Kaas City Nights - excerpts

[poekipelzball]

I've been writing this rather inappropriately named series of short-stories and snippets about my character's adventures in the Old Republic since January 2012. I have it posted in full on SWTOR-RP for anybody super interested, but tend to think that the full story is most likely only interesting to those who actually know what is going on (which, often, is just me ). There are, however, a few completed mini-arcs, that I'd like to share - and I am hoping to create more, so my posting here is a way of giving myself a kick in the backside to do so. Hope you enjoy!

 

All characters mentioned are either mine or belong to their respective players, there won't be a whole lot of canon characters or companions appearing for those who prefer that, I do apologise.

 

 

Underbelly

 

 

“My Lord, I really must advise against-...”

 

Silencing the machine’s feeble protests with a gesture, Liracen tore her gaze from the cab threading back into the throng of vehicles above and turned to take in their surroundings. Monolithic carcasses of buildings long-since abandoned cast a patchwork of ragged shadows over the area that even the light from above could not quite penetrate. The resulting twilight was thick enough to obscure her vision beyond their immediate surroundings, its shifting shadows suggesting untold dangers lurking just out of sight. Gradually, she was beginning to realise that the description of this place as unsavoury fell woefully short of the truth. She’d always known there was something concealed beneath Neon City’s vibrant exterior, a dark and dangerous secret hidden beyond the gaudy spectacle of the Smugglers’ Moon.

 

She’d just never found cause to venture into it until now.

 

Resisting the urge to draw her coat tighter around herself, she squared her shoulders before setting off at a brisk pace, ignoring the racket of the droid’s hasty pursuit as it made its tottering way after her through dirt and debris. She hoped her show of confidence would deter any would-be assailants who might consider a lone visitor easy pickings. For good measure, she called on the Force, letting its weight settle comfortably around her.

 

She’d memorised the route the mercenary had described, silently thanking her various mentors for the long hours of study and excessive research into her distant ancestors’ labyrinthine resting places as she silently counted off junctions and turns, winding her way through alleyways at times no wider across than a grown man.

 

“My Lord,” the droid’s oddly nasal voice had taken on a note of resignation as ìts efforts to dissuade her continued to fall on deaf ears. “If you were to at least consider returning with an escort...? Even your no doubt substantial martial prowess may find itself tested in this-…” It sputtered to a halt at the look she gave it. She’d detected no mockery in its tone, unsure if it was even capable of such, and all its features displayed was what could only be interpreted as utter guileless sincerity. Sareth would know. He had a knack for these things, could read a machine with all the insight and tact he lacked in interaction with other living, breathing sentients.

 

Still, the droid was not wrong, this place had her on edge with its many darkened passageways, the odd way each sound echoed back to her broken and distorted, the detritus littering the ground making for uneven footing, the suffocating proximity of the crumbling walls surrounding her. It was, in short, the perfect place for an ambush; she’d even be hard pressed to bring her lightsaber to bear. She stretched out her other senses, let them slip into the cracks and crevices beyond her sight to alert her of possible danger.

 

Not a moment too soon.

 

She sensed it like a sudden burst of colour in the darkness, a brief flash of violence uncoiling to strike. Twisting out of the way instinctively she could feel whatever had been launched at her whistling by before it clattered into the alley behind her. Her weapon was in her hand an instant later, violet light flaring into existence with a sharp hiss as the droid’s voice pitched higher in its panic.

 

“Oh no! Oh dear, oh dear. Oh no…”

[poekipelzball]

Liracen exhaled slowly, angling her lightsaber across her body and willing herself to calm despite the rush of blood in her ears. Focusing her attention on the murky twilight, she tried to pick out the shapes of her assailants beyond the blade’s glare. Had it been capable she was sure the droid would have relished the opportunity to complain and berate her, instead it seemed the shock of its predictions proving true had sent it into hysterics, rendering it unsuited to decipher the guttural exchange she could just make out ahead. Typical, she thought, that it would prove useless the moment their fate hung in the balance.

 

The hulking shape emerging from the darkness confirmed her fears. A nikto approached a few paces, sporting crude armour and a small arsenal of blunt and bladed weapons, horned ridges around his eyes giving his expressionless face an air of menace. His clawed fingers curled around the hilt of a slim knife, likely twin to the one which had just missed her by a hair’s breadth. She saw no firearms on his person and felt a brief surge of relief, even knowing there could be any number of them trained on her from the shadows.

 

The rasping wheeze of his voice startled her, his basic so heavily accented she had trouble making out the words between smatterings of equally crude Huttese.

 

“Chess ko, leetle Jedai. No fight: no hurt. Next one no miss,” he took the throwing knife by the blade, raising it for emphasis. She could make out further movement in the dusk behind him now, avoiding the light. Conscious of their eyes on her, she unclasped the bracelet around her wrist, curling her lips into a smirk to feign bravado she didn’t quite feel, relieved to find her voice steady and clear.

 

“Your first mistake was to think me Jedi,” she purred, inwardly satisfied to see him recoil as the illusion faded to reveal her eyes’ amber glow, “Your last will be to think me willing to surrender to the likes of you!”

 

Flinging a hand behind her she released the Force, sending the squealing droid flying backwards and into the wiry fellow who had sought to sneak up from behind, just as she lunged out of the way of a volley of knives, bolts and rocks loosed in her direction, lightsaber extinguished to shroud the area in pitch blackness once more.

 

She had but moments before the confusion subsided and the assault began in earnest, she intended to make them count. Crouching to feel at her feet, she thanked her lucky stars as her hand closed around the wrapped hilt of a throwing knife. Extending her senses outwards once more she sought the now familiar presence barking orders at his comrades, exerting her powers to wrap around him swiftly and yank him backwards.

 

As anticipated, his frame was not suited to these narrow confines and Liracen made sure to let him bounce painfully off the surrounding walls before dragging his now writhing form further into the alleyway. Ignoring the sweat beading on her forehead she forced herself to keep her grip on the Force steady as she darted forward, crouched low and jabbed upwards.

 

She was met with no success, her blade glancing off his armoured midriff, his knee connecting painfully with her elbow and ribs, driving the air from her lungs and the knife almost from her grip. The scrape and thud of metal impacting with the wall to her left and a shower of grit raining down on the both of them announced the mobilisation of the remaining thugs, swiftly stalled, however, by their ringleader’s insistent bellows to cease fire. He seemed quite acutely aware of his precarious position.

 

Liracen flexed numb fingers, tucked her escaped curls back behind one ear and reestablished her hold on the Force, tightening it around the burly man’s torso until he erupted into a series of hoarse exclamations she did not need a protocol droid to translate, stirring his men to frantic activity. She ignored the movement at the alley’s entrance and the struggles of her captive as he fought against her hold, reversed her grip on the knife and spun upwards, this time embedding the blade to the hilt in his upper thigh.

 

She’d counted on his screams, not on the speed of his reaction to feeling the grip unravel around him, grateful that caution had had her back out of his reach. She flattened herself against the wall and eased further away, concerned that her pursuers might decide to open fire once more now that their commander was freed. She spared a thought for the man she’d knocked away but had to abandon her concerns in light of the more imminent threat ahead.

 

Weighing the slim shape of her hilt in her hand, she hesitated. The narrow space would only impair her movement here. Moreover, the light of her blade would be a veritable beacon for the mob to aim for. She scanned her surroundings, her eyes adjusted enough to allow her to make out vague shapes advancing on the spot where the nikto’s shouts were slowly decreasing in volume. She wasn’t sure why, she didn’t think her jab had been lethal. Perhaps she’d nicked an artery, a small mercy in light of how very little had seemed to go her way tonight.

 

She shook her head to clear her thoughts when suddenly a memory swam before her eyes, a familiar voice speaking in the back of her mind with the tremorous squeak of adolescence.

 

She smiled.

Edited December 13, 2015 by poekipelzball

[poekipelzball]

The Force answered her call with surprising alacrity, her reserves of power not quite as taxed as she’d feared. Her senses skimmed along the towering walls to either side, brushing against the brickwork caressingly, searching and probing. She vaguely registered the first of her pursuers reaching their fallen leader, their exclamations becoming urgent then violent in tone. She paid them no heed, a contented sigh escaping her as she found what she was looking for: an opening, a crack, a faultline in the brickwork. She took a measured few paces backwards then exhaled, emptying her mind, letting raw emotion bubble to the surface for the first time.

 

There was fear, plenty of it, and a strange exhilaration brought on by the adrenaline coursing through her system; there was anger, of course, at her foolish decision to venture out here alone, at her attackers for making a living out of preying on the weak, at this moon where such ugliness simmered under its bright exterior, at the blasted droid for its incessant prattling and for having been right all along. She channeled her emotions, took hold of them all, feeling their energy bolster her then cast her power out towards the spot in the wall she’d found, willing it to widen, tear, give way before her determination.

