Storythread

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I had a short-lived plot bunny about a stoner Tzeetch sorceror in Harry Potter, but nobody took notice.

Guess I'll just repost...

“I made some arrangements with the conductor.”
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“Mmmhhm.” He hummed appreciatively as he sucked on his pipe. He exhaled a cloud of sweet, intoxicating smoke. He glanced down. “Now that's the good stuff, innit sir?”
The conductor was lying insensate on the floor, insensate to the rumbling and bouncing of the train. A tiny, smoking blunt was gripped between his teeth, kept precariously aloft over the pools of drool trickling out of the corners of his mouth.
“So, do you mind if I catch a ride on this train?”
The conductor seemed to stir a little, and tried to speak. Beetle leaned down to put his ear closer and listened.
“...pretty rainbows.....”
He chuckled darkly. “I'll take that as a no.”
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“Getting across the lake was harder.”
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Beetle reflected on the fact that while pot kept him grounded in the real world, it also made him kinda stupid. Else he'd never gone with this plan in the first place.
Of course, if he was sober enough to reject it he'd probably go for some hideously over-complicated scheme instead, and Tzeentch was wont to screw those over for a quick laugh. KISS Principle and all that.

He was clinging to the underside of the rowboat. He didn't dare come up for air or warmth-the rowboat was occupied, and there were a bunch more around in this miniature flotilla.

His only source of air was a bunch of long reeds pursed between his lips. Some had broken. Periodically he had to swallow-never spit-drops of lake water. And unless his tongue was sorely mistaken, the bigass octopus was male, and had been masturbating recently. And vigorously.

Warmth? Tough shit. He just had to do without.

The worst bit? Beetle was pretty sure the pot was soaked now. And he'd never found a good substitute for a blunt in the morning.

Hey Chronicler, what's the story behind the thread image you always use? Why that one in particular?

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So Chrnicler, when you gonna update the storythread article for the newer stories the previous weeks??? Wasnt around during the last last thread and now its kill.

Actually, the first couple of weeks when I started doing these threads I used a different picture each time. Then it occurred to me that the threads would be more recognisable if I used the same picture each time. Why that one? Well, it's quite visible in the catalogue; unlike a lot of pics posted here you can tell exactly what it is from the thumbnail. But really, it's just because I like it.

Oops, I forgot I hadn't done that for a while. I'll get on it soon.

You can still see the previous thread in the archive, though. Link's in the OP.

Phone bump

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Where in the hells' am I?
The wanderer wondered as he overlooked the bay area. He had been wandering for weeks now, looking for the city of Sing-Ten. They said it was simply across the mountains, through the pass, and up the hill. I did all those things and there is no city anywhere in sight.

He sat down on the hillside, opening his pack and munched on ill-prepared meat.

Did I make a wrong turn? He laid down in the grass and let the sun beat down upon him. Sing-Ten, the city of a thousand stars, Sing-Ten, home of gorgeous women, Sing-Ten, not the village. He always wanted to leave the village and venture to the city of merchants, but only recently has he had the opportunity. Now here he is, in the middle of nowhere.

He took out his map and read over it, Sing-Ten is supposed to be nearby, he scanned the horizon again looking for the city.

Nothing, just more trees, it's always trees everything is trees. He looked at the map deeper, searching for some hidden meaning in it all. When he saw it. The mountain.

He looked up, across the bay, and looked at the mountain. It was the same shape described to him. There was a path on it, he could just make it out.

He sat there and questioned his choices in life.

He packed up his belongings and began moving toward the far mountains, toward Sing-Ten.

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I've got here my character's backstory for a Star Wars: Edge of the Empire campaign. It's basically my first attempt at writing romance. It's long and quite embarassing.
Is this something you guys would be willing to read?

Post it you nerd.

Alrighty then. This is me posting.

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Yara stumbled her way through the hallway and main doors of the mansion into the springtime of Alderaan. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, eyes frantically scanning the garden and the road to the main gates. Nothing.

This was hardly ideal. In fact, this was terrible. This was far beyond any random happenstance out of her control, this would get her fired. Fired and dismissed from the company for good. On her first day on the job.

She replaced the helmet on her head. A dehumanizing mask intended for hiding her features and to establish an impression of emotionlessness. The damn thing was too big and kept bobbing on every step she took. Still, she better not be seen outside without wearing her ceremonial armor.

Now, where to? He clearly was not in the southern gardens. Could he have made it to the hangars already? Of course, he could have, she had no idea how long it was since he had snuck away. Some bodyguard she was turning out to be. She took running to the west side of the grounds where the hangars were, white pebbles crunching beneath her hurried feet. A Mordaani Blade running, she thought with an uneasy grin. Good thing no one was around to observe the irony.

The Mordaani Blades were an ancient organization with an immaculate history full of glorious battles in defense of the Republic of old. Stories filled to the brim with brave individuals remaining steadfast in the face of overwhelming odds with the fates of entire systems hanging in the balance. However, these days the once proud company of mercenary elite was all too content with babysitting the nobility, the merchants and the celebrities. They were a status symbol for the rich to parade around on a prosperous planet where the privileged truly had nothing to fear.

It was often stated, in mockery, that the two things that one would not see a Mordaani doing was sitting and running. All they ever did was either stand at doorways menacingly or walk behind their clients in equally menacing manner. Yara, however, was now doing neither because she had lost her charge.

