Quest Abandoner

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.

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

Itxaro stumbled from her bunk, bleary-eyed and aching. She wasn't sure if it was the excitement of the previous day, breathing highly oxygenated air, or some combination of the two, but she finally gave up trying to sleep. Looking at the other crewmembers crammed into the bedroom now rising like resurrected corpses for the next shift, she suspected the whole ship was beginning to suffer from some degree of sleep deprivation.

Itxaro's mind went out, came back, and went out again like a ranging dog. I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day, she mused weirdly, unsure of the sentence's provenance. Itxaro's first thoughts after waking were often confusing and disjointed. But the thoughts that came to her in the restless sleep were not.

She had flung herself about the cramped bunk in the darkness, thinking of home. Not particularly missing it; she wouldn't trade meeting aliens for all the comforts on Earth. No, she'd been thinking about what home's response would be to the discovery of a lush planet filled with sentient, magic life. It didn't take long for Itxaro to determine what the capitalist countries and corporations would do. Exploitation at best. Slavery at worst. What else could they do? That's all they know.

Itxaro shuffled from room to room, searching for an open shower. Bathroom for every cabin. Who the hell designed this ship? She slipped into the rec room, found an unoccupied shower, and hurriedly stripped and jumped in before anyone could steal it from her.

It was easy for Itxaro to predict what the rest of humanity, in her mind, would do. The real question for the engineer was how her own country would respond, and this question tortured her all night as she ran through the possibilities. Like the island nation it grew from, the USASR was a one-party state, almost a given with any socialist country. However, if that had been intended to create a unified government, it failed miserably. The Politburó was fractured into a dozen or more shifting factions, all vying for power to enact their policies.

Even though she was expecting it, the blast of cold water elicited a sharp yelp from Itxaro. She scrubbed quickly, knowing she only had a limited amount of time before the water shut off, or she was interrupted by another morning riser.

The Marxist-Leninist-Bazánists, the dominant faction, would advocate for the isolation of Kanth-Aremek
at all costs, even if it meant violence with other humans. Or so Itxaro suspected. This faction had not forgotten the damage done by early colonizers to the Americas, and would seek to spare this new world the same fate. Might be too late for that. Furthermore, the old-school among them would state that even if they did interact with the aliens, they were far too primitive for a socialist revolution. She recalled that Lenin stated the Russian Empire was not ready for a revolution in 1917, and Itxaro guessed Kanth-Aremek was far from reaching even that level of development.

Only marginally cleaner than she'd been moments before but now wide awake, Itxaro stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel before heading to the laundry room around the corner, metal icy cold against her bare feet.

The trade unionists would advocate for trade, what else? An exchange between Kanth-Aremek and the USASR, trying to edge out the other human nations with favorable deals. Increase the industrialization of Kanth-Aremek, develop infrastructure and their economic capacity to both decrease their exploitation and accelerate the growth of the proletariat, thus speeding up the socialist revolution that was inevitable in all societies. So they say. Itxaro feared the rapid industrialization of what she assumed was a medieval world would result in an incredibly warped society.

Itxaro quickly changed into the thick, baggy coveralls she'd cleaned the previous night with a concoction of the science team, a boric acid wash meant to make fabric resistant to combustion in Kanth-Aremek's atmosphere. Or at least buy you some time to rip the burning garment off. They felt stiff and heavy, and weren't as strong as the flash suits they had in limited supply, but she supposed it was better than catching on fire.

It was the Neo-Maoists who worried Itxaro the most, though. They were a relatively small faction growing smaller, their beliefs now outdated on an entirely developed Earth, but they led a large alliance within the Politburó, and possessed an ideology that could be dangerously applicable to Kanth-Aremek. The Neo-Maoists believed that industrialization and a proletariat wasn't necessary for a revolution, that Mao himself had toppled the old regime using a vanguard of pre-industrial peasants instead. They would likely deploy agitators to instigate an insurrection against whatever powers controlled Kanth-Aremek, try to topple the local governments, and install those loyal to the glorious people's revolution at the top. Then, they could wage yet another war against the human occupiers, effectively turning the whole planet into a warzone.

