First Reply Sands of Time

[Helix]

Location: Nam Chorios



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There was a certain beauty in desolation.

An unpopular observation, perhaps, but Helix had always found popularity overrated. All one needed to survive, and thrive, was ingenuity and imagination. A certain disregard for the rules never hurt either.

As it was, being here definitely disregarded the rules. Nam Chorios was certainly desolate, and thus, certainly beautiful. Endless harsh dunes and scrublands populated by hardy, well-adapted life, and dotted here and there by great crystalline mountain ranges.

At any other time, Helix might have been tempted to stop and take in the scenery. It wasn't his first time here; the Confederacy had held this world, many a century ago, but they were a distant memory. Now there was only himself, and his errand.

He'd seen no other sentient life in his time here. As in many deserts, living things tended to hide during peak daylight hours. To do otherwise was to tempt the wrath of Nam Chorios' violet-hued sun, peeling skin from bone and sapping precious, life-sustaining water. Few creatures could survive out here for long, not unless they knew how to wrest survival from the land itself.

The good news was that such mortal frailties were foreign to Helix. The baking temperatures went unnoticed and unheeded.

The bad news was that his prey were hiding too, terrified by this apparition that had come for them. For once, he didn't trust this one to anyone else. Time had taught him self-reliance, hammered it into every atom of his ever-shifting physical self. This was a job he'd have to do on his own.

He'd only collected a few of the living crystals so far. Each had been stripped down to its constituent essence, to be recreated later at his leisure. He could feel every single one of those captive molecules vibrating in terror, but there was no escape for them now.

As it stood, night was approaching soon, and the temperature had correspondingly begun to plunge. He'd have preferred more samples, but it didn't look as though he'd be getting them now. The Tsil were alerted to his presence, and had gone fully into hiding. No matter. What had been taken would suffice.

He could have simply returned to orbit and left Nam Chorios to its dark memories, but Helix had always been one to savor his victories. This was certainly a victory. Maybe one that would change the galaxy, given time and the successful collection of a few more ingredients.

The tall, lanky being spent a few minutes gathering dry wood, then piled it beneath a small, rocky overhang. He didn't require warmth, shelter, or even rest, but it felt right anyway. A humble moment of celebration before the storm.

Helix held up one finger, and concentrated. The digit's constituent cells vibrated rapidly, causing it to visibly glow with heat. He laid the burning digit upon his campfire, and soon, he had a bright, cheery little beacon of life in the midst of the freezing desert evening.

There was no telling who (or what) would be drawn by so obvious a dinner bell, but he didn't care. Whether an enemy stumbling upon dangerous prey, an old friend, or just a hapless passerby, none of them could stop him any longer. So he sat, waited, and watched to see what would come crawling out of the dark. Maybe none would come, and he would pass the night in silence, but that was fine too. Emptiness had a way of providing its own answers.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Beyond the flickering circle of firelight lay a desolate expanse, where the horizon stretched endlessly under a pallid sky. Towering structures of grey, grotesquely marred by deep, charred wounds and ravaged fissures, formed an uneven border between the mountain ranges to the west, their peaks shimmering with the remnants of shattered crystals, and the vast, blackened deserts sprawling to the east.

Silence reigned in this forsaken realm.

Not with the comforting quiet of civilisation asleep, but rather the heavy, suffocating quiet of a sealed prison in a land lost to time and misfortune—where only the infrequent wails of wind and the burning crackle of the wood dared to disturb its domain.

But as all things do eventually, even silence must end.

Crunch.

So faint it could have been mistaken for a whisper caught on the wind between the curving swoops and drops of the dunes, a sound carried, followed by another.

Crunch. Crunch.

With each step that pressed into the sand, the silence splintered like glass as the measured footsteps cut through the serenity, echoing across the dunes until one step became a march of many.

Then, from beyond the horizon, a silhouette appeared.

Crimson streaks against a backdrop of darkness gleamed in the dancing embers of the fire. The humanoid figure's steps carried him closer, his stride unhurried, despite the massive plates that cradled his frame; beskar worn like a second skin, a flowing river of holy metal sculptured in sleek angles and bold lines.

