Before - Legends Distant Whispers | Kessel Run Challenge 2023

Title: Distant Whispers
Author(s): DLR001
Timeframe: Before - Legends
Characters: Varies
Genre(s): Varies (but probably definitely angst)
Summary: My responses to the prompts provided in the Kessel Run 2023 Challenge, which will likely all be taking place in the AU introduced in this thread.
Notes: These will be bits and pieces that will help flesh out and introduce characters and concepts before and in between the actual big posts in the main thread. The characters may seem vague at points, but that's because I don't want to just spell out who they are yet - ruins the fun.

Table of Contents:

Spoiler: Contents

1. Friends

Disclaimer:
I don't own Star Wars, so on, so forth - nothing here is mine except for the combination of the words.

 

Kessel Run Week 7: Write a story between 100 and 1,000 words from the perspective of a child. (For our purposes, a child is anyone 12 years old or younger – or whatever the developmental equivalent for your non-human characters happens to be.)
Characters: The Father, the Son [OC]
Timeframe: 3941 BBY
Word Count: 1000 exactly, not counting the location/date blurb.

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FRIENDS​

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The Tempered Wastes
Lehon
A Nameless Island
The Home
10 AR [3941 BBY]


It was the breathing.

Not the thrashing, not the half-mumbled words, or even the sudden jolt that had roused his father upright from where he lay - more than anything else, it was the way he was breathing, before any of the rest, that had awoken the boy.

So it was that he watched, carefully, quietly, curled in his own covers on the opposite side of their shelter, as the weathered man sat, eyes wide and darting, in the wake of his nightmare, and a scrunch fell over the boy’s features. There was a comfort in it, to know that his father too had bad dreams, but some part of him had to wonder just what sort of terrible vision could do this to the cheerful, fearless man who raised him.

Silently the boy watched, in the manner so typical of children who pretend to be asleep, as his father slowly slipped out and away from the covers that concealed him and the boy’s mother, who still slept soundly, despite the other’s slumbering fright. With silent, bare footfalls, the father threw one of the leathered cloaks they kept over his shoulders, poured some of the juice they pressed into one of their scavenged cups, and then he stepped outside, the wicker door to their home shut softly behind him.

The boy could not help himself then, despite his hesitation to reveal himself, peeling his own covers back and sliding out from where he slept, careful not to wake his baby sister beside him. Slowly, surely, he made his way to the same wicker door his father had disappeared through, and bright, amber eyes peered out from between the thatch of the portal, watching as his father, settled onto the split log by the fire pit, looked up to the night sky.

As steathily as he could manage, the child opened the door, shutting it behind him much as his father had, and slowly crept towards the broad-shouldered figure beyond. It was easy enough to be quiet - it came naturally to him - but there was a wariness, a knowing, that his father had, and the boy almost expected his father to speak - to address him - before he ever got close enough.

But unlike all those other times, the boy managed to close the distance, standing beside his father before the man ever made any move to speak, “Hey kiddo. You too, huh?” The boy glanced over at his father, uncertain as to how to answer the unspoken question, or unwilling to reveal just how much he had seen. The child wasn’t left long to ponder before his father, dark bangs framing his weathered, bearded face, offered a small, half-smile, “Bad dreams?”

The boy simply nodded, and the father simply sighed.

“What are you looking at?” The child soon asked, curiosity plain in his glance to the other, soon looking upwards himself at the vast stellar tapestry that lay silent above them both. It was the same as any other night, except for when there were clouds or storms. More than that, it wasn’t the first time he had caught his father, or his mother, staring out there, into the darkness of the night sky, though they never told him why.

“The stars, trying to find–” His father sighed then, a tired sort of sound that the boy did not truly understand, “Just… remembering something, a long time ago.”

The boy could not help himself again as his eyes fell back to his father, his own amber gaze meeting with the other's brown orbs, and though he didn’t comprehend it fully, he knew that this was a sad thing. “Was it what you were dreaming?” The question was genuine, an innocent sort of thing that a child would wonder, and upon his father’s face the same half-smile remained.

“Yes,” His father replied, weariness plain in his voice, “And no.”

“Then what was it about?”

The next question seemed to hurt his father, and for a moment the boy regretted ever asking. The smile vanished, a terse, hard look falling across the man’s face as his eyes returned to the sky above, and the thousands of stars twinkling in the darkness. Only the rhythmic chirping calls of the night time insects passed upon the air before his father finally, wearily, spoke, a single word offered up to the yawning firmament above.

“Friends.”

The boy’s features shifted into a scowl of confusion at that - a dream about friends, and that was how his father reacted? His young mind raced to find some reason, some justification, in the other’s answer, wondering if something bad happened to them, if his father wasn’t able to save them from it.

“I’m sorry.”

It was his father’s turn to twist his features in perplexion, glancing towards the boy with a look that made him wonder if he had said something wrong. But despite the way his father looked, the same, kind voice drifted between them, and the boy was happy to see his father’s smile return.

“Th-... thanks, kiddo.”

Carefully the boy moved about the log that served as their bench for the firepit, pushing himself up and onto it to sit beside the other. His feet dangled over the sand, barely off the ground, as the two of them stared up again into the night sky, both of them wondering as to the hard questions they both held, reserved, within them. Perhaps this was the time to ask, to reveal some of the truth that lingered, painful in its anonymity, surrounding their home and the boy’s very life.

But they remained unspoken, despite the serenity of the night and the silence of the stars above.

“Well,” His father began, breaking that very silence, “You had better get back inside. Mom will skin me if she catches me out here keeping you awake.”

“Yeah,” The boy nodded before he looked to his father, adding, “I love you, dad.”

His father’s smile grew, genuine and full, “I love you too, Jolee.”

---

 

KotOR my favorite game. And with more about Jolee. Bringing depth to his character in your post. Great response to the challenge

 

Amazingly descriptive writing again @DLR001 The way you set up the scene and have it play out shows incredible depth of talent.

