Rating: PG-13 (A few vague combat descriptions)

Description: A narration of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic through a DS male Revan character. I deviate a little from the exact plot of the game (Okay, quite a bit at times) for your entertainment.

Please bear this in mind: I am not going to write all conversations out letter for letter. I may mix up the order of events (it is a long game, after all). I may just stop writing once the urge to narrate leaves and I can resume other tasks. Also: I like HK-47. A lot. You do to. Expect a lot of HK-47.

Finally: I chose male Dark Side because I figured it would appeal to more people (and I know that nobody reads narrations as it is). I know that according to KotOR II Revan was female, but meh, I started writing this before KotOR II was released. I promise to mix things up enough to make this interesting. Yes, that probably means skipping over some minor (read: boring-as-hell) plot points as well as the little SW 'A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away' spiff. And Pazaak. No bloody pazaak.

Without further ado:

--------------------------------------------------- Chapter I---------------------------------------------------

the Backwater Planet

"No, wait. I don't think–"

Too late. The over-zealous blonde had already opened the damaged room access, and now they both were staring into the features of a dark Jedi. The black-cloaked man activated his lethal red lightsaber and flourished it with a smirk as the rogue watched, unable to do anything but curse Trask for being so incredibly brash. He looked over at the blonde soldier, and wasn't surprised to find him gaping.

The shock didn't last as long as he had expected; the soldier's expression hardened more quickly than the former spice-smuggler would have imagined possible, and he solemnly raised the gleaming steel blade he was wielding– the perfect image of a dauntless warrior. When he spoke, however, his voice was simply dripping with fear and apprehension. He knew he was about to die.

"Go! Get out of here. . . I'll try to hold him off. Get to the escape pods!"

The blonde soldier charged at the fallen Jedi, who's expression may have been perfectly jovial - if a hell hound's bared fangs could be considered a toothy smile. The cloaked man's blood lust would be sated soon enough, and the monster knew it. The rogue watched as the dark Jedi let his prey come to him.

Almost as soon as Trask blew through the threshold, there was a soft mechanic whir. The thick door sealed after him, locking the rogue out and blocking the 'battle' from his sight. Shortly after the metal panels closed, the hum of a lightsaber echoed over yet another explosion, and nearly drowned out an ignoble death cry.

So much for the longsword I leant him. He stepped away from his late blonde companion's grave and opened the portal to the starboard section of the dying Endar Spire.

'At least the fool took responsibility for his fault, although I can't say that I would have done the same in his position.' He advanced cautiously into the corridor before him. 'Then again, I wouldn't have made his fatal mistake at all. How could he have possibly though that anything benign would be behind that door, when we were JUST informed of our status as the last two living crew members on board? Trask was but little brawn and less brains.' The smuggler wasn't going to miss him.

He turned a corner and saw a Sith patrol with his metal-plated back turned to him at the end of a short hallway, distracted by a sudden explosion. With a piteous smile, the rogue activated his stealth generator and crouch-walked toward him. The Sith grunt would pay dearly for not paying attention to his surroundings. Maybe stupidity and lack of judgement was a common disease the inhibitors of this ship spread like a plague– a virus that he was thankfully immune to.

Once the stealth-shielded rogue was within attacking range, the patrol meandered back to his post. The brute even brushed against him and remained unaware of his presence!

I may just be doing the Sith a favor by eliminating this guy. He drew a short sword from his side, and his stealth field fell, revealing him to his stunned victim. Something about the shocked expression on corpse-to-be faces always amused him. Every one was different, yet they all screamed the same thought, give or take a few cuss words: Oh shit.

Before the patrol could respond, and after the rogue had time to enjoy imagining what the Sith's contorted features looked like under that ugly visor, he ran his blade beneath the metal helm's chin. The patrol fired a few hap-hazardly aimed shots as he fell, none of which hit their mark.

