Seeing as they're releasing official overviews of the class stories, I thought I'd do a more in-depth one.

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTENT TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

I'll just do the story for Korriban for now, see how people like it, if it proves popular I'll carry on, perhaps even do all eight classes!

 

Prologue

 

My mother named me Koinahim, a joke apparently in a dusty language from some distant world, but I am not Nobody. I am a woman to be reckoned with. At least, that's what Overseer Tremmel seems to think. He chose me personally, summoned me to the Sith Academy years ahead of schedule, and ordered me to report to him on Korriban.

 

My first action upon disembarking the shuttle, however, is to cough myself inside out. Why the Sith chose such a dreary dustball of a planet to train on is beyond me. My first instinct is to reach for the Force, ward myself from the pesky little particles that are already clogging my throat, but the only talk of Korriban and the Academy is of its deadly nature, and so I conserve my strength. Besides, I've always been better with a blade than with such fine, delicate control.

 

Resignedly, trying to convince myself that it displays great forethought and the ability to overcome any obstacle, I rip a few strips off my already threadbare sleeve, and stuff them up my nose.

 

Stepping through the forcefield that guards the shuttle bay, I come face to face with my summoner.

 

He's glad to see me, not a sentiment often passed my way, and seems oddly gentle for a Sith. He too, however, quickly issues a warning about the deadly nature of Korriban. I try to pass it off with a joke, but I either missed the mark, or the muffled, nasal twang of my voice due to my improvised filter got in the way. He was not amused, and made it most clear that I am here to work.

 

Every Bantha needs some poodoo to keep it plodding on, though, and apparently mine is to be the promise of limitless power. It's Sith 101, string the apprentice along as long as you can, but when it's delivered in such a soothing, honey and caramel voice, I'll listen all day long.

 

In fact, I listen a little too much to the voice - which for some reason keeps making me think of door-to-door cosmetics - and not quite enough to the words, and miss a lot of what comes next.

 

Covering my lack of attention with another cough, subtly plucking the wadding from my nostrils as I do so, I ask him to start the conversation over, and this time I play it dead serious. That goes down much better!

 

The next warning comes as a bit more of a shock: apparently I already have a mortal enemy, someone with the unfortunate name of Vermin if I heard correctly. I can see why that would make a young man angry. Perhaps Koinahim isn't so bad after all!

 

I shrug the threat off, confident in my prowess that I can defeat any other acolyte, and the Overseer agrees. I'm starting to like this man! That liking jumps up another notch when he offers me an upgrade on my current blade.

 

But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch. It seems that in his advancing years a touch of senility has set in, and the daft sod's gone and left it in a tomb, of all places. A tomb, apparently, just crawling with giant bugs. Oh joy!

 

Still, it'll be nice to unwind after the long shuttle journey with a bit of mindless slaughtering. Off I go!

 

As I step back out into the dust-laden air of Korriban, however, my enthusiasm takes a bit of a nosedive as my nose once again takes a snootful of grit. As I'm trying to discretely blow it on a handily placed banner (sorry, Emperor, Hail and all that, honest!), I spot a little flag waving cheerfully over the nearby mailbox, and wander over to take a look.

 

Oh my! It's a care package from Granny Adhira.

 

'To my little Legacy, I hope you wreak as much havoc in these as I did at your age. Love and Force-chokes, Darth Granny'

 

I eagerly rip open the box, to find a beautiful, if slightly dated, set of robes, complete with neck and booby guards.

 

And best of all... a nice filter that fits snugly over the nose and mouth. Had terrible allergies, did Granny, couldn't even invade Alderaan in pollen season.

 

I gratefully put everything on, and sent her a holopic for the mantelpiece, over the fireplace in her quarters on the retirement Battlecruiser.

 

http://www.playthingofthegods.net/Koinahim.jpg

 

Feeling like a million credits, I swaggered off to the tomb in search of my new stabby thing, which isn't easy to do in a dress containing more armour plating than your average Star Destroyer.

 

As promised, the tomb is full of giant bugs, along with a few looters, and a handful of sad sacks just hanging around desperately hoping some sap will help them out. I'm sure Granny helped everyone she stumbled over (it's her leg, you know, couldn't get decent parts back then), but I'm on the fast track here, and swished past them with nothing more than a disdainful glare.

 

Turns out that Overthehill Tremble's not quite as senile as I thought, in that he at least remembered exactly where he dropped the sword, but it turned out he's still quite senile enough to forget the horde of killbots hanging about that presumably caused him to drop it in the first place.

 

I'm made of sterner stuff, though, and they turned out to be no match for myself and Stabby Thing Mk II. It was good practice, though, and I felt that I'd gained some skill whilst dispatching them. A nice man I found on the way back to Tremmel apparently agreed, and taught me a new trick: using the force to leap straight into an enemy's face. Note to self, though: do not try on anything with a mouth bigger than me, it is unlikely to end well!

 

And while I'm making mental notes: forgive mother. Apparently naming things isn't as easy as I expected, and when I ran into that nasty Vermin boy he laughed at Stabby Thing Mk II. I tried to make friends, but he wasn't having any of it, and when I made just one teensy little threat of death he stomped off in a huff, taking his shaved Wookiee with him.

 

The Overseer, on the other hand, was delighted to see me and my new toy, which is more than I can say for his stroppy daughter. Apparently that particular apple fell off the tree, then rolled down the hill, into some dewback manure, and rotted. Once she'd flounced out though, the Overseer was eager to hear about my run-in with Vermin.

 

I shrugged it off as easily as before: big heads are usually a mask for little skill. Tremmel too seemed unconcerned about Vermin himself, although apparently he's the pet of some big shot called Darth ******, which is definitely a case of overcompensation.

 

No time for more idle chatter though, as ever there's work to be done, and this time it sounds like a lot more fun. I get to play gaoler, and toy with some prisoners. Squee!

 

The first prisoner I find is a Twi'lek, pretty little thing, and does some great animal impressions too. I'd always imagined jails to be dreary places, but her and the jailor seem to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, and having a hearty back and forth repartee. I particularly like when he shocks her with the little button, and look forward to having a go myself, but apparently she's not on the menu this time. Boo!

 

What is on the menu is a little blander, and doesn't seem to be enjoying Korriban's hospitality nearly as much, but I guess it will have to do.

 

First up is an assassin, but apparently not a very good one, as she's now in a cell and her target's still breathing. I had hoped to get a little practice in, but she doesn't seem worth the bother. Buzzy Poker (better than Stabby Thing Mk II? No? Drat!) makes short work of her.

 

Next up is a fallen Sith Champion: much more like it! I lob him a sword from a nearby rack, and invite him to attack me. Sadly, he'd fallen pretty far, and once again the Droning Dagger (Maybe? *sigh* Ok) did its work far too quickly.

 

Finally, I'm shown some... thing, not sure what, that babbles on and on until I just choke him to make him shut up. Poor old Fizzling Foil (fine, you come up with something!) doesn't even get pulled from its scabbard.

 

And then it's back to Overseer Tremmel, to make a report.

 

Astonishingly, he was grumpy about most of my decisions, snarky even, which I have to say rather got my dander up. He tried to make amends by calling me deep and insightful at the end, but quite frankly it was too little too late. He'd better have a nice present for me soon, or he's going on my naughty list!

 

Oh wonderful, another trip to a tomb... naughty list it is! Still, this beast sounds like fun.

 

At least I can catch a taxi part of the way, this planet is far too hot to be wearing so many layers.

 

As I plod the rest of the way, I hear a most annoying sound imaginable coming from some box just laying around on the ground. I give it a whack to shut it up, which for some odd reason made me feel much wiser.

 

Inside the tomb I found myself several playmates, which is surprising as I'd always associated them with the dead, but a few minutes of fun soon cleared up that little dichotomy, and it was on to face the mighty Beast.

 

And mighty indeed was the beast... 's breath! Sure, all it's had to snack on recently are rotting corpses, but couldn't it at least use their tattered robes to floss with? I could see why no-one had killed it so far, who in their right mind would want to smell any more of its insides.

 

Thanks again, Granny, for this lovely face-filter!

 

Turning it all the way to max, I leaped gleefully at the monster's torso, and definitely not the gaping, foetid maw, and cheerfully poked it full of holes with the blade-with-no-name (hah!). Which just made it angry.

 

Oops.

 

Ok, head it is... ewww!

 

Damn thing had a skull like a rock, and I was reduced to chipping away at it like a prissy little Jedi making an ice sculpture (or whatever they do on Tython). An ear here, a tongue there, gradually whittling away until the fact that it was dead finally penetrated all the way to the brainstem, which is probably what I should have tried in the first place.

 

Still, dead was dead, and no-one said anything about bonus points for neatness, so back to Tremmel I go!

 

Only to get waylaid by Vermin's pet, who for the record also could have used a mint or pack thereof.

 

Whilst blocking the passageway, he helpfully pointed out that there were no witnesses, and I took full advantage of that fact. I'm having the best day!

 

And things just keep on getting better! Apparently Darth ****** noticed the de-beasting of the tomb, and wants to see me. Promotion, here I come!

 

On my way, I stopped off to see the nice man who taught me some new skills before, and found I had lots of fun new things to learn, along with something of a dilemma. Apparently, I was now sufficiently powerful that I had a choice to make. Should I focus more on the defensive arts, and become a Juggernaut, or grab an extra blade and mince things like a garbage chute on overdrive as a Marauder?

 

Did I say choice? I meant 'pick the glaringly obvious'.

 

So it was with a jaunty-yet-hey-I'm-lethal step that my newly Marauder'd self entered Darth ******'s chambers.

 

Only to find my way blocked by other acolytes yet again!

 

I'm preparing to go full mincer on them, when the short one speaks. Ok, this is interesting, they're willing to off Vermin for me. I'd rather been looking forward to that myself, but what the heck, I'm in a good mood. Go for it, expendable people I just met.

 

Pausing only to bandy words with the soon-to-be-corpse himself, I finally find myself in the presence of Darth...

 

... Fatass!