 

A knife whirled by, missing her by inches. They were closing in.

 

They’d chosen their spot well; too well, for now they found themselves at its mercy, the narrow alleyway turning their superior numbers into a hindrance, slowing their progress as they had to sidle awkwardly after her. Still, they’d come close, very close. In the end they hadn’t counted on her resourcefulness, her powers or on her willingness to answer their threat with lethal force.

 

Once she’d pried loose the first brick, the rest followed in a cascade that buried the alleyway in a thundering avalanche of mortar, rubble and dust.

Edited December 13, 2015 by poekipelzball

[poekipelzball]

Liracen stifled a cough as she rose, disregarding the dull ache in her leg that had been hit despite her best efforts to steer clear of the carnage she’d wrought. Over the ringing in her ears she heard the moans of the injured, the muffled screams of the buried, the frantic scrabbling of those who sought to free themselves or others, but nothing further. If anyone remained in any shape to continue the chase, they were focusing their efforts elsewhere for now. She tested her leg, found it sore but steady enough to take some of her weight and turned back in the direction she’d come from.

 

A few strenuous paces later a dull glint caught her eye, half hidden among a pile of refuse. She limped closer to find the infernal droid, short an arm and a head, its remaining limbs entangled with those of a sinewy fellow sprawled motionless beneath it, his head cocked at an impossible angle. She stared at the sight of the two for a moment, the headless machine and the broken murderer, then sighed and stooped to pick up the detached head that had rolled a few paces onward.

 

Its right eye worked, the ocular lens focusing on her while its mouth gaped and shut to form words it no longer had the vocal modulators for. She shook her head, tucked it under one arm and continued her trek back out of Nar Shaddaa’s underworld, grateful for small mercies.

Edited December 13, 2015 by poekipelzball

[poekipelzball]

Off the beaten path

 

 

Raindrops beat a steady rhythm on the broad, leafy canopy above, trickling down in cascades to splash into rapidly draining puddles. The air was alive with the storm’s aftermath and the heady scent of green growth. The cat’s quills bristled as its fur became ruffled by the humidity hanging weightily around them and Liracen had to resist the urge to smooth a hand through her own curls, no doubt becoming unrulier by the minute.

 

Scratch was tugging at his lead, eager to explore; keeping him at bay was beginning to take its toll. Twice, she’d had to pause and right herself from a near fall, too focused on searching for the appointed sign to navigate the roots that had wound their way across the dwindling path. They’d ventured further from the mansion than they both were accustomed to, and while his enthusiasm gave her cause to believe that he’d handle the next portion of their trip with equal aplomb, she was quite keenly aware that the Kaasian wilderness was not the most hospitable of places for a lone traveller and a nexu who thought himself more suited to the comforts of a soft couch and a blazing hearth.

 

The past storm was proving both a blessing and a curse. While its after-effects would likely deter anyone sane from venturing into the wilds, the path underfoot had become slick and slippery, her clothing clung to her wetly and she felt permanently short of breath. Moreover, she couldn’t be entirely certain the storm hadn’t erased all traces of the signs the mercenaries had supposedly left her, leaving them to wander, lost.

 

The cat had slowed a little, content once more to plod amiably at her side, giving her a chance to relax and ease the strain to her tortured muscles. Had he wished to escape her in earnest she wouldn’t have been able to hold him without calling on the Force for assistance, but unless it became absolutely necessary she wanted to keep the use of her powers to a minimum, both in preparation for what was to come and to avoid detection. She reached out to run her hand through the coarse fur at the base of his skull, was rewarded with a satisfied rumble from deep within his throat and smiled at her odd companion.

 

As was his way, Scratch smiled back.

[poekipelzball]

The cat sensed them long before Liracen did. His leash grew slack as he sought her side, brushing against her legs with enough force to risk throwing her off balance, focused as she was on the small bushels of twigs and vines seemingly strewn at random throughout the underbrush to indicate they remained on the right path. Once already they’d had to double back, retrace their steps to find the sign she’d missed. She was no tracker and her other senses did her few favours here, muddled as they were by the teeming life and contrasting darkness of the jungle’s soul surrounding them.

 

Not for the first time was she grateful for Scratch’s presence, despite his apparent lack of awareness for his own considerable bulk. As they came to a brief halt she cast her consciousness outward to trace the source of his unease, brushed against the savage minds of a pack of vine cats to find them circling, hesitant yet as her own feline companion - not she herself, she concluded bemusedly - gave them pause.

 

Despite the time she’d spent with her menagerie, the thoughts of beasts were foreign territory, governed by impulse, affect and instinct that could burst to the forefront suddenly, like fireworks exploding in showers of colour and light. She could sense the aggression the cats felt at the intrusion into their territory, the gnawing hunger sending them stalking after this potential prey, the uncertainty at the danger Scratch posed with his forked tail flicking to and fro, the sharp claws raking the earth at his feet and the rows of sharp fangs lining his wide mouth.

 

She shuddered involuntarily at seeing her docile companion reflected thus in all his predatory glory, but let the impression take root to form an idea. With a soothing hand curled into his damp fur she struck out once more, calling the Force to her aid.

 

Illusion was a melody woven from shadow and light and she’d learned her art guided by the hands of a virtuoso. Pale shafts of daylight had broken through the density of foliage surrounding them to dapple the nexu’s fur, rippling with movement as muscles shifted, quills clicking softly with each powerful footfall. Shadows lingered beneath each step, their limbs stretched and distorted as light shifted and broke around them to form nightmarish copies of the beast at her side. She exhaled softly, breathing life and power into the darkness, let it pool and detach itself, forge shapes of claw and fang, of hot breath and mottled hides to fall in step around them.

 

Her own strides lengthened as the creatures took form around her, gained momentum from the force of her weaving. The cat quietened and held her pace, whether it had sensed her purpose or was merely infected by the fierce, feral pride she’d instilled in her conjuring she couldn’t be certain. Allowing her focus to split for a moment and reach out to the circling predators she was pleased to feel their confusion and fear as their senses told the tale of a growing menace, another pack, larger, stronger, swifter. Where violence had threatened to break like a wave upon them, it now ebbed with the tide as one by one the vine cats peeled off to seek less hazardous game.

 

She held the illusion for a few minutes after the last of the cats had disappeared, eventually forced herself to release the threads of power she’d twined about them and sank to her knees, flinging her arms around the nexu. Scratch, his old self once more, stayed close, allowing her to seek solace in his proximity, face buried in the softer fur of his broad chest. The steady thump of his great heart lulled her, letting the tension and fear she’d felt dissipate until the cause of their excursion pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. With a resigned sigh she looked up at the double set of blood-red eyes regarding her unblinkingly and felt her lips curl in a crooked smile to mirror his.

 

“Sometimes, Scratch, I’m not sure who is leading whom. But then, perhaps it doesn’t matter. Come on, we have a flight to catch.”

[poekipelzball]

By the time the jungle had finally begun to thin out a new storm was threatening. Liracen squinted upwards, catching glimpses of the sky through the canopy and tried in vain to gauge when the heavens might begin to spill out their fury. Her trek through the wilderness had taken up more time than anticipated, leaving her uncertain what she’d do if they’d missed their chance. She had begun to fret in earnest when she found herself suddenly in sight of her destination.

 

The change was startling, spongy undergrowth giving way before graveled walkways, a sudden influx of daylight as towering trees were replaced by man-made structures, the vivid backdrop of buzzing insects and birdsong exchanged for the murmur of voices, the clang of metal and the screech of massive engines.

 

For a few seconds, all she could do was stand and blink dumbly at the sight of the spaceport’s loading bays before her, transporter platforms bustling back and forth between thousands of waiting containers. Somehow, no doubt purely thanks to the mercenaries’ expertise, she’d managed to approach undetected. Retreating back into the cover of the trees she rid herself of her robes, revealing a pair of plain overalls underneath, then crept forward once more to scan the scene ahead.

 

Her eyes soon settled on a lanky fellow amidst the crowd clad in familiar dark overalls, the half-moon symbol embroidered on his front pocket confirming him as one of hers. With no means of alerting him without attracting unwanted attention, Liracen prepared herself for a long wait.

 

After what had felt like a small eternity of monotonous repetition she noticed a lull in activity, saw men and women retreating towards the main building. Taking the opportunity to stretch her cramped muscles, she felt a surge of doubt surface as her supposed contact addressed a co-worker, jerking a thumb in her approximate direction. Tensely, she followed his every move as he approached the jungle’s edge, fishing a small packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one to take a long drag as he studied the surroundings with apparent indifference. This close, she could see that he was likely a full head and a half taller than her, with lean limbs and long-fingered hands. His wheat-coloured hair was swept back in a ponytail, darker stubble lining his cheeks. Nothing but the small symbol on his breast pocket indicated that he was who she sought. Bidding Scratch to wait in cover she summoned her courage and straightened.

