The Galactic Federation of Liberated Humans

I've grown tired, in recent weeks, of every self-righteous moron who feels they're making a stand for "civilized society" trying to find a bone to pick with me. There are none, because there is literally nothing morally reprehensible about the Galactic Federation of Liberated Humans.

What we are not:
--A humanocentric speciesist group, that views all other species as inferior.
--A hate group with any ill intent toward any group at all.
--An organized faction
--Exclusive to humans (believe it or not)

Mission Statement: By promoting the rights and fostering the abilities of younger members of our galactic society, we believe that we can achieve peace and unity, and that all can prosper. We do allow the participation of non-humans, though it is rare that any express interest to join; we are primarily a group that takes pride in being human. Similar groups exist for Cathars, Nautolans, and Twi'leks; there's no reason that there should be any negative connotations attached to such a group for humans.

Nighthawk Militia

For those looking for examples of my history/description work, continue reading...

On that fateful night, as you sat at the terminal aboard your ship, scouring holonet feeds for the organization whose name you’d only heard in hushed conversation amongst some of the meanest-looking outlaws you’ve ever met, you never could have known its awesome power. In fact, you never would have guessed that it existed at all, had not this very holopage turned up. No doubt a small smile twisted your lips as the letters finally lit up your face: “Nighthawk Militia”.

Unbeknownst to you at the time, those were the very letters of destiny. Your trial, however, is not over; although you recognize the risks involved in dealing with just such an organization, you also recognize the enormous rewards that their prestige, discipline, courage, and prowess could bring to you.

The payout could be astonishing. This organization could make you…or it could break you.

Even though the Nighthawk Militia started off as the security division for the Smuggler’s Alliance, they soon realized that their abilities were far beyond that required to merely protect a smuggling outfit; the Nighthawks could easily bring order to a significant portion of the galaxy.

Not only that, but they could make a ton of money doing it.

And because of the mere fact that the Nighthawks willed it, it was so. In the blink of an eye, these relative newcomers were being approached by galactic power-players, for enormously important missions upon which hinged the lives and livelihoods of untold billions.

The Nighthawks won’t hesitate to share the secret of their success with anyone who asks, because they realize that it’s something so blatantly obvious as to be deceptive. In fact, the Nighthawks achieved fame and recognition by finding the most experienced and talented group of soldiers they could, and then organizing them using the simplest and most efficient business model available to them.

Unlike most security firms in the galaxy, the Nighthawks have a strict code of ethics to which they adhere, the sole mandate of which is that innocents and allies are to be protected at all costs. With a goal this simple, the Nighthawks were almost guaranteed success from their inception.

Brief Timeline of the Dorn Family History

*means something has already been written about.

a) Falin's father Shrav dies at the hands of Imperial Stormtroopers.*

b) Falin and his mother Adeena relocate to Belsavis, where Adeena's father lives.

c) Belsavis plunges into Civil War shortly before Falin is born.*

d) Adeena and her father arrive on Coruscant. Falin is born.

e) Adeena's father dies while attempting to prevent her from being mugged. Adeena plunges into a spice dependency shortly afterwards.

f) Falin scrounges a living for years, and hitches a ride on a tramp freighter to Hapes as he sees that his mother's spice dependency is leading her on a path that could easily get the both of them killed.*

Short Story: Escape from Belsavis

Even as the first of the fighting broke out on Belsavis, charismatic leaders on each side pleaded with the populace to settle their disputes diplomatically. By the time each of those leaders had been assassinated, the entire planet was engulfed in a civil war. Adeena Dorn, weary of life ever since her husband, Shrav, died at the hands of Imperial Stormtroopers, had to have her father live with her and her son, Falin.

Presently she sat on a bench outside the starport, her father, Tigos, standing over her, hopeful for any word on an opening on any starfreighter. No luck, so far. Adeena cursed her decision to sell Shrav’s ship, the Stargazer, after he had died. Her life had been in shambles ever since his death and her father had been the only constant.

