Fiber

Tamashī no Samuraitachi

Enrique

Enrique Hernandez

____________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R I N F O R M A T I O N Name Enrique Haralabos Hernandez Nicknames/Aliases Haralabos Hernandez Handyman Holdings (not an actual registered company but sometimes people making him write something on a form to get paid) Birth City/District: San-Washington Age: 45 Height 5' 11" (top of head, not including stowed cybernetics) Racial Background: Mixed, mostly Latino and Greek, small amounts of Indian and African ancestry Race: Zero Percenter Hair Color: Bald, black when it grows out Eye Color: Steel Grey (due to cybernetics) Appearance: Heavy armor plating on all parts of him exposed to the elements, very scratched paint job on it. Tan, leathery skin when he bothered to keep the synthskin intact over the armor. Massive cybnernetic array on his back, holding the drones and plow when it is stowed, and the material resevoir for the Extruder tool. Palm of hands features the focus lenses of the Matsushita LX-H Hard Light tool, both arms feature added bulk from their signature tool, ridges, coils, and tubing from the Uchide-no-kozuchi on one arm, the bit, motor, and charge container for the M99-Issun-Boshi on the other. Almost always covered in dust or other stains. Visible motors, pistons and gears in certain places. Mutation Marker(s): N.A. Personality: Enrique is a quiet guy, dependable, values keeping his word and doesn't like to start trouble. He's happy to talk about work but doesn't like to open up much beyond that except to people he knows really well. He is slow to trust, slow to anger and does not appreciate loudmouths or boasting. Independence is something he values, and while he is happy to work on a project together, he resents it when he feels people aren't pulling their weight. This harshness extends to himself, he is proud of his own hard work, to the point that he will almost always refuse help if it feels like it is taking away his own agency. This also makes him judgmental of others, while he seldom says it out loud, he has little respect for anyone who sacrifices their freedom in search of an easier or more peaceful life. He's not a showoff, and doesn't like to start drama over nothing, when he is in a violent situation he is calm and workmanlike, without anger or panic. In tense situations he rarely panics, but it also prone to pessimism, and will often write things off as a lost cause even when there is still hope. His passion for cybernetics can spill over to addiction, bordering on obsessive tinkering and perfecting of his hardware to attain some standard that exists only in his mind, some standard he will never reach. He has little sense of self preservation, and is prone to fretting over small flaws in mistakes he makes. Enrique is a strong believer in equality and solidarity, he values people working together and hates any form of inborn privelige. He values his quiet time and solitary pursuits, and this is when his softer side comes out. It is something he doesn't like to show, but he is capable of showing genuine care for others. Aspirations: Enrique values being a self made man. That is a continous quest without a defined end, something he upholds throughout his hard work and continued perfection. He takes equal pride in building skills and adding on cybernetics. He also takes pride in his craftmanship, he sees value in doing quality work, and wants to make sure whatever he works on lasts a long time. Enrique also believe in making a positive difference in the lives of others; he isn't warm and cuddly but he does genuinely value helping others and likes to teach and mentor, especially to people who were born with very little. He doesn't follow politics, but would be very happy to see more rights and equality for Zero Percenters. Fears: He doesn't like showing weakness. Enrique hates be dependent on people, he hates having to ask for help. He fears failing people, and failing in a public way, and most of all he doesn't want to let down the people he cares about. It sticks with him enough that he actively avoids trying to get too attached to people, because he doesn't want to lose them or disappoint them. Vehicle: A beat up old work van, it holds his tools and is a place to sleep when he's on the go. Yes, people try to break into it and yes he will break several bones of whoever he catches trying. P O W E R / C Y B E R N E T I C S I N F O R M A T I O N Strengths/Natural Abilities: Enrique is tough, physically as well as mentally. His cybernetic body is armored like a tank, and the raw power output is hard to match in anything human shaped. It comes equipped with tools to handle almost any project, whether it is construction or destruction; it might be slow, but once he sets to work there is little that can stand in his way. He's resourceful too, years of experience give him a lot of ideas about how to improvise when the situation gets rough. Years of experience have given him an encyclopedic knowledge of construction and cybernetics, there are few problems that can stump him in either domain. He backs all of this up with determination, courage, and strong ability to push on through pain. Weaknesses/Flaws: As good as Enrique is with manipulating anything physical, he is almost useless when it comes to the inner working of computers. He doesn't have time for the digital world and is set in his ways about that. His current configuration of cybernetics make him extremely obvious and bad at stealth, and overall he is not suited to fast movement. He also comes to rely them, and if they are damaged or disabled he has little to fall back on. This also means he has to spend time fixing them to stay ready. He's never been part of a formal military, so he is actually unfamiliar with using weapons that aren't integrated as part of his cybernetics. In his personal life, he has been known to drink or use substances heavily, which may have negative consequences. Soul Binder/Weapon(s): N.A. Cybernetics/Gadets/Accessories: 3M CleanAIR Dust and Industrial Toxin filtration system (Protects him from inhaling dust or toxic gas) NEC Cyber-I, low light and dust model (Allows him to see in low light and dusty conditions) Panasonic ClearChannel Sensory Procssor (Integrated radio and noise protector. Also can be configured to deliver painkillers and mood suppressants as the situation requires) DeWalt MAX XR Industrial Servo-muscular system (Enhanced Strength) Mitsubishi Heavy Industries Type 77 DO-MARU Heavy Armor Plating (Heavy Armor, all over his body) CAT R1200 XEP Articulated Plow (A heavily armored plow, normally stowed on his back, split into two halves that can be joined or articulated independently, can change position or apply force, useful as additional frontal armor, clearing obstacles, or digging into the earth) Komatsu KX9 Heavy Load Bipedal Mobility System (Reinforced legs for carrying the extra load or providing dampening from heay impacts) Dyno-Nobel SafeShot Explosive Stowage and Initiation System (Built in safe storage compartments and triggering system for explosive charges. Can also store non-explosive items if he just needs to have things on hand) Matsushita LX-H Hardlight Cutting/Force Application Tool (Hard light system that can work as versatile, variable geometry cutting tool or apply brute force for protection or demolition purposes, has two of these) Hitachi Uchide-no-kozuchi MK2 Extruder/Hotend/Linear Accelerator Assembly (A combination of the hotend of an industrial 3D Printer and a railgun. It can shape and deposit material for some quick and dirty fabrication, but it's ability to superheat and accelerate material means that it can also function as welder, a thermal lance, or a way to accelerate superheated materials at extreme speeds towards whoever Enrique thinks needs some rapid re-education) Ryobi-Milwaukee FUEL M99-Issun-Boshi Rotary Pilebunker (Combination of a drill and jackhammer. It can do mundane things like drive in fasteners, but the main appeal is tearing through tough materials) Sony AIRO Integrated Drone Assistance System (Holds light duty flying drones to assist with construction work. Could support up to six ultra-light drones, less if they are equipped with tools that are actually capable of doing things other than sensing or extremely light duty. Most common configuration equipping the drones with light duty hard light projectors.) Fanuc CRX-Light Duty Supplemental Tool Arm (Third arm can hold an additional tool or brace himself when doing work. Not heavy enough to be used with anything that would require cybernetics to handle) Toyota 2JX Power Core with Overboost Add-on (Powers everything, has extra power mode which can give him a lot more propulsion for a short amount of time, though he will still maneuver like a river barge on land despite the increased speed) E X T R A Anything else? His daughter is alive, has a YSG, and is a member of a tactical Idol group called Perfect All Kill. He knows none of this Theme Song: youtu.be/jSzKcObWkt8

