I love your stories, they give me that relaxing-at-home cozy feeling! Please don't leave! It is the quality of writing that determines if one should read it or not, not the genre, and you always deliver in my book. I'm sure there are a bunch of lurkers that want to say this to you as well. I miss Tatile's stories a lot, I don't want to have to miss yours.

@Castor: I love how you wove music and a sense of movement through your story. I particularly like how many motion words you used throughout.

@Fel: I liked seeing things from Mako's perspective. And you handled her very well. I like your take on the character. I also like your use of color and your rather subtle use of emotion at times.

@Bright: I LOVE how you set things up as lessons. The framing's fantastic throughout. And I love you and DarthSillyMonkey bouncing off each other. It's great to see both windows on the characters. It's a really cool idea, and beautifully handled.

@Frau: Turtle. I like it. Armor is big for powertechs! At least, that's the impression I got.

@Mr.Two: I feel like I need to go find your other stories, because I quite like these two.

@Alaurin: This is a very emotional piece, and I think you handled the flow of it really well. Also, regarding stealthies... I spent my WoW years as a PvP druid, where I took grim pleasure in hunting down and murdering every rogue I could find. Now Roy is my PvP toon, and I feel like a traitor. But not so much that I don't concealment operative everything I can find. I'm not very good at it, but the chuckle makes it all worthwhile.

@Magdalene: Short and sweet!

@Mird: I adore how well you depict fairly balanced characters. You're excellent with believable, complex personalities.

@AKHadeed- first off, your commentary at the beginning was brilliant. "Since they're Sith, they just try to kill each other a lot, which I think we can all agree is much less awkward for the bystanders". Indeed. Is it bad that I have humorous images of teenage Zeedor trying to shave in my mind? I love the contrast between Zeedor and Viska: their methodology, their upbringing, their outlook, they're all totally different.

@Feldraeth- I like that Mako and Zul (was that the name she goes by? Or was it Zula?) don't automatically trust each other or get along. It feels very realistic to not be instant buddy-buddies

@MrTwo- Nice to see you again! Sorry to hear about your computer, that sort of thing is always frustrating. Jim Bob Jamison, huh? Yeah, I'd ask to pick the secret identities next time too That was quite unexpectedly impactful. The humor of trying to find all the random components of the paint actually added to the seriousness of the moment when we finally found out what it was for.

Orgus Din leaned on the railing, watching the sun set. He had been lucky enough to get quarters that had a balcony, and he enjoyed sitting outside to do his evening meditation. A warm Tython breeze blew. Tomorrow, he would have an apprentice again for the first time in years. He had to admit, it would be nice to have a young voice around again. Watch it, Orgus. You’re starting to sound like an old man.

A knock on the door. “Come in,” he called. The door slid back and he felt a familiar presence enter the room.

“Hello, Bela.”

“Hello. How are you doing?”

“Just fine, why do you ask?”

“Well, tomorrow is the day you take Eyrie on as your apprentice. Aren’t you a bit nervous?”

He smiled as she leaned on the railing next to him. “Not really. I’ve trained padawans before, you know.”

“I know, but Eyrie Lancaster doesn’t exactly have the most standard history.”

“And everything that happened to her parents doesn’t have to have any effect on how she grows up. You should know that.”

“I suppose. Be careful, alright?”

“Nothing to be careful of. But I will.”

“That’s what you said on Ord Mantell. Remember how that turned out?”

Orgus gave her a mock-glare. “I thought we agreed not to bring up Ord Mantell?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

He maintained the look for a few more seconds before breaking into a grin. Bela laughed and dropped her gaze. Togruta didn’t blush, but if they did, he was sure her red cheeks would be even redder. “You know, I think I lied. I am a little nervous.” Almost without thinking, he took her hand.

She ran her other one down his shoulder. “It will be alright. Like you said, she’s dedicated to becoming a Jedi. Even if she does end up being a little fuzzy on the details, I’m sure you can help her.”

“Thank you.” Orgus sighed. He had only realized his feelings a little while ago, but suddenly it seemed as though he was running out of time very quickly. “Bela, you know I’ve appreciated your advice and friendship over the

years…”

“And I yours, Orgus.” She avoided his eyes.

He felt his heart stop. She knew what he was going to say. Was she trying to figure out how to turn him down? Would she report him to the rest of the Council? But no, he couldn’t turn back now. “Sometimes I’ve felt like… like there could be something more than friendship.” A pause. She’s going to say something you won’t like, you need to cover. “But that’s probably stupid.”

“No,” she whispered, breath warm on his chin. “No, it’s not.” Looking into his eyes, she leaned forward, and suddenly they were kissing, arms tight around each other and her lips pressed against his. He closed his eyes and concentrated on her as everything else slid away.

The next morning, Orgus awoke to the sun streaming through his window. Bela lay next to him, still asleep, chest moving up and down softly with her breaths. She blinked awake as he sat up. “Good morning.”

He smiled. She had always been a morning person. “Morning. How are you feeling?”

She stretched a bit. “Alright. You?”

“Just fine.” Orgus stood up and started dressing. He was halfway through fastening his tunic before he realized that he should probably put on his dress robes. He was getting an apprentice in about an hour.

Bela climbed out of the bed, straightening the blankets as she did. “I suppose I should get back to my quarters. I’ll need to be ready for the ceremony, and Kira will probably be looking for me sooner or later.”

“Alright.” He felt a little awkward. Did she regret their night together? Had he just ruined their friendship or worse?

“I hope to see you there.”

“You will.” Giving him a small smile, she kissed him lightly and hurried toward the door. After a pause to feel for anyone approaching, she slipped out and disappeared.

He smiled after her, then shook himself and continued getting ready. He had to be a Jedi Master now: peaceful, serine, calm. It didn’t sit well with him keeping this from the rest of the council, but that was a conversation to have with Bela. Definitely not something to talk about today.

An hour later, he stood in the Council chamber, pulling at his nicest set of robes and wondering again who had decided that things like this needed fancy outfits. He checked the wall chrono. She should be here in five minutes.

A knock sounded on the door and Satele keyed for it to open. Eyrie entered, looking extremely serious. She bowed. “Masters.”

“Good morning, Padawan,” said Satele. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Very good. Orgus, is it your wish to take Eyrie Lancaster as your apprentice?”

“Yes, Grand Master.” The questions were standard and formal; the Council would never have allowed him to take

her on if they thought any of the answers would be no.

“Will you train her in the ways of the Jedi, teaching her to live by the Jedi Code and defend peace and order in the galaxy?”

“Yes.”

Satele turned to Eyrie. “And Padawan Lancaster, do you wish to become the apprentice of Jedi Master Orgus Din?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Will you learn from him what it means to protect the defenseless and defend the weak?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then I give you permission to become Master and Padawan.”

Orgus stepped forward. Normally, this would be when the new apprentice braided a small lock of their hair to signal their status for the next several years. Since Eyrie’s hair was short, he had made use of a trick he had learned with apprentices of hairless alien species. Digging in his belt pouch, he dug out a string of supple braided leather decorated with beads and held it out. “You can use this until your hair grows out,” he said softly.

She ducked her head slightly. “Thank you, Master.” She was trembling, he realized as she took the braid. Excited,

nervous, or both? It was hard to tell. Her outer surface was nearly emotionless.

Satele cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to her. “Remember to be patient, Orgus, and to listen to the Living Force for guidance. Eyrie, remember that the Jedi are defined by the choices they make, not what anyone else has done.” She smiled. “May the Force be with you both.”

Yes, I totally ship Orgus Din and Bela Kiwiks, and yes, I hope to make this plot relevant later on.

@Mirdthestrill: I like what you did with Bela and Orgus. Ingame there is definitely familiarity and affection between them.

@AKHadeed: Zeedor and Viska seem to be both very efficient. Although they are working in the same field their goals seem to lie worlds apart. I, too, thought your comment about modern archeologists is very fitting.

@Feldraeth: Now, that left a lot of open questions at the end. I am looking forward to the next part!

@Mrtwo: I like the description of this vision of hell. I was able to imagine the stink. And the end is sooo sad.

The scream yanked him out of his trance. Disoriented he scanned his tent. No movement, everything was quiet. From outside he could hear the measured steps of the passing guard. The light of the moon cast Khem’s shadow against the tent-flap. Ru took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. His skirt rustled as he got up. He wouldn’t be able to meditate further in this state. The scream still echoed through his mind. The bond wasn’t deep, not like the one he shared with Ciner. It was there nonetheless. Denial didn’t change the fact. This close he could discern the slight tug with ease.

He sat down at his desk, turned on the light, and rifled through the flimsies in front of him. Nothing that couldn’t wait another day. If they didn’t succeed on the morrow any effort spent would be a waste of time anyway. Spindrall had seen them fail. Decades full of visions hadn’t seen Spindrall fail yet. Despite Ru’s best efforts the Force hadn’t granted himself a vision. If this was his last night he wouldn’t spend it with signing meaningless applications.