 

His expression barely shifted as she stepped out from the jungle’s depths, dull grey eyes skimming over her shape assessingly before he tilted his head in the faintest of acknowledgements. His voice lilted in a strange accent she had trouble placing.

 

“Evenin’ m’Lady, ah hear it’s a fair night fer a walk.”

 

She shrugged, uncertain of how to respond, turning instead to the matter at hand.

 

“Is the... cargo secure? How are we to proceed from here?”

 

He cracked a toothy grin that failed to ease her disquiet in any way, flicking ashes from his cigarette with one purposeful tap.

 

“Leave it tah me, m’Lady, n’follow mah lead. Tareq Darewn at yer service, an’ don’t yah fret,” he leaned forward slightly, flashing even more teeth as his grin widened, shark-like, “Yer in pr’fessional hands.”

[poekipelzball]

“Who goes there? Identify yourself!”

 

Liracen froze.

 

Tareq did not.

 

She felt his hand winding through her hair, the other settling in the small of her back to draw her close before her protest was muffled by his lips on hers, the sharp taste of tobacco fresh on his breath. Her heart leapt to her throat and the air grew heavy with her power.

 

“Who is-... What ar-... Ah. Ahem.”

 

The newcomer’s hesitation gave her pause. She relaxed a little and sought to disentangle herself, felt his hand travel lower for a generous squeeze and the brush of stubble against her skin before he let her go. His grin only widened at her glare before he turned to face the youthful starport officer, who’d watched the scene with an air of awkwardness.

 

“What are you-... why are you here?”, the youngster managed in his most official tone.

 

“What’s it look like tah yah, officer? Me ‘n mah lady friend were just havin’ some… private time.”

 

She could positively hear the lurid grin and wink accompanying that statement, even with his back turned. That he’d also mostly shielded her from the officer’s eyes she noted with no small amount of irritation.

 

“Well that won’t-..., I mean you can’t-...” The officer cleared his throat again, “This is a restricted area.”

 

Tareq’s shoulders rose and fell. “Fair ‘nuff, break’s almost over anyway. C’mon luv’,” he looped his arm around her shoulder, almost crushing her to his side with surprising strength, “‘Fraid fun’s gonna have tah wait a few hours longer.”

 

They made it out of the officer’s sight before she slapped his arm aside and rounded on him, voice lowered to a furious hiss.

 

“How dare you? I could have fried you on the spot!”

 

He grinned in response, rolling one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. “Then I’d ‘ave died smilin’. And you’d be trying tah explain yerself tah officer peachfuzz back there.”

 

“You could have just said we were there for a smoke!”

 

The cigarette had found its way back into the corner of his mouth somehow, he drew on it leisurely, eyes alight with mirth.

 

“‘N where woulda been the fun in that?”

 

Outrage tugged at the edge of her vision, she squeezed her eyes shut. Now was not the time.

 

“What is the next step?”, she managed, not quite keeping the edge from her voice.

 

He had the grace to sober, his cigarette’s remains finding their end under a booted heel. “Gotta get yer cargo in unseen. Ah’ve me a plan fer that, yah see those there containers?”

 

She followed his motion, spotted a group of larger cargo-crates, of the sort often used for vehicular transports. She nodded, letting her gaze travel the distance between them and the jungle’s edge where Scratch remained before turning it back on him quizzically.

 

His grin returned, lopsided. “Walk quick-like, don’t run. Ah’ll see tah it yer nae the centre of attention, jus’ wait on mah signal.”

 

She frowned. “What is the signal?”

 

He’d already put some distance between them and merely winked in response before turning abruptly to continue towards the first clumps of returning workers. Liracen realised the break must have come to an end, felt trapped by indecision for a few instants before retracing her steps back towards the outer perimeter. She didn’t wish to push her luck with the young starport officer by milling around too close to the jungle, certainly had no interest in trailing after Tareq, and thus found herself a spot in the shadow of a stack of containers to observe.

 

Tareq had reached a group of men and women and had stopped to speak, seemingly amassing a small crowd in the process. She couldn’t fathom what was going on before watching in shock as he launched his considerable length towards a pair of men opposite, taking them both down in a flurry of flailing limbs. It took mere moments for the violence to erupt outwards to create a veritable snarl of bodies, but Liracen’s attention had already shifted as she walked, briskly, past the young officer running towards the scene, slipped into the shadows of the trees and found her cat waiting patiently where she’d left him.

 

Smiling, she ran her fingers through his fur.

 

“Come on, old boy. Looks like we’ve had our signal.”

[poekipelzball]

His arms were like a live anatomy lesson, Liracen mused, as well-defined muscles rippled and bulged under the Zabrak’s nut-brown skin. After an altogether unflattering once-over, he’d offered to take the bottom position and thus the brunt of the heavy lifting, for which she was genuinely thankful, straining under the weight of the crates she’d been maneuvering over the loading ramp into his waiting arms for the past hour.

 

She’d had little time for idle thought, determined as she had been to prove the Zabrak’s harsh appraisal wrong. She’d been physically fit most of her life and had spent the past few years training intensively, but had to admit that her lithe frame remained hopelessly unsuited to this task. Finding little appreciation of her efforts in his surly expression she sighed - inwardly - and bent her back to her work, frustrated at the knowledge that her powers could have lent her the strength to surpass him quite easily.

 

Too risky, even here.

 

The only consolation was that Tareq seemed to have suffered similar judgement by the athletic Mirialan working at the foot of the ramp opposite him. As if alerted by her mind’s proximity, the blond man’s gaze caught and held hers for an instant before he winked, sending her hurrying deeper into the ship’s bulky hold to hide her blush. She really had to kick that habit. It wasn’t seemly for someone of her rank and status to be so easily and visibly flustered.

 

However, neither would they be expected to be found working alongside Mezenti’s common dockworkers, she reassured herself for the umpteenth time. Her face had not been in the holomags and periodicals for quite some time, so she considered herself quite incognito. It was exhilarating enough that the Zabrak’s apparent animosity couldn’t sour her mood entirely.

 

She stifled a groan as, muscles protesting, she heaved another crate onto the sack trolley. The hold had emptied out considerably, soon only the large three crates holding Ace, Sniffy and Scratch would remain. She’d been relieved to check during the flight and find the former two in perfect health and contentedly asleep and had kept the cat company often until approaching orbit. Prior to docking, she’d allowed for a small spell to keep him drowsy in transit. She hadn’t been comfortable with the idea of using a chemical sedative, glad that the hold had been big enough to put some distance between her weaving and the lizards and for some of the more unconventional methods she’d been taught. Scratch would dream happy feline dreams until they arrived at their new home, unburdening her mind from at least one major concern.

 

A noise behind her alerted her of her temporary co-worker’s return and she picked up her pace to wheel crate and trolley over, hoping against hope for something other than seething disapproval. Tareq had left the ship’s bowels to assist the other man in hoisting cargo onto a waiting transporter and had his back turned, for which she was somewhat grateful. She’d tried to mend bridges with the tall mercenary during the flight, but couldn’t help but still feel agitated around him, a fact he seemed to rather enjoy. She heaved a sigh. Perhaps the sullen Zabrak’s company was preferable after all.

 

As if in answer, the latter’s scowl only deepened.

[poekipelzball]

Sabotage

 

 

Liracen let the datapad clatter onto her desk and sank back in her chair with an exasperated sigh. The latest shipping manifesto had confirmed her suspicions: the delays in schedule had been no accident. Somebody had been tampering with her deliveries, sabotaging shipments and rerouting transports. Despite all of her careful planning she’d had to reschedule departure once already. She didn’t think Darth Iras would take kindly to further setbacks.

 

She massaged her temples and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the pressure building up behind her eyes as she mulled over her options. The list of potential suspects was far too long for her to conclude an investigation by herself in time and with their most recent addition of another Darth’s forces it had only lengthened further. She discarded the idea that Eukithor might be involved as soon as it came: he, too, stood to lose much should this venture fail.

 

His master, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. She tapped her desk console to bring up her agents’ report on the Darth, but found little to indicate whether his involvement was likely. The screen winked off with another tap. Inconclusive. Of course.

 

She did have one lead: the paper trail thus far indicated quite clearly that whoever was responsible for the sabotage had sought to disrupt - but not necessarily outright prevent - proceedings. It stood to reason that their intentions were less about halting the expedition and causing her master grief… and more about making those involved, notably the project’s overseer and Iras’ latest apprentice, look less competent. She frowned.

 

This narrowed down the list somewhat, especially considering some of the problems had arisen prior to her reemergence into Kaasian society. She felt certain enough that her mantle of obscurity over the last year or so had thrown most of her detractors following the Lamprey’s fall off her trail; few of her contemporaries seemed to have the character for long games and a great many of her critics felt too righteous in their cause to put much stock in subterfuge. It was a safer bet to look for candidates in her more immediate environment. Trouble often had a habit of nesting close to home.

