Please leave comments in this link. Thank you, Jae Onasi.
Picture a world where the Republic is still a distant dream, and the Jedi are not yet a force in the Galaxy. Like any fire, there needs to be a starting spark...
Sogor the Tyrant was not pleased.
“How many times is this?” He asked pleasantly. The men pushed back away from him. “How many times have these, these Echani slaughtered my troops?” He looked around but no one dared to meet his eye. He leaned back on the throne, growling. “Seven times I have sent my so brave warriors by the cannon, and seven times I have gotten that!” He pointed toward the open doors of his palace. Of the seven ships he had sent with seven thousands of men five had been returned on automatic pilot. The men he had sent were still in them, if you counted the fact that they had been rendered into parts. One man, One had returned alive this time.
“Bring that coward before me.” Two of the guards grabbed a man in bloody armor, dragging him to slam down on the tile floor. He was missing an ear, and his head was bloody. “And how did you survive? Did you lay down and pretend you were dead? No, of course not. They dismembered everyone else. So how did you arrive intact?”
“I hid among the bodies, Great one.” The man groaned from where he lay. “Beneath their parts.”
“Why?” Sogor stood. He was taller than his men, taller than anyone on the planet. A veritable giant among pygmies. “Did you think I would want a puling coward back?”
“I had to show you-”
“Show me what!” Sogor screamed. “What would be more important to me than your death, coward?”
The man reached to his side, and with a shaking hand laid a dagger on the floor. “This my lord.”
“A dagger.” Sogor sounded surprised. “You lived when all else died for a dagger?”
“A dagger that pierces our best armor as if it were skin.” The man quivered. “Swords of the same kind that cut through the hull of a ship as if it were warmed butter-”
“Lies!” Sogor picked up the dagger flinging it toward the stone wall. By chance it his point first. Instead of shattering it sank into the stone with a simple chinking sound. Sogor stared at it, then walked slowly the room. The knife was not where he had thrown it. It had been at a slight angles and as he watched the pommel seemed to ooze toward the floor, leaving a slice in the stone itself.
He pulled it out with no resistance at all. “Bring him.” He ordered.
The guards picked up the survivor, dragging him toward the tyrant. He looked at the blade inches from his eyes.
“How is this made.”
“Only one of the Echana knows, Terrible one.”
“Only one. Who is this one?”
“The master smith, Great one.”
“Excellent. Sogor turned, and the dagger punched into the man’s chest as if he had no armor on. Sogor pulled down, and the armor opened at it’s seams spilling his guts on the floor.
“This master smith will be mine.”
The young one had stared at the stars since she had first opened her eyes. So far, yet each according to her father, could hold life. Not like her home, of course. She reached out. They always seemed close enough to touch. But they were too far away. I will go to you. She promised silently. Some day.