"You seem a far way out for sightseeing," he commented, the moment he reached the border of the light, his voice tinged with the metallic sound of his vocalizer.

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

Helix's multi-eyed visage slowly swivelled upwards to face his visitor. Absent were the usual soft whines and clicks of moving hydraulics or mechanical joints. His movements were fluid, almost liquid in their alien grace, and betrayed a physical makeup not bound by the traditional frameworks of bone or metal.

A Mandalorian, or someone who wore their trappings. Perhaps unsurprising, as this world was technically within the borders of their ever-growing empire. Helix couldn't quite tell what species the man belonged to. Normally, he could read a variety of non-visual biomarkers not normally available to humanoids, and get a fairly close guess, but Beskar had a way of dampening such signatures. Whoever or whatever was in there was anonymous, faceless, more of a symbol than a man. Which was, of course, probably the point.

Helix decided to be non-confrontational, for once in his life. As it stood, he had no reason to treat this man as an enemy, so he didn't bother standing up. The mechanical-thing instead reached an iridescent hand into the open flames, adjusting one of the logs to stand more securely against the rest.

"Perhaps I am, though there are certainly plenty of sights to see here. It's a beautiful planet, with more historical significance than most realize. Your people are fortunate to hold dominion over it."

"I'd ask what brings you out this way, but I suppose I have no right to. One can do as they like in their own backyard."

An unfair assumption, perhaps, that the stranger was part of the Mandalorian Empire. Plenty of them accepted no masters, roamed the universe as guns for hire. The very best guns for hire. Still, Helix concluded that seeing him here, on this planet, was probably not a coincidence.

"I must admit, though, to being as surprised to see you as you are me. The desert is not hospitable to the living at night. Only ghosts dwell here."

The creature's words thrummed outward as an unpleasant, echoing chorus, as though many voices were constrained to share the same set of sound-producing organs. Nonetheless, there was no threat in them. Only observation, with maybe a hint of curiosity at seeing another in so remote a place as this.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Embers of light from the fire ebbed and flowed, casting a hollow light that danced across the smooth, inscrutable surface of the T-Visor. Concealed beneath the veil of transparisteel, cold blue eyes traced across the mechanical form, over the slender arms that shifted like ripples in the depths of a deep lake—muffled beneath the padding and enclosed systems, he muttered a word—and his vision flickered; the night under the glow of low-light sensors twisted into a haze of soft blues and radiating ripples.

Itzhal's assessment paused.

No longer flitting between the inconsequential details that marked the droid's frame, instead his gaze fixed intently on the insistent flow of virtual ripples. Sensor data from across his beskar'gam, converted into a form that bore a semblance of clarity, comprehensible to the organic eye. The closest he'd ever seen to it was standing in a Killik hive, surrounded by larvae and the approach of their defenders, a swarm of movement and fury that had intended to bury him underneath a tide of sheer numbers.

Wisps of smoke skittered over the solitary droid, and its sharp, angular plates drowned the light, leaving only the embers between them and the harsh assessing glare of three glowing red optics.

"It would be fortunate if that were so," he remarked, his voice soft against the gentle cries of the wind. "But, even in this desolate place, there lives more than mere ghosts. It is duty that brings me here, as it so often does."

As he gradually tilted his buy'ce, the visor shifted away from the red glare, directing his gaze towards the encroaching shadows that cloaked the edges of their modest shelter.

"They may have been no council or king upon a throne to swear their allegiance, but Mandalore has not simply forgotten this world and its people; they have been relegated, perhaps, for concerns of an Empire reach beyond a single world. But as long as they exist within our territory, they deserve our protection. Whether it be from raiders and bandits, or worse threats, beyond our borders. And so, I am here to make it so."

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

It could have been a trick of the firelight upon the alien angles of his form, but for just a moment, it looked as though the apparition smiled. A thin ripple of movement skittered like a Kouhun across the seemingly-solid metal of the creature's inhuman visage. Structures like teeth were visible in that momentary rift, glittering faintly, before all was as it had been before.