Adeena looked up, her eyes meeting those of a Duros reporter on the holoproj as he gave reports of the civil strife stirring up across the planet, roiling like a wave straight at her, Tigos, and her as-yet unborn son.

“Father,” she said, her eyes locked upon the holoproj “I get the feeling we won’t be out of here before this reaches us.”

Tigos looked down at her, his graceful aging apparent in his still-chiseled features and well-maintained appearance, and said “Don’t you worry about that, Adeena. Not a bit. I’ll figure something out.”

In truth, Tigos’s mind was racing in a thousand different directions, and none of them bode well for him or his family. Their best option, even though it wasn’t exactly avail—

Tigos was cut short from his reverie by the sound of distant blasterfire. His ears hadn’t atrophied at all in his sixty-two years of life, though beings all around stopped in their tracks and strained their ears as if they simply couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

Tigos looked again to Adeena, his eyes clearly distressed, and mouthed the words “No more time” to her. He gestured for her to get up as he stepped away from the bench on which she sat, and hurried down the duracrete steps leading up to the domed starport.

Already, massive freighters were streaking into the sky, ferrying those aboard to relative safety. A flight of outdated Toscan fighters streaked overhead, a bit too low for Tigos’s comfort, and they opened fire while still within the city’s limits.

Far too close. He hurried Adeena along, taking her gently by the arm, through the huddled masses of refugees huddled around the entrance to the starport. A hundred sentient species, representative of dozens of starsystems, stood waiting for their chance to escape the planet.

WS Post: Falin's Thinking

The thrum of the ship's engines caught Falin's ear, and the slight pressure making it's way through his spine confirmed his suspicions: they'd lifted off. It's about time, he thought, though it really would have been nice if someone had said so. He was rather disappointed that he couldn't take his own freighter, not only because he'd grown rather attached to her, but because he really didn't trust Imperial technology.

Maybe it was from his days with the Royal Hapan Navy, this distrust of anything Imperial, or it could be because of all of the Imperial fallacies he'd uncovered in his recent days as a reporter. He couldn't really place it, and it really wasn't important, since he had no alternative. He drew his legs up so that his knees were near his chest and wrapped his arms about them, letting his head sink back and lean against the wall.

Falin stared absently at the ceiling, wondering why he'd left his cushy abode for this mission. His life was comfortable, no doubt about it, but it lacked...excitement, most of the time. That, he knew, was why he came on these missions. Falin had plenty of money, more ships than most, and cities on several worlds, but none of it interested him.

More importantly, none of it kept him sharp. He needed to maintain a razor's edge to keep himself at the top of his game. Someday soon there'd no doubt be attempts on his life from some person or another, and he wanted to be sure he was ready for them.

Falin smiled, that same innocent smile that had once belonged to a back-rim boy whose parents had migrated to Coruscant to escape a Civil War, and mused that perhaps the only reason he continued acquiring assets was to help him on these missions. He'd done tons of them, no doubts there, and afterwards he'd always taken his experiences and wanted to build upon them a firm foundation of equipment to prevent the bad ones from repeating themselves.

The durasteel brought by all this experience was no doubt a great help to him in surviving mission after mission. He wore it like armor, like a mythical Antarian Ranger of the pre-Hyperspace era, the kind only whispered about on the Empire's least civilized worlds, where hope and heroes were in desperate need. Falin smiled. Him, a Ranger. That was almost laughable. Their lifestyles were violent, and, more often than not, short. He was a doctor, someone to whom people like the Rangers went when their missions didn't quite work out as planned.

The smile faded from Falin's face. He knew there'd likely be alot of healing to do in the coming hours, perhaps days. After all, it seemed that with the tension in the hangar that if something didn't hurt any of them, they'd almost certainly end up hurting themselves...or each other.

He shook from his mind these thoughts of betrayal, closed his eyes, and sat, giving his mind time to rest. Falin concentrated on the sound of the engines, and let it lull him to sleep.

