Activation Protocol Begins: You do not know me, but I have walked among you. I have explored the ruins of Kaleth and delved to the deepest reaches of Naga Sadow's tomb. I have walked the halls of the Senate building on Coruscant and watched the lightning crest the hills in the wilderness of Dromund Kaas, And while I have walked, I have listened and I have learned. The Jedi Order preaches no Emotions, no Attachments. The Sith Order preaches Passion and Betrayal. I say both are wrong. How can one truly live without emotion or attachment? How can one find balance when every step is filled with peril? And thus, I give to Force Users - Jedi and Sith - this. A new Code. A Code which reflects the universe in which we inhabit and one that, I believe, will help us achieve great things through the Force. What you take away from this Holocron is up to you. Through my Emotions, I find Peace. With that Peace, I explore my Passion. My Passion fuels my Knowledge. With Knowledge brings Strength. In using Strength wisely, I gain Serenity. Serenity grants me Power. That Power is tempered by the Harmony of my training. With that Harmony, I achieve Victory. Through Victory the chains of Death are broken. The Force will Be with Me. Activation Protocol Ends.

And then he proceeds to spend the next seven pages describing everything in the room down to the direction of the wood grain.

I'm a Produce Associate at a National Retail Chain. I play a Sith Juggernaut and I'm not going to lie, I rolled it mainly to Force Choke the life out of every worthless, "can't find own rear with both hands, a road map, and a old Native American guide" NPC that has me do their work for them. Good times. Good times.

Generally in my writing, I tend to keep the details brief and vague. I figure everyone reading has a working imagination, and there's no reason for me to hamstring that imagination by detailing every single hair on a person's body. Light or Dark hair and skin, eye color only when absolutely important (Such as in my "The Ways of the Force" series involving the Thrace Legacy and how all members have piercing Green eyes when applicable), and body features again only when absolutely important.

I played WoW for five years. TOR has changed - at a fundamental level - what I expect and want from MMOs. I could never go back to being a faceless mercenary who sifts through animal droppings again.

Greatest Star Pilot in the Galaxy, folks! Here's one from me: "These blast points, too accurate for Sand People. Only Imperial Stormtroopers are so precise..." Stormtroopers cannot hit the broadside of a barn with a rocket launcher the entire rest of the series.

Why do they love each other? BECAUSE GEORGE LUCAS SAYS SO!

That's kind of freaky, to be honest. You do look quite a bit like Ezio.

Name: The Ways of the Force: Business Author: GCRust Class: Bounty Hunter

There's some good here, but there are some glaring errors as well. For starters, the opening "I open my eyes" is a rather dull way to start a story. Pick up any book and just look at the opening sentence. The opening sentence is one of the most critical in the entire story because it's job is to grab the reader and make them read on. A better opening could have been actually seeing the dream of Korriban. The first person perspective is fine, but if you are doing it first person then that means the reader is inside the character's head. It's rather difficult to tell a engaging tale only using a inner monologue, and one things for sure the character wouldn't narrate his walk like that internally. Also it takes you several paragraphs to get this character's motivations going. You have him literally "Walking Around" in one paragraph and then going to a Janitorial Closet the next. Is he wandering or is there a set goal? The goal should happen from the outset, as it is I was disoriented. Similarly, I didn't read your description of your character until I went to hit the reply button. At no point in this story is your character ever described as being a Twi'lek. I actually had him visualized as a Human for most of it. Beyond that the general flow of the story isn't bad, but we don't need to know the exact time stamps (10 AM, Three Hours), and the dialogue is kind of stinted, but writing natural sounding dialogue just takes time and practice. Overall, in my honest opinion this is a rough piece of work for someone considering writing professionally, but the foundation - the overall tale being told - is solid. I like the story you are trying to tell here, I'd just say you need more practice at how to properly tell it.

Thrace.

It's not a party until somebody's got a tie around their head. Fun Fact: I was stone sober at the time that picture was taken at my Brother-in-law's wedding. My Wife and I were joking around about Doctor Who, "The Girl in the Fireplace" came up, and well...there we are.

