#there's a zabrak im looking at and he's SO cute

[your-fave-is-bi]

k so my idea of aiming at clone ocs in artfight this year isnt working bc im a scared baby BUT

there's a lot of star wars ocs so im having a blast. also twileks are like real fun to draw i've found

[blackkatmagic]

I'm sorry? But also not because I've spent the past week trying(and failing) to draw Guenhwyvar and the zabrak bros all asleep in a cuddle pile. And I absolutely blame you. I haven't drawn anything in 16 years!!! The idea is just so cute though.

(Disclaimer: I have no idea how timeliness work, but...) I am also imagining Mother Talzin hiring someone to get them back and I mean the shenanigans that could result from a certain mandalorian taking the job? *makes puppy dog eyes*

I know you probably meant Jango but given the timelines I went with Jaster and im totally not sorry.

There's someone in the forest.

Drizzt raises his head, sees Guenhwyvar do the same from the other side of the fire. Against her side, Savage stirs, clutching his brother tighter to him, but when Guenhwyvar wraps her tail around them, curls in tighter, he settles. She looks back at Drizzt, ears folding back, and Drizzt nods, silently sliding down from the rock he was perched on and drawing a scimitar.

“Stay with them, Guen,” he murmurs, though he likely doesn’t need to; Guenhwyvar likely wouldn’t leave a pair of children on their own unless directly ordered to, and even then she’d resist as long as possible.

Guenhwyvar rumbles her agreement, claws digging into the soft earth, and drops her head onto her paws, still perfectly alert. It makes Drizzt smile, and he leans down to stroke her head as he passes but doesn’t pause. This moon’s forest is thick and deep and dark, and the sun only rises on it rarely, which makes it perfect for a drow, and Drizzt's steps are perfectly silent as he slips away from the camp, following the source of the sound. Savage had said there were no predators on this moon, and Drizzt, still unfamiliar with the workings of the holonet and ships and all the other strange things in this universe, had taken his word for it, but—

Someone hunting them isn't out of the question. The matron Drizzt stole Savage and Feral from—with their permission and willing participation, but stole all the same—seemed far more like Malice Do’Urden than anyone Drizzt has encountered in centuries, and Drizzt would believe without hesitation that she would send pursuers after them.

At the very edge of the deep trees beyond the camp, he stops, looks back. Guenhwyvar looks like she’s asleep, though Drizzt knows she isn't, and the two shapes tucked against her side are dwarfed by her bulk. He lingers for a moment, watching Savage sleep, watching Feral turn his head and press closer to his brother, the dig of his small horns making Savage huff and shift before he sinks back down into sleep. It makes something in Drizzt's chest feel tight in a way it hasn’t in a very long time, since well before Catti-brie died.

Connection, he thinks, even in this disconnected place. But for all this whole dimension is strange and foreign and often alarming, no one here seems to know the drow. No one thinks Drizzt is going to kill them as soon as they see him. And maybe the victory of that should feel hollow, after so many years trying to find a place where he was welcomed in his own world, but—it’s truly just a relief.

Feral and Savage are his, and this world is his now. Drizzt won't let anyone take it from him.

Steady, careful, Drizzt picks his way over the rise, up through massive trees that blot out the sky and the planet there. There are voices ahead of him, he thinks, so low that even his ears have a hard time picking them out. Steps, and the shift of cloth, and the brush of metal, and Drizzt slides behind a tree, lets his vision slip to infrared, and immediately spots a pair of figures who are just separating. One circles around through the trees, while the other heads right towards Drizzt, and it’s clear that they’ve spotted the little fire, the campsite. Drizzt tightens his grip on his sword, blinking back to regular sight, and debates who to take first. The one circling around will run right into Guenhwyvar, and for all Drizzt doesn’t want to scare the children, it seems better to catch this man, who’s moving more quickly, with more purpose.

Silently, Drizzt waits, listening to his steps approach. Closes his eyes, marking each one, and just as the man passes the tree Drizzt is tucked behind, Drizzt leaps.

The man is almost a foot taller than him, but then, most everyone Drizzt fights is. He’s in armor, black and red with a design on the chestplate in gold, but it just means he’s heavier. When Drizzt hits him from above, fouls his feet, and uses his weight against him, he goes down hard. Hits a rock, rolls, his helmet bouncing free, and Drizzt doesn’t hesitate. He has both scimitars out and striking in a fraction of a second, and drives the blades into the ground on either side of the man’s head, crossed over his neck.

Instantly, the man stills, and Drizzt leans over him, knee planted in his chest, gripping the hilts and ready to sweep the blades across the vulnerable throat. “Who are you?” he demands, and the man’s eyes sweep over him, a little wide, before he carefully, deliberately brings his hands up, fingers spread. Drizzt tenses, but there's none of the green magic the matron used, no attempt at a spell. Just a surrender, wary and slow.

“I'm Jaster Mereel,” the man says. “Of Mandalore.”

It’s likely supposed to mean something; the way he says it has weight. Drizzt has dealt with too many people who thought themselves important, though, and he just narrows his eyes. “And who sent you after me?”

“Not you,” Jaster says, cool. “The children you kidnapped. A tribe on Dathomir—”

“I took them,” Drizzt says, willing to admit it freely. “Because they wanted to come with me. They told me Nightbrothers are—”

“Nightbrothers?” Jaster interrupts, and immediately the tension is back in his body, stark and almost startling. “Only the Nightsisters call their men Nightbrothers.”

“Yes,” Drizzt says, confused. “That is who I took them from. Matron—Mother Talzin.”

There's a long, long pause, and then Jaster scowls, deep and displeased. “The witch who hired us failed to mention she spoke for Talzin.”