GNS: Another Example of my GTP Work

Title: Vodo Bonias: Xenophile?

It is common knowledge that the xenophobic Galactic Empire has been carrying out campaigns of destruction against nonhumans throughout the galaxy since its inception. The Empire does not recruit aliens, nor does it allow them to enlist. These minor war crimes aside, is it possible that Emperor Vodo Bonias lacked discretion when he found himself with an alluring Neimodian female in a compromising position?

Lord Vodo, Master of the Dark Side, is currently being taken to court for emotional turmoil, reckless abandonment, and welfare neglect by a child which genetic tests have found to contain partly human, and partly Neimodian DNA. Is this the coming of a new era for the Galactic Empire? An age of harmony, collaboration, and acceptance? Unfortunately, the answer is a resounding “No”. According to insider sources, Lord Bonias has stated in the courtroom that the child is a great danger to the reputation of his beloved Empire, not to mention his own, and that the case is “absurd”, and there is “no proof”, despite overwhelming genetic evidence.

The child’s biological mother, a certain Kardala Bempala, claims that after she and the Emperor embraced, he simply abandoned her, not even having the common courtesy to leave his comm channel, much less send her a holomessage. She raised Vodo Jr. from birth.

Vodo Jr., a…interesting-looking being with a disproportionately large green head, four fingers on each hand, and broad shoulders, claims that the nature of his birth has left him horribly disfigured, and that he has suffered emotional turmoil at the hands of his peers. Furthermore, he claims that his mother was barely able to support him and herself on the wages she brought in as a secretary at the Trade Federation headquarters.

It is thought by some that perhaps this court case has been going on for longer than anyone knew, and that it is one of the reasons for the rising tensions between the Trade Federation and Galactic Empire.

Biography: Stack Solo

The controls of a starfreighter were nothing new to Stack Solo. Stack was the son of a skilled freighter pilot, and spent a great deal of his early life on freighters with him, as the family had no permanent residence. His father made deliveries from one side of the galaxy to the other, making for excessively long hyperspace journeys during which Stack spent a great deal of time on internal reflection, pondering the galaxy at large and working to keep physically in shape. As an Advozse, Stack is somewhat short in stature, and the aural sensitivity granted him by the species’ ears, as well as the good eyesight garnered from the characteristic Advozsec large eyes gave him remarkable abilities as a freighter pilot when it came to spotting things in the bleak, dark, blackness of space, where oftentimes one had only their sensors and eyesight to rely on, but all senses proved crucial during combat.
Stack showed promise as a combat freighter pilot from a young age, and was among the best the instructor had ever seen when his father took him to a combat simulator as a lifeday present during his teenage years. His father’s dream of teaching his son to be among the greatest freighter pilots the galaxy over, however, was cut tragically short. A series of cascade failures disabled the particle shielding around the freighter as it was prematurely pulled from hyperspace by a false signal in the gravitic mass pulse detector. The bridge section carrying his father and mother was immediately burned away, and the hull heated to intense temperatures almost too hot for any sentient being to survive. Fighting the pain, Stack made his way to the auxiliary bridge and steered the freighter away from the sun just before the freighter would have been too deep into its gravity well to have made it out intact. Although he survived, Stack suffered massive burns to most of his exposed skin, leaving him horribly disfigured and in a coma. Nearly a week later, a passing ship caught the distress signal that Stack had managed to activate before he slipped into unconsciousness, and found the young Advosze aboard, unconscious. Thankfully, the passing craft was a medical ship, and the surgeons aboard were able to reconstruct much of his face and hands, although he still looks almost nothing like an Advosze.
Expressing his gratitude to those who had saved his life, Stack agreed to assist them in delivering medical supplies to outer rim colonies as a bush pilot. While to him the pay seemed meager, the rewards as he saw them were infinite; he placed a high value on saving lives, and with this bush pilot job he had the opportunity to do so while still flying freighters, as he had done all his life. His heart sank, however, when the medical company providing the supplies to the unfortunate outer rim citizens went under, and he was forced to once again take to the stars in search of a more meaningful existence. Stack soon found work in a coreward starport running Adegan crystals back and forth across the Talsnik run, one of the more dangerous gravitic anomalies in the galaxy. He gained something of a reputation for being one of the more active pilots in responding to distress calls in the Talsnik run, having rescued distressed freighter pilots whose overconfidence nearly led to their demise on more than one occasion.