H i s t o r y Test Enrique is from San Washington, from a family that feels no shame about their zero percenter status. The local community was tight knit and his family were well known within it, at every community meeting, political rally, charity drive, or celebration you could find someone from Enrique's family there. They ended up lower middle class through hard work and grit, still near the bottom of the social ladder overall but able to avoid abject poverty. Though he had parents that cared for him, a supportive family, and stable home environment, his childhood was far from carefree. His parents pushed him to work hard and held to high standards, and he was constantly busy between school, helping his parents, and working odd jobs to bring in some extra money. They also made sure he knew just how precarious his situation was, that one bad encounter with the authorities or the gangs could end it all. He himself felt that when his uncle was arrested for radical politics and executed; from that moment onward his parents told him not to rock the boat, to be a model citizen, differentiate himself through dedication to work and following the rules. He didn't believe that this would make people see him differently, neither did his parents, but they saw it as the best way to survive in a harsh world. One common theme of Enrique's work experience was his mechanical aptitude. He was always salvaging, tinkering, and working with anything he could get his hands on. Cybernetics were his passion; he had no money to go to a real college, but he was able to use what he had to move to Old Kinsasha for an apprenticeship as a cybernetics technician. The hours were long, the work was hard, but Enrique learned a great deal and earned praise from all around. He dreamt of bringing what he learned back to San Washington and opening up his own small business, but that required money he didn't have. To try and earn some he took on dangerous work, construction outside the city walls, short contracts in the broken lands. It was only lucky that saved his life on those first few expeditions, before he knew better. That was the work that introduced him to the woman who he would fall in love with, Natsuko. She was different from Enrique, she was from Neo-Tokyo, born with a Yokai Gene and well educated. She was a manager, Enrique always said he fell for her because she was the only one of the managers who bothered to remember the names of the people doing the dangerous and backbreaking work, though if pressed he might admit was because of her charms, her Yokai Gene gave her the ethereal appearance of the classic Yuki-Onna apparation. Together Enrique and Natsuko hatched a plan for the rest of their life. She'd work her corporate job for a while and he would keep doing construction work until they had enough to start up a cybernetics shop together, he could handle the labor and she could handle the management. It wouldn't be a ticket to riches but it would offer them something rare in this world: freedom, a way to earn a living the way they wanted, free from corporate overlords and brutal contracts. Somehow it never bothered him that he'd be selling cybernetics despite having the very few himself; this choice wasn't because he feared them, it is because he was worried too much chrome and it's YG repellant properties would make it hard to care for a wife and eventual child that bore the gene. The journey to get there wasn't easy, Enrique never heard the details but apparently Natsuko's family was hostile to it, and although Enrique's own was not against it, they kept asking him if he was sure. The plan was all going well, Natsuko and Enrique were well on their way to building a life together, they were married (by common law, the official paperwork wasn't done), and they had a child on the way. It all changed one night, one snowy night when Enrique could not sleep and he did not know why. He lied awake, and out of the corner of his eye he saw something, he saw Natsuko disappearing out of the door. He called out to her and she showed no reaction, he ran after her but all he could see was mist and fast melting snow. That was the last he ever saw of her or his unborn child. For weeks he hoped they would return, but as that turned to months he began to accept she was gone. Enrique had no heart for his old dream, and poured all of the money he had into more cybernetics for himself, until he was more chrome than flesh, until he had made himself into the most optimized worker he could be. He was without purpose and intentionally took the most dangerous construction work he could, things in active combat zones or deep into the brokenlands, no longer caring if he lived or died. Years went by and he survived. Endless overtime and dangerous work toughed his exterior even more, but left him with few close confidants. With the money and his own skill, he was able to accumulate his cybernetics without ending up crippling debt to a corporation, but not much else. After several years Neo-Tokyo ended up his home base even if it wasn't his favorite city, but it was the one place that never had a shortage of work for someone skilled and willing to take on the craziest jobs. His reputation brought him into contact with Tsuki, and he trusted her enough to end up being dragged along with whatever ideas she came up with.

Tamashī no Samuraitachi

Enrique

Enrique Hernandez

____________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R I N F O R M A T I O N Name Enrique Haralabos Hernandez Nicknames/Aliases Haralabos Hernandez Handyman Holdings (not an actual registered company but sometimes people making him write something on a form to get paid) Birth City/District: San-Washington Age: 45 Height 5' 11" (top of head, not including stowed cybernetics) Racial Background: Mixed, mostly Latino and Greek, small amounts of Indian and African ancestry Race: Zero Percenter Hair Color: Bald, black when it grows out Eye Color: Steel Grey (due to cybernetics) Appearance: Heavy armor plating on all parts of him exposed to the elements, very scratched paint job on it. Tan, leathery skin when he bothered to keep the synthskin intact over the armor. Massive cybnernetic array on his back, holding the drones and plow when it is stowed, and the material resevoir for the Extruder tool. Palm of hands features the focus lenses of the Matsushita LX-H Hard Light tool, both arms feature added bulk from their signature tool, ridges, coils, and tubing from the Uchide-no-kozuchi on one arm, the bit, motor, and charge container for the M99-Issun-Boshi on the other. Almost always covered in dust or other stains. Visible motors, pistons and gears in certain places. Mutation Marker(s): N.A. Personality: Enrique is a quiet guy, dependable, values keeping his word and doesn't like to start trouble. He's happy to talk about work but doesn't like to open up much beyond that except to people he knows really well. He is slow to trust, slow to anger and does not appreciate loudmouths or boasting. Independence is something he values, and while he is happy to work on a project together, he resents it when he feels people aren't pulling their weight. This harshness extends to himself, he is proud of his own hard work, to the point that he will almost always refuse help if it feels like it is taking away his own agency. This also makes him judgmental of others, while he seldom says it out loud, he has little respect for anyone who sacrifices their freedom in search of an easier or more peaceful life. He's not a showoff, and doesn't like to start drama over nothing, when he is in a violent situation he is calm and workmanlike, without anger or panic. In tense situations he rarely panics, but it also prone to pessimism, and will often write things off as a lost cause even when there is still hope. His passion for cybernetics can spill over to addiction, bordering on obsessive tinkering and perfecting of his hardware to attain some standard that exists only in his mind, some standard he will never reach. He has little sense of self preservation, and is prone to fretting over small flaws in mistakes he makes. Enrique is a strong believer in equality and solidarity, he values people working together and hates any form of inborn privelige. He values his quiet time and solitary pursuits, and this is when his softer side comes out. It is something he doesn't like to show, but he is capable of showing genuine care for others. Aspirations: Enrique values being a self made man. That is a continous quest without a defined end, something he upholds throughout his hard work and continued perfection. He takes equal pride in building skills and adding on cybernetics. He also takes pride in his craftmanship, he sees value in doing quality work, and wants to make sure whatever he works on lasts a long time. Enrique also believe in making a positive difference in the lives of others; he isn't warm and cuddly but he does genuinely value helping others and likes to teach and mentor, especially to people who were born with very little. He doesn't follow politics, but would be very happy to see more rights and equality for Zero Percenters. Fears: He doesn't like showing weakness. Enrique hates be dependent on people, he hates having to ask for help. He fears failing people, and failing in a public way, and most of all he doesn't want to let down the people he cares about. It sticks with him enough that he actively avoids trying to get too attached to people, because he doesn't want to lose them or disappoint them. Vehicle: A beat up old work van, it holds his tools and is a place to sleep when he's on the go. Yes, people try to break into it and yes he will break several bones of whoever he catches trying. P O W E R / C Y B E R N E T I C S I N F O R M A T I O N Strengths/Natural Abilities: Enrique is tough, physically as well as mentally. His cybernetic body is armored like a tank, and the raw power output is hard to match in anything human shaped. It comes equipped with tools to handle almost any project, whether it is construction or destruction; it might be slow, but once he sets to work there is little that can stand in his way. He's resourceful too, years of experience give him a lot of ideas about how to improvise when the situation gets rough. Years of experience have given him an encyclopedic knowledge of construction and cybernetics, there are few problems that can stump him in either domain. He backs all of this up with determination, courage, and strong ability to push on through pain. Weaknesses/Flaws: As good as Enrique is with manipulating anything physical, he is almost useless when it comes to the inner working of computers. He doesn't have time for the digital world and is set in his ways about that. His current configuration of cybernetics make him extremely obvious and bad at stealth, and overall he is not suited to fast movement. He also comes to rely them, and if they are damaged or disabled he has little to fall back on. This also means he has to spend time fixing them to stay ready. He's never been part of a formal military, so he is actually unfamiliar with using weapons that aren't integrated as part of his cybernetics. In his personal life, he has been known to drink or use substances heavily, which may have negative consequences. Soul Binder/Weapon(s): N.A. Cybernetics/Gadets/Accessories: 3M CleanAIR Dust and Industrial Toxin filtration system (Protects him from inhaling dust or toxic gas) NEC Cyber-I, low light and dust model (Allows him to see in low light and dusty conditions) Panasonic ClearChannel Sensory Procssor (Integrated radio and noise protector. Also can be configured to deliver painkillers and mood suppressants as the situation requires) DeWalt MAX XR Industrial Servo-muscular system (Enhanced Strength) Mitsubishi Heavy Industries Type 77 DO-MARU Heavy Armor Plating (Heavy Armor, all over his body) CAT R1200 XEP Articulated Plow (A heavily armored plow, normally stowed on his back, split into two halves that can be joined or articulated independently, can change position or apply force, useful as additional frontal armor, clearing obstacles, or digging into the earth) Komatsu KX9 Heavy Load Bipedal Mobility System (Reinforced legs for carrying the extra load or providing dampening from heay impacts) Dyno-Nobel SafeShot Explosive Stowage and Initiation System (Built in safe storage compartments and triggering system for explosive charges. Can also store non-explosive items if he just needs to have things on hand) Matsushita LX-H Hardlight Cutting/Force Application Tool (Hard light system that can work as versatile, variable geometry cutting tool or apply brute force for protection or demolition purposes, has two of these) Hitachi Uchide-no-kozuchi MK2 Extruder/Hotend/Linear Accelerator Assembly (A combination of the hotend of an industrial 3D Printer and a railgun. It can shape and deposit material for some quick and dirty fabrication, but it's ability to superheat and accelerate material means that it can also function as welder, a thermal lance, or a way to accelerate superheated materials at extreme speeds towards whoever Enrique thinks needs some rapid re-education) Ryobi-Milwaukee FUEL M99-Issun-Boshi Rotary Pilebunker (Combination of a drill and jackhammer. It can do mundane things like drive in fasteners, but the main appeal is tearing through tough materials) Sony AIRO Integrated Drone Assistance System (Holds light duty flying drones to assist with construction work. Could support up to six ultra-light drones, less if they are equipped with tools that are actually capable of doing things other than sensing or extremely light duty. Most common configuration equipping the drones with light duty hard light projectors.) Fanuc CRX-Light Duty Supplemental Tool Arm (Third arm can hold an additional tool or brace himself when doing work. Not heavy enough to be used with anything that would require cybernetics to handle) Toyota 2JX Power Core with Overboost Add-on (Powers everything, has extra power mode which can give him a lot more propulsion for a short amount of time, though he will still maneuver like a river barge on land despite the increased speed) E X T R A Anything else? His daughter is alive, has a YSG, and is a member of a tactical Idol group called Perfect All Kill. He knows none of this Theme Song: youtu.be/jSzKcObWkt8