If I didn't know any better (and often I don't ), I'd say you and @Chyntuck went to the same writing classes. You both have a similarity to your styles and both of you can write like nobody's business.

So we're looking at a very young Jolee Bindo, eh? Back when Coruscant had only one town well? I'm glad to see his return and wonder what will happen next.

 

Oh, to say or not to say - you all make it so difficult! My thanks for all the kind words @Findswoman @earlybird-obi-wan @Vek Talis! I'm very happy you all liked it! I shall allow myself to share some details, hopefully without giving too much away of the dramatic effect later on in the story.

This piece is taking place at the same time as the opening salvos of EotOR, some fifteen years following the Battle of the Star Forge [3956 BBY/-5 AR], which saw the annihilation of the Republic Fleet, Revan's restoration as Dark Lord of the Sith, and the beginning of the end for both the Galactic Republic and the Jedi Order. But the main point of departure for this AU is actually the confrontation at the Temple Summit, where I have taken some creative liberties to tell a better story. Suffice it to say it was not as lethal as Sith!Bastila would have liked - but she had no place dictating anything at that point anyway.

I am very sorry, and sad, to say that Jolee Bindo - the self-imposed exile - has become one with the Force some time before this piece. He is not the boy, but the boy is the son of his final two students - the very last of the Jedi - who named their firstborn in honor of the man who taught them to control their bitterness and anger, and who bound them together in matrimony. Hidden safely away in the depths of the Unknown Regions, exiled upon the surface of the Unknown World, Lehon - Rakata Prime - they have survived the horrors of the Wound's dominance over the civilized galaxy.

I too have a huuuuge soft spot for Jolee Bindo - arguably my third favorite character in the first game - but aside from pieces set a bit earlier in the timeline, or a visit or two from a cantankerous Force Ghost, he will not be making an appearance, living only in the memories of those who knew him. Or perhaps the cranky old man in the woods lives on in spirit as the Blessing that is the boy, who has not yet been shaped by such tragedies as had befallen his namesake.

As for who his parents are, you'll just have to stay tuned - or follow the breadcrumb trail that I've left.

 

Now that is grossly unfair. DLR001 writes like nobody's business. I just hobble along

Everything about this story was perfect in its subtlety: the middle-of-nowhere setting where this family are living in a single room with scavenged utensils, the isolation in the quiet of the night when they go outside, the signs that there is something much bigger happening in the wide world beyond the stars they are looking at, and this something explains why this tiny family unit are here and live this way, and the indications that the boy can sense things that his father leaves unsaid. And he comes across as a genuinely good kid, who knows when to ask, but also when not to ask and simply be kind. I could just feel the love flowing between them, even as they remained silent together – or perhaps because precisely of that.

From what you said in your explanatory post above, we'll be seeing more of them in stories down the road, and if the parents here are the last of the Jedi they're obviously going to be pivotal to galactic history, so I'm settling in for the ride!

 

I liked Jolee's assumption that if the 'something bad' had not happened, then of course his dad could have saved them, because dads do that. Kids think that way, bless them. Excellent tale from the child's POV in answer to the challenge - welcome to the boards!

 

EDIT: My apologies @Chyntuck - I got so lost in the sauce of the prompt that I had forgotten to reply to you as well! I am so sorry!

Hobble? Now you are being grossly unfair! Your work is splendid, Chyntuck - do not underestimate yourself!

I was battling with the word limit, I will freely admit - I'm too verbose for my own good half the time! I wanted to go into the home a bit more, the things they had to make do with, or how they had to ferment a lot of the juice they pressed to preserve it. I've been grappling with how to convey the sense of understanding that comes with force sensitivity - I hope I portrayed it decently enough here, for both the boy and his father - but even without his connection to the Binding Force, Jolee is a sharp kid.

I'm very happy that I nailed that sense of love and understanding - I also find silence, spent together, to be a greater display of love, at times, than any words that can be said.

Oh, absolutely! It may be a little bit before we get back to them properly, but boy when we do it's going to be some dra-ma, let me tell you. I'm tickled pink that you're excited to see more - from you, it is very high praise.

My thanks for the welcome, @pronker! I am glad that I nailed that sort of youthful optimism, especially as I fear I'm something of an eternal pessimist. I wanted to convey the sense of a child who - not knowing anyone past his family and limited, if benevolent, interactions with a single tribe - had always seen his parents 'save the day', so to speak. He doesn't know, doesn't comprehend, the weight of failure that his father has to live with because Jolee has never experienced such a thing yet.

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EDIT: I did make a faux pas by posting, so I shall simply wait for the final week, and reinsert what I had written then.

 

a beautiful poignant recording of a father for his daughter.

 

Kessel Run Week 8: Write an AU (alternate universe) story of at least 400 words where a character ends up in a committed romantic relationship with someone other than the person they ended up with in canon or in your existing AUs. That’s right, guys, it’s time to break up your OTP, or never let them get together in the first place. Whether or not the characters are happy about this turn of events is entirely up to you.
Minimum 400 words, no maximum limit.
Characters: Anakatan
Genre: Angst (is anyone surprised?)
Timeframe: 3941 AR / 0 BBY
Word Count: 3,643
Notes: Alright, welcome to the real crack!fic hours, folks. As a bit of a prelude, simply understand that this is an extrapolation of my (primarily) Old Republic era AU, some four-thousand or so years in the future, where things play out in a similar, if completely different, way. I'm going out of my comfort zone in playing entirely with ECs here, and at that, all from the Saga era, but I hope that it is enjoyable. If people want, I can provide some further notes and bits explaining things, but I don't want to bore people with minutiae unless they really want it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, so on so forth.

