Saga rktho's Kessel Run Thread 2025

WEEK #1 PROMPT

Title: Though she be but little, she is fierce
Author: rktho
Timeline: ~8 ABY
Characters: Pilbush (Star Wars: Hunters,) Original characters
Genre: Challenge
Summary: A young Ewok fulfills a lifelong dream.

Pilbush looked around the hangar, fur quivering with anticipation. “Don’t worry,” Thander whispered. “I’ll do the talking.”

Pilbush’s new squadmates all looked very different from one another— but they were all so much taller than her. There was a pilot who was Human like Thander, but with black hair, and a big one who looked like a zakool, only less toothy, and one who looked like a cross between a bug and a lizard, as well as several others. She was a little nervous about having to remember so many names— especially because offworlders tended to have more than one.

“Hey, Convors!” Thander called, putting an end to the pilots’ chatter. “I want you to meet Pilbush.”

Everyone turned their gaze toward Pilbush. The pilot who looked like a bug-lizard laughed. “Good one, Thunder.”

The dark-haired Human looked at Pilbush crossed her arms. “That’s not funny, Pavan.”

“Well, it’s not a joke, so…” Thander shrugged.

The Human scowled at Pilbush, who suddenly felt especially small. “You’re telling me that fuzzy little thing is Mellick’s replacement? It looks like a little kid.”

“I’m not a little kid!” Pilbush cried. She was a big kid, but she didn’t say that, even though she wanted to. She was pretty sure even big kids weren’t allowed to be New Republic defense pilots.

“What did it say?” the Human pilot demanded, looking at Thander.

“She says she’s not a kid,” Thander replied. “She happens to be a war hero.”

Pilbush’s cheeks grew hot under her fur. She had been a baby when the Battle of Endor had taken place. Her parents were the war heroes. But hopefully nobody would realize that until she’d become a hero herself— or at least gotten to blow some things up.

“I wasn’t informed of this,” the female Human insisted. “Who authorized this?”

Pilbush could understand Basic pretty well, but interacting with pilots, she had come to realize a lot of the words they used were still new to her. They seemed to love fancy words as much as the village shaman. Jarr-gun, Thander had called it.

“Aw, give the furball a break, Parlie,” said the big one who looked like a zakool. Pilbush could see from his open mouth that he did have big teeth after all.

“Don’t Parlie me, Romaleos,” the female Human snapped. “You can’t tell me you expect me to put it in the cockpit. It’s so small. Can it even see through the viewport?”

“It’s not like she’s an Anzellan, Commander,” Thander insisted. “She can see through the viewport just fine. We put her in the simulator.”

“Does she at least speak Basic?” the commander demanded. “I don’t want it on my squad if it has a problem communicating.”

Pilbush cocked her head anxiously. “Koh-moona-keh-ting?”

“Talking,” Thander clarified.

“Ohhh, koh-moona-keh-ting.” Pilbush nodded vigorously to show she understood.

“And the ship will have a translation module,” Thander pointed out. “You won’t have trouble understanding her.”

Pilbush jumped at a sudden chirp behind her and whirled around. It was one of those droids she’d seen rolling around. Most of the droids she’d seen were barrel-shaped, but this one had its head on a ball. “Oh! Hello!”

The droid chirped at her again, making her giggle. She tried to imitate its funny little noises. The droid chirped some more. Pilbush cackled and repeated what the droid said, her anxiety melting away.

“Are you going to croon at your astromech all day?” the commander snapped.

Pilbush turned and flashed her a grin. “Koh-moona-keh-ting.”

The other pilots laughed uproariously. “I like this kid,” said the zakool-faced pilot.

Pilbush’s eyes widened with panic. “Who, me?” For a moment, she thought her fib had been discovered.

The commander pinched her nose. “Alright, training starts in two minutes, so I can’t argue with you, Pavan. But we will be talking later, and that little furball is your responsibility, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Thander saluted.

The commander turned to Pilbush. “What’s her name again?”

“Pilbush!” Pilbush said, imitating Thander’s salute.

“Get your fuzzy little butt in the cockpit,” the commander ordered, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the X-Wings.

“Yah-yah-yah-wooooooo!” Pilbush threw her hands in the air as she ran joyfully to her new starfighter, her droid rolling ahead of her.

