Varrel Umrahiel is a small man, 5’6, wiry and athletic, roughly 65 at start of his class story. His hair was dark brown in his youth but long since gone grey. Balding, he pulls what remains into a topknot in honor of the style worn by his ancestors. He likewise keeps a meticulously groomed beard and moustache. His drift to the dark side has not improved his appearance, turning once brown eyes a feral yellow and adding more noticeable veins beneath his pale skin. He prefers clothing that, like his hairstyle, mimics that of his homeworld, with loose flowing trousers and plain shirts for free movement. His sabers are green by preference, an homage to the Salle de Umrahiel’s colors.

Varrel Umrahiel was born on the Imperial-allied world of Atresia. First son of Valeri Umrahiel and heir to the prestigious Salle de Umrahiel, he devoted his life to Yovshin fencing and the teachings of his ancestor, Valjann Umrahiel. In Varrel’s time, swordplay was a sport, albeit a highly competitive one. He excelled at his inherited career, achieving the highest rank, nine-daan, as a young man. He married a well-placed woman, Reka Sidonja, raised several children, and had pretty much passed into near-retirement. It was enough to retain official control of the Salle, to teach the more advanced students, and to judge competitions. He was enjoying watching his grandchildren grow up.

But the Empire had other plans. It annexed Atresia, and Varrel’s homeworld went from an ally with an independent government to a vassal state. Under the new charter, all Force-sensitives were to go to Dromund Kaas for Sith training. He never imagined they would choose him. On Dromund Kaas, his age made him a target and his skill with a blade kept him alive. That, and more experience playing social games. He watched his former students fall, one by one, lastly his granddaughter, Vashutarl. The unlikely apprentice caught the eye of Overseer Tremmel, who transferred him to Korriban.

Baras stole him from Tremmel, just as Tremmel took him from the general population on Dromund Kaas. It was clear to him that Baras was a master manipulator, a grand chessmaster, one very at home behind the scenes. Varrel disliked Baras’ methods, especially torture, and chafed in his role as Baras’ enforcer. A scalpel in the hands of a thug. He endeavored to strike a balance between the honor he still believed in and the grasping ambition embodied in the Sith Code. He failed. Varrel saw no way to survive but to adopt the Sith’s rules--which amounted to ‘don’t get caught’. The ideals of fair play, decency, and personal honor he grew up with had no place here. When Jaesa Willsaam looked into his heart and saw only darkness, she spoke the truth.

His marriage to Jaesa was as inappropriate as it was inevitable. He knew better than to take advantage of an infatuated student in that way. Yet he also realized that he left nothing behind. His family on Atresia was dead to him, and he had no children to carry his name in the Empire. Jaesa was more than willing to grant him both. He was flattered that a young, attractive woman desired him, but that was not a factor in his decision. Not at all.

The only surprise in Baras’ betrayal was how late it came--which proved the man’s intelligence. That he failed was testament to his weakness. He had not the courage to face his enemies. Varrel saw the Hand’s offer as yet another power play, but one he could not refuse. Whether the Emperor was right or wrong made no difference. He would serve his new lord just as his crew, his vassals, served theirs. With their help, he systematically dismantled Baras’ support, applying the lessons he’d learned. Finally facing the Sith in combat was a distinct pleasure. Varrel granted Darth Baras a warrior’s death. It was better than he deserved.

Varrel as the Wrath took over the old Grathan estate. He and Jaesa have one child, a boy named Vashutarl Gregor Valho Umrahiel. Honoring both Varrel’s family and Jaesa’s. His new focus is ensuring his new legacy, and he will stop at nothing to guarantee it.

Rixik stands 6’ even, average build, 30 (officially) at the start of his class story, easily twice as old as he expected to live. He’s not picky about dress, preferring whatever lets him blend in on whatever planet he’s on. Though, given the option, he likes simple, serviceable designs without a lot of bric-a-brac. His skin is ruddy orange and he retains the natural irregular mottling on his lekku, declining decorative as well as eyebrow tattoos. He has one obvious scar, a diagonal cut on his left cheek below the eye, what’s left of an attack that almost cost him his eyes. His favorite color is blue.

