Every sentient species has the same myth and, as much of a miracle as it may seem that so many minds could share one idea, it abounds across the galaxy. The thought was there from the beginning and it was honed through evolution and time. It has never been seen, at least not to be remembered and spoken of again, yet every creatures eyes have seen the signs and their ears heard the same.

An immortal predator which thrives on the essence of a sentients being. A creature which can live indefinitely off of the fluids of others... Rare and powerful, they often personified the height of a beings fear for more reasons then their tastes.

Corruption of what comes afterwards.

Every being invariably considers what comes at the end of its mortal existence, each and every one. This is simply a product of evolution... even the most dim of the galaxies species cannot help but ponder; What comes next?

This is where their true power lay.

Immortality defies logic to the mass majority of the galaxy, thus it scares and even terrifies them that any creature could live forever off of their essence. So, they fear the touch of these creatures for more reasons then a mortal death... far more do they fear the mark these predators leave on them for eternity. The fear of becoming one of these abortions is rampant, along with the fear that they may very well steal the souls of their victims.

Whatever the truth of the matter, know this: These creatures do exist in some form, and for this galaxy they are the Anzati.



So you see, Mr.Kline, this is just the natural cycle of things and, on the grand scale, not really all that bad.

"There were two people here. You can see one but, the other, he's only a voice in the darkness. The one you can see, he's strapped to a chair and there's a light hanging over his head... It keeps swinging back and forth"

"The one in the chair, Mr.Kline, he was whimpering something but, his swollen lips and broken teeth... I can't understand him"

Please Mr.Kline, do relax. There comes a time when you must accept the inevitable end.

"Mr.Kline won't sit still... He won't give in. He's strong. He keeps wondering; why him?"

No, I would not expect you to take my advice really. Clearly that is why I chose you, Mr.Kline. You positively radiate luck. I can smell your soup... It is what makes you special. It separates you from the rest.

"Wait... 'the soup', that touched on something. He's listening... He knows egomaniacs like this. He thinks; now that the beating's over, maybe he'll talk. That's some consolation, at least he would know his killer."

I picked up on it two nights ago, during that sabaac game at the Lotus Pond. You have the skill, do you know that? Very few do. Luck is common enough but, those few who manage to hone it. The ones who know when to use it.

"All of this made sense. He thought; the Force? Is that it?"

Try not to sell yourself short Mr.Kline. No, it is not the Force.

"He's surprised and confused. It doesn't make sense. Mr.Kline knows about the Jedi... he's met a few. This didn't add up. He tries to say as much but he can't talk... He's too beaten."

Relax Mr.Kline. I am in the process of explaining, I feel you deserve and explanation. It is not like you are going to survive to tell anyone.

"Something... I can't make it out. It's touching his mind, soothing... Calming..."

I have lived for a very long time Mr.Kline, a very long time and, in all that time I have met perhaps a handful of beings with your potential. Your natural potential is so great that you could have been nearly anything you wished, even a great Jedi. Sadly, like most people with your raw talent, you fell by the wayside. You were cast out and had to struggle hand over fist to survive. Crime was the natural progression, I know...

"It's all true. The words are like hot iron piercing his soul. How does his captor know all of this. What is he, it makes no sense."

I am an Anzat, Mr.Kline. Do you understand?

"Luck-eaters! It all adds up. His mother told him stories when he was a child, his father likewise. He'd lived near a Starport, the spacers told stories about the Anzati, the soup drinkers."

Very good Mr.Kline, though I suspect that the rumors and tales you heard were perhaps misjudged. For one, we Anzati are not immortal, we are just incredibly long lived. Soup gives us long lives, the more and the purer, the better. This is neither here nor there, at this point.
Do you recall when we met, Mr.Kline?

"He was prepared for this. He'd been asking himself the same since the begging. The captor left a clue... he remembered the game. It had been between himself, two Gran and a Gotal...He remembers a gambling droid... There's something else.
He remembers a story from his youth, about the Anzat. They looked like baseline humans... He was sure of that. Everyone seemed to agree... He thinks; but do they have mystical powers?"

Indeed, I was in the game. I won.

"He knows! The Gotal. The Gotal had won the game and walked away with a huge pot but, that didn't fit. Not unless he's wrong..."

