Akial is actually a character from a Star Wars RPG campaign called Paarty on! He's a Jawa Jedi Knight that specializes in the force and ways to utilize it, and he is also a diplomat for the council and seeks out peacekeeping solutions.

Mirta is also from Legends and is the granddaughter of Boba Fett. She's a bounty hunter, because, Fett Clan

Mission Vao is from the KOTOR video game.

I'm screwing with timelines, but only because I dislike having to use OCs as main ones . So in this story, Mission. Akial, and Mirta all exist in the same time, which is about 30 years after ROTJ

I got this story idea from one of the Star Wars comics where a Jawa adopts itself into a new "clan," after his was killed by the Empire, and also, a Jawa Jedi Knight turned Mando Bounty Hunter is endlessly fascinating to me. Just me? You know how things work, I own my debt, Count Micky owns our childhood/star wars/happiness/'cannon'/and everyone belongs to whomever owns and/or created them!

"Well, that's different"

Mirta slapped the side of her helmet and checked her scans. Yup. Awake. That totally just happened.

She replays the previous scene in her mind over and over.

Two Trandoshans walk into the cantina and stop as soon as they spot the anomaly, the lone Jawa sitting and drinking at the bar. They wasted little time and approached the small creature.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" One pokes the Jawa's shoulder. The Jawa must grab a hold of the bar's edge in front of him to steady himself. The second Trandoshan slaps his friend playfully in the shoulder.

"Hey, what's that word they shout? Oh, I remember. Utinni! Utinni!" He walks behind the Jawa and pushes him forward several times. Both Trandoshans laugh. It's a terrible rough sound, like sand in the ears.

The Jawa moves fast. He slips from the stool. In a quick movement that Mirta cannot quite make out, both thugs are thrown backwards by an unseen force.

Oh, you are kidding me.

The Jawa is in a crouched defensive position, its lightsaber engaged, its golden blade glowing and buzzing. Several patrons share their thoughts.

"What the hell?"

"Way to go little guy!"

"That's a thing?!"

(That escalated quickly)

The Jawa Jedi does not respond or react to the comments. He is waiting, watching. The Trandoshans are back on their feet now, fight mode activated. They have pride to collect. They rush forward.

"Good, a new color to add to the collection." One sneers. His awful laughter burns Mirta's ears.

Blasters out and ready, the Jawa stands his ground. The Jawa is agile, acrobatic, and swift. The Jawa leaps up and swings the blade forward before he lands behind the two. A Trandoshan arm falls to the ground.

The second Trandoshan lets out a horrible piercing war cry. He is thrown backwards by an unseen explosion. The Jawa Jedi is careful, no bystanders are caught in his wake. The Jawa waits a moment before he depowers his saber. He relaxes and turns his back.

The first Trandoshan has another arm left. He raises his blaster . . .

Mirta does not think or blink. She's on her feet. Two shots to the back of the head for good measure. The Jawa turns. He looks at the dead Trandoshan and then to Mirta.

He brings both of his palms together and bows.

"Uh, you're welcome."

Mirta holsters her weapon, she walks toward and grabs the shoulder of the unconscious Trandoshan.

Mirta is low on credits and needed this job to go well. Both thugs were wanted alive. Well, she can still collect a lower fee, and the Jedi is the one who made her do it anyway.

The Jawa is a Jedi.

Mirta still cannot get over it. It's almost funny. Mirta finishes binding the unconscious quarry, and laughs. It's ridiculous. What would her grandpapa say? Would he even believe her?

Mirta's mando senses tingled. She reaches for Karra and turns around, ready for action.

The Jawa.

"Hello."

He waves. Mirta fires on instinct. The blaster is ripped from her hands and she feels something powerful and invisible hold her body in place.

"Gar ad be a—"

He bends down, not taking his eyes off her, places the blaster on the ground and stands up straight. With his other hand he motions to his throat and makes a sharp, curt vertical motion. He taps his throat and touches his face and makes gesture.

"You can't talk."

He shakes his head solemnly. His shoulders drop. This fact despairs him.

"Can you sign?"

He nods.

"I know it too."

He looks to her and then to his hand holding her at bay.

"You have my blaster." She reminds him.

He doesn't relax his hold.

"I won't attack you. I promise."

He lowers his hand slowly.

Mirta sits down on the ground and beckons for him to come forward and he does.

(So, what's your story?)

He exhales and bows his head.

Everyone is dead. Akial got there too late. The smell is overwhelming. The stench of death is choking. It comes easily through the dark fabric protecting his face. Whomever, whatever did this just left them to rot.

The bodies. His friends. His clan. They were charred. They were not recognizable as people. Some were still smoking, smoldering.

Five minutes.

He promised her.

He told her it would be okay. That he would make it okay. He checked everyone. Everyone. Someone had to be alive.

In the back. Hope swelled in his heart as he ran to where he saw movement.

Someone lived! Someone is

His heart deflated and he felt sick and cold.

Rodents. They had wasted no time. The creatures crawled, pushed, gnawed, and tore off bits of flesh. Akial lashes out in horror and disgusts. The creatures scatter.

Savage creatures.

This is their nature. They need to survive, to eat too.

Akial looks around him. He is in the land of the dead.

This is my fault.

In all his grief he does not hear them come. He does hear their weapon. He sees a flicker of a shadow. He looks up. Everything turns white.

(What happened next)

Akial wakes up. The room is too bright for him to focus, to keep his eyes open.

"What are we going to do with the Jawa? He could know something. He could talk. People speak Jawa."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of that."

The Jawa concludes his tale. Mirta gets the sense he does not like repeating or remembering those events. She can't blame him, someone violating your body, removing your ability to speak, to communicate. That's what monsters do and there are far too many of those in this world.

"I'm sorry about your friends." Mirta means it. She knows what it was like to lose and the pain that comes with it.

(They were my clan. My family.)

"I understand. I lost both of my parents."

(You saved my life.)

"I know, I was there."

(You are my clan now.)

The Jawa removes a blade from his belt, slices the palm of his hand and then grabs Mirta's wrist, intending to perform a similar action. Mirta frees herself.

"Hey! What are you doing!?"

(My blood is your blood is our blood.)

Mirta hesitates. She looks at the Jawa's blade.

"Ask first."

(Please?)

Mirta sighs. She looks at her hand, turns it over and opens and offers it to the Jawa. He wastes no time in grabbing it, brings the blade across her skin. He raises his bleeding hand over hers and drops of blood mix with hers. He then grabs hold of her hand and their fingers interlock. He squeezes and she matches.

"The Mandalorians have an adoption process too. It doesn't really apply here though. Ah, screw it. Ni kar'taylir gar sa Ner vod bal tal. I know you as my brother and blood."

The Jawa moves his hand away slightly and then spits on her palm before squeezing it again.

"I thought I saved my spit and blood for my wedding night."

The Jawa shake s his bobs his head and body and covers his hands over his face to mimic laughter.

(My name is Akial)

(Hello Akial. It's very, very nice to meet you, brother.)