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Writing Ophelia's Ornate Stories [ Erotic ]

Joined
Mar 10, 2018
Likes
842
#1
Hey guys! So I decided I would share some of my erotic content here on the site, as an aspiring erotic novelist. I feel like I should forewarn You all, this content is unedited and abridged. If it becomes published, I will happily keep the unedited & abridged version of these stories here if it is to Miss Insanity's interest to have them. That said, this will constitute exclusively erotic content. I do not write non-erotic content anymore, so if You're hoping for something PG-rated I must lamentably inform You, this ain't that.

I will attempt to tag every story individually, not only with the title and genre, but with indicators of what kind of content can be expected in the individual stories shared. It will include a few entries of mine that are Star Wars fan-fiction as well, I hope you like them, clearly they're never going to be anything that I make money off of unless I get a really unexpected message from Disney. Let's go ahead and get the LMFAO Yeah, right, that's gonna happen! out of the way right now with that one. No matter what & no matter how good the fan-fiction shared at some point below may be to you whosoever should read and hopefully enjoy it ... I'm not gonna get a call from Disney being like, “Hey this is actually sweet would you be willing to work with us to make this a reality?

Anyhow. Content below includes erotic content. Graphic, graphic erotic content. Of an unedited and abridged variety.
Consider thyself forewarned, reader!
 
Joined
Mar 10, 2018
Likes
842
#2
Title: Ash and Heat
Genre: Hellenic Lore Mythic D/s Hellenic Spiritualism
Characters: Ares × Original Trans Female Character
Tagged: Alternate History | Consensual | Erotic | Gender Swap | Historical Fantasy | Kink | Oral Sex | Pregnancy | Transgender Protagonist
Word Count: 2,214

The day was bright and balmy in the Persian provinces of the Hellenic Empire, and Gulbahar found themselves sitting upon the roof of one of the many tall buildings of Susa. Staring out across the fertile panoply of the Persian landscape, the desert's lushness renewed by Gaia in decades and centuries past, as temples of the gods were built, the eighteen-year-old felt more peace up here than in most of the city. It wasn't because the people were bad, necessarily, though certain new cults were trying to stir up dissension or small-mindedness, but the gods were not tolerant of false gods or false prophets. Particularly, not of such falsehoods which denounced them as false and sought to corrupt their faiths and followers for nefarious ends.

No, Gulbahar's complaint for their life was one more attuned to the nature of their body; more specifically, three immodest “endowments,” resting between the thighs. Not that his body was not blessed with good size, but it was not the body desired or correct to the mental state of the bearer. Were Gulbahar but the masculine sort, jewels each as large as a raven's egg and a phallus as long as their forearm would certainly have been points of pride. Given the Empire's deep cultural appreciation for the beauty of the human form and by extension nudity in all manner of art, the eighteen-year-old had done remarkably well for themselves, already, simply by posing unclothed. Still, they would rather have posed with a form that was feminine over one that was masculine, especially in this part of the world. Persian men were beautiful and bronze, though perhaps not near so beautiful as some of the gods, in particular the one that Gulbahar favoured.

As Gulbahar sat on the roof of the tall structure, eyes sank from the horizon and in the warmth of the sun, lowered to look at a statue of Ares, sculpted of marble as the war-god stood in all his glory. Nude by nature, aside from the sculpting of a rather stylish helm, imperial sculpture had abandoned modesty in favour of realism. No more were the statues dishonoured with an inaccurately small, soft endowment – the statue of Ares was life-size, standing on the roof with a spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and twelve inches of phallic shaft rising proudly from his hips. Positioned standing on a small block of stone, of the sort wider than it was tall and designed only to give the god's statue stability so that it would not fall, the statue stood in a position that made it accessible to any who wished to pray to Ares. Gulbahar's teeth clamped lightly onto the lower lip for a moment, before deciding that they would pray once more, and would do so this time in the nymphic tradition, and pray for something they hadn't previously requested. Looking about momentarily, Gulbahar quietly removed their clothes and folded them neatly into a stack, before approaching the statue of Ares.

Kneeling, eyes of verdant olive green rose, sliding up the muscled calves and thighs to fix on the large jewels and, then, that impressive shaft of stone, rising above them. The nymphic traditions had become popular in the heartland of the Empire just around two centuries ago, and had spread gradually over the interim until they were beginning to be popular even in Persian provinces. Perhaps it was the reason for the statue before which Gulbahar now knelt, as nude as the statue itself, focusing all vision on the phallic shaft directly in front of their face. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, and then, leaned forward until she felt the cool stone press against her lips, eyes fluttering open and tongue slipping out to lick up the shaft to the head. Her own cock was hardening between her legs as she tentatively lifted her hands, sliding them up over the cool marble of Ares' calves, then thighs, then hips, lifting up on her knees and beginning to worship the cock of her god with more zeal.

“Ares, god of warfare and battle,” Gulbahar's masculine voice moaned softly against the stone as she licked it, drawing her tongue across the length of it, letting her lips and tongue slide down to Ares' impressive jewels.

“Ares, god of courage and loyalty,” she continued, her voice a softly masculine murmur as she kissed and licked the shaft of her god's statue worshipfully. Even as she continued, the statue became ever so faintly more animate, the cock angling just a tiny bit forward, downward, permitting her to worship more thoroughly, more dutifully.

“Ares, god of honour and valour,” Gulbahar continued, kissing and licking the shaft on all sides, eyes fluttering – sometimes open, sometimes shut, murmurs of desire resonating into the stone as her own cock grew achingly hard.

“Ares, god of justice and protector of women,” she murmured fervently before her lips wrapped around the head of the shaft and took it into her mouth, tongue rolling around it adamantly. She hadn't noticed the cock angling slowly downward, but it was now angled down enough that she could take it in her mouth, could suck on it. She took that as all the encouragement to continue her prayer that was needed, taking it into her mouth and sucking hard, rolling her tongue worshipfully around it, as she closed her eyes. Her lips travelled slowly but steadily up and down the length, bobbing her head on as much of it as she could get into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered a bit as she felt a pair of strong but wonderfully gentle hands on her hips, all of a sudden, and a cooling sensation rippled through her as she heard a voice in her ear. A whisper in a tone masculine, one that was strong and commanding.

“Don't stop, take it all, Ash. Suck it, take it to the hilt and swallow it all, and you'll have what you desire,” came the voice to her rear, as her hips were lifted to present her ass. She blushed, back arching as she felt cool, slick fingers sliding inside her, as she tightened her grip on the statue's hips and started to sway herself against it, sucking hard as she stone phallus slid into her virgin throat. Eyes watered as she choked and coughed around it, but didn't hesitate to continue her nymphic prayer even as the one behind her continued to prepare her for his cock with oiled fingers. She moaned gently on that cock, even while a large cock pressed against her ass as her voice vibrated the stone rod, but even with all of her effort, she was having trouble getting twelve inches down her throat.

“Don't worry, girl, I'll help you if you want. Do you want help, Ash? Does my little slut want help taking it all?” the voice of the male behind her whispered strongly into her ears, even without being lying down against her. She moaned gently on that large cock in her mouth, vibrating it with an affirmation, as she felt hands on her hips tighten, felt the tip of a cock pressing firmly against her ass. Eyes widened and she groaned when that cock moved forward, thrusting into her forcefully while she was swaying herself against the cock, forcing her body forward until the full length was in her throat. Her cheeks were wet, eyes watering heavily as her throat stretched around the cock inside it, arms wrapped around the statue's waist so firmly that she could clasp her hands together on the far side. Even as her eyes watered, she kept them open as she stared at the smooth marble pelvis of the statue whose cock she was sucking, staring through watery distortions as she saw a strange red light on both of her arms, travelling up her arms and over her skin. Behind her, her partner's cock was buried to the hilt inside of her, and hands slid up from her hips to her torso, then her chest, pressing palms against her nipples.

