#khel Sutek

[hoth-and-cold]

Sometimes I wonder just how much paperwork Quinn has to file in relation to the sith warrior just doing what they do

The last but not least of my commissions, @kemendin's Khel Sutek hitting up Quinn with those rolled sleeves of his, thankyou so so much for commissioning me, I had a blast drawing these two (and the mountain of datapads)!

[zhakyria]

Another set of lightsabers for the ever amazing @kemendin. This time for their character Khel. I really loved figuring out the details for this pair!

[kemendin]

Chapter I: In a Single Understated Word, Unfortunate

When a critical mission for the Empire goes wrong, MALAVAI QUINN and LORD KHEL SUTEK find themselves lost behind enemy lines in the inhospitable ice-wilds of ILUM. With only each other to rely on, and their recently-formed relationship still relatively untested, the strain of survival under such circumstances is bound to cause a few cracks. But for two men with life-long tendencies towards walling themselves away - perhaps a few cracks are just what they need in order to start sharing things they've long kept inside.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior Words: 5000/?? A/N: Been working on this one on and off (okay, mostly off) for over a year now, and while it's not yet finished, I decided to finally release the first chapter into the wild. Started as a light-hearted thing, ended up as deeper exploration of the early relationship between Khel and Quinn. Nothing like the threat of freezing to death to bring a couple closer together, amiright?

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

‘Present circumstances’ were, in a single understated word, unfortunate. But then there had been no way of knowing, when Quinn set out from the Imperial base alongside Lord Khel Sutek, the Emperor’s Wrath, that the two would find themselves stranded behind enemy lines with few supplies, fewer options for getting back, and facing the inexorable onset of night.

The mission had started out well enough. The loss of the Empire’s single remaining crystal mine to Republic control had necessitated going after their enemy’s stores instead. Scouts had relayed a careful route through the jagged forests of ice that covered this world, and while ground troops formed another blatant assault on the bulk of Republic forces, Lord Khel had led a small speeder-mounted strike team into the very heart of the the enemy’s presence here: an ancient temple constructed by the Jedi that stood guardian over one of the most generous deposits of Adegan crystals on the entire planet. The Sith’s team was only one of half a dozen smaller forces, all making coordinated bids for the Republic-controlled stockpiles of the crystals that were scattered across the frozen wasteland.

Once the team’s presence was realised within the temple, resistance to their infiltration had been fierce; but by then the Republic troops were divided, and the Imperials had made it too far in to be completely repelled. Still, fighting their way out with the precious cargo had been a more hair-raising feat, and they’d lost several good men before the sturdy containers were secured to the waiting speeders and the team could make their escape.

And that was where it had started to go wrong, because - and in fairness, not entirely unexpected - they’d found said escape route cut off by Republic reinforcements.

In typical Khel fashion, the unflappable Sith had leapt ahead to draw their ire. Bundled against the cold in his frequent colours of cream and soft brown, wielding lightsabers of deep gold and nearly white, the Mirialan could easily be mistaken for a Jedi - and he held no qualms about using that confusion to his advantage. 

The Republic squad had hesitated this time, had let him get too close; and within moments, their regret was audible, as shouts of alarm rose above peals of desperate blaster fire echoing off the ice.

Quinn had covered his lord from the side, his own blaster adding to the confusion, and in the chaos the crystal-laden Imperial speeders had managed to slip past the Republic lines. Malavai hoped that they had made it all the way to the rendezvous point, but there was no way to know; because as he and Khel made their own break and whizzed away on the last speeder, an errant shot from one of the remaining enemy troopers had struck the vehicle and sent it careening off across the ice.

With Force-enhanced reflexes Khel had seized Malavai and pulled them both from the speeder, and they’d gone tumbling together through the barely broken snow as their transport exploded against a cropping of ice several hundred metres away. Quinn had sustained no injury more severe than some scrapes and bruises beneath his thermal-wear, protected as he was by the Mirialan’s own body and hastily summoned Force shield. And as for Khel… well, Malavai was fairly certain that his lord wouldn’t even admit to dying, unless it were advantageous to do so.

So now, here they were, trudging as quickly as they could manage across the brittle terrain, trying to put some distance between themselves and the Republic’s forces. As Khel did something clever with the Force to roughly cover their trail through the snow, Quinn was fiddling almost constantly with his comm unit and becoming more irritated by the minute.

“No joy on the communications front, then?” asked Khel, and Quinn’s initial reply was a visible puff of breath.

“I’m afraid not.” Malavai tapped at his earpiece and pursed his lips. “Frankly, I can’t tell if they’re jamming frequencies, or if this abominable cold is doing the job for them. Either way, the fact remains that I can’t get through.”

Khel gave a noncommittal sort of grunt as he turned around again to glide a hand over their wake, smoothing out their shallow tracks through the ice. “That may not be the worst thing, right now. If signals aren’t getting through, that means they can’t trace us.”

“Possibly, my lord, but overall I think I’d prefer the risk of contact. We could at least be certain that the rest of the team made it back with the crystals. I’d like to die knowing it was for a good reason.”

“We’re not going to die, Quinn,” said Khel patiently, as he resumed walking beside the captain.

“No? You’ll pardon me for contradicting you, my lord, but the probabilities aren’t in our favour.” The cold was making him more than a bit tetchy. “Considering the situation - our remote location, our nearly non-existent supplies, the plummeting temperature -“

Khel paused, turned, and hushed him with a gloved finger against Quinn’s slightly blue lips. 

“We’re not going to die,” he repeated. “At least, not here. That would be a wretched end, wouldn’t it?”

[stratataisen]

Still Indecisive

I keep going back and forth on this. Chiss or Mirialan for Zaberial. -Sigh. I guess, I should at least show you all what I'm thinking here.

Here's how he looked originally:

Here's how he looks right now:

And here are the ideas I have for him:

I'll admit, the second option is 100% inspired by @kemendin's Khel Sutek. >.>; Uh, sorry? I'm leaning toward the second option, but I will be saving some of these faces for later use. lol. And oh man, I didn't realize how bright Zabe originally was. o.O Or maybe that's the shader I use?

[zhakyria]

Today, I decided to be ambitious and I drew @kemendin's Khel with Quinn. I still have a long ways to go before I get to where I want to be with my art, but being able to get this far has been really great.

[zhakyria]

I am back with a full reference of Khel Sutek's lightsabers for @kemendin. I tried to make these more elegant then they appear in game cause Khel is an elegant sith.

[kemendin]

I found this in my drafts and I don’t remember what I was doing with it so - here, have some SWTOR OCs xD Vague descriptions/roles under cut.