His path cleared, the unscathed runner stepped lightly over a spattering of corpses, picking up a few stray items along the way. He had barely made it into the next room when he was contacted, yet again, on his communicator. The same unshaven face greeted him.

"There's a whole Sith battalion behind those doors. You might want to find a way to thin their numbers." The transmission cut short.

A whole battalion, huh? The rogue looked about the crushed room he was now in. There were a number of crates and cylinders lining the walls, and a disabled battle droid slumped over in the far right hand corner. He could activate it, if he had the parts, then lay low under the cover of his shields until the machine had finished its slaughter. He liked the idea.

He stepped over to the droid and looked it over. Repairing it would be a simple task for him, even without having a store of knowledge on circuitry and machines. If only he had the parts necessary. There must have been some more on the Endar Spire somewhere, but he wasn't expecting a whole crateful to be conveniently sitting beside him in the first crate he checked. He didn't ask questions, though, but just accepted their presence as a result of his amazing luck and took the disposable packets from their storage.

Within a few moments he had the droid up and running, though he didn't have the time to figure out how he was supposed to activate its shielding or any other special features. Either way, he decided it would do. He activated it.

The droid hummed to life and began pacing to the door when it popped open. The rogue barely had his camouflage activated when a surprised sith commander ran straight into the machine's blaster. His entrails were blown back through his armour, and his corpse fell to the floor seconds later. The rest of the sith opened fire on the machine, but its armour plating wasn't even scathed by the heat of the blaster shots.

Silently, the rogue slipped along the outskirts of the battle, unnoticed by the Sith who were fighting futilely for their very lives. He smiled as the droid sent a bolt through the last remaining patrol's head, spattering the grey contents of its cranium onto the wall behind it. It was at that moment he decided that he liked droids, the efficient machines that they were.

He deactivated his camouflage and opened the door before him. On the other side the man who had been contacting him, Carth something-or-other, looked somewhat surprised to see him.

"I'm glad you made it. Now let's get off this ship."

The rogue looked down at the escape pod the soldier had gestured to. It was small, and quite frankly he really didn't feel like sharing it with another man. He just stared back at the soldier, eyebrow raised in silent question, to see if the man was serious.

"What?"

"I'm not sharing that thing with you."

". . . What?" The scruffy looking soldier seemed dumbstruck for a moment.

"Why should I trust you? How am I supposed to know that you're even on my side. . . how useful will you be to me once we land?" He just stated what thoughts were skipping across his mind, matter-of-factly. "I think I would much rather bring the droid."

"W-what! You're kidding! That-that thing is following it's patrol route! You couldn't even take it if you wanted to."

"I do want to." The smuggler reminded him.

Just before the soldier began to order the black haired runner into the pod, the Endar Spire shuddered under another volley of Sith attacks, knocking the spice dealer off his feet. Carth took this to his advantage and shoved the other man into the pod before jumping in himself.

He half expected to be killed as he leapt into the small escape ship, but as he grounded himself he was surprised to see the smuggler hadn't yelled at him. In fact, the man didn't even move. Upon closer inspection, he found that the smuggler's golden eyes had rolled back into his head and his tongue lolled out of his mouth in what he could only assume was an uncharacteristic way; the rogue was out cold.

'Well, this should make transport easier.' The soldier braced himself as a shockwave hit the descending escape pod - the only thing that could have caused the pod to shudder as it did would have been the destruction of the Spire. The ship was nothing more than spacedust now, or at least he was fairly certain.

A few seconds later the pod shook yet again, and then violently shuddered and began to crack under intense pressure. For how loud the situation was, it was quite eery that everything went silent within mere moments. They had landed and, for the most part, were still in one piece.

Carth had to struggle through at least one hundred and fifty pounds of unconscious criminal before he could reach the release hatch. Once he finally managed to get the pod open he was faced with yet another problem: getting the pile of dead weight out of the pod. It was a task that wouldn't be too hard normally, but was made increasingly difficult by the fact that this man was just as stubborn unconscious as he was standing, if not more so. His small body was borderline refusing to be pushed through the opening above them.