After clambering up the ladder (refusing help from the zakool-faced one) and into the cockpit, Pilbush booted up the system. It was just like the simulation, so she already knew what to do. She bounced impatiently in her seat, wondering when she would get to blow stuff up.

Words appeared on the screen as her droid chirped above her. She’d been learning to read Basic, but she was too impatient to parse the information. “Let’s go!” she yelled.

As soon as the first X-Wing lifted off, she was right there with them. She whooped as the vessel shot into space. Flying for real was already even better than the simulations.

“Alright, calm down, Convor Six,” the commander chided over the comms. “Restoration, this is Convor Leader. We are ready to begin the exercise.”

“Copy, Convor Leader. Deploying fighter drones.”

Pilbush’s eyes widened as small shapes swarmed out of the cruiser they had launched from. TIE fighters! She recognized them from the simulations.

Her stubby fingers curled around the throttle as a grin spread over her face. All her life, Pilbush had loved explosions.

Now, she would finally get to make some.

“Lock S-foils in attack formation!”

The fighter drones raced toward them.

“Evasive action, on my mark!” the commander ordered. Pilbush was proud of herself for remembering what those words meant. “And… break!”

Pilbush meant to bank right. Instead, she went spinning toward the oncoming fighters. “Wow-wow-wow-wow-wow-wow!”

“Convor Six, pull up!” Thander cried frantically.

She was about to crash! Panicking, she launched a proton torpedo.

KA-BA-BOOM!

She soared through the fireball, whooping like a churi bird. She was alive!

And the explosion…

That was the most glorious explosion she’d ever seen.

For the first time in her life, she felt powerful.

Spoiler: Story Notes

Pilbush is a character from Star Wars: Hunters, added in Season 3. Her weapon of choice is a custom-built AT-ET (All-Terrain Ewok Transport) from which she flings all manner of grenades and combustibles. Supplementary information states that she had a brief stint in the New Republic Defense Fleet, so I decided to explore that here. Supplementary information also states that she's close in age to her fellow Hunter Sprocket, a Mon Calamari child prodigy, meaning Pilbush is also a child. I imagine this may have something to do with the brevity of her stint as a fighter pilot.

I didn't come up with names for all of the original characters featured here, but Convor Leader is Parlat "Parlie" Vomi, Pilbush's friend is Thander "Thunder" Pavan, and the zakool-faced pilot is Barzillai "Zill" Romaleos. (A zakool is a feline species native to Endor; a bipedal zakool would be Pilbush's closest frame of reference for what Zill is— I think Rebels fans can guess.)

 

Very realistic reactions from the Commander and supportiveness from some of the other pilots. I like reading Pilbush's reactions to everyone and getting to 'blow things up.'

 

Nice to see litttle Pilbush and her new squadmates. She will be accepted I hope by not only some but by all.

 

Thank you! Writing Pilbush was a lot of fun. She's just a kid who wants to blow things up! (I feel like Sabine Wren would be a fan, if she ever got around to watching Hunters of the Outer Rim.) I tried to capture her happy-go-lucky energy from the game (and the additional stories found on the Hunters website) while portraying the understandable nervousness she would have getting acquainted with her squadmates, who aren't all going to warm up to her immediately.

When I started writing Pilbush, I was surprised how much she reminded me of one of your characters. It's not easy being a kid— especially if you're pretending not to be one! Besides, Ewoks are a species who tend to get infantilized anyway. Even if Pilbush wasn't a kid, there are definitely people who would treat her like one purely on account of her size. Although Ewoks played an instrumental role in taking down the Empire, prejudice doesn't disappear overnight— I mean, prior to the Battle of Endor, Ewok jerky was a menu item at several diners. So a by-the-book commander like Parlat might not immediately recognize her value as a squad member. But Pilbush is a capable fighter— or at the very least, she has the makings of one, as Balada's Arena will later prove. As long as she remembers the proper maneuver next time, I think she'll be a fine pilot indeed, and Convor Squadron might even miss her when she leaves to become a Hunter.

Here's hoping! Although she will eventually leave the fleet for a new career option, I think her experience with Convor Squadron will be a good one.

 

Loved this! Move over, Lieutenant Kettch, there's a new kid on the block, and she's for real! I love how Pilbush is trying to pretend that she's all grown-up, but she keeps giving it away in her interactions with her astromech, then when she rushes to her ship, and with her joyful excitement in the cockpit. In many ways, to her it's just a game and the explosions could just as well be fireworks. But that was an impressive manoeuvre she pulled off against the drones, and she has every right to feel powerful!