 

She’d need help, however. The expedition was scheduled to depart within a couple of weeks. She quashed the initial urge to call Jay, knew he had his hands full with work at the clinic. It wasn’t fair to rely on the man this much, no need to burden her friend with her problems more than necessary when she had other capable agents.

 

The call went out. She caught herself hoping the doctor would be among the first respondents regardless - if he offered his help it would be rude to turn it down, would it not?

 

She winced at the first incoming callsign on her secure link, outright grimaced at the second. No such luck, it seemed. At least Senth and Thesh were both on Dromund Kaas. She tapped her screen once more to clear her schedule for the afternoon.

[poekipelzball]

Two sets of eyes settled on her as she began the debriefing; each unnerving for a different reason. Senth’s clicked and whirred softly as focusing lenses adjusted, one of the most elaborate pieces of cyberware Liracen had ever seen, the sound so low she doubted anyone lacking her enhanced hearing would pick up on it, the visual so close to reality that it sent a nervous tingle down her spine whenever she focused on the woman for long. Tareq’s - Thesh’s - were crinkled at the edges as he favoured her with his customary smirk, dull grey to his counterpart’s chrome.

 

Why she’d chosen to employ the man was somewhat of a mystery, even to her. He hadn’t been put through Zaarin’s rigorous vetting procedure, nor were his skillset or allegiances entirely known. He’d been introduced to her as a neutral party, though clearly had permission to visit the capital, meaning his affiliation was either solidly imperial or extremely well hidden. He seemed to have contacts beyond the Empire that might serve her, however, had navigated the Smuggler’s Moon with practised ease. All she had to go on was their single mission together, along with an impression of his… competence. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

 

Neither agent made any indication that they had taken note of the sudden colour in her cheeks, alleviating concerns over Thesh’s professionalism somewhat. Perhaps his roughshod appearance and casual manner were as much a front as the other’s smooth, quiet, human exterior. Liracen averted her eyes from the other woman’s gaze as she concluded with their orders.

 

Both agents rose, departing with a bow - hers crisp, his accompanied by a lopsided grin that threatened to make a farce of the whole affair. She only allowed herself to relax once the door slid shut behind them.

[poekipelzball]

Nal Hutta. The trail had ended on the Hutts’ contaminated capital, at one of the many industrial compounds that pockmarked the planet’s marshy surface. Thesh had proven his worth, leading the small team through what passed for customs among the Cartel - several “security forces” attempting to thoroughly fleece their alleged cargo transport for valuables. How exactly the man had scrounged together a small load of starship parts he’d never disclosed, but Liracen was grateful their cover held up to the Cartel’s scrutiny; given the political climate, it seemed wise not to announce the arrival of a Lord of the Sith on-planet.

 

Senth was scanning the structure and its surroundings, comparing its layout with the various blueprints her investigation had uncovered. It seemed that this factory complex was as it appeared on paper: the blueprints had indicated only two locations where additions might have been made discreetly and without disrupting the workflow - even a Sith would think twice before infringing on a Hutt’s profit margin. It appeared that neither had been touched. Barring any unexpected surprises this confirmed what they’d discussed en route.

 

“He’s expecting me,” Liracen stated flatly as the silver-haired woman returned, nodding to indicate a lack of proof to the contrary. As she’d feared, their investigations had turned up a rival close to home: Lord Ajecx, one of her fellow apprentices to the Darth, a somewhat unassuming human of no notable origin. She knew him - mostly from reports, Iras’ apprentices had thus far rarely interacted - as a loyalist, an avid collector and a skilled negotiator, whether he had a particular reason for turning on her remained unclear, though she had her suspicions.

 

“‘Spected as much leavin’ Imp space,” Tareq drawled, turning to eye her. “Shoulda dressed fer the occasion.”

 

She fished in the pockets of her bulky spacer’s jacket for the hilt she’d concealed within - Cartel Security had been more interested in pawing the cargo than the transport’s crew - before unzipping it to reveal an unassuming combat suit. Herul’s design. She smiled at him sweetly.

 

“What makes you think I didn’t?”

[poekipelzball]

“You’re planning to engage.” Senth’s tone was glacial.

 

Liracen shrugged. “If it comes to that. Perhaps we can work things out.”

 

The others did not look convinced. In truth, neither was she. While Ajecx had expended some effort to cover his tracks he’d done a sloppy job, eventually leading them right to his doorstep. It seemed clear that he had wanted to be found, was perhaps counting on a confrontation. Liracen pursed her lips, twisting her hair into a knot at her nape. Was he truly looking to fight? Eliminate his competition perhaps? Was he hoping to provoke an incident, defame her somehow? Disgrace her in her master’s eyes? Those of her peers? She knew too little of the man to gauge his motivations, were it not for the tight schedule, she’d have taken a lot more time to prepare - had that factored into his plan? Was he seeking to throw her off-balance by having her forsake her usual caution?

 

She turned to her agents, they hadn’t moved a muscle. “Senth, we can’t afford a full sweep, but I need you to find and eliminate any recording devices in our immediate vicinity. I want no word getting out of this. Work fast, I doubt we’ll have much time once we’ve located the target.” The woman nodded, watching over Liracen’s shoulder as she described the route she planned to take. If Ajecx was expecting them, he’d have prepared a suitable spot to make himself known. There weren’t many. Liracen turned to Thesh: “Once inside, find an elevated position. Engage the target only on my mark, but keep him in your scope at all times. I trust you to handle any backup he might call in.”

 

His smirk had disappeared. Liracen glanced over at Senth’s stony expression. Finally: “Could ‘ave a whole platoon ‘iding in there.”

 

“He won’t,” she had learned very early to feign conviction where she felt none. “Bringing in troops would have attracted attention he is hoping to avoid. At most, he’ll want the only identifiable Imperial caught in an illegal operation under the Cartel’s nose to be me.” She noticed his fingers twitch, as if longing for something to grasp. She suddenly realised that she hadn’t seen him with a cigarette all day. “And if I’m wrong, smokes are on me.”

 

That earned her a mirthless grin, “‘n if ‘e’s packin’ more ‘eat than we can ‘andle?”

 

She flashed him a brilliant smile of her own; false bravado, a Sith’s bread and butter:

 

“Bring extra ammo.”

[poekipelzball]

She’d had ample opportunity to second-guess herself as her team worked its way through the complex. Senth had vanished out of sight the moment they’d entered the premises, presumably to track down cameras as instructed. Thesh wasn’t anywhere to be seen, though Liracen could at least sense him faintly through the Force, advancing somewhere behind her. It wasn’t always easy keeping tabs on non-sensitives, as they weren’t beacons in the Force like her brethren or the Jedi, but with the factory mostly emptied of work crews she could track his familiar presence.

 

She wasn’t entirely comfortable with him at her back. He’d proven capable and professional so far, but these qualities were exactly what concerned her. What if he had been too perfect? Could the man be her rival’s cleverly planted mole? Had he led her straight into Ajecx’ trap? She wished she’d had another recourse, but the urgency of the situation had left her little choice. Her only option was to trust the man… and keep her senses on high alert.

 

If only there had been more time to prepare.

 

Ajecx had not left the facility, of this she was sure. He’d clearly masked his presence, but she’d felt it stir once or twice, would have sensed its absence. Similarly, she assumed he’d caught glimpses of her, would be waiting somewhere ahead.

 

Life, the Force, the universe… something out there certainly had a sense of dramatic timing. Liracen had barely rounded the next corner when her thoughts were interrupted by their subject himself.

 

“And here I thought you’d keep me waiting all night,“ an armoured man stepped from the shadows, head covered by an open-faced helmet. Clearly a practised orator, he spoke in a deep, sonorous voice, shaping each syllable meticulously in his crisp Kaasian accent. “You realise, of course, that whoever claimed that tardiness was fashionable was quite misguided.”

 

Her rival was squat and stocky, almost as wide as he was tall and his thick armour only added to his bulk. There was a coarse, brutish cast to his features, quite at odds with his elegant speech, large hands flexing as she approached. She watched him assess and quickly dismiss her and smiled. “I am here now.”

 

Ajecx barked a laugh that reverberated off the surrounding walls. “Yes! Yes you are, foolish child! I must say, you did passably well, getting here as fast as you did. I thought it would take you longer to track me down, the useless apprentice discarded by all her betters.”

 

He’d made no effort to acknowledge her title, was clearly looking to provoke. So be it. She tapped her commlink, closing the channel her agents had been listening in on and shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet.

 

“They did not discard me,” she corrected matter-of-factly as their blades lit in unison, bathing the room in the colour of blood. “I outlived them all.”

[poekipelzball]

It quickly became clear who was the better swordsman. Her opponent’s mass belied the speed at which he could move, settling into the precise footwork of the duelist’s stance as he lunged and feinted, dodged and engaged once more. His weapon lashed out like a serpent’s tongue, its elegant motions distorted echoes of the Librarian’s quill. While Liracen could match him step for step in swiftness, spinning from his blade’s path, she was making no headway on the offense, allowing him to take the lead in their deadly dance.

