Quest Abandoner

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro listened attentively to Shirik, enraptured by the Iriad’s history. The endless forests of Myriad captured her imagination in particular; the woodlands of Earth sounded like paltry scraps of land in comparison. She felt herself longing to run through the dark forest of the Iriad's homeland under a dense canopy of leaves like some pre-historic human. Shirik seemed nostalgic for his people's home, but hadn’t been there in… over one hundred years? She cocked an eyebrow at this figure in disbelief, but the Iriad went on. Itxaro reminded herself that trees lived far longer than anything in the animal kingdom, and that it was entirely possible whatever Shirik was shared that longevity. Trees don’t walk around and shoot fire though.

“Wow. I’m 35, and I feel ancient sometimes. But traveling around your world sounds nice right about now after being stuck in the Jotunheim. Any grand cities in the Myriad? I think I’d like to go just for the forests, they sound beautiful. We kind of ruined ours back home,” Itxaro asked eagerly. It sounded like Shirik got a front-row seat to witness his world’s leap into a sort of renaissance, so perhaps this was a particularly exciting time for him. This sent her mind wandering down another path, and she couldn’t stop herself from drilling Shirik with questions. She didn’t notice he asked nothing from her, a momentary lapse in awareness on her part.

“So, the magic; new development around here, or is that something that’s always been possible?”

---

“That’s right,” Itxaro replied to Kareet, “No magic needed. But it isn’t easy. It took humans a long time to figure it out, and even longer to use it properly. There were a lot of things we had to learn first.” She tensed visibly in her seated position when Kareet summoned a ball of lighting between her hands with ease. That’ll take some getting used to. Itxaro supposed that the human’s technology must be just as baffling and threatening to the aliens as their magic was to her, so she tried to relax and trust Kareet wouldn’t lose control and send 100 million volts directly into her face.

“Yeah, that’s electricity alright,” Itxaro said, eying the sparking orb. “We don’t really use lightning though, there’re other ways to generate the same power from it. You can burn wood or coal to generate electricity if you know how, but it isn’t nearly as efficient or strong. Seems like you’ve got a leg up on us there.” She wondered how much faster human technology would have developed if they had the ability to draw a potentially endless source of energy from the ether, using nothing but their hands. Could have probably saved the environment a lot of pain with that trick. Sorry about that, Mother Nature.

“But you can’t just shoot lightning into a hunk of metal and expect it to fly across space. The first thing we did with electricity was heat up a little piece of metal, and used it like a candle. You’d need a capacitor to store the electricity, to save it, so you can use a little bit of it at a time.” Itxaro felt like she was putting the cart before the horse. She doubted they had steam power, let alone gas light, so explaining electricity felt beyond what she suspected they could comprehend or even utilize. The urge to explore, to see the cities of this world and what level of development they’d reached, was becoming almost unbearable. “I’ll see if I can find some books about it for you that can explain it better and get a translation going. Also, speaking of books, the ones I gave you? Highly flammable on this planet. Careful with that.” She gave Kareet and apologetic shrug. “Wouldn’t take any notes in that unless you’re ready to see them go up in flames.” She made a mental note to come up with some sort of paper alternative that would be used to share knowledge with the locals that wouldn't smolder immediately; perhaps the natives had some fire-resistant plant they used.

---

Itxaro spotted Barberio, the pale machinist, escape from the Jotunheim’s belly for what just might have been the first time since crashing, and he was greeted almost instantly by Kerchak, another eager scholar from what she gathered. An idea quickly formed in her mind, and not wanting to interrupt the machinist’s lively conversation, she opted to send him a message through the ship’s extranet using her tablet.

>Hey Barberio, the locals are real interested in electricity. If we get the reactors working, any chance you could fabricate a couple models for them? Maybe a little ac generator, steam engine, all that fun stuff?

Itxaro looked over to Vigdis and Nellara, and quickly picked up on the engineer’s plan. “Looks like they’re gonna see just how much juice is in your magic, Kareet. Might wanna watch this!”

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

After scanning beyond the scorched crash zone, Itxaro spotted her tree friend, sitting beneath a tree. Fitting. As she approached Shirik, the doctor hesitated; he seemed to be resting, if the Iriad was capable of such, or perhaps meditating. Either way, Itxaro wasn't eager to disturb him. Just as she was turning to leave, Itxaro heard his rumbling voice, which was also picked up by her translation program. She couldn't help but chuckle as the translator repeated his words in English, utilizing her own voice she'd just installed. Gonna have to tweak that.

Itxaro strode over and sat down in the soft grass, still damp with morning dew, across from the Iriad. She leaned back for a moment and stretched her sore limbs, leg still aching from the graze a week ago, and let the alien sun warm her face through the tree's branches. After being cooped up in engineering for so long, Itxaro didn't particularly care if she was getting a healthy dose of radiation from the star or not.

"Thanks, Shirik. And yeah, that's what they tell me anyways," Itxaro replied, looking back to the Iriad. "Think of it like a little Gar'Tan, but dumber, and not as scary-looking." Itxaro was amused, hearing the program spit her own words back out in a totally foreign language.

"So, how's that? Make any sense at all or just gibberish?"

Itxaro took a moment to tweak the translation software on her datapad, removing her own voice for incoming translations. She paused for a moment and glanced at Shirik as her finger hovered over the "masculine" and "feminine" default voice options before selecting the former. She wondered if the Iriad even had a gender, but figured the deeper of the two would be appropriate. Itxaro briefly toyed with the idea of uploading famous human voices for the program to use, but decided it was best to stick to the basics for now. Still, her mind tore through several humans to use that would best represent Shirik and the others.

The Iriad spoke of home, Earth, and Itxaro turned his words over in her head. "Well," she replied after a moment, "it's definitely farther than I thought we'd make it. I'll be honest, I didn't have much faith in that heap of scrap over there. Guess my gut was only half-right." She looked over to the Jotunheim's wreck, contemplating her own words. It wasn't exactly the ship, which was a sound piece of engineering, but everything surrounding it. Alien technology, corporate oversight, untested AI, the lot of it. Too many moving parts.

"And if I'm being honest, we don't even know how far we went. Hell, on the cosmic scale, our worlds could be neighbors." Even as she said it, Itxaro knew it couldn't be true. 200 years of scanning planets light years from Earth hadn't revealed anything like the garden world they crashed on, let alone a rock remotely capable of hosting complex life. No, they were far. "Nah, I'm not homesick yet. We knew what we signed up for. Well, most of us, anyways," she finished, thinking of the stowaways who had definitely not volunteered for an interstellar road trip. She supposed it was better than being gunned down by shadowy mercenaries. Her leg throbbed involuntarily at the thought.

"What about you? Where's home for Shirik? I'm guessing you don't vibe with the Ascendency, and definitely not with our good friend Silbermine. Tell me about where you're from," Itxaro asked with a gentle smile, genuinely curious.

Shirik intrigued Itxaro on multiple levels. The first, obviously, purely physical. A sentient burning torch. Who wouldn't be curious? But beyond that and the magic, he seemed less... Frantic, somehow, than the other aliens. The Iriad wasn't constantly plying her with questions, eager to get something from them, desperate to learn, for which she couldn't blame them. Perhaps Shirik was simply playing it cool, looking at the long game, or maybe this was just his disposition.

