[interviewer:] Finally, there has been a great deal of contradictory information with regard to when The Old Republic takes place, along with its tie-in materials. After initially being discussed on the TOR forums as between 6 and 30 ATC (3,647 – 3,623 BBY), Rob Chestney clarified that “the time in which the game begins is less than 10 years after the Treaty of Coruscant.” He further clarified that “we’ve tried to keep this a little vague, because The Old Republic doesn’t take place in a single moment in history but over a period of a few years.” This last later clarified (again) to refer to the game taking place in a span of several years: 3,643 – 3,640 BBY. As such, Sean Williams’ Fatal Alliance, set about a decade after the Treaty of Coruscant and, supposedly, “just before” the start of the game, was finally given a date recently in The Essential Reader’s Companion of circa 3,643 BBY. Annihilation, meanwhile, had its first publicly-released timeline placement dated at 3,640 BBY, also in The Essential Reader’s Companion. Annihilation, for its part, refers back to the events of The Lost Suns as just under two years prior to the novel.

 

This is where things get dicey. The Lost Suns was frequently referenced as being a sort of fifth storyline for the Republic in the same time frame of the video game, which fit precisely with the “almost two years ago” timeframe presented in Annihilation if the game was set in that 3,643 – 3,640 BBY” gap. The comic even referenced the SpecForces and Angral events of the game, or so it seemed. Just recently, however, The Old Republic Encyclopedia was released, in which the start of the game is unequivocally stated as being in 3,640 BBY, three years later than had been suggested previously, and presumably earlier in the very same year as Annihilation. As such, this causes The Lost Suns, if almost two years before Annihilation, to be set before the video game now by at least a year. Needless to say, this has brought even more confusion and frustration for fans with regard to the chronology of TOR and its tie-ins.

 

Our questions on this issue are:

 

13. We know that the way fans learned of dates for The Old Republic was something kept intentionally vague publicly. As someone who worked on the game and multiple tie-in novels, how specific were the dates that you were able to work with on the production side, and did they change as these tales were being developed?

 

DK- These are the kinds of things that get very complicated when you have multiple projects being worked on simultaneously by huge teams of people. We do our best to keep it all straight, but sometimes things get messy or mistakes are made. So I just work with the data I’m given. I honestly don’t remember off the top of my head what date I was told to use, but I believe it was a specific year and I just used that as my starting point.

 

14. How, if at all, were you affected by the vague (and potentially shifting) nature of the dates for TOR-related events when writing both Revan and Annihilation?

 

DK- Honestly, once I started working on the project I didn’t worry about the shifting dates. Those are the kinds of things I rely on editors and the continuity folk to keep track of; I prefer to focus my energy on telling a great story.

Colran Niral is a human Sith, the youngest of four sons in a conservative family on Dromund Kaas. He was sent to Korriban at age eight to train. A habitual questioner, he fled Korriban at age fifteen to reach neutral space, where he sought out the Jedi in an effort to see what non-Sith systems looked like and how they worked. His time with the Republic and the Jedi was highly instructive, but he could never settle certain questions of strength and victory that the Republic seemed unable to handle. When he was twenty-three he crossed paths with twenty-eight-year-old Dolarra Reyne, a human Imperial Intelligence agent who rapidly identified him as a target of opportunity. She tilted the balance of his doubts, and he returned to Dromund Kaas determined to implement the sanity and compassion of the Light Side within the Empire's theoretically excellent framework.

On Dromund Kaas he reestablished contact with Dolarra and, several years later, married her. As a Cipher Agent she spent most of their time in the field; they corresponded regularly, and she took some time at home to carry their daughter Ruth before going back to field work.

Dolarra was killed in the line of duty when Ruth was four years old. Colran raised Ruth as a Light Side Sith and defender of the best things about the Empire; while his talents ran toward Force work and healing, hers were more in the way of physical combat. When she was eighteen and still terribly idealistic he sent her to assist his old associate on Korriban, Overseer Tremel.

When the game starts, Ruth is eighteen and a half years old. Colran is forty-six. Dolarra would have been fifty-one.

Wynston is a Chiss, one of several children from a mining colony on the ice/ocean world of Rentor within the Chiss Ascendancy. When he was ten years old (about to hit the accelerated Chiss adolescence) his family moved to a world at the outskirts of the Empire. Before long, both fascinated by the Empire's concept of meritocracy and driven by a compulsive restlessness, Wynston left his family and went to Dromund Kaas to sign on for Imperial Intelligence. He was warned his idealistic desire to defend the Empire and its people would get him into trouble...well. He tried in spite of the warnings.

By age fifteen, at full Chiss maturity, Wynston had finished basic training and was getting experience in the field. He maintained a workmanlike but not awe-inspiring career: efficient where efficiency would do no harm to perceived innocents, merciless against those deemed both malicious and dangerous, endlessly inventive in minimizing damage while he worked for the Empire's good. He is compassionate when he's on the scene but notably disinclined to maintain lasting personal connections. Wynston was always most comfortable using social engineering to get results, as opposed to combat or stealth/tech solutions; he learned early on the advantages and limitations of being an alien in the Empire when dealing with his social superiors.

It was an unremarkable assignment on Hutta, a perversely fascinating woman named Kaliyo, and the attention of a Dark Council member that combined to accelerate his career far, far beyond what he ever expected to face.

When the game starts, Wynston is twenty-five, soon to be twenty-six years old.

Larr Gith is a human Jedi, a prodigy who was told from a very young age that she was incredibly powerful and special and wonderful. It went to her head. Her incomparably lovely blonde head. I have written nothing for her from this time period because she was an insufferable brat.

When the game starts, Larr Gith is fifteen and a half years old.

Ruth follows a largely LS path through the game plotline (timeline 1 of RMC). Any potential that might have stemmed from a couple of early one-night stands with Wynston was cut short when Ruth fell hard for Malavai Quinn (a guy who shared mutual antipathy with Wynston since the moment they met). Ruth remains LS until the murder of her father Colran by Darth Baras's agents and, mere hours later, the Quinncident (the beginning of timeline 2 of RMC). A hurt and very recently pregnant Ruth can't bring herself to kill Quinn; instead, after taking out her newfound rage on Corellia and Baras, she kicks him out and takes up her responsibilities as a lawful Wrath.