“That's a good little nymphic slut, you're a good girl, Ash,” praised her partner behind her, unseen but whose identity wasn't the least bit a question to her mind. She found the name he gave her was better than her birth name, and as she felt his hands on her chest, she whimpered softly on the cock buried to the hilt, and he bucked his hips firmly.

“Keep sucking, my beautiful little whore,” he encouraged, and her eyes fluttered before her tongue resumed sucking hard on it, feeling her chest swell with arousal and satisfaction. Eyes fluttered further when she realized he was not pressing palms to her chest, but rather cupping her breasts, even though before today she hadn't had breasts. She closed her eyes as she kept sucking hard, feeling him sliding out of her then back inside of her, though the sensation was new and different, completely unlike any sensation she'd previously experienced.

“Unclasp your hands, slut,” Ares ordered, and Ash's hands immediately relaxed, sliding back to the hips of his statue, and he pulled back, pulling her back a bit so she could breathe, before thrusting into her once more. As he thrust hard and fast, Ash felt herself sway forward, taking him to the hilt front and back at the same time. He pulled back once more, then thrust hard again, breaking her into a rhythmic fuck that took her mouth and hips for his pleasure, equally, moaning gently himself even as he hammered into her hard, soliciting matching, increasingly feminine, sounds from her. Finally, he pulled back and gave a single final thrust, before she felt her partner's release surging inside of her in two separate paths, arriving at two separate destinations.

“Swallow, Ash,” Ares instructed, and she swallowed hard around the length in her throat, before he pulled back, and pulled her hips backward as well, sliding her off the phallus of his statue. It emerged from her mouth dry, angling up once more to the sky as it left her lips, in a smooth and graceful movement until it arched elegantly to the sky. His hands caressed over an altered torso and breasts, down to her hips once more, as he dismissed all the moisture of sex with the wave of one hand and then pulled her up into a standing position. Lips touched the left nape of her neck, as palms cupped her breasts firmly, albeit also gently.

“Very good, Ash; very good. You have earned your reward, and more; you will give birth to two sons, who will be my sons and yours. The first to emerge will be Ashtad, and the second shall be Omid,” Ares whispered into her ears, and Ash nodded her understanding.

“I understand. Thank you, for everything, Ares,” she whispered softly, feeling his arms around her, feeling both safer and far more at peace than she could remember feeling. She hadn't intended a pregnancy to come of it, but then again, no part of her felt displeased at the prospect of being the mother to two of the sons of her chosen god.

“Are you sure of their names, though, my lord?”

“Ashtad is a name meaning justice in the language of your people, and Omid a name meaning hope in the same. I believe in justice, and I believe that justice should stir hope, not despair, in the people,” Ares whispered in her ear, “And I need not put their names in the language of my people for them to be still my sons, and proudly so.”

“Understood, my lord, and thank you, again.”

“You are quite welcome, Ash. Be safe in the knowledge, that I am watching over you,” Ares said, before fading away subtly, or leastwise, more subtly than he did in most cases. A silent disappearance, rather than a boisterously voluminous departure. Once he was gone, Ash noticed that her clothes had been transformed as well; no more would she be forced to wear the garb of men. Instead, Ares had left her a tasteful robe that bore the markings of his symbol, and declared her now as a priestess of Ares; her fingers brushing gently over the embroidery of his icon. Still nude, she walked to his statue once more, kneeling to her god and kissing his cock gently.

“Thank you Ares. I love you.”

Then, rising, she wreathed her body in the raiment he had provided, gentle white cotton that seemed to glow ever so faintly, though perhaps that was simply the sunlight, and marked with the symbol of Ares. Once dressed, she knelt briefly to her god once more, kissing his cock lovingly on the tip, then rose and departed from the rooftop, one hand moving to her stomach as she thought of the honour she'd been given. Not only granted the prayer for a feminine form by her god, but even more still, given the privilege to carry her god's children into the world. She was, as far as she knew, the first Persian woman to receive such an honour; no son of Ares had been born outside of the heartland of the Empire, thus far.
 
Joined
Mar 10, 2018
Likes
842
#3
Title: Scintillation
Genre: Hellenic Lore Mythic D/s Hellenic Spiritualism
Characters: Ares × Original Trans Male Character
Tagged: Alternate History | Biting | Consensual | Erotic | Gender Swap | Historical Fantasy | Homosexuality | Kink | Oral Sex | Pansexual Ares | Rough Sex | Scratching | Spanking | Transgender Protagonist
Word Count: 2,081

Andronika, daughter of Adelphos, stood on a high hill outside of Troy, and thought about the world she lived in. The Empire of the Hellenes spanned the breadth of the known world, or very nearly so. From the western sea to the eastern sea, to vassal states that spanned two continents further, the will of the Empire was everywhere that she knew to exist. The world was still fraught with certain perils, creatures that emerged from Khaos, bandits and raiders that defied the will of the gods, at times, machinations of opponents of Olympus against the Olympian order. Her father refused to let her travel, despite the immense number of women who travelled the world safely, some of whom had even transformed the world around them into a better place, women like Klymene.

'They were the daughters of the gods, Andronika, you are a mortal woman born of a mortal mother and a mortal father,' was the answer her father was always keen to remind her of, despite all her hard work and training. Against his wishes, and with approval from the priests at the Temple, she'd studied the arts of war at the Temple of Ares, and had become one of the best archers, swordfighters, and spear-wielders, in all of Troy. Many were the men who could not compete with her, or could not perform superior to her, though she remained deeply distraught and unhappy with the conditions of her life. Not exclusively because of the fact that she was stonewalled in every direction when she sought to find a way to use her abilities, but due to certain words used to describe her. Collections of letters such as she, or her, or woman, or daughter, when none were right or accurate to describe her.

“Ares, I am at the limits of my research, the extent of my ability to change the circumstances of my life. I cannot will myself to the growth of the missing parts, nor will away the parts that should not be here,” the feminine voice rising from her throat called softly into the wind, as eyes of deep green looked skyward under a mane of seal-brown hair that fell to her waistline. Her parents objected to shortening it, refused to let her have it cut, yet another feminization she was granted no authority at all to reject.

The wind brushed across the smooth skin of Andronika's face, and eyes of myrtle green caught sight of a red vulture soaring high in the sky overhead. A symbol she knew well: the vulture was a symbol of Ares, her god, and a red vulture the emissary of her god, a symbol of his attention. Even so, it may have been an indicator of his attention, but it was not an instruction, or an indication of what he wanted her to do, precisely.

Even as she watched the vulture circle three times, then vanish behind a cloud not to be seen again, she could not identify an instruction from the movements. Her eyes fell to the ground again, and Andronika blinked anew, as she discovered standing in front of her, a large hound, with a deep reddish-brown coat, as large as a small mule. She remained still, as she was aware that hounds were also a symbol of Ares, and watched as the hound approached, circled, then brought his head to her feet and nipped at the straps of her sandals.

“You want me to remove them?” The hound pulled back several steps, and barked once; nodding in answer, Andronika knelt on one knee and unlaced one sandal, then switched and unlaced the other, setting both to the side. Standing once more, eyes followed the hound as it circled again, then bit the hem of her dress, and pulled once but sharply. When she offered a nod, in response, the hound stepped back once more, and Andronika unlaced the dress bought by her father, which he insisted of her to wear. The hound circled, once more, then bit and yanked on her smallclothes, ripping the cord and jerking his head to one side to strip off the overly feminine garment and toss it on the grass. She remained still, as the hound circled around in front of her, and she noted the hound was neither male nor female, as it reared up and placed paws on her shoulders, biting at that small bit of cloth she still wore, covering her breasts. The hound ripped it off, jerked his head to the side, then dropped, and withdrew several steps once more, as Andronika now stood nude on the hilltop, mostly voluntarily but entirely consensually. Ares was watching, and Andronika was happily a loyal servant to his will.