---

As if to provide a counter for Shirik, Kareet approached the two, and Itxaro waved them over. This one, on the other hand... Very curious. The Tekeri dove beak-first into the new technology, and Itxaro grinned. She was pleased Kareet still had the books and pen she'd gifted to her, but then remembered with a twinge of panic just how flammable the paper was in this atmosphere. "Well, hello to you too, Kareet! Come on, join us," Itxaro said in response to the Tekeri's loaded question, an attempt to buy herself some time. Golems? Really? Am I in the Talmud? Itxaro decided to save her questions for later, and answer the one at hand.

"Not magic, no; it just seems like it. In about 600 years or so, your people will probably figure out how to do this yourselves. Well, if you follow humanity's path anyways." Itxaro thought for a moment, considering how best to describe a computer to both an alien and someone completely unfamiliar with electricity. Teaching quantum mechanics to a first-year student would probably be easier.

"Well, I guess it starts with power. Think of how lightning strikes in a storm. We're able to harness the dominant influence within lightning, which we call electricity. We generate it, make it small, and use it, like how you channel a river to turn a watermill, which uses the energy to saw wood. We send the electricity through metal and sand, and through some complicated math that even I'm not sure about, we can make it do what we want. We can store information with it like a book, use it to solve math problems for us like a giant abbicus, or help us send ships flying across space and into the dirt. And it works much faster than our minds can, but it only does what we tell it to," Itxaro said. She didn't bother bringing up the AI they had on board, which would only complicate matters even further.

"But it isn't magic, and it isn't sentient, just like how rain or wind isn't intelligent. The process is more like... Smithing. I couldn't figure out how to make a nail from a lump of iron, but J'eon, who knows all about it, could make a suit of armor in his sleep. It seems impossible to me, but not to him." Itxaro searched the Tekeri's eyes for understanding. It was much to take in, perhaps too much; she'd need hours upon hours to fully explain it to her, but Itxaro hoped the simple answer would suffice for now.

---

"Hey, did you say, uh, golems?" Itxaro asked in disbelief before she was cut off by a voice coming over her comms system. Barberio, the quiet, work-oriented machinist Itxaro had barely spoken to over the hectic week.

Itxaro let out a deep sigh and pushed down her annoyance before responding. A machinist, she thought, probably shouldn't be tinkering with nuclear reactors. I sure as hell wouldn't put my hands anywhere near his CNC machine. Would probably tear my other arm off. Then again, Itxaro considered, it was hypocritical to complain about Barberio working on a reactor when she was out here playing diplomat, something totally beyond her own skillset. "Nowhere near enough juice to get the reactors fired up, so we're just taking a break, chatting with our new friends here. Why don't you join us?" Itxaro asked, in part because she wasn't sure if the machinist had stepped outside since they crashed judging from his complexion, but also to pull him away from the reactors. Recalling his dossier, Itxaro remembered the man was a polyglot with a penchant for writing code, so she figured the lure of a native language and translation program would be a sufficient draw.

"Sorry about that," Itxaro said to her two companions. "Coworkers. You know how it is."

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Seven days.

A full week spent on an alien planet, filled with unique life and sentient creatures.

And I’ve spent most of that time in this fucking tomb, Itxaro mused bitterly as she crawled through the Jotunheim’s guts, covered in hydraulic fluid, grease, and sweat. The air was beginning to grow stale onboard the Jo, recycled atmosphere mixed with the smell of unwashed bodies. The lower decks were even worse, the cramped spaces and dim lighting making her feel as if she was trapped in a metal coffin.

Itxaro had spent several years working aboard spacecraft, but they were nothing like the Jotunheim’s submarine-like configuration. Both the USASR’s design philosophy and Itxaro’s need for space to house massive FTL drives she created meant that the ships she’d grown used to completely dwarfed the Jotunheim. Itxaro could bounce around in zero-g on those behemoths for weeks and never feel the slightest twinge of claustrophobia. On the Jotunheim, however, it was growing oppressive after just a few days of hard labor.

The doctor was currently sawing away at the lifeboats, cannibalizing the tiny crafts for whatever parts they could use. The miniscule capacitors onboard the escape pod and the shattered solar panels that fed the life support system wouldn’t be enough to jumpstart the reactors, but they might get the kitchen running again.

She hadn’t even bothered with the alien Alcubierre drive yet; there was no sense in it. Until the ship could exit the planet’s atmosphere, the device that got them here in the first place, and their only hope of returning home, would just have to wait.

The first humans on an alien world and we’re trying to get the hell off it.

It occurred to Itxaro that she’d been here an entire week, yet she’d only seen a square mile of the planet’s surface. She hadn’t even spoken to their new friends since the last tense meeting outside the Jotunheim’s cargo bay, the frantic repairs keeping her away. Deciding it was time to change that, Itxaro wiped her face with a rag and climbed out of her dungeon.

---

Itxaro was eager to test the new translation software now installed in her datapad; she loathed the artificial intelligence that created it, but had to admit even a team of human linguists wouldn’t have been nearly as quick. The doctor fed some of her own speech into the program, recorded lectures she’d found saved on her tablet. With some tinkering, Itxaro managed to have the translator speak in her own voice. Well, an approximation. It was stiff and flat, but still better than the droning monotone of the program’s default voice. Armed with her new tool, she stepped out of the dark ship, into the bright light of an alien sun, and sought out her first target.

The doctor knew she should probably find Nellara and drill the diplomat/soldier for as much lifesaving information as she could, but instead, Itxaro started searching the burned mountainside for a familiar, craggy, smoldering silhouette.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Gar’Tan made it clear that, whatever the humans were currently thinking of KA's governments, they were wrong. Itxaro began to suspect that perhaps Earth political structures weren’t really applicable here, and they’d have to form new opinions rather than rely on past prejudices. They were receiving all information secondhand, rather than experiencing it themselves, which made drawing any solid conclusions even more difficult. Perhaps, if the commander allowed it, they could arrange a trip to the nearby cities to gain more intel. Or maybe Zey doesn’t need to know about it.

J’eon mentioned that he would have to look further into developing a sword for her. This idea opened up a whole new world of exchange in Itxaro’s mind; they didn’t have to share the most cutting-edge technology with the aliens. We can just teach them old stuff. Types of swords, different ways of mixing materials to form stronger building materials. It doesn’t have to be warp drive.

“Actually, J’eon, hold off on that sword for now; I might have a custom order that might interest you.”

Mallory seemed skeptical of the native’s motivations, particularly J’eon’s at the moment. Maybe because he’s a Glen? Itxaro shrugged in response. "I don’t know X.O., maybe he’s just along for the ride. J'eon, my good friend here wants to know; why are you here?”

Vigdis and Kareet seemed totally engaged in an exchange, and a slight smile flashed across her face. She was happy to see she wasn’t the only one interested in engaging with the locals; or so she assumed. Vigdis did voice their concern about the translation speed, however. “Well, I was hoping Gar’Tan here could just, uh, transmit the language into our heads, but I don’t think that’s possible, so it's up to us. You’re right, as much as I hate it, we’ll have to use Wodan and our translators.”

Kercheck stepped forward and gave the humans quite a show, his feathery arm transforming into a chitinous, shining blade. Itxaro audibly gasped, followed by a nervous laugh. Either Ezra wasn’t watching or didn’t catch that, because if he had, this little birdie would have an extra hole in their head. “Uhh, yeah Kercheck, we’ll be sure to set up a little exchange sometime soon. I’ve also got a leg dealing me some misery if you’d like to take a look at it sometime. Just keep that thing put away for now, ok?”

Itxaro shifted uncomfortably as the conversation continued. Things were becoming too complicated, and with Gar’Tan present, the humans couldn’t even formulate a game plan. If it had just been her, Itxaro thought, things might be different, but it was growing crowded now. She heard a clamor behind her as various crewmembers and stowaways peeked over the barricade in the shuttle, eager to catch a glimpse of this world’s inhabitants. Not great.