 

Well, this is a big disappointment. Apparently I'm now working for a man who ate a Hutt for breakfast!

 

And the feeling appears to be mutual, Ol' Jiggles here doesn't seem too keen on me either. I heard in passing that Darth Zash is looking for a new apprentice, perhaps I should go apply for that job instead?

 

Oh, and now he's gone full school-ma'am on me. Recite the Sith Code, indeed!

 

Isk before Esk, except after chopping their heads off and using their skulls for goblets. Close enough?

 

Apparently so, because now I get to kill Overthehill Tremble, yay! That'll teach him to get grumpy with me.

 

Best. Day. Ever!

 

He didn't exactly put up much of a fight, but boy oh boy was it fun, and as requested I lopped off his hand and brought it back to Fatty. As a reward, he tossed me one of the rings. Big deal, I swiped Tremmel's wallet, watch and diamond-studded codpiece on the way out.

 

Still, it cheered Darth Lardy up no end, and after just one quick rendition of the Sith Code with Menacing Overture, he gave me a new errand to run.

 

Oh, what a surprise... more tombs! Is there nothing else on this hellball?

 

Oh well, Master says fetch, I fetch... for now.

 

As ever, the tombs are full of bugs, looters, failed acolytes and escaped slaves. I guess no-one thought to open a YMSA around here.

 

Bits obtained, I head back, only to be waylaid by... yes, yet more pathetic acolytes! Here's a heads up, failures, less moping around, more getting out and doing things!

 

This lot think they can just take the shards I worked my tight little tushie off for, aaand now there's blood all over my lovely hand-me-downs, not to mention all over the floor. I hope Darth Bigboned doesn't skimp on the maid service in his quarters.

 

And on the subject of His Jellyness, he greets my return rather oddly, calling me the 'prodigal supplicant'. Funny, I don't feel that I've been wastefully extravagant with my money, and you can hardly call the pathetic acolytes currently decomposing in the corner 'resources.' Perhaps he just had a small stroke and got his words mixed up, judging by his girth and temperament his cholesterol and stress must be sky high, he's certainly due one.

 

Oh, and here's Vermin too, looking as cheerful as a Gundark with it's ears pulled off. Golly, but he's a sore loser now, isn't he!

 

As Vermin slopes grumpily off, the elephant in the room tells me it's time I had my own lightsaber, which let's face it is certainly true, but let me guess...

 

... it's in a tomb, isn't it? A particularly nasty one, with traps and hidden dangers? Yeah, didn't need to use the Force to see that little slice of the future.

 

But at least I won't be going alone this time, apparently I get to take that chirpy little Twi'lek from the jail along with me. That actually sounds rather fun, as long as I get the zapper button too!

 

Naturally the tombs are full of soon-to-be-dead things, and it's while I'm dispatching a group of them that I become aware of a rather disturbing turn of events. From somewhere I'd rather not think about, Chirps the Twi'lek has pulled out a pair of pistols, and is cheerfully shooting everything in sight.

 

I don't want to sound overly ungrateful, but I'm really going to have to have words with that jailer, it's the sort of oversight that could really put a dent on one's day, or the back of one's head!

 

Still, it does speed things up noticeably, and she's hardly a match for me, so for now I'll let her have her fun.

 

And oh goody goody, looks like I get to have my fun too... Vermin's here too. Mincing time!

 

With one less mortal enemy to worry about, I give Chirps a few friendly zaps of encouragement, and she finishes opening the secret door for me. You know, I might just ask if I can keep her when this is all done, she's funny and useful!

 

With the way open, it's a simple matter of dispatching a few ancient rust-buckets and an army of the undead, and the lightsaber is mine. Go me!

 

Heading back to deliver the good news, I decide to stop off and read the instruction manual for my new buzzy little friend (no, the lightsaber, the Twi'lek chirps, remember, and as far as I know has no manual, more's the pity!). Seems simple enough: push button, stick glowy end in foes, repeat. There's some fine print about small parts, not suitable for padawans under three years old, blah blah blah, I skip over it.

 

I almost make it back to Darth Bulbous when, yet again, I am waylaid. Is there a rota or something, or a ticket machine? Number 87, you may now hassle Koinahim. Fine, what is it this time?

 

Ah, Tremmel Junior, well this just got awkward...

 

Fortunately, there's a fairly simple solution, and this dress needs a wash anyway.

 

One mincing later, and I'm back in Tubby's chambers, trying not to mistake him for a sofa.

 

And he's in a good mood, for once. If there was space in the room, he'd have been beside himself with joy. After a brief pause to chuckle about Vermin's demise, I finally get the news I've been waiting for all day.

 

I am officially the apprentice to a Sith Lord. Step One of Operation Conquer The Galaxy is now complete!

You sir/lady deserve a medal (perhaps more than one) best laugh i had in ages!!!

I clicked this out of boredom expecting some poorly written fanfic that is devoid of humor. Instead I ended up reading a very brilliant story full of character and hilarity. I applaud you good sir. Thank you for this read.

 

P.S. None of that was sarcasm. This story really is great. Please continue with more chapters!

Respect, Bugisttod, respect.

This is great!

 

I ALMOST clicked your referral link -which I never do. Will have to though, if you carry on (please, please do!).

 

I bet you're a professional writer, if not - you should be.

Quite droll, thoroughly enjoyed it.

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTENT TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

Many thanks for the kind words, folks, I'll try not to make you regret them!

 

So, onwards to Dromund Kaas...

 

Prologue - Continued

 

My promotion isn't the only good news, either. I'm finally getting off this dustball! Just in time, too, I ran out of filters for my mask an hour ago, and had to steal the one from the coffee machine in the Darth's breakroom.

 

Major caffeine buzz right now, I can actually see the Force flowing from the Tubster. Or possibly the ghost of his breakfast, from the way he's leaning. Yup, no way does the Force smell like that. Time to go!

 

For some reason there's no direct shuttle from Korriban to Dromund Kaas, even though they're right next to each other celestially and it's a trip thousands of people make daily, and so I'm forced to travel first to the Imperial Fleet. It's quite the hub of activity, and commerce, and even though I head straight from one shuttle bay to the next I'm bombarded by people wanting to sell me credits. I'm not even sure how that would work, you buy things with credits, not the other way around!

 

Arriving on Dromund Kaas, I dutifully check in at the Arrivals Console, only to be accosted what appears to be a human / womp weasel hybrid. It claims to work for Darth Fatass, although why he would employ someone who can't even count to two is beyond me. I am not a Juggernaut, gentle or otherwise, as should be apparent from the one two, yes two lightsabers hanging temptingly from my belt.

 

I resist the temptation, however, which pleases Chirps no end, as if I care about that.

 

With the unpleasant little rodent dismissed, I continue through the spaceport, and finally set foot on Dromund Kaas soil.

 

Soil. Really? No pavement? On the Imperial capital world? If I ever paid my taxes, I'd demand a refund.

 

Not wanting to get my nice boots any muddier than I have to, I squelch the few steps to the nearest taxi, and book a ride. This includes a flight over an area filled with Gundarks and Vine Cats and other fun-looking things to play with, if I get the time I'll have to come back and say hello!

 

Fortunately Kaas City itself is paved, though sadly less with gold and more with the muted grey of ennui. Hopping off the taxi onto much firmer terra, I stretch the kinks back out of my legs by jogging to Fatty's chambers, where he awaits me.

 

Which is an interesting trick, given I set out before him, and didn't stop for an eight-course meal along the way.

 

He's in a garrulous mood, one might even say expansive, and spends some time boasting about his extensive spy network, claiming to have fingers, eyes and ears everywhere. You forgot 'guts', Master...

 

My first task on Dromund Kaas is to go and collect his mail, which no surprise turns out to be a large slab of frozen meat. It should have been a simple pick up and drop off, but apparently there's some sort of dispute between rival courier services as to who should get to deliver it. Fortunately, settling disputes is a speciality of mine!

 

While Fatass fires up the grill to defrost his snack, I get sent out to the middle of nowhere to slap about a few unruly slaves. I lament the impending demise of my poor, beloved booties, but while stopping off to do a bit of training, I discover I qualify for my Speeder Learner's Permit. Squee!

 

I wistfully eyed a sleek, sexy little pod racer, but sadly the insurance was way out of my budget. Damn those greedy Neimoidians and their Indemnification Federation. Ok, cheap runabout it is.

 

Arriving slowly but with dry feet at the entrance to the slave encampment, I get an update from the Imperial Commander in charge. It seems Fatass was being a little disingenuous with me, the slaves didn't decide to revolt, he paid them to! And with an utter lack of foresight, he hadn't considered the possibility that slaves that happily revolt against one master would have no qualms about repeating themselves against the next one.

 

Perhaps I should try to encourage him to eat more fish, that's supposed to be good for the brain. Low in cholesterol, too, hint hint...

 

With the revolt quashed, I return to the Lard of the Sith, to find him hard at work in front of his grill. To my surprise, once defrosted it turns out that hunk of beef I delivered earlier is actually a man. This does not prevent Fatass from trying to fry him, however.

 

It is at this point that my expenditure on the speeder is all for nought, as Chirps throws up on my boots. Great!

 

Fortunately I don't have to stand there for long, as my next task awaits me, the crippling of one of Fatty's rivals. Well, no rest for the delightfully impish...

 

Infiltrating Lord Grandpa's estate proved far easier than I'd expected, which was somewhat disappointing, but not nearly as big a let down as Fatty's apprentice, Balls. What a stuck-up, half-witted, gormless-looking nerf-herder!

 

The instant attitude from him made my 'sabers itch, but with great self control I denied myself the pleasure. Right now, he has information I need. I reconsider though when I hear it: a year under cover, and he's got one fact I could have discovered in five minutes down at the General Register Office.

 

Given the quality of Fatty's lackeys on Dromund Kaas so far, I'm finding myself feeling much less proud of my position as his Apprentice. I bet the acolytes back in the Academy are laughing at me, right now!

 

Holding on to that rage like my favourite teddyewok, I stomp deeper into Grandpa's estate, to clip his heir.