She was getting closer to the hangars. Thoughts bordering between frustration and panic ran through her mind. Think! If you were the young scion of a wealthy and pompous noble family, where would you go after ditching your bodyguard. You could be on a speeder, heading to the nearest city to have a bacchanal with your moronic peers among the idle rich. You could be getting kidnapped by opportunistic criminals with outrageous ransom claims on their mind. You could be on a crash course with a mountain side at top speed in an attempt end your pointless, pampered life! You could be... sitting in the shade of a starblossom fruit tree fondling your datapads?

Yara let out a sigh, as much in relief as in exasperation. She would not be losing her job just yet, given that no one would hear about her failure to keep an eye on her client. She headed out for the tree in bloom, adjusting the ornamental sheath of her vibrosword while walking.

"They say you will never see a Mordaani running", said the Scion without lifting his eyes from the glowing screen filled with scientific jargon. "My, it must be a special day today", he raised his gaze and gave Yara a quick once over from head to toes before getting back to thumbing the datapad. "Come, why don't you sit down next to me. It is a special day after all." His mischievous grin was widening.

"Sir, you really must inform me when you decide to go somewhere. Especially so, if you are leaving the mansion." Yara tried to hide the note of frustration growing in her voice.

"And what would that be for, pray tell?" His eyes were focused on the device again. "There is no one else here, so there is hardly any reason for you to stand around me looking important."

“Arrogant bastard”, Yara thought. She would be requesting a transfer first thing when the opportunity would present itself. And she had been naïve enough to expect an easy paycheck in service to some nobleman playing a scientist while whistling away his parent's fortunes.

"Here. Sit down." The Scion said, more insistent this time, patting the soft grass next to him. "Or I could always inform your superiors about you losing me from your sight. Whichever you do prefer."

Oh, that was it! She did in no way relish being reprimanded and very possibly removed from the profession she had worked for years to attain; the very thought was infuriating. Only thing more infuriating was a cheeky loafer thinking he could play with her like she was some kind of doll, demanding her to bend the knee for him.

"With all due respect, sir" She said, her voice dripping in bile. "I would sooner be expelled from the company."

She turned around on her heels, setting for the main gate at a determined pace. "Well, this was it", she thought. Fired on her first assignment, on her first day. Still, there were things worth much more than a steady credit. Her pride was not for sale, not for a price.

"Okay, okay... Stop", came a soft voice from behind her. Yara turned around again to see the Scion, his eyes closed in resignation, head resting against the tree with his short hair ruffling in the gentle wind. "Please, you may remain standing if that is what you wish." He opened one eye and gave Yara a cunning look. "It is a special day, after all."

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And that concludes the first part. Like I said, there's 12 pages of the stuff. So, I might come back later and post some more.

This is good. I never had much of a taste for Star Wars' EU, but you're a good writer and I'd like to see where it goes.

>Is this something you guys would be willing to read?
Character backstories are one of the main reasons we do this. Like, most of the time we're just writing random one-off stories, but at its core this thread is about preparing stuff and practising with things that can be used in campaigns - setting fluff, storyline plotting, general worldbuilding practice, and /definitely/ character backstories.

So yeah, we're more than happy for you to post this sort of thing here... it's this kind of thing that actually allows us to justify our presence on this board.

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Aws... I don't know what to say. Thanks.

Anyway, here's more of our dynamic duo.

The Scion's name was Ban Surem. Despite his relatively young age he was already a prominent figure among the Alderaani Academia. His parents had insisted he hired a bodyguard when he became famous by publishing the first of his revolutionary research articles. On what subject those pieces of supposedly groundbreaking works were Yara did not know. They had something to do with physics but the exact name of the field was too long to remember when you really did not care.

After the scene in the gardens, Ban seemed more than happy to have Yara around. He did not pull any disappearing tricks on her anymore either. She could hardly call this development an improvement, though, as every now and then Ban would be trying to provoke a reaction out of her. Be it sarcastic remarks about her status as a Mordaani Blade or moments of long pointed staring with an insufferably smug grin on his face. Unfortunately, whatever he was doing was working and sometimes she could only just barely contain her temper.

Today was apparently one of the staring days. They had been walking down one of the long winding corridors of the academy, when the Scion had suddenly stopped and initiated another unprompted staring competition of wry smiling nature.

“It just occurred to me”, he said as if he had just made a great discovery. “That beside your undeniable passion for standing at attention, I really know next to nothing about you.” He took a fleeting moment to observe if his words had made any kind of impact in their recipient. The invisible barrage from his eyes crashed, hopelessly, against the impregnable fortress that was her mask. She could stare back pretty hard, too.

“Oh, please! Do not be like that!” The Scion finally yielded, deciding instead to test his luck with a rapid-fire array of questions. “Where do you hail from? Who are your parents?” Yara did not answer. “You clearly are a natural at grimly following rich people around. Is that what made you decide to become a Mordaani?” Finally, he leant in towards his bodyguard, his head cocked inquisitively. “What is your name?” The woman remained steadfast in her muted resistance.

Disappointed by the lack of any real reaction, the Scion decided to up the ante and waved towards a nearby by bench bathing in the sunlight. “I would ask you to sit down with me to share your life’s story but I know you would most likely just have another fit and leave me for good. I doubt my foolish heart could take it...” He broke the stare with a wistful look and pressed a hand to his chest for a dramatic effect.