“Listen, X.O., how about we preserve the goodwill we’ve got here and call it a night before things get out of hand?” Itxaro said eagerly, ready to end their exchange. She turned to address the aliens. “Thank you all for meeting us here. I… Can’t believe we’re actually talking to eachother, and you’ve given us a lot to discuss. Our priority first is to learn your language, so we can all communicate without Gar’Tan’s help. No offense, Gar'Tan,” Itxaro said, glancing around. “From there, I guess we can begin negotiations. Exchanging knowledge, learning from eachother. That sort of thing, right?” She looked back to her crewmembers, as if for reassurance. “So, stick around in the meantime, ok? We're gonna need your help.”

Itxaro felt self-conscious of her little public address. It seemed stilted and awkard, but sincere. She hoped it was enough.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

The brainwaves, as she thought of them, kept on coming, and Itxaro was surprisingly growing used to the mode of communication. Strange, yes, but quick and efficient; she was jealous of Gar’Tan’s ability to transcend crude language and emotion, and convey speech directly to someone’s head. Her English was good, but sometimes Itxaro struggled to find the right words, or used idioms that didn’t translate. Then again, Gar’Tan described how these Thought mages could be hunted down and killed if they went rogue, so perhaps it was best if she didn’t possess this ability. She stuck with her tablet, relaying the messages as they came to those not partaking in the Thought mage’s transmissions.

---

@Eviledd1984

Kercheck was growing increasingly curious about the human’s technology and their history. Itxaro let Vigdis field that particular line of questioning, given the engineer’s concern with operational security. The Tekeri also asked about the human’s weaponry, and Itxaro glanced at Mallory and Vigdis briefly before answering. “Weapons are a bit of a touchy subject right now, Kercheck. Some are working, others aren’t. I’d love to give you a demonstration later, if the big boss allows us,” Itxaro said. “We’re able to hold our own though. What, uhh, what kind of ‘combative capacity’ are you talking about, life magic?” It seemed strange to Itxaro to call it “life magic” and then use it as a weapon, but she recalled seeing the Tekeri transform into an actual bird. Might be a pretty wide field of study. Itxaro was aching for a demo, and her injured leg was dealing her misery; maybe Kercheck could help her out. Still, Itxaro didn’t ask. Any move from them right now could end up with Ezra's itchy trigger finger getting its bloody wish.

---

@EliteCommander

Itxaro stood in amazement as Gar’Tan described the workings of the Inquisitor’s Guild. There was really no Earth analog to the organization; she racked her mind for historical examples but couldn’t recall anything quite as spectacular. Itxaro had immense respect for the S’tor now. She imagined the sacrifice it took to be part of the guild, the stress of knowing that at any moment, your trusted companions would cut you down if you slipped up. Can't be easy.

Itxaro also admired his candidness; Gar’Tan answered, to the best of his abilities, her rather blunt question. Can we trust the Nellara? The answer was, well, mixed. Itxaro hadn’t expected a black-and-white world, though she’d certainly been hoping for one. It would have made negotiations easier. It sounded like Gar’Tan was urging caution, patience, and negotiation. The humans were in a precarious situation, but still a powerful one. If they were to tip their favor in one way or the other, it would probably be considered reason for war. Still not crazy about Mythadia though.

"Thanks for your honesty, Gar’Tan,” Itxaro said. “Will you be able to stick around for a while? We might need you as a translator with the Glen.” Itxaro was finding herself taking on a lot of authority with her impromptu role as go-between, and she wasn’t loving it, largely because she didn’t know the commander or her X.O. well, as she’d just so recently found out. It was hard to judge what they wanted from the natives, almost as difficult as it was to find out what the natives wanted from them.

Mallory mentioned that they should learn their language, rather than speak through the Thought mage. Good idea in theory, but we probably have about a week or two before shit really hits the fan. Not enough time to become fluent diplomats. She took a moment to consider, and felt foolish asking, but did so anyways. “A lot of us here, myself not included, don’t really trust the whole Thought mage process. Is there any way we could learn your language? Any scholars around? Could you just, I don’t know, send the language into our brains? If not, we have some tools that could speed up the process.” Itxaro figured explaining the concept of an AI would take too much time, so she went with "tool" instead. Not entirely inaccurate.

---

@Starlance

Unlike the aliens, Vigdis’ motives were clear from the first to Itxaro. Don’t open Pandora’s Box on this planet. Itxaro was hesitant to give up her position as translator, but she knew it was probably the right call. Or at least, the call the commander would make. Gar’Tan led her to believe he wasn’t digging into her memory, just skimming the surface. Even though Itxaro thought this was true, it could still be dangerous. "Fine, fine, we’ll get someone else after this. They’ll have to be a tabula rasa though, totally empty brain, ya know, not a lot going on upstairs,” Itxaro replied, thinking before letting out a laugh. “Our good friend Tyreese fits that description. We’ll run it by the commander or the X.O. I guess, maybe Wodan. Whoever’s taken a tally of the stowaways.”

---

@Blizz

Shirk, who had been smoldering and silent, finally spoke up in his crackling voice. Gar’Tan translated in real time, and Itxaro was almost giddy to hear her translating companion speak. If not directly to her, at least through Gar’Tan. Her excitement quickly faded, however, as Shirik described Silbermine. As she’d suspected, Shirik was the oldest in this group, perhaps by far, and a veteran of some terrible war. Itxaro wondered if this war is why he constantly burned, unlike the green Iriad standing by Gar’Tan. Itxaro felt traces of Shirik’s anger and sorrow laced through the thoughts, not enough to sway her, but just enough for her to feel sympathetic. Granted, she already was partial to the smoking tree.

Shirik’s description of Mythadia was no less harsh, as the Iriad tore apart their brutal customs and religion of domination. Shirik seemed neutral towards the Ascendancy, but harbored a hatred toward Mythadia’s rulers; perhaps all rulers, she wondered. Itxaro scrawled Shirik’s speech into her notes as fast as she could, sparing no detail, her nimble fingers seemingly independent of her body. Shirik’s description of Mythadia’s cruel leaders further set her against the Glen, as it aligned with her ideology. Dogmatic religion, war-like, and imperialist. All things a good socialist loathes.

"We've had our share of war at home," Itxaro replied,"Some here have experienced it firsthand. Trust me, we're not eager to bring it to your world either." Well, most of us, anyways. Can't speak for Ezra and Tyreese. "It sounds like Silbermine doesn't share our thoughts though. That might be tricky."

Though he hadn’t said it, Itxaro suspected Shirik would be siding with the Ascendancy no matter who the humans ended up with, and she would hate to be on the receiving end of his heat magic. One point for the Ascendancy. She didn’t want to delve any deeper into Shirik’s thoughts on warfare or the Mtyhandia, though; Itxaro was pretty sure where he stood, and conflict didn’t seem to be a pleasant topic for the Iriad. He’d also mentioned magic was rare, yet it seemed everyone here had some form of ability. Just luck, or something else? Perhaps it was a gift reserved for the elite. He'd said few are capable, which suggested it was more a random chance.

“When we first met, I think you offered to teach us magic. Is it really that simple? Do you think humans could learn? If we, ya know, taught you some stuff too, of course,” Itxaro asked apprehensively. Surely the others would be willing to trade some rudimentary technology for magic. She briefly imagined herself perched atop a mountain peak, cloaked in flowing robes that rippled in the wind as she conjured flames to hurtle at her enemies like some ancient djinn unleashed. Absolutely ridiculous. Pretty cool though.

