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ALIAS SMACK DOWN 2017!!!

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"HELLOOOOO EVERYBOODY!!!" A male's voice said, pitched over a crowd of innumerable spectators. "WELCOOOOME TO ALIAS SMACKDOWN 2017!!!!"

 

"What's an alias? Well, if you're important, you would already know that. Because this joke is clearly over-used. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!!!"

 

A small man stood on the top of a repulsor-lift platform that overlooked a large arena. It was a huge construction of marvelous design. It was cut into five parts that were miles wide. Each part represented a different type of planetary climate and weather: the first, was a large desert arena like Tatooine, but deadlier, with huge dunes and constant raging sandstorms; the second was a frozen tundra with very little to offer but the bitter cold, like the frigid lands of Ilum; the third was a large open plain with knee high savannah grass and intermittent tree cover - Cathar, eat your heart out; the fourth was a dense forest that harkened to Kashykkian design; and finally, the fifth part of the arena was a large urban terrain covered by Skyscrapers and a multitude of intersecting streets. The last part of the Arena was designed to look just like the Coruscant Upper Levels, because who posts in the Bowels anyway?

 

Each arena stage was lit by luminescent generators that hung thousands of feet in the air. These generators gave off the realistic feeling of sunlight and warmth. But they aren't realistic. They're all synthetic. The weather and arena effects are controlled by underground geothermal generators that were made up purely for this event. They give no statistical advantage or disadvantage to anyone. They just sound cool.

 

Cameras littered the stadium and no matter where they were placed, they always had the perfect angle. It was amazing; almost like everything was conveniently placed because someone knew exactly how the event would go down.

 

"HELLO, MY NAME IS BIG WILL. YOU MAY KNOW ME AS THE ART MOD OF AN AWESOME FORUM CALLED: JEDI.RP. I'M KIND OF A BIG DEAL. ANYWAY... LET'S MEET OUR 26 CONTESTANTS WHO WE TOTALLY DIDN'T KIDNAP AND ARE HERE OF THEIR OWN VOLITION!!!! WINK!"

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“FIRST UP! WE HAVE THE DESERT CONTESTANTS: DORDJOOBA THE HUTT, CYRII of CLAN KKAK, HK-52 and, my personal favorite, KEENAVA OOTUNAVI!!!”

 

_________________________

 

 

Cyrii’s mind wandered. All he could remember was the bag over his head. He didn’t know where he was or what was going on. All he saw, were blue skies and sand. Yes, the sand was stormy, but he didn’t care.

MY HOME?! He thought, naively.

 

The sheepish Jawa was so ecstatic by the potential of returning to his homeland, that he scurried around with fiendish alacrity to find his sand crawler.

 

Utinni! He cried, glee spread all over his features. Certainly, he missed his misfit friends. But this, this was amazing. He never thought he’d find his way back home so soon. In fact, he was so excited, that he slammed headfirst into a metallic knee joint and hit the ground with an audible thud.

 

A small cylindrical device rolled out of Cyrii’s pouch as an unintentional report and Cyrii vaguely recalled what the device might have been. Before he could retract his foolish accident, however, he found himself face to face with the barrel of an E-11 blaster rifle.

 

Umm… whoops? Cyrii mused. The barrel was close to his face. He could just make out the glowing blue photoreceptors through the sand.

 

-gulp-

 

((1))

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Idle Query: It seems I have stumbled upon a block in my programming. I do not remember what happened over the last few hours. One moment I was standing in a lab, and the next, I am here and all my joints are covered in sand.

 

Agitated Realization: I think I may have been drug into a meaningless escapade of shenanigans as a form of literary masturbation. Hmm…

 

HK shook his arms with futility. He tried to dislodge some of the sand from his servos and only succeeded in spreading the sand around. He was going to try and salvage something from his inconvenient predicament when a small rat-like creature slammed into his knee.

 

Furious Rebuttal: Jawa, I believe you have made an error. I would retreat if I were you.

 

Of course, the warning was just a formality. The barrel of his E-11 reached the point of the Jawa’s forehead before the little vermin could run. It seemed he was stuck in this hole. But, some fun never hurt anything. He fondled the trigger of his rifle, prepared to fire, but didn’t process the outlying factor. A small glimmer shone in the distance and before he could react, the thermal detonator exploded, scattering the droid’s chassis to the wind and pushing it a few feet away from the Jawa – who was also caught in the fire.