Wynston, having maintained occasional friendly contact with Ruth even after they discontinued physical involvement, works for the good of the Empire's people at the expense of anyone who tries to mess with them, up to and including the Empire's own leadership. He blocks Darth Jadus's play with no uncertain rhetoric, cuts the liability named Kaliyo loose in spite of his own affection for her, and ultimately reaches an understanding with the Minister of Intelligence, promising to make the improvements that the Minister never had the power to change. While Wynston understands the hard necessity of the Castellan restraints, especially the fact that this was the Minister's only way of saving him from the Dark Council's wrath, he killed almost every Republic and neutral figure who had anything to do with the production or use of the serum, and he dismantles the program at home the moment he has the resources to do so.

Hunter's borderline sadism and abuse of authority earns one of Wynston's rare lasting personal grudges. The hunt drives Wynston through the heart of the Star Cabal - an organization he might have genuinely agreed with if it hadn't ended up so abusive - and ends with a summary execution. Wynston takes the shreds of the Cabal's resources for his own.

Larr Gith works slowly through the Jedi Knight plotline. Doc's romance is creepy at this age but neither participant really cares. Larr Gith saves the galaxy from the evil Emperor because she is the super special chosen one and that's what she does. It goes to her head.

When the game timeline ends, Ruth is 20. Wynston is 27. Rylon is still in utero. Larr Gith is 17.

While the Wrath still professes the ideals of protection and order, she slowly becomes more and more willing to use dark methods for it. Her son, the bitterly named Rylon, grows up seeing Quinn on occasional supervised but not-near-Ruth visits; he learns fighting and Force control, but not much else, from his paranoid and conflicted mother.

Wynston vanishes using the Black Codex at the end of his class line and, over the years, develops toward defending the galactic population at large. He builds an extensive shadow organization of his own, backed by Vector (until the Joiner's death a few years in) and Temple. When the Tenebrous is destroyed Wynston transfers his operation to the dreadnought Aegis. He maintains occasional contact with Ruth for a few years, but she is no longer in the habit of trusting friends and over time she stops agreeing to do professional favors. By the way, his second personal grudge* is that guy who crushed Ruth's trust beyond repair.

Larr Gith spends some time partying hard, soaking up adulation with Doc at her side. She makes a brief attempt to demand a place on the Jedi Council; that, plus a few public indiscretions, prompt the Council to order her to surrender her title and make herself scarce. Doc stays with her for another few years as they live a life of minor heroism and major indulgence; eventually her arrogance manages to alienate even him and they part ways.

So it continues for a while. When the terms change again, Ruth is 35. Wynston is 42. Rylon is 14. Larr Gith is 32.

It is fifteen years between when Ruth kicks Quinn out and when a failure in scheduling puts the two in the same room again (timeline 2.5 of RMC). Upon facing him she finds she's willing to consider reconciliation. Somewhere around this time Rylon is sent to Korriban, an exile he resents. Ruth goes about trying to set her personal life in order, with Quinn in it.

But she remains a neutral-at-best Wrath: perhaps a little warmer, but not particularly Light. And her orders still come from the Emperor. Some sixteen and a half years after the class lines end, the Emperor's activities bring Ruth and Wynston into conflict (timeline 3 of RMC). Larr Gith, spoiled brat that she is, is recruited to help set things right; for the fight against the Emperor the heroes going to need all the power they can get.

At the end of RMC, Ruth is 37. Wynston is 44. Rylon is 16. Larr Gith is 34.

In RMC the full alliance of Ruth, Wynston, and Larr Gith, with the assistance of multiple companions, succeeds in subduing the Emperor and trapping his remnants in a Rakatan mind trap. Quinn had to incapacitate a mind-controlled Rylon during the fight; Ruth snapped at the sight of him harming their son, and when she burned herself out to overpower the Emperor it was in a blaze of DS rage.

After Ruth's death and the salvation of the galaxy, Quinn finds his regular military job less than satisfying. Knowing no one else who would a) continue such high-impact work and b) understand Quinn's newfound mourning and air of noble tragedy*, Quinn takes Wynston up on his pity offer of a job in the Organization Wynston has built over the years. Wynston and Quinn have always hated each other, but the loss of Ruth and the undeniable fact that both men more than demonstrated their willingness to sacrifice for the mission could be the basis for a grudgingly respectful relationship. Maybe. Wynston finds reason to regret the job offer within about two minutes of Quinn coming aboard the mothership Aegis but, the mission goes on...right?

They are joined by the newest Dawn Herald of the Oroboro nest, the Twi'lek Hazard, along with Pierce's long-hidden son, Pierce Junior (the spitting image of his father), and an angsty teenage Rylon. Shenanigans are had by all.

Ald has a rather strange backstory. He was born to a pair of normal looking humans, yet he is rather obviously a Pureblood. They take him home and try to raise him. It becomes obvious early on that Ald is Force sensitive. By the age of six, his Force blind parents could take no more of his outbursts. They decided that dumping him in the jungle would save them the hassle of killing him out right. They abandoned him to die.

Ald lives in the jungle for eight years before being captured by Imperial scouts. For those eight years he scrounges in the jungle, surviving on very little meat and stolen rations. He terrorizes Imperials and Mandalorians alike. The Revanites are particularly welcoming of his antics and set out supplies and food for him. He pays the Revanites back years later by keeping their leader a secret.

At fourteen, Ald is picked up by Lord Inusitus after a botched escape attempt in the middle of Kaas City. Ald is trained by Inusitus for four years before he leaves for the academy on Korriban. Ald is a rather lackluster performer at the Academy for two years. It is only after Inusitus’ death that Ald dedicates himself to his studies.

After becoming Baras’ apprentice, Ald travels the galaxy completing the game’s storyline. I mean his story. His… story. Anyway.

During his travels he picks up the walking monologuing, utterly scruffy, handsome bastard that is known as Malavai Quinn. As most warriors are inclined to do, Ald starts a friendship with the Captain that then develops into the SGR the game has denied us for so long. I mean, a romance. A… a romance. Anyway. During this time, Vette is in love with Ald and makes it rather obvious. After the Transponder Station, Ald takes advantage of Vette’s love for him in order to find the balance he sorely needs to finish his job on Corellia and get to Korriban to murder the sh*t out of Baras. It takes Ald four months to seal the deal on Corellia and get back to Korriban to murder the sh*t out of Baras. During that time, in spite of his Twi’lek marriage vows to Vette, Ald is persistent in attempting to contact Quinn. After murdering the sh*t out of Baras, Ald allows Quinn to re-join the crew. This causes immediate and irreparable damage to Ald’s relationship with Vette.

