#swtor fanfics

[ainyan]

Flirting

“You know, before we head off of Coruscant, maybe you should go see a doctor.” Ciprys ignored Risha for a moment, flicking switches and toggling buttons as she ran through the pre-flight check. The smuggler girl crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently while she waited for the Captain to finish. 

Finally, Ciprys sighed and leaned back in the captain’s chair. “Alright. I’ll bite. Why do I need to see a doctor?”

The smuggler stared at her boss. “Because that spacer was absolutely delicious, and you didn’t even bother to laugh him off. Make plans for later. Tell me you’d meet me back here. I’ve never seen you turn down a willing man before - not like that, not without even so much as a flirt.”

The Chiss looked annoyed as she gazed at the galaxy map, studying the systems as if trying to decide where they were headed next. “So I wasn’t down for a tumble, so what? I don’t sleep with every man I see, you know.” 

“Damn near,” Risha muttered, and held up her hand as Ciprys swung around in her chair, scarlet eyes hot. “I’m not insulting you, I’m worried. You haven’t been yourself since everything went down on Yavin. I know there’s some big bad shit out there…”

Snarling softly, Ciprys sprang from her chair, fingers caressing her blaster as she paced across the cockpit. “Do you? Do you even understand what happened? The Sith Emperor is out there somewhere, trying to come back. And while I’m not inclined to take anything a Sith says at face value, Darth Marr’s running scared of his old boss, and that’s got me scared. The head of the Dark Council isn’t exactly a coward.”

Risha took a deep breath as her captain stalked in ragged circles. “I get that, but things weren’t exactly cloud nine before, and that didn’t stop you from taking your fun as you found it. I’m just saying, Cip,” she added cajolingly, “I’m worried for you. About you. You’re damn near the only family I got in this galaxy; I don’t wanna see anything happen to you.”

The fight drained from the Chiss, her eyes closing as she drew her hand from her blaster, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Damn it, Risha. I’m fine,” she sighed, lowering her hand and opening her eyes to gaze at the other smuggler. “I just - between this whole Revan and Emperor thing, and everything else on our plate, I’ve had little interest in bedsports.”

Risha shook her head. “And of course, it has nothing to do with what else happened on Yavin, right?”

Immediately, the shutters dropped, Ciprys’s expression closing to wooden blankness. “Nothing else of import happened on Yavin,” she replied blandly. “Still no word from Command on that next shipment we’re supposed to be taking for them; I’m going to my quarters. Message me when we get our manifest.”

Risha watched Ciprys go, sighing, and studied the galaxy map, wondering where their next adventure would lead them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The door slid shut behind Ciprys and she engaged the locks, rubbing her forehead as she sighed. “Damn it, Risha,” she muttered as she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing the leather coat carelessly on her bed. She began to unbuckle her holster, then paused, eyes narrowing. “Oh for the love of - how the hell did you get onto my ship?”

“Will you really insult me by asking that?” Stretched out in her desk chair, Theron Shan raised one eyebrow at the Chiss. “I mean, you’ve got great security, but we’re talking me here. C’mon Ciprys,” he added in a wheedling tone, “don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me.”

She didn’t want to be. The spy who sat before her with that charming smile and those sly hazel eyes was a complication she neither needed nor wanted in her life. Risha might make light of her habits, but her lightskirt reputation had been quite calculated. “Yeah, sure, Shan, I’m always happy to see a handsome face.” Her smile was coy as she swept past him, ruffling a hand over his hair. “Just stop by for a reprise of our farewells on Yavin? I might have time to oblige.”

He reached up to snag her wrist, holding her fast, and felt her tension immediately ratchet up. “I didn’t say that,” he replied mildly, watching her as she stared at the far wall. “I saw you were on planet and thought we could talk.”

“I already told you once,” she replied shortly, “I’m not interested in being an SIS mole. I have a lot of good, valuable clients that might be put off by the idea. If you want to tangle up my sheets, Shan, let’s go. Otherwise, I’ve got stuff to do before the manifest comes in.”

He didn’t release her wrist, even though she tugged experimentally, testing his grip. “Almost perfect. I’d have bought it on Rishi - I did buy it on Rishi,” he corrected, feeling her stiffen. “But you slipped up on Yavin. You almost had me completely fooled.”

When she yanked her wrist again, he let her go and she jerked backwards, rubbing at her hand. “What you see is what you get, Shan. I’m about as deep as Corso.”

The spy steepled his fingers before him as he met her bland scarlet gaze. “Having looked into your white knight, I’m pretty sure that’s far more insulting to you than to him,” he replied, and she bit back a bark of laughter. “You are definitely more than you appear,” he added, more soberly, and her mirth fled. “I get why you pretend otherwise - but you can’t fool me again, Ciprys. No backwater bumpkin is going to manipulate the head of the Dark Council with such precision.”

She turned away from him, still rubbing her wrist. “Everyone has moments, Shan,” she muttered. “Mine are few and far between. I’m exactly as I appear. A hotshot smuggler from beyond the Outer Rim whose big goal is to get rich and retire young, preferably with a bevy of pretty young men. And if you’re looking to be one of those,” she shot over her shoulder, “alienating me ain’t gonna get you there.”

“Bullshit,” he countered pleasantly, and her eyes went hot. “I’ve seen your accounts - all of them,” he added before she could retort. “I know your contacts. You could retire today and never lift another finger for the rest of your life and never want for anything - even with the funds you sink into some schools out in the Outer Rim.” She could hear the puzzlement in his voice.

Ciprys grunted. “Kids gotta learn, and they don’t always have options out in the back of beyond. What does the SIS care what I do with my money?” He noticed, curiously, that she didn’t seem particularly upset by the intrusion into her privacy - or even surprised.

Theron closed his eyes, sighing. “For the SIS, they care because you’re Chiss,” he replied flatly. “Any Chiss in Republic space is suspect - don’t tell me you didn’t know that. For me, I just want to know you better.”

She made a disgruntled noise. “Look, Shan,” she snapped, whirling around and stabbing a finger towards his chest, “you and me, we’re from different galaxies, but we got a few things in common. One of those things is that we’re both players, not stayers. We had fun - and it was some great fun - but that’s all it was.”

His hazel eyes held a glint that she found disconcerting. “Then it shouldn’t be any problem for you to join me for a caf while you wait on your manifest,” he replied with a slow smile. “Just between friends. Nothing to worry about.”

“Theron Shan, I am absolutely certain that that phrase and you shouldn’t be within shouting distance of each other,” came the captain’s exasperated retort. His grin only increased her irritation - and her wariness. “Seriously? You want to have a cup of caf? You don’t have to seduce me, spyboy. You already did that,” she added dryly.

Theron watched her with infuriating patience. “Caf and conversation. That’s all I want.”

Ciprys was at a loss. She was no stranger to clingy males; the cost of playing around meant that occasionally one ran across a man who didn’t understand the concept of a one-night stand. But she knew she hadn’t misread the spy - he was as likely as she to have ‘one in every port’ as the old saw went. 

So why the hell was he so insistent on dragging this out? Some SIS operation? Concern from up top about the carte blanche they’d given her after Yavin?

No, too heavy handed.

Did he really just want caf? “Fine,” she finally replied shortly, eyes narrowing at the triumphant glint in his gaze. “Some caf, some conversation. We can just nip into the kitchen…”

“Nope. Know a nice little place in the Galactic Market sector. Quiet, out of the way, most of the clientele are people like you and me.”

She blinked. “You want to go out?” she asked flatly, then, “and there is no you and me. There is no one like you and me, because you and me are antithetical to each other.”

Theron’s lips quirked. “Do you even know what it sounds like when you say words like ‘antithetical’ in that country bumpkin’s voice? Is it just me that breaks your cover, or does it crack every time you get frustrated?” Before she could reply, he shook his head. “No, I’ve seen you stay perfect under pressure. I’m flattered.”

The heat in her eyes would have seared a lesser man to cinders. “You’re about to be flattened,” she growled, and when he grinned, she snapped her teeth at him. “By the Flame, Theron Shan, what the hell is your malfunction? I know I’m good, but I’m not that damn good.” She paused. “Well, okay, I am that damn good.” She caught sight of the laughter in his eyes. “Disagree?”

Theron spread his hands. “How about that caf?” he deflected, levering himself up from the chair and coming to his feet. “Ciprys,” he added softly as she hesitated, “I really just want to talk. No grand conspiracies here. No convoluted plans. I’m not trying to recruit you, and I know you’re loyal to us. I just want to talk to you - as friends.”

Friends. What a strange concept. Ciprys sighed, rubbing her neck. “Fine,” she muttered. “Fine, you win, Shan. Let’s go get some caf.” She snagged her jacket from the bed. “Dunno what you expect me to tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Well,” he replied as he followed her out of her cabin, past the gaping Risha and spluttering Corso, “for one thing, what’s the story behind the akk dog?”

Ciprys glanced towards where the spiky crimson creature lay beneath the table, watching her with huge dark eyes. “What, Mongo? Some idiot Houk was teasing him as a puppy. Put a stop to it and he wouldn’t stop following me. I’ll be back,” she told Risha, biting back a grin at the smuggler’s dumbfounded expression. “Patch that manifest through as soon as you get it.”

Brown eyes blinked rapidly. “I - uh - yes… yes, captain,” she sputtered. “Captain, I…”

Ciprys lifted a hand, waving at her crew as the door cycled open and she led Theron from the freighter.

As the door slid shut behind her, Risha turned to stare at Corso and Akavi, who had come out at the commotion and was peering curiously after her boss. “Who the hell was that? What the hell was that?”

The Zabraki Mandalorian rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “That was Shan,” she pointed out. “The one she worked with on Rishi and Yavin. I did not know he was on board.”

“Neither did I,” Corso and Risha replied together, exchanging a bewildered glance. The Mantellian sighed and scrubbed at his jaw. “Knew she could smuggle damn near anything,” he muttered, then turned and walked away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was not, thankfully, the cantina where Ciprys had met Darmus Pollus at. Even now, a year later, the smuggler still felt the sting of embarrassment whenever she considered the traitor and how easily he’d played her.

No, Theron had chosen an actual caf shop, small and out of the way, occupied by men and women whose professions made them more frequent visitors to Coruscant rather than actual citizens. Some of them were legitimate. Some, Ciprys recognized from past business dealings.

I’ll be damned. There is a place for people like him and me. The captain didn’t know whether to be amused or disconcerted. The spy took a table along the wall, tugging out a chair for her before sliding into the one across. She slipped into the seat, stretching her legs out and leaning back as he spoke to the server. At his glance, she nodded, and he ordered for both of them, then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table as they were left alone. “Still think we’re antithetical?”

She gave him a cool red stare. “You’re a lawman,” she pointed out, and at his look of distaste, laughed. “Spyboy, agent, whatever you call it, you work for the government, and you find bad guys and deal with ‘em. Me? I’m one of those bad guys, Shan. Shouldn’t you be trying to lock me away?”

He spread his hands. “Wouldn’t do any good. Immune to prosecution, remember? Anywhere you could get into trouble, I’d have no jurisdiction. Anyway,” he added thoughtfully, gaze tracking up towards the ceiling, “you’re not really bad. Not like the kind of people I deal with. You’re a Republic loyalist.”

Ciprys frowned, tracing her fingertip over the table as she gazed at its smudged surface. “I’m not sure how I feel about not being bad,” she muttered. “Protestations aside,” and his grin echoed hers, light and mocking, “I’m not exactly an upstanding citizen and I like it that way.”

“Don’t worry,” Theron soothed, “you’ll always be my favorite criminal.” At her hot-eyed glare, he grinned unrepentantly, then straightened as the server returned with their orders. Closing his fingers around his mug, he canted his head to one side. “So, you rescued an akk dog from a Houk and named it Mongo. Any other pets?”

She lifted her mug, inhaling the rich scent of caf as she studied him, considering her answers. “Quite a few, actually, although Mongo’s my only big one, and the only one that’s really permanent.” She shrugged, and he was amused to see a faint flush turn her turquoise skin purple. “I, uh… rehabilitate small animals I… rescue… from abusive owners. Once they’re better, I send ‘em on to people who can get ‘em back where they belong.”

“Schools in the Outer Rim. Animal rehabilitation. Not exactly the hobbies of a master criminal,” the spy pointed out gently, and bit back his grin at her glare. “You know, I’ve heard you laugh. I’ve seen you smile. I know you have a wicked sense of humor - what is it about me that brings out so much anger?”

The question gave her pause, and she frowned, lifting her mug to sip as she bit back her instinctive retort and instead considered the question carefully. “I’m not angry,” she finally replied. “I’m… confused. I just can’t pin you down, Shan. You’re a Republic spy, son of some famous Jedi, some big shot now in the SIS. You probably had the best schools, lived the best life. Couldn’t follow in mom’s footsteps, but you made somethin’ of yourself. Why you slummin’ it with some alien from beyond the back of beyond with no past, no future, nothin’ to her but a ship and a rap sheet a kilometer long?”

His face closed up at the mention of his mother. “My childhood wasn’t what you’d expect,” he finally replied, his voice dropping low, below the general level of conversation. Leaning forward, he cupped his hands around his mug. “Let’s just say, it wasn’t typical, and it wasn’t grand. But I learned a lot, about myself and the galaxy and the people who live here, and that’s why I became a spy.” He tapped his fingers along the curving walls of the mug, then shrugged. “And I don’t see this as slumming it. I know nothing about your past - whatever you were before you appeared in Republic space eight years ago, you hid it damn well,” and he didn’t miss the flash of relief in her eyes, “but what you’ve been since then? You’re not a common criminal, Ciprys, and you’re not just ‘some alien from beyond’, either. You’ve done things other smugglers only dream of, and you barely broke a sweat.”

“Yeah, well, I am pretty great, but still.” She smirked at him, a brief flash before she sobered once more. “I dunno what game you’re playin’, Shan, but I gotta warn you - I seem the affable type, and I’m pretty easy goin’ most of the time - but you cross me,” and her eyes hardened, her expression sending a chill down Theron’s spine, “you’ll find I don’t shake easy. You wanna be friends? I ain’t gonna say no.” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Wouldn’t say no even if you were another nobody like me,” she finally admitted. “The connections don’t hurt, but…”

“But?” he asked, when she trailed off into silence.

She sighed again. “Sometimes I’m just a bit too contrary even for myself. I have a feelin’ I’d enjoy your company, if I’d stop bein’ a bitch about it.” She looked up into his smug grin and wrinkled her nose. “Still don’t get what you’re after. But I guess someone like me shouldn’t look a gift friend in the mouth.”

Theron traced the rim of his mug. “‘Someone like you’? You mean, a highly skilled pilot with copious contacts among both the elite of the underworld and the higher echelons of the Republic - and even some Imperial connections, with carte blanche to act in Republic space.” His hazel eyes rose to meet hers and she stilled, caught by the expression on his face. “‘Someone like you’? A beautiful woman, a passionate lover, exciting in bed and out? Yeah, I can’t imagine why I’d want to spend time with you, Ciprys. Can’t imagine it at all.”

She leaned back in her chair, a deliberately distancing move, and smirked. “Well, when you put it that way, I can’t blame you for stalkin’ me. I am pretty awesome in all regards.”

The spy leaned back as well, stretching long legs before him as he tapped lightly against the handle of his mug. “You jest, but I can’t disagree. You don’t like compliments, do you?”

Ciprys pursed her lips. “I don’t trust a compliment that doesn’t come with a string attached,” she corrected finally, shrugging. “I’m used to everyone wanting something from me. Just because I can’t see your angle yet doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re after something as well.”

The irritation that flashed across his face surprised her. So did the flash of shame she felt. “Are you sure of that?” he asked, his tone measured, and she felt the weight of a crossroads upon her shoulders.

Meeting his dark eyes, she was silent for a moment, then lowered her own gaze, her shoulders rounding. “It would make it easier if I was,” she muttered, and felt the tension between them lessen. “Then I’d understand a bit more what’s going on.”

He sighed. “Does it help if I tell you I’m just as confused as you?” When she glanced up, shocked, he gave her a twisted smile. “Right now, I’m cruising on instinct. I want to know you better, so that’s what I’m doing. I can’t tell you why, though.”

She let out a puff of breath. “Same goes,” she admitted, shrugging. “I… might have been thinking about you lately. A little bit,” she added, sneering at his grin. “Now and then, when I’m especially bored.”

Theron tapped his empty mug. “Then let’s just take it as it goes, Ciprys. See where it goes. Neither of us has ever been big on planning. Why start now?”

Huffing out another breath, Ciprys finally shrugged. “Fair enough.” She smirked at him. “If nothing else, history says it should be an exciting ride.”

Hazel eyes glinted as he stood, holding out a hand to her. “Oh, I can guarantee that,” he murmured, and she grinned as she slid her fingers into his, letting him help her to her feet. “In fact,” he added, tugging her forward until her toes brushed his, “we could head back to your ship…”

Her communicator sounded, and he cut off as she reached into her pocket with the hand not held in his, pulling it out and toggling it on. “Talk to me, Risha,” the captain replied, her eyes not on the holo of her friend, but on Theron’s eyes.

“Hey Captain, manifest just came in. We’re all loaded up and ready to go when you are. Is that a problem?” 

Ciprys realized she was scowling and carefully smoothed her expression. “No, of course not. I’ll be back shortly; have the engines warmed up and prep the hyperdrive. We’ll take off as soon as I’m on board.” When Risha acknowledged her orders, she toggled the com off, pocketing it. “Theron, I -”

“Have a job to do.” His thumb slid over her knuckles, then he dropped her hand, shoving his own in his pockets. “I get it, believe me. There’ll be other times, other places. I can promise that.”

Ciprys hesitated, then went up on tiptoe to press a light kiss to his lips. She felt him stiffen against her for a split second before he leaned in, returning it. “I’ll hold you to it, spyboy.”

“Fly safe, flygirl,” the spy murmured, and clenched his fists to keep himself from reaching up to trace the smile that curved her lips. “See you around, Ciprys.”

“See ya, Shan.”

He watched her walk off, hands still shoved into his pockets. He still had no idea what the hell was going on - but he had a feeling he would enjoy finding out. Exhaling, he tossed the credits for their caf on the table and strode out after her.

She wasn’t the only one with a job to do.

