Star wars: Forge your own

Old contempt

-Ira-

The young woman made her way through town. Not many people were out in this weather. The winds had begun to settle, give it an hour and the sky might even clear up. It looked to be mid-day. She passed multiple patrols, avoiding them when she could. She'd spotted two imperial AT-ST's on standby, there to suppress any riots. There wouldn't be any. Most had accepted imperial rule, or were too frightened to fight back. Resistance was futile.

The clank of the troopers' boots on the ground, marching side by side in unison; brought forth suppressed memories. Terrible memories, echos of blaster fire. Flashes of blue, green. High pitched ringing. The fear. A rush of panic, -her chest tightened and her breathing became impaired. Ira steadied herself against the wall of a building, clutching her staff. 

The shrieks of a woman could be heard, as two troopers dragged her away to the cellblocks -for not having the necessary papers. Ira tried to take several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. The few locals actually outside, were enough for her to remain inconspicuous enough for the imperials not to take particular notice of her. The squadron moved on. A pair of tie-fighters roared past overhead. She slipped into a narrow secluded alley, removing her scarf while she sunk down against the wall. Unable to focus on anything but her breathing. The small droid on her shoulder cooed in an attempt to console her, but there wasn't much he could to. Stormtroopers, in her experience, were lesser versions of Clone troopers. Clones did their job better, more thoroughly. Perfect soldiers, made for war. But due to their enhanced ageing they were in the process of being decommissioned. Cycled out. Where they ended up, she did not know.. 

The wave of panic did eventually pass, and she felt so pathetic sitting there alone, in the snow. In this alley. On this planet.. Still the scared little padawan she'd been during the temple purge. Yet three clones fell upon her blade. Three. Men she'd trusted, fought beside, they'd been like brothers, now turned in to mindless killers. Without warning, without explination.. No one knew why. She still didn'.t really. Her fellow jedi falling by the troopers' hand, had left her frozen in fear. Memories as vivid as they were a blur.

She had watched her master cut down twenty by that time. Nothing seemed to faze him. Always unflinching in the face of danger. Calm and composed. Why couldn't she be more like him? If only he could see her now.. She willed herself to avoid thinking about it. Ira forced herself to her feet, and carried on.

This city was only being terrorised by simple Stormtroopers, she'd concluded. The trick was to stay out of trouble, and all would be fine.  She located a canteen. No apparent trooper presence, therefore a haven for merchants and men of other trades. She entered and looked around, removing her hood. The lighting was dim, and she could barely see a thing. She groaned and pulled her absurd-looking rounded goggles over her eyes. She then sensed something. But something about it was off. Suppressed and conflicted. In connection with the force.. albeit weak.

Whatever it was, it didn't want to be found.

A group of mercenaries disrupted her focus, as they roughed around with the bartender, claiming he got their drinks wrong. They were obviously intoxicated. The meanest one threw his empty jug at the bartender, the guy dodged it in time but three bottles shattered behind the bar. Glass everywhere, accompanied by assorted liquids now flooding on to the floor. The burly mercs laughed about it before making their way out. Ira moved out of their way quickly, as they clearly would've shoved her if she hadn't. As the group passed she nicked the mean one's satchel, fastened loosely to his belt. He didn't notice. It was chock full of credits. What a score. 

Quite content with herself she tossed it in the air once, checking the weight. Noticing that there were quite a few eyes on her, though no one called her out. She shrugged and tossed the pouch to the bartender,