Private Snowflakes and Stormtroopers

[Aleksandr Stirsea]

Aleksandr shivered as another blast of frigid, bone-chilling air cut through the confines of the light freighter he was huddled in. Even under his tight fitting black hood and padded Atrisian winter clothes he could feel the involuntary chatter of his teeth and the prickling of gooseflesh on his garments. It wasn’t just the cold making him miserable. His stomach growled loudly as he moved to stand on his feet, it’s meaning as clear as the snow that lay in blankets outside the starship.

You’re hungry, idiot. Find something to eat.

So he did, shambling slowly to where he knew he might find sustenance. Cale Gunderson 's conservator. The boy flung open the steel handlebar and peered inside the glowing rectangle of preservation. The crates of ration bars were still present, but so many had been consumed that there were more wrappers than actual nutrition squares. Aleksandr frowned as he rummaged through the crate labeled ‘Meat’, coming up with nothing but a stack of blue colored wrappers littered with nutritional information and vitamin counts. It seemed they were out of food. Again. That meant it was time for a trip into town. A delightful prospect for a band of outlaws in the midst of a collapsing state.

Aleksandr clapped thrice loudly before raising his voice to speak.

“We are officially out of food!” He announced to the ship's other passengers. “And I am officially hungry enough to do something about it. So meet me outside in five if you wanna take part in the supply run- spoiler- if you don’t come you’re not eating!” Satisfied with his declaration, Aleks made for the ramp of the Fast Courier, skipping down its length before his boots came crunching into the layers of snow and ice that had piled up around the cargo carrier.

His light blue eyes scanned his surroundings as sunlight became customary to his vision once more. For all the bad that could be said about Rhen Vhar, none could deny its beauty, when it wasn’t trying to freeze them to death at least. Mountain peaks were capped by sheets of ivory snow, beside them were waterfalls long since frozen over by the glacial climate of the planet. The Jedi ruins that dotted the landscape gave the planet an archaic aura, one born of mysticism and secrets long forgotten. Then there was the town, little more than an Imperial outpost on the fringe of civilized society, but there was a certain quaintness to its existence. Lights flickered in the distance, both electronic and natural, as businesses came to life and families lit up their abodes. That was where they were headed.

Aleksandr pulled up his hood and waited for his compatriots.

Hector Vale | Ronan Calore

 

[Cale Gunderson]

Cale wasn't keen to leave his quarters. Wrapped in blankets on top of a heavy coat, he'd been busy cursing fate and the fact that they had to save power by leaving the heat low in the day so that they could survive the frigid night. And then the kid had started screaming. Food was out, as he'd expected it would be, but Cale had thought he had more time. Aleksandr was bold in his declaration that anyone who didn't come wouldn't eat, as if Cale couldn't leave him to sleep outside in the snow.

But in truth, both Aleks and Cale knew he wouldn't do that. Cale roused himself from his cot, and donned his boots with all the quick efficiency to be expected of a man with one arm. But he did get them on, and he sure not to forget his blaster, nor the inquisitor's blade. He hadn't needed them in some time, but with the town's reigning warlord, he could never be sure that things wouldn't change.

He was harsh man, the local despot, a member of the planet's garrison of Sith Empire troopers left behind, who'd promptly killed his commanding officer and the town's governing officials to install himself as their leader. His core loyalists were well trained, well equipped, and brutal, having been Stormtroopers as he was. His auxiliaries, enforcers picked from the populace were not at all trained, and were armed with anything ranging from a stolen blaster to a shiv, but they were just a brutal, and perhaps a shred crueler.

Stepping down the walkway and onto the crisp snow, he did his best to ignore the ancient ruins of eons past, shrines to the better of two failed ideologies that were championed by those who could touch the force. Everywhere he went, the shadow of the Jedi followed him. He and the boys hadn't spoken much since Felucia, there wasn't anything to say. And yet he let them stay.

"For the record, it's my ship. I eat if I come to town or not, or you sleep outside." He grumbled, drawing up the hood over his head, and drawing up a scarf over his bearded face.

Aleksandr Stirsea | Ronan Calore | Hector Vale ​

 

[Magic.]

The adolescent voice of Aleks rang through the ship as he declared his hunger. The former bounty hunter slowly opened his eyes to see the frozen tundra out in front of him, the bright whiteness nearly blinding him. In response Ronan’s stomach growled loudly, having lived off nothing but booze and vitamin bars for near seven months the young man wasn’t wrong about a trip to town being necessary.