Abruptly, she felt firm hands, masculine hands, cupping the curvature of her rump, and she jumped faintly, gasping slightly in surprise, and the hound vanished. She closed her eyes and waited, feeling the hands sliding over her skin, and enjoying an answering sensation they generated within the body as hands soon cupped her breasts. Andronika could feel a hard, phallic muscle against her rump, and she leaned herself submissively against the one she knew was there.

“You want these gone?”

“Yes,” Andronika breathed the word subserviently. Fingers squeezed her breasts hard, pain shooting through nerve-endings, and with it a shiver of arousal and desire.

“You like roughness?”

“Yes,” Andronika whispered the word breathlessly.

“You want to be my boy?”

“Yes!” the word left firm lips in a soft gasp of desire.

“Say my name, boy,” the voice whispered firmly behind Andronika, into one ear.

“Ares...”

“You want to be my beautiful boy?”

“Yes, Ares,” Andronika answered submissively, noticing the subtle shrinking of breasts beneath the hands of her god, and an associated smoothing of the plane of the chest, the increasing visibility of muscle.

“My masculine little slut?”

“Yes, please, Ares,” Andronika confirmed quietly.

“I think your father named you wrong. I shall have to give you a proper name,” Ares whispered, before abruptly and harshly turning Andronika's body to face him, “how rough do you want it, slut?”

“As rough as you wish it, my lord,” Andronika started, before noting the shimmer of Ares' eyes, “Very rough, my lord.”

“Good boy. From now on, your name is Atreus, and you will answer to no other name, save for to answer to slut and whore, which shall be your only names during our unions,” Ares instructed, then kissed them firmly on the lips, sending a rippling wave of red light glittering across the flesh, metamorphic in nature. As Ares held the young man in his iron grip, femininity gave way to masculinity, breasts and slit gave way to a cock and testicles, a large and healthy endowment befitting a warrior of the skill Ares knew Atreus to possess.

“Thank you, my lord,” Atreus whispered as the kiss was broken, and Ares' eyes fixed on his own.

“You are mine, and you may call me by my name; you, as few others, shall be my boy. You will live a life of heroism and of adventure, you will bring justice and you will be fearless. You will fuck your lovers as hard as they wish it, and shall father young of your own, someday, but for all the days of your life, you will be my whore.” As he spoke, Ares brought his hands up Atreus' body from his ass to his shoulders, his nails leaving bright red lines from the ass to the shoulder blades.

“Gladly, Ares,” Atreus whispered subserviently, eyes shimmering faintly with overwhelmed, overjoyed agreement to such a proposition. Ares' grip on his shoulders became firmer and pushed.

“Then get on your knees, slut,” Ares ordered, and Atreus sank to his knees before his god, “and worship your god.” Even as knees touched to the grass, Atreus lifted his arms around Ares' hips, leaning in and enthusiastically licking and kissing at the immense cock that stood before his face, marvelling at the wonderful size of it. Finally relinquishing his virginity, as a man, Atreus had no regrets, worshipping Ares' cock with his mouth, never taking it into his mouth without permission but even so lavishing it with loving attention.

“Feel your own cock, boy,” Ares ordered, and one hand travelled down Ares' thigh and calf, before jumping over to his own thigh, then tentatively inward, until fingertips touched it for the first time. Eyes closed and as they did, Ares' hand in his hair tightened and with a sharp movement, shoved his cock into Atreus' mouth as Atreus wrapped his fingers around his own for the first time, beginning to stroke himself as he knelt for his god. He was amazed to discover how large a shaft Ares graced him with, the ten-inch length standing proudly from his hips as he knelt as his god's slut and sucked obediently.

“Suck it, you little whore, suck it like the noblemen and noblewomen will suck yours,” Ares encouraged gruffly, Atreus had been clear on wanting it rough and Ares would respect that, but that didn't mean he had to be a dismissive ass, or anything.

When Ares' cock started to pulse, his grip on Atreus' hair tightened and he began to fuck his mouth harder and faster, letting his hips hammer against Atreus' mouth and throat. The kneeling boy's eyes watered as he started to cough and choke around Ares' twelve-inch shaft, but he continued to moan firmly and one hand continued to travel up and down the shaft of his own cock fast and hard. Even as Ares pulled back and released a thick spray onto Atreus' face, one hand still tightly in his hair to hold his head in place, Atreus groaned as his own release surged out onto the grass.

Ares slid around behind him, oiling his cock and Atreus' ass with his divine abilities, and thrusting in hard, causing Atreus to arch and gasp in answer. Atreus bucked firmly, until a loud crack resonated from between them as Ares brought a hand onto his ass and spanked him hard.

“Mm!” groaned Atreus in answer, shivering in pleasure as fingers clenched grass and earth, as Ares began to fuck him hard, biting his lip as he felt Ares' hands cracking down on his rump or clawing his back. The marks were beginning to show clear on his back and his ass, before Ares rotated him on his cock and slammed his back down against the earth, fucking him hard face-to-face, leaning down against him and biting the nape of his neck.

“Oh... Ares!” moaned Atreus in reply, as Ares hammered into him with continued vigor and desire, before thrusting in to the hilt one last time as lips touched Atreus' lips once more.

“You will require armour and weapons. Your father outfitted you poorly, and he clearly lacked appropriate appreciation for the needs of a true warrior,” Ares whispered into his ear, pushing up on one hand from him and pulling his helmet free from his head with the other. He clapped it down firmly onto Atreus' head, then lowered and kissed him once more, while his left hand travelled down over Atreus' chest. Fingernails clawed their way down it, soliciting a softly-moaning arching in answer, from Atreus beneath him, before with a clap of his hand on Atreus' chest, summoning armour befitting a warrior as Ares slid himself free of his newest lover's ass.

Fingers twined with fingers, and as he rose, Ares pulled Atreus with him, still nude himself though he summoned armour for his newest lover. Once his lover was newly armoured, worthless garments of the woman that wasn't left upon the grassy hill where they could no longer restrain or shackle anyone, Ares nodded. A hand rose, and he drew to his hand the weapons from Troy that belonged most lawfully to Atreus – a longbow, and quiver full of arrows, a great boar-spear, and a trusted, deadly sword, all fashioned by experts and furnished by Troy's own Temple of Ares.

“Go forth, now, Atreus. Your journey awaits.”

Atreus lowered to a knee, bowing his head, then lifted his eyes as he leaned forward, and kissed Ares' cock gently, before he spoke to his god, “Thank you, Ares.”

Then, Atreus rose and turned, and strolled from the hillock to begin the journey that Ares granted him. As he did, Ares faded into a mist that vanished from the air like steam caught in a strong breeze.
 
Joined
Mar 10, 2018
Likes
842
#4
Title: Alternate Path —» Chapter One —» Chance Discovery
Genre: Science Fiction —» Star Wars —» Rebellion Era
Characters: Original Characters Only; M×m and M×f
Tagged: Alternating POV | Biting | Combat | Consensual | Corsets | Discipline | Doggy Style | Dom/sub | Enslavement | Exhibitionism | Explicit Language | Foursome FMMM | Frottage | Healing Sex | Humiliation | Implied/Referenced Nonconsent/Rape | Killing | Kink | Masks | Masquerades | Master/pet | Master/slave | Mentor-Student Friendship | Obscure Canon Species | Oral Fixation | Orphans | Ownership | Punishment | Romantic Fluff | Rough Sex | Same-Gender Romance | Scratching | Situational Humiliation | Spanking | Verbal Humiliation | Threesome FMM | Threesome MMM | Violence | Voyeurism
Word Count: 2,635
Notation: Above tags are for the entire story. Please keep this in mind.

