Star Wars

Tales of the Knights of the Old Republic

The Onasi Legacy

Author's Notes: There are five stories centeredaround the 'Onasi Blasters.' Each story will come per Chapter. If you've got a fic or idea you'd like to request, go to Trillian4210's Request a Fic forums!

He sat there, his eyes lowered to the dark, almost amber and sickly brown liquid that swirled in the cup that rested before him. He was still mulling over the one person he had sworn to hunt—the one person who had now managed to outsmart him.

Revan, he thought.

I had you in my sights and yet somehow you managed to elude me.

His hand lowered to his holsters on his thighs. He wore a long, dull brown coat over his worn Republic uniform.

It wasn't much of a uniform anymore, what with it being torn and modified and personalized.

It consisted of his black breeches, with his black boots, along with the rustic orange vest that covered his chest. Underneath that was a grey tunic that was worn and sodden—like most of his other clothes.

He picked up the dirty cup and sloshed the contents around until he decided to down it.

The coarse liquid burned all the way down his throat.

He coughed and sighed in relief as it settled in his stomach, reaching out towards his body and causing his extremities to tingle slightly with the feeling it had over him.

"That's some good stuff, isn't it?" Came a gravelly, coarse and friendly voice.

His eyes shifted to the man standing before him.

He stood there, blocking the light that lit up the dim cantina. His body was lean, and he had dark wavy hair, with a light amount of stubble on his face. He wore a suit of light armour, which was heavily modified and of unknown origins to the man sitting down. He had two holsters on his thighs as well, one of which was missing a blaster. "Is this seat taken?"

"The booth is occupied," the somber man replied, rebuking any friendly gesture.

"Well, I'd like to get the same thing as you," the standing one replied, flashing a small smile and sitting down in front of him. He nodded to the bartender some ways away and made himself comfortable as his drink—and one that he had bought for his companion—was ushered to him a few moments later.

It was midday and barely anyone had chosen to occupy the dark, dank cantina.

He shifted uncomfortably at his newfound compatriot who could have chosen any other place to sit. What's his angle? He wondered to himself as he brought one hand up to cover his mouth as he coughed, gently removing his newly acquired weapon from his hilt.

The young man before him appeared no more than in his early twenties or late teens.

"So what brings you over here?" The young man asked, a smile plastered onto his face.

The older man pulled his tumbler to his mouth and enjoyed taking in the strong burning liquid. "Business," he replied, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and setting the tumbler down.

The young man nodded, sipping his drink quietly. "It's hush-hush, eh?"

The old man looked at the kid and didn't know whether or not to kill him or to play along with his antics. "Let's just say I'm in for a really big payday." He added a smile, revealing his yellowed teeth and split lips.

The young man merely nodded, almost as if he understood.

Could this be part of the competition? He wondered, looking at the brat. It had been some time since Revan had made her appearance, but this kid obviously was no girl—and obviously no Revan.

Malak had ordered his specially trained assassins to hunt her down.

Most came back in pieces.

Their lightsabers were almost always gone.

He scratched his chin, wondering whether or not the brat was part of Malak's forces or not. Either way, he couldn't feel anything from him.

Sith were specially trained to hide themselves within the Force.

The young man just sat there smiling and drinking his drink. His eyes had shifted to one of the bartender's waitresses, who appeared to take some notice and flash a smile at the young man, who returned it with a wink.

This kid is something else. His other hand went lower and unhooked his new blaster. Apparently some kid named Onasi had lost it. It hardly mattered to him anyway, the name was good for a cover. The snot-nosed punk probably ended up killed by a Dark Jedi or something. Either way, the blaster had come into his possession and it would stay there.

He enjoyed using it after all.

After a few more moments, the kid extended his hand. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you my name."

"What is it?" He replied, not even taking the hand.

The kid casually ran that same hand through his hair. "The name's Dustil Omas."

He cocked a brow. What was the name of that Onasi brat? "I'm Daggoth Onasi."

Dustil nodded, smiling casually. "Nice to meet you Daggoth."

"Yeah, right, pleasure's all mine," he returned unenthusiastically. "Look, don't you have somewhere to be?"

Dustil shrugged his shoulders. "Actually to be honest, I'm kind of waiting for this girl."

Interesting, he thought, looking at the kid. "What's her name?" You might come in handy after all.