---

@Expendable

Jeon followed up Shirik’s tale with a similarly miserable one, of slavery and escape. Itxaro’s heart ached for the hulking Glen; her distant ancestors had been slaves, brought by the Spanish from Africa to Cuba, for their supposed “stronger constitution”. She was saddened to learn the institution was practiced here, on this new world, but not surprised. It wasn’t clear who enslaved Jeon, and Itxaro didn’t dare ask, but he did flee to Mythadia to join a Blacksmiths’ Guild. Aha, so I was right! She had suspected the Glen was a smith from his medallion, along with the cart of goods he towed behind him sometimes. Itxaro idly wondered if the Glen could make a sword for her; she’d left all hers at home.

Jeon also mentioned “controlling the flame,” and she had a feeling this wasn’t just a metaphor for blacksmithing. Another mage. Glad I didn't piss him off. “You said Silbermine isn’t thinking straight. What about his leader? Will they all be similarly, uh, rabid?” Itxaro asked ineloquently. “Is there any way we can contact others in Mythadia, make them see reason if they’re not all so zealous? Maybe have them challenge his authority? If war breaks out, it could be devastating to Mythadia. If not, we’re going to be dealing with Silbermine, which doesn’t sound like good odds to me.” Itxaro paused before sheepishly asking, “Hey, any chance you got a sword about my size? Hell, I’d settle for a little dagger or something.” She couldn’t help herself. All these swaggering swordsmen had her longing for one of her own.

---

@13org

Nellara came in last, with a veritable treasure trove of information. She promised not to include the Jotunheim’s crew in the ensuing battle. “No offense, but it seems to me we’re already part of the conflict, whether we like it or not, and just about the only thing that can prevent it,” Itxaro said cautiously. Nellara said she wanted to protect the humans; it seemed like the Ascendency did this since the Jotunheim was on their borders, and Itxaro partly believed this, but medieval borders had been incredibly flexible on Earth, almost to the point of nonexistence. Distances of a couple miles weren’t even considered worth fighting over. Unless there was something valuable sitting on top the border.

Nellara seemed disappointed the humans were still so wary of them, despite all of her efforts. Itxaro considered this for a moment, and opted to relay her message directly through thought. Listen, we’re all on edge here. We don’t even trust eachother, let alone a new people we just met not a day ago. Give us some time, be patient, and we’ll come around. I’ll keep on them about it, I promise. And I'll do my best to arrange a meeting with you and the commander, Zey.

Nellara went on to describe Mythadia, building upon Shirik’s bleak depiction, and of the Ascendency itself, painting it as a secular meritocracy that focused on commerce. The trade unionists back home would love this, Itxaro thought. The Ascendancy certainly sounded like a step in the right direction to Itxaro; she knew an outright meritocracy had its flaws, still favoring those with familial wealth and connections, but it certainly didn’t sound as hierarchical as Mythadia’s hereditary aristocracy. China’s ancient imperial examinations came to mind, whereby anyone with the appropriate knowledge and talent could succeed in the civil service. Granted, most of them who could afford the education were wealthy, but still.

Nellara made it sound as if conflict was almost unavoidable. Even if the humans submitted to Silbermine, an unthinkable outcome, Itxaro suspected that the Ascendancy would still go to war to gain access to human technology. Hell, they’d be foolish not to.

“Well, Nellara, sounds like you have more experience than me in this field. I’m just a scientist, on a good day. I think your intentions are peaceful, but it isn’t me you need to convince. We’ve got our own hierarchy here,” Itxaro said tiredly, tilting her head towards Mallory. The previous adrenaline that had fueled her manic communication was beginning to ebb, and she felt exhaustion settling into her bones. The doctor wanted to continue this discussion, but having ten different people talking to her at once was beginning to wear on her. “It sounds like we have to parlay with Silbermine, one way or the other. Could you or Gar’Tan arrange a meeting in, say, four days, where everyone is represented? We need some time to get our shit together.” Itxaro wasn’t relishing another meeting since the last one nearly ended in bloodshed, but she hoped now the humans had their own voice, they could ease some of the tension between the two nations.

“And what about the Ascendency? Any religion there? Royalty? No judgment, we’ve got plenty back home on Earth; just trying to get a full picture for my report to the boss.”

---

@Expendable @Starlance

Itxaro turned to her human companions to explain everything, the notes she had taken freely available to any interested parties. “Well, Vigdis, if you’re worried about alien Hitler, Nellara here makes it sound like Silbermine is a pretty good candidate,” she started. “Best I can put it, Nellara says the Glen and Mythadia are the Golden Horde mixed with medieval Europe political structure. Love to conquer, zealots all, and likely to enslave us; Gar’Tan disagrees on the last part, but Shirik isn’t a fan either.” She paused, allowing her audience to absorb this, before continuing.

“The Ascendency sounds like Renaissance Florence, all the guilds focusing on trade, an emphasis on skill over birthright. Not bad. I’ll let you know as I learn more. The Ascendency wants to trade with us, learn from us; you'll have to break the bad news to them, Vigdis. Mythadia is more interested in, ehm, owning us? Like a super divine right of kings deal. Not a great outcome there. But I’m trying to arrange a meeting with them so we can sort this mess out; we should have some time, maybe a week or two, before the armies fully mobilize and arrive. At least, by medieval Earth standards. I don’t know what these boys and girls here are working with. What do you think, X.O.?”

---

Itxaro was growing restless, twitchy. Too much going on from too many angles. She needed time to absorb what was going on, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, time to consult with her crew. More than anything, she wanted to sleep, a feat she might just be capable of now, but she also longed for one-on-one time with some of the natives. Well, Gar'Tan will be there too. But still. She wanted their unique perspectives, their experiences, and she wanted to hear them speak, unrestrained by the moderating effect of a large audience. She shot Mallory a look that said, let's wrap this party up, but she didn't know if he would acknowledge it, or even listen.

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

Cool! So that brings the total up to 5, including Theyra, who I’m assuming will be a Jedi knight. Good stuff, looking forward to this one!

Question: have the characters been at the academy for some time now, and are somewhat familiar with eachother, or are we starting from scratch? I wrote my character’s history to allow some leeway in either direction. Thanks!

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro was, simply put, out of her comfort zone.

The engineer was more accustomed to brokering a late term paper submission with a stressed-out student, not political negotiations between two alien nations teetering on the brink of war. Certain types of stress she could handle, too. Nuclear reactor on the brink of overloading and pumping out lethal levels of radiation? Particle accelerator threatening to create a miniature black hole that will collapse the entire ship? Easy, no sweat. But she was accustomed to a single problem, an engineering problem, not seven different issues all pulling at her in different directions.

Itxaro was distressed, but the game of telepathic telephone commenced, and she jumped in feet first. Itxaro took frantic notes on her datapad for later use, typing as fast as she could in shorthand to keep up with each speaker. Jesus. If I ever get back to the lecture hall, I’ll slow down for those poor kids. This ain’t easy.

---

@EliteCommander

Kareet kicked things off; Itxaro thought he seemed the most eager to communicate with the humans, and the engineer sensed a kindred spirit here. Apparently, things were decidedly not through with Silbermine. In fact, they were centered right on the border between two nations, and there was a dispute over who could lay claim to the Jotunheim. Divine right versus territorial boundaries. Both factions were now gearing up for war as they spoke. Itxaro let out a deep sigh and cursed when this was relayed, but she quickly recovered her composure.

