It was fifteen twenty-five Kaas standard time when I boarded my new posting. Fifteen-thirty once my new lord finished the orientation tour. I had assumed his slave would handle it, but she wandered off as soon as we entered. I would have to watch her: she was far too wilful to have been properly broken in. That gave me ninety minutes.

From the haphazard tour, I had seen fifteen things that needed my immediate attention. Some would be quick, like arranging for a full inspection of the engine by a certified mechanic, while others, like performing a full inventory on the medbay, would take longer. I would also have to reprogram or replace the factotum droid. I had ninety minutes. I set to work

First task, I carried my bags to the crew quarters. From the dishevelled sheets strewn across the bed to my left, I assumed the twi’lek slept in that one. Damn. That one was in the one spot where the light from the doorway and refresher didn’t reach. Since sleeping over the alien was out of the question, that left any of the three bunks on the right. I had a choice between being woken by the light of the hall or the refresher whenever the Twi’lek used it during curfew. Well, there is only one way to determine which is worse.

I dimmed the crew quarters light and walked over to the refresher. I tapped the release. Locked. Well, I suppose that answers where the Twi’lek went. The startled yelp confirmed my suspicion.

Rather than interrupting the twi’lek, I unfastened my bag and drew out my datapad. Switching it on, I watched as the Imperial emblem spun in the centre. Eventually, it finished loading. Tapping the holonet explorer icon, it flashed up a lack of signal. Of course, I’ll have to connect the datapad up to the ship’s holonet router. I opened the connection tab and clicked on the only one available. I’ll have to ask the factotum droid for the-, the holonet receptor symbol flashed green. There was no router password. That certainly would not do at all.

I opened up the tab, assigned myself administrator privileges and set the password to “Hαi1_th3_Emper0r!” That should do it, using the ancient Sith script for the Aurek to make breaking into the system more difficult for Republic slicers.

Now that I was holonet active, I opened my personal mail account. A servant in my master’s employ had arranged for files relevant to my mission to be transferred to me. Among them were the schematics for a Fury class infiltrator. Setting it to download, I tucked my datapad in the crook of my arm. Stepping out of the crew quarters, I crossed the corridor and entered the conference room/mess. A metal desk with inbuilt holoviewer dominated the room, with chairs surrounding it and flags of the Imperial military on every other wall panel. Between them, exposed power couplings and cables marred the neat lines of the walls. A dozen metal sheet panels leant against the far wall, partially blocking off access to the kitchenette. Someone had removed them and created a tripping hazard. I would have to deal with that: add it to the list. For now though, I passed through into the kitchenette.

Darth Mekhis, chief designer of the Fury interceptor, had clearly not cared for her servants needs when she put the kitchenette in. The cooker, microwave and sink were all along one side with an island containing cupboards and preparation area in the middle. To get food to cook, one needed to traverse around the island, through a gap just about large enough for one person and carry it back, assuming the preparation surface was in use. In short, it was designed for only one person, and the storage space showed. The fridge was built into the wall and roughly torso sized. To store anything larger than a two-litre bottle required storing it in the cargo hold on the other side of the ship, almost a hundred metres away.

Opening the fridge, I saw it was stocked with junk food, the sort a child would buy with no one to force him to eat properly. Evidently, the Twi’lek hadn’t seen to his nutritional needs, or had bought it on her own behalf. I would have to deal with this: add it to the list.

My datapad beeped: the attachment had downloaded. Flicking it open, I headed back for the crew quarters as I scrolled down for the lighting section. So, the voltage of the corridor light fittings is 20-kilovolts while the refresher has a quartet of 40-kilovolt fixtures. I placed my bag on the lower bunk closest the door, opposite the twi’lek’s. Lower bunks may not have the status of higher bunks, but they were far more efficient. Eighty-two minutes. One task down, Sixteen to go.

I opened up the Naval database and flicked through the ranks of Logistics vetted mechanics of Nar Shaddaa. Selecting the one who had the with the best spread between reliability, quality and price categories, I took his frequency. I tapped it into my holo and waited for it to connect.

A pretty-looking girl in military overalls answered the comms, engine grease spattering her pleasant features. Her dishevelled brown hair was messily tied back, with a few locks covering her rounded face.

“Good afternoon miss. Could you please direct me to Chief Engineer Hoskins. I have a matter of some import to-.”

“You found her, she interrupted, a mantellian drawl colouring her precise tones. Ah, well that is unfortunate. My data had led me to assume the Chief engineer was a man. No matter, her service record speaks for itself.

“I require an inspection of a Fury class Interceptor fresh from Ziost.

“Wow straight in, no hemming or hawing over having a pair of ovaries checking over your shiny ship,” she mused, flashing me a smile with amazing dimples. She glanced across to her terminal, likely using its calendar function.

“I’m real busy for the next four weeks -don’t ask: classified- but you’ve got a small job and you aren’t a pig so I can maybe fit you in in six days. That okay for ya?”

“We are approximately five days away, with a variance of perhaps nine hours. Is there available parking should we arrive early?

“Kinda, I have a permit to keep manned ships waiting at the L2 point of Hutta. That good enough?”

“Perfectly acceptable, please send the invoice to this frequency and I shall arrange payment by the time I reach you.” She tapped a few buttons on a datapad out of sight and my pad beeped with a new message.

“Thank you Chief Engineer Hoskins, I shall see you in six days.”

“See ya then,” she drawled. I tapped the disconnect button and the pretty, young engineer discorporated.

I perused the form, filling in what I knew and consulting the schematics and manual regarding the rest. Nothing leapt out as deceptive or exploitative while I went through it. Signing it, I submitted the form to the agent who sent me the schematics with a note to pass it onto his logistics department.

Her hourly rates weren’t extortionate but they weren’t cheap either. Her work had been rated as high quality by Logistics and she evidently knew it. No matter, it is necessary and will be recorded as an expense. Her cost also bought a degree of confidentiality. Sixty-one minutes.

I walked back into the main central room of the ship, wondering why a Sith deigned to place the main holoterminal in the most public place possible. While there are ancilliaries, all are routed through the central terminal, allowing the feeds to be easily monitored. Perhaps that was the reason, so that the master could surreptitiously monitor their apprentices. I turned right and entered the medbay. Before I requisitioned supplies, I needed to take inventory of what we already had.

I spent the next forty–nine minutes clearing and taking stock of every syringe, every compound and every implement in the medbay. It was slow and altogether unpleasant, for everything stank of industrial grade disinfectant. While this is normal and indeed desirable in medical equipment, it appears the droid did not dilute the compound, leaving a sticky white residue on everything. Evidently, I would have to correct that programming bug. Twelve minutes.

I debated whether to start a new project. I would not be able to realistically finish anything or have a large window once I started. I suppose a small project, like arranging duties to the slave and the droid would not take long.

I headed back through the crew quarters and knocked on the refresher door. This time, there was no response. The Twi’lek had vacated the refresher, and disappeared somewhere. Quickly, I checked the crew quarters, the mess, the kitchenette, the med bay, the main room, the bridge, the cargo bay and the engine compartment. I even popped the airlock interior to see if she had hidden in the room within. There was no sign of her, or the boy. They must have disappeared into his chambers.

I walked over to its threshold. Faintly, I could hear music something with a deep beat and ominous sounding strings that gave way to a nasal yet harmonic male singer. I didn’t hear any orchestral numbers, so it clearly wasn’t an Imperial film. No doubt she was corrupting him. A child should only watch things the Imperial propaganda ministry has vetted as safe for children. To do otherwise risked their emotional wellbeing. The Republic had insidious means of subversion, and exposing children to them before they were able to distinguish could be devastating.

I knocked on the door. No answer. I prepared to knock on the door again, louder, until I heard a baby’s happy laugh emerge from beyond the door. I-I bowed my head and retreated from the entryway. I had other things I needed do first, things that better served the empire. Seven minutes

I headed back to the crew quarters, checking the seals on the corridor as I passed. Everything closed properly, sealing each area off in the event of a hull breach. Two minutes. I slipped into the crew quarters and locked both the corridor and refresher doors. Nothing short of a rampaging Darth would disturb me from this. I tapped the holofrequency I knew from memory into my datapad, setting it up to bounce the signal through several million different HP addresses and fourteen different encryption protocols, all imperial, before connecting.

The connection pinged active and a blurry figure manifested in the lower quadrant of my holo. Slowly the image resolved itself, and I cursed having to run it through my personal holo emitter in lieu of the main terminal. I never would, not while others were on board. The Fury is a good vessel, but not designed for secrecy among its crew.

“Da-ddy! The recipient squealed happily, and I stopped. Years of professionalism, of training and discipline fell away, leaving me bare to the spun gold of her voice. The image resolved itself, revealing a dark haired child with piercing blue eyes, my eyes.

“Abigale,” I breathed. Daughter, a word two syllables: simple and yet so overwhelmingly complex. The image blurred as another entered, picking her up. The image resolved and a woman stood before me. She shared her nose and lips with my daughter, though her skin was deathly pale and eyes were a sulphurous yellow. She didn’t look anything like the Balmorran mechanic I’d met five years ago. She used to smile when she saw me.

“Lieutenant,” she noted.

“It’s Captain, now, My Lady. I have been promoted to serve as Darth Baras’ liaison to his apprentice”

“and you believe a promotion entitles you to call me whenever you wish?” she asked, so calm I knew it was a mask. I have no doubts that were she capable, she would choke me across the holo. Abigale turned her angelic face away from us. I’m sorry Dukra, I did not wish for this fight.