Kazenna’s ship wasn’t particularly subtle by itself, but she’d modified the hell out of the shuttle that was practically universally associated with the Jedi Order. Her personal T-6 shuttle no longer flew the red-and-white of the Republic of yesteryear; it was no longer weaponless and it now bore the best stealth engines she could steal and Force Persuade some engineer to install. She had of course paid them in the one thing that mattered most: security; they got no money from it, but they would also never remember having been helpful to the once-Jedi. The sensor mask was imperfect, of course; you could look out a window and see the damn shuttle, but only if you were actually close enough for that to be possible: one thing there was plenty of in space, was… well, space. There was, also, the complicating factor of her quarry: a pair of Sith inquisitors in service to Palpatine’s Empire; a pair of humans, naturally, by the names of Tamar and Dumas. A less natural pair if you ever saw one, the zabrak thought to herself, argumentative toward one another, feeding off the mutual agitation and annoyance, both angling for that coveted Darth status.

Across seven worlds, Kazenna had tracked them, narrowed the distance, crept nearer and nearer like an apex predator, all stealth and cunning, caution and precision. The shuttle had been painted black and spangled in white dots, making it harder to spot in the darkness of the star-spangled black of the cosmic void. It was only her own poor fortune when an imperial frigate had dropped out of hyperspace right beside her and a handful of imperial storm troopers reported seeing something through a damned window. The result of that report was a broad-spectrum attack that revealed her position by throwing her into the planetary atmosphere just as the inquisitors were landing.

“Not exactly a delicate landing,” Kazenna said after using the Force to throw open the cockpit window of the ruined repurposed transit shuttle and leaping out. As she turned to look at it, she shook her head, before she turned her head sharply as her own senses forewarned of impending peril. The inquisitors had learned of her presence; combined with their own sensitivity, were aware a Force-user was here and were coming to investigate the shuttle. For the time being, at least, she was going to be stuck on Bpfassh, until she was able to discover a way to get off the planet without having to fight through an imperial blockade; undetected and, more importantly, still breathing. Gear checked, she was swift in vacating the crash site, a fair gap separating her from the nearest city, and her outfit certainly wouldn’t prove to be a hindrance, what with the hooded cloak look being so popular these days.

Bpfassh was a world of primarily arid wasteland, which provided precious little room to hide but abundant room for her to manoeuvre in. One of the shuttle’s small speeders had survived the crash-landing, fortunately, the other one had been damaged beyond repair, and if she were especially lucky, they would think it the only one. That would mean the two inquisitors would waste precious time scanning the nearby desert for signs of a dead pilot having stumbled out of the plane and wandering off to die alone in the deserts of the arid world. It was night on this part of the planet, which naturally helped her cause; by the time they found the ship, it was past midnight in that region and she was long gone. Now it was a matter of getting the inquisitors to separate, avoiding direct confrontations with the storm troopers that were all the bloody hell over the place, and then taking out the inquisitors separately. A skilled assassin could manage that easily enough, but she was no assassin; Kazenna was, however, every bit as predatory as a jungle cat, though how useful a jungle cat would be on a desert planet, only time would tell.

It proved easy enough, at least, for her to track down the part of town where the Empire not only wasn’t, but was least welcomed. For all their bluster, the Empire’s local military presence at least was watered down: perhaps Bpfassh was not seen as altogether threatening or maybe it was low-priority. Or perhaps a populous desert planet wasn’t something the Empire really wanted to fight over if it could avoid it, and so it had a limited garrison that wouldn’t be able to keep a presence in force both on the ground and in orbit at the same time. Orbit was preferential, anyway, clearer angles to fire on and no having to deal with the … balmy … local climate, to which fortunately Kazenna herself was acclimated. She laid low for a day or so then tracked down the inquisitors, still operating as a damned duet and now on high alert, but she was yet the stealthier of the three. Just as they thought she was in one direction, she moved, and the men found themselves looking anywhere but her, until she convinced them it was in their best interest to split up to cover greater area and attempt a coordinated pincer. It was the opening she was looking for, as she vacated the entire area and then withdrew, playing cat-and-mouse with them for the entire day. On the second day, that was when they split up exactly as she wanted them to, while she watched from far enough away that her stealth maintained her secrecy.

“Such predictable little mice,” she mused to herself as she watched the distant, tiny shapes on the ground moving off in opposite directions, from the roof. Her cloak fluttered as she hurried into motion, moving to trail above and behind the larger of the pair, the one called Dumas, an imposing figure a shade over one hundred ninety-three centimetres tall and one hundred and nine burly kilograms of angry, narrow-minded muscle. For a few hours, she waited cautiously, inching nearer and nearer, senses keenly aware of the distance that now separated Tamar and Dumas, even if they were able to make contact across it they were, now, still more than two kilometres from each other. Worse yet, they were in an unfamiliar city’s complicated infrastructure surrounded by an unfriendly and resentful populace who would not get in their way, but wouldn’t really do anything altogether helpful, either.

Finally, she descended from the rooftops, swooping down like an eagle descending upon her prey, using the Force to control her assault vector. As she closed within a hundred feet, Dumas halted in place, squinted, his dark hazel irises scanning left and right, forward and backward, as he felt her approach. Nearer, nearer, as she slid weapons from their holsters, but didn’t activate them immediately and give away her position with noise. He wheeled, the hum of a bright red lightsaber whirring through the air as she dropped to the ground in a braced crouch behind him. It would’ve been in front of him if he’d not whirled around, but he wasn’t expecting to be attacked from the front: risk of being a Sith, she supposed, always expecting the knife in the back and not in the chest. He froze as his senses resonated with her presence, turning around and freezing in surprise as he saw her standing in front of him, and he immediately started to raise his weapon. Even as he did, she swept forward, phrik-and-light sai humming through the air as she caught his blade and trapped it in three bands of shimmering blue the shade of the sky on a clear winter morning. A heartbeat’s breadth later, male irises widened as a second sparkle of incandescent blue the matched that of the sai came across in an arc, scorching a path through the narrowest part of his body, separating head from shoulders in the process.

Even as his knees went weak and muscles slack, his lightsaber fell to the ground with a metallic clank and deactivated, followed a second later by the heavy thunk of a man’s head hitting the pavement. A downside to this whole thing, of course, was the unfortunate fact that the inquisitors had ordered a methodical search by teams of storm troopers. Her own personal unluckiness continued, as an entire platoon of them rounded a corner right as she was beheading one of the two inquisitors in the system, and she had to wheel to face them as they opened fire.

“Duck, you fools,” she shouted at the civilians nearby, some of whom literally flung themselves to the ground virtually instantaneously while others fled through doors into buildings or into alleyways. Sai and saber hummed in the air as she flowed gracefully against the tide of fire coming from two and a half dozen white-armoured enemies. Four blades whirred and buzzed, as she deflected more bolts into the sky than toward her attackers, mainly to ensure no risk of an accidental hit against a civilian. Even so, she closed the distance between herself and her attackers, deflected attacks dropping their number from thirty to twenty-two as she crossed from forty metres to three. Amongst them, her fighting style shone, whirling and carving simultaneously as the zabrak avoided their fire and cut them down, the last of them lasting long enough for Tamar to catch sight of her.

