Ch'Lok plodded slowly in the harsh sand of a barren backworld planet. It was detestable, even by yautja standards. In sharp contrast to the sandy deserts on Earth, which we are all familiar with in one way or another, this planet was not scorching and hot. It was frigid. Things often went brittle here from the chill. Even though the sun beat relentlessly on the planet, it was still surprisingly cold, making it a confusing landscape. Yautja hate the cold, just as you or I might loathe taking an icy shower. Worse, his thick skin began to chaff as the tiny bits of sand worked its way into his armor joints. Ordinarily it wouldn't be much of a nuisance. Only a few days would be easy to cope with, on account of his thick skin. But after two weeks on this miserable planet, his skin underneath his armor was beggining to go raw. No matter how many times he wiped the sand from his armor plates, it always crept back in. It was very irritating, even to a fighter who had gone through swamps where the water behaved like battery acid, burning at his skin.
But these minor inconveniences wouldn't stop Ch'Lok from his goal. He'd search this icy desert until he either finished his job or until he died. He would subsist on meager portions of meat from tiny parasites under the sand, or the meat of the massive the gigantic sand chic-chaks. The beasts were massive and difficult for any being on Earth to understand, whose largest land animal is the elephant.
Ch'Lok wasn't here to hunt chic-chaks though. He had a fairly different mission. He was here searching for his brother. Mi'Lok, his brother, was a hunter of dark fighters. Occasionally, for one reason or another, a yautja warrior would throw honor to the wind and do whatever he pleased. He would kill with impunity, slaughtering any creature, no matter how small or insignificant. This wasn't hunting in the least. It was pointless killing, which was in sharp contrast to what hunting truly was. People on Earth often confuse killing and hunting with eachother. In truth, the kill is only a part of hunting. Hunting is so much more. Hunting revolves far more around searching, finding, seeking out worthy prey. Stalking the quarry and the fight is the next part of hunting, along with chasing. Killing is only the very last part, the ultimate proof of superiority of the hunter over the prey. Yautja hunters are not cruel, although it would be easy to see differently. Only their methods are savage, for they prefer to kill prey outright. Subduing dangerous prey in a one on one fight is tougher work, not usually needing weapons, and channeling anger into the prey's pain is only natural.
Bad bloods however, like the loathed Dath, gloried in killing only. Any living thing would to try to slake their thirst for pure carnage. Dath, known as 'Killers' to we humans, have no honor ethic and would kill a mouse just as willingly as a soldier.
Mi'Lok was one of the few among the Yautja elite selected for hunting down bad bloods and Dath. It was a special order, their equivilent of a police force. Or, perhaps more accurately, bounty hunters that accept no pay. Mi'Lok had been charged with tracking down a particularly nasty bad blood that had fled to this planet. However, he hadn't signalled any progress for a long period of time. To Ch'Lok, this meant trouble. Had Mi'Lok been killed by a chic-chak? Had he fallen into a sand pit? Had he grown sick and unable to move? Had he been killed by the bad blood? Ch'Lok didn't know. Thats why he had been sent by the order to investigate. But deep in his heart he had another fear. One worse that could have befallen his brother than any of the other possible perils that could await him on this planet. Ch'Lok was angry at himself for even having barely considering it. But now that he had thought it, he couldn't erase it. What if... Mi'Lok had become a bad blood as well? To Ch'Lok, the thought was unthinkable, totally irrational. It defied everything that would make them what they were. But there had been precident, however little, of bad bloods turning fellow warriors against others. If that was the case here... he would have no choice but to kill Mi'Lok, his only brother. Brothers among the Yautja are extraordinarly close, invariably among the closest of companions. On Earth one can find brothers who are near inseperable, unstoppable when together. The ultimate group no matter how few or many. It is like this with Yautja siblings, who may never have such a companion again throughout their lives. The thought of killing his only brother was more than Ch'Lok could bear.