 

I find the son, Bigzit, exactly where he was supposed to be: clinging to his mummy. I dispatch both with ease, and head back to Balls.

 

Again with the attitude, but this time I have no further use for him. The wimp calls for help, he's no true Sith, but all he does is provide me more pockets to go through when the dust settles. I'm making a fair living from looting the dead, although it could always be better. I shall suggest to the Quartermaster next time I pass by that he increase the lackeys' wages.

 

Returning to his would-be-spacious-if-he-wasn't-filling-it abode, I find Darth Butterball in a state of some distress. Apparently the grill isn't cooking his snack to his liking, who'd have thought he'd be a fussy eater, and so I have to go pick up some more powerful elements.

 

He must be really hungry too, perhaps he's even gone minutes without a meal, as he wants me to nick some bits off the Emperor's personal barbecue. Apparently old Empy has a taste for the brains of his enemies. Well, to each their own, I guess.

 

This culinary masterpiece is housed in the Emperor's summer Temple, a little pied-a-terre within commuting distance of the city. I'll have to get me one of those, I have a brochure from a holosalesman I passed earlier on.

 

Despite having the moniker 'The Dark Temple', it's actually quite a bright and spacious place, with the moss filtering the light into a pleasant, soothing green. That's probably why the Emperor allows it to be used as a lunatic asylum when he's not in residence. He's so thoughtful and nice!

 

Unfortunately, the Emperor's prepossessing nature has caused me a small amount of trouble: some of the inmates have gone and broken the barbecue, and run off with some key parts. I'm sure if I ask nicely they'll give them back!

 

With the parts retrieved, I return to attempt to reassemble the Imperial Cooker, only to be waylaid by yet more inmates. The leader of this bunch is nuttier than a fruitcake, however, and believes himself to be a long-dead Grand Conqueror someone-or-other. Ever notice people are never given to delusions of mediocrity? Not once have I met someone channelling the ghost of a friendly Bantha salesman, who mowed the lawns of his elderly neighbours on the weekend. Or, something that would be really handy right now, a hunky slave possessed by a top-notch masseur, who specialised in neck rubs.

 

Nope, I get the egomaniac with a deathwish, or second-death wish to be more precise.

 

With that wish fulfilled, I attempt to reassemble the brain-grinder, but don't have a great deal of luck. Whatever happened to 'insert tab A into slot B'? You know what, I'm not paid to be a grease monkey, I'll just head back to Fatass and let him sort it out.

 

I find him still playing with his food, but not it seems without some interesting results. The man turns out to have been a Republic spy, and has some interesting titbits to share. A Jedi Master by the name of No Mean Cur has a new Padawan, who can tell if people are naughty or nice. I can see how that could be handy, I've lost my list twice already.

 

I was hoping Fatty's snack would tell me where to find this walking checklist, but unfortunately the timer went 'ding' and he tucked in before I could find out.

 

The revelation hadn't just peeked my interest, however, and in between mouthfuls the Doughy Darth mirrored my thoughts. It seems that my stay on Dromund Kaas is to be a short one, and I'm already off to visit new worlds.

 

I open my holocommunicator to book a shuttle, but His Portlyness has a much better idea.

 

I'm getting my own starship!

 

SQUEE!

Ain't nobody got time for that.

I bet you're a professional writer, if not - you should be.

 

I don't know about professional, but if you're interested I give away the first five chapters of my first book for free as a taster:

 

http://www.aeithar.info/The_History_of_the_Aeithar_-_Book_01_-_The_Internal_Wars_-_Chapters_01_to_05.zip

 

also at

 

http://www.lesliestylesauthor.info/The_History_of_the_Aeithar_-_Book_01_-_The_Internal_Wars_-_Chapters_01_to_05.zip

 

The zip file contains various ereader formats: MOBI, EPUB and a couple of sizes of PDF, so there should be something usable on pretty much any device.

 

Fair warning though, despite only being a fifth of the book, it's still as long as a standard novel at 50,000 words!

 

Quick break for lunch (apparently I'm learning my Master's bad habits!), and I'll move on to the next planet.

My scrolling finger hurts.

Love this soooo much. Please continue.

I don't know about professional...

 

Well, I do, and you're it....

 

(And mentioning 'new book', I'm guessing it isn't your first one, which seems to qualify you for the professional title in technical terms, as well..)

 

Anyway... Masterfully done.. If this is your usual writing style (the wit and humor, that is), feel free to pm me a link (or the titles) to your finished works, so I can check them out for purchase.

Very nicely done.

If there was a "Like"-Button, I'd click it.

 

Looking forward to more.

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTENT TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

Again, thanks for all the kind replies and encouragement, folks!

 

Next stop, Balmorra...

 

Prologue - Continued

 

When Darth Fatass told me I was getting my own ship, I was understandably excited, but at the same time I tried to temper my expectations. There couldn't be much left in the kitty after the food budget, after all.

 

So I was very pleasantly surprised when I reached the hangar, and saw my new ride: sleek, stylish, fast, and deadly. It was basically me, with twin ion engines!

 

I quickly re-checked the hangar number, to be sure: yup, this was mine. All mine.

 

Chirps was of course completely overwhelmed, which temporarily soured my mood as I remembered I'd have draw up a shower rota, but it'll only be the two of us, so really it was only a minor inconvenience.

 

And talking of minor inconveniences, my mood is somewhat raised as one of the shadows detached itself from the wall. It seems Darth Grandpa still bears a grudge over his minced whelp. Not enough to come in person, though, which is disappointing.

 

The would-be dispatcher quickly becomes the dispatchee, and I go back to admiring my new ride. Oh boy!

 

Eagerly, I jogged up the ramp, and keyed the entry pad. At which point the ship took off of its own accord. HEY! Let me get inside first!

 

I did at least manage to get through the airlock before we hit hard vacuum, and after a few seconds to regain my breath on the inside, I set off to reprimand the autopilot, severely. That word has 'sever' in it for a reason, after all.

 

I don't even reach the flight deck, however, before I'm accosted by a ship droid. A chatty, chatty ship droid. The details of the combat capabilities are interesting, but I really don't need to know the details of the plumbing and waste disposal system. He seems determined to tell me about them, nonetheless.

 

Oops, I seem to have slipped, and thrust my lightsaber straight through your vocabulator unit. No, don't bother getting it repaired, I'm in a hurry!

 

With silence once more reigning, I notice the blinking light over the ginormous holoterminal dominating the central deck. Oh, please tell me I can get HBO on this! I flip the switch, and am rewarded with a larger-than-life image of Darth Fatass, something I'd never thought would be possible.

 

It seems that the spy's pre-digestion confessions has got under Fatty's skin, where there is admittedly plenty of space, and turned him into Darth Paranoid. In his newly altered mental state, he's decided that all his spies need to be silenced, and I'm the one for the job.

 

'Dear newest employee, please kill all my previous employees.' Ooh, this does not bode well for my future!

 

Chapter One

 

The first spy is on the planet Balmorra, a front line war zone in the core worlds. Oh goody goody, that sounds like my kind of planet!

 

I set a course, and arrive eager to begin the slaughter, but before the drives have even begun to cool my Lord and Meatball is ringing me up yet again. I must find the block list on this holo. At least this time the call is short and sweet, everything he isn't: find a Lt Quinn, and get an update on the spy.

 

As I do so, I'm a little perturbed by everyone's inability to correctly pronounce the rank. Fatass I can understand, he's got a lot on his plate, and on his mind, but you'd think the military would at least get their own details correct! When Quinn gets round to introducing himself, I'm not sure whether to give him orders or a toilet brush.

 

Not being in the habit of carrying lavatorial cleaning equipment, however, the choice is made by default.

 

Enunciation aside, Quinn seems competent enough, and those little moles on his cheek are kind of cute. Fatass goes back over the situation again, like I'm the one with the memory problems, and then Quinn hands me some explosives to plant.

 

Really? Explosives? You do know I'm a Sith, right? Lightsabers, Force, the whole kit and caboodle. You want a mainframe destroyed, I can reduce it to it's component atoms.

 

I'm sensing a little Force-envy in Quinn, here. He even keeps the detonator to push the button himself, just to feel like a big shot. Meh, let him have his moment with the inanimate object, I'm far more interested in the squishy gooey things between me and the mainframe anyway.

 

Except there aren't any, just a bunch of droids... what a swizz!

 

Fortunately, when I report in to Quinn, he passes me onto Daddy Slobberchops, who has something much more fun in mind: invade a Republic base. Things are looking up!

 

As I leave the bunker, I get to do that cool-gal thing from the holos, where you calmly walk away from the explosion, and don't look back. It feels pretty good, so maybe Quinn was on to something after all.

 

Much to my delight, the Republic base is indeed heavily manned. Well, it was heavily manned, now it's mostly just sticky. As promised, the spy's imbecile of a son is all nicely packaged and waiting for me. And oh, is he ever the blabbermouth. Also, in need of potty training. I am not cleaning that up!

 

What I will clean up are these reinforcements that the jailer so kindly summoned for me. I do like it when victims save me the trouble of going to them.

 

Returning to the rather ripe cell, the brat starts babbling again, because it worked out so well for him last time. He even has the naivete to ask me not to kill him. I smile, remembering the needlework above Granny's rocking throne: Please Do Not Beg For Mercy, As A Lightsaber To The Face Is Far Too Much Fun. Returning to the present, my smile becomes a grin as I realise the poor fool thinks it was for him. Adding an addendum of my own to Granny's motto, I Force-choke the ... well, he's already taken care of that himself, so I settle for the life out of him.

 

With the satisfaction of a job well slaughtered, I head back to see if Quinn's any closer to locating the real target. Only to find out that the my incredible prowess has made him become enamoured of me. He's even giving me the puppy akk dog eyes, and fishing for compliments. Give it up, mole boy, Chirps has a better shot than you do!

 

Putting him firmly in his place, I leave him to pull himself together while I go to interrupt Fatass's meal of the hour on the holo. My good mood makes me incautious, however, and after a moment of levity I immediately regret my use of the phrase 'butter me up'. There are some sights you just can't unsee, and drool leaking out of a mask is one of them.