Again he felt the by now familiar tugging. The source had left the Republic part of the camp and was heading toward the cliff overlooking the plain and the temple in its midst. Ru had let many chances like this one pass unused. This might be his last one. He grabbed one of his embroidered cloaks and wrapped it around his naked shoulders. With a curt motion of his hand he grabbed hold of the Force and vanished from sight. With a low whisper as he left the tent he indicated Khem to continue in the post. The lightsaber at Ru’s belt would provide enough protection should he need it.

Steps more quiet than the flight of the whisper birds brought Ru past the sentries. The chirruping of some insects accompanied him on the path to the cliff. There Ru found his goal, its silhouette casting several shadows in the light of Yavin’s other moons. The agent sat alone at the edge of the cliff, seemingly oblivious to the chill night wind although he wasn’t wearing his trademark jacket. The next sentry was several hundred meters away. The cliff itself was unassailable. Ru glided closer. When he reached the edge beside Theron he revealed himself.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?” Ru ignored the blaster which had been drawn in a swift motion as the first sound had left his lips. The opening of the barrel followed his movement as he sat down beside the agent.

Theron’s brows drew together “Who…?” Then recognition dawned. They had spent much time together but never had the agent seen Ru without his mask. “Nox?” No title, never a title, not from Theron Shan. The agent let his blaster sink.

“I would have thought the SIS had holo images in my file to make this question superfluous.”

“What do you want?” the agent growled as he holstered his blaster again.

It would have been foolish to expect anything else. Ru wasn’t a fool, was he? Theron still believed him to be the source of Lana’s plan which had led to Theron’s captivity. “I heard your scream.”

“My scream? I didn’t…”

“Scream aloud? No, you didn’t!”

The furrow between Theron’s brows deepened. His growl dropped even lower. “Then how…? What kind of sorcery is this, Nox?”

Great, now he thought Ru had been messing with his dreams. This had been a bad idea. Ru shrugged, more to himself than anybody else. “I am Darth Nox,” he whispered with a sigh, “I am the night and the night is mine.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Theron shiver.

“It’s growing colder. I should go back.” The agent started to rise.

Ru held him back with a hand on his shoulder. “Stay! I’ll leave. It wasn’t my intention to displace you.” Ru got up and straightened his skirt. With a fluid motion he pulled the cloak from his shoulders in a swirl, and placed it around the shoulders of the agent. “Keep the cloak.” Before Theron was able to protest Ru had already vanished and was heading back towards the camp.

A Jedi’s life is not an easy one. It is a life balancing the compassion of the living force and the duty of the unifying force: two distinct aspects of a greater whole. We do so without attachment to place the will of the force above institution or person. I say this, knowing I have faltered with both of these. I have loved, and been loved, by the army, by the order and by a woman. A Jedi cannot form attachments and neither can a General. I left my institutions for her and we made a home on Uphrades, far from the war.

Our farm and family bore fruit, and we were happy, but our child was gifted, much like I. It was a clarion call. In these dark times, the happiness of two cannot justify the despair of thousands. A Jedi is a beacon of hope, of light and life, eternally resolute against the evils of man. I set aside my lady love, our farm and Acadian life and brought my son to the order. That was three years ago.

Now, I am a soldier, the defender of a peace shattered decades ago. I have not seen my love since that fateful day. I doubt I ever will again. Even if I do, she will not see me. I stole our child and sacrificed him on the altar of hope.

Battle takes me far from Dantooine, from my son, but I see him as often as I can. Master Pasha, his scholarly matron chides me for my attachment and rightly so. Still, I yearn to be with him, to see his first step, to hear his first word. He is less than twenty metres from me right now, and yet I do not go to him. I am not his father: I am a Jedi. My first thoughts must be to the Force, the bittersweet compassions of the living force, and the resolute steel that is duty to the unifying force. One day, so far into the future that I dare not hope to see, he may be my brother in arms. He cannot be my son.

I rose from my meditation. The force wasn’t showing me anything I didn’t know already. Fifteen hours of peace before the Vanguard returned to realspace, and they would be safe.

My former master, Master Maga Caigh Lihn had had a vision. The Force had shown her darkness rising to take the younglings of Dantooine. She warned Master Pasha of this and advised her to relocate to Ilum, a frozen planet on the edge of the galaxy. Remote and hidden from the war and wider galaxy, they would be safe.

The ship lurched, inertial dampeners momentarily overwhelmed. I flew across the quarters and hit a bulkhead. A dull ache shot up my back. Few things could pull us from hyperspace. Gravity wells from stars, asteroids and other massive bodies were one. Engine failure was another. I’d know in a moment. Leaping up, grabbed my helmet and then darted over to the cockpit. I’m not a zipping zephyr, but I can move when I have to.

An asteroid blocked our way, its mass shadow pulling us out of hyperspace just in time to slam into it. Like the force, size matters not in space. Mass is mass and once you start it moving, it doesn’t stop until something acts against it. The Vanguard certainly did not have enough mass or momentum to impede the asteroid. We would crater and we would die, slaying the future of the Jedi Order. Not while I draw breath.

I lunged, grabbing the controls over the chair. I hauled on them, the metal supports groaning as muscles accustomed to hard work and spiked on adrenaline turned us away from the head-on collision. Slowly, the ship turned, until it finally faced away from the asteroid. I breathed a shaking sigh of relief and slowly straightened up. It wasn’t a complete 180°, but enough so that we’d make it.

A grey triangle stole my relief. I knew what it was: the thought of one looming over Uphrades still haunted my nightmares sometimes. So much for chance, the Empire did this. I am a warrior, not a pilot. My skills are threadbare, but that did not stop me.

I swept into the seat, slamming the thrusters to full and tried to awaken the navicomputer. I knew Glee Anselm; home of the aquatic Nautolans was nearby, as was Iridonia, Imperial held homeworld of the Zabraks. Mashing in Glee Anselm, I jerked the controls as a brilliant blue beam slammed the asteroid in front of us. The navicomputer wanted fifteen seconds to plot the course. I don’t know if my skills are up to that but I had little choice. I juked, weaved and bobbed the ship around, all while clearing the asteroid. The navicomputer could plot a course all the way to Tatooine for all the good it would do us if I stayed in the mass shadow. It beeped ready.

I brought us out of the mass shadow, and smashed the hyperspace control. Electricity arced over my arms, running through my armour as the console lit up. Blind reflex kicks me back, and I slammed my head hard enough to make the galaxy over the console spin the other way. I sat there, uncertain about everything. What just happened? Did something hit us and what was that angry hissing I could hear somewhere to my right?

I focussed, accepting the pain and moving on. My vision cleared to the point where I could see stars. They weren’t stretching out into blue streaks. We weren’t in hyperspace. I jerked my body back up, and saw the console. Smoke poured from a dozen places, lightly enough to not cause a haze but enough to tell me it was useless. We were dead in space unless I could rig the computer to jump to Gree Anselm from the engine room. It’s feasible, but would take me some time. I’m a warrior, a student, a strategist and a Jedi: I’m not an engineer.

An explosion rocks the ship. I grab my helmet and seal it shut. If there’s a breach, I will have to deal with it. Sealed armour can survive vacuum, Jedi robes and swaddling blankets cannot.

Two Sith storm aboard: a master and apprentice. Both were withered: skin turned to ash from the corruption in their very cells. One wore flowing robes, the other a tunic and pants: both in darkest black. Master Pasha stood against them, resplendent in her robe, radiant in the force. Compound emerald eyes watched balefully as the Sith advanced, forcibly entering our vessel.

They swept forth, fouling the air with smoke. The apprentice sees her and howls a wordless challenge. Red rips into being, and he rushes her. Master Pasha is many things, healer, mentor and guide, but she is not a warrior. She fumbles with the lightsaber on her belt as he charges her. I move, the living force guiding me to her side.

The strong strikes of Shien slams the speed from his step, cerulean hammering crimson. Slow and steady for some, it is sure in its strength for me. My foe favours Makashi, the quick thrust and parry. He tries to reorient, to face me head on but I don’t let him. His defence works through turning my strength aside and for that, he must face me directly. I plough through his web of bladework, burying the blade deep in and through his shoulder. He falls, and I face his master.

He took the longer way, avoiding his apprentice and reached Master Pasha, whose mastery of Niman is shaky at best. Beset by his saber-staff, she cannot cope. I see her become one with the force before I can cross the two metres that separate us.

He is fast and he is aggressive. I have never known a peaceful Sith, but even compared to them he is destructive. His style is difficult to place. I see the staccato strikes and frenzied intensity of Juyo but also the elegance and grace of Ataru. He savours his kill, red eyes delighting at Master Pasha’s final fall. It does not stop him from taking a step towards the stern of the ship, and the crèche in the cargo hold. My blade does.