She’d been enamored with Silbermine when he first arrived, like something out of the Bayeux tapestry with his stunning retinue and elaborate armor. He’d even tossed her a trinket, like some knight giving her his favor after a victorious joust. But as Itxaro had tried to sleep, tossing and turning, her Marxist worldview slowly began to fill in the details. This was not an Arthurian legend. On Earth, the royalty had exploited peasants, waged pointless wars, and lined their pockets at the expense of the commoner with the useful excuse of divine right. She trusted that things would not be so different on this new planet. The aliens now outside of the Jotunheim didn't possess the same regal bearing. They were a mixed bag; bureaucrats, scholars, artisans, soldiers, and… Whatever Shirik was. But probably not ruling class.

“Thank you, Kareet,” Itxaro replied, nodding to the Tekeri. “I promise we’re not gods, but I’ll do everything I can to prevent war. That’s the last thing we want. Will Silbermine trust Gar’Tan to translate for us? Or will he use his own? I’d, eh, rather not do that.” She wasn’t used to Gar’Tan’s mind magic, or whatever it was, but he hadn’t scrambled her brains yet, and Itxaro didn’t relish the idea of yet another total stranger delving into her mind. Better the devil you know.

---

@Starlance

Vigdis spoke up, overcoming the initial shock of a foreign presence in her head. A process that involved subtly threatening Gar’Tan with her gun. Nope! She doesn’t mean that! She’s just kidding! I think! Itxaro thought loudly, if such a thing is possible, hoping Gar’Tan would pick up on the message. But maybe leave any new arrivals alone for now, until I explain, uh, this.

On paper, Itxaro liked Vigdis’ proposal of a middleman. But who? Almost everyone on the ship either had mission-critical information, or was a stowaway scared out of their minds. Maybe Eva? That’d be a sight. That, and they were already working through two layers of translation, from human thoughts to alien. Adding in yet another barrier seemed like a time-consuming process, time they might not have. That, and Itxaro was growing almost protective of the aliens. She had the most contact with them by far, and the engineer didn't entirely trust the other crew with the delicate process. Not that she herself was some great diplomat. Still, Itxaro was willing to play ball. “If you’ve got any candidates in mind, I’m all ears Vigdis. But I’m gonna keep at it. What’re they gonna do, build an FTL drive?” Itxaro replied with a shrug. She wondered if they could build an FTL drive just from her knowledge, but even then, the engineer didn't know enough about the other aspects of shipbuilding and metallurgy to get them very far. She also wasn’t entirely onboard with Vigdis’ approach, seeking neutrality, but she kept silent on the matter. Itxaro was just glad her fellow engineer was by her side, differing views or not.

---

@TinyKiwi

Eva’s voice cut through the comms, and the engineer noticed the hulking Javelin behind her in the shuttle bay. Itxaro felt the hair raise on her neck. And now I’m really in the crossfire. Mierda. Eva's statement didn't exactly reassure Itxaro, but it was nice to know the Javelin wouldn’t be opening fire on the aliens unless provoked, and Itxaro didn’t foresee this group making any moves. Ezra, on the other hand, she wasn’t so trusting. Itxaro quickly switched from the local comms channel to a direct line with Javelin pilot. “Hey Eva, that thing’s bullet-proof, right? If the X.O. and his buddies or Ezra start shooting, it would be so fuckin’ cool if you put yourself between the gunfire and our new friends, save their assess. No pressure though.” Then, Itxaro switched back to the general channel and replied, for all to hear, “ Just keep an eye on our new friends here and look tough I guess. Vigdis might have some, ehm, diplomatic work for you if you’re up for that." Itxaro glanced sideways to Vigdis, who would overhear the little exchange, and shrugged. If Eva told anyone about Itxaro’s little request, the engineer would probably receive the space equivalent of keelhauling, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

---

@Expendable

Then, Mallory’s familiar voice.

Itxaro had just been finding her groove, her “work fugue” as she called it, where her occasionally volatile emotions dulled and her focus sharpened. That all came crumbling down quite rapidly. Itxaro laughed in disbelief and ran a hand through her hair. Part of it was that Mallory had been right; she relished the interactions with the natives, and had shirked her duties for a secret meeting with Shirik. But also, the X.O. used her first name. That really set her off.

“That’s Dr. Ibarra to you. Fucking Yankee,” Itxaro replied bitterly. She had a tirade of curses, insults, and threats lined up, but she had just enough self-control left to rip off her comm link and jam it into her pocket. Come down here. Oh God, please come down here. I’ll shove your head so far up your ass, Mallory, you just might see shit clearly.

If Gar’Tan was tuning in, he’d be getting an interesting show.

---

@13org @EliteCommander @Expendable

Itxaro didn’t have much time to cool off before her thoughts were bombarded with more translations, this time from Nellara.

“It’s fine. We’re fine. We’re allll cool over here,” Itxaro said, though it wasn’t clear if she was responding to Nellara’s apology for the thought mages or just reassuring herself. It didn’t take a thought mage to determine she was in fact not fine, her body quaking with anger as she aggressively typed out notes on her datapad.

“Vigdis, you gotta keep that guy away from me. I just might kill him,” Itxaro said, clenching her jaw.

Thankfully, Gar’Tan’s translations, though unnerving, had a calming effect on Itxaro. Maybe the thought mage sensed her agitation and was altering her mood somehow, but Itxaro had a feeling this wasn’t it. Perhaps just hearing a calm, neutral voice in her head that belonged to her, but didn't, broke up her raging mind and helped her relax. It made Itxaro feel as if she, too, was calm. At least, enough to realize what a huge mistake she’d made in blowing up on the XO.

Itxaro shook her head, deciding to save the embarrassment for later, but not before one quick self-flagellation. They don’t see you as Dr. Ibarra, FTL specialist anymore. You’re the spicy, angry Latina now.

She managed to come back to the moment at hand. According to Nellara, Silbermine didn’t just want to learn from them, he wanted to claim them, seeing them as some sort of gift from the gods. Take apart the Jotunheim and haul them back as trophies. There goes neutrality. At least, if she’s not lying. Either way, she made a mental note to scrub that stupid logo off the Jo’s hull, maybe rip it off her uniform while she was at it. Itxaro wondered if Gar’Tan was truly neutral, and figured it was worth giving it a shot.

“Gar’Tan, is Nellara telling the truth about all this?” She asked bluntly. “You don’t have to answer if it’s against your code, or honor, or whatever, but for the love of God, don’t tell Nellara I asked.”

Nellara’s description of the situation they were in painted an incredibly bleak picture. Two armies on the march, annexation of the territory, and war against the Ascendancy, whatever that was. Doesn’t sound like a royal house. At least, on Earth it doesn’t. She assumed that the Ascendancy was some sort of governing body, a joint power structure with the Order of Magisters, of Nellara was a member, that ruled over Arcadea. Pretty complex for what Itxaro had assumed was a medieval society. More like Renaissance Italy than medieval England, all these orders and guilds. It was a good sign, though, or so she thought.

She was at a loss for words when it came to Nellara. Another apology felt trite, so she held back the impulse. Then, the Tekeri offered herself up as an ambassador. “Ok. Ok ok,” Itxaro said as she paced. “So we’re about to be in the middle of a war, which we caused. Good. Nellara, I’m already in deep shit with my higher-ups for even talking to you right now, so let’s put you coming on the Jotunheim on the back burner for now until they give me the thumbs up. Would love to have you all on board and show you around though,” Itxaro added with a wan smile. She thought for a moment, idly scrolling through her notes.

