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firebird-legacy · 1 year

Text

Correspondences

A series of messages between Torian Cadera and Corridan Ordo.

Word count: 1408

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: Mand’alor’s summons

What’s happening

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: Mand’alor’s summons

You’ve been out hunting too long. GH finished. Mand’alor’s presenting the champion.

And yeah I figured you wouldn’t know so I went ahead and bought a shuttle ticket for you too. Meet you at the wall tomorrow. 0600, don’t be late

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: Mand’alor’s summons

Appreciate it

~~~~~~

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Oh, buddy.

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Answer me

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

What

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Don’t “what” me I saw how you were looking at her all starry eyed

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

No I wasn’t.

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Sure

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

I wasn’t.

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

Stop ignoring me.

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Sure lover boy what do you want

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

I’m going to leave something nasty in your bedroll

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

Besides, purely hypothetically, it’s not like I’d have a chance

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

You know that

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Sure, hypothetically. whatever helps you sleep at night vod

And don’t be like that you’ve got tons of redeemable qualities. Like your tendency to go on week long hunting trips all by yourself with no notice or warning to your commanding officers

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Oh wait you’re being serious.

Weve talked about this. Your old man’s mistakes aren’t yours. You’re as good and worthy as any of us, so cut the shit.

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

I know, but not everyone believes that

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Fuck em

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

Helpful

Besides I’m sure she already has tons of suitors. Being a single woman of her standing and prestige and all

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

“Standing” this “prestige” that quit beating around the bush you’re not fooling me

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

And I doubt I’d ever get a chance to really talk to her anyways

Statistically speaking

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

Okay I can’t refute that

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

Where’s your next assignment?

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

My unit’s heading for Tatooine. Hopefully not for long

Wish you were here

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: [no subject]

Well I don’t, if youre headed for Tatooine. I’ll be on Dromund Kaas for a bit. Not sure about after. We should try to meet up soon though

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: [no subject]

For sure. K’oyacyi!

~~~~~~

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: champion

She’s here

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: champion

On Dromund Kaas?? Why

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: champion

Hunting some beast. Sent by Mand’alor. She’s in the caves now

Jogo tried to pick a fight, didn’t know who she was. Probably good thing I was here

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: champion

Jogo, that skanah. Remind me to put a boot up his shebs the next time I see him

So what you ran to talk to me the second she’s out of sight? I hope you at least tried to talk to her

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: champion

I did, I stopped her from killing Jogo

But in all seriousness she seems very levelheaded and pragmatic. I think she’ll be able to take down whatever’s in that cave

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: champion

Look at you singing the champion’s praises

Wish I’d seen the look on Jogo’s face. Moron needs to stop sharpening his knife and tune into the holo

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: champion

Just making an observation

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: champion

I think she’s coming back. People are getting excited

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: champion

Well??

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: champion

She got it. No one’s really sure what the beast is, but it’s definitely the one because you can’t hear its heartbeat in the caves anymore

She even managed to put Jogo in his place, which is probably the more impressive achievement between the two

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: champion

Oya! That’s impressive. Both with the beast and with Jogo

When do I get to read the poetry I’m sure you’ve already begun to wax in her honor?

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: champion

Oh come on I was joking

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: champion

Answer your comm you osik

~~~~~~

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: Current station

Saw you were on Taris, with Commander Fett

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: Current station

Yeah, why

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: Current station

You’ve been acting a little off lately. You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: Current station

No, don’t worry

We’re just here to fight the imps battles for them. As usual

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: Current station

Good. Keep it that way

~~~~~~

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Heard that the imps have started working on something big on Taris. You know anything about that?

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Torian

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Answer my comms you shabuir

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Torian are you getting these? I’m getting worried

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Torian I just talked with Commander Fett. Where the shab are you

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Answer me

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

If you don’t answer me I’m coming to Taris myself and cracking heads until I find you. Answer your fucking comm vod

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: imp activity?

I’m alive. Jicoln is dead

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

WHAT?

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: imp activity?

Went hunting for him. Wouldn’t have been able to take him down without levi though

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

You osi’kovid skanah beskad lo'shebs'ul narit I’ll kill you myself

Who’s Levi

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: imp activity?

Grand champion

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Okay I think you need to explain to me exactly what happened

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: imp activity?

Grand champion came looking to collect on Jicoln’s bounty. Ran into me in the field, we decided to work together

Jicoln challenged Levi to Geroya be Haran so I helped scout out Jicoln’s honors while she gave him the runaround. He got me pretty good near the end but Levi patched me up

I injured him though. Levi was able to track him down after that. Let me have the killing blow. Talked to him a little first

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

Osik, vod. Glad you’re not dead, I ought to thank the champion for that if I ever meet her. My comm’s open if you need to talk to someone about it all

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: imp activity?

Thanks. Might take you up on that later.

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

And since when were you on a first name basis with the grand champion, you cheeky shabuir? You’ve gotta be the luckiest bastard I’ve ever known. Have you tried any poetry yet

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: imp activity?

Ne’johaa

To: Corridan Ordo

From: Torian Cadera

Re: imp activity?

And I’m a part of her crew now actually

To: Torian Cadera

From: Corridan Ordo

Re: imp activity?