Pulling on his padded armour and a thick cloak for warmth, Ronan went through his list, blasters, grenades, spare power packs, and the few credits he had left to his name. Finally sliding his helmet over his head the man sighed and stretched, feeling a thousand aches in his body from sleeping in the gunners seat all night. As he stepped through the ship Ronan passed by the armory, and briefly considered switching his usual blasters out for less worn equipment.

Instead, he grabbed a bag and filled it with a few blasters that he planned to hand to the crew. A heavy T-6 for Aleks to replace the S-5 he’d lost, that had been a sore spot for Ronan, as the S-5 had been favored by him for many years, for Cale he picked an Imperial SE-14, and for Hector an Old Clone Wars Era DC-17 pistol, bothold but they’d carried Ronan through his early days as a bounty hunter, and he had confidence they’d see his companions through their journey.

Leaving the armory he joined the old man and boy, shivering as the cold air hit him, and pulled his heavy cloak tighter around him. Looking to the pair he handed them their respective blasters. “Here, you both get the gist, point, shoot repeat. Now Aleks, the T-6 doesn’t have a stun mode and kicks like a bantha, so watch where you point it. It has a habit of punching through armor, walls and whatever else you might happen to hit.”

“Where’s the other one? We’d best not leave without him.”

 

[Aleksandr Stirsea]

"And yet look who stepped off the ship," Aleksandr quipped at the grizzled spacer, grinning widely. His look of amusement turned to one of amazement when Ronan drew forth the heavy blaster from his satchel. It was a T-6, or so the mercenary had dubbed it. Aleks had never held one in his own grip before, but he remembered a lesson from back on Atrisia. They'd been studying galactic conflicts in history when a section on contemporary armaments came up. The T-6 had been on the holopad then, he was sure of it, but it was listed under a different name. His professor had called it-

"The Thunderer..." The boy muttered aloud. "Wow." The blaster was a cumbersome thing, especially for the sinewy Aleksandr. Still, he had always preferred the unrivaled power of a heavy-class weapon, the T-6 would do nicely.

It's a little bland though. Could use some sprucing up.

Aleks thought to himself, wondering if there might be some paint supplies in town. Even a spray can or two would do the trick, but such an expenditure would require Cale's permission, a prospect he did not relish.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by another pang of hunger. Hector was still in the ship, but if he had actually been hungry then he would've joined the rest of them in the snowfalls.

"Welp, looks like Hector's still sleeping. Maybe we should get a move on and he can catch up later?" His gaze pleaded with Ronan Calore , then with Cale Gunderson .

"C'mon guys I'm hungrier than a rancor!"

 

[Cale Gunderson]

"Remember, the goal is to not have to use these." Cale grumbled to Aleks, stuffing his own blaster away under the layers of warm coat. Keeping the mercenaries armory aboard had been a smart call, if for no other reason then that hunting was a deal easier with his rifles, and that it meant they hadn't been out of ammo within the first month. Still, he worried the merc might be more eager for a fight than Aleks was, tired of fighting whatever had to be slaughtered simply for food, itching for a proper fight.

"Other one is probably off meditating, or something else useless." He gave Ronan Calore his own answer, speaking over Aleksandr Stirsea as he did. Maybe it'd just been that he'd had to call on the force so often lately, or that he'd brushed so close with darkness on Felucia, but all things Jedi had grown ever more irksome. Partially for their futility, and partially because some broken part of his soul missed it. He hated the latter more than anything. There was nothing to miss but a gilded cage. And her.

He flicked his eyes to Aleks again, dead pools of green looking down upon the boy he still couldn't explain why he'd staked so much for, and gave him a nod. Something in his heart told him the boy needed a guiding hand, and that Cale at least had one for him. But those days were long gone, and he had nothing to teach the boy but failure.

"Let's get moving then, Rancor."

 

[Aleksandr Stirsea]

"Let's get moving then, Rancor."

