Ezra Na'chtion
May 28th, 2007, 12:11:24 PM
Coronet, the most prominent of cities on the planet Corellia was also the most crime filled. Nothing the Corellian government, the Empire, or anyone, for that matter, attempted was fruitful. Crime continued on the rise, never reaching the heights existing on Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa, but hitting all time highs for Corellia all the same. People failed to notice that all the greatest smuggles, hired guns, pilots, and mercenaries come from Corellia. Throw that all together and smelt it in a pot and you have a planet capable of running crime on it's own. The only problem was that Corellians had a sense of loyalty, no matter how diffused, and would not always be so quick to goink a fellow Corellian. So they were forced to turn their crime outward, and thus smuggling became all the more popular.
Even now, weapons, drugs, slaves, and spice was flowing into Corellia from distant planets like Tatooine, Nar Shaddaa, Coruscant, and Ord Mantell, among other planets. An illegal shipment here and there might get caught by shipyard authorities, but one out of twenty was not very good odds. But, as a result, the people of Corellia prospered. They had foreign items and devices, clothes and foods that would be otherwise impossible to come by. There was also more money in the hands of the average Corellian as the smugglers brought they high wages. Life, in truth, got better on Corellia in light of the smuggling increase. The only people unhappy are those of authority who believe that people should not be able to smuggle in large shipments of Ryll despite how happy it makes people. It was tyranny indeed.
Coronet...
The empty small black box was set down on the table, a few glittering specks were all that remained of the Glitterstim. A content sigh filled the dark room. Satisfaction guaranteed, as the smuggler had said. He was right. It was very satisfying, and continued to be every time he took it. It was paradise in a little black box. How could it not get better?
Standing up, he reached for the small chain that he knew was above his head. The low-tech electric light bulb clicked on and the sickly yellow light filled the room. It was a small, shabby apartment. Not the ritz in any way, but it was all that he could afford. He had barely any money as is, but he managed to do odd jobs to afford the room that was little more then a shack. He could not stand being with the Sith anymore. They had lost all organization after the attack. The leaders had all drifted away, even Zereth Lancer left, although he called his departure a journey of self-discovery. He knew the man was never coming back. Baralai had disappeared again, as had the remainder of the leaders of the sith order of Korriban. That dream was dead, but he still had his own personal dreams to pursue.
Licking some glitterstim powder off his bottom lip, Ezra wandered over to one of the four walls that composed his little room. This was the wall with the window. The window only offered a view of the alley beside the apartment building and the building that sat beside it. Not a room with a view, but at least it allowed air circulation and let in more light. Turning around, he looked around his room, at the books that were littered around the room. Books, textbooks, medical books, books on various sciences, his personal journals, and the journals and books of his master Baralai Lotus. In addition, the walls were covered with scraps of paper pinned to them. Each had Ezra's own neat handwriting covering them. He had only put up the papers because he'd run out of wall to draw on. If the papers were removed you would find the result of a boy genius who spent all his time tinkering with the laws of the universe while hopped up on Glitterstim. There was no cohesion, but it all made sense to Ezra. He knew what he was trying to figure out, he just was not sure what that was exactly.
He picked up a journal and began writing down his daily account and then began doodling in the corners and making odd notes about things that either needed to be done or thought about. In the end, he closed the book, tossed it aside, and picked up a notebook. He was close to discovering something, he knew that, but sometimes even his mad scribbles became lost in translation. Frustrated, he tossed the notebook aside and stood up, moving toward the door to leave, which required unlatching the half dozen locks, bars, and chains that locked his frail door. The door itself was break down before the locks would. Pity. Slipping outside, he locked the door behind him and then made his way through the grubby, dirty halls of the apartment building.
Before he knew it, he was outside in a rustle of cloth and metal as his clothing, an add fusion of tan and black colored oddly cut clothing combined with far too much silver chains, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. He stood out, but not incredibly so. The light hurt his eyes a little. Such was the effects of Glitterstim. People would give him odd looks as they passed him, because his wild eyes revealed his addiction. How had he sunk so low as to become a glit-biter? Simple: The sith order had fracture. He had was not left unchanged by the horrific events of the past few standard months. It had been hell. He felt like he had passed through all seven levels and gotten out alive, only to be thrown back down again. Which level of hell was he on now? Obviously the one reserved for people who have lost their muse.