YOU’RE WHAT?

~~~~~~

Mando'a, in order of appearance vod: sibling (in this context, brother) k'oyacyi: "Cheers!", "Hang in there", "Come back safely". Literally, a command - "Stay alive!" skanah: very hated person; approximately "fucker" shebs: ass oya: Lit. "let's hunt"; also "stay alive", "hoorah", "go you", "cheers", etc. Always positive and triumphant osik: shit shabuir: motherfucker shab: fuck osi'kovid: motherfucker beskad lo'shebs'ul narit: "You can shove your beskad (Mandalorian blade) up your ass" ne'johaa: "Shut up"

#swtor writing #my writing #torian cadera #corridan ordo #oc: levissen

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stargazersith · 1 year

Text

Screw it, here’s some stuff I’ve wrote for my one true love, Kairn Kallig, my SI OC. It’s like one long ass prologue for her (over 4k words), I don’t expect anyone to read it but at least it’s out there. I’m sure we’re all aware but the SI backstory deals with slavery, so that’s in here as well as physical violence and verbal abuse. She’s just generally having a really shitty time.

3 years after the Treaty of Coruscant…

Dust streamed down the broken shaft and into the darkness, billowing like a cumulonimbus cloud until it was all Kairn could breathe in. She coughed and coughed until she tasted blood, as her eyes streamed with tears. A cacophony of voices echoed around her as she desperately tried to gather her bearings, clawing at the ground for grip, ignoring the rattling noises in her skull and the scratching at her throat. She just needed to breathe; to ‘take a moment to quiet her mind’ as Lieutenant Ryyz would say.

Kairn, was a girl of 13 with no surname and no family. She was a slave to the malevolent Sith Lord, Lord Karrion, an eccentric collector who forced her to delve into the tombs of ancient Sith Lords to look for the artefacts he was too cowardly to get for himself. She was a slight, gangly thing, with protruding collar bones and ribs like a bird’s cage. She was so much of nothing in fact, with her dull, brown skin and black, matted hair that one could be forgiven for passing her by without much thought, except perhaps for the fact that she had two extraordinarily bright, green eyes. She’d been bought by Lord Karrion for a measly 170 credits 6 months ago and had been forced to do his work for him since. As he’d told her with an unfeeling smile just before he’d thrust her into the pitch black of the tombs for the first time, he’d sent hundreds of slaves down before and most had never come back, but he had a good feeling about her. She was sure he’d said that to every pawn he’d owned, she wasn’t special. Except that she was. Kairn had one unique characteristic that differentiated her from all the other slaves he’d sent down there; she was force sensitive.

She’d known about it since she’d been four after she’d managed to push something she really shouldn’t have been able to push back on the subterranean agri-farms of Sernpidal. The knowledge of her power had only ever caused her trouble since. Now it was the reason Lord Karrion had picked her to be his slave, and it was the reason she was here shuffling in the darkness, trying to not let her panic overwhelm her.

Something brushed against her hand, so cold it leeched the warmth from her skin. What was that?! She tried spinning around but she couldn’t see anything in the pitch black. The shouting of the other slaves started to settle into something more telligible, “Kairn?” And then a scream followed. More shouting ensued. As she crawled up onto bruised knees, a crack thundered from a distance followed by the emergence of ghostly, white hands. Her dilated pupils ached from the shock but she couldn’t look away as they waved towards her. Was it a ghost?! They were in a tomb after all, it wasn't out of the question. She tried to scramble away but as her back hit a wall, she was forced to watch as the hands neared and her heart drummed in a runaway rhythm. And then a face followed, that of Micah, the oldest slave boy of the group who’d been sent down.

She sighed with relief. He helped her up onto shaky feet as he said, “I broke the illumination rod. The chemical mix should give us some light for a time.”

She nodded. That made more sense than ghosts. “What happened?”

Micah grimaced, “Dobie happened. He freaked out and accidentally set off a trap. And then the floor collapsed beneath us.”

She tried to recollect the moments before everything had fallen in, the tension of the rope tied around her middle, around each of their torsos in fact, the rise in people's voices, the sound of skin slapping. Karrion didn’t just send her down alone to look for artefacts, he sent a group of 10 slaves, all connected by some rope so that they didn’t lose each other in the darkness. Because she was the force sensitive one she’d been put at the front of the group, (Karrion hoped that her sensitivity would lead her towards objects emitting energy), meaning she was far away from the scuffle when it broke out and unable to see it. She’d certainly felt it unfold however, and then gravity had swallowed them all whole.

“And the rest? How many of us are still alive?”

It had been a violent fall amongst the crashing debris and rubble. In fact she was lucky she hadn’t injured herself more. There was a stabbing pain in her left ankle but it was yet to be debilitating and she had scratches all over her body but that was it.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

A wail of pain grew from the shadows. Kairn and Micah looked at each other. Clearly someone else was alive. The sound of whimpering followed, it seemed they also needed help, “We need to go help them.”

Micah hesitated but she was already hobbling towards the sound, her footsteps crunching on the remains of whatever cavern they’d fallen into. Micah quickly followed her bringing the light of his hands with him. “Are you sure about this?”

Of course not. She wasn’t sure of anything. But they weren’t going to escape just by standing around, so she lied, “Of course. The more of us there are alive, the more likely it is we’ll find a way to escape.”

As soon as her words left her lips, they passed by the glazed, dead eyes of Syreen, a girl who’d been at the front of the rope chain with Kairn and who’d acted as the group’s navigator. She’d been a nervous sort of girl, who chewed on the ends of her fingers, and spoke with a stutter, but she’d been kind to Kairn when Kairn had first been brought to Korriban. Syreen had had a memory like a data stick; she’d known the ins and outs of every tight corner and haunted corridor of this twisted place. Now she lay still, back collapsed at an unnatural angle, her chest still as stone. ‘You’ve got a strong stomach Kairn, you can handle this’, she said to herself as she walked past. Still the urge to crumple over, vomit and cry was hard to subdue. That so easily could’ve been her, strewn dead and broken. Micah muttered behind her, some form of prayer for the dead she didn’t quite understand. She didn’t bother with her own. Prayer required some hope for peace, a concept she’d never found appealing. Or real. They moved on with much difficulty, and eventually they reached the sight of the whimpering.

Kairn rushed to the sound. Jayce was grey with pain, his lower body pinned to the ground by a boulder so big they couldn’t see the other side of it. He was shivering with a sheen of sweat all over his body, and as Kairn stroked his hair away from his forehead, she noticed he was cold to the touch. Jayce was a slave just like her, and five years her senior. He’d held her at night when she’d first arrived on Korriban, separated from everyone she’d ever known and loved, and desperate for comfort. He’d rocked her to sleep and whispered into her hair, “You’re okay, you’re safe.” And he’d done it every night for a week straight until she could sleep on her own.

She started crying as Micah tried pushing the boulder, but despite his efforts it didn’t move an inch. He grunted with frustration, “It’s no use. It won’t budge.” He looked down at Jayce and with a trembling voice as if the weight of what he was about to say overwhelmed him, “Maybe we should just leave him behind.”

She shouted, “No!”

“Then what are we going to do Kairn? He can’t move!”

And give up that easily? Is that what he wanted to do? She pushed him to the ground, “Move! I’ll free him.”

Micah was incredulous, “You’re just a little girl, what are you gonna do?”

But she wasn’t listening to him, or to Jayce’s agonised wheezing. She needed to focus. She closed her eyes and placed her palms flat to the boulder. It was wet and slimy with algae. There must’ve been a trickle of water that was seeping down from the surface into the tombs, which meant that there was an opening somewhere, maybe one big enough for them to escape from. But that was immaterial for the moment, she needed to free Jayce. So she listened to the rhythm of her heartbeat, quick and pounding, and tried to slow it down. She counted each breath and slowed them down too, until she could feel the dank air of the tombs rushing in and out each of her nostrils. ‘Let your emotions guide you. Make them into a fist in your mind.’ Ryyz’s words echoed through her mind. She was angry at being down here, angry at Dobie for being such a coward and dragging them all down with him. She hoped he was dead. She was terrified that they’d run out of air down here, that they’d find no way of escaping and that she’d slowly die an unremarkable death as her body gave up from the lack of food and water. She was scared that she wouldn’t be able to free Jayce, that he’d die here in pain. Because why wasn’t this stupid rock moving? Why was it that when she pushed and pushed and pushed, nothing moved?! Why can’t she save him, save herself, do anything with these damn blasted useless powers, given to a slave of all people, someone who’s nothing, who’s dirt in the ground in the scale of the universe? Why, why why?! Why was she here?!

She screamed. The boulder moved. Micah gasped. And then the ground collapsed beneath them all.

——

“Kairn, wake up. We’ll be late for the morning count.”

Was that Myri’s voice? She peeled her eyes open and yawned. Where was she?

Myri shook her shoulders playfully, “Come on sleepyhead. The overseers will have your head again if you’re late.”

Overseers? Morning count? Was she back on Sernpidal? Had Korriban just been one extended horrible nightmare? She burst from her sleeping mat and enveloped Myri in a hug, “Oh I’ve missed you so much. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Myri pulled her back by the shoulders and looked at her strangely, “Missed me? We’re never apart.”

But Kairn persisted and pulled her in again, her head tucked over Myri’s shoulder and by her friend’s lekku. “I’m sorry ok. I’m sorry for everything.”

Myri decided to just let her friend squeeze the breath out of her, “Sorry for what? You haven’t done anything?”

Sorry for being so angry. For threatening to kill you. For that being the last thing I’d ever said to you, Kairn thought. Or what she’d thought was the last thing. “I just- let me hug you,” she pressed chapped lips to her friends cheeks, “and kiss you.” They both collapsed into a fit of laughter, tangled in each other’s arms, and Kairn relished the warmth of her best friend. It had been far too long since she’d felt the touch of another. As she came down from her high of laughter, Kairn whispered, “Let me just miss you, okay?”

The remaining trembles of laughter still remained in Myri for a while but eventually she whispered back, “Okay.”

Heartened by her friend's response, Kairn took her by the hand, ready to run to the front of the field where the slave masters did a daily count of the slaves, “Come on, or we really will be late.”

But Myri’s arm had turned to lead. Kairn looked back and the Twi’lek was staring at the ground, standing eerily still.

“Myri?”

Myri’s voice vibrated with disgust, “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll slit your throat!”

Kairn started shaking her head, like she could wipe away what she was hearing. This couldn’t be happening. “No, no, it’s not like that.”

Myri glared at her, her hand tightening around Kairn’s in a vice grip, “That’s what you screamed at me, remember? 6 months ago. To this day.”

6 months? So Korriban hadn’t been an awful dream? She really was gone. And she really had said all those awful things to Myri, “Myri please, just listen-“

But Myri wasn’t listening. She’d pushed Kairn to the ground and pinned the smaller girl down by her shoulders, “You would’ve killed me you bitch.”

Kairn was crying again, filled with the tears of a guilty child, “I wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t. I’m sorry. I would never hurt you.”

Myri took Kairn by the shoulders and smashed her into the ground. Kairn’s head smacked against it, and she felt the cool sting of blood oozing from the back of her head. Myri shouted into her face, raw and furious, “I loved you like a sister.”

Kairn didn’t fight back. She looked up into the eyes of her dearest friend, saw the hatred burning there and closed her eyes as Myri pounded her into the ground again.

——

Kairn awoke to the smell of her own blood, and the taste of damp rock in her mouth. It was pitch black again, none of Micah’s light was around, and she couldn’t hear any coughing, or screaming or whimpering anymore. She was truly alone. The thought terrified her. When she tried curling up onto all fours the darkness spun around her and she collapsed onto her front with the overwhelming urge to vomit. The burn of her bile was strong as she hacked up the empty contents of her stomach. She was well and truly trapped now. She had nowhere to go. Despair seemed like the most rational option.

Something cold bushed up her arms again. Something unnatural and sinister. She held her breath, her heart hammering away in her chest. She waited in complete darkness for that feeling to return and as soon as she’d started to convince herself that it had only been a figment of her imagination, it returned to seep the warmth from her face. She started shivering.

She shouted, “Who’s there?” As if she’d get a response and of course she didn’t, until a sickening howling started echoing from behind her at a pitch too painful for human ears. She clasped her hands over her ears and begged the force for it to stop, but it kept howling and howling, screaming like the dying agonies of a whole civilization, until her whole body was shaking and she was screaming along with it. And then she turned to face it, and she shook with so much fear she felt like she could explode. She scratched at the stone, trying to claw her way towards anyone, anything, begging for help. But no one ever came.

——

The next thing Kairn remembered was waking up in a medbay, her fingers bandaged with a fine layer of kolto and her head stuck in some sort of plastic cone. She tried moving around but she was restrained to the bed by her arms, and she struggled to move her head around in the cone. Her shifting seemed to have caught the attention of a med droid, who rolled over to her with a datapad, “Ah, it seems you have awoken. I’ll go fetch Lord Karrion”, it said with its robotic voice.

“Wait-“, But it had already rolled away. Lord Karrion was the last person she wanted to see right now. Unfortunately he arrived by her bedside within the minute, sounding far more cheerful than she’d ever heard him before.

“Ahh, if it isn’t my favourite slave. Get her out of this bed and cone, I need to speak to her at once.”

The droid objected, “But sir-“

“Do it or I’ll scrap you for parts.”

“Yes, as you wish my Lord.”

With what sounded like a heavy sigh, although she wasn’t sure if droids were even capable of that sort of emotion, it unlocked her shackles and carefully unwound the plastic cone. To her surprise she found that her neck still felt intolerably stiff. Had she broken it? Was she going to be paralyzed for the rest of her life? But when she went to touch her throat she felt the familiar feel of cool metal underneath her fingertips. She traced its outline all around her neck, the curve of the emitters, the squareness of the latch at the back. Lord Karrion watched the realisation dawn on her face.

He smiled, “Do you like it? It’s your new shock collar.”

She stared at him blankly. She’d worn one on Sernpidal, every slave had there, but they’d been rudimentary and smaller. Even so the shock from those collars had rendered her unconscious from the pain many times over. This one seemed huge in comparison, and it made her neck ache whenever she tried to move her head.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes. It’s a new model, specially brought in for you. It attaches directly into your spinal cord at the back there, hence why you might be feeling a bit sore. And it has a tracker embedded in it so that I know where you are at all times. I don’t want to lose my most important slave.”

She didn’t know what to say. Well… she had a lot to say but all of it would get her killed immediately, besides she was breathing so harshly it was too difficult to speak anyways. He’d surgically attached a shock collar to her body. He’d violated her with a smile. She felt faint. The skin around her throat started to burn, like her very being was rejecting it. She glanced around the room even if it felt like it was spinning; it was a medbay with several beds and three kolto tanks but she was the only patient in there.

With much effort she managed to choke out a question, her voice hoarse from her endless screaming, “Did anyone else escape?”

Karrion widened his blood red eyes in mock horror, “Escape?! No slave ever escapes me. Oh you mean the tombs? Two others did.”

She hated the sound of hope in her voice when she asked, “Jayce?”

Karrion tilted his head to the side, his golden earrings dangling in the air, catching glints of light from the flashing instruments in the back. “I don’t know who Jayce is but I’m assuming he’s one of your slave friends. The droid can tell you about it, I don’t know anything.”

