Friday, June 10, 2011

Ennik Backstory: TN1917

Summer, TN1917

Colin Spiro pulled up his drawers, tugged on his work clothes, and tied his boots. He stood, and wordlessly put his money on the dresser.

“Gee, thanks honey. See you soon,” the prostitute said, acidly. The woman’s name was Melinda or Matilda. Colin didn’t care. He grunted a reply and affixed his gun-belt around his hips. He opened the door and stepped out of the brothel room. Colin walked downstairs past the bouncer and back into the main salon of the Oasis Saloon. Decked out in utilitarian clothes, he fit in nicely.

The Oasis Saloon teemed with life as another weekend of post-War of the Alliance catharsis and revelry brought the people of Prince Gable together in celebration. The gambling tables at The Oasis were packed, the drinks flowed freely, and the brothel was busy. The reconstruction was going well; people were being fed, employed, and the Earthers were all but forgotten. Everyone was here to blow off steam, and proper decorum was left at the door.

Colin sidled up to the bar and ordered himself a whiskey.

“How’s the work going, Spiro?” Daniels, a town mechanic, asked congenially.

Colin nodded a greeting, “oh just fine,” he tossed back his whiskey, “just fine. I got a bit more work ‘fore I get that generator back online.”

“Glad to hear it. Say, you really made out well in that property auction, didn’t ya?” Daniels chuckled.

Colin glared, “now, just what do ya mean by that?”

“Oh, nothin’, nothin’” Daniels lied, “just that you…” his voice trailed off as he looked off just behind Colin, who turned. Ennik had already wound up his punch, so his first blow sent Colin reeling back into Daniels, who did nothing to prevent Colin’s fall onto the saloon floor.

“Colin Spiro,” Ennik glared, an angry scowl on his face, his eyes wide with hate, “I’m Ennik Kazzov.”

Colin’s eyes widened. His hand went for his pistol. Ennik was faster. He drew his revolver and emptied it in Colin’s chest.

There was a second of pure silence, as the entire bar went into a state of shock. There was a scream, and half a dozen men went for their guns. Ennik dropped his revolver and sat in the seat previously occupied by Colin Spiro. He faced the bar, his hands trembling as he patted down his pockets, searching for a cigarette. He paid the dead body no attention.

“He was a camp guard! A collaborator!” Ennik growled loudly at the men behind him, hands on their pistols. “I recognized him. I’ve even got proof. The marshal will understand.”

“Well,” Daniels said sadly, “that may be. But you just dug yourself a big deep hole, son.” He handed Ennik his whiskey, “you best have a drink.”


“Ennik Kazzov,” Marshal Jim Sullivan sat across from the young former partisan in the jail cell. He was weary and looked Ennik over with a sad eye, “I remember your folks from before the War. Good people. Good people. You’re the only one left?”

Ennik nodded, tears streaming down his face. The enormity of what Ennik had done in the past four cycles all suddenly came crashing down on the young man. It all felt meaningless. The War of the Alliance was finally over for Ennik; he had no one left, and no home waiting for him.

“You recognized Spiro from the…” Sullivan swallowed hard, “labour camp you were at?” He himself had managed to avoid being rounded up when the CEF arrived in TN1913. “And you found evidence of this?”

“Yes, sir,” Ennik said, looking up at Sullivan, “Colin Spiro, Camp 9A. Here,” he produced a datapad, “it’s all here. I took my time, got all the intel from people in Prince Gable. Photos. Everything. Here, see?” he pointed to the screen, “Spiro was an NCO at the camp. I remember him from the day we arrived… Spiro separated us… he murdered my…” Ennik couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I don’t doubt it, son,” Sullivan sighed, and lit a cigarette. He passed it to Ennik. “Problem is, well, people here; they want to sweep it all under the rug. Get on with life. You killed a man who had lots of friends. Lots of powerful friends in Prince Gable, you understand me, son?”

Ennik scowled, “he murdered my family, and then he bought our property in an auction, and you’re telling me that I’m in the wrong here?!” he blurted out.

“You did justice Ennik,” Sullivan licked his lips, ashamed of the city-state he called home, ashamed that they were already calling for this boy’s blood. “But the War was long over when you killed Spiro. His friends’ll be wanting to settle accounts. You won’t win a trial. Not here, not now.”

Ennik was numb. “So I’ll hang. I don’t care.”

“Boy, you’re a Prophet-blessed survivor of the worst of the War! I know where you been, and what you did! I’ll be damned if some spineless toads who can’t tell right from wrong are gonna string you up!” Sullivan snarled. He grabbed Ennik by the scruff of the neck, his rough hands fatherly, and pulled Ennik in close, “we’re gonna get you out of here.”

“Marshal,” Ennik pried Sullivan’s hands off the back of his neck, “they’ll hang you if you let me go. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Sullivan smiled slowly, “which is why I’ve already made some arrangements.”

Ennik looked at the marshal, confused.

“The Desert Wolves tell me that they remember you because you smoked like a chimney when they met up with some PRA types in Prince Gable. It’s a filthy habit, son.” Sullivan stood. “They should be here in an hour. They’ve already agreed to take you in.”

Ennik looked up from his seat on the cot, nodding. “Thanks Marshal.”

Sullivan locked the cell door behind him. He looked at the young man behind the bars, and turned away, shaking his head sadly.

Heavy Gear Roleplaying Game


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