Shingiip Pe lay against a tree, picking the last bits of rugger meat from between his teeth with a sharp bone. The forests of Endor provided good coverage from would-be attackers, and plenty of game. Ruggers and ewoks were by no means challenging prey, but they made for relaxing hunts and decent training. The flames of the campfire flickered on the breeze, its shadows dancing across the ground. The forests were silent aside from the gentle popping of wood and hissing of sparks dying in the grass. Shingiip liked to take time between jobs out here, where he could rinse the blood from his skin in ice cold rivers and make peace with himself beneath the starlit sky.

Shingiip’s little Rodian ears quirked and swiveled, surveying the sounds around him. He turned to his left where his son rested; Nuuk’s chest rising and falling in time with his silent breaths. They were all alone in the woods, but something in the air made Shingiip’s antennae twitch uneasily. He scanned the brush around them, listening intently for any crack of a stick underfoot, any rustling of leaves, but there was nothing. Shingiip slowly made his way to his feet, stretching out the aches and pains when he got there, before making a wide circle around their camp, just to ease his gut.

He’d nearly completed his patrol when the shadows before him moved. There was a flash of irridescent green skin illuminated by his campfire, the twinkling of silver-white canines in the dark, and then the pressure of a body at his back and the glint of a blade at his throat.

Shingiip swallowed hard. “Please,” he gasped, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

The voice in his ear was deep and raspy, but unmistakenly female. “Well thad’is ee-sy, I wanchu ded.”

“Please, there must be something I can do for you.” Shingiip’s large black eyes were bulging from his head in blind panic. He could see Nuuk in the corner of his eye, still sleeping peacefully, and his heart lurched into his throat. “Anything! Name your price and it’s done!”

“No.” The knife at his throat pressed against his skin. Shingiip tilted his head back and leaned into his captor to avoid the biting edge of the blade.

“Please!” Shingiip was desperate. His eyes were welling with tears that threatened to spill over. He regretted every cruel laugh he’d ever let slip at the way grown men begged for their lives at the business-end of a gun. If he could, he would fall to his knees, grovel and beg; he would do anything to be allowed to grab Nuuk and run away into the night unharmed. “I have a family! A son! Please! I’m all he’s got!” Shingiip’s tears broke loose and cleared little streams down his dusty face.

The blade of the knife pulled back an inch and Shingiip drew in the beginnings of a sigh of relief, but it got stuck in his chest as a dark chuckle growled behind him.

“Thad-,” the blade swished in the air as she gestured with it, “Thad mey ‘ave worked for yor fatha, Pe Shingiip,” she pulled the blade back in line with his jugular, “Bud uhn-like my fatha, I ‘ave *hona*.”

Shingiip’s blood ran cold. He remembered that night. He had been around Nuuk's age at the time. The woods had been quiet - too quiet - when he’d gone to bed, and he had been sleeping soundly when his father had woken him in a panic. They had left camp without packing up a single thing and his father had half-carried, half-dragged him as they ran through the woods at a break-neck pace. When Shingiip had asked what had happened, his father would not respond. He was shaking like a leaf, ears twitching, eyes glancing every which way. Shingiip’s father had never quite been the same after that. He’d retired from the Guild soon after, and if Shingiip tried to talk to him about hunting, the only thing he ever told Shingiip was to never, *never*, mess with a Sakiyan. Yes, he was Rodian, and he could take great pride in their family’s historic hunting achievements, but he must never *ever* underestimate the abilities of the Sakiyans.

Shingiip was dead. If the being standing behind him was Sakiyan, and Shingiip was pretty sure she was, there was nothing he could do.

“Please,” his voice clawed past the lump in his throat and out over his dry tongue, a barely-audible whisper. “Please don’t hurt my son.”

Her offense was immediate. “Whachu thin’g I em? Bar-bar-ick?”

With her short knife still at his throat, she swiped her longer blade across his torso in one smooth motion and held him through his screaming as his bowels slipped from his belly.

Bright, dark eyes shone from a nearby tree, where Nuuk started shrieking. The Sakiyan flashed him a toothy smile, waggled her long fingers in a small greeting, dropped the body of the boy’s father next to his intestines at her feet, and slipped into the shadows.

Temperance's father, Shulu, had little honour. He would take jobs, accept half the payment up front, and not make good on many of them. Temperance is trying to clean up his mess and remove the dishonour from their clan name by completing his contracts for him.

Temperance is a tall (5'11"), jade-skinned Sakiyan. She speaks Sakiyan, Huttese, and Basic, but her spoken Basic is the weakest of the three, since it is the language of cud-chewing ruminants. That said, she has a soft spot for children regardless of species. And the dumber a creature, the cuter it is to her. She may try to keep the particularly sweet ones as pets.

She does not utter her clan name ever. It is soaked in dishonour. She seeks glory to redeem her family's honour and increase their standing in Sakiyan society.

She is deadly with a knife, but not with her wit. She has no sense of humour and takes things very literally, especially when they're communicated in Basic. She has no understanding of Basic idioms or sarcasm.

She's very light-footed and agile. You won't ever hear her coming. She'll try to make you feel better about this by assuring you that her killing code is very honourable, and if she were going to kill you, you would know it, but all that really means is she'll take a moment or two to really enjoy your shock before she slits your throat.

She's spent the last few years as a hired assassin. She travels the galaxy bringing wanted men to their knees and delivering their heads. She hunts with a vibrosword in her right hand and a parrying vibroblade in her left. Her fighting style is closer to a dance with blades than anything else. She uses her agility and lean frame to her advantage and compensates for the brawn her foe may have on her.