“Of course not, my Lady. I intended to let you know that my contact frequency had changed,” I lied. I knew you should have left for your meeting with Lord Cytharat two minutes ago, and the maid wouldn’t be up here for another eight. That gave me ten minutes to be with my daughter, in holo if not in person.

“Well, I’ve been notified, Captain Quinn,” she stated and exploded into static. I stared at the static, almost allowing myself to hope that she’d reconnect. I knew she wouldn’t. She hates me, and I don’t blame her. Sending her away to the academy four years ago was probably the hardest choice in my life, and easily the worst.

I can still see the logic, the reasoning behind it. She was force sensitive, so either she becomes Sith or she dies. As an officer, I am required to obey the law and a part of that is reporting force sensitives, regardless of talent. If I did not and someone else discovered her, we would both die. She hates me for it, for making her go through the Iridonia academy carrying Abigale. Sometimes I share that sentiment, but when I swore myself to a life of duty, I accepted that I would sometimes have to make hard decisions between my interests and that of the Empire. The empire comes first, no matter the fallout. I closed down the datapad, locked the crew quarters doors, sat on my new bunk and tried not to cry. I failed.

Dukra is Sith for Daughter

EDIT: i'm sort of tempted to leave the password as is, despite an associate laughing when he read it. "Oh Hai emperor, you want to play some foosball?" for those who don't get the reference, you are fortunate. It's from a terrible film I watched in Uni

2 dominated 6th Line commandos stand in my way, blocking the way to the roof. The red Twi'lek with dotted markings down his lekku speaks, but with Vitiate’s voice bleeding through. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

The Mirialan woman speaks now, her voice barely heard over Vitiate’s “My intellect is beyond you and every other Dark Council member combined. I know more than you could learn in a thousand lifetimes.” Both draw weapons, the Twi’lek speaks again, his voice too drowned out by the former emperor’s. “I will enjoy watching you fail.”

They can’t charge what they can’t see, Rendering myself invisible I draw my weapon, a dual bladed war-staff, cathar in design, the dark blue crystal embedded within coming to life. I first start off the fight with a field of entropic energy, weakening them, but they just shrug it off and begin their attack.

The Twi'lek starts with a quick strike aimed at my blind spot, not fast enough, i block it with my blade, while simultaneously stunning the Mirialan. A momentary break to focus on red here. I faint with a strike to his left leg, followed by a reversed strike from the other blade, sparks fly, lightsaber on electrostaff. A blast of lightning staggers him for a moment, but the Mirialan (i shall call her Green) attempts a heavy strike to my left side, free of the stun. A quick application of more entropic energy keeps Red off balance, the energy restoring my stamina. A spinning slash with my blades spread the entropic energy to Green, they’re nearing the end of their limits. A quick whirling blow sends Green flying, she’s down. With only red left, i wait patiently for him to finish channeling the barrier he activated in order to save himself momentarily, how foolish a move. The barrier drops, and another wave of entropic energy drains the last of his strength.

Red speaks, clearly in pain, but Vitiate still vibrant in his voice. “Go ahead, kill the jedi. If you don’t then they’ll just keep slaughtering in my name. Your spy friend won’t mind, and you know i’ll just take these two again anyways. Confidence rings through the dark shadow voice, he thinks i’ll stoop to his level.

“No” I say, and i mean it, no more unnecessary death. Gathering up the ambient force energy in the room i use it to sprint to the other side of the room, setting up the room to be filled with waves of electricity. It should be enough to remove vitiate from the jedi commandos. As i work the console i can sense Red getting up behind me.

“What are you doing? This is not the act of a proper sith Lord!” He screams with fury and charges. Really Vitiate, that’s what you can come up with? Charge at me? Just working the console i thought of 17 different ways you could have stopped me, and you went with one i didn’t even think of because it was so stupid. What happened to being smarter than a puny slave? A quick bolt of lightning stops him in his tracks. Reds down for the count and I turn back to the console and finished what I started.

Before the room is charged I move to the elevator, waving to the two jedi as I walk. "I'll never let you win Vitiate, not for as long as I live. I swear by my missing eye that I won't. This slave stands defiant of you." I don't even hesitate as I turn my back on the immortal poltergeist and ride the elevator up towards my fate.

I'm not completely happy with it but this is the far as I could take it.

Sorry for the punfull title.

Full disclosure, no I'm not.

The promenade smelt as if every alien in the galaxy spent a week on an endurance-training course without access to adequate bathing facilities. Jostling into and bustling around each other were aliens of every inferiority, from the almost-worthy of notice foreign humans to glorified animals like Houks and Nikto. I paid none of them any more attention than absolutely necessary. I was on the promenade, the most heavily guarded sector on Nar Shaddaa, in a well-lit speeder zone known to deal with Imperials. It was the closest place to the Empire I could find on this wretched moon. Not close enough

I stood beside the already-rented speeder, endeavouring to ignore the meter slowly ticking down. I had arranged transport to my young Lord’s nearest location as soon as I had gotten Ms Setsyn’s intelligence. While it goes against every principle I hold dear to aid the Republic against fellow Imperial soldiers, I will obey. This isn’t the first time duty has overridden my selfish principles.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to hold the impending migraine at bay. How I long for the dark nights of Dromund Kaas, where neon is proscribed by Public Ordnance and Planning statute 883F. My… co-worker wasn’t helping. The representation of the twi’lek, Vette, stood atop my holocomm, hand on her hip in as belligerent a posture as the scrawny alien could manage. A rational person wouldn’t deliberately seek to antagonise their liaison to her true master. Despite what our young lord says and intends, she is legally Darth Baras’ property until Roan comes of age in two to three years. Then again, a rational person wouldn’t be in this mess. Rational people don’t try to rob the dead of Korriban. Why she had eluded execution upon capture was beyond me, but I try not to question the orders of my betters anymore.

“So, let me get this straight. You abandoned our lord, a ten year old, in one of the busiest areas of Nar Shaddaa, only with the promise he wouldn’t use the taxi speeders,” I repeated for perhaps the third time. Maybe this time it would enter my head without every part of my being railing against the sheer irresponsibility. No: perhaps on the fourth. “Tell me, do you know how many people pass through the promenade on an hourly basis?”

“Then maybe you should’ve gone with him to break up Rathari’s meeting. I agreed to meet up with the ga-,” she caught herself before slipping anything usable, “some people at the spaceport. There wasn’t enough time to wait for you, especially after we had to deal with that whole Flame drek,” she complained, trying to shirk responsibility. I had perfectly valid reasons for not accompanying him, someone had to stay with the ship awaiting the Chief engineer’s summons. I gave her comment the rebuttal it deserved. I said nothing. I just watched her, my face a mask of professionalism.

I’d read Agent Felth’s report to Imperial Intelligence. I knew about our Lord’s talk with the Gen’dai, how he allowed the alien terrorist to escape judgement. Another instance where he acts contrary to the Sith way: the Twi’lek’s influence no doubt. Perhaps I can spin this in my report to Darth Baras in such a way that he recalls the twi’lek from our lord’s service. She is interfering with his proper Sith education, instilling treasonous vices like mercy and egalitarianism. My official recommendation is that she be removed from his presence, and fortuitously, our local contact deals in slaves. It wouldn’t take much to have her resold and sent off to a work detail in the spice mines, never to be seen again. Of course, Ms Setsyn wouldn’t arrange it, not after the impression our Lord gave her.

A human woman and her child stopped in front of me. They had to be after the departure terminal screen behind me. I paid them no heed: no one bothers imperial officers for directions. The child looked up at me, cocking his head to one side. I glanced at him. What is it boy, never seen an officer from the most feared military in the galaxy before? Wait, new information: children don’t have facial tattoos. The ten-year old Sith apprentice looked up at me, cocking his head to the side.

Well, this isn’t going to get strange fast. Back on Balmorra, before all this started, I had read that Baras’ new apprentice was younger than usual, but I had expected someone post puberty. Still, he was effective enough as a blunt instrument of destruction, even if he was obstreperous and incessantly childish.

“My lord, where have you been? I was about to call in-,” I trailed away, noticing the woman alongside him. Short, pleasantly voluptuous and attractive in a wholesome, matronly way: she wore her long, wheat-blonde hair loose, draped over a grime-stained brown jumpsuit. Lines of care faintly furrowed her brow, just like mine. I take it her life was similarly trying. Typical, the twi’lek leaves him for five minutes and he befriends some hapless local bottom-feeder. At least she didn’t look strung out on spice, “My lord, who is this?”

“This?” he asked, following my gaze to my newfound migraine, “She is Elara Dorne. She’s minds the minders and fixes the fixers,” my young lord chirruped happily, as if that was sufficient. All it told me was that she was possibly related to an old military caste family closely tied to intelligence, and that she worked as a low clearance medic for them. It didn’t tell me what she was doing, or why she was here.

Drawing upon the dossiers I had read on the journey here from Balmorra, I recall vague mention of an Intelligence detention facility on-planet. It’s possible she worked there, or as part of the alien outreach programs. No, Vette would have mentioned if a soldier accompanied them from the outreach centre. She’s an irresponsible alien who doggedly refuses to remain in proper caste, but she’s not dense.

“A gang of aliens attacked her and she killed a few of them but she ran out of blaster bolts so I jumped in and killed the rest and then we interrogated a Nikto that wasn’t a Nikto and she got a broken holocomm clue and now I’m taking her to her secret agent base and telling her commander so she’ll be safe and the Empire can find out who’s attacking agents.” My lord explained, and then sucked in one long breath. Emperor’s black heart, it was the Balmorran Arms fiasco all over again. At least Darth Baras wasn’t awaiting his report.