That was enough for the former thief from Atrisia to dig his boots deep into the snowdrifts that lay at his feet and start marching. It was tough going at first, his legs strained with each stride and his lungs burned in defiance with every drag of breath. Tendrils of icy wind whipped around his cloak and winter clothing. Cold air pervaded his drawn-up hood, flushing his cheeks a bright, rosy red. Snowflakes fell silently from the heavens, drifting and floating like sprites and spirits from another world. They melted on Aleksandr's pitch-black hood, those that slipped past it descended gracefully onto the bridge of his nose, thawing instantly at the touch of his warm skin.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling slowly out his mouth. A jet of steam rose with his breath, but as he continued to breathe the easier the trek became. His feet didn't ache so much as the trio made their way down an icebound mound. It was almost a pleasant experience. Almost.

Phantom burns on his right hand made the boy twitch. His wounds from Felucia had healed, but every hard fought battle left a scar, and in this case, the Dark Lord had left him with more than one. He still felt it every now and then, spasms of pain reminiscent of his blaster's explosion from the crew's flight from Felucia. He wondered if he would ever fully feel the same.

They must've been drawing near the town soon, or so Aleks thought. His eyes shifted quickly between the different watchtowers stationed outside and within the 'settlement'. Old habits from his time as a pickpocket that hadn't quit died. He was glad for it though, more often than not his old instincts helped him escape situations he seemed prone to getting himself in to.

"Should we head to the markets?" Aleks pondered aloud, his crystal blue eyes resting upon Cale Gunderson . "Or... you could always just send me to get food." He commented genuinely, dangling the small knife in his hand that he used to pick pockets. "I doubt the stormtroopers would miss it."

 

[Ronan Calore]

Ronan scoffed from behind his helmet, a derisive noise directed toward the young Aleks words. "You'd do best to keep your hands to yourself while we're in town, I've no urge to kill an entire garrison of stormtroopers on an empty stomach." Clapping a large hand on the boy's shoulders he gave him a polite shove toward the city. "Now anyone else if fair game, I doubt anyone wants to get shot today, so if you get caught, just find me." From behind his helmet, Ronan gave Aleks a crooked smile, not the the boy or old man could tell otherwise.

"Now if we're looking to legitimately but our supplies, then we're shit 'outta luck." Ronan took out the few credits he had left, which would no doubt buy them a kings ransom of decade old ration bars.

"What've you got spacer? Hopefully more hidden away than what I've scrounged up." Ronan looked toward Cale then, hoping the old Jedi had something else they could use to buy supplies with.

He'd brought more guns than credits it seemed, much to the merc's own frustration. At the time it seemed more important to grab guns than credits, but now as he stood on the wasteland that was Rhen Var, cold, hungry and broke, Ronan was very much regretting his decision.

 

[Cale Gunderson]

"Might not miss the food, but they won't miss you if they notice. We got enough on our hands, don't be stupid." He reprimanded the boy, but his voice never became harsh, simply firm. It'd taken some time, but he'd come to understand that he couldn't simply shout Aleks or Hector into compliance, it just wasn't how they functioned. For Aleks, he became defiant, the street punk in him enflamed by the challenge, and Hector would simply ignore him. Sometimes with a whisper of 'traitor'.

When Ronan Calore questioned him about funds, Cale scoffed. He'd never been paid for the job he'd been on when all this mess started, and he certainly hadn't made any credits since. What reserves he'd saved had all but dwindled to none as the settlement's tyrants forced them to pay exorbitant prices for the bare necessities. Why they even bartered anymore at all was a wonder, a ship hadn't touched down since he crashed, not with the Empire's fall.

"Got a whole lot of nothi-," He trailed off, his eyes lifting skyward as he heard the distinct whine of an engine, unmistakable even with the wind and snow. It cut overhead, an ugly gray thing that looked more like boxes fused together than a proper starship, but she was bigger than Cale's ship, and no doubt had a functioning way off-world. It must've been the butt of some god's joke, but Cale did not laugh as he stopped in the snow, and stared as it flew into town, bound for the landing pad.

"Well feth me." He cursed quietly.

Aleksandr Stirsea

 

[Aleksandr Stirsea]

“Won’t miss me? I don’t know what bucket-heads you’ve been messing with, but the one’s I know can’t shoot straight to save their lives.” Aleks said with a snicker. He lowered his voice as the three crossed the threshold into town, stormtroopers arranged at the gate eyed the group wearily, but they let the trio pass without raising issue. It seemed things had gotten worse in town since they’d last stopped in. Destitution ruled the outpost, even more so than the Imperial warlord that had proclaimed it his dominion.

