Cen Tessek
Character
Cen, out of all the things he expected as he traveled willy-nilly to Anchorhead, never expected to feel so disgustingly moist. It was probably ironic or possibly funny at best to those who questioned his confusion, especially when he rode atop a beast of burden referred to as a dewback. Yet, despite his common perceptiveness, he deemed fit subconsciously to overlook the simple name of the creature and even to deny it a saddle. The Ways of Pain had stuck with him over the months and now, looking back to the terrifying introductions to the Dark Side upon the bleak, white fields of Hoth, he felt the minor discomfort present would keep him attentive. Instead, he now sat upon a wet scaly mound, miserable and rocking back and forth with each lumbering step as the creature slowly lurched to their destination. Butt blisters were fine with him, but sticky, soaked pants? If there was ever a bane of his existence to be found, he had discovered it.Cen had become increasingly frustrated as of late, largely in between the wistful desire to reunite with his family - who were also to be found on Tatooine - and his sheer frustration with his inability to regroup with his co-conspirators: the pilot, Usa'ar Obath, and the IG Droid, TP-10D. He traveled neither by map nor by information, but roamed wildly and randomly, fiercely declaring the Force would guide him. His frustration festered in the sun, giving him the appearance of a shrunken, flyblown corpse as despair gnawed away at him the prolonged days of travel without food or water. How long had it been? He had forgotten when this venture began, he did not even recall how it was he came to be here. Fear was a toxic poison that numbed his mind, lulling him to fall forward and sleep.
He awoke with a startle, cold sweat beading along his body in regards to some additional forgotten night terror. It was near dusk, the twin suns setting beyond a golden sandy horizon, marred by the outcrop of filthy crags and stones. His dewback had long since crawled from the path and continued marching and Cen, disoriented by some lulling sensation of melancholy, could not muster the energy to disperse concern as they wandered into the dark wasteland before them. He slumped over the great beast's neck and slept once again, this time swallowed into the dark dreams of his past, incapable of stomaching the visions that swirled about him.
It was the Monolith again, a carnal pillar of black that shattered forth into a world of glass, a world where time slipped away in flashing colors of day and night. Then it was the pit, swallowing; the mask, shattered; the son, burning; the eyes, watching; and the ghost, knocking. He felt a choking sensation and the fading light, the color on the horizon snuffed out like a candle, and he awoke, nuzzled so deeply into the folds of the dewback's skin he began to suffocate on the accumulated sweat. He gagged and retched, until he noted their distinct lack of progress. It was early morning, the sky a cheerful blue and the suns hung lazily about the open air, drifting among the hot clouds that haunted softly overhead. The dewback was dead, for some reason or another it had dragged itself, dehydrated and cold, bidden by some unworldly force, like a bumbling, undead corpse towards the distant pillars of stone that rose in the deep distance, through the swirling winds of dust and death.
Cen was driven to unease upon sliding off of his stagnant mount, whose cadaver beginning to bury deep into the dunes by the light storm of sand that thrashed about them. It had frozen to death, for the dewbacks were cold-blooded, and the dark nights of Tatooine were a fatal event without the breadth of shelter. Yet, it had never sought it, and brought him forward to this unfamiliar place in the distance. It was a gathering of elongated monoliths -the word granted Cen ethereal shivers that danced across his spine- that ascended high into the clouds, pinned with various ties and canvases that swayed dreamily in the sandy breath of the desert world. Through the cracks and crevices of one particular column of stone, small huts were compacted, composed of plastoid and scrap metal. It was a haughty and adventurous, yet unnerving, place, and it was as if it had bidden forth his beast of burden with the ghostly whispers of predatory and malevolent intent. Yet, now stranded amidst the swirling dunes, with only the few supplies he could carry, Cen was forced to approach the village afar, praying that its occupants would provide transportation or shelter for the night.
[member="Watcher Three"]