I replayed his ‘explanation’ back in my head. A gang attacked an imperial soldier so he slaughtered them. Now he was escorting her to her base so her commander could track down whoever is responsible. Evidently, enunciation was something he needed to learn, or perhaps simple sentence structure. Unfortunately, we had little time to waste with this excursion, and that was before Vette’s impatience cost us the better part of an hour. General Klington was probably halfway through decimating the Republic camp by now.

“We can drop her off at her base on our return. Our contact has a time critical mission for us.” My young lord pouted, an act most unbecoming in a Sith. Evidently, the twi’lek had been spoiling him: some discipline would be required, else he mature into a profligate. The real question though was how to instil discipline into a superior without them noticing?

“It’s not another business deal with the Hutts, is it? I don’t like Hutts. They’re all big and fat and sluggy and they don’t speak basic like normal people.” Well, his assessment was correct. Hutts are ‘sluggy’, though the notion that the grotesque aliens spoke anything other than huttese was bizarre. The glorified criminals are not civilised enough to use a proper language.

“Sir, might I ask what the mission is?” Dorne enquired. Cheeky sod! A soldier does not question a superior’s orders. Perhaps it’s her breeding or perhaps it’s her time among Intelligence but she has forgotten that. I shall endeavour to watch her, and make a full report to her commander regarding any further lapses in professionalism. Perhaps a transfer to the front lines somewhere is in order, Hoth perhaps, or maybe even Balmorra.

“That is confidential. All you need know is that you will follow my commands and use your medical skills on wounded soldiers. Am I understood?” She nodded obediently, snapping to attention with a sloth I would have expected in fresh conscripts. Perhaps she needed to re-enrol in a boot camp first.

“Yes sir.” I noted her tone picked up the faintest hint of a Coruscanti twang. Interesting, one would assume the agents would drop those hideous accents they affect when among civilised company. Something I needed to observe when my Lord fawned over that cipher. Honestly, it beggared belief that a Sith would kowtow and heed the commands of a spy when he ignored those from officers.

“Good, now get in the speeder,” I commanded, popping the passenger door open. There should be sufficient credits on the meter, assuming the traffic was not too dire and I drove with haste.

I don't think i went very far into problem territory, so i just thought i might warn you all just in case, even though it's probably not an issue, but the amount of blood and further description of the story might be off-putting to some. If not, no worries!

Tovenar began his trek across the lush planet known to many as Alderaan. Rumours of a great store of knowledge had permeated the circles that Tovenar closely monitored for information on the strange, bizarre and weird. The quarry he sought was truly a paragon of the thing Tovenar specialized in, secrets, more specifically, those of the major power axis. House Thul was where he began his search, trawling for any information about this supposed treasure trove of information. The locals, when presenting accurate and reliable information all pointed to a house that was overrun by Killiks many years before, strangely enough though, the speeder to it was still active. And so Tovenar set off for this House Cortess on the public access speeder.

Upon arriving, he was greeted by a joiner who did not act as the others, while many joiners milled around attending various tasks, this one stood tall and proud. The joiner itself seemed to be watching for something, what, Tovenar did not know. For some time, Tovenar watched and waited for the hive to do anything to betray any sort of intent to do anything about his presence. The hive did nothing, though many joiners and killiks that wandered by acknowledged him Soon, the sun began to fade and the strange joiner began to head inside the nest.

Tovenar followed the lone joiner inside, unafraid of attack, for attacking anyone inside a killik hive without cause is a very final, foolish mistake. ‘It would be as foolish as attacking a fully armed imperial dreadnought. That’s strange,” he thought, “I don’t quite remember who told me that, but I think it was my father…” Suddenly he became unaware of his own thought process as he took in the features of the nest. The nest was beautiful, a teeming, thriving haven of life deep within the remains of a noble’s house and further into the mountainside, everywhere one could look, one saw killiks milling about, doing work for the hive. Eggs were tended to by so many joiners and killiks that they could populate the entire house organa structure some times over. The hive, in its expansion, had kept most of the structure of house Cortess when they took it over.

Tovenar was led by the strange joiner for some time, but after a while, he decided to try to converse with the strange one. He wasn’t surprised when the joiner turned around and regarded him with the soulful eyes of a joiner. It was then that he remembered something long forgotten, the memory of a child after trauma, foggy and unclear.

He did not fully remember what it was that he saw, but it was terrifying, a monster wearing the mask of a man who seeks to create a world of peace, but got caught up in the meaning and found that total destruction would serve the purpose. Blood washed away fears as the monster fought a man defiant of his evil, a pillar of holy light to the darkness of the monster.

He saw a column of bloodied light striking at the strong figure standing definant of the monster. Knife flashed, light burned and blood flew. For what seemed to be hours, the two battled. Eventually the monster fell, black heart beat no more, man of light stood alone before a host of death. Console shut down, codes entered, relief gone. Tovenar hid, afraid the darkness of the monster would infect him and turn him into the monster that caused so much pain. He was soon found by the man, whom seemed relieved to have found him.

The last thing he remembered was a kind voice, the man picking him up and telling him he would be okay. Everything else sank into the black.

The hive saw something in the man standing within their nest that sparked a memory from within the vast song of the twilight herald. Blood, Death and screams filled the hive’s consciousness as the minds within churned a soundless cry, pulling a vision from their twilight herald.

20 years ago, aboard the Dominator

Upon boarding the dominator, Oranis was met with the aura of carnage as he felt the darkness of a sith crawl into his heart and infect his mind with dread. As he went through the ship, fighting off forces made insane by the haunting aura that filled his every breath. Then the worst came, the monsters in control of the ship knew there was an infiltrator, so they began to play the sounds of screaming and death and insanity on the PA just for him, knowing it would wear at him until he joined the chorus.

His willpower weakening, the only thing he could do was press on or give in to the madness that overcame all he met on the ship. Bombs found and disarmed, engines disabled, escape pods locked within, hangars sealed, allowing no escape for any aboard the vessel. All the while the awful screams were multiplied as the men he fought were added to the haunting verse, the cries of children began to play

Oranis made it to the bridge, the haunting sounds of screams and death followed. There stood Darth Jadus, the man that would cause mass destruction just to further his own goals. There is a simple difference between man and monster, and the monster cowered in fear of this man, this sith who would annihilate military targets and civilians with weapons not even the worst monster should possess.

He crept to the nearby console and input the code that would sabotage the use of the destroyers. No one would be able to use them again, nor would they regrow or be salvageable, the schematics were deleted.

It wasn’t long before Jadus saw him, and he screamed a primal roar of rage at the insult Oranis had dealt him. He unsheathed his lightsaber and flew at Oranis, blade poised for the death blow.

Twelve seconds, that’s how long the fight lasted, 12 seconds of desperate running, dodging, slashing and shooting. 12 seconds was enough to kill Jadus and severely wound Oranis. Jadus took the knife to the heart, and Oranis took a severe blow to the gut. It began to bleed heavily after the fight ended, but kolto kept the worst of it from killing him immediately.

Jadus fell, and the darkness that filled the ship seemed to rush for his body, as if to somehow bring him back to life, but no such luck came to the monster, his only dignity in death was the battle. Oranis did a sweep of the room, and in finding no hostiles, came to the realization that “Jadus’s belief in his superiority was his downfall, he failed to think that one man alone could defeat him without the force, that it would be some jedi or sith to put him six feet under, but no, all he gained was a shallow grave and the death of his legacy.” Oranis slumped against the wall, all his strength gone away like the wind, adrenaline fading and leaving him in too much pain to do more than sit there and bleed for a long time. He blacked out.

Oranis came to to see a small pureblood child, no more than six years old tending to his stomach wound. The boy himself seemed to be strong willed, if the lack of signs of dark side insanity were any indication. The boy was terrified however, causing his hands to shake as he tried to apply kolto to Oranis’s wound.

Soon the boy began to cry, sobs wracking his body, forcing him to stop doing anything else and curl into a ball. Not wanting to see the boy in pain, Oranis forced himself to get up, pain making every second an eternity of torture. He slowly made his way to the bridge console, and lifted the lockdown on the hangar so that he could leave.

The boy came up to where Oranis was, but he would not move when Oranis tried to get him to go with him. Oranis, seeing no other option, picked him up, telling him “you’re going to be okay, I’m going to take care of you, nothing bad is going to happen, I Promise”

“Time to leave,” he thought. “I’m not going back to intelligence, not now, not after what they almost let Jadus do.” Oranis carried the boy all the way to his ship, and took off, leaving the dreadful place behind.

One Year later: On a Dantooinian Farm

Oranis returned home from his work in the field, absentmindedly opening the door and going up the stairs to take a shower. 20 minutes later, he came back down the stair to fix dinner. It was then that he realized he’d missed something, there was no sound in the house other than the ones he himself was making. This was specifically worrying because he payed Kaliyo to handle security, and she was not a quiet person at any time of day.

Oranis began to search the house from top to bottom, in that order. It was when he finally went into the basement that he found kaliyo tied up and unconscious, clearly beaten and injured. He walked further into the basement when he saw the blood trail. He followed it into the furnace room, and in there he found the body of his adoptive son, shot through the heart with a blaster of Republic issue. There were several bodies of men, all of whom sported Republic insignias on their armor, every one of them died of electrical burns.

Oranis fell to his knees, sobbing over the broken promise he had made after that year. He had no doubt it was a republic hit intended for him that caught his son instead. He vowed to make them pay for what they had done, for they had killed him as surely as they had his son.