Every scenario Itxaro had thought of last night ended in warfare and bloodshed. She felt deep in her gut that neither the USASR nor Kanth-Aremek could ever come out on top against the forces stacked against them. They'd have better luck trying to stop the tide from coming in.

Itxaro tugged her chunky boots on, shifting uncomfortably in her attire. She hated the drab clothes with a passion, yearning for something vibrant and exciting, but it would have to do. The engineer headed to the shuttle bay, preferring to work through her restlessness rather than toss and turn.

---

She was about halfway to her destination when a frazzled crewman came sprinting down the corridor, wild-eyed and out of breath. "Itxaro! Bird! Your name... Gotta find Vigdis... Fucking lizard!" The man dashed off, leaving Itxaro to puzzle together his manic fragments. She started to the shuttle again, double time.

Itxaro peaked over the barricade that spanned the shuttle bay ramp and recognized several familiar aliens through the transparent plastic, along with a new one. Fucking lizard! She fell off the barricade in surprise and landed on the deck painfully, then scrambled back to her feet to vault over the barricade and slide through a flap in the plastic sheeting. She hadn't expected yet another species on the planet, bringing the total up to four. There was also something that looked like Shirik, only it wasn't... Burning. The lizard creature stood closest to her. This must be the one they've been trying to get here. During their translation session, Shirik had tried to explain in their rudimentary tongue why they needed them, but the meaning eluded Itxaro. S'tor read think, speak, talk. It was difficult to picture the giant dragon before her, S'tor she assumed, as a scholar, but that was all that came to mind from Shirik's explanation; perhaps a linguist of some sort? Surely this planet had more than one language.

Itxaro greeted each member of the party in the local dialect, before reaching the dragon. "Hello, S'tor," Itxaro finished with a slight bow. The gesture seemed to work with the Glenn, so she stuck with it. "Itxaro," she said, pointing to herself. "Friends, all," she added, opening her arms to them. Itxaro was skeptical how much help a native translator would be. They'd been getting along at a decent pace before, she considered a little egotistically, but the aliens seemed adamant that this towering lizard was necessary.

Read think, speak, talk. What's that mean? He gonna read my mind? Itxaro considered with a slight grin. Then she thought back to the Iriad's fire drawings, showing all of the magical abilities they possessed, and more. One depiction in particular stuck out in her memory. Oh fuck, he's gonna read my mind.

She turned to the barricade and hissed to the crewman on the other side, "Get Mallory! Get Eva too! Now! There's a lizard!" Itxaro turned back to the party and smiled nervously, searching her deep pockets for any more party favors but only finding loose cigarettes and no lighter. Even in her frantic state, Itxaro was pleased to see Kareet using the notebook and pen, and wondered how the studious Tekeri was enjoying The Years of Revolution. Then she remembered that the paper could spontaneously combust in the atmosphere, destroying all of Kareet's notes and her loaned book. Gonna have to fix that after this clusterfuck.

Itxaro continued to stall, trying to pump them for information. "S'tor read think..." she struggled to remember the native word. Her tongue felt too heavy and slow for the quick native language. "Head. Question?" Since it was difficult for humans and Kanth-Aremek natives to read eachother's intonations that could suggest a question, Shirik and Itxaro used the word "question" to indicate that something was indeed a query. She pointed to her head for added effect, not knowing if they understood that the brain is the center of cognition. Why am I the only idiot out here?

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

@Master Crim Hello! Let the record show I think both of these ideas for a character are really good. Some kind of biologist would be really useful in learning more about the native wildlife and the source of magic on the planet. Hope you sign on!

