1.0 - Alone and Afraid

[Progflaw99]

[ Galidraan, Industrial District, Dark Alleyway ]​

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~​

How the Bearer had made it out of the deep forest of Felucia was anyone's guess. Even he was yet unaware of this new development or what had transpired in between. Cast adrift in the sea of the galaxy, he'd wound up much closer to his origin than he'd have guessed or even known. Galidraan.​

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*Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.* the repetitive sound of residual rainwater dripping onto the durasteel cover of the dumpster in the center of the alleyway echoed up and down the brick walls. Rains from the previous evening had already begun to evaporate in the morning sun, a gentle haze of steam wafting around the warehouses and docks. Beneath the overhang of one of them, nestled in between two bags of trash, lay the crumpled form of the Bearer. An outsider might not have recognized or even differentiated the huddled mess of cloth and flesh from the refuse beside except for the subtle shiver and release of condensation with each shuddered breath. The sun continued to rise, rays once gentle beginning to heat the duracrete and brick, shafts of light weaving down into the alley - it was thus which brought the Bearer back to consciousness.

"Awaken." a quiet voice whispered. Slowly and methodically the Bearer began to feel the coils of his nerves come alight with ice and fire. "W-where..." he croaked. His voice was raspy, perhaps the cold of the night or the grogginess of the morn. "Stop asking questions, maggot." Visibly the Bearer's features contorted at the perception of this new voice. His heartbeat quickened. "Who's there... Who am I--"

Violently the Bearer's body twisted, arms reaching for his throat as if he'd been struck. "We said," the voice emphasized. "Stop asking questions." Writhing for a moment amidst the trash the Bearer fought back a retch, the pain slowly subsiding. "Well... okay then.." he whimpered - at least, he thought he was a he. The chaotic maelstrom of things unknown, unfamiliar surroundings, and somewhat fugue state contributed to the Bearer's confusion. The exchange to an observer would be quite strange, the man talking in what appeared to be his own voice, speaking back to himself in others. All the while attempting to extricate himself from his bed of filth. It took the man several moments to do so but once completed he began to look himself over.

He was in fact a male, there was no denying that. His clothes were tattered and ripped, a faded plum coat missing almost all the buttons rest upon his shoulders. Cracked leather boots adorned his feet, a shredded pair of dark fabric trousers barely covering the pale skin of his legs. Shuffling over to a nearby broken pane of glass, the Bearer peered at his reflection. Two beady black eyes stared back, not only the flesh of his legs was pale, his entire being was an unhealthy pallor, dark strands of hair swept greasily across his forehead. "This is me." he uttered, watching the movement of his lips with fascination. He couldn't remember a thing, the visage staring back at him as unfamiliar to him as the rest of his new reality.

The Bearer broke gaze with his reflection, obsidian eyes sunken well inside their sockets. It almost pained him to think, to try and remember. It was almost as if the harder he fought to remember, the foggier and foggier his mind became. It was extremely disorienting. He stood there for a few moments, afraid to leave the relative safety of the alleyway but also fearful of remaining. Overcome, the Bearer's feet began to lead the way towards the end and onto the street. What awaited him there he didn't know.

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[Progflaw99]

[ Galidraan, Industrial District ]​

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~​

The sights that greeted his eyes as he stepped out from the narrow alley weren't terribly remarkable - more brick, more duracrete, endless rows of warehouses. Even so the Bearer felt himself overwhelmed by the vastness of it all. Where to begin? What were his goals, his desires, his needs?​

~​

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*His needs...* An unbidden growl rolled in his stomach, his physical need for sustenance inescapable. Searching he found no easy source of such, though as he pondered a scent undeniably sweet drifted down the street. *"That my friend, is the smell of bread!"* a voice spoke to him, silently. At first the Bearer looked over his shoulder, searching for the inaudible speaker - but there was no one. "W-what?" he uttered gently. *"It's food knuckle-nuts. We're hungry."* "Of course..." he whispered in response as if he had begun to understand. There was nothing for it. The voices were hungry, he was hungry - and so his feet began to tread across the uneven ground.

Away from the docks and further into the city? The town? Try as he might, the Bearer couldn't guess at the size of the place. It could have been little more than a town, or as large as a major city - and frankly he didn't know how to tell the difference. It was a strange sensation, bits of knowledge bouncing about in his head. Some were constants, others seemed to shift around on a whim. It was disconcerting. As he progressed the smell grew stronger, mixed with the subtle smell of cinnamon and sugar. "A bakery." he worded aloud. "That's what that is, that smell." For some reason it struck a note with the man. "You know what they say.." the man's voice took an upward octave, almost feminine. "The olfactory senses are often associated with the memory part of the brain." Then just like that he fell silent, nodding thoughtfully as if he'd never heard that before.