 

She needed an opening. Thesh provided.

 

The shot rang out like a clap of thunder rolling through the hall. Her fellow Sith’s saber was poised to intercept what he thought was a plasma bolt, split seconds passing before the unexpected sound registered. Ajecx twisted - still so fast! - and the projectile missed the exposed flesh of his neck by a hair, buried itself instead into the padding on his shoulder. The accompanying lightning arcing from her fingertips struck home, sending him stumbling, snarling in pain, but fizzled when she saw him bring his blade to bear, catching her magic in its core.

 

Her heart sank. He’d outplayed her trump card. Her element of surprise was lost and his momentum barely stalled. Moreover, while an effective weapon against unsuspecting sensitives, the slugthrower rifle did have one rather substantial drawback when battling the supernatural reflexes of her kind: a lengthy reload.

 

Ajecx knew. His smile widened into something ugly, teeth stark white against blackened lips where her power has seared his skin. “Not bad, little slave. You came prepared. I give credit where it is due: I expected much less.” He lifted a gauntleted hand to the side of his helmet to activate a visor, his voice robotic through the mask’s filters. “Then again, you did follow me here.”

 

He activated a remote in his wrist comm.

 

Valves clicked open, released odorless, clear vapors. Liracen’s mind raced to recall her training, halt her breathing, purge the poison from her system, begin her weaving anew; a moment’s concern was all she could spare for her loyal marksman.

 

Darkness writhed around her fingertips, yearning for release.

 

Ajecx was on the move.

 

Her spell lacked strength, her focus too divided. The Lord simply bulled his way through, grunting as her magic ate into his armour, seeking to slow him and barely succeeding. She had to abandon her casting as searing heat bit into her upper arm, only Herul’s clever magic preventing the loss of the limb as she dove out of his reach one final time. She gasped in pain, her legs buckling, and gulped in a mouthful of toxic air that set her lungs on fire and sent tears streaming down her face.

 

She could see the triumph in his eyes through his visor, saber raised for his final blow. Her muscles tensed in preparation. He took one step, fancy footwork forgotten and…

 

Stopped.

 

Liracen blinked.

 

Ajecx half-turned, the movement sluggish, a walking dreamer. She could hear a wet sound as he tried to form words, blood spilling from his lips. She wasn’t sure if he’d died before hitting the ground or if he had caught a glimpse of his killer, the silver-haired woman materialising behind him as her stealth generator’s force field dropped. Senth withdrew her bloody blade, wiped it on her sleeve and turned her uncanny eyes on Liracen, the image of her chilling smile burning itself into the Lord’s memory before she slipped into oblivion.

[poekipelzball]

Their escape was a blur as Sith and agent attempted to outrun death, memories and delirium merging between bouts of darkness into a kaleidoscope of nightmares. She recalled her relief at having the other woman’s inhuman strength to rely on, the strain of keeping her muscles moving as they screamed for oxygen, the sickening sensation of her magic working to expunge the toxins, but found few other impressions she could trust. Had they truly fought their way out through a full mercenary platoon? Had Sareth joined them in their fevered flight? Had the swollen, blackened thing they’d found been Tareq? Why had she seen the pale man smiling from behind Senth’s eyes?

 

She remembered the bliss of her first lungful of fresh air as they left the factory behind, the pain exploding behind her eyes mere moments later, robbing her once again of her senses.

 

She awoke a planet away.

 

Her environment was unfamiliar, yet instantly recognisable, the plain, sterile walls lined with monitors that beeped and clicked softly, recording her vitals, the worn but clean linens wrapped tightly around her, the mask strapped tightly to her face all pointing to a hospital. Jay’s clinic.

 

Liracen wriggled her arm - the one not swaddled tightly in bandages - out from under the covers, fumbled at the clasps holding the oxygen mask in place and tried to sit up, groaning with effort. A metallic scent from the iodine dressings, mixed with the sharpness of disinfectant and kolto made her gag. She resisted the urge to sink back down under the covers and took a moment to assess her situation instead.

 

She was alive, Ajecx very much not so. In this, at least, her mission had been a success: she’d eliminated the threat to her project. Of the status of her agents she was unaware, but at least one must have made it out alive to bring her here. Whether or not she had managed to escape notice by the Hutts was also unknown, her political standing and thus her Master’s uncertain. She chewed her lower lip.

 

A blinking light to her right caught her attention. Her commlink. She snatched it off the bedside table, twisting awkwardly to reach it with her left arm and hissed as the bedframe pressed against her bandaged right. She’d see to that. Soon.

 

There were several messages recorded. She flipped through the first few - requests for status updates from the Reclamation Force’s team, updates on her supplies and transports, a message from Eukithor - until catching a familiar smirk on screen. Relieved, she played the message:

 

“Thesh ‘ere, figured Dorn’d patch ya up. Seemed in no shape ta do it yerself. We got out alright, me ‘n Senth tha’ is, least until she ‘eaded back. Said she ‘ad ta do a sweep. No frakkin’ clue ‘ow she ‘eld her breath fer so long, ...” his grin widened, Liracen blushed and hit the mute button, resumed shortly after. “ … - ask, don’t tell, as I always say. Figured a status update’d be ‘preciated. Uh... get better soon. Thesh out.”

 

She shook her head, suppressing an exasperated chuckle as her lungs started to ache. That alleviated at least one of her fears and she could forgive the slight breach of protocol. She tapped through further messages, quickly sobering at the next one. She sat up and tried to straighten her curls, twisting them back into a knot at her nape, as if she’d be somehow visible to the recording. She hit play, the Darth’s voice sent a shiver down her spine.

 

“Apprentice. Word reaches me that your expedition leaves on schedule.” Iras paused. Her heart stopped. “Good.” She allowed herself to relax a fraction. “I expect a report upon your return. I hope you’ll handle future matters with more discretion.”

 

The cowled figure raised a hand, as if to cut the link, then hesitated, adding:

 

“For now, I have a vacancy to fill.”

[poekipelzball]

A one-off, but it felt like it worked on its own. Also the first story post five year timeskip.

 

Homecoming

 

 

The Smuggler’s Moon breathed.

 

It was a sound not often registered in the upper reaches of the Neon City, where bright lights and ugly secrets, the roar of crowds and the rush of movement through her arteries could drown out its rattling exhalation. This dull creak and groan was audible only in the lower sectors, punctuated by the clash and clang of the factories that made up the city’s failing nervous system, surrounded by megatons of iron and durasteel that were her skeleton as the moon wheezed its decade-spanning dying breaths.

 

Liracen crept through the shadows, easier here than in the spaceport’s stark light, where only her brother's credits and a few whispered words could make certain her passage remained unnoticed. The old refinery’s main entrance loomed before her, the odour of old chemicals still lingering faintly, adding to the myriad of strange and intrusive smells in the air. She counted herself lucky that the ventilation system she’d had installed had banished it from within the complex, gratified to find it worth the exorbitant price she’d paid, even if right now she doubted she’d find it still intact.

 

The doors slid open as she approached, though one creaked and halted, warped plasteel blocking its passage, necessitating agile maneuvering to enter. She was greeted within by the dull hum of machinery, screens flickering at the far end of the room providing the sole lightsource beyond what spilled in from the brightness behind her in the seconds it took the doors to squeal shut.

 

She could make out vague shapes only, but needed little else, familiar enough with the layout of the bulky terminals and desks within the old factory’s datacenter that she could wind her way around them in her sleep. Dust stirred as she walked on soft soles, a thick layer of it judging by the sneeze she suddenly has to suppress and the grittiness of the air in her lungs. It gave her hope. Her path downwards passed in more silence, the wall paneling hiding the console snapping open as quickly as if it had been freshly greased, giving her pause. Had a scavenger nested in her refuge after all? She raked teeth over her lower lip, exhaling in relief as her code still worked, panels sliding back to reveal the entrance to her former sanctuary and the scent of greenery wafting from within.

 

With a smile she took a step inside, lashes flickering as eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness of her living room before a soft click sounded at the back of her skull. A gravelly voice drawled over her left shoulder in a familiar lilt:

 

“Yeh’ve got all of two seconds ta convince me not ta blow yer brains out, sweetling. Talk fast.”

 

She froze, then lifted her hands, palms forward, her power surging to life as she turned her head and tilted her chin to let him sneak a glimpse under her heavy hood. She hoped her eyes wouldn’t catch him off guard, curled her lips into a smile for good measure, voice silky: “Is that a way to greet an old friend, Tareq?”

 

“... Yer Lordship?”