H i s t o r y Test Enrique is from San Washington, from a family that feels no shame about their zero percenter status. The local community was tight knit and his family were well known within it, at every community meeting, political rally, charity drive, or celebration you could find someone from Enrique's family there. They ended up lower middle class through hard work and grit, still near the bottom of the social ladder overall but able to avoid abject poverty. Though he had parents that cared for him, a supportive family, and stable home environment, his childhood was far from carefree. His parents pushed him to work hard and held to high standards, and he was constantly busy between school, helping his parents, and working odd jobs to bring in some extra money. They also made sure he knew just how precarious his situation was, that one bad encounter with the authorities or the gangs could end it all. He himself felt that when his uncle was arrested for radical politics and executed; from that moment onward his parents told him not to rock the boat, to be a model citizen, differentiate himself through dedication to work and following the rules. He didn't believe that this would make people see him differently, neither did his parents, but they saw it as the best way to survive in a harsh world. One common theme of Enrique's work experience was his mechanical aptitude. He was always salvaging, tinkering, and working with anything he could get his hands on. Cybernetics were his passion; he had no money to go to a real college, but he was able to use what he had to move to Old Kinsasha for an apprenticeship as a cybernetics technician. The hours were long, the work was hard, but Enrique learned a great deal and earned praise from all around. He dreamt of bringing what he learned back to San Washington and opening up his own small business, but that required money he didn't have. To try and earn some he took on dangerous work, construction outside the city walls, short contracts in the broken lands. It was only lucky that saved his life on those first few expeditions, before he knew better. That was the work that introduced him to the woman who he would fall in love with, Natsuko. She was different from Enrique, she was from Neo-Tokyo, born with a Yokai Gene and well educated. She was a manager, Enrique always said he fell for her because she was the only one of the managers who bothered to remember the names of the people doing the dangerous and backbreaking work, though if pressed he might admit was because of her charms, her Yokai Gene gave her the ethereal appearance of the classic Yuki-Onna apparation. Together Enrique and Natsuko hatched a plan for the rest of their life. She'd work her corporate job for a while and he would keep doing construction work until they had enough to start up a cybernetics shop together, he could handle the labor and she could handle the management. It wouldn't be a ticket to riches but it would offer them something rare in this world: freedom, a way to earn a living the way they wanted, free from corporate overlords and brutal contracts. Somehow it never bothered him that he'd be selling cybernetics despite having the very few himself; this choice wasn't because he feared them, it is because he was worried too much chrome and it's YG repellant properties would make it hard to care for a wife and eventual child that bore the gene. The journey to get there wasn't easy, Enrique never heard the details but apparently Natsuko's family was hostile to it, and although Enrique's own was not against it, they kept asking him if he was sure. The plan was all going well, Natsuko and Enrique were well on their way to building a life together, they were married (by common law, the official paperwork wasn't done), and they had a child on the way. It all changed one night, one snowy night when Enrique could not sleep and he did not know why. He lied awake, and out of the corner of his eye he saw something, he saw Natsuko disappearing out of the door. He called out to her and she showed no reaction, he ran after her but all he could see was mist and fast melting snow. That was the last he ever saw of her or his unborn child. For weeks he hoped they would return, but as that turned to months he began to accept she was gone. Enrique had no heart for his old dream, and poured all of the money he had into more cybernetics for himself, until he was more chrome than flesh, until he had made himself into the most optimized worker he could be. He was without purpose and intentionally took the most dangerous construction work he could, things in active combat zones or deep into the brokenlands, no longer caring if he lived or died. Years went by and he survived. Endless overtime and dangerous work toughed his exterior even more, but left him with few close confidants. With the money and his own skill, he was able to accumulate his cybernetics without ending up crippling debt to a corporation, but not much else. After several years Neo-Tokyo ended up his home base even if it wasn't his favorite city, but it was the one place that never had a shortage of work for someone skilled and willing to take on the craziest jobs. His reputation brought him into contact with Tsuki, and he trusted her enough to end up being dragged along with whatever ideas she came up with.

Vampire: The Masquerade - Heaven Seemed Insane

Name: Grace Liu (current code name)
Age: 43

Appearance:


Bio:
Grace works for the government. That’s all she will say. Which agency? What clearance? What is her job exactly? Even her stepdaughter can’t get an answer out of her. She rarely shares much, and what she does share seems to shift over time, never adding up to a complete picture. She had a bordering on fanatical devotion to her job, but after near-nervous breakdown, she has worked on having a personal life.

Pure chance led to her meeting James Hawkins, and from their first encounter romance bloomed. James understood her in a way that no one else had, and after a few years they became husband and wife, and Grace became step-mom to James’ daughter Delia. As nice as her relationship with James has been, she does not always see eye to eye with Delia. While they both share a passion for science and technology, Delia is not a rule follower, and find Grace joyless and resents her presence in her life. Tensions eased a bit when Delia went to college, attending Caltech, while James and Grace moved to New Mexico. However, time at home is still tense, and as Delia considers dropping out of graduate school the disagreements have only further intensified.

