Fiction Gallery

I can't believe i'm about to write a fiction about Howie and pants. But here goes:

It was a long time ago in a galaxy somewhere north of where we live now. I hear it is cold there, and everyone is extremely polite. Anyway, Howlader Taldrya had just received a delightfully comfortable pair of pants from his best friend Mav. Howie and Mav had been best pals for almost 15 years. Their friendship was built on mutual trust and respect, and there was no better gift than such a wonderfully comfortable pair of pants. Howie loved his pants. He wore them everywhere. The gym, the bar, work, sleep, even swimming; Howie never took those pants off! And then, that fateful day in the last month of 33 ABY came. Mav and Howie were outlining plans for a new type of warfare. This warfare would involve smaller battles that Mav referred to as bins. These combat bins would provide a small amount of resources to each of the clans. Howie liked this idea greatly, and he rubbed his pants in appreciation. “Mav, you are such a great friend. I like your idea. Also, these pants are great.” “Howie, you need to wash your pants.” “No I don’t. They are more comfortable this way. I don’t like to change.” “Please change your pants.” “No. And I don’t appreciate that tone, Mav. Please, let us continue our friendship.” And so Howie and Mav moved past this small dispute. Mav continued to discuss bin warfare, and Howie continued to be pleased with Mav’s plan. And of course, he was a big fan of his pants. Then Mav decided to issue orders to the clans. He wanted to make certain that each set of orders clearly identified how the bin warfare would work. Specific percentages for each mission type. Howie was concerned, but the comfort of his pants kept him from becoming too upset. “Mav, I don’t think it’s completely necessary for us to put the same thing in each one of the orders. Maybe we just say it once, and then the clans can assume that the same information applies to all of them? “No Howie. It’s important to me that we make it clear in each order how many resources the clans will receive.” “You do realize that is going to create a great deal of work for me, don’t you? It seems excessive. I don’t think we should do this. I urge you to reconsider.” “NO Howie, we will do this my way. Make the necessary adjustments.” Howie was displeased.
“This is becoming close to jackassery, Mav. I demand that you only do it once.” “No. Do as I say.” “I am getting angry, friend Mav. Please do not make me do something I regret.” “Are you threatening me?” And with that, Howie lost his temper. “MAV, YOU JACKASS! YOU DON’T NEED TO PUT THIS IN EVERY ORDER. JUST DO IT ONCE!” And then Howie stood up and ripped his pants in anger. He ripped them completely in half, and threw the pieces of his torn pants at Mav, as though they were the torn pieces of his soul. And from that day forward, Howie and Mav became bitter rivals, arguing over the smallest of details, but never as much as they would every time bin warfare reared its head.

The End.

A black mane with streaks of grey was tidily combed back and an Officer uniform was worn with straight seams and polished buttons. The man known as Howlader was the image of perfection and refinement until a yawn severed his focus.

"Do I bore you Sergeant?" His superior spoke with grit and discontent. "Perhaps you'll wake up in the mines of Kessel?"

The Sergeant merely shrugged his shoulders and stared blankly. "Nah, probably not."

For a long time he felt special and placed himself on a pedestal. Something stirred within, his reflexes, despite his burdening fatigue, were sharp.

"What did you say to me?"

"Sorry, I meant to say, probably not. Sir?" He grinned as his yawn faded. He had little respect for the man barking orders. For his 'superior' was merely a pawn without any combat experience. He was a wet noodle, a green-horn with good academic scores.

"If it wasn't for your piloting skills and sharp dress, you'd be out of here!" He knew that Howlader was held in high regard and viewed as an asset. In essence, he was becoming untouchable.

"What about now?" Howlader smirked, dropped his pants and tussled his hair. "Pants don't make the man, nor does ass kissing your way into leadership roles. A role you're currently just playing at."

The men in line shifted their attention to their comrade and their jaws dropped.

"Maybe I'll take that position from you, sir." He added, delivering a sarcastic salute that caused his superior's blood to boil.

Even as starships departed their designated pads and the world around them proceeded without a flicker, the world of the ranking Officer slowed to a crawl as he forced the lump in his throat down with a gulp.

"Stand down, Sergeant!"

"Stand up, Commander. Be a man!" Shouted the pantsless one. "Were at war and you want to run drills from that brand new datapad of yours?!"

"I, I-"

"I'll fight this whole war, as I stand." Howlader yawned again. "But you have to give me those bars." He growled, jabbing the Commander in the chest with his index finger.

"How dare y-"

"Eh, shut up." Howlader continued as the men surrounding him became riled with rebellion and flocked to the man they wanted to fly with, fight with, die with.

Shouts and jeering filled the courtyard as the men grabbed the Commander and forced him to his knees.

"This is my armada now." Spoke Howlader as that familiar energy lifted his soul with torrents of energy.

With two fingers, Howlader plucked the bars from the sniveling Commander's breast coat and pinned it to his own disheveled uniform.

"Send him to Kessel." Howlader sneered and threw his arms into the air. "To war!"

"But sir, your pants." One of the men pointed.

