The Pit

In his Rishi penthouse suite, the Pirate King of Castamere finishes his day by washing the blood from underneath his fingernails. He doesn’t turn on the lights as his sleeping wife and child may be awoken to see how late Sarecotes had returned. He sneaks into bed, hoping for another lucky night when he can get a full rest unbothered. As his eyes closed, his holocommunicator would ring on his side table. He takes a deep breath and takes the call, walking out onto the penthouse balcony. The moon high over his domain. The creaking of the wooden balcony managed to mingle with the sounds of the ocean waves breaking against his beach. The call? Another fire to put out in one of his many companies. One that could have waited till the morning.

The moon already falling from its zenith, shining a light on the waters he sustained himself spearfishing in when this place was only a club and monument to a past love. How he had risen since then. Sarecotes was always a short man. A thin Zabrak with white hair, a man that would have been considered the runt of the litter under a less civilized people than his nomadic tribesmen. He coughs violently, holding onto the balcony railing. Struggling to take a pill from his coat pocket, the coat he had carried with him since his speeder mechanic days on Nar Shaddaa, he pops the pill into his mouth. He chases it with rum from his flask and takes a moment to completely regain himself. The force shall free me, he thought. He is a monarch of a nation, and yet, as he lights a pre-rolled cigarette from his coat pocket, he thinks of how his body had gotten so weak. It could not be the case. He was a slave once, branded on his shoulder and scarred all along his back. This was the body of a survivor. He had softer features that masked his true age. Though he would boast about his wisdom and tell his real age to any that would ask without deception, he hid how long his body had really been failing him. The force kept him from falling deeper into medical ailments and, most of all, mental and physical exhaustion. A drag from his cigarette while hearing the birds of paradise was all he needed to come to the conclusion that he had grown soft. The mind that had solved political dilemmas in secrecy for the Republic and the body that had slain Terentateks barehanded on a few occasions would no longer go out of their way to divulge in old manuscripts or duel Councilors as he had done not that long ago. He didn’t have the time. An excuse he told himself that could be justified by the amount of work he had to put into Castamere, his businesses, his apprentices, and family. Taking a last drag from his cigarette, he put it out in an ashtray and looked back to the penthouse glass door. Inside, his family was asleep, waiting for him. Yet, he turned his head back to see the jungle to the west. A call from the wild only he could hear. He wrapped his arms around himself, sitting in the cold until he walked to the open balcony door and slid it closed. He took off his gloves and hopped over the balcony railing, struggling to climb down the cliffside his penthouse was built into. Scratches. Blood droplets against hand holds that had cut his hands open slightly. In the final drop, he landed on his shoulder to continue the moment into a roll. A trick he learned on Tython. Still, the pain to his body had already shot out. He went to his old hut on the beach and gathered provisions. A spear and rope. Dried squid he had left out to dry in the sun. He leaves his grand admiral hat, his special coat, the prototype blaster pistol he stole, and the current dual-bladed lightsaber he had made two months ago. All of these hidden in a wicker box he kept beneath a hidden panel in the dirt floor. He strode out, feeling the wet sand beneath his feet, into the winds of the jungle. Clouds already forming.

The howling beasts of the jungle mask the footsteps of the yawning Sarecotes, who had walked through the drizzle and vine brush for the past 2 hours. The redness of the skin. The shivering man looks up in slight regret as the rain starts to pour harder. The eyes and ears are made blind by the darkness and the patterning of branches. In the shadows, yellow eyes follow the wet Zabrak from spots too high or too far to attack with the spear. If these predators were humanoids, lightning would do the trick. No, this was a test from Ramune. Sarecotes thought of the roles his goddess needed him to perform. As such, he kept his hand on the fishing spear. Fully open to the elements. The eyes followed from the darkness, watching, stalking. Sarecotes kept moving at a steady pace, keeping aware of the dangers in his periphery. His breath began to quicken, as did his step. As he picked up his pace, so did the yellow eyes. At first, two pairs of eyes traveling at his right side, then another would appear in the trees above him. The rain manages to pound against his face, causing him to trip over a stretched-out root covered by the mud. The screams of beasts followed. There was no time. Sarecotes stands up, caked in mud and swings his spear wide in the direction of the eyes. The yellow eyes swerving around wildly as they made their noise of distress. Sarecotes lunged to the side and plunged his spear into a nearby tree, swinging himself above it to seem bigger than he was. He shouts,

“I withstood bigger terrors than you. Come on!”

