Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith: Sentinel

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«I think… I might have ruined my life.»

«Sounds like you met a woman,» the purple-faced bartender said, pouring. «Do you want me to leave the bottle?»

Only if I can smash it over my head, Jelph Marrian thought. It  was  sweetwater,  anyway — nothing  that would help him forget. Sweat dripping from his matted blond hair, he drank deeply. The empty mug glistened, its shaped facets catching the firelight. Jelph twirled it in his hand, following the reflections. Since arriving on Kesh, he’d only drunk from orojo shells. But the Keshiri produced such wonderful glassware — even here, to serve guests in a pauper’s way station.

The bartender passed him a bowl of porridge. «Friend, you look like you’ve run all the way from South  Talbus.»

«And more.» Jelph didn’t add that he’d been running practically without pause since the previous evening. Now, as the sun set again, he’d stopped, parched and ravenous, here in a hovel nestled in the lengthening shadows of the capital city’s walls. Jelph simply nodded to the pleasant old Keshiri and retreated to a corner with his meal. The natives on Kesh always felt freer to be familiar with human slaves than they were with the Sith. They must not have much trouble telling us apart, he imagined; tonight, his soaked, tattered clothes were probably a tip-off that he wasn’t born on high.

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