Howlader burst out into laughter before shifting into a steely gaze.

"A promise is a promise, ensign."

Newfound loyalty was found that day and Howlader stayed true to his word. His men would follow him to hell and back. Not because he was an Officer. But because he was one of them. It didn't matter what one looked like, only that they had the balls to stand up and face off with the status quo.

Kah Manet 8343

Liar Liar, Pants on Fire

The inky black of night embraced the trees of the forest, a soft whisper of wind tickling the necks of the group that sat around the glowing flames of their campfire.  The team of younglings gazed upon their leader, a grizzled Gungan that had vanished but returned to the ranks of the light, and they listened in awe as he regaled them with stories.  Some had taken sticks and were roasting treats on the fire to assemble tasty snacks, while others were enamored with what their older friend was saying. 
“Havesa youin’ heard of da tale of de Pantsless one?” asked Kah.
The younglings looked amongst themselves and they shook their heads, having heard that the Gungan usually only told stories with lessons in them.  Had the jawa juice he had been sipping made him stray from that path? The younglings hoped so.  
“Not so long ago, mesa had heard dissin’ tale.  The Dark Brotherhood’s Masta at Ahms, Howlader, was inna battle againstin’ a boombad dat wasa his equal in every way.  The two clashed for what seemed like hours, neida givin’ da odda an inch in da battle.  Saber clashed saber, powers crashed against powers, and it seemin’ as though de immovable object had met it’s unstoppable force.” 
Kah sipped from his canteen for a moment and wiped his bill, capping it back up and leaning forward.  He gazed into the youngling’s eyes and smiled. 
“But, as wesa knows, Howie’s mind is far from da steel trap it used to be.  And, as dis opponent knew, the Mastah at Ahms was finally feeling de kiss of fatigue.  His enemy didin’ a lunge fohwahd, and with a powerful strike caused Howlader ta stumble backward. An insidious chortle rattled from da throat of his enemy, the sound slithering into Howlader’s elderly ears. Howie’s enemy lunged again and struck, and den struck again. And den he spoke,

“‘Whassa madda Sith?’ asked da hooded figure, his azure blade bearing down on da crimson saber of da Mastah at Ahms. Howie glared, and replied wit venom ‘Nothing.’ and the insidious chortle came forth once more, and da enemy snapped his fingers once. ‘Liar, liar...pants on fire.’ And when da words left his mouth, Howie looked down and gazed upon hisa legs and saw dat his pants had burst into flames.” With those last words, Kah began to pantomime patting out invisible flames and continued to explain to the younglings how Howie’s fatigue allowed his mind to slip and his defense dropped enough to allow illusions to spring forth like bats from a cave. He then leaned back, took a sip from his canteen once more, and then ended the story. He explained how Howlader, with a new found fury from being fooled, lifted his hand and released a torrent of dark energy that wracked the opponent’s body with electricity. Howlader had been playing possum, to test his opponent and had grown tired of their duel.
“Da result of dat battle was dat Howlader, ta ensure dat dat particular trick could never be played onna himsa again, decided hesa would never wear pants again. Some tink hesa be crazy, others tink his refusal to wearin’ his pants be a tad much, but yousa have ta admit dat it be effective.” said Kah, “So, whaddya tink da lesson here is?” “Always prepare for the unexpected?” “Good thought but nosah.” said Kah, taking another swig from his canteen. “Try and lull your opponent into an overconfidence so they’ll make an error?” “Again, good but nuh uh.” said Kah, again drinking from his canteen, enjoying the bitterness of the alcohol in it. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to partake in this particular vice. “Remove a weakness to not have it be exploited?” asked a youngling. “In a way, yessah, but in truth da lesson be dat sometime, da crazy works.” replied Kah with a boisterous laugh. The younglings nodded and looked at each other, exchanging glances to one another that clearly said “This is what Odan-Urr considers a good chaperone?”

OPTION 1

Major Hector Ricmore Clan Vizsla Eos City, Arx

Eos City was filled with pure and utter chaos. Soldiers moved to their assigned points, medics and volunteers carried the injured to field hospitals, while others carried munitions to defensive positions. The air was filled with flashes of blaster cannon fire and the occasional explosion when one of the anti air weapons managed to shoot down a Collective fighter. With the sheer amount of ships fielded by The Collective keeping the ships from performing bombing runs was the best the AA could do.

Within one of the few designated landing zones sat a GX1 Diplomatic Short Hauler named Ship. The ship lowered its ramp allowing a red armored figure to emerge. The figure exited the ship before waving and calling to one of the passing soldiers.

“Thank you for coming. Major Ricmore here with a few crates of medical supplies, ammunition, and several E Web emplacements. Where do you want them?”

“Bring the medical supplies to the nearest field hospital. You can find it if you take the left exit out of the landing zone and make a right. Bring the E Web and ammo to wherever you were posted.”

“Are you sure that’s the best place to put it? We could-”

“I need to get going. It’ll be fine.”

The soldier left in a hurry, no doubt moving to his assigned post.

