Tarkin nodded, deciding the complexities of tracking a dead man's aura or whatever it was Sirejj was looking for would be best left unquestioned for now. "I have to conduct some business today," he said as he led Sirejj away from the bedroom. "Can I trust you to keep yourself entertained without prying into family business, or do I need a droid to babysit you?"
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
He laughed. "You have a sense of humor, Governor. I thought that was beneath you." He looked down at the tooth in his hand. "I'm sure I can find something to do. You needn't worry." He restrained another laugh. A droid would be funny to pin to Tarkin's door for him to find when he returned though, if he actually considered sending one to follow him.
Last edited by ChieTheWriter on Mon May 20, 2024 3:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
"Fantastic. Feel free to use the walled-in hunting grounds; they're full of easy prey, but they're fine for idle fun. We'll rendezvous at dinner."
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
He nodded. "Till then." He turned to leave. He would do some exploring in the meantime. He did wonder where Gideon was, he hadn't seen him poking about for a while. Tarkin had probably scared him back into his den.
Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Tarkin departed. He had a meeting with some Eriadu officials, but that wasn't for another hour. He was going to the gymnasium on the bottom floor to get some of this nervous energy out. The punching bag would do.
Spoiler
doing an eight hour drive so I probably won't be responding til late afternoon
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
ok drive safe. I'm thinking skipping a little unless Gideon has any info to offer. I think he may take a crack at Gideon if he thinks he can keep it secret from Tarkin, if anything just a completely defy his orders. Sirejj will do more exploring than anything, picking up little memories and bits of garoche's history as he goes.
What time zone are you in btw if you don't mind me asking
Sirejj waited till Tarkin had left then took his staff from his back and held it in one hand, the tooth in the other. He closed his eyes and whispered a spell in the language of his people. The runes on his staff lit up for a moment before again becoming invisible. The tooth glowed faintly green for a second before returning to it's original state. He opened his eyes and rubbed the tooth between his thumb and forefinger, placing his staff back in its place on his back.
He began his wandering. He followed the many halls, reaching far back into time to see the stories that unfolded here of both Tarkin's past and his son's. He caught little glimpses of memories here and there, hunting mainly for any secrets Garoche may have told himself it written down and never told anyone.
It would have been useful there was a confidant of his still alive.
Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
I'm in CST. I think Gideon might offer things, but he's gonna try his damndest not to. He doesn't mess around with his brother if it's that serious.
Many of the memories Sirejj caught were unpleasant. Ten year-old Wilhuff Tarkin having a full plate of food taken away from him to teach him not to take food for granted, Garoche coming home bloodied and hollow-eyed from his third excursion to the Carrion, Wilhuff doing the same with an expression of resolve. Harsh words from parents, cold looks. Countless instances of Wilhuff arguing with an adult Garoche.
Garoche Tarkin appeared to be a mix of both his parents, both in appearance and demeanor. He had the prominent cheekbones of his father but his mother's strong jaw and dark eyes. His physique was broader than Wilhuff's, with more meat on the bones, but he carried himself as if he'd prefer to be smaller. Some of the memories showed he had a tendency to bump into things and trip over himself. Around his mother he appeared to be fairly open, quicker to smile and joke. Around his father he was far quieter and deferential, and a few memories showed Garoche looking at him with genuine hatred on his face. At the same time, he seemed to admire him and look up to him deeply.
Tarkin spent some time in the gymnasium, but eventually he ended up outside the grounds again on another hunt.
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
k same time zone. Sirejj can probably read his mind some and maybe try a few tricks but won't push it too hard. Either that or we move to the next thing, were you planning on having the assassin jump Tarkin here or somewhere else?
Sirejj was able to see their faces as plain as day. Knowing Tarkin for this brief time helped him see a clearer image of his son. The boy had had a difficult childhood to say the absolute least. It may have hardened his body and mind, but it had not driven out all of his humanity. Perhaps that had been his downfall. While Sirejj did not believe in all of the governor's philosophies, he agreed that weakness, whatever cause, was unacceptable. Though a small part of him sympathized with the boy, he knew Tarkin had been right in hardening him.
Sirejj begin to wonder if Garoche had failed on Atoa due to the softness his father spoke of. Perhaps he had spared the life of the wrong individual or allowed his feelings to cloud his mind. The elder Tarkin wasn't even immune to this, even if the only emotions he felt were cold and poisonous.
In watching these memories he caught brief glimpses of himself. Every so often the scene would change to the bracken and briars of his homeworld before the scourging of Grievous. The cold nights spent cowering beneath the damp roots of the grave thorn trees, praying the stench of the swamps would mask his scent from predators. Praying that the veil of his homeworld was enough to conceal his strength from those who would find him and cage him break him to their will like many of his brothers before him.
Sirejj growled and shook his head. He had not intended to uncover that memory and did his best to put it back into place far behind him. Ever since Tarkin had relayed to him how closely involved the Sith were with this mystery, his old memories had been rebellious in staying where they belonged. Tarkin's closeness to Vader made him trust him even less, and even opened small hole in his normally tough exterior for a little seed of fear. Fear that he had used often as his own ally, but also had made prey of him in the past.
