the clatter that had gotten his attention just a few moments earlier.
To be honest, he was a little shocked to see the sight before him, though it made a lot of sense. In front of him, constructing an effigy from scattered body parts and metal supports. The being making the macabre effigy? A Devaronian male. Loharr could tell by the horns coming out of his head.
The Devaronian turned around, having just finished attaching an arm to the macabre artwork, revealing his face to the fledgeling assassin. Loharr almost paused…. Almost. The face of the one dubbed the “Corpse Sculptor”, was none other than the chief of security, Django Hollo. Admittedly, that made a smile come across Loharr’s face, the ultimate move of deception.
Who would ever suspect the one in charge of security in the city, if not the whole planet.
Loharr took 2 knives from his robes, and without a second thought, he threw them both. Left, then right. As the knives soared through the air, Loharr moved immediately, changing his location, for those knives, he threw towards the floor.
Two solid, metallic clangs echoed through the warehouse, immediately throwing Django into high alert.
“Who’s there?!” The Devaronian asked, a little less than a shout.
Before he had the chance to press the inquiry, another knife came out from the shadows. This time, Django strayed away from the effigy he was making, towards the shadows where the third knife came from, directly towards Loharr’s hiding spot.
Loharr listened closely, having chosen to hide behind some crates several meters off the ground. The footsteps of the killer echoed through the space, inching closer and closer to the shadows where Loharr was concealing himself. The red skinned Devaronian could be heard grumbling to himself, though the little assassin couldn’t quite make out what was being spoken.
Then, Django struck one of the cargo containers out of anger. The resulting tremor shook the containers, making Loharr involuntarily let out a sound, as he quickly sucked air in through his teeth.
“There you are….” The killer growled, grabbing ahold of one of the cargo containers, and ripping it from its stored position and throwing it away.
This forced Loharr to stumble and fall, as the once solid configuration of crates below him gave way. Among the numerous crates, Loharr also crashed to the floor.
“So…. You’re the one who threw those knives…” Chief Hollo said, standing over the young bounty hunter, “Looks like my next victim delivered themselves directly to me…” He let out a brief chuckle.
As the chuckle finished, his amusement turned to shock and pain, as his chuckle harshly and swiftly transitioned into a pained scream. He looked down, only to find a knife in his left thigh, and Loharr scurrying away, attempting to put some distance between himself and the Devaronian.
“Get back here you little…. Argh!” Django roared, throwing a crate at Loharr, who dodged it by rolling forward, jumping, and twisting into a standing position, shortsword at the ready.
“You talk too much…” Loharr said, panting lightly. Not from being unde- conditioned from training, but moreover from the suddenness of suddenly falling, and then almost getting crushed by a crate.
“I’m an artist….” He said, picking up another crate. “I must share my creativity with the world…. No matter the medium.”
Seeing that his target was preparing to throw the crate, Loharr threw another knife, leaving only one more knife on his person. The knife sank into the Sculptors’ right forearm, and Loharr bolted forward.
He pushed off with his right foot, launching himself off the ground and onto the side of the remaining stack of crates. Taking a few steps across the vertical surface, Loharr pushed off with his left foot again, launching himself off the wall of crates and at Chief Hollo, aiming to kick him across the face.
Unfortunately for the young boy, the skilled Security Chief saw that coming a mile away. He dropped the crate he was holding behind his back, and swiftly grabbed Loharr’s attacking leg with his injured arm. In one swift move, he swung the lightweight human boy around, slamming him into the stack of crates opposite the ones the boy just kicked off of.
Yelling out in pain, Loharr crumpled to the floor. Taking no time to let his next victim recover, Django started closing the distance between them, but it wasn’t quick enough. The young assassin swiftly propped himself up, and reaching out with his left hand, Pushed with the Force, forcing the serial killer to stumble backwards.
It wasn’t a necessarily strong Push, but it was strong enough. The force from his Push managed to get his opponent to not only stumble, but trip over the crate he had dropped behind him.
“You little…! I’ll kill you.” He shouted, propping himself up to glare at Loharr.
“No…. you won’t.” Loharr responded, reaching his right hand out, and manipulating a loose crate, which was the result of the earlier avalanche of containers. The crate shifted ever-so-slightly off the edge of its unstable stack, and tumbled down.
Django Hollo let out a final warcry as the crate dropped, landing upon his head, crushing it like a rotten fruit. Painting the floor with a dark, crimson ichor, mixed with bits of skin and brains.
