Character
| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories
Through the transparisteel window of the cockpit, Itzhal stared out into the expansive dust-ball that was the outback of Mandalore—long stretches of land once occupied by rolling planes and rugged mountains, now reduced to a desolate landscape peppered with rocky outcrops and tufts of stubborn vegetation. The sun peeked over the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the barren terrain, while the winds stirred up tiny whirlwinds of red dust that danced aimlessly before eventually settling back to the ground. In the awakening light, he could almost imagine the sounds of laughter and life echoing across the valleys, foundlings gathered for their first hunts, their ill-trained steps clunking alongside the whisper-quiet stride of their buir's smiling fondly beneath the cover of their buy'ce.
Sensors flickered as an unexpected assortment of beeps echoed around the cockpit. Beneath his visor, the Morellian blinked, his blue eyes awakening from the clouded memories of yesteryear. His fingers wandered over the flight console in his hands, feeling the familiar texture of each button and toggle that still held the strange sensation of newness, a few months after its acquisition. Slowly, he leaned back in his seat, allowing the weight of nostalgia to slough off his shoulders as a slight frown creased his brow, and he turned to the speaker amp that was currently whistling into his ear.
It was quiet—a world once filled with thunderous storms and the site of countless terrible wars, weary in its age. Outside, the sun ascended higher, illuminating patches of landscape that still bore scars from battles long past. So much of it he'd missed, yet the weariness seeped into his bones regardless. People were made for more than just fighting.
With a determined inhale, Itzhal shifted his focus, the weight of memories, a distorted echo that twisted reality. Perhaps he was not quite ready to move on, perhaps he never would be, but regardless, it was time to see if he could. His attention settled on a solitary structure hunkered down in the endless stretch of dust, a lone family homestead that stood defiantly against the pressing desolation. Weathered timber walls bore the marks of a thousand storms, yet the homestead remained steadfast, a chair on the porch swaying with the wind as skeletal wire frames outlined a spinning wind turbine in the distance.
Step by step, the ship began its descent into a slumbering rest. With a deliberate flick of a sequence of switches and a careful twist of the power key, the hum of the engines softened, swirling into an echoing whisper of the wind outside, trailing across its polished frame, which grew speckled with time. Inside, the lights dimmed, casting gentle shadows across the cockpit, while the soft light of the sun above crept through the stretch of the transparisteel windows, revealing the silhouette of Itzhal's movement as he stepped out into the corridor beyond, his steps slow and measured as they reached the boarding ramp and descended onto the rolling sands below.
Tags:
Mia Monroe
Mia Monroe