Caspian Serapis: Jedi Knight, Alliance Commander, my Main Boy. Logical, defiant, often exhausted, he just wants to spend the rest of his life cocooned in Scourge’s arms. Khel Sutek: Sith Warrior, Empire’s Hand, my Second Main Boy. Calm, calculating, dutiful. He’s trying to forge a better, progressive Empire with his boyfriend Quinn. Ibis: Smuggler, bringer of chaos, they just want to cause as much confusion as possible and then sit back with popcorn. Damaskh: Imperial Agent (Cipher Twelve). Half Zeltron, half Sith Pureblood, enjoys flying in the face of both stereotypes. Entirely detached and incredibly dangerous, especially when he gets bored. Deska: A former slave of the Empire who now works for Khel as a combination of household servant and bodyguard. Pragmatic, outspoken, enjoys antagonising Quinn during her off hours. Darius Serapis: Republic Trooper. Caspian’s older brother. Hard-spoken, uncompromising, unflinchingly loyal to the Republic. A favourite officer among the lower ranks for his dedication to those under his command. Maahes: Former Sith battle prodigy turned Jedi Master. He defected several decades ago and now is a well-respected if somewhat maverick Jedi with a soft spot for instructing groups of apprentices. Caspian’s former mentor. Triss Lyrra: Bounty Hunter. Small and scrappy and constantly underestimated (I just thought a Miraluka sniper would be funny okay). Vanirr Khel-su: Jedi Consular. Calm and level-headed and devoted to to the teachings of the Jedi - possibly too devoted, he can get a little preachy. Aati: Mute slave sent to Korriban for training as a Sith. They rebelled and escaped and now make their home in the Sith tombs. Dangerously powerful in the Force, but they mostly want to just be left alone with their k’lor’slug and tukata friends.

[kemendin]

Khel Sutek, the Empire’s Hand

Finally maxed out my outfit slots on this lad (sixteen is NOT ENOUGH) so I wanted to put ‘em all together, and let me tell you it’s VERY satisfying.

Vague descriptions below cut, ranging from ‘specific purpose’ to ‘I just think it’s neat’. The red sash he wears is a gift from his boyfriend Quinn and he likes to wear it a lot, so that appears numerous times.

1. ‘Servant’ outfit, and what I think of as ‘classic’ Khel. Recreated and improved from his first incarnation waaaay back when the game first started. General wear for multiple scenarios.

2. Comfy, casual robes for wearing about the ship/apartment/etc. Tatooine outfit.

3. I saw gold and went ‘I NEED’. Belsavis outfit.

4. Cold weather gear. Khel is a desert boy, he hates snow and being cold. Hoth/Ilum outfit.

5. Favourite battle armour, for when he knows there’s gonna be a lot of combat and wants to look dramatic when he’s fighting.

6. Darker combat gear, good for grimmer scenarios and looking particularly Imperial. Ziost outfit.

7. Formal battle gear, for when he really wants to make an impression and embody the glory of the Empire. Corellia outfit.

8. I just liked the strict black and silver combo with a single splash of colour on the sash. Iokath outfit.

9. Casual wear for non-combat settings, good for going to the cantina.

10. ‘Resort’ outfit, dressing up for fancy occasions and gatherings (and when he wants to get Quinn’s attention). Makeb outfit.

11. ‘Diplomat’ outfit, for elegant and formal occasions where he’s a proper representative of the Empire. Voss outfit.

12. More loungewear, he probably wears this when he’s on vacation.

13. ‘Utility’ outfit, for when he needs to blend in a bit and not look quite so obviously Sith-y while he’s getting his hands dirty. Mek-Sha outfit.

14. Another less ostentatious, more plainclothes/practical outfit for general wear. Yavin outfit.

15. Khel’s attempt at a pirate/mercenary look. He’s really not very good at looking NOT like an Imperial. Rishi outfit.

16. A freer-feeling exploration ensemble, good for outdoors. Ossus outfit.

[kemendin]

The Lines of Duty

A quicker, shorter fic that I scribbled out over the last week or so, because I wanted to explore this part of KOTFE Chapter I with both my main boys on board Marr’s ship. (And I wanted to write some Quinn angst. What else is new.)

Characters: Malavai Quinn, Kira Carsen, Khel Sutek (Sith Warrior), Caspian Serapis (Jedi Knight), Darth Marr, T7-01, Lord Scourge (mentioned) Words: 3600

Read on AO3

The ship was coming apart. Quinn could hear it all around him, the leviathan groan of metal against metal as it twisted and heaved like a great sea beast thrashing in its death throes, shredded by a thousand holes in its failing hide. 

The sound of it grated sickeningly across his ears as he tore down the corridor. He’d been in enough battles to tell when a vessel was beyond saving, and despite the crew’s frantic attempts to maintain the hull’s structural integrity, he knew it was only a matter of time - and not enough of that - before the Imperial cruiser would lose all pretence of cohesion. The enemy was too numerous, coming at them from every calculable vector; there was simply no way to defend against the sheer magnitude of the assault being hurled at them.

Quinn could see the endless ranks of still-unidentified enemy ships each time he hurtled past a viewport. He had never set eyes on such an array in all his life, and he couldn’t deny that he was scared. They had appeared out of nowhere with calculated, menacing precision, slamming out of hyperspace in gridded waves that caught both Imperial and Republic ships in a swift, deadly net, and then simply opened fire. Now hordes of enemies were boarding every level of Darth Marr’s ship, attacking every critical area, and Malavai had never felt so small and afraid as he did now, sprinting through scarlet screams of system alarms as the ship’s cacophonous contortions shuddered through his very bones. 

“Lord Khel!” he shouted into his comm, above the spine-wrenching sound of some lower section of the ship peeling away from the main structure. “My lord, please come in!” But Khel hadn’t answered in over two minutes, and Quinn’s stomach lurched when there was still no reply.

Main power was down, and the entire cruiser was in chaos. Maybe Khel’s comm had malfunctioned. Maybe he was too occupied defending the ship to answer.

Or maybe the unthinkable had happened.

No. It couldn’t be that. Dry-mouthed, Quinn forced this thought away, clambering as quickly as he could over a mess of metal supports half blocking the corridor, trying not to catch himself in the tangled cables that had been vomited out of the wall like sparking intestines.