 

Liracen turned fully and was rewarded with a rare sight: Tareq, dumbfounded, gawping at her open-mouthed while an unlit cigarette-butt clung desperately to his lower lip. He’d acquired some ink, she saw, alien symbols adorning the joints of his fingers and forearms while a splash of colour and shapes peeked out from under the collar of his loose shirt. His pale hair was tied back as usual, longer, perhaps, than she remembered, with a little more than stubble around his chin to match. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, even widened as they were while his gaze flicked across her features. She nodded at the slugthrower still pointed at her face and arched a brow, causing him to lower the weapon and allow her to brush back her hood, free her mass of dark curls from its confines and offer him another warm smile. “It’s good t-”

 

The breath was knocked from her as she suddenly found long, powerful arms circling her, crushing her to his chest to inhale the scent of his skin and of tobacco from those infernal cigarras he was rarely seen without. She hesitated, swallowed drily, then tentatively began to wind her arms around his lean form, uncertain what to make of this sudden outburst of emotion until she felt one long-fingered hand traveling down to the small of her back, aiming lower. With an exasperated huff she pushed him from her and glared at his new and more familiar expression: the shark-like smirk that seemed to stretch from one ear to the other and the glint in his dull grey eyes. His tone was all feigned innocence and honey:

 

“Aw, sweetheart, ‘n here I thought we were getting all romantic ‘n shavit!”

 

She rolled her eyes, unable to quite stop the amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth from showing. Seemed like some things were never going to change. She found a certain amount of comfort in that.

Edited December 23, 2015 by poekipelzball

[poekipelzball]

Loose Ends

 

 

The holonet’s data streams shimmered. A cat’s cradle of algorithms that spanned galaxies, fluidly sliding into the creases of her consciousness. She remained apart, held on to the pulse drumming in her aural pathways, human where little else remained. Blood and skin a handful of organs; all that remained.

 

A feed caught her attention, a live show from a containment facility, gratuitous violence to sate the masses, remind them of the fate that befell the unfaithful, the traitors to their cause. Yellow eyes amidst a tangle of fleshy bodies bored into hers, she knew the face behind them.

 

A near forgotten part of the machine that keep her thoughts caged seized, bellowed its command through her entire being.

 

-Primary Directive-

 

>boot sequence initiated;

 

__

 

Cheap booze sang in his blood. Screeched, more like; nothing overly poetic, really, in how his body worked overtime to rid itself of the poison he'd poured down his gullet. He cheerfully inhaled a lungful of sour smoke from the ragged nub clenched between his teeth and picked his way down the filthy alley; too sober to sway - too damn professional for that, even when he allowed himself a rare night off - too drunk to notice anything amiss until a pale shape peeled itself from the shadows.

 

It came into focus, he reconsidered. No amount of sobriety could alert one to the likes of her if she didn't care to be seen. On the plus side, that meant she probably wasn't going to kill him. His tone was a study in practiced nonchalance, not a hint of a slur. Too damn professional.

 

“Evenin’ sister.”

 

Nothing. He was hardly surprised, stretched lips into his customary smirk. “Boss is alive.”

 

Was that a nod or had some gust of stale air belched from the city’s nethers just ruffled a silvery strand or two? He was getting too old for this shavit.

 

“Let's get yeh two reunited then.”

 

And won't that be a delight?

 

__

 

The red crystal had cracked, not entirely unexpectedly, its synthetic core too unstable for her ministrations. Perhaps someone more adept than her could have salvaged the gem, but there was a reason Liracen had used this one for her trial run. Crimson splinters dusted the wooden surface before her. She turned the amber shard between her forefinger and thumb, let the light dance off its many facets. They were beautiful, these crystals, delicate yet powerful, even when not at the heart of one of the most deadly weapons in the galaxy. She wasn't certain what minds could have thought to turn such beauty toward destruction; from an order dedicated to galactic peace, no less. She frowned.

 

The door went, she didn't bother checking, only one other person had the entry code; the scent of tobacco identified her visitor even before his customary drawl.

 

“Honey, I'm home,” she could hear his grin, “‘n look who we have stayin’ fer dinner.”

 

She blinked, turned, recognised the shape beside him in an instant and sat up a little straighter. “Senth! I-... It's good to-... Welcome.”

 

The other woman said nothing, Liracen swallowed, stood and approached. “I hope you've been well.” What an absolutely useless thing to say. She cleared her throat. Tareq’s grin had widened a fraction, the other woman just regarded her impassively. “Orders?”

 

“Right!” Liracen tugged at her braid, curled a stray strand of hair back behind an ear. “Actually, there is a matter you could look in to for me.

 

“Boss...”

 

She ignored the warning in Tareq’s voice. “An associate of mine has found himself in a spot of trouble with a bounty on his head. Goes by V, or Alex. I'd like to keep him out of danger, he's been ever so helpful.”

 

The pale-haired woman turned and left. Tareq flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder. “She's not gonna stick ta observin’, that one.”

 

Liracen sighed, pressed two fingers to her temple. “I know. But did you really want her staying here?”

 

He'd moved to the cabinet holding his selection of liquor. “... I'll fix yeh a drink, sweets.”

 

She could only nod.

[poekipelzball]

Herul’s expert craftsmanship sat like a second skin, flowing like liquid over her form. She traced a finger around the inlay at her throat, the gem nestled among the fabric there. She’d avoided her reflection, too vivid the memory of the last time she’d worn a garment like this, but she knew the crystal glittered in the same eerie hue as her eyes.

 

The door thrummed open and shut behind her, long strides suddenly coming to a halt with a sharp intake of breath. Liracen stifled a groan, turned and was greeted by a grin so wide she wasn’t certain how the man’s head was still attached. She gestured sharply to forestall any comment and activated her spell.

 

The Force wrapped itself around her, obscuring her shape, her enchantment’s success measurable by the look of disappointment on the blond man’s face. She could tell by the way his gaze flickered that he was having trouble focusing on her, despite being stood only a couple of steps away. She allowed herself a small smile that lasted right up until he spoke.

 

“Yeh sure know how ta give a man sweet dreams fer the rest of his life, boss. Not that I’ll ever sleep again.”

 

She scowled, its effect entirely lost on him. “Just take me to her, Tareq.”

 

__

 

She’d left him half a block back to find an elevated position - not without a smarmy comment about ‘watching her back’, of course - and moved on alone, trusting her magic and the general hubbub of the Moon to cover her approach.

 

Senth had outlined a number of potential points of engagement, one just around the next corner in an alley leading to the backdoor of one of the red light district’s many disreputable clubs their target frequented on occasion. With the area’s residents well accustomed to turning two blind eyes to any sign of trouble, as common here as in the darker parts of Neon City, the location hadn’t needed much deliberation at all.

 

Crouching down in the shadow of a large trash-compactor which residents appeared to have taken more as a general suggestion on where garbage ought to accumulate, Liracen waited, hugging her arms around herself in a futile effort to escape the smells thickening the air. She wrinkled her nose and made herself smaller, waiting for Senth to make an appearance. It was unlike her to be late.

 

A knot in her gut just moments after she’d finished that thought alerted her to another presence. She turned and met quicksilver eyes, all questions reduced to a lump in her throat by the woman’s icy stare. Instead, she resigned herself to following Senth’s gesture towards where a pair of voices were becoming louder ahead. In a blink, the pale-haired woman had vanished from sight, leaving not even a whisper in the Force for Liracen to track. She continued forward to peer around the bend.

 

Two figures were making their noisy way along the street, one supporting the other who was swaying heavily with the aftereffects of too much of the joint’s cheap, yet seemingly effective booze. Their target, judging by the dim light reflecting off of large, liquid eyes and his long snout, bent eagerly towards his decidedly underdressed companion. Liracen blushed.

 

The young man in question could have been human or zabraki, perhaps even mirialan, given how the lighting was rendering his colouring indeterminable. She squinted in an effort to make out any visible horns or facial tattoos when the stranger suddenly seemed to sprout two slender hands from the side of his head that clasped around his throat and left a bloodied gash widening like a hideous smile. She broke into a run, but had been too late before she’d even set off, skidding to a halt next to the crumpled body just as the last of his life’s blood welled over the dirty concrete.

 

Senth was advancing on the rodian, brandishing the wicked blade with which she’d just cut his companion’s throat. Through his drug-induced haze the man was only now beginning to fully realise the danger he was in, bug-eyes widening and a wail of despair building in his throat that Liracen quickly silenced with a hand over his snout, maneuvering herself between the terrified alien and the assassin.

 

Far from gratitude, however, he began to flail in panic as his gaze slid from her shape, leaving him blind to this supposed second assailant. She sighed and held him fast with the Force, finding herself quickly running out of options. This was going not at all to plan. She looked at Senth, whose impassive, almost bored mien only helped to disturb her more deeply, then finally reached out with her mind, planting a compulsion deep within the man’s fear-addled consciousness.

 

She frowned as she let him go, the placid smile on his face chilling her to the bone. She watched him walk off dazedly and spoke without turning to the woman at her side.