GNS Post: For GTP, number 1

Title: Falleen Federation: Rebel Alliance Satellite?

The galaxy’s economy is in hard times of late, no doubts there. One might even think it a sign of the times when a group as prestigious as the Falleen Federation sells one of its coveted battleships. Interestingly enough, such is precisely the case, though for the Falleen Federation, the Kinrath-hole goes far deeper. Far, far, far deeper.

Several inside sources have disclosed that the Falleen Federation, at its highest levels, sought funds from many fellow governments…including the Rebel Alliance. The Rebel Alliance, as it turns out, was the only Government to give into the Federation’s desperate pleas for financial assistance, and kept the Falleen government afloat. For the moment. It is unknown to any but those directly involved what kind of deal was stricken, but the Federation’s actions in recent times strongly suggest that they have become very close allies with the Rebel Alliance.

It seems almost uncharacteristic of the Falleen Federation to accept outside sources of income, as their insular nature would suggest self-sufficiency, but alas, such is not the case. All talk and no action, as the saying goes, seems to apply to the Falleen Federation, who has hypocritically claimed isolationism while secretly accepting outside funds.

It is thought by some that the Falleen Federation may stoop so low as to backstab the Rebel Alliance to keep rumors of the fund transfers quiet, and that Bisz Aldaris is already positioning forces with which to take over key Rebel Alliance strongholds in what can only be termed one of the largest betrayals in the galaxy’s military history.

Furthermore, scuttlebutt has it that Bisz Aldaris, leader of the Falleen Federation, has adopted even more tyrannical ruling policies, treating his people more harshly than before. It is said in the dark alleys of the Falleen Federation that many members of the Falleen Federation, including some of the Falleen High Command, have resigned out of protest of Aldaris’s actions. Is it a coincidence that just before the implementation of these new tyrannical policies, Bisz Aldaris took a very long, unannounced, and unplanned leave of absence?

Philandering Falleen leadership, shady dealings by the Rebel Alliance, mass-resignations, all are sure to have interesting outcomes in the days that follow. Keep your holosets tuned to GTP, where you get the news important to you.

Short Story: Falin's Parents

Lighter. Faster. Smaller. Watchwords for a freighter pilot who didn't particularly fall in line with the reigning system government. Shrav Dorn had always played by these rules, which he had laid down for himself. While he was still relatively new to the freight hauling business, he was damned good at it, and he knew it. His ship, a modified YT-2400 he had affectionately dubbed the Stargazer, was fast and small. While he couldn't haul as much freight, he could still turn a considerable profit by hauling expensive freight. Unfortunately, that meant illegal substances. This run was to be no different than his usual: he was to pick up the cargo, a crate of glitterstim, from a smuggler's outpost, and then deliver it to his contacts on Duros, where he would be paid. It was by no means glamorous, fun, or terribly exciting, but it turned a profit and allowed him to support his wife, Adeena.

Picking idly at the material of the jacket he wore on his shoulder, Shrav seemed not to notice the infinite blue tunnel of hyperspace that stretched in front of him. He sighed, lightspeed's monotony getting the better of him, and folded his arms over his stomach, his booted feet resting atop the console and crossed over each other. As he heard the soft footsteps he knew belonged to his wife approaching behind him, his face lit up and he darted to his feet, turning to face the cockpit's entrance, through which he knew his angel would step. Not even waiting for her to arrive, he blurted "Hello, Adeena".

Met with giggles from a delicate voice he knew all too well, Shrav smiled brightly as Adeena entered the cockpit. Letting his eyes roam across her, from the bottoms of her booted feet to the top of her head, Shrav felt passion's heat coursing through his veins.

