Beginnings – 3663.140 BY

It had all gone wrong. She ran, staggering and desperately pushing her way through the crowded streets of Nar Shaddaa, shoving people and humanoid aliens out of her way. Shouts and yells followed her, insults thrown in both basic and huttese after her rapidly retreating form. Gasping for breath she cast a fearful glance behind, pushing her red hair from her face in the process, the houk and trio of gamorreans were still gaining on her, barrelling civilians out of their path. She instinctively ducked as she looked forward again, narrowly avoiding a low flying swoop bike before she was even truly aware it was there.

Arms pumping she took a sharp left, trying to throw her pursuers off. The street was lined with stalls and market stands, selling every variant of fruit, beverage and stim known to the galaxy. Customers of all races were browsing and bartering, trading and talking. None of this Zanleya noticed nor cared about; all she needed to do was put as much distance between herself and the minions of Bragga the Hutt. So she ran, her golden orange dress flapping behind her, sandals beating out a rapid tattoo on the concrete. Bright neon lights sped past her and the scent of numerous exotic spices caught at the back of her throat as she gulped in aching breaths, whilst the pall of the exhaust fumes of the industrial sector hung over it all. Those individuals not too caught up in their own business simply watched the chase with mild interest. Nobody tried to intervene; hunts and street violence were hardly rare sights in the underbelly of the Smuggler's Moon.

She flung herself down another side street, knocking a surprised devaronian over in the process. He shouted after her angrily, before being thrown aside again as the houk came in hot on her heels. The street broadened out again into another shopping alley lit by overhead lights that shone on a golden statue in honour of some hutt or other. Her lungs were burning, breaths coming in gasps her freckled cheeks flushed red. Zanleya glanced over her shoulder again, green eyes wide with fear, they were not far behind her. She did not want to imagine what they would do to her if they caught her. Technically she knew that Bragga would want her back, but houks were known for their love of violence and lack of intelligence, not a healthy combination.

She cursed her bad luck for the thousandth time, she was sure her escape plan had been flawless. She had made sure her overseer was distracted, bribed the sous-chef and had even stuck far too much Circarpouan spice in the head retainer's dinner the day before to ensure he would be puking his guts up and not watching her. It should have gone perfectly, but no, she swore, that wretched protocol droid just had to walk by as she was crawling out of the maintenance duct. The alarm had been raised and now she was running for her life. She barely had a plan, besides keeping moving and trying to lose Bragga's minions in the hustle and bustle of the city… but she was a mere fifteen year old slave, the aliens were lifelong thugs and bodyguards. Deep down, she knew she had no hope of escaping them, but her conscious mind refused to accept that. She would run, she would fight and she would struggle until she no longer could… there was no way she was going to surrender and go back to that life.

She was tearing round another corner when the inevitable happened, she tripped on her dress. Stumbling forwards she pitched face first onto the ground with a cry of surprise and pain, scraping her hands bloody in the process. Desperately she rolled over and tried to scrabble to her feet throwing a panicked look back, the houk and gamorreans were practically on top of her.

"Help!" She screamed in a high pitched voice, a desperate cry of primal terror. But if anybody paid any attention, they knew better than to intervene. Fear sank its cold fingers in and dread gripped her; she knew she was in for it now.

"Got yoar now pirddy hooman!" The houk jeered, his brutish face leering at her as he brandished an oversized knife. The gamorreans grunted their eager pig-like squeals and ground to a halt behind the towering houk, mouths open panting in both exertion and excitement.

"No!" She screamed in futile but furious defiance. She did not know why, perhaps a frantic survival instinct, but she thrust both her hands out towards the four brown clad thugs. Behind the involuntary action was all of her terror, her fear, her desperation and her sheer denial at the hand life had dealt her and her refusal to return to play it. The four minions were flung backwards, wrenched off their feet by an unseen power. Zanleya gasped in surprise, staring in disbelief as the houk crashed into a spice stall and the gamorreans struck a combination of pedestrians and wall.

She had no time to question what had just happened, even as part of her brain wondered in amazement at the prospect that she might just have used the force. She pulled herself to her aching feet, turned and ran again, only too well aware that her adversaries would not stay down for long. Losing them in the crowd was her only option, she thought in desperation, painfully aware that she could not outrun them.

"Dats it!" The houk shouted in anger. There was the unmistakeable sound of the safety being clicked off on a blaster. She had a split second of horror in which she threw herself sideways, trying to dodge the inevitable shot before the sharp retort of a blaster firing split the air. Nothing hit her. She fell upon the unforgiving ground again, winding herself once more in the process. There was a scream of pain from behind her and she looked round in surprise, adrenaline pumping and heart hammering. The houk was clutching his chest, staggering backwards with a look of pained shock upon his face whilst the three gamorreans had drawn their axes and there, standing just a metre from her, was a black hooded figure and clasped in their right hand was… a red lightsaber. Zanleya could barely believe her eyes and, whilst her body was shaking trying to enact a flight response, all she could do was watch.

The three gamorreans charged forwards with snorted battle cries as pedestrians scattered. The figure held their armoured left hand out, fingers shaped as if they were clasped around somebodies neck. The gamorrean on the left was lifted into the air, hands scrabbling at its throat, making a choking gurgling sound that was almost pleasing to her. As the figure relaxed the hand the alien fell to the floor and lay still. The first of the other two thugs reached the warrior, gamorrean battle-axe raised.

So fast she barely saw it the figure sidestepped the blow and swung the lightsaber round, ramming it through the gamorrean's chest plate. The humming scarlet blade burst out of its back and the warrior pulled the weapon free, letting the shocked gamorrean fall forwards a dumb-founded look of surprise on its face. The figure then flung the lightsaber at the one remaining assailant, who was closing the last few metres to get in striking distance. The spinning red sabre literally bisected the gamorrean, cutting it in two from left shoulder to right hip. The pair of pieces of cauterised body tumbled and fell to the ground with a thump at the warrior's feet, carried on by momentum. The warrior reached out their right hand and the lightsaber flew back to their grip blade still humming.

The black clad figure then strode over to the houk, who was rolling on the floor still clutching at the deflected blaster wound in his chest. In a simple, almost lazy, move the warrior decapitated the hapless alien, then turned the lightsaber off and clipped it to a belt in a swift move. The warrior turned to face her, still lying sprawled and stunned on the ground as she was. The whole fight had taken barely thirty seconds, Zanleya's overloaded mind was still trying to process exactly what had occurred and get over the fact that she was, in fact, not yet dead.

She gazed in terrified awe at the figure, he, for she could now see they were male, was clad in full black armour the hexagonal imperial insignia printed in red upon the left breast plate. His face was shrouded by the black hood, but it was unmistakeably that of a Sith pureblood, the characteristic deep red skin and blazing orange eyes a sure giveaway. Small fleshy tendrils hung from under both his cheeks and chin and he possessed thin bony ridges above his nose and almost spine like eyebrows. His mouth was set into a grim line and his attention was wholly focused upon her. Being in his presence was intimidating; being under his gaze was petrifying. She could feel the power emanating from him; he radiated a sense of strength and self-confidence. She cowered away, her body quaking as his heavy boots brought him closer.

"Th…th…thank… yo…you," she stammered, her voice betraying her. She barely knew what to say, Sith were as fearsome as they were legendary, for there was no mistaking what he was.

"It is no coincidence that you ended up here, the force has brought you to me," he stated in a deep voice. She did not, and in fact could not, reply. "I am Darth Kharvak and you are coming with me."