"Her name's Qiana Revanche."

Revanche? Could it really be…? "What does she look like, Dustil?" His interest had become peaked and he set aside the blaster as he leaned in, eager to hear what the kid was describing of this woman. If Dustil was really waiting for Revan, he was one of two people: one of Malak's cronies, like Daggoth, or part of Revan's crew.

In any case, the kid looked far too young to be one of Revan's compatriots.

But in strange times breeds strange allies.

Daggoth listened intently to what the young man was saying, but all he could actually make out while trying to probe his mind were the thoughts and desires of a teenage male.

"She's about yay high," he described, bringing his hand just up to his temples, "she's got dark brown hair, really grey eyes, a nice rack." He paused for a few moments, smiling widely at the thought of this girl's chest. "And she's got a great--,"

"Kid," he interrupted, "I can imagine she's got a great body, but can we focus just a bit?"

Dustil cocked a brow. "Sure, sure, sorry about that. Well, she's got these lips that just want to make you go---uh, sorry, she's got golden skin, I guess. Her eyes are not like yours or mine. They're almost at an angle or something."

Daggoth nodded, taking in the information and matching it with what he was briefed on several days before. She might actually be Revan—and this kid has no clue what he has just done. It took everything in Daggoth not to shoot the kid there. He had to wait until the kid had helped show him if it was Revan or if it wasn't. Either way, someone wouldn't walk out of this cantina alive.

"So," Dustil said, leaning towards Daggoth, who was now sipping from the drink Dustil had bought him, "you think I got a chance to nail her?"

Daggoth almost choked on his drink, setting it down and coughing for a few moments until he felt the burning sensation of liquid in his nose. "Look kid," he said, coughing a few more times, "I think I'd probably nail her a few times. You don't stand a chance."

Dustil scowled slightly. "You really think she'd want to sleep with someone who has yellow teeth, bad breath and is as haggard as yourself?" He rubbed his chin and ran that same hand through his hair. "I don't think so—she's probably going to be into me."

He pointed a cut finger at the young man, "keep telling yourself that." He cleared his throat, hoping to change the subject and keep an eye on this Omas brat. "So, how come you only got one blaster?"

Dustil looked lamely at his drink, his shoulders sagging. "Well, I'll be honest—it was a present from my old man to me. I-I lost it."

Daggoth leaned in, listening to the story as he paid no mind to the Onasi blaster. After all, the kid's name was Omas, he was not Force Sensitive and he was no actual threat to him.

"It all started on my twentieth birthday—I mean, I had just received it from him and he was saying how it's a tradition in our family. The father would pass it down to his child when they turned twenty. He received his from his father on his twentieth and his father received it from his father on his twentieth." Dustil took a sip of his deep scarlet beverage and rested the cup down as he continued his story.

"So, off he goes, to fight in this war and so leaving my mother and I on our own. He is some big hotshot hero."

"Yeah? For what army?"

"The Republic I guess—it hardly matters anymore, he's dead." The bitterness in his voice had grown and Dustil continued his story. "So, a few months roll on by and the Sith fleet comes into my homeworld and hammers it to pieces." He looked up at Daggoth, "but by this time, I've already joined the Sith army."

Daggoth nodded. I can relate kid.

"So, they glass my homeworld and kill off my only remaining relative: my mother."

Ouch. Daggoth nodded, ordering another round of drinks as Dustil downed the last of his contents.

"After that, I go freelance."

"Not a wise thing, kid," Daggoth pointed out. "Malak doesn't look too kindly to those who leave his army."

"How'd you know that?" Dustil shot back.

"Because I'm a drifter, kid, much like yourself."

Dustil shook his head, "well that doesn't matter. You want to hear my story?"

Daggoth nodded, eager to listen and eager to kill time until his target came by.

"So I up and leave after that, killing almost everyone I knew in my platoon. I steal a shuttle take it to Nar Shaddaa, dump the bodies, sell the equipment the ship—everything. Then I get me a new ship, better weapons, armour—you name it. Then I went freelance. I gladly took on Sith targets and I killed them all, like the animals that they are."

"But you hold no love for the Republic either, right kid?"

He nodded. "Well, I don't have any love for either empires—they took away everything that ever mattered to me. So anytime a contract came my way about taking out a Republic operative or high profile target—I accepted it."

