The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!

[frauzet]

Thank you, bright, for the stats! I love them.

It's great to see there is still life in the thread. This is where my love for fanfiction started. I lurked for a few weeks before I posted my first story. And thanks to the welcoming and encouraging community in this thread, it wasn't my last.

Thank you all for a lot of fun <3

 

Life is still keeping me busy, so I am again late. But here is the copy of the prompt from tumblr:

 

Week of June 1, 2018

 

Mistakes Were Made: The perennial apology-not-apology. Someone made mistakes, frequently not the person making the statement. So what happened? Was your character the mistake-maker or the one wronged? Who is “apologizing” and for what? Will anything be resolved, or is this papering over a systemic problem? Again? Is it a way to give someone a well-deserved second chance, or a perpetual offender getting away?

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

The Short Fiction Weekly Challenge began exactly six years ago, on Friday, June 1, 2012. This week revisit the first ever SFC prompt.

 

The one that started it all. From June 1, 2012: Culture Shock - The galaxy is a big place, and it’s home to a wide variety of different cultures and species. It’s not easy working with someone who may look similar to you, but comes from a radically different culture - not to mention being friends or even spouses with them

 

June 3, 2016: Why Didn’t I Think of This Sooner? Character Version- Who hasn’t come up with a great idea well after it’s useful? Probably not your character, since they aren’t actually under real-world time constraints. What if they did? Characters can have regrets or second-guess themselves, too. Perhaps they come up with the perfect escape plan while fighting through guards they didn’t avoid. Maybe they wish they had bought the magical sword from the swordsmith. Maybe they remember the vital clue after setting off the trap. Consider this a chance to try some internal conflict for your character. What do they do when they realize they could have done something differently?

[bright_ephemera]

Comments:

@drug_cartel I really like that Rathari is impressed by, not just the power, but also the canny use of allies. It seems like the kind of thing a Sith survivor would appreciate.

 

@Lord_Thorne I was in suspense all through this! I love the only partly deadly collection.

 

 

Story:

 

Mistakes were Made! This was a challenge for me until I realized that it could get me out of a bind. See, Darth Scythia’s first officer Andronikos Revel isn’t a good fit for her possessive nature, and I had struggled to figure out how he escapes her inner circle…spoilers for early Andronikos conversations.

 

This comes in two parts.

 

Part 1:

 

 

“Andronikos. I have a surprise for you.”

 

Andronikos looked up from the navicomputer. They had just left hyperspace. He was an hour away from landing on Rishi, a planet where he could jump ship and disappear into the underworld. Engines under his feet, a clear sky ahead…freedom. Freedom outside the obsessive clutches of the Sith who had confiscated his world four years ago and tried to hold it in lockdown ever since. Well, he finally had the nerve and opportunity at the same time.

 

He stood up and wondered how much of his thoughts she could read. “What is it?”

 

“We’re docking. Manage it.”

 

“Any elaboration on that, Jora?” She only let him call her that in private these days. He might be the last person left who hadn’t updated his holodex with “Darth Scythia.”

 

“No,” she said, and walked out again in a clacking of silver beads.

 

A woman with a hauntingly familiar voice came on the line, talking through their ships joining up and extending airlocks. Andronikos waited a few seconds. Nobody said anything. He sauntered out to the airlock.

 

Jora Mei was there, mincing into the tunnel between ships. At the far end was a transparisteel window into the docked ship. There were people standing on the other side.

 

He knew them. He knew every one.

 

Jora Mei hit the button to speak through the door. “Before the Sky Princess, there was the Black Stubble. Charming name, by the way. Before your crew mutinied and died one by one in the desert, your previous crew, well…you left them in a bit of a bind. Didn’t you.”

 

Andronikos looked over the waiting faces. Different species, different types, different blasters. The same looks on their faces. “There weren’t enough pods for us all,” he said nervously. “I did everything I could to keep that ship from falling out of the sky, but I can’t do miracles.”

 

“Miracles?” purred Jora Mei. “But your crew is alive, for the most part. So that ship must have pulled off a truly astonishing reversal. Now? Your friends are here.” She turned her face to the window. “Mistakes were made that day. I’m willing to make it up to you, brave buccaneers. There is a certain cosmic justice in meeting your first mate, one last time.”

 

“You’re kidding, right?” said Andronikos. “Let’s blow this place.” He took no pleasure in it, but it would tie off a lot of loose ends.

 

She released the button; their voices were for the two of them in the echoing airlock passage. “I think not. All you ever wanted was freedom, Nikki. So I set you free. What you do with it is your problem.” Her gaze slanted over to the waiting pirates. “Problems.”

 

“What did I do? You always have a reason. You don’t go to this trouble unless there’s something you’re punishing. So what? What did I do this time?”

 

“You know my terms! You know what I want. I want your service, loyal, permanent. I’ve wanted it for years and all you’ve done is tease. I could torture it out of you. I could crack your mind like a gizka egg and slurp out its contents and let your shell serve me until the day you volunteer to throw yourself on my funeral pyre. I chose not to. You should be grateful.”

 

She always did know how to get under his skin. She had tolerated bluntness from him before, and here bitterness overwhelmed common sense. “I’m grateful, all right. Grateful you let your ***** colors fly to start with. Made it that much easier to not get attached.”

 

“Funny, it didn’t look to me like you minded attaching. With a lot more desperation than skill.”

 

“If you think I felt anything doing it you’re dead wrong.” She sure as hell hadn’t. Probably...probably not even at the beginning. That would’ve required a trace of real emotion. “Sometimes you manage a Sith with what you’ve got. That’s all it ever was.”

 

She bared her teeth, dull white between green lips. “Liar. You would have died of ecstasy if I ever thought you were worth the effort. You think I don’t know to the hour when you gave up? You were about to leave me. You arrogant scum, you thought you could just walk away from Darth Scythia. Well I’m choosing the road you walk, Nikki, I always choose the road. And you’ll follow it to the bitter end if I have to punt you down the cobblestones myself. Go face your old friends. Maybe you’ll enjoy their attentions more.”

 

No more chances. Scythia opened the airlock door and shoved Andronikos into the waiting crowd. Nine blasters hummed in harmony, all around. “Our business is concluded,” she said, and returned to her ship.

 

 

 

Part 2:

 

 

Forty-five minutes later…

 

Andronikos sat in a grimy low-light lounge on board the Phoenix Biter. His leg was up on a table while Ringe patched up the blaster bolts. She hated being nicknamed Syringe, but nothing could stop the crew from using the shorter version.

 

“Was that really necessary?” he said, and tossed back a pungent drink.

 

“Believe me, we were leaning toward more thorough revenge,” said Stala, now apparently Captain Stala. “Took me a while to get everyone together…that’s a lot of stewing, nine people over eight years.”

 

“We can’t all hitch our starships to the Dark Council,” added Vorn.

 

“But I see you can’t resist me.”

 

“Nerf ****,” Neeva said affably. “But Darth Scythia plus revenge seemed too interesting to pass up. We’ve all got stories, but I got nothing as good as that.”

 

“Good to know. So here’s what I don’t get. Explain to me how you got out from uncontrolled reentry onto Hoth.”

 

“Without escape pods,” Vorn said pointedly.

 

“Yeah,” said Andronikos, “remind me to tell you what a picnic it was getting off Hoth with two credits and one layer of clothing. Sometimes I think it would’ve been smarter to go down with the ship.”

 

“We had to patch the engine to regain altitude,” said Neeva.

 

“What, take it offline and…?”

 

“No time for that. We bolted a new panel on over what was there.”

 

“And that worked?”

 

“Mistakes were made,” reported Vorn.

 

“Well, it superheated and exploded the patch all through the engine room, but Vorn got out, and more importantly we got enough power to stabilize our orbit.”

 

“Incredible. Hey, hit me, this is good stuff.”

 

Shee walked in from the direction of the bridge. “I just told Darth ***** that Andronikos is dead and we’re going our separate ways.”

 

Everyone looked around.

 

“You and me and us, we didn’t get along,” said Ringe.

