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Critique: An attempt at writing Star wars (Currently untitled)

Corran Orreaux

Active Member
Hey! Well, I've had... so many ideas for a star wars story series thing and I think I'm finally aligning something I'm confident in! I guess consider this small bit to be a prologue. Could you tell me what you think? Thanks.


Night no longer existed, not on Urdin. Day was marked by marching, night marked by artillery. Even below the fertile soil, under the clamor of endless battle, inside the thick durasteel walls of Urdin’s mighty bunkers, the sound of war couldn’t be abated. From the brief but powerful encounters between rival scouts in the forests to the constant pitched battles inside the valley, from the warring fleets in the great skies above, everything could be heard. Heard and felt, especially by High Commander Rark.

The commander looked tired. He always looked tired. His once elegant brown braid was just a tangled mess of long hair that he no longer bothered to tie. Dull, ugly, dirty, it was beyond clear he hadn’t washed it in weeks at the very least. Loren couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man. Ten years he spent in relative peace, rarely far from the grand palace of Urdin’s capital city, rarely far from the side of Queen Wuma. Ten years living in luxury, ten months living in war.

Rark prefaced his words with a sigh, plopping down in his desk chair. The holo-monitor poured data, statistics, battle reports and requests from forces all over the planet into eyesight. Loren noted that Rark seemed to refuse to look at them or even risk a glance, simply staring over it towards the man sitting across from him.

"Am I going to die?"

Loren was silent for a long moment. Bringing a wary hand to his head and running his delicate fingers through his long and perfectly maintained blonde hair. He looked down at the blaster pistol strapped to his hip - how out of place the hoster looked among everything else attached to him. A purple silk tunic. A golden chain connected to a tiny diamond piece at his neck that ran down to one of two pockets on his black satin trousers. A dandy that should be attending one of coruscant’s many ballroom parties, not a man in the middle of a war.

in the horrible, mind-consuming silence, finally, he met the commander’s eyes with his own unflinchingly cold blue gaze.

" ...Yes,"

"Then what's the difference if I tell you or not? The results the same..."

"The difference is a quick death and a long one,"

Rark's eyes flicked to the ground, his lips trembled and his next sentence was brought forth with a crackle; his brave front slipped.

"...So, that's what things have come to?"

"It's always been like this, it never came. That's war... That's reality."

“That’s Republican diplomacy?”

“When it has to be,”

Rark sighed. "For the sake of the galaxy, I hope you're wrong,"

"I do too, Rark. I do too."

The silence returned, a much louder one than before.

"Why?" Loren asked.

"We weren't going to win, the Republic isn't going to either. The Confederacy offered to make Urdin a full member... we wouldn't be free, but Urdinians would be ruled by Urdinians."

"You mean Urdinians would be ruled *through* Urdinians."

"Loran... Is the Republic any better?"

In a fluid motion, Loren snatched his blaster pistol out of its holster, aiming the cold grey barrel directly at Rark with a face as unfeeling as the metal.

“I hope so, Rark.”

A gentle squeeze of the sensitive trigger and in an instant a thin strip of blue plasma cut past the holo-terminal and struck Rark in the chest. The force was enough that it knocked the commander’s body back and onto the cold floor upon impact. He was dead before he hit the ground, a clean death was the least Loren could give to his friend.


The bunker beyond the now dead commander’s control room was empty. White walls coated with empty rifle hangers. Foldable chairs stacked into neat piles in the corners. Rark despite his first and last deception, was an honorable man. He listened when Loren demanded an entirely private audience.

Loren brought his wrist to his mouth as his black boots clanked heavily against the metallic floor. Gently he pressed the lone button on the small silver comlink attached to his arm.

“Tela. He practically admitted everything. High Commander Rark was working out a deal with the Separatists.

As he reached the elevator shaft, the strong grey doors opening automatically upon his approach, the woman on the other end of the comm responded in a slightly dour tone.

“Well great. We last a damn good general and now we’ll have to jump through hoops figuring out of the Queen was in on it too…”

Loren stepped into the tiny moving box. The doors shutting behind him the device instantly started moving upwards.

“Well anyway, is he dead?”

“Yes,” Loren responded blankly, placing his free hand over the elevator’s inside railing as he did so.

“Good I guess. That’s taken care of- wait, did you ask him about the Queen?”


“What!? Why not!?”

“He wouldn’t have told me anyway,”

Tela’s sigh came just as soon as the doors opened once again. Loren stepped out onto the long stone staircase before him. Immediately walking up through the thick darkness towards the small pillars of light that emanated from the rough strip of iron that acted as a door and cover for the underground entrance.

“We don’t know that and now we never will,”

“Tela. You’ve never even met the man. Trust me, I know far more about this stuff than you,”

“Agh fine. Just… whatever…. I’ll send the ship towards your coordinates.”

“Tell those clones that if they get any scratches on Ruby I’ll take the bill out of their pay!”

“Clones don’t really get paid,”

Loren snorted. “Then I’ll take it out of their… something. I’ll figure something out if I have to.”