#Star Wars: The Hunt for Aurra Sing

[auditect]

Guys, I just had to jump upon the bandwagon!

[jewishcissiekj]

Aurra Sing in Star Wars (1998) #28-31 -The Hunt for Aurra Sing by Davidé Fabbri (written by Tim Truman)

[silyabeeodess]

So happy to be part of another awesome dub with @auditect!! "The Hunt for Aurra Sing" continues!! :)

[dispatchdcu]

Star Wars: Jango Fett #4 Preview

Star Wars: Jango Fett #4 Preview #jangofett #starwarsjangofett #MARVEL #marvelcomics #comics #comicbooks #news #mcu #art #info #NCBD #comicbooknews #previews #reviews #starwars #darthvader #vader #skywalker #starwarscomics #amazon

Star Wars: Jango Fett #4 Preview: THE HUNTER BECOMES THE HUNTED! Every major bounty hunter in the galaxy is stalking JANGO FETT and AURRA SING! Will the unlikely partners solve the mystery of a priceless stolen artifact in time? Who will survive the SHOCKING CONCLUSION to the series? ETHAN SACKS  • LUKE ROSS  (A) Cover by LEINIL FRANCIS YU THE PHANTOM MENACE 25TH ANNIVERSARY VARIANT COVER BY…

[xinambercladx]

"Figment" Ch1: Credits and Copper

Rating: T Characters: Cad Bane, Darth Sidious, Darth Maul (mentioned). Summary: Cad Bane waits for a Sith Lord's holocall, and a possible job. Little does he know the rabbit hole it will send him down. -------------------------------------------------------------- The promise of fame and fortune often leads to infamy and misfortune.

22 BBY

First year of the Clone Wars.

It was a living night on the cold streets of Coruscant. The central hub of the galaxy creaked from the rust and the rot, greased by blood and sweat of the lower classes to churn the cream of society to the top. And down, down below the underbelly growled from hunger and greed and bloodlust and ambition. The city dwellers who had dreams of leaving never left, and those that did always returned. The hum of neon signs and whistling air speeders was a sick tune of narcissism playing nursery rhymes with hope. The sky of stars was choked out by the air pollution and lights of the city, and those that dared to look up only saw the crushing thousand levels of concrete and durasteel above ever looming.

Cad Bane stared out the window, rolling a toothpick in his mouth. From the darkly lit room he stared out to the neon lit city, the underbelly of Corucant. Speeders zipped by pedestrians. Between him and the next skyscraper was undoubtedly an endless chasm reaching down to the 500 level, only crossable by bridge. He wasn’t in the most depraved levels of the city-wide planet, but not in a nice level either. The Hole was a seedy hotel that rented out an apartment to him whenever he visited the planet. The Hole was a favorite of bounty hunters for its discretion, and was a carefully guarded secret among them for that very reason, as they themselves often bounties on their own heads. The walls were stained, but thankfully free of mold and mildew. He stayed here because amenities were available for cooking if needed, washing if needed, a bed for sleeping, if he could fall asleep at all. There was even a computer with full access to the holonet and holoprojector to boot. The projector had ceased communication with a client with a potential assignment, much to his chagrin. The mysterious client had somehow gotten his direct line of communication some months before and had sent him to kill Jedi, secure bases of operations like Bilbringi Depo once belonging to a Hutt. Killing a Hutt was an offense that would have put an even larger bounty on his head than Bane already had. The client had asked for no evidence left behind, for which he was somewhat thankful for not bringing more heat to himself, but also rued the fact his reputation wouldn’t grow from boasting about it.

“Bilbringi Depot is secured,” Bane said when the job was completed. He brushed off his hat from the short lived skirmish. His battle droids loaded into his ship, theSleight of Hand.

“You have done well, Bounty Hunter. I trust you left no evidence of your work,” the hooded man said, hands oddly hovering in front of him as if ready to grasp the air.

“I never leave a mess unless I’m paid to leave a mess. I’m a professional,” Bane assured, giving the Durosian equivalent to a wink.

The hooded man had seemed pleased, a wry grin curling over not quite perfect, human teeth. “Payment has been transferred to your account. I shall contact you when I next require your services.”

Bane had begun to make clients jump through several hoops little more than ten years ago. A new client, who went by the simple name “Maul”, had hired him to help kidnap a Jedi Padawan from an auction house on Nar Shadaa, another city planet with a less admirable reputation. Bane, Aurra Sing, and their teammate were hired for little more than being patsies, a distraction as this Maul snuck a peek at the asset. They all ended up being hunted by the very auctioneers their were steeling the Padawan from and in the end the job was barely worth saving the Zabrak’s hide, with the Jedi nowhere to be seen. “The Jedi has met her fate,” was all Maul uttered on the matter as they flew away from Nal Hutta’s moon.Dead, Bane assumed. Maul paid Bane’s crew their fees. Bane decided if he had to jump through hoops to get paid, his services were worth more and worth protecting from nonsensical clients. Clients now had to be referred by previous clients. Perhaps more hoops were needed.

Normally Bane didn’t care who the client was as long as he got paid. This hooded client had proven to be a lucrative one, with tasks of particularly tricky goals. He had to admit, they were rather fun. When this Darth Sidious contacted him again as promised Bane couldn’t help but be curious what the job would entail next. Before the hooded man could begin explaining, he said, “Just a moment” and the feed was cut short. Bane scoffed, his curiosity left hanging. A title like Darth meant he was a Sith Lord. The Jedi were obsessed with finding Dooku and his dark partner. Here Bane was simply minding his own business and the Sith had contacted him for help. He wondered what the job was. There was a familiarfeelto this man. It was a lurking sense of danger that got under the skin. Cad Bane lazily walked to the window. He adjusted the wide brimmed hat he was still wearing after returning. He leaned on the sill, staring off into the distance, waiting.

Bane fiddled with the toothpick, cleaning a bit of sinew that had gotten stuck between his fang and side incisor. The nerf kebabs had hit the spot. The meat had been perfectly grilled and drenched in a delicious, peppery sauce. He had gotten it in celebration of job he had completed not six hours ago. The Bengal Barbecue kiosk had opened recently and quickly developed a fan following. There had been a massive line, sometimes trailing around the street corner most days of the week. He had wanted to try it after smelling the sizzling meat stand several times on previous visits, but never had the time to wait in line. The comfortable weight in his stomach sac confirmed it was well worth it. Bane could see the stand across the street. The line was gone as the kiosk closed for the night. The lights flicked off and the Weequay pit master walked home. Bane silently wished the entrepreneur success. He liked the kebabs, and fully intended on giving the Weequay more of his credits.

Soon the pit master was lost in the distance and passing crowds. Bane’s large eyes focused on a new sign above where the pit master disappeared. The display, easily four times the size of a speeder, morphed between greens and blues, switching from trees to ocean. Words scrolled along the bottom, advertising Alderaan and several other vacation planets. It was subtle though. The footage replayed and he watched, wondering why he liked it. The shapes of trees waving in the wind somehow morphed into seaweed, which morphed into waves, which morphed into rolling clouds. The nature scenes starkly contrasted with the constructed buildings around it, so no wonder his red eyes seemed to be transfixed by it. Whoever had edited the footage was gifted. The footage replayed. Water pattered on rooftops, rivers swirled, and waves crashed on black cliffs. Trees stretched across a blue sky. Seaweed waved in shallow pools morphed into fields of grass waving in the wind. A stream of long hair shined in the sun, and there was a smile warmer than the sun could ever…

A dim blue light lit up behind him. The old voice of the hooded man croaked, “Excuse the interruption.” Bane was snapped out the daydream, the voice grating his ears. “As I was saying, Bounty Hunter, I am in need of your services.”

Bane returned to the here and now, the recurring client, potentialjob. “I’mlistenin’,” Bane spoke curtly, half thinking the job better be worth the wait like the kebabs had been. He flicked his toothpick into the corner rubbish bin.

“I need a Jedi… Holocron.”