 

“It’s been a long time. We’ve grown apart,” added Neeva.

 

“I don’t even own this ship,” said Stala. “Technically.”

 

“We were pretty much about to murder each other anyway, wasn’t that the point of this adventure?” said Vorn.

 

“I know an archive in the Outer Rim that maintains priceless and mostly non-Force-tainted artifacts. Visited there once with, ah, high clearance,” said Andronikos.

 

“Nikki,” said Stala, “she’d kill you.”

 

Andronikos tossed back the rest of his drink and grinned. “She’d have to find us first.”

 

 

 

 

A/N.

 

Don’t be a supervillain. Confirm your kills.

 

By the way, it’s called the Black Stubble because Blackbeard was taken.

 

Apparently I use a lot of bad language.

 

Edited June 4, 2018 by bright_ephemera

[Lunafox]

@Bright Really enjoyed Andronikos' and Jora's back and forth, especially the bit about the gizka egg and hopping onto a funeral pyre voluatarily. It's funny with the name 'Jora' and the mention of the funeral pyre, well, I couldn't help but thinking about GoT Loved the chapters! <3

 

Also thanks for the stats it's was interesting stuff!

Edited June 5, 2018 by Lunafox

[Iheaca]

@bright

Loved it. :-)

 

I won't try to write anything this week, I need to work on my chapter...

[bright_ephemera]

It's funny with the name 'Jora' and the mention of the funeral pyre, well, I couldn't help but thinking about GoT

 

Jora Meimont, the unhappiest retainer

[frauzet]

@bright: Thank you for making me love Andronikos even more

[frauzet]

Thank you to Striges over on tumblr for providing us with another prompt! <3

 

Week of June 8, 2018

 

Skeletons in the Closet: What’s that thing your character hopes no one ever finds? Some shameful Secret they’d just as soon remain a secret? Does anyone find out? What happens? What does your character imagine will happen? Is it reasonable, overblown, or conservative? While there are loads of things a character can be ashamed of, consider that shame is personal. What fatally embarasses your character might be no big deal to others or society at large. Alternately, it could be even worse now than when your character hid it in the first place. Rattle some skeletons in your character’s closet this week.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Pretty Things - They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and certainly people find beauty in different things. What about your character? Where do they find beauty? In artwork or song? Unusual landscapes? Stunning outfits? Well-crafted arguments, equations, or formulae? Animals, insects, or minerals? For this week’s challenge, surround your character with pretty things, however conventional or strange they may be.

 

(Un)invited Guests - Things get complicated when you’re visiting someone else, or have someone visiting you. Even if you want them there! Of course, things are extra complicated when your guest is someone you didn’t want or expect to come around.

[Lord_Thorne]

(Prompt: Skeletons in the Closet)

 

A Memorable Mark

 

 

The dark-haired girl looked frantically up and down the long corridor, searching for a face she knew, but only a handful of well-dressed strangers could be seen. To stem the rising tide of panic, she forced herself to stand still and breathe. Where did Mom and Dad go!? She wondered. I came this way and turned left – no, that way... Standing right outside the fresher, she couldn't see anything that looked familiar. She'd been in a rush, and hadn't paid attention beyond the instructions 'right around that corner.' But which corner was that now? There were no signs, no guide droid, and only tall, grownup strangers – many of whom weren't even any species she'd ever seen before. Okay, she told herself, what would Uncle Cesar do? Uncle's stories of his adventures in the Outer Rim were almost as good as the ones on the holovid shows, even better because they were real. She remembered one story where he was escaping from a gangster's hideout: “There I was, alone in a strange place. I had no idea how to get out – so I just picked a direction and started walking...” The girl nodded to herself, took another look around and began walking down the corridor with as much false confidence as she could show, eyes scanning for any clues.

 

--------------------------------------------------

 

“Senator Saresh? That's...are you sure?” Photin asked with evident dismay.

 

The older Jedi nodded and handed her a new set of robes. “That's the one. Chair of the Senate Armed Services Committee. Rising star of the Republic, probably the next Supreme Chancellor. Put these on.” Photin took the robes and held them with a worried expression. “What, you don't like her? She's been a great inspiration, and, I might say, a good friend to the Order.”

 

Photin examined the robes, hesitating to unfold them. “No, no, it's not that, I just – isn't there someone else you can get?” She met the man's eyes briefly, then looked out the viewport, where an endless stream of airspeeders passed by, the Jedi Temple looming in the distance.

 

Geron's eyebrows pulled toward each other in a frown. “In case you haven't noticed, there aren't a lot of spare Jedi around, not even here at the Senate, what with everything going on around the galaxy. I'm glad I could find you, at least you're a proper Knight and not just a padawan! The two of us will make a suitable honor guard for the ceremony.” He arched one eyebrow. “Unless you have some more urgent business?”

 

The younger Jedi sighed and shook her head. “I suppose. I just hope she doesn't...oh, never mind.” She turned and strode toward the nearest fresher to change. Geron watched her with a mix of frustration and curiosity, then shrugged and went in search of his own place to change.

 

----------------------------

 

I should have found them by now, thought the girl. The people she passed by all looked so important and busy she didn't dare bother them with questions, though some gazed at her curiously. She saw no other children; that was no surprise, the only children in this building would be the ones in the tour group she was desperately trying to get back to. She walked as fast she dared without breaking into a run – Uncle Cesar's story reminded her that running would only make people suspicious, would only draw unwanted attention. If only they'd been allowed to keep their datapads, she'd be able to call Mom and it would all be fine! But the security people had taken all those away while the tour group was in the Senate building.

She rounded yet another corner and slammed full tilt into a Bothan as wide as he was tall, wrapped in robes of luxurious and brightly-colored silk. He let out a yelp of surprise and whirled around. “I say, what is the meaning-” The girl's eyes went big as saucers, and the panic she'd kept at bay erupted into her brain. She turned and bolted away as the big Bothan shouted, “after that girl! Get her!” As she ran, she could hear the metallic voices of security droids mixed with cries of alarm from the well-dressed people, all turning and looking in her direction.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

The robes were very well-made, high quality fabric, a pattern based on the simple Jedi robes with only a little ornamentation and highlighting with gold-colored thread. Photin met Geron and together they strode toward the main Senate Chamber. “You still seem nervous,” Geron said. “This your first time in the Senate?”

 

“Not exactly,” she replied, “it's been a while, though.”

 

The older man's mustache bent up in a smile. “Well, there's nothing to worry about. We're just the honor guard for the ceremony – someone's up for a medal – not the Cross of Glory I don't think, but something almost as good. All we have to do is stand there and look official. Easy, right?”

 

Photin pushed a smile onto her face. His words were meant to reassure her, but she wasn't worried about the ceremony as much as who would be there. She mentally rehearsed some Jedi calming rituals as they approached the Chamber. They helped a little. “Calm yourself, young one,” muttered Geron, “it's just a little ceremony; I'll introduce you to Senator Saresh. It will all be fine, you'll see.”

 

----------------------------------------------

 

Adults are always surprised at how quick and elusive children can be when they're motivated. The girl twisted out of the grip of two security droids and three Senate aides, in full flight, racing towards what she hoped was an exit, or maybe a path back to Mom. Then a hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder and held with an iron grip. She was spun around to face a green-skinned twi'lek, who demanded, “what is going – aaaaah!” The twi'lek recoiled when the captured girl, without thinking, bit down on the hand that held her. The girl kicked away, but the twi'lek lashed out with her other hand and grabbed the girl by the hair, yanking her back. For a split second, she tried to put up a brave face, but burst into tears at the stern purple eyes of the twi'lek. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” the looming twi'lek demanded.

 

-----------------------------------

 

“Ah, my honor guard, just in the nick of time!” Senator Saresh beamed at the entrance of the two Jedi. “Master Geron, good to see you again! And who have you brought with you?” Saresh bowed and smiled at the younger Jedi, then gazed at her quizzically. “Have we met? There's something familiar about you...” Then she shrugged and bustled away. “Sorry about the rush, but we're already fashionably late. Come, come! The Senate and our latest hero awaits!”