The inhabitants of the place milled about without much purpose, let alone liveliness. The only real hub of activity was the nearby marketplace, crowded with vendors, hawkers, and purusing customers of all kind.

Aleksandr almost started on to the market, but a little blur of motion caught his eye. A boy darted out from behind a gray, compact building. He was human and brunette, with a short stature and a thin build. The glint of something metallic flashed under the duress of the sun, he was carrying a knife it seemed, one similar to Aleks’ own. This boy was like him, he was sure of it. A wily streetrat looking to buy himself another day with the credits of another. The boy crept up on a patrolling stormtrooper, his hand whipped out like a whip, knife sinking into a fabric bag the trooper adorned on his hip. He pulled and the bag gave, falling into the pickpocket’s hand with a thump. For a moment, it seemed as if the heist had gone without a hitch, and the boy turned to creep away silently with his spoils. He failed to account for the second stormtrooper that had been tailing the first from a distance. A plastoid-encased fist smashed into the kid’s face, and he fell to the ground with a cry of pain and surprise. Both troopers were aware of his presence now, together they wrestled him from the floor and slammed him into the side of the gray building from which he came.

“The punishment for theft is loss of the offending hand.” The first stormtrooper barked at the would-be criminal. He produced a vibroblade from his utility belt, holding it up to the struggling youth.

There it was again. That tug on Aleksandr’s soul. The voice in the back of his head that rung with a childlike joy. The one that spoke with hope in its inflection.

Be a hero, Aleks.

He knew he might regret it, but today he would be a hero.

“Leave the kid alone!” He called out to the pair of soldiers. One of them didn’t even divert his attention from the culprit. The second stormtrooper turned to him in annoyance.

“Fuck off, runt, or you’ll lose a hand, too.” The trooper spat.

“Try me.” Aleks retorted. Rushing forward, the force sensitive managed to close the gap before the stormtrooper could draw a plasma weapon. The bucket-head jabbed a fist out quickly, Aleks grabbed on to the protruding limb and put all his weight behind a throwing motion. Taken aback by the unexpected wrestling, the stormtrooper ended up flat on his back, Aleks took the opportunity to kick his plastoid helmet as hard as he could. That was one trooper dazed, but the other was still in the equation, and he didn’t wait for Aleksandr to try a throw on him as well. The white-clad soldier came barreling into the teenager, throwing Aleks off his comrade and into the snow-covered streets of the outpost. Suddenly he was looking down the barrel of an E-11 blaster rifle, courtesy of one pissed off stormtrooper.

Aleks did the only thing he knew he could. He called for help.

“CALE! RONAN!"

Ronan Calore | Cale Gunderson

 

[Cale Gunderson]

Cale had not felt such a rage in so long, it was an ugly thing born of frustration, but he had no time to think on it, to let it fester. Instead he simply watched, dumbfounded, as Aleksandr Stirsea broke their one rule. That they didn't get involved. Cale knew he knew better, Aleks had lived his life in the streets, he was no stranger to cruelty, nor was Cale. But they were meant to be numb to it, they had to be, it was the only way one could survive out in the galaxy.

But that wasn't the way we were raised to be, is it?

Of course it'd be her voice he heard lecturing him. Who else would it have been? Marek? Galen? The two of them had struggled more with the dark than he had, they'd been born into it, he hadn't, not knowingly anyway. But she was different, she'd always been good. And years later, even after she'd helped him escape, all Cale could think of was Tallia Farn, Princess of Hapan, amnesiac Jedi Knight.

The world moved slowly as he watched Aleks hit the first trooper, only to be thrown down by the second. Cale cursed fate. A damned ship was here, they could've gotten parts, they might've been able to leave even. There he could've offloaded the kid and his fundamentalist pal onto the Jedi and hopefully dodge an arrest, then be on his way. But something about that idea gave him pause, made his stomach twist. It didn't matter now though, Aleks had seemingly bungled that up on his own.

His body moved before his mind did, but Cale knew it was just as well, there was no talking down men like the Stormtrooper. The cloak the man wore over his plasteel armor was likely stolen, just like the other accoutrements to his armor. Spoils of war, plundered off those he had deemed weak. Words would've been a waste, and Cale was not wasteful. He shot through the slurry that covered the ground, a spray of well trodden snow flying in his wake, he should've gone for a gun, done things easier, but making things harder for himself seemed to be the recurring theme in his recent life.