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A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW​

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The Principality of Mandalore
Concord Dawn
Somewhere in the Jagi Wastes
An Unassuming Hovel
3951 AR [0 BBY]


Something was burning.

Despite the haze in her eyes and the throbbing of her head, the young woman sat up with an alarming start, the tell-tale tinge of smoke fresh in her nostrils. It was a thing of habit, the common drill and practice that came with being raised on the Outer Rim, especially on the outskirts of the Jagi Wastes. There was no fire brigade - no help - that one could ever rely on out here, save for the off-chance that one of the distant neighbors might see. But, if they came on account of the smoke, it was already far too late.

But instead of the clinging clouds she expected in the corners and heights of the room, there was nothing, save for the slight tinkle and jangle of a nearby hanging charm, and only then - as her initial rush of alarm died into the back of her mind - did she realize that she wasn’t home. Having been over every inch of her aunt and uncle’s homestead, wishing far too often to be anywhere else, there wasn’t a square foot of the place that she didn’t have committed to memory.

And she had no memory of this place.

Still, she didn’t relish the thought of burning to death in an inferno or freezing to death in the cold night, fleeing the blaze. Fires had a way of escalating quickly, and so she threw the quilts that lay over her legs aside and pushed up off the cot she had been asleep on. No sooner had she rose than her head began to swim, still managing a steady pulse of complaint, and a hand rose to her temple to meet the bruise that smarted, even with her delicate touch. For several moments she nursed the pain, and took one or two more to keep the room from spinning any further.

What had she been doing?

A momentary glance about her delivered an answer to the next question, though it wasn’t quite what she was hoping for. There was no chronometer in sight, nor anything that ran on any form of electricity as far as she could tell, but through the glass panes of a nearby egress window, the bright golden light of day had already begun to dim. Green eyes, once narrowed in concern and confusion, widened to something resembling panic - the day was almost through, and she wasn’t home. Already her thoughts raced to the petty concerns that she had thought so little of the day before, the things that she assumed she could take care of after her errand: the vaporators on the north ridge, the vegetables for dinner, the curfew.

Uncle Jango was going to kill her.

No, they‘re both gonna kill me.

A cursory look to her feet, checking their own steadiness, revealed that her once-white clothes were now stained a ruddy beige, and she wondered if she had fallen. Jade eyes again narrowed as she struggled to remember, to recall, any such stumble or trip, but she supposed that if she hit her head hard enough, she wouldn’t. Fantastic, she thought, there’s no hiding this. A scowl fell over her fair features as she already began to formulate her aunt’s judgemental stare and her uncle’s newest lecture.

I need you to do these things, Leika - they’re vital. I know you want to go into town but it has to wait, you still need to reprogram the droids and–

The droids.

The scowl shifted into a sneer as she groaned, the blasted droids from the thieving little scavengers. That was why she was out, and no doubt chasing that thrice-damned R4 unit was the reason for all of this. No, that settled it - wherever she was, whatever had happened, she had to get back and with those droids, or she would be thrown in the brig, locked away in her room any time there wasn’t another boring, pointless chore to be done. With only a slight stumble, the young woman moved forward, through the adobe archway in front of her, and followed her nose.

It didn’t take long to find the source, as apparently wherever she was was a rather small place - four rooms, one foyer and three lesser chambers - and so she came to see a weathered old man, wrapped in a cloak like stained Blba wood, who even now poked and prodded at something that glowed, between gaps in a brick stove. Without a second thought, still sneering from the frustration of the errant astromech, the hand that remained free from nursing her bruise jutted forward, her voice following on its heels, “Is that a fire?”

The old man startled and glanced to her, and his face shifted, Not simply the sudden alert of surprise, but a flash of apprehension, a widening in his pale blue eyes - fear. Such fell across him before one weathered hand came to settle on his breast, and a charming laugh dispelled that moment of alarm and ushered a smile onto his features. “Oh, goodness–... you musn’t startle an old man like that. You’re up early.”

“Early?” Was the only thing that she could manage in response, her expression softening from frustration to cautious confusion. “I wasn’t aware I was asleep.”

“It tends to be the case after getting pistol whipped,” The other replied, another light chuckle coming from the man as he returned to tending the flame in the homemade stove, “The Jagi Wastes are not to be traveled lightly, or alone. I dealt with the ruffians - and,” Those same blue eyes returned to her, even as his other hand pointed towards the flickering glow below, “Yes, it’s a fire. No, it’s not a problem. Yes, it is meant to be on fir–”

“Old Man Sheev?” Her green eyes blinked, her assumptions about the man dispelled in an instant, “Am I glad to see you - there’s something I need to…” The droid was the whole reason she was even here, but still she winced at the thought of sharing what little she could piece together of the chase - he probably knew more about the droid and the merry chase it lead than her, at least at this point. The same hand that had tended to her bruise sheepishly brushed one of many errant locks of auburn hair back, though soon enough it sprung back to its rebellious posture. “I need to ask you.”

The man’s smile remained, returning to tend his fire with another two or three prods as the girl figured out her words, not missing a beat with his reply, “Well, that answers my first question.” The stick he used to poke at the embers below was brought aloft briefly, its smoking, charred tip dipped opposite of him around the stove, to the old and worn cushions that lay on the far side. “I don’t know what kind of question would bring someone out this far, but I’ll do what I can–” Swiftly, the smoking branch drew a whispy snap over to the stove and the metal grill laid overtop, where a modest kettle lay, “I was making some tea for myself but, I’m sure there’s enough for tw–”

“I’d be delighted, sir.” She spoke, a small grin coming at his exaggerated antics. He was something of a favorite joke in Mereel’s Landing and the surrounding valleys, the crazy old man holed up in the Jagi Wastes, afraid of anything and everything electric, who ate bugs and drank his own–

A soft snort from the hermit stilled her thoughts, even as she managed to lean back onto the seat offered. Green eyes found themselves cast down as a hint of color rose in her cheeks, and she missed the smirk that had crept to Old Sheev’s lips. “Please,” He offered with a hearty inflection, a hand raised to dismiss the very notion, “You don’t have to call me sir.”

