Culara Lucky

{{Infobox Sector It was fairly obvious that he was new to Culara- that fact showed itself in his total ignorance of his surroundings. He was likely to get himself killed- House Holt’s trading posts were the one bastion of civilization on an otherwise pretty uncivilized planet but that didn’t mean all that much, especially to the man watching him fumble his way through the muddy streets. “Frakking tourist”…the other man grumbled to no one as he stepped in to help.

“Are you trying to die?” He slid in behind the newcomer and hissed the question in the other man’s ear. “Don’t react. There’s 3 men behind you with knives-probably looking to take everything you’ve got.”

Anyone who recognized him knew his reputation and knew not to cross him. This man was Ventrezi, he had seen nightmares beyond their imaginations and he had no problem whatsoever with killing. He was just shy of 40 but there were a few strands of gray in the sandy blonde hair that hung out from under his wide brimmed hat. They all knew he kept a laspistol in his grox hide coat and they didn’t dare make eye contact.

He pulled his knife instead and almost dared the men following him and his new charge to make their move. They scattered instead. “Thought so.” He growled at them as they ran away. The man who he had just stepped in to save spoke up “Thank you so much. I came here with nothing but dreams of a better life away from the mines on Stentzholt. You just helped me keep that dream alive.” He held out his right hand and introduced himself. “Jakob Altheim.”

The other man had no interest in shaking his hand or anything else about him but did note the pronunciation- Yah-Kob. “Isadore Stanz- Next time you’re on your own. I don’t make a habit of helping strangers. You talk too much.”  He stalked off but stopped a few moments later to watch him walk by. It was the soldier in him-the need to know his environment and look for any edge. “Guy’s a walking target…”

The former miner had everything he owned, including a pick and a shovel in a pack across his shoulders, though short he was solid muscle barely held in place by a dirty white shirt and short gray woolen jacket. His dark hair and dark eyes didn’t really stand out amidst the crowd but his demeanor, nervous and twitchy, did.

“Not my problem.”  Stanz just walked away, his heavy boots leaving deep prints in the mud. House Holt struggled to bring civilization to Culara but so far Culara seemed to be winning, the mountains and forests surrounding The Flatstone Trading Post were as imposing and untamable as ever. Stanz made a fairly good living as a trapper and hunter but there were many others who tried and failed or tried and died. He had seen it happen often enough- a tragedy when it happened to someone experienced but otherwise it was their bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. There wasn’t really anything he could do about that- almost 20 years in the Imperial Guard had taught him a lot about life and a lot more about death. He had learned to pay attention- he had come to Culara as a sort of therapy. It was far away from Exile’s battlefields, far away from the cramped cities of the Sector’s planets-nothing but the isolation of untamed wilderness. He trudged through the streets as a heavy fog settled in around the town.

He pulled his jacket a little tighter and kept his head down. It would be dark soon- he didn’t want to be outside when the sun went down. Not that he was afraid, it was a matter of comfort. He enjoyed sleeping indoors whenever he had a chance. These days that happened in a midrange boarding house room he’d rented for a few weeks while he spent his hard earned money. It was the sort of place that catered to men like him, A no frills menu with a respectable array of liquors, a stable for whatever beasts of burden the hunters and prospectors used but what appealed to him most were the simple things- a warm bed and a roof over his head. He entered through the stable to check on his horse, passing a pair of Homo Ima Vipera trackers on his way up to his room. He fell asleep almost instantly as the rain started hammering down…

Jakob Altheim knew nothing about Culara or Flatstone. He didn’t know to keep moving and not to let his guard down. He stopped for just a moment to get his bearings-not keeping an eye on the crowds around him, all running for cover. He set his pack down for a moment and in the next it was simply gone. He hissed out a curse and kept walking- hoping for two things.

The first was to get away from the sudden storm that reminded him of the home he had risked everthing to leave The second was to get his things back-everything he owned, except for a little bit of money he kept inside his jacket, was in that pack. He sloshed through ankle deep mud toward the only semblance of civilization and order in this disordered, uncivilized town- a solid rockcrete building bearing an Aquila and the crest of House Holt.

The uniforms told him that he was in the right place. The blue uniforms, shiny brass buttons and frock coats stood out amidst the drab browns surrounding them. “Arbites?”