The noise of fighting rose up ahead, a fierce barrage of blaster bolts that screeched even above the reverberations of the ship. Quinn drew his own blaster and charged forward, and he had already taken out the first enemy trooper that appeared around the corner when the distinct spitting sound of an igniting lightsaber made his heart leap. He hastily ducked an errant shot and dashed into the next room, looking for a flare of gold -

But instead he caught a flash of azure, and realised it was only one of the Jedi. She spun her saberstaff in a whirling spiral, deflecting the stream of energy bolts that came at her and taking out several of the enemy troopers with their own firepower. Leaping ahead, she made short work of the rest, and had turned to strike down the last one when Quinn’s own blaster bolt dropped the foe almost at her feet.

Startled, she spun around, but then relaxed when she saw who had joined her. 

“Nice shot,” she commended. She shook her auburn hair from her face, then squinted at him. “Heyyy, I remember you. You were with us for all the fun on Yavin. Quinn, right? Khel’s favourite Imperial boy?” She waggled her eyebrows at him knowingly.

Ordinarily Quinn would have bristled at this; but now he could only purse his lips against the waves of anxiety rising in him.

“Have you seen him?” he demanded. His thumb worried at the grip of his blaster as he stepped forward and tried to focus enough to recall the Jedi’s name.

“Haven’t seen anyone except a few Imperial soldiers and a whole Hutt party’s worth of these guys.” She deactivated her lightsaber and used the hilt to gesture quickly towards the fallen troopers. “Last I heard he and Cas were headed for engineering, but they haven’t checked in since -“

Another volley from the enemy ships blasted at the vulnerable side of the cruiser, sending shockwaves through the entire vessel and causing both Quinn and the Jedi to stagger drunkenly into the nearest wall. Quinn hastily caught himself and braced his feet against the floor, all of his nerves feeling like they had split ends as the cruiser reeled around them.

“Kriff, this thing is just coming apart -” The Jedi regained her footing and quickly brought her wrist comm to her mouth. “Cas - Cas, can you hear me? Where are you?”

There was a loud crackle of static on the comm, and the sound of more blaster fire, before a tight reply came through.

“Kira? We’re still trying to get to the engineering deck, we keep getting ambushed by more of these - droids, or whatever they are, but this ship isn’t going anywhere unless we can restart the hyperdrive.”

The cruiser shook again as Kira hurried on, “You’d better make it a real fast restart, I don’t know how much longer this thing is going to be in one piece.”

“Not very long,” supplied Quinn tersely, as his grip on his blaster tightened. Unable to hold back, he leaned towards Kira and spoke rather desperately into the woman’s comm, “Is Lord Khel still with you?”

There was a pause - and then a palpable wave of relief washed over Malavai as he heard the Sith’s low, even voice come through.

“I’m here, Quinn. My comm’s out, there hasn’t been time to stop and fix it.”

Just hearing his lord’s calm tones had a remarkably steadying effect on Quinn. He exhaled, and nodded automatically even though the Mirialan couldn’t see it. “I understand, my lord.” Another breath, as he used his free hand to rake some of his hair back into place. “I don’t -“

He was interrupted by the sudden, frantic chattering of what sounded like an astromech droid chiming through Kira’s comm. The Jedi flapped a hand at Quinn to shush him as she frowned.

“The ship’s what?”

More beeps. Quinn had never quite gotten the hang of interpreting the nuances of overly-excitable droidspeak, but he could parse a few words that sounded like ‘ship’ and ‘heavy fire’ and ‘malfunctioning’. Kira, however, was listening intently, and after another moment she swore.

“Kriff - Cas! Our ship’s caught at the airlock, the clamps are frozen. T7 says he and Scourge are just sitting out there with their back ports hanging out. They’re gonna get blown off the side of this thing.”

“Shit. Kira, get back there, see if you can release it from this side! We need to get them out of there!”

Quinn and Kira both winced as another massive tremor rocked the Imperial vessel, and the Jedi’s face scrunched before she hurried on, “Half the section I came through’s collapsed, I can’t get back there!”

Another curse came over the comm. “We’ve got to find a way, the ship’s completely exposed out there -“

Eyeing Kira’s unhappy face, Malavai wet his lips as he swiftly ran his mind over the cruiser’s layout, then spoke up. 

“There’s an alternate route to that airlock,” he informed the Jedi. He beckoned to Kira, leading her over to a console in the wall nearby. The screen flickered unsteadily as he brought up the ship’s schematics, and the visual they were presented with was no more reassuring; with the cruiser’s current status displayed, the full scope of the damage was chillingly apparent.

“Here.” Quinn pointed to a section near the relevant airlock. “These bulkheads are still intact. You can use one of the maintenance junctions, cut through and come at the airlock from the other side.”

This time it was Khel’s voice on the comm again. “Quinn, go with her. You know the way, and other problems might crop up.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed, and as he glanced at Kira he opened his mouth to protest - but the sight of her own anxious expression caused the words to die in his throat. She was just as worried for the fate of her crew as he had been for Khel, and even though they were, technically speaking, still on opposite sides - he could hardly fault her loyalties.

He gave a brusque nod. “Yes, my lord,” he acquiesced. “We’re on our way.”

“Good. Caspian and I will head to engineering to try and restore main power. We’ll be in touch.”

“Right,” replied Kira, before adding, “And hey, Cas - be careful!” 

Quinn couldn’t help but notice how readily she said it, how easily. It was a far different sort of professional relationship she had with Caspian than he had with Lord Khel. But he could see her biting her lip even as she pivoted towards him again. 

“Let’s go,” she urged. He gave another swift nod, readied his blaster, and dashed as fast as he dared into the next corridor, with a now grim-faced Kira close on his heels.

The ship’s tremors became fiercer and more frequent as captain and Jedi darted between decks of groaning metal, past burning conduits and knots of Imperial soldiers trying in vain to patch some semblance of order across the disarray of their defences. Enemy troopers seemed to be everywhere, spilling from the boarding pods that continued to drive like daggers into the cruiser’s hull. Quinn was thankful that he’d become accustomed to fighting next to a Force user; though Kira’s style was rather different from Khel’s, more than once she used the blue blur of her saberstaff to deflect an onslaught of incoming blaster bolts, offering herself as a distraction while Quinn sniped their foes one by one with quick, clean shots from the side.

But even as they scrambled through the writhing bowels of the cruiser, Quinn had begun to question this course of action. They would free the Jedi ship - and then what? He knew that Khel boasted a generally optimistic outlook, but even he had to recognise that this was a hopeless situation. Already a dozen decks or more were entirely collapsed or torn open to the vacuum of space. No matter their combined efforts, they could only keep the ship together and the enemy at bay for so long. Malavai didn’t enjoy being so deeply fatalistic, but he was also a realist - and reality wasn’t giving them all that many options to work with.