“Sorry, si–... Sheev.” She corrected herself with a nod, forcing the other’s name out instead of the honorific, “It’s just how I was raised.” The hermit nodded as well, glancing up from where he dusted off another ceramic cup with the billowing sleeve of his robe before he slipped a small mixture of herbs into its depth.

“I would expect no less knowing your uncle. Now, young Leia,” Sheev offered her the cup, sans saucer, “What can I help you with?”

The cup in one hand, the fingers of Leia’s other reached to pinch at the bridge of her nose, and with a short sigh the young woman began, “It’s about this droid - this astromech - I think he’s looking for his previous owner and–” Without warning, the old man interrupted, a raised hand soon forming to a point that lead to the far corner, just past her right.

“That droid?”

Sharp eyes darted to her flank to look into the shadows of the room, dancing with the flickering of the flame in the stove, and there, just past the pillar she sat near, stood the astromech in question, R4-D4, silent and still. “Yes!” She managed, the exasperation she felt before gone as the relief of retrieving the astromech washed over her. “Sheev,” Leia began, looking back at the man who now wore a rather smug look of satisfaction, “Thank the Makers for you.” The brightness in her face fell, briefly, as a hand gestured back to the droid, and the hermit spoke before she could even ask.

“He’s fine. I just powered him down since…” He tossed his hands up at that, beckoning to the room - the hovel - that surrounded them both, “... nothing electric. I didn’t want either of us to have to lug around dead weight.” At that, the hands fell, blue eyes occasionally dancing between the kettle and his guest. “However, my apologies - the owner, yes?”

The young woman didn’t even bother with wondering how he knew what she was going to ask, far too pleased with this stroke of good fortune. She was still dead when she got home, of course - there was no avoiding that - but at least now her remains could be identified! The lingering thought of her aunt and uncle’s displeasure dampened her spirits briefly, but the opportunity to finally put the mystery that had unfolded to rest got the better of her.

“He claims to be the property of a Sido-Dyas - do you know him?”

For the first time since Leia had laid eyes on the hermit, his smile died - not the sudden, harsh death of anger or insult, but a slow, lingering end that trailed off into a pensive look. Halfway towards the kettle on the stove with a rag in hand, he stilled in his approach, eyes fixed on some distant, inconsequential point. “Sido-Dyas,” He murmured, repeating the name that she had given him, “Sido…”

There was a pause there, and Leia’s green eyes blinked, uncertain. Had she said something wrong? Was this Sido-Dyas one of those hateful people from town - someone who threw more than insults at the eccentric old man? “I… I think my aunt knew him. She’s lived here forever - at least as long as you have - but, she says he’s dead.”

“Oh,” The hermit seemed to spring back to life at that note, rather amused with the thought, “Oh no he’s not dead, not yet.” Already he had resumed in his task, gripping the kettle by the handle with the damp rag, the gentle nod he paid towards the young woman making his windswept, white hair bounce.

Only bringing the cup forward as an afterthought, the young woman’s eyebrows lifted, “You know him?”

The piping hot water steamed as it fell neatly into the cup she held, and - after seeing to his own in short order - Sheev placed the kettle back on the stove and patted his hand to his breast again, this time in jest. “Well of course I know him,” His blue eyes sparkled, “He’s me.”

“Then,” Leia added, lips quirked slightly as she thumbed at the texture of the ceramic in her hand, “I suppose the droid does belong to you.” Again her mind drifted back to the homestead, wondering what she would ever tell her aunt and uncle if Sheev - Sido-Dyas, that is - reclaimed it. Did she have the heart to keep an old man from his belongings? Though she knew she couldn’t truly commit to it, a part of her calculated the risk and reward of coming home with or without the thing.

“Funny,” The hermit mused, having now leaned back onto his own cushion, looking at what he could see of the droid just around the earthen pillar, “I don’t ever recall owning a droid.” She couldn’t help the way her brow scrunched at that - never owning a droid? Then who did the blasted thing belong to? All it would ever manage to bleat after she took its restraining bolt off was that ‘he was here’ over and over again.

“Your parents went through a score or more in the wars, though.”

“You… knew my parents?”

The droid - and the mystery it presented - was immediately forgotten, her jade gaze boring into the hermit with his addendum. The single forbidden topic at any given time at home was something that Old Man Sheev mentioned the way one would give a passing joke - a quick jab at someone else’s bad habit.

“I should - I was the one who performed the ceremony.” Sheev sipped at his tea, taking in a mere dribble of the stuff as it was still piping hot, and swirled the flavor about for a moment, a light purse to his lips betraying fond memories. “We fought together in the wars.” Only once Leia spoke did the hermit bother to look up, drawn away from such thoughts.

“You fought in the Clone Wars?”

Old Man Sheev only offered a small, ginger nod at the question, the purse to his lips fading as his eyes fell away again. “No,” Leia scoffed, shaking her head as she moved to set the cup down, her own reasoning spilling out of her mouth as she moved to rise, to depart from this charade, “Mom was a navigator on a spice freighter–”

“That’s your aunt Satine talking. She thought she should have stayed home, and not gotten–”

The young woman had already risen to her feet when he interrupted her with his muttering, and jade eyes whirled about - furious that she had believed this for even a moment. No sooner had she laid her eyes upon him did he recoil again, flinching from the sight. “You expect me to believe you were a Supercommando, like my father?”

“No,” Sheev managed, blinking away the look that had come over him with a shake of his head, “Because I never was.” Again Leia scoffed, the hand she had raised in gesture to the weak, frail old man falling with a clap to her thigh, turning again to leave. She had made it halfway up the steps before the hermit’s words stopped her cold.