“Is there any way we can avoid conflict here? I don’t know anything about this Silbermine. Would a show of force work deter him? Offering tribute maybe? We’ve got more pens, I think. I can’t speak for my commanding officer, but we’re not just gonna let them take the Jo apart." Itxaro looked to J'eon, the only Glen in the group. Probably racist, or species-ist to ask, but it doesn't hurt to try I guess.

"J'eon, what do you think? Are you familiar with Silbermine, or anything about their religion? Why are we, eh, a sign from the gods? We need to know what's going on if we're gonna get out of this mess." She hoped she didn't offend the Glen, doubly so given his massive stature, but Itxaro figured she needed all the viewpoints and information she could get.

Itxaro paused. “If it comes to it… Is everyone on this planet... Uh, magical?” So far, she’d seen most of the natives perform some extraordinary feat that defied traditional logic. If they were going to fight, it would be good to know if they were against a planet of fire-spouting wizards.

---

@Expendable @EliteCommander

Itxaro heard Mallory speaking again. Didn’t I take that damn thing off? Then she turned around and saw him. The stars shone above her with the mad clarity of altitude, free from light pollution, and Itxaro stood there for a split second. Planning her next move. The engineer noticed the gun slung on Mallory's hip, and from the way her loose jumpsuit snapped in the wind, knew she hadn’t thrown on one of her own.

“Welcome to the Ibarra fan club, XO,” she said with a sweeping gesture. “Sorry about earlier. Some ensign told me to get to the shuttle bay, and I did. Shit’s popping off out here, you know how it goes.” She pulled up her datapad and sent the scrambled notes she’d been taking to his device. “Here’s the official meeting minutes. According to our friend Nellara here, we landed on a disputed border, Silbermine wants to strip the Jotunheim for parts and take us prisoner, and two armies are on the way looking for a fight, right now. Communication is pretty useful, huh?” Itxaro forgot the notes were written in Spanish. "Ehh, run'em through Wodan, they'll figure it out. Probably good they're up to speed, too."

She was still fuming, but not quite ready to punch her commanding officer. If not for my sake, then at least for the natives. Itxaro tried to hide her anger in the half-joking, jovial banter. She couldn’t resist that last jab though. If we turtled up on the bridge, we’d wake up in the middle of a warzone.

As if she’d forgotten a minor detail, Itxaro added, “Oh, and this one here is Gar’Tan. He can read minds. But don’t worry, he’s non-partisan." Then, she figured she'd throw him a bone, give him some authority back. "Vigdis says we need an ambassador for the human race; any suggestions? They've already got theirs and want to come aboard. Don't worry, I pushed it off. I vote Eva. Are we voting?” She turned to Gar’Tan and spoke directly to him to ensure the S'tor got the message, using the near-incomprehensible pidgin of Mandarin, Portuguese, and Spanish common on the streets of Havana. “Don’t read this one yet; he might actually shoot you.”

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

Reni Sehl

Some mood music for ya

Reni Sehl

Species

Mirialan

Gender

Female | She/Her

Age

35

Appearance

Reni stands at 6'3 and weighs 190 pounds, body corded with the ropey muscle typical of Mirialans and soldiers. Her light green skin is dotted with various large tribal tattoos, most of her own making. She is also the proud owner of numerous scars, some ritual, while others earned the old-fashioned way. The most notable are a trio of jagged scars stretching diagonally from hip to mid-torso and a ragged circular scar on her right shoulder from a blaster bolt. Aside from these characteristics, the Jedi could kindly be described as “plain.” Years in harsh weather and desert sun have prematurely aged her, though her prominent nose, gaunt face, lean frame, and dull hair already ensured she was no great beauty even before her trials. Reni typically wears inconspicuous robes or plain clothes with no particular flair.

Rank

Knight

Personality

Although Reni is a Jedi Knight, she is still a woman undergoing a great transition. Growing up, the Mirialan was gregarious, quick with a joke, and full of passion and energy. Reni still possesses all of these qualities, but they have become muted as she seeks to find her place in the galaxy. Once, she had been so sure of her fate that it may as well be written in the stars. Following several setbacks and hardships, Reni has started to reevaluate herself and the world around her, becoming more introspective.

After witnessing the brutality of war, Reni now places all her faith in the Jedi Order, largely because of their commitment to nonviolence. Reni's belief in the sanctity of all life in the galaxy, engrained into her at a young age by her tribe's shaman, has only strengthened since joining the Order. She is still tortured by those she killed and those she lost during her military service, and looks to the philosophy of the Jedi's code to help her find peace. For the most part, she has succeeded.

Reni's disdain for violence colors much of her personality. Believing deeply in the oneness of all life through the Force, Reni's personal code holds life above everything else. She will go to great lengths to save any living creature, and only kills as a last resort. When she must, it affects her profoundly. She is also a strict vegan, refusing to eat or wear animal products, and loves all animals great and small.

Still, much of the old Reni remains. She is friendly, possesses a positive outlook, and loves humor and practical jokes, even if hers may be somewhat lacking. Reni enjoys a friendly physical competition and has a passion for music, both making it and discovering new types. She has traveled much and seen much, but remains optimistic and eager to see the best in people. The Mirialan is also honest, almost painfully so, which often gets her into trouble. She is incredibly patient, as well as incredibly stubborn, two traits that seem to work in tandem. Patient when fighting, learning, and teaching her apprentices. She is set in her ways though, adhering strictly to the Jedi code and her own personal code. She struggles to accept any other worldview or take in new information that contradicts what she knows.

Despite her seemingly calm and friendly demeanor, she harbors a deep hatred inside, which Reni knows she will have to confront.

The Mirialan despises the Sith, a hatred formed at a young age when force-sensitive children in her tribe were stolen away in the night by Sith searching for new apprentices. Her hatred festered on Veldont when she encountered Sithspawn, animals malformed and reshaped by Sith alchemy. This debasement of the Force and the natural world, both of which she holds to be sacred, solidified Reni's abhorrence for all worshippers of the Dark side. She knows that harboring this hate is not the Jedi way, and understands it will have to be addressed, but tries to hide her resentment nonetheless. The Sith she has encountered since have only reinforced her hate, as she can feel the darkness and corruption emanating from them through the Force. Reni spends much of her spare time combing the crumbling Jedi archives, seeking to understand her foe so that she might not be driven to despair or madness by her resentment. Reni passed the Trial of the Spirt, so she knows she can best this internal foe, but is unsure how.

Lightsaber

Reni wields a simple, single-bladed lightsaber composed of a light metal alloy, with the grip partially wrapped in synthetic leather. The crystal is standard green, chosen because she claims it matches her complexion. Nothing too fancy for this Knight.

Skills

Form III: Reni is hesitant to use a lightsaber at all, but when she must, the knight prefers Form III. The tight, defensive posture compliments her physical and mental strengths, and allows Reni to tire her opponents out so she may end a fight without the loss of life. Against foes of similar or lesser skill, the Mirialan seems almost untouchable, but still struggles to take the offensive with a lightsaber. Reni practices rigorously in her favored form as a method of warrior-like meditation.

Scout: Reni's youth spent traveling the wastelands of Mirial and fighting with the 1st Recon have taught her how to move in silence, track almost anything, and find her way across many types of terrain. Her strong connection to the Force has deepened these skills as well, using it to detect nearby life and sense previous presences.