“To get a Holocron I’ll need to break in to de Jedi Temple. It’s impossible… not to mention,deadly,” Bane explained, not missing a beat. He had considered breaking in before, but had always treated it like a puzzle to solve merely to pass the time between jobs. Over the decades, he had collected various diagrams, pass codes, and other intel some would deem useless about the fortress. Half of it had been simply from researching how to take down Jedi or better defend himself from them. The oldest records he had acquired were from a Jedi artifact collector while undercover for an unrelated heist. The records were over a millennia old, before the pyramid like walls had been erected to protect the inner sanctum. He had never thought a client would be daft enough to hire him for such a venture. Perhaps this silly pass time of his hadn’t been so outlandish after all. It would be a huge risk, but the reward would be-

“Perhaps your reputation has been exaggerated,” Darth Sidious sneered flatly, hitting the bounty hunter’s pride.

Bane leaned on the desk chair and pounced at the jab with a list of demands, “I want a Rogue class starfighter with elite weapons, cloaking device, dewerks.” It was everything he would need for the getaway if things went south. “Oh, and,” he sprinkled the sting of pocketbooks as he slipped into the chair and put his feet up, “triple my usual rate.”

The Sith Lord flicked the jab away as if it were a crumb on his plate, “Your price is of no concern. I will also provide you with the means to getinsidethe temple.” Sidious’ offer was so casual the bounty hunter could only be amused.

Bane smiled with pleasure, “You’ve gotta deal.”

“Excellent,” Darth Sidious replied. “I’ll see the item you requested is manufactured and delivered beforehand. In the meantime, there is a smaller task I have for you. There is a Jedi I need taken care of.”

“Another Jedi and another job? You know my fees, Sith. What more does dis entail?”

“Master Ord Enisence. I need him eliminated. Once he is dead, and the Holocron retrieved, you will need to recover a crystal from Jedi Master Bolla Ropal. The Holocron cannot be unlocked without the crystal he possesses. Collect the information inside the Holocron for me.” Darth Sidious said, then added, “You have proven yourself capable enough so far, bounty hunter. Continue to do so and I shall employ you further.”

“I’m at your service,” replied Bane, giving a mock bow while still seated. “I must admit, I’m enjoying dis tango, but I can’t help but wonder who gave you my contact? It wouldn’t have been your associate, Maul, now would it? You Sith types like your mystery and intrigue, so I can’t un-see the resemblance, with both of you havin’ a penchant for hooded cloaks and messin’ wit Jedi business.”

Darth Sidious didn’t answer immediately, impressed with the bounty hunter’s deduction. “The incident with the Padawan on Nar Shadaa was a necessary lesson for my... former apprentice to learn patience, a quality in which he lacked, unlike yourself.”

“An important virtue, dat one,” Bane said.

“Indeed.”

“Is that all den?”

“It is.” Sidious concluded their business and sent Cad Bane an encrypted file with instructions on where to pick up a data chip. The holoprojector shut off and the room was free of that unsettling feeling under the skin. The feeling was replaced with anticipation, and Cad Bane immediately got up to leave. He was tired, but sleep could wait until after he retrieved the chip. The Sith had complemented his patience compared to Maul, however there was nothing wrong with being proactive. Sidious wasn’t the only one eager to get the ball rolling. Curiosity on several thoughts had finally been sated. Maul had indeed been connected to Darth Sidious. Maul was his “former” apprentice, meaning he was dead, which meant Count Dooku was Maul’s replacement. The Galactic Republic believed Dooku was the mastermind behind the war, but Bane now believed it was the unseen Sidious pulling the strings.

Bane descended down the steps of The Hole, a façade bar and restaurant, in truth. He crossed the street and passed the Bengal Barbecue kiosk. The faint scent of charred meat and charcoal still lingered in the air. He walked for some ways, waking up from the post meal sleepiness. Bane watched as passers by step in puddles ahead of him. A leak spilled from an apartment's air conditioner line. Blue and green lights reflected on the rippled surface. His red eyes were drawn up to the Star Tours vacation advertisement on the large screen overhead. He stopped to admire the morphing landscapes. It truly was a masterful edit. The fields appeared and grass swayed, but something was missing. He watched the ad replay. Again, something was missing.

“You fancy a vacation to Alderaan, Duros? I can take you to the spaceport if you like,” a young voice asked. Cad Bane turned to find a young human taxi driver, bundled up in a fur collared leather jacket. “Nice new ad, though, huh? I wonder how they get the seafoam to turn into clouds like that?”

“Sure it is,” Bane replied. “I like de version with de woman.”

“Woman?”

“Yess. Long locks, smilin’ at you.”

The taxi driver shrugged, “I’d like to see that version! Maybe they’d sell more spots on the Tour with a pretty girl in it. I’ve been staring at this ad for the last hour though. No girl. When did they play that version?”

Bane hesitated. The conversation with Sidious had begun only twenty minutes earlier. He shook his head. “Doen't matter. Take me to dese coordinates. I gotta job to do.”

The night was hustling and so should he. ----------------------- Chapter Links: Next Chapter

[elenathehun]

May You Have One Just Like You

Star Wars | ~4.9k | 1/? chapters | Jango Fett & his terrible life choices

Ten years ago, Aurra Sing disappeared on Kohlma, hunting a bounty that was not hers to take. Jango Fett hasn't thought of her in years, too busy burnishing his reputation as the galaxy's greatest bounty hunter and avoiding the dangerous vagaries of Mandalorian politics. But "disappeared" is not the same as "dead", as he learns to his chagrin when Aurra’s last will and testament bestows upon him a most puzzling inheritance: a young girl. Jango is not one to shirk his duties, no matter what other people might say; he will do his best to raise this unexpected daughter to adulthood, come hell or high water. But a difficult task is made even harder by the war, as well as by Jango’s fractious people. After all, it’s often said there are always three sides in every truly memorable pan-galactic war: the right side, the wrong side…and the Mandalorian side.

Read on AO3 | Read the other entries for this year's @swbigbang

The collection for this years big bang has finally been revealed, and I am free to show off my shiny new thing! As usual, the joy of a non-traditional role swap AU was too much for me to ignore...

My thanks to the mods of @swbigbang for facilitating, and @catznetsov for some truly amazing art. As usual, please read and review!

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

FUN IN THE SUN IN THE OUTER RIM -- DRINKS WITH LITTLE UMBRELLAS IN THEM -- NEXT COMES THE KILL-SHOT.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on Aurora Sing's deadly bounty hunting abilities in full display, from "STAR WARS -- The Bounty Hunters: Aurra Sing," the first issue in the "Bounty Hunters" series of comic-books published by Dark Horse. The issue was released on August 11, 1999.

EXTRA INFO: All you SW die-hards out there probably already know who Wuher is, I'm sure. Pretty kool Easter egg, am I right?

"Tatoo System, the Outer Rim, Township of Mos Espa. I've been here before. Hated it then, loathe it now. Not that I'm bellyaching. Work's work. And I like my job."

-- AURRA SING after assassinating her penultimate Shi'do bounty (27 BBY)

Story & art by Timothy Truman

Colors by Steve McCaig

Lettering by Michael Taylor

Sources: https://viewcomiconline.com/star-wars-the-bounty-hunters-aurra-sing & The Slings and Arrows.

[revanisadumbass]

I am a "Xiaan Amersu is a brown-skinned Twi'lek" truther and I will be that way until the day I die.

[sinisterexaggerator]

"Now in stock at your local Disney Theme Park is the latest wave in the Disney/Star Wars mash-ups, Series 5! In this exciting assortment, our favorite Fab 5 characters don the costumes of the more iconic of Star Wars characters.  This wave is more prequel-centric with a dash of The Clone Wars for good measure.

Series 5 includes:

Donald Duck as Commander Cody — Uh oh, there’s a break in contininuity here if Pete is Boba Fett!

Daisy Duck as Aurra Sing — This bounty hunter first appeared in The Phantom Menace but is a featured character in The Clone Wars.

Stitch as General Grievous — He’s got four arms so… this makes sense!