"Hello, Shrav, my dear." she said as she gingerly stepped forward to face him and wrap him in her small arms. The sight was almost laughable: her head barely came up to his broad chest. Despite their obvious physical differences, Shrav dearly loved his wife, who had stuck by him through everything he had done since he had met her, and been his reason for continuing to go on, and the one he intended to support by entering the freight business.

Ever since they had locked eyes in a crowded starport on his home planet of Brentaal, Shrav Dorn knew that Adeena Haisla was the woman for him, and she had done nothing but prove him right at every turn. She broke the embrace to put her hands on either side of his head, pullinh it down to a reasonable level for her to get to her tiptoes and kiss him. Feeling his face turn red, Shrav smiled and pulled away from her "Did you sleep well, darling?" he asked, putting his arms around her and pulling her close to embrace her once more.

She nodded, the side of her face pressed to his chest, "Always."

Shrav rubbed the small of her back with his fingertips, and pulled away again "We'll be there soon, my love. Only a few minutes yet."

Adeena nodded, her hands placed squarely on Shrav's hips, her gaze waxing determined as she spoke "Shrav, I don't want you running any more glitterstim. You know how the Imperials react to smugglers. They...kill them." It almost hurt her to say it, her husband's risks almost becoming too much to bear.

Shrav knew this was the truth, but simply stared into her eyes for a few seconds before sighing and closing his eyes to think for a few moments. There were other ways to bring in an income, he knew, but this one was the fastest, the most appealing, especially with a son on the way. Then again, what good would a dead father do? But no, he knew the benefits outweighed the risks.

Shrav opened his eyes again and gazed into Adeena's piercing blue eyes. She had folded her arms over her chest and was staring up at him expectantly. Sighing once more before he spoke, he relented "I understand. No more glitterstim."

At this, Adeena's features lit up and she grabbed his head once again, pulling him down for a passionate lip-lock before turning and leaving the cockpit, intentionally swiveling her hips from side to side because she knew he was looking. Or at least that's what he thought. Shrav smiled a few seconds more before taking the pilot's seat once again and glancing at the chronometer reading for their estimated time of arrival. He cursed outwardly and craned his neck to turn and yell through the door "Fasten your crash webbing, less than a minute!"

After a few colorful strings of curses from the rear section of the ship, a shouted "All strapped in!" reached Shrav's ears. Fastening his own crash webbing, he watched the last few seconds tick off the chronometer, and the elongated blue tunnel of hyperspace revert to the distant pinpricks of the local map of starfield, with the large, rusty sphere of Duros directly in the center of the forward viewport. Unable to refrain from smiling as he sent the landing codes to the local spaceport authority, Shrav brought the ship on a course for the CorDuro spaceport where he was supposed to meet his contact.

Kicking in the repulsorlifts as he cut the thrusters, Shrav let the Stargazer drift downward, its landing struts extending at the last possible moment and allowing the ship to settle gently on the duracrete landing platform. He unbuckled his crash webbing and moved to the rear cargo compartment to inspect the cargo, where he found Adeena already standing, staring at the crate.

"I don't want you to do this, Shrav. I've got a bad feeling." she said, her arms crossed once more, her eyes affixed on the blue crate in which several hundred thousand credits worth of glitterstim sat. The sudden change of heart had come to her for reasons she couldn't explain, but could no less deny.

"This is the last time, Adeena. Please, just this last haul...this is the last one, and then I'm going straight. You have my word."

Adeena's gaze broke from the crate, and met his own, tears welling up in her eyes "Shrav, don't do it. Just leave the crate and get out. For me." Her chest continued tightening in fear, an ethereal hand clenching her heart.

As he grew more and more frustrated with his wife, Shrav shook his head "No. This is guaranteeing our future, and I refuse to throw this out on some silly whim, even from you."