He kept walking. His thoughts on his own past had distracted him and he had lost sight of the young Garoche and his father as if they had turned a corner and left him behind. He quickened his steps. He was still searching for whatever secrets the younger Tarkin had hid so well
Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
I was gonna have her jump him while he's hunting. She staked out the house last night
One corridor showed fourteen year old Garoche in the midst of a coversation with his Uncle Gideon. They were discussing something that had happened on the Carrion, a devastating loss of life. Two Rodian trackers and one of their own family, one Alduff Tarkin, had perished during a raid on a pack of veermoks. Garoche was upset about all of them; he asked why Gideon and the others hadn't reacted. Gideon tried to explain that death was a part of living, and that the Rodians were replaceable while Alduff had been sloppy. What was there to grieve?
Tarkin, deep in the woods, had been hunkered down in a bush waiting for a hooved frinjaar to come within range when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He was being watched.
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
Sirejj would probably sense that since he's already paying very close attention to their presence in the force and will come back him up when he's jumped
So Garoche did confide in Gideon to some extent. He focused, seeing if he could learn more of their interactions. Perhaps he should trouble the younger brother once more while Tarkin was away.
He wanted more, but the Tarkin family was not so easy to read. They hid their secrets and their thoughts well for the most part.
Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
The interactions between Gideon and Garoche were sporadic; it seemed they were mostly conversations about things that had happened away from this building. It was clear Garoche liked his uncle, though there wasn't that same conflicted idolization that he had for his father. He seemed to latch onto Gideon's amiable disposition as a safety net. Gideon, for his part, appeared to sympathize with the boy and did his best to be someone to look up to as far as Tarkin standards went.
Tarkin cast a furtive glance around the area, trying to pinpoint the location of the observer. There was nothing in his eyeline. He got up slowly, keeping low, and moved through the foliage toward one of the vantage points he was familiar with. It was about a mile away and looped back toward the house slightly; the trees thinned out in that section of the forest and there was a lot of underbrush. Hopefully that would flush out whoever was watching him. He kept an ear out as he moved--they were very quiet, whoever they were, but no one knew the sounds of these woods as well as he did. The hunter was off to the left, keeping a safe distance behind.
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
Sirejj went back to Garoche and his father. Their interactions. Some would have been painful to watch if it hadn't been for his similar harsh upbringing. But what was the boy hiding? Or what was Tarkin hiding? There were lies that were woven so deep they were almost invisible to the force itself, but he could not find them here. Perhaps they had taken place elsewhere. There was much conflict in that boy's mind. His parents, his upbringing, his beliefs...
Tarkin has not known the half of what went on in his son's head. Or he refused to see, which was much more likely.
Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
One of the scenes took place in a parlor, with Garoche about nineteen years old. Tarkin, darker haired and with fewer stress lines than he had now, paced in front of the chair where his son was sitting. "You set your standards too high. You can't expect the other students at the academy to have had your upbringing, Garoche." Garoche's expression was sullen, but he sat ramrod straight in his chair. "I don't." "Then why did you engage? That wasn't a fight worthy of your time, and it was a petty insult." "He was coming after a friend of mine." "The friend should have defended himself, then. It's not your place to defend the weak." "Then what's the point of all this training? What am I doing if I'm not helping anyone?" Tarkin's face was cold as he turned on his heel to face Garoche. "If Jova and I haven't made that crystal clear by now, then there's no hope for you at all."
Tarkin was nearing the clearing area when he caught a glimpse of the stranger out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't human, that much was certain--the body was apelike. For a moment he thought it might be a lone veermok swinging from tree to tree, but no, there was the glint of a weapon. He kept walking, brow furrowed. The shape almost reminded him of--
The blaster bolt grazed his cheek as he turned to confront her. His hand was already on his rifle, and he slung it off his shoulder as another bolt whizzed by him. He could see her now. The Phindian had stopped on a strong bough and had a blaster pistol aimed at him. A spear of some kind was strapped to her back. Tarkin dove behind a tree, loading his gun.
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
Sirejj was watching intently when the scene began to drift away. Tarkin stood and pulled a blaster from his belt. Garoche was now no longer there. The chairs had become trees, and the parlor was now a clearing in the forest. A red blaster shot from behind him narrowly missed his face and he whirled to see...nothing.
He was standing outside an empty parlor. He brought his hand to his cheek and then looked at it, almost expecting to see blood. The shot was still ringing in his ears. Something was wrong.
Turning on his heels he strode down the halls towards the nearest exit to the outside. He needed to find Tarkin.
Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Tarkin fired the rifle. Hopefully she wouldn't be expecting slugthrowers; they didn't glow like blaster bolts did so he'd have the advantage of being harder to pinpoint. There was return fire, and he dropped to the ground, crawling for her tree and using the bushes for cover. Keeping the rifle in front of him, he craned his neck. Blood dripped down his cheek; that first shot would have killed him if he hadn't turned. Who was this person? Who was she working for?
"The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that." -Karis Nemik