Yara’s thoughts started to boil. “This damn sitting subject again?” The man was clearly begging for a quick trip through the windows. The staring she could have weathered, but being spoken down to constantly? That was another thing entirely. She felt the rage bubbling over within her and before she could bring it to check, it spoke. “I’m from Shear’s Rest, a small community in the south. My parents are farmers and I would have never enlisted with the company had I known it would one day strand me babysitting a richly dressed, condescending parasite such as yourself, sir.”

It was now Yara’s turn to take in the reaction. The man seemed thoroughly shocked. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide. One lapse in patience and this is what you get. The smug idiot was more than willing to hand it out but was clearly unable to take it back in. In seconds, he would be throwing a child-like tantrum and her career would be over. Possibly worse, now that she had openly insulted her client in public, a member of the nobility no less. She could feel the cold sweat taking over her body. Time seemed to grind to a halt as if curious to see what would happen next. The few people passing them by fixed the two with curious looks.

To Yara’s surprise the Scion recomposed himself, replaced his wry smile and exclaimed: “Wonderful! That was not so hard, was it not? So, you are a farmer’s daughter out in the big world to find adventure. I can now see where you get your delightfully rustic approach to life.” He took a small step towards the woman who towered a head above him before deciding otherwise and turning around. “Please, let us resume our way. I have a board meeting with important funders to attend to and I need you on your most menacing behavior.“

They reached the turbolifts in silence. Halfway to their ascension it was finally broken by the Scion. “There was one question you did not answer.” He spoke in a careful, careful voice. “What is your name?” Yara let out a clearly audible sigh. Surely the Scion already knew her name. It had been on her contract, after all. However, she was tired of this whole enterprise, tired of the Scion and his silly little games. “It’s Lun, sir.” The words seeped wearily. “It’s Yara Lun.” A smile found its way onto his face yet again, only this time it was somehow different. “Pleased to meet you, Yara. My name is Ban Surem.”

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Your wording is a little awkward in one or two places. e.g:
>He did not pull any disappearing tricks on her anymore either.
could just be
>He did not pull anymore disappearing tricks on her either.

Other than that minor cosmetic touch-up, it's good stuff. Keep it coming.

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The active staff of the mansion constituted mostly of droids with only few flesh and bloods on payroll. There was the Scion’s personal assistant, the chef and the gardener. All men and women from the top of their craft. The fact that the Scion’s family could afford to hire them was a sign of considerable wealth. There was, of course, Yara as well. The Scion’s personal Mordaani Blade, the specter silently following him wherever he went, remaining constantly in his shadow. Due to her status, the rest of the staff gave her a wide berth and she was mostly allowed to spend her few free hours in peace.

Yara's quarters were on ground level in the nearly abandoned servants’ wing of the old mansion. It was a beige, ascetic room furnished only with a bed, table and pair of closets for her belongings. The lack of decoration did not bother her, she preferred her simple surroundings. No, today she was on foul mood for an entirely different reason.

It had not yet been a month since the Scion's parents had contacted him. In their opinion, he had reached an age that was more than fitting for procreation and marriage. They had already made a list of possible wife candidates for him and were eager to introduce him to the most promising ones.

This had, unfortunately, left Yara in the position of overseeing his security during these engagements. The meetings mainly took place in the form of dinner dates and long walks down flourishing boulevards with the candidates in question. Yara would always be stationed a polite distance away from the couple. She was unable to hear their conversations but she was able to observe every little detail about them.

Tonight's lucky lady-in-waiting had been the eldest daughter of the Lord such-and-such. She had worn an elegant nigh transparent evening gown, undeniably tailor-made for her from the finest of off-world silks. Her wavy brown hair had been adorned with small pieces of jewelry that were currently at the top of fashion among all the planet's old-money types.

Yara’s own attire was farm from impressive. She was donning a light blue tunic made of rough linen, now wrinkled and moist after a long day of being worn under her armor. It was practical and an official part of her uniform, but hardly flattering to her figure. "Oh, balls to this rag", Yara cussed as she struggled to unclasp the laminate armor plates.

What had surprised her the most tonight was that the Scion had seemed to enjoy the company of this prospective wife candidate. He had been laughing, engaging in passionate discussions occasionally emphasized with sharp yet elegant hand gestures. During most of the previous dates, the Scion had remained politely distant towards his companions, but this woman had certainly made an impression on him.

This evening had left her livid and what bothered her most was not knowing the exact reason for it. She didn't particularly enjoy being in the presence of painted highborn ladies who had never lifted anything heavier than their hand mirrors in their lives. Still, that was not it. None of the previous dinner dates had made her this agitated.

She placed her helmet on the table. One would think that during the year she had been guarding the Scion the quartermaster could have found her a replacement that actually bobbed less. She took a look in the small mirror on her table. It was an old scratched thing with a busted frame, a memento from her homestead. She watched as her ruffled blonde hair settled on her temples. She tried to smooth the most stubborn rogue strands by hand before taking another look.

It was a rough cut, uneven at places. Back when she was training to become a Mordaani Blade, someone had always helped her to keep it neat. Nowadays, she usually just trimmed it by herself and the result was what could be expected. Not very charming, she conceded to herself. Would the Scion find her attractive if she had her hair like the noblewoman tonight?

Wait, what was she thinking? That train of thought must be purged immediately. She was not in any way attracted to that pampered smart-ass who had made her job a needlessly miserable affair. Granted he had not been trying to rile her up for some time now, but still. Why had he stopped doing that? Not that she particularly enjoyed being a target for his childish antics. Did he find her to be not worth of his time anymore? Had she done something to upset him? Of course, she had, being the prickly and ill-tempered idiot she was. Should she apologize for her unprofessional behavior?