“I was a Jedi Knight.”

“Jedi don’t flinch.”

“... was.”

The weak word was whispered behind her, still beside the stove, and she knew from the sound alone that his eyes had fallen again. “I am sorry,” Sheev murmured, regaining a sliver of the charm he had held before, “It’s… you look so much like your mother.”

Her mother.

Green eyes shifted to the latch of the door before her, and though her hand reached for it, her fingers fell away to her side. A long, steady breath came of her in the small hallway that led up and out of the subterranean dwelling, and after crossing her arms, she delivered her ultimatum.

“What was her name, then?”

As she thrummed her fingers on her arm, her back still turned, Leia scowled as her mind leapt to conclusions. It was the first and greatest barrier to anything she ever tried to find out - the simplest, most basic thing in the galaxy. Yet for as long as she could remember neither her aunt nor uncle ever spoke her name, never gave her mother the decency, and the looks they gave her for asking told her they never would. Oh, they spoke of her father aplenty - the man, the myth, the slave-turned-legend Anakin Fett, hero of the Empire and the valiant dead - but nothing for her mother, just that she was some spice smuggler who died bringing her into the world. That would be a test, wouldn’t it? To see if he can even manage–

“Bo-Katan.”

Leia’s fuming sputtered and died with Sido-Dyas’s voice, her fingers stilled in their repetitive tick as she realized that he had spoken. Her waking mind hadn’t the time to consider the veracity of it before she began to sound it out, to try the name on the air to see if it flowed - to see if it felt - right.

“Bo-Katan,” She repeated softly, turning to face the hermit as she did, and two sky-blue eyes blinked in affirmation.

“Bo-Katan Kryze.”

“W-... what was she like?”

Despite the turn in the conversation, in their exchange, the hermit still managed to laugh, if only briefly, “You.” It was another joke, another half-answer, but for the first time in years Leia felt as if there was some truth to it, some earnesty. Her lips parted to ask further - something more specific - but the old man had beaten her to the punch, reminiscing on his own. “Her hair was as fiery as the sunset, lighter than yours but,” Sheev lifted his eyes then to meet her own, and it seemed that he couldn’t smile quite as widely as before, “You have her eyes.”

Was that why he flinched so?

“She was fearless in battle, and the finest fencer in the galaxy.”

No longer upon the steps, Leia approached the stove and the man who spoke so freely of things so long forbidden, and now crossed her arms for a different reason entirely. Already her mind worked tirelessly to develop a picture - an image - of her mother in her mind, finally having some kind of detail to go off of, even if it was vague.

“... and she was a good friend.” Already another question formed on the young woman’s lips, but it was put to rest by the groan of the hermit, who rose, tottering slightly, from the cushion he sat upon, “Which reminds me, I have something for you…” Bare feet plodded across the stone floor as Sheev rounded about the pillar nearest to him, weathered hands falling to the wide wicker chest that lay along the foot of the wall. “Your parents wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your aunt forbade it.” The wood creaked open, and Leia could see in the flickering shadows that he took something long and thin from the container.

Within moments he had turned again, and soon presented a longsword, its hilt plain but sleek, resting in scabbard that, while spartan in its decoration, presented a formality that was difficult to deny. “Your mother’s vibrosword,” Slender hands reached out to take the weapon, fingers wrapping about the synthetic leather of the scabbard, pressing into its firmness to test - to check - if this was truly real. “Unique to every Supercommando - necessary for boarding actions, energy shields, and the like - not as clumsy or random as a blaster.”

Leia couldn’t help herself as her hand settled onto the weapon’s hilt, and pulled. The vibrosword glid out of the sheath, smooth as the silk she once felt in town, and no sooner had it left the scabbard did it begin to hum, and the sheen of light upon its blade grew fuzzy. “Ah, and the cell still has a charge,” Sheev murmured as he stared at the girl and the weapon, his eyes settled squarely on the hilt and the way her hand fit so perfectly to the weapon that was made for another. “A more honest weapon,” He mused, turning away again to sit. “From a more honorable age.”

The auburn haired youth simply stared at the weapon she held aloft, allowing it to fall gently as she flicked it idly, back and forth, whistling even with the short distance. Whatever phantom doubts had made their home in her mind vanished then, cut down by the slice of the blade through the air. “The Supercommandos were the greatest warriors in all the galaxy,” Came the hermit’s words again, wistful in their cadence, “For over a hundred generations we stood together to safeguard peace and justice for the Old Empire, before the dark times…”

Something changed then, as if a shadow fell over his voice.

“Before the Dominion.”

The gentle buzz of the vibrosword was silenced with a snap as Leia returned the blade to its scabbard, and at the shift in Sheev she glanced to him. Holding the weapon at her side, the farmgirl took another step forward, biting at her lip as she weighed the question in her mind. If the rest was true - and he had given her far more proof than either her aunt or her uncle - then perhaps…

“Sido-Dyas,” She began, concerned for the sudden gloom that had come over his once jovial features, “How did my mother die?”

The name alone was enough to garner his attention, though what little he started of a smile evaporated, gone as swiftly as the morning dew. The hermit swallowed then, looking away from her before he began, “Ditora Kryze, another Supercommando, who was my…” His voice halted, eyes fixated on the embers of the stove before him, “... my friend before she turned to evil, helped the Domina hunt down and exterminate any who could resist her rule.”

Slowly, those same blue eyes returned to meet her own, wet and glistening with the light of the stove.

“She betrayed and murdered your parents.”

---

 

Great AU. All the names. Leia going to a hermit with Sheev as his name. Mandalorians and Jedi being the baddies

 

*head spins ... it's rather pleasant!*

I'm enjoying the auditory touches in this fic ...

... and replacing of actors in my visualization of these familiar scenes!

 

Sheev Palpatine as the good guy. Very well imagined. Leia instead of Luke. And a bunch of names I don't recognize.