Currently, Ald and Quinn are working on repairing the damage Quinn did with his stupid murder attempt.

Broan grew up on crowded city moon, on the outskirts of Republic space. Crime was rife on this world and Broan's mother worked two jobs just to keep a leaky, cold roof over their heads. Broan adored his mother, missing her terribly when she was working. She died when he was aged ten, leaving him nothing but debt too great to ever be rid of. Before her death, Broan's mother had managed to contact the Jedi Order, in hopes that they would look after her son when she could not - Broan was unaware of his mother's actions, and always slightly resented the Order for removing him before he had time to properly grieve.

Broan's defection to the Empire came as a surprise to everyone - himself included. Lord Vizloch's manner with her injured son after the battle aboard the Absolution made him question what he knew about the Sith and, in a way, reminded him of his own mother.

Being born of high standing as both a human and son of a Sith Lord in the Empire, Rochester has always been bestowed with a great amount of privilege. In his early years, Lord Vizloch had her son home schooled by Imperial tacticians, historians and all manner of thinkers, though she covered his education on Sith matters herself, giving him a healthy knowledge of Sith philosophy and a greater understanding of the workings of Sith than most Force Blinds should usually have access to. Despite his close and healthy relationship with his mother, Rochester did not fare so well with the rest of his immediate family: his father, Grigor, was disgusted by his son's lack of Force abilities; his older brother, Geoffrey, felt threatened by the favour being heaped on Rochester; and his sister, Benedicta, being Force Sensitive, was fully aware of her twin's lack of presence within the Force and, unable to handle the knowledge, turned on him, treating him as less than human.

Usually one would expect that an Officer embroiled in an affair with a Sith is doing so either out of fear or to elevate their own standing. While Rochester hardly approached Broan with the noblest of intentions, I cannot say that Broan was entirely innocent either - he latched on to the kindness shown to him by Rochester and, throughout the initial period of their relationship, had an idea of who he thought Rochester was, and did not always see him in his entirety. They rely on each other now, for better or worse, but without proper care and attention they could become mutually self destructive. Broan fears that the passion of his love might one day drive him to do horrible things - his greatest fear is hurting Rochester and Rochester worries that one day his duty to the Empire and his love for Broan might be too much at odds with each other.

At present they muddle on and hope that the galactic war does not affect them.

First Impressions

Uninvited Guests

What's in a Name?

Turning Point?

Teacher

Catching Up

Worlds Collide

New Paths

Discovery

Culture Shock

Allies

Confessions

Rites of Passage

Health

Communication Breakdown

Xenobiology

Infamy

Bad Timing

Your Song

First

Family Part 1, Part 2

Seasons

Exploration

Nightmares

Guilty Pleasures

Legacy

Laws and Governance

Disguises

Disguises 2

Solitude

Loneliness

Loneliness 2

Food

Tools of the Trade

Virtues and Vices

Subtraction

Home Ec.

Culture Shock

Loyalty

Confessions

Best Day Ever

Memories

The shuttle flight was finally over. Corso spent the time polishing his weapons and armor. Ennaly was reading the only book she had left, a compilation of fairy tales. They got off the shuttle; Ennaly had to slice the terminal because the activities her family had her in were not exactly legal, and she was on several Wanted lists.

They made it through the gates and were about to exit and find their contact when Ennaly stopped suddenly.

“C-Corso! Corso!” Ennaly was smacking his arm repeatedly to get his attention.

“Yes Captain, what’s wrong?” He was worried; there was nothing wrong that he could tell.

“What’s wrong with the sky? There’s something wrong with the sky Corso!” Her normally dark green skin was very pale.

“Captain,” Corso was really worried now. He was looking at the sky and there was nothing wrong. “I don’t see what’s wrong.”

“The sky is falling and you say there’s nothing wrong?!?” Ennaly was drawing a lot of attention now which she noticed and lowered her voice. “How can you say there is nothing wrong,” she hissed at him.

“Captain, that’s just rain. It’s not dangerous; it won’t hurt you,” he was trying to reassure her that everything was fine.

“I’ve read about rain, but I didn’t expect it to be so loud. Is it as wet as people say?” Now that Ennaly knew it wasn’t dangerous she was very curious about this strange new concept. “No wait don’t answer that; I want to feel for myself.”

Ennaly ran into the rain and started dancing. “Corso! You have to try this it’s amazing, it’s so wet!”

She didn’t look at him so she didn’t see him staring at her watching her enjoy the rain and, for the first time since he met her, not carrying that sadness that seemed to follow her like a crowd. He smiled and joined her; both of them dancing in the rain like fools. Ennaly was enjoying the feel of so much useless water running down her body. Corso was enjoying watching Ennaly, the real Ennaly not the front she showed everyone, laugh and smile, at him a lot.

“This stuff is amazing!” Ennaly wasn’t worried about showing true emotion, she wasn’t even worried about looking weak, or showing her age. She was having fun with someone she actually liked and that was amazing.

"The stars are orbs / they beckon / they hold...they harbor," this would be a lot simpler if I could look at myself without flinching, always is, "hold...hell." I keep going this way and I'll bury myself in snorts and overblown theatrics. Now straighten up. There's the backbone. No smile. Solemn. We're going for a visceral reaction, not polite laughter; the crowd at the Slippery Slopes open mic night is unforgiving, remember. "The orbs of starlight hold my- kriff it all!"

If you punch the mirror, Drak, it might hurt.

"Ahem. The beckoning starlight / harbors my broken silence / with weighted pauses / of its own / cold contemplation and...and-"

"Sir?" Thudthudthudclickwhoosh. "There was...I...that's a lot of flimsi. Sir."

And you look gorgeous wading through it. "What is it?! That was locked! If you thought Hoth was cold, Ensign-"

"With all due respect, sir, it wasn't locked. You had a call on holo from your sister but she said it wasn't urgent," lovely, that perplexed expression and sly smile.

Wait. Sly smile. "What of it? I don't give a womp arse rat's about her. Doesn't justify you breaking into my quarters." What is she doing? "What are you doing!"

