Star Wars Myths & Fables

by Lucasfilm Press

  With an earsplitting roar the Wookiee intercepted him, knocking him to the ground with a swing of its massive arm, sending the dagger skittering away across the floorboards and Marath sailing after it. He crumpled into a heap, moaning woefully. Shelish laughed again as the Wookiee plucked Marath from where he lay, holding the prone Weequay aloft like a trophy.

  Houliet started from her seat, a blaster gripped in her fist, but she already knew it was over. The Wookiee was about to rend them limb from limb.

  “Now, now, Owacchi,” said the witch as the Weequay wailed in terror. “I believe our guests are just leaving.”

  “You mean to let us go?” said Houliet in stunned disbelief.

  “You have eaten from my pot and drunk from my bottle, and that is everything you deserve. Now you shall leave this place and never return,” said Shelish, “for next time I shall not be so benevolent.”

  The Wookiee growled in disappointment as he tossed Marath through the open door. The Weequay splashed into the swampy water beyond. The others hurried out behind him, neither of them looking back.

  The pirates could not believe their luck. Soon they were far from the witch’s house, and though none of them could quite shake their misgivings at how easily they’d gotten away, they were jubilant all the same. Dawn was breaking above the treetops, and the path to the plateau soon became clear. The creatures that had slithered unseen in the darkness had sloped back to their watery lairs, and the pirates’ journey to the ship remained uncontested. By the time they climbed into the vessel, they were even laughing about the look on Marath’s face as the Wookiee had pitched him out the door. Soon, they joked, they would be telling that story in cantinas all across Wild Space.

  “What I wouldn’t give for that witch’s treasure,” said Kalab, still thinking of the golden bowls and ancient totems. But they all knew the unspoken truth—that if it weren’t for the witch’s intervention, the Wookiee would have torn them limb from limb, and there would have been nothing they could do to stop it. Any thought of returning to the house had fled their minds, so grateful were they to be safely in their ship. Soon they would be away from the dreadful moon and the horrors it harbored in its jungle, and they would find another world, somewhere more hospitable, where they could hide their ill-gotten treasure.

  “Still,” said Houliet, strolling into the hold to take in the heaped treasure with a sweep of her arms, “at least we have all of this.” With a laugh, she grabbed for a golden goblet, holding it up to the others as if to make a toast. “With this . . .” Her voice trailed off, her face frozen in horrified shock as the three pirates all watched the goblet slowly crumble and turn to dust in her grasp.

  “What?” Frantic, wide-eyed, Houliet reached for another, murmuring in abject horror as that, too, disintegrated in her hands, becoming naught but streams of dust that trickled through her fingers.

  The others rushed forward, grabbing handfuls of the treasure, but the effect was the same, and everything from coins to jewels to relics turned to dust.

  “The witch,” said Marath. “She cursed us.”

  “‘Everything you deserve,’” said Houliet, tears streaming down her cheeks as more of the treasure disintegrated in her outstretched hands.

  * * *

  Wreathed in shadows, Shelish watched from the window of her house as the pirates’ ship ascended above the treetops, then blasted away into space. A wicked smile drew her lips tight across her face, for all around her, shimmering into being as if materializing from the dust itself, was the treasure from the pirates’ hold, the glittering hoard filling her tiny house. She turned to her Wookiee companion and laughed.

  N THE PLANET CEROSHA, close to the Boralic Sea, stand the vast, desolate ruins of a once-great city, uninhabited and haunted by the tortured spirits of those who once lived amongst its toppled spires.

  Those who live in the nearby city of Mock can still, on a clear day, glimpse the ruins from their windows, and all who travel the dusty roads that once served the city now give the area a wide berth, for it is a forlorn place, a melancholy graveyard, and it is said that those who do venture into its abandoned streets never emerge the same as they once were.

  In all the time that has passed since the city’s destruction, none of the governors, senators, or generals who have ruled over the planet have ever looked to redevelop the land, nor have they considered rebuilding what was once there, for the ruins of the city of Solace stand as a stark reminder of what happens to those who misbehave.