Goofy as Cad Bane — This bounty hunter from The Clone Wars is anything but Goofy!

Huey, Dewey, and Louie as Jawas — The highlight of the wave for me is the introduction of Donald’s nephews to the Star Wars universe.  Short, playful, I like the idea of the nephews stealing droids for profit.

All figures and even a few older assortments can be bought for just $9.95 at Disneyland, World of Disney at Downtown Disney, and Disney’s Hollywood Studios and Downtown Disney.  Happy Hunting!"

Is this for real?!?!

Holy shit it is!!!!

[blackkatmagic]

Your fics have opened my eyes to the fact that there is a tragic lack of Jon Antilles centric fics. Low key want to add to the pile. May I ask what sources you consumed for Jon's characterizations?

Sadly, his only appearance is in the Star Wars Republic comics, in issue #53. Other than that, I drew on a lot of things that Dark Woman says in her appearances (Jedi: Aayla Secura, The Hunt for Aurra Sing, Republic #59, Extinction), and then made assumptions about what his past was like from her statements. Which is, I think, one of the reasons I like writing him so much? It's a fun puzzle trying to build backstory from scattered moments like that.

[swanandphoenixsong]

Aliit - Ao3

Chapter 10: Bounty Hunters

Series: Part 2 of the Star Wars - Nouveau AU series

Chapter Summary: Outside the Mandalore Sector, bounty hunters and agents of the criminal underworld make movements across Hutt Space.

Notes: This chapter begins in Boba Fett’s POV, then introduces two new POVs from original characters. It also begins right after Satine is recaptured and Saxon contracts the Krayt’s Claw bounty hunters– so, more non-linear storytelling. I also make several references to the Clone Wars episodes “Bounty” and “Eminence”. See the Endnotes for more details.

Translations of Mando’a: Kyr’tsad – Mando’a name for Death Watch; literally: "Death Society" Cuy’val dar – Mandalorian warriors who disappeared with Jango Fett between 32-30 BBY; meaning “those who no longer exist” Ba’jurne Kyr’stad Mando’ad – the manifesto shared by Death Watch recruiters, written by Tor Vizsla before 42 BBY; literally: “teachings of the Death Watch Mandalorians”

– –

19 BBY – Mos Eisley, Tatooine, Krayt’s Claw bounty hunters’ headquarters

After ending the call with Saxon, Boba had sat lower at his desk, irritation seething under his skin. He hadn’t been a part of defending the Hutts from Death Watch and those destructive Dathomirian Force-users, but he had heard about it extensively from Dengar, for days afterward. Latts had told him off more than once, tired of his griping. Embo was as antisocial as usual, if not more so. The latter two had spent more time away from Krayt’s Claw, Embo with his loyalty to Sugi’s Crew, and Latts off with that backstabbing Force-user Bossk had hired for the Quarzite job. Boba had never gotten her name, and just thinking about her ticked him off even more.

And now Bossk was insisting they work with Death Watch, those terrorist brutes who plagued Mandalorian Space like a cancer. Whatever money they had stolen from Sundari’s vaults couldn’t be worth the annoyance he’d suffer in their presence.

Just then, Bossk returned, pushing Aurra Sing into the dim light of their makeshift office. She had turned up on Tatooine around the same time he and Bossk set up Krayt’s Claw, but Boba had avoided working with her as much as possible. She was still ruffled from her stint in Oova IV’s prison, after her defeat by a Jedi more than a year ago. She shoved away from Bossk, crossing her arms tightly as she fumed.

“What’s this really about?” Boba asked, “and what’s Sing got to do with it?”

Bossk ignored him as he turned toward the disorganized stacks of flimsi piled on their neglected, malfunctioning holotable. “Did Saxon ssend over th’ detailss?”

Boba sighed, retrieving his holocomm and displaying the bounty contract they’d received just minutes ago. Sing scrutinized it as Boba and Bossk filled her in on what they knew of Death Watch’s schemes. Attached to the contract was a meager rundown of the situation on Mandalore. Vizsla was dead and former Prime Minister Almec was now the face of their takeover. The crime syndicate forces were still on their side, but considered untrustworthy. There was no mention of the Sith, but Boba doubted they weren’t still involved.

As for the contract itself, the full bounty would be awarded to them upon capture and delivery of the four cadets to Sundari, as well as the hefty bonus for killing Bo-Katan Kryze. Saxon had no stipulations for their compliance, just that they would be given travel clearance to Concordia, Mandalore’s moon, and supplied with any intel they had on the renegades’ whereabouts. It would be their job to set up the right crew, as well as acquiring transportation and weaponry. It wasn’t unusual conditions for a bounty hunt, but it would take a larger team, which meant reaching out to other syndicates or allies. Boba was not keen on trusting strangers to have his back, but he knew, on their own, Krayt’s Claw’s chances against trained and fully outfitted Mandalorian warriors would be slim.

Yet, Sing seemed just as interested as Bossk had, smirking as if she thought they’d forgotten her betrayal on Florrum.

Bossk turned toward him then, having given up looking through the files. “Where’ss Jango’s bookss?” he asked directly.

Boba raised an eyebrow skeptically, leaning forward to pull open the slightly busted bottom drawer of his desk, taking out a handful of books and pamphlets, aged and practically falling apart. Bossk spread them out on the desk, pulling out the weathered, blue and gray manifesto Jango once stole from a Kyr’tsad recruiter. Boba remembered his father showing it to him, before often throwing it against a wall, upset by the treachery of Vizsla’s schemes, or the distorted misrepresentations of his ancestral traditions. Boba hadn’t picked it up in years, having little care for the convoluted politics of a culture he hardly claimed as his own.

His father had tried to instill in him the honor of his heritage, while the Cuy’val dar had taught the earliest clones their fighting styles, and they picked it up twice as fast as he did. Even after the Cuy’val dar were suspended, he could never dispel the resentment he carried toward the clones. Even when his father insisted Boba was his legacy, he couldn’t help focusing on his shortcomings, especially after his father’s death, and even more so after he failed to take revenge on his Jedi killers.

Boba shook his head, breaking his reverie as he stood and braced his hands against the desk, while Bossk began to speak.

Bossk slammed down the Ba’jurne Kyr’stad Mando’ad pamphlet, pointing at it emphatically. “Before Pre Viszla led Death Watch, Tor Viszla wass their leader, and thiss bookk describess how he led th’ Death Watch to ssurvive in th’ shadowss – before Jango finally kkilled him, little more than twenty yearss ago.”

“We can assume then,” Sing continued, “that Pre Viszla followed in Tor’s footsteps, learning from his tactics and spreading the same lies he did.”

“Now, Saxon sayss Pre Vizsla’s dead, and we know that th’ Sith brought th’ Death Watch and th’ crime families together for their own purposes. That meanss change is coming, not only for Mandalorianss, but alsso for th’ criminal underworld. Jango would rather uss be prepared against any opposition, esspecially th’ enemies of his people.”

“Well, he’s not around anymore, is he?” Boba replied sarcastically.

Sing made a noncommittal sound, picking up the pamphlet and shuffling through its pages. “Jango may not be around, but it’s not a bad idea. By working with Saxon now, we can avoid trouble later, and use Death Watch’s resources to our advantage.”

Boba grit his teeth. “We do fine on our own. I want nothing to do with the Mandalore Sector. And last I checked, this is my syndicate.”

Bossk looked toward Boba pointedly. “We owe it to Jango, to do thiss in his sstead.”

It was a half-baked plan riddled with unknowns, but the both of them seemed adamant enough that Boba knew arguing would be pointless. He let out a sound of frustration, flopping back down in his seat. Sing grinned at his exasperation, and Boba wanted nothing more than to throw her back out on the sunsbeaten sands of the Dune Sea.

He deliberated over their odds. By his estimate, they’d be up against the Nite Owl renegades – making up a force of at least a dozen soldiers, even if he didn’t include the cadets. Which, considering the trouble he’d had with that bratty hostage girl on Quarzite, he really should. Besides that, who knew what other resources they might have, or if they wouldn’t rally other Mandalorian clans to their cause? Could they truly rival Death Watch exiles and get an upper hand on Saxon, all while securing four rebellious runaways?

