Please accept my fiction piece for the competition mentioned above. Thank you.

Seng Karash, what a cesspool of filth. I was going to need decontaminated form the lice and fleas in my hair when I finally returned home…hell, probably before they ever let me on the shuttle to return home.

Oh you can watch the holovids about it and listen to the hype, but underneath? The belly of the monster is teeming with corruption. That is where I come in. My orders are simple, take down the crime boss and enough of his subordinates to prevent the species trafficking and prostitution from starting back up again.

While I am not much of a white knight, I do not agree with treating people, especially young children, like slaves for others pleasures just because they are poor. So that is why I got this ‘special’ mission. The crime lord I am going after is using younger humans and other species as sex slaves, as well as to move his drugs off world.

For over a 10 months I had been undercover, pretending to be a simple mine foreman working for the Dlarit Corporation. High enough on the food chain that I could have my own tiny shack and not have to work 16 hours a day. However, not so high that the executives might notice or question me. I was still amazed at the power the Brotherhood and even more so the Shroud has. Papers, a history, even minor plastic surgery had gotten me inserted with minimal grief to my posting.

I had already bought a couple of prostitutes to enjoy and had begun casually asking around for something more exotic and fresh. A slimeball Utai who’s name I cannot pronounce gave me a number to a service that provided fresh young pleasure. After setting up a meeting with one of their brokers, I finally got a sold lead on my primary target.

For months I monitored the operation and took their goods. I never had sex, never stepped over the line. I would cha with the young females, ask them to help me understand the set up of their job. Mostly I promised them I would do something about their plight. Soon I was receiving good information and I began to formulate my attack.

The head of the organization lived in a large house in the middle of the city, almost a bunker. I watched it for over a week, memorizing the guard’s routines and the schedule of the house workers and various lieutenants. They weren’t very strict in their guarding discipline and I was able to sneak in a couple of times to plant a listening device and place a small bomb in their main conference room. Sadly, many of the meetings conducted in that room were done by teleconference. I wanted there to be as many people around from the organization as possible, so I could kill them all in one fell swoop. Finally, I got lucky. There was going to be a big party.

On the evening of the party, going on for the son of the boss, everyone who was anyone was invited. I know I was suppose to keep collateral damage to a minimum, but this was going to be the best opportunity I was going to have to wipe this filth out. I had set up a nice blind in a building nearby and could watch the compound from it without being caught. That night security was a bit beefier, but nothing I could handle. Nothing was going on in the conference room for sometime, then suddenly the lights came on. All of the higher ups to include the leader himself filed in and began speaking about business.

I left my hide and snuck up to the outer wall of the compound. Readying myself for combat I meditated to clear my focus with the Force and tripped the switch for the bomb. The explosion blew out the windows of the room and I could hear people screaming in pain. I jumped over the wall and ran toward the gaping hole in the wall. I guess I had used a wee bit too much explosive because there was not a whole lot left to the conference room. I ran into the ruins and began searching for the faces I had memorized. One, two, thre--, okay not sure there was not much left to that one. The crime boss was plastered against the wall and groaning. I quickly slit his throat. Looking around I found only carnage and separated body parts. There was no way this organization would ever get up and running again.

I quickly faded into the mess of people moving about and then gradually dropped out of the crowd. Running to the warehouse where the girls were imprisoned I dispatched the lone guard watching the door.
Busting open the door, I began freeing the girls. I sent them all to a local police station to tell their stories to the news services, the police and anyone that would listen.

The sun beat down on the pavements of the island paradise of Pandemonium. The light was glinting from the windows of the focal point of the resort, the skyscraper built in the middle of the island. Holiday makers thronged the streets, buying the wares of the vendors before making their way towards the beaches and bars of the tropical destination.

Quo had taken the bullet tram to the destination, travelling as regular holiday maker. The rucksack on his back felt foreign and unwelcome as he left the station, sunglasses perched on his nose. Clad in a loud shirt, shorts, and walking boots he had never felt as ridiculous in his life. Glancing from left to right he took in the sights, making his way towards the bars that huddled together around the harbour like a flock of predatory birds, attracting in the passing trade.

Quo made his way towards them, looking for one of the taverns in particular. Searching the garish signs that winked and twinkled above each individual establishment he soon found it. Merrinbah’s. Looking at it from the pavement outside it was a mass of colour. The hoardings outside the main entrance advertising the wares that could be found inside. There were foods from other systems, dancing girls, live acts, and more alcoholic concoctions than you could shake a stick at. To the young Zabrak it was some form of technological nightmare, not a place he would normally frequent. Biting the bullet he entered.