A leaping horseshoe cut puts him on the defensive, skipping back on the balls of his gnarled feet. I see them, clawed toes poking beneath his armoured robe. They were red: a hybrid of Korribani Sith and exiled dark Jedaii adepts that call themselves pure. I’ve faced the proud purebloods before, and despite their durability, they fall like any other man. He skipped back towards the cockpit and docking hatch. I will drive him from this ship, metre by metre if I have to. Hopping into a backflip, He cleared the small steps and regained his footing. He surged at me, as his style demanded.

Ataru focusses upon attacking from unexpected angles, while Juyo is more a state of mind, a desire to annihilate and wreak havoc. It is entirely offense, its masters caring for nothing but rampant destruction. Both are incredibly dangerous styles and when blended become a whirling dervish of destruction. Both share a weakness, a technical shortcoming of Ataru that Juyo wilfully ignores: there is no direct defence, only evasions and avoidance. Shien is built from Soresu: I can weather his strikes and follow each with a hammering counter. Still, there is a chance he may sneak through my defences. Already, I see the other end of his saberstaff sweeping at my legs. I don’t give him that chance.

I follow my horseshoe cut with a jump, a strong overhead chop that clears his lower blade and has him scurrying around the corner of the railing. Like Makashi, Shien is strongest from the front, the strength of both arms put to work. He sought to rob me of this advantage: I deny him. I turn my blade, following him to the right even as I hack down. The momentum is such I cannot turn the weapon if he strikes, so I go with it. My spin is tight, Soresu keeping the blade close, as I turn it to impale him under my arm. I feel his strike before he makes it, and that he has a choice. He follows through with Juyo mindset and strikes us both down, or he falters, favouring pathetic defence that runs anathema to both his styles.

True to every Sith I’ve fought so far, he abandoned his principles to save his hide. It would be contemptible if not so predictable. I dance back, blade ready for a hack at his shoulders. He takes the moment to steady himself before coming at me. I turn the strike up, catching his blade in a lock. Long ago, I had worked a little something into the blade emitter: a fuel injector. Lightsaber blades are ionised plasma held together in a force containment field. While adding fuel wouldn’t cause the field to fail exactly, the blade would distort, and heat would wash out through the weak points. I wear heat-treated, vacuum-sealed armour with my robes. As far as I could tell, the Sith didn’t.

My cerulean blade explodes with a light so bright the dark side hides, lest it be destroyed. Its mortal agent fared no better. He staggered back, briefly stunned, and I seize the moment. A tiny step back releases the lock and I turn my blade, sending it straight through the saberstaff’s oversized hilt. This fight was over. The Sith had other ideas. His hands already outstretched, he threw his all into lightning. Just as he is his duelling style is destructive compared to Sith, so is his power.

Without a lightsaber to defend his corrupt hide, he couldn’t let me close. I bring my blade back up, but I erred. Overconfidence, the foe of many Shien duellists, had pushed my blade too far down: I couldn’t get it in place in time. My innate talent for tutaminis saved me, channelling the electricity away from my heart. It did nothing for the shockwave that sent me flying back. We fought up on the flight deck, and his dodges had taken us to the hammerhead by the bridge. I flew back, into the open escape pod. The transparisteel viewport of the pod’s far side didn’t slow my flight. Shards scattered around me and my suit went into overdrive.

I see the blue mag-con field form over the breach, keeping fouled air from spilling forth. Instinctively, I reach out, to fashion tethers from the living force. With them, I could return and save the children. Nothing happens There is nothing to move: no planet, no ship, no air: just vacuum. Flailing with the force wouldn’t get me back. I officially didn’t care. I knew that the dark side, an unnatural resonance in the force, couldn’t help me either. If it could, I’d fall in a heartbeat: anything to save my son, my Anakin.

I drifted away, feeling terror wash over me. The Sith had them, had him. Time passed and I watched the Fury tear free from our ship. Above, I watched the Defender list helplessly, the violent decoupling causing it to spin. There was no one on board, just the dishonoured dead. If they had any mercy, they might leave the ship, a testament to my failure. They didn’t.

Helplessly, I watched as the Harrower opened fire, perforating the ship with searing streams of scarlet. It was bizarre, watching turbolasers streak past in total silence. A disconnect between what I knew and what actually was.

My lightsaber, my life as a Jedi, had been on the ship. Watching the white-hot fragments scatter, I closed my eyes. Even without my lightsaber, I am still Jedi. Reaching out, I sensed familiar presences, all light years away but with me in communion with the force. My message was simple: they had taken the children, my charges, my son. I had failed in my duty. For an age, I floated there, sinking deeper and deeper into the force, until my suit’s power cell gave out. Without my duty, I am nothing and to nothing I shall return.

@Mirdthestrill, I'm at the point in the Knight story where (spoilers for Chapter 1 knight) Kiwiks and Orgus are missing and you have to find them. This story makes me want to find them alive even more. I really hope I do and they didn't get turned into Force juice or something.

@AKHadeed, very deep couple of stories. The lack of dialogue made them all the more powerful, it really felt like I was being sucked inside to see what they see and feel what they feel.

@Feldraeth, I enjoy hearing your Chiss's inner thoughts versus what he says to Mako. It is an interesting comparison.

@Mirdthestrill, it is amazing what you do with the existing characters. You write them just as they are in-game (except with more depth, of course.) I envy that having only written General Garza and a paragraph from Elara Dorne so far.

Bright lights. Dark places. Nar Shaddaa.

Whilst the tourists passed their time enraptured by the neon splendor of the moon's surface, those beneath the various floating casinos and clubs were busy trying to do a dishonest day's work. Tucked away, hidden beneath countless layers of figurative and literal grime, preparations were underway. Lockdown had been initiated in the office of one Fel Darbon, crimelord. One of countless like him, insignificant, yet nonetheless a gear in the machine that made up the underworld market.

The office itself was befitting the world it occupied. Smooth, polished surfaces bearing an overall motif of gold and decadence. The plants in the corners of the compact chamber were not organic, but brilliant holo-displays that made no attempt to feign reality. Large paintings lined the walls, held in frames that could have matched the works in value. Various sculptures and pieces of art dotted the floor, strategically filling the empty space of the room. And in the center of it all, a desk, carved from the finest of lumbers.

Behind said desk, the office's owner trembled in his robes. Human, balding, heavyset, the crimelord looked as if he hadn't done a day's worth of manual labor in his life. But as the man cowered in the heart of his domain, he was not alone. Sitting upon the forward lip of the wooden desk, a figure utterly in contrast with his surroundings. For everything smooth, he was rough. For everything colorful, he was dull. For everything decadent, he was utterly utilitarian.

The figure leaning against the desk was garbed beneath the neck in armorweave and hardened plates, bolstering his already considerable frame. The suit of armor encasing the man was composed of various grays and browns, home to countless scrapes and dents. It had either seen countless years of fighting and conflict, or its source was that of a scrap heap rather than a reputable vendor. The rather fresh-faced visage that peeked out from it suggested the latter.

Zabrak, a crown of stubby horns lined the top of the armored figure's hairless dome. Simple lines of ink traced along his tanned face, intersecting and parting in a restrained design rather unlike some of the more garish markings bared by some of his kin. Despite the apparent age of his wears, the alien possess a sense of youth about him, absent any additional marks or scars.

Helm resting at his side, pistol in hand, the Zabrak was utterly calm, bordering on lethargic. Eyes closed, facing the room's sole entrance, the armored figure lightly scratched the side of his head with the veritable handcannon that was his blaster. As he rubbed the barrel of his weapon across his smooth skin, the man sitting behind him could only offer his silent, wide-eyed stare.

When the armored-figure ceased his reckless scratching, he lowered his blaster, tapping the barrel against the surface of the desk and eliciting a solid thud. Licking his teeth, the Zabrak lowered his gaze.

“This thing made outta wood?” he asked, turning slightly toward the seated Human. The Zabrak's voice was rough, uncouth, but not aged. The still-trembling crimelord replied with a silent nod. “Neat. You guys don't have trees around here, do ya? Must've been expensive. Then again, what's the point of credits if you don't spend them?”

The Zabrak released a hearty chuckle, to which the Human forced a hesitant grin upon his lips.

“Y-you'll find credits are of no concern for me,” Darbon struggled to get out. “Just protect me… and I assure you, you'll be rewarded handsomely.”

“Now that's what I like to hear,” the Zabrak said with a toothy grin. “Still, would'a thought someone like you would have security on staff for this kind of thing.”

“I did,” Darbon replied, momentarily finding his confidence to apply some grit to his words. “My business partner aims to take everything from me. He already took my men… my wares… now he wants my life.”

“Well, so long as you've got your credits stashed in a safe place, I guess I don't rightly care,” said the Zabrak. “I'll be the best damned bounty hunter you ever hired. Or rather, anti-bounty hunter, I suppose.”

