Star Wars: The Ancients

[Jedi_Monk]

I posted this on the Swamp a lot time ago when I was just a lowly noob. Didn't get much responce then, so I figured I'd take advantage of these new boards and see if I can get some feedback. I've been working on this story off and on for about two years. So, tell me what you think, or just beg for it, and I'll post the next part!

 

 

It is a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

The Planet Rivium.

The woman's scream for rescue seemed to fall only upon lifeless stone walls and twisting streets, slick with the rain of a storm just past. They were all around her, a ragged assortment of aliens and creatures who were human only in their base genetics. She tried to break through their ranks with a sudden dash but she was seized by one, his arm wrapping around her neck. She cried out again, this time cut short by a sweaty hand being clamped over her mouth.

"I was instructed by the Master not to harm you," her captor whispered against her ear. "But I was never one to follow orders, so don't struggle much." As he spoke, she could feel a deactivated vibro-blade press against her back through the plain white dress she wore.

"Unhand her!" a man's stern voice called from the darkness. The owner of this voice stepped forth, cloaked from head to foot in a thick brown robe.

All around, the cool night air was filled with the sound of clattering steel and metal against leather as vibrosabers, blasters and rifles were drawn. The gang now had every blaster and projectile rifle trained on the one lone figure.

"She is our's, man!" the leader of the gang called. "Turn around, walk away, forget about this, and we'll spare you... maybe!"

"I will not leave unless the girl comes with me," the stranger said in kind. "You will release her into my custody, and you will walk away and I will spare you."

The leader laughed uproariously to the cloud-dappled night sky. While he seemed to be distracted, his prisoner tried to pull away from him; but she was only drawn back roughly, the vibroblade pushing against her that much harder, making her wince. "And who do you think you are to give us orders, eh?" he shouted, baring his crooked, discolored teeth. "Some kind of Jedi?"

Wordlessly, the stranger parted his cloak, and drew something from his belt. A blade of brilliant orange snapped into existence. The gang's collective eyes stared at the lightsaber; then, in a chorus of curses and panicked screams, they scattered into the night, their leader dragging his captive after him by one hand. Without his hand obstructing her mouth, she screamed with all of her strength.

The Jedi launched himself forward, a blur of brown, following the cries of the woman into an alley. He caught only a glimpse of them as they turned into a side street, then from a catwalk above him, a barrage of blaster-fire rained down. Steam exploded from the ground as the flaming hot laser bolts struck damp street, and that steam swirled as the Jedi danced around the fire. Then, steeling himself in a pause as the gunman reloaded his spent power-cartridge, the Jedi leapt, easily achieving the catwalk some five meters above him.

The narrow metal-mesh bridge shuddered as the Jedi landed, and the gunman spun around, his face the picture of complete shock. He swung his un-loaded blaster to bear on the Jedi, but seconds later, both it and his hand were falling toward the ground. He collapsed to his knees, screaming and clutching the cauterized stump of his wrist.

The Jedi jumped again, up onto the rooftop parallel to the street down which he had seen the gang-leader and the woman disappear. He rushed along roofs in pursuit of his quarry. He saw them there, down below along with a few other gang-members, and using his Force-given speed and agility, he soon caught up and overtook them.

He leapt from the roof, out into empty air, then down... He hit pavement. A fall which would have killed a normal man didn't even drive him from his feet, and he recovered from the shock quickly.

Throwing out his hand to his surprised and dumbfounded opponents, he used the Force to throw many of them back so hard they were knocked unconscious. The rest, all besides the gang leader, he dispatched with his lightsaber. "Get back, Jedi!" the leader yelled, "Or I'll kill this sweet one!"

"Your threat is useless," the Jedi told him, unintimidated. "If you kill her, the loss of your men will mean nothing. And if you kill her, you will no longer have a bargaining chip. The second she is no longer your human shield, you will join her in death." He waved his hand before his face, and said in a hypnotic monotone: "You do not want that. You do not want to kill the girl."

"I... do not want to... kill the girl..." the opponent repeated, stupefied.

"You will unhand her, and leave this place far behind."

"Leave... this place... behind..." the leader responded, releasing the girl who ran to the safety of her hero's side. The leader then turned about-face, and walked away, vanishing in the darkness before long.

"I didn't think there were any more true knights on this world," the young woman told him, her voice a bit raw from screaming. "You saved me... is there... anything I can do to thank you?" She reached out to touch his face with her slender fingers, but he grabbed her wrist and moved it aside before she could make contact.

