“And that's how we came to have an Ewok Dark Jedi Master!”

The speaker was clearly intoxicated, his speech slurring and his incessant grin annoying the onlookers with its obliviousness. A varied collection of tumblers, glasses, flutes and mugs were arrayed before him, like a trophy case, for all the world to see. His comrades, equally inebriated, but infatuated with the man, grinned and chortled as the man had expected they would. Give him credit, at least he knows his audience.

“I wouldn't make fun of Arania, Thran. You have no idea what she's like now,” said a deep voice from a nearby booth. The drunk man, presumably Thran, leaned forward, his jovial nature descending into anger. He stood, leaning unsteadily, and glared at the occupant of the booth.

“Arch, is that you?” he said, staggering towards the speaker. In fact, the booth was occupied by three people, and Thran invaded their personal space with a cloud of alcohol fumes. Evant looked to Xen, who shook his head. Archangel, however, looked up at Thran, and smiled.

“I wouldn't joke about her, Thran. She can be mean,” the huge man said, a small tumbler of whiskey cradled in his oversized hands. Thran let out of a belch, before laughing himself silly, almost falling over in his excitement. His cronies, watching from afar, laughed and applauded the man's antics. Archangel's eyebrow rose slowly.

“I've seen her, Thran. She's a demon. I've seen her wade into a platoon of troops and come out the other side, bloodied and grinning. I've seen her rip into the face of a Jedi, giggling with glee. I've seen her attack an AT-ST walker by running up the leg and stabbing her lightsaber through the wind shield. Do not joke about her.”

“And what would she do about it?!” Thran slurred, a glass in his hand distributing his contents around the local area, “She's not around, and I can make up stuff about a silly teddy bear with a lightsaber as much as I want.”

“It's not too smart, Thran,” Archangel said, before taking a slow sip of his drink. Evant's grin disappeared, his eyes staring at something behind Thran.

“Especially,” Xen said, through his mask, “When she's standing behind you.”

The cold water of realization dawned on the drunk man, his face dropping from an off-kilter grin to a frown of horror. He was stuck, standing in the middle of a bar, but he couldn't, wouldn't turn around. A Dark Jedi Master was a terrifying creature to behold, but an Ewok one, who he had up until very recently been making fun of, was worse.

Something tapped the back of his knee, and he screeched, scrambling away and falling over a chair, and the man who'd been sitting in it. Evant, Archangel and Xen let an uproar of laughter blossom from them. Where Thran had been standing, Rayne was grinning, a tray of drinks in her hand for the table.

“Your toe?” Xen asked, raising his drink in a salute to the woman.

“Just a little kick,” she replied, her grin somehow becoming even more mischievous.

–

“And that's how we got Thran to wet himself in public!” Archangel said. The journeymen around him were staring at him in disbelief. One younger one raised her hand.

“Master, do we really have an Ewok Dark Jedi Master?” she said, not sure if it was a stupid question. Archangel smiled.

“Of course we do, Apprentice. She's right behind you.”

The apprentices laughed nervously.

“Nice try, Master Archangel.”

An angry clearing of a cute, cuddly throat echoed behind the assembled apprentices. As a group, they jumped, turned and bowed to the Ewok. Archangel threw a salute to the Dark Jedi Master. The ewok nodded.

“That story true, Arch?” she asked, waving the apprentices away.

“It is indeed,” the large man replied, before walking towards the command center.

“Alright, apprentices,” Arania started, “Time to learn how to hunt. Where is Adept Thran?”