 

Photin bowed, but words stuck in her throat. She couldn't meet the twi'lek's gaze; her eyes were fixed on the Senator's hand, where a wound had left its mark more than a dozen years ago, an irregular arc a few centimeters across – about the size of a child's bite. She forced down the memory of that moment of panic, and took a second to compose herself before following the Senator and Geron into the cavernous Senate Chamber.

 

 

Edited June 11, 2018 by Lord_Thorne

[Iheaca]

@Lord_Thorne

 

I like it. Sometimes the so-called skelletons are just tiny things.

 

[drug_cartel]

Prompt: Skeletons in the Closet

 

Episode IV (Tatooine): Pansey, the Mirialan Sith Warrior of Satele Shan server

 

 

 

 

The waters of the oasis rippled. Pansey looked down at her reflection in the pool, the green skinned, pigtailed girl in a cute, pink ensemble looking back up at her. Then the reflection in the pool scowled at her. It was a horrifying expression, filled with hate and malice, and for one brief moment Pansey actually believed something was wrong with her, that perhaps her face had started melting or she had contracted some horrible disease. She touched her hands to her own face, as if to make sure everything was still in it's proper place, her hands covering her eyes for but a moment, but as she drew them away, the truth became even more disturbingly clear. Rising up out of the oasis was a glowing figure that resembled her, but flickering with red and black ghost-like light.

 

"Behold what true power looks like," the reflection challenged her.

 

"Not so impressive," Pansey said with a mischievous grin, "What do you think, Quinn? Who wore it better?" Pansey spun around to face the awkward Imperial, throwing her arms out in a dramatic fashion pose while standing beside her doppleganger.

 

"I am the embodiment of your true potential," the reflection declared, "I am what you could be, if only you had the guts to follow the true path of darkness more faithfully."

 

"I follow Darth Baras's direction in all things," Pansey claimed innocently, "My master will change the entire galaxy for the better, and I intend to play whatever part I can in assisting him."

 

"Fool! Even now, Darth Baras plots against you," the reflection insisted, "The Light has made you weak, has blinded you to the truth, and you will be unprepared when your master moves to strike you down."

 

Pansey was hurt, offended even. Surely Darth Baras would never betray her, not after all he had done to bring her to this point. "I'll not fall for your tricks, ghost," Pansey declared, "You are not real. You are not what you appear to be. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I had died and was haunting a pond somewhere on Tatooine."

 

"The Sith Lords will smell the light on you like a rot," the reflection cautioned, "It will burn in their nostrils, and you will never be able to hide what you are from them."

 

"I'm not hiding," Pansey declared boldly, "There are good people out there, suffering because of idiots who ascended to power only to do nothing but fight against their own allies. With the disappearance of the Emperor, the entire Dark Counsel has fallen to squabblings and betrayals. It will take someone honest and good of heart, someone like Darth Baras, to set this Empire back on track towards an era of prosperity."

 

"Baras fears Noman Karr's padawan," the reflection taunted, "He knows this padawan could destroy him."

 

Pansey glared at her reflection. "That won't happen," she insisted through gritted teeth. "All it will take is one glimpse from the padawan, one moment of looking into Darth Baras's soul, and she will see all the good that he can do. I can find her, bring her to Darth Baras, and all will be well again. She'll probably even join us."

 

"You are too weak to do what needs to be done," the reflection mocked her, "A master of the dark could turn this padawan, and with this padawan by her side, could strike down Baras and lay claim to all he has."

 

"And then I would be just as stupid as those other idiots on the Dark Counsel," Pansey said, rolling her eyes, "Morons who blow up their own cities and kill their own people, all in the name of 'sowing fear' or 'undermining a rival'. The Empire exists for the good of all, not for the whims of some overgrown spoiled brats."

 

"You underestimate the power of the darkness," the reflection shouted back in anger, "And it will be the death of you!" Brandishing a lightsaber of her own, Pansey's pink shoto clashed with that of her reflection. The two dueled for several moments, until the reflection lashed out in anger, swinging wildly overhead while Pansey cleverly somersaulted to the left and struck her own blade true, smiting down her evil doppleganger.

 

"Mark my words," the reflection called out as it began to fade from existence, "Baras will discover where your heart truly lies. You cannot hide your weakness from him. He will know that you are Light, and he will destroy you for it. You know I speak the truth. That is why you do not ask Baras yourself."

 

The words echoed in Pansey's ears, haunting her thoughts. She had never expressly asked Baras how he felt about the Light. She had watched him closely, judging him righteous for his many magnanimous deeds, but never had she dared to speak with him regarding himself. The words stuck with Pansey, ringing out in her mind until she found herself back on her ship, speaking with her master through the holoterminal.

 

"Apprentice, you have returned. Good," Baras praised her, "Did you destroy the padawan's former master?"

 

Pansey thought of Master Yonlach, and how she had set the Jedi free once he had shared with her the information she needed to find the Padawan. "I found the Jedi Master," Pansey said, carefully framing her words, "And I was able to make him talk. The girl's name is Jaesa Willamson, and she is from Alderaan."

 

"Very good, my apprentice," Baras approved, and Pansey blushed under his compliments. "To Alderaan then. We will find a way to draw this padawan out."

 

"Yes, my master," Pansey agreed, bowing her head respectfully, "You can count on me. I live to serve."

 

Yet at that very moment, Master Yonlach had already been contacted by the Jedi Order, and support was being sent to Alderaan from Noman Karr's ranks. Surely Baras would not have judged Pansey's mercy as weakness. Still, she allowed the secret to be held deep within her. There was no reason to trouble her master with every little decision she had made. After all, Darth Baras himself had taught her the most important truth: sometimes secrets can save thousands.

 

 

 

[frauzet]

@Lord_Thorne: Some things you did as a child will haunt you forever. From now on I will watch out for a scar on Saresh's hand

 

@drug_cartel: It seems like a seed of doubt has been seeded. Looking forward to see it take roots.

[frauzet]

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of June 15, 2018

 

Tired: Sleepy? Overworked? Bored? Or really Done With This Sh*t? Everyone gets tired, physically and mentally. What is your character tired of or from? Why? Do they fix it? Can they, or is it out of their control? Just don’t be too tired to write it.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Bad Timing - Sometimes, the worst thing about something is when it happens. Even a good thing can end up being not-so-great if the timing is wrong. Write about a time when your character had to deal with something that just plain came at the wrong time.

 

Mix It Up - For this challenge you can write anything you like. The catch? Someone else’s character has to be in it along with yours. It can be your friend’s or someone else as long as you have gotten their permission and as long as your story involves your character and another player character that you don’t play - NPCs, companions, etc don’t count. Get creative with this one and see what cool stuff you can come up with.

[bright_ephemera]

Comments:

 

 

@Lord_Thorne Too funny. Saresh making children cry is now solidly in my mental image SWTOR highlights reel.

 

@drug_cartel I can only imagine Pansey’s in for a nasty shock. Though, if you ignore Baras’s last thirty seconds with everyone he uses, he really does play a more constructive, well-thought-out game than most of the Dark Council…

 

 

 

Tired but also Vacation for Calline, Grand Champion of the Great Hunt in the Ruth!verse and followon Knights of the Dawning Alliance. Her time on Rishi during Shadow of Revan is a little…hectic. Minor Shadow of Revan spoilers.

 

 

 

Calline closed her eyes and stretched out on the plastoid lawn chair beside the aquamarine lagoon. Given the temperature she was in her work suit’s light tank top and the sole pair of shorts she had ever owned, and she had braided her dark blue hair around her head, granting herself a crown rather than a sticky mane. The scene was idyllic: sunny, carpeted in little starlike flowers, fringed in bright wide-leaved plants, moderated by a light breeze, with a peaceful pebble-sand bank suitable for sunning. Rishi had never felt better.

 

“Su cuy’gar.” So you’re still alive.