 

Irritated Plea: Whoever put me here. I hate you. Please get me out.

 

It took a moment to stand. But when he was able, the HK unit stood and fired a few shots at the smoldering Jawa.

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Dordjooba the Slug awoke to a few hundred kilotons of sand slamming his face. It was a violent wake-up call, but the sedatives required to put Dordjooba under were staggering. Even awake, the slug was not very lucid. His head wobbled and his eyes were losing focus. Some part of his brain still clung to the details of his yacht. He couldn’t imagine why there was sand on his yacht, but those were details for Caddar. Oh, wait, Caddar was a Black Sun spy. We had to filet him like a fish. I remember that.

 

“Leialla? You there? Kaldesh? Anybody?” Dorjooba mumbled. The volume wasn’t significant to be picked up over the sandstorm, but the lack of answer was still troubling to the poor Hutt. This must be more of Smash Daisaku’s shenanigans. I swear to all that is ugly and corrupt. I will find him and I will spray his viscera for all to see. Rage took over his delirium and Dordjooba swung his massive head around in protest. It didn’t help any. It only really succeeded in making him even dizzier.

 

Eventually, Dordjooba caught sight of a dark figure in the sand. He realized – slowly – that he wasn’t on his yacht anymore. And, to make matters worse, he didn’t have his armor or chariot. Which meant he had to fight all on his own. His rage was building. The more he understood about this place, the more he wanted to leave.

Was this dark figure behind his predicament? Was it to blame?

Well… I’ll show it!!

Dordjooba moved with surprising speed and closed on the dark figure with a mighty slam. Take that, whoever you are!!!

 

((1))

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“Alright, Urik! You asked-" Keenava said, fire in her eyes.

 

And it was at that moment that Keenava realized that she wasn’t on Arachnakorr anymore. And yet, she was still being covered with sand. So, I couldn’t possibly have gone somewhere that didn’t have sand?

 

As if in answer, a large wad of sand popped her in the mouth.

Yuck, gee. Thanks.

 

She could feel the warm fire building in her heart. The need for action was strong. It was almost like she was needed somewhere else and this entire place was just a diversion. But she had no idea where she was. Diversion or no, she had to do something quickly or she’d never hear the end of it. If Exodus found out that she somehow left Arachnakorr before her training was done.

 

Keenava’s could feel gooseflesh cover the length of her back and intensify at the nape of her neck. I don’t even want to think about that.

 

What do I do though? And where am I?

 

Keenava looked down to the blades in her hands. They were still buzzing with activity. One of them burned with the fire of Kara, her inner rage demon. And the other, cracked with the icy chill of Kava, her inner demon of logic and practicality. She still had her weapons. Wherever this place was, she still needed her blades?

Keenava found more questions than answers. Frustration replaced focus for a moment and she tried to slam a vengeful hand at the air. But, a large shadowy figure erupted from the sand and Keenava’s attention shifted. What is that?!

 

Blubbery flesh arced in a furious wave toward Keenava’s head and she had to use the force to adequately dodge. She rolled to the right and came to her feet, blades ready.

 

She took a moment of silent analysis and then shot to the figure with grace and dexterity. The arc of red fire, that stood in her hand, sliced across the figures back. And the stroke of blue ice, held tightly in her other hand, stabbed into the mysterious figure’s face.

Nobody attacks me and lives.

 

((1))

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The explosion was alarming. Cyrii’s eyes were glowing with after-images and he drunkenly avoided most of the rifle blasts. He caught one in his robe and fell over, sand rushing past his face like one million tiny insects ripping pieces of his furry face off. The Jawa could barely feel his legs, but he would still endure. Whatever happened here, he had to find his clan. They would know a way out of here. They would know what was going on. And if they didn’t, at least THEY wouldn’t shoot at him… A lot.

 

He didn’t really leave on the best of terms, but he was sure that after a great deal of apologizing, he would be welcomed back with semi-open arms. He just had to find a way past this droid. Wait… Droid!

 

I’m a Jawa! I know droids!