 

Fortunately, my stomach is quickly soothed by the details of my next mission: break into another Republic base, and just to be on the safe side kill everyone I see. Everything's coming up Koinahim today!

 

Returning to Quinn for any final details, he makes with the flirty face again, and even mentions that he's 'excited'. Well, if that's distracting you from your job, I can always take care of it... with my lightsaber! And suddenly he's a lot less excited, good.

 

With the coordinates of the arms factory entered into my sat nav, I jump on my speeder and hightail it over.

 

As promised, the place is just chock full of fun things to do, or to do things to, and I'm in a buoyant mood when I finally track down my target. I become positively effervescent when I find he's saved the best 'til last, and has a whole platoon of battle-hardened troops all neatly gift-wrapped for me. Once they were all opened up, the spy himself finally showed his face. I removed it, along with a few other extraneous parts.

 

I thought my happy bubble unpoppable, but of course Quinn had to go and stick a pin in it. He's gone and bungled the job, and allowed a bug to transmit my little chat with the spy. It seems his every appearance is deceiving, and he's just as useless as everyone else Fatass has foisted upon me.

 

And then he completely redeems himself, when he finally gets round to mentioning something of interest: my new quarry is a Jedi Knight. Kinda buried the lead there, didn't you Quinn?

 

Ooo, I finally get to kill a Jedi. I'm so giddy I can't decide what I should lop off first.

 

Squee!

 

I'm far too excited to drive, I'd never stay under the speed limit, so instead I call a shuttle to come and pick me up. Those damn Neimoidians aren't getting any excuse to raise my insurance!

 

Arriving at the spaceport, I quickly smooth the wrinkles out of my dress, and do my best to tuck the blood-stained strands of my hair back into place. This is a big moment, and I'm going to want a holo when it's all over!

 

Some of the wind is sadly sucked from my sails, however, when I spy my quarry: Jedi Knight Marshmallow.

 

Really? Granny's first Jedi was called Starkiller! Ooo, she's not going to let me live this one down any time soon.

 

Still, never look a gift Bantha in the mouth and all that, I do finally get to kill a Jedi after all.

 

And what a simpering wretch she is, too. Light side this, peaceful harmony that. It's almost enough to make me want to just behead her, instead of savouring her defeat.

 

Almost.

 

And it was whilst I was mid-savour that Quinn continued his redemption, by revealing to the Jedi that her failure was complete. Just the condiment we needed, the final touch of seasoning this delightful dish required.

 

Posing for a quick few holos, I discovered that dead Jedi are just as uncooperative as the live ones. We ended up having to shove a broom handle up her robes just to get her to sit up straight. And then of course the flash made me blink, so we had to take a second set. But eventually I had the perfect memento, and cheerfully headed off to update the Saggy Sith of my deserving a raise.

 

When he appears on the holo, it is only from a waist up, a fact which seems a little incongruous until... wait, is that a chain behind his shoulder? And a water tank? Eww! Who has a holo in that room, for the Dark Side's sake?

 

Keeping my eyes firmly at shoulder level, I make my report, and bask in my deserved praise. Despite his questionable assistance, Quinn too is given a mod, which he celebrates with yet more clumsy flirting. I put my arm around Chirps, hoping he'll take the hint, and that she won't.

 

With the mission accomplished, I head back to my ship's hangar, eager to be on my way, only to find Quinn waiting for me. How does everyone keep getting everywhere before me?

 

It seems my hint went untaken, and the love-struck loser wants to come with me. He's even giving me the puppy akk dog eyes again.

 

Oh, all right... but the first vet we pass we're getting you done!

Hi folks,

 

Glad you're enjoying my adventures so far. Sadly, the weekend is drawing to a close, and I don't get to play much during the week, but I'll try to get an update or two done and then make a big push again next weekend.

 

Thanks for reading!

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTENT TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

Next stop: Nar Shaddaa...

 

Chapter One - Continued

 

Back on board ship, I use the holoterminal to report in to Darth Fatass. Fortunately, this time I catch him in the dining room, not the smallest room.

 

With the spy on Balmorra taken care of, the next one is on the Hutt-controlled vice capital of the galaxy: Nar Shaddaa. Chirps has been there before, it seems, and immediately starts making a list of places to go, and vices to indulge in. Quinn merely sulks, which has become his permanent expression since the trip to the vet.

 

The journey to Nar Shaddaa does not go smoothly. I find the lack of killing frustrating, and lash out at the crew. Chirps plays her music far too loud, and the ship reeks of incense. Quinn leaves the toilet seat up.

 

Arriving at Nar Shaddaa spaceport, we're confronted by a jumped-up little jobsworth who insists our visa only permits the captain and one crew member to disembark. This presents me with something of a dilemma: should I take the fun loving, fast shooting one that knows Nar Shaddaa like the back of her hand; or the moping, moody one whose nose is already so wrinkled just from the arrivals lounge that it's practically inside out?

 

Chirps, you're with me!

 

Quinn, pump the septic tanks, and look up 'dilemma' in the dictionary, I'm not sure I'm using it correctly.

 

Darth Fatass had droned on at some length about the urgency of this mission, so to recover Chirps and I spent our first few hours in the seediest, roughest dive in the spaceport. Wetherspoons are turning up everywhere these days! Suitably refreshed, we then wobble off to find my contact, a slave trader in the Corellian sector.

 

For future reference, it's worth noting that a lightsaber does not make a good crutch when experiencing difficulty walking.

 

Inebriated as we were, Chirps and I were still more sober than our contact, who was so drunk she was apparently seeing two dozen of us. She was also an angry drunk, and had already picked a fight. I would have left her to the beating she deserved, if one of her playmates hadn't boasted they were trained to handle Sith.

 

Really? How exactly do you train to handle being choked from across the room, like this? Or be literally disarmed, like this? Did your training include flying lessons, for when I throw you across the room, like this?

 

The answer to all three, it seems, was a resounding 'ack, hnng, gasp', 'aaah, my arm', and 'squelchy thud', which I took to mean no.

 

Alone at last, my contact stared owlishly at me, until I Force-slapped the alcohol right out of her. After that, she became quite eager to chat. In fact, she got most coherent rather fast, and quickly outlined a plan to draw out the spy's Sith protector, Lord Ratatouille. I particularly liked the part where I get to intimidate some Hutts!

 

Heading off to the meeting, I make a note to have words with the Nar Shaddaa Taxi Company when time permits. If you're going to program a vehicle to travel vertically, at least provide seatbelts!

 

My interruption starts off promisingly enough, with Ratatouille's apprentice rising to my bait, and the Hutts agreeing to side with whoever wins a fight between us, but then one of them has the nerve to only offer two to one odds on me. I was this close to preserving the treaty, too...

 

Fortunately, dead Hutts tell no tales, and as it was a secret meeting my involvement goes unsuspected. It does mean no holo for Granny this time, though, which is a shame as one of the Hutt's spilled intestines spelled .

 

Back at my contact's warehouse, the plan seems to be working nicely. Ratatouille is angry, and taking it out on the local Republics. I do love a win-win situation! But it would be a shame to let him have all the fun...

 

This time, however, Ratatouille's prepared for me. Or at least he thinks he is. Just one battalion of troops? If I hadn't had so much fun with them, I'd have been insulted. With the formalities out of the way, I extend my fun to the Republic troops as well. I'm an inclusive person, and an equal opportunity massacrist.

 

As I'm going through those pockets that are still intact - a girl's got to make a living in this galaxy, after all - I get a holocall from my contact. The attack on the Republic was a feint, and Ratatouille's main force is attacking her warehouse. He probably thinks he's outplayed me, but the joke's on him: I was going to kill her anyway when I was done with her.

 

Heading back to see if there's anything worth liberating from the warehouse, I find that Ratatouille's left me an invitation. The bouquet of troops was a nice touch, so how could I refuse...

 

A rooftop duel seems a little pretentious, but Ratatouille's had the courtesy and foresight to bring my target with him, thus saving me unneeded extra searching later. He's a slow learner though, apparently, and thinks that a handful of troops will swing the balance in his favour. I killed more on the walk over! And again with the 'trained to fight Sith' nonsense. Oh well, harsh lessons all round it is...

 

... and one that Ratatouille finally learns!

 

I now have a Lord of the Sith as my sworn minion.

 

Squee!

It would have been interesting read to see what you would have done with a male character making Chirps watch you and Darth Grandpa's wife get together. Your story is very entertaining, can't wait to see the next installment.

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTENT TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

Ah, the weekend, I can finally play again!

 

Next stop: Tatooine...

 

Chapter One - Continued

 

Back aboard my ship, Darth Fatass is once again plugging up my holo. He sure does love the sound of his own voice. It comes a distant second to eating, but well above bathing, so I'll take a holocall any day over the assault to the senses that is the Tubster in person.

 

He waffles on for a while about how magnificent I am, although I think he's underselling me a tad, and just as I'm drifting off he casually mentions, oh, by the way, someone planted a tracker on your ship, and they're following your every move.

 

Thanks for the heads up, but for future reference the order of conversation is to be:-

 

Portents of My Imminent Death

Traps I'm Walking In To

How Great I Am

Who I Get To Kill Next

Other (Optional)

 

The tracker signal is apparently being beamed to an orbital monitoring station on the edge of Hutt space, so pausing only to drop a bucket of water on Chirps - just the water, this time, but next time she smuggles spice off Nar Shaddaa she'd better share! - we set off to investigate.

 

Slicing and dicing my way through the station is even more fun than I expected: they clearly cheaped out on the artificial gravity generators, so while their pathetic security forces blunder about I sail even more gracefully than usual. It seems to be doing Chirps' head some good too, although she's still only whispering 'boom' when she lobs a grenade. At least I've finally got her to stop yelling 'pew pew pew' when she fires her guns!

 

Just as I'm running out of playmates, I find the bridge, and slap bang in the middle of it on the holo, my soon-to-be playmate No Mean Cur. He's busy lying to the head technician - a head I'm planning to relieve him of very shortly - as Jedi are wont to do. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer the simple honesty of a lightsaber to the face instead of hiding behind 'a certain point of view'.