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

The arrival of the Blind Luck had the militia all abuzz with news of the arrival of the Jedi, disembarking the blind man slowly stepping the heavy metal he carried clicking along the ground. Codari volunteered to stay with the ship and get Goldie settled in while met with the research staff to go over their most recent findings. Varina had already vanished no doubt off with Mor’gann to work on her new weapon. Airus however, finally could get back to his passion... Research and archival, the Blind Luck had become a miniature library of sorts in the lower levels. Training, combat, and meditation were things he did well, better than most many of peers yet... To turn the pages of a book or dig through hundreds of different symbols to decipher a language was truly invigorating.

Striding across the landing sight towards the temple, whispers and discussion from the locals filled the air. Jedi were a myth since the Empire had come and gone... Now they saw a blind man in robes clutching a metal walking stick, how was he supposed to be some galaxy saving Knight fighting for peace?

A couple of small freighters sat around as Airus tilted his head, expanding his sight to encompass more of the building. Feeling the strength of the energy. “...It has been too long since I walked through the halls of a great place like this.”

Raskta was still in the ventilation ducts, wracking her brain about what to do about the unexpected arrival. Her most suspicious equipment had been left in a corner of the ventilation shaft, save for her force pike. She didn’t want to be unarmed, but also knew how suspicious it would look to be carrying one, so she set to work reattaching the casing that concealed it as a walking stick along with the rest of her hiking gear. That was much easier to explain than a force pike. She tried not to make much noise while she did so.

Airus slowly came to a stop underneath the ducts turning his head upwards slowly, cocking his head quizzically. A lazy smile formed as he lifted the staff, striking it softly as if to gauge her reaction. “Hello there young lady.” He spoke lowering the staff to rest his hands upon the top of the beskar item. His blindfold covered eyes staring right up towards her hiding place. “I’d love to know how you got yourself in there... On purpose or an accident?” He asked unmoving as the smile remained. “Then again perhaps you chose a life beyond most Echani... Repair technician.” Joked the Jedi as he waited to see if she would emerge.

Once she saw the jedi logo on his robes she knew who it was instantly, there weren’t many Miraluka jedi even before the purge. Airus, cunning enough to survive the purge, dangerous enough to kill three inquisitors. He was never top of the list of most-wanted Jedi but he was on there radar long enough that Raskta had read his name several times during her ritual of reviewing intel in the downtime between missions. She had never met him nor anyone who knew him, but she placed enough faith in the authors of the intel reports that their assessment of him was accurate. It was a bad idea trying to hide from a Miraluka, and an even worse idea to try and fight when you had only a narrow window to actually attack from. Satisfied that she had done enough to hide anything suspicious, she decided to try diplomacy. Shifting naturally into a casual, joking style of speech, she said

“Ehhh, I guess you could call it happy accident? I was just looking around the area and like, decided to do some urban exploration y’know. I got good vibes. People on HoloNet keep sharing “aesthetic” holo-images of this temple, so I got interested. Then I got here and saw that there’s whole nutso network of tunnels and no one ever shows this. Could be a gold mine of content for my followers on InstaHolo.”
Then Raskta began to climb out of the tunnel, pushing away the piece of the vent she cut, while she remember the details of one of her most reliable cover identities, one that hadn’t been completely blown yet.

“My name’s Raskta. Anyway, I’d be a bad repair technician anyway, sometimes clients come to me with questions about maintenance and I just have to bluff until I can pass them off to someone else. I tell them why they should buy their weapons from us, not what to do with them afterwards. Kinda wish I could go back to my sport dueling days, but that’s a young person’s game.

Luckily for her cover story, there were literally millions of Echani women named Raskta in the galaxy, many of which had been involved in dueling also. She remembered one tournament she won where everyone that made the podium had been named Raskta. That was an awkward moment.

“Interesting... Well Miss Raskta, I am Airus Vel Aath, here to assist the New Republic in their research. These old temples are dangerous, plenty of traps and dangerous creatures live around them.” He paused for a moment the tall and well muscled Miraluka smile slowly moving away. “I suppose we could take you to the proper authorities... But then again it would hardly mean anything.” He spoke, twirling the beskar staff as he stepped back from her. Taking a moment to soak in her aura.

The shifting layers of her soul blended then distorted in an array Varina had told him reminded her of colors.As she spoke layers of it shifted yet again affecting his perceptions of her emotions, she was lying and doing it well... Her mind was well taught and sheltered so no striking there to reach out for her thoughts. What he could tell was that there was an anger and passion at her core that troubled her. He decided to play along for now.

“Well if you are looking for things to get you fame across the holonet. A Sith battle hydra might be a place to start; they are known to live on the planet.”

“Or maybe you could show how the folks who took down the cruel and destructive Empire have tried to remember the fate of the Alderaanians who had no protection from the battle station the Empire unleashed?” He spoke, trying to rile her up to sense out what she was hiding certainly though he’d have to push her buttons... Even selling the bit he sat down his staff against the crates left nearby. “After all this is the place where the Empire was humiliated and the Tarkin doctrine was dealt the mortal blow. You could even say it was the place where hope for a better galaxy was born.”

This was not normal. Nothing about dealing with a force user was. Her mind didn’t feel right, like someone was trying to pull things out of her, and emotions that were normall suppressed were running free. It was useless to try total concealment, but if you could not hide from the enemy, the best thing to do was to confuse them. So Raskta channeled her real anger, her real emotion and launched into a careful rant.
“I guess this is your idea of an enlightening chat, trying to get me riled up to “know thyself” or whatever. Guess you missed the feeling of this from those empire years so you’re trying to make up for lost time? There was a time when I would’ve had more to say about all this, about the events that happened here, a time when I believed any of that stuff I had a point. But that ain’t me anymore, and I’m not going to give you the dignity of an answer or an explanation.”

She was standing at her full height now, face to face with him, glaring up at eyes he did not have with one hand gripping her walking stick tight. There was real emotion behind what she was saying, but careful hiding of the actual core of it all, what she actually cared about.
“I’m sure you’re still dying to hear me talk, so I’ll go out and say it, Fuck Alderaan. Fuck Tarkin, Fuck the rebels, fuck the empire, fuck all of that shit. I don’t care any more. You can’t get me to care any more. Who the fuck knows how many are dead and all of the average person cares about is that they’ve got a new flag, a new boss, a new overlord to ask for handouts from. Until anyone in the galaxy shows me a reason I should give a shit about them, until someone shows that they actually give a shit about accomplishing something other than living life on autopilot, I don’t see why I need to bear the burden of caring about them. So I’m going to go on my life and doing all this stuff you call vapid shit and just working on scrounging up more credits and enjoying my life until I see an actual reason I should wake up and give something my respect. Betcha’ don’t get much of that wisdom hiding out on your mountain for thirty years, eh force toucher or whatever you call yourselves?”

Airus spoke, recoiling slowly at first then changing his own tune. “Ah yes. The ‘nothing has changed crowd’ perhaps for the folks who lived on worlds that were always productive and willing to ignore the pain of others.” He circled around here. “Miraluka, my people. Were forbidden to leave our homeworld and colonies under penalty of death. Mandalorians are a strongly independent people forcibly made to serve the Empire. Twi’leks, Wookies, and more are forced into labor camps.” He never raised his voice as he stepped in circles around her.

“When people who spent ten thousand years defending this galaxy from terrors and horrors needed them. They all abandoned the Jedi in the name of a man who took power for himself.” Airus' voice never took on venom. “Sidious was a cancer upon the galaxy, like all Sith are when they build their empires.” He stopped as his hand rested on her own staff a moment. “And as for your outburst... There is some truth. But... This staff? Is not what it appears. So... Why don’t you be more honest. The war is over, the Jedi live. The Sith have perished.” He spoke, stepping back and pulling his beskar staff to himself.

She turned away, fiddling with her datapad, just in her messages app, pretending she didn’t care. After he finished speaking, she put it away and said

“How about you worry about your stuff and I’ll worry about mine. I don’t even know what a sith is and I don’t think I’m interested in what you have to say about them. I’m leaving now.”

Raskta was standing close to him now, daring him to block her way.

“Well you're free to leave whenever... I’ll be here at the dig site when you want to tell where you got an Imperial Guard pike from... Sure it’s a lovely tale.” The Jedi answered slowly, walking away from her. Letting her know his own suspicions now, figuring it would be a good way to warn her. Echani, Mandalorians, Iridonians, and Jedi had all been called the greatest warriors in the galaxy many times. Yet when the Mandalorians waned after centuries of defeat, the Irdonian’s fell out of favor, and the Jedi had collapsed the Echani had finally taken that illustrious position for their own within the Empire.