Jesp Rixik has told so many lies about his past it’s a wonder he can keep them straight, and official records are frustratingly few. He began life as Shen, property of the Cold Gold Corporation on Naos III, a frigid, remote planet in the outer rim. His earliest childhood memories are sifting usable spice from mine tailings alongside other assorted enslaved children. He has no idea who his parents were or how the company came to own him and doesn’t much care. The company, barely profitable even with cheap labor, folded when he was eight and he was liquidated along with the rest of their assets to cover the owner’s debts. He ended up in the hands of Jenks, a brutal Evocii, himself a minor minion of one of the Hutt families on Nar Shaddaa.

At twelve he stowed away on a freighter with the cargo, the first of many. Unlucky jumps resulted in getting sold again (if only temporarily), on better trips he could trade skills--or other services--for passage. The last ship’s captain signed him as crew. Not long afterward an ambitious Imperial captain impounded the ship for a variety of legal violations and sentenced the crew, minus those she spaced, to hard labor in the spice mines of Sevarcos II. Shen served roughly two years of his life sentence before a combination of Imperial corruption and a bit of luck let him escape, taking with him some very compromising holos. He bought himself a new name and a new identity record. Shen the Twi’lek slave boy was dead. Jesp Rixik, miraculously three years older, was born from his ashes.

Rixik fell back into what he knew best: grift, theft, slavery, and seduction. He eloped with a rebellious young Twi’lek, Kirya Bilali, and duped her into helping him steal a selection of slaves from her father. Their marriage came apart within the year when Kirya discovered he was reselling the people she thought they freed. The hash she made of his identity record when she kicked him out drove him from Republic space until he could get it sorted.

In a perverse way she did him a favor. The attention-getting crimes she attributed to him were violent and they were difficult to clear. In the interim he took any work that paid, most of which was thuggish--debt collection and repatriating slaves. His activities, real and planted, caught the eye of Braden looking for a champion who might have the skills and drive to make it in the Great Hunt. Rixik fit the bill.

Rixik found his true calling in bounty hunting. Jobs are on contract so there’s always a buyer, and no one much cares if the merchandise is damaged on delivery. He played his slicer Mako as he plays everyone around him, using her knowledge of Mandalorians and the Great Hunt to ensure his victory. He parlayed the new title into high fees for his services, while declining Mandalore’s offer to become part of his clan. “Mandalorian” might demand respect, but it also comes with a lot of rules and obligations. Rixik isn’t big on either one. He’s also not above bailing on a losing contract or swapping sides for a more valuable payday, exemplified by his destruction of House Girard.

He discovered Rogun the Butcher’s bounty on his not-quite-ex-wife Kirya purely by chance. His initial attempt to collect it ended in failure, and she turned around and hired a competing bounty hunter, Andalar Greyson, to take care of him. Rixik’s solution is typical of his thinking. He sent Skadge after Greyson as a distraction while he himself collects Rogun’s bounty. He’ll deal with Greyson if he’s stupid enough to continue a contract for a dead client.

Notes: More at the end of Kirya’s summary.

Kirya Bilali is a curvaceous female Twi’lek, 5’7, age 27 at the start of her class story. She has cool-toned green skin and spots tracing the shape of her lekku. Her eyes are an intense violet hue. Relaxing onboard ship she likes comfortable clothing and hates shoes. But she can’t resist a flair for the dramatic. Her preferred “captain’s outfit” is shades of black and magenta the better to contrast with her complexion, complete with high boots and a cape. Her favorite color is red.

The youngest daughter of Adoko Bilali's fourth wife, Kirya knew from a young age she was destined for a dull life married off to some business partner or other. She had no intention of going quietly. She was smarter than her brothers; she saw no reason her father should treat her like one of the slaves. That's what it amounted to, after all. Traded for advantage was no different from being sold. And if it was wrong for her, it was wrong for them. She hated it all.

When she met Jesp Rixik she knew he was the one. He was charming, clever, treated her like an adult. Hated slavery as much as she did. They ran off to Nar Shaddaa for a quick, no-questions-asked marriage, then went about liberating slaves from various brokers. He taught her a little slicing, a little blasters, a little everything shady. Thumbing her nose at dear old Dad. She was living a holodrama.