  Indeed, it is whispered that all one can hear as one passes by the tumbledown gates is the harsh, ragged breath of the Dark Wraith, who once destroyed the city and who may still lurk amongst the broken towers and fallen buildings, waiting to preside in judgment over any who dare trespass in his shadowy domain.

  Stories have long abounded on Cerosha of this mysterious Dark Wraith, who for years has stalked the chill nights, seeking out all those who have dared to step out of line, be they children or adults. The Dark Wraith recognizes no difference and comes to issue punishment all the same. Some say he lurks in the corner of every child’s eye, just out of view. Others claim that he resides in the pooled shadows at the foot of every bed, in the mouths of silent alleyways or behind every closed door, in the murky reflection at the edge of a stained mirror, or just over one’s shoulder, watching every move. If he is to catch you, to witness your misbehavior himself, he will punish you swiftly with a flash of his deadly volcanic arm. No one who misbehaves is safe—be they in Mock or Cairos or any other city upon the fertile surface of Cerosha.

  The woeful tale of Solace’s fall can be charted—those in nearby Mock have been heard to say—through the tales of the individuals who misbehaved so badly that the Dark Wraith grew furious, his warnings ignored, and in his anger lashed out and destroyed the city entire.

  One such tale concerns a boy named Jherl, who—no matter what his parents said or did—refused to do as he was told.

  Like most children who seek to test their parents’ will, this started as the smallest of rebellions—refusal to eat the last spoonful of his meal, unwillingness to share his toys with his siblings, tantrums at bedtime when he wasn’t allowed to stay up as late or play outside as long as the older children.

  Jherl’s parents had seen such behavior before, in their other children, and knew it was only a matter of time and patience before the boy grew out of his childish ways. This, they knew, was the way of children, and it did not worry them unduly to see the spark of resistance in their youngest boy. Thus, they chided him as parents should, and ignored the worst of his sour attitude, and longed for the time when the child would learn the error of his ways and come to understand the virtues of being well behaved and obeying the will of those older and wiser than himself.

  Yet the weeks and months passed by, and still the child continued with his willful behavior. Soon the parents grew tired and dismayed, for try as they might, they could not find the means to control him. The boy grew sullen and quiet, for he was shunned by his peers and siblings alike, as none could stand to be associated with the boy for fear that they, too, might be seen as unruly.

  No matter what they said, his parents could not convince Jherl to see sense. The boy seemed deaf to all reason, and while his mother recognized that it was good for a young man to show spirit, Jherl’s behavior, she feared, was becoming problematic, and if he was not careful, it might attract the wrong kind of attention to their family—for she had heard tell of the Dark Wraith and his vengeance, and she knew that Jherl’s misbehavior risked bringing his wrath down upon them.

  Jherl’s mother spoke to the boy of her fears, warning him to be wary, as, for all they knew, the Dark Wraith might already be watching, stirring in the darkness, ready to strike the boy down. At that the boy laughed, for he was not of a superstitious nature and believed his mother was merely attempting to scare him into abandoning his rebellious ways and doing as she and his father commanded. To him, the Dark Wraith was nothing more than a story to be eas
ily ignored, an old legend designed to frighten the naïve.

  So it was that the boy continued down his wayward path, objecting to the word of any and all authority figures, refusing to complete his lessons or obey rules, and failing to complete chores, while disregarding all that his parents said.

  Others wondered how the boy had gotten away with such blatant misbehavior for so long, why the Dark Wraith had not come for him in the night, but it soon became clear that the Dark Wraith had merely been biding his time.

  There came an evening when Jherl, grown exceedingly bold and outlandish in his misbehavior, decided he would break into the stores of a nearby merchant and help himself to the man’s wares. Jherl, being only ten, was still small and lithe, and thus was able to wriggle his way into the merchant’s stores by way of a broken window. Once inside, he sought out the sweetest delicacies he could find and, with no concern for the consequences, began to feast, gasping in pleasure as he stuffed handful after handful into his mouth. To Jherl, the food tasted all the sweeter for having been stolen in that way, and he laughed at his own cleverness, already plotting his next nefarious scheme.