Helix could read between the lines as well as anyone else, and believed he caught the warrior's drift, but played innocent nonetheless. It was always more fun that way. "Ah, duty. I remember it well, as though it were yesterday. Perfect recall is one of the joys, and curses, of an artificial mind."

"It all seems so important in the moment, doesn't it? Every move consequential, existential even. Fighting for the survival of your nation and creed. It's fulfilling in a way nothing else ever can be. Those who've not done it can't understand."

He let that hang in the air for a second before continuing.

"Still, I can't imagine what kind of threat you imagine you'd find out here. Aside from the heat during the day and the cold at night, but what is that to one ensconced in an iron casket?"

"Nothing but silence and wind, and memories of past evils aplenty. None in the present, thankfully for all ten people who call this world home." The creature made a buzzing sound that might have been laughter. "Still, in a place this remote, who knows? Almost anything could come thundering out of the dark, full of ill intent and unknowable malice. Almost makes the blood run cold to think of it."

Helix reached one hand over to a small pile of kindling, tossing a handful of withered desert plants into the blaze. The flames roared up briefly at the disruption, illuminating the area more brightly for just a heartbeat.

"Thank goodness for those who would boldly stand against such things with blaster in hand and courage in heart. What a universe we'd have without them."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Projected from the corner of Itzhal's visor, a soft blue luminescence unfurled, casting a serene glow that permeated the interior of his Buy'ce with each gentle pulsating flicker. Over the deeply etched lines of his weathered face, azure rays of light wandered without time or reason, accompanied by the shadows that clung to every crevice and furrow.

And yet, he barely noticed the hue that dominated his vision.

Instead, his attention settled upon the footage displayed in the corner of his HuD; milliseconds slowed to a crawl that was almost torturous as his gaze drifted over the alien design. A flicker of unease stirred inside him—a wariness born from experience, as though he expected the next frame to reveal some long-hidden threat. It did. In a moment that his organic eyes had dismissed as a trick of the light, the droid's frame twisted; claws shaped like sickles and terrible teeth crawled from the abyss, their presence shielded beneath the lie of solid metal plates.

With a guttering spark of final light, the blue haze across his visor died.

The desert rippled with the passage of the wind, a chilling breeze that seeped beneath the ash-coloured land, and with invisible hands, plucked grains of sand into the air, where they drifted like slow-falling rain upon a world that knew little of the life-gifting liquid.

Behind him, the droid continued to speak, amusement curling in the air between each syllable—the cadence of its voice, measured and mocking with the faintest veil of sincerity. In the panoramic view of the Morellian's sensor rig, every word set off a ripple, waves of sound slashing against a world unprepared for the abomination that dipped its digits into the fire.

In the quiet that followed, every second seemed to stretch, filled only by the crackle of the hearth and the slow, measured breaths of the Mandalorian as he weighed his response, until at last Itzhal forced his voice to break the hush, "The Tsil, do they still live?"

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

Helix studied the Mandalorian a little more closely, allowing the silence after that question to stretch intolerably. As before, it was difficult to gauge much under his all-enclosing iron skin. Still, Helix fancied he was dealing with someone who wasn't green, and wouldn't tolerate further attempts at denial.

"After a fashion, yes. Though if it makes you feel any better, they've got plenty of company." Came the response. Evidently, the jig was up and the fun was over. Unfortunate, but eventually someone had to have the spine to confront him amidst his many wrongdoings.

Few had dared to do so, particularly in this latter, lesser day that dwelled in the shadow of the old. That was disappointing, if not depressing. What he did was no fun without the occasional opposition. Too often, he'd simply marched to victory and taken whatever (or whoever) he'd pleased without a soul standing in his way.

Maybe he'd found something even more interesting than what he'd come for. After denial, he'd try bargaining. If reason didn't work, well... maybe the Tsils would have yet more company.

"Would you like me to release them?" The question was polite, inquisitive, blank. It had all the vacuosity of a holonet advertisement, and carried none of the subtle, mocking air that had filled the creature's words earlier.

The night-wind picked up suddenly, shrieking low across the ground and sending a small whirlwind of sand through his makeshift encampment. The fire sputtered and dimmed, but Helix never once took his eyes off his visitor now. Not even to tend to a fire that he did not need, but seemed paradoxically attached to.

