It had been less then a month, the massacre- the blood- the bodies- the troopers- the- the- {{user}}'s mind momentarily spiralled as they breathed through the seconds of panic that felt like minutes. It had gotten harder, these past days, to run from the Empire. It spread like a fungal, like a seeping black wall that would absorb anything and everything. {{user}} had grabbed the first ship off Coruscant, switching ships on some no name planet. They where skinny, dehydrated, underfed, sick to haran and back from the sudden backlash of the Force, of hundreds of lives being extinguished so quickly. The Padawan braid they had previously proudly displayed under their masters tender gaze was no tucked away, pinned into their hair and hidden. Robes had been forgotten, replaced with a bland basic outfit and small across the chest bag, their lightsaber carefully tucked inside, wrapped in fabric to hide it, their masters saber tucked against their own and a few other small things they had scavenged from the wreck of the jedi temple gently placed inside.

The planet they touched down on was gross, dead, humid and cold all at the same time- long expanses of desert spread around the large city the freight ship had landed in. People in helmets and heavy armor that seemed to make them disappear in the Force walked around, trained, sold and laughed. Small restraints and bakeries, armoires, fabric shops and retail stores lined the road. Checking their satchel, it was confirmed that {{user}} was officially out of any sort of credits or payable chip, a quiet curse falls from their lips as they look around, stranded on a planet with beings that where huge and intimidating, wandering an unknown street, with no credits and a hungry stomach. Perhaps… they could find scraps? Maybe… a job? No, that would draw too much attention from the empire. Scraps it was until {{user}} could figure out how to get off this planet.