 

Cyrii cheered inwardly but grumbled when another stray bolt hit him in the foot.

 

Thinking quickly, the Jawa rolled to his feet and he limped quickly to a large dune. He reached into his bag and pulled out his hydro spanner. He could hear the droid cursing in the sand even through the delirium that clouded his mind. The metal sound was so familiar that Cyrii could internalize how the droid’s leg and arm joints were working.

 

When the droid had made it close enough to start firing again, Cyrii closed in with his hydro spanner and started to work feverishly at the droid’s chassis.

 

((2))

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Angry Command: You get back here you filthy little thing! How dare you make me trudge after you!

 

HK-52 was close to just throwing his rifle to the ground and walking away. It seemed whatever had put him here was content to watch him suffer for his mediocrity. But some niggling part of his programming wouldn’t let him leave. A code, buried deep in the denser parts of his droid brain, ordered him to obey even the simplest command given by his master. Even if his master was metaphorical and the command was implicit or vague.

 

Futile Assertion: It seems I have no choice. I must kill the filthy rat monster.

 

The droid examined the strategic layout of his surroundings and approached the dune that the beleaguered rat was hiding behind. He readied his gun for just the right moment and waited for just the right moment. He swung his barrel over the dune and aimed right between the wriggling vermin’s golden eyes. And then, the Jawa scurried away. Wait, not away; the Jawa scurried right into the droid’s leg and began to try and dismantle him.

 

Despairing Plea: Get off me you rag covered, flea-bitten, sorry excuse for comic relief!

 

His shots were wild, but HK kept plugging away at the Jawa in the hopes of finally pushing the rodent off of his leg.

 

((2))

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The pain brought a powerful clarity to Dorjooba’s mind. The sweltering heat and sand of his former home world were familiar. The sandstorm that, even now, billeted his face, was unneeded and unwelcome. This wasn’t his yacht, that much was certain. Whatever this was, he didn’t like it. And he certainly didn’t like being stabbed in the face by a meddlesome Twi’lek.

 

Dordjooba roared and threw the Twi’lek from his belly with one powerful arm. His thick murky blood spilled about his face, marring the vision of his left eye. His tail sang with a powerfully stinging song that was filled with agonizingly high notes of rage and hate. But he could still see enough to fight. He could still visualize the path that the Twi’lek took and slithered after her, ignoring the flood of fire that coursed through his gigantic jiggly body.

 

Warbling flesh cut through the motions of the Twi’lek, to catch her in the throes of her dodge. She was clearly a fast opponent, but Dordjooba’s sheer mass and fury could make up for his speed. With a roll to the right, following her feet, Dorjooba curled his tail around and blocked her path. She would have to jump over his girth or fight his grip. He had her right where he wanted her.

 

The giant slug whipped his tail and slammed his right hand down at the same time, trying to catch her from two opposing angles.

 

 

((2))

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Keenava felt the slime riddled body of her assailant just micrometers from her own as she stood on the creature’s back. The material of her cloth shoes was not enough of a membrane to shelter her from the disgust she felt deep in her mind. She had never once touched a Hutt this closely before. Even Sheog, who had been kind to her, never pressed his body this close. It was a necessary evil. But… blech! And the surface of his body brought her nothing but an upset stomach. The Twi’lek looked for a way out. She wanted to jump to the sand and rid herself of the weird feeling she felt. It wasn’t so much a physical incapability, but a strong revulsion that kept her rooted in place. She got her wish though; not in a way that she would have liked, but beggars can’t be choosers. His hand piled into her and she was propelled off the bloated worm with alacrity.

 

She was dazed for a moment and had to leap to avoid the Hutt’s ambitious advance. His breathing was heavy and the damage to his cranial cavity was severe. The murky blood that covered his face was thick. But his smile begat his intuition. The cogs in his brain were obvious and although Hutts were generally hard to read, Keenava had no difficulty reading his body language.

 

The obsidian assassin bent lower toward the sand and waited until the worm threw his punch. Then, when his back was open, Keenava shot forward with impossible speed and sidestepped his massive skull. She spun around and sliced deftly from the crown of the Hutt’s head to the middle of his neck. The belching sound of goop as it fell from his skin was enough to threaten vomit once more, but Keenava could not afford diversion. Her momentum hit the sand with a tumble on the Hutt’s opposite side, and she sprinted away, eager for another shot.