The holodrama ended less than a year later in true holodrama fashion: everything fell apart. She discovered not a single one of the people she'd rescued was free. Jesp sold them all. Everything was a lie. In a rage, she trashed his record and set the Republic authorities on him. Unfortunately, she discovered that her marriage, like a lot of things on Nar Shaddaa, was easy to get into but hard to get out of. Their databases were beyond her skill. She needed his signature and genetic identity stamp and he was gone. Just like she wanted. She couldn’t afford to waste credits tracking him down. She moved on, hoping he’d stay gone.

Kirya wouldn’t go back to her father. The breakup with her family was almost as acrimonious as the one with Jesp. After some false starts on a number of careers (sabacc dealer, fortune teller, accountant, among others) she finally decided to invest everything in a decent (used) starship. She had enough to purchase through a reputable dealer, thus avoiding loan sharks and other entanglements. She really hoped to help freed or escaped slaves. That was her dream. She wanted the rest of her business to be legitimate. But activism doesn’t pay the bills and legal isn’t always better. Shady...shady was okay. She answered to her own conscience. So long as that was clear, she was fine.

Amazing the amount of crazy from one shipment to Ord Mantell. In short order she had no ship, a rather nasty bounty on her head, then a new-and-improved ship, yet another enemy, and a treasure hunt. Then the Drayen fortune, the Drayen heir, an amazing contract with the Republic, and...and a new boyfriend. She took a lot of convincing. Corso said all the right things. But so had Jesp, and look how that turned out.

So yes, she had a new boyfriend. Then a new husband. A good one this time. Things were really looking up. Until her first husband wandered back into her life and tried to collect Rogun’s bounty. He didn’t succeed, but he sure made a mess. After the incident and subsequent explanation, Corso insisted on meeting her family. It turned out that far from nursing a grudge, Adoko Bilali was thrilled with her success. To the point of promoting her mother to senior wife of the remaining three.

Emboldened by their support, Kirya decided to deal with Rixik once and for all. Valden, a friend in the Republic military, introduced her to his brother, Andalar, who agreed to take her contract. With any luck, the next time she hears from him her almost-ex husband will be safely encased in carbonite.

Note: The last set of events occur early in Kirya's chapter three, while Rixik would be further along if not finished. Unfortunately, their game progress is reversed--Rixik just hit Taris while Kirya’s been complete for a while. I haven’t quite worked through the intersection of each of their class stories with the subplot yet, so please pardon my vagueness.

Sha’ra’zaed is a Rubenesque 5’8, with skin normally a deep indigo blue and long hair to match. A social chameleon, she can be imposing in an Imperial uniform, sultry in evening wear or anything in between. She is a mature 22 (closer to a human-relative 30 as far as experience goes) at the start of her class story, owing to the lack of an adolescent period in Chiss.

When Sha’ra’zaed was a young woman, a coalition of adversaries made a concerted move against her house. Her people scattered. Larger families absorbed a valuable few and exiled the rest. Surrounded by enemies, Sha’ra’zaed looked for a more powerful patron. She found it in the Empire. She enlisted in the military, hoping to parlay that experience into a civilian medical position. But despite her high test scores and proven aptitude, it became clear that Imperial doctors and researchers were Human. Not Chiss. Not alien. Her exemplary service in the Military Medical corps notwithstanding.

While hardly a surprise, the bare fact stung. She’d already discovered the military corps was almost as bad. They spent most of their time backstabbing each other for promotions. She spent more time evading her colleagues’ plots than anything else. And it wasn't much of a challenge. Command approved her transfer to Intelligence in record time. If one were suspicious, one might suspect they planned it that way from the start.

She fast-tracked through the Intelligence program. In truth, intelligence analysis and deduction was little different from making a medical diagnosis. The ‘symptoms’ were different, as were the ‘treatment options’, but the process was the same. Find the problem, determine the best way to remove the problem while minimizing side effects to the patient--the Empire. She was still a doctor, or perhaps more like part of the immune system. Same role.