Hector walked back into the Ship and picked up one of the medical crates. He began moving towards the field hospital. Pausing a moment, he activated his commlink and contacted the Deathwatch Artillery Battalion.

“Major Ricmore checking in, how’s everyone holding up?”

“Got tired of hanging with the flyboys major?”

“Ha! You wish. Nah figured I could do more good planetside than against the Collective fleet. Besides I’ve got a plan that I could use your help with.”

The comm unit crackled with a variety of responses from the men and women of the Battalion.

“Count me in major.”

“Are we going to blow something up again?”

“Getting back at the Collective? You don’t need to even ask.”

The Zygerrian let out a pleased smirk. “Happy to hear the approval. Now I’m certain you all have realized that the Collective lacks any proper transports for their infantry, they need to land capital ships in order to offload any of their troops.”

He paused for a minute as he dropped off the crate of medical supplies.

“Landing their capital ships puts them at risk from our artillery and heavy weapons platforms. Many of which are currently occupied with the swarms of fighters above the city but I have a plan to deal with them.”

“Is it dangerous or stupid?”

“I’m hurt that you would jump to that conclusion.”

“Is it dangerous or stupid?”

Hector let out a huff. “Dangerous, but only to me. Normally it would also affect allied pilots but the Iron Legion’s orders to keep the skies clear still stands.”

“What could possibly be a risk to all allied fighters?”

“Massive Emp detonation.”

“Are you mad? You could cripple our entire comm network!”

“As long as the transmitters are outside the range it should be fine. The ships should be high enough to ensure that happens. If not, the Collective will be just as hampered as we are and we can deal with it then. I’ll need some volunteers to help unload my ship and load the emp devices onboard.”

Some of the battalion agreed. The supplies were offloaded, the E Webs set up in strategic positions, and the emp devices brought onto the ship.

As some of the volunteers were returning to their positions Hector noticed a short Pantoran walking towards him.

“Hello there! Major Ricmore right?” “Yes, can I help you?”

“Ah, you can call me Sei. Bossman heard about your plan and sent me in case things go wrong. I’m a scout, I’ll be your eyes and ears on the Collective.”

The Strategist nodded. “A bit of insurance couldn’t hurt. I want you with the Deathwatch Artillery Battalion by the Proton artillery. The vantage point will allow you to have eyes and the Collective and you can act as a spotter if needed.”

The Pantoran was practically vibrating with excitement. “Yessir, I’ll be on my ways now.” He turned and bolted towards his assigned position.

Hector shook his head mirthfully before climbing onto the Diplomatic Short Hauler. Strapping himself in, he turned on the ship before lifting off into the air.

The Collective fighters were on him in moments, blaster fire ripping through the light armor of his ship.

Unbuckling his harness, Hector quickly ran towards the small hangar within his ship. Opening the cockpit of the escape craft, the Zygerrian all but threw himself into his V wing, Ship within a Ship.

The pilot opened the hangar doors and flew out into the atmosphere.

Some of the Collective fighters broke formation to chase. He couldn’t allow that.

Activating his commlink, Hector contacted his Deathwatch allies. “Activate the EMP now.”

“We can’t. You aren’t clear of the blast radius!”

“Just activate it now!” The Zygerrian yelled.

A distant explosion alerted Hector that his order had been followed. His descent towards the planet's surface became a chaotic death spiral as he lost all control over his ship.

“Son of a Kath Hound.”

Beep beep beep beep

Alarms sounded throughout the ship as the pilot struggled to regain any semblance of control over his vessel. Rebooting the system, Hector was able to nudge the ship just enough to avoid smash into a building, instead the V wing clipped the side and began to spin out of control.

The Zygerrian wrestled with the controls, desperately trying to end the spinning and fix the ships descent. The ship continued to spin until it smashed into the ground and everything went black.

Some time later

Hector awoke to the bright red light of a flare shining above the crash site. Blinking his eyes at the harsh light he attempted to get up, only to collapse as a sharp pain ripped through his chest.

“You doing okay down there buddy?”

Raising his head towards the voice Hector saw a head of purple hair and pale blue skin illuminated by the flare.

Sei reached down and pried open the cockpit. Placing his arms under Hector’s armpits, he lifted him up and out of the ship. As he lifted Hector, the Zygerrian’s boot caught the edge of the ship, causing them both to tumble to the ground.

“Aaargh” He shouted in pain.

The Pantoran got up and rushed over. “Kriff, sorry man. You really aren’t looking so good.”

The pair heard footsteps and voices growing closer. Sei got up and called “Oi! We’re over here”

Hector’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wait! We don’t know if their friendly”

Sei crouched down and patted Hector on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it big guy. You crashed closer to our lines. Besides, your plan seemed to have worked out perfectly. With the fighters blown straight to the afterlife our cannons were able to focus on their ground forces. Their armor can’t get near our lines and we’re holding quite well thanks to the E Webs you brought.”

The footsteps grew even closer and revealed a strike team of Vizsla troops. They gathered around the pair and lifted Hector up before carrying him to a field hospital.