 

She hadn’t heard the footsteps before Torian’s words. Damn, he won this time. She opened her eyes and could tell from his grin that he knew it. “Su nuhoy’gar.” So you’re still funny.

 

Torian stopped a respectful distance from her feet. “You’ve been practicing.”

 

Calline brought her arms in to fold over her chest and shrugged. “I don’t want to sound like a complete idiot.”

 

“More than a few Mandalorians have asked me to offer you their tutoring services.”

 

Calline rolled her eyes, a Chiss subtlety that might not translate. “‘Services.’”

 

“There’s a reason I don’t pass them along.”

 

“Thanks.” That went for both the discretion surrounding people she was sick of and his own Mando’a teaching.

 

“Ask you something?”

 

Calline nodded.

 

“Do Chiss tan?”

 

“I don’t try. Just…enjoying the warmth.” She didn’t have to tell him what a madhouse things had been since that Jedi and Sith pair had come ripping through Torch’s, and their, stronghold. Rishi was still wondering where all its body parts had ended up. Calline was going to need a lot more R&R than this if anybody expected her to team up with those two.

 

Funny, how a wealthy retirement managed to stay one job away indefinitely. But she didn’t have to take that job yet.

 

Torian, rather than staring, turned to the lagoon’s placid edge. “Good skipping stones here.”

 

Calline sat up. “Hm?”

 

He pried a round stone free of its spot in the mosaic and sent it skimming across the water, bounce, bounce, bounce, in a curving dotted trail of ripples, until the clear water swallowed it. Fish fled from every strike.

 

He picked up another and offered it. “Here. See my wrist, and the way my finger follows up for the spin.” He picked up a third and demonstrated.

 

Calline threw. She got a single skip, then a loud plop. “Meant to do that.” They both laughed. She picked a stone and tried again. It was pointless, but it was fun.

 

She wasn’t sure when Torian’s company had come to qualify as restful. It put him in a club with Mako, T5, and maybe Calline’s older siblings. Regardless, she chose stone after stone, and drew curving Xs opposite Torian’s throws, and not a single one of the Grand Champion’s enemies disturbed them. Who needed more relaxation than that?

 

 

A/N.

 

I really believed I wouldn’t like Torian when I first heard about him, but he won me over. He’s the good kind of bro.

 

The Jedi and Sith are Larr Gith (JK) and Darth Scythia (SI), two great egomaniacs who egomaniac together from Rakata Prime clear through Ziost.

 

Mando’a from mandoa.org.

 

 

[JamagsAwesome]

A prompt so nice, I answered it twice! I wasn’t sure which of these two ideas fit the prompt better, so I figured I might as well write both and post them together.

 

Also, hello! I posted on here a whole bunch a long time ago, but I don’t think my writing was very good at the time, so I’m pretty much starting over.

 

Both of these kind of got away from me, so they didn’t end up having a lot to do with tiredness other than some vestigial references to the characters being worn-out, but hey, here they are anyway.

 

The Search

 

 

-Ziost – Darth Thrakkis’ Estate-

 

Darth Thrakkis was a very powerful Sith Lord, part of what some of the old guard called the Malgus generation of enthusiastic Jedi-hunters. A hulking Dathomiri cyborg, Thrakkis was said to have won as many battles frightening the enemy into submission as killing them directly.

 

Rumors, however, had begun to circulate. Darth Thrakkis was going soft in his old age. Weak. Sentimental. Though he’d never admit it in public, Thrakkis felt that the rumors were true, to an extent. It had been years since he’d killed a Jedi. Though his cybernetics did what they could to compensate, his body was beginning to falter under the stress he’d put it through. While these first two points could be addressed, there was a third weakness that Thrakkis lacked both the ability and the desire to purge: He loved his daughter more dearly than anything else in the galaxy.

 

It pained him that she’d have to endure the challenges of growing up as an alien in the Empire, as he had. It pained him that one day she’d have to face the vicious trials of Korriban to become Sith, as he had. It pained him, too, that his sweet little girl would have to stamp out her own weakness and embrace the dark side, as he had done a very long time ago.

 

So, he took it upon himself to train her. He didn’t teach her how to be Sith; no, that was what the Academy on Korriban was for. He taught her act fast and think faster. He taught her how to kill and when not to, and when words could be sharper than any blade. He taught her to keep her friends close and her enemies closer, and to know which was which. In short, he taught her to survive.

 

As she stepped out onto the muddy, freshly rain-soaked grounds of the arena, he ignored the holograms of his Sith colleagues. She looked up at him and flashed a toothy grin. He’d always known she looked a lot like him, but from a distance it occurred to him how much her petite frame reminded him of her mother.

 

“… And of course I was a bit skeptical,” continued one of the holographic Lords, “After all, the old hermit is a bit mad, but his visions are known to be- Oh, is that her?”

 

Today’s training was to be a simple test of combat aptitude. It wasn’t going to be a challenge – Darth Thrakkis was proud that he could say without any exaggeration that his daughter was one of the most truly gifted combatants he’d ever known.

 

“Yes,” said Thrakkis, smiling under his resperator, “That’s my Thralinn.”

 

Her opponents were marched out onto the field by the guards. They were slaves, mostly – some of the more successful pit fighters from Thrakkis’ gladiatorial matches. Dargalla the Wookiee bruiser, Vitan the Nautolan fencer, Jaira Ordo the Mandalorian sniper, Octavios the human duelist, Zerin Nadeel the Ughnaught demolition specialist, and Kal Varak the Kel Dor gunslinger.

 

Thrakkis rose slowly to his mechanical feet and stomped to the edge of his private viewing booth’s balcony. Taking a long, rasping breath through his resperator, he spoke one word.

 

“Begin!”

 

Nadeel fired her grenade launcher at Thralinn, who grabbed the explosive and hurled it back at the Ughnaught.

 

One down.

 

Dargalla’s bounding steps brought him to Thralinn ahead of Octavios and Vitan, blocking the line of fire for Ordo and Varak. Ordo began to flank to the right while Varak evidently decided to bide his time.

 

Dargalla brought her club down towards Thralinn’s head, but the young Zabrak deftly sidestepped and slashed at the Wookiee with her training saber. This only made Dargalla angry, and she swung her club again, but stopped short clutching her throat and hovering slightly off the ground. Octavios, moving with unnatural speed, smacked Thralinn across the head with his simple phrik staff, breaking her concentration and freeing Dargalla.

 

Thralinn remained focused on her original target. She slashed Dargalla across the face and Force-pushed her away, where she collapsed on top of Vitan.

 

Two down.

 

Thralinn twisted to block another strike from Octavios’ staff, but the human pressed the clash into a lock. Thralinn’s head twitched and she looked over her shoulder to see Ordo aiming at her. Force-pushing Octavios back, she leapt towards Ordo with the speed and power only a Force user could display. Thralinn cut through Ordo’s rifle and delivered a superficial wound to her neck before throwing her into the arena wall.

 

Three down.

 

Varak seemed to see this as an opportunity and began to open fire on Thralinn. She blocked his shots, but one struck the power cell on her training saber. Vitan and Octavios were converging at the same time.

 

She used the Force to pick up the two halves of Ordo’s blaster, and threw them at Ocavios and Varak. Octavios sidestepped, but Varak was hit by the stock, collapsing to the ground.

 

Four down.

 

Vitan attacked next, and while his bladework was flawless, Thralinn’s was better. She swatted his vibroblade aside and stabbed him in the arm. She grabbed his sword and blasted him back with the Force, sending him splashing into a mud puddle.

 

Five down.

 

Thralinn passed the training saber into her left hand and picked up the vibroblade with her right, turning to face Octavios.

 

With the possible exception of Nadeel, Thralinn hadn’t killed any of the combatants. This was concerning.

 

Octavios opened up with a series of powerful but sloppy staff strikes. Thralinn deflected his attacks with minimal difficulty, though Darth Thrakkis noted with some frustration that she’d reverted to a Soresu stance – a defensive technique hardly befitting a Sith Lord. He hoped she merely intended to exhaust Octavios before finishing him off, but a fight against a mere slave gladiator should not have been so challenging.