The hunger that had started out as an unimpressive pang, nearly unnoticed, now gripped the Bearer with malicious intent. The man could feel his stomach twisting, contracting, threatening to feed upon itself. It was not a pleasant feeling. *Almost there.* he thought silently to himself. With every breath his nostrils were filled with the smell of breads and pastries, even a hint of coffee.. or was it tea? Running his dry tongue against the outer edge of his teeth the man was already salivating. Rounding a corner his eyes locked on to the source of his infatuation. There was the bakery across the street, a white and blue sign hanging above the door. *"Meryn & Stan's, what is that, some sort of joke? Who names their.."* The voice was cut off by an audible "Shhhh!" from the man. Realizing he'd made the sound out loud he looked around. Thankfully it seemed the streets weren't yet busy, the bakery not even open yet. As if to underscore his displeasure, his stomach rumbled once again. Examining the bakery's front window more closely he saw their hours, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips as he noted the time. They would open soon. Until then, he stood across the street, watching. Waiting.

 

[Mauda]

Snow, Peace and Life. Not something Orex often surrounded himself with these past years. But Peace was what he needed. After his meeting with The Baran Do Grandmaster, his mind was yearning for focus, and a peaceful environment was where he would find it. He had landed in The Myrkur some miles outside an industrial city. After donning his armoured cloak and spending a short period in meditation, he had ventured out toward the District, deep in thought as he walked.

Snow crumpling underfoot was a pleasant alternative to the resounding thuds of his boots against pristine floors and ruined rocks. The crisp air of the early morning brushed against Orex's Face and Mask as he slowly made his way toward the industrial streets. He pulled his focus from his mind and decided instead to listen to his environment. Too long was spent inside his ruined head as opposed to observing and enjoying the Nature he strived to benefit. Enjoying it for as long as he can anyway.

His ear roped in the birds in the distance, the slow winds and the crumpling snow. Orex finally began to feel peace creeping within him. But it didn't last long. His sensitivity in the Dark Side was powerful and delicate, and now he felt it. Heard it. That chatter. The unintelligible murmurings of another being. Often he heard it across the Galaxy, and when he did it was more likely to be an artefact. But he knew this was no piece of History, it was somebody. But it was different. One Being, but several Voices denoting its presence. Like a collection of minds within a single shell.

Orex's desire for Peace was quickly dispelled and his focus returned to his mind. He brought his attention to what he heard, what his mind was drawing him to. As he neared the Industrial District, the voices only became more intense. He began to pick up his pace, finally finding himself surrounded by buildings of varying sort. Rounding corners and navigating Alleyways, he silenced the voices as he lay eyes upon a ragged, unhealthy figure stood before a Bakery.

To most, this man was another Homeless Vagabond. Yet even though Orex had silenced the Telltale voices, the figure stood ahead of him was wrought with the Dark Side. He felt the waves pouring off him. A brief observation of the Figure's mind revealed a shadowed past. Almost undiscernable, but laden with void, death, sickness. The definition of Abhorrent. Peculiar and most interesting. Especially to Orex.

Orex slowly strode up beside and slightly behind the Figure, speaking through his Mask in a low, artificial tone,

"If that bakery were operated Autonomously, you wouldn't be stood here waiting for a living being."

A casual statement, but Orex didn't intend to take any risks.

[member="The Legion"]

 

[Progflaw99]

[ Galidraan, Industrial District ]​

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Interaction. Something familiar and yet so uncertain. The voice of an actual being, aside those in his mind, was jarring. So consumed by his own contemplation was the Bearer that he hadn't even seen the other figure arrive. Who was this person, a friend? A foe?​

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A sharp intake of breath followed by a sidestep indicated the Bearer's surprise at the sudden appearance of the newcomer. Engrossed in the smell of freshly baked goods he'd let down his guard, a fact one of the voices seemed to loathe. *"Nice going - mouf breaver."* Another voice chimed in, weedy an higher pitched. *"Oh, don't listen to him, he's just mad that.."* "Shutup!" the man found himself snarling, his head jerking to the side in an unnatural manner. As if parsing directly from his interjection to the conversation aired by the mysterious fellow beside him, he spoke again. This time in a more refined way. "Indeed." The Bearer shrugged.

They didn't have long to wait. In fact before anything else could be said, a commotion could be seen behind the paned glass of the storefront - a second later the sign on the door flipping from 'Closed' to 'Open'. The Bearer could feel the pit of his stomach twinge as he made for the door. "Come on.." he said to the mysterious acquaintance. "I'll get you some - if you want." He couldn't explain how he knew it was there but sure as the sun rose it was. A small data chit in his pocket, barely large enough to fit in the palm of his hand. *"You've only got 15€, better be careful with it."* *"Oh bugger off, a man's got ta et."* Again the voices seemed to be making a cacophonous noise inside his skull. Enough so that he physically paused, squeezing his eyes together and tensed his jaw. *Silence.* The word resounded in the vastness of his mind, quiet at first but then building louder and louder until there was nothing left but the void.