Nature Bond: Reni has always gotten along better with beasts than people, able to tame wild animals native to her homeworld with startling ease. Now with greater access to the Force, Reni has trained extensively to reach out to the wild world around her and calm raging animals, sense their presence and intentions, and very rarely, call upon them when she is in need. Reni would be hard-pressed to put a peaceful creature in danger, just as she loathes killing them, but may do so in utterly dire circumstances.

Healer: The Mirialan honed her skill as a healer long before joining the Jedi Order, studying under her tribe's medicine woman. She has a good grasp of herbal and modern medicine, is able to set broken limbs and tend to the ill, and if all else fails, can call upon the Force to mend most injuries. Reni surpasses most Knights in this power, though she is too modest to admit it.

Equipment

Reni doesn't have much in the way of worldly possessions, and she prefers it that way. She held on to a pair of battered macrobinoculars from her time with the 1st Batallion, keeps a comlink on hand, and has a tribal tattoo kit stashed away somewhere. She also owns a g'ali, a simple Mirialan wind instrument similar to a ney, but that's the extent of her personal belongings.

Weakness

Technophobe: Reni grew up cloistered away from the rest of the galaxy, and even after a stint in the military remains wary of and unfamiliar with technology. She struggles to operate even the most basic datapad, and strongly distrusts droids since they aren't connected to the Force. An encounter with a particularly nasty Imperial enforcer droid strengthened this unease in her. Even space travel disturbs her to some degree. It is doubtful she'll ever be a great pilot, or perhaps even a pilot at all. Though Reni became an excellent marksman in the 1st Recon, she loathes blasters now, only using them as a last resort. She is more likely to pick up a bow than a slugthrower.

Pacifist: Reni comes from a peaceful herding tribe, whose religion focused on the interconnectedness of all living beings through the Force. As such, she learned not to take any life lightly. Her time in the Republic Army left her with a bitter taste in her mouth and an abhorrence for killing. She takes the Jedi's commitment to nonviolence very seriously; Reni goes above and beyond to resolve conflicts without bloodshed, or at least without the loss of life, which can often be dangerous. Any life Reni takes will doubtlessly cause her serious anguish.

Chewed-Up: Reni's three-year stint in the New Republic Army left her with some considerable injuries. Physically, an old blaster wound on her right shoulder and a relatively recent trio of ragged scars on her abdomen cause her varying amounts of discomfort, the scarred flesh feeling tight and sore. This combined with the usual wear-and-tear a foot soldier's body undergoes makes Reni feel about ten years older. She's developed a routine of stretching and meditating to heal these old injuries, but it is unlikely the aches will ever fully leave her. Reni is also haunted by the soldiers she was unable to save, those she killed, and above all, the cruelty of the Sith. Reni still harbors a festering hatred in her heart for those fallen to the Dark Side, and knows she will have to overcome this if she ever wishes to fully heal and truly become one with the Force.

Background

Reni was born in 23 BBY, four years before the Republic fell, on the planet Mirial, a cold, desert-like planet largely ignored by the rest of the galaxy. Reni's people were a nomadic and nearly primitive tribe who were constantly on the move to find new pastures for their livestock, and to avoid the new threat of Imperial eyes. Mirialans had a higher number of Force-sensitive offspring than many species, and this often drew the attention of Sith lords seeking new apprentices. Rumors spread of cloaked figures snatching Mirialan children in the night, almost to the point of superstition among the tribes. It was best, they determined, to keep a low profile, especially for those Force-sensitive among them.

Life on the desert planet was difficult, but Reni's childhood was made easier by her tribe. Entirely communal in nature, children were raised by the collective. Reni had not two parents, but many, and more brothers and sisters than she could count. Like many tribal Mirialans, they practiced a primitive religion that combined nature-centered animism with the Force. As such, Reni knew from a young age that she was Force-sensitive and was taught to hide this from outsiders at all costs. It was said the Empire had servants even among other tribes.

As a youth, Reni was taught by her elders herding, leather tanning, tracking, and even marksmanship. However, among these practical skills, Reni also learned how to live. Dancing, singing, storytelling, comradery, and a love for all things natural. She was also instructed in the ways of the Force in the tribe's rudimentary ways, and Reni discovered she had an affinity for healing. She earned her first tattoo, a series of diamonds across her cheek and nose, after healing one of her brothers when he was gored by a rampaging Bukund bull.

The tribe made cautious necessary trips into the cities that dotted Mirial to trade hides and meat for goods they couldn't produce. It was in these marketplaces that the young Reni met her first love, a human named Linac. Months or years would pass before they could reunite, but the young lovers remained faithful to eachother. Ultimately it was the Galactic Civil War that tore the two apart. Linac joined the Rebel Alliance the first chance they could, and that was the last time Reni saw them. Perhaps Linac died fighting, or perhaps they'd simply forgotten Reni. She hoped it was the latter.

Reni's sorrow eventually faded, but the memory of Linac did not. Reni came of age shortly after, and it was time for her to leave the tribe. A rite of passage to earn her place among the elders, to achieve great deeds, and maybe earn some new tattoos along the way. She knew of only one path to take. All the long cold nights, Reni thought of Linac, and how they spoke of the Rebel Alliance; swaggering, rugged freedom fighters finding adventure all over the galaxy, bathed in glory. She signed up just as Mon Mothma formally established the Rebel Alliance.

Life in the fledgling Rebellion wasn't quite what Reni expected. The culture shock alone could have killed her, going from the primitive, tribal life to sleek starships and light speed. However, her background proved useful to the Rebellion, and she found herself embedded with the 1st Reconnaissance Batallion, a ragtag fighting force that specialized in scouting rugged terrain on inhospitable planets. Swift, silent, and dangerous. Reni continued to hide her Force sensitivity, still afraid to reveal her powers to her comrades, but proved herself in other ways. She was an excellent scout, able to move in complete silence, and able to read terrain like a book.

The 1st Batallion fought the Empire everywhere, including a few major battles. Though the fighting was brutal, the struggle was noble, and Reni grew to believe in the cause. On Mirial, she didn't even know what democracy meant, but now she was ready to fight and die for it. The victory at Endor remains one of Reni's proudest moments, a turning point in the war when all seemed lost.

There was no rest for the fighting 1st after the Battle of Yavin. They deployed throughout the galaxy, rooting out Imperial holdouts hiding in jungles, mountains, and deserts on Republic planets. It was hard work, but not particularly dangerous; the holdouts were typically so depleted of supplies that they willingly surrendered. If not, the 1st Batallion simply called in the big guns, another Republic Army force meant for brute force assaults. Several years into her military career, and Reni felt like she'd found a new tribe. She'd also treated herself to a couple of new tattoos. Then, the Siege of Veldont.

The Outer Rim planet was a tree-cloaked backwater, but it was Rebel territory and the locals had reported some Imperial activity deep in the forest. This far out from the Imperial core, they didn't expect much resistance from the starved-out soldiers.

The intel must have been wrong.

Instead, the nimble 1st Reconnaissance Batallion stumbled across a veritable fortress, far beyond anything they'd encountered before. Imperial defenses opened fire on the soldiers almost the second they laid eyes on it. Unable to extract, they called for backup and dug in. Thus began five months of brutal trench warfare, as Rebel soldiers continued to drop into the planet and get chewed up by the well-supplied Imperial soldiers. Reni watched her closest friends ripped apart by blaster fire, trying to heal those she could, but most died. Then their replacements would arrive, and they died too. Rather than surrender, the Imperials made a final counterattack, revealing what they'd been so desperate to defend. Sithspawn, lab-grown abominations twisted beyond recognition through the dark side. The creatures cut through the Rebel forces, almost routing them before they were finally encircled and put down, with Reni receiving a near-fatal wound from one's claws. The 1st Recon suffered an 83% casualty rate.