 

Whatever the reason, Octavios’ attacks continued unabated, and Thrakkis began to sense his daughter’s exhaustion. His cybernetic fists clenched. This wouldn’t do at all.

 

“Who is that slave with the red hair?” said the Sith who’d been talking earlier, “I like him.”

 

“He’s strong, but his form is sloppy,” muttered another, this one an overseer, “I’ve seen better.”

 

Perhaps she sensed his disappointment, because in an instant, the tables had turned. She swatted Octavios in the leg with the now-inert training saber, and again in the hand, this time with the vibroblade. Octavios stumbled back, clutching the gaping cut on his hand, before Thralinn knocked him over with a Force push. She pointed the saber to his throat and turned to look up at Thrakkis.

 

“It’s done, Father!” she announced proudly, “I’ve won!”

 

And yet Octavios wasn’t dead. First Soresu and now mercy? Perhaps Thrakkis should’ve been more worried about his daughter joining the Jedi than the Sith. Rasping through his resperator again, he spoke to Thralinn.

 

“Kill him, dear.”

 

“But Father, he’s lost!” she protested.

 

“No,” Octavios snarled before Thrakkis could respond, “No, I think you’ve lost.”

 

He raised his hands and the various Sith observing were nearly as shocked as Thralinn to see what happened next.

 

The blast of Force Lightning threw Thralinn off her feet and sent her rolling through the mud.

 

“And here I thought Sith weren’t supposed to hesitate,” Octavios said, scooping up his staff.

 

Thrakkis’ hand made its way to his lightsaber. This explained why the fight was so unusually difficult, but perhaps his daughter wasn’t ready after all.

 

Thralinn flipped to her feet, panting heavily from exertion. As Octavios brought his staff down toward her, she parried, and counterattacked. She wasn’t done yet. Octavios’ defense was good, but not good enough. He clearly wasn’t used to being forced on the defensive. In moments, Thralinn had disarmed him again and crossed her blades across his throat.

 

Meanwhile, the hologram of the Sith Lord was laughing gleefully.

 

“Oh, he’s perfect! Tell her not to kill him. I have a use for this one.”

 

This statement held Thrakkis’ interest well enough that he almost didn’t notice his daughter’s continued hesitation to strike the killing blow.

 

“Hold!” he bellowed anyway.

 

“Have that slave sent to Overseer Harkun on Korriban,” said Lord Zash, “I’ll compensate you appropriately, but he fits Spindral’s description perfectly, and I’ve got to have him.”

 

This was an odd twist. Thrakkis had hoped to find a master for his daughter, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let Zash have the young slave. He motioned for the guards to go take Octavios.

 

Thrakkis turned back to one of the other holograms, the overseer.

 

“And you? What’s your analysis?”

 

“Your daughter may be exactly what I’m looking for,” said Overseer Tremel, “Send her to me and I’ll see that she finds a good apprenticeship.”

 

“Excellent. With whom were you hoping to match her?” Thrakkis questioned.”

 

“Darth Baras is seeking an apprentice,” Tremel explained, “And I believe she’d suit his needs nicely.”

 

Perhaps not so excellent, but it was likely the best opportunity Thralinn was going to get.

 

“Very well,” said Thrakkis, “It will be done.

-

 

 

Long Day

 

 

-Ord Mantell – Separatist Base-

 

The Separatists barely knew what hit them.

 

Jaks, however, had a pretty good idea. While they were rounding a corner of the cavernous base, Corso and a pair of Separatist guards had run headlong into each other. He had to give the farmboy one thing: he was enthusiastic.

 

The guard Corso had nearly tackled swung out with his rifle, and Corso ducked to the side. Jaks pulled his blaster and placed a bolt right through the Separatist’s narrow visor. A shot from the other guard whizzed past Jaks’ ear, and he rolled into cover behind a large crate on the other side of the corridor, stopping a moment to brush the dust off his coat.

 

Jaks whipped out his second pistol and fired a few shots at the Mantellian. A few of them landed, but the guy wasn’t done yet. He fired back at Jaks, but his injuries must have been throwing off his aim, because the bolts crashed harmlessly against the greasy durasteel box.

 

Corso took aim with his rifle and fired a shot directly into the guard’s chest. He stumbled back into the rocky wall and slumped over.

 

“Ha! Now you’re dumb, ugly, and dead!”

 

A distinctive metallic clanking alerted the two freelance gunslingers that one of the Separatist droids had noticed the commotion. Jaks shoved his offhand blaster back into its holster and grabbed a thermal detonator, tossing it underhand at the droid’s feet as it rounded the corner. The blast tore through one of the mechanical guardian’s legs before it could open fire. As the droid tried vainly to struggle to its feet, Jaks and Corso finished it off with a volley of blasterfire.

 

“This is going disturbingly well,” said Jaks.

 

“Wonder where those guys were going in such a hurry,” Corso mused.

 

“Let’s find out.”

 

The two bolted down the hallway, speed fueled by adrenaline. They slowed as they heard the sound of blasterfire around another corner ahead of them.

 

“They’re angry at somebody,” Jaks said.

 

Corso moved ahead and peeked around the corner, before motioning for Jaks to follow.

 

A hulking Cathar in a Republic uniform was pinned down in a doorway, leaning out to fire at any Separtist troops who got too close. In total, there were six Separatists and two droids. Jaks immediately charged up his blasters and fired a burst that took a droid out of commission.

 

The other droid returned fire and Jaks dived behind the wall for cover. He looked up to see where Corso was, and discovered that the young Mantellian had already closed the distance with the droid and butted it in the sensors with his rifle.

 

This caught the attention of the human Separatists, two of whom turned to aim at Corso as two more began rushing towards Jaks. The Cathar took aim and fired three bursts from his rifle, taking out the still-reeling droid and the two Separatists who were trained on Corso in quick succession.

 

Jaks took a few steps back as his two Separatists had almost reached him. When they rounded the corner, he fired two shots, hitting one in the throat and the other somewhere more embarrassing. He finished off the unfortunate second Separatist with a shot to the head as he moved back to the rest of the fight.

 

Corso seemed to have clubbed one of the two remaining Separatists over the head with his rifle, and was in the process of finishing the man off with a few shots to the face. The Cathar gunned down the last Separatist and stumbled out of the doorway.

 

“Th-thanks for the assist,” he coughed, bracing himself against the door frame, “What’re a couple freelancers like you doing in this place?”

 

Jaks twirled and holstered his blasters as he walked up to the trooper.

 

“Looking for the greasy son of a Hutt who stole my ship, and running a few jobs for our guys while I’m at it. The name’s Jaks Kenn, capt- sorry, former captain of the Burn as One.”

 

“Sergeant Rikynn, Hav-” the trooper coughed, “Republic Special Forces, anyway.”

 

“How’d you get stuck in that mess?” Jaks asked.

 

Sergeant Rikynn hobbled over to the wall and slumped down against it.

 

“You see all those dead Seps on the way in?” he said.

 

“Yeah, I wondered who got to them.”

 

“I was supposed to rendezvous with my squad in here. The Separatists weren’t much trouble at first, but there were more than I was expecting. Then I found all their Imperial friends.”

 

“The Empire is here?” Corso interjected.

 

“Probably running guns and supplies to the Seps,” Jaks said, “I’ve been doing the same thing on Balmorra and Kashyyyk for years.”

 

“Something like that,” muttered Rikynn evasively, “I… ended up not having the support I was supposed to – had to clear out a base full of Imps on my own. We’re trained for this sort of thing, but usually as part of a full squad. They just wore me down.”

 

“Need help getting out of here?” Jaks asked.

 

“I’d say no,” replied Rikynn, “but that’s what I thought when I got into that mess.”

 

“Then we’ve got you covered, Segeant,” said Corso.

 

Somehow, Jaks thought this would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

-

 

 

A/N

 

Eh, the second one (which I actually wrote first, but then decided to put these in chronological order) ended up not having much of an arc to it. I guess we can consider it the beginning of the overall story of these two characters.