Crawling through a tight maintenance shaft was particularly nerve-wracking, with barely any space to cushion Quinn and Kira from the reverberations of the dying ship. But at last they reached the end of it; Quinn forced the hatch open, and they clambered out into the corridor leading to the airlock - only to discover that fused docking clamps were not their only problem. 

A jumble of structural supports and ceiling plates had collapsed in front of the airlock access port. Quinn eyed the mess in some dismay, but Kira was already stepping forward and shaking back her sleeves.

“I’ll get this out of the way,” she told him quickly. “You just get the docking clamps un-jammed.”

He blinked once, then nodded - what else could he do? - and hurried to the airlock controls. As he put in an override command, he heard a much louder, much closer grind of metal. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kira with her hands outstretched, using the Force to drag the tangle of debris away from the airlock door.

The console before him lit up an affirmative green; Quinn slammed the release button, and was rewarded with the clunk and hiss of the clamps releasing the Jedi ship. As he turned towards Kira again he heard the Republic astromech’s shrill whistle of confirmation sounding from her wrist comm.

“That’s done it! T7, prep for takeoff!” Kira gave Quinn a swift thumbs-up as she called into the comm again. “Cas - ship’s free! I think it’s really time to go!”

“Great. Now get on the ship and get out of here, Kira. We’re going to start evacuating but you need to leave now.”

Halfway into the airlock, Kira froze. “What?” she exclaimed incredulously. “No - we can’t just leave you behind!”

“Listen to me - there are barely any ships left out there. Somebody has to make it out of this to warn the Republic.” 

A pause, as the cruiser shuddered and groaned, and both Quinn and Kira had to brace as the vessel listed to one side. 

“Please, Kira. You have to.” Caspian’s voice was quiet now. Accepting.

Kira bit her lip so hard that blood welled beneath her teeth. “Alright,” she forced out, throwing a quick look over her shoulder at Quinn. “But you’d better be right behind us.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Quinn spoke up tersely. He held her gaze for a moment, blue meeting blue. “You have my word.”

He would find them both, Khel and Caspian, and lend whatever help he could in evacuating the rest of the ship before they made their escape (he tried not to think ‘if’ they made their escape, though he knew it was becoming more unlikely by the moment). He had already turned to dash back into the inferno when Khel’s voice sounded from Kira’s comm, bringing both the captain and the Jedi up short.

“No. Quinn - listen to me very carefully. You’re going with Kira. You are boarding her ship, and she’ll take you back to the Empire.”

Quinn pivoted sharply, casting an incredulous stare towards Kira’s wrist. “My lord, you can’t be serious -”

“You heard me.” No. He must have heard wrong. Khel surely wasn’t telling him- he couldn’t be telling Malavai to abandon him -

“No.” Quinn set his jaw. “No, I didn’t hear you, I’m on my way down there -”

“Malavai Quinn, that is an order.” Khel’s voice was cold and harsh, made more so by the static of the comm as the sound of the slowly disintegrating cruiser disrupted the signal. “Get on that ship. Now.”

Quinn’s chest was suddenly, dreadfully tight. Something fierce and hot rose up inside him, trying desperately to overpower the icy horror creeping across his brain. Khel had sent him with Kira on purpose, he realised. This had been the Sith’s intent all along, to force the captain out of harm’s way.

“No,” he pushed out, then louder, “No, I won’t! I won’t leave you here, my lord! I’m sorry but I refuse!”

An earsplitting whine of metal echoed from the far end of the corridor as it collapsed, crashing in on itself with a bright flash of superheated plasma. Flames flared, licking greedily at the buckling walls and weighing the air down with acrid smoke.

“We don’t have time for this!” cried Kira. “Come on!” She grabbed at Quinn’s arm, but he immediately jerked it from her grasp.

“No!” he yelled again. He twisted where he stood, frantically seeking an opening in the destruction around him, some path he could force through that would lead him to his lord, but everything was obscured by flashes of noise and light, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus -

“Kira, please ensure that Captain Quinn is aboard your ship in the next twenty seconds.”

Please, please - how could Khel say please at a time like this?! Malavai’s eyes were wide, so distracted by disbelief that it was only when he felt someone bodily latch onto him, trying to drag him towards the airlock, that he blinked and suddenly the world was moving again.

“No!” His voice was high and hoarse, and though Khel’s only presence here was strapped to one of the arms now digging into his ribcage, he was shouting his denial to the entire ship.

“I won’t leave you here! Khel! KHEL!”

He didn’t care that he was defying orders, didn’t care that he was making an utter spectacle of himself in front of the Jedi. He only cared that this ship was doomed, and he was not going to leave his lord, his love, here to die.

He thrashed against Kira’s hold, but for a woman of such slight build she was surprisingly strong, and he could feel his boots scraping across the heaving floor as she forced him, centimetre by centimetre, into the airlock. He stamped down hard on her foot; she let out a grunt of pain in his ear, but didn’t let go, only released an exasperated, “Oh for stars’ sake -”

Sudden pain exploded across the back of Quinn’s skull, and his surroundings spun in a riot of flames as meaningless noise roared in his ears. He seemed to have lost all control of his body now, and felt himself slump within the Jedi’s grasp. As though from a great distance, he heard Khel’s voice again. Dimly he thought that he could detect a tremor in his lord’s level tones.

“Make sure he gets safely home.”

The next thing Malavai knew, he was being deposited in a shaking seat on a Republic ship. His throbbing head lolled as he fought to concentrate, but his limbs were like jelly and his eyes kept trying to close again. He felt a hand check the pulse in his neck, and then Kira’s voice echoed from above him.

“I’ve got him, we’re all set, but Cas -”

“Don’t wait, go.” A pause. “Just - just tell Scourge that I -”

“I know,” she cut him off, audibly fighting back a tremor of her own. “And I will. May the Force be with you.”

The ship shuddered and rocked under a spew of enemy fire; as Kira scrambled towards the front of the bridge, Quinn clutched at his seat and forced himself to sit up. Through the viewport he could see how the surrounding space was quickly becoming a graveyard, as endless volleys of azure energy bolts reduced whole ships to floating fields of debris. But no, Khel was still out there, they had to go back- 

Groggily he groped at the console next to him, trying to claw his way forward. “Khel,” he croaked out. “Khel -“

A sharp roll of the ship threw him back into his seat. The vessel was spiralling away through the battlefield, dodging enemy fire, heading for an opening in the lines where one opposing ship had veered from its position -

“Now, T7!” yelled Kira.

The stars became a blur around them as the ship leapt forward, and in an instant the chaos of battle disappeared as the roiling blue maw of hyperspace swallowed them up. 