Ch'Lok was very irritable now. He had been on this miserable planet for over a month and had seen nothing of his brother or the bad blood. He considered returning to his ship and travelling to another part of the planet to search. It couldn't hurt, could it? He was about to turn back when he found exactly what he had been hoping to find. A trail! Ch'Lok had been in a bit of a daze of inattention after countless hours of seeing nothing of interest. Now he was fully focused and alive, as if he had been given an injection of adrenalin. He jumped to the trail, examining the tracks of the sand closely. It wasn't the trail of a single yautja. It was at least two, but he couldn't be positive. One was traveling in the tracks of the one in the lead. Would Mi'Lok follow in his quarry's tracks? If so, why? Ch'Lok now followed followed the trail at a trot. It went in a straight line through the sandy dunes. They were old, but it was the only trail of his kind he had found in this entire time. It had to be what he was searching for!
Lifting his head, Ch'Lok could see the hump of a chic-chak in the distance. He now sprinted ahead. Even from where he was, miles away, he could smell the rot of the massive creature along with the very faint odor of decayed yautja flesh. Even at his top speed he was comically slow, the sand preventing him from moving right. It didn't stop him though. Soon he was at the scene of an obvious battle ground. The chic-chak was a small one. Only about 70 or 80 feet long. Its thick shell had been cracked long ago, and the parasites had stripped it clean. It was now an empty husk that would slowly break down in the chill and become part of the sands itself. But that wasn't what arrested Ch'Lok's attention now. He saw the body of one of his own kind. He couldn't quite make out... His heart began beating at a startling pace and he lunged forward. He ripped his mask from his face and flung it aside into the sands, as if it were an insulting item on his person. He collapsed next to the body of a decayed yautja. It was a mere skeleton and chunks of armor left. The flesh had long been stripped by the worm-like parasites that laced the dunes. But what he could see was enough. For a moment he thought it was the body of the bad blood. He thought this because planted deep within the bony back of the body was a spear, who's tip was identical to his own. It was the spear of his brother. For a moment he was elated, thinking his brother had slain the bad blood. But then his hope sank to a depressing depth. Looking at the gauntlets that were still strapped to the skeletonized wrists, he had a sickening realization. This was his brother. This was Mi'Lok. Ch'Lok's heart seemed to freeze in his chest. He sank to the ground, his knees kicking up puffs of sand as he looked forlornly at his dessicated brother. The drive and fire of Ch'Lok's inner self evaporated, sucked away into the icy wind as he silently mourned his brother. Somehow the bad blood had taken Mi'Lok's spear from him and killed him with it. Out of spite the bad blood had left the spear blade deep in his brother's back. Ch'Lok softly traced the line of his brothers forhead. It was an old mournful gesture. It was to remind his brother's spirit that he would be honored and remembered, and that he could now move on without worry.
Ch'Lok didn't know how long he had sat by his deceased brother, but it had been long enough. Slowly, his chest began to burn. It wasn't the energy of excitement and power that ususally siezes a fighter when the hunt is on. This heat was darker, menacing. Threatening. The seed of passionate hate had now taken root inside of him, and it spread through him. He was siezed with a blinding rage, making his blood boil. His brother, his only brother was dead at the hands of an honorless savage! And left here in the middle of a wasteland for scavengers! Ch'Lok clenched his fists tightly. Very tightly. His rage dulled his senses. He didn't notice that he clenched his fists until his hails pierced his palms, drawing bright green blood. Ch'Lok threw his head back and roared into the sky, shattering the silence that normally dominated the desert. It was a bloodcurdling cry. The cry of a being in agony and now siezed with an undying fury. The roar stretched for miles over the desert. Ch'Lok stood, filled with violent determination. He knew what he had to do. He would avenge his brother's death. Stooping down, he stroked his brother's head again. Then he reached into the sand, and after a moment of groping, pulled out a sheathed knife from his brother's belt. It was an heirloom from his family. Mi'Lok had received it in honor of being the firstborn of the brood. Ch'Lok would carry it now, in memory of his brother. He swore silently to himself that he wouldn't leave this planet until the bad blood was dead and gutted. Ch'Lok wouldn't be satisfied until he had castrated the filth with his knife and was wearing the bad blood's skull as a trophy. He was now possessed by the purest form of vengeance. It wouldn't be satiated with anything less than the complete death of his tormentor. Securing the knife to his belt he took off across the sands, following the trail left by the bad blood.
The chase was on again.