The inside was, if anything, even more garish than the outer. Thousands of lights blinked in sequence as music battered at his hearing, the bass reverberating against his chest, the vibrations enough to take his breathe away he thought, even with a prosthetic breathing unit. The onslaught on his senses was incessant, his brain reeling to try and take everything in. Scanning over the room he took in the bar, the dance floor, the staging area, and the exits. There were two doors at the rear of the room, each one with a guardian dressed in black evening dress complete with bow ties. The one on the left was another Zabrak, the one to the right a Deshade.

Ordering a drink he took a booth against the wall, small, just enough room for two, and blanketed in shadows. Sitting down he watched. The writhing figures on the dance floor seemed to be lost in the rhythms of the music, or lost in each other in some cases. Watching and waiting Quo’s eyes reflected the dancing lights. He knew that his target was close, but he hadn’t seen her yet, she was never very far away from her base of operations, and this was ground zero. He paid particular attention to the guardians of the doors, watching the foot traffic that occasionally approached and was passed through to the area behind the solid looking doors. All of the people had one thing in common. They all had a slightly blue palour to their faces, and the eyes seemed to be a little too dark, as if they had sunk a little too far into their sockets.

Seven hours later he was still sat, watching the room, and was on his fourth drink, this time a fruit based mixture, sweet and cloying as it hit his mouth through the drinking tube, although not unpleasant to the taste. That was when she entered. He had never actually seen a Miralukan before, but he recognised her instantly with her visor. Even without it he would have noticed her. She was beautiful beyond words, and moved with a slinking gracefulness, oozing sexuality as she crossed the room. The dancers before her on her journey across the dance floor seemed to part before her as if pushed aside by an invisible force. Watching her was hypnotic, but Quo knew he had a job to do, he was here for business not pleasure.

As she approached the Deshade the hulk of a man stepped sideways, opening the door for the woman as she approached. For his size he managed to do it with a fluidity that belied his bulk, the woman sweeping through the portal like a spirit. The doorman closed the door behind her as she disappeared into the space beyond.

Quo watched further. A group of kids were heading towards the door, Quo realised what they were doing. They needed their fix, and having watched the king pin walk in they knew that they could get what they required. Quo knew that he could not sneak by the doorman using invisibility, the species had a partial resistance to the Force, and he wasn’t going to take the chance on his discovery. Joining the worse for wear revellers on their journey towards the door, making himself appear as intoxicated as they were, stumbling and rolling as he walked.

“We get zum biz-niz?” drawled the leader of the group

“Hmmmm,” replied the dinner suited behemoth, a thumb over the shoulder given as a signal to enter.

En masse they entered. Within the room were four more sentries, all wearing the pre-requisite evening wear. Sitting behind an obsidian desk, shiny and black with scrolled legs sat the Miralukan female. The seat she was occupying was tall backed with wings, matching the glittering table. She sat bolt upright, hands resting against each other at chin height, the index fingers steepled under her chin.

The self-proposed leader of the group spoke. ”We need some, ma’am. You know, like, enough for all of us.” He smiled as he spoke, his head slightly bowed, subconsciously giving respect to his benefactor.

“Five hundred creds,” came the lilting voice of the dealer, a wave of her hand to one of the minions to her left, who turned, retrieving a package from a cabinet placed near the wall, “money first”

The group began scrabbling in their pockets and wallets, passing the credit chips to their leader. Quo took the chance. Moving his pack round to his front he unzipped the top, reaching inside with his right hand. His hand wrapped gently around his lightsaber, letting the pack fall to the floor. The ‘snap hiss hum’ filled the room as his blade ignited. Three of the four henchmen reached beneath their jacket, trying to grab for the blaster pistols secreted beneath. Quo’s saber arced around to the right, the flight of it sending the blade through the neck of the first without diminishing the power of the throw. Too late the second saw the blade spinning towards him, entering his body through his upper arm before bisecting him across the chest, never getting a chance to level the blaster and fire on the young Sith. A gesture from his right hand brought the pommel back to his grasp with a gentle ‘slap’.