This was getting nowhere fast. Not only was getting involved with your client a severe violation of protocol, it was worse than accidentally losing sight of the very same person you were supposed to guard. It was also more than sufficient grounds for an immediate discharge from the company.

She straightened her back, clenched her fists and closed her eyes shut hard. “I am not in any way interested in this man”, she told herself. “In fact, I find his company grating.” A small nagging voice woke up at the back of her head. If she truly detested him so, why had she not requested a transfer yet. There had been many opportunities over the months.

She opened her eyes. A drink would be needed. A drink and some fresh air. That should be enough to flush out thoughts like these. She reached for her bag and dug out a small cylindrical container half filled with transparent liquid. Another memento of her home. She grabbed the container and decided to head out to the mansion’s back terrace. No one should be out there at this hour anyway.

It was her little secret, actually. Ever since the day she had arrived to the mansion, some nights she would sneak around the back to enjoy a drink and a moment of silence after a long day of tolerating the intolerable.

Just as Yara had suspected the ground floor of the mansion was devoid of people. The way to the back door was unobstructed. A quick look outside revealed that the terrace was empty as well. She took a seat on one of the long lounge sofas placed there. The soft cushions accepted her readily as she leaned back, pressing her face onto her palms. The garden was silent, as if expecting someone. "What a day."

She rubbed her eyes and popped open the lid on the container. A strong smell of intoxicants lingered in the air. A sip was taken, then another, longer one this time. She felt the warmth creeping towards her fingertips. Fingertips with nails she had chewed so short they were practically non-existent. Nothing like the well-kept petite fingers the noblewoman had.

There she went again. It seemed the little nagging voice would not be going away with just a couple of shots. What if she was jealous for the Scion's attention? What then? The whole thought was pointless. Nothing could and never should come out of it. At the end of the day, she was just a rebellious farm girl pretending to be a mercenary and he was the scion of one of the most influential families on this side of the planet.

The Scion, she thought. She was still only regarding him as the Scion, even though she very well knew his name. "Ban", she said in a voice so hushed it could have been a whisper. "Ban Surem."

"Yes?" A prompt, if surprised, answer came from behind her. She turned her head to see the Scion behind her framed by the doorway. Warmth rushed to her cheeks and this time it was not from the drink. The Scion was there. Who knew how long he had been there. Things like this just didn't happen. What had she done to anger the Universe like this.

There's still a lot of the chapter to go, but I guess this is a good spot to leave it for the night. I'll post the rest of it later.

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>HORRIFYING NEW KILLER ON THE LOOSE!
Recent reports of vanishings find a shocking turn as an eyewitness finally comes to the stand. The vanishings, all of young partygoers who came for the annual Night of the Wicked Moon Festival, have been supposedly murdered.

The eyewitness (who would only testify on condition of anonymity) reports that they noticed a trail of blood on an abandoned alleyway. At the end of this trail, the witness supposedly saw "a ghastly figure in the shape of a teenage woman" wearing a tattered dress. According to the testimony, this bizarre figure, whose identity currently remains unknown on account of "spectral tentacles of hair and the shadows concealing the figure's face", mentions how the figure carried the severed head of one of the missing persons and adorned a mask on it. As of right now, where the rest of this poor child's remains are or what has become of the others remains uncertain.

Lookouts and watch posters are already being established reporting the appearance of this so-called "Party-Time Slayer". Effective tonight, a curfew will be established to ensure that no more citizens fall victim to this bizarre blight on our celebrations. Partygoers are reminded to avoid dark and abandoned alleys and to always use their judgment when following their peers into such spaces. A rewards are also being issued for either the recovery of any of the disappeared persons or the capture or death of the Party-Time Slayer. Any interested persons should visit the Police Department for more information.

>SPECIAL NOTE
We here at the Marinier Gazette understand the unsettling content of this article and how this may impact individuals' choices during the festival. We wish to assure you that the city and MPD are doing everything in their power to ensure that this festival is safest for the many goers. We offer our support and thanks to those hard-working officers and wish that everyone have a safe and good time.

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You gaze out from the balcony of the former governor’s mansion. The flames of purity dance across the city, your acolytes have succeeded, they have started the flames of purification on this blasted place.

The blood of the governor still stains your blade as you grip it tightly, he claimed and begged that he was not a heretic, but still he allows his daughter to fall to a dangerous cult and sends his planet into ruin, into disrepair. You take out your lho stick and light it, inhaling the callous vapors into your system. The Junior-Inquisitor approaches from behind you and watches the dancing flames with you.

She's still young, but she will learn, and this is her first trial by fire.

"Sir, the cleansing is completed, the governor’s family is. . ." she trails off, "dispatched sir."

You don't reply, you don't have to, she knows your cold silence well and takes it has the confirmation of a job well done.

The communication line opens with one of your acolytes, a young man you recruited a world back for his knack for getting to where he was not supposed to (including your quarters in the middle of the night).

"Sir, the cultists are dead, we're heading back to the safe house, it's a madhouse down here though," the scum says in a ragged voice.

"Good," you reply in your usual dour tone. The line cuts soon after. They might make it through the burning streets.

Your job here is finished, the planet of Racknor IV will return to normal in a handful of months, after the fighting is finished. The faith of the Emperor will be strong here, so the taint of corruption will be held at bay for another handful of years.

You break the lho stick in half and toss it into the streets below. More fuel to the flame.