“I appreciate your… enthusiasm, Mr. Osk,” Darbon mumbled.

“Ah, think nothin' of it,” Osk replied, flippantly wafting his hand, his blaster waving along with it. The crimelord immediately ducked, practically pressing his cheek against the desk's surface. “I gotta admit, I'm excited. This is my first time doing this kind of thing.”

“You mean… being a dedicated bodyguard?” Darbon asked, slowly lifting his head.

“Nah, this whole… thing. You know, being a bounty hunter,” Osk explained. “Got my fancy new armor. Got my spot in the guild. Got my first client.”

“Guild? First client? Wha-” Darbon stammered, rocketing upright in his seat. “You mean you've never done this before?!”

Osk swung his hand back, lightly tapping the crimelord in the center of his forehead with the barrel of his gun. “Re-lax.” Darbon immediately flinched, slumping in his seat as he tried to avoid the hunter's weapon. “This may be my first job, but I'm a crack shot. Plus, even if you get hurt, I got this vial of Kolto right-”

The Zabrak patted at his waist with his free hand before arching his brow. Without another word, he traced the length of his belt, searching for the nonexistent canister at his side.

“Huh,” Osk calmly muttered. “Must've fallen off or something.”

Darbon shot up to his feet, knocking back his chair in the process. Planting his hands upon the desk's surface, the crimelord abandon all vestiges of cowardice as a snarl crept across his face. “You… you incomparable... blasted fool! How could I trust my safety to a novice like you?!”

“Hey, you're the one who wanted an unknown bodyguard,” Osk calmly offered alongside a shrug of his heavy shoulders.

“I wanted someone who wasn't tied to the man trying to kill me!”

“And that's what you got,” Osk warmly said. “Come on, it'll be fine.”

“Fine? Fine?!” Darbon balked. “My life is at stake here!”

“Hey, so's my rep,” Osk replied. “This is my first job, I got a lot riding on this.”

“I've got a lot riding on this,” Darbon shouted.

The hunter's mouth curled into a smirk. “Then we're in agreeance.”

Cutting off the two was the sound of a muffled bang on the other side of the door. Darbon's arms began to shake and his lips began to tremble. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, resting on his knees behind the desk, only the top of his head peeking over the piece of furniture. Suddenly, a spout of fire pierced through the door, surrounded by molten metal. A cutting torch.

Calmly, Osk picked up the dinged helm resting at his side and secured it over his head. Not even lifting himself from his seated position, the Zabrak extended his arm, aiming his blaster toward the door.

“Let's go.”

@Frauzet Mmmm a Theron and Ru story! Me likeee! I loved Ru's possession of his Nox title. "I am the night and the night is mine." (almost reminded me of Smaug..."I am fire...I am....death.") I enjoyed Theron's grumpy 'intimacy' with Ru. I hope you will continue with this, even if it is far into your canon's future.

@Mirdthestrill Orgus and Kiwiiks are among the people I enjoyed most Jedi side, and I totally ship them too. I really enjoyed the romantic uncertainty between them at first, and after when they realized they were on the same page. Love love love! You really nailed their voices.

@Osetto Welcome to the thread. Osk sounds awesome. I hope you'll continue on with him. I liked his playfulness. I've no doubt he knows exactly what he's doing, he's just messing with Darbin. I also liked how you described things. Even if I'd never been to Nar Shadaa I would have been able to imagine it very clearly. Nice!

@Feldraeth What a thoughtful piece. You really seem to understand what it takes to be Jedi (something I struggle with). The sacrifices your Jedi made for the greater good were very real and painful. Expecting a man to give up his happiness and way of life, his loving family, his son all for the greater good breaks my heart. No one should have to give up that much. I also enjoyed your comparisons of the force stances and how they work and how they influence and derive from other stances. Very nice, very sad.

@MrTwo Interesting piece. The simple hunt for paint made me wonder what he was going to use it for. I wasn't disappointed. The ritual painting has me intrigued, seeing as he's preparing for something...a new beginning of sorts, if I were to guess. Keep it up. Hopefully the computer won't let you down.

“Tika!” the youngling called, “Tika?”

Her companion snorted, “Forget it. She’s hiding again,” he groused.

Tika’s claws sunk into the tree. She felt life pulsing beneath its bark. Flow. Water flowing up, life flowing down. She imagined herself part of it. Part of the flow. Sunlight and life and water. Leaves and bark and fur and sap and blood, all part of the whole. She was the tree; the tree was Cathar.

The blonde youngling looked up into the rustling canopy. “Tika?” she called.

Tika’s arms stretched to the bright heavens. The breeze ruffled the tree’s dark fur. She gathered a cloak of leaves around her body.

The boy shrugged, “Let’s go. We’ll never find her.”

“We’re supposed to,” the girl said, “Master Nemri says so.”

“Well then Master Nemri can come find her,” the other youngling said, his arms crossed over his chest, “she won't come out until she wants to. She never does.”

The other youngling peered through the branches. All she saw were green leaves and dark wood. Sunlight flickered through the gaps. But she saw no Cathar. Reaching out with the Force, she sensed only tree and sky. “I--” she paused, her gaze sweeping the nearby area. “I guess,” she conceded. The pair abandoned the tree and returned to the gravel path. Their crunching footsteps faded into the distance.

Tika disentangled herself from the tree’s memory. Her feet no longer dug deep into the ground. Her hands and fingers no longer swayed in the wind. She was Tika again. T’kaleni. Jedi-in-training.

She loosed her hold and leapt between branches to the ground. It was meditation time. Master Nemri wanted her to meditate. She said it was important to meditate, to calm her thoughts, to be quiet and still and let the Force flow through her. To hear what the Force had to say.

Tika didn't like meditating. Dark things crept in when she calmed her mind. The Force showed her things that had happened and didn’t happen and would happen and might happen and never could happen. It showed her places she'd been and places she'd go and other places she'd never go. And sometimes it showed her resonance. A place in her mind that purred when she touched it. She'd been there before. A comfortable spot filled with shadows and fog. Where she drifted like smoke.

One day she would go there forever.

Not yet. Not today. Not tomorrow.

Master Nemri would not approve.

So Tika wasn’t going to tell her.

Bright yellow eyes stared up at the ceiling, looking almost luminous in the dark quarters. The ship was on a sleep cycle and its two sentient occupants were taking advantage of it……or trying to in his case. Sleep eluded the tawny Cathar for several reasons and it was starting to make him a little irritable. Their destination was bring back some bittersweet memories of his family and that fateful day that saw them wiped out…..or so he’d thought all these years. However, the biggest part of the problem keeping him awake was his attire…..more like the fact he was wearing anything at all. Like many of his species, the fur covered Jedi Knight preferred to sleep without clothing, and while they didn’t usually require blankets to stay warm, he liked the security of having at least a sheet covering him even if it typically ended up on the floor at some point. He supposed that was a throwback to when he was a kit and liked to snuggle with his blanket after his Mom had tucked him in.

Unfortunately, having a blanket to snuggle under wasn’t an option since it was making him too warm with the shorts and t-shirt he was wearing. He’d tossed his bedding aside earlier, which had helped him cool down a little, but now he felt off not having his blanket covering him. The only way he knew to solve the problem was out of the question because he’d have to lock the door to his quarters and that wouldn’t do as he was an extremely sound sleeper and a knock wasn’t guaranteed to wake him if needed. After an hour of tossing and turning, he’d considered just throwing caution to the winds and shucking the offending clothing, but every time he thought about it, he recalled a set of blue eyes staring hotly at him from the doorway as they raked over his exposed body.

With a groan, Jakob rolled his large frame over, one thick arm clutching the pillow as he tried to get comfortable. His thoughts kept returning to that day when the feisty redhead had entered his quarters and the now familiar tingle of awareness began shooting down his taut abdomen straight to his groin.

Ever since Kira had discovered his sleeping habits, Jakob couldn’t get it or rather her out of his head and was beginning to question some things. He wanted to be the best Jedi he could, abiding by the Order’s policies and it hadn’t been a problem before now. While the Order believed him a foundling when he’d been brought to them, he’d known and loved his family for the first thirteen years of his life. The Jedi master who’d found him on that burning barge sensed his life was in danger and instructed him to tell no one who he really was. She’d cloaked him with the Force, making them both invisible and got him away without anyone knowing.

The Order stressed that attachments were dangerous but in his heart, Jakob didn’t believe that. He loved his family and missed them dearly, but even knowing the truth of why his parents were killed, he didn’t feel any all-consuming urge to avenge their deaths and he certainly didn’t feel tempted by the Dark side. He was overjoyed to discover his littermates Kat and Tia were still alive, and while couldn’t wait to see them, he wasn’t going to selfishly drop his current mission to do so. He supposed the Masters would say his parents’ love for him and determination to carry on the family name had hindered his progress and they’d be right in a way.