Oranis went to Kaliyo and woke her up, informing her that they were going back to Dromund Kaas for a few things, namely information on the republic dogs that had killed his son.

One Week Later: On Dromund Kaas

Oranis had his information, supposedly the ex-jedi Kothe had been on Dantooine when he heard of a cypher agent’s location, apparently just what he wanted in his scheme. “Luckily”, intelligence had a job opening, one for a double agent, in fact. They had the hook, and Oranis had grabbed it readily, all he had to do was be a defector, at least for a while, but then he would have his revenge.

Three Years Later: The Shadow Arsenal

Kothe lay on the ground, defeated. Oranis could not yet deliver the death blow he had to know first. “WHY DID YOU HAVE MY SON KILLED?” Kothe seemed confused “what do you mean, why do you think I killed him?”

Oranis’s rage filled his vision “ON DANTOOINE I CAME HOME TO FIND REPUBLIC SOLDIERS SURROUNDING THE BODY OF MY DEAD SON, AND I FOUND OUT THAT YOU WERE THE ONE BEHIND IT, SO YOU TELL ME... WHY... IS... MY... SON… DEAD?” Kothe looked shocked and offended, but he said one thing that made Oranis pause. “Didn’t imperial intelligence give you that information?”

Oranis paled, his rage fled. Time went by slowly, minutes passed until the last ounce of strength left him. “go…” he croaked, “get out of here, I don’t want to see you again.”

Kothe left, and Oranis was left alone with his regret.

Aboard the Star Chamber

Oranis opened the Black Codex, decidedly searching for any reference he could to that fateful day on Dantooine. He paled when he found one, an imperial operations dossier. Within that dossier was details of an imperial operation centered on getting a cypher agent to return to active duty. The plan executed was laid out, several shadow agents would steal into the house and place a body double of the child known to be living there, and from there they planned to make it look like a republic hit, they succeeded, blaming it all on Ardun Kothe in order to galvanize the cipher into returning to intelligence. Of what happened to the boy, they said he was sold into slavery, later to be found force sensitive and shipped to Korriban. Of Tovenar’s fate after that, the report did not say.

Not totally happy with this one, writer's block is the death of me.

However, the block lifted as i kept writing, so Yay!

@Feldraeth- RE: What Happens on the Smuggler's Moon- I appologize, but I'm not really in the mood for any sexy bits tonight. I may come back and read this story later. I feel bad, sorry

RE: First Encouters- You may have spoiled a bit of meta-plot, but I love it! I can see everyone coming together, and it's great

RE: Aboard the Mandalorians' Ship- I agreed, this doesn't really need a warning. I liked how Tarmin struggles with the difficulty of being faithful to his wife when it's not entirely unlikely he'll never see her again (if memory serves?) and he's faced with a naked woman who wants in his pants (even if not for reasons entirely her own).

RE: the Quinn ones- Is it bad that Quinn's priorities are more or less the same as mine when moving into a new situation? Find a bed, find the wi-fi, check the kitchen, call my family. I like the perspective, from the little I know of Quinn, it seems to fit him. Also wonder what Rhoan is watching in there? A Quinn and Elara meeting? Perfect, I knew it had to happen some time.

@AlmostInsane- I really like this piece. It could have possibly used another spelling/grammar edit, but you conveyed the strained relationship between the two brothers, even though they haven't seen each other in a long time, very well.

@Bultitutes_Loke- RE: A Beginning and an Ending, Pt II- Incorporating the Sacking into a backstory isn't uncommon, but I like the way you did it!

@Toatokua- Ziost spoilers, sorry!

@Oliverthefighter- Agent spoilers, sorry

@Oliverthefighter: Oh, those mother… well, that’s one way to motivate a traumatized agent, and get in with the academy. I really liked the setup, that of the half-remembered children’s story and how it grew.

@Mirdthestrill: Yeah I wouldn’t feel guilty about not reading Smuggler’s Moon. There are parts I’ve been meaning to get around to correcting and changing, but whenever I open it up, I just get too pissed off to focus. I’m probably going to pull back from the sex stuff for a while after that one.

As for First Encounters, I'll only say that context is important..

Also, Rhoan? Are you by any chance on the Progenitor?

I sat on my bunk staring at the folded datapad on my new, unfamiliar bed. I failed. I don’t know whether I miscalculated or if it was the will of the Emperor that I not speak with my daughter. No, it was the will of my wife, my better in the eyes of the Empire that I have no contact with her, that I cannot ruin her life as I ruined Myrria-, Adrasteia‘s.

My wife had discarded everything about the Balmorran mechanic after she attended the academy, after I sent her there, and as far as I can gather, she would abandon Abigale too if she thought doing so would hurt more than keeping her away from me. A father is a protector, a bulwark against the evils of the galaxy: I am the exemplar of failure.

A crackling voice piped out through the intercom. As I listened, my thoughts fell upon Abigale, and the spun gold of her voice. I never got to see her as an infant, was never there for her first anything, all sacrifices upon the altars of Imperial service and my own mistakes. I’m not entirely sure when it happened, but someone must not have changed the particulate filters, as it became quite difficult to see clearly, while the lullaby played through the ship.

A disembodied woman whispered ‘always’ as the movie faded to jungle sounds. The kid flicked his hand across, and the volume dropped back down to normal. No idea why, but the kid flicked the intercom on moments before Kohl Philins started singing.

I glanced down at him, resting his head against my breast, a kernel of bang-corn in his fringe. Uh, yeah I might’ve dropped that. Gently, I blew on it, sending it tumbling down into the bowl in my lap. What, I’ll eat it, probably.

“It’s nothing, just wanted the captain to hear it,” he answered my unasked question. Uh huh, yeah I don’t believe that for a moment, but o-kay. If you’re sure…

“I wouldn’t bother with him. He seemed pretty stiff to me and I don’t think he likes movies.”

“Ssh,” he whispered as the dawn rose on Tarisian roses. I guess it doesn’t really matter: he is so weird. I shushed up and carried on watching the movie.

http://www.swtor.com/community/showthread.php?t=845214

@Feldraeth- AWWWW!!!! I love that song (even though it's been forever since I watched the movie) and this was a sweet context for it

@Rhyys- Unfortunately, I haven't done KOTFE yet, so this'll have to wait.

The building shook under them and the captain’s face turned a lighter shade of blue. “Umm….”

Mallena tuned her out and tried to assess the damage. Was the whole place coming down on them or could they complete their mission? A film of dust rained down on her head, but the tremors stopped after a few seconds.

“We’ll proceed,” she said as quietly as she could after the sonic burst. “But try to step softly.” She turned to the

twi’lek beside her. “And don’t do anything like that again.”

The captain nodded but still looked defiant as Mallena led the group through the doorway into the main hallway. As far as she could tell, all their opponents were out cold or killed, but she put a shot or two into each of them to make sure. Rubble crunched under their feet. Fortunately, most of it seemed to have been there already rather than been knocked loose with the captain’s poor choice of tactics. The doors Mallena had noticed earlier were still open and the interiors looked empty. “Take a look in those,” she ordered Jorgan. “We’ll check upstairs.”

Moving towards the first room, the Cathar nodded in acknowledgement and hefted his autocannon. The two smugglers followed her up the stairs without question. Mallena wondered if the near-disaster had scared them into listening to her, or if they just didn’t have a better plan.

Upstairs was just as decrepit as below, with broken furniture and loose sheets of flimsiplast scattered everywhere. No wonder CorSec wanted to shut this place down. Even if the surgeries themselves weren’t illegal, this place probably had fifteen health violations that she had counted since being here. Trying not to make too much noise crashing through the debris, she made her way to the first room.

She held up her hand to signal a stop, then realized that the two smugglers wouldn’t know what it meant. “Hold up.”

“What is it?” said the captain, much too loudly.

Mallena ignored her and checked quickly around the corner before they could do anymore damage. Worrying about making noise was probably moot at this point, but they didn’t have to advertise their presence any more than they had already. Fortunitly, this room just had a trio of deactivated droids. She thought about asking Captain Silver to destroy them while she continued clearing the place, but remembering what had happened the last time the twi’lek had tried to do something mechanical on an op, she decided against it. “Nothing hostile in this room, we’ll come back later.”

The next two rooms also seemed deserted except for the droids. A creeping feeling made its way up Mallena’s spine. They couldn’t have gotten rid of everyone in this place. The clinic had to have more staff than this, even with the people they had taken out on their way in. Most of them had looked more like doctors than actual thugs.

A mechanical warble sounded from the room on the far end of the balcony. “What was that?” said Riggs.

What indeed? None of the other droids they had encountered had made noise of any sort. “Let’s check it out. Slowly.”

For once they both listened to her and inched forward towards the doorway. As they did, a hail of gunfire erupted from the opening. Mallena dropped to the floor and rolled away, hoping against hope that nothing hit her. Why couldn’t she have gotten her armor before she accepted a mission into gangland? “Jorgan, get up here!”

She couldn’t tell if he responded, but it didn’t matter. Coming out of her roll, she brought her rifle up and began firing. Whatever was in there, it was obviously hostile, and that gave her leave to shoot. As she did, she scanned for anything of note. This didn’t seem like the kind of place where there would be hostages, but if there were… nope, looked clear.

The smugglers had taken up positions as well, the captain crouched behind a box and Riggs constantly moving around and yelling at the top of his lungs. It seemed to work. Whatever was firing at them seemed completely focused on him. Mallena took the opportunity to move to a better position as footsteps pounded behind her. The sound of an autocannon joined the cacophony and the ozone stench intensified.