Suddenly it was so quiet. Quinn shakily pulled himself up again. For a moment he stared through stricken eyes at the silent passage bearing him away from where he belonged. But it was too late. Khel was gone. A shuddering breath left his lungs, and then he slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.

~~~~~

“That’s it. They’re through.”

Caspian exhaled, a soft sound that was utterly lost in the wails of the cruiser coming apart around them. He glanced over his shoulder at Khel, but didn’t turn; allowing the Mirialan a few moments to dry his face and compose himself.

“You did the right thing,” he went on. He winced as a nearby section of the ceiling crashed down, barring the exit from the secondary control room; but it didn’t matter. The escape pods had all been launched - there was nowhere left to go.

Khel dragged the back of his gloved hand across his face and then straightened. “It’s not how things are done, in my world,” he said brusquely. He turned to regard Cas; already his eyes had hardened again, like zircon chips, hiding all evidence of the softness inside. “Quinn knew that. He knew his duty was to stay. And I robbed him of that.”

“You saved his life, Khel,” replied Cas quietly. “That’s never wrong. And they’ll make it home.”

“Which is more than can be said for us.” Darth Marr’s dry voice was nearly monotone from where he stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back in a casual stance that defied the disintegration of his ship around them. “But we are Sith. We stand our ground even in the face of annihilation. And a captain does not abandon his ship.”

He dipped his head solemnly to Khel, who replied with a nod of his own before turning a discerning look on Cas.

“Lord Marr is right. This isn’t your ship, Jedi. You should have gone with them.” The Mirialan canted his head, shrewd yet perplexed. “There was no need for both of us to be… separated.”

Cas could hardly ignore the pointed emphasis on the word. “You needed my help,” he answered. As the ship gave another violent shake around them, he braced himself on the nearby console and turned his gaze aside. Trying not to think about what he would never get to say himself, as he murmured, “And sometimes, being a Jedi… means letting go.”

But it was more than that. Even through the chaos of this massacre, he could still feel what had stirred his senses on the bridge - the nagging, skin-pricking touch of a familiar shadow. And he knew he couldn’t run, couldn’t leave, until he discovered the truth of it. Though Cas rarely thought in such terms, the Force was telling him that this - this was where he was supposed to be.

A dark huff sounded from behind Marr’s mask. “Then you can consider yourself a shining example of your Order, since it seems you are about to let go of everything. The Sith do not surrender so easily.”

The thunder of incoming missiles rose above the bone-shuddering screech of burning, tearing metal, and a series of detonations heralded the imminent explosion of the power core. Cas and Khel both clung grimly to the dying control console as, behind them, Marr bowed his faceless head.

“But if such convictions are what give you comfort… so be it.”

[kemendin]

World Building Wednesday: Khel Sutek

B A S I C S • Full name: Khel Sutek • Gender: Trans male • Sexuality: Gay • Pronouns: he/him

O T H E R S • Family: His parents and several other near-immediate family members were unfortunately on Ziost when it was wiped out. He has a somewhat distant cousin in the Jedi Master Timmns, who was long estranged from the rest of the family until Khel discovered the connection there. • Birthplace: Naadjem • Job: Empire’s Hand • Phobias: Force lightning, small spaces (neither of which will be noticeable unless he is under a LOT of pressure) • Guilty pleasures: Spa days, Kaasi wine, going out in public without being recognised, having someone else giving the orders

M O R A L S • Morality alignment: Light side, probably lawful neutral ish • Sins: lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath  • Virtues: chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

T H I S - O R - T H A T • Introverted/extrovert: He’s really an ambivert, he adapts to the situation as needed. He’s fine both in large gatherings and just on his own. • Organized/disorganized: He’s got a very strategic mind, good at navigating details. • Close-minded/open-minded: He’s quite receptive to new ideas and perspectives, and doesn’t mind admitting when he’s wrong. • Calm/anxious: He is extremely controlled and poised, it takes a lot to make him visibly show any stress. • Cautious/reckless: He much prefers to know all the facts beforehand and work out a strategy for any given situation, though he’s good at thinking on his feet. • Patient/impatient: He’s very much about ‘doing things thoroughly/properly’ rather than ‘doing things quickly’. • Outspoken/reserved: He has a masterful poker face and never displays more of his inner thoughts/feelings than is strictly necessary. It’s a survival technique. • Leader/follower: While he’s had to become a leader, and is a decent one, ultimately he prefers to serve rather than lead. He’s still working on that balancing act. • Empathetic/unempathetic: He can feel for and understand even enemies. He just really understands people and how they think/work. • Optimistic/pessimistic: He’s not bright and cheery but he tries to look on the positive side of things. • Traditional/modern: He’s very much in favour of progress and improvement, especially with regards to the Empire. • Hard-working/lazy: The Empire isn’t going to improve itself! Khel’s always striven to go above and beyond and do the very best he can, it’s one reason he’s made it this far in life.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S • otp: Malavai Quinn. Khel was crushing on Quinn within a week of meeting him, but tried to let any relationship develop in its own time. Ultimately he had to beat Quinn over the head with it to get the other man to realise that it was, in fact, very mutual, but now they’re deeply dedicated to each other in all respects. • ot3: None • brotp: Major Anri. They really hit it off as fellow aliens looking to bring the Empire into a new era of prosperity and diversity. • notp: Vette, for many reasons (Khel’s gay, she’s still kind of a slave in the beginning even if he gives her as much freedom as he can, they really don’t agree when it comes to the Empire, etc). Throwing Darth Shaar in here too because her flirting with him was REALLY off-putting.

[kemendin]

Pointless

A quick little scene I scribbled out that takes place sometime during KOTFE, between my OCs Khel Sutek (Empire’s Wrath) and Damaskh (Cipher Twelve).

“I always liked this cantina,” Damaskh murmurs as he slips into the booth against the wall. His movements are as easy and familiar as if he spends every evening here, enjoying a drink or two after a long day on guard duty. As if he belongs. The truth is - he can belong anywhere, if he needs to.

“The best cantinas are always near spaceports,” he goes on. He doesn’t remove his Imperial trooper’s helmet - an easy disguise - but he does set his blaster rifle across the table before relaxing against the cushioned back of the booth, and turning his head thoughtfully to consider the room. “I could pick up half a dozen juicy leads just sitting here for half an hour. Everybody knows that spacers like to talk, but you’d be surprised by how much of Kaas City will carry on after a drink or two. Made my job quite a bit easier.”