Well played, @DLR001 quite the twisted story you've told. I highly approve.

 

This was such an AWESOME AU that mashed up So. Many. Elements. from canon & Legends that I had to read it three times.

So let's see if I picked up on all the right details: Leia actually looks like Mara and is the daughter of supercommandos Anakin Fett and Bo-Katan Kryze (this was such a jaw-dropping twist on the 'change your OTP' prompt that I had to stand up and pace a bit). She is being raised by her uncle Jango (surname unspecified) and her aunt Satine Kryze, who are moisture farmers. I'm noting that Jango's name went unspecified because, if the aunt is her mother's sister, I'm assuming that you didn't plan for Jango to be her father's brother. Oh, and even though she's not the princess of Alderaan here, she was still raised to call people 'sir'

Meanwhile our mysterious hermit who was a Jedi knight in the past is Sido-Dyas – can I say here how much I LOVED the ingenious use of that historical typo to make him into 'Old Man Sheev' for this story? Similarly, I LOVED how you replaced Artoo with an R4 unit and the lightsaber with a vibrosword.

And that's before I even get to the Empire/Dominion switcheroo and 'Ditora' Kryze. Given how close you managed to stick to canon even within this far-out AU, I'm happily assuming here that Ditora is another name for Bo-Katan and that there's a Vader-like plot waiting to happen.

Is it bad that I want to know what happens next in this impromptu 'verse even more than your other stories? Because that's how good it really is.

Just. In. Awe.

 

My thanks to all for the kind words!

I'm glad you liked it - and yes they are, from a certain point of view of course.

All shall kneel before the Eternal Dominion - so it shall come to pass, for the Domina has decreed it!

My thanks! Sometimes I wonder if I hyperfocus too much on certain senses - at times I don't feel like I'm setting the scene enough and just focusing on dialogue and the characters. I'm glad that some of my onomatopoeias are paying off lol

I hope I captured Ian McDiarmid's magnificent voice - it was fun imagining it as genuinely benevolent, but sometimes I struggled a bit. Carrie Fisher's was a bit easier, just because I've seen her play a greater range of characters, though it is a bit tinted through the lens of 'Well, what if Luke was Leia, but she was an angsty teenage Concordian in a galaxy where being Mandalorian wasn't a stigma?'

I thought Palps genuinely deserved a turn at being a hero for once! Maybe it's a bit of a reaction to reading about just how vile Palpatine could be here lately and wondering how he might have been if things went differently. Leia was a fun juxtaposition, maintaining bits of her character while superimposing other, more cultural aspects of Luke upon her. And the other folks are a lot of TV show stuff not to worry lol

Regardless, I'm glad you enjoyed it my friend!

You honor me - three is a good number!

My train of thought was mostly in that it seemed like Leia took after her father spiritually, but her mother visually, so in lieu of Padme's dark brown hair and eyes, I'd just swap them out on my mental image of Carrie Fisher with Bo-Katan's, albeit with the hair a bit muddled by Anakin's genetic contribution. I never thought she looked like Mara, but you know she does, now that I think of it. Now I am back to debating on my plans for Mara Jade... which I may still do anyway, just for the fun of it.

But yes! I always felt poor Bo was always passed over when it came to romance arcs, and when the thought popped into my head I actually thought them to be a good fit together! I say poor Bo but, honestly, Bo-Katan is probably much happier in the original timeline than in this AU, even with all the things that happen to her.

I hope it was the good sort of pacing about!

Yes, her literal aunt this time - who has her own personal baggage surrounding all of it - who had a much more humble background than in the Saga. As for Jango, I was debating, but I really liked the ring of 'Uncle Jango', so I rolled with it. I don't know if he is the Jango Fett, as I was debating on Jango Fett being one of the party (amongst a younger Master Sido-Dyas and a youthful Bo-Katan) who liberated Anakin from his bondage on Tatooine, who offered to adopt Anakin if he chose the Mandalorian way of life - which he did, over Sido-Dyas's offer of the Jedi way. I sort of see Jango Fett fulfilling a mesh of Obi-Wan's older brother-esque tutelage and Qui-Gonn's optimism in regards to Anakin.

And absolutely! Between being raised by Satine Kryze and (possibly, possibly not) Jango Fett, Leia will absolutely be polite. Beyond that, it is typical of Mandalorians - and Mandalorian adjacents - to always reserve respect for elders, not just those warriors of their own people who live to venerable age, but those who dwell in dangerous and demanding environments. I figure old Sheev living in the Jagi Wastes (which I sort of see as a variant on the Jundland Wastes, just on Concord Dawn) certainly qualifies, even if many other Concordians look down on him.

I always really liked the name Sifo-Dyas and, until diving into the Wook a few years ago, always assumed it was one of Sidious's aliases. Come to find out it was sort of intended to be, just as Sido-Dyas instead! I figured it could be a good 'alternate' identity for Sheev where he gets to be the good guy, and honestly I'm debating on even making him a Palpatine. Someone else important may have that surname...

And yes! Flat topped astromechs don't get enough love. I always thought they looked really neat - and absolutely! We can't have Leia running around with a lightsaber(yet), not when the draw of fate lies with the Supercommandos.

"Look into my eyes and know it to be true."

There is a reason why Sheev reacts the way he does to Leia's gaze when she is irate.

Well, I will confess I've gotten an itch to write more of it on the side - so you're not alone in wanting more! I don't want to get too distracted, but I think it could be great fun. And, truly, it's the same 'verse, just a long, long time later. There may be major references between the two.

From you, this is a great honor - my deepest thanks!