"You're a fething moron, Aleks." The once-Jedi, once-Sith muttered just loud enough for the boy to hear as he closed the gap between himself and the Stormtrooper in a blink. His arm found the blaster and jerked it up. It fired, the barrel heating and burning his hand as it did, but Cale's motion was fluid and did not halt. With strength given by the all-surrounding force that he so detested his connection to, he pulled the weapon away, then smashed it across the faceplate of the trooper.

Plasteel shattered beneath the weapon, and a nose broke beneath it, blood spraying into the cold air and staining the snow crimson. The trooper staggered, and for the briefest moment, as Cale flipped the blaster around, his hand settling around the grip, gloved finger wrapping around the trigger, he thought about letting the man live. Then he squeezed, and the inclination left his mind as the bolt met the man's chest. Cale didn't blink, didn't flinch, he simply shifted the blaster to the trooper Aleks had taken down, and fired again before he could rise.

"Guess we're doing this today!" He called back to Ronan Calore as he let the imperial blaster fall to the ground, the citizens of the village all looking upon the one-armed man with wide eyes as he reached into his cloak and pulled out the simple dark hilt. He thumbed the ignition, and scarlet exploded from the base with a crackling snap-hiss. There were gasps, in the force he felt their fear at the sight of it, the same he felt when he saw it too. The Inquisitor's anger, his pain and anguish, his suffering and betrayal, they all lived in the saber's heart. Cale knew the way to fix it, to let it heal, but the truth was that he was afraid to try, afraid of what he would be forced to see, and what commonalities he might find between himself and the man in a mask who'd started it all.

But that wasn't the concern for now, right now they were going to act on impulse, and rid this town of tyrants.

This is who you are, how much longer will you run?

 

[Ronan Calore]

Ronan sighed, but inwardly he was happy fo have some action beyond the sparse hunting he did. Drawing both his WESTAR-35s he quickly dropped three stormtroopers that turned a corner, his boaters sending yellow bolts of deadly light clean through the cheap armor. “Like we expected anything else!” Ronan turned to Aleks and pulled the boy up, not roughly, but quickly enough that he’d have little say in the matter. “You really are a fucking idiot though kid.” Two more troopers came around the same bend as their friends, surprising Ronan as his back was turned.

“Freeze scum!” Their voices came out far more confident than they should've, and Ronan simply gave them a dumbfounded look from behind his helmet. “Y’know what boys, we ought to surrender, fighting won’t get us anywhere.” Ronan held his hands out as if giving up, and quick as a Loth-cat drew his right blaster and put one into each of the stormtroopers.

Maker above they never learn. Times like this were when Ronan could actually enjoy himself, he may have hated the Corps but it and the man had a unique relationship: the half-Mando got to fight and the Empire got a warrior without morals.

Looking at Cale, the merc smiled from behind his helmet, he’d seen the old man wield his lightsaber with deadly skill, and was pleased to see him go all out. “Pfft, idiots.”

 

[Aleksandr Stirsea]

“I know I am.” Aleks replied to the lightsaber-wielding Cale. “I know.” He echoed to the gunslinging mercenary. They were both right and there was no way around it. Stepping in would only make trouble for them. It meant expending ammunition, energy, and risking the whole group’s safety. Aleksandr had been making a selfish choice when he chose heroism today. But he was tired of sitting around and watching.

“That could’ve been me, though. Back on Cadomai. If you guys hadn’t stepped in then,” He shrugged as he drew forth the Thunderer. “Figured I’d pay a good deed forward.”

It was then that a squad of stormtroopers rounded the corner on the long street that Aleks, Cale, and Ronan had chosen for their valiant stand. Aleks rushed in the direction of the market stalls, kicking one over to provide makeshift cover and a protected position from which to fire. Vegetables spilled from the overturned cart’s tray, sodden things ranging in color from dirty brown to piss-yellow. The street rat settled in among the wasted produce, aiming down the sights of his T-6 as he lined up a shot on the incoming stormtrooper platoon. He squeezed hard. Hot plasma warmed the barrel of his heavy blaster, then without warning came a burst of laser-fire. The lasers spat out one after the other, he saw one land squarely in the chestplate of the lead trooper, the rest of his shots grazed the remaining opponents but did minimal damage. A stray shot from Ronan’s WESTAR’s took down another, then an admittedly lucky spray from Aleks did in two more. The squad finally lay on the floor, either writhing in pain or motionless entirely.