 

 

((2))

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Cyrii’s nose and face twitched with nerves. The blistering bolts of red fire burned into his back with harsh biting sensations, but he ignored them. He chittered and fussed as he scoured the droid for bolts to twist and turn. Each joint was another vulnerable spot and Cyrii would hit them all. He climbed, with mild difficulty, all over the droid. He even clung underneath the droid while it was trying to shoot him. It was an interesting time, but Cyrii was nearing the end of his rope. The blood soaked brown robe sagged to the ground and started to tear him from his charge.

 

He didn’t let go. The fiery determination that sprouted deep in his chest, was something Cyrii had only felt once before when he was saving his friend. She didn’t know him or understand why he tried to help her, but Cyrii would never forget that day. She was the only big person to show kindness to Cyrii. And something of her generosity would always stay with him. The fact that any goodness was left in the galaxy, was enough for Cyrii to fuel his crazy tirade.

 

When the last bolt fell, Cyrii cried in relief before plopping to the ground. Steam rose from his body and his golden eyes dimmed.

I did it…

 

Thank you, Emily, for your strength.

 

((3))

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Miserable Resignation: It seems I have run out of legs to stand on.

 

HK-52 received many alarm klaxons that broke the relative silence of his H.U.D. His consistent regenerative statistical analysis was growing dim and his chances of survival were now 0.33 percent, which was pitiful odds. Recalling a famous figure from the past, HK-52 mused: Reminiscent Action phrase: Never tell me the odds.

 

The droid gripped his E-11 with what strength he had left in his servos and launched a decorative countermeasure. A sparkly ball of white fire launched from his chest piece and landed a few feet away in the sand. The Jawa, whose body seemed spent and inert, took note of the shiny object and began to drag itself in the direction of the countermeasure. It took little regard for its frail body and started to sacrifice its own wellbeing to retrieve and object of little to no value.

 

HK-52’s programming warmed to the opportunity presented and he aimed his E-11 precisely at the Jawa’s head. Three shots. Evenly spaced. And all within a few seconds. The satisfying thump of the Jawa’s body was enough to make an organic meat sack cry. It was an artistic representation of his vengeance toward the tiny rat. And just as HK-52 took glory in his conclusive strike, he felt the joints of his body vibrate and give way.

 

Ironic Concession: It’s the suspense that gets me.

 

((3))

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Excruciating pain blinded the Hutt to his surroundings. He had traded delirium for clarity and ran straight back into disorientation. It was an asinine race that he was stuck in against his will. He had no henchmen, he had no armor, he had no combat prowess and he was stuck in the middle of the sand. He couldn’t shake the upsetting homage to Daisaku that rose from his difficult predicament. But that grudge was long gone. He couldn’t wallow in his past. This parasite wasn’t going to leave him be and he had to deal with it in whatever way he could, or face the cold hand of death.

 

The latter seemed more likely at this point, but Dordjooba would not relinquish his dying breath without a fight. As soon as the Twi’lek came rushing back in for her next strike, Dordjooba lashed out with his arms in a blind grapple. It was a feeble attempt. His arms were lighter than usual. The sagging skin, bereft of blood, lifted with little effort but felt detached from Dordjooba’s body. With his persistence hanging on his forward momentum, it was all he had. The strength of his body fled with his blood and merged with the ground. This was not his day.

 

The blind grapple missed and Dordjooba felt the impending strike before it made its mark.

 

((3))

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Keenava saw the waning strength of the slug deflate like a balloon. The ‘sun’ dried his skin and aided with his exsanguination. It was pitiful. But Keenava was training. This was what she was made to do; killing was her destiny; killing was her art; killing was her life; the irony of her creation stood testament to the viciousness of the Sith. She would show no mercy when she begged for it as a child. She would show no hesitation when nervous feelings plagued her earliest memories. Her life would bring more death. This was how it would always be.

 

Even a childish diversion such as this would brook no dissension in her craft. Assassination was her role and the galaxy would come to fear the shadow.