“What is it?” yelled the Captain.

“No idea! Jorgan, can you see?”

“Looks like some sort of droid!” called Riggs.

A droid, huh? Made sense, she supposed. It would make good extra security in case something like them happened, but didn’t need a massive salary most of the time. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any more EMP grenades, either. They could try to wait it out, but it was keeping up a pretty steady stream of fire. It was only a matter of time before one of them got hit.

“Captain?”

“Little busy!”

“I need you to listen to me. Do you have an more grenades?”

“Yeah, a few. But I thought you-“

“What kind?” Heat by her face. If she’d been two centimeters to the right, it would have taken off part of her ear.

“A couple sonic, two frag, maybe-“

“Any EMP?”

“Um, I think that’s what this is.”

She thought? Another shot came uncomfortably close to Mallena’s head. “Toss it in there.”

“OK…” Something hurtled through the air and a second later a crackling sound and then silence.

Mallena stood up slowly, wary of a trap. If it was smart enough for guard duty, it might be smart enough to play dead. But the silence continued as she walked towards the room. When she reached the doorway, she saw the droid half-slumped over. A few well-placed shots finished it off.

“Is it dead?” called the captain.

“Seems to be.”

The rest of the party approached and stood around its remains, except the captain, who crouched down and began tugging at its outer plating. “Man, I bet this is worth some creds.” Mallena smiled in spite of herself. For all their irresponsibility, the pair was starting to grow on her.

Motioning for Jorgan to follow her, Mallena headed for the computer. Time to wipe this place clean and get back to General Garza.

“The Lord Wrath will see you now, my lord.”

Smoothing out her robes, Ashara rose to her feet. She had been made to wait for an hour, or near enough as to make no difference. A small number of other petitioners had come in the meantime – judging by their dress, mostly locals, farmers eking out a simple living keeping herds of barely-tamed tuk’ata in the cold and arid mountains of Korriban. As a padawan on Tython, Ashara had been interested in the structures of political power, and from their deferential behaviour she clearly recognised the semi-feudal relationship of patron and client that tied them to the noble Lord Wrath and his house.

All of them had been admitted shortly after their arrival, leaving Ashara to wait alone in the antechamber of the estate. The message was not lost on her.

The elderly Pureblood majordomo lead her through a series of winding, dimly-lit corridors, each lined with more exquisite collections of antiquities and invaluable artwork. Unlike her own master’s collection, the pieces were elegant, subtle, and refined. They might not have been as valuable, or as impressive, but they had the air of having been assembled carefully over many centuries. “The Lord Wrath is working in the gardens,” the majordomo explained after a while in nasal Basic, “he shall receive you there.”

“There aren’t a whole lot of plants that would grow on Korriban,” Ashara pointed out. “I wasn’t aware you could have gardens in this climate.” ‘Working in the gardens’, she understood, almost certainly had nothing to do with gardening. The Aquillas would have slaves for that.

The majordomo shot her a withering glare, which she effortlessly returned. Jedi training, hah. “The gardens of the Aquilla estates are some of the most celebrated stone gardens in the Sith tradition. The pond bridge was designed by no less a figure than the great Ror’jhan Qo, if you must know.”

“Of course,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. That was not part of her Jedi training. “Do forgive my ignorance.”

Stiffening slightly, the majordomo stopped in his tracks and opened an old-fashioned sliding door she hadn’t noticed before, as it was made from the same faintly shimmering black stone as most of the walls. “You will find the Lord Wrath by the pond. Good day.” With these words, he disappeared, blending into the shadows.

Her eyes adjusting to the sudden daylight, Ashara stepped out into the gardens, or whatever counted for one among the ancient Sith families. Almost immediately, her montrals picked up on large slabs of rock seemingly randomly placed around the area. Only when she opened her mind to the flow of the Force around the garden, dark and heavy as it was, could she make out the reason within the madness. Each stone, each rock, each pebble was part of some sort of fractal mandala imbued with stories of ancient heroism and bloodthirst. As she followed the path that was barely visible in the red sand covering the ground, the mandala painted by the Force seemed to shift and change, depicting in quick succession justice, the relationships between the Sith castes, and the dark spirit of Korriban itself, that had driven its people to such lengths in their pursuit of power.

Following the weave of the Force, Ashara was eventually led to a small pond crossed by an utterly unremarkable-looking stone bridge that was indubitably an inestimable work of art to the right eye. The water was dark and murky. A light writing desk had been set up by the pond, two chairs in front of it. Behind it sat a young male Sith – or at least Ashara assumed he was young, she could never tell with his species – in boiled black leather, a pair of lightsabres at his belt. In a remarkable display of self-mutilation, the bony ridges on his face were inlaid with large gold piercings, at least two dozen of them, and the tendrils on his chin must certainly have been bent into shape to be this symmetrical.

He did not look at her when she approached, rather focusing his steely gaze on the datapad in his hand, though she knew he had sensed her.

Standing at some distance, Ashara gave a stiff bow. “My lord Wrath.”

The Empire’s Wrath took his time. When he finally turned to face her, there was no trace of pity in his eyes. “Before we begin,” he said, his voice carefully articulated, aristocratic and sharp, “I want to make one thing perfectly clear. This meeting is a courtesy, nothing more. I am only on Korriban for a few hours to take care of some family business, and I’ve got twenty divisions waiting for me in orbit around Quesh. The sole reason I am receiving you at all is your service to the Empire. So make your point, Apprentice Zavros, and make it quickly.”

Well, this was going well. The Wrath was not known for his affability, but in all of their past, brief interactions – during the Oriconian campaign, and in the run-up to the Battle of Yavin – he had been nothing but courteous toward her, unlike many Sith who could not see past the colour of her skin and the montrals on her head. Stiffly, Ashara settled into a parade rest, feeling rather like a wayward padawan being schooled by the masters. “My lord, it has been a month now since the attack on the Joint Task Force hunting Vitiate. So far, no imperial fleet has been dispatched to retaliate and extract my master and Darth Marr. I’ve been to talk to the remaining Dark Councillors … but none of them would receive me.”

The Wrath raised a ridged eyebrow. “You must not have been informed. Both Marr and Imperius are considered to have been slain by enemy action.”

“They are not dead!,” Ashara exclaimed, perhaps too forcefully. Peace, passion … “They are not dead,” she repeated, more calmly. “I don’t know about Darth Marr, but I would have felt my master’s death in the Force, count on it.”

“Pardon me if I don’t take your word for it. The … atypical nature of your relationship with your master is well-known, apprentice. I believe unnatural affection clouds your judgment in this matter.” Leaning forward, he put down the datapad in his hand. “Assuming the Allied fleet was attacked by our former emperor, it would have been annihilated entirely. Remember what he did to Ziost.”

Her throat tightened. “I know. I was there just after it happened.” Standing in the frozen ashes of the dead world, still rippling through the Force with the dying screams of billions, had not been an experience either her or her master would soon forget – or forgive. Vitiate had to be destroyed, utterly and without mercy, that was clearer now than ever before. It was why her master had gone aboard Darth Marr’s flagship, and it was part of why she wished she had gone with him.

“Then you know what he is capable of. Even if, by some miracle, Imperius still lives, he is now beyond our reach.”

“We must at least try to find him. And Marr, too. You must have seen the recordings from the Fury’s cameras – Vitiate has a fleet now, if it was him. He’s going to use it, and he’s going to come for the Empire first. You are going to need all the Dark Councillors you can get to have any chance at all of surviving his onslaught.” Agitated, she moved forward, put her hand on his desk. The Wrath gave it a pointed look, but she ignored his pique. “The Dark Council you have is a shadow of its former self. Ravage, Acina, Aruk – can you imagine them fending off Vitiate? Vowrawn and Mortis have some fight left in them, true, but both of them could drop dead of old age any day now.”

The Wrath’s deep golden eyes narrowed. “You presume much. The Empire is strong, even without Marr and Imperius. If Vitiate ever comes for us, we shall defeat him or die trying.”

“You Sith are far too quick to accept death for my tastes.”

He scoffed. “You would not understand, padawan. Like your late master, you are barely Sith. Do not forget who our true enemies are, before you let their foolish creed of weakness and cowardice infest your mind again. Whether we triumph or fall, our tombs will be bedecked in marks of victory. It is as simple as that.”

“If there is anyone left alive to remember, you mean. My lord, I beg you, listen to me – my master is not dead. Even if you don’t believe me, at least send a fleet to look for him. Even a single ship would be enough. You owe him that much.”

Almost instantly, a change went over the Wrath’s face. “It is he who ought to be grateful,” he growled forth from between sharpened teeth, outrage plain in his narrowed eyes. “He would be nothing without my family. He’d have ended up as a mining slave to some decadent Hutt if we hadn’t taken him and his sister into our household. We clothed, fed and sheltered them. Blood of my ancestors, my sisters adored them – even taught them to read. I knew that nothing good could ever come of that, and still I did my duty by the Empire and sent them to Korriban when we discovered them to be Force-sensitive.” He scoffed. “It was always a bad idea to accept humans into the Sith Order. Slaves and aliens? Disgraceful. Imperius’ heresies and his sister’s failure to complete her trials are proof of that.”

“He was your slave! You people treated him like property, like he was not a person …”

The Wrath raised his voice to match hers. Ashara felt her gaze slipping to the lightsabres at his belt. “And a slave he should have remained! There is a natural hierarchy to all things: slaves and masters, those who fight and those who serve. The Empire cannot function without discipline, without obedience! Our traditions made our society great, and your master would see it all destroyed. I would rather see the Jedi defile Korriban again than allow that to happen.”