[revanknightwoman]

[shabre-legacy]

For the kiss prompts: 46 for Tyrenic/Jemsyn and/or 23 for Leikael/Corso

So I borrowed Jemsyn to write this for the prompt. I'll do a post for the Leikael and Corso one after I finish it. For now, enjoy Tyrenic/Jemsyn. If I wrote him ooc please let me know and I'll fix

Tyrenic leans on the arm of his target, a tall Weequay currently ordering another round in the dark club. It wasn’t a high end place, but the kind of fancy that still allowed the sleazy and criminal customers among their clientele. Various dancers were scattered around the room, in lifted cages, on platforms and scattered across the floor.

Tyrenic himself is a lightly dressed as any of them. A pink fishnet crop top that’s almost too small and a tiny pair of leather minishorts that clung to the curve of his ass and finished off with a pair of pink and black stilleto heels, tall under the toe as well as the heel. It made him just a couple inches shorter than the seven foot tall at least Weequay.

He had his eyes made up with glitter shadow, mascara, and heavy eyeliner giving him a perpetually hooded eye expression and a gloss that made his lips look plumper and more kissable then usual. He looked cheap, blowjobs for a pat on the head and a puff of a deathstick cheap; which was exactly what he’d wanted when he walked into the club. It hadn’t taken long for him to convince everyone that he was a new dancer, and even less time when he located his target to convince the man to ‘buy’ him for the night. He feels exposed like this, like everyone is staring at him and not for the usual reasons. It’s exciting, but also makes him nervous. He’s glad he brought Shelerik in as backup. Knowing the other Jedi is in the crowd, playing at being just another patron, but keeping an eye on him is reliving. Nothing that bad can happen, at least not anything he doesn’t have to go along with to maintain his cover. This was important enough to withstand some uncomfortable moments, or a lot of them, with this guy.

He carefully keeps any trace of discomfort off his face as his ‘date’ downs another shot and yanks him in, one hand dropping down to grope Tyrenic’s ass, the other holding his neck possessively as he kisses him, it’s sloppy, with too much tongue and a bit gross, but he goes along with it. Placing a hand on the Weequay’s chest and arching into him, he’s being paid for this after all. It takes a few minutes before the man decides he’s had enough for now and hands their drinks to Tyrenic and starts to guide him towards the dark back corners by the hips. As they make their way through the crowd, some of the other customers jostle them, the target shoved away a moment as a tall Mirialan is shoved into Tyrenic’s shoulder, almost knocking him off his heels. The man catches him around the waist and pulls him upright again, using the moment to drop his head and whisper “Your soldier’s here. Alcove down the hall past the bathrooms.”

Tyrenic just drops his head back letting a simpering smile fall over his face as the target moves back to him. “I appreciate the catch handsome, but unfortunately, I’m all booked for tonight. I’ll be around tomorrow if you’re still interested. I promise it’s a good time.” He half turns to look at the Weequay with hooded eyes. “So which one’s our table again?” He waits until they get there and he sets the drinks down and his target sits before bending over to whisper in his ear. “I’ll be right back and we can start this private party.” The man glares, but Tyrenic dispels it with a nudge from the Force and a wink. “Fresher.”

He makes sure to swing his hips more than necessary as he struts through the crowd, slipping into the hall and making his way to the alcove. He hadn’t had time to let Jemsyn know he was on planet, or going undercover, let alone what type of undercover work he was doing.

The Mirialan Mandalorian is pacing across the small alcove as Tyrenic quietly steps inside. He turns quickly and steps close, grabbing onto Tyrenic’s forearms and looking in his eyes. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Tyrenic looks down at him, the heels emphasizing the height difference, a flirty grin on his lips. “No baby, I’m fine. It’s all fine.”

Jemsyn relaxes a bit, only for the concern to be replaced with a restrained anger. “Ok good. Tell me what the kriff that was? I come in for a night out and I find my boyfriend, making out with some random guy who’s got his hands all over you!” He steps back, folding his arms and staring Tyrenic down.

Tyrenic takes advantage of the height difference to lean over Jemsyn, resting his arm on the wall. “Don’t worry love.” He drops his head till he can whisper into Jemsyn’s ear. “I’m undercover, that man is part of a network grabbing alien refugees from Coruscant and other core worlds and selling them to the empire. We got the info on our way back and didn’t have time to contact you or anyone else before we had to jump into action. He’s got specific tastes and I fit the bill best.”

Jemsyn didn’t look convinced. “And that involves making out with him how? Couldn’t you go in as a buyer or potential business contact?”

Tyrenic sighs. “Wish we could love. But he never meets with contacts he doesn’t know without an introduction and we don’t have time to get one. But he pays a dancer almost every time he comes to a club and the drinks make him chatty. I let him kiss and grope a little, keep him talking, as soon as I get what I need, I signal Shelerik, he steps in and makes the arrest and we use the information to shut down the network.”

Jemsyn nods slowly as he absorbs what was said. “I still don’t like it, but I understand. Try to give me some warning next time you have to do something like this.”

Tyrenic nods before dropping his head to kiss and nip at Jemsyn’s neck. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later. How does a private dance in one of those lounges sound?”

Jem looks up at him with a familiar heat in his eyes. “That sounds wonderful cyare.” He deliberately looks Tyrenic up and down slowly. “I have to say, I like this look.”

Renic preens at the praise. “Glad you approve. I haven’t worn some of this since I was like 16.”

“You are very pretty and I love the way these shorts just cling. Stars you are pretty, all dolled up slutty like this.”

Tyrenic drops his head and his voice, husky and sensual, dripping in promises. “Give me another hour or so to finish up and I’ll be your personal slut for the rest of the night.”

Jemsyn seems conflicted, excited by the idea but not happy about Tyrenic going back to that Weequay. “I’ll hold you to that, but first…” He grabs Tyrenic and twists quickly, slamming the taller Jedi against the wall and stepping between his legs. He leans up at the same time he pulls Tyrenic down and kisses him. It’s desperate and devouring and perfect, Jemsyn pours all of his jealously into the kiss, making sure Tyrenic remembers exactly who he belongs to.

Tyrenic moans wantonly into the kiss, dropping his arms around Jemsyn’s neck and kissing back just as fiercely. His tongue tangles with his lovers as time stops around them. Eventually they are forced to break the kiss to breathe, only for Jemsyn to immediately attach himself to Tyrenic’s neck seemingly intent on leaving hickey’s for Tyrenic to walk out with. Tyrenic uses the last bit of his mental fortitude and will to drag himself up and out of reach. “Later love, after I’m done, you can leave all the marks you like.” He leans down and captures Jemsyn’s lips in another deep kiss before he pushes against the wall and slips out of Jemsyn’s arms. He turns and winks as he waltzes away, his hip swaying in his heels. He couldn’t wait to get this done and finally be able to put on a real show for the person who actually mattered.

[fleeting-sanity]

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Thank you to @swtorramblings for proof-reading!

He slept for the longest time in his entire life, dreamless. His body was still weak; in this year alone, there were too many times where he had to be rescued and nursed back to life. They kept insisting on repaying his kindness that way, which took him back to his own words of extending compassion to others. His eyes stared at his foot, and he told himself to not waste this chance.

But his senses told him that things were bad out there. He wanted to leave Dantooine as soon as possible, believing himself to be fully cured and fit to resume duty. However, he received a surprise guest early the next day.

“Hey. Just wanted to stop by to check on you. I heard from your sister.”

“Thank you. I’m touched you thought of me. Um… how are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m fine, I just found a lead on my objective. Also, Arn’s going to be Knighted next week, just wanna tell you that.”

“That’s amazing! I’ll be sure to attend and give my commendations.”

Tau chuckled. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll try to holo you if you can’t make it.”

It always warmed his head whenever he was around Tau’s presence, for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, or her beautiful features. Further into their conversation, Tau looked like she just realized something. She hesitated for a second before delivering the news.

“Have you watched the broadcast? I can hardly believe that Vaylin is actually alive, after all this time. But I’m glad she won’t be a problem anymore. She and her brother might be sentenced harshly.”

To say that Riornivo was gobsmacked was an understatement. His reaction surprised her, and they were both speechless for a few seconds. The Barsen’thor snapped out of it, embarrassed by the figurative potential of a fly entering his gaping mouth. “I, um… she’s… alive?”

“You seem… surprised.” Tau could sense that wasn't the right word, but asking more felt like prying. The atmosphere turned awkward, when they were mingling with mirth just then. She bid farewell to her fellow Jedi after stating her intention of resuming her mission.

He had to take a moment to sit and digest the information presented to him. That was what his senses were telling him, he thought. Vaylin’s anonymity was never promised permanence, but he didn’t think it would be revealed this soon. Anxiety scoured his psyche, wanting to meet her immediately. There was another thought of how it came to this, which led him to phoning his twin brother. The first few dials failed with a busy signal.

“Red.”

“Can we talk later? I’m-”

“Please, Red. I know-” “I know you know. I think it’s best if we talk in person. I’ll come there tomorrow, don’t go anywhere.”

Rionnic quickly ended the call, feeling unprepared to talk about the situation. He was fortunately saved from follow up calls by his sister knocking on Riornivo’s door. Vyria immediately sighed upon looking at her brother’s facial expression. Before he could utter a single word however; “Hold on. Just… hold on a minute okay? Let me go get my tea real quick!”

Vyria returned as fast as she went. Seeing her face meek and frowny made Riornivo rein back on his intense desire for the truth. This would be a calm and rational conversation–the basics of being a Jedi. 

“Yeah, alright, okay, you’re going to talk about her. Look, before anything, I haven’t been on Odessen since I got here. This is all I’ve heard from Red. She’s safe with her brother. She turned herself in, no casualties–no fuss. I think her Mom’s with the grandkids. Uhh… what else is there…”

“Thank you. Please be at ease, Snowy. I see that you’re quite flustered.”

His observation was confirmed by her taking a big gulp from her cup. “Oh, oh yeah… one more thing. She uh, she doesn’t wanna see anyone. Including you.”

Riornivo nodded. Frankly, his reaction wasn’t what Vyria was expecting.

“Huh… okay, here's some advice you didn’t ask for,” as Vyria’s index finger shot up, her face relaxing. “Maybe this time, you should heed her request–leave her alone, and don’t play into your feelings for her, okay? Remember the Code.”

“W-what feelings? I’m just concerned–didn’t you say Arcann was there too?”

“Ugh, you’re so bad at lying. But you reaaaallly have to listen. Give her space and time,” and then Vyria got up from her seat to leave; “Oh, and… could you uh, bake me a Bestine Threeberry pie again? The one with the golden sauce.”

He gave his sister an affirmation with a chuckle, but not a second later it reminded him of the taste of Vaylin’s cooking. His smile faded. He couldn’t help but feel as if she was plunged back into the worst time of her life all over again, undoing the progress they both have been through. Whether the latter part was true or not, all he could do was nothing, and it corroded him inside.

Perhaps he should write her a letter. With ink.

The first few drafts stacked the refuse bin, but then he remembered to not leave any trace of correspondence between them. Every letter started with an apology. What he wanted was to clarify his feelings towards her, but the concept sounded a little too illogical for him. He tried rationalizing the resistance towards it by two fronts: that it was not what Vaylin needed at that time of strife, and he wanted to keep it to himself. Vaylin deserved more than a man such as him. He kept delaying finishing the letter, as life kept borrowing him away from her.   

But the letter was smuggled in anyway, now in Vaylin’s hands. She kept staring at it, almost going a full day without opening it.

For a cell so completely anti-Force, the lack of intense surveillance perplexed her. Was the Alliance undermanned or under-funded? But it was definitely better than her cell in Nathema. She recalled how there was no privacy inside the glass-walled cage–just another factor designed to break her will. There were no taunts, no torture, no experiments, no conditioning. It was more than she deserved, she thought. 

There were no visitors allowed as per her request, except for Serrus, who handed her the letter. 

Dear Vaylin,

I hope this letter finds you well, despite your circumstances. I want to apologize for the way we parted ways that day. I wish things would have been different… You’ve been an invaluable lesson for me, and I don’t want it to stop. But if you wish to not see me, I respect that. If it’s the opposite instead, I will eagerly fly to your side. You can always confide in me about anything.

Your nieces are healthy and loved. I visited Aryuni and Senya the other day. Understandably, they were deprived of the spirit and drive they once had, but I’m going to help them through it. I’ll make sure they’d always have everything they need without assuming Arcann’s role. Speaking of him, we talked recently about logistics and the reason behind your decision. Without talking to you directly, I can only take Arcann’s words with discretion. We’re working together with your defense team for the trial.

I know you want to be responsible for your actions, but I can’t help believing that you deserve compassion, or another chance living the life free of your father’s dominion and isolation. 

I apologize if my words offend you… or come across as patronizing. You are a strong, independent, insightful, and talented woman. The more I get to know you, the more I admire you. I treasure the times we spent together, and I thank you for being the person you are.

Warmest regards,

Riornivo

She scanned the letter repeatedly to look for something more obvious. It left her feeling rejected yet again, it was as if he was saying nothing while skirting around the subject they should be discussing between them. Of course, the news about her nieces and the outside world was a relief to hear, but it was nothing Serrus had not already relayed to her. She crumpled then threw the letter, annoyed at his empty yet honeyed words. It was unexplainable, but she didn’t feel abandoned this time. The people who mattered to her were all in her corner, and she was sure they’d understand her condition of wanting solitude. Especially that stupid Jedi.

She picked the letter back up, straightened it and kept it inside a cabinet.

Shortly after, a group of Knights and droids delivered additional amenities for her. Even without looking inside their helmets, she could tell that they were on high alert, some nervous, some afraid of her presence. The only words exchanged were that of the Paladin stating their purpose then excusing themselves.

There was an easel with art supplies, a holonet receiver, some gardening equipment, and a datapad. Most of these objects could hypothetically be used as tools for escaping, and she was sure Rionnic knew of that. But from her point of view, this generosity felt unusual for someone like him. Was it his twin brother instead? 

She ignored the new additions to her cell and went to sleep.

From the next day onwards, there were interrogations after another. She mostly spaced out during them, unable to disperse that foggy layer made of his words. Another part of her desperately reached around the darkness for the remorse she should be feeling. 

“Vaylin? Are you listening?”

“It was Arcann who ordered it. I’m just an observer.”

“And what about Voss? Exactly six months and twenty one days after the… five worlds.”

“That was me.”

She admitted to every single crime and atrocities. That wasn’t a popular move with her defense team, but they were aiming for damage reduction anyways. Those discussions with them were droll to her–she wanted to get it over with while leaning towards capital punishment. An instance stood out to her though; one of her lawyers had a wild idea of her seeking asylum in the Empire. He pitched the idea as a gamble: that maybe she would be feared and respected over there, instead of facing consequences. Another lawyer, a Neimoidian woman named Britu, laughed at that.

“You’re kidding, right? Don’t waste our visitation time. Focus on our case!”

She wouldn’t want that anyways; she’s had enough of being used as a weapon. When asked about Arcann’s choice, the lawyers responded by working towards a life sentence. Understandable, as his twin daughters still needed their father. The next days proceeded as usual for her; utilizing the tools she was given with. She painted an abstract piece depicting broken wings representing light amidst the blood and darkness.

Deep down, she felt a vague unfulfillment looming over her heart. 

She waited until there was a break from building her case to utilize the tools given to her for escaping. The note she left stating that she would return to her cell after a few days would probably be ignored, but that’s their problem. All of her escape attempts failed at Nathema, but Odessen felt like it was intentionally unguarded. Was this a ploy of the evil twin? To make her punishment even worse, perhaps?

Being a new master of disguises, she successfully got off the planet by sneaking into an aid shipment and landed on Dubrillion. The feeling of distributing aid to the people she massacred was indescribable. Her hands were shaking. A child amputee was among the ones receiving food from her hands. The girl smiled and thanked her.

“Auntie? Why are your hands shaking?”

It wasn’t just her hands, but her voice as well. “U-uh I, I just… haven’t had b-breakfast yet! Don’t worry about me!”

It wasn’t as if she hadn't seen an amputee before–the example was one of her own blood. But the sight and smell of the destruction did something different to her this time. The way the child hurdled back to wherever she came from, limping and alone. Her co-workers ushered her to resume the distribution upon seeing her idle, but she couldn’t function well due to the overwhelming feeling. She tried defining what it was.  

She was scared of those victims. 

Soon it was break time for the Alliance crew. Her coworkers barely ate anything, and instead spent the time preparing for more aid and helping the restoration effort–the latter had the most participants of the Force-wielding nature, including her. Her Knight disguise allowed her to freely utilize the Force, but cautiously so as to not alert the others of her power. Brick by brick, she reconstructed some destroyed houses and infrastructures. While most of the Alliance personnel retreated to rest their tired bodies, she kept on going. Throughout the process, anxiety never loosened its grip on her. It didn’t matter how many buildings she helped to repair, the dread would not go away.

As the day turned to dusk, she was again approached by the girl from earlier. 

“Hi auntie… we’ve been watching you for so long. Would you want to join us and rest? Please? Aren’t you tired?”

The sweetness of the girl’s tone made her finally stop. When the girl escorted her with the hand on her remaining arm, it made her weak. It didn’t help that the girl almost resembled her twin nieces. She altered her voice as best as she could to ask for the girl’s name.

“My name’s Aulia. What’s yours?

“Um… Syl. You can call me Syl.”

She didn’t dare say a word throughout their short journey to the encampment. There she saw children playing joyfully despite their circumstances. Some Republic soldiers were cooking food en masse, some medics applying tourniquets, some were preparing for a funeral not far from there. 

“He survived initially–for almost a year... Which is remarkable despite the lack of resources we have to help him. The last of his family. But we’ve let him know that he’s loved and remembered…”

The hushed eulogy she overheard distracted her from Aulia who handed her a bread. She apologized sheepishly, but couldn’t think of an excuse as to why she wouldn’t eat the bread yet. Undoing her disguise there would be like a death sentence, especially with how she was careful to stay in Aulia’s good graces. She prayed that the child would buy her next excuse: that she had to answer nature's call first. Luckily, it worked.

She planned to eat but not before finding a spot away from any eyes on her. 

Taking off her Knight helmet, she began eating the bread, which was stale. Every few bites, she kept rotating her head around, paranoid and jittery. It was such an effort to calm herself down–the helmet made things worse, but she had to put it back on before anyone saw her. 

But someone saw her.

