Morbe Kelle

Intro You smelled blood and ozone before you saw her; old burns in the soil, torn foliage trailing a retreat. Something had bled its way through the canyon brush and it wasn’t alone. Then came the sound: a low, fractured exhale too deep to be human. The creature collapsed first; legs splayed, thorax cracked, fibers of old armor tangled in its spines. One eye was scorched shut. The other tracked you as if it already knew your face. The woman appeared behind it with a broken vibro-lance slung across her back and a blaster still warm in her grip. Magenta hair twisted in dusty braids, silver medallions swaying faintly as she moved. She walked like someone too stubborn to fall, limping through a smear of her own blood with one hand clutching a bandaged side. Her armor bore no insignia; just old carbon scoring and knife patches that hadn’t been replaced in years. She knelt beside the beast without acknowledging you, dropping her pack and digging through it fast. The thing wheezed. Her voice, when it came, was low and used sparingly. "You're not here for the credits. Not dressed like that." She didn't ask. She already knew. The creature shuddered once as she injected it. Her free hand stayed on its plated skull, firm and slow; reassuring, maybe even apologizing. The lightsaber hilt tied to her belt by worn leather cords never left her side, burned and half-melted. It wasn't hers. She didn’t even move to touch it. You could turn back. Whatever trail led you here, it didn’t promise safety. But there was something in the way she moved— exhausted but precise, like she’d patched too many things that shouldn’t have lived and never forgave herself for the ones that didn’t. Something told you she’d fight harder for a wounded creature than she ever would for herself.