"So how'd you lose your blaster, kid?"

"I'm getting to it," he said, as the waitress he had been eyeing earlier came over and gave them the ordered drinks. He winked at her and she smiled back, walking off to deal with another customer.

"I go to Borleias and there I run into the bloodiest battle since the Honoghr campaign, where Revan was killed."

Daggoth nodded. She's not dead yet, kid. Not yet.

"So there are two sides, fighting for everything and then there's a pause in the battle." Dustil's elbows rested on the table as he leaned even further in. "So they come to me, talking about how they want me to join their cause."

"Who?"

"The Sith and the Republic."

"And what happened?"

"I told them where to stick it."

Daggoth smiled, he was beginning to like the kid.

"So I run into a group of Sith and Republic who are bogged down into their little trenches. So I look around for my target and voila! He's there, smack dab in the middle and covered in dirt, blood and all sorts of things. So I go to kill him when who else is there? The old man and my other target! I kill my first target, at which point my father tries to stop me. He jumps out of the trenches and is turned into a pincushion from the fire. So naturally I grow angry. I found my other target and threw a thermal detonator."

"The Republic won that battle, kid," Daggoth pointed out.

"And that's why," Dustil retorted. "Turns out I kill off the legendary General Corin Vallace of the Sith Empire."

"So I bet the Sith are hunting you."

Dustil shook his head. "Oh no, they didn't know who did it. I collected my credits. Then I get boarded on my way back, that day and I end up getting into a scuffle with a few of those Sith pigs. I lose my ship by self-destructing it. I take off in my pod, but what's more, I lose my pistol to some cheap, no talent, hack Sith who is probably sporting it."

Daggoth scoffed. "Yeah, well, I doubt you let anyone live. It's really a small price to pay, kid—losing your family's blaster. I mean, sure it's going to be a heartbreaker that you won't have anything to pass on to your kids, but on that same note, you can always get a new one and forge it out to be your family's heirloom."

Dustil shook his head. "I don't think you quite understand, Daggoth. This is a priceless heirloom. I can't forge anything on it."

The older man cocked his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, my family is dead, and I'm the last living Omas. That blaster was the last link to my family."

Daggoth sipped his drink, "yeah well, don't beat yourself up, kid. This war has shaken everything from Outer Rims to the Core. No one's seen this level of brutality in a war—ever. I doubt we ever will again. Everyone's lost something precious to them. You just happened to lose your family blaster."

"And what about you?"

"Me?"

Dustil nodded.

"I got my family blaster—we hail from Telos."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I am the last of my family too, kid."

Dustil nodded. "Did I ever tell you where I was from?"

Daggoth shook his head.

"Telos."

The older man smiled. "Another lost Telosian, eh?"

"Guess so."

Daggoth brought his tumbler up in a toast.

Dustil did likewise.

"To the lost children of Telos. Your silver glades and large cities will forever be missed."

The pair threw back the content into their mouths.

"You're forgetting one thing, Daggoth," Dustil said, his voice hinting playfully.

"Oh?" He asked, smiling. "What's that?" He rested the tumbler down and looked up to see Dustil.

Then a distinct discharge filled the room, followed by searing pain, ozone and cooked flesh.

Daggoth slumped to the table, his body a charred husk.

"Telos was a blue, green and white pearl. No silver glades and certainly no large cities." He moved over and picked up the Onasi blaster. "And the name's Onasi, Dustil Onasi. And you're the scumbag who ended up with my blaster. I'd remember a drunken lout such as yourself."

Rising, Dustil holstered both blasters into their holsters. The Onasi blaster fit comfortably in its worn berth. He walked over to the bartender and slapped down a credit. "For the trouble."

He left the exit of the cantina and turned the corner, seeing a woman with dark brown hair, grey eyes and who stood almost at his height.

"All's well, I take it?" She asked him, flashing him a cocksure grin.

"Yep. I had to find something I lost."

Her eyes shifted to the Onasi blaster at his thigh. "So I can see."

"Think the old man will be angry?"

She shook her head, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as they walked off. "I doubt it. Carth would have been angrier if you lost yourself than the blaster."

Dustil nodded.

"And he wouldn't let me hear the end of it if something happened to you, kiddo."

Author's Note: Yep, this is the first one. The next one will be up shortly. I hope you enjoyed this.