"Thank me by explaining to me who you are and why those thugs were after you," the Jedi said.

The woman took a step back and ran an appraising eye over him for a moment. She had never encountered a Jedi Knight before, nor a man who was immune to her charms. "Do the dregs of this city need an excuse to molest young women?"

The corner of the Jedi's mouth twitched up into a faint smirk. "The truth, please. Ordinary thugs wouldn't have risked losing their lives trying to fight against a Jedi Knight just for one ordinary woman."

She considered, trying to decide how much of the truth to confess to her rescuer. She sighed with apparent defeat. "My name is Venús, and to answer the rest of your question," she pointed to the corpse of one of the human gang-members. "You see that tattoo on his head?" she asked, pointing to the dead man's bald crown.

The Jedi knelt down on the damp street next to the body and examined the markings. On closer inspection, the tattoo looked to be an extravagant Aurek with knives flanking it, one pointing up, the other down. "Strange," he muttered. He looked about him, to the other heaped forms of the dead and unconscious: all of them, even the aliens, were shaved bald with the same tattoo. "Some kind of gang symbol," the Jedi speculated.

"More like a Cult symbol," Venús replied, "That's all I can say."

When the Jedi looked up from the cadaver, Venús was walking away down the street. "Are you sure that's wise; going off on your own after these thugs tried to kidnap you?" the Jedi called after her as he rose to his feet.

She turned back to him, but continued to walk backward. "Who said they were trying to kidnap me?" She gave him a knowing look. "They were trying to take me home..."

 

To be continued...

 

[ckcsaber]

Very well written Jedi_Monk. I have always enjoyed reading Star Wars fan fic AKA EU.I'd like to see the next part when you post it. My only question is about Vibroswords. Are they exactly what they sound like?

[Jedi_Monk]

What a wretched hive of scum and villainy this place was, this dim cantina behind an unmarked door in the seediest corner of Xament, Rivium's spaceport city. It was overflowing with smugglers, murderers, thieves and people who wanted to disappear. The smoke of dozens of illegal narcotic substances hung heavy in a pungent, mingled cloud; every form of alcohol stronger than Dodbri Whiskey flowed freely, and asking for anything less potent would quickly get a man shot.

This place was also filled with dark corners and one was occupied by a man called Greyson. This particular man was a bit of a legend within the cantina, and often the object of many conversations. No one knew who he was, beyond a single name. No one knew what he did for a living, or where he went when night came and he left that bar, only to return before sun-up the next day. He sat there, in his usual place for hours on end, nursing a glass of Flameout.

Some occupants, mostly newcomers, connected Greyson with the rumors of a lone Jedi who patrolled the night streets of Xament. This was usually something scoffed at, and never referred to again by the embarrassed person who mentioned it.

Of course, this morning, after the local officials had happened upon a mangled group of thugs who had been killed by wounds that only a lightsaber could inflict, the entire cantina was buzzing with dozens of alien and human dialects, all speaking of the same thing.

The Jedi.

All except for Greyson, who just sat there in a dark booth staring into his mug of Flameout. The man behind the legend was tall and muscular with silver hair, even though his hard features placed his age in the early thirties. His eyes were odd, to say the least. One was a normal blue you could find on billions of humans throughout the known universe. The other was blood-red, and seemed to glow whenever light caught it.

Then, quite abruptly, there was a young, wild-haired and fresh-featured man sliding into the booth across the table from Greyson. "Good morning to you!" the newcomer said, smiling and practically dripping youthful enthusiasm. "Quite exciting what's going on now, isn't it? What with the Jedi and all!"

"You're new here, aren't you?" Greyson ground out, not looking up from his drink. "Then perhaps I should give you some advice." And now, the newcomer was staring down the carbon-stained barrel of an old Blastech DL44. "Talk to someone else and never come by this booth again, unless you want a hole where there shouldn't be one."

The young man shifted uneasily, but quickly regained some semblance of calm, though his eyes were crossed as he stared at the nozzle of the blaster. Many eyes had turned to them, and bets were being made on whether Greyson would dispense with his nuisance or not. "Now, now," he gulped out, his voice shaking a bit, "that's no way to--" he cut off as Greyson flipped off the blaster's safety. "My name's... name's..." he fumbled with his own name, his mind a complete blank from fear. "Aesres! Yes! My name is Aesres!"