 

[Lunafox]

@Bright Love the piece, such an idyllic setting. Calline rock skips like I do. Maybe a Chiss tan just means they turn a deeper blue?

 

@JamagsAwesome Welcome back! I enjoyed Thralinn very much, and it looks like a pretty neat precursor to the SW story. That was some fight!

 

And it wouldn't be a day if Corso didn't say that line, 'Now you're dumb, ugly, and dead.' Again, it's nice to see you back to writing.

[frauzet]

@bright: "Funny, how a wealthy retirement managed to stay one job away indefinitely." I like that sentence, and it is food for thought. Why do our characters carry on despite opportunities to retire, or settle down, or do something completely different?

 

@JamagsAwesome: It's always interesting to see character's first encounters. I am looking forward to see how these pairings work out.

[frauzet]

Week of June 22, 2018

 

Kissing Frogs: Fandom often revolves around romantic pairs, especially finding “the one:” your character’s soulmate. Surely they don’t find their soulmate on the first try. They must have had other relationships. Ones that didn’t work out or didn’t last. What happened? This week, write a story about one of the frogs your character kissed on the way to finding their prince/princess.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Turning Point - Last week we wrote about what life would be like if major events didn’t happen. This week, we’re writing about major events that DID happen. Pick a particularly important moment for your character, one that solidified their path. Write about what they did and why that moment was crucial.

 

Camouflage: There’s more to camouflage than the standard brown and green blobs. Some visual camouflage is meant to deceive cameras or other electronic sensors, not organic eyes. Other types disguise not the presence of an object or person, but its apparent movement. Even ordinary clothing can be camouflage if it lets a person blend in when they would otherwise stand out. At its heart, camouflage is concealment. Consider a time when your character needed some, or was fooled.

[Iheaca]

Why do our characters carry on despite opportunities to retire, or settle down, or do something completely different?

Because it would be boring? I guess that some of them have ideals too.

 

So, here is a very small scene for the prompt Turning Point.

Again, english is a foreign language for me, so be forgiving...

 

 

The needle was piercing her grey skin regularly, in unison with the drums beating outside. She winced but swallowed the whimper that raised in her throat, clutching her teeth. Most of the time, the pain was bearable, but the tattoo artist had just reached one of the profound scars that were streaking her back, where the flesh was more sensitive. Nevertheless, she would not utter a sound. The tattoo was part of her coming of age and she had to prove herself worthy by standing tall through all the trials.

 

She had just turned seventeen, the age at which rattataki youngsters were considered adults by their peers. The yearly ritual gathered people of all the clans enslaved on Korriban. It was tolerated by the sith but kept under very close watch. The celebrations started with fights in the pit. On Rattatak, they would have had weapons, lethal ones. But here they were only allowed sticks and bare hands. They were slaves, and armed slaves became dangerous for their masters.

 

Most of her opponents had been strong, brutal. Those qualities were highly valued in her culture and if strength had been all that mattered, they would have outmatched her by far. But she was cunning and quick, and more than anything, she did not see defeat as an option. She had been wounded several times. She had tasted her own blood mixed with dirt and sweat more than once. But she had won her fights and when the tattoo drawing lines on her back and her head would finally be completed, she would join the others for the final ceremony.

 

Like every year, someone would declaim the story of her people and remind them how Darth Vich's insurrection had costed them their freedom. Like every year, the young would swear that they would break free of their bonds. And like every single year, the sith monitoring their ceremony would address them with a patronizing smile and grant them a look full of disdain and certitude that none of them would fulfill their oath.

 

But she would. Steeling herself against the pain that the needle was still inflicting her, she opened the palm of her right hand where she held the small trophy she had kept from her last fight, an insignificant buckle she had torn from her opponents cloths. Concealing her hand in her lap, she concentrated. The piece first quivered, then slowly started levitating and she smiled. It was her secret. As secret she would use to get her way out of slavery.

 

Her name was Nyx. That day, she still wore the collar that made her a slave. But that day, she swore that she would break her chains. She did not know how long it would take, but she would rise and would not stop before reaching the top. She would make them see how wrong they were to underestimate her kind.

 

Edited June 26, 2018 by Iheaca

[bright_ephemera]

Comments:

 

@JamagsAwesome I love Thrakkis's competition, and the way it turns around into familiar game elements as it goes. Nice showdown.

 

And yay, Smuggler and Trooper! Somehow a Smuggler often shows up where they're not supposed to be...

 

@Iheaca Beautiful. I love the idea of the Sith tolerating cultural festivals as long as they don't get out of hand...or include any undesirable elements. I'm cheering (at this point in time) for Nyx.

 

 

 

Sorry, when I thought about Kissing Frogs I thought about one guy. And one girl. Guess which one is the frog. Spoilers for Jedi Knight and Jedi Consular Coruscant.

 

 

 

“Attros!” Larr Gith had been courting the guy in off hours for a week now. The handsome Mirialan was permanently tending to some sick Jedi Master in the Senate tower, which was a tragic waste of adorableness. Now, as she leaned in, she saw that the Jedi Master was lying still, looking withered on her narrow bed. “How’s things? How is Master Yuon?”

 

“Her state is unchanged, I’m afraid,” said Attros Finn. “Our associate has found two of the three Noetikons, though. If answers are to be found, they’ll be found there.”

 

“That sounds very scholarly,” Larr Gith said politely. “What say we get supper someplace…comfortable?”

 

“Maybe less comfortable than last night?” Attros Finn said, his voice going up half a tone.

 

“Oh, I get that a lot. I found a place off Diplomacy Row. Nothing too fancy, don’t worry, you can afford it.”

 

“Oh,” said Attros. “Listen, I can’t. There’s nobody to cover me tonight. If Master Yuon is disturbed, if she wakes up alone…”

 

“Fine. Plan B!” She gestured and the protocol droid came in under the weight of a basket. “Let’s make yonder empty bed a picnic table.” She swept the basket from the droid’s arms, set it down on the bare narrow bed, and started unpacking a rich spread of things, mostly the Mirialan delicacies Larr Gith liked best. “I tried not to mess up the fed’ra.”

 

“You cooked this?”

 

“Gracious, no. I just paid the most authentic-looking guy in the marketplace.”

 

“You’re a very…unusual…woman, Larr.”

 

“And you’re a special man, Attros. Please, dig in.”

 

She kept chattering while they ate, giving him the news she was sure he would find interesting about the Senate and the Jedi Order’s doings with particular attention to her heroism in tracking down the stolen Planet Prison plans. She gave him plenty of time to respond with encouragement and acknowledgements.

 

“Listen,” she finally said, dabbing at her full pink-stained lips with a napkin, “why don’t we go someplace? Not for long, just enough to get to know each other.”

 

“Larr, you know I can’t.”

 

“Because you’re worried about her? Or because you don’t think I’m interesting?”

 

“Larr, you are – you are fascinating, you know you’re – that is – I–”

 

She smiled and smoothed her white and gold formal tunic, a marked contrast to Attros’s approved Jedi brown robes, down her waist and over her hips. “Let me break it down for you. A Jedi must be detached, right?”

 

He seemed to relax. “That’s right.”

 

“There can be no detachment without attachment.”

 

He frowned. “I’m pretty sure that’s factually untrue.”

 

She leaned in. “Can you afford to run that risk?”

 

She saw the moment he thought ‘oh, screw it.’ He leaned across the bed and kissed her, awkwardly, shyly, with definite fed’ra breath. Still tasted reasonably authentic.

 

“Still detached?” she purred.

 

“I have to be.” He fell back. “I’m sorry. You’ve been very nice, Larr, and you’re a beautiful woman, and–”

 

Impossible. “And you’re not interested. I get it, Attros.” Luckily for everyone, she could be mature about other people being too neurotic to have fun. “Still, admit it, those were a good five seconds.”

 

Attros sat down and laughed shakily. “I’m not about to forget.”

 

 

 

A/N.

 

The Larr Gith of the larger Ruth!verse has actually developed quite a lot emotionally from the woman seen here.

