Star Wars Galaxies: SWG Warcry Bio Contest Winners Announced!

Talbot (Grand Prize Winner) -
The night is getting dark, just after sunset. Dusk has begun to set in, the streets are thin with people. A man exits the cantina, nodding to the doormen as he passes. Turning left he begins to walk eastward, passing parked speeders and swoop bikes. The neon lighting from the cantina's advertising flickers and throws many colored lights on the scene, washing the area in shades of blue, white and vivid yellow. Reflections on the windscreens of the speeders seem like fragments of so many holoscreens, throwing the light around the area, refracting it back onto the walls of the surrounding buildings. It is night time in the jungle, but far from dark. A cool breeze blows from the north, sending shivers through the man, he tugs on the collars of his suit jacket, as much to straighten and adjust it's fit as to ward off the wind.

Eight, nine, ten paces from the doorway a young couple walks towards him, hand in hand, smiling and laughing as young people are wont to do. Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen paces, past a shivering figure curled in the shadows. A small, dirty hat at it's feet, a few credits in the bottom.

"Spare a few credits for a one down on his luck kind sir?" the heap mumbles. The man stops to gaze upon the shadowed figure. A hunched man in the the alcove between buildings, sheltered from the wind, a rough, dirty cloak wrapped tightly around him. It is well past the hour for any panhandlers or beggars to work the streets.

"I've no time for the likes of muon junkies" the man says, dressed in his fine suit. "Go get yourself a room and stop stinking up my street ya piece of filth" he says, spitting into the alcove as he drops a few credits into the hat.

This is Crandel Roberts. Owner of the Cantina, shrewd business man, and also, influential member of a small underground crime ring. The cantina serves as a place to fence stolen goods and conduct business. An clean exterior that belies the filth and fornication that goes on within.. So like the man himself. A well respected man in the concrete jungle. Business smarts and contacts all over the planet, Crandel is turning into a man to be reckoned with, him and his hired group of underground thugs. And reckoned he will be. Crandel Roberts. Remember the Name.

He is also my mark.

He continues on his way eastward, towards the far end of the block, the muon junkie gathers his hat and stuffs the credits greedily into his pockets. Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen paces from the doorway The lights flicker continuously in the growing cold of night. It is a time when predators roam within the steel and concrete forest. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen paces. The muon junkie steps from the shadows. The wind whispers like a divine angel through the street, carrying away discarded papers and trash with a sudden burst of fury.

I take a deep breath, breathing in the smells of the street. The air is crisp in the cool night, but that can not override the stench of the gutter. To the right, the doormen have gone inside, the Cantina is closing for the night, the young couple are entering a speeder. No doubt to drive off and enjoy each other's company for the night. The neon Flickers one final time before going off for good, an omen perhaps. Twenty, Twenty-one, Twenty-two paces from the doorway. I shrug off the filthy cloak, kicking it back into the shadows. My fingers itch and tingle with the promise of the actions to come. Slowly, carefully I draw my pistol from it's holster. The grip is warm, solid, and well worn; moonlight glints deeply from the dark barrel. Twenty-three, Twenty-four, Twenty-Five. I close my eyes.

When they open the gun is coming up to shoulder level. A small, crimson dot traces it's way after Crandel. Following his path, first on the sidewalk, then on the wall, still behind him, it tracks his progress up the street. It seems to waver on it's own.. on his back now.. the left side where the heart is.. up to the base of his head.. down two feet to the base of his spine.. No, this is not right, not for this mark.

Smoothly, soundlessly, I drop to one knee. Twenty-six, Twenty-seven, Twenty- "CRANDEL!" I bellow, stopping him in mid step. Interesting, most try to run immediately, down alleys, up rusted fire escapes, through backyards, in the end, they still die.. tired. Perhaps crandel knows this, or perhaps he is just overconfident on his own turf. I smile to myself at the thought of this. He turns, no effort to escape.. I see the surprise and shock on his face. He must have figured me for one of his doormen. Until he saw me anyways, kneeling in the middle of the walk, gun poised and aimed. Overconfident, nothing can touch him just a few meters outside his club, not even in a city as wretched as this.

His movements seem to happen in slow motion, he starts to turn, to run, to flee like all the rest. It's been a long day, sitting in that gutter for an hour as put me in a foul mood. I drop my aim two feet and feel my finger caress the trigger. Squeezing gently I pull the trigger. A soft click greets my action, followed by the humm of the blaster bolt as it speeds from the barrel towards it's target. Perfect aim, the bolt hits the inside of his left knee as he turns. Exploding fragments of bone and blood. His turn, once panicked is now a slow disfigured pirrouette. The leg he had his weight on, shattered, can no longer bear the load. He falls to the ground cursing something about my mother. I exhale.