Jakob’s Force sensitivity began to show itself when he was just a kit of four years, but they never told anyone. When he was seven, Jakob began to be aware of his abilities and approached his parents about being taken to the Order. He was proud of the gift the Gods had granted him and wanted to study it, hone his skills, and become a Jedi one day. His mother was sad at the thought of losing one of her babies, but understood and gave her blessing. It was his father that was adamantly against it. Being the only male of the litter, it was up to Jakob to carry on the family name. His father’s only littermate, uncle Mikhail didn’t have a Lifemate yet and hadn’t fathered any children. Jakob was angry at this and begged his father to reconsider. His mother was behind him and never wavered in her attempts to convince his father to change his mind. She was finally successful and after their tour on Nar Shaddaa, his parents were going to contact the Order when they went to Coruscant……only they never got the chance.

It wasn’t Jakob’s fault though, he’d wanted to go to the Order and intended to when he was old enough to make his own decisions and even if his parents’ attachment hindered him, it wasn’t dark or dangerous. No, Jakob firmly believed love and attachment weren’t paths to the Dark side no matter what the Order preached and that belief wasn’t just exclusive to family either…….he saw nothing dark about passionate feelings and seeking out a Lifemate. He’d seen firsthand the love lifemates had for one another and the deep sorrow when one was lost, but he’d never seen that result in anything Dark sided at all. When he’d entered those preteen years, he started noticing girls and had even kissed a few….much to the amusement of his littermates, but never once did he feel anything Dark afterwards. Why should that be any different now?

But Kira is different, he chided himself, she’s your Padawan and Master Kiwiiks entrusted you with her well-being and safety. A lot had happened to him over the past few weeks and while he was tempted to allow himself to explore this budding attraction, he knew it wasn’t right. It was one thing for him to stray from the Order’s teachings he didn’t agree with, but it was another to lead his Padawan astray and he felt guilty for even giving it a remote consideration……even if she had shown subtle signs of interest. He knew he needed to stop that line of thinking and resolved to better discipline himself from now on. Anytime he felt something for Kira other than what a teacher should feel for his student, he vowed to meditate on the Orders teachings regarding emotional attachment for an hour until he schooled himself to stop thinking of her as anything other than his Padawan.

With a frustrated sigh, Jakob finally gave up on sleep and got out of bed. Then figuring some warm milk might sooth him, something his mother often gave them as kits to help them sleep, the tall Cathar padded off to the galley. Much to his surprise, he found the subject of his thoughts already there. The figure hugging yoga pants and tank top showed off the curves she’d had hidden under her usual robes and Jakob swallowed hard as he took it all in.

“Oh, hey,” Kira grinned, “Guess I’m not the only one who can’t sleep. Haven’t been to Nar Shaddaa in a long time and I don’t have the best memories of that planet.”

“That’s right,” Jakob nodded, remembering their earlier conversation, “It can’t be easy for you either, but just try to remember the good that has come since.”

“I have been,” Kira replied, “So……it that what’s keeping you up? Thinking about your family?”

“Yeah,” Jakob sighed, “and I couldn’t get comfortable…….” He trailed off, not meaning to admit that.

Kira’s gaze flickered to his clothes as realization dawned on her, “It’s my fault, isn’t it. You’re not used to wearing anything to bed, but because I barged in on you when General Var Suthra called……”

“It’s not your fault, Kira,” Jakob assured her, bowing his head as he felt the tips of his ears heating up with the memory, “You didn’t know and I probably should get used to wearing…..”

“Why?” Kira raised a brow at him, “I won’t come in without knocking anymore and if you’re still unsure, just lock your door.”

“I thought about that, but I tend to be a really deep sleeper.”

“Well, if we need you for anything, I’ll just send TeeSeven in if you don’t hear me knocking,” Kira shrugged, “Since I doubt TeeSeven is going to gawk at your naked bod…..not that I was gawking mind you,” she paused as a blush began creeping up her cheeks, “I just wasn’t expecting that when I went in to wake you….and I might’ve stared a little……anyways problem solved. I won’t come in without knocking and if you don’t hear me, I’ll send TeeSeven in. Deal?”

“Deal,” Jakob smiled his relief, knowing he’d be able to at least get comfortable enough to sleep now. The inappropriate thoughts and feelings for the cute redhead would take some work though, “Thanks Kira.”

“Anytime,” Kira told him, feeling a little sad. It wasn’t that she wanted to see that tall, heavily muscled figure naked again……well it was, but not just that. Her new friend had been through a lot and she’d never forget the peaceful look on his scarred face when she walked in on him sleeping. Despite his scars, she found his countenance appealing and combined with that hot bod, she was feeling things that her Order deemed inappropriate. However, for the first time since Master Kiwiiks found her on Nar Shaddaa, she wasn’t as concerned with being a good and proper Jedi and she got the feeling that she wasn’t the only one thinking about it.

Hello Captain,

It’s your favorite rookie. I swiped this datapad from an idiot who mistook my very short dress for an invitation. It was a fatal error in judgment, but at least I got some credits and this datapad out of it. Figure I have an hour to use it before I should wipe out the account and destroy it. Thought you’d want to know I made it back to my suite alright. Sorry for getting all weepy back at Andrik’s little hidey hole……I’m not usually like that. Thanks for letting me stay in my current assignment, but I’m still peeved you were going to kidnap me. Hope that wound heals quickly because I might have some payback waiting for you.

-T

Dear T,

That man was not only an idiot, but a real a**hole that’s lucky I wasn’t there. I deeply regret that you had to ruin that lovely dress since it looked great on you. Regarding your emotional state, nothing to feel bad about……you and your sister have been through a lot lately and it’s enough to make anyone react the way you did. I still feel a little groggy from that tranq dart, but was tended to by a mutual friend while I was out and am on the mend. I’m ready for whatever you’ve got but watch it rookie, I’m getting wise to your methods.

-A

Dearest A,

Oh I’m fairly confident I can still throw you off the next time we meet. I’m happy you’re healing, and thank you for the sentiment regarding that idiot. After seeing what you did to Needles, I probably would’ve enjoyed watching you deal with that jerk…….but my blaster sent an appropriate message that he had a few seconds to absorb before dying. Speaking of weapons, you never did answer my question. Is that rather large gun of yours compensating for something or is it an advertisement?

-T

Dear T,

I admire both your tenacity and confidence, and have to admit I look forward to our next encounter. As to your continued inquiry regarding the symbolism of my assault cannon, I confess that I’ve never really considered it before. However, I can assure you I’ve never had any complaints in that particular department. If you need to know more about that, I guess you’ll just have to either wonder or find a way to figure out the answer for yourself.

-A

Dearest A,

Challenge accepted. I’m headed for Tatooine…..hope you can keep up.

-T

Dear T,

Game on and don’t worry……I have excellent stamina and can keep up for a very long time.

-A

@Frauzet- Sorry, haven't done the new content yet

@Feldraeth- Very sad... It was painful to watch him fight on, but to ultimately fail. But I enjoyed it all the same. You also seem to know Star Wars lore quite well.

@Osetto- Welcome (back)! Your bounty hunter seems like a lot of fun! IAlthough he might have more success if he stops telling people he's new

@Striges- I'm intrigued! I like the idea of the Jedi child who uses the Force the way other children daydream- a sort of escape from mundane life that adults around them don't really understand. She has a lot of talent at a young age, too. I like how introspective she is for someone so apparently young.

@Alaurin- For some reason, I've barely seen any of this particular legacy of yours, but I'm rather liking it. I sympathize with Jakob's difficulty finding comfortable sleeping arrangements, as someone who has to be wearing a particular amount of clothing with a particular amount of covering, temperature, light level, etc...

Didn't really understand everything that happened in your second piece, but I have the feeling I would if I was more familiar with this particular piece.

“Well, that was an adventure,” I growl, trudging through the snow. I’m freezing, and between Shai Tenna, Gus, and the rest of the White Maw pirates, I might be willing to swear off breaking the law ever again just to get away from people like that.

“Is that what you call it, Captain?” says Corso.

“It’s the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t sear off your delicate farm boy ears.”

“Eh, they’re cold enough that a little searing might feel nice.”

He’s right. My lekku feel stiff and clumsy and the tip of my nose hurts. I’d do anything for some hot chocolate right now. Or hot buttered rum. Or hot almost anything. “How much further to the base?”

He pulls out the datapad he’s tracking our progress on. “Another eight, ten kilometers. Don’t think we can make it back before dark.” The sky is already deep blue and getting darker.

“Firfek.” We didn’t have time to get our speeders back from Shai Tenna, so instead we’re walking. It sucks. Why didn’t I think to check if I had the nearest Republic outpost’s comm frequency before we left? I sort of want to cry, but it would be embarrassing, and they’d probably freeze on my face.

