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Introduction
Within this thread, I will be posting small short stories, that all revolve around one person. You will see multiple points of perspective from first-person to third-person.
This is an experimental way of telling a story, but I hope it will be of interest and spark some OOC insight into the life, that happens to cross paths with the wrong sith.
And don't worry about the title - will make sense in the end <3
Feedback is welcomed as I go along!
1
The solid table rattled as the large pot made contact to its surface - nearly-burnt fingers suckled on, while smaller hands prepared their bowls. Only a quiet hush of their mother's voice, kept the two youngest from sharing the fate of their father's labored fingers. Bellies a rumbling, did the father finally take a seat with his family. Huddled around a table suited for four, the family of five made due with the space they had - not impossible, with their youngest daughter and son yet being small.
While their stomachs growled, it was not out of starvation anymore, but simply the labor of a day in the fields beckoning for a rewarding meal. Their home still had a few old-patched blaster holes from the Zakuul invasion, but some few years of stability, pay and security offered by the empire - well, no stomach went hungry in this house! And if it did, such was only signs of hard work. Nez Peron was recovering, slowly.
The mother worked with local imperial medical bays, assisting in post-care treatments. The father tended to the fields, the two young ones trailing him or their mother at work after school. A little -too- eager sometimes, none the less did they do well and didn't complain ears off anymore about homework. Truly, prides to their father's eyes - leaving him to chuckle over the spoon of stew with bits of meat amongst vegetables.
The eldest son watched his family, chin resting lazily on an arm going numb - past locks of red hair, did he just about glimpse a visor peering up at him. Green fields, blue skies and happy faces working fields of plenty...all under the empires' banners flying high in the background. His free hand wrestled itself free from the spoon, nudging the bowl over the taunting flyer.
"Supporting Efficiently - for the Empire" - such were the words written across its top and bottom, the logo of Atrum Logistics swamped in the corner. To the people of Nez Peron it had made good of its word, providing work back to the formers, security from would-be rebels...and an offer for youths to tend their bootcamp, instead of going to the imperial cells. The eldest was above the usual age, yet his behavior had never been beyond a few drunken fights or destruction of minor amounts.
Thus, the father had stuck the flyer in hand to his son yesterday. Providing the choice to his eldest, that had grown up during the invasion of Zakuul...and now struggled to see the purpose of trying to make something of himself. For what good was one empire, over the other? A question the young man asked himself many times.
The family kept eating, chattering and exchanging stories of the day.
The eldest son would miss this - for bootcamp began tomorrow.
2
"Again!"
Sweating to death - what a way to go. At least when compared to getting run over by farming equipment, or his dad talking his ear off for lazing around again. Amongst the few still able to breathe, 'corpses' of the lineup laid splayed in various positions of disarray - getting picked up one at a time by their instructor: Like one of those birds playing with its food. Rising them up, repeating exercises that collapses them within moments.
"The Republic will not care if you fall over - they will walk, march upon your bodies! Preaching for peace, as they take your home! What is your response!?"
"A bolt to their face, Sir!"
His voice rang clear, even if not the loudest - would save him from being picked off. Even corpses mumbled it back, so low it barely registered...either fear had taken them, or was it truly something believed? Having never left his boring corner of the universe, even he had picked up on a few accents. One recruit even claimed his dad used to be republic, long dead but had helped him and his mom flee. Of course, not all recognized the long stares and how tightly he held his trigger when firing - he didn't just believe, but -knew- what he wanted.
Envious feelings rolled up as Verek glanced off to the left - a few more had risen up, baited breathes and struggling to even breathe. But up they were, chanting some boring and terribly catchy marching song recited during morning count. On raising his chin was the chorus joined by another voice. Not pretty, but ringing clear as before.
he felt his heart beating a bit more - maybe this wouldn't be so bad? To find a purpose.
Within this thread, I will be posting small short stories, that all revolve around one person. You will see multiple points of perspective from first-person to third-person.
This is an experimental way of telling a story, but I hope it will be of interest and spark some OOC insight into the life, that happens to cross paths with the wrong sith.
And don't worry about the title - will make sense in the end <3
Feedback is welcomed as I go along!
1
The solid table rattled as the large pot made contact to its surface - nearly-burnt fingers suckled on, while smaller hands prepared their bowls. Only a quiet hush of their mother's voice, kept the two youngest from sharing the fate of their father's labored fingers. Bellies a rumbling, did the father finally take a seat with his family. Huddled around a table suited for four, the family of five made due with the space they had - not impossible, with their youngest daughter and son yet being small.
While their stomachs growled, it was not out of starvation anymore, but simply the labor of a day in the fields beckoning for a rewarding meal. Their home still had a few old-patched blaster holes from the Zakuul invasion, but some few years of stability, pay and security offered by the empire - well, no stomach went hungry in this house! And if it did, such was only signs of hard work. Nez Peron was recovering, slowly.
The mother worked with local imperial medical bays, assisting in post-care treatments. The father tended to the fields, the two young ones trailing him or their mother at work after school. A little -too- eager sometimes, none the less did they do well and didn't complain ears off anymore about homework. Truly, prides to their father's eyes - leaving him to chuckle over the spoon of stew with bits of meat amongst vegetables.
The eldest son watched his family, chin resting lazily on an arm going numb - past locks of red hair, did he just about glimpse a visor peering up at him. Green fields, blue skies and happy faces working fields of plenty...all under the empires' banners flying high in the background. His free hand wrestled itself free from the spoon, nudging the bowl over the taunting flyer.
"Supporting Efficiently - for the Empire" - such were the words written across its top and bottom, the logo of Atrum Logistics swamped in the corner. To the people of Nez Peron it had made good of its word, providing work back to the formers, security from would-be rebels...and an offer for youths to tend their bootcamp, instead of going to the imperial cells. The eldest was above the usual age, yet his behavior had never been beyond a few drunken fights or destruction of minor amounts.
Thus, the father had stuck the flyer in hand to his son yesterday. Providing the choice to his eldest, that had grown up during the invasion of Zakuul...and now struggled to see the purpose of trying to make something of himself. For what good was one empire, over the other? A question the young man asked himself many times.
The family kept eating, chattering and exchanging stories of the day.
The eldest son would miss this - for bootcamp began tomorrow.
2
"Again!"
Sweating to death - what a way to go. At least when compared to getting run over by farming equipment, or his dad talking his ear off for lazing around again. Amongst the few still able to breathe, 'corpses' of the lineup laid splayed in various positions of disarray - getting picked up one at a time by their instructor: Like one of those birds playing with its food. Rising them up, repeating exercises that collapses them within moments.
"The Republic will not care if you fall over - they will walk, march upon your bodies! Preaching for peace, as they take your home! What is your response!?"
"A bolt to their face, Sir!"
His voice rang clear, even if not the loudest - would save him from being picked off. Even corpses mumbled it back, so low it barely registered...either fear had taken them, or was it truly something believed? Having never left his boring corner of the universe, even he had picked up on a few accents. One recruit even claimed his dad used to be republic, long dead but had helped him and his mom flee. Of course, not all recognized the long stares and how tightly he held his trigger when firing - he didn't just believe, but -knew- what he wanted.
Envious feelings rolled up as Verek glanced off to the left - a few more had risen up, baited breathes and struggling to even breathe. But up they were, chanting some boring and terribly catchy marching song recited during morning count. On raising his chin was the chorus joined by another voice. Not pretty, but ringing clear as before.
he felt his heart beating a bit more - maybe this wouldn't be so bad? To find a purpose.
![[Image: 66iciMH.png]](https://i.imgur.com/66iciMH.png)