Sore and hurting, Loharr limped to the center of the warehouse, where the effigy the famed Sculptor was working on. So far, it was a simplistic piece. A circle of arms and legs, held up by a single stand, and the head of a middle aged woman.
Now that the target had been neutralized, Loharr’s bloodlust was satisfied, but he had a final insult to enact. With one swift kick, he toppled the rickety stand, knocking it over. The impact it had on the floor forced it to disassemble itself and fall apart.
The last ever piece of “art” done by the Corpse Sculptor, now nothing more than a mediocre pile of flesh and bone.
Turning on his heel, Loharr limped his way out of the warehouse. While this job was a success, he realized that his job was almost more than he could’ve handled. He had gotten ahead of himself, almost fatally so. If he was going to make it as an assassin, and eventually avenge his parents deaths, he couldn’t afford to make such mistakes anymore.
He would need to focus his bloodlust, learn to control it. Channel it into a tool, like a fine knife.
But enough of this self-help poodoo. There was a bounty to collect on. Luckily, bringing in the body wasn’t going to be an issue. Soon enough, the body would be discovered, and everyone on Dantooine would know the Sculptor was dead…. And who it was.
And so, Loharr went off to find the speeder he arrived on. Mosa Town was not a quick place to travel to.
Notable Kill: Django Hollo
Year: 145 ABY
~~~~~
The cantina was abuzz with news. Despite being on nearly the other side of the planet, the Imperial newscaster spoke the truth of the matter. He was back.
“Welcome back to the Imperial News Network. Before our break we had just received word that a family of 3 was murdered in cold blood on the Outer Rim world of Dantooine, in its capital city of Garang. Their bodies were found assembled in a well lit square around midnight. The local security forces have since failed to locate where the family was murdered. Security Chief Hollo has determined that it was indeed the work of the Corpse Sculptor, the deranged serial killer who reammerges every 3 years like clockwork for the last 30 years. Thus far, security forces have no leads on the culprit. Now, moving onto….”
The news casting shut off, followed by an immediate grumbling of cantina patrons.
“Who the hell shut the news off? It was getting good!” Shouted a Quarren patron.
“Shut your tentacles, calamari face!” Dana hissed, entering the cantina, a young boy clad in tan robes and medium-length black hair. “Loharr let’s go. Our contact said he had a job for you.”
As soon as Dana and Loharr entered the cantina, the atmosphere went dark. Still lively, but the mere presence of those two put a major damper on everyone's mood. Eventually, Dana and Loharr entered the back room, where a Weequayan man sat. He was clothed in rather extravagant clothes.
“Dana! Little Loharr.” The Weequayan said, in a scratchy, gruff voice. “I hear you’re in the market for another job?”
“And I hear your wife left you again…” Loharr said, “Give me the damn puck.”
“Sassy little brat isn’t he, Dana?” The Weequayan asked.
“You knew what you were getting into Odsolna…. All the kid wants is to kill, and he has a real talent for it. You’ve also given him 9 other contracts that he has completed without fail.”
“You have a point, Dana… but it was a real low blow bringing my wife into this….” He slid a bounty puck onto the table. “Again…”
As the bounty puck slid across the table, before stopping and began to project its target. It was the visage of a popular shop owner in Dantoo Town, but Loharr sensed that Odsolna was holding back on him.
He tilted his head over to try and see in the Weequays’ jacket as he and Dana conversed and he saw another puck. He wanted it. He stretched his hand out, doing so beneath the table so the others wouldn’t get suspicious.
The bounty puck gingerly rose from its spot in Odsolna’s pocket and gently floated across the air to Loharr’s hand. He set the puck on the table, slapping the other one away as it deactivated. Turning the new puck on, it portrayed just words.
“What the?!” Odsolna exclaimed, “How did you…?”
“He’s talented, Oddy, you know that.” Dana said.
“I want this one.” Loharr said, his eyes staring blankly at the projection, never blinking.
“No you don’t kid…” Odsolna said, attempting to reach for the puck. His hand was promptly stopped by a knife blade being stabbed between his thumb and index finger, Loharr’s small hand firmly gripping the handle. “Nevermind…. So you do….”
Dana gave a hearty chuckle, before turning her attention to what the puck displayed. Her chuckle quickly died down and her tone turned serious. The name of the target on this puck? ‘The Corpse Sculptor’.