Intelligence felt more close-knit than the regular military. Almost like her old family. She wasn’t looking for glory or recognition, she was looking for a home. She unraveled the Eagle’s conspiracy and stopped Darth Jadus. Infiltrated the SIS...and discovered the brainwashing. But worse than that was discovering on whose order it was done. A cruel betrayal in her opinion. She thought she could trust Intelligence, trust Keeper and the Minister. Knowing, intellectually, that the Minister had only made the same calculations she had done herself didn’t really help. Accepted a limitation to preserve a useful asset. How many times had she made the same choice? The leak, though. The leak was unforgivable.

She dismantled the SIS cell under Kothe but lost Hunter. Then the Star Cabal dismantled Intelligence. Just as she’d lost Scheh back on Csilla. The Cabal had her dossier; they must have known about her exile. They pushed at her weak point. They had other goals to be sure, but evoking those memories, perhaps traumatizing their most ardent pursuer, was an added bonus. This time, though, she wasn’t a child. And, following Lokin’s example, she’d already established a support system that didn’t depend on the Empire.

She pursued the Star Cabal and returned the favor. Disposing of their Black Codex, though, was a different matter. She could not entrust it to the Sith. Despite being the official rulers of the Empire, they were far too interested in their own infighting. They did not govern. Keeper and the Minister, while far from perfect, were at least more stable. Even so, she couldn’t trust them with herself.

She erased her identity record completely, becoming a ghost. Her loyalty always had been to the Empire as an entity, never the specific people holding office. Whatever her new place, she will make it herself.

Jurial is a heavyset Mirialan male, 5'10, with forest green skin and ruby red eyes. He is 22 years old at the start of his class story. He has only one Mirialan tattoo, a small pattern on his chin. His hair, if he allowed it to grow, would be black. He favors the flowing robes typical of the Jedi order in the colors of Tython's plants and trees. His current ones incorporate meaningful sayings embroidered in pale blue, stylized as decoration. His lightsaber is golden yellow.

Jurial spent his childhood in the shelter of the Jedi Temple. He was never one to do things by halves. He took each lesson as one to master, whether it was saber, acrobatics, history, or debate. He did not always excel, but it was never for lack of trying.

He was twelve when the Sith attacked Coruscant. He spent a week buried in the temple ruins, steeped in strong emotion like bitter tea. He survived through half-remembered Force trance and faith, as well as links established with the others trapped with him. But it left him changed. He recognized the power of emotion, both good and bad. The power of connections, those of shared community and the Force. The power of deception--the lie of the peace offering that opened the sky of Coruscant. The Sith were real. Their philosophy empowered them. It was evil, made only for destruction, but no less powerful for it.

The Jedi were not infallible.

After recovering from the ordeal he delved deep into philosophy. He felt driven to understand why. Why everything. Most of all, why had he survived? He burrowed into probability mathematics, becoming an accomplished sabaac player along the way. He disagreed with the Jedi’s decision to retreat to the rediscovered world of Tython, but he was just a youngling. It wasn't his place to argue the point. He went with them.

He was honored and excited when Master Yuon chose him as Padawan. She was well known for having discovered one of Master Odan-Urr's lost holocrons. As a noted historian, he hoped she could answer some of his questions. Provide a different viewpoint. Help him understand historical context. Explain why the Jedi do the things they do the way they do them. He expected to have many discussions about the nature of the Force and the Code. But things intervened. Rajivari. Nalen Raloch. Yuon's illness. Vokk. The Plaguemaster. Perhaps answers will come in their own time.

Jurial has some very specific disagreements with the Jedi code of conduct. Prohibiting attachment is one sticking point. He sees connections as vital, not bad. He also prefers truth and openness to deception. He finds the Order as a whole guilty of both sins while advocating their opposite, without being able to justify their position. Jedi may be Jedi first and people second, but they are still people. The Order would do better to acknowledge that fact and work within that paradigm than deny it.

No doubt these positions will bring him into conflict with the council in the future. He has yet to work through Master Yuon's deliberate deception, but it bothers him. Immediate concerns occupy his mind right now, so some of his arguments and ideas are sitting on a back burner. Not ignored, though.

