If the trees could talk, what would they say?
What tales were stored within their vast roots?
By their very nature, stories were made to be told, shared with anyone willing to lend an air to those who carried them. But what of those who had no one to hear their stories? No one to cherish or even to covet them? The forsaken, the lost, the damned — what would become of them and the myriad tales they had amassed in their lives? The most fortunate among them, either through sheer coincidence or serendipity, ended up on an unassuming world drifting amidst the vastness of the galaxy’s unknown regions. A rocky planet, at least it was eons ago. Now, there were no natural formations left on the planet’s surface, with every square inch of its surface subsumed by gnarled roots, twisting vines, and creeping fungi of an unknown origin.
Yet despite its apparent dearth of interesting (especially when compared to other planets in the galaxy proper), many wayward travelers found themselves … called to it across untold eons. Each called it something different – destiny, call to adventure, the Force – but none would deny if asked that the call, whether it be subtle or exigent, was any less real than the very controls they used to guide themselves to that little green dot floating in the vast, lonely expanse.
And that very same call, whether they presently realized it or not, was what brought Aras and company to it. A malfunctioning hyperdrive and a lack of other nearby celestial bodies created the conditions for the small group to land so repairs could be made. And it wasn’t until their craft touched down amongst the endless green that it began to stir from its slumber.