“You say all that,” Ashara replied, baring her canines almost involuntarily, “but you still fought alongside my lord on Oricon. When my lord and Master Rhiatavi brought us together, we all swore an oath not to raise arms against one another until the Dread Masters were vanquished – and yet it was you who killed Master Qatras when all of us had turned against him on account of his sadism and pointless cruelties, wasn’t it? I still remember how you came out of your tent in all your armour and challenged him to a duel in front of the entire task force. My lord and Master Barsen’thor admonished you for it, but each and every one of us was glad you’d done the dirty work and we could return to fighting the Dread Masters. That’s what the Wrath does, isn’t it, my Lord Aquilla? You do the Empire’s dirty work. You make sure it keeps on running, even if that means you have to betray the principles you believe in. My lord, I can see you despise my master. I think he would rather be your friend than your enemy, but that’s your prerogative. But please, lord, I beg you to open your eyes and realise that the Empire needs him now more than ever. If you won’t get the Dark Council to send a fleet to look for him and Darth Marr, then at least have my master’s ship released to me that I might go and look for him myself.”

Rather than have her thrown out in anger as Ashara had expected, the Wrath gave her a long, hard look. His stare was rather more difficult to withstand than that of his majordomo, but she was acutely aware of what was at stake. With her master’s power base crumbled to dust, his fellow Dark Councillors blind and deaf to her entreaties, and the Fury impounded on Dromund Kaas, the Empire’s Wrath was quite literally her last option. Barring, perhaps, the unthinkable – but knowing the Jedi, they would rather sit and meditate until it was too late than take timely action. And Darth Imperius had to be returned to the Empire, that much was clear to her

Had to be returned to her.

Finally, the Wrath seemed to have made a decision. “I will not commit imperial troops to a hopeless cause based on what is likely to be wishful thinking. As regards Imperius’ ship, it belongs to the imperial navy and will join the Dromund Kaas Defence Force as planned. That is my final decision. Good day.” With these words, he returned his attention to the datapad on his desk.

For an instant, Ashara’s hands were drawn to her lightsabres, wanted to cut the right answer out of the Wrath or die trying, but better knowledge cautioned her otherwise. She’d serve no one by dying here in a Korriban stone garden today, and there was clearly no way to change the Sith’s mind.

She left the estate guided more by the Force than by reason, her steps slow and irregular like she was caught in a dream. That was it, then. Defeated on all fronts, alone and without allies. Ashara knew that she was not yet ready to give up on her master, or to make her final goodbye over an empty coffin, but she did not know who else to turn to. Master Rhiatavi would be sympathetic, but these days there was little love lost between Ashara and her former Jedi brothers and sisters. Maybe she’d finally go visit her family like they’d planned so many years ago, use the time to meditate on the remaining paths open to her. Maybe she’d pay Andronikos to steal a ship and take it to the edge of Wild Space or die trying.

Maybe she’d pause when the majordomo, upon her turning to leave, handed her a note. It was written on what appeared to be paper, old-fashioned and as elegant as everything else at the estate. Written on it in deep red ink, in handwriting as narrow and spiky as it was neat, was the address of a public gallows in Kaas City, a date and a time. Questioningly, she looked up at the majordomo, who glared at her with undisguised hostility. “My lord Wrath commanded you be given this note,” he explained, “and that you are to make of it what you will. He further bids me recite to you the following quote from the great epos of King Adas, chant fifteen, verse twenty-nine: ‘fear him who sheds the blood of friends and heals the flesh of enemies, for he is Sith’ari.’ That is all. Good day.”

As Ashara began her long descent from the estate to where she had parked her speeder, contemplating the message, the shadow of a smile appeared on her face. Perhaps her dealings with the Jedi were not quite as over as she had thought.

“If you’ve truly found nothing new, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to see your files,” Quinn argued, taking a deep breath. Under normal circumstances he took pride in his ability navigate Imperial bureaucracy, but now anything and everything seemed to result in a struggle to remain composed.

The clerk glared at him. “Like I’ve told you every day for the past week, you don’t have the clearance to view any Sith Intelligence files, regardless of how inconclusive they are.”

“I’m the closest thing she has to next of kin!”

“What’s going on here?”

Quinn and the clerk turned around. A tall young woman in Sith garb was approaching. Jaesa Willsaam. Or, as she was better known these days, Lord Jaesa.

“My Lord,” said the clerk carefully. “Captain Quinn was requesting access to highly classified Sith intelligence files. For the fifth time in three days. I have denied the request.”

“I see,” said Jaesa, looking from Quinn to the clerk. Quinn could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes. “Were those files related to the Lord Wrath, by any chance?”

“Yes. As I told the Captain, all Sith intelligence files are highly—“

“I demand to see them,” Jaesa interjected. The clerk blinked.

“My lord—“

“I’m her apprentice,” said Jaesa, ghosting a hand over the hilt of her doublesaber. “She taught me everything I know.”

The clerk gulped. “Everything?”

Jaesa nodded, icily. “Everything.”

“Well,” said the clerk after a brief pause. “Come with me, then.” Jaesa shot Quinn a quick look, mouthing “wait here” before following the clerk.

***

Jaesa returned half an hour later, the clerk’s many apologies close on her heels. “Anything?” Quinn demanded as she motioned for him to follow her outside.

“They haven’t found a body,” said Jaesa slowly, staring at the ground, “but…”

“Then that’s good news,” said Quinn, relieved. “She must have made it off the ship. She could be in one of the escape pods—“

“Quinn.” Jaesa stopped walking and turned to look at him. “They haven’t found a body, but they’re declaring her killed in action. It’s been almost two months, the Empire doesn’t want to expend any more resources on the search, the Dark Council is worried about a possible invasion and—“

Quinn blinked. Impossible. “They have to keep looking—she could be stranded alone on an uncharted planet!”

“I know,” Jaesa said softly. “I always believed I would sense her passing, but I felt nothing when Darth Marr’s ship… Still, it doesn’t matter if she’s alive or not. They’re not going to keep searching.”

Flith had fought and bled for the Dark Council and they would just… leave her like this? The thought of Flith alone on an alien planet, possibly dying a slow death from starvation or exposure, made him physically ill. It was a fate Flith herself had selected for Darth Baras precisely because she found it so horrifying. “Speak to Darth Occulus!” Quinn demanded. “There has to be someone who will keep up the search!”

"Darth Occulus voted to continue the search," said Jaesa, "but now that there's been an official decision, I doubt she'll try to fight it. She's more interested in trying to take over Darth Marr's position."

Quinn gritted his teeth. Sith politics. "You don’t believe she’s dead, do you?” He asked Jaesa, who looked away.

“No,” she said. “I would have felt it. Like I felt it when her hearts stopped on Quesh. If she was really gone…” She shook her head. “But we were a long way from the... the explosion, and maybe I just…”

“She’s still alive,” Quinn whispered. “Somewhere. We can’t give up on her.”

“I don’t want to give you false hope,” Jaesa admitted. “The Force is more fallible than you think.” She looked around. People were starting to give them funny looks, standing awkwardly as they were outside of the Sith sanctum. “Let’s go back to Flith’s apartments. There was… one other thing I uncovered.”

***

It wasn’t that Quinn believed Flith to be unkillable. Far from it. He had restarted her hearts on Quesh himself; kept her breathing until Jaesa had arrived and blasted open the entrance to the cavern. He had attacked her with his own droids, once. They had managed to shear off one of Flith’s horns while she was still unsteady from the betrayal, before she regained her senses and crushed their metal bodies—and then Quinn’s throat—like they were made of paper. The horn had just started to grow back when she went missing. Even with that knowledge, he could not convince himself that she was dead; only that she was in danger, and that spurred rather than placated his need to keep looking for her.

The crew had flown directly to Dromund Kaas after the incident, arriving on planet just in time to see footage of Darth Marr’s ship breaking in two being broadcasted on every terminal in the spaceport. Vette was inconsolable, and Quinn hadn’t fared much better. They stayed at Flith’s apartments while they awaited news.

The apartments had been, at one time, a modest 3 room structure down the block from the citadel. As Flith’s rank had increased, so had her living space, but her disinterest in material things had stayed the same, and many of the rooms were still empty.

Quinn glanced at the open door of Flith’s office as he and Jaesa entered the vestibule. After defeating Baras, Flith had been granted his old chambers, in addition to an office at the Korriban Academy, but she held most of her meetings in this room. She had heard requests from military officials, civil organizations, even acolytes looking to be placed with a mentor. She rarely turned anyone away. It puzzled the Dark Council, but the military and civilians adored her for her attentions.

Next to her office was the greenhouse. After defeating Nomen Karr, Flith, Vette, Quinn and Jaesa had spent six months in Kaas City, living out of the ever-expanding apartment while Flith trained Jaesa. The jungle climate of Dromund Kaas had made gardening a relatively popular past time for its residents, and Flith spent a not insignificant fraction of her considerable stipend on potted plants for the apartment. When Baras called them away from Dromund Kaas again, she paid Jaesa’s parents to take care of the plants in her absence. The collection slowly grew as Flith brought back specimens from her travels.