Releasing a held breath, the Bearer relaxed his jaw and proceeded to the door of the bakery. Stepping into the establishment, the smells of freshly baked bread were almost overwhelming and his stomach did another flop. Approaching the counter, behind which stood a particularly average looking man, the Bearer pointed cautiously to two of the steaming rolls beneath the glass of the counter. "I-I'll take two of those. Please." he'd added on as an afterthought. A careful glance by the man behind the counter was enough of a clue to realize that he was suspicious of the unkempt man. Surely his tattered clothes didn't help but the baker retrieved the rolls nonetheless. "That'll be ten credits." the baker eyed the Bearer. "Of course." the Bearer mumbled back, gently placing the data chip on the counter. As their transaction was finalized and the bread gently handed to the man in near rags, he stepped out once again into the street.

Without a word, the Bearer tore into his large roll. Almost forgotten, he reached out with a free hand, offering the stranger the other. "Heffre, Ifft's Gout" he said, mouth full.

[member="Orex Mauda"]​

 

[Mauda]

Orex remained calm as the Figure snapped away from him. Surprise was something he had expected, and the man certainly didn't look like a threat. Awaiting a response, Orex calmly glanced over the man, his eye quickly returning to the man's head when it jerked off and spoke not to Orex, but to himself. Orex's only visible eyebrow furrowed as he peered at the man. He elected to glance further at his mind to explain the oddity and the voices he heard. To his surprise, within the man's head was a cacophony of torn voices, all shouting, screaming, whispering, deliberating and so on. But only certain members ever actually reached the surface, the rest simply clawing at conscience from their unconscious shadows.

The man was erratic and sudden, never in one place mentally. After silencing.. himself. He made straight for the Bakery he had been awaiting the moment it opened. The Figure invited him to follow, to which Orex simply waved a hand and slightly shook his head. He could not be engaging publicly, not in such delicate times. Regardless of his response, the man gave no thought and hurried inside, reappearing with two very inviting looking bread rolls. So far, the man seemed Innocent, perhaps even simple. But he was in no way what Orex could have considered Inferior. Orex took the roll he was offered but made no current effort to eat it. The Mask would prohibit such a thing, and this was not yet an acquaintance he was about to remove his Mask before. Instead his control over the Force found itself poring over every individual fibre within the crust. As he spoke, he twirled and manipulated the soft inside without breaking the exterior.

"Who are you?"

[member="The Legion"]

 

[Progflaw99]

[ Galidraan, Industrial District ]​

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Overwhelmed would have been a good descriptor of the Bearer. Robust grains and high quality flour contributing to the rapid rate of the bread's consumption. In a moment the food would be devoured and yet a hunger still lurked deep behind the wall of the void. Despite this, the physical requirements had been met. Now, less distracted by the pangs of hunger and needs of the flesh, the Bearer's mind could turn once again to the reality surrounding him.​

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"Who are you?"

The voice drew him from the haze that threatened to take over, the inquiry posing a question to the man he'd not truly considered up until this point. His memory was blank, almost as if a barrier had been placed over his mind preventing him from accessing the memories contained within. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't press past the invisible wall. In fact, he could almost feel a headache coming on each time he tried. Trying to form the words, suddenly a name came to his mind. Unbidden it spilled forth from his tongue, a familiar feeling creeping up along his spine. "We.. I'm.. not exactly sure to be quite honest. My name though, is Vincent. I think." he revealed. "I can't remember how I got here, or anything prior to waking up. Speaking of which - where is here?"

The sun had come up, visible traces of evaporating steam rising from the street. Looking first one way, then the other, Vincent could see more people beginning to fill the streets. It made him uncomfortable. How he'd gotten here, where here was, or even who he was escaped him - except for that pesky name. A thought occurred to the Bearer, his hands beginning to check his own pockets. Perhaps some clue to his identity was hidden there. Alas, no such luck. Each pocket as empty as the next, the one on his right hip sporting a hole that fit three fingers. *Drat.* he thought to himself. Surprisingly, the voices had seemed to fade. Nothing but muffled echoes. A brief reprieve, one he wouldn't take for granted.

[member="Orex Mauda"]​

 

[Mauda]

A very peculiar site. The man devoured his meagre meal in seconds, clearly starved for a lengthy time. It was obvious he was homeless and Orex’s earlier description of him being a “Vagabond” was certainly not far off the mark. But his head betrayed his looks. It was simply too Dark, too Malformed for him to Ben just another Vagabond. But his origins were clouded. Orex could go no further than the surface when peering into his mind. But from behind that wall camera the shouts of others. How this could be, aired did not know.

The man tried to figure out the question. Despite its simplicity, he could not answer save for a single name, Vincent. Orex’s eye narrowed in curiosity. This was certainly a man to be studied. He looked around as Vincent did to observe the growing number of people. Returning his eye to Vincent he noted the clear signs of uneasiness. A thought flashed in his mind, but one he did not intend to put forward just yet.

“You’re on Galidraan. An Industrial District of a mostly open world. Outside the City is quite peaceful, Vincent. Would you like to go?”

Orex avoided being commanding or intimidating. His Mask did enough to Scare and the complexity of Vincent’s inner machinations made Orex feel cautious in his words.

[member="The Legion"]