A grin split his face as he parted the doors to the Citadel's entrance. The main hall had become an explosion of. 'What has it become?' the Elder thought to himself. Extravagant colors permeated a hidden theme of red and green throughout the expansive hall. The Consul had spared no expense for her Life Day party, it seemed. The normal dour and desolate hall had not seen such festivity in quite some time. Braecen approved greatly. Partially, because he enjoyed the holiday. Wholly, because he enjoyed the unease it created amongst the attendees.

No one dare refuse the Shadow Lady. Refusal lead to a cadre of Elders descending on you. The Quaestor still found it both unusual and perplexing that her absolute positive demeanor had created loyalty that thrice outstripped any of the previous Consuls. Perhaps there was something there. He would not have time to consider it until tomorrow, though. A jubilant K'Tana waltzed up to him. The Twi'lek stopped short of him, planting her hands on her hips and standing defiant. "You," she accused, "are not festive enough." She planted a crude hat on his head. It was red with white accents around the rim; a big fluffy ball of white at the tip of it's top. She smirked. Satisfied her job was done, she spun off towards the next individual walking through the doors.

Unsure, but unwilling to remove the hat, Braecen moved towards the refreshments. He desperately wanted a drink. As he approached the table, he noted that both Kordath and Mako were spiking the punch. "Two times the alcohol, two times the fun?" he inquired. Both men grinned devilishly before capping their empty containers, scooping a glassful, and moving towards the larger party. It wasn't until they moved on that Braecen noticed Zakath had been standing behind them. The Elder arched an eyebrow. Apparently K'tana had found the Barabel, as well. He wore a hat with odd horns projecting from his head. "Nice, uh..." his voice trailed off.

"Zhe zaid they waz antlerz," came Zakath's reply. He was obviously troubled with the development as much as Braecen was confused. "They... look good on you," Braecen lied. He poured himself a cup of the Mako-Kordath special and sipped. His eyes watered, his sinuses cleared, and his throat burned. He coughed a few times to regain his composure. He turned towards the Barabel and they touched their glasses. "Here is to another wild and crazy celebration in Arcona."

I have had people talk to me all the time about power. What it is like to wield it, what it is like to use it, what it is like when you have to do anything to get it. I will admit it is not really my favourite conversation. I have had my fair share of power grabs and would still do it again.

Why? Why not. I may have no particular use of it at the moment, but there may come a time where I could need it. There came a time only months ago where I would have wished for that power. I may be a trained and out of practice assassin, but to hold off such people of a stronger caliber was difficult. There was moments I thought we would not make it out of our own home alive. Never had I been so desperate to fight for my life— or for the life of my husband.

So why do I want power? Assassins do not give up if they fail their first strike. This will happen again, I assure you. I would rather be ready for the next time it happens. Though, now finding ourselves on an outskirt planet trying not to draw attention to ourselves, going on a hunt for power can be difficult. Physical power, that is.

I know where the assassins came from. Why they had come to us. They did not even want me, they wanted Mirus. I was just an accessory to their assassination mark. We know why they were there, why they had wanted to wipe him out. I suppose I would have had to be taken care of as well, being the man's spouse and all. It was only natural that I knew everything.

But no. As much as I would like to strike our want to be killers down, I no longer consider myself physically capable of such a thing. Or at least Mirus would no longer allow it. To me, there would be no greater rush than sending their heads back to where they had came from, but I have had to long retire my lightsaber. Not only because of the location we are in, but also due to the process of starting a family. What a shame though, I never did get to use the one he had made just for me when we had finally settled into our new home.

Some day.

Power though? Long ago I had learned it also comes through knowledge. While the planet we have found ourselves on I would consider... not ideal for my talents, I have been able to make do. While I do still some hacking and snatching of information for select parties, my coding skills have long gone out to the highest bidder. I must say, it does make us a good amount of money. But as I had said, I know who they were. It may take some time, but setting up numerous programs and etcetera, I can try and worm my way into their systems. It is bound to be a challenge... especially at this distance. It really is not easy on a planet like this and having to deal with signals and transmitting data.

Having to piece together things here and there, digging for even the slightest mention of what they are after Mirus for from whatever and whomever may be connected to them and getting on the trail of what you are looking for is an unimaginable power rush. You find things in the most unsuspecting data centers and as you pick up more and more pieces you start having something you can really use against them.

And what can be worse than someone suddenly knowing their darkest of secrets and data? Knowing what no one else should be knowing?

My connections in the business make this all the easier. The people I hunt for become perfect for unknowingly getting the data I want in exchange for what they want.