Quo was already rolling to his left, hopping from right foot to left as his body pirouetted through the air, each step closing the distance to the two men to his left hand side. His feet landed squarely between them, the crimson blade already chopping towards the right, blocking the blast that erupted from the pistol levelled at him, a serpentine twist of scarlet rotating round the blaster as the beam severed the hand holding it. With a gesture of his left hand blue and white lightning exploded from his fingers, enveloping the other where he stood, his skeletal structure flashing through the flesh as his being was torched in blinding light. A flick of the right wrist brought the saber blade around again, plunging to the hilt into the chest of his former target killing him instantly.

The revellers took flight for the nearest exit, scattering in all directions in an attempt to escape the carnage. Quo covered the ground to his ruck sack in a stride, his left hand diving inside the darkness.

The Mirulakan woman had vaulted from her chair, her slight frame belying the fact that her muscles were taught and well toned. Her legs propelled her backwards, the chair falling backwards, the occupant rolling backwards into a ready position, her left hand raised at chest level on her centre line, the right hand rising, fingers folded around a stubby blaster pistol. As she came to her feet she fired a burst of three shots. Quo’s saber danced, deflecting the shots away from him, their impacts hitting both ceiling and wall with a thud, the third skipped over his shoulder, hitting one of the running boys in the leg, taking him down as he ran. Quo spun on the ball of his right foot, two throwing knives arrowing towards the woman, the first taking the pistol from her fingers as the second buried itself in her shoulder, the force of it driving her backwards into the back wall, the protruding blade ‘thunking’ into the wooden panelling, pinning her in position.

Feeling rather than seeing the door to his rear right open Quo rolled forwards, twisting as he did so, reversing his direction. The curving path of his left arm continuing as he released another throwing knife towards the entrance, taking the other Zabrak in the throat, sending him backwards out of the room. Raising to his own ready position he watched as the Deshade decimated the door, charging through it with a bellow, sending splinters of wood in every direction. His charge took him through the retreating revellers, swatting them aside with his massive hands, leaving them in crumpled heaps as he zeroed in on the Sith warrior. With a roar he altered his trajectory to intercept the Dark Knight. Quo balanced himself on the balls of his feet, the left foot slightly further forward of his right, shoulder width apart, his saber held at waist height angled diagonally upwards.

The sheer mass of him drove the Dashade onwards, tearing through anyone that stood in his way. Quo waited, relaxing his body until the man mountain was within two meters. With a slide Quo dropped into the splits, passing below the grasping arms of the door man, and between his legs, seeming to disappear before the moving megalith’s gaze. As he dropped he thrust the saber upwards and backwards, then forwards with all his might, cleaving the massive frame from groin to throat. The Deshade’s momentum took him forwards, falling into the desk, smashing it to smithereens with his tremendous bulk.

Quo stood. Looking around the destruction was less than he had imagined... for him anyway. Making his way through the devastation he removed his blade from the pinned figure on the back wall. She looked for all the world that all the pain in the room had coursed through her body. She looked spent, exhausted.

“Clan Naga Sadow will not tolerate drugs within our territory” Quo stated flatly, brokering no argument with his tone, “and you, Pellara, are the most prolific of traffickers, at least, ... you were”

Quo walked across to his ruck sack, producing a pair of binders, attaching them to her wrists.

“Quo here, send a squad.” He spoke into his wrist communicator.

“On their way, Sir.”
Grasping her beneath her armpit he led her out of the building. One down, lots to go he thought. Picking up his rucksack up as he left the establishment he knew that the Clan would be pleased with his work even if they didn’t agree with his methods.

The cockpit of the Tie Oppressor was cramped, they weren’t really designed for comfort, more for the sake of practicality and functionality, and it was a place that Quo felt at one. Feeling the ship respond to his input on the controls gave him a comfort, if comfort can be allocated to a Sith. His reactions and concentration were not forced in here, it was more reflexive, more of an instinct than a chore. He’d spent many hours making this ship his own. The parts that he had added were bespoke, his own hands had manufactured the parts, his own brain had designed them, and the ship was the better for it he felt. From the modification that he had made to the main bomb bay, making it into a cargo hold, right through to the advanced electronics and sensors that he had installed it was down to him. The very seat he was sitting in was moulded to fit his body perfectly, cushioning and caressing him as the ship twisted and turned under his ministrations.