His response met with quiet sobbing as Adeena buried her face in her hands and walked out, going back to the bunk room and leaving Shrav alone with the crate that could make or break their futures. His mind was already made up, and he palmed the activation switch for the landing ramp next to the crate, letting the durasteel ramp descend to the duracrete ground with a hiss. As he checked the power charge of his blaster, Shrav strode out of the Stargazer and took a look around. It was a pretty simple landing berth: hexagonal with only a single walkway for access to the main hub of the starport. His boot heels clicked against the platform as he strode over and presented his identichip to the reader attached to the door.

Shrav palmed the activation switch once his clearance had been confirmed, and the door opened with a snap-hiss...to reveal a squad of Imperial stormtroopers taking cover to either side as one crossed wires in an obvious attempt at hotwiring the door. Beating them to the draw, Shrav managed to draw and fire a shot into the lead stormtrooper's chest as the luckless man screamed "Halt!"

As the death of their leader sunk in, the remaining soldiers yelled at him to stop or be fired upon, and informed him that he was suspected to be carrying illicit substances in his cargo bay. Shrav cursed and fired twice more as he retreated toward the ship, catching the first stormtrooper to come through the door full in the face and in the center of his stomach, sending him to the ground without so much as a whimper of pain. The other four brought their blasters to bear on Shrav and opened fire, sending burning-hot lances of light darting through the air, carrying with them the smell of ozone.

Cursing his luck and whomever had told the authorities of his cargo, Shrav turned and ran toward the ship, not even bothering to keep a grip on his blaster. The weapon clattered to the deck, and was crushed beneath the feet of the stormtroopers charging after him. He continued putting one foot in front of the other as fast and in as long of strides as he could manage, but the ship still seemed to be practically an eternity away.

A burning lance of pain shot through his lower back, and Shrav screamed, knowing he was hit. The duracrete surface of the platform rushed up to meet him as he lost his footing, and his head bounced as it made impact. His thoughts immediately turned to his beloved, and he screamed "Adeena, go!" using the last reserves of strength he had. Shrav stared at the landing ramp, hoping with all he had left that Adeena had heard his scream and was already preparing to leave. He saw her standing at the top of the ramp, and heard her scream a warning...or perhaps simply out of terror. And then all Shrav Dorn knew was blackness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As she sobbed uncontrollably, fearing for the life of her lover, Adeena heard a panicked scream from outside, and was gripped with terror as she recognized the voice. As she ran to one of the viewports she saw her love, Shrav, lying face-down on the landing platform with a smoking blaster wound in his back. Imperial stormtroopers were closing in on his prostrate form, and she saw his gaze locked on the landing ramp. Despite every instinct in her body screaming at her to the contrary, Adeena ran to the cargo compartment and stood at the top of the landing ramp and met Shrav's gaze. An armor-clad stormtrooper finally caught up with him, and leveled his blaster at Shrav's head. Adeena screamed, knowing what would happen next, and the stormtrooper fired at point-blank range, sending superheated plasma through his head and lighting his hair ablaze. Fighting a mix of shock, terror, and grief, she palmed the landing ramp activation switch and ran to the cockpit, not even bothering with the preflight checked as she kicked on the repulsorlifts and thrusters, sending the Stargazer shooting up into the arid Duros atmosphere.

After keying in a random set of hyperspace coordinates into the navicomputer, Adeena sat in Shrav's oversized pilot's chair and watched the tunnel of hyperspace through eyes welled up with tears as the shock wore off, and her grief set in. Shrav was really dead, and he'd never be coming back...never again would Adeena feel his loving touch, feel secure in the strength of his embrace, meet his loving gaze, or bear another of his children. Children...Shrav would never be able to be the father for their unborn son. She buried her face in her hands and wept, not wanting to believe what she had just in fact witnessed, and not wanting to face the trying times ahead on her own...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A woman sat on a small folding cot in the center of a spartan apartment in Coruscant's lower city. Her eyes tired and empty betrayed no sign of the empty soul within, and were surrounded by bags that suggested that she had not seen sleep in a great amount of time. In front of her was a table, on which sat a small pile of white powder. Taking her time and ensuring that every last speck of it was accounted for, she used the sharp edge of her vibroblade to line all of it up into a nice straight pile, and rolled a small piece of flimsiplast into a tube. Putting one of the ends of the tube to her nostril, she lowered her head to bring the other end just over the powder and inhaled, bringing the finely granulated substance up and into her nostril. Immediately she felt the effects as the world around her seemed to suddenly become distant and unimportant.