An impressive figure with her hood back, Kazenna had almond-coloured skin accented by a long ponytail of brownish-black hair and tattoos in black ink in the traditions of her people and an impressive set of horns. She stood one hundred eighty and a third centimetres and a fraction over ninety-seven and a half kilograms, taut musculature concealed by a mass of clothes and a cloak that continued to flutter in the wind that whipped down the city boulevard. Tamar gazed at her, incredulous and infuriated, and thenceforth empowered, though he maintained the condescending confidence of one on the side with more firepower. She was, in truth, currently stranded on a planet not her own which happened to be occupied by a hostile force, and Kazenna certainly couldn’t kill every imperial soldier on the planet and on every ship in orbit.

“Oh, look. A Jedi,” mocked Tamar, his overconfidence practically palpable in the air.

“I haven’t seen a Jedi in years, inquisitor,” she answered casually, soliciting a blink and a faintly surprised expression, “I was fairly certain your ilk killed them all. If I were a Jedi, you’d know it, though I suppose you think you already do, since you’re so confident I am one.” She knew it was banter, she knew he had undoubtedly summoned some sort of reinforcement, she’d never known a Sith to fight fair. Kazenna had more tricks in her sleeve than the average Jedi tricks he would expect of her. She had achieved the rank of Jedi Master, before the fall of the Jedi Order, it was true, but she had diversified herself since then and no longer considered herself as one of the Jedi Order, anymore.

“Oh, really?” came the expected challenge, as he motioned callously toward all the dead storm troopers and a headless fellow inquisitor lying somewhere a good distance from the white-armoured troopers, “Then why kill my friends?”

“Sith don’t have friends, and if you think you do, you’re deluding yourself,” she answered with a smirking chortle of unmasked amusement, then teased him in response, “I will grace you with an answer, however.”

“Do tell,” he said with an expression that was deadpan but for an eyebrow twitch.

“I killed your fellow inquisitor because, very simply, he was an asshole. His ex-girlfriend offered a handsome reward for verifiable news of his untimely demise,” she answered with a blatant and unabashed lie. While it was of course an absolute possibility that he might have had an ex-girlfriend out there somewhere who would be pleased to hear about his unfortunate beheading, she certainly wouldn’t have had any way to know of it. The fact that she lied straight to his face, however, caught Dumas off-guard and he blinked at her in consternation, eyebrows furrowing for a moment.

“… Dumas didn’t have a girlfriend,” he said bluntly, his anger at the death of his verbal sparring-mate slowly starting to bubble over composure borne of overconfidence. At his assurance, she turned her head faintly, looking past him to where the corpse of Dumas lay in two separate pieces, one admittedly quite a bit smaller than the other piece was.

“Not anymore, anyway,” she retorted with a smirk, as she looked back at him. His eyes narrowed at her in response, a clear indicator of increasing annoyance at least. As he glowered at her, she leaned back a bit and laughed heartily at his displeasure and irritation, further confounding his confidence the zabrak woman was a Jedi. Few, admittedly, had ever heard a Jedi bust out laughing, however, at a Sith inquisitor or otherwise.

“All right, then, tell me who you are, so I know what to put on your tombstone!” growled the inquisitor as he lunged forward, launching a bolt of force lightning in her direction in a brilliant, angry scarlet colour. Her sai whirled in the air for a moment as she spun it and deactivated it at the same time, holstering it before her freed hand rose sharply in the direction of the bolt. She channeled her amusement and self-satisfaction into the discipline of tutaminis, and simply absorbed the power that he had thrown at her, a shimmering aura of blue forming at the point of impact as she did so. Even as he thrust his second hand into the assault, striking with all of his might, she continued to absorb his rage with her amusement, channeling the power absorbed into the power absorbing. He finally ceased, his breathing heavier and a few faint beads of sweat visible upon his brow, as he glowered hatefully at her casual snicker. Tamar was smaller, by a noticeable margin, than the pale-skinned Dumas; a tan-skinned man brown of hair and eye, he was a comparably modest one hundred sixty-seven and two-thirds centimetres and slightly more than seventy-two and a half kilograms.

“For a non-Jedi, you are impressively trained in the Force,” growled the inquisitor, “you have, however, met far more than your match in me, and your training will not save you.” His power surged with hate as he struck again, though this time she launched herself forward, racing toward him at maximum haste, using her own abilities to move her out of the path of incoming bolts. He launched strike after strike at her, backpedaling as he realized she was now becoming perilously close while still attempting to continue throwing his lightning at her. Even as he raged, she laughed loudly and freely as she swept toward him, long-handled lightsaber held out to one side as she approached until he was forced into a vacant alleyway. Finally, his back hit a wall, and her light-sai hit him, puncturing in three places and scorching hollows in both him and the wall immediately behind him, though the latter in only one place.

“You draw power only from cruelty and malice, like every Sith weakling,” she said as she brought her light-sai up to cut him through vital organs that would include bisecting the heart, to ensure the death of her enemy. Once irreparable harm had been inflicted, she turned her head as she heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire anew, nearby, and what were unquestionably fresh applications of the Force. She whirled and raced up the alleyway back to the street she had recently vacated, whereon she was met with an… unexpected surprise.
 
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Title: Alternate Path —» Chapter Two —» Assistance Unsought
Genre: Science Fiction —» Star Wars —» Rebellion Era
Characters: Original Characters Only; M×m and M×f
Tagged: Please refer to Chapter One for story-wide tagging.
Word Count: 5,216

At the explosion of sound nearby, gunfire that could come only from imperial soldiers, a pale head rose sharply from where it was. An intimate act interrupted, two youthful frames clothed themselves quickly, one with a complexion of bone-like grey-white and the other of apricot. The lighter of the two had the darker hair, true-black with irises of dark blue, standing at one hundred seventy-five and a quarter centimetres and eighty-three and nine-tenths kilograms, with his hair in an elbow-length ponytail. His human companion, slightly his junior if only by a few months, was a shade taller at a hundred seventy-seven and eight-tenths centimetres with a well-muscled weight of ninety and three-quarter kilograms. His hair was shorter and lighter, a mess of vivid red that however much he combed it, refused all attempts at styling, and eyes of a rich shade of ao green. Once clothed, eighteen-year-old and his months-older darker-haired lover moved with a faint rush to collect their weapons, smuggled like everything else they owned but still in working order.

“I wonder who they’re shooting at,” said the nineteen-year-old Bpfassh as he holstered his black-marketed Tof Soren slug-thrower and loaded his smuggled DC-17 heavy blaster pistol.

“I have no clue, N’Haru,” answered the youthful eighteen-year-old human a couple metres away, “but whoever they’re shooting at, we can bet they probably don’t deserve it.” Even as they strapped on and buckled into the familiar suits of smuggled armour, the ‘blast-dampening armour’ made by Creshaldyne Industries, they heard the shooting stop and the sound of voices in the street outside. Even as everyone else was taking cover and hiding to avoid the fight, the two young men took cover with their heavy blaster pistols in-hand, peering cautiously around the wall and out the window. The human’s green eyes narrowed as he watched someone dual wielding a lightsaber and something decidedly not a saber pressing an inquisitor into an alleyway, hearing the sound of heavily-armoured boots rushing in their direction. A new platoon of white-armoured storm troopers thundered around the corner at a rushed pace, skidding to a halt and surveying the collection of dead bodies as they looked for the enemy they’d been summoned to fight, or the one who’d summoned them to battle.

“What do you want to do?”