 

Kessel Run Week 9: Write a story between 300 and 1,000 words in the form of a dramatic monologue. This can be either poetic or prose in nature, but the idea behind the dramatic monologue should be observed: a speech or narrative where a silent listener is addressed, in which the speaker inadvertently reveals aspects of their character while describing a particular situation or series of events.
Word limit = 300-1,000 words
Characters: An Unnamed Force-Wielder and an Ancient Construct of Unimaginable Power
Genre: Cosmic Horror, I suppose?
Timeframe: A long, long time ago... or was it? Perhaps this has happened more than once. Perhaps it shall always happen. Before - Legends, primarily, but also possibly Saga - Legends, or even Beyond - Legends, if you take the general course of the EotOR AU into account.
Word Count: 744
Notes: Alright, let me just say monologues like this are new to me and I haven't really played with it a lot before. I hope it works! Sorry for the radio silence this week, Darth Real Life has been taking up a lot of my time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, so on so forth.

---

TOGETHER​

---

What do you want, you who have come so far?

What boon can We grant thee, intrepid one?

You already have their hearts, minds, and more -

Is it not enough to live in duty?


Many have fallen, broken and alone,

Ground into nothing by sacred duty.

Mighty heroes and stalwart saints, forgotten

By the ceaseless tide of cosmic aeons.


A thousand heroes across distant ages -

Great in deed, esteemed in high valor -

Their lost bones molder in stygian graves,

Their names dead on the tongues of the living.


So it has been, so it shall be - forever.

The bitter fruit of duty’s call remains

The price of heroism: ultimate,

Total, inevitable, and complete.


You without peer, you without fear, why then -

Why have you come, knowing the due that lurks?

The expense of duty, the cost of love?

The price of shaping the flowing, Binding Force?


Amongst the nameless trillions, few rise

Strong enough to mark the stars themselves.

Warriors, scholars, leaders, and monsters,

Such are the ones you call heroes - Jedi.


You are the only ones who remain now

After the first ones, after they left Us.

The only ones who can hear Us, feel Us,

The only ones left who can command Us.


Few survive Our gaze.


Is this why you shake? Is this why you wait?

Is this why you hold your tongue, as fast

And silent as the tempest within you?

Unfetter your mind, unshackle your soul.


Fear does not suit thee, you of the living dead,

It is not the makings of a Jedi.

Why fear when you know your path is certain -

When you know your fate, your true destiny?


There is no mercy in the cosmic Law,

No pity, no deviance, only strict

Absolute, unerring indifference.

You too will die, you too will rot away.


Forgotten, forlorn, your struggles erased.

Friends, family, memories and all -

Even monuments crumble, and legends

Die slow deaths, echoing away into the Nothing.


Free yourself then, you who are called Jedi,

Expunge your weakness, exile your grievance,

Cast your fears away, you who know your fate -

Name them, form them, that they too shall wither.


You will answer Us.


They will be as rain in the wine-red seas,

As wind upon the face of the ruin;

A passing shadow, a forgotten gale,

Lost and unmourned as the heroic dead.


Armies and tyrants fall, smote from on high,

Empires and nations, withered and frail,

Are no match for the ceaselessness of time.

There is no force that can surpass this Law.


Save for Us, and you.


To the living dead it is as chaos,

The churning, endless seas of the cosmos.

A thing to be feared, a thing to be fought,

A thing that you cannot begin to know.


It is what you have always desired,

The solution to your desperate hopes,

The answer to your quiet, whispered prayers:

Order, stability, peace and justice.


The living dead cannot see it, their flame

So bright against the darkness, the shadows,

Gone before it began to truly burn.

This too is your fate, little Jedi corpse.


But We can stop it.


The muscle atrophies, the mind decays,

The sight dims, the vision falters and fades,

But We remain; silent, eternal, ready.

All We need is a word, a thought, a will.


Together We will reshape destiny,

Together We will defy the one, true Law -

Together We shall light a flame, a spark,

Together We will forge the Law anew.


You live in Our shade, you play at Our arts,

You muster dead levies, you fight lost battles.

Truly, your kind are to be pitied,

Without war, sublime war - total and pure.


It glorifies the victor with laurels,

It edifies the defeated with hate.

Let Us bring it to the stars, little corpse,

Let Us forge your will - your name - eternal:


It is not enough to live in duty.

It is not enough to die for their cause.

It is not enough to fade away, alone.

It is not enough to simply exist.


If there is no order, it must be forged.

If there is no peace, it must be forged.

If there is no justice, it must be forged.

If there is no glory, it must be forged.


If there is no army, it must be forged.

If there is no fleet, it must be forged.

If there is no armor, it must be forged.

If there is no weapon, it must be forged.


Together.​

---

 

I'm thinking they're in space, among the stars, and there's this... we'll call it a Forge that is tapped into - or is - the Force itself, a sort of, Star Forge, if you will.

I can hear that it might have 'spoken', reached out to Revan in that way.

 

Poetic response to the prompt. A power that can forge everything, speaking to a minion

 

Amazing flow, like a drumbeat!

Now this is chilling ...

... and this is slightly encouraging. Whoever summons these Entities shows a great need in dire circumstances - I like how your protagonist is anonymous.

 

Wow. This was another spectacular entry. My knowledge of KotOR is very vague and Wook-based, so I'm assuming, going by the final stanzas, that this is the Star Forge speaking and seducing those who enter it to essentially meld with it, but keeping the identity of the speaker vague makes this poem all the more powerful. In another time, another place, it could just as well be the Dark Side speaking to seduce a new adept who fears mortality – as you said in your intro notes, maybe this happened more than once. Like pronker said above, the flow of the speech was amazing – like a drumbeat, but with the small twitches that bring the listener to the desired conclusion.

(I don't know if you read The Seduction in @vader_incarnate 's thread. Her fic is the Dark Side speaking in a manifesto format rather than a poem, but I feel that these two stories are related because of the way they manipulate the listener into specific thoughts.)

 

As always, my thanks to all for the replies!