 

When I announce myself, another of the Jedi's misrepresentations is brought to light, as the technician loses his head before I even have the chance to remove it. It seems No Mean Cur forgot to mention the minor fact that I am death incarnate when he hired these lackeys for the job. That would explain the paltry security.

 

Having placed them under my blade himself, it strikes me as odd that No Mean Cur should then bluster for their safety, but who can figure out what goes on in a Jedi's addled little mind. But if their presence is distracting him, we can easily rectify the problem.

 

One particularly dazzling display later - even the Jedi admits it - and we're able to chat freely, for a while at least. But just as we're getting somewhere, No Mean Cur sends in more distractions. Apparently the Republic has an excess of troops, and he'd like me to help trim the military budget.

 

With a bit of substance to them for once, I enjoy making a show of their destruction, and again the Jedi admits his appreciation of my skills. I already have enough admirers, thank you, but if you and Quinn want to fight it out over me I'll gladly enslave the winner.

 

But of course the Jedi is too much the coward to risk himself, and mumbles an excuse about having to wash his padawan's hair. All for the best, I'd much rather have the pleasure myself.

 

With no-one left to kill on the station, and Chirps not being in her best state for finding any hidden safes, we head back to the ship. This isn't much of an improvement, as Fatty's on the holo again, impatiently awaiting my return like a father on his daughter's first date. Where have you been? What did you do? Did you speak to any strange Jedi?

 

You do know there's a reason I was raised by my Granny, right?

 

But to continue the premise, I am effectively grounded until I bring him up to speed and get my next assignment, so I quickly recount recent events.

 

He considers my words, but his reply is decidedly unconsidered. He once, incorrectly, referred to me as prodigal, and yet now the old hypocrite himself is being recklessly wasteful of resources. Why kill a padawan with a potentially unique gift, when my natural charm and way with people could bring her over to the true side of the Force.

 

For the first time since taking me as his apprentice, the fat old fool actually displays some common sense, and listens to me.

 

The plan remains essentially unchanged, however: slaughter everyone the padawan might know, until I draw her out.

 

Next stop, Tatooine, and Jedi Master Yoplait. Apparently he's quite cultured, although with a tendency to turn sour.

 

Tatooine, it turns out, is basically Korriban with the thermostat turned all the way up to maximum, and then turned up some more. Hot, dusty, hot, unpleasant, and hot. Fortunately I've stocked up on spare filters for Granny's old mask, and Chirps leant me some of her oddly ventilated underwear. Not terribly comfortable, but currently more practical than my thermal woollens.

 

With the peculiar gate of the newly g-stringed, I descend my ship's ramp to find my contact waiting for me.

 

She's a little on the toadying side, but has at least done her homework, and quickly peaks my interest with tales of a sand demon that needs defeating. Perhaps Tatooine will be tolerable after all!

 

And then the other shoe drops, or in my case a chic boot with reinforced toe for groin-mangling, and before we can go beast-hunting we have to talk to some crazy old hermit. Oh joy!

 

The ancient loon waffled on for some time about myths and rituals and the like, but it all boiled down to 'kill beast, gain local primitives' respect and help.' Universe, I'd like a refund on two hours of my life, please!

 

With the history and anthropology lessons out of the way, a-hunting we did go, and before long we found ourselves confronting the fearsome beast.

 

Meh, I've seen fearsomer...

 

Despite the padawan's apparent completing of the ritual without killing the beast - as evidenced by it putting up a very lively fight - I decided to take the direct approach. Then, liberally doused in the beast's pungent blood, I set off to ingratiate myself with the local primitives.

 

This proved more troublesome than one might have hoped, as they all ran away as soon as I got close, although that was likely more from the smell than my having completed the ritual. But eventually one of their Shaman grew a pair, and presented me with a washcloth with which to remove the offensive fluids. It was only after killing him for his impertinence that I discovered that it was, in fact, a map.

 

The map revealed a secret doorway to a hidden oasis, and we eagerly set off. After my guide called us back and turned it the right way up, we turned round and set off the other way.

 

To this day I'm still not sure if the next part really happened, or if I accidentally drank from Chirps' bottle instead of my own, but upon reaching the oasis I was confronted by... myself.

 

Or perhaps it was the Ghost of Life Day Past, it did say something about changing my path before it was too late. It all got very confusing.

 

So, I killed it. Or myself. It was all very meta.

 

At which point it either granted me a vision, or more of Chirps' special ingredients kicked in. Either way, my next stop will be in the deep desert, beyond the tourist-trap sounding 'Forbidden Pass.' I can see the gift stands now.

 

Sadly, there is one other revelation: Darth Fatass has remained true to form, and has once again lumbered me with a useless contact. My 'guide' has never been there, and refuses to even make the attempt. I did at least get a map out of her, with North clearly marked this time, before she scuttled off to cower back at the spaceport.

 

It took me a few minutes to realise I'd arrived at my destination, as the building I sought turned out to be round rather than X shaped as indicated on the map, but once inside I found Jedi Master Yoplait, and his apprentice E-co Li.

 

I eagerly leap into battle... just as Chirps passes out. All the more for me, but from now on she's cut off, no more spice!

 

Even without my little blue cheerleader, two Jedi masters are no match for me, and within moments both are heavily wounded, and subdued. And like all rats when cornered, they turned on each other. How the Jedi have endured this far is a mystery to me, I've seen more backbone in an Arkanian jellyfish.

 

E-co Li attempts to bargain for mercy with the name of the padawan I seek, but foolishly gives up the goods before I've agreed to his terms. Yoplait then over-reacts in typical Jedi fashion, and turns him into a drooling vegetable. To be honest, I don't see much of a difference.

 

That just leaves the matter of Yoplait himself. He attempts to cheat my of my purpose, preparing himself to die in the singularity of peace, but I am far quicker, and he instead falls in a plurality of pieces.

 

With the information I sought now revealed, and the enemies I fought now slain, I returned to the spaceport to depart this coarse inferno, only to find my erstwhile guide waiting for me. She fawns over me, attempting flattery to make up for her failings, but I'm too sticky to even bother striking her down.

 

Quinn had better not have used up all the water in the shower, I intend to spend the entire journey to Alderaan scrubbing Tatooine away, so I'll be fresh to continue my pursuit of Jaesa Willsaam.

Edited September 18, 2015 by Bugisttod

wrong forum

 

http://www.swtor.com/community/forumdisplay.php?f=98

This is Epic!

Very entertaining to read

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTENT TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

On to Alderaan!

 

Chapter One - Continued

 

After listening to the Blubber blabber on interminably, rehashing the days events and the plan yet again, he actually manages to surprise me by confessing up front that my contact on Alderaan will be useless. Oh, the fact isn't surprising, I've grown to expect it, but that Darth Fatass has also recognised it means this one must suck like a black hole with a lollipop. This is going to be a long day, I can feel it.

 

Duke Playdoh turns out to be as soft and malleable as expected, and drops his initial bluster after the first little death threat. That doesn't stop the little weasel from trying to insinuate his own agenda into my mission though. One slap upside the head later, and he finally starts cooperating. The padawan I seek was once the handmaiden to a local noble, who as luck would have it is protected by the finest swordsman on Alderaan. This would seem to be a fine opportunity to remind these pompous nobles that Alderaan is insignificant compared to the galaxy.

 

The noble's estate is sufficiently far that I decide to book a taxi there. This turns out to be a major mistake, when instead of the nice sleek transport I was expecting, I'm asked to 'hop on' to some beast that looks far more suited to life underwater than as aerial transport. As I cling precariously to the small saddle, a saddle as seatbelt free as the Nar Shaddaa taxis, I find myself looking around not so much to enjoy the magnificent views and more to check for sky sharks looking for a snack.

 

We finally lurch to a landing, and I take a few seconds to convince my legs to support me, which proves to be a few seconds too long. Next thing I know, I'm embroiled in a loud and heated debate with the taxi master about such recent modifications to the beast as deep finger gouges in the saddle and my lunch all down its flank. The need for reimbursement to cover repairs and cleaning is mentioned, but quickly waived when the wretched droid find himself flying without the need of his beast. We then agree that it would be beneficial all round if Alderaan caught up with the rest of the galaxy and used proper vehicles, like a civilised society.

 

The event does bring an interesting thought to mind though: why do I even need a taxi in the first place? I can use the Force to move objects around with ease, that droid being a prime example, so why not use it to travel? Proud of my deductive reasoning, I launch myself down the hillside towards the noble's estate.

 

After spitting out the frog, and two teeth, I use some water from the nearby river to wash the physical mud and metaphorical egg from my face, and continue the journey on foot. Who'd have thought that just shouting 'wheeee' could cause such a loss of concentration.

 

The Addled estate is heavily guarded, as one might expect in the middle of a civil war, but my recent post-pride plummet has soured my desire to waste time with minions. Fortunately they are extremely unobservant, and I walk through the entire estate and enter the noble's home without being spotted once.

 

The guards inside are a bit more on the ball though, and sufficiently skilled that I find my mood improving again with every kill. Before running the last one through, I pause to ask directions to the little Sith's room, and use the mirror to straighten my hair. This involves removing several twigs and another frog, who gets an express ride back to the river via the toilet.

 

Unfortunately the flushing alerts the lady and her protector, a semi-sentient slab of beef called Winifred. I'm guessing his mother wanted a girl, and instead got a mountain. One landslide victory later, and I'm alone with a suddenly much less reticent Lady Errata Addled.

 

And it turns out I'm on a wild nerf chase.

 

Duke Playdoh still thinks he can play games with me, it seems, like I'm one of these ridiculous aristocrats clinging desperately to an increasingly irrelevant past. Well, if the stick didn't work, let's try a carrot: if he wants this lady badly enough to risk my ire, he can have her. But the next stick will have nails in it. Lots and lots of sharp, rusty nails!