Now of course, the Mandalorians were rebuilding and so were the Jedi... That title would leave them again. Airus knew it well, the Jedi had gained that reputation by defeating every single armed force over thousands of years and only the trickery of their long thought dead foe had finally brought them low. He kept walking thinking that this could be part of that born mentality to defeat opponents to prove strength... Though Echani did everything by fighting, even marriage if it was to be believed... Even Mandalorians had a more civilized system than that.

Raskta was relieved but didn’t want to show, keep up an air of annoyance as she walked off, shouting as she walked away.

“I’ll give you the story for free, since you haven’t been able to pick it out of my mind evidently. The pike is a prize for making the podium in short spear dueling at the Byss Invitational, 14 odd years ago. As for why I have it, same reason you have that staff that you keep clutching the center of, very specific grip, perfect width for a lightsaber, a lightsaber you don’t seem to have on you based on how every movement you make isn’t worried about drawing it from any of the usual places. Jedi stuff is deep in a bunch of weapon training manuals, mystical woo woo isn’t the only way to learn what someone is hiding. You are awfully paranoid for a man that’s got senses way beyond any of us average people.”

The fact about it being a prize was correct, and it was even another tournament with three Rasktas on the podium, though none of them were her. She had been busy that year.

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

They picked the highest spot in the area for the DS-1 Memorial. The entire length of the trail up the mountain was lined with metal plaques listing names, they were now incomplete after the guards had gone and the locals had scavenged them for scrap, others remained but had been stained with anti-imperial slogans. The real memorial was at the summit, from the top of the mountain one could see for miles around, even the height of the temple below looked small. Near the final clearing there were several dozen Bronzium statues, honoring the highest-ranking officers and those given posthumous awards; every one of the soldiers killed during Skywalker and Solo’s raid was honored, as were all of the TIE pilots lost during the rebel assault. At the center, standing in front of it all was Tarkin’s statue, eternally frozen with an expression of smug superiority and standing rail straight, with the main memorial behind him.

Tarkin was a complicated figure in Raskta’s life, especially for someone she had never met personally. On a few occasions she had been in the same room when he was present for official occasions, and during her counterinsurgency days in the Storm Commandos Tarkin’s writings were practically gospel, his ethos left an impression even from a distance. At first she believed in it with her whole heart, the Tarkin Doctrine, rule by fear, savagery in service of civilization, brutality to create an order that could stand strong enough to protect all of the galaxy’s citizens, and all of the language about the great work that would enrich the lives of countless generations to come. Once that had been her view also, she probably would’ve bought in even without all of the ideological purity tests, and it was with her even when her unit was committing acts that would’ve been immediate grounds for execution under the Old Republic. Where it faltered was when she saw the end results.

Dankayo was a small planet, a colony out in the Shwuy Exchange, far from the cosmopolitan splendor of Alderaan, but it was one she knew intimately from a long, drawn-out counter guerilla operation. She had been part of the bloodshed and punitive measures but also the genuine acts of aid, setting up schools for the kids, safeguarding moisture farms from rebel raids, and delivering supplies to the areas ravaged by the guerilla war. But now, there was not one trace of her efforts left anymore, not a single lifeform above the microbial level left on the planet. A decision had been made far above her paygrade to cleanse the planet with a Base Delta Zero operation, her unit even having the honors of being the last imperial personnel to leave planet once they had finished the job of providing the targeting data. The most loyal had been evacuated beforehand, all of the rest were given no warning when the fire rained from the skies. The fleet in orbit didn’t stop their barrage until the crust of the planet was slag and the atmosphere had been burnt away, rendering any potential enemy elements fully and incontrovertibly neutralized.

A decision like that was incompatible with any of the lofty goals the empire preached, and she began to see what the rebels meant when they said the empire was built upon lies. Perhaps if she had stopped there, she might’ve even joined their side, but time with the Royal Guard had revealed a new truth to her: Tarkin’s rhetoric was built on contradictions, but Tarkin’s rhetoric was not the rhetoric of the emperor himself. In fragmentary speeches and texts that only the most loyal were allowed to witness she had pieced together the truth: the empire was never the end, it was never the goal, it was merely a means to an end. Palpatine’s public pronouncements were just another layer, and the empire was just his greatest implement for his truest desire, the pursuit of power and perfection above all else. In Palpatine she found truth, she found purpose, and in his power witnessed something that was genuinely awe-inspiring enough to devote her life to.

She took a moment to appreciate the memorial, having seen the renderings but never the actual finished site. It stood as a gigantic wall, tall as a wookie, seemingly flat but actually having an extremely subtle curve to it, matching the curvature of the death star itself, as if this piece had been ripped from the hull. In a way, it was, all of the sections of the wall were created from recovered metal debris, now painted in all black, mimicking the darkness of space. Embedded within it were over a million tiny shards, shimmering and shining as the sunlight reflected off of them. These where pieces had come from a massive composite kyber crystal, one built as a spare for the death star’s superlaser, then pulled out of storage and cut into microscopic pieces for the memorial. Every shard represented one life lost, and with them all arrayed together the entire memorial looked as serene and wondrous as the night’s sky. At the center was a holographic terminal hooked up to a data bank with the names and information of every casualty, allowing visitors to find specific people and project their likeness upon the wall. She contemplated trying to find some of the Royal Guards who had perished in the list, but stopped herself because she never knew if someone could be monitoring the terminal.

Despite appearances, Raskta was not here to appreciate the architecture or reflect on her life decisions. With her macrobinoculars in hand she looked and made note of the layout of the dig site, which entrances had evidence of that they were in use, where the vehicles were parked, any power lines or other equipment set up outside the temple, and trying to keep a rough count of how many she saw around. There were signs that they had some type of armed guards around but nothing else lept out as odd, and after a little more surveying she was satisfied enough to make the trek down to the site itself.

She picked the least busy side of the temple to approach. After watching long enough to be satisfied that no one was around, she walked towards one of the ventilation grills outside the temple and knelt down beside it. Raskta was trying to not look suspicious, no outwardly visible weapons or armor, clothing that looked like a backpacker trekking through the jungle, but the next portion would have to be done quickly because it would look obvious to outside observers. She removed the casing that had concealed her Force Pike as a walking stick and got to work.

A Force Pike did not have the cutting strength of a lightsaber, but it was fine for something like the grill of the ventilation shaft. It even had an advantage for this purpose, the tip of it made cuts that were much thinner those made by a lightsaber, difficult to notice without close examination. With precision trained from a lifetime of dueling, Raskta made an angled slice to the edges of the grill, such that it could be removed by hand but would still lay in place when set. The plans had told her these vents were large, they had to be to supply an underground area as large as the temple had, and it was unlikely that any of the staff of the dig site was interested in them. Her macrobinoculars had a nightvision mode that let her see in the unlit ducts, so she crept from vent to vent and peered into the rooms of the temple complex. Raskta carefully recorded which ones were empty and which ones had evidence of the dig team, though she was unable to survey all of them.

After spending more time than she would like crawling through the ventilation ducts, Raskta only had two tasks left. First, she found a spot to place a cache of supplies she might need for later; she was undecided if she wanted to remain hidden or try to concoct a cover story for her next move, but either way it was beneficial to have a stash that didn’t require a trek all the way back to her ship to retrieve. As she began to emerge from the vent, she heard the noise of a ship touching down. Thoughts started racing in her head, and she decided not to step out yet, watching and listening as a group of people disembarked. It was difficult to discern much of anything about them from this position, so she focused on not making noise and contemplating whether it was better to find another exit shaft and continue her “curious hiker” act or to try and venture into the temple itself.

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

There was a logic to the way the ship was organized, T1 was sure of it, but the reasoning was not anything that it could grasp at the moment. It was trying to understand it when Selene returned and warned him about the objects at the back, curiously, some of the one she had called out as dangerous did not give off any high readings for the energy signatures; building warships on Kuat meant dealing with fantastic amounts of energy but a droid’s sensors gave it a layer of safety that humans lacked, although there were always units where a sensor failure led to the whole processor getting fried when accidentally manipulating the wrong part of one of the lines feeding into a turbolaser battery.

