A Wanderer of the desert under twin suns.

A TIME OF PEACE AND TURMOIL!

The Empire has ended! The galactic stranglehold and the reign of the Emperor has been destroyed, by the sacrifice of the brave souls that took part in the rebellion. Thousands have laid down their lives, to bring freedom and liberty to every planet, with the price being a heavy one. As the new republic sets in to take control of a destabilized galaxy, blood is still being spilt by corrupt officials, warlords and criminals. The only ones who oppose the crime lords that now own the galaxy are the foolish, or the insane. Bounty hunters, assassins and mercenaries have no short supply of work, with the most renowned and skilled among them making fortunes, enough to rival the very criminals they operate under.

The hidden Jedi order has started to operate once again, no longer hidden in the shadows. This has come at the cost of their age old enemies, the Sith, being emboldened as well. Many Jedi have taken themselves as protectors, guardians, and enforcers of justice, working directly for the new republic. The Sith have often allied themselves with, or more commonly, taken over powerful criminal syndicates. There are yet those **** sensitive few, who are quickly being ushered to either side, light or dark, most finding themselves with the Jedi, under the direct action of the New Republic. However, the Sith have not put any less effort in recruiting, and mercilessly train their apprentices to be no less than the Jedi.

Though in terms of the Empire, the war is ended, however the war against crime and villainy continues strong with both sides empowered with the end of the ruthless hold they were under. However, for the time, this is no concern of yours.

A lone desert wanderer with not even a droid to keep you company, you find a silent peace within the solitude of the shifting sands. Trading and honing many different skills so you may work for the necessities to survive, with no greater purpose. Your thick desert robes keep your pheromones from affecting the women of Tatooine too greatly. You head for the city of Mos Eisley to stay for a time, driven by something in the back of your mind telling you to go forth to the hive of scum and villainy, perhaps to reclaim memories your missing past.

Though you keep your desert wrappings tight, the pheromones seem to still leak through, gaining the looks of many women. Human, alien, single, together, homosexual, heterosexual, mother, daughter, it seems all their eyes were drawn to you, though most did so subtly. You had no doubt most of them would spend intimate times with their lovers, thinking of you all the while. This was why you wore your robes, every inch of you from crown to heel covered, the effect would be far more potent if you were uncovered. The robe was a colour only slightly different yellow to the burnt sands, the hood covering your face leaving only your eyes with black paint surrounding them, the colour of your skin a mystery. In a way, you resembled the desert people, the Tusken Raiders, though what lay beneath your cloth was entirely different.

You had long gotten used to the eyes of women following you, there had long since been no desire to bed most of them. Let them love others, and let others love them. You had no desire to take them from those they care about, even if they think they wanted it. It was a blessing and a curse you had, though you remember not the exact time you first time you started exuding your 'ability'. In fact, you remember nothing of such a time. Your past, a mystery to even yourself. Not that you had any desire to solve that mystery, you were content with your life. The year or so you remember have been living it, anyway.

You had gone a particularly long stretch of travel, all by foot. You had a familiar aching in your legs, in some strange way the pains gave you a comfort. The comfort of travel, and the joy of reaching your destination by the strength of your own body, and strength of your own spirit. Deciding to further compound your good mood, you search the sandstone buildings for a place of comfort, a place to- drink! yes, it would do. You spied a cantina, making your way through the groups of people travelling the pathway, the women among them automatically parting to give you space.

As you entered you expected a more verbose and lively atmosphere, though it was quiet, almost empty too. It felt sombre, in a way. The few other times in your (remembered) life you had been to Mos Eisley you overheard people talk (or complain) about the loud, lively atmosphere of this establishment, though before you had never been inside. The now setting suns peered through the small windows, an orange glow about the place, with dusty shadows slowly crawling their way further and further. The Cantina bar had not a soul sitting at it, the only presence being the female bartender. A Zabrak, with short dark hair in similar colouration to the exotic tribal tattoos lining her red skin, idly wiping down the bar with an expression somewhere stuck waning professionalism, and bored frustration.

That was, until you leaned on the bar.

Her eyes flickered down to you, her posture tensed like a soldier being inspected by an officer. She made eye contact with you for a moment only to look away, going back to cleaning the bar and putting far more strength into it than before. Her eyebrows tensed and you were beginning to worry that you had offended her, with the way she was wiping it almost seemed to you as though she wanted break it rather than clean it. You reached into your robes and pulled out a few credits, placing them on the counter. That got her to stop what she was doing for a moment, and her eyes met yours. The orbs were yellow, with her ciliary being a red colour, the two parts bleeding into one another. You had never seen eyes like hers, they had a dangerous look about them, but also... sad. You couldn't quite place it. After an awkwardly long moment of staring into each others eyes, she spoke with a simple question.

"What do you want?"

Her voice was hard but not particularly grating. It, similar to her eyes, had a rough beauty. There was an air about her, and you wanted to figure out what it was.

"Whatever this much can get me."

Your voice was far less pleasant in comparison. It had a certain... roughness, to it, forged by hard food and infrequent watering. You consider your voice to be unfitting to who you are as a person. Not that you're particularly upset, nor is the Zabrak woman, it seemed. She turned around and took a few steps looking for a glass. You took the opportunity to take in her appearance fully. She was rather tall, nearing your own height, being somewhat above average for a human. She had good musculature, athletic opposed to strong, but certainly not lacking. The same could be said of her assets, both top and bottom. Tight, not overly large though not small either. Somewhere in the C-cup range. Her clothes were just tight enough to entice an onlooker, but not enough to be scandalous.

You suspect her bending forward, making her ass very clear to you, was not simply in pursuit getting you a drink.

After grabbing a cup, and filling it at one of the dispensers, she put it on the bar in front of you. You noticed her face was far less hard she seemed to have relaxed more, though not completely without tension. She watched you like a bird of prey as you pulled down your face covering, schooling her features into something far harder to read, though not without some clear negativity. You brought the drink to your uncovered mouth, the pheromones leaking out beyond your control. Her interest, infatuation, and arousal all growing greatly. Unlike how you usually feel, there was something pushing you to her, in the back of your mind. A similar feeling to what drove you to Mos Eisley in the first place. As you finished your drink, you could feel the heat coming off of her from the other side of the bar, but also a heat that was beyond the physical kind. A sort of... ****, if you will, pushing at you in a way you couldn't understand. You wiped your mouth, and the Zabrak approached, leaning forward, close enough that her warm breath was brushing against your sensitive lips.

In an almost curious fashion, she kept closing the distance seeming unsure of what she was doing before her lips touched yours. You stood still, as she placed her hands on your temples and kept kissing. At first there wasn't any tongue, but much like the kiss she seemed to slowly grow emboldened, pushing her tongue further and further until it made contact with yours. You could feel more of the pheromones pushing their way to her, fighting against the heavy air. The last customers in the Cantina had left a few moments ago leaving you and your new Zabrak lover the place to yourselves.

She stopped kissing for just a moment to hop over the bar, but she seemed to have gotten infinitely hungrier in the second or so it took to do, making out so hard you wouldn't be surprised if she bruised both of your lips and tongues with her sheer ferocity. Her hands roamed your back, feeling the thick cloth in the way. She began to strip as best as she could while keeping her face locked with yours. She had absolutely no skill in her kissing, trying to make up for it with effort and energy and she generally succeeded. You and her stumbled about, heading in the direction if the door. Before long she had locked it with just a pair of panties for clothing. You drank in her appearance as she stepped back, black on red, fit, and ready to please.