"And One Ring To Rule Them All"

[Clovis Torcularis]

It doesn't take much convincing when it comes to shiny trinkets or objects of value. Just a minor mention of such a thing and my mind begins to flood itself with the theory that I should be the sole owner of it. Which had happened when I overheard the mention of some ring that could be found on the desert world of Tatooine.

After completing a fact find mission for the First Order, I had wandered into the cantina to drop off the encrypted datapad to the intel officer. We exchanged brief words, he nodded his approval and I shrugged him off. Just as I was heading toward the exit to escape the loud, noisy scene my ears stumbled upon the mention of a ring and Tattooine. Now that was all the information I recovered, but it was enough to peak my interest. So I waited outside the cantina, leaning against one of the cracked facades, for the patron to exit the cantina. Unfortunate for him, he had indulged into many alcoholic beverages and his observation skills had been diluted, allowing me to stalk him like a newborn kath hound.

I followed him to what it appeared to be his less than humble abode. The moment he entered his password, I rushed him quickly shoving him into his home, following him inside just as fast. The inebriated man stumbled and crashed to the floor, and I stood there staring down at this pathetic specimen. "What the kark....who the kark are you," he said heavily slurring his words. I crouched down in front of him, my mechanized breathing reverberating around the house. "This ring? Tell me more about it?"

"Ring? Now you wait a karking minute," he began but was quickly rendered silent after I gripped him by the throat with one of my black, gloved hands. "Your manners are less than desirable. I'm a host in your lodgings and yet you treat me like common rabble. Now, the ring?"

The man rubbed his throat after I released him. He was far more drunk than I had imagined after his near incoherent speech at the onset of our conversation. Deciphering that was already a challenge, I didn't need to have gurgling sounds added into the mix. The man, despite drunk, was no ignorant meat sack. I caught his eyes glance at the hilt hanging from my belt and judging by his expression when he looked upon my mask and lack of hospitality on my part, he put two and two together.

"I only know rumors," he stammered, "but one conclusive rumor is that the ring is on Tattooine." I stood up, staring down at the man. I'm a well educated individual when it comes to telling if people are lying to me. And this man, whom I applauded for his honesty, was telling me the truth. "Does this ring have a name?" The man's mind began to work overtime trying to recall a proper answer to my question. "I'm not sure. Only thing I'm somewhat sure is that it belonged to a Sith Lord. Hence the buzz about the ring. Do you know how much credits a Sith artifact is worth?"

I didn't care about the monetary value of the ring, simply that I now craved to be it's owner. "You have saved your life, drunk," I told him as I turned around heading for the exit. Stopping at the door, I said over my shoulders, "You will not mention me to anyone. You will not mention anything about me going to look for this ring. If you do, I will return here unhappy and I will be less cordial with you than I have been now. Understand?"

I exited the house without waiting for his reply. I'm quite sure he got the message.

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

While walking back to my borrowed ship, I tried to wrap my thoughts around which Sith Lord would have lost his ring on such an undesirable planet. By the time I arrived to my waiting mechanical horse, I still failed to come up with a reasonable theory. I've spent time studying up on Sith History, learning everything I could about that Order. The only context I could add to my theory were a hand few of names, but outside of only two Sith Lords, the other names didn't quite fit. More importantly, I was curious to unlock what this ring could do. I knew about Sith artifacts, and the dangers associated with most, but if fate was riding shotgun on your shoulders, one could find a really neat artifact to assist them in their grand schemes.

I stopped at the edge of my ship's ramp, thinking about what I had just thought about. This ring, regardless of what that drunk and his associates thought, was no mere artifact. It couldn't be. I'm quite sure all the Sith Artifacts have been accounted for, and those that haven't been claimed yet, well, there is no mention of a ring in any archives I've read. I rubbed my gloved hands together in excitement. This ring, if it did exist, was something forged by this long dead Lord for his personal use. Which meant, I could possibly find something quite useful for myself.

Returning to the blackness and coldness of space, I looked through the star map on the ship's navigation computer to find where Tattooine was in respect to my current location. Well, it would be a decent haul from where I'm at to reach the planet, but it would be worth it if I did discover this ring. While the ship hurtled through hyperspace, I opened up the file I had compromised on Sith Artifacts to double check that I hadn't missed anything about a ring. As I thought, no mention of any unclaimed ring. The prospects, if this ring existed, was looking quite good for me.

"This is Disciple Torcularis checking in," I announced through the communication link between this ship and that of the nearest hidden First Order's satellite. "I'm looking into something and will report back to the Citadel when I can. I will activate the encrypted beacon aboard the ship in the event I do not return." The last part about the beacon, well, it was to put their minds at ease. The First Order really cherish their ships, weapons, and technology. So until my own personal ship was completed, I had to follow the guidelines set by them regarding their equipment.