"Well, Aesres, I suppose you're one of those fellows who thinks it's impolite to shoot someone after you know their name?" Aesres nodded quickly. "I was never a polite man..." Greyson's finger tightened on the trigger... and the sound of a blaster bolt rang throughout the cantina, making Aesres wince as he thought the bolt must be sizzling into his brain. It was not painful at all... actually, he felt nothing at all. He cautiously opened one eye. He was alive!

And Greyson no longer had the blaster trained on him, but on the squad of beings who had just flooded into the cantina, using blasters to blow in the door. "All right! Everyone get down!" the bald gang-leader bellowed as his men aimed their slug-throwers, blasters and rifles around the room, covering all angles. "We're not here for credits! We want the girl!" Aesres, looking a bit sick, slid down the booth and underneath the table.

Out of the corner of his eye, Greyson saw the elderly bartender slip away from his post and through a door into a back room in a very suspicious manner; at least two people noticed: Greyson, and the gang-leader.

With his unhindered hand, the leader gestured; and the thugs' line broke to admit more of their number into the cantina who spread out to search. A few of them hopped over the counter and made their way to the back room.

Greyson's eyes narrowed as he watched the illegal activity. Everyone was frozen--even the more hardened criminals--many with their hands in the air. Despite their leader's words, several of the gang-members retrieved pouches of credits from their petrified hostages.

Greyson watched as the manual door was opened by the thugs. There was a scream from inside and then the sound of blaster-bolts roaring through an enclosed space, followed by a sharp thud. The screams continued as two thugs exited the room, each standing head and shoulders taller than the struggling young woman they restrained. "We've got her, boss!" one of them yelled triumphantly, just a moment before there was a flash of green light.

Both gangsters fell, decapitated, as the lightsaber arched away from them and back to the hand that had thrown it. He crouched there, his brown robes falling over his rounded back and cascading down from the rafter on which he perched. All around the room, there were murmurs and shouts of, "It's the Jedi!" and there were even confused glances from the Jedi, to Greyson, and back again.

The gang-leader stared up at the inert figure, the left side of his face twitching uncontrollably with rage. He had not forgotten his humiliation of the prior night at the hands of this Jedi Knight! "KILL THE JEDI!" he roared, and every thugs' blaster was directed up at the lone man. They didn't even notice the chairs and tables rushing at them, propelled by a hand of the Force. They were bowled over by the unlikely projectiles, with grunts and cries of pain. And in that second of confusion amongst the remaining gangsters, their hostages took charge.

Blasters were quickly drawn from holsters, and the air was suddenly thick with crossfire. Venús ducked behind the counter as wildly-aimed laser bolts sizzled by overhead. But unnoticed in the seething cantina, a shadowy, chameleon-like alien stalked through the chaos toward his prey.

The trained killers who frequented the cantina were thoroughly routing the invaders, forcing the survivors out of their haven in a rain of deadly fire. Some were even taking revenge on the objects of longtime gambling grudges in the form of 'accidental' wide shots. Greyson scanned the rafters for a sign of the mysterious Jedi, but he was nowhere to be seen, but he did spy something else. The shadow, the color-shifting thing hovered above Venús' hiding place.

Quickly swinging his blaster around to bear on the creature, Greyson let off a quick barrage, his arm shuddering with the rapid backlash. The almost seamless disguise of the alien creature erupted as waves of red and blue rippled through its slender frame and it howled in pain as the blaster bolts pelted it. It tumbled to its knees and Venús jumped up and smashed a bottle of ale over the creature's head, knocking it unconscious and the alien's color shifted to a solid orange.

With that, the bar fell silent. Greyson smiled a bit, twirled his blaster and blew a wisp of smoke from its nozzle. He sat down again, and called under the table to young Aesres, "They're gone, you can stop hiding now, you bloody mynok!" No answer. He frowned and glanced under the table. Aesres was gone. "Stang..."

 

..."Bahli's dead!" the Trandoshan bounty hunter, Sharr, hissed as he exited the back room where the bartender lay motionless on a blood-stained pile of splintered wooden crates.

<A pity,> a squat Rodian who leaned against the bar-counter muttered in his own dialect, shaking his head. <Bahli made the best Corellian Twist this side of the Corporate Sector!>

The cantina was a wreck; it looked like a miniature Death Star had taken aim at it without the Rebellion there to blow the war-machine out of the air. Broken tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly all around the room along with the crumpled bodies of invaders and defenders. There were considerably more dead men with the Aurek tattooed on their heads.

