The Rebel Faction

The winds of Tatooine were fierce on this day, his bantha hide clothing snapping while the sand infested breeze swirled around him. Hands clad in fingerless gloves ran alongside the frame of the modified Flare-S Swoop that flawlessly brought him glory every race. That was, of course, without the unsportsmanship of certain creatures who wanted to rid of him.

Every event, it was apparent that the multiple alien races of that participate in these syndicates were out for blood; especially that of a humans. Jenje had dealt with these scum for years, with every attempt to kill or injure him being thwarted. They had even set up mines in the dune sea once, but somehow Jenje knew their locations, and avoided them easily. It actually concluded with one of the culprit's being blasted into oblivion themselves. Of course, the blame was put on Jenje, and he was chased by a mafia of Rodians.

Unlike most of the racers, Jenje did not wear a flight suit while engaging these events. Swoop racing was by far the most dangerous in the galaxy. One would have to possess extraordinary reflexes, which is why they were performed mostly by certain alien races. He was always garbed in ragged clothing, with a rancor scale utility belt slung around his waist. People claimed he was crazy, but he held a confidence that was hard to be broken.

The race was starting momentarily, and he began to prepare. Sitting on both knees, he examined the repulsorlift below the vehicle, along with the gear shifters and the fuel. He would also check for booby traps, and other bugs that could have been slipped on by one of his adversaries--Swoop racing was a dirty business. The sound of footsteps dragging along the sand was audible behind him, his head turning and observing the distraction.

"Ha! You really think you will win this time, boy?"

The Rodian spoke in his native language, though Jenje could understand it perfectly. The green skinned figure stood hunched over, his face disfigured and his left forearm was missing.

"Surely you're not racing with that nub for a arm, Biido. I'd actually feel sorry for you; maybe cut you a little slack."

Jenje chuckled as the Rodian flailed his remaining arm in the air, pointing a finger at him.

"But that is where you are wrong, Cabal. I will not be racing this time...no.."

From behind him stepped a boy in his late teens, probably on the verge of adulthood. His eyes were narrowed in Jenje's direction. He looked rather pale, and that signified that he indeed was not from Tatooine. He must have been a slave on route to Tatooine for work, but was probably bought off by the ever-so deceptive Biido. His physique was toned and slender, his skin ravaged by scars.

"So this is my competition, Biido? Pfft!"

The boy spit in Jenje's direction, and stormed off. Biido happily followed his new pet, his nub arm moving as much as it could. Jenje stood, ignoring the threat and then straddling his swoop. The repulsorlift was quickly activated and he hovered slowly across the garage. He could hear curses and threats being muttered from the crowd around him. It seemed to be so tense that it wouldn't be surprising if a blaster was drawn. Finally reaching the starting line, those eyes of blue examining his adversaries. He retrieved a piercing stare from the man hired by Biido, who's sneer revealed blackened teeth. The race would start any minute now, that familiar buzz would ring through his ears, and the pack of racers would be propelled into the Dune Sea. The route was a dangerous one. It was a five mile track that dipped into jagged canyons and stinging sand. Halfway through they would pass the mighty Sarlaac, who was always willing to grab an extra snack. Digits clasped the handlebars in front of him, as the three lights above began to count down.

3...2...1..

Just as the buzzing rang through his ears, his arms violently pushing the handles forward. Sand sprayed behind him as he was slung forward, the wooping sound of the Swoop bikes echoing in the valley while people roared and chanted for their racers. He was in the middle of them all, with Biido's slave right on his tail. His feet were then tilted upward to activate the remaining repulsorlifts, which then allowed him to gain elevation and skim over the top. Every move had to be made precisely. The smallest mistake could kill him in an instant at these extreme speeds, which is why his above-average reflexes provided the assistance he needed.