Simmering.

Schehe'pou'larane is 6'3, slender of build, and more than a little vain about his appearance. He keeps his longish, dark blue hair in a carefully messy style and prefers elegant clothing over practical. Several scars marr his face, courtesy of run-ins with beings more interested in violence than credits or reason. He is only Hepoul to relatives and lovers--everyone else best learn his full name.

Hepoul is Sha'ra'zaed's brother, four years older. With the demise of Scheh he went into exile like the bulk of the family. He is a true believer in Chiss superiority. Insubordination cut short an iffy career in the Imperial military. The Republic had no use for a low-level defector. He refused lower himself to work for any of the syndicates, operating instead as a freelance assassin. Most emphatically not a bounty hunter.

He styles himself as an exiled noble, a role playing (and paying) well in certain circles, particularly on Alderaan and Corellia. He believes it. He is not married, preferring to remain unattached ‘until Csilla welcomes him back’.

He gradually contacted remnants of his family as well as other exiled Chiss and became the de facto head of a reorganized Scheh. Homeless, they drifted from contracted jobs to more opportunistic theft, preying on ships of any flag equally. A tiny, independent slice of exiled Ascendancy. In Hepoul’s mind, anyway. Others may take a different view. Sha’ra’zaed acquired Imperial Letters of Marque for him in an effort to prevent the Empire from spacing him for piracy. It remains to be seen whether he will comply with the terms.

Jealousy is an imposing female Sith pureblood. At 6’2 she towers over most of her peers and finds Khem Val only a little intimidating. She combines most of the classic Sith features: deep crimson skin, glowing yellow eyes, a multitude of bony and cartilaginous extensions of eyebrows and jaw. Even to the extent of four-fingered hands--though there is some question of whether that particular trait is genetic. A burn scar marrs the side of her face, obliterating the tattoo her creator put there to indicate her lineage. She keeps her dark hair short and slicked back; even the highlights are red.


On a remote estate on Dromund Kaas, a Sith Pureblood master, Lord Kriyon-Lys, disciple of Darth Ikoral, determined to recreate the ancient Sith species. His experiment was a combination of bioengineering, cloning, and Sith alchemy, with maturation accelerated by both alchemical and biochemical agents. Rumors of the experiments eventually reached The Dark Council. His explanation of his grand purpose and details of his experiments disgusted them. They sent a military force supplemented with Sith to shut down the experiment and liquidate the compound. The investigators dissected and preserved the bulk of the subjects. Any with potential they sent to Korriban.

Listed only as “Subject J” in Lord Kriyon-Lys’ records, the Sith investigators dubbed her “Jealousy”. Her apparent physical age at the start of her story is late adolescence, but she decanted from a cloning tank only three years ago. She spent the majority of that time on Korriban. Her interesting origin intrigued Lord Zash, who arranged to test her abilities via Overseer Harkun. Pleased with her performance, Zash now works to build up her apprentice’s reputation. Jealousy left Korriban thoroughly indoctrinated with Imperial dogma regarding the Dark Side and Sith superiority. However, a chance encounter with Revanite heretics as well as the spirit of Kel’eth Ur called those beliefs into question. Fear grants power, and it seems the greater Sith fear this ‘light side’. It bears exploring.

Another Sith of Amazonian proportions, Jer’myn shares much of Jealousy’s genetic material. Unlike her ‘sister’, however, she was an early experiment and one of Kriyon-Lys’ many failures. A mere shadow of the proper Sith. Skin of soft orange, eyes an almost human topaz, she possessed few of the physical markers of Sith inheritance. Crowning the list of defects was her near absence of Force-sensitivity. She was worthless for his experiment. A servant was supposed to destroy her along with the other rejects from that batch, but he got greedy. He sold the lot to Ivory’s child-gladiator ring. Jer’myn survived, becoming very protective of the younger ones.

The Republic arrested Ivory and broke up the bulk of his syndicate. One of the troopers involved in the operation took a shine to the girl, the one prepared to take on the whole Republic army if they tried to hurt her ‘family’. When she reached majority, she wanted to repay the favor. She enlisted in the Republic military, eventually earning a spot on the prestigious Havoc Squad.