And you know what the best part is?

I can do it all from the comfort of the most luxurious chair I have ever sat down upon.

There is no feeling more powerful than that.

Dossier# 9096, Word Count: 750

*The Broken Blade, overlooking Port Ol’Val*
*Somewhere in the Dajorra System*
*0730 hours*

“First time visiting the shadow port?” a man casually asked from behind Adem, the latter standing lost in thought at the window. He turned to see a tall, wiry Miraluka standing close to the door and smiling at the window. He was familiar; the man with stones placed over his “eyes”, or rather the place eyes should be. Adem wasn’t accustomed to speaking with the blind and tried to position himself in front of Mks, though he never could get the man to point his face towards him.
“I’ve been before. Delightful, as places that don’t exist go.” Adem replied dryly.
“Oh, good, a sense of humor. Mks Ehn, at your service.” Adem found his expressions intriguing; smiles seem so odd when eyes aren’t part of the equation, but something was especially inscrutable about Mks’s face. Lucky for Adem that Mks couldn’t see that he wasn’t smiling back, the Umbaran too busy trying to figure out what his newly minted commander was thinking to no avail.
“Something wrong?” Mks asked, picking up on the sound of the gears turning in Adem’s head, who awkwardly smiled at last. For a Miraluka, the sound of thoughts churning in another person is magnified to the roar of a hurricane.
“Sorry, nothing.”
“Trying to figure me out? Just treat me like anyone else. I think you’ll be surprised” he said, waving a hand over his ocular implants, “how much a blind man can see. No need to apologize.”
“Right, sorry.”
“There it is again. I’m blind, and you must be deaf. What a pair we make. You’ll want to mind that habit around the grumpy lizard.”
“Point taken. I don’t suppose you have any work for me? I haven’t risked life and limb for some time now.”
“Ha, we’re going to get along just fine. I do have something for you. Ever spent time down in the Besadii district?”
“I’ve actually only been to the Complex on any visit to the port.”
“You haven’t experienced Ol’val at all yet. Besadii smells like the bizarre lovechild of money, sweat from particularly vigorous coitus, cheap booze and wildly pricey spirits alike, and a few other pleasures.”
Adem laughed. “So, I’ve got tourism for an assignment?”
“If only. You’ll be brushing up on the activities of the local criminal organizations, as well as the efforts of the police forces against them. Arconan activity has transpired here, and we want to make sure that our hand in current events has gone unnoticed thus far, so we don’t have any messes to clean up before we start making more to deal with.”
“You make it sound like a janitorial detail.”
“Only your mop lops off arms and legs like rotted branches, and you get to dress better.” Mks laughed. “Speaking of violence, here comes my favorite Barabel.”
Sure enough, an even taller and very imposing figure walked down the hall, bumping Adem’s shoulder on the way. The mass of dark scales turned to face the other men.
“Sorry.” Adem mumbled. The lizard’s eyes narrowed.
Mks sighed. “Apologies aren’t a concept he grasps, you’re just in his way. Zakath, meet our new friend.”
“Izz this the one I’ve heard so much about? I wazz expecting someone more… impozzing,” the Barabel hissed, “We are in need of no weak linkzz.”
“I think this one might surprise us both. At the very least, he won’t be a waste of your time, Zakath.” Mks said, smiling again. Zakath just shrugged and grunted.
“When do we get started?” Adem asked.
“Shuttle’s being prepped now,” Mks replied, and turned his face upward, “I think this will be the start of a great deal of fun.”

Title: The douchiest story ever told...

The struggle is real. Not a day goes by in the life of Keirdagh Taldrya Cantor where he is not reminded of his excellence. Everywhere he goes, crowds gather to chant his name, or whisper in awe behind his back. If you had once told the man that he'd grow tired of having a personal soundtrack of adulation, he simply wouldn't have believed you. For such a young man from humble beginnings, writing his name large upon the stars was all that he could have ever dreamed of. But alas, like all the more ordinary folks in the galaxy, the dreams he once dreamed for became nothing but a curse once finally achieved.

Enjoying the simple pleasures in life became an impossibility. A late night stroll with a beautiful woman saw him besieged by the adoring public. A simple dinner out with friends became a spectacle where he was expected to endear himself to those whom fate decided would share his dining space for the evening. All of those who dream big dreams wish for success, and to be powerful and control their own fate. None ever put thought to the cost.

In Keirdagh's life, there has been but one pure failure: to be normal.

No Failures. Happy!