 

“He stays alive.”

 

“Until the bounty is lifted.”

 

Liracen rounded on her, anger clenching in her stomach as she hissed: “No, Senth. He stays alive.”

 

The woman nodded minutely, nothing indicating whether she was affected by the Sith’s disapproval. Liracen squeezed her eyes shut and counted inwardly to ten. When she opened them again she was alone in the alley, a rapidly cooling corpse at her feet.

[poekipelzball]

A work in progress! Next part is in editing, but the ending has not been forthcoming, hoping for some inspiration/pressure to finish by posting.

 

Kahsun's Legacy

 

 

She felt as cumbersome as a hobbled gundark inside the suit, convinced any moment now someone would see through the ruse or, worse, actually address her in Mando’a. Her pronunciation remained abysmal, even if understanding of its structure came to her quite easily. Language was just another puzzle, after all.

 

That infernal spot between her shoulderblades was itching again, difficult enough to reach when not clad in a mobile bomb-shelter; impossible now. She rolled her shoulders in what she hoped looked like a casual gesture, suppressed a sigh at the absolute lack of relief the movement brought and wondered, not for the first time, how some people could bear to walk around in one of these things all day.

 

She had no idea where Tareq had gotten his hand on what appeared to be genuine mandalorian armour, even if she was reasonably certain it wasn’t beskar’gam. Perhaps it was just a convincing fake. She certainly hoped so. She was fairly certain any real Mando’ade would raise a few objections to her pilfering one of their most prized possessions and using it as a cheap disguise to get off-planet undetected. Besides, a full suit was worth a fortune. The man was resourceful, but not that resourceful.

 

At least the suit seemed to discourage anybody from looking at her too closely; the full helmet’s visor wouldn’t have given much away about her identity anyhow, likely his plan. Stars, she hated it when his schemes worked. It always left him insufferably smug for days.

 

Senth, flanking him on the other side, stood as still as a statue. The woman hardly needed a disguise to avoid security, especially in a place named the Smuggler’s Moon, but Tareq had insisted on a duo of Mandalorian bodyguards. Liracen was beginning to suspect that they were mostly here to inflate his ego rather than to add any credibility to his cover.

 

She squinted at his wiry from ahead, leaning over the counter towards the clerk, whose pained expression told her plenty about the contents of their conversation. She caught herself pitying the woman for a moment until remembering that the more memorable he made himself, the less likely it’d be that the clerk would recall much about his two hulking - the suits saw to that - silent bodyguards. Liracen inwardly saluted the woman for her noble sacrifice.

 

It seemed an age before they could make their way - uncharacteristically awkwardly, in her case, the heavy suit impeded her movements and she didn’t dare use the Force to help her progress - across to the hangar bays and into the ship he’d... acquisitioned. It took all of her discipline not to strip out of the armour the moment the doors shut behind them. Discipline and the knowledge of how much he’d enjoy the show. She yanked off her helmet nonetheless, ran fingers through her sweat-matted curls and exhaled, not meeting the others’ eyes - and grin - as she announced:

 

“I’m going for a shower. Call me when you’ve got this thing off the ground.”

Edited January 7, 2016 by poekipelzball

[poekipelzball]

Thanks to an unfortunate page break the first part to this is the last post on page 2! WIP, so hopefully I'll have a conclusion soon.

 

Her hair had dried by the time the world came back into focus around her, she let the holocron slip from limp fingers onto her bunk and gathered her robes around herself. Flicking the switch on the commlink, she gave her agent the coordinates and a name, rose and stretched muscles simultaneously cramping from inactivity and languidly relaxed. An odd sensation as her mind tried to align events in the landscape of thought with her physical reality, even for one such as her: no stranger to duality.

 

She felt the small ship shift as it left Nar Shaddaa’s orbit, shuddering slightly as it escaped the atmospheric pull. She reached into her bag again, rummaged briefly for more appropriate attire. Beyond the Moon in neutral space she could have worn what was familiar, but caution dictated she stay incognito, maintain her disguise even beyond where anyone could feasibly be expected to recognize the former Lord. She tugged on a spacer’s suit and loose coat, braided her hair and let it hang down her back, its tip brushing the end of her spine. She kept the eyepatch off, for now. The constant lack of depth-perception when she wore it gave her a headache, making her question the wisdom of using this accessory as part of her ruse.

 

She rubbed a fingertip along the edge of her nose then flexed her hand; still unfamiliar, this lack of gloves. She hoped she wouldn't regret their absence in the future, but had so far managed to steer clear of unwanted touches by her brethren, no Sith seemingly as inclined to breach her personal space as some of her associates were.

 

She cast one of the worst offenders a glare as she stepped back into the cockpit, ignored his feigned look of hurt and the broad grin that belied it. Senth had retreated into the corner holding a holo-console, eyes flickering vacantly as she browsed data only visible to her inner gaze, chasing up on Liracen’s lead, she hoped. Tareq had folded himself into the captain’s chair, content to let the autopilot take over as he lounged idly. She saw his fingers twitch and found herself briefly gleeful at his discomfort. She'd flat out forbidden him his cigarras while en route in their already cramped spacecraft, gone so far as to threaten to have the assassin confiscate them. She chided herself a moment later for her pettiness. Even if she couldn't quite fathom just why the man seemed so adept at riling her up, he hardly deserved to suffer for it.

 

Ducking back out and into the small crew section she decided to prepare him a caffa while she brewed tea for herself. She wasn't sure whether to offer anything to Senth, couldn't actually recall whether she'd ever seen the woman eat or drink. She shrugged and resolved to offer her something once all relevant data had been collated, figuring any approach before then pointless anyway. Grabbing both tin cups by their handles, she wound her way back around the small space and slid into the co-pilot’s seat at Tareq’s side to hold up her peace-offering. He drawled something to make her blush, but curled long fingers around his cup and shot her a grateful grin that made her almost forget her annoyance with him. Almost.

 

She settled back into her seat, let the flimsy cup’s warmth heat up her palms and tried not to focus too much on the tunnel of bright light beyond the viewport as they sped through hyperspace to their destination.

Edited January 7, 2016 by poekipelzball

[poekipelzball]

The structure grew like a tumor from the planet’s swampy surface, its rigid skeleton reaching skyward even as time and climate had weathered away much of its innards. Senth’s blueprints suggested the complex stretched further underground, she suspected that was where they'd find their target, rather than in the hollowed out spires towering above them. Her kin could mirror ancient beasts of myth in that regard, prone to grandiosity and pomp and to keeping their hoard secured in cavernous lairs.

 

Tareq lay prone on his front, blond head barely cresting the small ridge they'd chosen to scout out the site from. He lowered his macrobinoculars, turned and shimmied down towards her position, stretching long legs out beside her.

 

“Not much ta see, no movement. T’other might spot more up close.”

 

He didn't call Senth by name often. Liracen winced, but couldn't for sure guess the other woman's feelings on the matter. Did she have feelings left to get hurt? Either way, she was scouting ahead, out of hearing range of Tareq’s callousness; sparing them the discomfort of her presence. Liracen tugged her long braid over her shoulder, plucked at the end. Tareq glanced over, stretched out his hand holding the binoculars.

 

“Wanna check?”

 

She shook her head, flashed him a quick smile. She wasn't concerned with what resistance they might encounter, even if droids could be tricky opponents, entirely immune to a large part of her particular talents, for instance. They lacked the unpredictability on flesh and blood combatants, however, making them both more efficient and less worrisome. Short of keeping a small army hidden away in his underground fortress she doubted the late Darth’s defenses would more than slow their… what had he called it? spelunking.

 

Tareq had clenched an unlit stogie between his teeth, shifted it, now, from one corner of his mouth to the other, pearly-whites glinting in the approaching dusk. She had to wonder as to the sheer… vitality of that grin. Generally to consume as much tobacco as he did resulted in losing one’s smile to the drug’s demands. His, however, glinted sharply as ever, making her wonder as to his secret: a foreign blend or excellent dental care?

 

Senth returned. Not a moment too soon, Liracen realised, halting her train of thought and flicking her gaze to the pale-haired woman after having let it rest entirely too long on the lanky blond’s features. He spared her a remark, for once, sitting up as the assassin stepped out of the underbrush. She’d let them hear her approach, the soft rustle of damp foliage the equivalent of a nerf’s trampling advance in comparison to her usual soft step. Senth shook her head minutely, meaning, Liracen surmised, that she'd found no trace of outward defenses, no droids patrolling the perimeter, no turrets set to repel an intrusion. If they were to meet any resistance, it would be in the mechanized depths of the complex, in the belly of the beast.

 

Liracen stood, brushed swamp muck off her suit. She'd changed into one of Herul’s when they'd arrived in orbit. The hilt of Than’s blade sat loosely at her hip. She'd never checked the colour of the blade. Red, she assumed, taken during-… She tilted her head. Perhaps blue or green were more likely, then. She waved for her companions to fall in beside her as she made her way to Darth Kahsun’s former seat of power.

