hollowed —

Like every night, Oli sat in his booth near the bar, ignoring everyone, especially those who tried for his attention. A datastick was plugged into his holopad, feeding lines and lines of information into his display disk which he slowly scrolled through with lazy gestures of his hand. His other hand was clutched around a glass, liquid vivid and swirling after every sip of it — this was a nightly ritual.

He never drank enough to black out, but he did drink enough to make sure being sober was rarely a thing. Considering he was, in reality, a 7’4” armoured, massive being, it took a whole lot of alcohol to keep himself permanently intoxicated. For the most part, alcohol was all he physically ingested throughout his day.

Oli downed the final sip of his drink and was about to get up to get more when he froze in place. Overall, the people that walked through the doors of his cantina were barely a blip on his radar. Occasionally, someone would come in that’d raise his eyebrows and made him want to reach out for a taste.

But whomever was out there now was enough to make the hair on his neck stand up out of excitement.

Getting to his feet slowly, the growling, hissing nose that came from his chest and poured out of his mouth was almost animalistic, even demonic in sound, but was, for the most part, drowned out by the music pounding throughout the cantina. As he moved closer to the door, the blip on his radar grew to the size of the entire radar. Finally, he ripped the door open.

The man on the other side was… a disappointment, physically. From the waves he made, Oli had expected… well, anyone else at all. His head tilted to the side, barely. “Can I help you, Jedi?”

          — Jedi.

The word hadn’t been used for Io for some time. He stared at the man in front of him, the ostentatiousness mirroring what he saw beyond him in the lush dark beyond. Bright lights and a promise that read more like a threat. Io had read somewhere that bright colors and ornamentation usually meant warning — beware, I am deadly and unafraid. Io found that cord of strength within himself, grip bloodied with how tightly he’s gripped it for the last four years, and met that danger head on. 

          Jedi might not have been used for some time but that did not make it false for Io, too, was unafraid. ( In truth, fear was new to him, strange and new and dangerous. It lived there against the scars, against that cord of strength, a dark heartbeat there within the Force. It invited the dark even when he wasn’t looking. ) He pushed back the hood enough to reveal his face but neither stepped forward or away. 

                                           Name him Jedi and that is what he will be. 

                   send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse. | @senkanekor

                  send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse. | @tahirqarn

 — ●         Rumors were dangerous things. 

They could lead and whisper and spin tales that gleamed beneath neon streetlights — but the one thing they rarely did was tell the truth. Io was taught to hold his tongue at the vipers of rumors, to take them apart and see what they were at their core. He felt a fool beneath greasy skies, flashing colors made yellowed and hazed. He was following the word he had picked up from one place and another, piecing together a haphazard map of unassured promises. There was safety, he was told. It lured him, like a song he could not get out of his head. 

That was how he ended up on Nar Shaddaa, straight into the thick of criminal activity — all who would gladly shoot him down and sell him back to the Sith for a pricey reward. He felt an ache in his arm, a trembling he could not stop and forced himself to breathe. He kept his head down, his cloak pulled up and followed the crowd. If there was a true promise of safety — that would mean he could find someone to help him. 

          How bad had the galaxy gotten that the only hopeful place was the Smuggler’s Moon in the heart of Hutt space? Io did not want to know the answer to that. 

The smuggler had said something about the cantina loud enough for Io to hear. ( “Oh! Darling, you have to go! The owner there simply adores me! It’s — oh, I suppose a little bit of paradise on that slughole of a moon. The owner runs a strict rule about ... peace. Which, if you ask me, takes out the whole point in a cantina — if I want to shoot a bloody bounty hunter then that should be my right.” )  Peace rang in perfect clarity, a word Io hadn’t heard in such a long time — one that felt so far away, dimmed by the cloud of darkness that settled too heavy on his shoulders. Another night where the threat of someone finding him, unable to sleep due to the nightmares of someone ripping through his mind, Io found a ship heading into Hutt space with space enough to hide in. It was a risk but these were desperate times. 

It had been a few days here on Nar Shaddaa but without a guide and never having been to the place before — he needed to find it. The darker parts of this place slowly began to reveal itself. He saw greed pass between fingers, promises into oil slick deals, blades and blasters and drugs all in the open. Io had only been attacked three times — twice by drunkards which Io made quick work of and once by a man he bumped into. That had taken a bit more work and he clenched his teeth against the bruises. The fresher ones anyway. There were bones still mending, gashes still healing, and the dark purpling bruises hid the yellowing ones beneath them. 

A passing conversation caught his attention — Leagues ... are you ... you slimy bastard — & Io quickly followed after them. They wound their way through the streets, avoiding fights or quickly ending them before throwing their heads back and laughing over broken noses and the groans of pain. One of the many notes that played along to Nar Shaddaa’s tune. Io kept back, far enough to be considered just someone in the street but close enough that he didn’t lose them. This would not be the only hint he’s found — the others failed to pan out into anything useful. He was hopeful but he felt that flame small, dim. 