“T3,” the redhead replied, and N’Haru nodded, reaching over and opening the door on the other side of him from the window of the room. It opened up onto a narrow balcony walkway with a solid concrete railing, which would provide decent cover, and once it was opened, he rotated himself out and dropped into a crouch. He swept rapidly until he was into a new position of cover, untrained sensitivity to the Force warned of two nearby who were at least as powerful as he and Shane, but none of the troopers below bore that indicator.

“Spread out, search the alleyways,” ordered the commander of the trooper platoon. Shane nodded and N’Haru rose up enough to aim, firing at the source of the sound and hitting him in the neck four times in rapid succession, dropping him and then shouting.

“You won’t have him!” catcalled the Bpfassh, having no real clue whether the inquisitor had been fighting a male or a female, but T3 wasn’t about accuracy. The storm troopers below immediately opened fire as he ducked back under the cover of the railing and rushed low until he was a dozen metres down the walkway. He popped up from there and fired again, expending another eight rounds of the clip as he dropped two more of the platoon’s armoured imperials. In truth, he probably didn’t need four shots to take one down when he was aiming for vital organs, but he was fond of the certitude that was offered by hitting them four times in more-or-less the same place. As the platoon raced toward the stairwell to ascend to the second-level balcony, N’Haru broke off and bolted further from Shane’s position, where he remained stealthily silent and still. N’Haru took cover once more, behind a heavy concrete block full of soil, having a large fern growing out of it. The owner of this particular local hotel liked to beautify their property, and ferns were pretty, especially to people from a barren desert world that had no ferns to speak of on it, at least not naturally occurring ones. As the soldiers rushed up onto the balcony, N’Haru leaned around again, firing eight more shots as he dropped their number from twenty-seven to twenty-five.

The platoon rushed forward, past Shane in pursuit of N’Haru as the young Bpfassh swept rapidly from one planter to the next. As the last soldiers passed the doorway, Shane slipped out and reached with the Force, swinging a hammer-blow of it across the last four, knocking them over the edge. As they fell face-first into the pavement at an unnaturally accelerated speed and broke their necks, Shane fired his pistol into the backs of four more, hitting each man twice, in the back of the head and the beck of the neck. The platoon jerked to a stop at the sound of gunfire behind them, their remaining soldiers whirling around to fire as Shane leapt over the edge and used the Force to swing himself down to the ground level below.

As Shane cleared the firing line, N’Haru stood and fired sixteen times in rapid succession, dropping their number by an additional four men. Even as they spun around for the second time in under a minute, N’Haru sent a wave of force into them that knocked the remaining thirteen men off their feet. Then, mirroring his lover, he used the Force, leaping over the edge and swinging underneath the balcony, where he landed beside Shane. Given the number remaining, the Bpfassh boy switched from his blaster pistol to his slug-thrower, and raced across the street, toward an alleyway other than the one with the two Force-users in it. As the troopers regained their feet and started firing from the balcony, he wheeled and dove behind a heavy truck, listening as their boots resounded heavily on the ground to indicate their exact positions. He leaned around, now aiming with greater precision as he had a gun with a mere seven-round clip in it, but far more power and firing a solid projectile. Four shots fired, and four troopers fell with a hole bored into their helmet and skull, as the others started firing and forced him to swivel back into the protective blockade of the truck, which at least for the moment was sustaining the fire.

He noticed movement in the Force, untrained senses still picking up the movement of one of the Force-use identities in the other alley, at the same time as he heard a very unfavourable sound from the truck. He swore under his breath, rising and rushing out from behind it toward another bit of cover; seeing him moving, Shane broke from his own cover and fired shots into four of the remaining troopers, dropping them. A heartbeat later, a powerful wave of Force was slammed into the remaining five as the dark-cloaked figure emerged from the alleyway and instantly attacked the last members of the squad of storm troopers. Seconds later, as N’Haru ducked behind another vehicle, the truck he’d been behind exploded, as the imperial soldiers had managed to hit the fuel tank and another unfortunately both flammable and explosive part of the inner mechanisms. The explosion distracted everyone long enough for N’Haru to wheel out of cover and leap forward with the help of the Force, landing in the middle of the five remaining soldiers as he switched back to his DC-17 pistol. As he landed on his feet, he immediately started turning, shooting each man in the head once before shooting them each twice more in the head for the added sense of certitude.

As he holstered his pistol, the dark-cloaked slayer of the inquisitors approached rapidly from one direction while his lover approached from the other. Both young men turned toward the dark-cloaked figure, which rapidly became clear as a woman, who holstered her own weapons as she approached, though her approach was hardly hospitable.

“Who the frack are you?” came the brusque inquiry from the Zabrak’s high tenor.

“Two of the Empire’s most critical nonfans,” replied Shane nondescriptly, as N’Haru looked sidelong at one, and then, sidelong at the other, before sighing.

“Yeah, that’s real friendly, you, two, now how about we not stand here surrounded by the bodies of a bunch of dead imperial soldiers and a couple dead inquisitors, and try the friendly version of this, somewhere else,” N’Haru put in, looking at both of them for a moment before turning and hurrying into a different alleyway. Shane followed quickly, and the woman somewhat reluctantly, though he assumed that she had concluded that as mutual enemies of the Empire it was in her best interest to follow them if she wanted somewhere to lie low. More particularly, it was in her best for the moment to follow the Bpfassh, a native of the planet and a relative local who knew the backstreets far better than his lover. Sure, it was true that Shane had lived here for ten years, but N’Haru was the one who’d been on these streets for his entire life, a considerable period of which entirely on his own. The Empire left orphans, wherever they went.

From one alley to a second and then a third, N’Haru led the way before lifting the cover off a hole and dropping into it, descending twenty feet before he landed. Little choice in the matter found the zabrak dropping next, followed by Shane, who pulled the cover back into place as soon as he was through, holding onto a ladder before dropping down, himself. When N’Haru did not stop, however, their dark-cloaked acquaintance found herself forced to follow further, running gracefully to keep up with the two healthy young men. After a tunnel, an abrupt second ladder down, and one further tunnel, they came out at the grand prize of the whole trek: a massive underground lake in a cave that had been transformed into a city facility. It wasn’t anywhere the Empire wanted to bother fortifying, or they didn’t know about it in the first place, but in either case, it was presently secure.

“You may have noticed Bpfassh is an arid desert, water comes at a premium. Every city on Bpfassh, well every major city with a population in the millions, is positioned near surface water, in one of the extremely rare rainy regions, or on top of one of an aquifer. The city of M’Haiu, happens to be one of the latter,” N’Haru explained, as their cloaked guest marveled for a moment at the massive lake underneath the city whose name she hadn’t really known until now, “My name is N’Haru Olath, and that’s Shane Morris, my… ah, mate. Who are you, and other than killing inquisitors, for which we thank you, what brings you to my homeworld?” Shane grumbled gruffly at the introductions, certainly not fond of giving names before getting them, but he would at least not need to wait long.

“I am Kazenna Xevac, and until about an hour ago, my reason for coming here was to kill those two inquisitors, then get off-planet before anyone noticed them missing,” the thirty-year-old zabrak replied, “until I noticed the two of you are Force-sensitive and untrained.” She wasn’t particularly happy about that, but her training compelled her to proceed into taking action to correct the lack of training and ensure their safety. In spite of her distancing herself from the word ‘Jedi,’ it was hard to overlook many years of training and an overall two decades of being one in one of the rare safe corners of the explored galaxy.

“We’re doing just fine on our own, thank you,” Shane replied.

“So I noticed, but you have a lot of potential and I could teach you how to tap into that potential and become great,” Kazenna answered.

“Still not going to work, I don’t call anyone master or mistress,” Shane replied firmly.

“Yeah, I kind of already have a Master. I mean, not like in the Force or anything, but,” added N’Haru, but Kazenna shook her head in answer.