After Ziost, the hobby had become something of an obsession. Flith had several flowers and a tree imported from the dead planet. They were completely lifeless—so empty that not even microbial decay could renew the soil—but Flith was determined to make them grow again. She had little talent for the sciences, but spent hours poring over botanical texts and meditating in front of the pots. Quinn could see the grisly flowers as he approached the greenhouse on the way to the eastern staircase, dead and frozen as ever. If Quinn hadn’t known better, he would have assumed she was mourning the planet she had grown up on. But he remembered from when Flith used to confide in him that her memories of the frozen Imperial core world only held pain.

Vette was sitting on the edge of one of the Rishi pots, staring at the floor. Jaesa glanced at Quinn and opened the greenhouse door.

“Vette?”

“Hi, Jaesa,” Vette sniffed. “No news?”

“They’ve stopped looking for her,” Quinn couldn’t help himself from saying bitterly. “She’s been declared dead.” He regretted his blunt delivery when Vette started crying into her hands again.

“Those Sith ******es!” She squeaked when Jaesa put a hand on her shoulder. She pounded a blue fist futilely against the pot she was sitting on. “This is all my fault! I should have told her where to stuff it when she ordered us to leave…”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Jaesa murmured. Quinn said nothing. He didn’t blame Vette for what had happened. Nor did he blame Jaesa, or Broonmark, or even Pierce. He was at fault, for letting her go alone, for following her order to stay onboard without question, for not insisting that he accompany her.

“We get into this kind of crazy stuff all the time,” Vette said quietly. “And we always come back out alive. Flith leads us back out. But there was always the chance we wouldn’t make it, you know? So I guess Ziost was… the last time.” Jaesa and Quinn listened silently as Vette sniffed and wiped away her remaining tears. “I’ve been so dumb. There’s always a last time. When they go away again and don’t come back.” She hopped down off the edge of the pot. “I gotta go. I told my sister I would call.” Vette scurried from the room before Jaesa or Quinn could say anything.

They left the greenhouse. Jaesa led Quinn up the stairs, through the library and to the door to Flith’s room. “As Flith’s apprentice, I’ve inherited everything she owns,” she explained, “including her will. I do, of course, plan on honoring it.” She pulled an electronic key card from a pocket of her robes and handed it to him. Quinn grasped the device with unsteady hands, running a finger along the sharp edge.

“It opens the safe in her quarters. Everything inside is yours now. The will also stipulated that you will serve me unless you decide otherwise. Under no circumstances am I to let the military forcibly assign you to someone else.” Jaesa gave him a small smile. “You don’t have to stay on if you don’t want to, but I wasn’t planning on turning you away.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Quinn whispered, unable to find his voice. Jaesa shook her head.

“Please, Quinn. I’m still Jaesa.” Before he could protest, she patted him gently on the shoulder and turned to go. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Quinn placed his hand, still trembling, on the scanner to unlock the door. Even in her own apartnment, Flith made sure her quarters were secure, on the off chance an intruder would have been able to make it past the multitude of security droids stationed outside.

There were a couple of odd artifacts sitting in the far corner, but little else to indicate the owner of the room was a Sith Lord. The blanket on the plain metal bed was still rumpled from the last time Flith had stayed here. Sparse, utilitarian junker lamps were installed over the bed. In front of the bed, a tiny personal astromech kept a sad watch. A pot of pink flowers soaked in beam of sunlight near the window. A small desk covered in neat stacks of paperwork sat across from the bed. Someone would have to sort through their stacks eventually. The carpet was thin, worn, and beige.

The safe was located next to the desk, in a corner by the door. Quinn moved towards it as if in slow motion, stepping over a little sandcrawler. He ran shaking fingers over the side of the safe, searching for the lock, until he could finally slot the key into the reader. Immediately, a grinding noise sounded from the top of the safe; a previously invisible metal panel sliding back to reveal a holoprojector. Quinn stared at the menu taking shape in front of him.

It was a series of security logs from the Fury. There was only one camera, installed above the entryway, to catch any potential thieves or assassins that tried to board while the crew was grounded. Quinn had never actually seen any of the recordings—only the small hallway leading into the ship was visible, and 2V had been given the unenviable task of monitoring the feed.

Quinn selected the first log. There was a click and Flith’s face appeared, her tattoos contorted in an expression of intense concentration. Once or twice a gloved hand passed in front of the feed.

“Scoot over, my Lord,” Quinn heard Vette say, her voice slightly distorted by the recording. Flith disappeared and Vette leaned in. “You don’t know what the heck you’re doing.” There were a few clicks and flashes while Vette smirked at the camera. “There we go! I hate enabling your paranoia, but I started to feel bad just watching you struggle.”

“Thank you, Vette,” Flith said off-screen. Quinn’s stomach clenched at the sound of her low, quiet voice. Vette’s expression went from cheeky to soft.

“You’re welcome, Pink.”

The rest of the recording showed only an empty hallway. Quinn returned to the menu and selected a few more at random. They, too, were empty. Growing frustrated, Quinn searched for some date and time he recognized that might give him a clue as to why Flith had kept these old logs.

His breath hitched when he found it. He remembered that date because he had seen it displayed in red letters on the clock in Flith’s quarters the same night. Opening the log, he searched through at high speed until he saw an image of himself and Flith entering the hall from inside the ship. He remembered asking to speak to her alone, and walking out to the vestibule together, away from the rest of the crew.

“My Lord,” Quinn heard himself say, “I must officially request to be reassigned.” He couldn’t make out the expression on Flith’s face from this angle, but he remembered it as being openly shocked before switching to concern.

“Why in the galaxy would I want that?”

“For the sake of you and the crew. I am compromised.” In the present, Quinn’s fist clenched. He hadn’t insisted on going with Flith because he had believed he had no right. He had, once again, mistakenly believed his absence would be for the best. “Thoughts of you have begun to… distract me. My feelings affect my ability to concentrate. I cannot in good conscience continue to serve.”

“If you insist on reassignment, it will be a shame,” said Flith softly. “But I’ll grant it.”

At the time, Quinn had been too wrapped up in his own angst to detect the deep sadness and confusion behind her words. Now, three years later, Flith had disappeared, and with her his last hope for reigniting the warmth they had once shared. In the wake of it all, Quinn found himself clinging to every scrap of Flith’s heart he could find; trying to pull as much of her out of the grainy holoimage as possible, from the slight slump in her small frame to the resignation in her voice.

“I…” Holo-Quinn stopped. “No. I’m an idiot. Permission to kiss you, my Lord.”

“You never need to ask.” Even at the awkward camera angle, Quinn could make out a wide smile on Flith’s face before she placed her hands on his collar and kissed him.

“Sorry,” Holo-Flith said as they broke apart. “I haven’t kissed anyone before.” Later, once they had made their way to her quarters, she would confess that between her isolated upbringing on Ziost and the risky nature of Sith relationships, there had simply never been a good opportunity.

“I could instruct you,” Quinn’s past self murmured, “if you would permit it.”

“I told you; you never need to ask,” came Flith’s wry reply. Quinn watched as they exited the vestibule. The rest of that night was for his memory alone.

Swallowing hard, Quinn returned to the main menu. He could think of no other footage that would be any interest. He scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, expecting the final log to be relatively recent.

But it was not. The final recording was dated almost two years ago. Curious, Quinn opened it up.

Flith’s face filled the holo. It was crumpled in concentration again, but there was a hard edge to her gaze that hadn’t been there in the first log. She huffed irritably as she wrestled with the device anchoring the camera to the wall, then gave a vicious snarl and yanked, and the holo went dark.

Quinn sunk to the floor, staring in shocked silence at the electronic safe. He recognized that date now. It was shortly after the incident on the transponder station, probably during or just after Flith’s time on Corellia. No—definitely during. This must have been how the assassin had been able to board their ship undetected. Because the security camera was down.

The footage he had just nervously picked through, wracked with grief and desperate for one last message from his former fiancée, was the same footage Flith must have watched after Quinn’s cataclysmic betrayal. Knowing Flith, she must have spent hours curled over her holocomputer in her newly private quarters, searching single-mindedly for some kind of sign; proof that Quinn had been planning his betrayal all along, or that he hadn’t. That he had never loved her, or that he always had.

On instinct, Quinn looked under the holoviewer and found that the inside of the safe had also opened. As he had suspected, the small compartment contained a datapad with files documenting all of his electronic correspondences with Flith. Even the recent ones. (There was also a large stack of credit vouchers, but he hardly gave those a second thought.)

Flith had left him with both an answer and a question. That she had kept the security footage and email all this time, coupled with her decision to return them to Quinn upon her passing, had to mean she still felt something for him—even after her many dalliances with that Republic agent. If she no longer cared, she would have coldly excised Quinn from her will and left him nothing at all. “I still care for you” was her answer. The question was, “do you still care for me? Did you ever?”

To an uncaring traitor, this gift would have been one final condemnation, a slammed door that still trembled mournfully on its hinges. To Quinn, it was one final chance to see Flith’s face, hear her voice, relive for a short time the days when they had been truly happy together.

It tore him apart that she still didn’t know the answer to her question. Overcome with shame and regret, but burning with fresh determination to right the many wrongs between them, he opened a fresh mail document. She might never receive it, but if he didn’t say it somewhere, somehow, the words would eat him from the inside out.

Subject: I remain your loyal servant

Cold, that’s all carbonite feels like. You just feel a piercing unending cold. The last time I felt this cold was on Belsavis, even Hoth didn’t feel the same way. I can’t move, can’t even blink, it’s maddening. Then I hear a woman’s voice “Don’t try to move. You’re dying.” Warmth rushes in starting from my chest. Light starts to filter in near my eyes, I see a figure, but it's muddy. “I may have your cure, but i’m not going to lie…” Figure comes into focus, it’s Lana Beniko, and she has a gun pointed at me. “This will hurt.” I hear the shot.