The young object of the gang-member's attack sat sullenly at one of the few intact tables, flanked by a scar-faced Mon Calamarian and an enormous, black-furred Wookiee who stood as much to make sure she didn't escape as to guard her from further assault. Everyone breathing in the cantina wanted answers and it seemed that Venús was the one person who could provide them.

The chameleon alien groaned and shifted painfully on the countertop, making the Rodian jump back and quick-draw his blaster in surprise. <What the KRIFF!?> he shouted, his hand shaking a bit. <That KRIFFING thing's still alive!>

"Of course it is, Jyper," Greyson said from his usual booth. "That thing's an Odlar. His name is Rek. Bounty hunter, mercenary for hire and an all around piece of Sithspit."

<How the KRIFF did it survive!?> Jyper demanded shrilly. <You must have unloaded an entire KRIFFING energy clip into this thing!>

"Blaster bolts only disrupt the natural cloaking field they erect over themselves when they stalk... bah" Greyson muttered, shaking his head as he surveyed the broken shards of his mug and the spilt flameout dripping from the edge of his table. "To kill them, you have to use something more material... like a vibroblade, a slugthrower. Maybe a Hack rifle."

Greyson stood and searched around the bar, until he finally spotted an unclaimed mug of whiskey. He crossed the room to it, picked it up and took a sip as he walked to Rek, all eyes on him. After taking another lingering drink of the alcohol, he poured the remaining contents of the mug over Rek's face. "Wake up, you scoundrel!"

Rek sputtered and coughed, finally coming to his full senses. He sat bolt upright on the counter, wiping the burning liquid from his eyes. When he finally opened his enormous, bulbous eyes, he most likely wished he hadn't. He was surrounded by irate-looking humans and aliens, each with at least one blaster aimed at him. Rek groaned and feigned a faint, but the large Trandoshan quickly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, lifting the much smaller creature clear off his feet. "You have some explaining to do, Odlar!" Rek winced as the hot, fowl breath of the large alien hit him like a hammer.

"You can't pay me enough!" Rek spat. Then he squeaked as Sharr drew an extremely large and wicked-looking knife, as thick as it was long with serrated edges. Rek gulped loudly, his eyes moved from the knife back to his tormenter and an innocent smile crossed his thin lips. "Then again, under the circumstances I may be willing to give you a... small... discount?"

"How'sabout free?" The Odlar squeaked again as the knife pressed against his throat.

"I think I may be able to arrange that!"

"Why did those thugs try to invade our cantina?!" Sharr continued his interrogation.

"They were after the girl! They didn't want anything else! Just the girl... that girl! Over there!" he pointed wildly to Venús.

<Only wanted the girl, eh?> Jyper raged. <Well one of those slugs that got away stole over a hundred kriffing credits from me!> There were murmured agreements from other occupants of the Cantina who had also lost large sums of money at the hands of their invaders.

"Not my fault!" Rek stammered. "I took nothing, see!"

"Shut up, weakling!" the Trandoshan roared. "Why were you after the girl? Is there a substantial price on her head?"

"Oh yes!" Rek said, nodding vigorously. "And if you release me and give her to me, I'll share the six-thousand credits!"

"Six-thousand?" Greyson spoke up.

"Yes! Six-thousand!"

"Who contracted the bounty?"

"I... eh... I'm not at liberty to say... but--" Sharr pressed the knife a bit harder. "I don't know! I worked through an agent! But why don't you just give her to me?! There are many others on her tail, she's too much trouble to keep around, you saw where it landed poor old Bahli!" Rek concluded, his high-pitched voice dripping with more sickening, concerned sincerity than the old cantina had ever heard.

"Ah, so now you want us to hand her over to you just because we would be safer... how..." Greyson's blaster nozzle pressed against Rek's temple, "...sweet. We're not giving her to you," his voice left no room for argument.

"What is she to you?!" Rek cried.

"Because, until I find out exactly what's happening here, I am her bodyguard." Rek opened his mouth to protest, but Greyson continued, "You say your employer offered you six-thousand credits for bringing her in; I'll give you seven-thousand just for leaving her alone. You won't have to do anything, except crawl back to whatever rock you've been hiding under since we last crossed paths."

"Show me the credits; you won't double-cross me again, Greyson!"

Greyson laughed, "This with a vibro-blade against your throat and a blaster pressed against your head. You never learn, do you, Rek?"

"I've learned not to trust you as far as I could throw an obese Gamorrian!"

Greyson smiled ruefully as he holstered his blaster and retrieved a pouch of credits from his belt. He upended the pouch, letting large amounts of the multicolored chips cascade onto the counter. "Seven thou. You could count them... if you wanted to risk getting your throat slit."

