The molten, crimson suns of the odd tropical planet relentlessly battered the surface with intense heat. Blackened shrubs with long, pointed leaves and odd cerulean fruit swayed with a cool ocean breeze, and in the distance water could be heard splashing against a seemingly endless expanse of sandy coastline. Animals could be heard, tiny insects chirping in high pitched tones, or mammals in the distance sounding their baritone mating calls. Birds with four wings in vibrant colors flew past and perched on the tips of the trees, dividing their attention between picking among the bark for food, and staring at the foreign guest to their shores.

Laren Uscot lay sprawled face-down on a small patch of the beach, his body contorted in odd angles. Much of his clothing had been torn and soiled with Laren's bloody and sweat during the violent crash. Nearby, what remained of the items he had stored in a small compartment under his cockpit seat lay mostly ruined across the shore, though there was likely something in there that could aid the Pantoran - if he ever woke up, that is. In the distance, what remained of his starfighter was smouldering, having burned throughout the night. The mercenary wasn't quite conscious yet, but he would soon realize that he was stuck on a deserted, tropical island. Or perhaps a desert island. Or rather, more accurately, he was stuck on a speck of land in the middle of an ocean.

As awareness flooded the man's aching body, his eyes shot open. Laren's first thoughts came instinctively from years of training and conditioning. He remembered - what? Something about the sensors and this planet. Tropical drinks came to mind, and the bright flash of laser fire skirted across his thoughts. Then he realized he was covered in sand, including his numerous cuts and bruises and -

Excruciating pain. Curses was all he could manage to think. It wasn't the first time he had broken his leg, but it had been quite awhile since he was in such a precarious situation without immediate medical access. Besides his leg and the cuts, he thought he might have had a broken rib or three, but he couldn't be sure. He shook his head - gently, though, since it felt heavy with pain and weariness. Add a concussion to the long list of his life threatening injuries on an unknown planet with too much heat and one too many suns. His thought process stumbled for a moment, his mind blank, before veering in a new direction. He needed to know more about his situation. *Though it might help if I wasn't laying on my karkin' face*, he thought dimly.

With a quick heave, he forced himself around and onto his back with a deafening cry of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and panted as he attempted to calm himself down. Deep breaths in, and deep breaths out was the old Imperial first aid exercise. That was about all he remembered, besides how to make a temporary splint or sling. He wasn't the most adept in battlefield medicine, let alone simple first aid.

A minute or so passed before the pain was manageable once more. He opened his eyes again, though this time he regretted it. The world was tinged in hues of vibrant red because of its twin suns that battered his vision. Why was it all the sandy planets had to have twin suns and cause loads of problems? He let the thought slide as he looked around. In front of him was a vast expanse of ocean, the water the color of fresh blood. It was just an illusion, however, as the water washed up on the shore it was as transparent and salty as the rest. He tilted his head a little, and to his left - which he realized was somewhere close to facing east - he caught a glimpse of the patch of blackened tropical shrubbery that occupied the island. He was stuck on a desert island. But was it a desert island on the ocean? He dropped his brief concern of semantics and turned his attention to his right, looking for his gear. Not for the first time since regaining consciousness, he regretted looking.

Among the small compartment that remained of his emergency gear nearby was mostly burned or broken beyond repair. However, a few items that survived the crash stuck out. His pair of magna-gloves were all but untouched, merely covered in sand and soot. A few paces further, Laren's sharp eyes caught the exposed screen of his Assassin's datapad among the smoldering junk. As he began to look on his own person, he realized he was missing everything except for the Inquisitorious Stilleto that remained in his left boot.

"I'm living a bloody joke," Laren mumbled hoarsely. What in the nine dungeons was he supposed to do with a pair of gloves, a knife, and a datapad? Fate was not smiling on the poor man today, it seemed. "I always knew I was going to die, but never in such a - a *boring* way." He realized he could talk aloud whenever he chose. Who was around to judge the stranded man talking out loud to himself?

All that was left to do was drag himself under a bush and wait for help. Standard Plagueis protocol had forced Laren to install a tracking device on his Starfighter for official business. He never mentioned to the leadership that he took it off, on occasion, though he was thankful this trip was not one of them. Assuming, of course, it wasn’t destroyed in the crash landing.

“Nothing to do but wait.”

***Eighteen hours later***

Laren’s eyes shot open, though this time red-tinged night greeted his eyes. In the distance he heard the roar of a spacecraft landing, and he could just make out footsteps traversing through the shrubs. Someone had come to save him after all, it seemed.