"You are the eye of the nebula / a perfect shimmer in the bleak race of / gaudy colors, shapes / my calm," just put it down, can I blush? I can't, impossible; she knows though, her tone, "why, you're a poet, sir. I never imagined. Is this a love poem?"

"You presume. Just- put that down. Meaningless scrawl. It's nothing, I assure you. Please," add a little pleading upswing to that entreaty why don't you, eh? "I just need some...er...put it down, that's an order!"

"Of course. Received and acknowledged. Sir." Beautiful even when she backs away wearing an ill-concealed grin.

Clicketywhoosh.

"Right. Where was I? Ah, yes. I hold your orbs / the stuff of starlight / they beckon- ouch!"

Yeah, old boy. Mirrors hurt even more when they collide with a forehead.

A really really short piece just to get me back into the swing of things since I've been doing more helping-of-guildies than writing and reading these past couple weeks. This takes place not long after Hoth. Almost never bodes well when a bad poet becomes smitten but in Drakkach's case...

Vierce and his younger brother Kirsk grew up on the Imperial-occupied world of Kegled II. The planetary resistance continued well after the Republic/Empire war ended; four years before the game timeline starts, the Empire finally withdrew, leaving Vierce and a number of his resistance friends free to join the Republic Army. (Because the Republic totally didn't help the resistance because that would be a violation of the treaty. Nope. Cough, cough.)

Their father was killed by Imperial forces seventeen years before the game timeline starts, when Vierce was seven and Kirsk was five; Mama Savins still lives in their house in West Ford City.

Kirsk is charming, flaky, outgoing, mischievous, impulsive, poor at planning, questionable at execution. The job of smuggler appeals to him, especially the part about being able to take his own ship and disappear whenever he feels like it. A cyborg and an accomplished slicer, Kirsk avoided the heavy combat of the resistance movement. He copes with the darkness of his upbringing by...not, mostly. Irrepressible creature that he is, he just keeps moving: there's too much to do and see and have fun with.

Vierce, by contrast, is gruff, tenacious, conservative, earnest, realistic in planning, unstoppable in execution. He's cautious in some ways except when he's angry. Imps make him angry. He's a big guy, head and shoulders taller than many, with a face scarred on one side from burns sustained during a reckless charge during a resistance raid. He stays in touch with a number of his peers from his Ridgeside neighborhood; the notable lost one was Illyris, a much-loved girlfriend who was captured and killed in an Imperial sting. Vierce left Kegled II after its liberation to join several of his friends in signing on with the Republic to take the fight to the Empire. He was getting along fine with his concepts of justice, fairness, and killing all Imps, until General Garza dropped an Imperial defector on his ship.

I've been running roughly along Vierce's class storyline from Taris through Tatooine; recent stories have hopped to the Act 1 break. They have a standalone thread over this way but the SFC hosts about 90% of the content anyway because I've been writing him by prompt for the most part.

"I met the Jedi on Balmorra. Didn't think much of her at first. Tiny little thing, weird sense of humor, not what you'd picture for a Jedi. She had potential though, and I was determined not to let it go to waste. If only she wasn't so obsessed with her droid." The mustachioed man rubbed the carefully groomed patch of hair on his chin.

"Anyway, things were going pretty well, we were saving people, making a reputation. A guy could do worse than traveling the galaxy with a pair of gorgeous redheads backing up his plays. We were after the big prize, taking down the pillar of the Empire on the mother of all suicide missions. Then it all went wrong." He shivered at the memory though the cantina was stiflingly warm.

"We were captured, all of us, and they did something to most of the Jedi. Changed 'em. They'd look right at you and there was nothing Jedi about them. Her too and let me tell you she put real Sith to shame. She was just so good at killing, I think she scared even them, they always brought her back for 'evaluation.'" He made quotes with his hands in the air. "They never turned her loose the way they did the others." He stared at something far away then smiled.

"But she beat them. She snapped out of it one day and freed us." He made a face, "She had a little help from Mr. Awful. I don't know why, but she bought his whole down-on-one-knee pledge thing and brought him on board when we escaped. After that, he never left her side, or she never left his. It made sense, I guess. He was Sith, you can't just leave someone like that wandering around, but maybe there was something more there." He snorted, "Certain unnamed members of the Council sure thought there was."

He frowned, "Maybe she and the Sith had something in common, neither of them had anyone. She was an orphan, raised by the Jedi, nothing but duty her whole life. Him, everyone he ever grew up with was dead, and the only thing he lived for was finding her and defeating his old boss. Once they got together they fought all the time," he looked up warily, "sparring, not arguing. Seemed to be the only thing either of them enjoyed doing."

"In the end we did it. We killed the big boss, turned out the big red jerk's vision might have been right. We came home, she made Master and after she begged me to stay on, I reluctantly agreed. I’ll admit that after all that, anything else I could do seemed a bit anti-climactic. For a while we were an unstoppable crew, we took all the toughest missions and came out victorious." He smiled into his glass.

"’Till that last one. The Jedi had a bad feeling about it from the beginning but the Council insisted. Everything went wrong and we walked right into a trap. Hundreds of bad guys dead and massive civilian casualties. Probably didn't need to go down that way. After that mission she had a falling out with the Council, by the time the dust settled, the Council had banished the Sith and she disappeared."

"They think she just went with him, who knows, maybe she did, but I don't know where Remi is." He said her name for the first time since he started talking. He stared into the bottom of his glass before finishing the last of his drink. He waved at the bartender to refill his glass and turned to the undercover reporter. "You're still buying right?"

“I was a Jedi.” The red haired woman said, “Then I attacked the Emperor.” She frowned looking around trying to remember. “Then I became a Sith!” She said brightening, “Then a Jedi again. Then I attacked the Emperor.” She rubbed her head fluffing up her hair. “Then I became a bounty hunter? Then a Sith again, then I attacked the Emperor.” It was sunny outside, a tree outside the window moved with the breeze. A spot of sunlight danced on the bed, she tried to catch it. She looked up at the Imperial nurse who measured a dose of medication. The nurse smiled and nodded patiently.

“And then what dear?” she asked.

“I killed him!” She said holding her up her arms in victory. “I had a lover once.” She said with a lightning change of mood, “He was a Sith too. Then I lost him.” She frowned looking around again. “Or did I? I don’t remember that part.”

The nurse finished measuring and administered the medicine. The woman looked at her arm for a moment then smiled brightly and fell asleep.

