Please note that all standard disclaimers apply.
One With the Force
by Kyle Marvis
Part One : A Clash of Destinies
From the outside, the Sharin tavern looked like a place of grandeur and of upper class
society, but when one entered, the musty air and smell of intoxicants was like any other
seedy cantina that Norsk Fraylan had ever visited. And he had expected that taverns like
this would be present on the planet of Gorind.
He stood in the doorway, a tall, handsome figure, and watched the goings-on with
amusement. The Sabacc games, the arguments, the cigar smoke and smell of alcohol
were all present, and Norsk noted with a satisfied smile that he felt totally at home.
He made his way to the bar, and smiled at the small, yet surprisingly strong looking
alien who must have been the bartender.
“Wha’ can ey do fa ya, sir?” the mousy looking bartender queried in a twittery voice.
“I’ll have a bottle of your best Harlekan Johte, thanks.”
The bartender raised his eyebrows in obvious admiration. “We dun’t ge’ much uf dat
around ‘ere. Too expensive fa the likes o’ thes scumbags,” he said, with a wave of his
mangled hand. “Dun’t know wha’ someone uf your standard iz doin’ in ‘ere.”
An obviously old bottle of Johte was placed in front of Norsk, who frowned in disdain.
“I asked for your best bottle,” he commented in a smooth yet icy tone.
“W-well sir, dat be da best ey can do fa ya. We...we ain’t got nuffin’ better...mainly
'cause we dun’t order ‘em, much. Bit uf an extra expense fa tha tavern. S-sorry ‘bout dat,
sir.”
“Oh well,” Norsk remarked dryly, “I suppose it will have to do.”
“Vewry good, sir. Uh.....me name’s Indi, and wat be yours?”
“Fraylan. Norsk Fraylan."
"An' whe' be you head'n, Fray'n?"
"After I leave this . . . planet? I'm heading to DuraKhan."
Norsk took a long swig of his Johte and then indicated something behind Indi. "Looks like you have another customer, Indi.”
Indi turned and looked at the thin, gangly alien whom Norsk had noticed. The alien
smiled widely at Indi and leaned drunkenly forward. “How ‘bout another one, huh?” he
slurred thickly.
“Ugghh, ey’ve jus’ about had enough uf you,” Indi spat out menacingly. “Yaman, I ain’t
servin’ ya no more, ya here? All ya do is git drunk and harass me customers. So bugger
off Yaman, before ey git me blaster on ya, ya here? Bugger off!”
Fraylan smiled smugly. From the looks Indi was getting from other patrons, and from
this little display, it was quite apparent that he didn’t respect just anyone. And here
Fraylan was, getting respect from him. It showed that the comments that were often made
about Norsk, that his very presence commanded respect and he had a way of charming
people that was yet to be matched, must be true.
He smiled again and took a long mouthful of his Johte. There were many ways he could
utilise these ‘skills’ of his. One being talking the pretty brunette across the room to show
him the town. Norsk flashed her his most charming grin and watched as she giggled and
turned away, with visible pleasure. It was times like this that he was grateful his parents
had both been good looking people.
Norsk had begun to make his way towards the brunette, when a commotion outside
forced him to turn and look towards the door.
Shouts and screaming issued from the streets of Sharin.
Suddenly, a small figure bolted into the tavern. Two thin hands reached up to part the
messy, tangled hair, revealing the dirt-smudged face of a young woman. Her wild eyes
darted around the cantina, and her shrill voice echoed off the ceiling.
“Help me! Help me, someone please! They’re after me, and this time I swear they’re
gunna kill me. Please, you have got to believe me.”
The patrons of the tavern looked at one another and shook their heads in disgust.
Was she a local? Norsk wondered. Or was she just another insane person, the type that
this planet usually attracted?
“Please! Indi, please help me. You know I’m telling the truth, don’t you?” she pleaded,
looking desperately at the bartender.
Indi turned away from the young woman and started to polish some glasses.
“Indi, you traitor, you used to be my friend,” she snarled, “but now—”
Several uniformed guards burst into the cantina behind the woman, who spun around in
fear.
“Come on, let’s go,” one of the men said in a tired voice as he grabbed the girl’s arm.
“No! No, I won’t!”
“I’m sorry about this folks,” the head of the group announced. “But most of you know
how she is. Sorry for the disturbance.”
The group of guards dragged the screaming young woman out.
“Indi....?” a final, defeated plea issued from her mouth, but to no avail.
And with that, the small group was gone.
“Who was that?” Norsk asked curiously, the pretty brunette forgotten.
“Ah, jes’ a local,” Indi explained, “crazy, she iz. She used ta house wif me, ‘til I
couldn’t handle her no mo’. Always wuz ravin’ ‘bout crap. Said tha local government
waz involved in crime an’ stuff.” Indi leaned forward slightly, his voice a mixture of
disbelief and amusement. “Also said thut she wuz wan’ed by her own family. Said dey
sen’ out a whole bunch a boun’y hun’ers. Na one ever believed her, uf course.”
“Oh,” Norsk said distractedly.
For some strange reason he couldn’t get the image of the desperate woman out of his
head, and he had a feeling that he should help her. But then strange feelings like that
happened a lot to Norsk. He’d read about something called the Force, and how some
people had the power to control it. Jedi, they were called. For many years now, Norsk
had suspected that he himself was able to control the Force, mainly because of these
strange feelings he would sometimes get. He’d learnt to trust these feelings, but had never
told anyone about them. He preferred people to think he had good judgement, as he
believed that admitting his suspicions about his so-called Force control would weaken his
reputation.
Norsk had always been assumed to be powerful and wealthy, of which both were true,
and combining his good looks and confidence gave the impression that he was a very
together young man. And inside he was only unsure about a few things. And one of his
insecurities was the situation with the Force, but Norsk had learned to bury that deep
within his mind.
Only at times like this, when he sensed things that he didn’t think others did, did it
resurface.
Unable to resist, Norsk asked the bartender, “What’s her name?”
“Eh?”
“The girl. The insane one.”
“Oh her. You dun’t wanna bover yaself over her, do ya? But since ya asked, her name’s
Charisa. Charisa Thonola.”
“Charisa Thonola. Thank you Indi,” Norsk smiled and finished off his Johte. “Thank you
very much.”
And with that the tall, blonde man known as Norsk Fraylan walked confidently out of
the tavern.
Continue . . .
Back to the Interactive Stories