“Close enough.”  The man at the door answered. Altheim didn’t wait. “I need to report a robbery. Someone stole all of my things.” “You’re new here aren’t you?”  The condescension dripped from the man’s voice. “Go on in.”

(fill in)

There was something else that caught his eye. Images of rough looking men and women hanging up at eye level. He had an idea of what they were-he’d seen similar wanted posters back home- Governor Stine saw enemies everywhere. “There’s not enough of us to protect the whole planet and there’s plenty of people here willing to do anything for some extra money. Governor Holt is willing to pay so why not?”

“Which one’s worth the most?” An idea struck him.

“That one. Cedrick Gambell. Real bad guy- kills for fun. Nine people in one day a couple of years back. We caught him just after he robbed a bank 6 weeks ago- The Holts are big on law and order- waiting for a proper trial. Should have just killed him. Broke out of here last week. Killed a friend of mine. Been waiting for someone to track him down.” “I’ll take it.” Altheim with almost suicidal confidence.

“You are a brave man-Emperor help you. May he have mercy on your soul- and ours if we let you do this…” The anger in the trooper's voice vanished and was replaced by sadness and regret. "You have nothing but your life Jakob... you can start over but this man will kill you without a second thought... Assuming you can even get to him. You're new here, new, unprepared people die out there."

Jakob Altheim was a proud man,a stubborn man who would not give up his dream. "We all die. Not many can say where or when. The whole trip here was a risk-what's one more gamble?" He left with the poster in hand, not knowing where but he found it soon enough, one of Flatstone's many gambling houses. He slapped it all down,risking it all one spin of roulette wheel. He whispered a prayer as it started to move. "Emperor protect me, look upon the humble state of your servant, let me be lifted up."

The roulette wheel slowly spun to a stop,drawing everyone's eyes to the results. He had won a small fortune. "Winner!Culara Lucky!" "Please explain." "Culara lucky- once in a lifetime, just a whisper short of divine intervention kind of luck and you sir, just found it." He quickly cashed in his winnings, not wanting to push his luck any further. (fill in) “I told you to stay at camp, I know my horse didn’t run-don’t know about your mule...Stay close and stay quiet.

The sound echoed through the trees, 3 pairs of heavy footfalls that crunched through the undergrowth. Stanz froze when the giant shape emerged from the cover of the trees. It was enormous- more than twice his height and almost 40 feet long. Held aloft on three pairs of multi jointed legs it stared at them through 2 pairs of multi-faceted eyes and clicked its mandibles at them.

“Throne! What is that!?” “Bugbear- run.” Stanz kept his voice calm and level while he reached for the lasgun on his shoulder. It let out a piercing warble that they could both feel in their chests before it charged, shaking the fur covering its long, segmented body. Jakob didn’t need to be told twice- he charged through the trees as fast as he could- screaming the whole way. Stanz was a half-step behind him and he shouted instructions at him. “Shut up,keep running- one edge here- we’re smaller-navigate trees better. He took a dozen or so further steps then wheeled around, taking aim with the lasgun in his hands. A single shot cracked out and shattered a log in the bugbear’s path.

He turned away again, on a dead run again just like his partner, catching on tangled branches and stumbling on rough ground but every few dozen steps he turned and fired. Despite no longer being a member of The Imperial Guard he wasn’t likely to forget the hard lessons he had learned as a soldier. He wasn’t going to go easy, wouldn’t die without a fight. The other man was still panicking-letting his fear driving him forward. Stanz pulled the laspistol from a shoulder holster under his jacket and tossed it over to the Stentzholter. “You know how to use one of those?” He demanded while aiming his rifle again. “No.” The reply was almost panicked.

“Frakking! Tourist!”  He took a couple of running steps over to him, flipped the safety off. “Point and squeeze the trigger-don’t pull. Legs or eyes.” The bugbear came crashing through the trees again and the both squeezed off a couple shots before running again. Altheim’s hit a patch of hair setting it alight and the smell wafted over to them but it bought them a few seconds. The bugbear paused and both men squeezed, not pulled, the triggers. There wasn’t all that much they could do to it besides annoy it, if that.

(fill in)

He pulled off the shirt to show his back, crisscrossed with old scars. “Isadore Stanz-201st Ventrezi volunteer Guard. I have a story for every one of those scars. I’ve seen things you couldn’t possibly imagine. Kephis” He turned around showing equally gruesome scars on his chest. “There’s a reason I left the Guard.”