He waited for a response from the darkness, but none came. The yelling of the animals moved more distant until all three beasts were gone. Hanging from the tree, Sarecotes laughed in relief as the storm grew stronger. He dropped out of the tree and attempted to recover his spear. After two pulls, the spear tip breaks off, remaining in the tree trunk itself. Now Sarecotes turned back, knowing that he could make it back in time to get a few hours of sleep before his day would have to start. He sneezes, turning his head instinctually to see a large set of red eyes behind him. The head of a massive creature lumbering closer, as its head rotated completely to look about itself. The real source of the predator’s disappearance. Sarecotes felt the faintness in his numb legs. The splitting headache. In his head, he imagined how perfect a cigarette would have been. Through sheer force of will, he compelled his body to move back towards home as the giant beast crept up along behind him. Though the rain and jungle animal sounds gave Sarecotes the ability to move without sound, the beast behind him was not as stealthy. It did not need to be. The beast lumbered forward in curiosity, pushing over trees with its massive clawed hands. Its deep hooting snarls echo underneath the canopy. Sarecotes bolts as the beast moves closer behind. Hearing the thumping of large feet behind him, he crashes through vines that reveal a descending slope of roots and vines. He slides down the hill with reckless abandon, cutting and bruising as he tumbles down against throned flora. He loses control of his descent, rolling down too quickly to keep himself from slamming against the floor. Sarecotes groans as he feels distinct pain in his left knee. He turns over onto his back, turning to look over to get the rain out of his eyes. Two feet away from his face, the edge of a camouflage pit trap meant for hunting big game. The leaf wire mesh is just barely hanging on through the storm rains, giving Sarecotes the glimpse of the sharpened stakes jutting from a bottom that’s 16 feet deep. He manages to get to his feet as the thudding of the beast catches up to him. Coming down from the slope, the large owl-like predator comes barreling down. A creature he can see now that it is in the open. For a moment, he recognizes the traits from the native stories. A Maungur, a sacred creature to the Rishii and something he had thought was a myth. A creature so sacred that even though it preyed on the Rishii, their warriors deemed it sacrilege to kill one. The awe had to subside as the Maungur was rushing towards him. Sarecotes stands but feels the pain shoot out from his leg. He can’t run or fight in this condition. The Maungur reaches Sarecotes and slashes at his head with its long single talon. He drops, still having some agility to dodge the attack. Sarecotes saw no other choice. He whispered to himself,

“Ramune, I hope your story of me does not end here.”

The Maungur raises its arms, towering over Sarecotes. Before it strikes, the pirate king crosses his arms and jumps into the pit.

Sarecotes looks up at the darkened sky as he feels soreness all over his body. His ears beneath water, hearing the patering of the rain. Above, the Maungur stands over with its piercing large eyes. It waits for the pirate to come out of the hole. Sarecotes sits up, covered in muck. The mind goes delirious. Sarecotes speaks out to the world in Zabraki,

“The irony is not lost on me that the one thing I’ve been able to hunt is the one creature I can’t kill. That’s a good one.”

Sarecotes presses his back against the dirt wall. The hole is slowly filling. There is a part of him that chuckles, thinking about how lucky he was he didn’t bring any of the things he valued with him. Him against the elements.

There is a part in Sarecotes that imagines the reason this hole is here. The Rishii tribes within his citizenry do not claim the Capital Province as their hunting ground. Then, his mind clears itself enough for him to remember that he told his club employees to source locally whatever they can. This pit is the natural outcome of his orders. His current trap, and in a sense salvation, meant for kabob meat. Sarecotes uses the gnarled rope he brought and ties it around the broken fishing spear. He stabs the spear into the side of the pit wall and uses the bit of strength he has left to pull himself to his feet. He keeps pressure off of his left leg and tries to figure out a way to get out of this hole. Worrying about the Maungur at the top will have to be a separate issue he can’t think of right now. He takes the spear out of the wall and throws it like a javelin towards the top. The spear undershoots and hits the wall at an angle, causing some dirt to fall and splash the water that has now reached his knees. He reeled the spear back in and threw the spear again, throwing his body forward this time. The spear makes it out of the pit and makes its mark. Upon pulling it to support his weight, the spear gives way and falls back into the pit. It causes him to shift over, falling over on his bad leg. He shouts in anger and despair as he splashes into the muddy water. His voice became gargled under the rain water, nearly falling into the stakes underneath. Pulling himself up with great effort, he speaks out to the world as the rain continues to reach his stomach.

“This can’t be the end of me. I have too much left to do. I can’t believe in a will that would be as cruel as to force me to live when I had nothing to live for, just to take it away when my life was renewed.”

He pondered in silence. His body is weak. Broken. Yet he remembers the words of his old masters. His unorthodox training. Sarecotes was always weak physically. Weak in the force also. More so than even the candidates he observed enter the Coalition. It was how he maximized the energy he had efficiently that made him strong. He was dexterous. He didn’t delude himself about what he was or wasn’t good at. He wasn’t humble about it either. His mind was his main asset.