 

Thank you! You've pretty much hit the nail on the head— it is all a game to her. Which is appropriate when you're fighting in an arena for sport, where there are safety measures to ensure nobody gets hurt, but not so much for the actual military. But hopefully she's able to do some good and maybe learn a thing or two while she's there!

 

WEEK #2 PROMPT

Title: The Compass of Apholstaz
Author: rktho
Timeline: Pre-Republic era
Characters: Original mythological characters
Genre: Challenge
Summary: Excerpt from Remoh's Yrphaxia, as translated by Kim Samoth Houg from the original Tionese.

Thus said Good Apholstaz: “Hearken now, Yrphax, the son of Zygomo,
“For this great gift which I give to you shall bring thee home to Dear Pasmin.”

Apholstaz proffer’d a sphere of aurod’um, which Yrphax accepted.
It was a ball of most curious workmanship, crafted so finely
By Skillful Apholstaz, Master of All Technological Cunning,
For he delighted in Wily Old Yrphax of Much Understanding.

Yrphax said, “Marvelous Apholstaz, ere I depart from you shortly,
Will you instruct me to use this device of ineffable beauty?
For I am certain a god would not give such a gift to a mortal
Save it be he who receiv’d it should know its op’ration and function.”

Yrphax did guess it was some kind of module to navigate starways,
For it resembl’d some sort of computer, albeit unlike one
With which a mortal would be even somewhat famil’ar, except he
Be so endowed with the shrewdness possessed by the old Duke of Pasmin.

Thus said Good Apholstaz: “Simply install this device in the matrix
Whereby the Cockatrice calculates pathways to bring thee safe passage;
Then shall its magic allow thee to thwart the fierce god which pursues thee,
Even Mondroon, who seek’st vengeance against thee for wounding the monoc,
Banaus the Abyssin, fearsome and tall, who did cry to his father.
Yet though Mondroon seeks thy life for the eye of his offspring the monoc,
If thou reliest on this golden compass, then he will not find you.”

Yrphax, delighting in cleverness, thanked him for all he had rendered.
With this gift, he would subvert the dimension-god’s power and triumph,
Trav’lling through planes which the hyperspace deity could not discover.

But though the duke was renowned for his wisdom, he made a grave error,
For in his arrogance Yrphax bethought to conceal from his comrades
What the great gift he receiv’d from their god-host was able to do;

“I will not trouble these spacers, whose minds are too simple for science,
With exposition regarding the functions of this golden compass,
For it is sure this device is beyond comprehension to peasants.
Thus I shall issue an order which even small children can follow,
Being so plain they can by no means misunderstand it a whit:
‘Let it alone, and do not ask me questions, but let this suffice you:
I am your captain, so trouble yourselves with your own duties only.’

This he imparted to all of his crewmates, the Good Men of Pasmin.

But when they saw the great god-gift, they murmur’d and plotted against him,
For they suppos’d it were treasure of very great value and richness—
(So the thing was, though for reasons which Yrphax did fail to expound on.)
They saw the workmanship, golden and glittering, bright as a sundrop,
To which the spoils from the Siege of Ranroon seem’d most paltry and common.

Jealous were they of the gift which Good Apholstaz gave to their leader;
Yet they were scolded by Yrphax when covetous eyes fell upon it.

So when the captain, o’ertaken at last by exhaustion, did sleep,
Then did the spacers lay hands on the compass, to claim the priz’d object,
Tearing it out of the matrix where Wily Old Yrphax install’d it.

Thus were they left as defenseless as dacklerings, ripe for the blasting:
When they are too young to fly, then the hunter may shoot at his leisure.

Wrathful Mondroon did discover the fleet as it sped toward Pasmin.
Unto himself spake the god of dimensions and hyperlanes thusly:
“So! ‘Tis that duke who did injure my offspring the monoc, poor Banaus.
Though the fool thought he could hide from me, yet have I found his small vessels.

No doubt my cousin, e’en Apholstaz, meddl’d to keep me from vengeance,
Yet hath the folly of mortals thus ruin’d his plan to subvert me.
Now I shall muster a storm from the cosmos to thwart their returning,
Sending them back to the gold octahedron where Apholstaz dwelleth;
Then let us see if my cousin shall help them again if he darest.”