[swtorpadawan]

Code Breakers

Author’s Notes: The following story serves as “Part Three” and the conclusion of my In the Shadow of the Hero Trilogy, a storyline that I began with Training Day and Incomplete and featuring my original character in Tyzen Pyne. As with those previous entries, it is part of my expanded Halcyon Legacy, and takes place on Odessen sometime between the Knights of the Fallen Empire and the Knights of the Eternal Throne expansions.

Tyzen Pyne hurried up the hill overlooking the Alliance base on Odessen, joining the many who had already made the trek.

Despite all the bustle and activity – and Tyzen’s lingering anxiety from running late to this gathering – it felt peaceful here.

The Force felt peaceful here.

Looking around, he was awed to see so many people having already assembled.

More than forty individuals were now gathered around the hilltop. Most of them were wearing brown robes of varying styles. Others wore the adaptable armor plating that had become popular during the various conflicts over the years. Others still wore more nondescript garb, clothing that - aside perhaps from the presence of a lightsaber clipped to their belts – would not give away their identities or allegiance.

Jedi. Tyzen marveled.

This was by far the most Jedi that he had seen in one place in years. Not since early in the Zakuulan Invasion, when he and other Padawans had been Knighted on Tython before being sent off to fight.

And to die.

Back before the Republic had given up any hope for victory against the Eternal Empire and before the Jedi Order had been shattered.

As had Tyzen.

And now he was here. On Odessen. Ready to take the fight back to the Zakuulans. Standing amongst the last group of Jedi in the galaxy who could make that claim.

Not for the first time that day, Tyzen thought of Liam Dentiri, his old Master, dead at the hands of some bounty hunter in the pay of Imperials on Tython years ago when the Sith Empire had attacked, prior to the Revanite Crisis.

What would he have thought of his former padawan now?

He was lucky to have learned about this gathering at all, given that his transport – actually a freighter piloted by a friendly smuggler – had only arrived on Odessen late last night, and he’d met only a handful of people in that time.

Fortunately for him, Sana-Rae, the Voss Mystic and leader of the Alliance’s Force Enclave, had kindly informed him of this meeting of all the Jedi who had joined the Alliance when he’d gone to meet her.   

Tyzen regarded the crowd, trying to see if he could recognize anyone in all the small clusters of Jedi congregating amongst themselves.

Although a diverse group by nature, one Jedi stood out to him immediately, her blue skin and red eyes giving her a distinct appearance.

He had never met Master Dazh Ranos, one of the exceedingly rare Chiss who had left their Ascendency to serve with the Jedi Order. But Tyzen had heard rumors about her back on Tython. Despite her achieving the rank of Master, it was said that the Chiss Jedi had never agreed with the Council’s policies and had eventually withdrawn to make her own place in the galaxy, journeying through the Outer Rim Territories and helping people wherever she could. Tyzen imagined that she had seen parts of the galaxy that had never seen a Jedi, especially at times when so many had been needed closer to the galaxy’s core.

He didn’t recognize the towering Ithorian Jedi standing at her side, but he’d already been told that his name was Choza Raabat. Serving as a Jedi Knight during the Cold War, Raabat had crashed on a distant planet in the Unknown Regions while leading a Republic patrol. Marooned for a decade, the Jedi had eventually returned to a galaxy turned upside down with the Order all but wiped out the Republic suffering through another defeat, this time at the hands of the ascendant Eternal Empire.  

Tyzen had heard that the Alliance Commander himself had personally recruited Choza to his cause while on a mission to destroy the Zakuulan Star Fortress above Alderaan some weeks ago. Since then, he – alongside Master Ranos – had taken up a de facto position of leadership among the Alliance Jedi.

That story hadn’t surprised him; Tyzen already had the impression that a great many people had joined the Alliance based on prior meetings with the famous Outlander.

Case in point was the next Jedi he recognized.

Mennaus was a Zabrak Jedi Knight just like Tyzen. The stoic man was only in his mid-thirties but he carried himself like a wizened Jedi Master with decades of experience, seeming to speak only when he had something to say, but doing so with an impressive gravity.

Tyzen had met Mennaus two years ago on Coruscant. Well beneath the surface, of course. Places like the Works were one of the few places left on the Republic capital where they could avoid detection from Zakuul and their dreaded Fortresses. Mennaus had impressed Tyzen with his bearing and resolve; the man seemed to have endured the difficult years in the Coruscanti underground surprisingly well. They had exchanged information, then spoken briefly about easier days back on Tython. Mennaus revealed that, years before on Tython, he had once been saved by a fellow Padawan during the Flesh Raider Uprising.

That same Padawan, nearly thirteen years later, now commanded the Alliance.     

As he recognized more individuals from the crowd, Tyzen looked around, trying to pick out the Alliance Commander. Sana-Rae had told him that it had been the Outlander himself who had called this meeting. Perhaps he was still making his way from the base.

Tyzen deeply regretted not being able to meet with the Commander since his arrival on Odessen the day before. There were things he wanted to say to him. And to ask him.

After all, he hadn’t seen Corellan Halcyon in seven years.   

Tyzen had only met Master Corellan twice before, but both encounters had left a profound impression on his life. He very much would have liked the chance to reintroduce himself to the man once known to the galaxy as the Hero of Tython.

He probably won’t even remember me. Tyzen reminded himself, regretfully.

To many Jedi of Tyzen’s generation, the last class of Jedi Knights to have come of age on Tython before ‘The Fall’, Corellan Halcyon, the venerated Hero of Tython, was the reason the words ‘I am a Jedi’ meant something.

Before Master Corellan had disappeared, presumed killed in action. Just before the Zakuulan Invasion had begun.

Tyzen hoped he had grown up somewhat since those earlier encounters with the famed Hero of Tython. Perhaps not that much taller; his body has stopped growing vertically around seventeen. He’d filled out a bit; his muscles developing and his shoulders growing wider and more confident. Still, overall his build had remained relatively lean and agile, as it had been when he’d been a Padawan.

But his eyes had seen more of the galaxy.

Perhaps too much.

True, Tyzen had not been present for The Fall when – despite a heroic effort and countless sacrifices – the Jedi and their Republic allies on Tython had broken. When Master Satele, the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, had gone missing, apparently on some unsanctioned personal mission. The only members of the Council still active, Masters Ulannium and Gnost-Dural, had evacuated the Temple and the fabled Jedi home world, taking with them all the Jedi they could save and leading them into exile.

Denielle had gone with them.   

Denielle.

He’d tried not to think about her over the years. He’d also tried not to think about her smile. Her laugh. Her kindness. Her touch.

Above all, he’d tried not to think about the sensation of her soft lips pressed against his.

It had all been a mistake. He’d told himself after they’d ended it. The Masters had always preached against such “connections”. 

But Tyzen couldn’t deny their all too brief relationship had left a mark upon his soul. He still felt her absence from his life keenly, even after all this time.

It had been more than five years since he had seen her.

Not since that night on Tatooine when she’d departed off-world with the other Jedi from their combat group, fully understanding that her next battle would be on Tython.

Where the Order would either make good on their escape or face annihilation.

Their parting – he knew other people would have called it a breakup – had been somber. There had been no harsh words; just a regret and acceptance that both of them now felt compelled to follow different paths.

Tyzen understood that Denielle felt that the Jedi on Tython – already preparing to evacuate – needed her aid the most. After all, the fate of the Jedi Order would be decided there.

But there had been people on Tatooine – and countless other worlds – who would need the Jedi’s help. Who needed Tyzen’s help.

And he told himself that Corellan Halcyon wouldn’t have abandoned all those people.

So they had kissed one final time, before Denielle, tears in her eyes, had turned her back to him and left.

Tyzen’s plan to keep fighting on Tatooine had been futile, of course. Within a month, Algrunar, the only other Jedi who had stayed behind, had been killed and what counted for the local government on Tatooine had capitulated. When he’d realized that the people of Tatooine had only suffered more for his presence, Tyzen had finally been forced to flee as well, a local farmer named Galen Besk providing him with a way off-world.

By then, Denielle and the other Jedi had left Tyzen and the rest of the galaxy behind.

He could only hope that she was alright.

Not much later, he’d received a short message from Master Bela Kiwiiks. The encrypted communique had been routed through a secure relay and into his private drop account, no doubt to avoid detection by the Eternal Empire. The Togrutan Jedi had served on the Council for as long as Tyzen could remember, and he’d once helped her evacuate younglings from the Temple during the same battle where Liam Dentiri had met his end.

Master Kiwiiks confirmed to him that most of the surviving Jedi had successfully escaped off Tython and into exile, but that the Force had called on a different path.

Tyzen found that he wasn’t surprised. Master Kiwiiks was still highly regarded for her wisdom and compassion, but she’d be the first to admit that her days as a warrior were long past. He did not fault her for her for making such a choice.

She and her unnamed companions – he suspected they were again younglings, representing the future of the Jedi – were safe for the moment, and she was now caring for those who most needed it.

Tyzen again found that he wasn’t surprised. Master Kiwiiks was a natural caregiver. The council had selected her to oversee the well-being of the Order’s younglings in the first place for a good reason.

She’d somehow known that Tyzen hadn’t been with the Jedi who’d fled Tython and told him that if he needed sanctuary from the Zakuulans, she could offer it.

The offer did not surprise him. She’d always shown him such compassion. That she’d take a risk, however small, to offer him a safe-haven actually seemed natural for her.

When he had declined her offer, Tyzen’s own choice had surprised him a bit.

Fighting the Zakuulans on his own? Without the support of the Jedi? For a Republic that had all but surrendered?

Tyzen had been terrified.

But he knew he couldn’t give up. He had to keep fighting for those who couldn’t flee or protect themselves. If not on Tatooine, then on a hundred other worlds.

Because he knew that the Hero of Tython wouldn’t have given up.

In the dark days that followed, Tyzen helped whomever he could, whenever he could, however he could, while finding food and shelter wherever he could, all the while never staying in the same place for long.

The Eternal Empire’s pogrom against the Jedi had been vicious and even more devastating than what the Order of the Sith had faced. Clearly, Emperor Arcann had determined that if there was a threat of resistance against their rule, the Jedi would have been the most likely source for such a spark of hope for the galaxy.

Now on Odessen, as part of an Alliance led by a Jedi, Tyzen supposed that history had proven that assertion correct.

The so-called ‘Shadow Temple’ network, those Jedi who hadn’t withdrawn from the galaxy and who were now operating in an informal underground, had determined that the few Jedi still active and opposing Zakuul would live longer when they didn’t stay together for longer than was strictly necessary. Occasionally, he’d get word about another Jedi. Sometimes he would hear a bit of gossip that some other Jedi or another was still active and something of their activities.

More often, he’d hear that someone had been caught and killed.

Still, he’d worked with a few other Jedi off and on over the years. Unaw Aharo. Shigar Konshi. Attros Finn. A handful of others. He’d realized one day that most of these individuals were only a few years older than Tyzen himself.

There seemed to be so few of the old Masters still left.

It had been a hard life. And a lonely life.

But he had kept at it. Again, because he knew the Hero of Tython wouldn’t have given up.

Even his cousin, Karache, had eventually reached out to him. He hadn’t seen the Republic Special Forces soldier-turn-independent bounty hunter in more than a decade, but the older Zabrak had nevertheless offered him a place in his crew.

“The Jedi are long gone, Tyzen.” Karache Pyne had declared in his holo-message. “It’s everyone for themselves, out here. Why don’t you come with me? You’d be good in a fight. We can use you.”

By then, Tyzen desperately wanted to say yes. The years had taken a toll on him. Too many cold and hungry nights. Too many allies lost.

Too many friends lost.

Even worse, Tyzen had started to lose hope.

He turned his cousin down, again choosing to follow his own path. The path of the hero.

Because the Hero of Tython wouldn’t have given up.

And now, after nearly five years of fighting, running and hiding, Tyzen found himself here on Odessen. Ready to fight alongside the Hero of Tython.

As if on cue, Tyzen felt a sudden surge in the Force.

The light side of the Force had already felt strong atop this hill, in the presence of so many Jedi. It was peaceful and calming and soothed his wounded soul.

Now it was as if a blinding spotlight were being shown down on them all, even though it was late morning, and the sun was already high in the sky.

It was powerful and invigorating and inspirational.

Had Master Corellan Halcyon been concealing himself, somehow? Hiding behind some nearby bushes, or perhaps a tree a short distance away? Maybe he’d somehow hidden himself through the Force?

It didn’t matter. Tyzen decided. Regardless of where he’d been, he was suddenly there, standing at ease amidst the Jedi. From his confident stance and smile, he’d obviously been watching for some time now, choosing the moment to make his entrance.

Tyzen noted immediately that Corellan wasn’t wearing the distinctive brown Jedi robes or the adaptive body armor he had made famous during his years as the Hero of Tython. Instead he was clad in a new garment; this uniform was elaborate, predominantly white plating with black sleeves and trousers. The accoutrements had a distinctly… Zakuulan flavor, much to Tyzen’s surprise.

But even so, this was who Master Corellan Halcyon, the Hero of Tython, the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order and the champion of the known galaxy, had become.

And if anything, he had become an even greater hero. Just a few weeks ago, Master Corellan had defeated Emperor Arcann in orbit over Odessen, effectively toppling that tyrant from the Eternal Throne. Zakuul was now ruled by Arcann’s sister, Vaylin, who if anything was even more cruel and insane than her brother.

Everyone on Odessen seemed convinced that the Commander and his Alliance would now defeat Empress Vaylin and end the Eternal Empire that had plagued the galaxy for so many years.

Master Corellan himself looked to be in excellent health, despite the countless challenges he had faced. Tyzen had heard, of course, about the five years that he had spent imprisoned in carbonite, isolated from the rest of the galaxy. The reason why he’d been missing for so long. The reason why he’d missed the war. Why he hadn’t been there to save the Jedi, the Republic and the galaxy.

As difficult as the last few years had been for Tyzen, the younger Jedi couldn’t imagine losing so much time off his life.

Still, Corellan looked older. Not physically, exactly. But there was a look in his pale blue eyes that was somehow more… something.

“Thank you all for coming.” Corellan Halcyon formally began the gathering with a welcoming smile. It was the same expression Tyzen had once seen on countless Republic military recruitment posters during the war against the Sith Empire.

The ‘Hero of Tython’ smile.

Looking around, Tyzen could see that the other Jedi had been as startled by Corellan’s sudden appearance as he had been. After a moment of bustle, however, the gathered Jedi settled down to listen.

“I have three matters I wanted to speak with you all about today. Things you all have a right to hear directly from me. I wanted to do so in a place where we had relative privacy.”

His arms opened wide, as if taking in the scenery around them on the hilltop.

“I assure you all, I have seen to it that we may all speak freely here.”

The implication of his declaration was not lost on Tyzen. He recalled hearing that the Alliance’s Chief of Staff, Lana Beniko, was a Sith as well as having once served as the Empire’s Director of Sith Intelligence. Likewise, it was said that there were many other former spies in the Alliance from both the Republic and the Empire, as well as others who would have – until recently at least – had more than enough reason to ‘observe’ the Jedi.

Corellan Halcyon was staking his word that none of these elements would be a concern for them today.

“For the first matter, I’d like to formally thank all of you for making it to Odessen and joining the Alliance. Regardless of whether you were here on the day we laid ground on the base or if you’re only just now arriving, the fact that you were willing to endure such challenges and dangers just to reach this point is remarkable. I know full well that there are many we all would have wished to have with us today who did not make.”

He paused, a somber expression across his face.

Tyzen momentarily thought about the many Jedi had known who’d been killed over the years. He urgently suppressed the emotion as Corellan continued to speak.

“I also know the last several years must have been incredibly difficult for most of you. Both as Jedi and as people.”  

Corellan’s eyes drifted among the crowd, turning from Jedi to Jedi, catching several of them in his gaze before continuing on to the next. He finally caught Tyzen himself, and the young Zabrak felt a rush of excitement course through him.

“Likewise, that you would show such trust in me by coming here under such conditions honors me more than I can ever tell you. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express my gratitude for that, and I hope to prove myself worthy of it.”

Many of the assembled Jedi gave murmurs of assent and affirmation while others waited patiently. Tyzen distinctly picked up the words “We’re with you, Master Corellan.” from one of the younger Jedi.

Not trusting himself to speak, Tyzen found himself simply nodding. He could not think of anyone better suited to lead this fight against Zakuul than the Hero of Tython. Corellan Halcyon was surely the leader who would lead the Jedi back to glory. He would shatter the Eternal Empire’s grip on power and would usher in a new era of peace to the galaxy.

Nevertheless, Tyzen kept his peace, eager to hear more. Through the eddies of the Force around him, he noted that the words had been well-received and appreciated by the Jedi of the Alliance.

But everyone seemed to understand that this was all prelude to something much more important.

Tyzen hoped he knew what that was. Whether he knew it or not, Corellan Halcyon was now leading the largest active contingent of Jedi in the known galaxy.

Why shouldn’t he declare himself Grandmaster of the Order? Tyzen asked himself, speculating.

The Alliance Commander, after a moment’s pause, pressed on.

“The second matter I wanted to share with you was that we have two new additions to the Alliance who are arriving within in a few days: Leeha Narezz and Jomar Chul. For those who are unfamiliar with them, I can personally attest that both are veteran Jedi Knights of great ability and experience. I have no doubt that their arrival will greatly benefit the Alliance.”

Tyzen recognized the names. He had never met either of those Jedi, but they had been active during the last war against the Sith Empire. If he recalled correctly, Leeha was a famed droid engineer while Jomar had been one of the finest reconnaissance scouts and infiltration experts in the Order before the Eternal Empire’s invasion. Both were just a few years older than Master Corellan. 

More recently, he’d heard a rumor that they had served off and on with the Shadow Temple since the invasion these last few years, as had Tyzen.

Corellan paused again, letting another murmur pass through the assembled group before continuing. At some point, this Jedi hero, considered by many the greatest warrior in the galaxy, had learned the art of public speaking. Clearly, he was carefully weighing the mood of his audience.

“With their consent, I am informing you all ahead of their arrival that the two of them have been living openly in a romantic relationship and they have been for several years.”

Tyzen blinked as the resurgence of urgent murmuring resumed, with several of the Jedi present beginning to call out questions for the Alliance Commander. Inevitably, Tyzen himself could only think of his relationship with Denielle with regret.

She had made the choice she’d had to make, and so had he.

That didn’t mean it hurt less.

But for Leeha and Jomar, acknowledging such public breakings from the Jedi code would usually result in their dismissal from the Order.   