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

I arrived to Tattooine just in time to catch the hottest part of the day. I had little information to go on regarding this ring. The drunk was helpful but he WASN'T that helpful, so that meant I needed to hang out where all the gossip takes place if I had any real chance of finding this ring. So off to the cantina I went.

I entered probably the most dustiest of places in the known galaxy and moved up to the bar. The man behind the bar sporting a greasy apron and a shirt that reveled several graying chest hairs asked me what I wanted to drink. I just stood there staring daggers into him. Of course with my mask he couldn't see that. Another thing he couldn't see was how stupid his question was. I told him no then proceeded to make inquiries about artifact hunters. It was a long shot but it was a long shot that paid off. He shot me a few names that worked out of Anchorhead who could help me further than he could.

I thanked him for the information and elected to kick it at the cantina for a bit. Despite having some leads to follow up, one thing that makes cantinas an interesting hub of information is how lips seem to get loose after a few drinks have passed through them. Sitting in the corner where I could keep an eye on those who entered and exited the cantina, I began listening to the stories of a troubled people.

It amazes me how many people the galaxy uses for a chamber pot. I heard stories of betrayal, stories of lost loved ones, stories of failed enterprises, and one story of how one farmer lost his two newly acquired droids. Outside of that, nothing of interest pertaining to why I was here presented itself to me. So it was time to track down these people with the hopes one of them could help me.

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

Putting a much needed distance between myself and that dust bowl of a cantina, I headed to the first name on the list. One Jobba Hobba. Hold up, I'm not making that up. I swear. That's his real name. I'm not one hundred percent sure about this guess, but I can almost bet that his Father hated him just as much as my Father hated me. Maybe this Jobba Hobba and I have something in common besides kooky names.

I stopped in front of a droid shop that had a sign above the threshold that read "Hobba's Wobbly Droids." Don't look at me like that, I didn't make that up either. I entered the droid shop feeling a personal growth in my lower regions. I don't have a sick and twisted fetish for droids but I do enjoy working on them. I have what you might call an electronic thumb. Trying not look like I was all eager and stuff, I browsed the wares on display amazed how cheap they where. Had I been in the market for a mechanical friend, I would have dropped a ton of credits on Mr. Hobba's countertop. As it stood, I didn't have time to potty train a droid. I was here for a ring.

I walked up to the counter earning a cocked head and a skeptical eye from Jobba Hobba. "Can I help you," he said with a polite undertone. I jumped right into it. I explained to him why I was here, focusing on the topic of the ring. A few times I caught his body squirm uncomfortably. When I concluded my well rehearsed speech. He told me knew about the ring, but currently it was in the possession of one of two aliens. The two names he dropped matched up with what the bartender of Mr. Dusty Cantina told me.

Detecting he wasn't lying to me, which I can tell easily since I developed a knack for that sort of thing, I left the droid shop checking Jobba off the list. My next stop might not be as simple. I really detest talking to Jawas.

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

I met a group of Jawas once, and let me tell you, I really, really hate them. First there is that language barrier. With their little mouths making those awful noises, I suspect they are mocking me. I probably should kill them, but if I'm wrong about what they are chirping, then I look like a bully. Second, those glowing eyes under those Jedi-like robes karking creep me out. Those eyes never move, one way or the other, and they always seem to be focused straight ahead. What are they hoping to see that's so important? Seriously, turn your karking heads once in awhile and maybe you'll see something wonderful!

So with regret, I wandered into the Jawa camp, where they were busy trying to swindle some down on his luck framer of his life savings. From my point of view, they looked as if they were trying to sell this sap a couple of droids that wouldn't last more than two, possibly three, weeks in this sand crusted planet. But that was the farmer's problem, not mine.

I walked past the farmer and a pair of Jawas that were engaged in aggressive negotiations straight to the head of the serpent. One Jawa in particular seemed to be the one to speak with. Afterall, he was sitting on a throne constructed of obsolete droid parts. When I drew closer, three little fellas tried to cut me off, and with a slight of hand, I sent them sprawling to the sand. "Taste good," I chided strolling past them toward their leader. Jawas aren't smart. and I suspect that is due in part to poor leadership. The throne sitting Jawa went for some sort of blaster-type rifle, forcing me to rip that from his tiny hands, following that up with a nice Force Choke.

"If it's trouble you are seeking, then call me Trouble," I said focusing on holding my grip on their leader. "I come in peace," I said lying. Truth be told, if I wasn't a member of the First Order I would have slaughtered the whole lot.

My display of power was enough to deter the Jawas from acting out, whch saddened me slightly. I really hate these little guys and nothing would have gave me an orgasmic satisfaction than putting them to the sand. "I come seeking information. Nothing more, nothing less." I released my over-stretched hold on their leader adding, "Maybe we can do busy together, huh."