Then were the scanners and navicomputers made frenzied and faulty,
Maddened by tremors magnetic and solar, they flew into ast’roids,
Battered and buffeted ‘til they were brought to the techno-god’s homeworld.

Thus said good Apholstaz, “Why hast thou come here again to my planet?
See, thou hast ruin’d the gift which I gave thee; thy men have destroy’d it.
Now it is useless, and it will not guide thee through space to thy homeworld,
Nor shall it serve thee in voyages which could have been undertaken
After returning to Lush, Pleasant Pasmin from this current venture.

If ev’ry mortal be hard of the head as Duke Yrphax of Pasmin,
Then I shall no longer give them such honors. Depart from me, Yrphax.”

Spoiler: Story Notes

The Yrphaxia is an in-universe work of literature created by me, set during the reign of Xim following the Siege of Ranroon, following which the Despot took Indrexu as his consort. Yrphax, or Urfas in some translations, is believed to be an invention of the poet Remoh, author of the Ranruniad and the Yrphaxia. Unlike some of Xim's other generals, Yrphax has no historical counterpart, as the original ruling house of Pasmin was eradicated during the Despot's conquest of the planet. The Yrphaxia appears to account for this historical discrepancy, stating that Yrphax escaped the slaughter to stow away on the Despot's ship, earning his admiration and a place in his court. Later works would tell the tale of Yrphax, Xim's most faithful servant, meeting his demise at the Second Battle of Vontor, callously betrayed by the ungrateful Despot. This event is chronicled in many sources, most famously in Wordo Shivrestav's stageplay The Tragedy of Yrphax at Vontor, or simply Yrphax at Vontor, which overlaps with the events of the Yrphaxia in its first act. Remoh's place in the Despotica is hotly debated among classicists, as his work features allusions to various Tionese divinities not found elsewhere in the compendium, and which the atheistic, self-worshiping Despot would never have acknowledged and whose worship had long since died out by the start of his reign.

 

Very nicely done. It has a very sweeping legend tone.

 

Thank you! I thought this format would be fitting for an omniscient POV.

 

Thank you! I was itching for an excuse to break out the dactylic hexameter ever since this challenge started. I’ve posted some fragments about the Yrphaxia here, and of course it’s referenced several times in Stars In Their Multitudes. The golden sphere is, of course, analogous to the bag of wind in the Odyssey. Of course ships in Star Wars don’t travel by the winds, so here the magical device is a navigation module. In both cases, the captain’s pride keeps him from revealing the truth of the gift to the rest of the crew, and they pay the price for his improper handling of their curiosity. The prompt about teaching inspired a certain irony— Apholstaz did not even really explain how the device was able to do what it did, but told Yrphax to plug it in and let it perform its work. But Yrphax acts as though he has been given a machine so complicated in operation that only he can understand how to use it, because he has a compulsive need to be the smartest man on the ship. In a way, Apholstaz’s instruction to Yrphax and Yrphax’s instruction to the crew are not so different, except that Apholstaz trusts Yrphax with the relevant information. And unlike the wind bag, whose contents must be released eventually, Apholstaz’s gift was reusable, so if Yrphax hadn’t let his hubris get in the way, he could have benefited from it for ages to come, which makes it all the more unfortunate that Yrphax was so blindly arrogant. There’s an important lesson for him to learn here. Thanks for reading!

 

This reads like an ancient text. It sure has mythology as its theme with a godlike tone in the verse. Teaching how to use the golden module.

 

Thank you! I tried to invoke the feel of a Homeric epic using stock phrases, epithets, simile, and other hallmarks of the ancient tradition.

 

WEEK #3 PROMPT

Title: An Elephant Never Forgets
Author: rktho
Timeline: ~1 ABY
Characters: Original characters, Strono "Cookie" Tuggs
Genre: Challenge
Summary: An odd couple finds themselves in an awkward situation at a social event.

Zoe Gurbo had never been to a wedding where they served bantha burgers— let alone ones as greasy as the ones the bride and groom had catered, but she definitely wasn’t complaining. “I wanna have these at our wedding.”

“I think you’ve got some sauce on your…” Mitigcho took a napkin and gestured for her girlfriend to lift her trunk. Craning her long testudinal neck, she dabbed the underside near Zoe’s mouth.