“You sure, kid?” Dana asked, “Not even the security forces have been able to get this guy… and it's been 30 years.”
“I’m sure…” Loharr said, “He shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”
“Alrighty then.” Dana said, “Feel free to take the speeder, Garang is pretty far away from here. Just bring the speeder back in one piece, you got it?”
“Yeah, yeah… whatever.” Loharr said, pulling his knife from the table. “I’ll be back soon anyway....”
Taking the puck, Loharr turned and left the backroom. Passing through the moderately active atmosphere, which had returned after he and Dana passed through the first time. Exiting the cantina, Loharr jumped into the speeder that he and his mentor arrived in. He kicked the pilot droid, and away he went.
Over the course of the travel period, Loharr had prepped weapons. A simple short sword and several knives that could be used in a pinch or as ranged weapons. Additionally, as he travelled, he scoured the holonet for any info on his proposed target.
He first looked for the Corpse Sculptors first recorded kills, the ones from 30 years ago. Then 27 years ago, then 24, and so on and so forth. He was looking for patterns, habits, anything he could use to discern his target's identity or the next victims.
Then, just as Garang was coming into view, Loharr took notice of a detail. His target had a habit of alternating between 3 kills, 2 kills, then 1 on one kill cycle, and on the next it alternated between 2 kills, 4 kills, and then 3. Meaning, up until this cycle of killings started, 105 sentients had been murdered by the Sculptor. 108 if one counted the recent string of deaths.
But on top of that, there was another pattern. A simple pattern, of stupidly easy proportions. Each killing cycle always returned to the same 3 locations. Why would he have not been caught yet? Unless…. Yes… that must be the reason.
Upon finally arriving in Garang, the sun was setting, illuminating the cloudy sky with a golden orange hue. Thunder rumbled off in the distance indicating that if things took too long, it might start to rain.
So he got to work. He let the droid park the speeder and jumped out, instructing the droid to retreat to the edge of Garang, so that it wouldn’t be stolen. It or the speeder. It would really suck if he got stranded here.
He knew his target's next destination. The warehouse district on the north side of the city. He couldn’t rush. If he attempted to intervene before the right moment, his target would get away. Meaning people had to die for the Sculptor to be killed.
A grin plastered itself on Loharr’s face. The thought of splattering someone's blood across the floor got his own blood pumping. His bloodlust was rising and it felt good. Before too long, the 13 year old assassin found himself silently scouring the northern warehouse district, avoiding the lights to remain hidden as best he could.
He must’ve circled the entire district half a dozen times over the course of a few hours, but nothing occurred. His bloodlust desired to be satiated.
Then, just as he was about to scream and shout in unparalleled anger, a clatter erupted from a nearby warehouse. At this hour, all of the warehouses were devoid of workers, managers, or otherwise.
This was it.
Silently making his way to the warehouse, he slowly entered in through the cracked doorway. Once he was in, he stuck to the shadows, avoiding detection as he had up until this point. Sneaking around behind nearby cargo containers, Loharr eventually got a visual on what made the clatter that had gotten his attention just a few moments earlier.
To be honest, he was a little shocked to see the sight before him, though it made a lot of sense. In front of him, constructing an effigy from scattered body parts and metal supports. The being making the macabre effigy? A Devaronian male. Loharr could tell by the horns coming out of his head.
The Devaronian turned around, having just finished attaching an arm to the macabre artwork, revealing his face to the fledgeling assassin. Loharr almost paused…. Almost. The face of the one dubbed the “Corpse Sculptor”, was none other than the chief of security, Django Hollo. Admittedly, that made a smile come across Loharr’s face, the ultimate move of deception.
Who would ever suspect the one in charge of security in the city, if not the whole planet.
Loharr took 2 knives from his robes, and without a second thought, he threw them both. Left, then right. As the knives soared through the air, Loharr moved immediately, changing his location, for those knives, he threw towards the floor.
Two solid, metallic clangs echoed through the warehouse, immediately throwing Django into high alert.
“Who’s there?!” The Devaronian asked, a little less than a shout.
Before he had the chance to press the inquiry, another knife came out from the shadows. This time, Django strayed away from the effigy he was making, towards the shadows where the third knife came from, directly towards Loharr’s hiding spot.