“You wouldn’t have to call me anything like that, neither of you would,” she assured them, “I am not a Jedi, or a Sith, I don’t operate like that. If you want to find a title that works for you, that would be acceptable, or you can simply call me by my name and give me the same respect you’d give a teacher.”

“Sounds reasonable, I think; doesn’t it?” replied N’Haru, before looking over toward Shane. Shane sighed in a sort of long-suffering way as he looked sidelong at N’Haru, then rolled his eyes and groaned before offering a nod in answer.

“Very well, pet,” he said to the slightly older Bpfassh, then looked to the Zabrak woman, far their senior in terms of adulthood and training alike, “Your offer is acceptable, on the condition that this training does not disrupt my playtime with my boy.” Kazenna observed their interaction and her expression registered a recognition of the fact that the two were not simply intimately associated with one another, but equal partners in a kinkily unequal dynamic.

“I see. I will, of course, need to understand your relationship more clearly for that, but, I believe your intense emotional bond is a strength that can be capitalized. I am up for the challenge of attempting to train both of you, if you are up to the challenge of allowing me to learn about and come to understand your relationship,” Kazenna replied, and Shane lightened up with a more relaxed nod.

“Fair enough,” he said, more at-ease with the whole idea with her assurance of noninterference with his authority over his pet, “the first thing you should know, is you probably won’t hear him using my name again, as that is not the way he addresses me when talking to me, directly.” Kazenna nodded as she listened to the information Shane was ready to share with her.

“I take it, then, that you are the Master he was talking about, a moment ago?” she asked, and Shane nodded in answer; she nodded in response, then, looking to N’Haru, “I have no objection to you addressing him as Master if he is your Master, when I am about.” Shane smiled faintly and nodded once more.

“Good, then; we’ve been together for about three years, like this. We’re both orphans, we met up through our abilities; we sensed each other, found our way to each other, bonded with each other, and he became mine,” Shane explained, to which Kazenna nodded. It wasn’t uncommon for people who were Force-sensitive to have inklings of the presence of another person, though the manner in which they had come together seemed like it was probably a little less normal.

“I must admit, I’ve never met kinky Force-users, but I don’t imagine this’ll be a problem insofar as your training,” the elder of the three assured them, “However, I think we should find somewhere more secure than this to undertake both the training and locating safe transit off the planet. There is a Jedi Praxeum that has fallen into disuse since the fall of their Order and the rise of the Empire, it should prove secure enough for our purposes; the Empire largely ignores Jedi sites these days.”

“Very well,” Shane nodded, before looking toward N’Haru, “do you know the way, pet?”

“Of course, Master,” N’Haru replied readily, moving past the fact he knew where pretty much everything within about two hundred kilometres of M’Haiu was, “This way.” It took a while, but by the time they emerged from the underworld and returned to the surface, it was well past nightfall, a fact that suited their needs well enough. The Praxeum, itself, was not in the same level of disrepair it would have been if it were somewhere swampy; it was designed to resist wind erosion well enough, and that was about all this region of Bpfassh had to worry about was wind. Even sandstorms in this area were rather rare, so it weathered the weather quite efficiently, though from the sounds coming from further inside of it as they entered, it also saw far more recent use than expected. They moved up onto the roof, from one level of it to the next, in Force-assisted leaps that would let them get into a position to see the source of the sound, assuming the hangar doors were open.

Since they were not, however, they manoeuvred to look in through one of the windows, and saw a brand new ship of an unfamiliar design, incomplete and still under construction, with a salinon shape and a considerable size. It looked to be twenty-eight metres from dorsal to ventral hull, eighty metres at the widest point and sixty metres from the rounded nose to the more widely rounded aft curve. The hull itself looked to be brushed metal, of the durasteel variety, which at least that much was readily recognizable about the strange vessel.

“Do you recognize that design?” asked Shane, but Kazenna shook her head in answer.

“Unfamiliar, it must be new, but given the secrecy and our location, I can judge they’re no friends of the Empire. Look there, though: it has four Ht-12 heavy laser cannons in a quadruple nose mounting and the topside of each wing has a dual configuration of the KX9 standard laser cannon. Come on, now, we need to introduce ourselves now,” she replied, then motioned toward the ledge and down toward the ground below. She dropped over the edge and slowed her descent with the Force, allowing her to touch down on the sandy soil lightly enough before turning to face toward the building.

Shane and N’Haru both nodded in answer, following her down to the ground before using the Force to open a pair of double-doors on one outer wall. It was answered immediately by the squad of eight engineers drawing their pistols as they ducked into cover positions to fire at the door.

“Follow my lead,” Kazenna said, drawing her long-handled lightsaber and sweeping in through the door. Shane gave a nod, and then they moved in behind her, flanking her while drawing their pistols as she activated her lightsaber in a near-vertical bar directly in front of her, angled slightly forward.

“A Jedi,” came the hushed whisper of a man older than Kazenna by more years than N’Haru had been alive, as the set of combat engineers pulled back their pistols to indicate no intent to fire.

“Not anymore,” Kazenna said as she deactivated her lightsaber, and the young men behind her to either side bent their firing arms at the shoulder, so their pistols would aim toward the ceiling, “I am of the light, but I walk a different path. I have not seen a Jedi in years, but one would be a welcome sight in my quest to hit the Empire where it hurts. This is a place of Jedi learning; I know what brings us here, and I suspect I am looking at what brings you here. Or, perhaps more accurately, what you intend to bring you out of here.”

“You are correct in your estimation, stranger,” said the older male, as he emerged from behind crates of materials that were still in the process of being unloaded, as the ship was by no means yet prepared to sail them all off the planet. A man of somewhere between fifty-five and sixty-five years, he was hale and hearty, with the same pale grey complexion found on all Bpfasshi, and blue-grey irises. He stood one hundred eighty-two and nine-tenths centimetres tall, with a well-muscled weight of ninety-five and a quarter kilograms.

“My name is K’Shar Haelux, and this is my son, G’Brel,” K’Shar introduced himself, as well as a young man looking very much like K’Shar forty years earlier, who had come to stand beside him. Where K’Shar had short hair of salt and pepper black and light grey, G’Brel had hair of purest black, though not of a true-black colour. They were damnably close in height and weight, such that it would’ve been hard to tell them apart from one another in that regard, it was only the weathering of his features that made the father distinguished from his son.

“I am Kazenna Xevac, walker of the light and these two… fine young men, are my… students,” she replied, brokenly at points as she paused to search for the proper words.

“Shane Morris,” supplied Shane, far more readily, “owner of the gorgeous boy you see standing beside us.” N’Haru’s bone-grey skin flushed a shade of electric lavender in answer, but he smiled nevertheless.

“N’Haru Olath, pet and playmate of the fine, upstanding gentleman beside me,” N’Haru greeted, received by the faint chuckling of the older gentleman and the quizzical head-tilt of a son in his mid-twenties.

“Good enough for me. Those two over there, are our fellow engineers, the twins; S’Kara and S’Kolu Irfanth,” K’Shar continued, with a motion to a brother and sister who were extraordinarily close to indistinguishable from one another. Both a hundred seventy-seven and eight-tenth centimetres in height, both eighty-six and two-tenths kilograms in well-muscled physique, with bone-grey complexions and true-black hair in shoulder-length ponytails, the female twin was not voluptuous in her endowment. Dressed similarly, in outfits suitable to the hard mechanical labour involved in the manual assembly of a starship of the size of what they were working on, both of them appeared heavily androgynous, with pretty eyes of dark green colouration. Then, K’Shar motioned to two additional young men, who were dressed in more relaxed attire, which suggested whatever their role, it was decidedly not assembling and maintaining the ship.