“Do you want to stop somewhere?”

“Well, we can’t just keep walking through the dark, can we? We’ll probably fall into a pit of ice spikes or something.” Stars, I hate this planet. I hate snow, and I hate cold, and I hate having pirates shooting at me.

I probably chose the wrong line of work for that last one.

“Guess so.” Corso doesn’t really seem to mind. If I’m being perfectly honest, he’s a lot tougher than I am. He stops. “Is here good?”

“I don’t know. Is there anywhere on this whole stupid ball of snow that is better than anywhere else?”

Corso looks at me in the half-dark. “Are you alright?”

“No! I’m cold, and I’m hungry, and I just want to be back on the Fool.” I really am crying now, and sure enough, I can feel the tears hardening as they roll down my face. I wipe at them with my gloves, but they’re not absorbent and I just end up sc****** at the bits of ice. “Why did I even listen to that stupid Mon Cal?”

“Don’t worry, Jess. We’ll be ok. We got out of the wampa den, didn’t we? We’ll get through this.”

“Will we?” My nose is starting to run, and now that’s going to freeze too.

“Of course. Hold on.” He pulls off his pack- at least we got away with those- and opens up the main section. Pulling out a bundle about the size of a loaf of bread, he lays it on the ground and fiddles with it for a moment. It starts to expand, getting bigger until it’s a two-person, all weather tent. Next, he pulls out a sleeping bag and spreads it inside. “There you go. Now take off your pack and climb in. I’ll hand you the rest of the stuff.”

“OK.” I feel kind of bad about my outburst, but I’m still too uncomfortable to really be sorry yet. I drop my pack on the snow, crawl inside the tent, and sit crosslegged on the sleeping bag. A moment later, Corso tosses in another

bag.

“Spread this out for me, will you?” he says. I do, and he hands me a cylindrical object with several coils wrapped

around it.

“What’s this?”

“A heater. Clear space in the middle, then turn it on.” As I fumble with the switch, he tosses in both packs and

climbs in himself.

“Now I think we’re good,” he says, zipping the door shut. It’s pretty dark in here, but the heater gives off a bit of a glow and I can see his face. “Hungry?”

“I will be after I warm up a little bit,” I reply, peeling off my gloves. It’s still pretty cold in here, but my hands will warm up faster if I put them right next to the heater. *****les start to run up and down my lekku.

“OK.” He digs through his pack, probably looking for food. As he does, I catch a glimpse of something dark staining the arm of his shirt.

“Are you ok?”

“Just a scratch. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t notice before! Here, let me help you.” How could I have not noticed earlier?

“It’s-“

I shush him and pull out the first aid kit. “It doesn’t look too bad, but you should get it bandaged up.” I sigh. “What the crew could really use is a doctor.”

“Can’t argue with you there, Captain.”

“Now, let me see your arm.” Corso detaches the plates from his armor, takes off his glove, and pulls up the underlayer. Captain Dayne may not like what I do, but she was at least nice enough to point us to some military surplus gear. The cut itself doesn’t look bad at all, compared to some of the stuff he’s had, but I start bandageing it up anyway. “Have you been working out or something? I don’t remember you being this buff.”

He laughs a little. “No, you just haven’t seen me shirtless all that often.”

“Oh my! Was that a come-on?” I flutter my eyelids and fan my face in fake surprise. “I’ve never known you to be so

bold, Mr. Riggs.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought, then.” He grins broadly and I grin back, then dive at him. He catches me and we wrap our arms around each other, bodies pressed together, his lips warm and strong against my own. It feels like warm Tattooine sunlight is running through my veins and my lekku twitch with excitement. It’s only the blast of cold as he pulls at my coat zipper that brings me back to myself.

“Seriously, though, I think we should keep our clothes on. I’d hate to be the twi’lek that went down in history for freezing to death because she was having sex in a snowstorm.”

“You’re probably right. Hungry now?” He looks a little embarrassed as he holds out a ration bar.

“Thanks.” It’s chocolate. My favorite. “You know, I’m sorry I was being such a pill earlier. And thanks for setting up camp.”

“No problem, Captain.” Pulling off his boots, he sets them by the door and crawls into his sleeping bag.

I finish the ration bar, lick the rest off my fingers, and do the same. “Guess we should try to get some sleep, huh?”

“Yeah, we’ll want an early start in the morning.” We lay in silence for a few moments, looking at each other. You know what, screw it. Being on both sides of the heater is way more heat-efficient, but I don’t care. Scooching my way around the heater like a hutt trying to do Mon Cal ballet, I make my way over to Corso’s side of the tent. “I love you, Corso,” I murmur as we snuggle up close.

“I love you too, Jessasi.”

The wind is blowing hard enough that I can feel the tent sides shaking, but inside, I feel pretty darn warm.

I debated with myself about whether to include the sexy bit, since the entire point of this piece was to show that unlike with Mal, Jess's relationship with Corso is about more than just thinking each other was hot (and in Jess's case, thinking Mal was cool/rebellious). But I eventually decided that just because there is more to it than that, that finding each other attractive isn't disallowed, so I left it.

The title is a reference to a pizza place near where I live that advertises "love at 400 degrees". And yes, that is the average temperature on Hoth according to Wookiepedia.

@frauzet: Glad you were good with Scourge’s advice. I’m trying to keep him as close to character as possible. It’s nice to have that piece so open to interpretation because a person can take it in so many different directions. They gave you just enough to leave you wondering…….sure, I’d have liked to see more, but then I would’ve probably been more limited.

RE: Last Chance- Sorry, had to skip that since I haven’t taken an SI through the new content yet.

@Mirdthestrill: Yeah Ros has been through a lot and Scourge was harsh, but she needed that.

RE: Beneath the Surface- I loved this back history for Eyrie and I’m curious as to where her parents ended up. I’ve always liked Orgus in game and also wish we had more interaction with him. It’ll be nice to see how he and Eyrie get along.

RE: Very Old Friends-Oooo, I liked seeing that side of Orgus and Bela and had never really considered those two before……I can easily see it now though!

RE: Love at Negative Sixty Degrees- Oooo, some warm fuzzies from freezing Hoth! I like Jess and Corso together…..so sweet and I love some of her snarky lines. I can’t blame her for being grumpy, it’s been so damn cold here lately that I’ve felt like it’s Hoth and I’ve been grumpy whenever I’ve had to go out in the frigid cold.

@AKHadeed: I love seeing Angie through Zeedor’s senses and how he views himself, his position, and his studies of ancient ruins and artifacts. He’s careful, respectful, precise, and values the importance of every piece. Viska on the other hand, she’s in it for the power she feels is rightfully hers and doesn’t care what she destroys in order to get to it. Zeedor would see those bones as part of the history, whereas Viska deems them of no value, going straight for the crystal.

@Alaurin: This is a very emotional piece, and I think you handled the flow of it really well.

Also, regarding stealthies... I spent my WoW years as a PvP druid, where I took grim pleasure in hunting down and murdering every rogue I could find.

Now Roy is my PvP toon, and I feel like a traitor. But not so much that I don't concealment operative everything I can find. I'm not very good at it, but the chuckle makes it all worthwhile.

@Feldraeth: It seems like Zul and Mako have a lot to learn about each other. Hopefully they can constructively communicate with each other when they get the chance otherwise it’s going to be a rough partnership.

RE: Failure- You write fight scenes very well, something that I struggle with in my own writing. Tarmin is a fighter to the bitter end and still remained focused enough to send out a warning. I enjoyed the background to Tarmin an felt so very sad for him, especially at the end.

@Mrtwo: Welcome back!!!! And YAY for more Kalhoun and Riz!!!! I love the two of them together and Riz’s reactions to Kalhoun’s cloaked figure in the doorway made me laugh each time. It was so sad at the end, but a nice way to honor those he’d lost, and remember the players in his past and present.

@Osetto: Welcome back!! Great intro to Osk! He seems to have a sense of humor which is always nice and I thought his client’s reactions were great……but hey, everyone has to start somewhere. I can only imagine the client’s face at the end. You did a great job describing Nar Shaddaa as well. Hope to see more of Osk.

@Striges: I’m glad we got to see Tika again. I was wondering what happened with her after being found in the wreckage. I love how she reaches out with the force to blend in with her surroundings so much so that she feels one with whatever she’s hiding amongst. I also liked the end, she knows her master would disapprove of where she goes when she meditates, but she doesn’t intend to give it up.

Glad you enjoyed the Jakob and Tia bits. Yes, poor guy was trying to be proper and do the right thing even despite the discomfort…..and here Kira has such an easy solution. As for the letters, I had fun writing them and they are something Tia would do simply because she enjoys taunting Jorgan despite feeling the pull towards him. Plus, she’s mad at herself for getting emotional in front of him and wants to put things back on a more comfortable level for her.

