Ghosts of the First Rule

Chapter 1 - Ceras Tor

Ceras sat in his booth at The Sickly Wicket awaiting his contact. Music poured through the speakers of the bar, a horrible pan flute ensemble played a cover of a song that was popular eons ago. The bar itself was rather boring. Ceras was the only person there, save for the bartender, a fellow human named Joseff who also owned the place. Sitting back, he pulled a cigarette out of his jacket. He lit the end, put it to his lips and puffed.

One last job, he thought to himself.

The merc's life hadn't been easy. The credit income was nice. He was taking lives or saving them for a living — he'd been doing it for decades. His mentor said it'd get easier for him, that the bloodshed would numb him eventually. He got better and better at killing effectively but worse and worse with dealing with it. He couldn't take it anymore.

Footsteps sounded behind him. They glid against the smoothed marble floor. To anybody, this would be near-inaudible over the music, but one who's been in the blood-business for long learns to heighten their senses.

"Hello," greeted the voice.

Ceras didn't react, he had his back to the stranger.

"Lovely weather were having this afternoon." Ceras commented casually. Outside, the rain fell down relentlessly and the skies were pitch-black. It was just past midnight.

The man behind him coughed.

Ceras moved his hand to his Felicor — a vicious dart gun loaded with a deadly neurotoxin — waiting for the correct response. 

"Indeed," chirped the stranger, "The cumulus are looking rather sprightly under the moons' light."

Smiling to himself, he motioned the man forward. Soon after, his client took a seat in front of him.

"So," sighed Ceras, "What'll it be? This is my last job so think outside of the norm."

Ceras's time as a mercenary taught him many things and has shown him the galaxy in his travels. He's brought down governments, quelled rebellions, fought in wars, hunted beasts beyond imagination, any job outside the norm Ceras could easily qualify for.

"Well, since it's your last job, I expect a high bounty?" Asked the client.

"Money isn't important, Zed." Ceras gruffly replied.

His client look surprised, he'd never worked with Ceras Tor before. Yes, he has dealt with mercenaries and all that, but not legendary hunters like him. He'd heard stories about the Ghost of the First Rule, many say his name was Ceras Tor, other say it was something else entirely. If what they said was true, then Ceras should be over three-hundred years old.

But how could Ceras know about him? Zed used an encrypted comms channel and pulled in payment from anonymous lenders.

He's done virtually everything to conceal his identity. The mercenaries he hired always knew him as the client. Nothing more. Hired guns were good at keeping secrets for the right price.

"So?" Sighed Ceras. He shuffled impatiently in his seat. "What'll it be?"

He had better offers than this, and certainly better things to get doing.

Zed coughed uncomfortably. "I... I think I've got the perfect job."

Ceras's face remained blank. "Amuse me."

"It involves a vanquished enemy seeking vengeance," he said watching Ceras's face for any reaction, "a hostage or a dozen, a planetary invasion, and a new ship... possibly."