               Io did not trust it. Trusting is what had brought him to this point. 

The building they stopped at was nondescript, just another door in a row of doors and buildings and grease. Io stopped and waited and breathed, felt that slow even pull of the Force within him, and then followed suit. 

—  ●           Eden’s relationship with the Force was a tenuous thing. At times, she forgot it existed at all, preferring to bury herself in what she identified as ‘the real world’, and ignore any knowledge that she couldn’t identify the origin of. Though, there were other times… A gut feeling had saved her life more than once over the years. And then there were those other other times. She could count them on one hand, the times that her gut feelings had become utterly overwhelming. Like a compulsion from somewhere deeper than her mind, it was impossible not to follow, and this time it pulled at her like a magnet. Land the ship, land the ship, land it. 

              She obeyed. 

The Spadja Sector wasn’t an area of space she frequented, too close to Imperial space by far, but she’d been making an allowance for a special contact. Lianna, at the center of so many trade routes, was the most convenient place Eden could talk them into. 

None of this explained why she was landing on Tandankin on her way back. It was, as far as she could tell, out of her way and of no interest. Yet, still, she landed and she disembarked, leaving her ship in a guarded space port. Something was out there… Something was tugging at her. No… It wasn’t there, yet. Eden would have to wait. 

Two days later, something in the air shifted. As if possessed, she left the room she had rented and followed the feeling of it out into the city, to the markets. Whatever she was supposed to find, it was here. In the crush of the crowd– a soul glowed. Eden danced her way through the overwhelming press of people, standing out in a gauzy dress ill suited for the environment, and just as her hand closed around a stranger’s arm the feeling left her. This cloaked figure, scruffy and singed and worn down– she had found who she was looking for. 

              “Excuse me, are you in need of a miracle?” 

The unexpected touch made every nerve in Io’s arm ignite white hot — pain flared beneath his skin, muscles clenching, his hand curled into a tight claw. Sharp needles pressing into his skin — that dark oppressive cloud that made everything hard to breathe — a dark pulse beat, a siren’s song. He winced loudly, drawing in a sharp breath before he could register what was happening. Without anything to stop it, panic flooded in. Fear was a cold jolt down his spine and he reached out blindly for  — ( “—and may it bring you back.” ) 

               Only there was nothing there.                There hadn’t been for quite some time. 

The words are blurry, noises through cotton, Io doesn’t hear them. He just hears the beat of his heart in his ears, the Force thrumming through him like a weapon. That’s what he needed. He pushed into the grip, against whoever held him to knock them off balance but whatever held him let go and he met air and then the ground rushed up to meet him. Breathe, Io — a distance voice, thin and distance with time. Calm yourself. Your pain hurts only you. The pain in his arm began to fade — it was only a ghost, only a memory. 

           Clear your mind  /   one would think.  /   Then stop thinking and do. 

He breathed, he centered, the Force snapped everything into crystal clarity. He sees a face he does not recognize, one with no association to the Sith or the Empire or himself. The crowd around them has given them a wide berth and he suddenly felt every steady heartbeat and the eyes that watched him. A growl in his throat, he got to his feet and — A miracle? 

I OPEN AT THE CLOSE [ Senka / Io ] @iojhcor           —  ● Location: Outer Rim territories, Felucia.           —  ● late 3955BBY

“Mali’kep!”

The ship continued beeping in response. After these years keeping to the skies or low on the grounds, one might think that they would have learnt to check the engines. But getting into a hurry meant not being able to check. Beep. Beep. Beep. Whirr! It was not a stupid child; a child would be able to formulate some kind of response, but Senka was white-knuckled on the wheel and knocking levers and switches with their knees and elbows. There was nothing better to call it. One fist to the middle of the wheel, and it hurt them more than it hurt the metal. 

Zabrak followed up their words with actions, but before they could threaten the piece of rubbish further, the atmosphere of the nearest planet started sucking at them, pulling them down — and down — and down. Already the thrusters had quit on them, and they had been floating in hopes that one would fire, or that they would be close to one of the main hubs, but no, of course not. Out in the middle of nowhere, on the peak edges of the galaxies, with nothing but black and stardust and random, unfortunate trade ships passing them by, and stealing ships meant you had to be extra careful where you landed, who knows who would recognise it, expect someone completely different, and then where would they be —

                                   “WARNING! INTERNAL TEMPERATURE—”

Something in the back imploded on itself, and the whole ship ( as small and awful as it was ) groaned and shook. The shaking increased, the vessel was spinning out of control, and that rancid smell of smoke filled all of their senses. Overwhelming, putrid, stinking and sticking to their clothes, and they were suffocating, panicking, no, please don’t, not again, don’t—

All at once, glass shattered, sprayed into the ship. Their gloved hands, having become frantic in the need to breathe, broke away from the seatbelts, but they had already unfastened them. ( Was it the atmospheric pressure that did it, the unfortunate state the ship was already in, their own Force-induced anxiety, was it — ) The force of a different kind, gravity, propelled them out of the piloting seat and through the broken windshield, their flailing feet hitting the flat side of the ship and tumbling away. 

