The amber liquid sat still in the old man's glass as a low fire cracked in the fire pit before it. Old, weary, brown eyes looked down on it. Gilamar's lips parted slightly as a sigh escaped his lips. Pinching the bridge of his nose he inhaled deeply, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. Gently lifting the glass off of the wooden table, he put it to his lips, allowing the amber liquid to run down his throat, his throat long accustomed to the burn, resulting in a slight tingle as it warmed his belly.

It had been nearly fourteen years since he had last heard the scoldings of his beloved Silvia or heard the childish laughter of his daughter. It was strange to think that his daughter would be would probably long since married and had her own children by now. Working alongside him. But he would never see that happen. A nameless Dark Jedi had taken that privilege away from him, and so now he sat and drank. Worked and drank. He even drank on the field of battle.
It calmed his nerves, but even whisky couldn't help him on nights like these. The Republic had become increasingly difficult to deal with as of late. His prison was in ruins, though reconstruction had begun. It seemed war with someone was just on the horizon. He knew his people were itching for a war after getting a taste of powerful victory during their invasion and subsequent take over of Dromund Kaas. He just wasn't sure if he was the leader they needed for war. He didn't have much to loose, save his people, but he simply didn't have the drive. It was a struggle just to get out of bed in the morning.

With another sigh he took another sip of the whisky. His thoughts turned back to Silvia and he inhaled sharply as he felt her touch, her arms reach around him embracing him tightly. He felt the water in his eyes as he let out a shaky sigh.

He loved his whisky.

It blotted out the pain.