Skyreaver
SWRP Writer
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"Do not fear death, child." The words rang through his head as his feet glided over the sands of Tatooine. Stomping up dune after dune, taking slow and steady breaths, knowing what was ahead, he could not help but remember the testament. "Do not fear the wider galaxy." The galaxy. It had come to him as a new word, just as Master Galdring had come as a new and slightly welcoming sight when he arrived from the clouds of a rising sandstorm. He remembered that sandstorm clear as day; how ironic, considering he could not see three inches in front of him during it. His eyesight had not always been the best. The leaders of the clan had tried to help him in every way they could, but in the end it did not matter; he had to get by on his own, whether he could see clearly or not. They had called Galdring 'the Stranger' when he first arrived. It was the first time in ages one of his kind had come to the People. Some saw it as a sign, a sign that good fortune was to come. But most were skeptical. Galdring's kind had been one of them before, it was true... but another had slaughtered an entire tribe of the People with nothing but the weapon at his side, thousands of years ago, it was said and written of. The clan leaders turned him away at first, attempting to drive him away, though cautious, with the famous blood-curdling war-cries of the People. Dorash'ad had remembered that he himself had taken up the cries to attempt to scare the stranger away. The war-cries had ended soon after, when the Stranger had taken out the Sun-Sword. "Do not fear the heat, child." Dorash'ad shook the voice away. It was a familiar voice, but a stranger's voice as well. He topped the dune and gazed down upon the desert sprawled out before him. It was a common tale amongst the People that the desert was once a sprawling metropolis, built and maintained by the Kumumgah, their ancient ancestors, who embraced technology ardently and arrogantly. Dorash'ad saw the significance technology, unlike the People that raised him. This single belief is the one thing that set him apart from the People and placed him back into the 'pink skinned fold', as Shaman Yvook had put it. "Ah, you are a student of robotics, are you?" Angrily, Dorash'ad frowned and pushed the voice away again, tears welling in his eyes. No sooner did he push it away than the calm, collected voice echo through his head again: "Negative emotion is a must be understood, not feared. That is our way." Our way... Dorash'ad had wondered why Galdring had said 'our' way instead of 'his' way. He had understood too late. As this thought came to mind, Dorash'ad had reached the bottom of the tallest dune in sight, and turned to his left, gazing to the west, at the setting suns. It was a common and ancient tale among the People that the two suns were brothers, and the elder brother attempted to kill the younger, but failed. And then, the elder was cursed for all time to be chased down by the younger, all around the world, from sunrise to sunset. Galdring told him different. He said the stars in the sky were thousands of suns, and the stars formed the galaxy, and thousands of galaxies formed the universe, which was as of yet unexplored. Dorash'ad did not want to believe Galdring's teachings over the People's but deep inside he knew they were true. They had to be. If Galdring knew so much of the 'Force', there was no excuse why he would not know everything else. But, then again, he did not know everything. "Our Order cannot see the future child... well... most of us cannot, anyhow..." This time, the voice was choked up, as if something was caught in its throat, suppressing and compacting his lungs. As the tears welled in his eyes once again, Dorash'ad began his journey into the west, the ghosts of the past following him every step of the way. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As he topped the largest rock in the formation, Dorash'ad took in the clear, sand free air. He scanned the area as he clenched tightly onto the Sun-Sword--. He shook his head, and remembered its proper name: lightsaber. Galdring had taught him the remainder of the Basic language that he had not learned already from moisture farmers he had met before. He would need to remember all of what was taught to him before he left home. Though it saddened him to be leaving the People, Dorash'ad knew that it had to be done. This was not his place, Galdring had told him in his final moments. His place was with Galdring's Order; with their order now. Not just Galdring's. A noise pierced the air. It was close, a familiar noise, in fact. They heard them all the time on the tribe's hunts in this area, but they always shied away from the beasts. Who wouldn't? Dorash'ad had never seen one in person, only heard tales of them. But from what he heard, he did not think he wanted to meet one. But that was what he came for. And he would see it through to the very end. His breath caught in his throat. He slowly reached up and placed his hand on the back of his mask, gripped the leather and slowly removed it. His loose, unkempt hair fell to his shoulders. Dorash'ad moved it away from his face to reveal the tribal war paint that he had given himself after leaving the camp. All white, two marks on his cheeks and three random streaks on his forehead. Far ahead, the ground was rumbling. Sand was being kicked off the earth in every direction, and a cloud of dust was slowly moving in his direction. Another roar; this time, Dorash'ad could tell what kind of roar it was. The hunting cry. It caught his scent. The young warrior steadies himself, taking steady breaths. The lightsaber in his hand was not yet ignited, and he was wondering if he should before the monster arrived. No, he decided, that would give away his visible location through the dust. He would wait before the beast was upon him to ignite it. That proved to be sooner rather than later. A massive claw landed a few yards ahead of him, burying itself in the sand, clenching into the earth. A rumbling growl could be heard resonating from the Krayt Dragon, and, seeing it through the dust cloud, it was rearing its head back, and for a second Dorash'ad feared that the beast might breath fire. Instead, the monster let out a vicious, rumbling, terrifying roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of Tatooine. Sand shook beneath the young warriors feet, bouncing off ground and rocks spastically. Half of him expected to run. Half of him wanted to run, to return to the camp that he knew was no longer there, engulfed in the sands, all but erased from the world. That was the Sand People half of him. But the Jedi half knew that this had to be done. Knew that doing this would put not only his mind to rest, but the ghosts echoing their testament throughout his mind to rest as well. He ignited Galdring's blade, glanced at the blue energy, brought up his fist as well as the lightsaber into the air, and let out a defiant war cry. It was normally weak compared to the rest of the People's, considering he himself was not one of them, but there, then, at that precise moment, it sounded stronger than ever before. "Do not fear death, child." He lunged. |
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