 

 

[JamagsAwesome]

Comments

 

 

@Iheaca: Nice! I like the simplicity of it. Out of curiosity... is Nyx a Nox? Because that would amuse me way more than is entirely warranted.

 

@bright_ephemera: Well, that's an interesting pairing. What made you think of that? Because it works surprisingly well.

 

 

Alright, I’ll start with one for Camouflage. I've got an idea or two for Turning Point that I might post later.

 

Pholux

 

The scream of the artillery nearly drowned out those of the citizens of Thani City. The trill of blasterfire echoed piercingly through the streets, mingling with the crackling of the fires. Imperial tanks rumbled down the streets, looking for all the galaxy like moving mountain’s to the young boy’s dark eyes.

 

Telos IV burned once more.

 

The boy felt a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder and shifted to face his mother.

 

“Don’t look, baby. Don’t make a sound. It’ll be over soon.”

 

The building had once housed a hundred people. Now it was a pile of rubble, with corpses stacked on corpses. Really, it was the most logical hiding place. If the Imperials stopped to search every corpse pile for survivors, they’d be here for years. Still, though, the boy hated it. The worst were Thea’s eyes. The cold, lifeless eyes of a little girl no older than he was had been staring at him for hours. He thought it might help to give her a name. He didn’t know why he chose “Thea,” but it seemed to suit her.

 

Naturally, this only made it worse.

 

A yell pierced through the cacophony.

 

“Help me!”

 

A middle-aged Twi’lek man in a security uniform rounded the corner, tearing down the street as fast as his clearly out-of-shape legs could carry him.

 

“Someone help! They’ve killed everyone! They’re coming this way!” screamed the Twi’lek.

 

The boy started to get up. He was going to wave the man over to their hiding place. He felt his mother’s hand push him back to the ground. He was about to protest when the blaster shot whizzed down the street, striking the Twi’lek in the back of the leg.

 

Twenty warriors in bulky sky blue armor rounded the street corner from which the man had come, plasteel boots clacking noisily against the pavement.

 

As they approached the writhing Twi’lek, one of the men spoke.

 

“Alor! This aruetii scum thought he could get away from us!”

 

One of them, a tall man in silver armor, let out a low, guttural laugh.

 

“Di’kut,” he said, drawing a blaster pistol, “You are a coward and a disgrace.”

 

He raised the pistol, tensing – likely preparing for the weapon’s recoil – but the flash of blue light that followed did not come from any blaster.

 

The Mandalorian leader dropped to his knees as his severed hand tumbled to the ground. The lightsaber halted in mid-air and flew back to the hands of its owner, already in mid-leap.

 

The Jedi landed between the Twi’lek and the Mandalorians, his landing punctuated by a thunderous boom as the warriors were thrown back. The grim determination on the Mirialan’s features painted a picture of age and experience, but the boy’s keen eyes spotted the Padawan braid hanging above his shoulder. The Mandalorian leader yelled in pain.

 

“Jetii shabuir!” he spat, “I’ll kill you for that!”

 

He raised his left gauntlet, but the Jedi was faster, beheading the man with a swift stroke of his lightsaber. The other Mandalorians aimed their weapons, and the Jedi stepped back into a defensive stance.

 

“Enough!” boomed a deep, rasping voice from the end of the street.

 

The Mandalorian leader may have been large, but this new arrival was massive. The hulking, red-skinned brute wore simple black durasteel armor, adorned only with a cape draped over one shoulder. The Zabrak snarled as he stomped towards the young Jedi, who remained stoic in his expression.

 

“You stand in the presence of Lord Thrakkis, Jedi. What have you to say for yourself?”

 

After a second, the Jedi spoke.

 

“Only that you’ll not harm this man while I breathe, monster.”

 

The boy caught the slightest hint of a smirk on Thrakkis’ face before the Sith’s prior expression of cold fury reasserted itself.

 

“Then…” he began, pausing for a moment, “Stop. Breathing.”

 

The Jedi’s determined expression suddenly shifted to one of shock. The lightsaber dropped from his hand, which instead flew to his throat as he lifted a few inches off the ground. He dangled there, squirming but unable to escape, for almost a minute before falling limp. Thrakkis waved his hand to the side dismissively and the Jedi’s corpse flew into a distant wall.

 

The Twi’lek crawled backwards, staring at the Sith Lord in terror.

 

“Worm,” Thrakkis snapped as he plunged his lightsaber into the poor man’s eye.

 

“That’s six Jedi today, my Lord!” said one of the Mandalorians excitedly, “They’ll make you a Darth for sure!”

 

“That’s not how it works, minion. Deliver your report,” Thrakkis ordered before adding, “In Basic this time.”

 

The Mandalorian nodded while a few of his fellows muttered something that sounded like “Mir’osik dar’jetii shabuir.”

 

Whatever it meant, the look Thrakkis shot them told the boy it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

 

“This sector’s clear, my Lord! No survivors as far as we can tell!” the Mandalorian Thrakkis had been talking to interjected hastily.

 

“No survivors?” rumbled Thrakkis, turning to scan the buildings of the street, “Fool, there are two right here.”

 

Before the boy could register what the Sith had said, Thea’s body was ripped away in a gust of wind and energy that blasted the dust off of the boy and his mother. It happened so suddenly he couldn’t help but scream. His mother rose to her knees.

 

“Please, my Lord!” she cried, “We mean you no harm. Take my life, if you must, but don’t hurt my son.”

 

Thrakkis looked over his shoulder at the Mandalorians.

 

“Finish your job,” he said to them, “And I’ll consider letting you live.”

 

The Mandalorians raised their blaster rifles. The boy had to do something. He scooped up a rock in his hand and hurled it at the nearest Mandalorian. It struck the man in the throat and he doubled over, clutching at where the jagged stone had hit.

 

Thrakkis held up a hand and the Mandalorians’ rifles jerked upwards as they opened fire, the blaster bolts flying harmlessly into the air. A strange sensation came over the boy, unlike anything he’d felt before. He was hoisted off his feet and dragged through the air, coming to a stop mere inches from Thrakkis’ tattooed face.

 

“You have spirit, boy,” Thrakkis said, “and good aim.”

 

“No!” yelled the boy’s mother, “Leave him alone!”

 

“Finish her,” Thrakkis said to the warriors, “but I’d like to speak with this one.”

 

Thrakkis floated the boy into a side alley, and the child swallowed dryly as he heard blasterfire and his mother’s cries fell silent.

 

“Perhaps you’re wondering why this is happening,” said Thrakkis.

 

“I don’t care,” the boy snapped, shaking his head vigorously, “I want Mommy.”

 

“Your mother was weak, boy,” Thrakkis said, “And that’s why we’re here. The Sith. We cull the weak from the strong.”

 

“She wasn’t weak!” the boy protested, beginning to sob.

 

“You, though,” Thrakkis continued, not seeming to care, “You are strong. I don’t sense the gift of the Force in you, but you may be of use anyway. Tell me, what’s your name?”

 

The boy thought of his father. He’d been working at the shipyards when the Empire attacked. Maybe he’d gotten on a ship and escaped. Maybe he was somewhere out in the galaxy, trying to find his son. Maybe if the boy told Thrakkis his name, the Empire would find his father, and kill him too. He had to lie. His eyes scanned his surroundings for inspiration, and there it was, lying where it had been discarded only minutes earlier. There was a word engraved on the Jedi’s lightsaber. He didn’t know if it was a name, or a parts manufacturer, or had some secret meaning he’d never be privy to. It was good enough.

 

“Pholux.”

 

 

A/N

 

A few points on this one.

 

First, yes, I have seen Avengers: Infinity War recently. Why do you ask?

 

Second, I may have let my issues with Mandalorians bleed into that just a little.

 

Third, Thrakkis is a quasi-minor character in the broader story of my legacy (I haven’t even created him as a character in-game), but a few of my characters’ backstories require a somewhat older Sith who was active during the Great Galactic War, so I decided to give them that common thread. That means I also get to explore a few sides of Thrakkis’ backstory that didn’t really come up in the story with Thralinn and Octavios.