Adeena Dorn looked straight up at the ceiling, her fried brain too intoxicated by the glitterstim she had just inhaled to do anything else. A young boy of five at the most returned to the apartment and set down a bag he had carried slung over his shoulder all the way from the upper levels.

"Mama?" the little boy asked, completely indifferent to the fact that she was now experiencing the harshest of the effects of the illicit substances she had just taken "Mama, I found us some more food." The little boy, Falin, opened the bag and held its open end toward Adeena, expecting praise of some kind. All he received was silence as she continued gazing up at the ceiling. He quietly and gently nudged her shoulder, hoping to get her attention and praise for managing to find enough food to keep the two of them alive a few days longer, but she continued staring up at the ceiling.

Finally giving up all hope of recognition for his impressive accomplishment, Falin sighed and put the bag of food in the corner of their apartment, plopping down to the durasteel flooring and sitting cross-legged, staring down at his own legs. None of this was out of the ordinary for him: he'd seen this same situation dozens of times with his mother, and he'd learned to simply wait it out...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Biography: Eliana Tamerin

The blood of a trader flows strongly through the veins of Eliana Tamerin. Her parents, wealthy and influential businessbeings in the highest echelons of the Coruscani social hierarchy, wanted nothing but the best for their beloved daughter, and spared no expense to see to it that she got exactly that. She was provided with the highest-level of education for her age in the best-renowned Coruscani institutions of learning, and early-on developed a knack for leadership unmatched amongst her peers. When she found that she wanted something, Eliana always got it, no matter at what cost. Her parents, however, crossed the wrong people in their business dealings, and when Eliana was twelve, before she had even completed her education, an influential Imperial ordered a unit of Stormtroopers to raid their apartment and kill both of them, after having planted evidence linking them to one of the most powerful Coruscani drug-running syndicates within their home. Even as the Stormtroopers used a flash torch to tear open the front door to their home, she had some idea of what was going on, and made good her escape into the labyrinthine ventilation ducts throughout their home, managing to avoid the Imperial soldiers long enough to make her way out. She found that the ventilation ducts ended near the Imperial Starport barely two kilometers from her old home, and decided that would be her best chance for survival.

She made friends with a local group of smuggler’s, and was soon after accepted into their fold for her skills with negotiating her way into and out of things. The Imperials, however, had not forgotten her existence, and hunted her constantly, forcing the entire crew to continuously change ports-of-call. While if they were in any other line of business this would have been an inconvenience, as smugglers this was little more than added motivation to make their deliveries in an expedient manner. They could not, however, throw off the authorities forever. When Eliana was sixteen, as the ship left the orbit of Tatooine, the Imperial forces operating from one of its primary moons sprung a trap they had staged many months earlier. In a panic, the crew turned tail and fled back toward the surface, but the ship was quickly disabled. The captain brought the ship into orbit so that the escape pods could be jettisoned and his crew’s lives could be preserved, but Eliana barely escaped with her life in a battered escape pod, along with just two other members of the crew.