I stand and begin walking towards him pistol still trained on him, the dot dancing along his body. My movements are smooth, not rushed, he has no where to go, and the street is empty, the movements of a predator stalking it's prey. Another soft click and hum, and another bolt races towards him. This time his right elbow splinters and cracks under the superheated energy. He's howling in pain, trying feebly to reach for his ruined knee and elbow with his left arm, unable to decide which needs his attention more.

Liquidly I holster the gun, reach inside my jacket and pull out a thick stogie, lighting it as I go. The sharp flavor of the dried corellian stock tingles and dances in my mouth. Another gust of wind, and a breath of smoke is wisked away into the night.

By the time I reach him, shock has set in, he is no longer screaming, he's realized no one can hear him. Atleast, no one that cares to help. Kneeling beside him, blowing the thick blue smoke in his face, "what was that about my mother," I ask in a low tone. I see the fear on his face, it practically bleeds from his eyes. This is the part where he begs for his life.. where he offers me anything I've ever dreamed of. On cue, his mouth opens, and he begins to blubber. Offering me credits, women, slaves.. too predictable. Staring at his face, memorizing the details, always keeping eye contact, I search his inner pockets for his ID tag and wallet. In my line of business, the pay is good... not great.

He knows now there is no use in begging. "Jabba says you've been a very naughty boy," blowing more smoke into his face, "You grew too fast, and thought too little of the consequences," I say with no emotion. "This is Jabba's turf, never forget that".

I see a glint in his eye, a small glimmer of hope. He thinks perhaps I may let him go with a warning. Holding the cigar in my hand, I pat his chest, careful not to burn him, "you will remember that won't you Crandel?" Ashes from my cigar flutter off onto his clothes and up around his neck.

He nods slowly, and manages to utter between winces, "no.. no.. I won't.. won't forget".

"Good boy." I stand and take another pull from my cigar. He's practically smiling now, stupid fool actually thinks I'm gonna leave. My hand drifts to my pistol again, and I see the same shock and horror return to his face. What a weak, pitiful fool. I draw and send a barrage of shots into his sternum wiping out any doubts he may have had.

"Another day.. another dollar" I say as the cloud of smoke rolls from my mouth.

I leave him there, in the middle of the walk, dark pools of blood welling from his shattered limbs and torso. No need to check for a pulse, he's as dead as they come. Someone will find him by morning, and it will be all over the news.. and no one will know who hit him. No one save me, and my employer.

I figure I've got time to make a stop at the bank and check Mr. Roberts balance, it's still early for me. I'm a Predator.

Talbot,
Master Bounty Hunter
Master Pistoleer

Sway Tarq (1st Runner Up) -

My father married a pure Twi'lekee.
My mothers' people were ashamed of me.
The Rebels said an evil Imp I would become.
The imperials called me rebel Scum.

Half Breed - Is all I ever Heard.
Half Breed - Let Me hate the very word.
Half Breed -She is no good they warned.
Both sides were against me from the day I was born.

We never settled, shuttled from town to town.
When your not welcome you don't hang around.
The other children always laughed at me.
Give her a fizz she's a Twi'lekee.

Half Breed - Is all I ever heard
Half Breed - Let me hate the very word.
Half breed - she is no good the warned.
Both sides were against me from the day I was born.

We weren't accepted and I felt ashamed.
Nineteen I left them , tell me who's to blame.
My life since then has been killing men.
But I can't burst run from what I am !!

Half breed - Is all I ever heard
Half breed - Let me hate the very word.
Half breed - she is no good they warned
both sides were against me from the day I was born..........

Parody from
Half breed Shania Twain 2001
Half breed Cher 1973

Masar Chroneto (2nd Runner Up) -

What a life it's been. Seen the galaxy, visited a few too many cantinas, and met with both noble and unsavory types. The fun never stops though, at least as it seems. I still aspire to be the best I can, thought I've been around the block a few times.

Seems just like yesterday I was part of a loving family, but young and impatient, got out as soon as I could and got mixed up in the wrong crowd. I joined a smuggling ring when I was 17 (only because of a gambling debt), and they taught me everything I needed to know to survive on the streets and anywhere else for that matter. Eventually I made enough creds to get out from debt and moved on as fast as I could.

Now I live a quiet life (hehe, yea right, old habits die too hard) on Talus. Gamos Iuan, as it's called, is a great city with great people. Aidenn, who is a good friend of mine now, helped me set my life straight. I still have some fun on the side though, but iam legit now. No more Pazaak....

I've moved onto Sabaac now...