The boy celebrated silently. Taking lives wasn’t easy, but when the fallen were men like this it made the burden feel lighter.

 

[Cale Gunderson]

Blaster bolts cascaded off the saber as Cale brought it to and fro. His form was jerky, unnatural, unpracticed, but more than enough for the first of the shooters. As Aleksandr Stirsea and Ronan Calore devastated the first group of reinforcements, Cale decimated the second. They weren't stormtroopers, just locals who'd all to eagerly fallen in line, wielding blasters they did not know how to use at a target they could not hope to hit. Cale was rusty, but batting the blaster bolts back at the thugs who stood plainly in the open was child's play.

Crimson bounced off crimson, sailing back through the air and into the chest of the brutes who'd loosed it in the first place. He paid no mind to Ronan's recesses, Cale had started off the bout with two cold-blooded murders, but Aleksandr, as ever, found a way to weasel his way into Cale's mind with his proclamations. The boy had lived on the streets, surely he should've had a more pragmatic view of things, yet every time he spoke Cale could hear his younger self in the words.

Hopeful, idealistic, damningly naive.

"Next time you want to do that, don't." His answer was punctuated by a blaster bolt and a scream, but neither he nor the others had been hit. Instead, a man had simply scrambled towards a child, one now wailing in sheer anguish as smoke rose from the man's lifeless corpse. He'd only been trying to protect his child, his little girl, and the slack jawed twi'lek enforcer that stood over the corpse, eyes red from spice, and filled with dreadful realization, had shot him. Cale felt anger stir, but justice found the man before Cale could move.

These people had been beaten and abused for months, while they did nothing, and now, seeing a chance, they struck.

"No more!" Thundered a Devaraonion Cale recognized as the town's baker, barreling into the enforcer. "NO MORE!"

He hadn't even seen the baker grab the stone, but the world moved slow as he watched it crash into the twi'lek's head with terrible force. The town erupted with cries of revolt. The ship, the wanderers, it had ignited the powder keg that was the settlement, and now their band stood at the heart of it. Cale tried to think, tried to find the pragmatic solution whilst idealistic machinations surged through his mind and filled his veins with adrenaline.

This is who you are.

Cale caught one of the troopers out of the corner of his eye, a vibroknife in his hand as he lunged for the maimed spacer. There wasn't any thought to it, just instinct. He moved like water, boot sloshing through the muck and snow, spraying outwards as he dropped his stance low. The first stroke took the trooper's hand off at the wrist, and the backswing split him in two at the chest, a silent scream on the helmetless trooper's cracked lips as he fell.

This is who you are.

Something came over him as the town came apart, his expression softened to stoic, a cool confidence masking the turmoil he felt with every moment as he looked to Aleks, and sighed.

"But, what's done is done. We aren't leaving this half finished." Ship or no ship Cale had decided, today was the last day that these people would wake up and not be free. They were gonna waltz up to the tyrant, and they were gonna put an end to it. All of it.

This is who you are.

 

[Ronan Calore]

As the people rose up around him Ronan couldn’t help but feel a maniacal glee. He’d spent so much of his youth in the Stormtrooper Corps suppressing revolts like this that inciting one felt like a forbidden fruit. A fur clad twi’lek jumped up and hurled a rock an approaching trooper, stunning him as the aliens friends dragged him to an ally.

Looking to Cale Ronan spoke from behind his helmet. “Maker above we started a rebellion!” Ronan quickly approached his friend from the right, firing down on the stormtroopers as he did, adding a layer of offense to the former Jedi’s jagged defense. “On your right old man!” Ronan blasted a trooper who poised himself ready to throw a grenade, causing him to lob it back into his own comrades, the resulting explosion turning several bodies to dust and debris.

The people of the town were just as enthusiastic as the former bounty hunter. Groups formed quickly, and attacked the stormtroopers and their collaborators with age-old hold out blasters, scatterguns and slug throwers. Through his HUD Ronan saw as more and more stormtroopers pushed through, though the tide of angry civilians challenged their training with unmatched ferocity that Ronan could only encourage.

