The old hermit had seen much excitement lately. Oh yes, indeed! The temple on Jiroch that had become his home had hosted many guests since the Master arrived. With a pout, the hermit realized it was unlikely any new guests would arrive, now that the Master had been shattered.
Tsk tsk – the hermit clucked with his tongue as he busied himself with a make-shift broom and dust pan. He limped his way deeper into the temple of Jedi, minding the broken remains of spiders twisted by the dark side and smashed columns – evidence of the heated battle that had recently taken place.
With effort, the old hermit crouched down and began to sweep up the broken pieces of white and red, humming the song of Jedi children. Up into the pan went the shards of a long forgotten Sith Lord – a Sith so terrible that he consumed the Force itself, darkening the galaxy with each Jedi whose light he devoured.
The darkness crept in behind the hermit and shadows stretched across the stonework floor. He frowned and turned to see what was obstructing the light – he had much to do to collect the pieces of this mask!
His frustration caught in his throat as he felt the Force tense there – strangling, choking, suffocating him. The hermit flailed and whimpered and fell lifeless to the ground. A gloved hand of black reached down and carefully began to collect those shards of that broken mask, one at a time, placing them in an elegant box.
Then the temple was still again. Once more it fell into that tranquil place where the galaxy forgets about you, the carcasses of spider and hermit, the broken pillars and shattered stonework floor. Jiroch can fall back into obscurity once more.