“Was she really a Jedi?” The orderly asked as he helped the nurse secure the woman’s wrists and ankles to the bed. They checked the other patients then walked out into the hall.

“Of course not.” The nurse said reproachfully, removing the data pad from the door to update patient progress. “She’s been here several times, apparently she has a wealthy patron, probably a father or an uncle that doesn’t want her to be an embarrassment but won’t put her out of her misery. She stays for three or four days then disappears. Then after a few months, she’s readmitted. This is the longest she has ever been here, thirty-two days.” She frowned looking worried. The pair continued discussing the patient as they tended to the others.

The red haired woman with yellow eyes slept soundly without stirring. She spent most of her days staring out the window into the distance. Had anyone looked they would have seen a lone figure standing beneath a tree on a hill far off in the distance. Watching and waiting.

"Funny how things end up so far from where you thought they'd be." Pierce grinned looking out the window of his Kaas City apartment. "Thought I'd be black ops for life, die young in the line of duty, a typical soldier. Never thought I'd help a Jedi destroy the Hand, decimate the Imperial Guard , then work for the same Jedi and the former Wrath to help them rebuild the core of the Empire for their son."

"Now I'm a Major, Vette's married some boring green kid, Broonmark is doing something bloodthirsty, Jaesa's not crazy, and you're running the new Hand and butting heads with the Imperial Guard." He glanced to his side raising an eyebrow. "Even Quinn's off somewhere as happy as he's capable of being. Have you read the latest tale of his roommate's investigations? Never pegged him for a chronicler."

"Do you really want to talk about Quinn right now?" Darth Ninka asked stretching languidly on his bed. The big man regarded the Sith wearing nothing but a shirt she had borrowed from him, his expression unreadable. She would never know how many times he had imagined her exactly where she was now. He joined her on the bed not bothering to answer with words.

Scourge held his son against his side. They both sat in the chairs next to Astrid's bed in the House Thul medical center. The would be hunters had cried themselves to sleep. They were still children, though they were attempting to change that.

He looked at the sleeping girl, Astrid. She was irritating, undisciplined, independent to a fault, and Force blind. However, she was highly intelligent, loyal, she had a warrior's heart if not the ability to fight, and Remi had loved her as a daughter. He would care for her as one of his own because she would have wanted that.

His son snored softly. The boy was a younger version of himself save for his eyes, those were Remi's. She had thought he would be angry that his son had thrown away the Empire he had built. Angry that he had chosen not to be Sith. Angry that he had taken her name, Hunter Grey. Scourge had only laughed. The network and territory he had built for his son could support any life the boy chose and who was to say that his choice to become a mercenary would be permanent.

The ritual the Hand had cast on him as a child had not faded, and those who were Sith knew in their hearts he was their Emperor, even if he did not choose to claim the title. While he chose to follow in his mother's footstep and forsake both Sith and Jedi to become a bounty hunter, there were many Sith who would gather under Koa's banner on the call of their hearts alone.

Even now, many in the Empire would not acknowledge the Sith who currently called himself the master of all. But everything came with a price and the title Emperor was a golden harness at best. Koa knew this though he had not said so much in words. He chose to make his own path, he chose to be free, in that he chose to be Sith, and Scourge was proud.

He closed his eyes only meaning to rest them but the day's events had worn on him and he slipped into dreams, golden eyes were in every one of them. Then he felt pressure against his lips, a familiar scent, a familiar presence, and not that of a joiner. His heart leapt but he did not want to open his eyes and find that she was no longer herself or worse that he was still dreaming and that she was still gone.

"I do not care if your eyes are like a field of stars." He said trying to convince himself, "But if you are only a dream I may kill everyone in this building." A smile against his lips, he opened his eyes and her golden gaze stared back at him. He pulled her against him with one arm, he probably hurt her, but she did not complain. Their son stirred from his sleep.

"Mom?" he rasped his voice raw from weeping. She looked down at him and smiled, he saw that her eyes had not changed to that of a Killik joiner and threw himself into her arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I ran away, I'm sorry I stole your ship, I was just trying to figure things out."

She shushed him and hugged him against her, "Shh, it's alright. We understand." She grinned at Scourge who still held her on his lap.

"You do?" Koa said doubtfully.

"It was always your choice to make, sweetie." She stroked his head and tilted his face up and she sobered, "But after we get Astrid healed up there're some things we need to work on."

"Things?" he repeated dumbly.

"Yes, your tactics, your aim, and your technique. Ugh." She frowned at him, "I've let the Sith train you and if that's what they're calling Soresu these days I'm not worried at all for my Jedi friends." He stared at her wide eyed. She smiled impishly and kissed his forehead. "It'll be fun."

Scourge chuckled at his son’s expression and tightened his hold on his wife. She was content to be crushed and planted reassuring kisses on his face. Then they heard Astrid’s teary voice and she pulled away so she could turn around.

"Mommy?" she whispered. Remi disentangled herself and went to her side. "I'm sorry," The girl cried as Remi climbed into the bed with her. She sobbed brokenly against Remi’s chest. Finally, when the worst of her tears had subsided she whispered, "I can't hear the song."

"Shh, I know." Remi met Scourge's eyes and he knew it was true. She had not wanted to join but she had lost something when she won back her freedom. She reached out for him and he grasped her hand holding it as she and Astrid fell asleep.

Scourge put his arm around his son again and drifted back into dreams, content for now that his little family was damaged but intact. He could feel their presence near him even as he slept and he wished he was strong enough to hold onto them forever.

Minalde is from a well to do family from Naboo. Her mother and father were both trainees at the Jedi temple on Coruscant (prior to Darth Malgus' attack) They had become involved with each other and when their involvement resulted in Minalde's mother becoming pregnant, her parents had moved to the isolated estate on Naboo. Upon Minalde's birth, her mother lost her connection to the force. It is unknown at this time if it was due to the trauma of the birth or to her own sense of guilt of having broken the tenants of the Jedi Code.

Upon learning her daughter was force sensitive, she sent Minalde to be trained by the finest teachers available and and hammered adherence to the Jedi code into her daughter. That coupled with the formal and proud background Minalde was raised with (similar to oriental “shame”culture) resulted in Minalde always being driven to excel, and to be very aware of her actions. Her connection with the force also enhanced her natural empathic abilities making her an excellent healer and diplomat, but hindering her in the more destructive sides that her duties often required of her.