Someone stepped out from behind the mercenary, their face silhouetted by one of the three moons occupying the night sky. Kelly Mendes stared down at the gaunt face of Laren, a sinister smile gracing her full red lips.

“You’re a bloody fool,” she began. “Do you even remember what happened?”

“Honestly, the last thing I remember is leaving with the *Paladin*,” he replied honestly.

Kelly laughed before continuing, “We were ambushed, by who we don’t know. The Headmaster managed to escape with the Paladin because you were a karking madman.”

“See, you keep saying that, but in which way? I am a murderer for hire, after all.”

“You really don’t remember sending your hyperspace rings flying at the frigate with the downed shields? You don’t remember ramming your Starfighter into a corvette before spinning wildly through the atmosphere of this useless planet? You don’t re –“

“I get your point,” Laren cut in. “I’m insane.”

“You are a Praetor, after all.”

“Kelly, enough. I’m pulling rank. Get some troopers and get me out of –“

Suddenly Laren was floating off the ground at eye level with Kelly. Her focus was visible, maintain a telekinetic hold over an individual like Laren, though she still had time to quip, “How about I just float you on over?”

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore brought Tra'an to wakefulness slowly. His fingers gripped the sand slowly as he raised his head and found himself confronting a tropical climate with naught but his lightsaber, a holoreader, and a strategically placed sheet, to provide shade from the glaring sun.

The sand was warm, but not brutally so, having been kept in the shade through the heat of the day. It was pleasant, and a surprise to find himself alone in the middle of Force forsaken nowhere. As he stretched and considered his option, it occurred to him that it had been some decades since he had taken a real vacation and just relaxed.

Between running Plagueis, and before it growing to power within the Brotherhood, he'd had very little time of peace and quiet to enjoy reading. As he picked up the holo-reader, he determined that it was filled with enough material to keep him busy for months, just enjoying the backlog of historical and fictional tales he had accumulated.

Idly, he wondered if he should bother trying to escape what was obviously meant to keep him sidelined from the activities at hand in the Brotherhood, as people jockeyed for power with hopes of the death or removal of Sarin.

Afterall, many people coveted the hope of being named Deputy Grand Master to Mav once Sarin was out of the picture. The lure of power and prestige was too much for some people. As he settled back to read, his only regret was in not having a bottle of Whyren's to enjoy. Though, he mused, at least he wouldn't have the agony of finishing the bottle and not having more. That, after all, was true torture.

As the sun continued to move across the sky, and the waves up the beach, Tra'an lost himself in time, far away from the worries of the Brotherhood.

Kul’tak glared at the last vestiges of creaking metal sinking beneath the frothing ocean. Damaged in the battle above, his vessel had nose dived to the surface below, where it was unceremoniously swallowed by the waiting maw of the deep waters. He had managed only to grab three items in his haste to escape drowning himself, and now he wondered exactly how well they would do him. He scanned the beach of this apparent island he was now stranded on. Well, to say it was an “island” was a bit of an overstatement. Standing at one beach, the Zabrak could clearly make out the edge of the opposite beach not all that far away. A short sprint through the sweltering glaze of the planet’s sun would put him at the other side, though there wouldn’t be much for him to do when he arrived. His fate was now dubious as both sides’ fighters zipped about erratically in their macabre dance. If one of the enemy so much as spotted him, he’d be a perfect target for a quick strafing run.

The shadow sighed wistfully and plopped onto the warm sand. He rummaged in his cloak to set the three items he’d nabbed earlier on the sand in front of him. His trusty lightsaber had been the closest thing nearby, and a lifesaver for one who was trained how to use it. Now it represented nothing. It was just here. The next item was his zhaboka, the time-honored weapon of his people. Its blades were short, but its reach made poking the weak points in battle armor much easier. The last item, one he usually kept hooked to the firm middle of his back above his waist, was his thermal imploder. A devastating weapon in close quarters, it was able to clear a room when needed. Not that he needed a room cleared on this miserable pile of sand.

Here he sat, with plenty of ability to kill anyone he encountered but with no one to encounter. Annoyed, Kul triggered the activation mechanism on the imploder and tossed it into the sea. He waited the appropriate time before smiling as bubbles rose to the surface. He was surprised, however, when a handful of some species of fish floated to the top as well.

*Well, at least I won’t starve just yet.*

There once was a senator from Naboo
Who had many plans to do
And what a surprise
For he'd tell you no lies
The tale of Darth Plagueis the wise