Xevek Nekonis
From The Shadows
Plains of Iridonia
The harsh winds of Iridonia howled across the barren and empty stretch of sand that formed the entirety of the plains of Iridonia, the lands where no settlement had formed and where the cruel nature of the desert planet still ruled over all beings that dared to brave the sands. The plains did not, however, belay their cruel nature through appearance, instead they appeared nothing more than uniform and boring, an endless sight of burnt orange dust, coloured by the harsh rays of the dual suns that hung above., the monotony of the sight only broken by the odd towering mass of rock that jutted out from the sand as if they were the giant ribs of some great beast that had lost its life to the desert.
There was no order within the plains, the stretch of land that formed the majority of Iridonia's surface was ruled by chaos in all its forms. Plants and animals that should have withered away to join the dust that cut through the air instead thrived beyond all expectations, weathering the harsh existence that the Creator and All Mother, Amina, had bestowed upon them. The weather could and would change within one second and the next. At one moment winds of such strength that they seem like they could crush the strongest of structures would rise up, their crescendo howling through the land, in the next moment the winds could settle, dying and reducing to nothing more than a gentle breeze. In one moment the binary suns would bake the sand, raising the temperature to an unforgivable heat, in the next a freezing breathe would sweep the plains as soon as the suns dipped beneath the horizon.
Yet, despite the harsh chaos that reigned supreme over the sands, sentient lived, proving their strength through their defiance of nature. The Iridonian Zabraks, those that remained as Nomad Clans that refused to plant roots within the sparse but orderly and protected cities, lived within the sands, living their lives as they had done so for generations upon generations. The evidence of their perseverance was etched into the planet in the form of shelters and temples honouring the Dieties that were carved into the rock faces that littered the plains.
Within one such temple rested one of the Nomad Iridonians (formerly of Clan Duquo - even as he continued to bear the name, now of Clan Rakama), his legs folded beneath him as he knelt before an alter dedicated to Nath; Sheppard and Guardian of the Dead as the towering figure of a black robed statue cast the Zabrak within its shadow.
With the hood of the black robes that the Zabrak wore drawn back, his face was fully illuminated by the flickering light of the fires that lined the walls, fire that shuddered as the strength of the sandstorm raging outside of the shelter reached across the threshold. A mess of deep scars wove their way across tanned skin and cut across dark tattoos, the deepest of scars forming thick, shadow filled imperfections. Only a single eye remained, its sharp orange colour contrasting to the pit of darkness that was the Zabrak's right eye socket. Thick, dark grey hair was pulled into long dreadlocks, the close proximity of the strands forming a navy hue, that disappeared beneath the robes that he wore. The dreadlocks were woven around the sharp Orat that stood from the top of the Zabrak's skull, the dull while bone jagged and stained by blood.
Laying across the Zabrak's lap was a polished, wooden cane. Unlike the one that he had previously wielding in his past, the cane the Zabrak held concealed no hidden blade and did not serve as a weapon in any form. Instead, it served as a reminder, as punishment, for a mistake and oversight of the Zabrak's part that had come close to robbing him of his life before he was ready, before he had lived ample time doing his duty and existing alongside his beloved Mate. He had overestimate himself and underestimated his target and, in doing so, he had been gravely injured, his physical body a broken mess while his consciousness retreated from horrors that a mental attack had inflicted upon it by fleeing to a comatose state. While his mind had recovered well enough, every step that he took racked his body with white hot pain, even with the assistance of the cane. Instead of seeking to escape the pain, he instead embraced it, welcoming it and using it to fuel his drive to improve, using it to empower himself.
A feeble sputter rang out within the room as a line of fires were extinguished as the volume of the roaring storm reach a new height, casting the back half of the temple into a darkness that consumed the majority of roughly carved pews. Despite the change in illumination, the Zabrak didn't move a muscle, his gaze locked with the hidden face of the statue that represented the Lord of Death.
As the storm raged against the centuries old shelter and the sharp tang of sand assaulted his nose, as the flames before his burnt harshly at his sole eye, the Zabrak remained still, waiting for a certain man he held in high esteem to appear. Xavka Duquo sat waiting for his fellow Zabrak - in spirit, no longer in in flesh, one that had earned his respect and loyalty; Darth Ferus.
[member="Darth Ferus"]