 

I hand her over to Firmness, Playdoh's hench-Sith who was apparently named after his buttocks, and invite myself to an audience with the Duke. He's delighted with the situation, which is more than can be said for Chirps. Since weaning her off the Spice, she's become a lot more judgemental. Quite frankly, she's starting to harsh my buzz!

 

With his prize in hand, Duke Playdoh is now a lot more helpful, and devises a plan to allow me to question the padawan's true former mistress, the self-titled 'General' Guileless Oregano. As with most plans devised by men, this one involves blowing something up, and Firmness hands me a large explosive that Playdoh just happens to keep in the drinks cabinet in his study, where we're meeting. The stupidity of men never ceases to amaze me!

 

I toy with the idea of pointing out I still don't need an explosive to destroy something, and storing it somewhere he'd find far less comfortable, but Oregano might not be the final piece of the puzzle, so I leave him with the ability to sit for a little while longer.

 

Heading back to the taxi rank, I notice that there is in fact a nice, shiny, safe speeder sitting behind the droid, but apparently it's 'not in service yet', and so I am once again forced to ride one of the ridiculous flapping monstrosities. On my last trip I'd been too distracted by thoughts of my imminent death to wonder how such a beast was even capable of flight, but this time it becomes rapidly apparent: they're full of gas. And this one leaks. Frequently. Fortunately we land before it manages to expel too much of its buoyancy.

 

Leaving the taxi droid feeding it copious amounts of beans, presumably to restore its flight potential, I head over to the Planetary Generator that Duke Playdoh suggests I blow up. You'd think such an important item would have more than a few measly droids to guard it, perhaps for example a shield such as the one blowing it up will lower, but that's what you get when you let the upper crust make all the decisions: flaky ideas at best, usually downright crumby.

 

This trend continues when I invade 'General' Guileless's compound. The self-promoted fool has picked Marines to guard it, despite it being on dry land. One prod of my lightsaber and the rubber dinghies deflate, leaving them floundering and unsure what to do next. A follow-up slash provides them with an answer.

 

I find her and her top advisors watching 'Alderaan's Next Top Handmaiden' on the largest viewscreen I've ever seen, completely oblivious to my presence until I turn it off using the nearby lackey whose job I presumed it was. Only then does the daft nerf even notice she has company.

 

Even then, her only concern is her saggy front, and like every other noble on this inbred little rock she thinks her problems are now my problems. Just tell me where Jaesa Willsaam's family is, and wear a proper support under your armour.

 

Proving herself still a pampered brat unable to do anything for herself, she expects me to provide her with the support she desperately needs. The 'General' doesn't even blink when I choke one of her advisors, apparently she thinks they're just decorative, and therefore expendable.

 

Or are they...? As he turns a particularly pretty shade of red, Oregano crumbles. It seems she's found more than a decorative use for this particular advisor. A fraction more pressure, and she gives up everything she knows, along with a pass key and all the codes required to pay a visit to Mr and Mrs Willsaam.

 

I thank her by raising the overall quality of Alderaanian military leadership considerably. Of course, that leaves her unable to thank me in return.

 

Whilst having the key and codes is helpful from a technological aspect, there is still the organic side of Castle Oregano's defences to deal with, which I do with my usual ease and flair. It amuses me how many Jedi their Council are willing to waste on such a pathetic castle, one that's not even theirs, but all the more for me!

 

Once inside, I find myself finally face to face with the Willsaams Senior, and boy are they ever senior, they must have been fifty when they had her. They are also expecting me, having apparently been warned of my arrival by the 'General', a neat trick for a dead woman who only learned of my purpose in her final seconds.

 

Still, however she managed it, she did me the favour of ensuring the strongest Jedi in the castle was awaiting me with them. Of course, this is akin to the strongest rabbit in the warren facing down a Manka cat, and in this case a particularly deluded rabbit that thinks it's a Rancor. From his complexion this Jedi has attempted to embrace the Dark Side - it's always funny when they try to do that - which could account for his lack of trembling before me, but their insistence on clinging to those ridiculous notions of peace and passionless tranquillity always means the miss the entire point.

 

I ignore him, and focus on the Willsaams. It seems these less than noble folks had sought to gain nobility by marrying Jaesa into it. It's no wonder she fled with a Jedi, if her own parents planned to sell her as chattel. I teach them the error of their ways, confident that by feeling her oppressors' ends Jaesa would be far more receptive to my approach.

 

The poor Jedi has time only to gawp at my actions, and then - bless his presumably soiled underwear - attempts to avenge them. How twee. Just to give myself a little sport, I explain to the Jedi that emotion is the key to the Dark Side, and he even understands, in the end, but by then it is far too late for him.

 

Whistling cheerfully as I rifle through their pockets, while Chirps tuts and clucks like a broody hen at my actions, it takes me a moment to realise my holo is beeping at me. Well, there goes my good mood, looks like Fatty's finally finished his breakfast.

 

Being between meals never improves his temper, and today he's even more temperamental than usual. It seems that Duke Playdoh has taken advantage of recent events to improve his lot, and attempted to use me as a scapegoat. And my fat old fool of a Master believed him. Fortunately for him, he accepts the truth just as readily. Playdoh will be less fortunate.

 

Upon returning to the Alderaan's next dead Duke, he attempts to cover himself yet again with lies, ones so transparent that daylight shone through them. Seeing his chance to be free of such an arduous duty, Firmness confirms that the Duke's pants are indeed on fire. I reward his loyalty by allowing him to free himself, which he does with great gusto.

 

That just leaves me with the odious task of once again reporting to the Great Gutso.

 

Darth Fatass turns out to be as useless as ever, and while he does agree to my pay rise and spends some time praising my accomplishments, he finally admits that he has no idea where to go from here.

 

Fortunately, others are more pro-active, and that includes Jaesa Willsaam herself. It seems she wants to thank me personally for dispatching her would be sellers, and has arranged a private meeting, just for us.

 

Naturally, Quinn thinks it's a trap, he's getting as bad as Darth Paranoid, and Chirps seems to have entered the manic phase of withdrawal, so no point asking her advice. But when have I ever take either of their council anyway? Off to the meeting I go!

 

Where it turns out that Quinn was technically right, but for the wrong reasons so I'm not going to tell him. Jaesa had intended to meet with me, but No Mean Cur found out and sent me two other playmates instead. One Light Jedi, and one Dark Jedi, an interesting choice. Both are over-confident though, and despite one of them managing to knock out the increasingly feckless Chirps the fight is soon over.

 

Still, it proved a fun distraction, and allowed Fatass to redeem himself somewhat by finally locating No Mean Cur.

 

Or, to be more precise, No Mean Cur has found him, and challenged him to a duel.

 

The idea amuses me no end, assuming of course an arena large enough could be found, but in a twist belying all evidence to the contrary, the Darth lacks the guts. So he's sending me instead.

 

For the first time since I started tracking this pair, I can finally say it: Squee!

 

The duel is to take place on Hutta, so I make all available speed.

 

And what a toxic dump Hutta turns out to be! Even Granny's filter can barely keep out the stench. If I'd ever wondered what a Hutt's bathroom would look like after a vindaloo, this would be the answer. Which means I can now avoid all bathroom doors marked with a slug, curiosity free. That's a load off my mind.

 

Unfortunately, the thought distracts me long enough to step straight into another load, causing me to have to alternately stomp and squelch the rest of the way to the designated duelling grounds. Any loss of dignity I might have incurred, however, is quickly regained when I reach No Mean Cur, and find him kneeling before a washing bowl scrubbing at his own boots.

 

Quickly pulling his still-damp footwear back on, the Jedi Master turns to face me.

 

It is immediately apparent that the man is insane, something that I find oddly endearing, with a tenuous grasp on the Light at best. I toy with him a bit, inflicting only a few light wounds, to see how he'll react.

 

Interestingly, he attempts to recuperate by drawing not from the Light, but from the Dark. I wonder if Jaesa has seen this side of him. I attack again, wounding him more severely, then back off to see if he'll fall further.

 

He does, this time reaching fully for the Dark Side, and with the last of the Light within him evaporating so to departs any remaining sanity. Even if I'd been ordered to kill him I wouldn't now, his torment is far too enjoyable to watch, so I wound him again, just enough to keep him from rising a final time.

 

With the Jedi now exactly where and how I want him, I allow Fatass's lackeys to take him prisoner, and patch up his wounds. Yet again, however, the people in charge of the prisoner don't think to relieve him of his weapon. Look, there, hanging from his belt... That's not a lucky charm, you imbeciles, it's a lightsaber. This is a serious flaw in Imperial training!

 

On the other hand, he's utterly beaten now, so perhaps I'll allow him to keep it, to torment him with the knowledge that he is so far beneath me his little toy is meaningless. Yes, I like that idea.

 

No Mean Cur is still ranting and raving away when Jaesa finally shows up, which she instantly blames on me. I can see her point, of course, but I merely stripped away the veneer and revealed his true nature. Isn't that what she does too, with her gift? Caught by my logic, Jaesa turns her power on her former Master, and finally sees the truth.

 

Now realising that the Jedi aren't all fluffy bunnies and charity speeder-boot sales, Jaesa turns her power on me, to see what the Sith are made of. And what a surprise, we're made up of all the same emotions and failings as the Jedi, except we acknowledge and embrace them, and use them to drive us instead of hold us back.

 

Of course, having everything you believe in turned inside out has a tendency to upset the young and vulnerable, but a nice refreshing lightsaber duel soon firms up Jaesa's resolve. Giving herself to me fully, I allow Jaesa the privilege of severing her ties to the Jedi order, along with her former master's head.

 

Chirps, say hello to your long overdue replacement...

 

And just to add some whipped cream onto an already exquisite cake, I finally get my well deserved and long overdue promotion.

 

I am now officially Lord Koinahim.

 

SQUEE!

 

 

 

End of Chapter One

Thank you, Bugisttod, this is very ejoyable read!

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTENT TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

I had hoped to get this one out a bit sooner, but then I had the bright idea that there wasn't enough poodoo on my Character Sheet already, and decided to add this (and any other stories I do) to it. Now that I have...

