I never really do this, but I was inspired to write about my character while I was waiting for early release to start. This is what I came up with. Hope you enjoy!

The Lightbringer of Nar Shadaa

Part 1 - A Spark Ignites

A fat, greasy man leaned back in his chair. A death stick in the smiling mouth beneath his untrimmed moustache. He had just finished counting his most recent take from “protecting” the local businesses and he was quite proud of himself. He was rich. He was feared. He had taken any and every little thing he wanted and there was nothing anyone could, or would, do about it. "It's good to be king," he purred with a low rumble.

The door to the mock throne room creaked open slowly to reveal a young girl. Her red hair was unstyled and tousled. Her clothes, ragged and dirty. Her head slightly bowed and her arms loose at her side.

“And who might you be?” queried Rowl.

"My name is Xiri."

"Well hello there, Xiri," he barked with his famously offensive confidence. "You must be one of those girls Bosin picked up last week. You're going to make me a lot of scratch."

"No," she responded smoothly. "I'm going to kill you." The words came as naturally as if she were saying “hello”.

Rowl's sight slowly moved toward the large man standing at the side of the room before erupting into laughter. She knew the behemoth to be Rowl's heavy. His bodyguard. Xiri supposed that a man that size never had to fight for anything in his life. Most people she knew didn't have the spine to stand up to anyone, much less a towering Mountain of a man like this. Xiri, on the other hand, had been fighting since the day she was born. She liked her chances.

Xiri loosened her grip on the knife she had hidden behind her forearm, cupping it delicately like a wounded bird that was trying to escape. She pulled the knife slowly above her shoulder and allowed only a slight snarl to slip through her otherwise calm demeanor.

Xiri lunged forward, following through with her throwing hand. Her grip released, sending the knife spinning through the air with a snap. The tip of it's blade quickly found a new home in Rowl's neck. The hilt followed. Rowl's laughter instantly transformed into gurgling gasps for air and flailing attempts to remove his new 8" steel implant.

The Mountain looked on in shock, then turned to Xiri who had already cleared most of the space between them. By the time he could react, she had one leg wrapped around his thick neck with the other leg gripping the first in such a way as to tighten the lock around his throat.

The Mountain spun and slammed himself and Xiri into the wall with the hopes of breaking her loose, forcing the breath from her lungs. But Xiri's lock held true, and with one final exertion, she cupped both hands, slamming them over each of the Mountain's ears. A loud boom. Then nothing.

With his hearing and balance gone, Xiri leaned hard to one side and rode the avalanche to the ground. Without air, his convulsions soon slowed, then stopped.

Xiri untangled her legs and stood up. She briefly brushed some of the dirt off of her filthy clothes, then brought her eyes up to meet Rowl's. He wasn't dead. Not yet. But he was unable to move with the dagger pinned to the wall behind him through his neck. And unable to act with his lungs nearly full of blood.

Rowl's eyes left hers only to glance at the blaster that was just out of reach on the nearby table. The best that money could buy, or that cunning could steal. The barrel had been modified for better accuracy and heat dissipation. The capacitors had been upgraded to allow for a faster rate of fire. The trigger was a precision style designed by the best Trandoshan weaponsmith in the known universe and the whole thing weighed half the weight of the stock design. All of that meant nothing now. It was only a few feet away, but it was no closer than the farthest galaxy.

Xiri walked slowly over to the table. Her eyes fell on the blaster and paused, admiring the ironic beauty of something so deadly. Her heart pounded, slow and powerful, as she picked it up. The grips slid into her palm and seemed to meld with her skin. She indulged the sense of belonging for only a moment before drawing a bead on Rowl's forehead.

"Told you."