Corellan calmly waited for the assembled Jedi to digest his words, then held up a forestalling hand. He had clearly expected such a reaction.

Slowly, the crowd became calm.

“For the record, speaking strictly as the Alliance Commander, I meant what I said before. I have no concerns whatsoever about Leeha or Jomar’s ability to reliably serve as members of the Alliance.” He paused. “However, I know that many of you would have concerns about Jedi openly embracing such a… connection. I assure you, Leeha and Jomar are not oblivious to the implications of their relationship for the rest of you.”

There was another pause as the gathered Jedi seemed to collectively nod in understanding.

“As you know, the council is currently absent, and there is no other legitimate authority to govern such matters. Therefore, I leave it to you to decide whether or not they should be considered Jedi. Both Leeha and Jomar have assured me that they will accept whatever judgement you reach without complaint or appeal.”

“For my own part, I would not presume to interfere in your decision. I ask only that you accept them as fellow members of the Alliance, and to treat them with the respect and courtesy that entails. Whether they are Jedi or not is a matter for the Jedi alone to decide.”

These words, perhaps more from their phrasing than their sentiment, caused a stirring of confusion and unease amongst the gathered Jedi. Plainly, this was not what anyone had anticipated.

Tyzen couldn’t help himself. Boldly he stepped forward, raising his hand before calling out.

“Master Corellan! Can’t you just claim the authority to decide the issue?”

Corellan smiled at the questioner, a warm look of recognition catching his eyes.

“Tyzen. It’s been a long time.”

The young Zabrak suddenly felt his face flush, put on the spot amongst the assembled Jedi.

“I’m sorry.” Tyzen looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling younger than his years. It felt like he was a padawan again. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

He overheard a handful of chuckles as a ripple of amusement passed through the gathering.

Corellan’s calming smile just widened.

“Of course I remember you, Tyzen. I never forget anyone I’ve called a friend.”

He looked around.

“For the record, that same sentiment applies for all of you. Whether I knew you before you came to Odessen or if I’ve only met you today, as of now, I regard each one of you as a friend. With the trust you’ve offered me, I could do no less.”

Corellan’s hand pressed against his own chest.

“Regardless of what is decided today or how the war goes, each of you has done more than enough to lay claim to my friendship just by being here.”

“But Tyzen’s question actually leads me directly to the third subject I wanted to speak to you about.”

Corellan composed himself somberly. He clearly had their full attention.

“I have long believed that people should be judged not by what they call themselves, but rather their actions; for those are a reflection of who they are.” He began.

“In my mind, this is a simple creed. One that has served me well over the years and that has allowed me to achieve many accomplishments.”

“Since I returned to the galaxy, I have made many difficult decisions, and those have led me to this point. I do not regret most of these, but I have given many hours of reflection to my choices. And I’ve come to acknowledge the implications of those choices, both for myself and for my role as a Jedi.”

Tyzen felt a growing sense of anxiety in his belly.

“To that point, concerning own my path as the Commander of the Alliance, there are things that I realize that I must do.” Corellan glanced downward for a moment, then turned back up. “Things that, in good conscience, I’ve realized that I couldn’t perform as a Jedi.”

A faint breeze swept through the gathering.

“For this reason, and before all of you as witnesses, I formally resign as a member of the Jedi Order.”

If Corellan’s earlier statements had drawn a murmur of a response, this one built up a firestorm. Almost everyone started speaking all at once.

The Alliance Commander patiently waited out the storm. Whatever he called himself, however he saw himself, he was more than capable of facing such adversity with a calmness that would have shamed any Jedi Master.

After about a minute, Corellan again raised a forestalling hand, deftly cutting off further questions.

“I understand your concerns. Let me assure you that I have every hope that the Order will reform itself in time. Indeed, I expect that it will. Whatever mistakes may have been made over its history it remains my belief that the Jedi have – on balance – been a force for good. For order and justice, yes, but also for peace.”

That seemed to calm the emotions of the assembled Jedi. Still, they listened on tensely.

“However, it is clear to me that I am not the one to lead such a reformation, even if I possessed the wisdom to perform such a feat. The Alliance, the galaxy and perhaps the Force itself… well, as I have said, they require me to be someone else. Someone I’m already well on my way to becoming.”

“I can promise you all that I will do everything in my power not to pressure any of you into doing anything to compromise your own values.” Corellan paused. “It is the same promise I make to everyone who will join us. But I’ve seen far too many leaders – including more than one Jedi – attempt to force their own beliefs on those who followed them. In my experience, that’s led to hypocrisy at best, disaster at worst.”

Corellan’s hands spread wide again, emphasizing the gathering.

“I will not force my beliefs on anyone else, least of all any of you.” He concluded. “I will ask that people follow me, and the Alliance will have a set a procedures and protocols, but that will be as far as it goes. While I lead it, this Alliance will reflect my values, not be a reflection of any dogma I may follow.”

Master Dazh Ranos stepped forward.

“Master Corellan… Commander… forgive me, but I must ask. Is it possible that… someone else is influencing this decision?”

Tyzen blinked in alarm. He had heard the rumor that some remnant of the Sith Emperor – that evil called Valkorion by the Zakuulans – now resided within the consciousness of his greatest enemy in Corellan Halcyon.

He’d rejected the rumor at the time he’d heard it out of hand, but now he wondered if there wasn’t some truth in it.

Rather than rebuking the suggestion out of hand, Corellan simply smiled patiently.

“I understand your question, Master Ranos. In point of fact, yes. It is certainly possible that that is the case.” He paused. “But no. I assure you that I have meditated on this matter for some time, and I can confidently tell you that this is my choice, alone.”

A green-skinned Twi’lek Jedi Knight named Shiri’ah stepped forward, drawing the commander’s attention.

“Then… you don’t think you’re becoming a Sith?” she asked.

“No.” Corellan shook his head sharply, letting out a slight chuckle. “I can claim more experience in dealing with the Sith than nearly any Jedi living and I can confidently tell you that my own path does not involve embracing the dark side.”

Tyzen remembered watching the Commander fight those Imperial Commandoes on Tython years before, when they had been about to slaughter Tyzen and a room full of young Padawans. The Hero of Tython had fought with an intensity that might have shamed any Sith.

But… it hadn’t been passionate. In hindsight, it had felt almost detached. As if it had been someone else doing it all.

Somehow, Tyzen sensed that Corellan Halcyon might have spoken more but had thought better of it.

Corellan paused, looking around at any of the faces that still met his.

“As I imagine that some of you may have doubts to that, I would be willing to be examined by any or all of you to confirm it.”

A long moment of silence fell over the gathering as no one volunteered. The crowd of Jedi seemed mollified by his words. Tyzen remembered that surge in the Force when Corellan had first made his presence known; he could not reconcile that with the feeling he had experienced from any Dark-Sider – Sith or Zakuulan – he had encountered.

After a few seconds, the Alliance Commander seemed to accept their reaction as tacit assent.

“So to properly answer Tyzen’s question, this is why I cannot weigh in on the subject of Leeha Narezz and Jomar Chul remaining as part of the Order. As I have, in effect, broken with the Order and the Code, it would be a terrible conflict of interest for me to interfere.”

Choza Raabat steepled his fingers together.

“I must ask, Commander, what if one or more of our number breaks from the order as a branch breaks away from a tree?”

Corellan nodded gravely.

“I understand the concern of a potential schism within the Order, Choza. For the record, I sincerely hope it does not come to that. But if a Jedi serving in the Alliance chooses to leave the Order or is dismissed by whatever leadership structure you form amongst yourselves, then that is the business of the Jedi, and not myself or the Alliance leadership.”

“Likewise, if anyone here believes that remaining with the Alliance would compromise their own values, they are free to leave. I would not begrudge them their beliefs.”

He paused, letting the implications sink in.

“As I said before, the Alliance has its own rules that I ask all its members to follow. So long as an individual is willing to abide by those rules, they will have a place here, regardless of what the call themselves.”

Choza Raabat said nothing to this but bowed his head in acknowledgement after a moment.

So it went.

The Alliance Commander spent another thirty minutes patiently answering questions. Some were quite heated. Others were insightful. Regardless, Corellan answered all of them calmly. Gradually, the questions grew less philosophical and more technical. He had clearly been prepared for this as well.

Tyzen could not have imagined Satele Shan or one of the other Masters on Tython giving the ‘rank and file’ that amount of latitude to challenge them. Yet Corellan Halcyon had withstood it all at his own insistence, holding up stoically.

Finally, after seemingly everyone had had their fill, he adjourned the meeting.

“Thank you all again. I hope my answers have brought a sense of purpose, but barring that, I hope I have brought clarity. The purpose of the Alliance is to defeat the Eternal Empire and bring peace to the galaxy, and as far as I am concerned, it always will be.”  

“I hope you will choose to stay. More than that, though, I hope you will understand and respect my choices. If not today, then in time.”

He crossed his arm across his chest and bowed at the waist.

“Thank you.”

With that, the meeting ended.

As the Jedi began to make their way down the hill and back towards the base, Corellan remained behind, exchanging a few parting words with individuals, most of whom seemed surprisingly optimistic. Despite the difficulties ahead of the Jedi of the Alliance, not to mention the challenge of facing the Eternal Empire, Tyzen somehow didn’t think any of the Jedi would be leaving the Alliance.

The young Zabrak hoped that he would be joining them, soon.

Both in returning to the base and in embracing their apparent sense of optimism.

But first, there was something he had to do.

Finally, he and Corellan were the last two individuals on the hill.

Corellan turned to Tyzen and smiled.

“Somehow, I knew it would be you.”

Tyzen swallowed, approaching the former Jedi Master.

“I was just wondering if I should quit the Jedi, too.”

The older human blinked down at him in confusion.

“Why would you want to do that?”

Tyzen took a deep breath and then he told Corellan everything.

Everything he’d experienced since they’d last met on Tython. About Denielle. About receiving his Knighthood. About the war against Zakuul. About staying behind and continuing to fight in the shadows while most of the surviving Jedi went into exile. About the dark years that followed.

About his fear that the darkness of the war had changed something inside of him.

About fighting for so long and so hard that Tyzen had started to question whether he was still fit to call himself a Jedi.

Corellan merely listened patiently, letting Tyzen get it all off his chest.

“… so now I don’t know if I should leave the Jedi, too.” He concluded.

Having finished, the young Zabrak was surprised to realize that he’d only been talking for about five minutes.

He’d been certain it would have taken hours to relay all his troubles. That they could be summed up so briefly was startling.

Now finished, the young Jedi Knight looked up at the Alliance Commander, hoping for wisdom and guidance. Corellan Halcyon was quietly going over what the younger Zabrak had told him.

After all, he’d been so helpful to him before, back on Tython.

After a long moment, the former Jedi Master exhaled, then spoke.

“That was an awful lot, Tyzen.” Corellan admitted. “I don’t blame you for having doubts, and I doubt anyone else could either.”

He paused, carefully regarding his younger companion.

“You do understand that I can’t tell you what you should do?” Corellan finally said.

Tyzen felt his shoulders drop in disappointment.

“Are you sure? I was hoping you could tell me what I should do next.”

Corellan chuckled, then padded his shoulder affectionately.

“For me, it was different. I had to break from the Jedi. If I hadn’t… well, I’ve seen what happened to Jedi who didn’t know the difference between following the Jedi path and following their own.”

“I couldn’t let that happen with myself.”

The Commander looked up at the sky.

“If I hadn’t made this choice, I think that the conflict within me, the same conflict that lies within all of us… it would have consumed me. Like it did Revan.”

Tyzen blinked, startled at this revelation. He’d heard stories about Yavin from before the invasion. He couldn’t imagine what that had been like for Corellan, and he certainly didn’t want to ask.

“You think you would have fallen to the dark side?”

Corellan tilted his head in assent, giving a sort of half-nod.

“Or worse.”

He then reached out, grasping the Zabrak’s shoulder again and turning him away from the base. Both the uncertain young Jedi and the older Alliance Commander looked out at the horizon.

“Tyzen, during the war against the Sith, I saw so many Jedi doing terrible things in the name of victory, or of the Order, or of the Republic, or in the name of the Force, itself. All while still claiming to be acting as Jedi.”

He stopped and exhaled, his arm dropping back to his side.

“I can’t do that. I had to break free of it, even knowing how badly that’s gone for so many other Jedi. I need to succeed where they failed, and trust that the people around me will help me stay the course.”

Corellan turned towards him again and regarded Tyzen somberly.

“Truly, I do not expect anyone to follow me down such a path. And I certainly have no intention of asking anyone. As a concept, the ‘Grey Jedi’ seem perfectly reasonable. Even admirable.”

He exhaled.

“As a collective group with a collective belief system? Every iteration has ended in disaster. That’s why so many incarnations of it fail, either due to internal or external pressures.”

“So with the Force as my witness, I assure you I have no intention of starting a schism. The Alliance is already too close to being a cult of personality without me making it any worse.”

Tyzen made a face at that observation uncertainly as Corellan just chuckled at his puzzlement.

“Anyway, you’re too young for these kinds of philosophical conversations.”

The Zabrak bristled.

“I’m almost the same age you were when you beat the Emperor’s Voice on Dromund Kaas.”

Corellan stopped himself and looked downward at the grass, letting out a slow exhale, plainly having realized the truth in Tyzen’s statement.

“Well. So that’s what growing old feels like.” The Alliance Commander smiled wryly to himself.

Tyzen felt his face flush, embarrassed to think he might have offended Corellan.

“I’m sorry. I meant – “

“I know what you meant.” He reached out again and patted Tyzen’s shoulder, calmly. “That’s just something everyone has to get used to, I think.”

He turned back to his young companion.

“So. After all that metaphysical discussion, what is it you’re really asking me?” Corellan pressed. “You can say ‘I am a Jedi’ or ‘I am not a Jedi’, and I won’t try to stop you either way.”

The Zabrak bit his lip.

“I guess I’m asking you… who am I?” Tyzen asked.

Corellan smiled at that.

“Who do you want to be?”

The young Zabrak paused. He knew the answer, he’d known the answer for years, but it was still hard to say. Swallowing, he forced the words out.

“I wanted to be you.” Tyzen finally murmured. “For the longest time, more than anything else in the galaxy. I wanted to be just like you.”

Corellan’s eyes widened, truly startled for the first time that Tyzen could remember.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize that you felt that way back then. If I had, I would have said…” he exhaled then spread his arms apart, as if lost. “Something.”

Tyzen bit his tongue and looked away, not trusting himself to speak. He felt himself start to breathe heavily.

Corellan placed a hand on his shoulder.

“For whatever its worth, I looked up to my heroes, too, Tyzen.” he offered. “Sagottoh Panaka. Nowan Ko Detizu. Orgus Din. Satele Shan.” He paused. “Revan.”

A comfortable silence settled in between them. In the distance, some native bird let out a caw, possibly to signal to its fellows that it had found some fresh kill to scavenge and feed upon.  

“Each of my mentors, my heroes… well, they all disappointed me in different ways.” Corellan gazed down at the ground. “It wasn’t their fault, mind you. It’s just that the reality of who they were didn’t quite match my impressions of who they were.”

He shrugged.

“Impressions that might have been fantasies.”

“But I don’t blame them for any of that now. Not anymore, anyway. Our mentors, our heroes, are people, with merits and flaws the same as anyone else.”

“But what’s important was that in the end, I learned from each of them. And with time, I learned to become myself.”

“Now it’s easier in that regard. I’ve learned to respect and appreciate them in a new light. Not as my role-models, but as actual people.”

He stretched his neck. It was a strangely normal thing to do coming from a man who Tyzen regarded as anything but normal.

“Like them, I’m a person. A simple man trying to make his way in the universe. That is all.”

He turned back to Tyzen.

“Did you really think that I would think any less of you? For either going with the others who fled Tython, or finding sanctuary someplace else?”

“I… no.” Tyzen swallowed. He was ashamed. Ashamed for feeling weak. Ashamed for feeling uncertain. “I guess not.”

He looked Corellan Halcyon in the eyes.

“I guess… I was worried that I would think less of myself.”  

Corellan nodded in understanding.

“That’s the first lesson. Now here’s the second: After everything you’ve been through, now that you have a chance to breath, have you been true to yourself, Tyzen?” Corellan asked the young Zabrak. “Have you been true to who you want to be?”

Tyzen opened his mouth to answer, then stopped himself. His old Jedi training started to kick in as he chewed over the Alliance Commander’s query, looking within himself for a sense of peace.

He thought about Denielle, and their painful parting.

He thought about every time he’d had to fight his way out of a dangerous situation in the last six years.

He thought about every night he’d spent on a cold street or cave, with a hunger in his belly.

Finally, he thought about the choice of coming to Odessen to join the Alliance.

“I think I have… in the end.” Tyzen finally answered. “It took me awhile, though.”

“Good.” Corellan smiled. “In the long run, you need to be the kind of person you’d respect, even while recognizing your mistakes. Recognizing the good and the bad.”

He looked down towards the base.

“They come from all over.” He mused. “Republic. Empire. Jedi. Sith. Voss. Independents of every stripe. Even Knights of Zakuul, believe it or not. So many differences! And yet… they keep coming.”

Corellan Halcyon smiled faintly. It was a simple gesture that, to Tyzen, radiated hope.

“With the Alliance, I hope to build a place where everyone who joins us can contribute while still being true to themselves.”

He turned his smile onto Tyzen, a look of hope in his pale blue eyes.

“I look forward to meeting the person you are becoming.”

With that, he turned and began his walk back down to the base.

Tyzen watched him depart in silence.

Tyzen could remember that time – in what felt like a lifetime ago – when he had all but worshipped Corellan Halcyon. When he had wanted nothing more than to be the Hero of Tython.

Now, a little older and a little wiser, he didn’t look at this man that way anymore.

But he respected him, perhaps now more than ever. He realized that here was a man who had made his choices and then accepted the consequences.

Tyzen no longer wanted Corellan’s life.

But he could still continue to learn from that life.

He had learned much from being in the shadow of the Hero of Tython.

As he started walking down the hill, he realized that it was now time for Tyzen Pyne to learn how to be himself.

END

Author’s Notes: Parts of this story probably fall under the ‘Unreliable Narrator’ trope. Tyzen isn’t dishonest, but he doesn’t necessarily see everything clearly. I’ll let you judge what parts those might be.