Bossk seemed to pick up on his doubts. “Don’ be sso pessimistic, Boss.” He hissed with a grin towards Sing, “We know ssomeone all-too-willing to hunt down pessky Mandalorianss.”

Boba had grabbed his helmet and followed Bossk and Sing to the Mos Eisley Cantina, where their contact had agreed to meet with them. It seemed that they just happened to already be in a nearby system, but Boba suspected luck had nothing to do with it. He groaned inwardly as they stepped inside, faced by the rank smell of spilt spirits, smuggled death-sticks, and faint wafts of spice. As slave-girls danced and the kloo-band played, he pulled on his helmet and the bounty hunters made their way to a secluded alcove to await their anticipated allies.

Some time later, after a song or two had played and Sing’s blue-tinted drink had been refilled twice, Bossk got their attention with the words, “There they are.” The lead latecomer was a yellow Trandoshan male with brown mottling, who Boba might’ve met before, if he cared to remember all the ‘friends’ Bossk had introduced him to over the past months. He was followed by a towering red-scaled Trandoshan female, with striking yellow eyes and bold, black stripes down her face and arms; her mismatched, gold-painted armor was adorned with a varactyl’s vibrant, feathery mane, Wookiee braids, and a necklace of various tooth and claw trophies. Bossk waved them over and Sing drained the remainder of her drink with a smirk.

Bossk stood and grasped the arm of the yellow Trandoshan. “Ramy,” he hissed, almost brotherly, before turning back toward them. “Come meet our merry band of bounty hunterss.”

Ramy acknowledged them briefly, opting to stand beside Bossk while the other sat before them. “And thiss is Koukussa Varas,” Bossk continued, “She once had a reputation for hunting Mandalorianss. Castus introduced us yearss ago, on Vlemoth Port. Nowadayss she’s employed by th’ guild on Nar Shaddaa, to hunt down debtorss and bounty hunterss who don’ fulfill their contractss.”

Varas grinned widely, showcasing her razor-sharp teeth, and Boba scowled, knowing how inferior he looked next to Sing and the Trandoshans. All of them were ridiculously tall compared to his teenage human stature, not to mention their nonhuman characteristics. He was at least glad for his helmet, hiding his boyish features from the menacing reptilian.

“Varas,” Bossk continued his introductions, “We are of th’ Krayt’s Claw ssyndicate. You already know of Aurra, yess? But Boba there actss as our guild leader.”

She barely glanced over him. “Aurra Sing,” Varas hissed gleefully, “I wass beginning to thinkk I’d heard th’ lasst of you, what with th’ storiess Ohnaka’s pirates told.” Her voice was raspy and dissonant, making Boba wish his helm had a proper sonic nullifier.

“Not a chance,” Sing laughed, raising her drink as Ramy ordered another round.

Bossk enlightened the newcomers with a brief overview of Death Watch’s victories over the crime families and their invasion on Mandalore, then explained the details of the contract issued to them by Gar Saxon. Varas bristled with hunger in her eyes at Vizsla’s demise, and Ramy seemed excited at the prospect of hunting down four escaped cadets.

“Sso,” Bossk asked then, “what do you ssuppose?”

Varas gave a pleased hiss before she spoke. “I do appreciate th’ opportunity to lead ssuch a hunt. But first, I musst return to Nar Shaddaa to ssettle with my employerss.”

“Can’t you just comm them?” Boba snapped, his impatience festering. Sing gave him a disparaging glare, which he ignored.

Varas growled sharply, looking toward Bossk. “Th’ guild’ss personnel officerss don’ take kkindly to ssudden absences. Besidess, I thought you wanted my assistance.”

“It dependss. Do you have th’ resourcess?” he asked.

She nodded curtly. “They can be arranged, if we take th’ job.”

“We can sstop by Hutta,” Ramy chimed in, “to pickk up Smug and Krix.”

Bossk gave a throaty chuckle. “Where would we rendezvouss with your forcess?”

“Klatooine. I’ll ssend th’ coordinatess after we leave for Nal Hutta.” Her eyes glinted in the dim light as she measured Boba and Sing with her zealous gaze. “Sso,” she raised her hand between them, comprised of four clawed, curling digits, compared to Bossk and Ramy’s robust three, “do we have a deal?”

Boba held back a sound of disgust. Sing moved first, securing their agreement with her own pale, spindly fingered hand, while Varas grinned like the Tooka who’d caught the bulabird.

They left soon after, her impish delight still haunting the back of his mind.

Back at their headquarters as the first sun had set beyond the sands, while Bossk led the way inside, Boba stopped on the threshold, turning toward Sing as he threw down his helmet.

“What was that?” He snarled at her, “Who do you think you are, making deals for my syndicate?”

She rolled her eyes. “You hesitated, just like before.”

He scowled, his fists shaking at his sides. Bossk came up behind him then, having realized their absence. “Have Sing sign Saxon’s contract,” Boba ordered them, “As far as I’m concerned, this is your hunt, not mine.” He turned away, retreating inside before they could say anything more.

Boba was fed up, already dreading the innumerable ways this job could go wrong.

– –

19 BBY – Bilbousa Bazaar, Nal Hutta

Hutta was a noxious, scum-ridden swamp, aptly fitting for its namesake. Spacers and vagrants browsed Bilbousa Bazaar like scavenger-birds, with shifty eyes and sticky fingers, eager to nab some gear for a cheap deal, or have a drink among fellow scoundrels and miscreants at the saloon. Smug and Krix weren’t much different, but there were other reasons a curious, streetwise Twi’lek might seek their confidence.

Trysor Dwyn was a charmer, a gunslinger, and a pilot, all-in-one. She didn’t like bounty hunters and smugglers much, but she didn’t mind meddling in their businesses. So, she sat with Smug and Krix, letting them eye her enticing, freckled yellow skin, bared above her neck and down her arms, as well as her attractive figure, only just masked by her form-fitting street-clothes. While they ogled and drank, she asked them her questions, and gleaned more than they had intended to reveal.

As far as new information, she had learned they had a job with a fellow bounty hunting Trandoshan named Koukussa Varas, and it was sure to be a thrilling chase, not to mention the big payoff. Aside that, they’d be reuniting with Ramy and Bossk, and were animated at the prospect of a classic, space-faring Trandoshan hunt, assuredly with a comparable crew to match. If what they said was true, and Varas was as deadly as she surmised from their regard for her, then their information could be valuable to her Core World employers.

“So, what would the hunt entail?” she asked, toying with the last dregs of her raider-brewed spotchka. It wasn’t as palatable as the farmers’ blend, but the saloon’s owner seemed to favor its cheaper price.

Krix grinned sharply. “Varas’s crew is on Klatooine, and she’s ssure to hire more hunterss,” He admitted, turning toward Smug. “What wass Varas known for hunting, backk in th’ day?”

“Mandalorianss.” Smug proudly boasted, taking another swig of his drink.

Trysor looked up at him skeptically, her interest certainly piqued. With the gossip of Death Watch’s subjugation over the crime syndicates, and the speculation of an undisclosed usurper of power on Mandalore, it seemed that trouble was afoot for Mandalorian Space, and it would have rippling ramifications throughout the Outer Rim. This, along with intel from previous excursions during the past week or so, would add up to the complex picture that was the current state of the criminal underworld.

It was time she got back to her ship and updated her crewmates on the situation.

“Well, this was fun, boys,” she said, stretching as she stood, her bare midriff catching their gazes. “It’s too bad you’ll be so far off, but good luck with your hunt.”

“Oh, come on now,” Smug jeered, his wandering hand extended toward her. “One more drinkk–”

In a spur of the moment, a vibroshiv was struck down between them, puncturing the wooden table. The weapon was wielded by a muscular, sallow green-skinned Twi’lek, fashioned as a fellow bounty hunter and brandishing a threatening smile.

“These two bothering you, Dwyn?” he teased in his heavy Ryl accent.

