Star Wars: Myths & Fables by Lucasfilm Press

Author:Lucasfilm Press [Press, Lucasfilm]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Disney Press
Published: 2019-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

N THE DESOLATE PLANET Moraband, high on a weatherworn mountaintop, stands the statue of a robed Twi’lek.

For a thousand years or more, since the ancient times when the world was known by the name Korriban, this lonesome figure has cast its gaze upon the bleak landscape below, and pilgrims venturing to Moraband in search of succor and forbidden knowledge have detoured to pay tribute to the unnamed figure, a man to whom they imagine great deeds to be ascribed—for he must have been a Sith warrior of startling renown to have such a monument raised in his honor.

Some such pilgrims have scoured the records and ancient texts for mention of the lonesome figure, but if his deeds were ever written, they have long been expunged from the histories of the galaxy, for not a single trace of him might be found. All that is left for the pilgrims is the eerie, maudlin atmosphere they feel as they gaze upon the Twi’lek’s graven face, and the stories they have since imagined, of how he once conquered whole worlds, imbuing himself with such power that all who knew him quaked in fear at his coming, for to see his face meant certain death.

There are others who claim that they have seen the statue weep an ebon tear upon the coming of the dawn, a single droplet rolling down its cold, hard cheek as if the stone were lamenting the passing of another day.

Thus, the statue has earned a variety of monikers, including the Weeping One, the Silent Watcher, and the Graven Lord, and many have theorized its true nature. None, however, has come close to the truth, for the statue’s origins are far stranger, and more tragic, than even the most creative of pilgrims might guess.

The story begins with a boy, a Twi’lek named Ry Nymbis, who, since the very moment of his birth, proved nothing but trouble to his mother. Even the midwives of Ryloth had sensed a strangeness in the babe as they’d bathed him and toweled him and handed him back to his mother, hurrying her home from the medical facility so they might not have to spend more time than necessary in the child’s company.

Try as the mother might—for she wished only to love and protect her child as most mothers do—she had not been able to shake the ill feeling that the babe’s presence inspired, even as he slept in his cot at night. The child’s father, so affected by the aura that surrounded him, soon grew distant, playing little part in the boy’s upbringing and welfare, preferring to take work away from the home, which caused a rift to form between him and his wife, eventually resulting in their separation.

As the child grew, aunts and uncles, cousins and playmates all stayed away, giving the family a wide berth, for they, too, sensed the strangeness within the boy. No one could quite put a finger on it—a feeling of deep disquiet, of wrongness, as if the child had been born ill-tempered, as if something foul had seeded itself in his very soul.

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