  Only, the Dark Wraith had indeed been watching Jherl’s descent into criminality, and, breath rasping like some dreadful, monstrous beast, he threw open the doors to the stores with a flick of his wrist and burst in, his red arm flashing in the darkness, words of vengeance echoing from his horrible grated mouth.

  The following morning the merchant, upon visiting his stores to replenish his stock, found to his horror that Jherl’s mother’s worst fears had come true: the boy had been visited by the Dark Wraith in the night and duly punished.

  Another story tells of a young girl, Marionette, who had been doted upon all her life by her mother and father, the singular object of their affection, but in having gained recognition for her academic talents had been taken into a residential academy for the talented and gifted.

  Marionette was not a bad student—indeed, in many ways she was held in the highest esteem by her teachers for her precision and punctuality—and yet, having once been the center of attention, she found it difficult to adjust to her new position amongst the other students, expected to share and demonstrate friendship, kindness, and understanding. Marionette saw these traits only as weaknesses and refused to comply with the fundamental tenets of the academy. She believed herself to be above the rules, immune to punishment—set apart—and so began her slow journey to insurrection as she disregarded all that was asked of her by her teachers and fellow pupils.

  The other children could not understand this capricious behavior, but Marionette would not hear a word of reason and, indeed, began a campaign of terror against those who would speak out. This manifested in such ill behavior as pushing and shoving, name-calling, and stealing other students’ work.

  Soon Marionette’s parents were summoned to the academy to talk reason to the girl. Appalled, they warned her of the terror she was courting, for the Dark Wraith was surely watching and might come at any moment to punish her for what she had done.

  Marionette, of course, maintained that the Dark Wraith would never come for her, for she was set apart and even his rules could never apply to her.

  Such arrogance proved to be her downfall. One night soon after, the other girls in the dormitory awoke to the horrifying sound of the Dark Wraith’s rasping breath as he came for Marionette in the darkness.

  All who witnessed it described him as a figure of purest shadow, emerging from the darkness like a nightmare given flesh. His face was a terrible, eyeless visage, and his arm burned red like the fires of hate, humming with terrible, exotic power. The sound that accompanied his passing was like no other sound in the galaxy—half machine, half man, like the rush of air before an explosion, like the universe itself drawing breath.

  The girls knew, then, that Marionette would never be seen again, and as they ran for cover, screaming for their elders, the Dark Wraith stole the misbehaving girl away, whisking her off into the night.

  Of course, tales of the Dark Wraith’s punishment were not reserved for children alone, and as word of his exploits spread, there were many adults who succumbed to his judgment, too, such as the notorious gambler Kup’bree’ak.

  Kup’bree’ak was a Togruta who had come to Solace to seek his fortune at the gaming tables that once filled the glittering casinos of the city’s lofty spires. He was a devious fellow, and although he’d arrived with barely enough credits to pay for a single week’s board, within three months he was one of the wealthiest gamblers in the city. Anyone who asked was told that this was purely down to his instinct at the tables, and perhaps a little luck, but many suspected there was more to Kup’bree’ak’s rise to fortune than was widely known.

  Indeed, it eventually transpired that the Togruta was not beyond hiring thugs and gangsters to press his potential opponents to throw their games, using blackmail or threats of violence. He was thought, too, to have struck a deal with the owners of at least three of the casinos—a deal that saw Kup’bree’ak deliver quite a winning streak but also saw those same casinos make significant gains.

  Word soon got around that Kup’bree’ak had a habit of playing dirty, and yet few could understand how he continued to find wealthy opponents willing to take him on. This, of course, was down to the work of his gangster friends, who continued to find means to twist his opponents’ arms—often literally.

  Kup’bree’ak was not the first to cheat at the gambling tables, and most certainly not the last, but his strong-arm tactics proved his downfall when, during a confrontation behind a casino one night, gangsters in the Togruta’s employ, intending to rough up another opponent, accidentally killed the man.