Minalde also has a younger brother, Dakis who was born about the time she was sent away to begin her training. She cares for her younger brother and does her best to look out for him from afar, but in accordance with the code she does her best to temper her attachment to him. He in turn has heard all his life about his wonderful exemplary older sister and has followed news of her avidly. He has a very strong case of hero worship for his sister.

Minalde's father was a loving and generous man, who placed family above all. He was the one who convinced Minalde's mother to leave the temple and to raise their family together. He never regretted leaving the order and dearly loved his family. He worked as a trader and was killed in an unfortunate space accident during a trading mission.

After leaving her school to continue her training on Tython, Minalde met Randall, a fellow padawan. They had an instant connection and have remained friends. But there may be more to this than meets the eye.

She has black hair and green eyes and stands about 5'6” tall.

Randall is a rather interesting and mysterious character. We do not yet know where he came from. We do know he can be brash, bold and driven. He believes he is destined for great things. Randall has a strong sense of what HE believes is right and strongly believes the end justifies the means. Thus Randall has no remorse for what he does and he has a strong admiration for Revan. He is a solitary being and has no use for other beings with one exception, a fellow Jedi , Minalde who saved his life right after he arrived for training on Tython. He felt an instant connection with her, and he has been protective of her,knowing she is important to him but unsure how. He has not been able to process his feelings for her, only knowing she of all people throws him off balance, and can affect his viewpoints and action even inadvertently.

His story does not follow the Consular story in game, but intersects it and he and Minalde share certain aspects of the Consular story.

He is a lean man with dark hair and deep blue eyes and stands about 6'1” tall.

Cielle was born on Coruscant. Her father was a member of the Deadeyes elite sniper squadron. Her mother's previous occupation yet unknown. SFC has a small introductory piece for the Memory prompt that predates her story Not My Choice hosted in its own thread. This thread is where you will find full details on Cielle's story.

Briefly though, she loses both parents and is taken in by a former Republic trooper, who was discharged for medical reasons. Rafaelle, her foster mother suffers from injuries that could not be completely healed, and from severe PTSD.

Several events happen that cause Cielle to loose respect for the Republic and she takes advantage of an opportunity to become a Bounty Hunter. Having lost so many people she loved,she is very slow to trust anyone and let them close to her. But more on that as her story develops.

She is tall and lean,about 5'11” tall with deeply tanned skin, platinum blond hair that tends to fall over her eyes and pale blue eyes.

Cielle's story in her own thread that is located here entitled Not MY Choice

Irrissa was raised on Rheig by parents who were loyal Imperial citizens. She excelled in school and due to the scores on the aptitude tests that were administered by the government,she proved to be an ideal candidate for their intelligence programme. She was placed into the Cipher programme and then deployed as a agent for Imperial intelligence. At least this is what she thought was her background.

She is very casual with her relationships using whatever the most expeditious means are to achieve her goals. This served her well until she met an SIS agent while on an undercover assignment. Her instinctive actions and feelings showed her not to be the callous coldblooded agent she tried to be and led to a chain of events that had her re-examining who she really was.

She has dark hair and deep green eyes, and is about 5'3” tall

Not a lot is known yet about her. Despite the similarity in names she bears no relationship to Irrissa. A former slave,she puts forth an air of bravado. She is fiercely independent, tempestuous, her moods akin to summer weather, sunny one minute, fierce lightning storm the next. Inside though she is insecure and worries if she can live up to Sith culture. An accusation of weakness though can and will bring her ire.

She also has long dark hair with green eyes (yes I know, its a type but when I created all these gals they used to be on different servers and well I like the look) She is tiny, barely 5' tall in her bare feet

Cleindori is a young idealistic Miralan. Raised on the Miralan homeworld like others of her species she believes strongly that her actions reflect not only on her but on her people. Prior to her training she had not been around many other non-Miralani people so she often is confused by the actions and reactions she encounters. She is very focused to the letter on her assignments and doesn't adapt well to events that don't fit with what she is working on at the moment.

She has pale green skin with tattoos like tear drops under eyes. Her light red hair is always meticulously done up and she has blue eyes.

Ruth Niral is about 5'6", pale, with light blue eyes and middling brown hair that she keeps short in her canon (RMC) universe. She's built lean, with little in the way of curves. She favors medium armor in simple conservative designs; in her youth she affected an Imperial uniform for a while, but in time the requirements of public life and the overall loss of desire to seem approachable put her into Black Dark McGrimSith gear.

Colran Niral is maybe 5'9", rail-thin, with dark shoulder-length hair and pale grey eyes. As an adult he wears robes in mostly correct Sith style, though there's more grey than black and the cuts and patterns suggest an eclectic taste informed by his time in neutral and Republic space.

Dolarra Reyne-Niral is 5'4", brown-haired and blue-eyed, with features very much like her daughter Ruth. She has the muscular build of a gymnast. She can look comfortable wearing anything, and probably has at some point in her career as Cipher agent.

Wynston is about 5'7" and wirily built, with medium blue skin, generically handsome features, and dark blue hair that he keeps meticulously neat whenever doing so won't be incongruous on the job. Left to his own devices he wears...well, when is he ever left to his own devices? His wardrobe is selected to suit the day and the task, and that's that.

Rylon Niral grows up into...well, a Quinn clone, minus mole. Maybe not the spitting image of his father, but the scowling image, at least. 5'10", black-haired, blue-eyed, pale, Rylon keeps his hair roughly shoulder-length and likes any dark Sith style he can get his hands on.

Larr Gith is 5'9", slender, with ever-lustrous wavy blonde hair that cascades past her waist. Her eyes are large and expressive, more amber than brown; her lips are rosy and full; her features fine and sculpted; her complexion is flawlessly pale, her figure very selectively curvaceous. She moves with a sensuous grace and speaks in a velvety contralto. In social situations she favors rich dresses cut to showcase her assets one way or another; in combat she uses fitted armor in vivid custom colors; she carries all of it with unerring poise. She commands attention just by existing. And, you know, if just existing doesn't do the trick she will proceed to demand attention by any means necessary. Ignore her cast pic eyes, they really are a liquid amber instead of mossy green.