 

Keenava’s red eyes climbed the massive Hutt’s body and traced the path of her final strike. Kara was called and answered with more fire. The Twi’lek’s right blade glowed white and her eyes blossomed with crimson fire. When her path was clear and her determination cemented, Keenava shot from her position and hit the Hutt with massive force, drawing a line from the tip of his tail until it met her previous cut at his neck. Viscera and blood exploded from the massive creature and caked the battlefield in gore.

I told you. You attack me, you die.

 

((3))

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“HELLO AGAIN! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! IT APPEARS OUR DECISIVE DESERT MATCH HAS CONCLUDED!” Big Will’s voice echoed throughout the big arena. The girth of the building was immeasurable and magnificent. The sound system was purposefully designed so that Big Will’s voice would carry to everyone, but that didn’t stop him from yelling his announcements.

 

“BECAUSE THIS IS ESSENTIALLY ALL REDUNDANT ANYWAY, IT IS MY JOB TO JUDGE THE COMPETITION. AND…

 

THE WINNER IS!!! AS I’M SURE EVERYONE GUESSED, KEENAVA OOTUNAVI!!!

 

WHY ARE WE CONTINUING THIS SHOW OF BARBARITY? BECAUSE BOREDOM NEVER SLEEPS!!!

 

THIS NEXT ROUND IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY PANDALORIAN BRAND CEREAL, THEY WILL PUT THE BESKAR IN YOUR YUM. ALL IT TAKES IS ONE BITE OF DELICIOUS CARDBOARD!!”

 

Big Will gestured to a large billboard that hovered hundreds of feet above him that illuminated to reveal the pandalorian’s mascot. It was a large black and white Wookie. The Wookie was grabbing a cereal bowl and throwing it across the room in an unexplained rage. Because, why not.

 

“FOR THIS NEXT CHALLENGE, BECAUSE BIG COMPETITIONS LIKE THIS TRY TO ARBITRARILY ADD CHALLENGE TO AN ALREADY CHALLENGING COMPETITION TO DRUM UP RATINGS, WE ARE GOING TO ADD A SECONDARY OBJECTIVE!!!”

 

“FOR THIS NEXT SCENARIO, WE FIND OUR COMPETITORS: T’SARA ALU, STARFIRE, LIV, ANILARA, AND LEIALLA, ALL FREEZING IN THE LAND OF TUNDRA. THEIR OBJECTIVES ARE AS FOLLOWS. THEY CAN EITHER KILL THEIR OPPONENTS OR, THEY CAN FIND THE LIGHTSABER HILT. THERE IS A LIGHTSABER HILT HIDDEN SOMEWHERE IN THE BLIZZARD. IF THEY CAN FIND IT BEFORE THE OTHERS KILL THEM, THEY WIN. GOOD LUCK COMPETITORS! AND MAY THE FORTH THERVE YOU WELL!!!!”

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Wa-wha?

 

The small blue Twi’lek awoke with a start as the first breeze hit her exposed skin. She trembled violently and looked around with frightful eyes. The last thing she remembered was a planet full of trees. A wooly man and a dark-skinned woman dropped her there. And now… Where was this? And why was it so cold?

 

What should she do? For as far as she could see, all she could see was white. White powder littered the ground and grappled her bare feet, making her wish for foot coverings. Her toes were a darker blue than usual and started to curl inward to preserve what little warmth they could. White powder from the sky assailed her body and she could find no peace from the continued onslaught. Her future seemed uncertain and flawed. But she had made it this far. This was where she was meant to be, wherever this was. She survived in that prison for a long time. The least she could do was try to find out why she was here.

 

It wasn’t much of a purpose, but something was better than nothing. T’sara started to put one foot in front of the other, thinking warmer thoughts and hoping to find something to get out of this cold.

 

((1))

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Ooof!

 

The Tamaranean exclaimed.

 

Starfire was dropped into the arena on her bum and hit a sharp rock on her way down. Picks of recognition wormed their way up her spine and she saw the world around her shine with glorious luminescence. “Oh, my! The flakes of icy whiteness. What glorious misfortune!” Starfire exclaimed, her excited expression muted by a scrunched grimace. Her nose was instantaneously plagued with a reddish hue and the tamaranean broke into a fit of sneezes.