They kept staring at each other for an agonizingly long moment, both looking equally confused. The Scion finally broke the silence, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to startle you." Yara realized she must have seemed terrified. He took a step forward implying his intentions. "May I sit down with you?"

"It's your terrace", Yara admitted in defeat. This was going to be more than awkward. The Scion seated himself next to her, his arm brushing against her. She did her best to avoid eye contact, this was uncomfortable enough as it was.

"I was wondering what you were doing out here."

"Thinking, mostly."

"That much was clear. Tonight, you just happened to seem more troubled than usual."

"Tonight?"

"Well, you see. I have a terrific view over the gardens and this terrace from my chambers." The Scion gestured towards a single window with lights still lit. "I've noticed you frequenting this place often."

"So you've been watching me come here since… what? Day one?"

"I would not go as far as to say that. I have merely noticed your nightly presence here. But to answer your question. Yes, since day one."

"Great."

"I certainly think so." The man smiled sincerely in a futile attempt to match her elusive gaze. "If you do not mind me asking, is something the matter?"

"It's nothing. I'm tired, that's all." She lied, but it was certainly better than telling the truth.

"Oh, I believe I can relate", the Scion said suppressing a yawn. "This endless parade of prospective marriage arrangements is turning my brain to mush. I can only imagine how dull these long evenings have been for you."

That was surprising. “It looked to me like you were enjoying yourself tonight.”

“Well, I was faking it actually. After the last few catastrophic dates my dear mother contacted me. Apparently, my former companions are complaining that I am distant and aloof.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. She could hardly blame me was she in my position. We nobles have this disappointing tendency of being entirely superficial beings. It is much akin to reading an open book and I am a scientist first and foremost, I prefer a bit of mystery to keep me interested.”

“Such a tragic situation life has pushed you into. Surrounded by wealthy and beautiful women who, after all, have nothing to offer you” she spoke mockingly.

“Yes, poor old me. Say what is that you’re drinking?”

“Just something we used to make back at home in Shear’s Rest.”

“May I take a sip? You would not believe how much I am in the need of a drink.”

Yara relinquished the container. She managed to maintain a dead pan expression all the while. This was going to be good. The Scion took a sizable gulp. A mistake the foolish and inexperienced often did. She watched as his face twisted in surprise and revolt. This was not a drink for fancy cocktail parties, this was borderline poison. Nevertheless, he managed to down it.

“That… Was it… It tastes like…”

“Like paint thinner and melted plastic? I know. There isn’t much else in it anyway. I’m actually impressed that you didn’t spit it out at all. Men who fancy themselves heavy drinkers are often unable to down their very first sip.” She finally turned to meet his gaze and, for the first time, offered him a mischievous little smile.

“Then I’m glad at least something good came out of it”, he said still reeling from the shock. “I guess that makes me ready for bed.”

He rose and walked over to the door before turning around hesitantly. The woman’s gaze was wandering around the garden again.

“Same time and place tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Good night, Yara.”

“Good night… Ban.”

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>Is super shy and nervous about sharing writing
>remember this is anonymous
>be gentle senpai
this is the intro to a story i'm writing that I've named Ironclad - Tränen der Rost,

Breathless in the deep rancid air, unmoving, and silent. Trees overhead, gently persuaded into life by the wind. The sky clear, 3 moons shining brightly in concert with the ever shifting stars. Here it lies, a statue of some unknown god. Slumped against the side of the cliff, announcing here is where it chose to die as it reaches for some unseen salvation, the expression of absolute defeat adorning its face.

The sounds of filters and alarms blare as they wake from their slumber. The electrical hum reverberates the silence of the night, perfectly in concert with each purposeful *click* and imposing ~siren~, timed to some unknown machinations completion. Familiar feelings, like old light from stars long dead just now striking flesh or a remembrance of a task half finished and mostly forgotten, brought to flared life. Flooding vision and sense a directive long left as incomplete and fallow, asserts its dominance. It now bears completion. We will be fed.
The eyes of the sky closed and dark, no light to reach this deep, this far flung from any prying thoughts. There will be no witnesses tonight. A lonely light, half buried in packed dirt and brush, stutters into life. Stained by time it taints and betrays the greens and blacks, glossy and damp, now soaked in sickly orche. Raising, resisted by years of neglect and growth, dust and ivy and roots of things that have held here for centuries part ways with the figure’s motion.

Taller than your average man, slender and curved; built for speed and motion rather than for strength and force. Slim but violent shoulders square themselves as the first steps forward are taken, accentuated by the perpetual fitness that is hard steel. Silent steps, cultured and precise, break the ground gently and softly as the the leaves part. With the beat of an unseen drum, the figure takes its first steps.

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It is an evening n the city of Dayport as a man is parkouring across the roofs of adjacent buildings. The person in question is Haru Izo, a "Nekojin" or a Cat-Person. A race of feline-humanoid people who essentially are identical to human beings but feature cat-like features such as sharpened teeth, keen eyesight, better vision at the dark, quicker reflexes and higher amounts of agility. And also originating from the Far-Eastern misty continent and nation, known as Astrus.

However he is currently assuming the form of a local vigilante hero, almost like that of The White Scarf in the stat-capital city of Darlington, of the Darlington State. But unlike The White Scarf, Haru Izo is less recognized and is more obscure than anything. And unlike the White Scarf who has gained the favor of Darlington City's police, Haru Izo is treated as a criminal and or suspect who has committed acts of assault and battery, plus is also suspected of being an illegal immigrant. Haru Izo is also simply known as “The Cat Boy of Dayport” or sometimes: “Cat Guy” or “Cat Boi.” His nicknames mostly have to do with the fact that he is a young and even good looking male in the early twenties range.