Hazard is a small skinny Twi'lek (apparently everybody in RMC is slim o.O), dark blue with striated markings down her lekku. As a Joiner her eyes are uniform black. She wears generally Agent-y gear, directed by an aesthetic that no one except perhaps Killiks can entirely describe or account for. She speaks with Vector's musical cadence, but in a higher register.

Pierce Junior is Pierce Junior. I just needed someone younger and less experienced than Lieutenant Pierce, that's all.

Nalenne and Niselle are 5'6", curvaceous, with naturally dark red skin and thick burgundy hair. The red skin has been bleached by major Dark Side binges and the burgundy hair was burned away years ago by extremely caustic pranks, so now they're both bald and tending toward pink. Their eyes are corrupt variants on yellow; Niselle has a slight head start in the journey toward completely colorless irises. Each favors the most flamboyant accoutrements of their class and station: Nalenne in overwrought dark Sith Warrior gear, Niselle in eye-bleedingly rich and intricate Inquisitor robes.

Nic is maybe 5'7", dark-skinned, black-haired, dark-eyed, curvy but quick on her feet, and she loves the Smuggler's wardrobe.

Rho is 5'11"; his intensive physical training merely brings him from skinny up to average physical bulk. A Mirialan of light olive skin and dark green eyes, he dresses simply, favoring function over form and ignoring fashion entirely.

Dahlia is maybe 5'6", black-haired, brown-eyed, of roughly what we would call East Asian features and skin tone. She likes anything that fits close to her svelte form, but her primary fashion expression is in the weaponry, not the clothes.

Vierce is 6'7", muscular, brunet and brown-eyed. He remembers to shave most days. He's worn some variant on combat fatigues most of his life, but in his off time I imagine him in the galactic equivalent of jeans and a button-down shirt (with some kind of tank top underneath in case of random pickup whatever-sport game.)

My poor runt Kirsk is merely 5'10" and of average build. Brown-haired and brown-eyed like his brother, though he puts a little more time into styling his hair and maintaining no more than an artful level of facial scruff. And he may yet turn his eyes green via adventures I haven't written yet. He collects all the Smuggler jackets: anything that makes him look good that won't hamper his movement in case a quick escape is called for. Imagine that his features more resemble Vierce in canon than in his cast picture; I rolled the character before I knew that those two would be related.

Mellekor is 6'4", broad-shouldered, with blunt features and a full crown of Zabrak horns. Black tattoos cover much of his dark red skin. He errs on the light-armor side of a warrior's options, the better to accommodate an acrobatic style, but maintains a distinctively Sith wardrobe.

”Stars, please, make it stop,” though outwardly indifferent she had been steadily chanting this to herself for the past five minutes. Her hands were balled to prevent her from getting physical, she would regret that, but he was making her blood rise fast.

“Why don’t we have more fun on this ship? Back home when we needed a laugh, we used to run the rontos in circles, then see if they could charge us without falling over.”

“Sleep it off, Corso”, as she turned to leave the bridge she could feel his disappointment burning holes in the back of her head. She didn’t care.

When Eiira woke up to the dim green lights in her quarters the events of the night before came rushing back to her. She felt her anger rise again and quickly made her way into the shower, it had a way of calming her. The warm water and strong jets massaged the aching muscles in her neck and shoulders and as she began to relax she wondering why. Any chance there might have been, he had ruined it. She would not put up with a drunken slob like that, was that so wrong of her? As she turned off the water and started toweling her hair dry she decided it didn’t matter. He’d only made a few covert approaches; she’d only flirted like she always did. Harmless. He was too much of a farmboy anyway.

The soft knock on her door pulled her out of the book she was reading. Eiira decided to ignore it, she had stayed in her quarters for a reason and the peace and quiet made a nice change.

“Please, Captain, I know you are in there. Can we talk for a second?” the plea was obvious even through the thick durasteel door.

“Come in,” as she carefully composed her features into the same mask of indifference she had worn the night before it occurred to Eiira that it wasn’t a bad idea to have this conversation now. They could learn to be friends and she needed someone trustworthy to watch her back on all the crazy runs Risha had planned.

As her door swung open it revealed a man that looked nothing like the Corso she knew. She’d never seen him without his full body-armour, dreads neatly tied back into that trademark fountain on the back of his head. When he’d first joined her to hunt down Skavak and her ship she’d even joked he was probably born like that. The man that stood in her doorway however was barefoot, in sweatpants and an undershirt. His damp hair framed a tired face from which bloodshot eyes gave her a haunted look.

“Rough hangover for someone who was just tipsy,” Eiira tried to keep the smirk from her face but it was evident in her voice. As Corso stepped into her quarters the door shut closed behind him, leaving him standing there hopelessly.

“Yea, well, I was wrong,” the rasping in his voice effectively proving his point. “I was drunk. I was very drunk. I just,” he hesitated about what to say next. “I came here to apologize.”

Eiira watched him pace back and forth as he tried to find the rights words. “I want to apologize for my behaviour. I went too far. I shouldn’t have. But I thought. I did it because. And then,” he sighed as his apology dissolved into an incomprehensible waterfall of words.

“I am sorry, Captain. You do not deserve a ramblin’ drunken fool on your bridge. It will not happen again, I promise,” his shoulders sagged as he finished talking, as if he’d failed himself somehow.

“Look Corso, it’s OK,” she got up from her chair and moved towards him. “It’s your prerogative if you want to get drunk and dredge up memories about running around with farm animals. Next time though, just pick up a date and go to a local cantina, keep it off my bridge ‘kay?” she noticed the hurt in his eyes but ignored it, they both had to know where they stood.

“And it figures the farmboy is a lightweight,” she chuckled and gave him a push towards the door. “No hard feelings.” Eiira turned away from him and walked over to her storage unit. Clearly having given Corso a dismissal, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt him move up behind her.

“That is a lie, Captain,” his voice was a whisper in her ear, hoarse but intense and with an urgency she hadn’t heard there before.

“That is a lie," he repeated. "There are hard feelings. I knew that the moment I was sober. I made a fool out of myself but I disrespected you. You deserve more than my drunken courting attempts and I don’t blame you for being angry with me and sending me to local cantinas. But I won’t go, for I only have eyes for one girl,” his breath tickled her skin and the close proximity of his body sent her own into overdrive. She cursed herself for getting caught off guard.