Of course he didn’t, they were all just expendable commodities to him. The droid ambled over again and started going through a list of each of the slaves they’d recovered. Micah came up, he’d been one of the two to survive, but Jayce’s name hadn’t been on that list. Eventually she asked the droid directly.

It told her, “Jayce’s body has not been found in the three days-“ Three days? How long had she been unconscious?,”-since the incident. According to the accounts of another slave, Jayce suffered from major crush injuries. On two counts.”

Kairn stopped breathing. On two counts. On two counts. She was the second count, she’d caused the second injury, she’d killed Jayce! She looked down at her hands, wrapped in bandages stained with blood that had dried brown and crusted, as a strangled gasp escaped from her tightening chest. “What have I done?”

Karrion intruded into the conversation with about as much tact as a rampaging bantha, “What have you done? You’ve brought me my Sith abattar, the one I’ve been looking for for years.”

But she wasn’t listening. Her mind couldn’t let go of what she’d done. Jayce, crushed and dead and alone because of her. She started whimpering as Lord Karrion continued rambling, “It’s an ancient translator capable of allowing the wearer to understand any language they desire. You hobbled out of the tomb with it clutched in your hands. You got your disgusting blood all over it, but I’ll let it slide just this once. And as a reward for being such a good slave and retrieving it for me, you’re going to be at the dinner I’m hosting tonight. I want to show everyone my new favourite slave. And perhaps, if you’re good, I’ll let you eat some of our food after we’re finished.”

It wasn’t until he’d finally paused for breath that he’d noticed Kairn had fallen into a full body racking sob and wasn’t listening to a word he’d said. She didn’t notice in time as he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face.

“Stop your snivelling slave and look at me.”

But she only remained ever more hysterical. She missed Myri, she hated Korriban, she’d just killed a boy. She couldn’t bear it.

Karrion was displeased with this. He grabbed her by the scruff of her robes and dragged her off of the bed. She wasn’t able to land on her feet quick enough as he stormed away with her in his hands, so her feet scraped across the floor as she desperately tried to escape his grasp.

“Stop flailing!”

All sense of self preservation was flying out of her, “No!”

He tightened his grasp but remained silent which was almost worse. He was taking down her halls she’d never seen before, filled with intricate golden rugs and paved with gleaming, red and brown tiles. It was more luxurious than anything she’d ever seen in her life. She could hear his servants gasp and anxiously run to the side as they saw him storming along with her in tow. He took her up some stairs that she tripped along and that tore up her knees. Eventually he burst through two double doors, nearly running over the small servant girl who was replacing his towels, and flung Kairn to the edge of his balcony.

“You think you can ignore me?”

She crawled onto all fours and stared at him wide eyed and terrified. He stalked closer and closer until she was forced to scramble back to the edge of his balcony.

He sneered, “Look down.”

She peered over the edge, her heart in her throat and saw two massive tuk’ata hounds prowling a sand pit underneath. They seemed to have sensed her fear and stopped to watch her from a distance, hunger for her flesh ripe in their eyes.

Karrion chuckled, “Like them? They have a taste for force sensitive little girls.” He bent down until his unfeeling eyes were all she could see. “Dare to ignore me again and I’ll throw you into the pit and watch as they tear you apart, limb from limb. I have no use for pathetic, snivelling little girls. Understand?”

She stopped crying. She didn’t want to die. Despite hating everything about her very existence she wasn’t brave enough to end it all now. So she numbed herself to the pain raging inside her, throwing all thoughts of Jayce away and nodded. She was going to survive another day even if it cost her her heart.

——

Later that evening as she stood pin straight in her fresh new clothes, specially prepared for the occasion, and let Karrion’s friends poke her left and right, she gazed up at the starlight. They were outside in his visitors courtyard where he was hosting his guests, with tables overflowing with food and servants at the ready with his most expensive wine. Her hands were shackled together, a symbol of her status amongst the gathering, and she was relegated to the coldest corner of the courtyard, but otherwise she was free to do as she liked. So she stared into the night sky like a dumb, mindless animal and wished to be taken away from here. She wished she was back on Sernpidal, near Myri again, somewhere familiar and warm. She never thought she’d miss a subterranean farm and yet here she was, willing the sky away for a chance to see her friend. But that wasn’t going to happen. She was trapped here, perhaps forever, yearning for freedom. And she had to learn to accept that if she wanted to survive. She must. Except Kairn never did learn to accept it. She was stubborn like that, strong willed, headstrong, and a perfect candidate for a certain set of Sith trials many, many years later…

#swtor #swtor oc #swtor sith inquisitor #darth nox #sith lord #sith sorcerer #star wars #kairn kallig #swtor writing #swtor fanfiction #i have much much much more stuff in store for her #the poor baby #the suffering never ends #swtor fanfic

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kemendin · 2 years

Text

CLEANSING OUR ASHES

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was all he could think. This wasn’t how his life of service was supposed to end - shot for his loyalties with a rifle of his own beloved Empire. They’d toss his body in the waste disposal, and all that would be left of Captain Malavai Quinn would be a smear on the wall below Kaas City.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior

Words: 14,600

Canon-divergent KOTET reunion, featuring drama, angst, revenge, and hot tubbing. Content warnings for canon-typical violence/injury, light torture, execution, minor character death.

This fic is 92% entirely self indulgent hurt/comfort, and 8% reworking canon to make it fit Khel’s story and let Quinn have the revenge he deserves. Accordingly, some background details are left intentionally vague.

Chapter 3 - Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

Khel couldn’t help but notice how familiarly Quinn was treating him, his comments no longer bearing the near-constant signature of ‘my lord’ as he spoke. It was entirely possible that Quinn was simply too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to put in the effort of such formalities. But Khel suspected a different cause, one deeper and yet far simpler; just as the Empire itself had been changed by so many years of fighting for its survival, so had Malavai Quinn.

The door at the end of the hall was closed, but a few tendrils of steam were still wisping their way out along the seams. A small table sat just outside, laden with two heavy mugs of mulled Kaasi wine.

“You should have everything you need inside,” said Khel, as he stepped over to the table. “But just use the intercom if not.” He held out one of the mugs to Quinn. “Take this with you. And take as long as you like.” He couldn’t help reaching out with his other hand as well, wafting his knuckles gently across Malavai’s cheek.

He had already turned away and moved to leave when Quinn’s voice brought him up short.

“Won’t you…won’t you join me, my lord?”

Khel paused. The formality was back. Curious.

Quinn had many different ways of saying ‘my lord’, all with their own unique inflections and implications. They ranged from deep respect in public, to sly teasing when the two were alone, and all the way to stiffly passive aggressive when he found himself in disagreement with Khel. This particular one, however - Khel was reading uncertainty there, and restraint. It was the tone Malavai employed when he was feeling at a disadvantage, and trying to find a way back onto more secure ground.

Khel shifted to face the other man again, canting his head as he regarded him. “I thought you might want to be alone for a while,” he explained. “This has been quite the ordeal for you.”

Malavai’s expression twitched. “My lord, I have been essentially alone for the last five years,” he said, in a pained voice that made Khel’s insides stir with renewed anger at what he’d endured. “I would vastly prefer your company.”

He was such a pitiful figure, standing there in his ill-fitting clothes with the mug clutched in both reddened hands, his hair bedraggled and a haunted look flickering in his eyes, and Khel found himself wishing he had made Quinn’s would-be executioners suffer a bit more before they’d died.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #malavai quinn #sith warrior #swtor sith warrior #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars the old republic #swtor writing #swtor:khel #kem oc #kem writes #kem fics #otp: servants of the empire

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trash-gobby · 1 year

Text

Two Bounty Hunters Walk Into a Guild Meeting

Pairing(s): None

Characters: Aryia, Despel (both our bounty hunter characters we do quest stuff together with. yes I know my dude's outfit is ridiculous. no i am not gonna change it lmao)

Link: SWTOR

⚠️ Warnings!: Some stripping (not completely naked though haha)

A/N: So this is just a silly drabble based on the time my friend and I were playing our bounty hunter characters and I decided to have my character dance naked at a guild meetup. Sorry guild members 😔 I can't resist memeing

______________________________________________________________

A cool breeze swept through the green hills and jagged peaks of Balmorra. Sweeping through the long plains until it reached the planetary hub, Sobrik.

Descending the steps of the spaceport, Beef let out a bellowing sneeze that would have shook the earth were it physically possible. Beef was a big man, meaning his sneezes were naturally loud to match his size.

He was a unit of a Rattaki man, adorned with metallic piercings and fearsome face tattoos to match. He was blessed with the charm of a half-baked ahk dog, and a love for bloodshed that was only beat by his even greater love for money.

Beef surveyed the surrounding area with wary eyes, wiping his pierced nose with the back of his gloved hand.

"God fucking damn it," a disgruntled woman's voice called out not far behind him. "I gave you tissues for a reason, they aren't just there for decoration."

Aryia hopped down the steps at a brisk pace to keep up. Where Beef was tall, broad and muscular, with an intimidating disposition, the small Chiss woman he travelled with was the opposite.

She was small and lithe, which helped her more than you would think in their line of work. Beef once called her "fun-sized," which had nearly gotten him blown up.

She appeared well-groomed. Hair always back in a slightly messy updo. Her dark red eyes framed by vivid magenta shadow betrayed none of her intentions. She was a like a rock, stoic and unreadable. If she didn't have a noticeable scaring across one half of her face, one might mistake her for an imperial drone instead of a fearsome bounty hunter.

Even then, her enemies seemed to underestimate her due to her petite feminine appearance.

How could an adorable tiny Chiss woman in bounty hunter armour possibly pose any threat? Only her enemies, and occasionally Beef would know once she decided to strike.

"Fuck off, I can do what I want," Beef replied with a grumble, causing both Mako and Aryia to roll their eyes.

If Aryia and Mako rolled their eyes every time Beef opened his mouth to make a dumb unnecessary comment, they'd both have to go to a med bay on the fleet to see an optometrist.

As they made their way further into Sobrik city center, the two bounty hunters noticed that there was more hustle and bustle then usual. There were a plethora of various Sith Lords, Darths, Imperial Agents, and Mandalorian Bounty Hunters.

"Didn't expect this planet to get as much action as this," Looking around Aryia took in the appearance of true full fledged bounty hunters.

These were true warriors who had fought their ways to the top of the food chain. The kind of hunters who had carved their reputation into the bones of their enemies with their bloodied fingernails. They'd worked harder then any. Their scar covered faces, and elaborate armour sets.

One day Aryia would reap the same rewards. All the glory and honour would be hers when she became the victor of the great hunt. Or in this case "they" would be the victors.

Aryia was still getting used to the whole partner thing. She'd always been more of a lone wolf, which was quite normal if one wanted to take up the bounty hunter profession. But her and Beef had both mutually bonded over nearly getting assisted by Tarro Blood's men. Somehow that had gotten them travelling the galaxy together.

They were allies joined by a mutual enemy, not friends, they'd never be friends. Right?

As they made their way further into the throng of the crowd, Beef seemed to be eyeing up a group of more revealingly dressed sith sorcerer's. Didn't matter the gender, if there was skin being shown, or a tight outfit, Beef's eyes were gonna end up wandering that way.

"I think they're all in one of those fancy clubs," Aryia looked over at Beef as he made this statement. Her brow thoroughed in skepticism.

"You think? They all seem pretty different. Not a whole lot of unifying aspects to them." Pointing from a Sith warrior clad in black battle armour, over to an imperial agent in tightly fitting pink bodysuit. What a weird choice for a profession that relied on being under the radar.

"Yeah, sometimes I have the ability to think. If you look closely they all have the same little pin. Like one of those coat of arms things." He was correct surprisingly this time. As Aryia observed they all did have the same emblem either in the form of a pin or embroidery worked into their uniforms and armour.

"Well, imagine that. Why would these fancy guild members be all the way out here on Balmorra?" Her question wasn't ever gonna get answered, as she was interrupted by the sound of armour shifting and unbuckling. " What the fuck are you doing?"

Both Beef and Aryia had made their way around a corner to a less busier side street. Thank the gods, because she was now witnessing insanity. Not unusual from her companion.

"I'm gonna show them what a real bounty hunter looks like in the flesh." His voice was loud enough to carry to a couple other onlookers, who turned to whisper at each other.

"You do know 'in the flesh' is a turn of phrase and not a literal instruction," Aryia growled as Beef proceeded to take of his gear piece by piece with great haste.

It was almost impressive how he'd managed to get his chest piece off in the short conversation they'd had about his current stroke of insanity. He would call it eccentricity.

Hopping on one foot, he started to work on the lower half of his gear. Beef's massive chest and arms were exposed to the world, and the rest of him would follow not long after.

Aryia briefly debated shooting him in the knee and dragging him away so he wouldn't do what he was about to do. However, not only did she have witnesses, but it felt like a waste of ammo.

So instead Aryia settled for turning away and mashing ball of her hand into her aching head. Just another day babysitting this man-child with a shotgun.

Within a matter of second he stood beside her, clad in only his thermal underwear, which was a must when travelling to planets with unpredictable weather.

They were definitely gonna get arrested. Or, at least Beef was, and Aryia was gonna have to bail him out.

"Please put your gear back on." She didn't want to beg, but she was so tempted to.

"I'm not done yet. The fun part still hasn't happened." With that, he was off.

Full sprint, the massive Rattataki man barrelled into the center of the crowded guild meeting. Aryia could only watch on in horror from the sidelines.

Shoving aside various members of the guild, attracting both appalled gasps and nervous laughter, Beef found his perfect stage for what he was about to do.

Standing in front of the railing on the elevated platform which lead to one of the buildings, Beef began to dance. His dancing skills were majestic to his own eyes alone. To Aryia he looked like like someone suffering from a massive hernia when he would try to bust a move.

At least when he danced in public it was at a club and he was fully clothed. This was beyond awful.

She could see the horror and confusion on the guild members faces as he kept shaking his substantial ass and throwing his head back and forth. He moved his arms vigorously, making Aryia grateful no one was close enough to get clipped in the nose, like the last time he tried to dance.

One person whistled and some laughter followed. Clearly some people were at least amused. However, that did not reduce the embarrassment of the display.

Just another day working with the world's dumbest bounty hunter.

Aryia decided she would let him have his weird little moment and started on her way to their mission. He would meet her there when he was done flashing the guild members. What an idiot.

#swtor fanfiction #swtor writing #rattataki #chiss #bounty hunter #chiss bounty hunter #rattataki bounty hunter #attempt at humor #based on a true event #sorry guild members #swtor oc #swtor bounty hunter #trash gobby fics

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commander-krios · 2 years

Note

[ HAIR ]: sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards. (if the receiver has short hair, then the sender reaches out and gently runs their fingers through their hair to smooth it back.)

Here ya go! Part 2 of a 2 part fic. Part 1 is here. Used some Jonas/Keshani in the background of this fic, but I might do a follow up later about what happens a few days later between them, once they've both stopped being shaken over the events of the fic. Enjoy!

