Looking out over the blue horizon of a fraudulent ocean, The Sandman noted the steam that continually arose from water up into the hot atmosphere along the shoreline. The air felt heavy and moist like a sauna. He didn’t know a humid desert could exist. But here it seemed like anything was possible so long as someone was willing to spend freighters full of gold to make it happen. He knew that if he continued along he'd eventually reach that infamous city, Canto Bight. But he had no desire to visit that false oasis now.
Turning away from the Sea of Cantonica he looked out over to the endless stretch of desert beyond. There was plenty more the world had to offer other than nauseating bravado of uber-rich gamblers. Perhaps A’Runda would partake in it sometime later, he had plenty of credits that he’d fit in financially, much to the ire of his neimoidian finance manager.
Stepping closely to his horse-like droid he mounted it. Feeling the heat of the leather saddle through his clothes as he did. Pulling out an old, busted datapad he peered past its cracked screen and the harsh glare of the sun to take note of where he was on a map of the region. Noting the direction he needed to go before pocketing the device. As much as he didn’t quite care for most technology, when it came to navigating unfamiliar worlds they were a lifesaver. Every world was different and it was next to impossible for even him to use the environment as a way to tell direction. The starry nights of every planet were different, they rotated on different axis, wacky magnetic poles. There were countless things that made every world unique in regards to just being able to tell north from south.
“Okay Melon, let’s get going…” A’Runda said to the droid steed he sat upon. Nodding their head in acknowledgement they readied their motors before rolling out into the desert and leaving the steaming ocean behind them. He did not yet know why it felt as though The Force had guided him to this dusty world. But he trusted its calling and the visions he got in his dreams…
Turning away from the Sea of Cantonica he looked out over to the endless stretch of desert beyond. There was plenty more the world had to offer other than nauseating bravado of uber-rich gamblers. Perhaps A’Runda would partake in it sometime later, he had plenty of credits that he’d fit in financially, much to the ire of his neimoidian finance manager.
Stepping closely to his horse-like droid he mounted it. Feeling the heat of the leather saddle through his clothes as he did. Pulling out an old, busted datapad he peered past its cracked screen and the harsh glare of the sun to take note of where he was on a map of the region. Noting the direction he needed to go before pocketing the device. As much as he didn’t quite care for most technology, when it came to navigating unfamiliar worlds they were a lifesaver. Every world was different and it was next to impossible for even him to use the environment as a way to tell direction. The starry nights of every planet were different, they rotated on different axis, wacky magnetic poles. There were countless things that made every world unique in regards to just being able to tell north from south.
“Okay Melon, let’s get going…” A’Runda said to the droid steed he sat upon. Nodding their head in acknowledgement they readied their motors before rolling out into the desert and leaving the steaming ocean behind them. He did not yet know why it felt as though The Force had guided him to this dusty world. But he trusted its calling and the visions he got in his dreams…
. . .
As night fell the Tusken set up a tiny camp in the shadow of an ancient ziggurat half buried in sand. Cooking on a little propane stove he continually looked up at the ruined structure. Wondering how much of it was hidden under the dune, and if this was just the top of a forgotten megastructure. A’Runda also considered what the people who’d built it must’ve been like, and what purpose it served for them. Perhaps it served a militaristic function, or it was a place of worship. Maybe within it they sacrificed the hearts of virgins to ward off lethal sandstorms.
There were many compelling ideas that shifted through his mind like sand in a strong breeze. Looking back down at the stove the Tusken noticed his food was done. Letting out a sigh he delicately removed his mask and the wrappings that obscured his head. Finally feeling the cool desert air on his face…
. . .
Days later his destination was finally in sight, an old town that had historically once served as a hideout for crooks and criminals of every caliber. Around him violent winds threatened to topple him off Melon, and block his vision past those goggles of his. If not for the faint glow of the settlement ahead, A’Runda would not know he was as close to it as he was, and fortunately the storm was finally dying down.
There was a dark haze that seemed to rise above the, and soon enough not even the whirling sandstorm he found himself in could hide the cause of the gloomy miasma. The small town had been partially destroyed, seemingly from some kind of attack. Once A’Runda and Melon began to make their way into the town he could see some of the citizenry. Who seemed to be still digesting their very recent tragedy.
They looked up at The Sandman riding on his mechanical horse. They’re expressions weary and distrusting, some choosing to retreat to their adobe structures. At least the ones that weren’t scorched. Considering what they appeared to have gone through, he could understand their concern for a stranger arriving now. It looked as though there weren't as many people here as the town suggested, and a fair few killed or wounded. A dreadful feeling quickly crept its way into A’Runda. Fearing that the desperadoes that attacked this place fancied themselves as kidnappers as well. He started to believe that this is why The Force had summoned him here…