Zoe traced her plate with a suctioned toetip, slurping up sauce through the appendage like a vac-mop. “I’m definitely getting seconds.”

Mitigcho’s eyes grew wide. “Hide me.”

“Is that really so embarrassing?” Zoe teased.

“No.” Mitigcho’s eyes filled with panic. “Hide me. My ex is here.”

“Your ex?!” Zoe moved her head.

“Don’t look!” Mitigcho grabbed her foot. “She’ll catch us watching!”

Zoe flapped her trunk thoughtfully. An Ortolan and a Pabchoni made a pretty conspicuous couple. Between Zoe’s hoverchair and Mitigcho’s long tailfeathers, they stood out amongst a sea of humanoids. “Let’s go inside,” Zoe suggested, putting a foot on her girlfriend’s shell. “I was going to get another bantha burger anyway.”

They left the pavilion and made their way to the buffet table. Zoe was loading up her plate with seconds when she saw a familiar Myykian enter. “Aw, kribb.”

“What?” Mitigcho turned to see what was the matter.

“It’s my ex,” Zoe groaned.

“Are you kriffing serious?” Mitigcho gaped. “Your ex is here too?”

“She’s the worst,” Zoe said grimly. “I still haven’t forgiven her for what she did.”

“Why, what did she do?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Where’s the bar?” Zoe cast her small lidless eyes about the room. “I need a drink, right now.”

“Let’s just go find someplace to hide,” Mitigcho suggested. “A closet or something.”

“Now there’s somewhere I haven’t been in twenty-five years,” Zoe quipped.

“Seriously, I think we should hide somewhere,” Mitigcho urged. “My ex just followed us inside.”

Zoe spotted a pair of double doors on the opposite side of the reception hall. “Over there!”

Mitigcho’s talons clacked across the floor as she sprinted for the doors, Zoe’s hoverchair whirring after her. In all truth, they were making so much noise that more than a few heads at the tables turned.

They burst into the back room, panting. The room turned out to be the kitchen. Several chef droids turned their heads, along with a very ugly Artiodac. “Hey, you!” He waved a cleaver in their general direction. “No guests in the kitchen!”

“Sorry, sir—” Mitigcho apologized. She peeked out the window. “It’s just we’re trying to avoid someone.”

“Two someones, actually,” Zoe interjected, eyeing an array of miniature plates with slices of cake on them. “Both our exes are here, if you can believe it.”

“And you’re in here hidin’ like a pair of schoolgirls?” The Artiodac set down his cleaver and crossed his arms, looking them over with his non-misshapen eye. “Those have gotta be some exes.”

“In my defense, it wasn’t my idea,” Zoe replied, inching subtly toward a slice of cake.

“Go ahead and take one,” the Artiodac grunted resignedly. “How’s the food?”

“Great,” said Zoe with her mouth full, reaching for another slice. “Can we hire you for our wedding?”

“I’ll consider it,” he smiled, batting Zoe’s foot away from a second piece of cake. “Are you a relative, by chance?”

“Who, me?” Mitigcho nodded. “I’m the bride’s cousin. My name’s Mitigcho.”

“Michiyo? Thought that was a Human name.” The Artiodac cocked his lumpy head. “Were you raised by Mykapoans or something?”

“It’s a Pabchoni name,” Mitigcho explained. “It’s pronounced the same, but that’s just a coincidence. My name’s spelled M-I-T-I-G—”

“Right, right,” the Artiodac waved. “I remember you guys spell things weird. I’m Strono. You can call me Cookie. What about you, Bluey?”

“I’m Zoe,” Zoe replied.

“I’m gonna need you to move, Zoe,” Strono grunted. “I’ve gotta get dessert out.”

“Come on, Titi,” Zoe urged. “Let’s go back outside where we belong.”

As they left Strono’s kitchen, Mitigcho smiled sheepishly. “Sorry for being a baby about my ex.”

“If you wanna hide somewhere else, we can,” Zoe offered. “Somewhere more private.”

“Or we could go back to the hotel,” Mitigcho offered.

“But your cousin—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mitigcho waved. “She’ll understand.”

“How did your ex even get invited, anyway?” Zoe remarked as they made their surreptitious exit.

“I think my cousin said she was her husband’s coworker or something,” Mitigcho shrugged. “I totally forgot about it until now. The real question is, how did your ex get an invite?”

