Ǧ̶͈͈l̵̻̇͗i̶̼͆͋t̸̗͓͂c̴̤͇̓h̴̫̿
Aopz pz uva tf uhtl
“Who are you?” It is a quiet, desperate whisper, spoken as a face long forgotten stares into a hundred burning eyes, and a mouth whose smile is much too wide for its face.
The Desert only laughs, a dozen voices echoing around and twisting upon each other, each trying to drown the other out in a cacophony of noise. “I am not a Who, child, I am a What.”
NAME: What is a name when one was once many? They could be Hassa or Shausstikiks as two of their pieces were once called. Names are complicated and they often let those around them call them what they wish. To themselves however, it is simply desert, and in some rare moments, the storm.
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES :
+We are Legion, for We are Many + When another is born, they are added to the conglomeration of sand that makes up the desert. In this way, they do not age as many would think. While a part of them is dying, another part is only just beginning.
+ Amalgamation + The desert is made of a conglomeration of several Lervon, and though the exact number is lost to them, currently they number themselves as around a dozen.
-Food Source- Unlike most sentients, the sandstorm feeds off the force of living beings
-Instinctual- It is hard to hold a normal form, and even as tightly controlled as they can, there is always the sense of something off, and has been known to strike fear into the more instinctual parts of the animals around them.
APPEARANCE:
On the Nature of Sand
What is sand, but particles of ground up rock and earth. What is sand but grains of jagged stone that sneak between your clothes and shift and scrape and drag across the skin, trailing lines of raw and ragged skin that soon, so very soon, will burst apart, skin and sinew and muscle torn asunder. What is sand, but the uncounted number of specs of sharpened stone that stretches from horizon to horizon. An endless view of dunes and valleys and barren stretches of lifeless plains that make up this endless world spanning desert before you?
That is what sand is, the most minuscule aspect of the desert.
What is the desert? The thought swirls through the human’s mind as the creature stands before them. It is not a barren landscape of death and heat and sharpened grains of stone. It is not a setting or an ecosystem or a planet. It is a thing, and as the monster before them smiles, human lips pulled too far, jaw open too wide to reveal rows upon rows of gleaming white teeth. White like sun bleached bone.
And as the thing steps towards him, too long limbs fuzzing at the edges, like an old holo that catches and snags between frames, he is confronted with the bone deep knowledge that he is going to die.
It smiles when it tastes his fear. Poison green eyes sprout like acne along it’s shoulders, every single orb, out of all the thousands that must be present, pinned on him. Their stare digs beneath his skin and picks apart his muscle and bone and sinew and nerve. The last thing they hear is laughter, it is not a single voice, but a multitude, each one speaking one over the other, fighting and shoving and pushing to be heard, trying so very hard to drown out the others but failing. The sound rings in its multilayered mind splitting cacophony. And then there is fire. It burns through his veins, eating away at the meat that makes up his stagnant form as something is gouged from his being.
They are the desert given form. A shifting mass of sand and rocks and all consuming heat. Their from does not stay still, and when it does it is unnatural, the calm before a storm.
Sometimes they appear human, with skin of pale pinkened sand, their tiny grains smooth to the touch..... Or was it tan? The darkened stones coarse and rough, drawing blood with the slightest touch? It does not matter.
Occasionally they are tall, to hold the multitude of sand that make up their endless shifting form. Other times they are short, staring up at those around them and seeming that much more horrifying for their stature. The sacks of meat and flesh know that they should be large and vast and endless, not short and small. Oftentimes they are of average height. Unassuming in the eyes of the multitude of humans and humanoids around them.
Hair is not a necessity to them, but they like it. It holds the excess sand and there is so much one can do with hair. A little flutter against the wind, a subtle drift around their head, like they are floating in zero G. It is so very easy to give a hint of something more, something unnatural, with the use of hair alone. Often it is long, reaching the small of their back. Sometimes it is blond, a brilliant yellow, so very similar to the most common of stars. Other times it is white, the color of sun bleached bone. Usually it is brown, so dark it can almost be mistaken for the endless black of space. There are thick streaks of grey shot through the hair, and it is almost always wavy. And though it may not look it, will seem as if it should be full of knots. Strands of hair catching around the knobby form of what cannot be bones or wrapped around the orbs of items that should not be eyes.