The labored Jawas ran to the aid of their leader, who stared at me with his glowing eyes. Sensing he felt chided, he waved off the others. "godjdjfn? Ghodfr ffdhh docnf," their leader said to me. I'm no scholar of languages but what he said, I was completely clueless. The farmer that I passed moved toward me and said, "I can translate for you if you wish. I have no love for these thieves." I didn't have any available options with communicating with these Jawas, which in hindsight I should have thought about that before coming to their camp. I nodded at the farmer and he translated what their leader had said. Apparently as an outsider, I impressed him, sorta. His biggest rant was why I was here at his people's camp. I told the Jawa leader, through my interpreter, about what I was looking for.

The Jawa boss conferenced his tiny people, and when they where all in agreement finally he said some jibberish. The farmer translated for me that what I sought was in the palm of Yo'lik Fg'hor. Hmm. That was another name the bartender mentioned. It became agitating apparent that I should have sought him out first. Without thanking the farmer or the Jawa leader, I left the camp to seek out this Yo'lik Fg'hor.

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

I reached the encampment of this Yo'lik Fg'hor fella. Upon stepping closer, I was immediately greeted by two battle-like droids and one female Zabrak. "Turn around now or risk being removed from the galaxy," she said. On cue of hearing her words, the two droids raised their rifles in my direction. I could have, or maybe I could have, fought my way out of this situation but I needed to find that ring and doing any killing would not increase my chances of getting this Yo'lik's help.

"I'm not here to stir trouble," I told her spreading my arms out to show her I meant no act of violence. "I'm here seeking information from Mr. Fg'hor. I can pay for such information if need be." The Zabrak looked me up and down and turned her nose up at me. "Credits or not, my boss isn't looking to sell information. Now scram." She starting to turn around and I blurted out, "The ring. I know he has information and if he was well equipped to handle the trials of achieving it, he would have done so already!"

That got her attention.

"Oh just what we need, another merc who thinks he can be my boss's savior!" The time came to make my audition. Reaching into the Force, I shoved the two droids to the sand, then called on my inner anger and began to filter it into the nearest droid, using Electronic Manipulation to rewrite the droid's programming turning into an ally. The droid, under my 'control', reached across and slapped the other droid across it's metal mouth. Unsure how that would be received by the Zabrak, I produced my lightsaber but kept it in the off position.

"Well now. That changes everything. Follow me," she said.

 

[Sorel Crieff]

"Great... Just fantastic." Sorel cursed sourly. She rapped her fingers on the freighter's smouldering control console. There's nothing like trying to blast out of a spaceport with a shipment of meds that every member of the local Hutt gang would gladly kill you for, and then find the ship you’ve been allocated decides it's ready for the junkyard. She looked through the cockpit viewport. Sand. Not dunes, just sand, piling higher every minute. She had been forced to ditched the ship in what could only be described as a Tatooine gravel storm.

She reviewed her escape, trying to figure out what went wrong. The cantina visit was part of a front to show herself as a lowly freighter pilot, to suggest the cargo she carried was pretty much worthless. Hence the ship that had seen better days. Then the bounty hunters showed up. She’d dashed back to Docking Bay 66, ran on board, sealed the cargo hatches and punched out. She was out even before the bounty hunters could even get off a shot.

Of course, in those rushed take-offs, there wasn't really time to run a full diagnostic check on the ship's systems. She found that out two minutes later, when her manoeuvrability jets cut out. Then her ion drives. Then the main generator. No doubt her shield generators were a mound of slag right now. The nearest uncontrolled landing area was a few kilometres below. She did her best to angle the ship for a smooth crash. At least she didn't feel too banged up.

So she looked out the view port. The sand completely covered it. But the sounds from outside suggested it had finally abated. So she ventured outside to see what was left of the ship. Not much as it turned out. The ventral gun mount was torn off during the crash. The underbelly sensors were gone. Sand filled the forward maintenance crawl-ways. The cabins were a mess. The astromech didn’t secure itself and its remains were scattered all over the main corridor.

She took in the view. Sand. In every direction and as far as the eye could see. And given her emergency landing as well as the recent storm, it meant she couldn’t be sure which way it was back to civilisation. So she closed her eyes and sensed with the Force. Finally she headed due East, it simply felt the right way to go.

[member="Clovis Torcularis"]

 

[Sorel Crieff]

Tatooine’s twin suns were just peeking above the horizon. From what she could see, her entire freighter was buried. With the transponder scrapped, nobody was going to find the starship in this wasteland. It would even take the Jawas a few weeks before one of their sandcrawlers rumbles by this area. So she figured the cargo was safe for now.

Sorel jumped back in surprise as five scurriers popped out of the open hatch of her ship and raced off into the desert, in the same direction she was travelling in. The pesky scavengers must be seeking out the nearest food source – garbage, which meant she must be on the right path. Because trash meant there must be some kind of civilization around here. She thrust a hand in her pocket and pulled out some macrobinoculars. She climbed the nearest dune and focused the macros, trying to track the scurriers.