Too many thoughts and inquiries were racing through Jenje's mind as he scaled across the coarse desert. His life would be completely changed - Was this really what he wanted? The life of a Jedi was no doubt a hard one; there would be countless times that his life would be put on the line. Jenje always knew that he was different...that he was destined for something, but those were dreams of one day becoming an infamous swoop racer, or even a pilot. He hoped that his questions would be answered by this Leia Organa Solo, a name that held a familiarity. Perhaps he would do research on her during his voyage to Capricia, to find out more of her origin. Being raised on a planet such as Tatooine, Jenje was not up to date with much politics. This planet was controlled by the Hutt's.

Pressing forward on the handlebars sent the Swoop into it's maximum speed. His furred windbreaker was snapping furiously behind him as he glided above the ground, the dim light reflecting into the sky and signifying that he was close to the city. The sun was hanging in the middle of the sky, illuminating the sand to an orange glow. The world with two sun's was now beginning to dim, and he wondered if it would be the last sunset that he would ever see on Tatooine; his home.

Just as he could see the walls surrounding Mos Eisley skimming over the top of the sand, something happened. A searing pain shot through his side, and in that instant he knew that he had been shot. The force of the blast sent him flying from his straddling position, his swoop continuing to ride onward before crashing sideways into the sand. Jenje rolled over, spitting some of the gritty contents that stuck to his lips back onto the ground. He pressed a hand against his wounded side; the blast had fortunately grazed his side, and did not puncture any vital organs. Then, just as he figured out who it could be, he felt a foot press against his chest. Looking up he saw the scaley, long snout of a Rodian---Biido.

"Ah, Jenje Cabal, we meet again so soon!"

"I knew it was you, Biido. Only a one armed slime such as yourself could pull off such a horrible shot like --YEAARGHH!"

A swift kick connected with his injured side, most likely making the wound worse. Jenje coughed as the breath was taken away from him. He was sure that Biido would kill him on this night; the night that he had chosen to flee this planet. If only he had been more careful.

"You're done, Cabal. After your little stunt at the race today--Well, let's just say you had some fans who are now...after your blood. I'm going to do the honors of taking you to them, and collecting my handsome reward."

The Rodian clasped his hands together as if he were holding the credits themselves, a look of excitement wriggling on his long, scaled face. Jenje was not surprised that there were many people who were distraught at the fact that he fled the race--whether it was under his control or not. Many people tended to bet on Jenje; he always finished in the top three. Just recently he was on a winning streak, which was probably why a multiple amount of bets were placed on him. Either way, he lost some people a lot of money, and in the scum-ridden world of Tatooine, money meant a lot. People killed for it, died for it, it's what kept this place going. It then occured to Jenje that he would not be one of these people, dying for the greed of another. He would escape this imprisonment, and set off what he was destined to do. Anger shot through him at the very thought of his dried skeleton, buried in the sands of Tatooine for all eternity. No, it would not happen, he would not allow it. This is not where his path ends.

He was then pulled to his feet, the cold metal of a DH-17 being pressed against his temple. A landspeeder sat in front of them. The sound of what seemed like a womprat vomiting was audible, and looking to Biido, he knew that it was the giggle of a Rodian. The gamblers obviously wanted him dead or alive, and Biido was no doubt going to bring him in pieces. Jenje closed his eyes, and in an instant, moved out of the way just as the blaster bolt was shot. It was as if he moved just as the bolt made it through the barrel, destined to blow his brains out. He grabbed the blaster from the alien's four fingered hand, aiming it quickly to his throat. Biido raised his one arm in defeat, those black beaded eyes now becoming round and innocent.

"Please...show mercy?"

Jenje's emotions were at their peak now, his eyes filled with a quiet determination as he stared down his lifelong adversary. Throughout his many years on Tatooine, Biido had tried to kill him with multiple attempts. In a way, the Rodian symbolized his harsh life on the planet. Living without parents...fleeing from gangs and murderers; it was the life he grew to know well. Then, with a quick pull of his finger, he shot right into the chest of the alien, before completing the task with a shot to the head. He dropped the weapon beside the corpse, making his way back to his wrecked Swoop bike. Hopefully it would still be driveable.