He knew that there would be more to worry about once that task was complete, but just so he didn't feel overwhelmed he decided to think things through one step at a time. In fact, if he had decided to think about things in the long run, he would have been long gone by now, the spice smuggler dust along with the Endar Spire, considering that Sith dogs would be swarming the area within minutes. That thought almost made him consider climbing around the heap above him, but he resisted that urge promptly.

He wasn't particularly fond of this criminal, and something about his golden eyes was incredibly unsettling, but as a soldier he had never left a man behind if he could help it. So, motivated by the sound of engines approaching, he shoved the scrawny man through the hatch with a sickening pop - something was damaged, but right now that didn't matter. The instant his feet hit the ground he grabbed the lump of man flesh off the ground and ran for the nearest structure that he saw, looking back only after passing through the threshold of what appeared to be an apartment building. What he saw was nothing less than he expected, but it was still quite unsettling - a large number of sith soldiers had already begun searching for survivors.

Carth was surprised at how few people took notice of him walking through the grimy halls of the apartment complex with an unconscious, bleeding man slung over his shoulder. He inwardly shuddered, thinking for a moment on how these people must live if they found his situation normal. However, the thought lasted for only a moment, because just as he was walking around the curved hallway he caught sight of some Sith soldiers through the windows of the complex. Before he was noticed he jumped quickly (or, at least, as quickly as he could carrying the runner) into the closest doorway on his left.

He was pretty sure the troopers weren't even looking into the window, but who could be sure? He pressed his bulk against the doorway as he heard the Sith outside being commanded, and removed one hand from the smuggler to unholster his blaster. He would have preferred stealth, but if he was forced to shoot his way from where he stood now to Bastila, that would simply be what he had to do.

Much to his relief, however, the shouting ended and was shortly followed by the sounds of engines taking off. The soldier let out a large sigh. Now I only need to find a place for me to, well . . . fix the damage I've inflicted upon this man and from there we can find Bastila. It was then that the unconscious man began to come to, and upon shaking his already cut up head he hit the door's activation pad. Before Carth even knew what had happened, he was on the floor with a rather nasty bump on his head. The runner was, once again, bleeding and unconscious.

"I . . . I suppose this place will do." The soldier declared to himself aloud, rubbing his head as he stood. He looked around the dirty little apartment. No windows, corporate grey, some furnishings; luckily there were two beds. The smuggler he had rescued (for better or for worse) lay at his feet. His smaller form was bent at a number of strange angles that made the soldier cringe. Most noticeably, the runner's left shoulder was horribly slack - the arm was disconnected. Well, I guess I know what popped earlier, Carth thought as he straightened the man out in preparation to put the joint back together.

Within a few moments the shoulder was mended, wrapped up in support bandages, and the man was placed on one of the standard beds. Although uncomfortably short for an average man, the shoddy apartment bed was just long enough for the rogue. The soldier was somewhat envious of that, but he finished wrapping up the dented and broken man anyway, making him comfortable. He still felt bad, after all, for inflicting the man's wounds. Once he had finished checking on the smuggler's other gashes and bruises, he found himself looking at the man's scarred face.

The runner's eyelids had managed to close themselves, and Carth was a little disturbed to see that it looked as though the man wore eyeliner - how else could his eyes be so dark around the edges? Perhaps that was just some smuggler insignia for rank or something, but it still made him feel a little odd. When he looked a little closer, he realized that the skin in some areas of his face was actually burned . . . it appeared to be ritualistic, but at the same time it looked nothing like a natural reaction to heat. The scarring wasn't inflicted by another sentient being. Over the right eye was a long, vertical scar that grazed the lid and even this mar was strange. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn it was inflicted by a lightsaber, but how would a common criminal come into contact with something like that?

Then, without any warning the runner's eyes shot open, and Carth found himself cornered by golden irises that shouldn't belong to any human. Naturally, he jumped back.

