“The night of the Twi’leks’ grand attack soon came around. There were fewer of them now, and though they had crafted spears and daggers from whatever they had managed to scavenge, they were a motley bunch, ill-equipped for going into battle against a Sith Lord. Yet what else could they do? Such was their desire for freedom that they would rather risk their lives in a final, great assault than continue to exist under the oppressive regime of the Sith.
“So it was that they marched upon the gates of the stronghold that Darth Quellus had forced them to build, an angry mob with fire in their hearts. But that night, the Dark Lord handed them their greatest humiliation yet, for he did not even deign to join them in battle. As the Twi’leks stormed the compound, he appeared upon a balcony in his wooden tower, his black robes whipping around him in the wind, his pale skin and red eyes almost luminescent in the gloom. And he laughed.
“He laughed and laughed and, with a single wave of his hand, disarmed the would-be warriors and knocked them to the ground, where they squirmed in the mud, clutching at their throats as if trying desperately to breathe.
“And then it was over, and they knew that they had lost. Not simply the battle, but the war. Their oppression was complete. Aaloth belonged to the Sith.
“Yet when the Twi’leks finally trudged back to their homes, they found Silana was waiting for them. At first they were dismissive, telling the old woman to go home, thinking she was there to gloat, but gloating was far from her mind, for she had dedicated her life to her people and had only their best interests at heart. Thus, in the hour of their greatest defeat, she—of all people—found a way to give them hope. She handed out the pouches she had crafted, one for each of them to carry at all times. These she had filled with twigs and dried moss from the forest, gathered from the trees—a kindling, of sorts, that could be used to start a great fire. This would be their act of secret rebellion against the Sith. Every day, the Twi’leks would carry with them the material to start a glorious bonfire like the ones of old and know that the means to fight evil was within their grasp. It would fan the faltering flames of their spirits and ensure they were ready to act whenever the time was right.
“Thus, the Twi’leks went about their days, doing the bidding of the Sith, and Darth Quellus came to believe that he had truly made them his own. Yet the Sith Lord saw that the old woman was now venerated amongst the Twi’leks, treated by them as a spiritual leader, and knew that to uphold his rule, she had to be removed.
“So it was that he sent his followers, who swarmed through the village that very night and stole the old woman from her bed, carrying her off to his stronghold. He thought to make a show of her execution, to finally break the Twi’leks’ will. With the old woman dead, surely all hope would be lost.
“Yet, for the Twi’leks, the Sith Lord’s act served only to stir their anger, for they had come to love the old woman who had restored their hope.
“Once more, the Twi’leks gathered and stormed the stronghold of the Sith Lord, and he threw open the gates and welcomed them in, intent on having an audience for the old woman’s death.
“The Twi’leks, however, knew that now was finally the time for them to act, and as one they emptied their pouches upon the ground and, striking stones to make a spark, lit a great wall of fire.
“Light flared, and the Sith Lord and his followers recoiled. The creatures of the night slunk back towards the shadows, remembering now the great power of the light and the bonfires that had once held them at bay.
“Furious, Darth Quellus waved his arm to banish the fires, but they were fueled by the will of the people, and instead he stirred the wall of flame in a great gust that carried it towards the base of his tower. The hungry flames roared in satisfaction and bit deep, and within moments, the tower itself was ablaze, the greatest bonfire the Twi’leks had ever seen lighting up the sky.
“Darth Quellus roared, covering his face in the crook of his arm as the light seared his eyes and burned his skin, and he leapt from the tower, fleeing to his ship. The villagers watched him go, knowing that Aaloth would be free of evil for all time.”
“And the old woman?” said Rorric, clearly drawn in by the tale despite the peril they were in. “What happened to Silana?”
“She was never seen or heard from again,” said Fanya, “but the Twi’leks of Aaloth still carry her in their hearts. And every midwinter, they make up pouches to honor her, and to know that they always have the means to fight evil, wherever they are.”
