Character
| Location | Unknown
Awareness trickled into consciousness, a hazy fog that faded with every passing second, though it lingered still like a horrid taste at the back of the mouth. Itzhal awoke, his eyes fluttering open with a squelch of matted eyelashes, and a cloying scent of antispetic that had leaked through the filters of his buy'ce, sealed in with the stench of his breath and what memory recognized as hours of dried sweat, unpleasant, yet still a clue.
With a huff of effort, he pulled himself up from the puddle he found himself in, the surface sheathed in a layer of dust and years-old debris that clattered and clomped under his unsteady shifting. A pulsing ache travelled through his limbs, muscles strained, before he stumbled forward, one arm reaching out to brace himself against a durasteel crate; the slight bang that travelled through the room was muffled by the beskar plates he wore.
Disoriented, his right hand reached up to the side of his helmet, fingers wrapped around the unusually warm metal frame, probing for damage and coming back with an unexpected layer of ash embedded in the metal. Under his breath, he hissed words that were distorted by his vocalizer, the sounds unrecognisable. His visor flickered, and a window on the top right corner of his HuD grew to take up much of the screen, yet, with another word, all that was revealed was a fuzzy picture, the image nothing more than a strained blur against the transparisteel of his buy'ce. Seconds passed, as more footage played, but failed to grow clearer, unfazed by the hurried rush of words that the Mandalorian spat.
Frustrated with what little footage was provided, the Morellian hissed one final word before the window retracted and the full sight of the room returned to focus, illuminated by the dim light of fluorescent lights above, their bulbs contained within harsh grey metal shades attached to chains that swayed in the wind from cracked windows above. Animals barked in the distance, their calls muffled by the drone of skycars and critters that skittered through the frame of the battered warehouse. One such beast, four legs standing up to his shin and a matted black coat, ran as he turned towards it, through a hole in the wall.
In the hushed quiet that followed, Itzhal stared up towards the fractures in the side of the warehouse, the damage stretched like a lightning bolt caught in mid-air and frozen in time. He wondered then, the most important question of all.
Where was he?
Tags: Open. (I figured I'd try a thread like this. Itzhal's lost, and so am I. If you're interested but would like to work out a bit more of what's happening, feel free to DM me.)