Tyzen, Corellan, Denielle, Karache, Sagottoh, Nowan Ko, Shiri’ah and Ulannium Kaarz are all original characters of mine. All other characters named in this story are actual NPCs from the game, some of whom are rather obscure. (As is my way.) Feel free to ask me about them or look them up yourself on Wookiepedia, if you like. Shiri’ah was previously introduced in my Adas Legacy, but she now gets a supporting role in my Halcyon Legacy.

There are a number of references in the game story to a Jedi purge of sorts carried out by the Eternal Empire during the five-year jump in Knights of the Fallen Empire. It’s a fascinating subject that hasn’t been fully explored.

Any similarities between Tyzen and a certain red-headed Jedi purge survivor from a recent video game franchise are… purely unintentional.  

The Corellan Halcyon that appears here is one who saw Jaric Kaedan, Nomen Karr and Jun Seros make terrible, tone-deaf decisions during the Second Great Galactic War.

For the record, spoilers here, Ranos and the other Alliance Jedi decide that it is not their place to expel Leeha and Jomar from the Order. By the time the Alliance makes contact with the Jedi on Ossus, no one thinks it’s worth the trouble.

Liam Dentiri, a quest-giver on Tython and a boss in the Assault on Tython Flashpoint, was killed in my canon by Xadya, my bounty hunter in the Halcyon Legacy. Since Xadya would also go on to join the Eternal Alliance, Tyzen may find himself challenged in ways he couldn’t have imagined.   

I’d like to incorporate Tyzen into some future stories, though maybe not as a featured character.

I watched a lot of history documentaries during the pandemic and a few of them involved religious schisms throughout history. I found them both fascinating and somewhat depressing. (Spoilers: When it comes to religion, there are no “good guys”. Just times when one group might be worse than another.) But it got me thinking about the “Grey Jedi” in Star Wars, who are incredibly popular in the fandom, but always seem to come up short.  

I still like the character of Bela Kiwiiks from the Jedi Knight story. I don’t know how many of you ever read the Star Wars: Dark Times comic series from Dark Horse, but her situation in my story is rather similar to Master K'Kruhk’s in that tale. It is well established that the Jedi don’t put all their eggs “in one basket” when it comes to their Padawans and younglings, as they have many enclaves all over the galaxy. Kiwiiks was returning a group of younglings from such an enclave to Tython when she was cutoff by the Eternal Fleet. Deciding that the younglings needed her more than the Ossus Jedi would, she took her charges into hiding, much as K’kruhk does during the time of the Galactic Empire.

Karache’s line to Tyzen is a reference Han’s line on Yavin to Luke in Episode IV. Naturally, Corellan later delivers a line to Tyzen that was directly pulled from Jango Fett in Episode II. I love my little Easter Eggs.

Corellan’s outfit during the events of this chapter is known as the “Ruthless Scion Armor Set” from the Cartel Market. He would later change it again, but this is what he wore for most of Knights of the Fallen Empire and Knights of the Eternal Throne expansions.

I was originally going to mention Ashara Zavros in this piece, but the tangent that summoned got out of hand.

Although I wasn’t reading the Expanded Universe novels at the time, Luke’s speech to the Jedi Order in Dark Nest III: The Swarm War always resonated with me. It’s important for one’s followers to know where their leader stands, and Corellan is attempting to do the same here. (Though obviously, Corellan takes a very different approach.)

Thank you for reading, and may the Force be with you.

Tagging!

@distressed-gizka @rikki-roses @eorzeashan @grandninjamasterren @space-unicorn-dot @mysterious-cuchulainn-x @iacyper9 @sullustangin @stars-ephemeral @taina-eny @brainmonkeyscartwheeling-blog @nebulis-ceartais @raven-of-domain-kwaadthe-raven-of-highever @nekorinnie @fandomfangirl23 @abbee-normal

[serenxanthe]

Before Umbara: A SWTOR Snippet

I was thinking about how Theron would act in the run up to enacting his plan on Umbara. Would he act exactly the same to prevent detection? Would he actually begin to act more coldly to make the betrayal more believable? Would he be able to completely avoid showing his true feelings for The Commander, or would they leak out against his will?

Seren began slowly to awaken with a sensation of warmth and safety. As her consciousness fully returned she realised that it was because Theron was wrapped around her entirely, pressing her close into his body, his head resting on hers and his arms holding her tightly. Again. She’d woken this way almost every morning for the past couple of months.

It reminded her of how Theron had been with her seven years ago, back when he and Lana had first thawed her out from her carbonite tomb. At night, especially when he’d thought she was asleep, he’d clung to her, wrapping his whole body around hers. During the day, he’d been afraid to let her out of his sight, and had wanted to be touching her all the time. Not necessarily in a sexual way, he’d just wanted the physical reassurance that she was there, that she was real. It had all made sense, given that he’d been without her for five years, and had believed she was dead for the first two of those.

Theron had gradually relaxed over all the years they’d had since then on Odessen. Still worrying about her when she was genuinely in danger, still affectionate, definitely not taking her for granted. But not like this.

Why had this behaviour returned? And only the night time behaviour besides. During the day he was professional in public, almost standoffish. Somehow, they’d hardly managed any private time as a couple other than at night for the last two months. She knew he was working around the clock to find the traitor, but she missed him. And then he clung to her at night, but said nothing about why; what he was feeling.

She’d asked him, of course. Her gentle playful hints, something he usually responded better to than outright questions about his feelings or their relationship, hadn’t worked. So she’d eventually asked him outright what was wrong, whether he was afraid of losing her. Theron had looked devastated, although he had tried to pretend not to, and when he eventually choked out a single phrase, ‘the traitor’ he’d sounded close to tears, his voice thick with emotion.

Seren had done everything she could to reassure him. She’d told him that she trusted him and Lana with her life, that she knew they’d find the traitor. He’d just shaken his head wordlessly and pulled her into a tight hug, her face pressing against his chest. She didn’t know what else to do or say to help him feel better, but she was resolved to try and have another talk with him today, even though he’d hate it.

Seren lay in Theron’s arms trying to plan how to broach the subject again without him shutting down. She was still mulling over her words when, to her surprise, the doorbell of their quarters chimed. She glanced at the chronometer, 06.15! Who would be bothering the Commander in her private space at this hour? It could only be Lana, and it must be urgent. Seren began to gently disentangle herself from Theron’s embrace, but to her surprise his arms tightened even further around her.

“No!” Theron pleaded, sounding heartfelt and very much awake.

Theron usually got up as soon as he woke up, but Seren realised he’d been lying in bed wrapped around her instead this morning. How long had he been awake?

“Theron, I have to get up.” Seren told him gently. “It’s probably Lana, and whoever it is, it must be urgent.”

Theron just clung to her, his face buried into her hair. 

Seren squeezed his arm, and started to shift herself out from under it.

Theron was stronger than her, or at least he would be if she didn’t have the Force, but she never really noticed the fact because he’d never really tried to constrain her, ever. Until now.

Still struggling to shift his arm, Seren said, “Theron…” 

Her tone of voice must have conveyed that she was serious, as with a hard breath that sounded suspiciously close to a sob, Theron finally let her go. She jumped out of bed and put on her robe. Before reaching the door, Seren turned around to blow Theron a reassuring kiss, hoping for a smile from him, but his gaze slid away from hers and he didn’t respond, his face blank.

As Seren opened the door Lana said without preamble, “We’ve got them. We know where the traitor is. Umbara. We need to leave straight away before the intel goes stale.”

[chaosk1ng]

So I'm researching for a fic I wanna do for Star Wars and ended up in the Old Republic Era and when I realized I decided to check when Revan was born.

Man would be 13 at the time this story is likely gonna be set and now I just want a cameo so I can talk about how adorable a child Revan would be. Man is just a baby omg.

[kwrite1776]

The problem with hobbies is that the more you do them, the more you improve. Which is a wonderful thing. Except every time I learn a new/better way of bookbinding I want to go back and immediately rebind all the books I've already done so they're better. Which, again, is fine, but man does it cause some massive delays in actually finishing projects.

(Also, my apparent inability to cut paper in a straight line, but that's a whole other problem.)

The good news though is that the improvements are noticeable.

My early attempts of binding @sullustangin's first seven stories (The Body of Evidence, Evidence of the Body - The Cosmic Deck) of Corellian Whiskey and Sullustan Gin.

Versus the latest, and much improved bindings of the same stories.

And next up will be the Grand Reveal, which, based on the typeset I have, is going to come in at around 550 pages, so that will be fun. And then it's on to Yavin again. (Third time will be the charm there, I hope.)

[kemendin]

Chapter III: Shedding Masks

When a critical mission for the Empire goes wrong, MALAVAI QUINN and LORD KHEL SUTEK find themselves lost behind enemy lines in the inhospitable ice-wilds of ILUM. With only each other to rely on, and their recently-formed relationship still relatively untested, the strain of survival under such circumstances is bound to cause a few cracks. But for two men with life-long tendencies towards walling themselves away - perhaps a few cracks are just what they need in order to start sharing things they’ve long kept inside.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior Words: 13,500/?? A/N: Chapter 3's been sitting at nearly finished for ages, but I finally got there! This one *cough* absorbed a LOT of my opinions about how I've seen Quinn treated in the fandom, and gave me an outlet for my indignation, as well as making it better. Sorrynotsorry.

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

Khel gave a small hum of thanks, sitting himself up to accept the canteen. He took several slow sips as eyes travelled thoughtfully over their makeshift camp.

“I must say, you know what you’re doing. Sometimes I forget how good you really are,” he complimented the other man. “I ought to let you take charge more often.” 

His words were light - but something vaguely suggestive in his tone brought a faint flush to Malavai’s cheeks. 

“I wouldn’t dream of giving you orders, my lord.”

“No?” Khel smiled a little - the first since the tunnel’s collapse - and glanced over at him. After a moment’s consideration he leaned closer against Quinn, murmuring, “Not even if I asked you to?” 

His cold lips brushed across Quinn’s jaw, and the captain’s breath stuttered audibly. Clearing his throat, Quinn hastily bent forward again to fumble with his backpack, searching through it for some field rations, though his hands seem to have gone inexplicably clumsy on him. Beside him, Khel let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re still quite shy about this, aren’t you, Quinn?” the Sith observed with mild interest, not to mention amusement. “Even when we’re completely alone.”

“I - “ Quinn hesitated, but there was little point in denying it, and so he merely went on, “...Yes, I’m afraid I am. My lord,” he added quickly.

“Why is that?”

Quinn straightened again, but kept his gaze averted from Khel; instead he watched the reflective surface of the foil-wrapped ration packs as it crumpled and contorted beneath his suddenly worrying fingers.

“I’m not quite sure,” he admitted lowly. “I’m not - used to this, juggling business with pleasure. I haven’t managed to find the balance yet.”

Khel tilted his head; Quinn could feel the other’s grey eyes studying him, before the Sith said evenly, “No… you’re not sure, are you?” Another pause, with only the quiet flicker of the torches and the crinkle crinkle crinkle of shifting foil to break the silence, and then - “Does it bother you, how forward I am?”

Quinn shook his head quickly. “No, my lord,” he assured; but saying it caused him to wince internally, and a beat later he was forced to amend, “That is - it doesn’t bother me, precisely, I’m simply - it’s taking me longer than I anticipated, to adjust to this new… dynamic, between us.” Crinkle crinkle crinkle.

“It took you long enough to adjust to the old one,” Khel pointed out, a touch of wryness in his tone. But he sobered again, and gingerly shifted his weight so that he was angled more towards the other man. A slender hand reached out, as though to curve around Malavai’s jaw; but then Khel seemed to think better of it, and stopped with his fingers still outstretched in the warming air.

“If you’re having second thoughts, Quinn,” he started quietly, “if this isn’t working - I want you to tell me. I’d rather know now.” 

[glass-warehouse]

spent my evening making this little thing, which I'm sure someone must've done before

it's a Chiss namemaker!

I know there are others online, but I always felt like I couldn't quite do what I wanted to on those. this should scratch that particular itch

LINK: [ Chiss Name Format - SWTOR.xlsx ]

(The link will take you to a OneDrive Excel spreadsheet. It should work on mobile as far as I've tested it :) )

Please bear in mind that the nature of a OneDrive file means that all edits and changes are public, and a history of those changes is catalogued. A level of respect for both me and anyone else who uses the file would be appreciated. Thank you!

[tiredassmage]

wip wednesday

woe! for it be wednesday and the desire to make words domed me in the head last night, so you may all have more 'dot what au are you on now?' wonderings! the premise context on this one is a bit long-winded, so the short of it is aus with friends! au where friends blorbo was the inquisitor! [it... does not go well. for most involved, lol press f, etc.] so! this piece is several(?) years post-nathema conspiracy, a little drabble on... tyr and theron and trying to heal through the aftermath of an eternal alliance era that... wasn't so kind to them.

“Theron…” Tyr sighs heavily with a hint of frustration that Theron wants to flinch from. He struggles to swallow down the urge wriggling at the back of his throat if only because Tyr’s hand draws steadily up and down his arm.

“Look at me.” Two fingers reach out and gently tap under Theron’s chin with the softly rasped words.

Theron nearly frowns a moment, nearly shrugs his chin out of his partner’s embrace, but reluctantly gives to the request. Tyr rewards the tilt of his head by caressing his jaw. A soft, easy smile starts to paint across the ex-Cipher’s lips.

He’s tired - a very different kind of ‘tired’ than Theron remembers when they stood together in the Alliance. The Kaasi edge has started to bleed from his voice after the many years separated from the capital planet for something a bit more roaming, for something warmed by a sun more commonly seen than that which may or may not have broken through the storm clouds.

Theron leans faintly into his calloused palm. A few more silver threads mix with sun-muddied blonde at Tyr’s temples. He used to say Darth Nox - Emperor? It… Well. It doesn’t much matter what the dead prefer.., does it? - would drive him to it earlier. He’d smiled less and less about it as the Alliance matured.

But now..? Now, the ‘tired’ looking back at him has a gentler kind of warmth - the kind he hasn’t felt… maybe since Rishi.

The thought’s almost enough to make Theron tremble.

Tyr shuffles a bit against the pillows, squirming to lay a bit more on his back, to steady Theron against him. The brief grunt of effort dispels the smile for something more…

Theron’s eyes drop, blindly skimming along, eager to find some indeterminate distraction to settle on. His hand moves towards Tyr’s wrist. He shouldn’t need to-

“Theron.” He can hear the frown without having to look back. That was more like it.

Except the caress moulds firmer and directs his fleeing eyes back to Tyr’s knitting brow.

“Stay. Please?”

Theron blinks, breath stilling in his stiff shoulders.

Tyr’s next smile is fragile, framed with barely a breath of a tight chuckle. “I… I’ve lost quite enough, by now… Or so I thought, at least.”

Theron’s jaw shifts. Tyr’s touch softens to fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, his thumb brushing along his cheek.

And his eyes follow. “I’ve thought I’d lost everything so many times.” He swallows. His touch drops lower once more, cupping under his jaw to steady his thumb against Theron’s chin. “I’d thought… Finally… Finally, I’d lost everything, and I had no more to lose… Only to find there was always just… one more thing… Always something more to lose…”

The tightness around Tyr’s eyes threatens to shorten Theron’s already arrested breathing. He faintly realizes his other hand has tightened, twisted into Tyr’s shirt against his side. His grip nearly flexes to release, but-

“Always some… part of me to lose, I guess,” Tyr breathes shakily.

The same hands that hadn’t followed when Tyr left Odessen… however many cursed years ago it’d been now. The same hands that had strangled any hope of better out on Nathema - had strung it up in odd tresses and shot it bloody before it could even realize it’d waltzed into a trap. Tyr closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath with some unsteadiness. His thumb works uneasily across Theron’s chin, drawing their eyes back together. “And then I…” Another sharp exhale that cracks the painful veil threatening to constrict around him once more. “And then I didn’t… I haven’t lost you, Theron. Not yet.”

[anchanted-one]

Peacebringers Book 6: Book of Storms. Beware the Reaper

Begun, KOTFE has. Back I am, to the book that started my journey.

[captainderyn]

To Think I'd Find You Again [Fic]

This idea has been in the works and many iterations for awhile. All I know is that I got struck with the Vibes the other day and simply could not write something about it. :')

Aramys belongs to @lumielles (<3)

Summary: Wren's world as she knows it is falling apart. Stricken from her place in the Empire, stranded on a backwater world with a distress signal going nowhere, she finds the person she never thought she'd see again.

---

Unknown Planet; Two Months Post Exile. 

Her broken down ship was the least of Wren’s pressing concerns. There were many, an entire book of concerns that she should and could be worried about. 

For the old, clunky ship that bore her from Dromund Kaas to this unknown, backwater planet breaking down to be the least of her concerns meant that this situation was truly, horribly, gone south. 

Three things plagued her now: 

One: the only mechanic in this backwater hub had scammed her, leaving her already low bank account unfortunately short of the credits she needed to do anything now that she no longer had the Empire’s backing. 

Two: Whether the mechanic was just a front for a crime syndicate or whether it was a group of desperate people who thought turning her over to Acina or the Eternal Empire’s goons might make them a pretty chunk of change, she now faced a warehouse of people with nothing to lose and what seemed like unlimited blaster bolts. 

Three: The distress signal she’d been broadcasting almost nonstop since she’d come to a not-so-clean landing on this planet was still unanswered. 

She wasn’t sure what she expected; she had no one anymore. Acina and the rest of the Council had cast her out and turned their back on her when she’d been one of two votes against aligning with the Eternal Empire. Through all her years in Kaas City she’d kept her real social circle small and at arm's length, despite all the socialite gatherings she’d attended. One of the truest friends she’d had left years ago, and it wasn’t as though Wren could simply call her holosignal. 

Wren deflected a blaster bolt into the wall with a shower of sparks, flinging out a chain of lightning that bounced between three mercenaries. 

The lightsaber in her hands was clunky, misshapen to her energy. Her own, which she’d made during her time at the Academy and had synergized with her powers despite all the time it’d laid unused, was scrapped in a trashcan in the Citadel now. Acina had seen to that before she’d had Wren removed from the Council chamber. 

Wren did not fight with elegance, she did not fight with grace. She did not even fight with the brutal sophistication of the most violent Sith. She fought with desperation, with a panicked frenzy akin to a cornered beast. The unfamiliar saber in her hands felt unwieldy, clunky and awkward as she hacked and slashed at the enemies backing her down the hallway as she made a run from the main room. 

Her breaths came ragged in her ears. 