Despite its lack of humanity, something in that stare carried an almost timeless malice, mingled with something even worse: curiosity.

After its brief outburst, the desert now seemed almost to hold its breath. The wind died down completely, replaced by the stillness of a millennia-undisturbed tomb. Even the distantly-chirruping insects seemed to fall silent to bear witness.

Through it all, Helix still didn't bother standing, still sitting relaxedly by the now-guttering fire and its slowly-failing light. Depending on the stranger's response, it wouldn't matter anyway.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

'Company.' What a deceptively innocuous term, gleefully laden with an undercurrent of insidious promises that led the blind to sorrow. Itzhal lingered over the sound of it, measuring the syllables as if they were brewed from a feast of suffering that he could almost taste, holding the realisation that whatever form of companionship the droid proposed, it was unlikely to bring anything more than further despair, or a call for vengeance that settled in the old man's bones.

Wisps of flames stretched pitifully towards the sky, a soft crackle of wood, muffled underneath the polite tones of the droid that dared to pretend it was something more than a monster. As if the visage of civility was just another role to be used and discarded, a tool, rather than the agreement that bound their civilisations together—but then, there was a reason he existed.

The Lawkeeper.

With a deliberate pivot, Itzhal turned to face the droid before him, its metallic surface reflecting the flickering light, only to shift and twist in ways that distorted the gentle glow into a nightmarish cast of shadows and the suggestion of something worse that lurked beneath. Minuscule grains of sand, finely ground to a shimmering powder and mixed with shards of glass from the fickle and intermittent strikes of lightning above, sparkled under the faint glow of the campfire's flames as they shifted and crunched beneath the Mandalorian's rugged boots.

Above, the night stretched onwards like a mirror of the darkened land, each star a distant flame casting no warmth, no illumination on the sands that buried hopes and dreams beneath obsidian, where only the echoes lingered like a taunting melody.

An icy wind slithered through the air, coiling between his limbs and teasing the edges of his beskar'gam where the metal was thinnest, probing for weakness as it near-smothered the guttering flames with a shriek that faded into silence—a void waiting to be filled. Slowly, with a gradual tilt of his buy'ce, the Mandalorian's keen gaze met the cold, unyielding eyes of the machine.

"If you did, would they survive the experience?" There was no expectation in his voice; only the grim certainty of a man who knew there was a reason hope could be crueller than despair, yet still allowed a sliver of that terrible dream to remain.

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar
​

"Who knows?" Came the response. Bored, flippant, almost childlike in its callousness. "And who cares. Well, I suppose you do. A lot of effort and investment to put in for such simple lifeforms." The creature held up one hand, causing a small, luminescent crystal formation to appear in his palm. "Appear" was perhaps too benign a word. It seemed to almost grow from the intruder's hand, sprouting upwards like a fungus. Reconstructed strand by strand from the creature it had once been.

Helix regarded it for a moment, before planting it in the sand next to him. It seemed to quiver, perhaps in relief, perhaps in terror.

"I suppose you could ask it, if they could speak. They can't seem to. Supposedly, they plant things in your mind instead. Thoughts, images. I'm fortunate enough to have no mind to meddle with."

Whatever else he'd said, that had been the truth. He'd been unable to communicate with them, and they with him, in any meaningful way. The Tsils encoded memory and cognition in a manner that was alien even by his own bizarre standards, but that too was a valuable discovery. Frustrating, but valuable.

It was so much easier with humanoids, where everything that mattered was stored in a sanely-arranged central nervous system. Getting that data simple, like unwrapping a package. Not so with something that thought in terms of mineral strata and geometric angles.

"Judging by the size, this is a young one." Something like a snort or scoff emitted from the droid, a noise of surprisingly humanoid dismissal. "If one can attribute a concept like youth to a rock."

His words made the crystal visibly increase its vibrations. Again, a brief suggestion of a smile skittered across the apparition's features. It was the grin of a deep-sea predator, a simple coincidence of design rather than an emotional expression. No real warmth or humor lay behind it. Or so one might hope.

"Looks alive to me. Are you satisfied?"