From the very first time that he had seen her, after he had unearthed her from her sandy grave on Jaaku, he had known that she was his. She had called to him through the Force, nagging him incessantly, guiding him to her hiding place beneath the golden ocean. He had brought her back to life, resurrected her, and brought her with him when he had arrived on Sepros. He had repaired her damaged systems, and through a process of cannibalisation of some of the rusting remains that he found in the forested areas of the planet he managed to get her ready for flight again. He extended the fuel tanks, and put in protective plating over them, boosted the shields up to one hundred and seventy three percent of optimum.

Deep in the jungle he had found several turbo cannon, that were in various states of degradation. Cobbling all the parts together, and manually carrying them back to his makeshift workshop in an abandoned hangar. Working all the hours that his body would allow he managed to get one of them working, the tree stumps and fragments of wood around stood as testament to its destructive power. Mounting it onto the air frame was a battle and a half, but through trial and error Quo managed eventually to mount it as close to the centre line of the fuselage as made no difference. He uprated the twin laser cannons that were already mounted on the wing stubs of the craft, recalibrating them and upping their fire rate so that they could almost match an X-Wings. Installing three extra battery units also improved the recycling of the shields, although it did little to improve the aerodynamics of the craft. There was a new rear cockpit added, courtesy of a crashed Tie Fighter so that he could carry another person, or more equipment if necessary. When he had finished, and all the new panelling was added to correct some of the deficiency she looked like a Tie Oppressor that had some strange kind of glandular problem, but Quo didn’t mind, she was his, and her bite was definitely worse than her bark. She was a fine ship, with a fine name.

The Eenzaam. It meant ‘Solitary’, and it was perfect for her. She was the only one, and Quo was proud of her. He had built her into the craft that she was, and he treated her as his own. He had never had a family, and probably never would, but the Eenzaam was his offspring, and he would look after her like she was flesh and blood. She would fight to her last breath, and could take on ships that were a lot better on paper. He had cured all of her shortfalls, from the sluggish response to the controls, to the poor quality of the sensors, to the lack of speed. She now carried an extra cannon, extra batteries, and proton torpedoes, and was still faster and more agile than any other Oppressor in the Galaxy.

Once all the work was completed he managed to get some time inside the main hangars, more specifically the spraying bay. The Eenzaam was given a coat of matt black paint to her hull, with three blood red slashes across the bow, looking like she had been raked by a rancor. Quo thought it was fitting, in that she had been a wounded animal when he had been led to her, and now she stood, newly recreated, with her scars and modifications she fitted his own persona. He too was scarred, and had a few prosthetic modifications of his own. They were a good fit together, they suited each other.

Now, seated in the front cockpit, he skimmed the surface of Sepros, swooping down over long abandoned cities and temples, feeling the g-forces squeezing his body into the custom made seat, he truly felt alive. Nobody could take this time away from him, and his mind went on journeys that his body could not follow. Confusions that angered him on the ground were as clouds around him as he flew, dissipated with the gusts of wind aloft. Spinning and looping his ship, diving down crevasses that were barely wider than the Eezaam, vortices whipping behind as he whirled and rolled. His mind was calmed, his thoughts blessed with clarity, and even the seemingly insurmountable problems of his earth bound alter ego were solved and processed, even as his body, strapped tightly into the ship was carrying out physically demanding aerobatics. He understood where he stood in the Galaxy, what direction he should follow, and knew the power of the Dark Side of the Force. Quo was as at peace as he ever was, he was home, home alone.

I hope you guys enjoy!
This is my favourite piece of fiction yet ♥ xx

here you go enjoy!

Malgan Markets
Iziz, Onderon

33 ABY

To those who grew up and worked within the markets, its siren calls and exotic smells were a welcoming reverie from the cleaner and less exciting air that surrounded the residential sectors. Vendors desperately competed for the attention of anyone who would notice their multitudes of merchandise for sale, though even their voices were sometimes drowned out by passing hovercrafts and departing space-faring vessels. The market was an overflow of stimulation, providing almost anything possible, whether it was to be sold or to be experienced, to those walking its stone streets. Arguably, Iziz was a city that had a rugged, but very authentic beauty which attracted tourists who sought to immerse themselves in the old within the new. In other words, those fascinated by history, as well as by creating it, felt right at home immersing themselves in a romantic maze of activity.