This was too much. Already a trail of mercenaries marked her path through the warehouse, but more poured in from every doorway. If she wasn’t careful she’d be cornered, dropped and chained and sent to whatever prison they deemed most profitable. 

The group at the far end of the hallway cleared, and it didn’t register that she was tripping over their bodies as she stumbled into the next room. Metal rang in her ears and she whirled around to find the way she’d just come blocked by a sheet of metal, ripped from the wall. Light reflecting in that metal was all the warning she had before she whirled around, blocking a fierce blow from another lightsaber. 

Pure, feral survival instinct took over as she backstepped, parrying off a flurry of blows until her back slammed into the sheetmetal and the blinding, spitting light of her own stolen lightsaber and the other blinded her. 

From the first connection of their blades, intuition told Wren she would not win. Were she not horrendously out of battle practice, she still would stand no chance. The blade that connected with hers was wielded by one who’d seen battle. 

Wren’s power surged around her, an untamable and uncontrollable sea. Her hands began to shake on the grip she had on the saber. She should unleash her power fully, sending it out in an electric wave. Do anything, something, to survive.  

Far deep within her, something stopped her. Deep within her, something stayed in her hand even as she fought against it. Lightning ignited then dissipated across her skin in a frenetic dance. 

Familiarity, whispered the Force to her. 

Pulling on her strength she forced the lightsaber aside and in that moment her heart stuttered to a stop. Everything around her tunneled, the sounds of mercenaries from a different area of the building fading to a ring.

She pressed her back against the sheet metal, hands limp at her sides. Her death-grip on the hilt was all that kept it in her hand, trembling and tremoring. 

Aramys pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, bloodied from battle. Dark eyes that Wren had once known so well, that had belonged to her dearest friend, darted wildly over her. 

Wren took her in, breath coming more sharply than before as the past collided violently with her present. 

It was Aramys who moved first, stepping back into a ready position with her dualsaber poised behind her to strike. How many times had they sparred together, with that very position combined with a competitive smile?

“You’re finally here to fight me?” there was a sharp edge to Aramys’ voice that Wren didn’t remember, like shattered glass. 

Wren’s lungs were empty of air, no matter how much she tried to draw it back in. The tiny shake of her head was either imperceptible or Aramys didn’t believe her. 

Aramys gestured to Wren’s own blade. “If you're here to, if you want to, I’d deserve it.” 

Following her gesture, Wren stared at her lightsaber that wasn’t her own as if she couldn’t believe she was still holding it. The blade sputtered, whatever failing and faulty crystal was inside of it barely held together with Wren’s unstable grip. Eyes fixated back on Aramys, she let the hilt fall to the ground. It clattered away. 

Reality must be slipping through her fingers, cut away from her like scissors cut thread. 

“You’re…here.” Wren gasped out like a drowning woman, the only words that would surface. 

That, at the least, gave Aramys pause. The blades of her dual saber trembled. She rocked a step forward, then back. 

“I am.” she finally said, though the words were flat. 

Wren took a step forward, stopping when Aramys rocked a step back. 

“I never thought I’d see you again.” she said, voice shattering into pieces in between see and you. 

Pain lanced through Aramys’ expression. She deactivated her weapon, hooking it back onto her belt. 

“You haven’t hunted me down for the Council, for revenge for how I left you?” 

Something in Wren’s heart wrenched at the thought that she would ever have done something like that. She shook her head. 

“I didn’t even know you were here.” 

“Then the distress signal, it was yours?” Aramys said almost to herself and whatever else was lost to Wren as Aramys’ long dormant presence crept over to hers, brushing by her ever so lightly, ever so tentatively. 

The familiarity was enough to steal what Wren had regained of her breath and as she ripped away the scar tissue that had built up over their bond since they’d lost contact, it was like lost pieces clicking back into place. A part of her, restored anew from the gaping hole that had been torn. 

Aramys’ energy wound curiously, suspiciously around Wren, circling her like a prowling cat. 

It occurred to Wren then that she was the enemy now, or at the very least, was no longer friend. She was no longer with the Empire either, but Aramys did not know that. 

She sank to her knees, extending her hands out in a gesture of surrender though she’d already thrown aside her saber. 

“I’m not here because of anything you’ve done. My ship… it was stranded.” 

 Aramys’ boots clicked across the metal flooring as she approached Wren. Her hands gripped the edge of the gray hood of Wren’s tunic that had half-fallen in the fighting. As she tugged it down, the prowling of her presence ceased, instead bumped against her as a housecat would.

“If I still didn’t think there was half a chance you’d kill me, I’d take you back to my ship for a chance of clothes; gray washes you out something terrible.” 

Wren looked up at Aramys, taking a long moment to parse out that it was a wry smile she wore on her lips. It shocked her system enough that she choked on a watery, uncertain laugh. 

It was with agonized sincerity that she said, “I would never.” 

The wry smile slipped off of Aramys lips and that pained expression flitted over her face again. “I wouldn’t blame you.” 

For the first time since realization had set in, Wren really looked at Aramys, now finding the subtle signs of the years and the stress that had happened in the time they’d been apart. She found that she wanted to sit down and know what had happened, to know everything that had passed her by. 

Wren brought her hands up to curl over Aramys’ forearms, using the physical motion to ground herself out of her mind, where their energies in the Force circled and explored and tried to make sense of the other person standing in front of them. 

“I have lost everything, Aramys. Coming here to kill you…it would gain me nothing but pain I’d never recover from.” 

Aramys’ brow furrowed, lips pressing together. Her fingers curled curiously in Wren’s hood, working the fabric as she looked closer at Wren. 

“Lost everything…?” she murmured. “With the signal…you aren’t here with the Empire?” 

Hearing someone else say it hit Wren like a blow. The place she’d always known, her home she’d been raised in, had cast her out. She gave a shaky nod. 

“I left.” she said. “I couldn’t do it anymore.” 

Aramys was quiet for a long moment. When she pulled away, Wren’s heart flipped and plummeted through the floor. But then Aramys extended her hand to Wren, curling her fingers in a come along gesture. 

“Then come with me,” Aramys’ voice hitched up to make that statement into a question. “At least to my ship. We have…a lot of things to discuss, I think.” 

There were years spanning between them, harsh words slung at each other buried beneath time and lived experiences. Who knew what would happen if they unearthed the old wounds between them, what would happen if they laid bare what had happened in times past. 

Wren grabbed Aramys’ hand and let her be pulled to her feet. 

Some part of her whispered that some unknowns were meant to be stepped into.

[inyri]

❛ it would have been better to die. ❜ for the sentence starters! I'd love to read some swtor but if another world speaks to you more then go for it ^^

(This may or may not show up in a future chapter in some form- this version is emphatically a draft and I’m still working out the dynamic between these two, so we’ll call this a character study.)

SWTOR. Nine and Satele.)

*

“-because of a lie?” Satele raises an eyebrow over the rim of her cup. “Forgive me, but I’d have thought Theron would be used to that.”

“Because you know him so well?” Void, she’s got to get out of here. When she tries to sit up, though, her head throbs ominously where it had slammed against the canyon wall and her nerves hum electric and she sighs, settling back onto the pillow. She could use another kolto syringe or even a few tablets of painkiller but she owes her too much already so she turns to her side instead, face toward the cabin wall. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, “particularly not with you. Look, I appreciate that you rescued me, but-”

If that registered there’s no sign of it in Satele’s voice, as even and unperturbed as ever. “You would have died there otherwise. The shade stalkers were already swarming when I found you.”

Nine sighs. “Or you’d have killed me. You told me that already.”

“Not once I was reasonably certain you were still you.”

“You ought to have left me.” With her eyes closed the pain quiets. “It would have been better if I’d died. At least with him inside my head he couldn’t hurt anyone else, or if I’d died here alone maybe I’d have dragged him down with me to the hells. Now he’s loose again and-” oh, stars- “we’ve got to warn them. If he tries here what he did on Ziost-” The cup clinks gently against the floor grate, the little crate scraping backward as the Jedi rises to press her hand against her forehead. It was meant to calm her, she thinks, but it reminds her for a moment of the restraining strap in the chair at the Intelligence Tower and she twists away abruptly- or tries to, her body hopelessly tangled in the thin blanket. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Ciph-” Satele catches herself neatly; she barely heard the correction- “Commander, and he’s not going to hurt Odessen. Be calm.”

When she rolls onto her back she’s looking down at her and the color’s wrong but oh, her eyes look so much like Theron’s. “You can’t know that.”

“I do. He’s still tethered to you-” (but he said- she interrupts, and Satele raises a hand to quiet her)- “and he will be until he is destroyed or you die. If he wanted to leave you to claim another host or draw more power he’d have done so at the first possible opportunity, which would suggest that he’s incapable of it. So either he truly believes you’re the best option he has, which seems unlikely, or you’re the only option he has. Why did he hurt you?”

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings.”

Force, even her eyeroll’s just like his. “I only meant that you aren’t Force sensitive- or weren’t, though it’s difficult to separate you from how he’s changed you. It breaks a pattern he began a thousand years ago, that he deliberately bred into his heirs, and I cannot imagine it was intentional.” Satele shrugs, settling back down onto the crate. “I suspect he thought he could simply shunt you aside and assume control.”

She carefully unwinds the blanket from around her legs. “More fool he, then.” No one controls her. Never. Never again. “And to answer your question, he thinks that if he keeps hurting me that eventually I’ll give in and let him help. I said no.” Her belly twinges. “Again.”

“And yet you’re still alive. Still you.”

“Yes,” she says quietly. The light’s hurting her head again; she closes her eyes tight against it.  “For what little that’s worth.”

“It might be worth everything,” Satele murmurs. “It might be worth the galaxy.”

[swtorpadawan]

Chaos is a Ladder

Author’s Notes: The following story takes place on Hutta during Act III of the Class stories. I name-drop a lot of minor NPCs from the game, so I hope you’re into that sort of thing. Content warnings for references to off-camera extreme violence.

“Chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them.” - Petyr Baelish, aka 'Littlefinger', HBO’s Game of Thrones, season 3, episode 6, "The Climb"

Loyalty on Hutta is a complicated thing. The woman who called herself Linh noted to herself in a detached moment of clarity, drawing her consciousness away from the nearby stench of death and the distant sounds of fighting.

Nominally, of course, everything on Hutta was controlled by the Hutts. Any attempts to wrest control of their adopted home world away from the Cartel over the centuries – either by the native Evocii or by the various rival crime lords and organizations that thrived on the nearby ‘Smuggler’s Moon’ of Nar Shaddaa – had been ruthlessly crushed.   

But in practice, the Hutt Cartel ruled Hutta solely through fear.

And it was an effective and even a pragmatic fear, one that allowed a relatively small number of Hutts to each rule over their own private fiefdom, with the backing of countless guards, servants and slaves, aided by any number of semi-independent mercenaries and bounty hunters, and supported by a culture that ensured that however much Hutts might quarrel, fight and rage against each other, they always seemed to band together the moment the status quo of their world was challenged; even if one Hutt did fall, another would simply take their place or absorb their territory, with predictable consequences.  

But it was still a control built on the foundation of fear nonetheless. Meaning that any loyalty anyone showed to the Hutts was an illusion, and that illusion was virtually everywhere.

Based on her own training and experiences, Linh had always suspected that the moment peoples’ fear of the Hutts was eclipsed by their fear of something else, those illusions would be dispelled, and those people would turn.

And that suspicion was now being confirmed as people were now turning on Suudaa Nem'ro, more popularly known as Nem’ro the Hutt, leader of the Nem’ro Clan and lord of the industrial town of Jiguuna.

It had all started less than an hour ago.

The unnamed Houk had shown up suddenly at the entrance of Nem’ro’s Palace, calling out the Hutt and bellowing a series of extraordinarily graphic and imaginative threats against Nem’ro’s person.

This had initially been little cause for concern to Linh and most of the other occupants of the palace at the time, who initially took this development for a rather convoluted suicide attempt. This Houk was clearly insane and was looking for a way to die.

Then Nem’ro’s guards had converged to intercept the intruder… and they had been the ones who started dying.

The amused indifference of the populace had turned to concern and then to fear.

Then the fear had turned to panic.

As the Houk made his way through the palace, killing anyone in his path in a merciless onslaught, everything had descended into chaos. Every second the Houk had spent viciously cleaving his way through defenders with his vibro-blade was a second where resistance seemed to melt away.

The panic had turned to rioting, as everyone’s immediate goals had shifted.

It wasn’t just the Houk’s doing, of course. Had all the guards, servants, hangers-on and guests in Nem’ro’s palace bravely united to stand against the assailant, they surely would have taken him down eventually.

Surely. Linh thought to herself in reassurance, even though she was not completely certain at all.

Many of the occupants of Nem’ro’s palace were perfectly willing enough to feign bravery when the odds were overwhelmingly in their favor and there was a chance for personal gain. But they were quick to turn and flee the moment that equation was in doubt.

No. This crisis was the result of people on Hutta fearing something else more than they feared a Hutt. The instant that happened, all bets were off. Tomorrow, or a year from now, a new equilibrium would inevitably reemerge, with some other Hutt in charge.

No one cared about that now.

The majority of these people simply wanted to survive today.

Far worse than these sheep were the many individuals in the palace and throughout Jiguuna who had instinctively started taking advantage of the chaos. Many saw the opportunity to finish old scores with a rival at a moment when they figured they could get away with it. One or two were petty enough to simply took the chance to mug some of the wealthier patrons of the lord of Jiguuna. A few even risked looting the treasures of the Hutt’s palace.

Fools. Linh thought to herself. She didn’t know how many of these opportunists had made it out of the palace, but she had to assume it wasn’t many. No amount of credits (or personal satisfaction) were worth your life.

Not when everything is falling into anarchy. Linh thought to herself.

She heard fighting – or rioting – in the distance. She counted herself lucky.

For her own part, by the time the intruder had stormed through the palace cantina, where Linh usually spent her days, she had wisely made herself scarce, slipping out into the streets of Jiguuna in the confusion as she gripped her hold-out blaster.

Linh was an observer. By training and inclination. Now she finally had a moment to reflect on what she had observed during her final moments in the palace. Most of it seemed irrelevant. Who was running. Who was fighting. Why was dying.

One thing she was certain of was that Nem’ro’s luck had finally run out.

At what seemed to have been the penultimate moment, only one of Nem’ro’s remaining lieutenants, Carnus, seemed willing to take up the challenge posed by his fellow Houk. The two had come to blows in the cantina, even while Nem’ro could be heard bellowing down the passageway in a panic for more of his guards to come to his side to defend his bulk, and offering outrageous rewards to whomever could end the threat to his life.

When even Carnus had fallen beneath the newcomer’s rampage, the writing on the wall had become clear: Nem’ro the Hutt was doomed. No one else would be willing to die for the Hutt. It was simply a matter of survival now, and who could run the fastest.

If the Lord of Jiguuna wasn’t already dead, he would be soon.

Still outside, cocooned in her moment of clarity, Linh realized that it was a fall that had been a long time coming. Things had seemed to be slowly deteriorating in Jiguuna for nearly two years.

It started with Karrels Javis. She decided.

He had been Nem’ro’s most capable and reliable lieutenant before he’d been killed. He was certainly capable of violence, but Javis had understood that violence was a tool and not philosophical approach to everyday life. He’d been pragmatic and reasonable, usually taking pains to avoid putting decisions to his boss when the Hutt’s temper was acting up.  

Officially, Javis had met his end by an assassination team sent by Nem’ro’s rival, Voontara Fa'athra.

(Linh knew better than to believe that story.)

Nem’ro’s reprisals against Fa'athra’s supporters had been unprecedented even by Hutt levels. Armed with a data file retrieved from Voontara Fa'athra’s palace by the so-called ‘Red Blade’, there had been a bloodbath in Jiguuna with dozens of Fa'athra’s supposed sympathizers in the town purged on Nem’ro’s orders.

Still. Linh thought to herself. Despite his cold-bloodedness, the Blade she’d briefly met, that supposed pirate – with his cool, emerald eyes and chiseled jawline – had been capable. Very capable. He was just the sort of person I could have used to get off Hutta, now.

Unfortunately, he was far from here, on some job or another that she couldn’t even imagine. 

It had taken weeks for the city to calm down.

Even after the dust had settled from the purges, and even after the victory celebrations Nem’ro had held when Fa’athra had fled Hutta in apparent defeat, there was a sullen air to the place. As if whatever little vitality Jiguuna could have claimed before had been sapped, and things were continuing purely on momentum.

Illustrating her point in fact, just a few weeks ago, Nem’ro had come down with a rare flesh-eating disease, placing the Hutt’s life – and his sizable bulk – in jeopardy. This development had led to considerable tension among the Hutt’s various lieutenants and supporters, as everyone jockeyed for position should Nem’ro ‘tragically’ pass away. There had been a number of killings, discreetly passed off as ‘isolated incidents’ by Nem’ro’s security, and Linh was fully convinced that there’d have been an outbreak of open infighting throughout the organization if it had lasted any longer.

Fortunately for what still counted for the status quo in Jiguuna – and for Nem’ro, personally – a Republic doctor had arrived one day at the palace before that came to pass, having heard of the Hutt’s plight. Linh had noted he’d been on ‘watch list’ for her true employer, as the man had previously worked for the Balmorran Resistance and had more recently been working with some upstart Jedi Knight running around the galaxy. This doctor apparently had enough pull to get an appointment with the Hutt, and within a few days, Nem’ro was on the road to recovery.

Even with Nem’ro cured, however, things had never quite gotten back to normal in Jiguuna. There was too much bad blood by then. Too much pressure on Nem’ro’s organization to produce refined fuel to cover his trade agreements with the Sith Empire. Too much lost inertia. Too many people with too many ‘what if’ thoughts.  

It had been a powder keg. And the attacking Houk had lit the wick.

Now she was outside the palace, and the only person on Hutta who knew that her real name wasn’t Linh and that she wasn’t just a small-time private fence with a pretty face working out of Nem’ro’s cantina was lying dead at her feet.

Lycus Mattle had (officially) been a freelance hired gun in Jiguuna, occasionally taking jobs with Nem’ro’s gang. An older mercenary, he was respected enough that the local ruffians usually gave him a wide berth. He usually made a place for himself just outside the palace at the bazaar, should anyone seek to hire him.

He had also been, like Linh, an operative of Imperial Intelligence, and a subject of the Sith Empire.

And now he was dead, with multiple blaster wounds having caught him in the chest.  