 

Starfire curled her robe about her body and bowed her head. Her hair was speckled with ice and fog hovered a few millimeters from her mouth. She did what she could to raise the cloth to shield her body, but the lack of ultraviolet rays was stifling. Her power was diminished and she couldn’t reach her senses any further than mundane limitations would allow.

 

“Where are my friends? Where am I?” Starfire mused aloud. Her thoughts barely made it a whisper beyond her cloak. But she swore that her questions were going to get answers; someday. Turned out, that day was right that very second. The Tamaranean’s obliviousness wormed her into colliding with a small alien. It was a small blue female Twi’lek. Starfire had only ever seen two Twi’lek before and was wondering what a curious creature was doing out in the snow. Clearly not acknowledging the fact that Starfire knocked the little girl over, she continued to stare without moving to assist.

 

((1))

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Liv’s fever dream broke and she found herself in a plain of snow. Her curiosity forced her to double take. Last, she checked, she was in a bacta tank. She was fighting a manifestation of something and she was on death’s door – so to speak. The scenery was so unreal that the teen thought she was having another dream. It wasn’t a hugely implausible conclusion, but the snow felt real. The cold biting at her toes and at her legs was starting to get to her. She wrapped her leather jacket tighter around herself and trudged off in the snow, grumbling to herself.

 

She wondered where Aira and Aelyn had gone. If they really wanted to help, she would confide in them and try to reach common ground. But whose right was it to say what their intentions were? Liv had only known strangers to be cruel. She had no idea what their intentions really were. But this cold was intense. Whatever she needed to do, she needed to do it quickly. Off in the distance, Liv thought she could make out a small installation. It was squat and unassuming, but if it was shelter, she would do anything to get inside and try to work out whatever this was.

 

((1))

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Face toward the ground, Anilara’s first feelings were of biting frost. Her nose recoiled as the tranquilizers wore off and she tumbled to the side to avoid crippling her face with the unbearable cold. However, the more she rolled, the more snow she found. It was tireless work and before long, Anilara abandoned her impulsive reaction and stood up to see whatever complications she faced. She had hoped to recover her children by now and return home to Sol, but the mission went sour and she ended up in a dumpster somewhere. Some drifter popped out of nowhere and hit her with a needle the size of her forearm. Before the retired Black Sun agent could respond, her motor functions broke down and she fell to the cold durasteel. Then, her next memorable moments were this… tundra.

 

Anilara swallowed hard, brushing some snow from her short silver hair. It would not due to panic. Even if this did seem like a sadistic kriffing nightmare. Whoever’s sick joke this was, clearly had nothing better to do than to plop her here against her will. But, she could either consider existential platitudes, or she could get to work. Her hands worked their way to her blaster pistols, registering their functionality, and checked to see that her throwing knives were still in their sheaths.

 

The mercenary looked out to the horizon and tried to figure out what was going on. A figure, kind of small, stood out in the snow. She also thought she could see a military outpost.

Maybe this wouldn’t be completely bunk.

 

((1))

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Leialla misunderstood what her business deal was for.

 

Even a skilled diplomat gets duped sometimes Leialla, it’s okay.

 

The Shi’do stood on the precipice of a large mountain in the middle of a huge tundra. The details of her deal included a wealth of possibilities that were indescribable. She had no inkling that the ‘wealth of possibilities’ could be lethal or dangerous possibilities. But, she should have expected foul play when that smooth talker used the failings of her past against her. It was as if he knew everything about her; everything about her business decisions and her choices. He was either a very thorough stalker or the best businessman in the entire galaxy. And although it was a bit creepier to believe in, she was starting to believe the former was true, rather than the latter.

 

But, you didn’t get to live one hundred years by slouching on the job. Leialla smelled the air, attempting to pick something out in the frigid environment, but everything was masked. Scents mashed together and she couldn’t pick anything out. Resigning instead to trudging through the snow, Leialla started to grow hair from her limbs. The Shi’ido picked up snow from the ground to gain more mass and slowly but surely started to shift herself into the form of a medium sized wampa. It was a little impractical, especially if she encountered someone that wanted to kill her. Which, let’s face it, was common in her line of work. Especially when her former clients were the Black Sun and Dordjooba the Hutt. But, the wampa was a well-known tundra based creature, and she could use the thick furry exterior to stay warm in the cold.

 

((1))

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