“Not at all,” she placated him, throwing an apologetic gesture toward the wary bartender eyeing the slight damage to his furniture.

“Aw, come off it, Hyde,” Krix responded, humoring her colleague. “It’s not like she’s interessted in you anywayss.”

“What’s this I hear about a hunt?” Hyde asked, ignoring his jibe as Trysor twisted his shiv upward and fiddled with it absentmindedly.

“I ssuppose you could tag along to Klatooine,” Krix offered, “Varas may even allow you to join in on th’ hunt. And we could–”

“–put in a good word for you,” Smug followed, “That iss, if Trysor comess too.”

She laughed jovially, truly amused by their persistence. “I’ll consider it.” She turned toward Hyde with a crooked smile, handing back his vibroshiv. Then she wrapped her jangling scarf closer around her shoulders and tossed a few creds on the table for her bill. She waved at her scaly companions as Hyde led her away, and she suppressed the urge to hightail it back to the spaceport.

The Golden Wingmaw, an Anaxes Shipyards light freighter, had been supplied and outfitted, as per Republic Naval Intelligence regulations for a Covert Operations unit, such as theirs. Although Trysor was assigned as an acting field agent and stealth operative, she was also the ship’s usual pilot, and among its crew, she was the most knowledgeable of its specs and modifications.

She boarded the ship, Hyde heading to the workshop while she immediately went for the shared crew’s quarters in order to grab her dark longcoat – concealing the bare skin she had revealed for the purpose of peeling intel from those slippery-scaled and hard-headed Trandoshans. She fastened it tight around her, finally releasing the buried tension she had held behind a taunting smirk and her veiled scrutiny. She did enjoy her work – the mystery, the intrigue, the secrets – but she was always thankful to return to the solace of her ship, where no one hungered for her beauty or objectified her species and gender.

She took a steadying breath and left the bunk-room, trailing a gloved hand fondly over the curved metallic wall. The crews’ quarters weren’t far from the engines, the subtle hum of them thrumming up her legs as she walked. She could hear faint tinkering and accompanying droid-speak coming from the workshop, where her crewmates awaited her.

Captain Jaromir Coburn, as Special Agent in Charge for the CO unit, was not quite the formidable, seasoned soldier one might expect to lead RNI’s investigations in the Outer Rim. However, with his discipline and honesty, he had earned the crew’s loyalty, without any influence from his father, the veteran Admiral Barton Coburn, of the Galactic Republic Navy. Jaromir, by contrast, was barely in his thirties, Trysor guessed, his handsome, human face hinting at the carefree starfighter pilot he could have been, had he not inherited his father’s harsh demeanor. He stood just inside the entrance of the workshop, his arms crossed, and the crew’s faithful astromech whirring at his side.

JR-89 was a R4-series astromech droid that dutifully followed Capt. Coburn everywhere he went, thus warranting the affectionate nickname, “Junior”. The red and gold-plated droid had previously served aboard Adm. Coburn’s Venator-class Star Destroyer within the Open Circle Fleet, before the Admiral was reassigned under General Plo Koon’s command. Shortly thereafter, Junior was issued to Jaromir when he was promoted to the rank of SAC. Thus, the droid had been upgraded with transceiver and courier modifications to manage their advanced database of encrypted information.

Focused over the holotable was her adoptive human sister, Veda Nerys, psychoanalyst and handler for their so-called CO-Burn unit. They had first met during one of Veda’s rebellious excursions down into the shady lower levels of Coruscant, back when Trysor had been a street orphan, struggling to survive all on her own. As the Nerys family were well-known for supporting relief campaigns in the Republic Senate, they had subsequently adopted Trysor, but she had suspected their true purpose was to distract Veda from her reckless impulses. Nonetheless, they were inseparable, whether they were sneaking out on grand adventures or attending glamorous banquets and galas. Even though she had been expected to follow in her family’s footsteps, Veda had never cared for the encumbered, sluggish world of politics, and would not be convinced otherwise. Instead, when the Clone Wars broke out, the two sisters had enlisted in the RNI and were hastily trained for their respective fields in Covert Ops.

The last and most recent addition to their unit was Hideric Ertay, or ‘Hyde’, contracted as a hired gun to replace their former weapons specialist, and acting undercover as a bounty hunter at her behest. While serving in the Twi'lek Resistance, he’d learned a resourceful arsenal of strategic stealth tactics under General Cham Syndulla. When he decided to leave his homeworld and dedicate himself to the Republic, his skills and experience afforded him his position in their unit. Having only left Ryloth recently, he was unaccustomed to their fast-paced space-faring lifestyle, but he was pragmatic and adaptable, quickly learning his role and gaining the respect of their contacts. Although Trysor had been relieved to have another nonhuman on the team, their interactions outside undercover espionage had been stiff and precarious, her flighty, playful nonchalance opposing his no-nonsense professionalism.

“Welcome back,” Veda greeted her enthusiastically as she entered, Junior echoing the sentiment as he spun on his wheels. Trysor patted him as Veda pulled up their research, connecting her recordings with files on Varas and her Bounty Hunters’ Guild employers, as well as their growing array of information on the so-called “Shadow Collective”, comprised of Death Watch, Black Sun, the Pykes, and the Hutt families, and led by the outcast Sith, Maul and Savage Opress.

“How’s it lookin’?” Trysor asked, leaning against the holotable and sparing a glance at their enigmatic leader.

Capt. Coburn sighed, shaking his head. “It’s good work, but I don’t know if we have reason enough to follow-up on Death Watch’s activities.”

Hyde smacked a hand on the holotable. “Isn’t it enough we know the crime syndicates are making a move on the Mandalore Sector? If they’re invading on Mandalorian planets–”

“The Republic has no jurisdiction in Mandalorian Space without the involvement of the Separatists. Besides, we don’t even know if Varas and the other hunters have actually been hired to contend with Mandalorians. We can’t run the risk of intruding upon neutral territories, even just to confirm our suspicions.”

“But they’re still in Hutt Space, for the time being,” Veda added, “we could take up their offer– head to Klatooine and gather more information?”

Coburn pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re already on thin ice with our inquiries to this alliance between the crime syndicates. If we impose on their feeble invitation and join in on this hunt, we may risk taking on more than we can handle alone.”

They went silent for the moment, stumped by their predicament.

Just then, Junior made an alarmed trill, catching their attention.

“Hang on,” said Veda, “I had Junior probing the holonet for outgoing transmissions from Mandalorian Space. We had almost missed this one, since it was encrypted and sent directly to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant–”

Junior began playing the holo-recording, displaying Duchess Satine on Mandalore:

“This is a message for Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’ve lost Mandalore. My people have been massacred, and Almec is now the Prime Minister. I can’t explain everything now, but Almec has the support of the crime families.

“Obi-Wan, I need your help.”

The recording ended as the Duchess was surrounded by former Death Watch soldiers, now sporting Maul’s colors.

“Kriff,” Trysor muttered, her lekku twitching with emotion.

“Well, there’s our proof,” Hyde said, his expression grim.

Capt. Coburn’s gaze narrowed, his stance rigid and restrained. “This changes nothing,” he whispered, “The Jedi will have given the message to the Senate, and they will be deciding whether or not to intervene. The higher ups would never approve of submitting our intel to sway the Senate’s decision.”

“As if they would care for our opinion anyway.” Trysor scoffed.

“So we take it to the Neutral Systems,” Hyde argued, “Surely they’d want to protect the Mandalore Sector.”

Coburn eyed him skeptically. “Again, this is outside our jurisdiction, and taking any action within the Neutral Systems would be a direct violation of our orders. What happens when the Republic discovers our interference?”

“We can’t just stand back and do nothing,” Trysor pleaded.

“It may be a longshot,” said Veda, “but we do have allies on neutral worlds. Taris would be our best bet, since it isn’t far from Mandalorian Space, and they’ve coordinated with both the Republic Senate and the New Mandalorians before.”

Coburn ran a hand over his face, nodding begrudgingly. “Very well. Draft a cover job for our activities and begin making the necessary arrangements.”