The escape pod barely made it into the atmosphere of Tatooine intact, and was noticed by many of the citizens of Mos Espa as it tore across the sky, sending up a plume of sand. The local Hutt crimelord, Darba, sent a contingent of his thugs to retrieve the pod and enslave any passengers. When they found Eliana, she was unconscious, a gash across her forehead oozing blood, but she was still very much alive. She was pressed into a life of servitude to Darba, but continued resisting capture in her very own unique way. As she befriended the others serving Darba, Eliana convinced them to act as her eyes and ears throughout his palace, assisting her in spying on the Hutt’s operations and dealings, and giving her a kind of power over the compound that not even Darba possessed: trust. As the trust the others placed in Eliana grew, so did her power within Darba’s palace, and as her power grew, Darba’s rapidly eroded away until the Hutt found himself with none left whom he could trust. After an entire year of work and planning, Eliana knew the time had come when she could seize control, and did so efficiently, having her contacts dispatch the Hutt’s guards and even Darba himself. Her first act of leadership as the new administrator of Darba’s compound, Eliana freed all those who had been pressed into a life of slavery by the vile gangster, and distributed his assets amongst all those freed. She never forgot to reward those who remained loyal to her in achieving her goals.

After the entire Darba ordeal was over and done with, Eliana moved on with her life. She turned over the former Hutt’s compound to one of her associates, and left the planet. Two years later, at the age of nineteen, Eliana has found herself working for the Galactic Services Corporate as its Vice President.

Biography: Cyclouros Clyon

Doctor Rhono Trast drew his cloak tighter around him against the cold and damp Corellian night, as the rain poured down upon him, chilling him to the bone. It was at times like this that he cursed living in one of the worst parts of Coronet City. Shootings were not uncommon, and what with the rain blowing almost horizontally into his eyes, it was almost certain he’d never even see it coming. His continued advance through the downfall would have been considered reckless courage…if he had known what lay ahead of him. Trast saw his apartment building ahead through the torrential rainfall, and resolved himself to keep pushing, his last reserves of strength bubbling to the surface to get him to his nice warm apartment.

Trast was squeaking down the hallway, nearer and nearer to his apartment, when he laid eyes on a huddled figure, coughing almost aggressively, prostrate in front of his door. His conscience kicking on, Trast couldn’t help but kneel next to the being and put a hand on its shoulder “Hey, hey, are you okay? What’s the m—“

Trast was cut off as a vibroblade was inserted between his ribs, and a bony human hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his scream of mixed pain and terror. The human beneath him bowled him over, got atop him, and shoved the vibroblade in deeper, finally ending his life.

Cyclouros Clyon unsheathed the vibroblade from the unfortunate Doctor’s ribcage and shook the gore from its business end, a small grin of satisfaction crawling across his thin lips. Clyon patted down the good Doctor’s pockets, removing a few credit chits, a commlink, a speeder license, and his apartment keycard. With a grin Clyon stood up and opened the door.

Hours later, the body of Doctor Trast hung like a blanket over the railing of his apartment’s balcony, and Clyon had stolen everything of value within. Another ruthless murder chalked up to the imposing Corellian, and the authorities remained clueless.

Cyclouros laughed to himself, sitting on his haunches in his humble abode beneath the streets of Coronet. At 15, he had already killed more sentients than he had seen winters, and it was certainly…lucrative. The authorities had no idea who was behind the killings, so his nose was clean as far as they were concerned. Besides, it kept him fed, even if not particularly well.

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Present Day:

The lanky figure of a gaunt, almost demonic humanoid stood at the center of a rapidly expanding island amidst a sea of sentience, the bleeding corpse of a Coronet vagrant writhing at his feet. “Next time, kid, pick your marks a bit more wisely.” Clyon laughed aloud and snapped his wrist downward, flicking the young Rodian’s blood onto his own green face from the vibroblade Clyon had used to end so many lives.

He licked a drop of blood from his lips and spat it onto his victim’s jacket before putting the vibroblade back in his belt and strolling through the crowd as if nothing had happened. Since he’d been employed with Storm Securities, the weapons had gotten better, and the training had even honed his razor-sharp fighting edge. Jesfa, that flipperheaded pitiful excuse for a commanding officer, had handed him a blaster. He just laughed and tossed the thing aside, listening to it skitter across the duracrete floor of the Storm Securities compound.

Blades were where it was at, as far as Clyon was concerned. A “thing” was what one might say the gaunt human had for blades. A love affair was what he had termed it, and aptly so.

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