Even though she doesn’t much resemble a typical Sith, Jer’myn is very aware of what she is. She likes hiding behind Republic armor where she’s more often judged by her rank and performance than her species. When that’s not possible, she arranges her hair and makeup to minimize her Sith-y features. She appears to be in her early twenties at the start of her class story, but has only eight years of actual life experience.

Vashutarl is 5’2 wearing shoes, a graceful figurine of a woman. She is seventeen at the start of her class story. She inherited her brown eyes and hair from her grandfather, Varrel Umrahiel, as well as aptitude with a vibroblade. She received special dispensation to test for two-daan ranking at age sixteen, typically not allowed until at least two years later. The Empire’s acquisition of Atresia nipped her career in the bud.

She despised the casual violence in the academy on Dromund Kaas. She especially hated what she saw it doing to her grandfather, someone she’d respected as a noble and honorable man. Too many eyes were on him, but she was a more typical student. When one of the masters approached her with a proposal for escape, she took it.

Good thing about a large number of student casualties. One more is not suspicious in the least. He faked her death and sent her to a contact on Nar Shaddaa, who woke her from cryosleep and sent her on to the Jedi. The episode earned her scars from Force lightning, but she hoped it was worth it.

She finds the Jedi contradictory and more than a little frustrating. Their calm philosophy, not acting through anger, letting the Force control one’s actions, mirrors what she learned from her earliest childhood at home. The language was different but the ideas were the same. Overall, however, they are too passive for her taste. They won’t fight, even for a right cause, until it is too late. She knows the Sith. She knows they are coming. They will not agonize over whether to destroy the Jedi when the time comes.

But for all that, she could not bring herself to destroy Bengel Morr. She had to believe he could rediscover himself. If he could, then so could her grandfather. That hope may prove a tragic flaw, or a bright light.

At 6’6 barefoot, Sergeant Ian Kughel is hard to miss in a crowd. If not for an extensive chemical burn and subsequent cybernetic replacements he could pose for a Republic Military recruitment board. He keeps his remaining brown hair, a few shades darker than his olive skin, in a short, shrubby military cut. His one surviving eye is the color of fine cognac. The other is a military-grade implant. He is 23 years old when he responds to Vashutarl’s contact.

A native of the agriworld Chandrila, Ian grew up in a small community typical for that idyllic planet. Landholders, for the most part, and usually related if only distantly. A favorite uncle enthralled him with war stories from the early years of the Great Galactic War. He remembers watching the newsfeeds as a child, even if the fighting was always far away. His eyes were on the stars, and the only real surprise was that he chose the Republic Military as his means to leave.

Kughel weathered the inevitable culture shock well and rose to the rank of sergeant within a typical timeframe. No mean feat in an officially peacetime military. The start of a promising career. Unfortunately, an accident during a training exercise left him severely burned. In addition to the obvious, his right arm, shoulder, upper back and spine are cybernetically enhanced. Primarily therapeutic, the implants increase nerve transmission and muscle effectiveness as well as replacing tissues too damaged to repair. His recovery and rehabilitation took the better part of a year.

Upon return to duty, Command assigned him to Rancor Squad, an armored infantry unit. For once, he doesn’t stand out. Much. Most of the squad is cybernetically enhanced if not to the same extent or for the same reason. He’s of average height, relatively speaking. One of the members might be just this side of a section eight (in the gung-ho sense, so not likely to draw much scrutiny) and he has some competition for the position of squad practical joker.

Recently his rival found Kughel’s inactive profile on a dating holosite and set up a date with a vapid blonde, the worst match he could find. The would-be prank backfired--the vapid blonde turned out to be a new Jedi knight, Vashutarl Umrahiel, and her profile itself was a prank. Despite the awkward beginning, they hit it off rather well. Enough that Kughel intends to keep in touch.

