GM Prologue:

A cloud of dust billowed up around Owen Lars as he raced across the vast landscape towards the humble hovel he called home. He needed to get inside to tell his father what he had seen. Not since the unexpected arrival of his step-brother Anakin over a year ago had he seen a ship.

He had been working on the old speeder that he and his father had bargained for in the latest pod race in Mos Eisely when he glanced up at the twin suns to check the hour of the day only to see a small, black object flying towards the homestead. He had dropped his tools and quickly ran off from the garage to his home.

Upon reaching the entrance Owen raced down the stairs to the open courtyard that sat in the center of the homestead. There he spotted his father Cliegg and his soon-to-be-wife Beru sitting at the outdoor table sharing an afternoon refreshment.

Both Beru and Cliegg glanced up at the sound of Owen's rushed footsteps. Beru, shocked at the sweaty, disheveled appearance of her love, stood knocking her chair to the ground. "Owen? What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, the worry apparent on her face.

Chest still heaving from the exertion of his run, Owen answered hoarsely, "A ship. I saw a ship. It's coming towards here fast".

Cliegg directed his hover chair to sit in front of his panting son. Though it had been more than a year since the accident and his leg had fully healed, it remained easier for Cliegg to move around from the comfort of his chair. Sitting this close to his son, Cliegg could make out the thick chunks of hair that were plastered with sweat against Owen's forehead. His son blinked furiously, most likely to dull the sting in his eyes that came from the beads of sweat that ran down Owen's temple and into the weathered creases surrounding his eyes. Cliegg glanced up at his tall son, "Are you sure?" he questioned gruffly. "Do you think it could be Anakin?"

Owen stared down at his father as he shrugged his shoulders and slightly shook his head. "I don't know" he said. "Anakin told us he would try and warn us before he showed up here again."

"Well maybe something has happened and he didn't have time" Beru reasoned as she walked up to the two men. Running her hand across Owen's cheek she continued, "Perhaps we should go up to ground level to wait?"

Cliegg nodded his head in agreement. "Beru is right. Even if it isn't Anakin, we have nowhere to hide and no security system to protect us if it is someone dangerous. Might as well meet 'em head on."

Internally Owen was worried over who their impromptu visitors could be. It sure didn't look like Anakin's ship he thought. But he knew his father was right. They were just farmers with no means of defense. With a heavy sigh he agreed with his small family, "Alright. Let's head up then."

Owen grasped Beru's hand as he turned and led them up the stairs to stand together outside. They watched as the small, black ship deployed its landing mechanisms and slowly lowered itself to the ground. Beru' hair slipped out of its tightly wrapped bun as the strong winds generated by the ship's engines flipped the loose strands wildly against her face. The three glanced at each out of the corner of their eyes expecting to have to wait a few moments for the ship to go through its landing sequences. All three of them were shocked when, instead, as soon as the ship touched the ground, the boarding ramp immediately lowered and two figures emerged amidst the dust of the still running engines.

The taller figure was completely encased from head to foot in gleaming, blood-red body armor which seemed remarkably out of place amongst the barren desert that served as the backdrop. The only deviance from the completely red attire was that of the deep black slit in the helmet where the figure's eyes should be but were instead hidden behind the helmet which closely resembled that of a Mandalorian Mercenary.

The second figure was also completely garbed in a single color. This shorter and noticeably smaller figure was wearing loose-fitting black pants along with a pair of scuffed and well worn knee-high boots. The figure's torso was covered in an even looser fitting black v-neck tunic in which the sleeves reached down to hang over the silver cuffs that wrapped around the figure's wrists. Those wrists were held tightly behind the figure's back by the red figure's gloved hands. Instead of a helmet the figure in black wore a rough, black bag over its head.

It was blatantly obvious to the three farmers who stood watch that the figure in black was some sort of prisoner. All three wondered what these two odd figures could possibly have to do with them. They watched with great interest as the figures reached the bottom of the ramp and continued to walk forward until stopping a short distance in front of Owen, Cliegg, and Beru.

They said nothing as the red guard quickly removed the binders of his prisoner and roughly shoved the black-clothed figure to its knees. The prisoner didn't dare try to remove the cloth from its head. Instead it waited to move until the red guard kicked his prisoner in the back. Unable to remain straight the prisoner grunted and let out a painful cry as its hands hit the dirt and rocks scraping the already torn and ruined hands. Then, the red guard simply reached forward and ripped the bag from the prisoner's head, turned, and ran up the ramp of the already departing black ship.

The three residents barely registered the ship now flying away as they gaped and stared in shock, disbelief evident upon their faces, at the broken figure that remained huddled on the ground. The figure never even glanced up as quaking sobs tore through its body. It simply stared down at its bloodied palms not acknowledging the three people who stood stock-still.

Minutes passed as both sides remained unmoving. Cliegg was the first to shake his head free. He took a deep breath as he directed his chair forward, not stopping until he was mere feet from the broken figure. Slowly he slid forward from his chair to rest his knee upon the ground. Not blinking and completely focused on his movements, he leaned forward and brought his weathered hand up to cup the figure's chin. Carefully and gently, he raised the figure's face to look into his own. With a mixture of both bewilderment and longing in his eyes as he looked upon the figure's face, a whisper left his lips, almost not daring to hope and believe that this could be real.

"Shmi?" he asked.