~~~~

“I can’t believe you just let her go.”

“I didn’t let her do anything.” Jonas snapped, crossing his arms over his chest as the Rattataki woman stood toe to toe with him. Kaliyo may be a full foot shorter than him, but she was capable of a lot of violence and he didn’t have any intention of being on the receiving end of it. “If you knew Keshani as well as you say you do, you know that arguing with her has no effect anyway.”

“She can’t argue if she’s unconscious.”

Derrick stared daggers at the mercenary, not finding any of this as amusing as she seemed to. “Considering Keshani is probably getting tortured at the moment, forgive me for not laughing.”

“Calm down, spook. She owes me credits. I’m not going to let her die.”

“Charming.” He muttered, moving to the window of the warehouse where they’d set up reconnaissance. The Sith knew they were there, Jonas figured she could sense the Alliance Commander’s anger in the Force, but she hadn’t done anything but fortify her base of operations. The entire building was swarming with Imperial guards now.

“Is there anything else we can do besides standing here?” Arcann asked, standing near the same window as Derrick.

Having Arcann this close made Jonas’ skin crawl. He swore it was because the former Eternal Emperor was responsible for killing so many of his friends during the Eternal Empire’s war against the Republic. He refused to consider the other option. The one that involved Keshani.

“I vote for explosives.” Kaliyo said with a savage grin. He had no idea what the former Imperial Agent saw in the Rattataki, but he could admit that she was perfect if they needed a distraction.

“We need to be careful with how we approach this. Keshani could get caught in the crossfire.” Lana explained as gently as she could, not even bothering to glance up from her datapad. “Theron agrees with the assessment.”

Jonas rolled his eyes. Theron, of course, had been busy on another assignment. What he wouldn’t give to have his best friend here besides the Sith. Although, her powers could come in handy.

“It doesn’t matter what Theron thinks, he isn’t here.” The Alliance Commander was the tallest person in the room, a hulking mass of a Sith, a warrior with no equal. Or so the rumors said. Jonas hadn’t seen him in action before, but just by looking at him, he believed them. Kieran Zythor was well over 6’5, long blonde hair brushing his shoulders, piercing green eyes that matched his twin’s. Three diagonal scars ran along the left side of his face. Cybernetics covered the other side. If that wasn’t enough to give a person pause, the terrifying calm he radiated would.

“Then what do you propose we do?” Arcann asked, the only person in the room besides Lana who could look the Commander in the eye and not flinch. “The more time we waste, the more likely we are to rescue a body.”

Jonas winced at that, unable to imagine Keshani dead at the hands of a vengeful Sith. To have all of these people gathered together to save her, to risk their own lives to make sure hers didn’t end, said a lot about the kind of person she was.

“Who’s the Zabrak?” Kaliyo asked, sitting on a rickety chair and throwing her feet up on the only table in the room. “I don’t recognize her from the Cipher days.”

Lana typed something into the datapad. “Lord Kallig. Birth name unknown. She was once a slave on Dromund Kaas until she was found to have an affinity for the Force. She apprenticed under Darth Nox.”

That name was familiar… and a terrible thought entered his head.

“Is… Is she doing this under Nox’s orders?”

The Commander bared his teeth in a vicious growl. “If she is, I’m going to rip Nox’s head from her body.”

“Kieran- perhaps threatening to murder the Empress of the Sith isn’t the best course of action.” Lana warned him gently.

“I’m not threatening the Empress. I’m threatening my sister. And I’ll damned well do what I want.” He hit the table in front of him so hard that it shook. Kaliyo immediately returned her feet to the floor, a look of alarm crossing her face.

“Whoa, big guy. We won’t let anything happen to her.” She said, in a way that could’ve been considered comforting if it was anyone but her.

“Don’t patronize me, Rattataki.”

Kaliyo rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. Probably smart on her part.

“Listen, we don’t know what we’re walking into. Lord Kallig is a powerful assassin and a sorceress, much like the Empress.” Lana explained, her voice calm in the midst of turmoil. Jonas was positive that without Lana’s presence, the warehouse they stood in would’ve been in flames.

“We need a plan that doesn’t involve getting any of ourselves killed in the process. We are useless if we’re dead.” Derrick interjected, a permanent scowl on his face. He hadn’t been pleasant since Keshani had disappeared with that Zabrak. Not that Jonas could say he’d been either.

“Yes.” Lana agreed, finally setting her datapad down to look at those gathered. “I think a good place to start would be with Kaliyo and her explosives.”

The Rattataki perked right up at those words. “Yeah? Speak to me, oh Sithy one.”

Lana’s lips twitched with a shadow of a smile, but she managed to keep it at bay. “Let’s discuss options.”

~~~~

Her eyes opened to darkness.

Keshani wasn’t sure of how much time had passed since she’d surrendered herself to Lord Kallig, but by the ache in her arms and back, it had been hours at least. The chair she was secured to was uncomfortable, the cuffs rubbing the skin of her wrists raw. A dull throbbing in her head made her hiss in the silence. The Sith hadn’t been kind even though she came willingly.

Her head fell back against the chair, a groan slipping past her lips. She was most likely concussed and if that was true, she was going to have an awful time trying to escape.

“Good. You’re awake.”

The lights of the cell flickered on, blinding her. Keshani shut her eyes, trying to keep her breathing even and steady, trying to keep her anxiety from overwhelming her.

“Was this necessary?” She managed to ask, her eyes opening to slits so that she could watch the Zabrak Sith without worrying about getting a lightsaber in the gut.

The Zabrak shrugged, a grin curling her lips. “I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

Keshani would have laughed if she wasn’t in pain. With all of the years she worked with Sith, Lord Kallig had been a whisper in the shadows, one of those Sith that parents told their kids about to get them to do their chores. While Keshani’s older sister was a force to be reckoned with, she’d managed to usurp Vowrawn not long ago, Kallig could be considered an equal in cruelty to the new Empress.

Kallig was more than an enemy. She was a threat to the entire Alliance.

Clearing her throat, Keshani waited briefly as her vision adjusted to the brightness. Then she met the Sith’s crimson eyes. “What things am I here to do for you?”

The smile turned suddenly cruel. “Oh Cipher. You think I brought you here for your help?”

The laugh that followed her question did little to ease her anxiety.

“Oh no, my darling. I have other plans for you.” Reaching out, Kallig scraped a sharp nail against her cheek. “So let’s get started, shall we?”

~~~~

Derrick laid on the ledge beside him, eye pressed to the scope of his rifle, keeping an eye on the guards below. Kieran, Lana, and Arcann were going to clear a path for the rest of them, their Force powers more powerful than any blaster was. The rest of them would follow once the guards were dispatched and then together, they would find the Sith and hopefully, Keshani.

Lana had supplied Kaliyo with a box of grenades and mines. Jonas didn’t want to know where the Sith had acquired them. All he wanted at that moment was to be looking for Keshani. He could only imagine the sorts of torture that she was suffering at the hands of a vicious Sith Lord.

Forcing the image from his mind, Jonas focused on the scene below. Lana and Kieran had sliced through the first set of guards, red and purple lightsabers making it easier to follow their progress. He didn’t see the former Eternal Emperor at first, but when a guard dropped to the ground dead a few feet from where the Sith were, the yellow glow of Arcann’s lightsaber signaled his arrival.

Derrick noticed it as well if his snort was any indication.

Jonas was momentarily distracted by the flash of the Alliance Commander’s weapons, violet and teal creating a beautiful whirlwind of colors in the darkness of the alley. Keshani was right about her brother: he was fiercely protective of her, but he was also one hell of a dramatic Sith.

With a growl, he threw one of his sabers at a guard. The blade sliced a devastating wound into the man’s chest and he dropped to the ground without a sound. Kieran didn’t notice the cloaked figure approaching him from behind, but Derrick did. His rifle cracked loudly, a bolt finding home in the skull of his target.

The Commander’s gaze briefly dropped to the body before finding Derrick above him. The tiniest of smiles curled his lips. He nodded his thanks before turning back to the task at hand.

“Show off,” Jonas muttered, securing a blaster in each hand before moving to the ladder.

Derrick was silent, intent on keeping his focus on the battlefield. It was probably for the best, Jonas didn’t want to get into an argument when they had other pressing concerns. He descended the ladder quickly, his feet finding solid ground only a few seconds later.

The Sith and Arcann had finished clearing out what guards were posted outside the main door. He had to step over a few bodies and scattered body parts before he reached their side. He tried to ignore the sudden disgust that turned his stomach, knowing that these Imperials probably weren’t all just ‘doing their job.’ Many of them enjoyed hurting others. Perhaps this was some sort of justice for crimes they committed.

“Are you going to be alright, Agent Balkar?” Lana’s eerily calm voice broke through his morose thoughts. “You could stay behind if you can’t handle the fight.”

Jonas wanted to scoff, to snap at her, but he managed to hold back those instincts. They wouldn’t serve him here. “I’m not… used to working with Sith. I’ll be fine.”

Lana didn’t appear convinced by the words, but she stayed silent.

“Is the Rattataki ready?” Kieran asked no one in particular, eyes on the door that sat only a few feet away.

To Jonas’ surprise, Arcann was the one to answer. “Yes.”