They were already in space when T1 took a break from looking and spoke.

“Why did you warn me about that one? I’ve taken what you’ve said seriously, but I can not see what is dangerous about the objects you have collected in that section. It glows but I can not discern anything else worrying about it. I’m also curious as to the reason for visiting Yavin, if you are willing to share.”

It wasn’t clear whether she heard the droid, or not, the way her eyes, black in the shadowy lighting of the interior of the Wayfarer, stared through the thing as she stood at the end of the storage and its shelving. At least until the wicked, neon bright, grin spread across her lips like a shadow fell upon a lost horizon. Its systems would flutter and fluctuate in that exact, very, moment as the barest murmur of the Force reached out and touched the droid.

No matter how many scans, no matter how many internal log reviews, no matter the depth of the diagnostic, the droid would never know exactly how she went from standing where she was, to literally leaning into him, as if he had an ear for the whisper she gave him in the tone of secret truths.

“The universe whispers to my ears in dark languages, T1, the kind of languages that rarely survive,” in the moment the image of the coronation hall of the Summer Palace sparked to life like a fire in the back of her mind, the sight of cousins and uncles and aunts screaming and clawing at the doors that wouldn’t budge as Sela ir-Ramalla Vitaal, the seventh of her name, stopped being a victim of the galaxy and fate and greed, “I have spent my life following those whispers, and what that is, my inescapably strange droid passenger, is an echo. And in the appalling strangeness that is the blackness of this universe…even echoes can hurt you.”

After a few steps back, the grin was gone, it’s own echo of distant amusement still swirling in the ink pools that were her eyes in the back of the Wayfarer,

“Why Yavin?,” she shrugged, “just following whispers, T1.”

T1 had stopped looking at the treasures and turned to Selene. It had learned humans appreciated directional communication. He said
“Whispers, a quiet form of communication. Is this an aspect of the force? That it speaks, and its speech has the power to harm, and its speech can persist in this world? Forgive me if I am misinterpreting figurative language, most of my existence has been spent in the soundless vacuum, this may cause me to overlook subtleties.”

While it was looking at Selene, it was still checking the inventory of other devices, out of pure curiosity if Selene had picked up anything on this recent excursion.

“It becomes less defined, drifting off into the abstract…” She laughed, gently, as inner tension coiled up and snapped her right hand into her black, perfectly straight and silken hair, to push back with fingers so stiff they looked like they could snap combing through it in cathartic release, “everything is an aspect of the Force, and in the great juxtaposition of nothingness and matter, nothing is an aspect of the Force. Just know it’s like a place you simply should not be, T1, and the doorways will try to seal themselves shut at every opportunity.”
Sweetly, she smiled, “Simple, yes?"

T1 said

“Hard to say what is simple without understanding it. In binary we talk of simple as how much data it would take to convey it, with every trick in the book allowed. A million digits that are all zero is simple to describe, the first section of this sentence is an adequate substitute for writing the entire string. An exact description of a million truly random digits, following no pattern, that would evade any attempt to simplify it without losing some of the minutiae. I will attempt to keep my manipulators away from things that I do not understand in the future, I will make that pledge to you. Is there anything I can assist with?”

The chuckle was a ghost of a thing, barely there, “Learn some sarcasm, and,” she paused, really, really staring at the droid now, “get yourself in the best condition you can—you’re going planetside with me when we get to Yavin.”

The look on her face was cold, even if her eyes might have been apologetic, depending on the angle of the light and the play of the shadow to it in her eyes in that moment.

T1 began to run through the list of maintenance checks for planetary operation inside its mind and said
“Understood. Sarcasm was removed all droid brains procured by Kuat Drive Yards after an incident where a report of a quality defect that led to a warship’s turbolaser unintentionally firing upon a civilian population center was prefaced with ‘Great News!’”

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

Her touch on the flight controls was gentle, measured. Raskta wished that she had the skills of the pilots she had known, those who made flying a true art, something they felt beyond the five senses. She was merely an amateur, knowing enough to handle basic maneuvers but far from sophisticated. The Echani had a saying, one that had served her well at all stages of her life, as a sport duelist, as a soldier, and as one of the royal guards: “Skill begins as slowness, matures to smoothness, and culminates in effortless alacrity”. So, as she took her ship on the journey from low orbit to treetop height, she did her best to make it slow and smooth, befitting the first stage of learning. It also wouldn’t do to damage the ship with a reckless maneuver; it was a technology demonstrator prototype from a line that never reached mass production, in truth she didn’t even know if there any others in the line still operational, and even if there were they would likely have different, higher-grade specifications.

A long descent gave time to survey the planet from above, and time for Raskta to contemplate. While at a stage that the autopilot could handle, she walked into the area she had set aside for meditation. It was at the tip of one of the long pointed frontal pieces of the hull, a place that had sat empty when the ship went from carrying her whole squad to just herself.

There had been nine of them. Three joined half-witted pretenders to throne, Admirals and Moffs that claimed to be Palpatine’s successor while having not one iota of his gifts. They had chosen their new masters based on who made the best offer in money and prestige, a pathetic notion. Two had gone out in a blaze of glory, staging reckless suicide attacks mere hours after they heard of Palpatine’s death. She respected them, sometimes even feeling guilty that she had not done the same, but she had lived to see how such thoughtless actions had resulted in no tangible gain for the empire. One vanished without a trace, rumored to be working as a mercenary or with New Republic Intelligence, both of which would only earn contempt from Raskta. One had chosen a path like Raskta, to live on and uphold the ideals of the empire, to stay in the shadows and look for subtle ways to ensure Palpatine’s dreams lived on. This path required utmost secrecy, and as such neither him nor Raskta knew how to find each other. Lastly, that had left the pilot, the one who had been everyone’s friend, and the last one Raskta had seen in person. He came to her with an idea that he had reached after much contemplation, joining the New Republic, pleading guilty and owning up to all of the sordid deeds that had been done in Palpatine’s name. He saw them as merciful and the only chance to live a different kind of life. It took all of Raskta’s willpower to fake agreement with it even for a few minutes, but that was enough time for him to unlock the ships controls and for her to stab him to death like the traitor he was.

Meditation was one of the things they taught her in the Royal Guards. They were strict about the method of it, all of the tenets were to be followed exactly and any questions as to why or where the technique came from were strictly forbidden. It began with focused intensity, concentration on any strong emotion, and letting the fire build inside. Then came the refinement, the desire to harness this raw emotion into willpower, to draw strength from it. Finally, came the moment for action, the clarity of purpose that came afterwards, driven forward by the innermost will and the ritual was complete. Some found it ineffective, some even loathed it, but Raskta found it to be a useful benefit. In her experience, it gave her a slight but noticeable performance increase after a session and was very useful for washing away any doubts she had before proceeding forward.

After finishing her meditation, she stared out the cockpit window and saw the Temple in the distance. She didn’t know what lay within, she didn't know if there would be others there, and she had only faint ideas of what the Sith was, but she went on because of one strong feeling. If there was anything like Palpatine left in the galaxy, if there was anything that could keep his legacy alive, it lay with whatever was left of the Sith. That possibility alone was worth risking everything, and her purpose was clear as she set the stealthy ship down on a ridge with a clear sightline to the ziggurat.

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

Doctor Doom

---

What Etrigan gave him wasn’t useless, but it was far from a complete picture. The Spear had been in the hands of the government, some division of SHIELD that no longer existed, and was no longer in their possession. The informant’s access did not allow him to know much more. It did contain another useful nugget, that there was a branch of magical organized crime called the Blasphemy Cartel interested in acquiring it, and that Joachim Hesse, a dealer in illicit artifacts had started talking with them, promising he’d be able to assist. Whether Hesse knew where it was or was merely offering his skills in locating it was uncertain, he could even be lying to them, but Doom had no other leads worth pursuing.