Pureblood Sith Inquisitor. Not my canon inquisitor, that will be Jealousy, but highly placed just the same. A low-caste Sith, he was sent to Korriban when the Empire combed its slave population for anyone Force-sensitive. Xathras took absolute advantage of his new status. More to the point, he took it out on everyone else. Overseer Harkun assigned him to Varrel’s dormitory, since it was otherwise empty and apprentices there had a mysteriously short lifespan. Unfortunately for Harkun, Xathras wasn’t an idiot. He made friends with the elderly human, becoming a frequent companion despite their differences. Needless to say, he has not been a good influence.

The sons of Jedi Master Altharn Greyson inherited little to none of their father’s Force ability, but all of his stubbornness. Andalar, the eldest, appreciated the Jedi philosophy and ideals he learned from his father. He was unwilling to compromise those principles, even for the Republic. He chose to remain independent and true to his own concepts of honor. Though officially a Bounty Hunter, and adopted into Mandalore’s clan, he declines participation in any Great Hunt. Rumors persist he was one of the Mandalorians who humbled Tarro Blood in an earlier Hunt. He doesn’t deny them. His current contract is for one Jesp Rixik, winner of the most recent.

Valden, on the other hand, is a Republic patriot. He enlisted in the military at his first opportunity and has proven a more than capable soldier. He disagrees with his brother on a number of issues, most of which boil down to “do the ends justify the means.” Valden believes principles are less important than results on the ground. He’s of a more practical mind than Andalar. On a shuttle to Coruscant he made the acquaintance of Kirya Bilali, a discrete transporter-for-hire, slightly minus one ship at the time. She’s been helpful getting his squad into places where a Republic military ship would get noticed. In turn, he kept out of her cargo hold and helped smooth things over with customs when necessary. After her run-in with Rixik, he introduced her to Andalar, hoping his brother could help with her problem.

Born in the Ascendancy and a staunch supporter of the Chiss, Korjonos’s dossier lists exemplary service and extreme high marks for precision marksmanship. He joined the Empire’s Intelligence division as part of the Intelligence Exchange Program started by the Ruling Familes. The stated goal is to “encourage closer cooperation between our allied Intelligence Communities”. Whatever the Empire’s goals for their participation, the Chiss intend to gather information on their putative ally, their strengths and weaknesses and how best to exploit them. In short, Chiss participants are carefully selected double agents. On an early mission on Hutta, Korjonos met Jesp Rixik, an amoral bounty hunter. Loyal only to credits, he’s proven useful when Korjonos needed some off-the-sensors muscle. Provided, of course, that he takes precautions to limit the canny Twi’lek’s access to information. Theirs is a partnership of mutual distrust. He’d rather keep Rixik close to hand than let him out of sight.

Once upon a time, a young, gifted slicer named Sal made a deal with a devil. The devil granted Sal cybernetics amplifying his natural gift, allowing him to navigate computer systems as easily as he might a street. In return, the devil asked only that Sal perform the occasional task for him. Such as fixing odds on gambling sites and casinos to favor the devil, and make him lots of money.

In a nearby part of the galaxy, another young man was a gifted warrior and might have made a life as a soldier or a mercenary had he been born where such things were valued. Instead, he made a deal with the same devil as Sal. For sponsorship as an arena fighter, the tools and weapons and support he needed to succeed. His agreement was more sinister. The devil allowed him to win, until it was to the devil’s advantage that he lose. Not all bouts were to the death, of course. The devil did not ask for suicide. Only convenient losses. Losses that would make the devil a lot of money.

They both had another secret, Sal and the man who would become The Old Man. They met through their mutual devil. Then they confessed that secret, and fell in love. And hatched a plan. They say the devil’s in the details. For all the details that snare the unwary, sometimes the devil catches himself. He must abide by his own contract. Sal and the man who would soon become The Old Man scrimped and saved and skimmed and managed to buy themselves free of their devil.

It shouldn’t have been possible. But they had done it. And the devil had to let them go.

They married and bought a run-down diner near one of Nar Shaddaa’s spaceports, refurbished it, and built it into a successful venture. They gave food to hungry street kids in exchange for minor work, not because they needed the help, but because The Old Man felt a trade was better than outright charity. To teach them they were worth something. Sal picked up some extra income from judicious slicing jobs; The Old Man still tricked out blasters now and then. And they lived happily, if not forever after, then at least for a very long time.