“Then blow the door. Kallig has a date with my lightsaber.”

~~~~

An explosion rocked the building, the light in her cell flickering wildly before casting the entire room in darkness.

“Oh goodie, our guests are here.”

Kallig sounded entirely too excited about coming face to face with whatever army Kieran had brought with him. No doubt, he’d already wiped out a large portion of her guards and would do anything he had to to bring her back home. And she knew, by his side, would be Jonas and Derrick.

The thought would’ve been relieving if she was in the hands of anyone else but a Sith Lord.

The glow of a purple-black core lightsaber was the only illumination in the room. Kallig held it close enough to her face so that her expression could be seen. Baring her sharp teeth in a grin, the Zabrak pulled Keshani from her chair with only the use of the force. She almost stumbled at the suddenness of it, but managed to stay upright.

“Come, Cipher. Let’s go say hello.”

They didn’t have to walk far from her cell. At the far end of the hallway was her brother and his entourage. Even with her cybernetic enhancements, it was hard to see who was who, but she would recognize the colors of his sabers no matter where they were.

When Kallig was certain he was in earshot, she let out a giggle that sounded completely unhinged. “I was hoping you would get my invitation, m’lord. You certainly are a difficult man to get in contact with.”

“Let her go, Vaka, and perhaps I’ll let you live.” Kieran growled, his lightsabers sparking wildly. His anger was barely in control and Keshani heard the threat in his voice. He would kill Kallig where she stood if she didn’t.

“Tsk, tsk, Kieran. We both know I can’t do that.” The Zabrak’s lightsaber was pointed at Keshani’s throat, the humming filling her ears and the heat scorching the skin. “I was sent here to kill both of you and I intend to honor my contracts.”

Movement behind her brother caught Keshani’s eye. Arcann was there, the glow of his own lightsaber joining Kieran’s. And next to him… was Jonas.

He was trying not to appear afraid, but she could see the way the corners of his eyes tightened, the twist of his lips into a frown, his body tense. Keshani knew he feared for her life, but this wasn’t the first time a Sith had threatened to kill her.

Her twin stepped forward, diverting her attention as he pointed his teal lightsaber at Kallig. “Duel me, coward. If you defeat me, then the Force wills it.”

Vaka’s crimson gaze turned to meet Kieran’s challenge. “Very well. We will see if the Alliance Commander is still as powerful as he thinks he is.”

“When you fall, I’ll send your head back to your Empress.”

A manic laugh escaped from Kallig’s mouth before she lunged. Kieran’s sabers came up defensively, stopping the single lightsaber she carried. With her free hand, she conjured a ball of lightning, but before she could aim it, Kieran spun away, his lightsabers flashing.

Keshani took the opportunity to press herself against the wall, keeping herself as far from the fight as possible. If she wanted to get out of here alive, and get her stubborn brother out alive, she was going to have to be smart. Her back collided with durasteel walls and she shifted closer to the encroaching darkness.

Kieran was focused on the fight, his face twisted as he snarled at Kallig. She ducked as he swung his violet lightsaber, getting an opportunity to unleash some of her chain lightning at him. His teal saber came down and deflected the majority of the attack, but he was still burned by a few bolts.

He used the pain to feed his anger, coming at Kallig without hesitation. She didn’t stand a chance against his brute strength, but the Zabrak was a Sith assassin. She disappeared into the shadows before his strike could connect, her laughter echoing after her. Kieran growled, glancing wildly into the darkness, searching for a hint of her location, anything that would give her away.

Kieran’s cybernetics weren’t the same ones that Keshani had spent years adjusting to her work. His were meant to administer painkillers, to help him heal the worst of his injuries, and to give him stimulants to keep him on his feet during a fight. Keshani’s, however, enhanced her eyesight and hearing. As a sniper, it was a necessity. Imperial Intelligence made sure that their agents had had advantages.

Lightning manifested behind Kieran, a violet and white so bright that it was blinding. He didn’t get his sabers in their defensive positions in time. The lightning hit him square in the chest, scorching the plating of his armor and forcing him back, a sickening crack following as his head smacked against the wall.

Keshani didn’t think.

With her arms still bound, she ran towards where the lightning had originated until her body collided with the shadowy figure of Kallig, both of them sprawling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The Zabrak roared in anger when her cloaking failed, exposing her to Kieran’s allies.

None of them could get to her side fast enough. Kallig grabbed Keshani by the hair, yanking her backwards until she felt the Sith’s fangs sink into the tender flesh of her shoulder. She could easily rip her throat out from this angle and Keshani froze, her entire body waiting for that death strike.

The humming of Lana and Arcann’s lightsabers filled the silence. Keshani searched for Jonas in the darkness, relieved to find him well, but his expression did little to ease her own fears. Warm blood dripped down her neck, the sharp teeth stinging her with any small movement. If she was going to die, then at least she would be able to see Jonas one last time.

“Release her.”

The voice came from behind Kallig, not from the small group in front of them. And it wasn’t Kieran…but Derrick. Keshani couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face. Hope fluttered in her chest for the first time that night.

Kallig removed her teeth enough to speak. “What makes you think you can stop me before I rip her throat out?”

Derrick was silent for a brief moment. Keshani could hear her brother moving a few feet away, but she didn’t dare look in his direction. Maybe Kallig wouldn’t notice him until it was too late.

Derrick let out a snort. “I’m the best shot that the SIS has. No offense, Keshani.”

Gods, she loved that man. She just would never tell him that.

Jonas took a step forward, blaster in hand. “Do you want to test that claim, Sith? Let her go. You’re outnumbered.”

Kallig growled viciously before removing her teeth completely. Then she shoved Keshani to the ground. She landed on her injured shoulder, the pain nearly enough to knock her out, but Jonas was suddenly there, cutting the bindings from her aching wrists. Arcann and Lana were on Kallig before she could think to escape.

When she lifted her eyes to meet Jonas’ concerned gaze, she felt like she could breathe again. She was alive, he was here with her. Kallig would end up in a disrupter collar somewhere on an Alliance base. Reaching out, Jonas brushed a stray piece of her blonde hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her cheek momentarily before he checked her wound.

“What in the nine kriffing hells were you thinking?” He whispered, applying a kolto bandage to the bite marks. “Do you have a death wish?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Mr. ‘Broke Down Speeder’.” Keshani teased, ignoring the sudden lightheadedness she felt. She stopped herself from saying anything else when Derrick appeared at her shoulder.

“What the fucking hell-”

“I already asked her that.” Jonas interrupted sharper than he probably intended, but his jaw was clenched as he watched the Force users deal with the Sith. “The Commander and his crew seem to have everything in hand. Keshani needs medical attention. We need to get her to the safe house.”

Derrick glowered at his friend, but nodded his approval nonetheless. Once she was secured with one arm over each of their shoulders, they began to move in the direction that Jonas had entered the warehouse. Keshani glanced back briefly to see Kallig watching her with those crimson eyes, focused and full of vicious malice.

She knew that this encounter was far from over. Kallig wouldn’t rest until she and Kieran were dead.

However long that would take.

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darth-atarah · 2 years

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EPISTULAE - Those Five Years

A series of letters my characters send to each other or to some companions between 16 and 21 ATC, while the Outlander is frozen in carbonite. I may write more of them in the future as I figure out what everyone of them was doing, and I will update this post.

See the end for some notes.

————————————

The Force has spoken to me once more. For what our differences are, I know it has spoken to you as well.

I am going into hiding, and bring those who want to follow me. You may criticize me for my cowardice or inertness in your next letter if you wish, but I hope one day I can explain you my reasons for such a choice in person, and that you will understand.

For the first time in months, the path is clear. It is now the moment for us to retire, so we can return stronger in the future, and fight once more.

“When the Faithful shall doubt

When the Proud shall rest in pride

and the One who once escaped will dare to look behind,

The Spark shall ignite once again”

This is what my visions said to me, this is the time when we will act. Though when this future will come, I do not know. For now, all I can hope is that, when the signs will manifest, you and I will be able to recognize them.

Until then, stay safe.

S.N.

[Classified dispatch delivered to Darth Nox, 18 ATC]

————————————

Theron,

I had good news from my sister, more or less. Some days ago, a group of Zakuulans arrived to her enclave, disguised as refugees. They definitely knew were to look and for who. Sofia obviously had them spitting out everything in a matter of hours with all that charm of her. I would have opted for a blaster to their heads, but that’s not the point.

They’re deserters, Theron, DESERTERS. And apparently willing to give some infos you and Lana might want to hear, but let’s leave the rest for when we meet in person. Those fuckers already know too much about my businesses for my own tastes.

As if we hadn’t our hands full already, their leader says one of the damn Knights is hunting him down. We have to move quickly, I’ll find a way to have him brought here, so I can see for myself if this guy is as useful as Sof says. She also kept mentioning some Force vision and one of those cryptic poems she writes, but I think I’ll keep relying on facts.

Whatever blasted hell you are in, fly safe.

Elias

[Message delivered to Theron Shan’s personal shuttle, 19 ATC]

————————————

Malavai,

By the time you read this, I will already be in the Unknown Regions.

I know I will disappoint you with my decision, and as I leave Dromund Kaas that is my only regret. But my instincts have never betrayed me, and it is my intention to follow them, even if this time they bring me far from you, from our son and our home.

For the first time, Lana and Theron seem to have a true lead. A part of me still refuses the idea of a single Jedi being the key of this war, but I am willing to take the risk if this can save the Empire from its degrading condition.

I now speak to you not as your Lord, not as the Empire’s Wrath, but just as a wife, and a mother. In the name of what we shared, I ask you to read carefully.

This message will automatically delete as soon as you close it. For no reason you must be linked to my actions in any way. If there is any affection for me left in your heart, do not try to reach out to me until I do it myself. Do not try to find me, or send agents trying to.

Take our son and leave Kaas City. To defy the Council has consequences, the capital is NOT safe.

Watch over Vidarr and stay safe, my love.

Rhy’Lis

[Automatic message sent to Captain Malavai Quinn’s personal frequency, 19 ATC]

————————————

Consider yourself lucky, for your husband had the sense to contact me instead of his dear High Command before the whole Empire could learn about your foolish act.

I won’t even begin to explain how much of what we were planning is now undone. I thought you had come to terms with your mistake of favoring Acina, years ago. All she was able to do was condemning us all to this humiliating subjection. Your support to my claim as Emperor would have been invaluable, since every other remaining Lord seems to lack any sense or nerve in these times. In light of your recent actions and the chaos that will succeed, I have no other choice than to keep working in the shadows.

But it is not my intention to send my army after you, or the Intelligence, not for the moment, even if it would be my pleasure to scold you in person. Another one already came to me before, sure that what you, Shan and Beniko intend to do it is the ultimate solution to turn the tables of this conflict. I remain skeptical about said “solution”, but should you succeed in your search, I will follow the developments with great interest.

I will do what I can so no one learns about your true purpose. However, I don’t think I will be able to do much for the reputation you shall gain in the eyes of the Dark Council and of the Empress. Most likely, they will decide to mark you as a traitor when Zakuul comes to us, demanding explanations for the sudden absence of the Wrath.

I trust you won’t be foolish enough to answer this message. I will wait for more favorable times, should you hear from me again.

Nox

[Encrypted message delivered to the Empire’s Wrath personal ship, 20 ATC]

————————————

It has to be tonight, Elara.

We finally have a lead. If what I learned from Theron and Lana is true, we are closer to Master Mynehart than ever before.

My family got us an unregistered ship that will be ready by the end of the day, settled on a route for Zakuul. No one will stop us at the spaceport.

Aric and Yuun are coming too, and I was able to persuade the others. We’ll leave Forex behind for now, too many risks. And I heard nothing from Tanno.

I am aware of the position I am putting you in, but this inertness is sickening to say the least. Havoc’s dismissal was the last insult; as a soldier of the Republic I can’t tolerate this situation any longer.

Docking bay 61-b, 20.00

I trust to see you there, my friend.

Clotilde

[Message delivered to Sergeant Elara Dorne, later turned in to Supreme Commander Jace Malcom, 20 ATC]

————————————

THE SPARK IGNITES ONCE AGAIN

[Transmission repeated on every available frequency approximately 48 hours after the Outlander’s escape, 21 ATC. Zakuulan Intelligence wasn’t able to detect the exact source]

————————————

NOTES:

Battlemaster Phoebe Mynehart is the Outlander.

My Sith Warrior, Rhy’Lis Akrasia, joined Lana and Theron on their search for the Outlander.

Barsen’thor Sofia Naerie and Domiras Kallig aka Darth Nox have been secretly in contact, exchanging informations and trying to limit the sabotage actions between the Republic and the Empire. Rumor has it that they have been emotionally involved.