Linh also spotted a trio of slain Rodians lying nearby. She recalled them having visited the palace earlier that day, planning some scheme or another. Apparently when they had fled the carnage, they had decided that their best bet was to kill the lone, human gunman, take his weapons, and then to decide what to do next to get away from the carnage.

Lycus Mattle may have been old for being a supposed merc. (Truth, he was older still for being a field operative of Imperial Intelligence.) But he had taken all three of his attackers with him.

Linh found herself taking some small satisfaction from that fact. Over these last two years, the older agent had become a partner to her; part mentor, part confidante and part protector should anyone on Hutta ever give her too much trouble. She was glad he’d given better than he got.

But that didn’t change the reality that her only real ally – and her best chance of getting off Hutta alive – was now gone. Linh knew how to use her holdout blaster, and she’d received basic self-defense training. But she had no illusions as to how long she’d last in a deteriorating hellhole like Jiguuna, much less if she ran into that Houk.

She processed all of that as her fingertips gently lowered Lycus’ eyelids. 

“You were a good partner, Lycus.” She whispered to herself, unexpectedly finding herself wiping a tear from her eye. “The best.”

‘Lycus’ hadn’t been his real name, of course, any more than ‘Linh’ had been hers. But in the two years she’d been on Hutta, it had been the only name she’d ever known him by. She didn’t know his real name and it was unlikely she ever would. ‘Lycus’ would have to do.

Now he was rotting in a trench on Hutta, and she didn’t even have the time to bury him properly.

Fortunately for her, she didn’t need Lycus to be alive to help her out of this predicament.

Linh looked around the plaza again to make sure the coast was clear.

She needn’t have worried about being observed. The whole area seemed completely abandoned. People had either fled for cover or had decided now was as good a time as any to engage in violence elsewhere in the town. Nem’ro may have been a ruthless crime lord, but as had been the case in the palace, his authority had also been the only thing holding some people back.

And that was gone now. She continued to hear the sounds of unrest in the distance. People were dying. But she didn’t have time to think about that.

Residing in the palace as she normally did, Linh could have been searched by Nem’ro’s security at any time. (Indeed, more than one visitor to the palace had found themselves wearing a slave collar for carrying around unauthorized contraband.) So it made sense for Lycus to keep their ‘sensitive equipment’.

Taking a deep breath, Linh carefully detached Lycus’ weapons harness and utility belt from his body and reached into his vest. A moment later, now holding his pass-key, Linh inserted it into her deceased partner’s holo-transmitter.

By itself, the equipment was mundane. Only a thorough inspection by a skilled engineer would have uncovered any anomalies in its manufacture.

Linh took off her necklace from inside her blouse and carefully snapped the pendant in two. She then held the now-exposed circuits against the power cell compartment of the holo-transmitter until they seamlessly slid into place, completing the circuit. After a few moments diode on the advice turned red.

Excellent. Linh smiled. The direct line was secure and would be all but untraceable.

“This is Infiltrator Ninety-nine.” Linh’s voice had changed, but she kept her voice low as she spoke into the transmitter. “Requesting immediate extraction. Confirmation Code Delta-Beta-Nine-Four. Please respond.”

With that, she exhaled. It was the first time in years that she’d used her own voice. An Imperial voice. It felt liberating, really.

A moment later, the holo display started to flicker.

She had expected a junior Watcher to pick up her communications signal at headquarters in Kaas City. Or perhaps – if the Watchers were hard-pressed with the war effort at the moment – a Minder or at least a Fixer. Following protocol, they would direct an Intelligence Asset Recovery Team to her aid, and get her off this cesspit of a world.

Instead, she saw only a rotating Imperial Insignia appear in the holo display, as an automated voice spoke.  

“Attention all personnel: By the order of the Dark Council, Imperial Intelligence has been dissolved. Any and all ongoing operations are hereby terminated. You are ordered to immediately report to Dromund Kaas for reassignment to the Imperial Military. Long live the Emperor.”  

The holo-display went dead.

Linh’s jaw dropped in shock.

No. she silently whispered to herself. Impossible. It couldn’t be true.

She attempted to toggle the call button again for a few futile moments.

Nothing.

Her free hand the nearby tent pole for support. If she hadn’t been crouched down, she’d probably have fallen over.

The implications of this announcement were staggering.

The Sith Empire was over a thousand years old. And Imperial Intelligence had been a part of it since the beginning, cleaning up the messes of the Sith and the Imperial military.

Oh, there had been purges of the service throughout that history. Usually due to some perceived operational failure or another. Occasionally a Minister of Intelligence would be “retired” and the powers that be would insist on “changes in personnel” to make way for the new regime.

But for the Empire to dissolve the service now at the peak of its war with the Galactic Republic…

Madness. She thought to herself. Without Imperial Intelligence, there would be chaos. Not just for the Empire, but with respect to her immediate situation.

Linh needed assistance just safely getting off Hutta, much less getting back to Dromund Kaas.

She’d been Informer-99 for the last three years. She had hoped to be promoted to ‘Minder’ someday, perhaps eventually serve as a station chief on some planet with a more enjoyable climate. (After spending so long on Hutta, Alderaan sounded positively divine.) 

All her career goals were gone now. Dead as Lycus.

Dead as Imperial Intelligence. She thought to herself.

She felt her breathing start to become more rapid as she continued to process.

And what sort of future could she expect if she even made it back to the Imperial capital?

A career in the Imperial Military would be a dead end for her, and a waste of her talents. At best, she’d be stranded in some subordinate clerical position in the Ministry of Logistics, running statistical reports and fetching caff for her superiors.

At worse, she’d be pressed into an auxiliary combat battalion where all her intelligence would be wasted, and she’d be killed off in some useless battle or another.

No. She stopped herself. At worse, I’ll be indentured directly to one of the Sith.

She shivered at the thought, remembering all the stories she’d heard at the academy.

Nothing could be worse than that.

Linh felt her grip on the comm device tighten further.

The Empire had abandoned her. It was no longer home.

She felt a sense of panic start to grow. And then the anger of the injustice of it all.

No. She stopped herself again. That was what her instructors at the academy had trained her not to do.

Unlike Sith, operatives did not have the luxury of giving into their anger. Angry agents made mistakes, as did agents in a state of despair.

If she was to survive, she had to think clearly. She had to remain calm.

She had to remember her training.

After a moment, she felt her breathing relax and her brain started to work again.

First things first. Linh decided to herself, following her training.

Dealing with the immediate situation had to be her priority.

She dropped the holo-communicator on the ground and rose to her feet. Pulling out her holdout blaster, she pointed it at the discarded device.

Then she fired twice.

In a flash, the only physical evidence connecting her to Imperial Intelligence on Hutta had been destroyed in a smoking wreck.

Linh exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been keeping.

It feels cathartic. She allowed herself a grim smirk.

Next order of business.

I can’t stay on Hutta. Linh concluded. She’d seen enough conflict among the Hutts to know that sooner or later, and probably sooner, the Cartel would move in to fill the gap left by Nem’ro’s sudden ‘absence’. Once that happened, anyone still around who had even been in the palace at the time of the attack would either be shot on sight or they’d find themselves indentured and sent to the gas mines.

The Hutts did not take betrayal well. By their logic, every resident of Jiguuna should have sacrificed themselves to save Nem’ro. To show clemency to Nem’ro’s surviving supporters would only encourage dissent and disloyalty in other Hutt courts and territories.  

She had to get away from the Houk, the Hutt Cartel and the Empire. If she were lucky, she and Lycus would be presumed dead in the paperwork. If not, she’d be a wanted renegade.

But first, she had to get off Hutta.

She had identified the problem. Now she needed to find a solution.

What are my assets? She continued following the steps of her training.

She regarded her holdout blaster.

Honestly, it had been no more than a deterrent in the Palace. Virtually anyone on Hutta would have outgunned her in a shootout, and if she did run into that Houk, it would count for nothing.

She had a few credits on her, but if people were already fleeing to the spaceport in a panic, she doubted those would be enough to get her anywhere.

Nothing drove up inflation like a life-or-death situation.

Thinking to herself, she dug through her hidden pockets and pulled out a thin piece of plastic.  Carefully unpeeling a label, she regarding the revealed card.

Her backup identity. Not her identity as ‘Linh’, small-time criminal on Hutta. Nor her ‘real name’ she’d been born with in the Empire. But a new one entirely.

Jheeg – the local Arcona fixer who Intelligence had once worked with – had been killed after several security failures involving that business with the agent impersonating the Red Blade. (Linh had privately suspected that Lycus himself had done the job on Jheeg, though she could never prove it and she knew better than to ask.) Jheeg had once provided her and Lycus with backup cover identities if they ever needed to suddenly flee the planet. (Lycus had insisted on the precaution; he never really talked about what he’d done for Imperial Intelligence before this assignment, but it was now clear to her that he had been jaded by his career and was aware of the possibility of a situation such as this arising.)

The identity was still valid; or at least it’d be valid enough in a pinch. It wouldn’t have fooled a review by Imperial Intelligence, she was sure. But if Intelligence no longer existed, it just might fool the Empire.

Regardless, she could build a new life for herself.

But all that would have to start with getting off Hutta.

Her training kicked in again:

Who are my allies?

Rex Geer might have been persuaded to help her. He’d bought her a drink or two at the cantina, and she’d considered taking things further to cement a potentially valuable contact. But Nem’ro’s top street lieutenant – who had led the defense against Fa’athra’s incursion during their conflict – had been one of those killed during the unrest from Nem’ro’s illness a few weeks past.

Stabbed in the back in a back-alley. Linh recalled to herself, with regret. Like as not, his own men had killed him just for the prospect of a promotion.

Oren Ward would have been another potential ally. The bounty hunter had fostered a ‘school-boy crush’ on her, Linh knew. But he and Burnok had departed Hutta months ago for greener pastures after Oren had recovered from his carbonite imprisonment at Fa’athra’s palace.

She tried to think of another protector-type who might still be alive and willing to help her. She came up empty.

It doesn’t look good. Linh admitted to herself, as she tried to reconsider the situation.

In truth, obtaining the services of a ‘hero gunman’ to defend her was a secondary concern, even if having such a champion would have been reassuring. By now, she was convinced that the Houk could have torn through anyone she could think of if he spotted her, possibly even a Sith or a Jedi.

What she really needed was someone with the credits and the connections to get her through the spaceport and off-planet. If it was already locked down by the Cartel’s people, she’d need someone with Nem’ro’s security codes to get off-planet.

She smiled grimly to herself as a stroke of inspiration came to her mind.   

Fortunately, Linh had realized that she knew of just the right person who could provide both.

Surprisingly, getting back into the palace had been a simple affair. Evidently, nearly everyone still capable of walking had already fled by now.

Linh knew she was taking a huge risk just coming back here, but she saw no other options. If her quarry was still alive, they’d be inside. As she made her way through the cantina, she tried not to pay any mind to the corpses she was stepping over. She’d known many of these people for the past two years, and while she personally found most of them unpleasant, she also knew that looking at their dead faces now could easily plunge her into a pit of despair.  

None of that would help her.

She made her way down the corridor, holdout blaster drawn and at the ready.

Remember your training. Linh reminded herself for what felt like the tenth time. She was no true field operative. She’d known from the start at the Academy that she never be a Cipher agent. But she knew how to navigate a dangerous building. Certainly, one that she’d lived at for two years.

She carefully snuck past the receiving chamber to the throne room. She could hear sounds from within that didn’t sound remotely human or sentient, for that matter. Not ‘fighting’ sounds exactly, but…

No. she continued on. I won’t think about that.

As she finally approached her destination, hoping against hope that her target was still inside, she nearly tripped over some wreckage on the floor. Looking down, she recognized it as the remains of P8-47, the astromech droid that frequently acted as one of Nem’ro’s messengers.

The droid had been sweet to her on occasion, and she’d once considered recruiting him as a source. She’d discarded the idea, however; he’d been frightfully loyal to Nem’ro.

Pity. Linh steeled herself from the discovery as she continued down the hall into the next chamber, peeking around the corner.

Two Twi’leks were standing within, with the larger male gripping the younger female’s wrist violently.

“The credits, girl!” Toth'lazhen hissed, slapping the beleaguered woman across the cheek as she cried out.

One of Nem’ro’s senior lieutenants, Toth'lazhen had risen to pre-eminence after the death of Karrels Javis. His reputation for brutality had endeared himself to the Hutt.

Linh had been carefully studying Toth'lazhen for some time now as part of her duties to Imperial Intelligence. The Twi’lek lieutenant normally spoke in the perfect Huttese of his boss.

The fact that he was now speaking his native Twi'leki was telling. If nothing else, based on that fact alone, she’d know that Nem’ro was finished.

Linh had always assessed him as something of a fool and a brute. Today, she was seeing evidence to support that opinion.

Unfortunately, his present victim was the one she’d been seeking.

Juda was a young but highly intelligent green-skinned Twi’lek, unusually amiable for a resident of Nem’ro’s palace. For the past two years or so, she’d served as Nem’ro’s paymaster, taking over when his old accountant, an old human cyborg named Yalt, had made the mistake of going over to Fa’athra’s side.

(She did not want to think about the price Yalt had paid for that mistake. Juda had proven more reliable.)

Today, Linh had decided that Juda was her best chance of getting off Hutta.

Apparently, Toth'lazhen had decided the same thing.  

“Please.” Juda cried out, struggling against his grasp. “Let me go! I’m just trying to get out of here.”

Toth'lazhen slapped the girl again as she cried out. Linh noted a bruise forming beneath Juda’s eye.

“You can run once I have Nem’ro’s money.” He snarled.

Part of Linh’s mind, trained for ruthless pragmatism, related to Toth'lazhen’s position. He was self-interested individually willing to do whatever it took to get off Hutta alive.

The same applies to me. Linh admitted.

On the other hand, he had turned his back to the doorway. And something about the way he was abusing Juda did not sit well with the suddenly unemployed Imperial operative.

His mistake.

Linh scowled, as the major domo raised his hand to strike the weeping girl again. Any thought of negotiating with Toth'lazhen had fled her mind.  

The holdout blaster – set for silent mode – was relatively low-power. But she was less than five meters from the attacking Twi’lek, with more than enough time to put three rounds through his back.

If Toth'lazhen tried to scream out in pain, that scream was cutoff with the second round. The third was only for certainty’s sake.  

Juda blinked in surprise as her attacker fell dead to the floor, looking up at her erstwhile rescuer.

The two women’s eyes met. Much to Linh’s surprise, as she gazed into the Twi’lek’s violet irises, she felt herself gulp.

Was it the adrenaline? The fact that Toth'lazhen was the first person she’d ever killed with her own hand? The look of gratitude in Juda’s pretty, violet eyes?  

“Thank you.” The young Twi’lek whispered, falling back into her desk chair in relief. She held herself gingerly, slowly rocking back and forth.

Linh silently nodded, swallowing and lowering her blaster. Her throat felt dry. Whatever guilt she felt for killing the Twi’lek was being suppressed by the adrenaline still pumping through her veins.  

“Toth'lazhen would have killed me.” Juda said quietly continued, swallowing. “Or worse, he would have sold me off to slavers. Before he even got off planet. The moment he had as much of Nem’ro’s money as he could get his hands on. When he didn’t need me anymore. That’s why I didn’t give into him.”

She looked away, sniffing.

“I’d have been a loose end.”

Loose end. Linh thought to herself. She herself was now a loose end to the Empire, her years of training and service amounting to nothing. She was on her way down; she had to find a way up. Who better to…

Out of the corner of her consciousness, she spotted Juda eyeballing the still-drawn blaster.

Jarred back to the present, Linh put away her weapon, calmly.

“I’m not Toth'lazhen.” She offered reassuringly, glancing down at the dead lieutenant. “If you can help me get off planet, maybe I can help you, too.”

Juda nodded, glancing over at a satchel on her desk.

“I can do that. I was right about to run for it myself when Toth found me.”

Linh tried processing the young woman’s reaction. With the immediate threat removed, her practical intelligence seemed to shine though. She found it refreshing. Inspiring, even.

“You don’t have anyone else here on Hutta?” Linh asked.

That question seemed to strike a nerve. The Twi’lek flinched, closing her eyes in pain as her body rocked back and forth again.

“My mother… passed away a couple of months ago.” Juda’s lip trembled. “Nem’ro didn’t even give me the day off to go to her funeral.”

Linh recalled that she hadn’t seen a family member in years. She had no way of knowing if her parents or brothers were even still alive by now. Nevertheless, she felt a wellspring of sympathy bubbling within her for the young Twi’lek.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured awkwardly. She quickly decided to change the subject. “So. You had a plan to get out? Or just sneak past the Houk?”

Juda took a breath as she gathered herself, gazing down at Toth'lazhen’s corpse absent-mindedly.

“There’s an underground tunnel.” She explained. “It runs along the old gas pipes beneath the town. The entrance is hidden behind the bar in the corner.”

Juda pointed. Linh recalled there was hardly a room in the palace that didn’t have its own bar.

“It comes out west of the palace, near the spaceport. Nem’ro never thought he’d need a way out of his own palace, but Karrels knew he might.”

The Twi’lek smirked.

“He had me budget the construction as ‘palace defenses’. Poor guy just never had the chance to make it out when his time came.”

Linh smiled appreciatively.

“So. That tunnel gets us to the port. Any ideas about what happens next?”

Juda returned the smile, clearly emboldened by the praise. The attractive Twi’lek had drawn plenty of looks since she’d started working at the palace. It was a good bet that up until today, few had been foolish enough to make a move on Nem’ro’s paymaster, especially not after what happened to his previous accountant.

Neither of us work here anymore. Linh thought to herself.

“I know Mekks, the communications officer at the spaceport.” Juda assured her. “He knows how the Cartel operates, and how to make it look like someone shot their way out of there without getting anyone killed… in return for a sizable bribe, of course.”

“Of course.” Linh found herself smiling sincerely for the first time in what felt like days. Fear and bribery were the only things that turned the gears on Hutta. “Then we just need to find a ride off-world.”

Juda’s smile widened, as she reached in and pulled a datapad out of her satchel. Linh could see a stack of pads along with credit sticks and a few strips of flimsi. Clearly, the Twi’lek had been preparing for this trip well.   

“Nem’ro took possession of a small freighter last week.” Juda informed her. “Some smuggler who ditched his cargo from the Imperials.”

She bit her lip as she looked down at the records.

