2 Years After the Battle of Endor...
To Jeseth, there was nothing familiar about Ilum; it was a poor and undeveloped planet, orbiting a weak star on the very fringe of civilized space. He loathed to speak it's name, and when left with no recourse but to do so, spat it from his mouth like a vitriol curse. "Ilum," he growled, raking his fingers through a mound of moss-ridden soil. "Nothing grows on this diseased planet! Should I be expected to eat mold for the rest of my life," he asked out loud, to no one in particular.
His every attempt to harvest crops resulted in failure. It rained too much on Ilum, and in the end all the seeds he'd plant would rot away, seeping a putrid stench into the air (like so many little corpses tucked away in shallow graves). He could hardly bare the stink of them, and every breath became a temptation to delivery himself from the moment by drawing upon the Force.
He slammed his fist against the ground defiantly, spattering mud across his arms and face. He wouldn't give in to that temptation. He could never risk the townspeople turning against him; there were few of them as it was, and without them he would quickly perish of hunger.
Reply With Quote
Bookmarks