My Smuggler, Elias Naerie, is Sofia’s older brother and helps her by smuggling goods and transporting refugees to various safehouses around the Galaxy.

Clotilde Feyre, my Trooper, remained in command of Havoc Squad, and is an open opposer to the peace treaties with Zakuul.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #the old republic #oc: phoebe mynehart #oc: rhy’lis akrasia #oc: sofia naerie #oc: domiras kallig #oc: Clotilde Feyre #swtor outlander #knights of the fallen empire #knights of the eternal throne #swtor kotfe #swtor kotet #slight canon divergence #swtor fanfiction #swtor writing #swtor worldbuilding #yes the poem is terrible but I didn’t come up with anything better lmao

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starwers · 2 years

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I was tagged by @starknstarwars and @should-i-say-it-like-a-spy

I've been thinking about my new knight lately, so here's some mood setting fluff.

Master Dymos held up a hand for silence, "Padawan Ores, have some trust in The Force. If our mission is not meant to be, we'll know soon enough."

Taking a slow deep breath Arix gave a small nod, "Yes master."

"Good, now, open your mind to The Force. Reach out and listen to the ebb and flow of the planet below." Vyrr's voice took on a melodic soothing quality, almost hypnotic. "As you inhale, picture yourself on the surface, smell the mountain air, feel the rays of the suns on your skin." For several minutes he said nothing else, watching his Padawan's breathing, letting him slip into a meditative trance. "As you exhale, let The Force guide your mind, then follow the flow of the force and let it take you where we need to go."

#swtor #swtor writing #wip whenever #thank you for the tag!

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noxjanes · 1 year

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My 7.2 post is gonna be very long because as it stands I’m still on Odessen and at almost 1000 words so be prepared for this to be long and take me a few weeks. I can only type so fast with a bad wrist. The good news is I have a very long WIP being worked on when I got writers block for so long. There may be like 8 parts to this fic or it’ll be one 20000+ word fic I have no clue.

#swtor #swtor writing #laisle janes #sith inquisitor #writing #I’m slow at writing #swtor 7.2 #not spoilers but an update on the fic

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darth-bagel · 2 years

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so about Captain. just because I am sure I did not talk about the bastard but--have some brief Sylvas past recounting bit, take in mind they were 17 (yes I am aware, yes this bad), in a bad place without many choices and someone decided to take advantage. well-- look how much fckn trauma this bastard can fit.

But okay, Tivan'n just recently hit 17, they managed to jump a ship with a friendly Captain they knew, they had some negotiations. And he, knowing them enough already, agreed to get them some work until they pay off the trip-- like in Kit's case they do end up passing out on him and the patch-up begins. It ends up managed and they even get a nap in kolto, but once they are out of fever and slowly sleeping the worst of it off post the kolto dip-- Captain breaks it to them that "Yeah kid, that cost a small fortune, I guess you're gonna be stuck with me for a while. I'll let you work it off, I know you're a good mechanic so, food and boarding for your work until you break even for the trip and kolto, wha'cha think?"

Obviously, it wasn't much of a choice so they ended up taking him up on it, they couldn't really force themselves to stand up and be functional too soon, even with kolto, but despite the Captain being relatively friendly they could feel his calculating gaze on them, every day they spend still laying down just ticking off more time they'll spend paying it off. So they only stayed on bed-rest for a week and some change before forcing themselves to get up and contribute, and they put themselves to work with an enthusiasm that was not unnoticed. They realized fast that at this point they will have to bite their tongue and keep those work hours steady since they already showed they can get up and do it, so no more preferential treatment for their back.

And it takes a while longer and a stop-over on a planet with some shore leave as the Captain is doing some business for anything else to crop up, which they spend tucked safely in their bunk and trying to get as much rest as they can without bending over machinery or having to be upright. It's not that they had any actual credits left to spend, anyway. Okay, they had a bit, because giving all they had towards the trip didn't seem too wise so they tucked away some of it still. More to work off but at least they still have something for emergencies if need be.

Life somehow goes forward like always, their back gets better very slowly and they clock their hours, eat as much food as they can dare still wary of all the costs, and go to their bunk, rarely socializing with anyone else but the Captain coming over to hover over their shoulder as they poke something in the engine room, the first mechanic heard some of their ideas and technical stuff and basically went 'you go off kid, you're doing good' so Captain is mostly the one aiming their efforts towards everything working better. He clocked fast that he has some real talent on his hands, just gotta aim it-- especially since he literally pays them close to nothing. And will continue for a while, until they break even.

And it's Tivan'n so they are friendly and banter, even if there's the slightest concern there and they hesitate to call him by name anymore-- and that changed dynamic kinda goes to their Captain's head just a bit. And he starts more or less subtly flirting with them, and they don't protest, just twist that into their banter despite a slight flush rising on their cheeks every single time.

He thinks it's playing coy because fuck they have a mirror--they must know exactly what they look like and what they are doing-- when they really just don't have a lot of experience on that front-- and well, he is very pretty and older than them so... direct interest like this is very much blush-worthy.

So one afternoon, when they are fully engrossed in the maintenance check-up, one he knows will take them late into the night because they hate leaving it unfinished. He lets himself thread a hand through their hair and lean down to whisper into their ear "come see me in my quarters when you're done, darlin'." it's quiet and apparent propositioning and he delights in the visible shiver, slightly wide-eyed look in their eyes and the rapid flush on their face it causes. And hell if he didn't have plans for them he'd happily pull them up right there and then and fuck them straight into the wall. But it will wait. And he looks at them expectantly until they choke out a small "Captain." and a nod of acknowledgment. Their face is a deep, nearly glowing purple as they go to turn back to work-- oh yeah, he has some plans for them.

#my swtor #swtor writing #swtor #oc: sylvas sha'ael #swtor smuggler #darth bagel writes #yes this is a bit of my writings that never got published yet.#yes i have the whole thing.#yes Tivan'n is 17 #they are in fucking trouble #the wip of this is named ''tivan'n's first time was awful and I'm not sorry about it''#Captain is an utter fckn asshole that definitely took many a step that he shouldn't in this situation #*that's the point*#he's very handsome. older. charismatic. has warm brown eyes and is a horrible person.#...and i love him but he bad.#and yes Tivan'n Caes = Sylvas Sha'ael before they like 20 something and decide to change to Revas.#i have a graph somewhere pfsdkjflk #darth bagel rambles

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sunderedazem · 2 years

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New Summary for Crescent Moon Rising!

I like this summary MUCH better - and, of course: tags below~!

#swtor fic #swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor fanfiction #swtor oc #swtor things #swtor writing #crescent moon rising #moonrise legacy #corrain #corrain gealai

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valleyofthemachinegods · 1 year

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Certainty

The doors to the lift open, and the scenery that greets her is less a memory than it is a fever dream she can only just recall with the correct combination of meditation and spice. Yes-- throne room is just as stark, cold, and devestatingly void as she'd remembered. Grand, and entirely unwelcoming. As they walk down the landing, Arcann overtakes them, stopping just short of the seat that had caused so much unrest, so much strife.

"My throne…" he says, and Hildr shivers at his cadence. She stands astride of Senya as he ascends the steps, only to stop short of the prize.

"I took my brother's life here. Provoked Vaylin's anger. Abandoned the people of Zakuul…"

Hildr walks slowly up the stairs, pausing behind him, letting him continue. A shadow to blend in, to observe without interference.

"I am not fit to rule… I never was," he says at last, turning and meeting her gaze.

"You were following Valkorion's twisted example," she answers quietly, "But you're a better man than he ever was." She holds his gaze for a long moment, searching for something that she isn't ready to name.

"--Are you certain that you're ready to give it up?" she asks then in a low voice that sounds eerily robotic, synthetic through her mask. The surprise that crosses his features does little to sate her, and how unslaked she is. "Your throne, darling. It doesn't call to you?"

"Commander," Senya says from behind her-- less of an inquiry and more of a warning. Hildr-- no, Agonia, ignores the wayward mother, hyper-focused on Arcann. Walking slowly, replete like an akkling, around him until she could drag a gloved finger over an armrest. A viper in waiting, watching him carefully.

"You could do it right this time. You could be better."

"What are you doing?" Valkorion seethes in her ear and in her head, causing a grin to form on her twisted lips. It fails to reach her eyes. "You are meant to take the throne! My son will only kill you!"

"Arcann," she purrs, seductive and silky as she was when they'd been enemies (aren't they still?), shrouded in a coquettish veil that does little to reflect the whirlwind in her chest. He walks closer to her, gaze darting between her and the throne, "Is this not where you belong? You are strong."

The silence that lays between them is thick, electric. Her pulse quickens when he looks to her entirely, attention driven into her dead, dead gaze. Whatever he's searching for is hidden well, locked away in a place far less obvious than a window to the soul.

"And you are even stronger," that his voice sinks into her so thoroughly is damaging, but she will survive. Always does, it seems. "Claim the throne, Commander. You have earned it."

With that, Arcann turns away from her and descends the steps, leaving her with little else. I had to be sure, Agonia-back-into-Hildr says aloud, rendered free of any trace of emotion. Whether that explanation if sufficient is neither important nor reachable. With nowhere else to turn, it may as well be an eternal throne-- she sits upon it, and gazes through Senya and Arcann, into something unknown. Something worse than an assurance of peace for the galaxy. The static in the walls, between the atoms, inside of the darkness.

Just before the energy takes, a moment before the throne is fully claimed as her, she cannot help feeling as if she'd done a piss-poor job of outsmarting destiny.

Somewhere in her skull, there is laughter, and it does not belong to Valkorion.

#swtor #arcann tirall #swtor writing #swtor oc #arcann #my writing.#mine.#darth agonia.#mine: oc: hildr fahn #arcann.#i don't remember how to post drabbles/ficletts that aren't for an rp blog :|#any here's a fun and toxic ship that i'm working out #*anyway

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firebird-legacy · 1 year

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Branded

A look into how Torian got his scars.

Word count: 3512

CW: detailed description of a third-degree burn

Despite his parentage, the Cadera boy is a good kid. Caeth will admit that much. The fifteen-year-old is mature for his age and hard-working; he takes orders without hesitation and is fierce in a fight. When it comes to his fellow Mandalorians, he’s rather quiet and reserved, though Caeth supposes he can’t blame him. Like Caeth, Raysh—Caeth’s second-in-command—seems to be taking a shine to him, too.

“Torian bagged that rancor all by himself, today,” she’d told him the other day, a note of pride in her voice as they had watched the young Mandalorians celebrate their successful hunt. “A juvenile, but for a kid his age, it’s an impressive kill.”

Torian had been holding his trophy—a savage, hooked claw—grinning broadly with that fiery look of adrenaline still burning in his eyes. The boy doesn’t smile much, and Caeth had noted that the expression makes him look more his age, the downtrodden seriousness that typically weighs heavy on Torian’s shoulders lifted, at least for the moment, by the thrill of his victory.

“You like him,” Caeth had noted, neutrally.

Raysh had shrugged. “What can I say? He’s got spirit. It’s hardly his fault who his father was.”

As is the general consensus, at least amongst the people Caeth typically chooses to associate with. He knows many of the other, more opinionated Mando’ade hold the actions of Torian’s father against Torian himself—a stance that seems especially pervasive in the younger generations, who don’t have the nuance or perspective to dissociate the decisions of the father from the choices of the son. Torian, to his credit, navigates all this with more grace than Caeth would’ve expected from a kid—hell, more grace than Caeth himself would’ve handled things with. He reckons the boy would be well-justified in bashing in more than a few helmets. Caeth would have.

So, his opinions on Jicoln Cadera notwithstanding, Caeth finds he rather likes Torian Cadera, who is growing up to be a fine Mandalorian, with just the right balance of brains and brawn, unlike a number of his peers. He’d admittedly been a little dubious when Mand’alor had assigned Torian to his company. Mand’alor himself, which had been a blatant shock. Maybe it had been because Torian Cadera has no family to hunt with, nor a clan willing to take him in. Maybe it had been because Mand’alor and Jicoln Cadera had been friends, in another time, and Mand’alor feels honor-bound to ensure Torian Cadera is not ostracized or mistreated. Maybe it had been because of the rumors Caeth has heard of Torian’s treatment at the hands of other Mandalorians, and because Caeth himself has a reputation of being level-headed and fair, if not particularly nurturing or kind.

It’s not Caeth’s place to question Mand’alor’s decisions. He takes the facts of the matter at face value: Torian Cadera is in his company, by order of Mand’alor—and despite Caeth’s early, private concerns, he comes to realize he has no problems with this.