Loharr listened closely, having chosen to hide behind some crates several meters off the ground. The footsteps of the killer echoed through the space, inching closer and closer to the shadows where Loharr was concealing himself. The red skinned Devaronian could be heard grumbling to himself, though the little assassin couldn’t quite make out what was being spoken.
Then, Django struck one of the cargo containers out of anger. The resulting tremor shook the containers, making Loharr involuntarily let out a sound, as he quickly sucked air in through his teeth.
“There you are….” The killer growled, grabbing ahold of one of the cargo containers, and ripping it from its stored position and throwing it away.
This forced Loharr to stumble and fall, as the once solid configuration of crates below him gave way. Among the numerous crates, Loharr also crashed to the floor.
“So…. You’re the one who threw those knives…” Chief Hollo said, standing over the young bounty hunter, “Looks like my next victim delivered themselves directly to me…” He let out a brief chuckle.
As the chuckle finished, his amusement turned to shock and pain, as his chuckle harshly and swiftly transitioned into a pained scream. He looked down, only to find a knife in his left thigh, and Loharr scurrying away, attempting to put some distance between himself and the Devaronian.
“Get back here you little…. Argh!” Django roared, throwing a crate at Loharr, who dodged it by rolling forward, jumping, and twisting into a standing position, shortsword at the ready.
“You talk too much…” Loharr said, panting lightly. Not from being unde- conditioned from training, but moreover from the suddenness of suddenly falling, and then almost getting crushed by a crate.
“I’m an artist….” He said, picking up another crate. “I must share my creativity with the world…. No matter the medium.”
Seeing that his target was preparing to throw the crate, Loharr threw another knife, leaving only one more knife on his person. The knife sank into the Sculptors’ right forearm, and Loharr bolted forward.
He pushed off with his right foot, launching himself off the ground and onto the side of the remaining stack of crates. Taking a few steps across the vertical surface, Loharr pushed off with his left foot again, launching himself off the wall of crates and at Chief Hollo, aiming to kick him across the face.
Unfortunately for the young boy, the skilled Security Chief saw that coming a mile away. He dropped the crate he was holding behind his back, and swiftly grabbed Loharr’s attacking leg with his injured arm. In one swift move, he swung the lightweight human boy around, slamming him into the stack of crates opposite the ones the boy just kicked off of.
Yelling out in pain, Loharr crumpled to the floor. Taking no time to let his next victim recover, Django started closing the distance between them, but it wasn’t quick enough. The young assassin swiftly propped himself up, and reaching out with his left hand, Pushed with the Force, forcing the serial killer to stumble backwards.
It wasn’t a necessarily strong Push, but it was strong enough. The force from his Push managed to get his opponent to not only stumble, but trip over the crate he had dropped behind him.
“You little…! I’ll kill you.” He shouted, propping himself up to glare at Loharr.
“No…. you won’t.” Loharr responded, reaching his right hand out, and manipulating a loose crate, which was the result of the earlier avalanche of containers. The crate shifted ever-so-slightly off the edge of its unstable stack, and tumbled down.
Django Hollo let out a final warcry as the crate dropped, landing upon his head, crushing it like a rotten fruit. Painting the floor with a dark, crimson ichor, mixed with bits of skin and brains.
Sore and hurting, Loharr limped to the center of the warehouse, where the effigy the famed Sculptor was working on. So far, it was a simplistic piece. A circle of arms and legs, held up by a single stand, and the head of a middle aged woman.
Now that the target had been neutralized, Loharr’s bloodlust was satisfied, but he had a final insult to enact. With one swift kick, he toppled the rickety stand, knocking it over. The impact it had on the floor forced it to disassemble itself and fall apart.
The last ever piece of “art” done by the Corpse Sculptor, now nothing more than a mediocre pile of flesh and bone.
Turning on his heel, Loharr limped his way out of the warehouse. While this job was a success, he realized that his job was almost more than he could’ve handled. He had gotten ahead of himself, almost fatally so. If he was going to make it as an assassin, and eventually avenge his parents deaths, he couldn’t afford to make such mistakes anymore.
He would need to focus his bloodlust, learn to control it. Channel it into a tool, like a fine knife.
But enough of this self-help poodoo. There was a bounty to collect on. Luckily, bringing in the body wasn’t going to be an issue. Soon enough, the body would be discovered, and everyone on Dantooine would know the Sculptor was dead…. And who it was.
And so, Loharr went off to find the speeder he arrived on. Mosa Town was not a quick place to travel to.