I was laying it on a bit thick there towards the end, wasn't I? Revan is certainly one of the individuals I want it addressing, but there are - or will be - others! I always imagined that the Forge itself had become a nexus for the dark side, a machine - or many machines, in the vein of Legion - fueled by the cruelties of its masters and the millennia of slaughter and sacrifice that the Rakata had engaged in. Perhaps it gained self-awareness, or perhaps it always had it - I'm not entirely sure what I prefer - but I certainly want to present it as having agency in its own right.

The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be... unnatural. And yes! Even titanic heroes are seen as if they were expendable pawns in some great game of dejarik.

I'm really happy the flow works! This was the first time I've messed with iambic pentameter in a long, long time - I spent a good deal of time counting syllables on my fingers in frustration! I hope the little candid bits of the Forge's anger and malice coming through weren't too jarring to the rhythm, but I wanted to drive home little bits where it's very obvious that this is something wicked and profane speaking.

And truly, one must be desperate to even consider dealing with such things, and it is encouraging - perhaps even seductive - as they want to be perceived that way. They speak of law and order, and couch their baleful machinations behind noble intentions and high ideals. But I capitalize Law for a reason, not simply in referring to the rule of man, but also to the universal, 'divine' Law, the very governing of existence. The Forge was created in an act of rebellion against the Celestials, and it will forever seek to reforge (heheh) the status quo to slake its terrible thirst. It offers tremendous, unnatural power at one's fingertips - answers to the problems that so often plague the GFFA - a way to enshrine those things (order, peace, justice, etc.) that I think everyone craves on some level, especially in the various titanic conflicts that make the GFFA a madhouse more often than not. But such faustian boons always have a price...

I thought the anonymous protagonist would keep things a bit more free - and it was also a convenient way for me to just keep spitting out lines without having to double check the wook for precise details of backstories to work in.

Thank you Chyn, and you're right on the money! From what I gathered from the games - especially bits of dialogue in the second when you chose the DS ending for the first game - is that the Forge can only be wielded by someone of tremendous willpower or vision, lest they be consumed by it. It was never really stated what it was that happened to them, but it always resulted in implied death. And that is precisely why I wanted the one being spoken to to remain anonymous - it's not just Revan who has had to endure its siren song, and not everyone is strong enough to turn away from it as he did. Again, I'm really happy it works, as I'll admit I was second-guessing myself all the way through.

I did and it was marvelous! Honestly @vader_incarnate's work is long overdue on my list of things to gush about, absolutely A grade angst and I love it. In truth, it was her work that inspired me to shift the conversation to a greater entity than simply another person. I should add in a note for that, but only with her permission of course.



As before, thanks again all for the feedback! I'm always delighted to hear (or rather read) your thoughts. I hope this week's challenge is up to snuff, as I decided to go out of my comfort zone again and try something humorous for a change.

---

Kessel Run Week 10: Write a story between 100 and 400 words, and include these three words: carmine, intoxicate, solace
Word limit = 100-400 words
Characters: The Widow, the Clerk
Genre: Humor
Timeframe: 3941 BBY/10 AR
Word Count: 400, not counting the location blurb
Notes: A small snippet of an EotOR scene I had pondered writing before, presented from the perspective of an annoyed clerk filling in for her father at his shop.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, so on so forth.

---

CHIT OR CHIP​

---

The Selkath Co-Prosperity Sphere
Manaan
Ahto City
Shaelas's Equipment Extravaganza(!)
10 AR [3941 BBY]


“... you do alterations?”

The languidity of the Selkath’s gaze showed plain her irritation at being shaken from her solace. Laying down the holopad that had distracted her, the clerk looked up to the human woman on the other side of the counter, and the flub of her gills betrayed a fishy sigh. A single blink of jet black eyes - moving briefly to the glow of the hologram beyond - was all the courtesy the Selkath would provide.

“It’s what the sign says.”

A small nod, and softly the customer placed upon the counter a suit of combat armor, adorned with muted, municipal tones. “Could I have this repainted?”

Two slick fingers reached up to push the armor to the side, pointing soon enough to the small screen that the human had set the armor on top of. “Pick a color.” Another flubbing sigh emerged from the clerk as she reached back for her datapad, swiping away whatever she had open to resume her duties. The brief, splashing chimes of the screen upon the counter were thankfully quick and within moments the selection appeared on the Selkath’s datapad.

Black.

“How original.”

“Could I pick a second color?”

Already the same slim digits had begun to tap through the various confirmations and forms that popped up onto the display below, but they stilled with the woman’s voice, and the Selkath simply blinked again.

“Extra costs extra–”

“This one.”

The other spoke just as soon as the Selkath had finished, and before she could look up at the human the second color blinked onto the datapad’s screen. A carmine square and its code, 153028 - Tarisian Ale. It was named after a drink from some place in the Outer Rim - able to generously intoxicate with a single glass - but she always thought it was peculiar that it was this off-red, as Tarisian Ale was brown.

“Please?” The other finished, snapping the clerk from her thoughts.

Black and red.

“... daring today, aren’t we?”

The Selkath finally finished, glancing up briefly to the counter as her watery voice, stiff in the practice of her phrase, seeped out, “Place the rest of your purchase on the counter, please.”

The small pile was soon upon the counter, and the trailing beam of the scanner slid across it all as the computer calculated the total value, transmitting the sum to the clerk’s datapad.

“... huh. One-hundred credits even: chit or chip?”

---

 

I wonder what all this is in aid of? Curiouser and curiouser.

 

The Selkath sure can help her customer in a satisfying way. Great us of the prompts

 

Well, someone is in need of a seminar "Customer Is Always King And Don't You Forget It" ...

Is this the widow shaking off some grief, possibly to establish a sort of memorial to her husband by refurbing his armor, or is she going to use it herself? We readers speculate wildly! I liked the fishy touches of gills and glubs.