All was silent but for the sizzling whistle of the cutting torch. All was stilled but for the piercing flame tracing a large circle on the office door. Outside, an unknown assault force. Inside, an unshakable, man-shaped bulwark. His masked visage trained on the single way in and out, the armored figure continued to aim his blaster with nary a shiver in his arm.

Finally, the torch had succeeded in cutting a person-sized circle in the office door. And not a moment later, the hot slab was kicked in. A sharp clang echoed throughout the chamber, followed by an equally sharp ping. Already, Osk had loosed a round from his blaster toward the figure on the other side of the hole. The red bolt soared through the air and out the office, colliding with the target. The figure stumbled back, releasing a harsh yelp as they fell to the floor.

The first attacker was down, but was soon replaced. And by much hardier beings. The next figures to peer through the doors matched the defender's armored hide, but possessed none of the underlying meat. Battle droids. The vaguely humanoid frames carried rifles in their metallic grasps, and promptly directed them through the hole in the door.

Osk fired another round, taking off one of the droid's heads with an expertly placed shot. The droids were calculated, precise, but that effort made them just slow enough to lose to a man operating on instinct. The headless droid sparked before finally crumbling to the ground, but the second had Osk in its mechanical sights.

A green bolt left the barrel of the battle droid's rifle, heading straight for what the machine deemed to be the primary threat in the room. But the defender was already on the move, rolling away from the desk just as the droid had pulled the trigger. The rifle bolt struck the corner of the desk Osk previously sat upon, blowing away a good chunk of the elegant fixture. Charred splinters flew up into the air, and before they could even touch the ground, the defender planted himself upon his knees and released another shot from his pistol. Again, one shot, one downed droid.

Osk remained perfectly still, kneeling, pistol aimed toward the door, ready to meet any threat that presented itself. But none did. Slowly, the defender raised himself off the ground, slipping his pistol into the holster that practically spanned the entire length of his right thigh.

“Hmph,” Osk muttered. “That's it?” Slightly confused. Slightly disappointed.

Carefully, the balding head of Darbon peeked out from behind the desk. “Is it… is it over?”

“For now, at least,” Osk casually stated as he walked toward his employer. “But your 'business partner' will likely just keep sending more and more droids.”

“My droids… my weapons...” Darbon grumbled, still crouched behind the desk. “It's not enough that he steals everything from me, but he tries to kill me with my own stock!”

“And exactly how robust was your 'stock'? Think we could burn through it?” asked Osk. The arms dealer's silence was answer enough. “Great. Guess it's time for Plan B.”

“Plan B?” Darbon muttered as he finally stood upright. “There was a Plan B?”

“There is now,” said Osk. “I don't fancy spending the rest of my days hiding in a room waiting for more droids to show up. The only way this ends is to deal with the person ordering the attacks.”

“You mean...”

“I think it's time we convince your 'business partner' call things off personally.”

“But you… I can't… I'll be defenseless if you go after him,” Darbon rambled.

Osk offered a firm nod. “Which is why you're coming with me.”

“Absolutely not!”

“You want my protection, you gotta stick close to me,” Osk explained.

“That's not how bodyguards work!”

“Well, it's how I work. Now, I'm going to solve your problem. You can either stay here, and hope I'm done before the next wave of droids… or you can hide behind me like you do with your fancy desk. And believe me, I'm much sturdier than a block of wood.”

“You…” Darbon mumbled. “You really think you can keep me safe out there?”

Osk rounded the desk and planted a hearty hand on the crimelord's shoulder. “Of course I can. You wanna know why I'm called 'Osk'?”

“Because Aurebesh letters seem like popular nicknames?” Darbon guessed.

“Because the 'Osk' character most resembles a bull's-eye… and I never miss my mark.”

“Really?”

One week prior…

“Hello? Hello? You reading me?”

The large Zabrak stood hunched over a shoddy terminal, prodding the various buttons and dials that lined its surface. Finally, the compact holoprojector came to life, and emitted a flickering blue image. For a moment, the image resembled a humanoid, but it quickly changed to static. It would go back and forth between the two states as a garbled voice spilled out of the terminal's speakers.

“He..o. You've reach... the Gal...tic Guild of… -ounty Hunters. You're applica… fee has been processed. Please speak… name clearly into… terminal.”

“Rosk. Rosk Bannon.”

“...Osk?”

“Yes. Rosk Bannon. Actually, just Rosk, is fine.”

There was a pause.

“Thank you, Osk. The Guild would now… remind you that your… -cation fee is now non-refundable. Have a… day.”

Osk gave his client's shoulder a good shake. “Really.”

Not to necro a fortnight-old point, but I think I understand where you're coming from with Maga. You're right, she isn't a 1-dimensional villain character. She is a person, with the hopes, dreams and fears that people have. She is also a Jedi, and fervently believes in the will of Ashla and the unifying force. She genuinely believes what she is doing is the will of the force and that it is in the galaxy's best interests, and that absolves her of any wrongdoing. She's a lot like Donald Morgan from The Dresden Files: moral, upstanding and entirely devoted to her teachings, even at great personal cost. Noctaire however believes that she was a terrible mother who only values her youngest daughter for her womb, stole her two of her grandchildren on separate occasions to induct them into a cult, and got away with it both times because of said cult's social prominence. For someone who didn't really get a family life with her sisters because her mother dumped her on her father at the age of six, it's abhorent and evil. Since Noctaire is a perspective character, I tend to go with her viewpoint over others, whether it's 'right' or not.

Iridonia was a hot, dry world with acidic water and barren rock canyons. It wasn’t the destination hotspot for anyone not a miner or a geologist, and those guys are only after the ultra-acidic mineral that makes the seas so pleasant. Also, it was currently held by the empire, and their consolidation core was making life hard for the Zabrak natives.

Some of those lovely guys were fed up with locking heels, goose stepping and being third-class citizens. They were paying me over the odds to get them decent quality weapons with ten percent extra for an on-site delivery. It was too good to pass up: especially since the SIS was already subsidising any insurrections I supplied in Imp space. After all, if these guys make enough trouble, the Imps might reinforce the planet, leaving other places easier for the Republic navy to free.

I love this job. There’s little paperwork, I’m helping free the galaxy and everyone’s lining up to give me money. Without the knowledge that I’m helping propagate a system that slaughters thousands every day, it’d be perfect. Still, it’s better than the goose-stepping alternative.

I’d dropped my cargo, gotten paid in as many Republic credits as they had left and took the rest of my fee in imp credits, with a little something extra. Holding republic credits in Imperial space is a serious crime, so I took that heinous yet lucrative contraband off their hands in exchange for the far less illegal arsenal. Imp credits are fine in Hutt space, though the exchange rate isn’t great.

Tapping the controls, I dropped out of hyperspace and swept the area: nothing, not even a stray cloud. Perfect: I had calls to make. A quick and dirty smuggler’s trick: when you want to make a call and you don’t want the authorities pouncing on you for whatever reason, make a short jump into hyperspace. Come out anywhere in deep space and it’ll take them a couple of minutes to pinpoint your signal and derive your location from the hypercomm buoys and a few more to plot an exact course. That gives you a good ten minutes of free time, more if they aren’t specifically looking for you or don’t follow up instantly.

First up, I had my lovely SIS handler, Agent Kolan. Kolan was an Arconan, a bulbous multifaceted-eyed, reptilian native of Cona with a real salt addiction.

“Captain Noctaire, he purred as he materialised on the holocomm., “how may I help you.”

“Just shipped a load of weapons and equipment to Iridonia, the total was eight million two-fifty Kay,

“Really, I haven’t heard about any big bulk weapons purchases, at least not from your distributors?”

Yeah,” I mused, and then flashed him my biggest grin, “you know how the Bane Brigade gets all the new imperial toys?” He coughed something up, an action the holocomm instantly pixelated. Okay, so I hadn’t taken the childproofing off anything yet.

“You didn’t?” he breathed, his brow ridges rising as his everything bulged: his body trying to reassert control.

“Well, my client did ask for the best Imp gear possible,” I answered coyly before I broke into a chuckle at the memory of a gormless ginger officer helpfully screwing his idols over.

“N-no kidding: How? He sputtered between big bouts of snorting laughter.

“Apparently I look great in uniform.” That had been fun in a pants-wettingly terrifying kind of way. The Empire’s most elite troops got their supplies the same way everyone else did: via the Imperial pyramid of logistics. I’d walked into their HQ on Ziost, no backup, no cloaking screen and armed with just an imp-issue pistol and a forged ID.

I’d planned to slip a spike in that let Rogun’s slicers switch up the destinations, but the h0rny-teenager of a receptionist changed that plan. He’d added a stop at Sembla on the route before the classified Bane ops stop, and authorised the addition of a trio of anti-air cannons to the cargo, all in exchange for a dinner date next the time I’m planetside. I probably don’t have to worry about that date. Rogun’s ships floated on the water, grouped up to fake a colony and shot down the lone transport as it tried to land in the shallow oceans.