Rek's gold eyes bulged at the sight of so much currency and he licked his thin lips greedily. "Heeheeheeheehee!" the Alien cackled. "For eight-thousand, I would guard her with you, Greyson, my old friend!"

Greyson drew another pouch from his belt the tossed it onto the pile of money, "Deal! Sharr, release him, if you please." The Trandoshan glared at Rek for a long moment, then he sheathed his knife and simply dropped the other alien as though he were a bag of Bantha fodder. Rek grunted as he fell heavily to the ground.

Greyson crossed the room, pausing at the table where Venús sat. "I'll take her now." The Mon Calamari and Wookiee guards shared a questioning look, but conceded to Greyson, handing over their prisoner.

And so, Venús, flanked by Greyson and Rek exited the cantina, out onto the achingly bright mid-day Rivium sun which glistened on quaint cobblestone streets. None of the three trusted each other, but each hid that fact with varying success.

"I thank you for getting me out of that dank cantina," Venús was the first to break the unnerving silence, "but I really don't need your help. I believe we should just part ways, now."

She moved to break formation, but Greyson caught her shoulder, pulling her back. "Listen, sweetheart," he said in a dangerous whisper, "I paid that little mynok eight-thou to help me protect you from whoever wants you, and by Force, I'm not gonna let you out of my sight until I get some answers!"

[ShadowTemplar]

Just read the first part. Looks nice, though I never really liked writing in the SW universe. Too inconsistent for my taste. But you write well. A pro, perchance? Oh, and what's an "Aurek"? Oh, and this may sound a bit pedantic, but doesn't the brown-robed Jedi's sabre turn from orange (in the first part) to green (second part)?Do blasters have recoil? I thought that they were las-weapons?

 

So. When do we get the next one?

[Jedi_Monk]

But you write well. A pro, perchance?

Heh, I wish; but thanks for the compliment!

Oh, and what's an "Aurek"?

In this picture, the Aurek is tattooed to the man's forehead. It's a letter in the Star Wars alphabet equivilent to the letter "A".

Oh, and this may sound a bit pedantic, but doesn't the brown-robed Jedi's sabre turn from orange (in the first part) to green (second part)?

There's a reason for that; just keep reading and it'll all make sense!

Do blasters have recoil? I thought that they were las-weapons?

In the movies, they do appear to have some kind of kickback. The most obvious examples in SW1 are when the Naboo use the blaster cannon on their Flash Speeder to blow up an AAT, and when Captain Panaka is blowing out the window in the Royal Palace.

 

So. When do we get the next one?

Right now; once again, questions and comments are welcomed!

 

The Ancients: Part 2

 

The northwest outskirts of Xament were notorious; widely known for being the most dangerous part of the spaceport city, and given an even wider berth from travelers not wanting to get caught in the crossfire that frequently soared across the unkempt streets. However, three individuals, two humans and an Odlar strode boldly upon the dirt walkways.

"You live in these slums, Greyson?" Rek inquired, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. "You certainly have moved down in the universe since we last met!"

"Often, the best place to hide in is the last crack an enemy would think to look," Greyson replied, then he glanced down to Venús who's eyes scanned over the dilapidated buildings as though searching for an opening for escape. "I wouldn't advise straying," Greyson informed her. "I doubt even the Jedi would trek into this part of the city to rescue you if you fell into the sites of a blaster."

"You seem sure that I would," Venús observed, her eyes narrowing.

"That's because I am." Greyson patted the butt of his sidearm.

After that, the three unlikely companions walked in relative silence, while all around them the sounds of urban warfare drifted throug air dense with a palpable sense of hopelessness and desperation, until Greyson directed them into a restricting alley. At first glance, it looked like all of the other side-streets in this desolate suburb. That illusion vanished as Greyson pressed upon a false brick and a door hidden in the wall slid up with a mechanical whir. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Humble was probably the last word to describe Greyson's lair. The walls were a serene blue, bleached white by the glowpanels inlayed into the ceiling. A plush bantha-leather couch dominated the large entry-room and was surrounded by every creature comfort a human could want. On three sides of the room were doors leading into other quarters.

Rek whistled with admiration. "By Alderaan's graveyard, this is something! How the kriff could you afford it all?"