Their face changes, and their eyes are always shifting, always changing and moving and growing in places that human eyes should not grow. Sometimes they are not human at all. Sometimes they are a whirling storm of jagged rocks and coarse sand. Other times they are monsters, beasts with fangs and claws and wings that always seem to block out the sun. Always they are changing
BIOGRAPHY:
Everything has a story, a history. A person’s past determines their future, and to lose that story is to lose oneself.
They have lost their story. Only snippets remain, the memory of fear and hunger and bone chilling loneliness. They know, faintly, that they were once five, when they crash landed on an icy planet and their ship sunk deep below the surface. They know, faintly, that they spent decades living hand to mouth, hiding from predators and feeding off the force of the creatures around them. They know faintly, that they did not make it off the planet alone.
A sith came, searching for a hidden artifact, and found them instead. A shifting, biting presence in the force, all feral instinct and wild desperation. The sith took them instead. He taught them how to harness their abilities and the ways of the sith. They were a quick learner, and it wasn’t twelve years before they were free of the sith. He died, in the end. The force ripped from his corpse.
Even this was a long long time ago. Decades have passed and in their origin lies at the edge of memory, shrouded in fear and hunger the desperate urge to survive.
Centuries have passed now, and the desert is a vast thing. Stretching ever forwards, endless in its dunes and cliffs and the scorching heat of the ever present sun.
FORCE ABILITIES:
(Author's Note: The force abilities mentioned are the uncommon ones that relate directly to the story. They do, of course, know more.)
More than this mortal form: Though their form is small, the desert can project the vastness of their force presence, making them seem much larger than their physical matter should allow.
Firestorm: Ironically enough, they are adept as creating and manipulating fire, though the flames always come out a poison green
THREADS:
Wake Up Dead
The Desert only laughs, a dozen voices echoing around and twisting upon each other, each trying to drown the other out in a cacophony of noise. “I am not a Who, child, I am a What.”
NAME: What is a name when one was once many? They could be Hassa or Shausstikiks as two of their pieces were once called. Names are complicated and they often let those around them call them what they wish. To themselves however, it is simply desert, and in some rare moments, the storm.
FACTION: TSE | RANK: N/A | SPECIES: Lervon | AGE: N/A
SEX: they are not so much non-binary as they are everything, or as close to everything as an amorphous blob of sand and dust can be. Among their mass was once three males and four females and a smattering of others than they can hardly remember. Now they are simply They, not one or the other or really anything of categorization.
HEIGHT: N/A | WEIGHT: N/A
EYES: Some are violent red and blazing gold. Others are a poisonous green or freezing blue or the stark purple of a deep bruise.
HAIR: N/A | SKIN: N/A | FORCE SENSITIVE: yes | TEXT: 00FF3F
____________________________________
SEX: they are not so much non-binary as they are everything, or as close to everything as an amorphous blob of sand and dust can be. Among their mass was once three males and four females and a smattering of others than they can hardly remember. Now they are simply They, not one or the other or really anything of categorization.
HEIGHT: N/A | WEIGHT: N/A
EYES: Some are violent red and blazing gold. Others are a poisonous green or freezing blue or the stark purple of a deep bruise.
HAIR: N/A | SKIN: N/A | FORCE SENSITIVE: yes | TEXT: 00FF3F
____________________________________
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES :
+We are Legion, for We are Many + When another is born, they are added to the conglomeration of sand that makes up the desert. In this way, they do not age as many would think. While a part of them is dying, another part is only just beginning.
+ Amalgamation + The desert is made of a conglomeration of several Lervon, and though the exact number is lost to them, currently they number themselves as around a dozen.
-Food Source- Unlike most sentients, the sandstorm feeds off the force of living beings
-Instinctual- It is hard to hold a normal form, and even as tightly controlled as they can, there is always the sense of something off, and has been known to strike fear into the more instinctual parts of the animals around them.
APPEARANCE:
On the Nature of Sand
What is sand, but particles of ground up rock and earth. What is sand but grains of jagged stone that sneak between your clothes and shift and scrape and drag across the skin, trailing lines of raw and ragged skin that soon, so very soon, will burst apart, skin and sinew and muscle torn asunder. What is sand, but the uncounted number of specs of sharpened stone that stretches from horizon to horizon. An endless view of dunes and valleys and barren stretches of lifeless plains that make up this endless world spanning desert before you?
