This is a story I started developing even before the announcement of Season 7 (which 100% puts a wrench in my plans but oh well LOL), and I really really hope I get around to writing it. I know I have a Thrawn book out right now, but at the moment I no longer have any inspiration for it. :) Love that for me.

Below is art I did for this OC that I'm using . . . it's her backside, but still pretty cool in my opinion:

I used a base for it so if the anatomy is weird plz don't come for me! Also I did make the lightsabers myself, which is why they're so plain and uninspiring.

This is my OC, a Lethan Twi'lek. The tendrils around her represent the Force, though as we'll come to see it's a struggle for her. I hope you enjoy this part, and thank you for reading!

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 The Lethan Twi'lek perched on the rafters of the cargo building, concealed in the shadows as she assessed her new target. A human slaver barked orders at his inferiors, going on about the same-old same-old "if you want to make any money off of this get a move on" that every slaver or pirate seemed to say. Money money money.

She would be a hypocrite to say that money was not the reason to do anything - she was making a mint off of this guy after all - but surely there was something other than that he thought about. Perhaps he wanted to go home to a girlfriend? A pet?

Whatever. She was not here to pick apart his life, only to end it.

Counting seven workers and three guards, she shifted her position and crept across the rafters, making sure to keep her footsteps silent and deadly. Taking him out first was the priority; that was what she was paid for. Illeus did not pay for overtime or extra exertion. It would probably be the best, though, if she took out the goons as well. She was a bit of an oddity, and the last thing her line of work needed was any obvious identifiers. That would put an even larger target on her back.

Separating private life from her work was difficult enough, but it was for the best. It kept her sane. The last time she allowed them to intertwine . . .

Stop. Focus. Breathe.

Taking a deep breath, she refocused on her target. Tapping into the rage which forever simmered in her chest she placed her hands on the cool metal hilts of her blades, fingers resting on each button. Now or never, while they still had no idea she was there.

Leaping from her perch she landed gracefully and nearly silently behind the slaver, who whirled with amazing speed for a man of his size. Twin red blades ignited from the hilts of her lightsaber tonfas, the Twi'lek manipulating a blade and swinging once before she removed his head from his body.

The Force tapped her on the shoulder just as the sniper behind her pulled the trigger, aimed straight for her heart. Her blade hissed and whined when it came into contact with the bolt of energy, the other workers immediately opening fire. She could sense each and every one, her body twisting with its natural grace to avoid some while her lightsabers took care of the others. Deflecting the bolts away from her she aimed for the men, hitting them back with deadly accuracy. The sniper tried again to shoot her, the young woman ducking and deciding it was time to put a stop to it.

Jumping up she landed on a cargo crate, zeroing in on him and jumping to the next one, avoiding the shots of the remaining blasters. Deflecting the bolts aimed her way she finally leaped forward, bringing her blade down and ending his scream only moments before it started.

The slaughter only lasted a few minutes, the Lethan deactivating her guard shotos and hooking them back on her belt once the last man was dead. Killing never felt good to her, but she had done what was necessary. And unless she wanted to do it some more, she had to find what she came for.

Returning to the slaver she knelt down and rifled through his pockets, taking his cards and some loose change. Finding what she needed she stood, pocketing the bill and opening up the itinerary. Scanning it, her bright blue eyes settled on a particular cargo containment unit.

"Seven-one-oh-three," she muttered aloud, looking for the correct container. Upon locating it she activated a saber, carefully slicing the locks on the outside and around the edges, gripping the edge of the door and swinging it open.

Several pairs of terrified eyes looked at her, the younglings chained to one another with shock collars around their necks. Their eyes flickered down to her blade than back up at her, her face and lekku concealed by a black hood, the rest of her body also concealed in dark clothing. The fear reaction was natural, the children scurrying back and whimpering as she stepped forward. The oldest looked to be a young teen, standing between them and her.

"We don't have much time," she beckoned them forward. "Come forth and I will relieve you of your chains. Hurry."

They glanced at each other before the eldest finally braved her. Stepping forward she tried to stop the trembling in her body, worried that the blade would go through her neck instead of her collar. But the Twi'lek did no such thing, her lightsaber swiftly cutting into the chains which held her before slicing off the collar.

"Go," she said sternly, confident the younglings would be fine on their own. If anything, they would find a way to contact their Masters and return to Coruscant within the day.

It was troubling, though. She was hearing more and more rumors of Jedi younglings being snatched from right under their master's noses and never seen again, victims of what they thought was some kind of Sith trading ring. The young woman knew for a fact, however, that was not the case; this was something else. And the fact that a slaver was confident enough to ship them to whoever was purchasing the younglings was also a question she needed answered.

The Twi'lek had no obligation to help the Jedi Order, but it was not them she was assisting. These were children, and she would much prefer they were slaves to the Jedi than slaves to only the gods knew what.

The last one was free before too long, leaving the Lethan in the empty cargo hold with the dead men. Taking the communicator out of her pocket, she called Illeus.

An ugly, crooked Clawdite greeted her, the changeling having opted to stay in the form of his native species. While the species in general would not win any beauty contests, Illeus himself was exceptionally disfigured, with a deformed back and a head that looked like it had been caught in a punching match and lost. Yet he had managed to build himself an empire with enough spare credits to hire several bounty hunters to take out his rivals. And he was promising a handsome amount for the death of this particular slaver.

"Is it done?" He asked, hissing and spitting past his warped jaw.

"I have the proof you desire," she said coolly. "Place and time?"

"The usual. Tomorrow, at lunch. Pray that is not the last meal you will have."

Drama queen. "It won't be," came the smooth reply, and she cut the transmission. Glancing around she decided her work there was done, kicking a body aside and walking back the way she had come. Pausing to take a leap onto the cargo containment unit, she hesitated as the Force plucked at her skin.

Electric pain shot across a central point in her back, the Twi'lek screaming in agony as it raced across her body. As soon as the pain ended darkness took her into a dreamless abyss, hearing only the angry hisses of her attackers briefly before blacking out.