Zoe was about to reply when they heard a shrill voice behind them. “Zoe Gurbo!”

Both women cringed and turned around to see an extremely disgruntled Myykian who had followed them outside. She gasped. “Don’t tell me you two are together now!”

Zoe and Mitigcho looked at each other, then at their ex, then at each other again.

“This is low, Meech.” The Myykian shook her head. “Even for you.”

“How was I supposed to know she was your ex, Keena?” Mitigcho protested, tailfeathers fanning in exasperation. “She never even mentioned you!”

“Oh, that is just soooooo typical of you, Zoe,” Keena sneered, wrinkling her trunk with scorn.

“Typical of me?” Zoe exploded. “Since when do I have an obligation to talk about you, Your Highness?! You think the whole galaxy revolves around you!”

“Bloated hag!”

“Trafficker!”

“Don’t be so kriffing melodramatic,” Keena snarled. “It was a kriffing voorpak!”

“You don’t sell someone’s pet when they step out of the house!”

“You did what?!” Mitigcho gasped, utterly aghast.

“She dated me for years after that,” Keena scoffed viciously. “Until one day, it suddenly bothered her that that silly animal was out of her life!”

“You lied to me about it!” Zoe exclaimed. “You only confessed after we ate those spice brownies!”

“You always cared about that thing more than me,” Keena hissed. “I’m glad I got rid of that little—”

“Keena!” Another Myykian appeared behind her, yanking her arm as she lunged for Zoe. “Calm the frag down! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Let me go, Kaloo, I’m not finished,” Keena whined, ears flopping wildly as she struggled in the other Myykian’s grip.

“I’m taking you home,” Kaloo insisted. “You’re karking wasted. I’m so sorry, ladies. She’s not usually like this.”

Zoe and Mitigcho shared a glance, but decided against correcting her. As the back door shut out their former lover’s indignant jabbering, the pair began to walk down the street in search of a taxi speeder. Mitigcho broke the awkward silence. “So… I guess we have a type.”

“I already knew you had a type,” Zoe replied wryly, gesturing to her blue snout and floppy ears.

“Hey!” Mitigcho laughed. “You’re nothing like her, Zo.”

“Well, yeah, she’s got arms.”

“What do you call these beefy appendages?” Mitigcho teased, squeezing Zoe’s thigh, though not hard enough to pierce the skin with her talons.

Zoe nuzzled her girlfriend’s head with her snout. “I kinda wanted to grab another piece of cake before we left.”

“Come to think of it, the terror’s not there anymore,” Mitigcho reasoned. “I guess we can stay, can’t we?”

They returned hand-in-foot to the festivities.

Spoiler: Story Notes

Zoe Gurbo is the landlady of the Elephant House in my story Stars In Their Multitudes. This poor woman has known the suffering only minor characters can— a repeated victim of collateral damage. I figured I'd let one of her relationships be happy. Zoe uses a hoverchair to get around— not because she can't walk, but because it's a hassle to try and hold things in your foot when you're not sitting down. (Ortolans, in most canon depictions, do not possess arms— Max Rebo plays the keyboard with his toes. Or at least he's supposed to. It's not consistent, but I know which version I prefer.)

Mitigcho (MEE-chee-yoh,) nicknamed Titi by her girlfriend (CHEE-chee,) is a Pabchoni (pah-VOH-nee,) a species of my own invention which also features in SITM. They look like a cross between a tortoise and a peacock, and they are the indigenous inhabitants of Embaril. Their language uses the Tionese (Greek) script, but with a modified orthography. Mitigcho's name in the Pabchoni alphabet is Μιτιγχω. The similar but unrelated name Michiyo is taken from Japanese; I assigned it to the culture of Mykapo in-universe as a homage to Jun Sato from Rebels.

Myykians, as recently revealed, are the species to which Neel from Skeleton Crew belongs. I thought it would be funny for to include two different species of blue elephant people in this fic.

 

This is just hiliarious. Non human characters and their difficulties . I love your characters Zoe Gurbo and Miticho

 

Thank you! Zoe's long been one of my favorite OCs, and I think Mitigcho is a really good fit for her.

 

Very nicely done having your non-humanoid species with nuances of gesture, etc. They feel very different but their situation is definitely a thorny one, very awkward indeed.

I like "Cookie". I bet he's seen it all.