Of course, being a less-than-normal sentient in the Universe meant that this beauty was lost. Normally, the reason for that was one’s focus was found elsewhere. In Laren’s case, he was trying to kill somebody. Laren found himself dashing through the central market, chasing his target with an energy and fervour that seemed contradicting to his frail frame. He adeptly bounded toppled chairs and tables and expertly dodged innocent passers-by, keeping the human male in sight and hoping the chase would soon give way. For every fruit thrown in his direction or bystander roughly toppled during the chase, Laren’s resolve to capture and kill his target increased. His steady breathing, deep but resolute, maintained his quick stride against the much larger prey. Though he had wanted to capture him before they hit the market, he understood now his best chance was to tire him out, and allow him to seal his own demise within a small entrapment.

Suddenly, the man bounded left between two rows of tall, uneven buildings facing toward the Royal Palace. The suspected street could in fact be an alley, making it easier to track his target in a limited space. However, it could just as easily be a dead end, or worse, a deathtrap. But Laren was committed, and he slowed his pace and drew his DL-44, rounding the corner and about to fire upon his target...

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen stood before him, wiping her used, ruby-stained daggers on the plain black robes of his fallen former target. Clearly Togruta by her red complexion and flowing montrals and head tails, her eyes were a deep and intense blue he could only compare to the vast and clean oceans of Mon Calamari. She was tall, nearly as tall as he was and very well built, with a body toned by year of combat and hunting. Her stance was strong and slightly arrogant, completely open to attack yet tense, as if waiting for Laren to make a move and seemingly knowing she could be ready to face him. The very pride emanating from the small smirk on her face brought a slight purple tinge into his warm cheeks. A gorgeous killer - my kind of girl.

“Seems like I got here FIRST!” she said, her voice echoing in his ears like the first time he heard rainfall after leaving Pantora.

He should have been angry with the fact his target had just been taken from him and the fact she was still speaking, and he immediately should have shot her dead and taken the human’s body back to his shuttle for safe transport and payment. His hesitation was taken advantage of, and she threw one of her daggers with target precision straight at his chest. Though he rolled in time to have the dagger miss his chest, the sharp blade still struck true, slicing a deep cut in his left arm before finding itself lodged and vibrating in the wall behind him. With only enough time to briefly look at his gushing flesh wound before taking a fighting stance, he found the Togruta bearing down expertly with her second dagger.

As they began their deadly dance , Laren focused inwards into his mind, recalling his teachings. He barely had time to react before she brought her blade to bear in a reverse grip, striking at his abdomen. He dodged her advances, though her attacks were pivoting him into the corner. A few more expert swipes, and Laren found his opening, using his palm to hit a sensitive nerve above her wrist. His blow caused her hand to open in pain, dropping the dagger a few paces away and out of direct reach. Laren had no time to retrieve the weapon, as the Togruta began an agile and deliberate advance.

Trained in the Echani arts, Laren flowed from a quick blow from the hips into a defensive posture, utilizing her movement to bring her off balance. He couldn’t help but notice her own expertise, in what form he couldn’t recognize, coming to bear against his own technique. After feeling confident his body had remembered its training, he focused outward, time seemingly slowing as the stalemate continued. Neither could find the weakness in one another as they continued to engage for brief and intense bouts before returning to their slow, graceful steps of death. He felt outward, using what he had learned to try to understand her. Her immaculate eyes held pain and anger, and the way she held her stance in combat had an aggressive tenacity that was beyond merely defeating a skilled opponent such as Laren. She was trying to prove something, yet it wasn't her superiority.

A kick to Laren's jaw, throwing him off balance, actually allowed him the ability to draw her in. She closed in a quick bound, her first attempting to hit home in the centre of his chest. He grabbed her by her striking arm, using her momentum to toss her against a nearby wall. She looked up after a brief moment, a smile on her full lips that had nothing to do with the battle at hand. Drawing on all of her strength to win this battle, she quickly bounded again and re-engaged her slightly larger, though somewhat skinny opponent. The punches kept coming, and he utilized her body weight to throw her off balance once again, though this time she recovered quickly with a kick to his left thigh. After a mere second of recovering his stance, he barely had time to notice she had rolled to the location of the dagger she dropped previously. She swiped expertly, bringing the weapon to bear with a soft hiss through the air.

Suddenly she jumped, leaving Laren the opportunity to strike a punch into her exposed chest. However, before he could bring his first to bear, he had a mere moment as he realized what was happening. Laren stepped forward and she tossed the dagger right where his left foot was about to be. He withdrew, taking three steps back and setting a basic stance, hands held at the ready and his body at a slight angle, presenting his petite frame at its smallest possible angle.