Junior chirruped cheerfully and Veda smiled affably at the droid. “Ha, between the two of us, it’ll almost be too easy, won’t it, Junior?”

Coburn chuckled darkly, seemingly unconvinced by their confidence. “I’ll look into current military campaigns along our route. In the meantime, I suppose we’ll make our way to Klatooine. Hyde, notify our Trandoshan friends that you intend to take up their offer. Trysor, prepare for departure and stay alert, we don’t need any surprises from the locals.”

She nodded, avoiding Hyde’s questioning glance as he followed her to the cockpit. He contacted Krix and Smug, while she relaxed into the pilot’s seat and started the computations for trajectory, occasionally looking upwards, as if she could see the stars beyond the foul, gas-stained atmosphere.

– –

Elsewhere on Hutta, Smug and Krix weren’t the only bounty hunters to hear of the impending, portentous rendezvous on Klatooine. However, this bounty hunter had no interest in joining the perilous misadventures of the rancorous and vile Koukussa Varas. The Twi’lek tapped her fingers on the bounty-board kiosk, considering what she was prepared to risk in following up on her suspicions. She closed the missive, moving on to public postings. Her right-side lek twitched in irritation, the offered jobs failing to meet her expectations. She sighed, skipping through until she glimpsed a familiar face among the wanted smugglers list. Andraste Zhan grinned, claiming the mark and leaving the kiosk, tucking the dispensed bounty puck into her pocket.

Andra then moved throughout the streets of Jiguuna, waving at slum orphans who recognized her. She had been like them once, born as a slave and hounded by the volatile nature of a demanding master. But several years ago, when the debt-ridden shopkeep had learned of a bounty for his head, he hoped to sell her off to the local Hutt crime lord as a ripe, young slave dancer, in order to earn his protection. Instead, she’d escaped her bonds, killed the bastard and collected on his bounty herself.

Now she was free, running bounties and taking odd jobs between Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa. Never standing still, boarding dingy shuttles at the meager, grimy spaceport, and peering at every passing vagrant, her other hand resting near the concealed blaster at her hip. She wasn’t any double-dealing scoundrel with a target on her back, nor had she yet earned a respected, formidable reputation either. But just because she was some sultry Twi’lek with sour, green-yellow skin and alluring blue eyes, didn’t mean she wouldn’t stand her ground. She was determined to prove her worth, and never be held back by the circumstances of her past.

She just had to keep moving, heedless of the incessant, gnawing bitterness that plagued her wherever she went.

Endnotes: Ramy, Krix, and Smug were from episodes “Padawan Lost” and “Wookie Hunt” and were briefly seen in “Friends and Enemies.” 

If you’ve read my fanfic “Jedi Scholar”, then you’ll recognize Veda from the Maiden’s Sanctuary. There’s some more information about her in my “Original Characters” at https://archiveofourown.org/works/30579254/chapters/75763145.

As with previous chapters, original characters from this chapter will also be posted there.

[auditect]

The Hunt for Aurra Sing is about to come to an end! Be there and witness A'Sharad's battle against his father's murderer live!

[jewishcissiekj]

The Stark Hyperspace War arc is so good I've gotta reread some Star Wars 1998/republic arcs

[mortallyclearwonderland]

Star Wars Alien Species - Devaronian

Devaron was the home world of the Devaronians. It was located in the Colonies, near the Corellian Trade Spine. It was a planet of low mountains and deep valleys linked by thousands of rivers.

First devising the tumble hyperdrive around 27,000 BBY, Devaronians were one of the first species in the galaxy to develop interstellar travel. The males of the species had been common sights in spaceports throughout the galaxy for thousands of years by the time of the Galactic Civil War.

Devaronian males were driven by an urge to wander, usually taking the first opportunity to move on from one place to another. As such, they were often found traveling the galaxy as tramp freighter captains and scouts. Female Devaronians, on the other hand, were content to remain in a single location, and, as such, raised the young and ran the government of Devaron. The males sent as much money as they could manage back to their homeworld to support their families, but otherwise hardly ever returned once they had begun to travel the stars. The females were content with this arrangement, as they tended to view the restless males as disruptive to home life. Mating rituals consisted of the season of Koh'hibril. Females were dominant therefore, as that was the only time couples spend long periods together. "Oshmahr" was a mid-day meal ceremony of the Devaronians.

Force-sensitivity was found in higher frequencies among Devaronians than in other species. Despite this, no strong Force-based tradition emerged on Devaron or among their colonies. The Jedi Order established the Eedit Temple on Devaron to train the Forceful children there, with females making up the larger percentage of students as males desired to travel more than the Jedi culture permitted.

Developing hyperspace technology as early as 30,000 BBY, the Devaronian culture had developed quickly from hunter-gatherers to an industrial power in a short amount of time. The species developed a divide in gender roles during their tribal stage when males had to travel several days from settlements to hunt for prey while the females maintained the safety and organization of the camp. While the matriarchal government developed and funded space technology, it was the wanderlust of the males which drove the species to the stars and beyond. Exploring the region of space around Devaron, Devaronian explorers made contact with other hyperspace scouts and helped blaze the Corellian Trade Spine. One of the earliest planetary governments to join the Galactic Republic, sometime between 25,000 BBY and 22,000 BBY, Devaron was one of the farthest points in known space, forming a border with Wild Space for millennia.

While the government of Devaron was a representative government that matured to a point where the strict divisions between gender roles was blurred, Devaronian females were historically the most prestigious government officials. To this end, the government was largely matriarchal, as males sought out roles that better suited their primal wanderlust that drove them into the jungles or the stars.

During the Jedi Civil War, the planet was the site of a battle won by the Republic. Devaron was represented in the Galactic Senate jointly by Elsah'sai'Moro and Vien'sai'Malloc during the final days of the ancient democracy. However, in 22 BBY, Elsah was assassinated by Aurra Sing who had been hired by Vien, who was herself arrested (and presumably executed) for both her assassination attempt and her secret sponsoring of a Separatist base in the Blue Mountains. In that same year, bounty hunter Cad Bane attacked a Republic outpost on the planet in order to capture Jedi Master Bolla Ropal, who was the keeper of the Kyber memory crystal, which contained a list of Force-sensitive children in the Galaxy. Later, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and his Padawan Ahsoka Tano arrived in the Star Destroyer Resolute in order to reclaim the holocron. During the battle, the Resolute later engaged Bane's Munificent-class star frigates. Bane managed to escape, but the bounty hunter fleet was destroyed.

Later in the war, the Temple of Eedit on Devaron was attacked by Separatist forces. This battle was the first appearance of Count Dooku's new apprentice Savage Opress and where Jedi Halsey and his Padawan Knox died. Under President Aven'sai'Ulrahk, the planet continued to support the Republic throughout the rest of the war before falling under the sway of the Galactic Empire following the war's end. Around 5 BBY, Devaron was the site of an uprising against the Empire, which was put down by the Imperial-aligned Devaronian Army, led by Kardue'sai'Malloc, whom was thus called the "Butcher of Montellian Serat". To escape persecution, the Butcher fled to Tatooine and changed his name to Labria. In 19 ABY, Boba Fett captured Labria and took him to Devaron, where the Butcher was executed.

The planet was denied membership in the New Republic due to its violent capital punishment. During the Yuuzhan Vong War, the planetary government of Devaron attempted to appease the Yuuzhan Vong by offering Jedi Knight Hivrekh'wao'Cheklev, who was able to escape. Some female Devaronians wished to join the Galactic Alliance and proposed a termination to feeding criminals to the quarra. However, they met with strong resistance from traditionalists.

A bipedal mammalian species, Devaronians evolved in the dense jungles of Devaron as a hunter-gather species. Their bodies were denser than most humanoids' and as a result they were heavier than their appearance would tend to indicate. Devaronians had silver-based blood, which appeared thick and black when exposed. They possessed a unique blood filtration and cleansing system which processed through two livers. Because their bodies were constantly cleansed of toxins and carcinogens, the species was highly resistant to poison. To this end, sulfur was used as a stimulant on Devaron to enhance speed and strength, because inhaling it caused the substance to enter the bloodstream rapidly. Their livers struggled to eliminate sulfur from their system, meaning that long-term use could be dangerous.