Hesse considered himself something of an entrepreneur, one who had blasted out word about his business to every corner of the astral plane, even enlisting some extremely minor spirits as magical spambots. With a trail like that, it didn’t take Doom long to find the location of his sanctum. On the outside it was a converted industrial building in Red Hook, Brooklyn.

Tracking the man’s comings and goings was the first task. For those, Doom used a few strategically placed surveillance devices he built using an ESP32-CAM board, $16 for a two pack at MicroCenter. Although rarely displayed, Doom did have a practical side. The observations revealed that Hesse liked the feel of the city but did not conduct his actual transactions in his own home, his already shaky credibility might take a further hit if mystical guests spotted the Ikea down the street.

The next piece required more power, and so Doom turned to Nabu. He did not do so lightly. He invoked the power of the helmet and the great, billowing form of Nabu appeared before him.

Doom said.

“I would like to discover if you have the power to help with this. I need to see where this man’s magic has been.”
Nabu did not laugh but found Doom’s attempts to avoid humility amusing.

Nabu said.

“I can. You will need to see through my eyes if you wish to harness my magic for this. Are you willing to try that?”

Doom said.

“Do you think me a coward who would not be able to handle this power? Of course I am willing.”

So, Doom opened his mind to Nabu and began to feel his presence in his mind alongside him. It was a spiraling mass, reaching through all of Doom’s thoughts without even trying, and it took effort to avoid surrendering completely. But what it gave was wondrous. Through the eyes of Nabu Doom could see webs and strings connecting all things, invisible pieces of order that guided the world, emanating on every scale, from the stars above to the individual atoms. It was wondrous, like seeing something a thousand times more mesmerizing than a rainbow. The challenge was not finding Hesse’s traces, which was trivial, the challenge was not getting lost in the cornucopia of unknown sensations from everything else. Doom cut it off with a great display of willpower, and when he came back to normal reality it seemed so small even though he had only experienced this augmented vision for a mere few minutes. Nabu was still there and said.

“I am glad you see the value in my perspective.”

Doom did not answer him back.

The scroll had at least mentioned a meeting date and purpose, Hesse and the Blasphemy Cartel were going to do a joint demon summoning as a way of getting to know each other, prelude to additional business, maybe trade in a soul for a favor. The Cartel was due to bring the sacrifices, while Hesse was to prepare the space for the ritual. Once again, Hesse was loath to attempt complicated magic outside a familiar area, and thanks to his surveillance Doom had managed to find all four of the potential spots and lay a curse at each one. All that remained was waiting for them spring the trap.

In the warehouse Hesse and the cartel members argued about who would start the ritual. The cartel was willing to do it but only with Hesse’s guidance, he sensed they were not actually as skilled as they let on, and didn’t want to be caught making a mistake that they couldn’t blame on someone else. There was also the matter of whether the sacrifice should be done at the start or wait until talking with the demon. Finally, Hesse just decided to try the summoning on his own, telling the cartel members “Don’t expect the recipe”, because he was in no mood to help them after this mess. None of that would matter because they would all have bigger concerns.

The fire whirled and whirled, rising higher and bursting with beams of multicolor light, until a great explosion of lightning and smoke erupted. When it cleared enough to see, no demon stood before them, only Doom. He said.

“Doom needs no petty invitations.”

It became clear who were cowards and who had some backbone. All but one of the half dozen Blasphemy Cartel goons stood and fought, but their weak firebolts and bullets enchanted with minor curses simply bounced off Doom’s shields, completely ineffective. His return fire came in the form of bright flashes from his fingertips, perfectly aimed and each hitting with enough force to blow through the primitive wards on the cartel had cast upon their bulletproof vests. When his volley finished, they were all on the ground, even the one who had declined to fight, and Hesse was cowering in the corner. Doom turned to him.

“I understand you were trying to summon someone who would barter for your soul. How quaint.”

With a sweep of his hand Doom invoked the magical power imbued in this place and felt it surge through him, then gripped the very soul of Hesse. It surged out of him, and Hesse’s body went limp as the lifeforce was transferred into the vessel Doom had made.

“I acquire what I need without such trivialities.”

Now doom was satisfied but a nagging thought hit him, unsure if it was Nabu or the back corner of his own mind. He looked over the warehouse and found the people the cartel had brought in anticipation of a sacrifice, still locked in the back of a box truck. They were an odd mix, a pair of bums of the street, a refugee couple, and someone who looked like a crust punk, but all were equally terrified and confused. Doom sighed and opened a portal behind him. Through the other side the lobby of the department of social services was visible. He gestured and said.

“Go on, flee! And tell all who will listen that….”

There was a paused while he came up with the next line.

“Doom saves, and woe be to all who would harm those he protects!”

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

When reading over the intel on Yavin IV, Kyn found himself relieved that at least it was temperate. Plenty of places that needed his skills were out in the middle of nowhere and home to environments so hostile that he spent more effort protecting himself from it than from whoever he was actually supposed to be fighting. The planet wasn’t known for much except the first Death Star meeting its end, but even that wasn’t much a reason to visit. The Empire had kept everyone away and now the debris had fallen into the gas giant, there was nothing to commemorate the occasion except empty space. Not that he expected to see much on the ground either, he knew there was a dig site, and that before the fall of the Empire there was a garrison from when they kicked the rebels out, no one cared enough to have much information on if any of the remnants had actually bothered to stay at the post once word that the New Republic was coming reached the planet.

Kyn checked the cockpit just to see that the droid pilot was still on its course. It was, well, to the extent that a non-pilot could discern, anyway. The droid wasn’t much good for conversation, wasn’t much good for anything except being a reliable pilot, though even that was only in normal circumstances. These glorified space taxis did not do well if they encountered any actual hostiles. At least it gave him plenty of cargo space to himself, a luxury that he didn’t have in the past when he’d been hitching a ride along with some other guns for hire. All of his gear was there, the camping and survival supplies for setting up wherever he found a quiet place in the backcountry, medical supplies in case things went bad, his trusty grenade launcher and pistols, and a probably excessive amount of explosives. Kyn always said he’d rather have too much rather than not enough.

The next thing to do was to review the map of the planet. Yavin IV wasn’t well mapped, and the best he had to go off of was an old survey made by the empire that he got by greasing the right palm. One thing that was clear from the start was how thick the jungle was, great for hiding, not good at all for navigating. Few permanent settlements existed, and much of the planet was beyond their reach. Thankfully, Kyn didn’t have to go searching too far for what he was interested in: the old ziggurat that once held the rebel base. That was where his employer had told him to look, nowhere else. There was precious little information about what was inside. He knew that the rebellion had once used it as a base, but there were no maps or diagrams of its interior that he had access to. Whoever knew that info was either affiliated with the New Republic and unwilling to share, or still clinging to a pile of classified imperial documents and waiting for a price too high for a run of the mill mercenary to afford. His best bet might be just observing and learning from others, the kind of money Kyn’s employer was throwing around was large enough that Kyn doubted he would be the only one interested in seeing what it had to offer.

As the ship hurdled along, Kyn checked his messages again, there was nothing new. He thought he might as well re-read the messages from his mysterious employer, someone who had paid enough to earn some protection against prying questions. Kyn liked the basics of the job. The advance was sizable, enough to cover the cost of supplies and even a droid shuttle rental. The setup was sound too, they were worked with one of Kyn’s most trusted intermediaries, were willing to provide proof of the money beforehand, and didn’t insist on any potentially dicey meetups, it was all fine as long as the artifacts made it to them safe. Those artifacts were the only part that gave Kyn pause. The job had come with a thick packet of files on how to spot exactly what the client was looking for, and included a price list for each type, this job could be anywhere from very profitable to enough to actually buy a cheap homestead on the outer rim and lay up his guns for good. That’d be the life.

The ship was getting closer to Yavin, closer to the point where it would drop him off in thick of the jungle and then head back to orbit, waiting for his call. Kyn had done enough preparation and looked for something else to do. For a moment, Kyn stared at the messages again, hoping for something else to show up. He started to type in the search bar to re-read some old ones, reminisce about what he used to have, but stopped himself when he thought about how it would feel when he saw how long it had been since the last reply.