Close but not quite Mr.Kline. Most Anzati cannot change their appearance but by the standard methods but then, most Anzati dismiss the Force as a half-grasped concept. I am not quite the same as these, my fellow species. I carry a few varying views of these matters then do my kin folk. So you see, you are an exceptional Human captured by an exceptional Anzat. Congratulations Mr.Kline, you are one in a million.

"A scream... Pain but only for a moment. There is someone grabbing his head, tilting the chair back. He can't see, there are fingers in his eyes. Something is touching his face... His nose, it burns. There is a snap, he hears it in his own skull... then... nothing..."



Hours Later.

"She is still shaken, Master Jedi. The trials took their toll on your young Padawan... You're graduated Knight"

The Council chambers were surprisingly empty for such an ordeal but, with the current decline of the Republic it was no surprise that only two of the council were currently free to address the graduation of his student.

"Her impressioning is impressive," quite the comment from Master Mace Windu, "but she still has much work to do in refining her art. I feel however; that she would do so best as a Knight. Congratulations, Master Jedi."

The Master noted that Windu utterly avoided mention of his name but he was none-too surprised... Most in the order would prefer to believe he did not exist. He was a necessary tool in these times. The Council considered it a blessing that his student had none of his lingering overtones. She would be among the youngest to be titled Knight and the Order would be only too glad to have her out of his hands.

"We shall discuss this later, Master Jedi. For now, go be with your student, I am sure she will be thrilled to hear the news."

With a bow, he departed the chamber. As he left he considered his options... They were none too bright, why had his student had to discover his secret. Now, choices had to be made...

She was still out, the Impressioning had taken a large toll on the slim Jedi Knight. With pure determination and perseverance she had done something that even the greatest Masters would be hard pressed to do. Young Jatia would be a great talent in her field.

From the moment he first lay eyes upon her something, more then the soup, perked his attention. There was potential in this young gem, just waiting to be refined and her natural skill would be one of the greatest. She could read the Impressions, that was something in itself. Very few Jedi have ever developed a natural skill for the impression reading, especially not to the degree that Jatia had, not at all. Impression readers utilize a skill that most Jedi have but, one that none hone.



Impression readers are beings with the rare ability to see the past with crystal clarity. They can read the emotions left behind by those who have passed and, the more extreme, the clearer the read. In places where sentients have expressed great emotional feeling, they leave a mark that talented minds can then later read.

Technique varies among impression readers; some sit and quietly recount the past in their minds. Others visibly channel the events through themselves, creating a drama that directly displays any past events.

Birth, death, love and, hate comprised the group of emotions which left the strongest and most tangible impressions on an area.

However they apply their talent, impression readers are vital in areas of confusion or misunderstanding. They often make up the most skilled detectives, beings who track down events of the past to answer questions of the now. Very commonly, impression readers end up getting dispatched to the Agricorps to work with other Jedi of similar orientation. Simply by applying their skill in an area of confusion they are able to derive answers to questions that would otherwise require considerably more thought and examination.



Her eyes fluttered open as her Master stood patiently beside the infirmary bed. She was flushed, her skin a deep red hue... even more so then usual for the young.

Jatia was lovely to behold, as most of the females of her species, but she, Jatia, was a pristine example of what a Twi'lek female could look like. This and so much more.

Deep crimson eyes belayed the great will that she possessed, everything about her outward appearance spoke of grace and beauty, not of power and the Force.

Her lekku were strewn across the pillow, warm white sheets pulled up to her neck. She smiled when she recognized her Master, the fog quickly clearing from her vision.

In turn the Master smiled at the student. When she stirred as if to sit he gestured she lay back and instead, himself, sat beside her bed. Normally this would be normal of one worrying for another, however; the young Knight and her Master had lived a rather dispatched existence. She had seen things as a Padawan that no youth should ever have to see.

"I am proud of you, my student," the Master began with a soft gentle tone, "today you are a Knight. Congratulations child, today you are Jedi."

With radiance of a nova she smiled and called up the strength of the Jedi. In disregard for her condition Jatai sat up straight and threw her arms around the Master who had taught her so much. Here, diplomacy was dropped...

She wept into his shoulder and muttered her thanks. Jatia holding her Master as she had not during her entire training and, he allowed it. Normally, she knew, he would not but today was a special day... a day earned after 14 years.

And even as they sat in the infirmary, their words of joyous and glad things, the Master could not help his thoughts...

It was only a matter of time until she would put two and two together. Plans would have to be made.