Well, this is my debut on FFN. I want to start by thanking those who take the time to read this story.

I've only shown a few people my writing before, so posting here is definitely a new experience for me. I think I'm a decent writer, but I'm afraid of being so blind to my own work that I cannot see its true qualities.

This story will be using mostly original characters, but there may occasionally be a 'cameo' appearance or two. Without further ado, here's Chapter 1.

Chapter 1: A Drunken Smile

Kyrr Geron sat down on the old bar stool farthest away from the door he had just come in through. He was a man of about 35 with short black hair who obviously hadn't shaved his face in a week or two. The clothes he wore were unassuming, and blended in well; they wouldn't make him stand out in a crowd. He could have passed for a regular at this particular bar, but it was his first time there. He was always on the move, making sure no one could get to know him too closely, or recognize him if he needed to disappear.

The smoke in the bar was so thick, he had no idea how big it really was; he couldn't see the back wall from where he was sitting. There were lights hanging down over the bar so that it was clearly visible, but it was hard to see much else. There were a few dim lamps at several tables a few yards away, but they only showed the silhouettes of bar-goers of various races through the dense fog. There was a repugnant stench in the air, mingled with a strong odor that could be likened to old urine. What a musty hole in the wall, he thought. I guess it's decent by underlevel standards.

He looked around, noticing a couple Rodians standing by the bar that were so intoxicated that they were just staggering around, laughing, and talking to people that apparently got very annoyed after their encounters with the drunkards. With the tinny music blasting from low-grade speakers in the ceiling, Kyrr couldn't make out what they were saying, but judging by the dirty looks of the people they talked to, he guessed that they weren't being at all polite. One of them hobbled over to his seat at the bar as he was about to order a drink, and put his arm around his shoulder.

"Kavaa yo no moolee-rah?"

Can I have some money?

Kyrr was disgusted. He wanted nothing to do with the olive-green lowlife, and decided to politely refuse the Rodian's request.

"Nobata, ji hagwa yo ashka. Bolla bata ta pateesa."

No, I don't have very much. Go back over to your friends.

The Rodian doubled over laughing, then fell over and continued to laugh on the floor. Kyrr turned back to the bar. The grey-skinned Twi'Lek bartender came over to him and spoke to him in a raspy and barely audible voice. "Pick your poison."

"I'll take a tall glass of the Arala."

The bartender walked away to get a glass.

Kyrr was fond of Arala beer. It was cheap, watery, commonplace, and had a nasty aftertaste, but for some reason he found it to be his favorite. It reminded him of when he first started drinking it, when he was in his prime. When he drank it, wherever he was, he felt like he was home.

Just as the pale Twi'Lek slid his drink down the bar to him, Kyrr felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around. It was the Rodian again.

"Kee baatu baatu sleemo."

You bother me slimeball.

Kyrr sighed. He didn't take his armor with him anymore, it'd get him spotted way too easily. He still carried his blaster pistol though. He was sick of this guy, and since asking him nicely didn't work, he was done being nice.

There were three flashes of red light in quick succession, and by the time the light had faded, the Rodian lay dead on the floor with a smoking hole in his chest. The other two Rodians saw what happened and burst out in laughter, which slowly faded as they sunk to the floor passing out from intoxication combined with lack of air. Everyone else in the bar was entirely nonplussed, and most never even glanced over at the incident. People of the underlevels tended to mind their own business.

Kyrr put his blaster back in its holster on his hip, turned back to the bar for the second time, and downed his beverage in a single gulp. He tossed a credit chip onto the bar and got up to leave. He looked at the fried Rodian lying there on the floor, a drunken smile still on his lips.

What a di'kut.

He stepped over the body, walked over to the door, and stepped out into the cool night of Coruscant.

I hope you've enjoyed this story so far.

As some of you can probably tell, my writing style is influenced by Karen Traviss's Republic Commando series (although my story is very different from hers).

I have several more chapters of this story written already, but I'm pretty shy... so this is just me sticking my toe in the water. If anyone seems interested, I'll definitely start putting up the rest of the chapters.

I'd like to think this is a creative and original story, but I understand that some of those who read it might think otherwise. I started writing this a while ago, and now that I've found this site, it seems like everyone is writing about Mandalorians...

Thanks for reading, please leave your thoughts and comments (I'm open to any constructive criticism).

There are now several more chapters after this one, don't forget to check them out.