“You are special, Eiira. And I am going to show you that you are every moment of every day. I will show you how a gentlemen treats a lady that has captured his heart,” Eiira’s breath hitched and the arm she’d lifted to put away her book trembled under the intensity of his words. He put his hand on hers, steadying her, guiding the book towards it’s proper place.

“And one day, you might forget that drunken fool and his rontos,” he slowly let go of her hand, lightly tracing the contours of her green skin before disappearing.

It was a long time before Eiira dared to move and turn around, clueless about where she stood.

Because, in my head, behaviour like that warrants an apology and not the end to a starting romance. Also, I love it when Corso gets over himself for a minute and is unintentionally sexy

Auresse stood on the bridge, hands clasped tightly behind her back, and stared out into hyperspace. She didn't stir until she heard a step from the corridor.

"My lord," said Quinn. "You sent for me?"

That's right. I did. "Captain." With a hard effort she turned around to face him. "I…regret that our paths must diverge."

His brow contracted. "My lord?"

"I'm having you reassigned, effective immediately." A decision she had not come to lightly. "We're nearing an Imperial base now; I'll let you off as soon as we land."

He took only a couple of seconds to process that. "My lord," he said quickly in a strained voice, "is that wise? This is a critical time. Now that Darth Baras is moving against you it would be profoundly unwise to start dismantling your support network."

"That's the point, isn't it?" She kept her expression neutral. "You have a clear conflict of interest. With, for you, a clear solution. Forgive me if I'm selfish enough to hope that at least the decision gives you pause."

He faced her, sharp and unblinking. "There is no doubt in my mind at all. I am yours."

Strong words for a servant. She paused to regather her thoughts, as she always did when he asserted something in that voice. Then she shook her head. "Were Commander Rylon or Admiral Monk the Republic's? Was Draahg Darth Vengean's? What Baras gives, Baras takes away."

"I didn't seek assignment here for his sake."

"Ah. Did you choose an unknown like me over a sponsor like him, and would you hold to that now? I don't think so. I know you have to say it; your honor, as you've stated a hundred times over and demonstrated a hundred times more than that, demands absolute discretion in addition to absolute obedience." She did admire him for it. He was good at what he did, everything an Imperial should be. "Top marks for both, captain, and I have benefited greatly so far. But now that Baras and I are at odds he's going to force your hand."

"Even if he tried to request action from me I would not listen. After what we've seen, the service of the Emperor himself? By any measure, starting with my word and ending with the good of the cause, this is my place." He dropped his gaze. "And apart from that. More than my oath holds me here."

The idea had flickered between them many times before, and she wanted to believe it. Now that war had broken out, however, what she wanted – what they wanted – didn't much matter. "You're listing reasons as if this were a negotiation instead of a command. You wouldn't argue if you thought I were the legitimate authority."

He looked desperate. Not just desperate, wounded. "I would if I thought this misstep would cost us both more than we can afford." He took a step toward her, compressing the tension more painfully than ever. "Don't ask me to leave you."

"I'm not asking." She drifted toward him as she spoke. "I am…drawn to you, make no mistake. But I know you. I know you well enough to realize that you may choose to kill yourself fighting me rather than forsaking your duty to him, but I still have to try to save you." She stopped when they were nearly toe to toe. "We are both already compromised far beyond what we've tried to avoid." That she even wanted to save this man who had started as a servant was proof enough of that. "And now, because I do know you, and because I know you are loyal to a self-destructive fault….well."

"My lord, please. If I have not proved myself to you already–"

"You've proved everything you need to." Every time he gunned down a perfectly loyal fellow agent on command. In spite of her resolve she had to blink a few times and look away. Swiftly, seemingly reflexively, he brought up a hand to cup her chin and bring her back to face him. It was the first time he had ever touched her without gloves.

She looked into his eyes. And didn't bother talking again just yet, because this might be her only opportunity for what she had daydreamed, and determinedly pushed away, almost every day since she had met this brilliant impossible creature. Now they were very nearly out of time; giving in at this juncture wouldn't matter anyway.

So she kissed him. He kissed her back instantly, snapping the tension in the room with a sudden firm embrace that finally, finally closed the distance between them. Whether to persuade her or just to take advantage of his last chance, she didn't know and didn't care. She wrapped her arms around his neck and met his pressing kisses hotly, fiercely. Hopelessly.

Before the last of her judgment melted she forced herself to break contact and back away. "We can do this two ways," she said. "You can go, well away from this struggle, and make yourself useful against enemies that your master and I have in common. In the field if you can, from a prison console if I have to." She smiled a tiny wry smile in spite of herself. "Or I can knock you out here and now and freeze you in carbonite until this is over. Either way I won't let him hurt you, but neither can I let you get in my way."

"I…" For a long painful moment he looked past her. "You will not be convinced, will you, my lord."

"I will not."

"Even if things were as you say, if I leave your side my life is forfeit."

"You've gone into mortal danger on my orders before. Believe me, this conflict won't last long." She had little more to offer him on that front. "We'll talk after. Because what's between us isn't just the assignment. No matter how much you or I might want it to be."

He seemed to flinch at that, but only for a moment. "Then…I will go."

"I'm glad. I didn't want to have to hurt you. We've made a good team, it would be a shame to end it that way." Once again, he wasn't quite looking at her. "Captain," she said, and waited for him to meet her eyes. "Will you at least admit it?" She did have a lingering doubt. A stupid wishful doubt, but a doubt.

"Say the word and it doesn't have to matter. I'll serve you. But, having been incisive enough to come this far, you won't believe that."

That's right. I won't. "Will you admit it. Directly."

Some small light in his eyes died. "Yes." He kept facing her as if waiting for a response, but she had already said everything she had to say. So after a long moment he composed himself. "I'm sorry it's come to this, my lord," he said, and bowed.

And then he left, as she had always known he would.

Auresse clasped her hands tightly behind her back and stared out into hyperspace. Compared to this, everything else she had to face was straightforward. She looked forward to ending it.

I was going over Sevasht's "Yep, he's totally a plant from day 1" thing and thinking "Well, what if you knew it and tolerated him anyway…but actually got fond of him? What then?" Better get him out of the way someplace. Jail time would probably have to be involved to keep him from doing something stupid.

…now clearly Auresse has to go get with Lord Draahg because none of my Warriors have done that yet…and STOP IT STOP IT THIS WAS A ONE-SHOT, you silly idea monster.