After the siege, the 1st Reconnaissance Batallion was dissolved, the survivors dispersed into other Rebel forces. They were too valuable to simply lose. Reni was bounced around the Alliance military, mostly as a trainer for new scouts. After the Battle of Jakku, the Rebellion became the New Republic, and the Alliance Military was disbanded.

Reni spent most of her savings traveling through the galaxy's backwaters, drinking, gambling, and trying to forget the horrors of Veldont. It wasn't until a fight broke out in a cantina that things changed. A young Zabrak had been shot through the chest over cards, and Reni knocked the gunman out cold with a Force push before desperately laying her hands on the dying woman to revive her. Completely exhausting herself, Reni brought the Zabrak back from the brink. A man in flowing robes pulled Reni aside. He was a Jedi knight, and told Reni that her skills were being wasted here; he extended an invitation to the New Jedi Order, and Reni eagerly accepted. Perhaps she'd earn some new tattoos.

Since that fateful meeting, Reni has studied under Master Skywalker and the other Jedi who survived the Great Purge. Much of her training focused on healing her broken spirit and body, as well as delving into the history of both the galaxy and the Jedi Order, the latter a topic of great interest to Reni. Unlike some apprentices who chose to focus their attention on lightsaber training, learning as many forms as they possibly could, Reni chose to master just one, inspired by stories of the legendary Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Way of the Mynock. The Mirialan was always more interested in the Force, honing her skills as much as possible so she could end any conflict without bloodshed. She passed the Jedi Trials, much to her own surprise, and sometime later, acquired apprentices of her own.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Anger flashed across Itxaro’s face when another communication came in, this time from Mallory, and she felt a familiar temper flare in her belly. So excited to show their force. As if that will help. She wasn’t eager for another standoff.

“One second, sorry,” Itxaro said apologetically, almost sweetly to Gar’Tan and the others before stepping away, as if that would sever the mind link they shared. “Mallory, listen,” Itxaro began into her comm link, “We are all playing nice here, but it is a very precarious situation. If you come out here waving your fucking guns around, it will not end well. Meet us out here if you want, but for our sake, leave the goddamn goon squad behind.” Itxaro looked pleadingly to Vigdis, hoping the engineer would back her up on this, but she had a feeling she’d have to stand alone here. To turn away now that they’d just established communications, and instead put guns on them, would be the diplomatic equivalent of a middle finger. She idly wondered where the commander was. At least she knows not bringing a gun to the negotiating table. I think. Why isn’t she out here?

Itxaro turned back to the alien visitors, her skin visibly flushed. “Sorry, sorry. Everyone is very excited to meet you. Where were we?”

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro had never had her mind read before, but she expected... More, somehow.

There was no sensation of another consciousness probing her mind, simply an intrusive thought that came to Itxaro in her own internal monologue. Hell, it was even in Spanish. But the subtlety also scared her. She had no way of knowing how deep he was delving into her memory, no idea what he was doing to her, and ultimately, Itxaro had no means of defense against him. She realized she was totally at this S'tor's mercy, so it was best to play along. Itxaro really hoped he wasn't reading into her political predictions of a few hours ago, otherwise things might turn south very quickly. She shifted her weight from one foot to another uneasily.

Gar'Tan went through the introductions of all the aliens present; she'd known their names before, but not the titles each carried. Seeker of the Order of Sages. Castigator for the Order of Magisters. Itxaro didn't know exactly what they meant, but they certainly sounded lofty. Even though she wasn't speaking directly to them, the engineer felt like she knew them better now. A barrier had been broken.

"I'm Dr. Itxaro Ibarra. It's so nice to finally speak with you all," Itxaro began excitedly in Spanish. "I'm sorry about our first meeting. We were a little afraid, and we've been through a lot to get here. Plus, you're all, ehm... Much larger than us."

Mercifully, Vigdis arrived, giving Itxaro some measure of reassurance. Her mind was still buzzing frantically, halfway between panic and exhilaration, but she managed to blurt out a few words to the engineer, switching to English. "Vigdis, this is our new friend Gar'Tan. He can read minds. He's reading my mind right now, and probably yours." A shiver ran through her body. "We're going to speak out loud, and he's going to, ehhh, translate for us?" Itxaro looked to Gar'Tan for confirmation.

A voice came over her comms. Ezra. Itxaro wanted to scream a litany of obscenities at him, but she managed an overly sweet, "We're fine Ezra, just speaking with a new arrival. They're very polite." She'd been fiddling with a loose cigarette in her pocket, and now she was grinding it into powder.

Gar'Tan communicated a message from Kerchek, offering medical assistance. Itxaro wondered just how helpful an alien would be during surgery on human organs, but then she recalled that many, if not all, of these natives had some form of magic. So there was that. "Thank you, Kerchek, for your generous offer. I'll speak to our ship's doctor to see what you can do to help." It was a textbook example of kicking the can down the road, but she thought it was an oratory masterstroke for someone teetering on the edge of hyperventilating.

"I guess we'd better get on the same wavelength. Right, Vigdis?" She turned to her fellow engineer and gave a slight smile, her mouth tight.

With that, Itxaro launched into a bit of a nervous tirade.

"I don't know how much got through with my little light show before, so I'll just run through it again," she started, blowing a strand of white hair from her face. "We're called humans. We come from a planet we call Earth. We're the only sentient species on our planet, and for a long time we thought we were the only ones anywhere. Guess you guys don't have that question, right?" She laughed nervously. "Anyways, so yeah, um, then these aliens showed up, they're called the Yenge. They taught us how to fly to different planets that are very far away. I was pretty close to figuring that out anyways though."

Itxaro paused and took a breath. She was rambling, and had to catch herself. Speaking to a lecture hall of 20-something university students didn't set her nerves off, but there was something just slightly unnerving about her current crowd. She let Gar'Tan translate, then continued. That the S'tor's translations might be flawed didn't even enter the equation for her.

"We built this ship to leave our planet and explore. We call it the Jotunheim. I don't know what that means either. Problem is, we were attacked by other humans who wanted the ship, those puntas fucked us up good, and then we crashed here. On Kanth-Aremek. Now, we're just trying to get home." The words all spilled out in one quick stream, and Itxaro inhaled deeply. She paused, thinking of what to say next. What she wanted to know differed greatly from the rest of the crew, and she knew it, so Itxaro tried to ask something pertinent. She still wanted to know if there was a socialist utopia somewhere on Kanth-Aremek, but figured it could wait for another time.

"So! Now we want to ask you some things. Mind if I take notes?" Itxaro produced her datapad, ready to type any answers that Gar'Tan sent through the ether into her brain. Her anxiety was now being edged out by curiosity, and she felt her body relaxing ever so slightly. "First order of business is... And Vigdis, feel free to chime in, Silbermine and his friends. What's the deal there? I'm guessing you don't trust them, and you think we shouldn't either. It seems like everything is resolved though, right? Also, how far is this city, Lenkik, and who runs it? I'd like to see it, I think."

She directed her questions to the group, but was particularly interested in Shirik and Nellara's response, who had both seemed ready to come to blows with the Glenn. J'eon, too, had been standoffish during the encounter. She thought the second question was innocent enough, but hoped it would provide them with some pertinent political background.

"Oh, and Shirik, don't think just because Gar'Tan is here that you're off the hook. I still want to learn your language," Itxaro said something approaching a real smile this time, not the strained rictus from before.