"I have my ways," Greyson said simply. "Now, my dear Venús, Rek and I need to discuss what we are going to do with you. You may make yourself comfortable in my quarters. They're just through that middle door. You will be safe there." Venús bowed to them slightly, then walked toward the door, the very picture of sullen obedience. "Oh, and Venús? There is no way out of these appartments besides the way we came in, so don't even think of escaping."

Once his guest and prisoner was secured in his quarters, Greyson sat back on the large couch, propping his feet up on a short table. Rek wandered around the room, peering at every accessory and knick-nack with stunned awe, then the Odlar turned his inquizitive gaze on Greyson himself. "Would you happen to have any ale? Getting the poodoo beat out of you can leave a man parched!"

"I take my ale at the cantina," Greyson replied. "I have no need of it here."

"Bah..." Rek glanced around quickly as if searching for anyone who might be hiding and eavesdropping on them. "Greyson, I had heard all the rumors, and I thought they fit with you."

"What fit?"

"The rumors of the Jedi."

"You saw the Jedi at the Cantina with your own two eyes. If you still think I'm that rogue Jedi, you're even stupider than I had thought." Greyson took his legs off of the table and leaned toward the Odlar. "You said you were working through an agent?"

"Yes, indeed," Rek confirmed.

"Who was it?"

Rek's right eye twitched, and a nervous and unsure expression passed over his orange face. "Why are you asking me? The girl knows why we were after her!"

"Rek, answer the question," Greyson growled. "When I question Venús, I want her to think I know more than I do about all of this. She seems the kind you need to bluff to before she shows her hand."

"Ah... y-yes, of course, that makes sense, I suppose," Rek stammered.

"So, who was the agent?" Greyson demanded again.

"A crime lord named Boss Nivac," Rek finally said.

"Boss Nivac?" Greyson frowned. "The gungan?" Rek nodded. "Then perhaps the answers I seek lie in the swamplands of Naboo."

"Stang... believe me, Naboo's worse than this dustball of a planet! It was never the same after the Empire got a hold of it! Full of the dregs of the civilized galaxy!"

"In other words, you should fit in just fine." Greyson thought for a minute. "We should leave as soon as possible; whatever Venús is involved in it's big."

 

The hour was late, and the house computers had dimmed the glowpanels in accordance with the sleep cycle. Rek's spindly, slumbering form was sprawled across an oddly-shaped art-deco chair in one corner of the entry-room. Greyson sat upon the couch and leaned over a holoproj that held articles from the holonet suspended in midair before him.

The object of his search were gangs and cults who were linked to this mysterious Aurek tattoo. He rubbed his rough chin thoughtfully as he read over an old entry from pre-Imperial times. An intriguing piece recalling the abrupt loss of communications with a colony on one of the moons of Iego. When Galactic Republic operatives arrived to investigate, they found the colony in ruin. Many were unaccounted for and the rest were found in their beds, on tables or left to rot in the street, their blood drained by incisions in the shape of an Aurek across their chests.

Greyson pulled up similar articles, and found a cycle of events very similar to the first, occurring approximately every century stretching back to the very first colony that was founded on the moon. The same deaths, always the Aurek used to drain blood--evidence suggesting while the victim was still alive.

Then, one sentence caught Greyson's calculating eyes. "This tragedy is suspected to be the work of a cult called The Ancients," he read aloud. Reading further, Greyson found that though it was suspected that The Ancients were based on the moon of Iego, but no attempts had been made to discover their lair.

Greyson leaned back against the cool leather of the couch and tapped his fingers against its arm, deep in thought. "Rek!" he called to the sleeping Odlar. When the sounds of snoring did not miss a beat, Greyson took up a small wooden Kashyyyk sculpture from the tabletop and hurled it at him. In Rek's efforts to defend himself from this surprise attack, he slid down off of the chair and onto the floor.

"Force!" he muttered, rubbing his backside painfully. "What was that for?"

"We've got a change of plans, old friend," Greyson told him. "Naboo's out... The Moon of Iego is in."

Greyson didn't notice the shadow that passed over the Odlar's face.

 

To Be Continued...

[ShadowTemplar]

Originally posted by Jedi_Monk

In this picture, the Aurek is tattooed to the man's forehead. It's a letter in the Star Wars alphabet equivilent to the letter "A".

 

Me bad. I should have figured that there was a reason for that pic. When do we get the next installment?

[StormHammer]

That's a cracking good read, Jedi_Monk, with a nice mix of well-paced action and mystery. I'm hanging on the edge of my seat to find out what happens next.

 

And you really should try to get your work published.

 

Mind you...I can talk... I've yet to finish a damned story...