Haru Izo, or “The Cat Boy.” Specializes in martial arts skills, hand-to-hand combat, certain levels of firearms handling and fighting with improvised weapons, though he carries an extendable metal staff that he uses as his signature weapon. He also is adept in Freerunning and Parkour, especially when scaling certain walls and jumping from adjacent buildings to another. As mentioned he has already ran in trouble with the law as he is suspected as an illegal immigrant by the local authorities of Dayport and also that his acts of vigilantism isn’t exactly smiled upon by them either. Fortunately for Haru Izo the Cat Boy, his actual identity is not known all thanks to that Super Hero or Villain-style latex eye mask he wears.

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Ever since that night at the terrace the nobleman and his bodyguard would meet in the garden after the rest of the mansion had gone to sleep. Yara had little in the way of words and didn't know how or didn't bother to keep a conversation going on between them.

Ban did not mind. He enjoyed trying to solve this riddle in the shape of a taciturn woman who had slowly made her way into his life. He would tease her, make carefully veiled questions or just study her manners and gestures. He found that whenever he pushed, she dug in her heels. He found that whenever he tried to feign her into revealing something more about herself, she would not take the bait. Still, ever so often, his questions were answered honestly and his studying gaze was rewarded with a smile.

Tonight, they were walking along a familiar path covered with white pebbles. Yara had remained insistently quiet for the whole walk, simply happy to enjoy the night air and Ban's company, or so he hoped. He led her to the western parts of the gardens and stopped at the base of a certain starblossom tree. He felt he finally knew her well enough to ask her something that had been rejected long ago.

"Yara, would you grant me the pleasure of your company and sit down with me for a moment?" He gestured towards to the soft patch of grass growing under the neatly-trimmed branches of the tree. The woman chuckled and shook her head in disbelief. "We’ve been walking past this tree every night for weeks. I was sure you were going to ask that any day now."

Ban stood defeated. Despite his best efforts it had been the woman who had figured him out and she had done it without ever asking a single question. Suddenly the wisdom in her silent demeanor seemed so obvious to him. A warm feeling radiated from his heart, washing over him. Never had it felt so good to be an open book for someone else to read. He noticed Yara had already taken a seat on the grass. "Well, aren't you going to join me? I'm waiting here." He must have been grinning like an idiot, but it mattered little now.

Ban set himself down next to her. His arrival was met with a playful smile. Gently, he pressed into her and this time she did not retreat. It was as if his throat was in flames. They choked out any words attempting to escape him and it was for the best. None of them were needed.

He returned her soft gaze. Some force previously unknown to science seemed to be pushing him towards her lips and she answered in kind. For a moment, he thought his heart was going to give out.

They parted, excitingly gasping for air, the sound of them seemed to fill the whole world. He placed his hand on the back of her neck and pressed his forehead against her. He was a puzzle with all the pieces falling into their right places at once.

---

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...

Yara stepped into Professor Surem's office and locked the door behind her.

"Did you get tired of standing out there again?"

She sat down at the chair opposed to his desk and removed her helmet. Yara closed her eyes and drank in the moment. Ban was smiling, he still took each time she sat down in her uniform as a personal victory.

Every day it was harder and harder to maintain the facade. Being so close and yet completely unable to touch the person you were burning for was almost painful. Yet they could not risk being found out. A nobleman having romantic liaisons with his mercenary bodyguard was scandalous. Even if the public considered the fact yet another example of the antics of the highborn, it would certainly spell the end of their relationship. If the truth about them ever got out, Ban would face severe backlash from his family. Yara would lose her job and at any case they would most likely never see each other again.

“There’s no one out there anymore at this hour. No need for me to stand there looking all important.” Yara sighed and leaned back. “What are you working on now? Any chance we could be home before midnight?”

“It should only take a minute or two. It might be a foreign concept to you, but I prefer doing my job rather than hang out in my employer’s office.” Ban looked unsure for a moment before speaking up again. “Actually, I received a message from a recruiter about an Imperial research program today.”

“Really, the Empire? What do they want you for?”

“I’m not certain. Apparently, it has something to do with a weapons research project, but the message I got really didn’t specify it any further.”

“Are you thinking about taking it?”

“Not really. The offer is quite generous and I would be working together with the best scientists of the field. It is the Empire, however, and I just really don’t want to associate myself with that manner of research.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have let you do it anyway.” Yara gave Ban a teasing look. “Are you sure they won’t take you declining personally? It’s not like they’re known for taking a no for an answer…”

“Well, they probably won’t be thrilled. It seems they’d be really keen on having me on the team. Still, I doubt they would try anything funny on Alderaan now that the relations between the Empire are so tense.”

Yara remained quiet. She still was not entirely familiar about the field which Ban studied. She knew, however, that he was one of its best researchers. If the Empire wanted him for some secret weapon research program, they must have not been making such offers lightly. Ban seemed to think everything was okay, though, and the man was right infuriatingly often. Nevertheless, she decided to contact her commander at the Mordaani headquarters and ask her to put her feelers out just in case. She had contacts in the Imperial administration and would inform her if the Empire decided to take a more forceful approach to his recruitment.