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

I got an idea for what she would hate the Sith. The thing the stormtroopers were guarding was some kind of Sithspawn that was being housed at the site for experimentation and was released as a last resort and your char would find out what it was in the aftermath and how it relates to the Sith. How does that sound?

Yeah the wiki used to have a list of force powers and now it is gone for some reason and you have to dig to find stuff. The core your should have is telekinesis, force speed, force sense, force jump, I think force healing. I might be missing one but, these your char should have.

@Theyra

Ooh I like that a lot, good idea! And yeah, I remember the wiki being laid out differently when it came to the force powers, very weird change. Also, I just finished my character sheet, let me know if there are any other issues, thanks!

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

Being a New Republic deserter in the New Jedi Order will cause problems, mainly the relationship between the Order and the New Republic. You can say she left the New Republic after the Valdont. That and there being a legion of sith apprentices is very unlikely, so how about removing that bit?

@Theyra

Lol yeah I definitely got hyperbolic there with the legion, how about like... A Sith lord and their apprentice? Basically just need an excuse for her to hate the Sith, something for her to overcome in training. Totally down with deleting any metion of Sith tho. Also, removed the deserting aspect!

As an aside, you mentioned they should have the core Force abilities, but which ones are included in this? Not entirely sure, thanks!

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

Hello! Throwing my interest in. Character sheet isn't complete yet, so forgive any errors, but let me know if anything in the history section rubs you the wrong way. Thanks!

Reni Sehl

Some mood music for ya

Reni Sehl

Species

Mirialan

Gender

Female | She/Her

Age

22

Appearance

Reni stands at 6'0 and weighs 175 pounds, body corded with the lean, ropey muscle typical of Mirialans. 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, the most notable being 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. Reni favors the standard Jedi robes, with no particular flair. She's just happy to wear them.

Rank

Apprentice

Personality

Reni is 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. After several setbacks and hardships, Reni has started to reevaluate herself and the world around her, becoming more introspective.

Reni's time in the military shattered her illusion of the New Republic as a shining beacon of hope for the future. She saw first hand how men and women were sent to slaughter and be slaughtered. Now, she 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.

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 creatures 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. Despite her experiences and beliefs, Reni is still young, remaining very naive and trusting of almost anyone. The Mirialan is also honest, almost painfully so, which often gets her into trouble. Yet she harbors a deep hatred inside of her, which Reni knows she will have to confront.

The young Mirialan despises the Sith, a hatred formed at a young age when force-sensitive children 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 corruption 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 confronted, but tries to hide her resentment nonetheless, and it continues to grow.

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 Padawan.

Skills

Form III: Reni is hesitant to use a lightsaber at all, but when she must, the apprentice prefers the Resilience Form. The tight, defensive posture compliments her physical and mental strengths, and allows her to tire her opponents out so she may end a fight without the loss of life.

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 growing connection to the Force has deepened these skills as well, using it to detect nearby life and sense previous presences.

Healer: The young 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 medicine, is able to set broken limbs, and if all else fails, can call upon the Force to mend wounds. Reni surpasses most other apprentices in this field, but has yet to reach a Jedi Knight's competency.

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 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. 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, the Imperials she killed, and above all, the cruelty of the Sith. Reni harbors a hatred for those fallen to the Dark Side, and knows she will have to overcome this if she ever wishes to fully heal and become a Jedi Knight.

Naive: Despite her worldliness, Reni is shockingly innocent. She believes that almost everyone has goodness in them and means well, and this trusting nature frequently leaves her open to exploitation. Reni is also quite ignorant on matters of culture, politics, history, and science, and has much to learn compared to other apprentices.