[poekipelzball]

Two floors ago they’d found a vast nest. Enterprising reptiles had settled into the brackish remnants of what must once have been the structure’s water treatment centre. Tareq’s well-aimed flare had swiftly discouraged the beasts from a serious attempt at defending their territory, clearing the path downward for the trio of intruders. Liracen’s eyes had watered as she’d struggled not to gag at the stench, but her relief at having left behind the worst of it had been short lived.

 

It stank down here. The airflow into the complex’ lower reaches was so pitiful with its ventilation system a near century out of order that Liracen felt decades of stagnation sliding wetly down her windpipe. She resisted the urge to clear her throat again and pushed her braid back over her shoulder as she ducked under a series of loose cables. She was certain she could feel each intake of breath fouling her airways, leaving behind indelible tracks of its passage that’d fester and grow until she’d withered and rotted from the inside out.

 

She did clear her throat then, the sound ugly, hacking and loud in the viscous silence surrounding them. Senth glanced at her, expression blank. Tareq, however, kept his gaze averted, blond head lowered until his chin almost touched his chest. Of course he’d sense it where the other wouldn’t. That one probably didn’t even need to breathe, Liracen mused with a pang of irritation; she probably was asking herself why she was stuck here with two useless organics slowing her down, when alone she could have been in and out in half the time. If that soulless thing thought she could rid herself of-...

 

Liracen blinked.

 

Oh.

 

She forced herself to breathe in deeply through her nose, out through her mouth. In. Out. She could see the tendrils now, reaching for her, murmuring dark terrors. She’d expected droids, turrets and monstrous mechanisms, not this. Foolish. They sought a Darth’s century-old secrets, of course the remnants of his being would have awakened at their incursion, grown over time in malevolence and need, even as his power had waned to near nothing: its paltry touch had barely roused her defenses.

 

He’d hooked on to something, however; her disgust at the filth surrounding them, her mistrust of her companions, the anger she still bore for the assassin. A crack in the facade. Liracen rubbed her palms across her upper arms with a frown. A crack was all it took. She lashed out with her mind and pushed the whispers aside decisively, turned to regard the others.

 

Darkness coiled around the pale-haired woman, yet she seemed unperturbed, the dead man’s treacherous susurration likely finding no purchase in that one’s sleek psyche. Liracen swatted the darkness away with the assassin none the wiser, gestured for the other woman to scout ahead as she approached the third in their band.

 

Tareq’s eyes were closed. He would have looked peaceful had it not been for the rapid movement behind his lids, the thin straight line etched between his brows. She slipped closer still as she peeled webbed strands of darkness off his motionless form, her voice gentle as she spoke his name.

 

Dull grey eyes snapped open. He lifted a hand to her face as if to touch it, fleeting recognition in his gaze that she knew saw a face other than hers. A quick succession of emotions followed, from anger to hurt to grief that wrenched at her heart. When his grin returned she knew she had him back, even if it lacked its usual edge. She turned to continue down the path, wincing at his lasting silence behind her.

[poekipelzball]

She was almost relieved when the silence broke, even if it heralded trouble. Senth had returned to indicate the way to the next level lay just ahead, down a rickety flight of stairs. The instant Liracen set foot onto the grated bottom step she heard it: the soft hum of electricity, the whirr of servomotors, the click of targeting arrays adjusting. She saw by she way Senth’s stance shifted just beside her that she’d heard it too.

 

The woman sank into a low crouch, crept soundlessly into the shadowed hall ahead. With a low grunt and a soft click, Tareq unholstered his rifle, taking his cue from the assassin. Good man. Liracen opened herself to the Force, the narrow passageway they stood in shifting in its flow. She waited the space of a heartbeat then sent out her power, dug its fingers into the wall beside her and tore loose the plating to yank it screeching in front of them.

 

Mayhem ensued.

 

Turrets folded themselves from the floor to spit plasma and light the room in a staccato frenzy as three hulking forms lurched into motion at the back of the hall. The Sith’s blade sprang to life - violet, she noted - hissing through the air as she repelled any bolts her makeshift barrier couldn’t block. Tareq slid smoothly into cover, answering the first volley with counterfire that reduced two of the turrets to smouldering debris.

 

Many-segmented limbs dragged massive shapes forward as Kahsun’s grotesque machines closed in. They were large, insect-like in design, with a multitude of appendages sprouting from a central thorax, several of which ended in vicious looking spikes and scythes. Their heads split, mandible-like, opening and snapping shut with crushing power, while a final, oddly bloated section scraped along the floor behind them. Liracen found herself questioning Kahsun’s awkward design decision moments before their purpose revealed itself.

 

Senth had materialised behind the closest droid, having determined a frontal assault too risky. With inhuman agility the pale-haired woman vaulted onto the machine, climbing nimbly up its body while it thrashed helplessly, immobile now with the woman’s extra weight pinning it down. Two vicious blades flashed before she sunk them up to the hilts into the slimmer area between segments, slashing cruelly to sever the droid’s lower body amidst a spray of coolant and sparks. A series of rapid slices at the flailing droid’s limbs had it crashing to the floor to join its lower half, whose sudden movement gave the assassin momentary pause.

 

It twitched, emitting a metallic groan before splitting, revealing a hollow interior populated by a myriad of smaller mechanoids, arachnid in appearance, that burst from the larger machine’s remains. Liracen thrust her power forward to push back the onslaught, sending tiny bodies flying. Tareq yelled something and she flexed her fingers, wove power around Senth’s form to drag her forward instead, clearing the blast radius of the grenade he’d flung by a handspan. Heat and fumes stung harshly as the writhing mass of metallic limbs was engulfed in flame. Liracen struggled not to close her watering eyes.

 

It was then that what had once been Kahsun chose to strike again.

 

This time, she sensed the approach. Fueled by his machines’ assault his spirit screamed towards them. Liracen rose to meet him as her companions rallied to engage his remaining monstrosities, senses stretching out as she skimmed along the Force’s currents. He’d drunk deeply from a near century of seething hatred, she sensed his savage glee at the imminent confrontation, his surprise and terror as she merely brushed him aside. Hubris and delusion, ever the comfortable bedfellows; he’d fallen for the whisperings of his own madness.

 

She felt his screams reverberate through the Force as she unraveled him, pulled apart what had been his essence and flung the remnants of his being at his creations, pinning one with the dead Darth’s depleting power to provide a static target for the marksman’s final explosive.

 

She gathered her magic, then, wove it tightly around the pale-haired woman’s twitching opponent, her free hand gesturing fluidly. Her fingers danced as if she were directing an orchestra as she tightened her spell further and further, ignored the anguished squeal of metal and plasteel while she worked, ignored, too the others finishing off the turrets as she spun her power and crushed the droid in its vice-like grip. When she finally released her hold, only a handful of misshapen metal clattered to the ground.

[poekipelzball]

Concluded after all!

 

 

After fighting their way through the security system, battling past the Darth’s creations and defeating his very essence in its lair, Liracen had expected something a little more… grand. The machine was about the size of a coffee table, sat prominently in a largely empty room at the back of the hall, surrounded by nothing but dust. It had numerous pyramid shaped inserts, which clued her in on having found what they’d come for - little else did.

 

Neither Senth nor Tareq had said a word, both getting to work on searching the room and the device for traps. The pale-haired woman had settled in next to it, pulling out packaging materials while running a quick scan. They’d likely be able to carry it out strapped onto her back, Liracen mused, though she wasn’t quite certain how the assassin would take to the suggestion of becoming a pack-mule.

 

She caught a whiff of a familiar scent and turned, spotting the glowing end of a cigarra where the marksman crouched by the doorway. Liracen moved over to join him, lacking anything better to do. Her part in this came later. He glanced up, she thought she saw a glint of teeth in the gloom, then realised he was holding out his packet to her. She shook her head quickly, he snorted, unsurprised.

 

She watched as tobacco and paper burned with each inhalation. There was a hypnotic rhythm to it, the faint hiss and crackle as embers consumed, the sharp sting in her eyes and nose as smoke drifted by. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but she could feel it, like webbed whispers against her skin.

 

He stood, suddenly. She had to crane her head up to follow the orange glow. There was a hoarseness to his voice that she didn’t entirely attribute to his habit.

 

“Boss… m’Lord. About what I saw-...”

 

She raised a hand placatingly. “It’s fine, Tareq, you don’t have to…”

 

Mistake. She couldn’t see, but she heard. And then she saw. His words died, marked by the rictus grin that stretched across his face. Not even a heartbeat filled the sudden stillness between them. Then, a hiss, a crackle, sharp, stinging smoke. “Sob-story won’t even get me a fondle, huh? S’pose there’s no point then.”

 

He’d turned before she could answer. Her hand still hovered uselessly between them.

 

It’d be a long flight home.