[G7 - Ilum - FF] III | Visions of Horrors

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Access to Ilum has been a dream come true for those who follow the Force.
It is a planet truly in tune with the cosmic Force, the kind of rare focal point in the galaxy that is loved by those who understand its significance. An ancient, sacred, blessed place.
Assured by the protection of Admiral Yima and his Freedom Fighters, devotees of the Force travel to the Unknown Regions, where they are received and taken to a secret temple undiscovered by the Empire. 

The Empire. 
The dead-walking Empire plagues Ilum still.
The Remnant keep to the Equator, peering out from their massive, vicious trench, hiding their secrets.

Ilum is holy. 

Ilum is desecrated.

As much as Admiral Yima and the others try to keep the Pilgrims in good spirits, it's a futile effort. Weeks of near misses, ambushing patrols to keep themselves hidden, and failed strikes against the trench have the Freedom Fighters weary and at the edge of their nerves. There is no end to the bone-white troopers that climb out of the pit. Every day, the question is raised of of how much longer they can afford to fight this battle, all the fighting just to hamper the Empire a little, and let some monks pray in peace in the old tunnels. How long until the situation turns?
Dread now pervades the temple; fear of discovery, fear of an uncertain future on the planet, fear of whatever is happening in the trench.
Some among the command staff wish to go deeper, to commit a mission to discover the Empire's true purpose on the planet, to delve into the trench and uncover their secrets. The risk, however, is great, and the Freedom Fighters do not waste lives. Data Master Bey'wan Pwua'Tua spends every free moment studying data from the probes, planning an expedition into the darkness. Admiral Yima has, so far, resisted his requests to send in a team. The playfulness of earlier weeks is gone. Tensions are high.

The pilgrims--though separate from the war--cannot help but be affected, even the ones who have no innate sensitivity to the Force. They do what they can to try to ease the darkness, cooking and telling stories to the soldiers, meditating in the caves, communing with the Force, all in an effort to bring peace to the hearts of those huddled underneath the mountains.

Yiller Kor'dan, a pilgrim from the Western Reaches, rests among the crystals at the temple's heart. He has his head and hands raised, trying to follow the teachings he has heard: you can dictate the direction of your spirit by way of your posture. Mind follows body, follows mind. 
He has rarely felt the Force. Nothing more than ripples, an occasional splash in the pond of his life. Welcome disruptions that come without warning, and leave just as quickly. But it doesn't bother Yiller that his connection is not quite so vivid as it is with some of the others; he doesn't stake his pride on the Force--that would be a failure to understand its very nature, and the nature of his relationship to it. Whatever knowledge he has, and what little connection he enjoys, none of is a reason to celebrate himself, but rather to be humbled, to quiet his spirit and remember that everything he has--his relationships with the other pilgrims, the chance to serve the Freedom Fighters who have protected them so well, being able to see these ancient, holy caves--It is all a gift. 
He's just happy to be here.

He crosses his legs and closes his eyes, listening to the pattering of water droplets as they fall from the stalactites above. It's a moment so small, it can hardly be said to have even happened, but even in the smallest of moments like this he has learned to sense life, purpose, and meaning. 
The water crosses the cavern with gravity as its vehicle, and falls into itself. A migration. A reunion. 

The drop falls like rain.
The drop falls like footsteps. 
The drop falls like hammer blows.

The drop falls like thunder.

The drop falls like death.

This last thought was not naturally his own.

Without warning, darkness rushes into his head from the unknown, colors the pathways of his mind, and takes control. Impressions rush at him, concepts and emotions explode into his brain.
Terrified, Yiller opens his eyes.


With his waking gaze, he stares upon death. 


Ilum, hollowed; a murderer. The Core, hungry and fed.


The Twice-born Empire, Howling to Feast.



Billions of lives.



Billions of lives.



Billions of lives.


Billions of lives.

Billions of lives.

Yiller collapsed, as though released by an unseen hand.

"Hey! S-someone get help! Something's wrong with Kor'dan! Go get the Elder! Go!"

Wiping his sweat-drench face, Yiller scrabbled for the hem of the monk's cloak. He looked up into his face, his eyes burned and raw.

"I have to tell everyone," he rasped, the images still before him. "The Force showed me--! I saw things! The Force..."

Terrified for him, terrified of him, he couldn't make sense of their expression.

"Just wait here, lie still!" they cried. "You'll be okay!"

And before he could argue or beg, consciousness left him.



Edited by RocketBoy

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That is a great builds and a great story to go along with it. I really like the leg positions on the minifigure. It is a great way of achieving different poses with the relatively geometric shapes of a minifigure, and the detail with the cheese slopes on the ground below it is very well done.

Edited by Stuartn

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Love that cheese slope circle!

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