 

On to Taris, with a stop over back on Nar Shaddaa.

 

Chapter Two

 

I get to enjoy being a Lord for all of two seconds before Darth Fatass starts harping on again. Apparently some Dark Council big-wig, Darth Venetian, wants to force the Galaxy into a state of open warfare. Venetian must be blind if he thinks we're not already heading that way, but I'm not one to turn down the opportunity for a bit of fun.

 

The key to this, according to Fatty, is to defeat a mere one man who has somehow eluded the entire Imperial and Sith death machine: General Canasta Rummy. I don't need to use the Force to see what's on the cards: that's now my job, right? Well, not the worst hand I've been dealt.

 

And it seems I won't be starting from scratch, Fatty has at least managed to locate this supposedly unlocatable man. Just my luck, I'm going back to Nar Shaddaa!

 

Chirps instantly perks up at the idea, apparently having forgotten the visa restriction of only the Captain and one crew member, and her recently supplanting in my favour by the much more favourable Jaesa. Pouting is not a good look on a Twi'lek, and when I firmly stress that I will not 'bring her back a baggie of souvenirs' she stomps off in a huff. Starship doors are specifically designed to prevent slamming, so she settles for slapping the control panel really hard. Behind the undramatic 'Fssht' noise I distinctly hear a highly amusing 'Owww' followed by what I assume were muffled Twi'lek swear words.

 

With my new dark minion by my side, I traverse Nar Shaddaa again. There was one hairy moment, literally, when having neglected to warn Jaesa about the lack of seatbelts I had to grab her by the coiffure to prevent her taking a rather drastic shortcut, but otherwise the journey was rather uneventful. Jaesa was somewhat displeased in both cases, the former sparking a brief but intense mid-air lightsaber battle, and the latter lacking any lightsaber battles whatsoever.

 

She perked up instantly, however, when we arrived at our destination, and I gave her some Republic special forces to play with. But that was merely an entree, an amuse-bloodlust: the main course was behind the door they were guarding.

 

And it seems the General has a full deck, including some joker of a Chiss traitor. Thanks to the good solid door formerly guarded by Jaesa's appetiser, no-one in the room had heard us arrive, and so I take a moment to weight my options before joining in. Much to Jaesa's amusement, I go with the old 'double-agent' ploy, and thank the Chiss for delivering me the General. This sours his mood somewhat: you could say he found himself a little blue... no, ok, suit yourselves.

 

Canasta is apparently smarter that he looks, and didn't fall for the oldest trick in the book, partly because my reputation it seems precedes me. But not all that smart, as even knowing who I am he thought a mere roomful of guards would be sufficient to overpower me. Delighted to have finally shrugged off the yoke of Jedi repression, Jaesa twirls happily around the room like a dervish, laughing and giggling as she slaughters the Republic troops. She's so much more fun than Chirps! Feeling oddly maternal, I even let her finish off General Canasta Rummy. Game over, man.

 

That just leaves the matter of the traitors, who of course beg for mercy. Jaesa's snicker should have been answer enough for them, but still the Chiss's gaze clung to mine in hope. Foolish, foolish hope.

 

With that little diversion out of the way, it's time to check in again with Darth Fatass. I could have just called him up on the holo, but I figured it was about time Jaesa was introduced to the full assault on the senses that is the Lord of the Quiche we're lumbered with, so we travelled to Dromund Kaas to meet with him face to mask.

 

And a good job we did too... we interrupted the slimy toad right in the middle of taking credit for our recent accomplishments! Setting the record straight floats Darth Venetian's little boat, and earns me some favour.

 

Fatty doesn't seem overly bothered by his metaphorical unmasking - I certainly wouldn't want to witness a literal one! - and instead takes credit for having taken me as his apprentice. I seem to recall that being Overthehill Tremble's doing, but I let it slide as Venetian opens up about the next stage of the operation, rather underwhelmingly called Plan Zero.

 

What he lacks in nominative imagination, however, Venetian more than makes up for in vocative prowess, and all present are tense with anticipation as the order is given.

 

Fatty then expands - poor choice of words - on the subject, and explains Plan Zero in more detail. Several of the Republic's top military minds are currently, and conveniently, all gathered together on what's left of the planet Taris, and guess who gets to kill them all!

 

Squee!

 

First, of course, I have to meet my sure-to-be-as-useless-as-all-the-rest contact, Moff Hurdle. And true to form, the first thing I notice about him is that like most Moffs, Hurdle really needs to get over himself. However, Hurdle is not the first thing I notice in the room. I'd have noticed chairs and tables before him anyway, but in this particular case my eye was immediately drawn to a monolith waiting patiently for my arrival.

 

In a voice like continents colliding, the monolith announces my arrival to the Moff, who in turn returns the favour and introduces what turns out to be Lt Pierce. In fact, the Moff positively gushes with praise for the Lt, which immediately rings alarm bells.

 

Like Quinn before him, Pierce almost immediately starts giving me the flirty-face. Apparently I am irresistible to men of that particular rank. As a man of action rather than a backroom planner, Pierce is admittedly more to my taste, but not enough to warrant more than a cursory appraisal, and basic courtesy.

 

Professionally though, Pierce is definitely something, and not only has a plan, but is already half way through executing it. I do like someone who takes initiative. Unfortunately, he also executed our only prisoner, which is a shame. I wanted to do that!

 

Oh well, it's not as if Taris is short on Republic scum. Time to pick up the plan where Pierce left off, take out some Republic caravans, and help myself to their transponders.

 

I'm not entirely certain 'slap bang in the middle of a war zone' is the ideal place to go camping, but apparently something about the pools of toxic waste appeals to the Republic weirdoes, and sure enough when I find the first walker they're sitting around a campfire outside, singing cheerfully. Apparently, the Emperor is lacking... well, let's just say that Vitiate only has half his vitality. Which would account for why he's been so reluctant to go to war.

 

Another mystery solved!

 

I thank the men for this revelation by introducing them to Jaesa, who removes various parts of their anatomy too. I like the way she thinks, although as her Master it is my job to point out any flaws in her reasoning. For example, I find it more fun to finish with the head, rather than start there. Post-decapitation pruning aside though, Jaesa did a marvellous job.

 

And Fatso wanted me to kill her!

 

The no-longer-happy campers had at least taken some basic military precautions though, and left a droid to guard their walker while they toasted their marshmallows in the middle of a far-from-mellow marsh. And 'basic' was indeed the right word, I'm not sure it was even a military model.

 

One campsite down, two more to go, and each time events play out remarkably similarly, although Jaesa does take my advice to heart, and finds that it is indeed far more enjoyable. She's really taking to her new role nicely!

 

With the three transponders in hand I give Pierce a call, and he reads their data. One nice efficient analysis later, and I'm hot on the trail of the first of the Republic's leaders.

 

Appropriately enough, the man who lead the ex-revellers is General Frolicker.

 

According to Pierce, the General is busy frolicking at the bottom of a mine. A busy mine, at that, with lots of troops and workers between me and my target. They proved to only be a minor obstacle though, and soon enough I reach my destination, where General Frolicker...

 

... isn't.

 

Well, that's rather inconsiderate of him, not to mention inconvenient.

 

Fortunately Jaesa was still lining up some of the miners, to see how many heads she could lop off in a single swipe, and one of those optimistically attempted to remain in one piece by offering to trigger the silent alarm, which would being General Frolicker running.

 

With the General on his way, I couldn't help but worry about the mess Jaesa had made of and with the miners. I wanted Frolicker's full attention, and the drips and smears might be distracting for him. With no handy rug lying about, I improvised by dropping a nearby shipping crate on the remains. There, all neat and tidy.

 

When he finally did arrive, the pompous old windbag insisted on introducing himself fully: General Ex-Lax Frolicker, of the Republic Strategic Latrine Command. He then droned on for some time about treaties and offences and the like, but Jaesa and I were too busy snickering to listen.

 

Until his ego led him to assume we already knew about some brilliant new invention, and begin boasting. Apparently Project SoftandStrong will allow the Republic to really wipe up! Please, tell me more...

 

Unfortunately, the General finally realised his blunder, then made another by ordering his men to attack. Seeing them dispatched so easily rather unnerved him though, allowing me to add 'incontinent' to my previous list of descriptions.

 

Fortunately he'd left the mine's computer logged in to his blog, and I was able to find out everything else I needed from there. In the aftermath of a previous great battle, during which the Sith valiantly bombarded the planet from orbit and wiped out every living thing, the organic residue left behind mutated. During one of their experiments, the Republic discovered that it rendered paper based products extremely soft, and also acted as a balm to reduce irritation.

 

No wonder those troops were happy as a bear in the woods, they weren't forced to use nettle leaves like the rest of us! Frolicker was right, this could mean the turning point of the entire war. I must find out more!

 

The rest of his blog was typically tedious though, and so in an act of extreme compassion for the entire galaxy, I blew the computer to smithereens. And the mine. And a large part of the surrounding jungle. I should really get a medal for this!

 

But back to the business at hand, there are still three more Generals to find.

 

I give Pierce a call, but before I can relay my good news, he lets me have the bad: Moff Hurdle has blown it already, making a blundering attack on General Dulcoease and losing the element of surprise, instead of sending in Pierce covertly, or better yet waiting for me to make the call.

 

Leaving Pierce to sort out the mess, I instead go after General Mimsy, who's set up shop in an abandoned transit tunnel. Which when I arrive I discover has been overrun with Rakghouls. Eww! Have you any idea how hard it is to wash Rakghoul goop out of durasteel-infused silk? I'm going to stink for days...

 

Still, that's a trivial issue compared to how General Mimsy's day is going to end, and it certainly isn't putting Jaesa off. When one Rakghoul interrupts her fun by trying to bite her, she spends several minutes teaching it a percussive lesson with her boot. The Republic droids and guards are as easily dispatched, and so spirits are as high as the smell when we finally confront General Mimsy.

 

I have to confess, he's not exactly what I expected from a top member of the Republic military. Not that I was expecting much, but I'd at least hoped for more than a cringing, clearly terrified little Rodian who apparently suffers from a similar affliction to Frolicker.