“I still have the access codes. And the license. By the time anyone checks, it’ll be legally ours.”

Linh let out an impressed whistle. This was more than she could have hoped for.  

“Sounds like a plan.” The former Imperial operative felt everything start to fall into place. She smiled again to Juda but found the Twi’lek’s smile had suddenly grown cautious.

“And after that?” Juda asked, uncertainly.

Linh paused, remembering her earlier considerations concerning her own future. Assess potential resources. Her instructors had taught her.

To Nem’ro, Juda had been a competent, unambitious underling who always did what she was told.

To Toth'lazhen, Juda had been nothing but a source of quick credits, to be used and disposed of.

But to Linh, she could be much more.

“You know.” She began. “Between my connections, your financial skills, and Nem’ro’s credits… I think we have enough to start our own ‘consulting’ business. Look around the galaxy. Lots of people are going to need ‘special assistance’ setting up new operations for themselves with all this fallout. Conflict brings chaos. We’ve both seen that here today. But it also brings opportunity to people who know how to seize it.”  

Even as she spoke, Linh felt herself gaining confidence in this plan of action. She’d need time to work out the details of course, but at least now she had a direction. Later, they could take on some hired muscle for security. Linh knew what to look for in a dependable mercenary so that she and Juda could avoid emergencies like this one in the future.

Linh finally extended an open hand towards the Twi’lek.

“Partners?” she asked.

Juda chewed her lip for a minute, regarding Linh and the offered hand.

The Twi’lek suddenly grasped Linh by the shoulders fiercely and leaned in. Juda’s lips met those of the former Informer of Imperial Intelligence, kissing her passionately. Linh felt her entire body go rigid with shock at the gesture.

It had been more than a year since she’d taken actual comfort in the touch of another, and Juda was certainly attractive. A warm feeling started to grow in the pit of her stomach.

She felt her lips and then her hands start to respond on impulse, surrendering herself to the sensation.

Juda suddenly pulled away as the stricken Imperial tried to regain her breath.

“For luck.” She offered by way of explanation, giving Linh a dazzling smile. She finally took Linh’s hand, giving it a friendly shake.

“Partners.” She declared.

Linh could only catch herself against the desk as she regained her footing and blink.

Definitely more than just a source of quick credits. She confirmed to herself.

Juda, meanwhile, had ducked behind the bar with her satchel over her shoulder. Pushing a crate and a rug out of the way, the woman opened the hidden trap door down to the tunnel, then looked back over at Linh.

“Come on.” The Twi’lek smiled. “That Houk might come poking around any minute.”

Linh swallowed and moved to comply.

As she followed Juda through the trap door and down into the escape tunnel, she felt confident she was taking the first step towards her future.

Time to climb the ladder.

THE END?

Author’s Notes: There are any number of corrupt and even ‘evil’ powers within the SWTOR story. As much as we might loathe them, it’s fascinating for me to think that if any of them suddenly weren’t there, the vacuum would make room for something even worse.

Those of you who have played the Bounty Hunter class story too many times will know from the Companion cut-scene dialogue that Skadge killed Nem’ro the Hutt off-screen, a revenge killing for an earlier betrayal that landed Skadge on Belsavis in the first place. The idea of Skadge successfully rampaging his way through Nem’ro’s palace, where we spend so much time as an Imperial Agent / Bounty Hunter at the start of the story, was fascinating to me. (How many of the NPC’s we interacted with earlier actually survived???) Skadge is probably my least favorite character in SWTOR, but the idea of him being the star boogey-man of a grisly horror film, slaughtering dozens of people, that concept intrigues me.

Each class has an NPC on their starting planet that provides a mission directing the player-character to the trainer on-planet. Linh is the NPC on Hutta that directs Imperial Agents to the on-planet trainer, Lycus Mattle. With the many changes in the game over the years, those missions are largely redundant, worth only a smidgen of XP. But some of those cutscene interactions were memorable to me, including Linh’s. I decided I had to do something with her at some point.

This story was the result.

Juda is another fun character from the Bounty Hunter story. She’s Nem’ro’s paymaster on Hutta, and later unwittingly engages in some minor skullduggery during the Great Hunt. Fortunately, my own bounty hunter, Xadya, chose not to hold her indiscretions against her. (Mako would not have approved if Xadya had taken Juda out!)

As always, I love the idea that our characters leave a deep mark on the places they visit, for good and for ill. Gahraath Vaiken, my Cipher Nine in the Halcyon Legacy, was rather vicious when he started out as an Imperial Agent on Hutta, a bit too eager to demonstrate his own ruthlessness. He’d eventually mellow a good deal, but at the time, Linh was both physically attracted to him while simultaneously left with the impression of a cold-blooded killer who would easily dispose of her if it suited his mission.

(Which he absolutely was. But like I said, he’s softened a good bit by the end of the class story.)

Virtually every name I dropped within this story is an actual NPC from the missions on Hutta. (And some of you may also have picked up on an appearance by a certain unnamed mustached field medic companion from another of the class stories. 🤓)

The ‘Informers’ title is, in fact, a specific canon designation within the old Imperial Intelligence organization, much like Ciphers, Watchers, Minders and Fixers. They aren’t mentioned in the game itself; they do come up in The Old Republic: Fatal Alliance novel where Ula Vii is presented as an example. Something we don’t talk about enough is the impact the dissolution of Imperial Intelligence would have on the Empire and the greater galaxy, especially at the peak of the war. You’re literally talking about hundreds or thousands of agents and operatives either completely cutoff from the Empire without recourse or suddenly pressed into the service of the Sith or to an Imperial Military that treats them like cannon-fodder. (Remember how Cipher Nine was treated on Corellia?) The fallout from that sudden absence would be profound for the Empire, as well. Imperial Intelligence literally existed for centuries, and nature abhors a vacuum.

No wonder Marr had to establish Sith Intelligence a few years later. Their entire system would have been in a perpetual state of collapse without it.

I tweaked the layout of the palace a little bit for narrative reasons. It’s significantly larger here, which makes sense given how many people seem to live there.  

The Informer-Ninety-Nine moniker is an Easter Egg reference to “Get Smart”. (A show waaaay before my time. I’m old, but not that old.) It just tickled me, so I tossed that in.

 The ‘For luck’ kiss is an obvious homage to the scene from Episode IV: A New Hope. (Don’t worry – Juda and Linh aren’t related. 😉 ) Further, Juda’s line about a smuggler’s freighter was a Han Solo & Jabba reference.  

Tagging @oolathurman , as they once mentioned she loved the character of Juda.

Also tagging!

@a-master-procrastinator @anchanted-one @distressed-gizka @eorzeashan @justiceforc3po @kemendin @magicallulu7 @nikkeisimmer @sadiebwrites @the-cloudwatcher @the-raven-of-highever @tishinada @zabrakghoul @swtorhub

[serenxanthe]

Copero: A SWTOR Snippet

Following on from my Umbara snippet, a slightly longer one set on Copero, this time from Theron's point of view, focussing on how he's feeling months into being this deep undercover and away from everyone he cares about.

Theron leant against the cool interior wall of the townhouse as he looked out over the sun-baked streets and plazas of the seat of House Inrokini on Copero.

It was a beautiful tropical paradise, he had been staying here for months in luxury accommodations as the personal guest of Syndic Zenta and her brother Valss; and he couldn’t truly enjoy a moment of it. Theron squinted into the sunshine, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his face. Now, in the middle of the day, even the sandstone walls of the townhouse couldn’t completely mitigate the climate here.

Despite the heat, he felt cold inside, numb, frozen. The pressure of having to keep his mind shielded constantly to prevent Seren finding him through their Force bond, as well as having to keep up the pretence of his commitment to the Order of Zildrog, his hatred of the Alliance, was very much taking its toll. He’d never been undercover for this long before. Never without any backup or a support team behind him. And never without a break, private time with his own thoughts, not even at night. Valss. 

The Order was perpetually suspicious of him, of his loyalty, his motives. Rightly so of course, but Theron was exhausted. After one more argument with Vinn Atrius that had nearly turned into violence after the Gemini had spent all day dripping poison in Atrius’ ear about him, Theron had made a decision. He needed more depth to his undercover persona, a more personal show of commitment that he was no longer a member of the Alliance, no longer the Commander’s devoted boyfriend.

Copero had given him the perfect opportunity. He’d flirted subtly with both Syndic Zenta and her brother; staying just the right side of respectful while judging their interest. Both had seemed like they might be receptive, but Valss had been more open, more immediately willing to share his affections with Theron. So now he had a lover. He was in a relationship with a fellow member of the Order of Zildrog, and it had helped. It really had. But now Theron had to play a part all the time, he never got a break.

Theron pressed his sweaty forehead against the cool wall and scrunched his eyes shut. He’d had enough; he wanted to go home. To Odessen, to the Alliance, his friends, Seren. Seren. Theron drew in a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open, forced himself to stop thinking about her, stop missing her. She was why he was here, why he was doing this, but he couldn’t afford to start thinking about her, or he wouldn’t be able to continue.

To distract himself, Theron looked down into the colourful bustling city from his high vantage point in the luxury townhouse. The streets were busy, lively, but relatively quiet and peaceful compared to the Republic cities he was used to. The Chiss as a people were more discreet and circumspect than many species, and the ever present House Inrokini security forces also had a dampening effect. Idly, Theron observed their patrol patterns; simple, predictable, ineffective, he thought uncharitably. Not for the first time. 

Without warning, there was the sudden, familiar, sound of lightsabres igniting and cutting through the air. Theron’s head whipped round, expecting to see a body or bodies hitting the dusty city street, but there was nothing but a smoking pile of what were once appropriated Chiss Ascendancy supplies, and no sign of the assailants. A lone Chiss guard staggered nearby, his weapon dropped, his head in his hands as he struggled to stay vaguely conscious and upright. 

Theron’s skin prickled. The MO was… but it couldn’t be, could it? If it was them, if it was her, the Alliance was wildly ahead of schedule. He’d have to accelerate his own plans to find and destroy the map; the Chiss’ contingency against an inevitable betrayal by the Sith Empire. He knew he should get going, fetch Valss and head to the frozen ancient temple where, as Zenta had finally admitted to Theron, in no small part because of the urging of her besotted brother, the map was kept.

Instead of moving, he kept scanning the city streets, using both his eyes and his implants, wanting, longing, to see Seren. Just for a moment, just a glimpse. That was all he needed. Just to see her, to know that she was alright. More zips as lightsabre blades sliced through the piles of supplies, more Inrokini officers left staggering and semi conscious, but alive. Theron followed her progress avidly, and was finally rewarded with a flash of bright green, a glimpse of long brown braids whipping around as their owner sliced into yet another pile of supplies, leaving them smoking.

Not giving himself time to think it through, Theron reached into his pocket for his climbing gloves, pulling them on and flexing his hands to check that the tiny needles that would allow him to almost stick to any wall were working properly. He stepped out of the window and swung sideways, slapping his hand onto the wall to engage the needle mechanism, and worked his way towards the last place he’d seen Seren. 

Eventually, after following them through several streets and squares, Theron was rewarded with a proper look at her. As he crouched on a low balcony, hidden in the shade of a large potted palm tree, Theron watched as Seren and Lana shimmered into view almost directly beneath him as Seren relaxed her concentration on her shadowform to rest, hydrate, and meditate.

Lana was in her usual austere dark grey armoured robes, her only concession to the heat the fact that her bright blonde hair was up in an uncharacteristically jaunty short ponytail to keep it away from her face and neck. Seren, in contrast, was dressed for the weather in a light sleeveless robe with a deep v-neck and high side slits. Soft leather knee-high boots and a matching leather belt for her lightsabres were the only other things she was wearing.

Theron felt his stomach jink with nerves at her lack of armour; if she really was planning to chase him through Copero, he knew what she’d be up against, what the Order had left for her to face. He realised almost with surprise that some of the fluttering in his stomach was also attraction. He hadn’t exactly forgotten how beautiful he found her, how sexy, in the months since he’d last seen her; but he’d mostly been focussed on how much he loved her and missed her, which wasn’t quite the same thing.

I love you! Theron told her vehemently, keeping it silently inside his own head only through sheer willpower.

As he watched unseen from above, Theron clenched his hands into fists, trying to control his breathing. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The urge to speak to her, call her name, just drop down from the balcony and fall into step with her and Lana, join them for the mission, like he always did… it was overwhelming. 

That’s not how that would go, Theron reminded himself. Even if Seren really did forgive him, still love him, like she’d said on Umbara and later on in her holo message, Lana certainly didn’t. She’d have her lightsabre at his throat the moment she saw him, and that’s if he was lucky. If it weren’t for Seren he wouldn’t be surprised to find it thrust through his gut instead, no questions asked. 

Seren and Lana were still meditating, preparing themselves for the mission ahead, but Theron knew that they wouldn’t be for much longer.

He was continuing to battle his impulse to jump down and speak to them, throw himself on Seren’s mercy to stave off Lana’s rage. I don’t even need to do that, he realised. All he would have to do would be to relax the shields in his mind. A moment would be enough, and Seren would instantly sense him through their Force bond. She’d look up, then a simple, for her at least, Force leap later, she’d be up on the balcony with him. He could explain, she would forgive him, she’d be in his arms again, they’d be together; and this whole horrible months’ long nightmare would finally be over.

Could he? Had he done enough now to let Seren and Lana in on the plan? He’d slowed down the Order, he knew their plans, the Alliance had almost caught up, way ahead of schedule. Surely he could get to the map with Seren and Lana more quickly than Valss could get there alone? 

He wouldn't be alone though, would he? Theron admitted reluctantly to himself. He was Chiss, the Syndic’s brother; he’d have all the resources of House Inrokini behind him. There’d be an army between the Alliance and the map, and if they didn’t get there first, if Valss got there before them and gave the map to the Order of Zildrog as planned… then all of this would have been for nothing. The betrayal, the pain, the sacrifices; all of it. He had to play it safe. Make sure he got the map at all costs, and the surest, the safest, way to do that was with Valss at his side not Seren and Lana.

His heart aching, Theron watched as Seren and Lana rose from their meditation and Seren shrouded them in a shadowform once more. As Seren wavered out of view Theron gritted his teeth to stifle the tears that came to his eyes. What if this was the last time he’d ever see her face? He turned away, deliberately avoiding trying to follow their invisible progress through the streets any further. He snapped his climbing gloves back into place and prepared to head back to the townhouse, to Valss, and to put the next stage of his plan into play.

Hours later, Theron stood on the sacred mountaintop, full of relief. He had the map to  Zildrog’s location. With Valss’ help he’d been able to bypass the many guardians and traps set up for the unwary. Seren and Lana were hardly that, but if he’d followed his own desires and thrown himself on their mercy and tried to lead them here instead it would have taken a lot longer; Valss would almost certainly have beaten them to their goal.

When he’d finished uploading the map to his data stick, Theron set carefully placed explosives around the site. The charges were calculated minutely so that it would appear as if the map was utterly destroyed, as per Vinn Atrius’ instructions, but in actual fact the pieces would be large and legible enough to allow Alliance personnel to reconstruct it.

As they headed back to the shuttle through the biting wind and whipping snow flurries, Theron heard the sudden roar of the huge Temple Guardian challenging a trespasser. Could that be Seren and Lana already? Using his scanner, he zoomed in on the Guardian’s location below, only to see Seren stroking the huge feline as it happily crunched on the gift of a sacred apple. They’d obviously had help. Chiss help. Theron pocketed his scanner and slapped Valss on the shoulder, yelling at him to hurry over the howling mountaintop wind.

The shuttle was less than a kilometre away and he and Valss were moving mostly downhill, while Seren and Lana were having to climb the barely tamed mountainside, yet it seemed they were gaining on him impossibly quickly. Now he’d made the decision to continue with his plan through to the bitter end, he found he didn’t want to see Seren, speak to her, have the confrontation. That could wait. He pushed himself on through the snow, breath steaming in the frigid air.

The shuttle was in sight, and Theron practically ran the last few metres, then held out his hand and pulled Valss into it after him, letting out a hard breath of relief as they both made it safely inside. To his frustration, the Order pilot was still readying it for takeoff, the side door still open, the thrusters idling. “Get MOVING!” he yelled at the man. The panic he was feeling was as real as if Seren and Lana really were hated enemies, why?

I don’t want Seren to see me like this, Theron realised uncomfortably. With these Order zealots, dressed like this, behaving like this. With Valss. And he never wanted to act with coldness and contempt towards her ever again. Umbara… Hearing Seren tell him she loved him despite the fact that he’d just told her he was going to kill her had been agonising. He knew he hadn’t been able to control his expression, look uncaring, he didn’t know what he’d do if he had to do it again.

“Theron! Stop!” 

It was Seren. Of course. She was almost directly below him as the shuttle rose agonisingly slowly yet also too quickly, taking him further away from her.

“Come back, Theron! Come home! Please?”

She was shouting now over the sound of the shuttle’s thrusters and as the distance between them increased, but her voice was still heartrendingly sad yet hopeful.

Next to him, Valss snorted disparagingly at the ridiculousness of her request, but then looked at Theron’s face, at his obvious anguish, the body language that revealed that he was considering it, and something in his own face changed. Theron turned away into the shuttle, both so that he wouldn’t have to see Seren’s hopeful face looking up at him, and to hide his own face from Valss.

There was a sinister crackle and a panel of temperature controls near Theron’s head was suddenly sparking and fizzing, shorted out by the Force lightning Lana had thrown into the shuttle. He looked back down and saw Seren and Lana apparently arguing, Seren holding Lana’s arm. 

Theron didn’t notice Valss standing at the shuttle side-door, preparing to jump, until he shouted at him, “Go! I’ll hold them off!”

Theron grabbed for him, but he was too slow, Valss had jumped, using the Force to cushion his fall. “NO! You’ll never win!” Theron yelled. But he knew it was too late.

Watching Valss land in a flurry of snow, Theron belatedly looked at Seren again, and his heart froze, a shudder of horror running down his spine; she knew. She must have heard the distress in his voice as Valss jumped, seen it on his face, maybe even sensed it through the Force. The look of heartbroken anguish and betrayal on her face was unbearable. She’d never truly believed in his betrayal on Umbara he realised now, but she believed in this one. 

Shaking, his own face white with shock, Theron slid the shuttle door shut, unwilling to look at her face any longer, and even more unwilling to watch his beloved and his best friend in an uneven fight to the death with a man he genuinely liked, even cared about. And it was all his fault. What had he done?