It was raining on Nar Shadda. The rain made the mutlitude of blinding neon colored light waver and shimmer - it was easy to convice oneself on a night like tonight, you were dreaming. The Taxi set down on the apartment megaplex's landing pad and a figure exited. Dressed in a long brown coat and a wide helmet, with a dirty face and piercing green eyes, the man's small, wiry frame suggested an easy mark to the building's local gangs. But one glance at the well maintained blaster at his side, or the dangerous economy of movement that marked his passage, and the gangs let him pass. On Nar Shadda if nowhere else in the galaxy, surface impressions could get you killed, after all. Vandrel Thrace knew the local gangs had him marked from the moment he stepped into the building. "Outsiders" always brought out the vultures. He didn't mind, so long as they'd backed off long before he reached his destination. Glancing down at a data pad, he double checked the apartment numbers to be certain he had the right one. Unlimbering his blaster, he took it in a one handed grip, breathed deep, and then brought his right left up and forward in a savage kicking motion. In most modern apartment complexes, the doors would have been made of a metal compound for fire safety reasons. In Nar Shadda, where profitability beat out safety regulations, the doors were made out of a thin and generally weak timber clear cut on Hutta. Thus, his boot managed to send the door shattering inwards in a shower of splinters. His mark lived alone according to his information, so he only had to worry about the one hostile...assuming he didn't run. He didn't, a dishevled man with teeth all but black from Death Stick usage came roaring around a corner out of the bedroom with a rusty blaster in a two handed grip. Vandrel knew most of his contemporaries - especially those sanctimonious Mandalorians - prefered to "play" with their marks. Oh, the Mandos might dress it up in honor and fairness, but Vandrel never bought into the feel good clap trap.It was a game to the others, a proof of their own superiority. He could name off five different Bounty Hunters who would have seen the weapon and allowed the guy to get a shot off "in fairness". Then again, most of the others prefered to wear suits with armor more akin to a battle droid. Regardless of reasoning, Vandrel wasn't like that. The minute the mark came around that corner bellowing like a pissed off gundark, Vandrel brought his own pistol down, levelled it on the center of the guy's mass, and put three bolts in rapid succession into the guy's torso. The mark jerked backwards, blood spraying from his mouth, and collapsed in a heap. Vandrel returned his blaster to its holster, let go a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and then almost leap on the ceiling as a cry came from behind him. Pivoting on his feet and bringing his blaster back from its holster at the same time, he cursed his complaciency knowing that there was no way he would complete the turn before he was shot in the back by the mark's accomplaice. But he did finish the turn, and when he did, all he saw was a frightened male youngling in a shirt three sizes too big, staring wide and watery eyed at the corpse in the bedroom doorway. That was when the cry Vandrel heard registered. It wasn't a shout of rage, but a horror struck "Dad!" Vandrel swore. ++++++ "Look, you never told me the guy had a kid!" Vandrel made a face as the hush com he was speaking into replied back. He glanced sideways at the kid sitting next to him in what used to be his father's air car. It didn't seem right, leaving the kid in the apartment with no door with the gangs on the loose, even if that raised a interesting question of what to do with the youngling. "Yeah. Yeah. Well maybe next time it'd be nice to know *ALL* the details of the job." Vandrel shot back then sighed. "Let's just settle up." A credit chit ejected from the car's computer terminal and Vandrel took it, and glanced it over. "Yeah, that's everything. Pleasure doing business with you." Vandrel said in tones that fooled no one, and killed the circut. "What did my dad do, mister?" Vandrel glanced over at the kid who finally had spoken. He wasn't looking at Vandrel and that was fine with him. This whole situation was way too awkward for him. "Truth be told kid, I have no idea." Vandrel replied, eyes locked on the air lane ahead. "So...what? You just get paid to kill someone and you don't even want to know why?" The kid shot back angrily. "Pretty much.," Vandrel replied calmly. "Look, kid...you live on Nar Shadda. Even if you never left that hole in the wall you and your dad lived in, you have to know the galaxy is a cruel meanspirited place. Your dad had the misfortune of irritating someone who had the money to deal with him." "And me? What am I supposed to do now?" "Not my problem, kid." "Liar!" The kid whipped around serpent fast, glaring daggers into Vandrel's profile. "If I wasn't your problem you wouldn't have dragged me out of the apartment to begin with!" "If I hadn't dragged you away, the gangs would have eaten you alive when they looted the place." Vandrel replied. "And I'm not even exaggerating there. Depending on the gang, you'd be lucky if all they did was eat you." The kid frowned, crossed his arms in his oversized shirt, and went back to glaring out the window. "Where are we going?" He finally asked. "I'm going back to my ship." Vandrel said. "What you do is up to you." They travelled in silence for a time before the boy finally spoke again. "Could I come with you?" "What?" Vandrel's response was not as surprised as it might have been. "I've got nothing left on Nar Shadda, and since you did kill my dad it seems only fair..." "Kid, I don't owe you a damn thing." Vandrel replied harshly. "Be grateful I even bothered to do this much. You want to be a Bounty Hunter? That's your business, but I'm not charity. If you want a free piece of advice though: Life is cheap. Nowhere in the galaxy is that more true then here, but it's the univeral law of the galaxy and you'd best learn it fast." The air car settled down, and Vandrel powered down the systems, still not looking at the boy and the boy not looking at him. "Bounty Hunting isn't glamorous kid. You asked me why I didn't ask about your dad, and the reason is I've got enough ghosts following me around I don't need to add any more to the tally. I'm good at killing and not much else, so that's why I do what it is I do, but never for a minute think I do it because I *want* to." The door to the air car opened, and Vandrel stepped out. The boy listened to him get out, but still made no move to get out of the car or even face his father's killer. The tears were falling down his face to hard for either of that - causing the lights from the billboard next to the pad to shimmer as if in a dream. "Another life lesson kid," Vandrel leaned in to the open air car and spoke softly. "Bounty Hunting also doesn't have much in the way of a retirement plan. One day, I'll take a job and be too slow or miscalcuate, and then I'll be the corpse on the floor and no one will miss me when I'm gone." The air car door shut, and the boy heard the Bounty Hunter's muffled footsteps fade into the distance. When he finally had the courage to turn his head and look, he saw a credit chit sitting on the seat Vandrel had vacated. He took the chit in his unsteady hands, and his eyes widened as he saw how much a person was willing to pay for his father's life.

Huh? Sergeant Dorne - whom you pick up on Taris - is a Healer.

Yeah, Orange Gear is designed to do that, so long as you keep the mods and enhancements current.