The Force is our Doom
Location: Furia, Unknown Regions
Climate: Hot
Furia is wasteland where survivors and scavangers toil to stay alive. The world is divided into territories, with each gang and salvager community fending for themselves. There is only one place all communities come together and that is The Games, a colliseum where their best fighters kill for sport and those who place bets can become rich enough to get off world or become slaves of one of ruthless war lords.
The desert draws out the primal side of life. The thirst, the hunger, everything fades away. Philsophies, even those of the do good Jedi are elipsed by need. Here on this forsaken world people have abandoned lofty notions of civilization and ideals of empire buidling. Here beneath the hot suns, death is ever present, touching the cheek of each that lives with the realization that any second may be their last. Here oblivion is most easily felt, as the hearts of men fail, and loyalties only last long enough to achieve the fufilment of need.
Doom was drawn to this world. The people were already converted to the reality that Force had doomed them to miserable existence. Here languishing they had lost all hope save for another drop of water and morsel of food. There was no pretension, no deluded mindset that they had a nobler purpose to achieve. No.. here it was primal, eat or be eaten, kill or be killed, starve or feast. Here was honesty in a galaxy full of lies and hypocrisy. It was easy in ivory towers and by lakes sheathed in greenery on other worlds to believe in a greater plan, a higher existence, but take those people and drop them on Furia in in a week they will have abandoned all their delusions and embrace the feral.
Doom watching a convoy of crude speeders go across the sands. Their engines so loud that one could have found them in the dark. Upon them all assortment of the kind of life that has salvaged and scrounged, their outfits as eclectic as a junkyard, with metals, and patches clothing. They had all the charm of gravediggers, little did they know they were digger their own graves. Rising out of the sands was raiders, who with Gaffii sticks and vibroaxes began to attack, they were like the teeth of Sarlaac suddenly protruding up, making some speeders double over, and blasters unholster, the loud rang of shots firing and death cries, Doom began to approach in his black and coral red robes, his hood over his mask with eye of Bogan. The carnage on display was delicious, these bipedal animals clawing at each other, when Doom drew one by his empty hand to his tooth hilt, gorging it in his eye and snap hissing a blood red blade that caught a blaster bolt that was meant for his arm. This free for all was nothing new on Furia, Doom swept into the fray of dust and blood, digging the tooth into a throat, and spinning the blade around nape of kyber that cut the head clean off the shoulders before kicking another in the belly, and using his boot with a spike to drive one fool’s head into sand like a peg.