~~~

Caeth rises from his makeshift desk with a yawn as Felucia’s sun dwindles on the horizon, stretching to crack his back. He’s never liked this part of leading—the organizing, the paperwork—but someone has to do it, and now that he’s finalized which of his Mandalorians are going where in the upcoming hunts, he won’t have to worry about the warriors under his command complaining about being interrupted by their peers. Kids these days… Caeth sighs and begins shucking off his armor.

Some days, he feels like Torian’s the only one of the younger Mandos in the squad who doesn’t have something inane to gripe about every other day. Personally, Caeth thinks that the kids just need a good war—feel the thrill of true combat, of honing oneself against a deadly and intelligent foe; feel the bonds of friendship and camaraderie between their fellow warriors. But the war has been on pause since the Treaty of Coruscant, and while hunting beasts is an invigorating challenge, it doesn’t give perspective.

“CAETH!”

A voice roars from outside—Raysh. Caeth jerks to attention, slamming his vambrace back onto his arm as he charges out his tent, brandishing his blaster. Around, there’s the rustle and clamor of other Mandalorians waking, roused by Raysh’s shout.

Raysh stands across the encampment, mouth twisted into a snarl and eyes fraught with furious alarm, and in her arms—

Caeth’s breathing catches, then rage boils in his chest at the sight of Torian—limp and pale as death in Raysh’s arms, armor battered and muddy. He can’t see the boy’s face from here, but he can see the blood soaking his light hair.

“What happened?” he demands as he and Raysh meet in the middle of the camp. Around, there’s shocked whispers and outraged exclamations, but Caeth ignores them, staring at Raysh.

“I found him while out on a hunt,” she says grimly, cheeks mottled with fury. “This wasn’t a beast’s doing, Caeth. Look.”

She shifts Torian slightly. His head lolls towards Caeth. His cheeks are badly burned. Irritated red surrounds scorched and blackened skin, interlaced with bleached white lines, conspicuously absent of blood—and symmetrical, on each cheek. Not random burns—brands.

The symbol of Clan Cadera, seared into Torian Cadera’s cheeks. This is the work of a Mandalorian.

Caeth’s knuckles go white on the grip of his blaster.

“Who did this?” he manages to rasp out.

Raysh shakes her head grimly. “Not sure. He was… alone when I found him.”

Left for dead? Caeth can only assume so. He nods stiffly. “He needs to see Khamalu. Now.”

They rush to Khamalu’s tent—the company’s medic. Khamalu is already awake, and she is pushing through the entrance of her tent as they approach. She opens her mouth, either to greet or question, but her gold eyes fall on Torian, and her face flickers briefly through shock and outrage before settling into a grim resolution. She holds open the flap of her tent and ushers them inside.

“What happened?” she asks bluntly.

Normally, Caeth is a little tongue-tied with the pretty Pantoran, but personal feelings are the furthest thing from his mind as Raysh delicately settles Torian onto a cot. “He was attacked,” he says to Khamalu, and he quickly tells her what Raysh had told him.

Bottled fury flares in Khamalu’s eyes. “Got it. Let me take a look.”

Raysh shuffles aside as Khamalu comes to the side of the cot, peering down at Torian’s ravaged face. He looks even worse under the stark white light Khamalu turns on; the Cadera symbols branded into each of his cheeks are a charred, pasty white where they’re not scorched and blackened, the burned skin withered and dry like old leather. Around the worst of the burns, the skin is an angry, blistered red, spots of blood seeping through cracks. Under the burns, Torian is a nasty, pallid color, and his closed eyes flutter uneasily as if the pain is haunting him even in his stupor. As Khamalu carefully strips him of his battered armor, an assortment of bruises are revealed, but, to Caeth’s relief, nothing anywhere near as bad as his burns. Brands, a disgusted voice in his head corrects. A fresh flush of anger rises in his chest. The anger is compounded by the fact that this happened to a child under his protection, by warriors under his command.

The anger is interlaced with shame, which he knows is misplaced—but he can’t help but feel responsible, nonetheless.

“Raysh,” Caeth snaps, Raysh jerking up from where she’d been watching Khamalu fuss over Torian. “Let’s go sort this out.”

Her eyes darken. “Agreed.”

They leave Khamalu and Torian behind. Outside, many of the warriors are scattered about the camp, no longer resting. All eyes turn to Caeth as he emerges from the tent.

“What happened?” someone calls.

Caeth squares his shoulders. “Torian was attacked,” he says bluntly, and a ripple of shock and disquiet sweeps through the assembled Mandalorians. Some, he muses privately, don’t seem too upset by the news, and he commits their faces to memory. Still, the overall reaction he’s seeing is one of anger towards an attack against a fellow Mandalorian, which Caeth takes as a good sign. “A coward’s dishonorable assault—by one of us.” His voice drops into a growl. “If you know anything, I’d suggest you speak—before I find you and beat it out of you instead.”

He leaves his warriors to converse amongst themselves as he turns to Raysh, opening his mouth.

“I’ll take you to where I found him,” she says, before he has a chance to ask. “Corridan! Get over here.”

Corridan, who’s still in full armor despite the hour, hurries over with a sharp salute. “Sir!”

Caeth nods to him. “I want you to stand guard by Khamalu’s tent until we return. No one gets in except with Khamalu’s permission. Got it?”

Corridan nods, putting his helmet on. “Got it. Good hunting, sir.”

Corridan had been an easy choice. Despite his youth, he’s a capable and clever fighter, and members of Clan Ordo tend to have less problems with Torian than other clans might. Corridan hasn’t ever treated Torian differently, in any case. Caeth trusts he’ll see that nothing goes awry under his watch.

As Corridan moves to stand guard, Caeth heads back towards his own tent, Raysh hot on his heels. He hurriedly pulls the remainder of his armor back on then re-emerges, nodding to Raysh.

“Let’s go.”

~~~

Caeth and Raysh head to where Torian had been found, a few klicks north of the Mandalorian encampment, deep in the lush Felucian wilderness. It’s immediately apparent the attack itself had happened elsewhere; a quick search of the area reveals remnants of a trail, left presumably by Torian. They follow the broken fronds and scuffed ground for about a mile until they come to a smallish clearing, marred by blackened marks seared across the fungal trees that rise around them. The ground is trampled and disturbed, the clear signs of a scuffle. It’s immediately apparent that there had been more than two people present.

“An ambush,” Raysh says darkly, standing from where she’d been scrutinizing some of the marks. “They must’ve jumped him.”

Caeth grinds his teeth. “Cowards. This can’t be more than a day old; I’ll check who was out of camp around then when we get back. Torian got impressively far on his own, considering his injuries.”

“Agreed. He’s fortunate he wasn’t found by any predators.”

They continue poking around, looking for any clues to reveal the attackers, then Raysh lets out a startled sound. “Caeth. Here.”

Caeth comes up beside her. She has dug through some of the scorched undergrowth—revealing Torian’s helmet, bashed almost beyond recognition. Caeth picks it up carefully, turning it over in his hands.

“Maybe he was able to capture the attackers with his helmet,” Raysh says hopefully. Caeth nods, though he personally doubts it. Even if Torian had, the bludgeoned helmet is proof enough that the attackers had feared as much and had sought to destroy any data stored within it. Still, he tucks the helmet under his arm securely.

“I’ll see if someone can pull anything from it,” he says. “Let’s keep looking.”

Further investigation proves fruitless, and they end their search an hour later, muddy, frustrated, and disheartened.

Raysh blows out a long breath. “Torian will be able to tell us who it was when he wakes up. They had to have been in front of him to… brand him, not to mention the rest of the attack.”

Caeth grunts out an agreement. “Kid needs some beskar. Durasteel isn’t cutting it, for him.” Torian’s helmet is proof enough of that. “Let’s head back. See what Khamalu has to say.”

~~~

The return trip is made in a grim silence. Khamalu greets them when they enter her tent, not quite happy, but certainly not entirely displeased.

“I think he’ll make a full recovery,” she says, tentatively optimistic. “For better or for worse, the brands were administered very precisely, limiting the damage to surrounding tissue. He’ll need to be transferred somewhere with better care than we can offer here, but he’s young and strong. Did you two find anything?”

Caeth shakes his head and presents Torian’s helmet. “Nothing, other than this.”

Khamalu’s brow furrows. “He needs beskar.”

“That’s what Caeth said,” Raysh puts in, then she asks, “So what now? You said you want to transfer him.”

Khamalu turns to look at Caeth, expectant. He nods. “I’ll get it sorted out. Besides, I have to report this to…”

He hesitates, feeling almost a little silly about it. After all, warriors get hurt, circumstances notwithstanding. But given Torian’s unique placement here…

“I’ll have to tell Mand’alor,” he says reluctantly, and Khamalu blinks. Raysh looks similarly surprised.

“Mand’alor?” Raysh echoes. “Not that this isn’t serious, but—“

“Torian is here because of him. Direct order from Mand’alor.” Caeth swallows. “He’s my responsibility. I have to report this.”

Raysh’s eyes widen, but Khamalu takes the news with no notable reaction. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says. “Bullying is one thing. This is…”

“Shabla,” Raysh suggests, and Khamalu nods and says, “Shabla. We’ll back you, if Mand’alor blames you.”