The Devaronians were one of the more unusual races in the galaxy, with a dramatic gender dimorphism in appearance and temperament. The males were aggressive by nature, many being described as brash or bull-headed, with typically red-tinted skin and a pair of large horns growing from their heads. They took great pride in their horns, and groomed them quite regularly. Many species felt uncomfortable in their presence, for they resembled the devils of a thousand different myths.

Female Devaronians were covered in thick fur that ranged in color from brown to white, hornless and had prominent canine teeth. They were docile, non-aggressive creatures. They tended to be dominant in their culture, being the only ones allowed to participate in government and politics. Several female Devaronians not covered with thick fur revealed two dark circles above the forehead, where the horns usually were in males. In addition, the teeth of the males were all sharp incisors, but the females also had molars and prominent canines. One in fifty Devaronian males had two sets of teeth, however, having an inner set of sharp "male" teeth and an outer, retractable set of "female" teeth. In primitive times, such males were used as solitary scouts by Devaronian tribes, since they could survive on either meat or plants. Males also had an extremely long tongue, though whether females shared this trait is unknown. The teeth were useful for some languages. A Devaronian had to continually and repeatedly retract and extend both sets of teeth to speak Huttese, causing aches over time.

A typical Devaronian stands at 1.7 meters or 5.6 feet tall and weighs 70 kilograms or 154 pounds.

Devaronians age at the following stages:

1 - 12 Child

13 - 17 Young Adult

18 - 44 Adult

45 - 64 Middle Age

65 - 79 Old

Examples of Names: Dmaynel Kiph, Elassar Targon, Jubal, Kapp Dendo, Tyrn Jiton, Lak Jit, Oxbel, Saricia, Sires Vant, Trynic, Ulicx Vinaq, Vilmarh Grahrk.

Languages: Devaronians speak, read, and write both Devaronese and Basic. Their speech is low, guttural, and full of snarling consonants.

[dispatchdcu]

Star Wars: Jango Fett #2 Preview

Star Wars: Jango Fett #2 Preview #jangofett #starwarsjangofett #MARVEL #marvelcomics #comics #comicbooks #news #mcu #art #info #NCBD #comicbooknews #previews #reviews #starwars #darthvader #vader #skywalker #starwarscomics #amazon

Star Wars: Jango Fett #2 Preview: THE GREATEST BOUNTY HUNTER IN THE GALAXY IN THE CROSSHAIRS OF A DANGEROUS RIVAL! JANGO FETT is after a stolen artifact at the center of a planetwide war! But the hunter is being hunted by the notorious AURRA SING! What is the secret conspiracy that threatens them all? ETHAN SACKS  • LUKE ROSS  (A) Cover by LEINIL FRANCIS YU VARIANT COVER BY GIUSEPPE…

[colehasapen]

Eternal - Star Wars (One Shot)

There's a Mandalorian in Anchorhead.

Ben Kenobi hears about it during a trip for supplies into Mos Eisley, slipping unnoticed through the crowds. Its when he passes two settlers that the whispers reach his ears as two women speak to each other in nervously quiet voices, talking about the Mandalorian in black and blue that lingers like a frightening phantom or a bomb primed to explode, asking around about 'the desert hermit', and Ben falters.

There's only one Mandalorian welcomed on Tatooine, employed by Jabba the Hutt and unwilling to share his coin pouch, and Ben knows that Boba would warn him if something changed about the Imperial bounty on his head. Boba was a good lad in need of guidance and advice - hardened by the world and tragedy far too early, and still so young in so many ways, despite his complaints that he wasn’t a child anymore. It hadn’t been easy to win the boy’s trust when he had come to his hut all those years ago, arrogant and angry and intent on collecting the massive bounty on his head himself, but Ben had worn him down - a part of him needing a young soul to guide and nurture to feel some sort of control in his life - and the child had been so desperate for a connection to his father’s culture that even Ben’s poor substitute was enough. Boba would have warned him, had he known, because as angry as he was at the world, the young man held tight to the things he considered as his, and as much as he complained and claimed that he didn’t like Ben, the youngster had yet to actually do anything to get his bounty. In fact, he actively kept other hunters away.

So when he hears the rumours of a Mandalorian bounty hunter that wasn’t Boba poking around looking for him, Ben adjusts the bags in his hands, carefully pulls his hood over his face, and calmly slips off the main market road and into the nearest alley. A simple mind trick has the youth gang gathered in the shadows splitting up and heading home to rethink their life choices, and Ben slides into their place, wedging himself between two dumpsters. It’s hard now, to slip into meditation and expand his senses, knowing that he’ll be met with the yawning Darkness in the Force and the lack of the Light of his fellow Jedi in the galaxy, it’s easy to find himself slipping endlessly without a tether until he doesn’t know who he is anymore, but little Luke Skywalker is a calming beacon of light, a sun among dead stars, and his presence in the Force chases off the clinging Darkness and makes it easier for Ben, as broken as he is, to focus.

Mandalorians are surprisingly easy to find in the Force, if one knows what they’re looking for - an indistinct mass shielded by the beskar they wore - but they’re also as rare to stumble upon as a trained Force Sensitive, hunted and scattered almost as much as the Jedi are. They’re a threat, and the Empire made an example of them. A warning to any others of what would happen should they try to fight back against the Emperor. Anyone who could be outwardly identified as Mando’ade had at least a little beskar on their person, even Satine had weaved it into her headdresses, and it was a connection to their lost culture and home that they guarded jealously, even as the Empire collected any and all of the rare metal it came across, often through violent means.

Even the smallest amount of beskar worked to make a Force signature unidentifiable, and for people like Ben, who had worn and owned beskar, the imprints the alloy left on the galaxy around it is easy to locate.

He finds the headache-inducing Force signature in his hut. A fuzzy, staticy spot in the Force with only the faintest of traces of nostalgic emotions sparking among their mind, and the familiar signature of Ben’s lightsaber reaches out to them, an excited greeting like an old love had finally come home.

 

 

Alpha-17 comes out of the rise of the Empire with his sense of self intact through sheer dumb luck - apparently all those explosions Alpha had powered through came with some sort of perks, beyond the general sense of awe and fear his inability to die inspired among the brats. He stubbornly avoids the same fate his fellow Alpha-classers meet, staying too useful as a trainer for it to be worth putting down or in stasis as he bides his time and plans his escape.

There’s nothing he can do for the younger troopers, and he’s forced to come to terms with the fact quickly when he sees the blankness in the eyes of the men he had trained. It’s a punch to the guts, one he can’t show, when he passes Havoc and Blitz in the hall and they show no familiar recognition to him or each other - they’re silent, blank, and unrecognizable from the cadets Alpha had thrown around during training. It feels like he’s drowning when Cody shows up and there’s no personality, no burning fire, in his blank eyes as the tactical genius and determined field commander is assigned to a glorified desk job to give a natborn whelp the rank he had been so proud of. There’s none of Wolffe’s feral determination to protect, or Bly’s gentle kindness - and both of them disappear quickly, taken away quietly in the night for decommissioning when they break. So many empty faces and cold eyes, and sometimes it feels like Alpha is choking.

He had raised all of them, and it hurts to see them as walking corpses - it hurts more that he can’t help them.

So Alpha bides his time until he sees an opportunity and takes it. Fox is killed on a mission with Lord Vader, and a new Purge Trooper is needed to replace him - who better than the trooper that had trained him? Alpha adds the clever little cadet and broken man he had known to his remembrances as he puts on his new armour - black-painted beskar’gam, because Vader’s personal death squad were the best and thus needed the best - and marches to face his fate.