It went one way, and Senka went the other. A strange blur of green and blue colours whirled like falling stars, and anything they shouted was lost to the wind before the fall took their breath away completely. The Force thrummed and buzzed around them, but it seemed just out of reach, like their fingertips were brushing against the rope ladder, just barely brushing.

               They hoped dying this time wouldn’t hurt as much as it did the first time.

The ship fell from the sky like a foreboding. There will always be danger, there will always be running — they will find you. Io watched it, a star that wasn’t a star that burned and broke and scattered. He pressed close against the blooming flora, hidden between shadows and gleaming bioluminescence. Habit — he could not tell if the ship belonged to Sith assassins but this close to the heart of Imperial Space, Io was not going to take that chance. He doubted also that, whoever it was, the pilot would have seen him. A thick atmosphere and dense jungles hid the low undergrowth of Felucia. He was safe — so far as he knew. 

                      — but Io had been wrong before.                        ( “May the Force be with you — and may it bring you back.” ) 

And then he saw the figure falling — falling — falling. 

The Force rippled through him, a rising up from within and he inhaled that familiar safety and exhaled its power. He felt the slow lifepulse within the plants around him — the ground beneath him stretching and curving with the side of the planet — the space between wingbeats as insects took off — the tremor between heartbeats and the echo of another. The world and its life, the pull of one to another, the thread that interwove itself between everything. It pulled at him and snapped into place, he could feel the air through outstretched fingers and the cloud of darkness — fear, panic, acknowledgement — 

He ran, pushed along by the Force that showed him where to put his feet next and the ground blurred beneath him. The body was still falling but slower now, Io moving faster and he jumped and the Force vaulted him upwards — the large opened blooms of Felucia became a maze beneath him, wide-brimmed flora in colors of blue and purple that gleamed under the gauzy atmosphere. Io was not close enough to grab them but that made no difference, he found the threads that connected him to the body and pulled. 

Finding a secure grip on them, Io dropped slowly back among the thick jungle. They did not look Sith — but looks were deceiving. Io himself was dressed in an old uniform he stole from Korriban — black robed, dirty and torn and singed from falling out of skies as well. This one — had touched the Force, he felt it ringing through cells and bone and blood but there was no seed of darkness, no sudden — or was there? He narrowed his eyes, loss and panic and fear and something bitter and gray beneath it all. He knew that darkness. 

                     ( “— and may it bring you back.” )

—  ●        A presence rippled through the air and Io went cold. The crowd was a lazy thing, shuffling folk in shades of brown that wandered from one neon blazing sign to the next. He pressed closer against it, head down and mimicking movements to simply disappear.  Io did not know much about this planet — a slow urban sprawl that faded into mountains. The ship had it pre-programmed into its systems and Io didn’t have time to change it before the engines shot and the autopilot refused to shut down. The controls frozen and with no means — or time — to do anything, he had to jump before it crashed into the side of a mountain. A glance over his shoulder, he could still see the smudge of smoke that stained the clouds overhead.

              That was fine. At this point, Io had very little say in the matter. 

He pulled the hood of his cloak down, turning his attention to stalls with their rusted and gleaming wares, clenching his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. There was a heavy groan about this place, a slow crunch of metal against stone. It made Io uneasy. A shopkeeper, an aged Kubaz shriveled up on her seat, uttered something in broken basic but Io was not listening. At least, not to her. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to match what he felt to what he knew. Only — it was gone. That was not reassuring. He was losing his mind. 

“Buy something — or go,” the Kubaz snapped, waving her hand at him. Io gave a shallow, stiff bow and stepped away, waiting for the slow crowd to swallow him up. He reached into the pocket of the stolen uniform, dirty and singed from the heat of the crash, and held tightly to the roughly carved wooden cube. The jailor had once mentioned it was lucky & Io needed all the help he could get. Well, no. What he needed was to find a way off planet — he knew the Axis ran nearby but vital trade routes are primed with check points and this close to Sith space, Io didn’t know enough to blindly risk it. He needed a ship and — the Force be with him, he needed actual help. 

01. Tell us about your character’s name. Was it given to them or chosen? Does it hold any special meaning? If your character has aliases or nicknames, how did they get them and what do they mean?

IO — given to him by his human mother, it came from one of those fairy tales about a goddess who lived on a moon of ice and was pursued by a rival moon. she ran within the shadow of a giant with a great red eye. the giant fell in love with her and called her the jewel of his crown. as they danced together, moon and planet, the giant would hide her away whenever the rival moon appeared on his horizon. hidden shadow-deep, the goddess and the giant were married. to this day, they are lost in their dark space, lost in one another, dancing for the rest of time. io was the name of the moon, the bejeweled crown. JCHOR — was his father’s surname which in the sephi language would translate into roughly ‘the faraway one’ or ‘distant one’. it is derived from a word in the sephi high language that described the beauty of a star on the horizon during the twilight hours. 

content warning for torture / violence / abuse.