“How is someone who is out to kill me so damn gorgeous?” he asked her, trying to convey the truth of his comment. He had no qualms of killing her if it came to that, but he would avoid it if he could.

Without a word she retrieved the dagger she had just thrown from the ground, and her eyes found his. She raised her left brow and smiled, as if teasing Laren. This left him with a puzzled mind, a racing heart, and an unsure feeling as he had no idea what was to happen next.

"Honey, listen. If we can just stop and talk for a moment, I would rather discuss where I am taking you for a drink. With every hit you throw at me, I am falling in love." He had no idea why, but he was telling the truth. A woman who could kill him, or anyone who could kill him, deserved his respect. When she was as near to perfection as could be created for him in the Universe, and a warrior of great skill, and a scoundrel - he had a thing for bad girls since his days as a slave.

Expecting her to stop to react to the comment, he found himself on the defensive as she carried out a series of powerful strikes, aiming to find his least protected and most sensitive area on his body. He knew it was a feint, designed to have him protect that which was injured so that she could present a deadly blow to a target such as his head or his nether regions. But regardless of what he knew, she was quickly successful, striking at his kidney and causing him to reel in pain. She followed with an expertly executed grapple, bringing him to the ground and pinning him, dagger at his throat. He was finished and completely taken aback.

She sat there for a moment, holding the dagger at his throat, her face close to his even as her powerful grip pressed down. Her perfume smelled of a rose he had found on one of the Mid Rim worlds, of which he couldn't remember as the woman of his dreams pressed a dagger to his jugular, deciding whether to cut him or not. Regardless, his heart was racing for various reasons.

“You really are quite handsome. The datapads just do not give you credit,” she whispered in his ear, her sultry voice sending shivers down his spine even as he feared his life could be cut in a single flourish along his jugular.

He couldn't believe it. All of this, to find him? Was he being hunted and didn't know about it? So many thoughts at once, and none leading to any answers. Honesty was the best course of action here.

“You were so beautiful I hesitated. I never hesitate," he replied in a near whisper, making sure his words were carefully chosen and his mouth and throat moved as little as possible.

“Deadly and gorgeous is my business, darling,” a finger released its grip on the dagger still at his throat, touching the scars on his cheeks. “These add a rugged look about you. I almost couldn’t take this job you were too perfect.”

A silence overcame the two as they thought through their options. Laren had two, both of which were less than ideal. One was to die at her hands, his blood spilling onto the pavement as she walked away with ten thousand credits and her own life. The other, and the more optimistic option, had him either talk his way out or somehow use what little body weight advantage he had over her to knock her off balance, escape her vicegrip and possibly escape for his life or, if she followed, begin the battle anew.

She let go of his arm, though he didn’t move as the dagger was still held at his throat. She bent down further, her face nearly touching the pavement and her eyes poured into his own. Her smile was soft and, somehow, genuine in her moment of triumph. He found his heart racing, knowing she could feel his chest pounding under the pressure of her own body keeping him in place.

“So about this whole dagger-at-my-throat deal… perhaps it’s best -”

The dagger dropped and her slender finger touched his lips gently, causing him to stop in mid-sentence, stunned by the act.

“Darling, you passed the test with flying colours. You will find a datapad near your docking pad in a small container detailing a job that is double the price of this one. It’s not everyday one can land a hit on me,” she flashed a grin, proving at once her arrogance, and her passion for her trade: bounty hunting.

"Will I ever see you again?" The woman who beat him. The only woman who mattered.

She hesitated, unsure as to whether she should say what she wanted, going out of her comfort zone. He had learned that much from their duel.“You’ll find my method of contact, should you so desire. Until then, sweet dreams, handsome.”

Laren barely realized she had kissed him on the cheek with a tenderness he knew she reserved for very few. His eyes began closing shut. He had fallen for her again, this time a serum that would knock him on conscious. Laren barely noticed as the mystery woman stood up, taking her daggers with her, folding her cloak over her shoulders to rejoin the throng unnoticed, leaving Laren dreaming her floral scent, her immaculately executed fight plan, and the woman of his dreams, quite literally. The woman who had beat him. The woman he would find again. And, possibly, the only thing Laren could come to love in the entire galaxy.