This is a small collection of stories I wrote some years back, revolving loosely around a large amount of Roleplay I did in Star Wars Galaxies circa 2008-2009. The anthology style was inspired by my favorite Star Wars book: Tales from the Mos Eisley Cantina. These tales all take place out of the player run town of Black Sands, in the deep desert of Tatooine. It was not on the Planet Map, nor did it have a shuttle. It was a rustic desert town, lead by a gruff and weary militia. The residents (To include my Smuggler, Selique) were all pretty rough and tumble themselves. A real Wild West feeling permeated the town. I have had the pleasure of Roleplaying there for most of its duration, before it was destroyed In-Character when SWG was announced as sunsetting. These stories are my tribute to the great community of Black Sands, and all my Star Wars Galaxies friends!

Please Enjoy!

    Selique walked across a ridge, and looked down. Half a mile away, nestled between two mountains in the middle of nowhere, laid Black Sands. The place was a small rugged town, without a shuttle port, and only the bare essentials to offer weary travelers.

    She walked down from the ridge and crossed the expanse of desert that separated her from the one place she really loved in Black Sands: The Cantina. “The Lost Finger” was its name, and she had heard a story about how that name came into being. Apparently, Major Remahr had cut a thief’s finger off after having been caught stealing from the tip bowl on the stage inside the cantina.

    She didn’t care what it was called, only that they sold water there. Even if the water was grossly expensive, and not always on stock. That was the problem with spending lots of time on Tatooine though. Especially out here, in the Deep Desert, north of the Dune Sea. Selique kept walking, past a small group of worrts, huddled in the shade of a nearby rock, and into the outskirts of the town. Her large hat, kept the twin suns brutal heat and bright light out of her face, and obscured the front of her body in a dim shadow.

    She made her way past several drab and weatherworn buildings, before she spotted the cantina. She walked slowly, and deliberately in the mid-day heat, but finally reached the entrance. Selique walked in and went to the counter where a droid bartender was serving a bothan some alcohol. She waited for the sale to be completed and then ordered herself a bottle of water. Fifty credits. Fifty. That’s a large sum of money for one who has barely any. Water was vital to life though, and she paid the droid grudgingly. This bottle of water was placed in the empty gun holster on the left side of her gun belt. She then made her way back outside, and into the Deep Desert.

    It wasn’t long before she heard the noise that kept her enthralled and mystified. The sound of tribal pipes, playing their beautiful, yet feral songs in the wind, she always liked them. Selique walked up a dune, wondering the whole time what was making such wonderful music out so far from civilization. Was she crazy? Were these sounds in her head? She began to wonder when she saw something out of the corner of her eye; a large slow moving creature, moving off and disappearing behind a rocky outcropping.

    “A Kitonak!” she whispered to herself, finally realizing what was creating the song she had been listening to. She went into the direction of the Kitonak, but it was a great distance off. By the time she had reached the spot, the prints had been washed away in the endlessly moving sands of the desert. The song had stopped, and Seli knew the Kitonaks had moved off and were somewhere else, probably far away by now. She frowned to herself, sad that the song had stopped. She wanted to be there with the Kitonaks listening to their pipes. One thing she did know was that Kitonaks were great musicians. Droopy McCool was the best Slitherhorn player on the Rim, and he was a Kitonak.

    Her years of Xenobiology and medical schooling also told her Kitonaks were desert dwelling creatures, and her education had said that they were from the desert world of Kirdo III.

    “There must be a tribe of them here on Tatooine!” she mused. The sky was a deep vibrant orange now, and Selique could hear the sound of worrts croaking, and womp rats chattering. Night was coming, and it got cold at night. Selique wandered her way back to Black Sands, the song of the Kitonaks still playing in her mind. She would go out again and again until one day she found the Kitonaks, and listened to the song completely. Taking it in and forgetting about all her problems. She smiled to herself as she reached the Desert Inn. One day…

    Sawney Rath stood outside the “Lost Finger” Cantina in Black Sands. His armor shown brightly in the twin suns of Tatooine. The “T” shaped visage of his helmet gazed out across the sand.

    “One dead planet.” He mused to himself, as a few strangers passed by, on their way in. The sky was bright blue, as midday approached. Not long until the merchandise would show up. He knew it. The probe droid had informed him of every step the merchandise took. Updated Sawney on every breath this creature breathed.

    “Yes.” No doubt it would be soon. The satisfaction of having out-witted another. The feeling of completing a long hunt. That is what he used to live for. Until she showed up into his life.

    “Thistle Rath, more beautiful then any desert flower…” His mind wandered. A snap of the helmet, and a quick breath, he regained his composure, and alertness. A cloaked figure appeared on the outskirts of town. He wore simple civilian clothing. Common local, one would call him. Sawney watched the man.

    Closer. The humanoid was walking quite slowly, and purposefully.

    Closer. Sawney moved off of the Cantina’s front porch. He headed to where the cloaked stranger was directed.

    Interception. A flash. A pop. A hiss. A groan. There lay the cloaked figure. On the sand, unharmed, yet unconscious.
Prevention? What made him stop? Rath blinked once, and then twice. He picked the man up, slung him over his back, and headed off. Walking toward his ship, parked in the desert, a ways off.

    Alert. He was alert as he walked across the sand, carrying his hard won prize.

    Another. His HUD picked up an incoming bio-signature. Sentient. There was a low hum across the dunes. The gravel and sand vibrated around his boots. A Swoop Bike swept passed, and off jumped and armored being. Blaster aimed at Sawney Rath.

    Step. He stepped to the side just in time to avoid being blasted. He dropped his prize, and pulled his own gun, a DC-22 Halephax Carbine. More bolts came sizzling toward him.

    Scorched. Grazed. Burnt. Three shots glanced his Mandalorian armor. He brought his gun to aim and fired a volley. The armored being flashed blue-ish green as a Personal Shield Generator flared.

    Cheap. That was part of the game though. Sawney took refuge behind a rock; his prize sprawled out in the hot desert sands. Blaster bolts flying over the merchandise. He fired from behind his cover. Heard some ricocheting. Some sand turned to glass. One last shot before his gun was out. He aimed it, and let fly a coruscating bolt of energy. The hostile fell back, having been shot directly in the head.

    “Bounty Hunters.” He strode out from behind his rock. The merchandise stirred. Sawney grabbed the smuggler, and hauled him to his feet. He looked at the barely conscious man.

    “Please. I’m not what you think.” Whispered the man out of desperation.

    “You. Are a Rebel. I saw you kill Stormtroopers out on patrol around here. You will be brought to the Empire, and you will be dealt with.” A cold reply, from a calculating mind. The man was indeed a Rebel. He had been harassing Imperials on their way to Mos Espa.

    Struggle. Not beneficial. The man struggled harshly now. Adrenaline rushing though his Rebel veins. A blaster appeared. Where did that come from? No time. With a quick reaction from many years of combat, a bolt drilled its way through the merchandise.

    A sigh.

    The corpse, left in the sand, as the Mandalorian walked back into town.

    “Another one claimed by the Desert Sands.”