He half expected to be attacked, but later rationed that it was only the rogue's predatory animal-like eyes that made him fear a fight. The man just lay still for a moment, blinking to focus his vision. Within a few moments the smuggler had begun to sit up and became aware that something was wrong with his shoulder. He frowned. It was a few more minutes after he finished his self-evaluation before he noticed the soldier.

"Where am I?" The question was nearly an order.

"Taris." He replied, slowly at first. "We crash landed here a while ago. I'm Carth. Carth Onasi. I was with you in the escape pod. Er. . . do you remember?" He kind of hoped the answer was 'no'.

"Yes."

'Crap.'

"Carth from the communicator. I remember you"

"Oh," Perhaps the rogue didn't remember anything that involved his injuries and their acquisition. "Well, you were banged up pretty bad from . . . the crash - luckily I made it out okay. I was able to pull you from the escape pod and bring you here."

The rogue made a motion to stand up, but instantly winced and put a pale hand against his head. "Ung . . . my head. Feels like someone's been slamming it against solid titanium sheeting."

"You've been, eh, slipping in and out of consciousness since we landed."

The rogue simply nodded. "And the Sith?"

"By the time the Sith arrived on the scene we were long gone." 'A white lie, but there's no need to make him think I'm an incompetent commander.'

"I guess I owe you my life, then . . ."

"No, no you don't." 'Note to self, Carth: never try to look like a badass I-can-get-out-of-anything-no-matter-how-impossible-the-odds-are type of soldier again - you don't need any humans swearing wookiee life debts to you.' "I don't leave men behind. Besides, I need your help if we're going to find Bastila."

"Bastila?" For a moment there was a spark of recognition in those golden eyes.

"Wow, that bump to your head must have done more damage than I thought. Bastila's a Jedi. She was with us on the Endar Spire before it was attacked. She's . . . she's a key part of the Republic war effort - without her . . . well, I don't want to think about it. We need to find her and help her."

"If she's a Jedi, she should be able to help herself." The rogue spoke in his arrogant little matter-of-fact tone. That was beginning to annoy the soldier.

"She's strong, yes, but even a Jedi can't take on an entire army. The Sith are looking for her - and the Sith have fallen Jedi on their side. I don't want them to catch her . . . I've heard terrible things about Sith interrogation techniques. They say the force can do terrible things to a mind - erase all of your memories and destroy your very identity. I won't let that happen to her."

"Then I suppose we should start searching for her."

"Agreed." He offered the man a hand up, and although the look on the rogue's face told him the assistance was unnecessary, the man didn't refuse the gesture and grasped his hand to pull himself off of the low, ratty bed. There was more or less an agreement made in that moment; the soldier would watch the rogue's back and for the most part vice versa. The real pact, however, was that they would work together to find Bastila, using their opposite strengths to their advantage.

Carth didn't have any reason to trust the man before him, especially given his shady past, and he was sure that the spice smuggler felt the same way about him. He remembered reading on the man's records that he knew a remarkable number of alien languages, and that would be very helpful. He had also somewhat witnessed the man in combat, and while he wasn't the strongest or boldest man he had ever saw fight, he was able to get the job done and didn't shy away from blood. He reminded him of maalraas in a way - lithe and fragile looking, but quick as a snake and deadly. Having him as an ally was going to be convenient. It was just then that the soldier thought of something that, for whatever reason, hadn't crossed his mind before.

"What is your name?"

The rogue's brows furrowed, and it seemed for a moment as though he wouldn't remember. But then quietly, he let a single word fall from his lips.

"Raven."

"Is that a nickname or something? I'm sure your papers said something along the lines of Aaedon or Aseron . . . something. I know you have a last name, at least."

Something about the way the rogue's eyebrows were still furrowed said that he wasn't one hundred percent certain, but his voice never wavered. The bumps to his head really must have mangled something to make him forget his own name.

"No . . . I'm pretty sure my name is Raven."

"Raven?"

"Raven."