Finally he pulls his attention back to consider the man seated opposite him. The heavy hood pulled up over the other’s head doesn’t quite conceal his vibrant golden skin, or the geometric tattoos that cut along his cheeks and down his chin. Sith aren’t known for looking particularly healthy, but Damaskh gets the impression that this one's hollow face and tired eyes aren’t his usual presentation, and stem from something more than simply a few too many years soaking in the dark side of the Force.

The agent casually drapes his arm along the backrest of the booth, tapping an erratic beat on the metal with his gloved fingers. “Well,” he says. “Here I am. What is it you want? I assume it’s something terribly important, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of tracking me down.” 

He lets that comment hang for a moment, like the subtle threat that it is. He’s a master of covering his trail - and he’s had to be even more careful about it, these last few years, what with the Eternal Empire keeping eyes on every star system - and yet this Sith had managed to contact him. It was that, more than anything, that had prompted him to agree to this meeting. He wanted to see who exactly he was dealing with - and if they’d need to be dealt with in turn.

He has to admit - only to himself, of course - he hadn’t expected to amble into his favourite cantina and find himself sitting opposite the long-lost Empire’s Wrath.

Read on AO3

In the few heartbeats that follow his question, as the two Imperials assess each other, Damaskh also does something a little more. He’s no Sith, but Sith aren’t the only ones who can feel the Force. The agent has grown adept at employing his own trace of Force-sensitivity to feel out those around him, touching their emotions and using that information accordingly. And so he brushes at it now, delicately stretching out his senses towards the one named Khel Sutek. 

This becomes his second surprise of the evening. He’s spent years around Sith - he knows their vicious temperaments, their volatile emotions. Their arrogance and their anger. But Khel Sutek boasts none of that. He is calm and composed and, Damaskh concedes thoughtfully, incredibly difficult to read.

Difficult, but not impossible.

As Damaskh pulls his awareness back, Sutek reaches into a deep pocket of his robe. “I need you to find someone,” he says. His voice is low and elegant and quite steady despite his haggard appearance. He withdraws a small datapad and sets it on the table before Damaskh, but still behind the blaster rifle, seeming to recognise that the weapon is a deliberate line not to be crossed. Damaskh mentally gives him a point or two for that - but still, he’s not enticed, and makes that clear by keeping his attention on the Sith, not giving even the slightest glance to the pad.

“That’s all?” He sighs, vaguely annoyed by the mundane request. “You’ve got the wrong person, I’m afraid. Sorry.”

The Wrath only continues to regard him evenly. “I haven’t. Cipher Twelve, formerly of Imperial Intelligence. Like you, I have my own sources - and they say you’re the best at following a cold trail.”

Damaskh rolls his eyes, a necessary expression despite his concealing helmet. “Even an ex-Intelligence agent such as myself is not a missing persons bureau for Sith pets,” he replies, not bothering to hide the note of disdain in his voice.

“He’s not a pet.” There it is - the brief flare of temper, as the Mirialan’s grey eyes narrow.

“Really? Strange, I thought we all were.” Unmoved by the rebuke, Damaskh lifts a hand and considers it, as though lightly examining his nails. “First yours, then Zakuul’s… now Acina’s trying to get a hand in the playpen, I understand, though I have the nagging feeling she’s going to get bitten a few times.”

Sutek cants his head. “You don’t like Sith, do you?” he notes lowly.

“You don’t really expect me to answer that, I hope,” replies Damaskh. “Because if you do, I’m going to have to make some unflattering adjustments in my predictions for this conversation.”

With another curt sigh, he sits forward and swipes the datapad from the table. As expected, it’s a dossier, which he scans without enthusiasm. He can see nothing remarkable about this Imperial officer he’s being asked to find, except perhaps the service record that says the man had spent several years prior to Zakuul’s invasion in apparently exemplary service to the Wrath.

Then he gets to the bottom of the pad, and unseen, his brow lifts. A moment later his gaze follows, fixing Sutek with a long look.

“This says he’s dead. You’re asking me to find a corpse.” With a flick of his hand, Damaskh tosses the pad back onto the table. “I believe the Imperial Reclamation Service handles digging up lost causes, perhaps you should ask them.”

The Sith’s face tightens at this, but Damaskh maintains his easy posture. He can’t sense any impending outburst from the Mirialan, and he can read him well enough to know that he’s not about to make a scene in a busy cantina at cocktail hour.

“I need to be sure,” says Sutek, more forcefully now. “I don’t know if I can trust this information. There are records, but no proof.”

“You’re not sure you can trust this source, so you turn to a rogue cipher agent. There’s something delightfully ironic there, I hope you realise that.” Damaskh’s amusement is genuine as he once again leans back. “Tell me, then - what do I get out of this?”

“What do you want?” It’s clear that Sutek was expecting the question - and just as clear that he hasn’t come prepared with a ready answer.

Damaskh knows he has a free hand. And yet -

“Well, you see, that’s the catch, isn’t it? I can’t think of a single thing you could give me that I want.”

A moment's pause.“There must be something,” the Sith says keenly.

Damaskh makes an airy, dismissive gesture. “Oh, there are things I could ask,” he agrees. “I could ask you to grovel, for one thing. I’ve always wanted to see a Sith do that. But frankly - it all seems like far too much effort for too little reward.”

Sutek exhales with admirable patience. “Then don’t do it for me,” he urges lowly. “Do it for the Empire, because the Empire needs all the good people it can get right now. Malavai Quinn was one of the best, if there’s any chance he’s still alive -” 

Damaskh can hear the faintest tremor in the Mirialan’s voice now, the way his breathing has thickened, and internally he groans. So that’s what this is about. No wonder the Sith has gone to so much bother over a single missing officer.

The agent already knows his answer, but sadistic curiosity stills his tongue, waiting to see how Sutek will try and sway him. So he sits patiently as the Mirialan leans forward, fixing Damaskh with a keen look. 

“I’ve seen your record, Cipher,” Sutek insists, before amending, “Only parts of it, of course, but that was enough. I’ve read reports of the impossible assignments you managed to carry out for the Empire. You believe in it, you care what happens to it -”

“Wrong.” 

Damaskh cuts him off, sharpening his voice just a tiny bit, though it remains as emotionless as ever. He unfurls an easy forefinger at the Sith.

“Do you know why I was the best operative Imperial Intelligence had? Because I didn’t care. I had a job to do, and I did it. Caring is what complicates things, makes it all so messy. Caring is why so many missions fail. And you, my dear Wrath, care far too much about this to make me ever consider taking it on.”

The Sith’s eyes flicker with brief consternation. He wets his lips, and goes on tightly, “Then tell me. What would it take?”

