A Mate for Oigr by S.J. Sanders

Author:S.J. Sanders [Sanders, S.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: halloween, alien, witch
Publisher: S.J. Sanders
Published: 2019-10-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

OIGR STEPPED ABOARD Lady’s Fortune and went directly to his quarters. The sparse plainness of his room reminded him of just how little he had for himself. There was a holoframe that cycled through images on an anchored chest of drawers, and one small trunk that contained everything he owned tucked into the corner.

It was this trunk he knelt in front of and popped open the lid.

The scents of his homeworld from the simple wood from the trees of the oasis surrounded him as he dug into it. Carefully removing boxes and pouches carrying prizes and treasures, he finally reached the bottom. There, his black armor waited. To the side of it was a small ornate box that his mother had made by her own hand.

Taking the small box into his hands, he set it on the floor beside him and reached back in to remove the segments of armor. First was the breastplate, followed by the arm guards and the greaves. He put each on as he pulled them out of the box, armor that he hadn’t worn in twenty-five revolutions. Although he’d gained a bit of bulk over the years, the armor still fit his frame admirably.

He picked the box back up again and set it on his desk before releasing the clasp and lifting the lid. From within, he drew his warrior’s hook and looped the bone earring through his ear to dangle against his neck. It was a sign of the strength and bravery of a warrior who faced risk, wearing something that could cause him injury in battle. It was a matter of pride for the Vrooduk, something he’d turned his back on. The familiar weight of it seemed to take him back in time to his youth as a bold warrior. His father’s favored son who’d hosted the Indivi trader that brought Vrol so many provisions from the outer worlds.

He took the gold cuffs and wrapped them around his wrists and biceps and set the golden chain with his family’s crest around his neck. Finally, he took the golden wires that he’d wept to strip from his mane upon his exile and wrapped them around each segmented portion of hair. Clad in his traditional attire, he stood once more, leaving aside his blasters and blades in favor of his traditional shormal spear. At the touch of his thumb, the three sparks of light shot up from the tip. Satisfied, he moved his thumb in another small pattern and dismissed the beams.

Turning back to his desk, he reached into the drawer and pulled out a simple lamp not unlike the one he’d seen at Deena’s home except it had a triangular basin. He filled it with a small portion of oil, just enough to dampen the wick, and set his comm to display the holographic image of his father recorded shortly before the last time they spoke.

The male’s image stood above the table, his neck thick with muscle and his head thrown back proudly. Great chains of noble seals and ceremonial protections hung from his neck.

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