Star Wars: Galactic Tales – Between The Empire and the Rebellion 1.3

diva_avAlsten Sarden didn’t look like a man about to die. The corpulent executive celebrated his promotion within the ranks of the Xucphra Corporation’s higher management in grand fashion. His trophy wife hanging on his arm, Alsten greeted his guests without even trying to hide his pride. He’d earned his promotion. He was important. He was going places. He was… a pompous ass.

Diva Aidenne looked around the well attended party with a small sense of pride. Though tonight’s concert had quickly grown from small private performance she’d first been contacted about, she was nothing if not flexible. The concert itself had gone flawlessly; of course, she demanded nothing less then perfection from herself in all facets of her work...

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Star Wars: Galactic Tales – Between The Empire and the Rebellion 1.2

kyra_avTrey crept up to the southern edge of the Dlarit estate, his dark suit blending in with the shadows. He surveyed the stone wall and smiled. It was rough, with regular metallic spikes topping it — spikes far enough for a Hutt to slip between. He pulled a mask up over his face and slipped on a pair of goggles. Placing a foot on the wall, he hefted himself up and grabbed a spike.

Pulling himself to the top, Trey peered across the lawn. Spotting a nearby Bilba tree, he slipped over the fence and sprinted over to the tree. Crouching down, he surveyed the distance to the balcony.”That guard might pose a problem,” Trey thought, spotting the burly man in the ill-fitting suit toting a DC-15S blaster. Trey slid his stun blaster out of its holster and waited...

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Star Wars: Galactic Tales – Between The Empire and the Rebellion 1.1

The Sephi known as Overseer Etan was nervous; he had never had an imperial emissary visit him personally. This man, he was unable to procure his name, was coming with the highest clearances and priorities but seemed to have to no legitimate rank or title. Etan was told that he was merely coming to perform an innocent inspection of the new Empire sponsored moisture farm being constructed on Thustra under Etan’s watch. His attendants bustled around him just as nervously, though they didn’t know the real reason for their superior’s fears. As he walked to the landing bay, Etan’s ever devoted second in command Ye’Criep heeled at his side like an obedient dog. Babbling something about everything being up to date and how ahead they were in terms of progress...

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Having ensconced himself into his lodgings, Simon retrieved a copy of the Post and settled into a large, chair with a slightly contented sigh. But no sooner had he made himself comfortable than a knock came at his door. Lifting himself from the seated position with a sigh, Simon opened the door to reveal a delivery boy.

“Telegram for Mr. Templar,” he said predictably.

Simon identified himself as the recipient and tipped the lad generously before shooing him away. Closing the door, he examined the communique. It was from an old acquaintance of his who had made a fair sum of money chronicling the occasional tale of The Saint’s exploits.

Business advisor Charles Hillarram fleeced clients stop. Lives in Pierre Hotel stop. Up your alley stop. L.C.

A smile curled the corner of the Saint’...

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The sewer was dark, almost pitch. The only signs of light shown dimly through vents in the occasional manhole cover above. There in the darkness Forest Durke stood stiff as a tree, paralyzed with fear. He felt every muscle in his body tighten with every dank drip that echoed around him. He held his breath, half afraid that he was so loud the whole world could hear it and half straining to hear.

“Forest Durke…”

The voice echoed off of every wall. Duke spun erratically, his eyes straining to see through the blackness. Almost knee deep in the watery filth, it splashed all around him. A squat revolver shook in his hand. “I’m sorry!” He pleaded with the voice in the darkness. “I didn’t know! I swear!”

“You’re a liar, Durke,” the voice said, nearly on top of him, “and a traitor.”

“I said...

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The Plaza is one of the finest hotels in all of New York City. A hotel which exercises a certain amount of discretion over the guests they admit to their august accommodations. Simon Templar, strolling nonchalantly to the front desk of the Plaza hotel, was well aware of this.

As he signed the register Simon Templar, the desk clerk’s forehead creased in worry as he looked up. “Simon Templar?” he asked. “Are you, by any chance, The Saint?”

The corner of Simon’s mouth twitched upward imperceptibly. As a man used to the best hotels, he was used to this sort of thing. With a nod, he confirmed the clerk’s suspicions. “I have been known by that name, yes.”

The clerk’s spine straightened, and he spoke with the utmost courtesy. “I am sorry, Mr...

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Journal entry – November 11th, 1939

Tonight, after weeks of false leads and dead-ends, things finally took a turn for the better. I’d been on the tail of a low-level numbers runner by the name of Nicky “Thumbs” Marangioni. Thumbs wasn’t the most dexterous kid, he started out working as a mechanic in his uncle’s garage, but it got to the point where he was breaking more cars than he fixed, often hearing from his uncle that he was all thumbs. The name just stuck. He was good at keeping things straight though, so his uncle put him to work in the office. Unfortunately for Nicky, the garage wasn’t his uncle’s only business. Nicky’s Uncle Dom – Dominic Moretti – was a minor lieutenant in the Farino crime family, and a name that features prominently in several past journal entries.

The ...

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The night was cold, the air biting into his lungs as the masked man made his way up the fire escape to the penthouse.

Seeing his prey’s shadow fall across the window, the Green Hornet burst into the room in an explosion of glass, catching the hood off guard.

The thug took a boxing stance and threw a series of punches at the Green Hornet, catching him in the shoulder and jaw.

The Hornet staggered back, then lunged forward, pummeling the man with a flurry of blows before spinning and catching him in the throat with a fast chop.

“All right Roscoe, where’s Falcone?” he asked.

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothing punk! You’re not so tough without your sidekick.” the man said as he pulled a gun from his coat pocket.

“I won’t ask again. Where is Falcone?” The masked man asked in a low growl.

“Get l...

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The speeding box car began to fill with crimson smoke. The waa door waa shouted a thin but commanding voice. When they waa come through waa plug ’em”. The man, oddly fat for someone of his short stature, and dressed in a foppish tuxedo, held a black enamel statue of a bird close to him. On the ground were two bodies. The first was a very large man in a white suit and the second was a mouse of a man with a terrified look on his face and bug eyes. They were both dead, and the object of their desires, the black statuette that had filled their lives with a relentless chase for fortune was now in the possesion of the man called The Penguin; Oswald Cobblepot.

Three thick-chested goons in cheap suits raised their Beretta 1938A instruments of death at the door...

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It was midnight. The moon was full and the sky clear. Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking.

Even at this late hour there was activity on the streets below. The hooker at the corner. Her pimp in the car across the street. Further up the block a man was vomiting in the alleyway across from the bus stop.

Hell’s Kitchen. Selina Kyle knew this place like the back of her hand.

By this point she was almost home when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye.

She might have missed it all together if she hadn’t spent so many hours up her on this roof during the hot summer months.

As she turned to face her foe, a length of rope suddenly lept out of the shadows and caught her securely around around the wrist.

“Batman!” she hissed, tugging against the lasso in an effort to g...

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