“You haven’t been listening.” Damaskh straightens, sits up, rests his hands easily on his knees. “I don’t want the job, and there’s nothing you can offer me to make it sound more enticing. And,” he adds, deliberately twisting the barb of his words, “the state of the Empire being what it is, I’m afraid you have no means of convincing me. The Sith and their… influence… it isn’t what it used to be, is it?” He pauses before murmuring, “Such a pity.”

Before Sutek can get out another word of protest, Damaskh slides from the booth and onto his feet. “A bit of free advice,” he goes on, taking up his blaster rifle. “You’re much better off without this man, whoever he was to you. It’s clear he was compromising your own role in the Empire. And chances are, he’s much better off dead. You know how these things go, in a war. Patriots from the other side make the best examples. If he had survived this long - I’m sure he would be wishing he hadn’t.”

The Mirialan looks up at him, his expression hard, and yet still desperate. “Please,” he forces out harshly, after a difficult moment. “You’re one of the only operatives left. My only chance of finding the truth.”

Damaskh tilts his head, as though in consideration, but all he can think is how pathetic this is. That the once-mighty Empire’s Wrath can’t see the truth already written across the datapad before him.

“Please,” he echoes thoughtfully, and as he turns and heads for the cantina exit he muses aloud, “What a pointless word.”

[kemendin]

Some Favourite Fic Lines

Because the subject came up earlier, and why not? A non-exhaustive assortment of SWTOR fic lines I’ve written which I’m still incredibly delighted with, for various reasons (last one implied nsfw):

There’s an allure in the way Scourge seems to taste each word as he utters it, the sounds precise yet just alien enough to catch the listener off guard.

And so he’d stood there, in the endless, unbearable quiet, with a dusty box clutched to his chest, and drowned in the slow agony of what might have been.

“I should never have let you board Marr’s ship on your own! I should have gone with you, and protected you, and ripped Vitiate from the Eternal Throne with my bare hands! I would have killed him then and there, and his children as well, and then none of this would have happened -”

It’s as though Scourge is finally, fully existing in this galaxy again - no longer a statue locked in time and purpose, but alive and bright and burning.

“I have no need for dreams, Jedi. I have you.”

It is both his pride and his penance, to bear witness to Khel Sutek’s fall.

“At this point, my lord, I wouldn’t be entirely averse. It would save us both a great deal of embarrassment.”

One day he’d looked with dull eyes at the half-formed reflection shuddering nebulously across the dark metal of his cell, and seen the embodiment of his own contempt.

“I spent far too long searching for you to let you slip away when you’re finally here. And I’m not going to be coy about that, not after what it’s cost me.”

“I find I’m very eager for you to remind me, my lord, of how beautiful you look - when you’re on your knees.”

He is tasting what the light has to offer, and though he knows he will never find rest in its touch, for a little while he can find peace.

“Not every monument has to be built in the name of war, Scourge. Peace… is its own kind of triumph.”

“I believe the Imperial Reclamation Service handles digging up lost causes, perhaps you should ask them.”

Now hordes of enemies were boarding every level of Darth Marr’s ship, attacking every critical area, and Malavai had never felt so small and afraid as he did now, sprinting through scarlet screams of system alarms as the ship’s cacophonous contortions shuddered through his very bones.

He already knows their shallow fall along the back of the Sith’s neck, and the deeper progression from Scourge’s throat down through the centre of his vast chest; how they seem to split open the broad curve of his shoulders, sharpen his elbows, accentuate his ribs. 

“And here I thought you might have gone soft on me, Jedi. I always believed you had some Sith in you.”

He’s looking at a Scourge divested of all armour and weapons, exposed in every way, and yet the Sith still appears so powerful - his scarlet skin slick with sweat, his muscles taut with readiness, his face etched with the primal need to take, to possess, to claim.

[kemendin]

Writer’s First Line

Tagged by @tiredassmage, thanks!

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven't written ten fics, share as many first-sentences as you have.

“I always liked this cantina,” Damaskh murmurs as he slips into the booth against the wall. - Pointless

Evening on Odessen usually brings a sense of calm with it - a soft, cooling cloak that drapes gently over Caspian’s shoulders, telling him that he can rest. - Need

The ship was coming apart. - The Lines of Duty

In the shadow of the Elysium, cradled by golden grass and whispered breezes, caught forever between the darkness and the light, there is a grave. - Remembrance

"Where are we going?" demands Scourge in exasperation, as he tries for the third or fourth time to peer around his Jedi partner and catch a glimpse of the ship's navigation console. - Worth Anything

Malavai’s hands were raw and reddened, a result of the chemical composition of the cleaning fluid as well as the act of scrubbing. - Cleansing Our Ashes

“Well, would you look at that, Captain.” Lord Khel Sutek’s voice was deliberately offhand as he locked the door to his starship cabin. “We’re finally alone.” - A Relaxing Interlude

An Imperial starship shouldn't be this quiet. - One Final Act

Loyalty, thought Damaskh idly, as he sat in his quarters on the ship, sharpening his vibroknives, loyalty was a funny thing. - Loyalty

“Come to bed with me?” - Cover Your Crystal Eyes

[kemendin]

A Relaxing Interlude

"Between dealing with the war against the Republic, and the rather manic aspirations of Darth Baras, Khel had hardly gotten a moment alone with his captain, and consequently very little had actually changed between them. They were still far more Sith Lord and servant than they were two men in love.

"The Mirialan naturally enjoyed their relationship as it was - as he knew Quinn did - but he was aching to expand on it. Now, at last, there was some time to breathe, and he intended to take full advantage."

Lord Khel Sutek finally gets Malavai Quinn alone in their ship for some long-awaited physical affection. Takes place after the class story.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior Rating: Explicit Words: 7000

Well, here we are, finally did it. First time writing smexytimes! This is coming rather quickly on the heels of my last fic update, and I banged (haha) it out in like three days, so it's a less polished thing that I wrote just for my own amusement. I wasn't sure about posting, but I had such a blast actually writing this, that I figured some folks on here might enjoy it as well.

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

Khel hid another faint laugh behind his hand. He shook his head. “Quinn, this isn’t a tactical exercise. We aren’t practising combat maneouvres. We’re supposed to enjoy each other’s company.”

Quinn raised his chin. “For me, those two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he pointed out archly, and Khel rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, alright. But you know exactly what I mean. Now come on.” The Sith spread a hand invitingly. “What do you like to do? What excites you?”

Another broad flush assaulted Quinn’s features, and an indistinct noise left him as he rubbed awkwardly at his face.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” he said faintly. “My lord, I don’t - I haven’t - “ He took a deep breath before going on, “There weren’t many opportunities, on Balmorra, for those sorts of…. liaisons. I did… that is, I… I took care of myself, if the need arose, but aside from that… I haven’t given it a great deal of thought, for some time now.”