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

One of these may actually end up as

Sad Dad

Name: Kyn Kennatus
Species: Human
Homeworld: Parada
Age: 50
Gender: Male
Rank: Sergeant (at time of discharge)
Master: Not Force Sensitive

Equipment:

Mark 1 Katarn Class Armor, cobbled together from a few different suits, none in pristine condition. Bacta injection and shields are both broken.
Relby-v10 micro grenade launcher
Verpine shatter gun pistol
Vibro-Knife

Espo grenade mortar (Not carried with him at all times)
Various explosives

Survival Gear
Medkit
History:

Kyn grew up on Parada, an agricultural world where not much happened. His family were hard-working farmers who had built their crop of land into the envy of the rest of the town, well-respected and pillars of the community. As was custom, he joined the local militia for a tour of duty, a family tradition expected of the eldest child before they could take over operations on the farm. The Clone Wars broke out early into Kyn’s service, and he was deployed to planets far away from home. The bulk of his service took place on Atraken, home of one of the longest and bloodiest sieges of the whole war. For months his unit was at the front lines, never breaking through, holding their position but without any allied reserves to allow them to withdraw. Supplies were meager and infrequent, but by some miracle they endured. When they were finally able to break out it was due to Jedi volunteering for a suicide mission, none of them made it back, but Kyn and all of the survivors of his unit always knew they owed their lives to the Jedi.

The conclusion of the war came shortly afterwards. When Order 66 came around and his unit was supposed to aid the clone troopers, a short search confirmed that all of the Jedi that had been with them on Atraken had indeed been killed in the fighting beforehand. Kyn demobilized and returned home to Parada, finding the planet far different than it had been before. The sector’s senators had opposed a number of Palpatine’s measures to consolidate control, as retaliation for that and out of a desire to reward loyalists, massive portions of the planets land were seized and given to TaggeCo, and others connected to the seat of power. The Kennatus family land was gone, and Kyn found his only option was to work on a corporate owned plot of land and keep piling up debt. Not all was for the worst, the town’s community remained tight-knit, and he even married his high school sweetheart, Arisa. Together they built a humble life, raising kids and scraping by on the farm.

After the war, rumors began to spread about a mysterious man living the woods, someone possessing wondrous powers. It created fear, but in every encounter the man was kind and timid, not menacing. Still unsettled by it, Kyn set out to track him down and almost succeeded until his wife begged him to stop. She explained that this man was a Jedi, her brother who had gone away as a child for training and now seeking to hide from the great purge. Kyn agreed to keep the secret and aided in helping him hide. Over time, Arisa’s brother became known as a semi-mythical protector, watching over the town from the shadows, beloved by all the residents and always vanishing whenever any imperial forces looked for him.

The later years were hard for the planet of Parada. Economic demands meant that precious little of the food grown could be kept to feed themselves, and when they pushed back the empire confiscated the grain by force. One bad year for crops and famine gripped then entire planet, starvation killed entire families. Kyn did his best to provide but saw the supply dwindle to nothing, and he had no way to procure any more, no money, no one willing to lend him, nothing he could barter. He thought and he thought and then he decided on a course of action, telling no one. Kyn told his family he was setting off on a hunting trip, and that was true in a sense. It was difficult and relied on the trust he had built up with Arisa’s brother, but he succeeded in setting an ambush and claiming a substantial reward from the Empire for his service. When he returned home with the money, they were elated, not only did they have enough for food, they could even contemplate moving off world and starting fresh again, away from the demands of serfdom. That joy did not last as Kyn refused to answer details about where the money came from, “inheritance” and “calling in favors” did not satisfy their questions. He never learned how Arisa figured it out, but he will never forget how everything changed afterwards. His beloved wife, his kids now saw him as something completely different, they didn’t even want to talk to him after what he had done. It never got better. Word spread around the town also, and Kyn was the pariah, the man who had slayed the town’s protector. When Arisa and the kids left him all he could say was that he did it because he loved them; it was true, but it was also the only thing he could say that wouldn’t make it sting even worse.
It has been eight years since that day. Kyn has turned to traveling the stars as a mercenary, he knows no permanent home, no permanent kinship, and serves any cause only as long as they can pay him. He hates fighting and any attempt to romanticize it, but he has never found anything else that he feels like he can do well. In the good times, when he has earned enough to relax between jobs, he can drown some of his feelings away at the bar, when he is low, when he is ready to march to the front again, he wonders if he was ever going to fit into a normal life. As a mercenary, he’s agreeable and has some scruples, not a paragon of morality but there are classes of jobs that are too nasty for him to do, and when fighting he is known for pragmatism and improvisation, trusting on his wits to keep him alive as his body ages.

Edgelady

Name: Raskta Eto
Species: Human
Homeworld: Eshan
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Rank: No formal rank
Master: No formal master, trained by Imperial Royal Guard

Equipment:

Royal Guard Armor

Force Pike
Heavy Blaster Pistol
T-21 light repeating blaster
Vibroknife

Lambda Class Shuttle
History:

Born on Eshan to a large family, Raskta struggled for attention from the very start. Echani society as a whole was in turmoil when she was growing up, the end of The Clone Wars and consolidation of the Empire’s forces reduced the demand for Echani fighting expertise. Two forces emerged to fill the void that family and society could not: martial arts, and the ideology of the Empire’s New Order. Raskta cultivated her competitive streak and threw herself into training until she was winning competitions, no easy feat on a world as dedicated to combat as Eshan. At school and elsewhere she was a dedicated member of the junior division of the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order, happily consuming imperial propaganda, promoting imperial values, and monitoring others for ideological conformity. It gave a sense of peace to the young girl, made it all seem so understandable.

When she was of age, she applied for the Imperial Academy on Carida and was accepted into the Stormtrooper Corps. While there she was there, she displayed an intense focus and serious nature. In training she specialized in counterinsurgency and was enrolled into the Storm Commandos and saw action almost immediately upon graduation. With the fires of rebellion burning across the galaxy, there was no shortage of work for Raskta and her fellow commandos. Seeing the violence of suppressing rebels firsthand certainly raised some questions in her, but even the shock of seeing the aftermath of a Base Delta Zero could be overcome when the constant demands of battle suppressed her time to contemplate.

When she heard that she was selected for the Royal Guard she was unaware that she was even under consideration, but she dared not say no. Her Echani training paid off, that little experience gave her a slight edge in the face of the extreme demands. Training was even more brutal than her days at the Academy and even the smallest senses of personal identity were beaten out of her, but the Royal Guard gave her something that she would forever be grateful for: purpose. Though devoted to the values of the Empire, laws, principles, and institutions all seemed to be abstract for Raskta, not real enough to banish all doubts, but in this training, there was one and only one focus for all loyalty: Palpatine himself. He became the symbol of her life’s meaning, and though she would never see him until the final day of training, when she struck down another one of her fellow candidates in the arena as he watched silently, the image in her mind was enough. When she learned the truth about the Sith and the powers of the dark side, she was fascinated, before she had hardly ever contemplated the force, now it intrigued her. Raskta didn’t have much of a desire for power or to study the techniques without permission, but belief in it dovetailed with her faith in Palpatine, and she came to believe that the Force itself had predestined her to follow this path, to be a cog in the machine of Palpatine’s great work.

Once she had graduated to a full member, Raskta was assigned to one of the proactive units, tasked with hunting down potential threats and neutralizing them. They worked in small units, often far away from Coruscant, more isolated than those trusted with direct security. In all likelihood, this assignment is what saved her life, so many of her fellow Guards died with Palpatine at the Battle of Endor. When she heard the news her world shattered, if she hadn’t been traveling through deep space, she probably would’ve thrown herself into a suicidal mission against the rebellion that very day. After time to calm down, Raskta contemplated her options and found none of them satisfactory. Fleeing and hiding would only demonstrate cowardice and delay the inevitable, none of the various pretenders to throne could hope to honor the legacy of Palpatine, and attempting to defect to the other side would betray all that she had stood for. In the end, she chose to use the skills she had as an assassin, one with discernment and unwilling to take jobs unless she felt that the force had called her on this. She is emotionally detached and still searching for a path in life, being unable to let go of her previous life completely.