Background

Reni was born on the planet Mirial, a cold, desert-like planet largely ignored by the rest of the galaxy. Reni's people were a nomadic, semi-primitive tribe, constantly on the move to find new pastures for their livestock and to avoid 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. Thus, 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 rare, but necessary trips into the cities that dotted Mirial, trading 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, and it was time for her to leave the tribe, for a time. 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 could only think of one path to take. The New Republic Army. Reni told herself it was a way to pay back the Republic, where she no longer had to hide her powers, and children weren't stolen in the night by Sith. She also remembered how Linac had spoken of the Rebel Alliance; swaggering, rugged freedom fighters finding adventure all over the galaxy, bathed in glory. She signed up.

Life in the New Republic Army 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 Republic, and she found herself embedded with the 1st Reconnaissance Batallion, a fighting force that specialized in scouting rugged terrain on inhospitable planets. Swift, silent, and dangerous. Reni continued to hide her Force sensitivity, unable to shake the outdated cultural norm, but proved herself in other ways during training. She was an excellent scout, able to move in complete silence, and able to read terrain like none other.

The fighting 1st 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. Two 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 Republic 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 Republic 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 Republic 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, Reni, along with most of the other survivors in the battalion, were quietly mustered out by the Republic Army. Reni spent most of her savings traveling through the galaxy's backwaters, drinking, gambling, and trying to forget. 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 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.

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

Regime Goon and Blizz

---

Itxaro had to stop herself from shrieking with delight when she caught Silbermine's golden band, her hands eagerly working over the artifact to explore the item's craftsmanship. She managed to keep her composure. It wasn't so much the value of the object - Itxaro had never been one for jewelry or trinkets - but what it meant. The first exchange of gifts between humans and aliens, and she'd been part of it. Looking up, Silbermine seemed just as enamored with his gift. The cheap pens could hardly compare to the handcrafted ring she held in her prosthetic hand, but nonetheless, they seemed impressed. She bowed gratefully to the Glen before following Zey back to the ship. The tension between the natives still worried Itxaro, and she suspected this wasn't the end of the conflict. She studied the gift once more before wearing it proudly on her bicep, feeling like ancient royalty. "Could have gone worse, right?"

---

Itxaro was still reeling from the whirlwind of activity to contribute much during the staff meeting. Their situation, already precarious, was becoming even more so as the hours passed. Priorities were shifting from just repairing the ship to defense, long-term supply issues, and negotiations with the natives. Itxaro didn't mention they might not be able to return home even if the standard engines were repaired, given the sorry state of the FTL drive. Problem for another time. Aside from voicing support for the various plans crew members proposed, the engineer remained uncharacteristically silent.

Meeting adjourned, Itxaro joined Vigdis and the other engineers in the shuttle bay to patch up the hull. It’d been a while since she'd used a plasma cutter, but her quick hands flew about their work, still remembering the motions. She cleaned up the ragged edges of the hull breach, allowing Vigdis to seal it up with the pre-cut sheet metal. The manual labor was a far cry from crunching numbers on theoretical FTL drives, and frankly, Itxaro welcomed the change. It was something real, something tangible. That, and it allowed her mind to wander, turning the day's events over in her head. Sentient life form was big, but magic? Really? She kept flipping up her welding mask to look at the natives in the distance as if to reassure herself the whole day hadn't been a fever dream, and she wasn't comatose in the ship's medbay.

After hefting up the sheet metal while Vigdis welded them into place, Itxaro, now sweaty and exhausted, quietly slipped out of the shuttle bay to end her shift early. The hull now sealed, she figured they wouldn't miss her too sorely. If not, she'd probably be chewed out. I've been chewed out before. Fuck it. Rather than scour the ship's guts splicing wires together, Itxaro assigned herself a new task. She scrounged for what she thought she needed and set out to find Shirik.