Khel managed not to laugh this time, pulling his own features back into something closer to neutrality. “I assumed it had been a while,” he said clinically. “Fair enough. But you must have some thoughts on the subject.”

Malavai glanced up again, still quite pink-faced, and Khel had to resist the urge to step over again and see how fast he could make pink become flaming red.

“Well, in answer to your second question… all I can say for certain is that - you excite me, my lord. Desperately.” Quinn shifted his weight again, and for all his factual words, Khel could sense how even saying this was stirring something in the other man.

The Mirialan stroked thoughtfully at his chin. “Flatterer,” he accused, with a smirk in his voice. “Hmmm, alright. In that case, why don’t I start? And you can just stand there for now and… be excited.” The last words came out low, enticing. Quinn’s eyes widened a bit.

“I - very well, my lord, I’ll follow your lead.”

“And you do it so well,” murmured Khel silkily, as he stepped back so that Quinn could have the full view of him.

Khel took his time undressing; he wanted to make a show of it, make sure Malavai could see every deliberate, fluid motion as the Sith disrobed. He unfastened his belt and let it slide along his hips before setting it aside, then eased his tunic off over his head - slowly, so that Quinn could appreciate every centimetre of golden skin that was revealed. It was nothing the other man hadn’t seen before, of course - but presentation made all the difference. A low laugh murmured in Khel’s throat as he glanced over and saw that Quinn’s eyes were still wide, and his chest was taut with a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.

“How are you doing there, Quinn? Are you feeling excited yet?”

[kemendin]

PART III: ENCORE

“It’s true. I have… set the stage, my lord.”

MALAVAI QUINN accompanies LORD KHEL SUTEK to a strangely deserted Imperial starship, in order to obtain the ‘necessary’ signal emitter that will  allow them passage to Corellia. With his true plan well in place, Quinn thinks he’s accounted for every contingency. Unfortunately for Malavai, he’s not the only one with a sense of melodramatic timing. Bringing down  the Emperor’s Wrath will be a far more complicated act than Quinn has  anticipated, as he finds himself caught between his duty to follow orders and the loyalties that lie in his heart.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior

Words: 7810

MAJOR SPOILERS for the Sith Warrior story. Warnings for canon-typical violence/injury.

Third and final part now posted! Thank you to everyone who’s read, liked, kudo’d and commented, I appreciate you all. This fic was an unexpected delight to write and I definitely need to scribble more with Khel and Quinn.

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

He is alive.

This is, understandably, the first coherent thought that slogs its way out of Malavai Quinn’s unconsciousness and into the light of day.

Unfortunately, in its wake comes a tumble of confused terror. If he is alive, it’s only because he’s in for something worse than death. After all, Lord Khel studied under Darth Baras, a man infamous for his cruelty and the torments he delighted in inflicting upon his enemies. And Quinn has become an enemy of both, so naturally -

No. No. Khel Sutek isn’t like blasted Baras.

Forcing his groggy mind back to reason, Quinn tries to get his bearings. His entire body feels like it’s been used for a practise artillery bombardment, his right arm in particular. The slightest twitch sends a jolt of pain through the limb. How much time has passed? He groans, rolls over - bloody hell, that hurts - and drags his eyes open. He’s not cuffed, but he expects to find himself in the ship’s brig at the very least, more likely a high security holding cell on some -

No. He’s still on the starship. Still in the same red-drenched room.

Feeling the wall nearby, he pushes aside his bewilderment and concentrates on hauling himself into a sitting position. Maybe then he can get a better look at his arm. But halfway up, he freezes.

Lord Khel is kneeling only feet away, looking twice as bad as Quinn feels. The Sith’s gaze is trained on the other man, watching him with rapt attention.

“Ahh. You’re awake,” he says evenly.

Quinn tries to focus as the room threatens to spin around him. “A bit of a cliché opener, isn’t it?” he responds hoarsely, before he can stop himself.

Almost immediately he regrets his flippant remark. He’s only digging himself deeper here. This is not going to be pleasant.

But Khel merely arches a brow at him. “And ‘I have set the stage, my lord’ wasn’t?” he returns.

Quinn blinks. “…Touché,” he concedes weakly.

A tense silence falls. Khel continues to stare. Though dizzy with pain and a healthy dose of ongoing dread, Quinn doesn’t dare find a more comfortable position; he’s rather like a small animal that’s found itself cornered by its pursuer, and keeping still is the only way to preserve his fleeting existence. But he’s also feeling more nonplussed by the moment. Khel hasn’t made a move to punish him (unless breaking his arm and rendering him unconscious counts as punishment, Quinn isn’t entirely sure). In fact, the Sith seems remarkably restored to his usual calm, controlled self.

It’s more than a bit unsettling.

[kemendin]

🌙 (moon), 🙊(speak no evil), 🌌(milky way), oc emoji asks for Khel? <3

🌙 MOON - what is your oc's greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

HMMM. I think concretely the best answer I can say for Khel is ‘improve the Empire’. He doesn’t want to turn it into another Republic - he values the order and discipline that the Republic lacks - but he does want the Empire to be less about power and aggression and clinging to tradition, and more about cooperation and drawing on the strengths of everyone who comprises it. And he’s not afraid to drag people kicking and screaming into a better era, or cut away the ones who are standing in the way of progress.

🙊 SPEAK-NO-EVIL - what is something your oc will refuse to stay quiet about?

This is a tough one, because Khel does keep so much to himself, even if he has strong feelings about it. He definitely won’t tolerate anyone being a dick about aliens though (I mean, he is one, stands to reason). He’ll nicely tell the person to their face to rethink their position - implied ‘or else’ - and if they continue, well. Khel has a lot of connections and can make their life very miserable if he chooses to.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

So Khel started out waaaay back when the game first launched as ‘Sutek’ - the idea being to create a character who was visually as much gold as possible because why not, and drawing on ancient Egyptian aesthetics for inspiration. Proto-Khel had an almost identical physical design (different tattoos/eye colour), but his vague personality was actually much closer to what Damaskh has become.

I got him to about level 25, not really knowing what I was doing, and then life happened and I didn’t touch the game again until just over a year ago. I loved his design so much that I recreated it down to the clothes, changed up a few things, and renamed him to something that felt better. The ONLY thing I could remember about him from my initial playthrough was that he was definitely developing a crush on ‘that Imperial officer companion’ so I decided I’d still go with that and see if it stuck this time around.

Boy, did it stick.