They’re hunting surviving Mandalorian commandos when Alpha sees his chance to shed the helmet of a clone and strip out of the ugly red pauldron of a purge trooper, to take up a buy’ce and a new identity. To the Empire, Alpha-17 dies on Concordia, one victim of many to fall in the mines, body buried by tonnes of rocks that would be his tomb. But Alpha lives, he survives, and he finally does the one thing he had always dreamed of doing, but never did because he had vod’e to protect and refused to be like Spar and leave them all behind.

He deserts.

His brothers and sisters are as good as dead now - in fact, death would probably be preferable to what had become of them - and Alpha lets himself disappear. He becomes nameless, faceless, but this time it’s a choice - he becomes ‘ Mando ’, a ruthless bounty hunter with a hatred for Imperials. Any stormtrooper he comes across is put down with a quick, efficient, shot through the head because Alpha doesn’t know anymore which are vod’e and which are the poorly trained natborns that replace them. The Empire only makes half-hearted attempts to kill him, at best, because he’s good at what he does and the Guild doesn’t want to lose him.

He uses his new contacts to listen for any possible Jedi sightings, because he knows that his jetii is still alive. The massive bounty on the General’s head isn’t just for show, afterall, and Alpha knows that the smug sheb is too dramatic to just roll over and die when he could continue living just to piss people off.

Alpha’s already lost everything else - his brothers and sisters, his rank, his purpose - he doesn’t want to lose the only man he’d ever loved too.

Their relationship hadn’t been the steadiest - Kenobi had been his superior, a Jedi that he served because he had to, but then Rattatak and Ventress had happened, and a professional respect had turned into something more through their captivity and recovery. After that, Alpha had been promoted and reassigned to Kamino as a trainer, and he had been answering to a different Jedi General instead. They had taken any moment together that they could, because their duties had led them on different paths, and it hadn’t been easy, because Alpha was a cold bastard at the best of times and Obi-Wan’s inability to properly express himself had come between them, but they had always tried to do better by each other - but it was all gone now.

And maybe Alpha wants more. He wants the stability and support Obi-Wan had always offered him after the loss of everything he had ever known, and he wants to offer it in turn - to have a purpose again. But Alpha is a realist, he knows that it’s not likely that he’ll actually find his lover out there in the galaxy if he doesn’t want to be found as much as Alpha wants to find him, so he keeps his goals a little more realistic. He passes his information anonymously onto the fledgling Rebellion, throwing them what he knows on the postings of vod’e , hoping that what little he can do will help, so he keeps his ear to the ground and continues to give the information onto the Rebellion.

It’s the news about Boba working for Jabba the Hutt that has Alpha flying to Tatooine, intent on hunting his brother down. He hadn’t seen Boba since before Geonosis, before everything had gone to shit and Aurra Sing had gotten her claws into the boy. He’d be nineteen now, Alpha knows - an adult, but still young in the way the other clones aren’t, despite being the first, and alone. He knows his little-big brother can take care of himself, that he’s talented and deadly, but he’s also one of the few free clones that exist, and Alpha wants to at least check in on him.

It’s on Tatooine that Alpha first hears the name Ben Kenobi, and hears the legends of the crazy hermit living in the Dune Sea. The native Sand People of the planet call him a mournful god and they leave offerings so that misfortune isn’t brought upon them. The settlers call him either a crazy old man or the wizard of the wastes. There’s only one thing everyone agrees on - don’t anger the man who lives in the desert. More than one story about thugs trying to shake him down for money includes coming back not fully the same, and Alpha recognizes the description of a mind trick when he hears it.

He’s one of the few people who knows Obi-Wan’s connection to the name Ben, the story behind it, and it’s in meeting young Luke Skywalker and his aunt that Alpha knows that he found him.

 

The Force holds no warnings as Ben approaches his hut, just the opposite in fact, as it tugs on his robes like an excited child and urges him forwards, but Ben still palms his blaster as he pushes the door open and steps inside. There’s a man sitting at his table, helmetless, and he looks up when Ben closes the door behind him - in his hands, Ben’s lightsaber sings in greeting for the first time in a long time, since it had gone quiet all those years ago, love and the feeling of home chasing away the silence of blood and tragedy.

His bag slips from numb fingers.

Bottomless brown eyes so dark they’re closer to black meet his gaze. They’re fathomless and deep, drawing him in and drowning him in their depths, holding so many emotions that he feels like he’s choking even as he breathes. The handsome bronze face is older than Ben remembers, with more lines and scars than before, and tight black curls are splashed with gray - he’s a decade older than he was, but his face is still familiar and comforting - frightening too, because it brings back the memories of bodies young and old killed in their home by those they trusted, and makes the thousands of broken bonds in his soul ache with the weight of emptiness.

He stares, hand falling away from the blaster at his hip, and the man stands. The armour is different, but Ben recognizes the pattern painted on the black beskar, now accompanied by splashes of gold stating his desire for vengeance for everyone to see, pauldron missing and a shorter kama swinging around his knees.

“General.” The man states, voice gruff and Concord Dawn accent strong, though it’s so much more hesitant than Ben ever has a memory of hearing. His lover was never hesitant, not even when they had first started their secret little rendezvous; he was always assured, confident, and strong - even when chained and brutalized. “ Cyare. ”

Ben shudders, blinking but unable to tear his gaze away from those dark eyes, and his voice breaks when he speaks. “I haven’t heard that in a long time.”

He tries for humorous, and it falls short, but even then the other man smiles, a sad, quiet little thing that spoke of grief and heartbreak and exhaustion.

He’s real.

He’s here .

“Haven’t said it either.” Alpha-17 flips the lightsaber in his hands, stepping closer and closer still until they’re chest-to-chest and in each other’s space for the first time in years, and Ben shivers. “Thought you were always telling those brats of yours that their weapons were their lives.” The man says gruffly, and with a click the weight of his lightsaber is added to his belt, but even then Ben can’t look away from Alpha’s gaze. The other man doesn’t seem intent on looking away either, and large, warm hands linger on his hips, making heat travel from the touch and circulate through his body.

“Hello Alpha.” Ben whispers, reaching between them to grip the edges of his armour, to press his fingers around them to seek out the warmth of another living being for the first time in a long time. He can’t make his voice louder than a shaky sigh, throat tight and heart pounding in his chest.

Alpha continues to stare like a dying man who had seen the other side and wanted more, leaning into his touch until there was no space left between them. “ Su cuy’gar .” He says, awed, like he couldn’t fully believe it, and his fingers spasm, drawing the former Jedi even closer to him, as if he would vanish if he let go. The armour presses uncomfortably against him, but Ben can’t bring himself to care as Alpha presses their foreheads together, noses touching, and every breath mingling. “You’re here.” Alpha says, “I found you.”

“Yes.” Against all the odds, he had.

“ Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum .” His voice is hushed, reverent, and Ben chuckles wetly for lack of what else to do.

“I haven’t heard that for some time either.” He says, instead of what his head is telling him, that he’s undeserving of such sentiment, as he leans into the pressure on his brow and closes his eyes. He can’t cry, not anymore - he has no tears left to shed.

“You’ll hear it for as long as I breathe.” Alpha vows, and Ben shudders again at the truth of that statement that rings in the Force like a bell. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“You’ve become awfully sentimental, my dear.” Ben chokes, and Alpha huffs, breath fanning against his lips.

“After everything - I think we’ve both earned a little sentimentality.” The man murmurs, and Ben laughs wetly. “ Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum , cyare .”

Ben doesn’t want to let go.

“Stay?” Ben asks, clinging to his lover just as tightly as Alpha clings to him.

“Of course.” Alpha promises, hands sliding away from his hips to cradle his face instead, thumbs brushing oh so gently under his eyes - hands that could destroy droids without issue and kill without hesitation, but had only ever been soft when they touch him. “I said darasuum , didn’t I, ner cyare ?” Ben’s eyes flutter open, meeting Alpha’s deep gaze once more, seeing the love and truth in those dark pools, and -

Oh .

Wet, burning tears drip from his aching eyes, sliding down sunburnt cheeks and over Alpha’s strong fingers, a dark contrast against his pale skin, and his lover tilts his head, gently capturing his chapped lips in a silent promise.

Darasuum .