“PUSH! PUSH BACK! Your oppression ends this day, but only if your fight! No more starvation at the hands of tyrants! Rise up and reclaim your homes, cast out the Empire.” Even as a captain leading regular infantry, Ronan had never been particularly inspiring, but calling these poor people to arms lit a fire under the Mandalorian, and he was determined to see the imperial garrison burn.

With a Mand’oa war cry and a fierce determination, Ronan charged forward and unleashed torrent of blaster fire towards any who though to challenge him. It’s good to be back.

 

[Aleksandr Stirsea]

Violence bloomed around Aleksandr like a flower in a garden. This flower’s seed had been planted years ago. The oppression of the local warlord was water straight to its roots, and this here? This was the fruit the despot had so unknowingly tended. Scuffles and brawls broke out between the civilians and their volunteer enforcers. Lasers flashed from the barrels of hand-held blasters, deep reds and luminous greens. The song of electricity rang from vibroblades that cut gashes into skin and armor alike. Men screamed, wept, and died among the snowfalls of Rhen Vhar. And amidst it all was the blond boy clutching a T-6 heavy blaster, loosing bolt after bolt of plasma fire into the encroaching enemies. Amidst it all was Aleksandr Stirsea.

No matter how many lasers he squeezed off at his opponents, the tide of the battle never seemed to shift. Slowly but surely his charger pack ran dry, his constant expenditure of ammunition had overheated his armament, leaving it unusable in its current state. He’d need to replace it, but before he had time to reach for his supplies a pair of “stormtroopers” stumbled upon his vantage point, raising serrated dirks in his direction.

The Force was not a power Aleksandr had a grasp of. He’d harnessed it before, but only in times of great need- and even then it had been fleeting. But here, he could feel the burning hate of the men that stared him down. He could feel their rage boil as if it were his own, and when he stuck his hand out at them he could feel that anger burn through his veins. It felt good. It felt powerful. He bade the Force to harm his assailants. The Force did not disappoint. The two garrison members were dragged from their feet into the air. He heard the sounds of their gasping, the unmistakable noise of a man drawing with all his might for air. He choked them with this power that he could not yet understand. It was only when the consciousness left their bodies that he snapped out of his red haze.

“What did I do…” Aleks muttered to himself. He looked down at his hands, then further at the insensible pair that lay at his feet. “What was that…”

There was no time for questions though, more thugs came rushing down the cobbled street, Aleks fumbled quickly for a spare charger pack.

 

[Cale Gunderson]

The force moved around every living thing, and through those who wielded it in a manner instantly recognizable by those who could also touch the all surrounding energy. Thus Cale felt the violent twisting in it as Aleksandr Stirsea touched the dark side for perhaps the first time. He knew that sensation well, just as he knew the sense of dread that was creeping over the boy now, and that, however, horrified he was with himself, the most terrifying part was the sliver of Aleks' conscious that relished the power. It was in all of them, the call of the dark side, and resisting it required training.

Training Aleks did not have, and that selfishly Cale had not given. Was he a fool? Or simply a coward? Such thoughts left him when a darkness emerged. The man could not wield the force, but it moved darkly around him anyway. He killed, and killed, and killed. It was the warlord, Cale knew that even before he saw him.

But as Cale cleaved a trooper in two, he had to react rapidly as a torrent of blaster fire came over him. Crimson splashed over crimson as he deflected and batted away the wave of ionized tibanna came over him. The shooter was a massive man, his armor far more pristine than the other troopers, well maintained and intact. The only additions seemed to be a few markings, and a machete which peeked over the top of one of his shoulders. Cale had no doubts, this was the warlord, this was the man who held all the wretchedness in this small place together. And if something didn’t happen soon, he was going to be the one that finally killed Cale.

Not some Jedi executioner, not some Sith Lord, not even a Mandalorian hunter, just a man with a large blaster and a propensity for violence and cruelty. Cale stepped back, struggling to keep up with the seemingly endless barrage, and unable to dash for cover. He was pinned. Part of his mind began to panic, but another, one trained and disciplined in the halls of Tython and Coruscant reminded him of his lessons.

He would hold together, he had to. Live or die, the boys would be able to leave the planet that day. Cale only hoped whatever destiny lay ahead for them was a kind one.

Ronan Calore