Caeth nods, looking over Torian again with a regretful grimace. “I’ll be going then. Wish me luck.”

~~~

For Mand’alor the Vindicated, known to his closest friends and his family as Artus Lok, the call from Caeth Vizla had been an unpleasant surprise. Artus is under no illusions that Torian Cadera will get along smoothly with everyone he meets—or, more accurately, everyone he meets will get along smoothly with him—but he had assumed the worst of it would be hazing, mocking, even fights here and there.

This, however…

He watches through the glass as Torian touches his bandaged cheeks gingerly, tired eyes following the doctor as the doctor talks. Likely telling him how to care for the healing wounds, now that the dead tissue has been removed.

“Kid’s been through the wringer,” Aurel comments from beside Artus, voice mellow. “Haven’t seen him cry once, though.”

Artus folds his arms and hums noncommittally, watching Jicoln’s sole heir reorienting himself in the waking world.

“What will you do about Commander Vizla?” Aurel prompts, their pale gray helmet tilting as they regard him.

“Nothing,” Artus grumbles, almost wishing Caeth had been at fault, so he could at least do something that feels productive, like demoting the commander. “He’s doing everything he can to track down the attackers. Since Torian chose not to reveal them, there’s nothing much else to do.”

“Oh. He didn’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

They fall silent, for a time.

“He needs beskar,” Aurel notes. “A helmet, at the least.”

Artus gives them a hard look. “Beskar isn’t a handout.”

“No, but I’d say he’s earned it, by this.” A pause. “I think you should talk to him.”

“What?” Artus says sharply. “Why?”

Aurel holds up their hands appeasingly. “A word of encouragement. That’s all. He’s just gone through a terrible ordeal. Or maybe you can convince him to tell us who did this.”

“A surprise visit from Mand’alor isn’t typically relaxing,” Artus says wryly, but Aurel just stares at him steadily. He sighs. “Fine. I’ll have a word with him.”

“Don’t forget to ask about that helmet,” Aurel says as Artus pushes himself off the wall and heads for the door. As he enters, the doctor talking to Torian snaps to attention, and Torian’s eyes widen as he fumbles to stand.

“At ease,” Artus says, waving him off. “Doctor, how are things in here?”

“Just about done, Mand’alor,” the doctor says. “We were wrapping up.”

“Good. Mind if I have a moment with your patient?”

“Of course. I’ll wait outside.”

The doctor exits. Artus is left with Torian, who’s staring at him with blatant awe and utter surprise.

“M—Mand’alor,” Torian stammers, mumbling slightly in his effort not to agitate his injuries. “It’s an honor.”

Artus inclines his head, distinctly uncomfortable and careful not to show it. “Torian Cadera. It’s a shame that this is how we meet. How are you feeling?”

“… Fine. Face hurts. I’ll live, though. It’s only pain.”

Artus nods approvingly. “Good man. Caeth Vizla spoke favorably of you, when he reported what happened. He wanted to make it clear that the attack was in no way your fault.”

“That’s… good to hear,” Torian says slowly. He seems uncertain—less so about Artus’s words and more about Artus’s presence in general. After all, this is hardly information that Mand’alor himself needs to convey. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“It was hardly trouble caused by you. Those hutuun’e will get what’s coming for them. Speaking of…” Artus eyes Torian. “I hear you haven’t been forthcoming with any names. Why’s that?”

Torian hunches his shoulders. “I’m already the son of a traitor. I’m not going to be known as a coward, too.”

“Reporting this would hardly make you a coward.”

“I need to handle this myself. This is my battle to win—not Commander Vizla’s, and certainly not yours. With all due respect,” Torian adds sheepishly.

“I see,” Artus says, chuckling despite himself. “You’re growing up to be a fine warrior, Torian. But don’t be afraid to accept the help of your peers. We’re Mando’ade. We fight together.”

Torian nods. “Yes, Mand’alor.”

“In that case, I’ll leave the matter up to you and Commander Vizla, unless things escalate. And you’ll need a new helmet.”

“I heard about that,” Torian says with a scowl. “Haar’chak…”

“Beskar is on the table,” Artus says. Torian’s head whips towards him, then the boy groans in pain, hands raising to press against his cheeks. “The Armorsmith is willing to forge you a helmet, should you accept.”

Torian inhales a shaky breath, blinking in shock.

Then, slowly, he shakes his head, looking away. “I’m honored, Mand’alor. But I can’t.”

Artus raises a brow. “Oh?”

“I haven’t earned it. I can’t accept, not yet.”

“Some would say you have, myself included,” Artus points out. “So why refuse?”

“Because I haven’t earned it,” Torian insists with a frown. “Not yet. I… I still have things to prove. To myself, if no one else.”

“And what will that take?”

“I will restore my clan’s honor,” Torian says, quietly, but deadly serious. “Then I will wear beskar.”

“That’s a tall order. And if you fail?”

“Then I’ll die in shame, and Clan Cadera will forever be known as aruetisse.” Torian meets his gaze steadily—not defiant, but resolved. Artus realizes he will not convince the boy otherwise, no matter what he says.

Like his father, Artus thinks, with a touch of amusement and a pang of sorrow. He may never forgive Jicoln Cadera, but he still recalls his years of friendship with Torian’s father with bittersweet fondness. Torian is not his father, but he carries Jicoln’s strength with him.

Artus’s last words to Jicoln had been spoken from fury and hurt—a promise to end his line, to destroy Clan Cadera’s only heir. It’s a promise he’s come to regret, and the only promise he’s ever broken. Looking at the boy before him, he’s glad that he did.

“I understand,” Artus says simply. “In that case, once you’ve recovered, I’ll find a new company for you to join—“

“I’d like to go back to Commander Vizla’s company, if that’s alright,” Torian interrupts. “At least for now.”

Artus’s lips twitch. “I see. Give those shabuir’se hell.”

“Is that an order, Mand’alor?”

“It would be—but I don’t think you need one.”

~~~

Torian Cadera returns to Caeth’s company. He’s got a new helmet, but it isn’t beskar. Caeth’s surprised to see him again, but when he asks about it, Torian shakes his head and says, “I’m not going to run with my tail between my legs.” His new, twin scars, healed nicely but jarringly noticeable, stand stark against his skin. He makes no effort to hide them; Caeth thinks he wears his helmet less than ever, in fact. A challenge, perhaps, to those who would see him shamed for his father. Or maybe a message to his attackers, to show that they had failed with whatever they’d hoped to achieve. Frankly, Caeth’s just glad the boy’s spirit hadn’t been shaken by the ordeal.

It’s a little hard not to stare at the Cadera symbols branded onto Torian’s cheeks for a time, but eventually they cease to register. Ironically, Torian seems even more assured of himself now than ever before; whether it’s genuine or simply a front, Caeth doesn’t know, but he’s glad to see it regardless. He’s still reserved, but now it reads as a quiet confidence rather than introversion. His new attitude is helping him with his fellow Mandalorians as well—while there are always those who view him with disdain and contempt, others have begun to welcome him more readily. Torian hunts most often with Corridan Ordo and his friends, now, as opposed to the solo hunts he’d once preferred.

It’s good to see. Torian doesn’t have an easy path set before him—Jicoln Cadera has assured that—but the goal of every Mandalorian is to be judged by their own actions, not that of their lineage.

Personally, Caeth believes Torian can achieve as much.

#swtor #swtor writing #my writing #torian cadera #mandalore the vindicated

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anchanted-one · 1 year

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Is there a swtor writer's group out there? Like a discord server perhaps?

#swtor #swtor writing #swtor fanfic #swtor fandom #swtor writers #discord server #looking for group

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kemendin · 2 years

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Cover Your Crystal Eyes

Jedi Knight CASPIAN SERAPIS has at last been reunited with his closest companion, LORD SCOURGE. With their feelings for each other now open and unhindered, Cas is eager to explore their new relationship, and invites Scourge to spend the night with him. Intimacy takes many forms, as Jedi and Sith remember the past, reflect on the present, and rediscover the pleasures they have to offer each other.

Jedi Knight x Lord Scourge

Words: 10,256

Two parts mush to one part angst. Featuring many emotions, some light humour, and lots of non-sexual intimacy. General spoiler warning for the main story up through Onslaught.

A single opening line led to 10k words of Cas and Scourge bringing me along to explore their particular version of this romance. This whole thing was delightfully self-indulgent to write, scattered as it is with a bunch of small personal headcanons. And it made for an intriguing challenge, figuring out how to write Scourge WITH his emotions as well as a Caspian who has grown significantly as a person since the time points of my other fics.

Heavily inspired by - really almost a tribute to - the song 'Crystals' by Of Monsters and Men, which is my favourite Cas/Scourge song, and I listened to almost nothing else while this fic was in progress.

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

“Come to bed with me?”

Caspian brushes an awkward hand down through his silver hair almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. He hadn’t meant it to come out quite that bluntly. He blames the day he’s had - another draining and seemingly endless series of meetings and discussions and making sure that the Alliance is functioning as it needs to be. Consequently, his brain isn’t doing as well as it should in maintaining his usual barriers between thought and speech.

But at least after days of dithering, and agonising, and wondering if it’s too soon, he’s managed to blurt it out; so now he can only shift his weight on the metal platform overlooking the hangar bay and stare up at Scourge as he awaits an answer.

Scourge. Cas can still hardly believe that the Sith is here with him, so close after all those years carrying the ache of his absence. He’s been drinking in the sight of the man for a week now, taking every opportunity to simply stare at him, like there’s nothing more fascinating on this whole planet than Scourge. Nothing across all of Odessen that he’d rather be looking at.

Truth be told, there isn’t.

Even as he’d approached, he’d been doing it. Studying the heavy lines of the Sith’s form, the way Scourge is leaned casually forward with his arms resting on the rail, his sharp eyes surveying the movements of Alliance personnel on the hangar floor below. He’s as intimidating a figure as ever, yet there’s a profound shift in his presence, and it draws Cas to him like the pull of a planet’s core.

Scourge looks round in response to the Jedi’s voice, his carved face giving a spasm of surprise. (A reaction to his question, Cas thinks, more than his presence. He'd learned long ago that it was nearly impossible to get near the Sith without being sensed.)

On anyone else, it would be a subtle quirk of an expression; regular, unworthy of any notice. But Cas still isn’t used to it: seeing such openness, such emotion, on features he’d previously known as nearly statuesque. And each time, he marvels at it. Wants to trace the contours of that face as they curve and contort, mapping out the mind and heart of a man who, for so long, had been unreadable.

But Cas can read him now. He watches as confusion, then consternation, then doubt, weave themselves across Scourge’s expression. Rippling through his browstalks, tightening across his cheekbones, catching on the corners of his sharp, full lips. Cas wants to kiss those lips so badly, if only to encourage further movement from them.

But Scourge’s eyes are narrowed at him now, so he refrains. The Sith stares down at him for a moment, quizzical, and then speaks lowly.

“You want us to sleep together?”

Cas isn’t the only one being overly blunt, it seems. The Jedi hastily lifts a hand to reassure him.

“Yes, but I mean - literally share a bed, Scourge, not - we don’t have to get physical with it. Not yet.” He cants his head, offering an encouraging little smile. “This is all still pretty new, to both of us.”

“I fail to see how we can share a bed if it’s not physical,” muses Scourge, after a lengthy moment of consideration. He straightens himself from the rail to fully face Cas. “Unless this is another emotion I’ve not yet become reacquainted with?”

Cas huffs ruefully. “No, I just meant we don’t need to actually, you know, have sex, we can just -“

He breaks off then, startled by a light rumble coming from his companion. He glances up again. Scourge’s red eyes are bright, and a smile - no, a smirk - curls across his sculpted mouth. Cas squints at him.

“You knew what I meant all along, didn’t you?” he accuses, but it’s mild outrage at best, taken as he is by the sight of the Sith’s quiet mirth.

“Of course, Jedi.” Scourge’s low chuckle dies away, leaving him to regard Cas in light satisfaction. “I simply wanted to see what you would say. Just because I’ve not personally experienced such innuendos for centuries, does not mean I don’t understand them.”

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #lord scourge #swtor writing #swtor fanfic #jedi knight #swtor oc #swtor jedi knight #swtor romance #swtor fic #star wars fic #swtor scourge #swtorhub #swtor:caspian #my oc #kem writes #i am just so happy with this fic #it grew and grew and i put so many of my feelings about these two into it #kem fics

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