  Hearing of this, Kup’bree’ak merely shrugged, for he had not, after all, been present when the heinous act was committed, and there were no means by which the authorities of Solace could associate him with the crime.

  The Dark Wraith, however, was not bound by such empirical evidence, for he alone had insight into the souls and minds of his victims and might see the truth of what had occurred.

  As such, the Dark Wraith, a vision of dread that emerged from Kup’bree’ak’s coin vault as he sought to count his winnings, poured his wrath upon the Togruta that very night. Kup’bree’ak pleaded for mercy, but the Dark Wraith had no concept of the word, and his red forelimb brought only death for the gambler who had misbehaved so grievously.

  Yet despite word of the Dark Wraith’s vengeance spreading, most in Solace ignored these dire warnings and, far from dissuaded, continued to go about their business, allowing misbehavior to flourish in their midst.

  No one knows what terrible deed triggered the Dark Wraith’s final act of punishment upon Solace, or whether it was simply an accumulation of continued bad behavior amongst the citizens, but one stormy night, it is said that the Dark Wraith rose up in anger and in his rage set upon the city itself, tearing down all that he could see.

  Those who saw him ran in fear, but to no avail. His power was boundless, and he cast them aside with a flick of his wrist and toppled buildings in his wake. The screams of his victims could be heard throughout the city as he cut a swathe through the populace, striking down all in his path. For the Dark Wraith knew only vengeance, and he sought to send a warning to those in the neighboring cities who might still consider rebelling.

  The people hoped beyond hope that the Wanderer might return to save them—for Solace had three times in the past been visited by a kindly figure who had helped protect the people from harm—but it was clear he had vanished, or else was powerless to face the Dark Wraith, for he did not come, and the wave of utter destruction continued unopposed. Fires burned, and the ground itself seemed to open, swallowing tenements and towers, palaces and parks, as all around them withered and died.

  Within the space of a single night, the entire city had been destroyed, its people wiped out. All that was left was in ruin. The Dark Wraith had disappeared, fading into the shadows to return to his terrible realm of fire
and magma, and the city was silent, save for the sound of a few mewling animals still walking the devastated streets.

  Scant few had survived the onslaught of the Dark Wraith, and those few knew they had been spared only so word might spread to the other cities and all might learn to stay in line, certain in the knowledge of what awaited them if they did not.

  So the lesson was learned, and those in the city of Mock have, for generations, lived in fear of the Dark Wraith’s return. Parents there do all in their power to ensure that their children are well behaved and understand the consequences of defiance. It is whispered amongst them that if any are brave enough to visit the ruins of Solace, the echo of the Dark Wraith’s rasping breath might still be heard, low and menacing.

  Such is the risk of rebellion, for the Dark Wraith lies in wait to be summoned, ready to punish all who are deserving.

  HERE WAS ONCE A SCOUNDREL named Misook, who, pursued by a bounty hunter for reneging on a deal with a notorious crime boss on the ice world Kaspas, fled to the planet Batuu in the Outer Rim, hopeful that he might shake his pursuer amongst the black spires and murky alleyways of the infamous outpost.

  Misook was a cunning but arrogant man and knew that, if only he could cover his trail, he might make use of Batuu as a staging post, a port from where he could disappear into the depths of Wild Space to pursue his fortune, far from the enemies he had made for himself at home.

  Yet the bounty hunter—a Mirialan named Emim’Ai—was dogged and persistent in her pursuit of Misook, for she was young and still making a name for herself amongst the criminal houses who served as her patrons. In pursuing Misook, she saw that she might prove herself worthy of an even bigger bounty and acquire a valuable reputation.

  Misook, impressed with the bounty hunter’s tenacity, took great care to seed misdirection in his wake, altering passenger manifests, greasing the palms of unscrupulous smugglers, and adopting a growing number of outlandish personas and disguises. None of that proved enough, however, as Emim’Ai seemed to have a preternatural ability to seek him out, anticipating his every move, unmasking his every disguise, and following him from port to port, right across the galaxy.