(I've been given permission to control the Yautja, so here goes...)
A strange shape moved through the inky blackness of space. No sound, no heat, nothing came from this object, yet it moved at incredible speeds, ripping past the Republic Cruisers that hung in orbit over the small, unassuming red world.
This object was one of the most lucrative starcraft in the whole galaxy. Technology cabable of bending light where light rarely shined, of moving undetected through the most advanced detection systems there were. A work of art, some would say.
A deadly weapon, was what its creator's called it. Though without any form of weaponry or shielding, the true weapon was what lay inside it.
Fog covered the floor of the ship, swirling around noiselessly as the ship rocked every so slighty, piercing the atmosphere.
A tall figure stood stoically in front of what looked like a display case, a clawed hand tracing over a human skull. A mechanical hiss marked the entry of its comrade, and he slowly turned around.
The Yautja who had entered the room was unmasked, and mostly naked. Scars littered its body, burns from a dozen weapons, teeth marks from the most ferocious creatures ever to breathe air. A veteran of a dozen wars, the eyes of this creature saw only death, and its hands could only create more. Such a singular and brutal creature would have been outcast in the so-called "civilized" galaxy, but to his kind, this was a being of the highest honor and privelage.
To die on a hunt such as this would be a glorious exit to an honorable life. Not that either of the aliens intended on dying.
The clothed Yautja nodded its grotesque head in aknowledgement of its leader. He looked up and spoke in the scratching, barking toungue of his people.
"Are the Hounds ready?
The leader nodded just once.
Then...we shall prepare. The cerimony of death shall begin soon...my blood boils with excitement. A new skull shall adorn my collection.
The leader laughed a proud laugh, and turned to look into a dark room from where he had just come.
The creature's inside, concealed by the ever present shadow, hisses and squealed in anger. Caged in bars built from a nigh-undisolvable alloy, they were helpless before the Yautja. Gifts from those who had hired them.
The leader slowly knelt down before a large statue. The God of the Hunt stared angrily down, its stony eyes pirecing into the Yautja's soul as he slowly clothed himself in his cerimonial armor. Arm bands, with large metal claws at the knuckles...heavy, bladed boots...and finally...the mask.
Lifting the heavy object, he carefully strapped it to his face, the slits glowing red as it connected to his suit. Immediatly, everything turned into a cacophany of red and blue.
Standing, he drew a small bone-handled knife and made a long, thin cut down his chest. A blood offering to the God of the Hunt. Then he roared, a loud sound that shook the walls of the ship.
He had long ago cast aside his name. He knew nothing but death and its work. He had joined an elite caste, known not by their earthly names, but by what they were.
He was a Predator.