“Anyway, I believe I’m finished here.” Ban stretched his arms in satisfaction. “Do you want to take the long way home tonight? Maybe stop by that pond in the mountains?”

“Oh, you were planning on this, weren’t you? No chance anyone would be up there at night.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Now, if you are feeling like doing your job again, you could escort me to the speeder. I don’t pay you for nothing, after all.”

A giggle escaped from Yara’s lips. “Whatever you wish, sir.”

---

The astronaut looked around.

"Ouch, I'm dead", he said.

...

Dropping a can of bleach into Nazgul laundry was not the first mistake of Mordor Laundry Services, but it was their last.

...

...

>BLACK riders. The clue is in the name you stupid orc. Now what the hell are we supposed to do?
>this is what we get for not breeding Uruk Hai like Sauruman

>you know, Gandalf reinvented himself as Gandalf the White

>Are you actually comparing us, Great Kings of Men and foremost lieutenants of the Dark Lord, to that stoner hobbit-lover?

>I'm just saying, it worked for...

>Shut. Up. Just shut up and go get our Fell Beasts.

>uhh... I though only the trainers were allowed to handle them. Don't they get a little... bitey?

>Yep.

>Aw - /really/? Come on, it's just a robe, its not like you're all that fashion conscious or...

>GO!

Tonight Haru is on the prowl for his brand of justice as he looks down upon his target location, a seedy and questionable looking clubhouse location which had various motorcylces parked outside. Which indicated that it was a hangout joint for Bikers, likely the bad types who do gang related and drug dealing activities. Haru scaled down the wall of the building he was standing on the roof of by drawing out his natural claws that Cat-People such as himself are born with. He scaled down using his claws on the walls to slide down and jumped off once he was in a safe falling distance and proceeded to swagger to the biker’s hangout joint.

He had with him a small bag slung on him that had something inside it, which was big enough that it filled up the bag and made bloat up. He also readied his metal staff-weapon and before he really got close to the joint, he donned his latex eye-mask to conceal his identity and also put up the hood of his hoody too for extra identity concealment.

Now that he was closing in to the location, three bikers guarding the entrance noticed the Cat Boy approaching. One of them smirked and called out. “Hey you! What ya doing here???”

Haru looked onto them and the bikers now saw his face as one of them whistled. “Hey there handsome. Whats a pretty boy like you doing in here? Trying to get a sugar daddy?”

One of the bikers also said. “Hey, its one of those Cat People. We got ourselves a Catboy-twink here-”

“You all know Oswin Webly, right?” Haru spoke, interrupting one of the bikers as they were surprised Haru knew the name of their leader and lead-biker.

“What the!? How did you know the name of our boss???” One of the bikers asked in surprise.

And then, Haru unzipped the small bag he had, removed it around him, and then showed a severed and bloody head of Oswin Webly, the leader of this Biker Outfit. Which shocked the Bikers.

...

The night sky was completely devoid of clouds. The unobstructed stars did their best in their ever-futile battle to outshine the flashing neon holoprojections of the city streets. Three people climbed out of a cheap, unassuming speeder at the town’s hangar district.

Yara and Ban followed the third, a dark-haired woman, inside. The hangar building was empty, cold lights flickered on the ceiling. They passed through the narrow building and entered a courtyard where a ship rested atop of a worn landing pad.

The dark-haired woman spoke up: "I know it's not much but it was the best we could secure for you within this time frame. However, the crew is trustworthy and will take you wherever you need to go. No questions asked."

"It's more than enough. Tahrani. Looks like you’ve saved my hide once again." Yara's response was full of relief. Only a little way to go and they would be out of the Empire's reach. Free to go wherever they wanted. Off this planet they would be free to be themselves. No more hiding. No more pretending to be something they were not.

Tahrani smiled at her. "Well, this is nothing compared to the times I had to cover for you during the training.“ She turned face away and kept walking. “Anyway, don't thank me just yet. You still need to get off this rock. Commander is going to chew me to bits if I mess this up." Without pausing, all three continued towards the landing pad.

Yara turned to look at Ban. The man was wearing the same faint smile as always. Almost like leaving everything from his old life behind didn't matter to him. “We could always think of this as a vacation. After all we never had our--“

It took less than a second. After lowering the ramp to the ship, Tahrani had made a sharp turn. Yara didn’t even have a chance to notice the vibroblade in her hand. The cut was deep and straight, going across her nose from one side of the face to another. It had missed her eye level by a quarter of an inch.

She stumbled backwards reaching for her sword. The wound was already bleeding profusely. What was Tahrani doing? This made no sense. Her hand found its goal on the familiar shape of the hilt, but it was already too late. Accompanied by a loud crack, something struck the low of her back from behind. She felt her legs giving out. Going limp, she collapsed on her face.

“By the gods! Yara, no!”

“Detain him.”

“No! What are you-- Let me-- Oh, Yara! Please don’t die!”

Sounds of struggle filled the air. Two quick distinctive barks of a stun baton followed and it was quiet once more. Someone spat on the ground. “This egghead actually has some salt in him. Quite a punch too, cost me a tooth.”

“Soon you can afford to replace it with a golden one, if you want. Put a lid on it and grab his legs.” Sounds of hurried steps came. Someone was coming from the hangar.

“You missed! Looks like your arm ain’t what it used to be, eh, Tahri? Had to save your ass from being skewered.”

“Shut up. I had it all under control.”