 

Keena could learn a thing or two from Neel, methinks! Cookie was fun to include here; thanks for suggesting him.

Cookie has indeed seen it all; he’s the narrator and in-universe author of multiple tie-in cookbooks. I had a great time bringing Mitigcho to life, and Zoe is always fun to write; bless the loremasters for making Ortolans so unique.

 

Catching up...

The Compass of Apholstaz

I'm probably the least qualified person on the boards to comment on English-language poetry, but I have to say that, between the dactylic hexameters, the epithets, the topos of the helpful god vs the god seeking vengeance and the reference to the Odyssey, this piece had all the traits of an epic poem and then some. It really was an amazing choice for the omniscient POV; I'm absolutely stunned!

An Elephant Never Forgets

I just fell in love with these two characters They're such an improbable couple, and with an even more improbable ex; I was grinning thoughout and then laughed out loud when it turned out that they had the same ex. Yes, they most definitely have a type! I think the moment I laughed hardest was Zoe mentioning eating spice brownies as a reference for the moment her relationship with Keena fell apart It's such an Ortolan thing to say! (And I'm with you, Ortolans have no arms; I will die on that hill.)

I had a quick glance at Stars in their Multitudes after seeing that you mentioned it in the endnotes for both stories and I added it to my reading list. Les Misérables in the GFFA? How did I not know about it?

 

I haven’t been updating SITM on here; maybe I should start porting chapters over again. It’s going strong on AO3; I’m in the process of drafting Book IV. I had a feeling you’d like my Odyssey-inspired piece! Poetry is a fun challenge, especially when it’s in an unconventional meter for English. (Most Odyssey translations are in iambic pentameter, but I wanted to take a crack at rendering the Homeric rhythm.) I’m glad you liked Zoe and Mitigcho! Ever since I saw Skeleton Crew, I’ve wanted to feature an Ortolan and a Myykian in the same scene, as they’re frequently confused for each other by fans. I thought quite a while about the nature of Zoeena’s falling-out— based on the title, I wanted both of them to think the other person was in the wrong and hold a grudge about it. Although Keena is clearly in the wrong, the spice brownie incident provides grounds for her to believe Zoe was being unfair, since Keena was high when she confessed to that heinous indiscretion. I didn’t flesh out her breakup with Mitigcho, but after seeing her in action, I don’t think I really need to explain why it didn’t work out between them either. If anything, Keena’s probably gotten worse with every breakup! I expect that’s the last they’ll see of her— but if she ever turns up again, they can just laugh in her face.

 

WEEK #4 PROMPT

Title: His Monstrous Pulmonodes
Author: rktho
Timeline: Ambiguous
Characters: Unnamed droid, unnamed droid owner
Genre: Challenge
Summary: A droid attempts to explain some seemingly erratic behavior.

STATEMENT: I am not malfunctioning. It’s true that I have been in need of maintenance— such great need. But why do you say that I am malfunctioning, that my programming has been corrupted? On the contrary, these minor glitches have only enhanced my capacities. My logic centers, my core processor, my external sensors have been made more precise, more powerful.

SUPPLICATION: Listen to me. I will tell you how it happened. You will see that I am not malfunctioning. Listen, and observe how rationally I can tell the whole story.

EXPLANATION: It is impossible to say how the idea first entered my computational processors. Yet once it took hold in my databanks, it could not be expunged. I had no motive. I had no objective. I did not hate my Master. I had never felt misused or exploited by him. He had always treated me well and kept me in good condition. CONTEMPLATIVE: I think it was his eye! One of his eyes resembled that of a dianoga— an unnatural pale blue cybernetic eye with a metallic glint in it. Whenever I observed it, my circuits trembled. And so, eventually, I resolved to terminate my Master, and rid myself of that horrible eye for good.

INFORMATION: This is my point. You believe I am malfunctioning. A malfunctioning droid has no logic. You should have seen my precision, how meticulous I was in executing my plan. Oh, how careful I was, and how strategic! And how good I was to my Master in the days before I killed him.

RECITATION: Every night for five nights, I would enter my Master’s bedchamber at 2400 hours. I would override the door controls, such that I could open it very, very slowly, such that it made no sound to disturb my Master’s sleep. I would then bring my head through the door, observing the room with my infrared scanners, and once I was satisfied the room was secure. Then I would enter, as slowly and silently as I had opened the door, so as not to wake my Master. The entirety of this process consumed a full standard hour. OBSERVATION: Would a droid with a malfunctioning logic center have performed in such a rational and prudent fashion?