Oops.

In that moment before the blasters began to fire, Skygge felt the approach of the Rodians, felt their anger, felt the danger. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, as it often seemed to do in such moments, allowing her what seemed like all the time in the world to think. And yet it was but a split second.

She had a choice to make, she knew. The boy, of course, was untrained, unable to truly feel the Force, unable to use it. With training, he would be able to use his anger, either through passion as Ithron had or in the cold, calculating, controlled way Skygge did. But for now he was unprotected by such abilities, and her help would probably be much appreciated.

On the other hand, if he couldn't survive the idiotic Rodians that were approaching, then was he worthy to be trained? Skygge herself could easily wrap herself in the Force, hiding herself from the Rodians' eyes and leaving the boy to fend for himself. He would have another chance to prove himself, to prove he was a worthy adept, one who could replace some of those recently lost on Xa Fel.

In that split second, that eternity, Skygge deliberated. And then the Rodians yelled. Her eyes shut briefly as she thought, Those kriffing idiots. No choice to be made now; those who were stupid enough to willingly give up the element of surprise deserved to die, and to die without delay. Skygge would help the boy, would defend him and herself.

As the blasters fired and the boy attempted to defend them both, Skygge leaped up and back, flipping in the air as the blaster bolts sang beneath her. She landed on her feet, the twin sabers activating as she did so, their red glow clearly visible. Blaster bolts screaming towards her were rocketed back at her attackers at twice their initial speed, flipping two over in the dust before they knew what had hit them. Then she moved.

Skygge was not the most powerful of the Sith, and neither was she the most proficient with a lightsaber (or two as it were). Her skills lay along a different path, the path of deception, of stealth, of cunning, of movement. Sprinting towards her attackers, she augmented her speed through the Force and even added some shucking and jiving to her run. As the boy's blaster fire began to answer the Rodians', she was suddenly among them, sabers flashing.

The Rodian hit in the shoulder met with a red beam of energy as it fell, it's corpse severed in twain. Skygge spun, sweeping her sabers with her, she caught the second Rodian in the legs as the bolt to his ribcage sent him stumbling backwards. A spinning kick to the head dropped the third cold, and the fourth found his blaster cut in half by the Sith's saber. As the alien turned towards the nearest attacker, it found Skygge's saber at its throat.

As the Rodian's eyes widened and it dropped the stub of a gun and raised its hands (cautiously, of course - no need for it to sever an arm in the process), Skygge slowly brought the other saber around. The weapons crossed, forming an X right at the base of the alien's neck. A simple twitch and the alien would be dead. But that was not her choice.

She called to the boy, "You can come out now." As he stepped out from his hiding place, she said, "This scum tried to kill you. Shall I finish him?"

The Rodian's head rolled into the sand, and Skygge smiled. The kid was already giving in to his darker impulses. He had the makings of a Sith. But now was not his time. He would have to experience the pain of the Jedi before he could be turned in practice. "My ride's fast enough," she replied, hooking her sabers to her belt and once again donning her cloak. "Just over this dune."

Skygge walked in silence to her rented two-seat swoop. If Jenje wondered why she had come with a two-seater, he didn't ask, and she didn't offer. Instead she kicked the starter in silence and left him to brood upon his actions for the entirety of the ride back into town.

Once they arrived, Skygge slipped off the swoop and said, "If you want what I have, if you want to know how to do what I do, follow your instincts and come find me. If you are worthy of this power, you'll know where to go and how to get there." With that, she slipped off into the crowd and disappeared from Jenje's sight.

In truth, she had cloaked herself using the Force and walked calmly back to her ship. Starting it, she took off into space, headed back towards Xa Fel. Something was happening there soon - she could feel its approach. Something dark, sinister, unknown, was about to break upon the homeworld of the Sith. And somehow she knew that she would be needed.