“Those two are T’Lor Marluth and M’Kan Lorwun, our pilots,” K’Shar introduced, and the two nodded in answer to the introduction with the polite smile of men who were undecided in how they felt about a new acquaintance. Both of them had the same bone-grey complexion as was common in all Bpfasshi, well-muscled physiques, and short hair, but that was about where their similarities ended. T’Lor was one hundred eighty-five and a half centimetres in height and a somewhat slender-looking eighty-six kilograms, while M’Kan was a somewhat heartier ninety-two kilograms with a height of one hundred seventy-five and a quarter centimetres. Where T’Lor’s hair was black in one-inch spikes, his companion’s was chin-length and messy, and where M’Kan’s eyes were hazel, T’Lor had eyes of a potently vibrant shade of apple green. Finally, K’Shar motioned toward the last two members of their team.

“Our last two experts are both marines. Sor’A Lenoir is a programming and hacking expert, and the other is a friend of his, K’Cela Orph, she’s our munitions and explosives export,” K’Shar introduced the last of them. Sor’A was a man with the typical Bpfassh complexion accented by capri-blue irises and shaggy strands of shoulder-length hair of a true-black colouration, standing one hundred eighty one and a half centimetres in height and eighty-seven and one-tenth kilograms in weight. He was taller than many of them, but compared to K’Cela, he was still noticeably smaller, as she stood an impressive one hundred ninety and a half centimetres and ninety-nine and four-fifths kilograms in muscled weight. Her hair was inky brown-black and contained in a tight, chin-length ponytail, with eyes of the same shade of zinnwaldite brown to match, with the traditional Bpfasshi facial tattooing that were a part of their culture. It was a part of their culture that was voluntary, but N’Haru hadn’t ever met a Bpfassh who had resisted the traditional tattooing of their people when they were old enough to receive it.

“The humans have a saying,” K’Shar went on to say, “the enemy of my enemy, is my friend. This is not always a clear truth, but I sense that since you are enemies of the Empire, and we are enemies of the Empire, that we are both friends of the rebellion.”

“You sense correctly,” N’Haru assured him with a nod, which K’Shar returned.

“Then you are welcome here, and to come with us when we leave; there seems to have been quite a ruckus in M’Haiu, and our contacts in the city tell us a group matching your descriptions killed sixty imperial soldiers and two inquisitors. They also tell us that imperial soldiers are searching for you, and providing a variety of false accounts of your actions, in an attempt to deceive our countrymen into collaboration,” K’Shar said.

“Our current situation makes a strong case for all of us remaining here in the Praxeum until your ship is ready to fly,” Kazenna said, to which K’Shar nodded, “Since we will be working together, what can you tell me about the ship?”

“We are calling it an escort freighter, and as you see, it has gun turrets on both the top and bottom of each wing. Our supplier has a connection to Taim & Bak manufacturers, which is why all the ship’s weapons originate from the same manufacturer. Brushed metal hull, just finished installing the M’Haiu Cloaking Device, so when we paint her it won’t matter what the colours are because they won’t see us anyway unless we want them to,” K’Shar answered, “And don’t worry. It isn’t stygium-based, we wouldn’t risk the Empire wondering why we need that many lightsaber crystals, and it isn’t hibridium, so we’re not going to double-blind and have the stealth be tactically useless or something like that. The prototypes have already been tested on a personal scale to ensure they work, it’s how we got some of the harder to acquire parts, we used personal cloaks to infiltrate a couple of the local imperial supply depots.”

“She’ll go a solid 1,100 kilometres per hour in endoatmospheric flight; her exoatmospheric subluminal velocity should be around 42% of light. Slower than a TIE Fighter in a dogfight by a considerable margin, but she’s not a dogfighter, so that’s not really a concern,” G’Brel added, “The engines are F-31 drive engines from Kuat Systems Engineering, intended for heavier freight transport than she’ll carry. She’s about two-thirds the size of an Action Six but only carries ten thousand metric tons, and she’s got four engines instead of two; for luminal transit, we have her equipped with a Class 1.7 primary hyperdrive and a Class 2.3 reserve hyperdrive. Room on board for twenty, not that we’ll be likely to have that many people, more than that if anyone doubles-up like the twins, or… well, like you two, I guess, though that’s a different kind of doubling up, obviously.”


“Thank you very much for specifying that I don’t sleep with my brother,” S’Kara commented dryly in the background.

“Also, there’s obviously the coolant system, the inertial dampeners, SOSW and 4.2 VMT power converters and their associated power couplings, stuff like that,” G’Brel continued, undaunted by the comment, “no real complement with regards to speeders or anything yet, but the cargo deck’s got some room for that without sacrificing the reserved cargo space. Brackets on the floor delineate the separation between committed cargo space and twenty docking niches that’ll fit most models of speeder. Also, we can stock three months of high-quality rations or six months of non-perishables. Oh, and one more thing to know, it has a shield rating of 750 SBD and a hull rating of 700 RU, so it can take somewhat of a beating, but we shouldn’t hang around for a firefight too long if we run into an imperial ship. Stealth’s the better option with this girl.”

“There’s three decks,” K’Shar indicated, “top and bottom are the crew decks, engineering, gunnery stations, cockpit, that sort of stuff. Centre deck is the largest so we designed that to be the cargo bay, there’re access ladders in each of four positions connecting the three decks, at the corners of the cargo deck. There’s about a month of work to be done, yet, before we take off, but you’re clear to pick your rooms; there’s ten crew quarters on the first deck, ten on the third deck, but several of the deck one chambers are already claimed. They’re marked pretty clearly; mine’s room one, G’Brel is room two, twins are room three, pilots are room four, Sor’A is room five and K’Cela is room six, but seven through ten are clear.”

“We should take rooms on deck three, to make the training easier,” Kazenna advised, and Shane nodded.

“All right, we’ll take room three on deck three, then,” Shane said, and N’Haru nodded, “Not that we have much to put in it right now other than guns, armour, and one set of clothes, but, as long as it’s comfortable for two people to share the same space, that’s all that matters.”

“Plenty comfortable,” S’Kara assured, “we were able to put a nice-sized bed on opposite sides of the room and we’ve still more room than we need, with one bed you two will be living comfortably enough, under the circumstances.”

“We’re going to scout the Praxeum, both to ensure no imperial troops have started a search and to make sure there are no important resources we could use when we leave. The Empire tends to overlook places like this, now that there’s no Jedi in them to kill,” Kazenna said, and K’Shar nodded.

“Good thought, that,” he replied, “we wouldn’t want to miss anything that might be useful, or that might benefit the Empire if they found it. Not that this Praxeum’s seen use in a few centuries, anyway, so anything left of use won’t be likely to be especially new.”

“By the way, what are you calling this ship? Other than calling it an escort freighter by classification,” Shane asked, pausing to look at the group of Bpfasshi from near a doorway further into the Praxeum.

“We were thinking the Nighthawk, given the stealth abilities,” K’Shar answered, and Shane nodded.

“We’ll split up, since you two are skilled enough to not require my escort, and we’ll cover more ground, doing that,” Kazenna said, and Shane nodded.

“Of course; come, pet,” Shane replied then looked to his lover and motioned with a hand before heading off down one of the hallways of the Praxeum.

“Following, Master,” N’Haru replied, moving to follow his chosen Owner, two steps behind and on his left-hand side where Shane preferred him. N’Haru wasn’t certain of what they would discover in their search, but he was adamantly hopeful that it wouldn’t be more imperial soldiers. Mainly because that would mean fleeing with an incomplete ship or hoping the cloaking device actually worked to hide them from detection.