 

While he fills his boots, I attempt to find out more about Project SoftandStrong, only to run into one teeny, tiny little snag: this isn't General Mimsy! It seems he does a damn good Mimsy impersonation though, right down to the abject cowardice, with the real Mimsy having fled leaving everyone else to die.

 

There's also the small matter of the self destruct which Mimsy set on his way out, although whether that's for my benefit or his I'm not too sure. It wouldn't exactly be good for his reputation if his men survived to tell the tale of his extraordinary acts of self-preservation, after all.

 

Either way, I need to be rid of the impostor and disarming the threat of imminent death, so after flipping a coin we decide Jaesa gets the Rodian and I get the Thermonuclear Warhead. I'm fairly sure she cheated, she's getting pretty good with the Force now!

 

Or we could go for Plan B: as he dies, the fake General drops a key card to the fallout shelter. That seems like a better plan than getting up close and personal with an angry reactor!

 

We're not the only ones who like the idea though, and some Republic troops we'd somehow missed on the way in tried cutting in line. I take a dim view of that sort of behaviour, and did come cutting of my own. This took several precious seconds, leaving us cutting it fine to make it into the shelter, but we only got slightly singed as we dove under the door as it opened, and slammed it again behind us.

 

And who should we find inside but the real General Mimsy. What a stroke of luck, for us that is. As cowardly as ever, he tries to use his advisor as a human shield, but the thing about humans is they're not great at blocking lightsabers. In a last ditch attempt to save his own miserable green skin, he lets slip a bit more info on Project SoftandStrong: the reactor was somehow part of the process.

 

That's a bit annoying, it having just been vaporised and all. I guess our boys and girls in the field will just have to stick with using whatever leaves they find there. Unless, of course, Mimsy would be so kind as to explain the link to me? Unexpectedly, he declines, as does his life expectancy, rapidly.

 

Still, there are two remaining Generals left to ask.

 

I give Pierce another call, and much to my delight he's located Dulcoease. It's not all good news though: Pierce and his squad are pinned down and out numbered. Sigh. I have to do all the work around here!

 

Like the previous two rats, Dulcoease is also hiding in a deep hole, but Jaesa and I pass the time as we descend by seeing who can collect the most ID tags from the soldiers we encounter. It seems that's not all Jaesa's been counting either, as half way down she proudly announced the recently dismembered at her feet was her one hundredth kill.

 

Sadly there is a distinct lack of cake in the vicinity, but a quick holocall to Moff Hurdle secures his promise that one will be waiting us on our return. He was initially hesitant as to whether the garrison cook owned a 'dismembered Trooper' mold, but a stern glare gained an assurance that one would be procured, or made.

 

I finally find Pierce, using someone else's leg to prop himself up amidst a pile of bodies. With only the boot for reference, I'd say it was a Republic leg. I'm also fairly sure the former owner has no further use for it. Not wanting to share the fun more than I already have to, I send Pierce back to base to oversee Jaesa's cake. Also, to have the impressive number of wounds he's sustained attended to, if there's time.

 

Which just leaves the matter of General Dulcoease to sort out.

 

Oh dear, he's a gloater. I've never been fond of gloaters. His particular source of satisfaction is that he's had time to perfect the SoftandStrong process, and has already begun stockpiling supplies to distribute to his troops. Presumably beginning at the rear.

 

Well, the thing about stockpiles is that they belong to whoever's left alive...

 

He has time for one more gloat, about how his men are 'fresh and ready for battle', but he forgets that the Force is my ablution, and a powerful cleanser it is.

 

A few swift strokes of my lightsaber, and all his work is undone. Does every Republic General do that when faced with death, or am I just really unlucky today?

 

Three down, one to go!

 

I give Pierce a call to check on the progress of Jaesa's celebration, only to find Fatty is waiting on the line. Pierce, listen to me carefully, this is very, very important: DO NOT TELL DARTH FATASS ABOUT THE CAKE!!!

 

You know what, just don't speak to him at all, put him straight through to me.

 

Fortunately he's been to busy sticking his nose into my progress to get a whiff of what else is going on, and even has a bit of news himself. The final member of the Wipe Trust, General Faerie, has retreated to his command centre, taking with him every Republic soldier on Taris. One nice, handy basket, with all of the Republic's eggs in it.

 

And I get to overturn it, and to command the entire Imperial forces on Taris to boot.

 

Squee!

 

With the troops gathering at our forward base, I put a call in to the ship, and summon Chirps and Quinn to join us. There's a fair chance that Chirps' chequered background could come in handy here, and with any luck Quinn'll get himself shot.

 

Studying the situation, it's clear that Chirps should head out with the team assigned to clear the traps. She's got a way of circumventing such things. And obviously Pierce should tackle any potential reinforcements, it's what he's built for. I try to send Quinn out to act as a decoy, perhaps stand in the middle of the battlefield and give one of his long, droning lectures to the enemy, but no-one can prise him out from under the table, more's the pity.

 

Jaesa, on the other hand, proves her worth the moment we step through the door of Faerie's compound, using her wonderful gift to sense the weak link in the Republic's chain. It would be a simple matter to scare half the troops away with a single 'boo', but not nearly as much fun.

 

As the final echoes of their dying screams fade away, Quinn calls up on the holo, somewhat muffled by the blanket he's clutching and the thumb in his mouth. It seems the rest of my crew at excelling at their tasks, almost meeting my standards, even. Almost.

 

That just leaves General Faerie and his troops clogging things up. Time to flush them out!

 

Faerie proves just as cowardly as Mimsy was - really, where DO the Republic find these imbeciles? - and tries to run rather than face me, forgetting that as a master of the Force I can snare him quite easily. We go through the usual rigmarole of pleas for mercy and cheerful denials, and in answer to my earlier question it appears that yes, all Republic Generals do that when facing death. It certainly explains their desperation for Project SoftandStrong.

 

With the entire Wipe Trust now, if you'll excuse the phrase, wiped out, it's time for me to get off this rock. I stop off at Moff Hurdle's office to pick up the cake, which luckily for him looks both horrific and delicious, and find that he has thoughtfully got me a gift too: another Lt for my collection!

 

My acquisition of Pierce does raise one problem though: with two men now on the ship, I'm definitely going to have to get a second bathroom installed! On the bright side, I do have the entire stockpile of SoftandStrong safely stowed away in the ship's hold.

 

WARNING: COMPLETE SPOILERS FOR THE SITH WARRIOR STORY. IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN IT AND INTEND TO, STOP READING NOW!!!

 

Next up, a brief stop on scenic Quesh...

 

Chapter Two

 

Jaesa's party was in full swing when Darth Fatass interrupted us. Like the galaxy's fastest game of pass the parcel, what remained of the cake quickly travelled from person to person before Chirps, in a moment of panic inspired brilliance, stashed it inside the ship droid's chest cavity.

 

Assuming attitudes of casual nonchalance - although Pierce's whistling was perhaps a little too much - the crew assembled around the holo. Pausing only to knock the paper hat off Quinn's head, I answered the call.

 

Instantly, the command deck with filled with the distended Darth. Even though his presence was composed of nothing but photons, literally light in every sense, I swear I heard the deck plates groan as he appeared.

 

He starts with the usual waffle about how great I am, but suddenly the holo is filled with a highly unnerving close-up of his eye slit as he leans in for a closer look. Is that raspberry frosting around my mouth? Um, no, of course not, it's, erm, blood, yes it's blood: we've started eating our victims. Waste not, and all that. I quickly wipe my mouth on the nearest available cloth, Quinn's tunic, and turn back to the holo to see Fatass in his entirety once more.

 

Still sniffing suspiciously from time to time, he explains the latest mess he wants us to clear up. Darth Venetian has gone to get his fringe under control, and apparently there's some sort of dust-up at the hair dressers. The Republic bigwig Admiral Mung was also there for a trim, and the two of them got into a slapping match. Mung's mother was already on her way, and it was my job to put an end to Venetian's tantrum and bring him home.

 

When I get there I find that both boys had friends with them, Mung even brought a few Jedi, and I spend quite some time breaking everyone up - or just breaking them - before I finally find that Mung got a bloody nose, and flounced off to the planet Quesh in a huff.

 

One of Venetian's posse, Moff Musky, is apparently still itching for a fight, so I grant him one. Be careful what you wish for!

 

Mung's mother is apparently stuck in traffic, an accident blocking a hyper space lane - no doubt some idiot holoing while flying again - so I take the chance to discipline him myself. To Quesh!

 

Which turns out to be some backwater dump out in the boonies. It doesn't even have a spaceport, I have to dock at a space station and take a shuttle down. Even that wasn't as simple as it sounds, as I got waylaid by a medtech and his droid on the way to the shuttle. It turns out that Quesh is such a dump that I need to get shots just to go there! All these formalities really do take the fun out of travelling.

 

Once the medtech has stabbed me, and I've returned the favour, I finally get to board the shuttle. Unfortunately when we get there the parking lot is already full, so the pilot announces we'll have to circle in a holding pattern until someone else leaves. The co-pilot, on the other hand, is a lot more adaptable, and after gingerly picking several chunks of the pilot out of his hair he suggests landing on the roof of one of the larger buildings.

 

This is acceptable, although his timing could be better: I just miss the lift down to the ground. Still, where there's a Sith there's a way, and a quick peek over the edge reveals enough ledges to make my own way down the outside. Using just enough Force to cushion my landings, I take the express route to the ground. Wheeee!

 

Mung hasn't got far, and has taken up refuge in a small factory building not far from the landing site. I teach his friends not to go around picking on poor defenceless Moffs, and then confront Mung himself.

 

Who turns out to be another of Darth Fatass's spies. Sigh. I thought we were through with this particular game. I take an instant dislike to Mung, with his cultivated voice that radiates contempt, and draw my lightsaber as a vignette, to illustrate the point. Yadda yadda, plea for mercy, etc: sorry, old bean, but it's time for me to reap what you've sown.

 

With nothing else of interest on Quesh, Jaesa and I head back to the ship, to finish her party.