Pain. Free to move I fall to the ground, but something's wrong. As pain wakes up my mind I realize what’s wrong. I still can’t move, my limbs won’t work. This isn’t good, my limbs won’t respond, think cypher, think Damnit! Pain shoots through my system and i can’t even move with the pain, even the adrenaline pumping through my veins isn’t enough. Lana’s voice rings through my ears, muddy and unclear. “Dilaine? Can you move Cypher?”

I open my mouth to speak, and i speak through the pain. “Lana, I thi-ahh! think my implants are-NGH! aren’t working, you have to agh! repair them, Damn it! Arcann probably damaged them just to spite me, or they might be having other difficulties.” Breathing heavily from the pain now, no time, got to work through it. “Keyword Iconoclasm” pain fades into the background. Color drains away, i know my focus kicks into high-gear. “Lana, you have to look at my gauntlets, they have a readout on my cybernetics and health. Be careful not to move my arms, or you’ll damage the cybernetics.” Nothing left but the job.

“No time.”

“If you don’t then you’ll be down an agent.”

“You’re impossible” She kneels down and examines the display on my gauntlets. “Good news, the cybernetics are only slightly damaged, but are definitely out of charge. Hang on, this is going to hurt... a lot.” A smell of ozone, like the air before a lightning strike. Then a bright flare of light as Lana unleashes one of my own shock probes on me. I know it hurts, I’d even scream, but my mental restraints filter it all into an even clearer focus. One minute left of Assassin protocols, not much time at all. The probe deactivates and returns to its slot my wrist just before the time is up on the protocols.

As pain starts to flood back in I feel the implants booting up, warmth returning to the mechanical marvels. joy and pain mix together confusingly as my arms slowly reboot, the mechanics twitching my fingers. Next the legs as the subdermal implants move my toes in the booting up sequence. I lift my arm, it was painful, but it would have to do for now. My other arm raises, and i get to work, checking my other systems and apply a pain reducing stimulant. I skip the recalibration, horrible idea as it was to do so, and slowly, and painfully get up.

The good thing was that i could move, the bad news was that according to my diagnostic, i am operating at 10% capacity. Damn it cypher, you’re going to have to use the probes you have left, right now you’d break your arm trying to lift your sniper, you can’t even carry it. *********** imperial cyber-techs not understanding how to make proper implants. “Lana, I need you to carry my guns, right now I’d break my arms trying to lift my sniper or the recoil from the pistol would break my hand. Sorry for not being a helpful rescue-ee. And thank you for coming to rescue me.” She nodded yes, and quickly disarmed me. I start walking, or rather slowly limp, with my right foot dragging towards what i think is the exit. Arcanns going to regret crossing me. It’s time to go to work.

Gotta love it when things you need to function break down when you need them. This was inspired by something that i have no idea of. Also, i hope i did a decent enough job with the pain sounds.

Also, if it needs clarification, Blayk has a subdermal repair job. Basically his muscles and bones are reinforced with tech, otherwise he’d be paralyzed for life. He does not have robot limbs, just half-robot limbs. On the plus side, the implants also give him increased strength and agility, courtesy of imperial intelligence, but Blayk never liked the design for them but its kind of hard to perform modifications on oneself when the thing you’re replacing also happens to be the thing that is allowing you to replace it. Also Intelligence doesn’t quite trust his designs, or give him the funding for it as he is a known disgruntled agent.

Eyrie let the water flow over her body, steaming hot. It hit her shoulders and slid down her back and legs, removing dirt, cleansing wounds, and relaxing her exhausted muscles. But the chill inside her remained. She leaned against the wall and slid down to the tiled floor. The water was hitting her in the face now and running in streams down her cheeks. Is this what crying feels like?

Feyte had been so welcoming. There was that to be grateful for at least. Between her and the scientist who lived here now- Eyrie was too tired to remember his name- the others were well taken care of. The other Jedi hadn’t let her in to see them, but had assured her they would be alright. Eyrie wondered if she knew it had been her fault. But no, there hadn’t been a hint of mistrust in her old friend’s sense, just concern and compassion. She would find out soon enough, though. Everyone would.

There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no emotion, there is peace.

Lies. She had fallen. There was nothing left, nothing but darkness and pain and this terrible emptiness inside her. She had thought she could escape her parents’ legacy, but instead she had just made things worse. Master Orgus dead, Master Tol-Braga dead, Kira injured, and more, so many more.

Now the Jedi council would have to deal with her failure, have to undo the damage from what she had done. The Hero of Tython, the holonews had called her. She wondered what they would call her now.

Eyrie curled into a ball, felt the water drum on her head and back and run down her nose and into her mouth. Everyone would be better off if I had never become a Jedi. I wish the Emperor had just killed me. I wish I could die right now.

This story was... deeply personal for me to write, and I'm sorry if anyone was offended/bothered by the content. I've been having some personal issues over the couple months, and when this prompt came up I was feeling all this angst and pain and decided to pour it into the writing. And before you ask, no, I wasn't quite to the point Eyrie was.

Eyrie's someone who puts her entire identity into who she is as a Jedi and her ability to save the galaxy. Something like the ending of Act II would completely break her.

When was the last time she got a good night's sleep, Vette asked herself. Was it after the destruction of Vaiken Spacedock after hours of darting back and forth between capital ships, hoping that the one she managed to destroy with a well-placed missile in a momentarily unshielded exhaust port was the one that destroyed Marr's flagship? The one that took Xerxes away from her. Even Quinn was impressed by that, but she hadn't cared. After days of staying up with caf and not stopping the Eternal Fleet for even a moment, she had collapsed. If only she could die from exhaustion, she had thought.

She did not like laying down in bed anymore. Not when she could feel his absence. There was no body beside her, no arms around her waist or head on her shoulder. A brief moment of peace for a man who had fought his entire life.

"Stop it. You want to know something I'm afraid of, I'll tell you."

"Speak. Name your fear."

"There aren't a lot of people in this galaxy who are close to me. The thought of losing them.... yes, it scares me."

Damn it, didn't you know I was afraid of losing you, Xer? she thought. She had wept and wept when she had been separated from her mother and Tivva, but she always held out hope that she would see them again and by the time her mother died some part of her had accepted it long ago. Even then, it had felt like a knife to the heart, but Xerxes was still there. She wasn't alone.

Could his ghost really come back from the dead? She had been afraid of the ghosts in the Dark Temple so long ago, but she wouldn't be afraid of his.

She wasn't afraid of anything anymore.

It was a bright day on the mesa as the two small Cathar chased each other in circles. From the sidelines, their parents watched happily as their children continued their tag. Far below, the miners continued their work, sending up the sounds of activity to the house.

"I'm gonna get you!" the smaller of the children cried as she leaped after her sister. She landed on top, and sent them both sprawling onto the ground, laughing all the while. They began wrestling, and despite her size, Zash'ara seemed to be winning. Despite her sister's superior attack, Soluti managed to stay on her feet, fighting a losing battle.

"Should we stop them?" the tall, white furred cathar asked.

"Let them enjoy the time they have to play Khacurr. We never had time for it when we were growing up, and I know I would have enjoyed it," was the reply from the taller Rattataki woman.

Then, out of nowhere, a small ship flew overhead, dropping a small figure onto the mesa. The figure clearly was that of a woman, wearing dark robes and a hood. She sent a blast of lightning towards the children, sending them scampering back. As she drew her lightsaber, the children were lifted up and thrown into the house. On their way in they were passed by three lightsabers, flying to their parents hands. All four sabers ignited in the same instant, revealing the attacker's red blade. Khacurr and Tleth leaped in the same second, with a bright flash of gold and green.

Despite Khacurr's all destroying whirlwind of attacks the attacker held strong, barely keeping Tletha at arm's reach. Soluti and Zash'ara ran from the house, attempting to help by firing two small blasters they had found. The attacker began summoning a massive storm of force lightning, forcing Khacurr and Tletha back as they dodged strikes. One bolt struck Soluti, lighting fur on fire and sending her flying back onto the ground.

Keeping up the force storm with one hand, the attacker pulled out a small holocron and activated it on Zash'ara, sending a stream of darkside energies into her. She saw, strangely, a flash of a possible future. She saw herself training on Tython, learning the history of the Jedi. She saw herself becoming Barsen'thor, teaching new Padawans, and her death in bed next to a man who she clearly loved. This was followed by her seeing pure darkness, when a silver helmet with a red slit in the middle appeared. She heard the words "SERVE ME", then reality came back.

She was falling from the mesa. Above her she could see flashes of green saber on red saber, also falling. She looked down, and she saw she was falling to the mining platforms below. She felt strangely detached, as though she was watching this happen to someone else, rather than being in actual danger. As she saw the ground coming towards her, she passed the first few layers of platform, and she closed her eyes in terror. Her next sensation was of a hand on hers, and a jolt that came from rapidly losing momentum. She opened her eyes, and saw that a larger girl with brown hair had one hand around Zash'ara's, and with the other she was desperately clinging onto a mining platform. She was trying and failing to pull them up when the Khacurr fell past them, still locked in combat with the assailant. With a shout, a small, orange skinned Zabrak boy on a nearby platfrom managed to lift them up onto the platform through the force.

After catching her breath, the brown haired girl turned to Zash'ara. "Hi there! My name is Athaela."

I know it's almost certainlyclunky,, and I'm not the best writer, but I hope you enjoyed, for reading. Comments/Criticism appreciated.