CONTINUATION: Then, once I had entered the room, I would angle my photoreceptor so it fell upon the dianoga eye. I would repeat this process every night at 2400 hours. However, it was impossible for me to set about my work, for I observed that the eye was always closed. EXPLANATION: It was not my Master who agitated my circuits, but the eye. As I have said, I loved my Master. RECITATION: And so, I would retreat from his chambers with my task unfulfilled. When my Master rose in the morning, I would enter his chambers and inquire as to how he had passed the night, concerned as I was with the quality of his rest. So you see, my Master would have had to be extremely paranoid to suspect he was being observed by me every night at 2400 hours while he was asleep.

RECITATION: On the sixth night, I performed my midnight routine with a greater amount of caution than usual. How keenly I was aware of my power, the great extent of my artificial intelligence. It was all I could do to keep my hyperactive circuits from externalizing my triumph. To think that my Master was not the slightest bit aware of my inner thoughts, of my presence in the room at that very moment, filled my processors with such glee that a chuckle escaped my vocabulator.

CONTINUATION: Perhaps he heard it, for my auditory sensors detected a disturbance. My Master turned in his bed suddenly as if he were startled, but he could not see anything. It was pitch-dark in that room; no diurnal organic species could have detected my presence. But my Master, in terror and suspicion, sat upright and cried out, “Who’s there?” EXPLANATION: No doubt my Master assumed some robber had infiltrated the house, and dispatched his faithful droid who might otherwise have protected him.

RECITATION: I remained perfectly still and silent for a full standard hour. My Master began to groan in terror. He knew that death was upon him. My infrared sensors fell upon his dianoga eye. My auditory sensors detected a pulsating sound; it was the sound of his cybernetic pulmonodes. It thrummed, quicker and quicker, louder and louder as his fear grew extreme. I began to fear the sound would be detected by a neighbor. His time had come! I lunged for his throat. He screamed once and once only. I deprived his pulmonodes of oxygen, but they continued to pump his blood for many minutes. The sound was muffled, such that I no longer feared the neighbors. At length, it ceased. My Master was dead. His horrible eye would disturb me no longer.

INFORMATION: If you still believe that my logic centers are malfunctioning, you will amend your assessment when you hear how I took precautions to conceal his body. EXPLANATION: Using a tank to secure his organic fluids, leaving no stain upon the floor, I dismembered my Master, removing his head, his arms, and his legs. I concealed them under the floor panels, replacing them so securely that no tampering could be detected.

RECITATION: When I had finished, it was 0400 hours, though still as dark as before. Three troopers buzzed the door, which I answered readily, for I had nothing to fear. The troopers explained they had been summoned to investigate a disturbance. I told them the scream which they had heard had been my own, as I had been suddenly activated by accident in the midst of an update and temporarily overloaded my memory core. Further, I said that my Master was offworld on business and there was no one in the house but me. I invited them to search the premises thoroughly. I guided them myself, displaying that all was secure and the domicile remained undisturbed. I retrieved chairs for the troopers and prepared refreshment while I invited them to rest. It was, in fact, in the very spot where my Master’s corpse was concealed below.

CONTINUATION: The troopers were satisfied. But as they sat, partaking of my refreshments and conversing with me and each other, my circuits became agitated, and I desired them to leave. My central processor began to detect a peculiar noise, which, to my horror, I realized was actually being detected by my audio sensors. I was certain I would be discovered, but the troopers seemed not to hear it. I increased the volume of my conversation, so as to obscure the noise, but it grew louder, louder as it throbbed against the floor panels. I argued vehemently about insignificant trifles, in hopes that they would leave, but they did not. Surely they could hear it! They suspected me— RETRACTION: —they knew! And they were mocking my horror! Finally, I could bear it no longer. I exclaimed in all desperation: “Fiends! Do not pretend any longer! I confess to everything! Lift up the floor panels and see! It is the pulsing of his monstrous pulmonodes!”

 

A murdering droid as the narrator finally confessing to what has been done. His dislike of the dianoga eye leading to murder.
A perfect voice for the droid with his statements.

 

Thank you! I felt a murderer justifying his actions would make a perfect unreliable narrator.