“Look even better out of it,” he followed up, and then his bulbous gold eyes got even wider.

“Agent Kolan, I am married,” I snorted with all the indignation I can muster, “your place or mine.”

“Mine has ammonia mixed in the air, so probably yours, he admitted, chuckling, “I’ll authorise the transfer. If you toss the transport’s navicomputer our way, I’ll throw in a bonus.”

“Ten percent?” I asked immediately, hoping he hadn’t run the numbers. A verbal deal is a deal nonetheless.

“Eighty two thousand is a bit high for a navicomputer,” Kolan admonished smiling at my wanton avarice, “I was thinking more like twenty.” That’s less good. Free cash’s great and all, but this’d be a different job. I’d only get a fifteen percent finder’s fee. Still, three thousand for what’s basically a holocall isn’t bad. Of course, if it were more, it’d be even better.

“Thirty for the navicomputer that tells you where the Bane Brigade is,” I haggled, watching his face. Usually, Arcona are too high to give a good estimate of anything, but he wouldn’t have been selected as an SIS agent if he let something as petty as salt affect his job.

“Twenty five, and no higher,” he insisted. Eh, an extra seven fifty isn’t bad. The haggling’s a matter of pride anyway, a game we play every month or two.

“Sounds great, I’ll talk to my guys, and you talk to yours. Speak to you soon,” I signed off, tapping the end call button. Kolan inclined his triangular head as he dematerialised. So, one down, one to go, but first: I had to run another sweep. I’d never live it down in the Imps caught me because I was got sloppy and didn’t check before chatting.

As I walked back down the neck of my ship, I considered my call to Rogun. The slippery Chagrian could sometimes get the better of you if you weren’t on the ball when dealing with him. Okay, so I’d call and we’d talk about the job. He’ll mention his consultant fee and try to bump it up to thirty percent. That wasn’t agreed upon beforehand, so I’ll protest it. I’ll mention I’ve held up my end and he has the ship.

If he pushes, I’ll hold my ground but offer to set him up with the route info that gets you in past the sensor sweeps, for a cool fifteen percent from each run. The Zabraks’ll need continuous resupply and the gaps in the sensor coverage are big enough to get a bulk cruiser through them. He’ll push that, and I’ll go down to as low as five percent per run. I don’t expect he’ll push harder than that. It’s less a business transaction and more a matter of pride. I just won’t bring up that it’ll be in Imp creds. Afterwards, I’ll mention I might have a buyer for the navicomputer for twenty-five kay. He’ll stick to our prior fifteen percent, since I’ll spin it that I’m doing the hard work and he’s getting the bulk of the money for it. Also, it helps the Pubs, and helping the Pubs sure beats the alternative. Rogun’s a Chagrian, and the Imps don’t give out lucrative contracts to anyone who doesn’t exactly look human.

I reached the cockpit and flipped another sweep. Some people keep them going constantly, but I don’t. Continuous active sweeps are detectable and suspicious. Just so long as I ping only once in a while and am ready to jump to hyperspace the moment I detect something, I should be okay. I pinged the area and got nothing back. Okay, nothing’s out there, back to my calls. The Holocomm warbled the opening riff of the song I’d programmed it to play. Ah, that’ll be Rogun. Jogging back to the holocomm, I flicked the accept call button and smiled.

“Rogun, I was just-,” I stopped. It wasn’t Rogun. An old woman in uncomfortable looking robes and a veil stood on my holocomm. Fire grew in my heart, a hot burning hatred for the old witch, “Hello mother.”

“Detinah, I had a vision regarding your son,” she stated plainly, with as little ceremony as she know how. That should’ve been my second clue. The first was that she bothered to call. Shame I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. Her visions have always been a sore spot for me, how she crows over them and gives them more significance than she gives the people around her.

Case and point, look at me. I’m a war hero of the Republic with a medical degree from the University of Aldera, a privateer and an honorary admiral, but all she cares about is who comes out of my womb. She saw that my child would overcome darkness and that means he must be a mighty Jedi. This wouldn’t be any different: taunting me over how special the son I would never see was. I didn’t want to hear it, or how selfish I must be to want a family: to see my husband and be there for my child.

“Oh, so he’s my son when you want to gloat, but just a member of the order at all other times?” I snapped back at her. She can have as many visions as she likes, it doesn’t mean they come true or I have to obey them. As she real made clear when she dumped me on Dad’s ship, I’m not a Jedi. I reached for the end call button.

“Wait, please, you’re the only one close enough to save him.” That got my attention, and it wasn’t just because she’d said please for the first time ever. He’s in danger, or so she thought. Still, if her bad dreams and overreaction revealed where the hidden temple was...

“Start from the beginning, and make it quick.”

“I received a vision, where darkness fell across the temple on Dantooine.” Dantooine, he’s on Dantooine. If I plot the course right away, I could be there in four hours.

“I warned the temple master, and she arranged transport to a secure temple.” Okay, so he’s not on Dantooine, but in transit somewhere. I’ve never used the Equinox in a boarding action, but that doesn’t mean I can’t start now. If anything, it’d be easier to search a smaller ship than a temple.

“About an hour ago, we received a message through the force that the Sith had attacked their ship and taken them. We just managed to pinpoint it. The closest Jedi ship is on Ithor, too far to affect a rescue.” A troubling thought flashed through my head: there’s no way she’d have a vision regarding my son needing a ship and not involve him.

“Where was his father, your former Padawan, during all of this?”

“Aboard. He oversaw…,” I didn’t hear anything after that: I was sprinting down the neck of my ship.

It’s been an hour since everything went down. Anyone else would be dead but he always wore his War Leader Weaponmaster gear when on duty. It was hideous, bright orange robes over shiny blue-white body armour, but it was vacuum-sealed. It carried an hour’s worth of tank air, but he could last longer than most Jedi. Jedi could last longer than normal people could.

I vaulted into the pilot’s seat and slapped the extension button. The ***** queen materialised to my left at two-thirds of her normal height.

“Co-ordinates,” I demanded. She gave them to me huffily, and I punched them in. It wasn’t far. I didn’t bother to disconnect the holocall: the ship did it for me as the stars stretched out, flinging me into hyperspace. I was going to rescue my son, and the man who stole him from me.

@Feldraeth: I am looking forward to the next part of this. You show us the shadows cast by the light.

@Osetto: Welcome (back) to the thread. When I read 'Zabrak' and 'Osk' I immediately was reminded of your 'Seven'. But I think that was an other Zabrak. Anyway, I already like him, and the part about his name was great.

@Striges: As I said on tumblr I love the way Tika is one with the tree. Looking forward to more about her.

@alaurin: I like Kira being the practical one on board Jakob's ship.

The banter between Tia and Jorgan was fun to read.

@Mirdthestrill: This sounds like Jessasi and Corso are very comfortable with each other, and have no problem coping with the other's bad habits. I think I felt the tent warming at the end.

“Kark!” Nikeo yelled and threw the remote control through the projection above the holo viewer.

“Sir?” Jorgan looked at him, eyebrows raised. “That’s supposed to be good news.”

Nikeo got up and picked up the remote which had landed in a corner of the rec room. He handed it to Jorgan. “Yes, good news. We saved the city. Good the heroes of the hour were present to prevent the cyborgs from conquering Coruscant. One more reason to fund us sufficiently.”

Jorgan’s eyebrows had climbed a notch higher.

Nikeo sighed. “A heap of bantha dung, that’s what it is. I’ll show you, Sergeant.” He left the room and returned two minutes later with a datapad. He held it out to Jorgan. “Here. I wanted to show you anyway. It’s… — I…” He shoved the pad in Jorgan’s direction. “Just read it.” He sat down beside Jorgan and watched the Cathar as he read the after-action report Nikeo had received earlier.

Jorgan frowned as he read the contents of the report. The alleged cyborgs Nikeo had eliminated by General Garza’s order had not been cyborgs at all. Jorgan and Nikeo had been fast enough to thwart Krel’s plan. The madman hadn’t had the time to implant his devices into the people he had abducted. They had taken him down before he was able to create his undetectable cyborgs. Nikeo had killed innocent citizens. Of course the official news said nothing about this detail of the operation.

“I was wrong. You were right.” Nikeo said as Jorgan handed him the pad back. Turning it over in his hands Nikeo stared at it, not wanting to look at the Cathar. “I should have listened to you, instead of telling you to shut up.”

“Maybe you should have, sir. And maybe we would just have wasted more time.”

Nikeo looked up searching for Jorgan’s eyes.

“There are times,” the Cathar said, “when the only thing you can do, is make a wrong decision. You had direct orders. You had valid arguments undergirding these orders. I could have been wrong. There wasn’t a right choice.”