There they were, already about a kilometre out, if her macrobinoculars’ range readouts were correct. So she stuffs them back in her pocket and begins the long walk.

[member="Clovis Torcularis"]

 

[Clovis Torcularis]

I was slightly surprised to see this Yo'lik Fg'hor to be obese and under groomed. I chalked up his poor grooming skills due to the planet he lived on. I wasn't on this sand world long, but I was here long enough to know that daily washes was something of a trial. But what got my attention was the numerous slaves he had chained to posts around his camp. I'm not a fan of slavery, and I'm not sure where the First Order stands with it as well, but to my knowledge I have yet to see anyone enslaved by them. So I did my best to hide my body language at this disgusting scene.

"So Dahkia tells me you can help me," he said with eyes measuring me up and down. "But I'm curious. How do you know of this ring?" By the tone of his voice he added to his question, I began to think this ring was suppose to be kept in secret, with only members of the inner circle knowing about it's existence. I explained to him how I came about the discovery of the ring and how I found information, leaving the names out of those that pointed me to him, linking him, the ring, and his expedition to find it.

The whole time I talked, he kept staring at my hilt. The moment I finished he said, "I've met Jedi in my time. I do not like Jedi with all their holier-than-thou attitudes but you are no Jedi. Sith, perhaps?" Technically I'm working my way through the ranks of the Knights of Ren and though I follow the teachings of the Sith, I was not a card carrying member of the One Sith. "Let's just agree that I'm no Jedi and we share the same view on them." He leaned back in his makeshift throne rubbing the ends of his rough beard before erupting into an annoying laugh. "Yes, we agree. Now what makes you think that you possess enough skills to assist me? I'm not well versed in non-Jedi training but I can almost bet that they don't teach you how to go rummaging through ancient tombs."

Ancient tombs? Interesting. I was unaware their where any kinds of ancient tombs on Tattooine, Sith or Jedi like. Whether this fellow meant to drop some free information or not, he now had my full attention. "You'll be surprised to learn what I'm skilled at. As I told your female companion, I want to help. I'm not asking for payment but a chance to broaden my horizons." He raised a crusty eyebrow pointing a crooked finger at me. "Let me make sure I understand you. You are offering to help me find this ring that may or may not be buried in an ancient tomb where dangers there and along the way can creep up and kill you without warning and you don't want payment. Forgive me, but I have a hard time believing a non-Jedi wishes to work for free."

It was my turn to point. And I did so toward the slaves. "By the state of your slaves you have no real use for them. Perhaps you just enjoy watching people suffer needlessly in this tormenting weather. I've changed my mind. I do want payment. In exchange for helping you find this ring I want you to free all those slaves. That will be payment enough."

I could almost see the hamster wheel turning in his mind. "I fail to understand why a non-Jedi cares about those slaves. But we have a deal. Bring back the ring and I will release them per your payment. But forgive me if I don't trust you. I'm sending Dahkia along with some of my men with you. This is non-negotiatable. And non-Jedi, do not think of double crossing me or I will add you to those posts."

I nodded my head in agreement, secretly already plotting this fat man's demise.


[member="Sorel Crieff"]

 

[Sorel Crieff]

As she walked, she remembered the tale she learned as a Youngling about the twin suns here.

Everything casts two shadows.

The suns had determined this at the dawn of creation. Brothers, they were, until the younger sun showed his true face to the tribe. It was a sin. The elder sun attempted to kill his brother, as was only proper.

But he failed.

Burning, bleeding, the younger sun pursued his sibling across the sky. The wily old star fled for the hills and safety, but it was his fate never to rest again. For the younger brother had only exposed his face. The elder had exposed his failure.

And others had seen it – to their everlasting sorrow.

The first Sand People had watched the battle in the sky. The suns, dually covered in shame, turned their wrath on the witnesses. The skybrothers’ gaze tore at the mortals, burning through flesh to reveal their secret selves. The Sand People saw their shadows on the sands of Tatooine, and listened. The younger spirit urged attack. The elder told them to hide. Counsels, from the condemned.

The Sand People were condemned, as well. Always walking with the twin shadows of sacrilege and failure beside them, they would hide their faces. They would fight. They would raid. And they would run.

Most Sand People struck at night, when neither skybrother could whisper to them. Or dawn. The voices of the shadows were quieter then – and the settlers who infested the Sand People’s land could see their doom clearly. That was important. The elder sun had failed by not killing his brother. The elder sun would see the example of the Raiders, and learn ...

... now.

“Tuskens!” She knew it instinctively. That was why the Force had made her remember the story no doubt. They were near, she sensed it.

[member="Clovis Torcularis"]