Yara tried to turn over to see better. Her legs were not responding. At first she hadn’t felt the wound from the blaster shot at all. However, now she was beginning to feel an infernal burning at the base of her pelvis. The blood from the vibroblade cut was flowing into the now exposed nasal cavity, causing her to choke. Weakly, she coughed.

“Sure, whatever you say. Look here, she ain’t dead just yet. “

Roughly, she was thrown over. The back of her head cracked against the concrete floor but she was in too much pain to register it. She forced her blood-soaked eyelids open. Five familiar figures stood over her broken body, observing the damages. All were her fellow squad members from the Mordaani Blades.

“Why?” She croaked in a hoarse voice. The effort it took had her coughing up blood, now stubbornly seeping down the back of her throat.

“Why indeed.” Her commander answered, voice filled with disgust. “Surely, you know why. You had your chance to get in on this. The Empire’s bounty for him was more than enough to be split six ways. Instead, you got stupid. Got involved with your charge. Your job was to serve the Mordaani Blades, not to play house with our clients. Are you really surprised that this is how it turned out?”

Yara was too weak to answer. Another fit of coughing ravaged her.

“Should I finish her off, ma’am?”

“No. Let her bleed.”

The footsteps echoed in the open courtyard, eventually stopping. Then, a moment later, the ship took off.

Yara lied in a growing pool of her own blood. For a while she tried to call for help, but her voice failed her. She tried to roll over and crawl back to the hangar, but found the strength bleeding out from her. Here she would die, helpless and betrayed. Robbed of the one thing she could not live without.

Waves of emotions rolled over her. Fear, desperation and finally rage. Boiling and mixing into a bowl of vile broth. She drank it all feverishly. It was as if a third eye had opened. An eye that had remained shut for all her life. For the first time, it felt like she truly saw the world in its true colors. With this sight came a realization and it had power.

It was not anymore the ever-diminishing blood that filled her veins. This was something more potent. She felt the strength return to her arms. The power spoke to her in a language only the truly mad could understand. Claw. Bite. Kill. You are not dead yet.

With great effort, she turned herself over once more. The pain was almost overwhelming but she poured it in together with the caustic curdle that had become the power’s form. Her head hung low, blonde hair matted together by blood sticking to her face. She raised her arm and drove her fingers hard into the concrete. One.

A rusty metallic taste filled her mouth, she hardly noticed she had almost bitten off a piece of her tongue. She pulled herself forward and lifted another arm. The motion was repeated. Two.

The flesh of her fingers ruptured, chunks of bloody skin were left trailing behind them. Three.

The bones in her fingertips cracked, releasing another wave of agony over her. It was nothing more than fuel for her fire. Four.

She continued. The distance seemed insurmountable but she dragged on, fighting for every painful inch. Determined it was not going to be her but the ground that would lose this battle. An animalistic groan pushed its way out of her throat. She would claw. She would bite. She would kill. She was not dead yet.

...

...

---

Yara heard a familiar boom as the ship came out of Hyperspace. She sighed in relief. They had made it without any issues or delays this time. She had never gotten used to Hyperspace travel and fear clawed at the back of her conscious mind even on well-mapped and safe routes. However, this was the Kessel Run, a Hyperspace route infamous even among those who knew nothing of space travel.

She lowered her gaze back to the datapad on her lap. On it were written five names and few meager notes under them. Each name was taken in once again, every word and letter carefully memorized. Finally, she swiped the page away with a ruined fingertip. The datapad presented a picture of Ban and her. It was the only surviving photograph of the couple. They had always been careful to not leave behind any concrete evidence about their relationship. In it Ban and a woman she could hardly recognize anymore were embracing and smiling at the camera. It had been a happy day. She fidgeted absent-mindedly with the earrings framing her left ear, one of them was bigger than the others.

The nostalgia was quickly pushed away and the datapad was turned off. A reflection of a woman with a hardened expression gazed back at her from the black screen, long white scar splitting her face. The device was replaced in her pack. Someone was coming.

A metallic knock came from the open doorway to the cargo hold. A bothan, one of the ship’s two crewmen. He bared his glistening teeth and gave her a flashy smile. “Sorry to bother you, Miss. But we will soon be landing on Formos. You may want to strap in.” His teeth were almost alarmingly white. “I trust you have enjoyed your trip with us?” Yara made an attempt at smiling back at her host. “I have, thank you.” The bothan seemed satisfied with the answer and offered Yara yet another display of grimacing sincerity before leaving the cargo hold.
She pulled her belongings together. It was not much but it was all she needed. A backpack with various pieces of equipment, a worn blaster pistol, a simple knife and her old ornamental vibrosword from her times with the Mordaani Blades. An organization now wiped from the face of the galaxy by the Empire, along with everything else on Alderaan.
It had been years. The traitors had signed off with the huge bounties payed by the Empire on delivery of her lover. Afterwards they had all disappeared into the four winds and no concrete evidence of their movements existed. Long she had been clasping at straws and chasing shadows in the remote corners of the Empire without finding any clue to their whereabouts. However, she would not give up. Either she would find them or they would find her. She cared not which one it was. She would find Ban, now a forced cog lost within the infinite machine that was the Empire and she would tear him away from its clutches.
She strapped in and closed her eyes. The ship trembled as it plummeted into the atmosphere. Landings were another part of space travel that filled her with unease. Still, a wry smile found its way onto her face. It was a special day, after all.

And that's all of it. Thanks for reading!

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>I knew I should've worn a longer skirt for this thing. I mean, one stiff breeze, and that's it

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I'm definitely going to read this tomorrow

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