He sneezed himself out of his thought process and remembered that he had more to live for than himself. He had a family and students waiting for him about an hour back. He had to make it out. He took off his raggedy shirt and tied it around his messed up leg. Then used the rope and spear to tie himself a temporary splint. He was lucky enough to begin this procedure before the water started to make him float. He had about 2 hours before the water would float him to the top. He had to conserve his energy till then. He laid down in the water and closed his eyes, letting his body bring near the top. He let his body relax in the warm tropical water while he thought through his options. With the Maungur up top, it was only a matter of time until he was mangled. He couldn’t expect the beast to lose interest by the time he made it out. It was already waiting this long. He thought about ways in which to minimize the beast’s movement without causing it any harm. It was not his goal to overwhelm or beat the Maugur in a test of strength. Neither is his goal to make the beast submit to him. His plan was setting into place with the few options he had left. He heard the deep hoot of the creature close to him. Opening his eyes, he realized that the time had passed. Most of his body was numb, but some of the pain had subsided. He turned up and swam over to one side of the pit. The Maungur looking at him as he did. It shook its deep brown feathers and moved over to the side that Sarecotes had swam to. Sarecotes stayed there, staring down his adversary. He respected the Rishii too much to break their cultural taboos. It was escape or not. 10 minutes pass as they both stare at each other. Drip, drip, drip.

Sarecotes makes a gamble. He waits for the creature to blink to swim over to the other side of the hole and climb out. He had to really pull himself up, finding handholds in the pit wall. The water is only 4 to 5 feet away from the surface. The Maungur slips but notices its food climb to the other side. Sarecotes throws his legs up onto the surface by the time the Maungur makes it over him. He rolls onto his back to face the coming giant creature. It raises its taloned arms to pierce Sarecotes’ chest. In an instant, Sarecotes grabs a large clump of mud and throws it at the Maungur’s eyes. He hits his desperate mark. The Maungur hoots in anger but continues its present course. Sarecotes barely rolls out of the way. The blinded Maungur strikes the floor deep into the mud where Sarecotes used to be. It’s talons digging and scraping. Sarecotes stumbles to his feet and throws his body into the Maungur’s side. The unsteadiness of the ground made his plan possible. Sarecotes yelled in pain as he pushed the Maungur into the pit. The beast loses its balance. It flails as it falls 5 feet down into the water. The rain pelting it as it hollers in distress. In distress but alive. Sarecotes barely keeps himself from falling in too. He looks over the side of the pit to see the Maungur floating and flailing. Sarecotes and the beast lock eyes for a moment, him looking down at them. Sarecotes speaks in Rishii, the language he is still learning,

“I am sorry this happened to you. We will both survive this ordeal.”

The Maungur claws at the pit walls, causing more dirt to pile in on top of it. Sarecotes knew he wouldn’t have too long to outrun the Maungur, but the head start would be enough. He was already covered in mud; it should be able to cover his scent and stem some of the bleeding. At least until he can reach the Capital Hospital.

He rushes towards a nearby clearing, covering his eyes to look at the stairs. The sun will be coming out soon. Fortunately, he was prepared for something like this, knowing how to read the stars to know his direction and guess his location. North East. He limps through the brush with his splint, nearly passing out. His will being the only fuel he has to make it back home. Eventually, the adrenaline wears off when he reaches the edge of his beach. He sees his hut, his penthouse, his club, his home. One-two slow steps, he heads over to the hut he built so many years ago. He makes it inside and struggles to open the fake panel on his floor but barely manages. He pulls his holocommunicator from his pocket and makes a call, stumbling outside along his private beach. The body is moving itself. With a few rings, the holo is answered. An agitated but friendly voice on the other end, wondering why he would call so early in the morning. Sarecotes chuckles as he speaks lightly,

“Bersi, I managed to conquer the jungle. But it put up quite the fight. I need you to talk to my assistants and cancel my duties for the next couple of days. Also, I think I’ll need a speeder to take me to the hospital. I should be somewhere around TannAster Coves’ private beach. I may or may not be conscious. My life is in your hands.”

The voice begins to respond, but Sarecotes turns off the holo and lumbers over to an area with a beach chair and a closed outdoor bar. He moves behind the bar counter and pulls a bottle of rum from the top shelf, grabbing a clean glass and pouring himself some. His hands shake the bottle, but a good pour is enough. Tropicali Gold Label, always being loyal to his own brand. He stumbles with the drink over to the beach chair and falls into it, rum falling onto his mud-caked chest. He takes a deep sip from his drink, watching the sun slowly come up in front of him. As the light reaches his eyes, he takes another drink in the blindness before the glass falls from his fingers. Passing out with a smile on his face.