Sighing, he headed off down the street, which was hardly populated at this time of day.
Even now, weapons, drugs, slaves, and spice was flowing into Corellia from distant planets like Tatooine, Nar Shaddaa, Coruscant, and Ord Mantell, among other planets. An illegal shipment here and there might get caught by shipyard authorities, but one out of twenty was not very good odds. But, as a result, the people of Corellia prospered. They had foreign items and devices, clothes and foods that would be otherwise impossible to come by. There was also more money in the hands of the average Corellian as the smugglers brought they high wages. Life, in truth, got better on Corellia in light of the smuggling increase. The only people unhappy are those of authority who believe that people should not be able to smuggle in large shipments of Ryll despite how happy it makes people. It was tyranny indeed.
Coronet...
The empty small black box was set down on the table, a few glittering specks were all that remained of the Glitterstim. A content sigh filled the dark room. Satisfaction guaranteed, as the smuggler had said. He was right. It was very satisfying, and continued to be every time he took it. It was paradise in a little black box. How could it not get better?
Standing up, he reached for the small chain that he knew was above his head. The low-tech electric light bulb clicked on and the sickly yellow light filled the room. It was a small, shabby apartment. Not the ritz in any way, but it was all that he could afford. He had barely any money as is, but he managed to do odd jobs to afford the room that was little more then a shack. He could not stand being with the Sith anymore. They had lost all organization after the attack. The leaders had all drifted away, even Zereth Lancer left, although he called his departure a journey of self-discovery. He knew the man was never coming back. Baralai had disappeared again, as had the remainder of the leaders of the sith order of Korriban. That dream was dead, but he still had his own personal dreams to pursue.
Licking some glitterstim powder off his bottom lip, Ezra wandered over to one of the four walls that composed his little room. This was the wall with the window. The window only offered a view of the alley beside the apartment building and the building that sat beside it. Not a room with a view, but at least it allowed air circulation and let in more light. Turning around, he looked around his room, at the books that were littered around the room. Books, textbooks, medical books, books on various sciences, his personal journals, and the journals and books of his master Baralai Lotus. In addition, the walls were covered with scraps of paper pinned to them. Each had Ezra's own neat handwriting covering them. He had only put up the papers because he'd run out of wall to draw on. If the papers were removed you would find the result of a boy genius who spent all his time tinkering with the laws of the universe while hopped up on Glitterstim. There was no cohesion, but it all made sense to Ezra. He knew what he was trying to figure out, he just was not sure what that was exactly.
He picked up a journal and began writing down his daily account and then began doodling in the corners and making odd notes about things that either needed to be done or thought about. In the end, he closed the book, tossed it aside, and picked up a notebook. He was close to discovering something, he knew that, but sometimes even his mad scribbles became lost in translation. Frustrated, he tossed the notebook aside and stood up, moving toward the door to leave, which required unlatching the half dozen locks, bars, and chains that locked his frail door. The door itself was break down before the locks would. Pity. Slipping outside, he locked the door behind him and then made his way through the grubby, dirty halls of the apartment building.
Before he knew it, he was outside in a rustle of cloth and metal as his clothing, an add fusion of tan and black colored oddly cut clothing combined with far too much silver chains, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. He stood out, but not incredibly so. The light hurt his eyes a little. Such was the effects of Glitterstim. People would give him odd looks as they passed him, because his wild eyes revealed his addiction. How had he sunk so low as to become a glit-biter? Simple: The sith order had fracture. He had was not left unchanged by the horrific events of the past few standard months. It had been hell. He felt like he had passed through all seven levels and gotten out alive, only to be thrown back down again. Which level of hell was he on now? Obviously the one reserved for people who have lost their muse.
Sighing, he headed off down the street, which was hardly populated at this time of day.