That is what sand is, the most minuscule aspect of the desert.
What is the desert? The thought swirls through the human’s mind as the creature stands before them. It is not a barren landscape of death and heat and sharpened grains of stone. It is not a setting or an ecosystem or a planet. It is a thing, and as the monster before them smiles, human lips pulled too far, jaw open too wide to reveal rows upon rows of gleaming white teeth. White like sun bleached bone.
And as the thing steps towards him, too long limbs fuzzing at the edges, like an old holo that catches and snags between frames, he is confronted with the bone deep knowledge that he is going to die.
It smiles when it tastes his fear. Poison green eyes sprout like acne along it’s shoulders, every single orb, out of all the thousands that must be present, pinned on him. Their stare digs beneath his skin and picks apart his muscle and bone and sinew and nerve. The last thing they hear is laughter, it is not a single voice, but a multitude, each one speaking one over the other, fighting and shoving and pushing to be heard, trying so very hard to drown out the others but failing. The sound rings in its multilayered mind splitting cacophony. And then there is fire. It burns through his veins, eating away at the meat that makes up his stagnant form as something is gouged from his being.
____________________________
They are the desert given form. A shifting mass of sand and rocks and all consuming heat. Their from does not stay still, and when it does it is unnatural, the calm before a storm.
Sometimes they appear human, with skin of pale pinkened sand, their tiny grains smooth to the touch..... Or was it tan? The darkened stones coarse and rough, drawing blood with the slightest touch? It does not matter.
Occasionally they are tall, to hold the multitude of sand that make up their endless shifting form. Other times they are short, staring up at those around them and seeming that much more horrifying for their stature. The sacks of meat and flesh know that they should be large and vast and endless, not short and small. Oftentimes they are of average height. Unassuming in the eyes of the multitude of humans and humanoids around them.
Hair is not a necessity to them, but they like it. It holds the excess sand and there is so much one can do with hair. A little flutter against the wind, a subtle drift around their head, like they are floating in zero G. It is so very easy to give a hint of something more, something unnatural, with the use of hair alone. Often it is long, reaching the small of their back. Sometimes it is blond, a brilliant yellow, so very similar to the most common of stars. Other times it is white, the color of sun bleached bone. Usually it is brown, so dark it can almost be mistaken for the endless black of space. There are thick streaks of grey shot through the hair, and it is almost always wavy. And though it may not look it, will seem as if it should be full of knots. Strands of hair catching around the knobby form of what cannot be bones or wrapped around the orbs of items that should not be eyes.
Their face changes, and their eyes are always shifting, always changing and moving and growing in places that human eyes should not grow. Sometimes they are not human at all. Sometimes they are a whirling storm of jagged rocks and coarse sand. Other times they are monsters, beasts with fangs and claws and wings that always seem to block out the sun. Always they are changing
BIOGRAPHY:
Everything has a story, a history. A person’s past determines their future, and to lose that story is to lose oneself.
They have lost their story. Only snippets remain, the memory of fear and hunger and bone chilling loneliness. They know, faintly, that they were once five, when they crash landed on an icy planet and their ship sunk deep below the surface. They know, faintly, that they spent decades living hand to mouth, hiding from predators and feeding off the force of the creatures around them. They know faintly, that they did not make it off the planet alone.
A sith came, searching for a hidden artifact, and found them instead. A shifting, biting presence in the force, all feral instinct and wild desperation. The sith took them instead. He taught them how to harness their abilities and the ways of the sith. They were a quick learner, and it wasn’t twelve years before they were free of the sith. He died, in the end. The force ripped from his corpse.
Even this was a long long time ago. Decades have passed and in their origin lies at the edge of memory, shrouded in fear and hunger the desperate urge to survive.
Centuries have passed now, and the desert is a vast thing. Stretching ever forwards, endless in its dunes and cliffs and the scorching heat of the ever present sun.
FORCE ABILITIES:
(Author's Note: The force abilities mentioned are the uncommon ones that relate directly to the story. They do, of course, know more.)
More than this mortal form: Though their form is small, the desert can project the vastness of their force presence, making them seem much larger than their physical matter should allow.
Firestorm: Ironically enough, they are adept as creating and manipulating fire, though the flames always come out a poison green
THREADS:
Wake Up Dead
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