---

Itxaro found Shirik at the native's camp, a short walk from the Jo's crash site. She carried a bag slung over her shoulder and set it down before the Iriad. "Gifts," she explained with a small grin. She'd been worried that the first natives might have been offended they didn't get a trinket like the Glen, so she'd brought along a few party favors. Itxaro opened the bag and set her offerings out. A simple combat knife for Nellara, who she assumed was some kind of soldier; the knife, oversized in human hands, would be closer to a letter opener for the massive Tekeri. Two blank journals, bound in durable plastic, for Kareet and Kolvar, along with pens. They seemed more scholarly than the others, and she'd seen one scribbling on paper during their interactions, so it seemed like a fitting gift. She also included her personal, beat-up copy of The Years of Revolution, an early history of the USASR written in Spanish and heavily annotated by Itxaro. She doubted they'd be able to read it anytime soon, but it was the thought that counted. She wasn't sure what to give J'eon, though. He seemed somehow different from the others. Itxaro noticed the anvil medallion he wore, and managed to slip a ball peen hammer out of the machine shop that probably wouldn't be missed.

"Gifts," Itxaro repeated, sweeping her arm over the items now on display. She reached into her pocket and produced her electric arc lighter, fully charged. She pulled a page from one of the empty journals and lit it as a quick demonstration. The paper smoldered quickly and fell into the wind. "For you," she said, handing the lighter to Shirik. Been meaning to quit smoking anyways.

The two sat in the soft moss and continued where they had left off, expanding their shared language. They still relied on Itxaro's datapad and Shirik's patience, but now free from the previous session's stresses, the two were able to establish something akin to real communication. Yes, no, the idea of a question, some verbs, and a plethora of nouns. She made sure that there was no one-way translation, with Shririk understanding the English version and Itxaro the Kanth-Aremek version. It was tedious, sometimes frustrating work, but rewarding nonetheless. She supposed the ship AI, keyed in to her datapad, could have accelerated the process, but frankly she didn't trust the semi-sentient machine.

Between translations, Shirik would spread their hands between the two, and draw flaming shapes in the air to help depict things easier. Eventually, depictions became written, bilingual script in both of their languages. Shirik would further portray what sentences they both formed in the other’s tongue with moving images. The sentence, “House Silbermine wants Jotunheim,” for example, was depicted by several Glen drawn in flame, picking up the ship and carrying it away from the “Sky People.”

During their translation attempts, Shirik made no attempts to speak to Ixtaro in the same way they spoke to Nellara earlier, or the Glen knights who appeared with ill intent. Shirik was about as calm as one could imagine a being made of fire could manage.

Itxaro felt strangely comfortable in the alien's presence, free from the human prejudices that she felt aboard the Jotunheim. Any quirks or eccentricities she had, Itxaro assumed, would be chalked up to typical behavior by the locals. As the sun began to set, Itxaro stood, stretching her long limbs, and smiled at the Iriad. "Thank you, Shirik. Tomorrow, more talk?" She asked in her rough dialect.

Shirik nodded. ”Yes. Tomorrow. Find me. We will speak more.” They said, speaking in human language in a way that seemed like they weren’t actively trying to sound fluent. Having learned multiple languages over the last millennia, it wasn’t entirely difficult to pick up one more.

When Ixtaro left, Shirik put up the hood of their cloak, and clasped their hands together. Iriad did not sleep, ordinarily. Shirik, however, did not enter the usual hibernation state that most of their kind did. Dim flames began to spread across the ground, faint like old candles. Shirik’s head tilted downwards, and they entered a dormant state. The flames did not burn anything, but they simply existed around Shirik. To the humans, this would have seemed like sleeping, though it was not.

---

Itxaro fell into her bunk, feeling the warmth from the previous occupant. The room was dark and filled with the sound of shallow breathing from sleeping crew, but faint blue light bathed Itxaro’s face as she opened her datapad. She shared the first edition of the English-Alien Dictionary, complete with a rudimentary pronunciation guide for each word and an alphabet, on the ship's network for her crewmembers to review. 80 words. Not a bad start, she mused. Itxaro also compiled a brief report to Zey, filling her in on what Shirik had said. House Silbermine wants Jotunheim. Despite her exhaustion, it was a long time before sleep found her.