 

Fourth, I tried to imply it with a few moments in the narrative (references to his aim, observational skills, and ability to lie convincingly, even at age, like, five or whatever), but in case it didn’t come across, Pholux is my Imperial Agent.

 

Edited June 25, 2018 by JamagsAwesome
Beats a double-post, right?

[Iheaca]

Comments:

 

 

 

Thank you for your comments.

 

@bright_ephemera:

So I'd say that Attros is your character and Larr is the frog. But it would work quite well the other way around too. It is quite a simple scene but very relevant for a jedi I think.It can be appreciated that not all have the strength to resist all temptations, and yet here he only allows himself a tiny bit of it. Different from the classic "I remain pure" or "I fall totally into it" tropes.

 

@JamagsAwesome:

What a bright little boy! Well, I know for a fact that some kids are gifted for lying convincingly,even at that age.

Oh, you have issues with Mandos? Really,that does not show.^^

 

 

 

Answer to JamagsAwesome:

 

 

I would have loved to write a Dr.Seuss style paragraph on Darth Nox Nyx, but I am not gifted enough for that. So is Nyx a Nox or is Nyx Not a Nox?Yes, Nyx is a Nox. And it has always made me laugh as well as I really did not know that SI could get that title when I named her. It was obviously her fate, I guess.

 

 

Edited June 25, 2018 by Iheaca

[frauzet]

@Iheaca: Ah, yes, ideals. What is left of those after 14 years I wonder? My JC is the only one I'd immediately say hasn't abandoned his. As for the rest of my chars? Some of them may have found new ones, others not so much, some never had any to begin with. Still, I wouldn't want to dismiss them, neither would I dismiss credits as a strong motivator. Different chars may have different reasons to carry on

 

I agree with bright. The idea of the Sith tolerating the Rattataki festival is intriguing.

 

@bright: Surely nobody, who had the pleasure to meet her, would be at risk of mistaking Larr for a frog. *coughs* Her taste in frogs on the other hand is an acquired one, if I may say so.

Attros Finn, one of the best reasons to start abother JC!

 

@JamagsAwesome: You paint a vivid scene and a credible background for an IA. Would Pholux say he was lucky, and if so, when did he start to feel that way?

[Iheaca]

I agree with bright. The idea of the Sith tolerating the Rattataki festival is intriguing.

Well I tend to consider that there is no reason for the Sith to be big boo boo brainless bad guys all the time. They are definitely not nice, but I am not convinced by the idea of a society which would only constantly make any effort possible to crush everything that can be and not find any reason to do differently. Not for doing anything good, simply because it brings more benefits. The Sith Inquisisitor way.

 

So would the Sith try to forbid such a festival? And if not, why? At the very least, they just would not care. I can totally figure that they are so sure of themselves and so disdainful towards others that they would simply not see anything like this as a threat. They could keep an eye on it, considering that it is just stupid mumbo-jumbo and that they get more by allowing them to pursue that tradition than forbidding them to do so. They would laugh at the vows taken by the youngsters, knowing that they could anyway not break free. And letting them have a dream can be useful. Think of all the false promises you can then give, like "fight for me and I'll free you", etc...

 

Moreover, in parts of our own history, celebrations and games have been used to keep the people quiet and busy. Allowing such things can again be a way to decrease chances of a rebellion, even if it does not look like it.

 

And last, there are things that happen anyway if they are important enough. A coming of age would be a celebration held secretly if not allowed openly like this. Probably in smaller comities but by allowing the festival, they make sure they keep it under close watch, it is not held in secret, which could lead to more risks of unexpected situations.

 

Does it make sense?

 

Edit: Oh and I consider as well that they tolerate fighting pits and even keep an eye on them too. You never know, sometimes there might be a good fighter or Force sensitive individual that a Lord could consider worth "hiring". At least, this is how I figure out that Nyx was noticed.

Edited June 25, 2018 by Iheaca

[JamagsAwesome]

@Iheaca: In regards to the Mandalorians, I'll put it this way - one of my favorite moments in KotOR is the conversation between Carth and Canderous about the difference between soldiers and warriors. I find Carth's low opinion of what he calls warriors in general and Mandalorians in particular to be fairly reasonable, especially compared to a more Karen Traviss-esque view of the Mandos. Hence, the portrayal as boorish, violent henchmen in my story.

 

@frauzet: Without going into too much detail on where his character arc eventually goes, I can tell you that Pholux would most definitely say he was not lucky.

[Lord_Thorne]

Not sure if this goes under 'Bad Timing' or 'Turning Point' - a rework of a piece I did for RP background a few years ago, for a senior-looking Smuggler.

 

A little darker than my posts here so far, just a warning.

 

 

Hey D2, you ready?

 

Okay, here goes. Begin recording. From: Zeran J. Kraktus, Colonel, Republic Army, retired.

 

...um, and it goes to, what-his-name...that young shrink...yeah, Captain Farin Munger, MD, PhD, blabla, Coruscant Senate Medical Complex, Counseling and Mental Health Office, like that, you know.

 

Mark it Private and Personal, not that anyone cares.

 

Hey doc, how's it going? Just checking in, per orders. According to Deets, my next appointment isn't for a couple weeks, but you told me to keep you posted, so here you go.

 

It's been six years. To the day. Six years.

 

(long silence)

 

Deets, slide that bottle over, would you? I think there's still some left. Just give it here, jeez! It's not like I'm not already under the influence. Yeah, thanks.

 

Anyway, Doc Munger. Six years ago today. Time flies when you're having fun, eh? Ha! I've been doing better lately. I'm glad you cut down the prescription, I feel a little less foggy in the head. Little more like my old self.

 

Six years ago – wait, what time is it? Oh, I guess that makes it yesterday. Of course, it was all over the holo channels. Coruscant Rebuilding! Six Years After the Sack! Life Under the Treaty! Gah. The Sacking of Coruscant, they call it. Nice name - easy to say and easy to ignore what they did.

 

Anyway, I got through most of the day all right. Stayed away from the news, took a short walk in the park nearby – until I saw the kids playing, that was too much, then I went home. Just played music, took a nap. Thinking about those kids made me think of mine, though. So I pulled out the old chip. You know, the one you told me not to watch – the home security monitor? Yeah, that one. Six years.

 

I remember the flight. Inbound from our base out past Tatooine, first home leave I'd had for three years. Nice leisurely flight – I splurged for a first-class berth. We had a two-hour layover on Brentaal and were about to make the final jump when the alarms went wild. Nobody believed it at first – the Empire came out of nowhere and blitzed the capital. Of course, all flights were canceled or rerouted – I didn't get home for almost a year later. By then...

 

Feh! It's empty. Deets, fetch another...no, don't. I've had enough. Too much, really. Gotta finish this.

 

You know, I must be getting better. I only watched it through once this time. Only paused it a couple times. I should really write a letter to the home-security company. I paid them top credit, and their stuff delivered; the alarm went off as soon as the Sith beat down the door, and the cameras recorded every detail of the raiding party as it went through every room in the house. Every detail. Got a perfect view of my boy Monty as he jumped in front of his mom with a kitchen knife in his hand. Great camera angle on his brave face as his head fell to the carpet, and the laughing Sith thugs as they cut down both of them. The cameras were right on little Iona when they found her, too...

 

(long silence)

 

I even laughed when I got to the part where they tried to set fire to the place and the sprinkler system kicked in. Wet, frustrated Sith clomping around angrily in the mist and the blood, ha!

 

If I'd caught a faster flight I could have been there. I could have--

Ugh, who am I kidding? They'd just have taken me too. There were too many, I wouldn't have got all of them, then I'd be dead too.

 

It would be better that way. I still think that.

 

But that's why you're here, doc, right? To talk me out of that. Yeah.

 

Or at least get me back into enough shape to get back into the field. There's some Sith that need killing.

 

All of them.

 

 

Edited June 25, 2018 by Lord_Thorne