Nazo
RETIRED
RAXUS PRIME
Nikato's shining gem wasn't as spectacular as the name made it appear. The only bit of refracted light shining in this wasteland of scrap was the reflection of a lava stream off of an eaten away ion drive. The air was a combination of stale oxygen and toxic fumes from the mammoth tons of metallic scrap that littered this planet-wide junkyard. A circulating vortex of wasted durasteel husks circulated on gravity lanes powered by antique engine bays that the skittering hooded Jawas kept in a consistent use. The sound of wrenching metal scraping against it's likeness filled the air with a sickening din of a dead and dying world. Yet among the heaps of discarded and torn apart tech, it was a veritable smorgasbord of plasma rich opportunity for an inter-galactic scavenger with a metallic rich diet.
Looming like a silent specter, the 'wizard on the hill' stood atop a heaping pile of scrap directing his metallic digits like the conductor of the un-dead ships, weapons, and structures all forgotten and wasted here, rusting in the afterglow of the planet's ardent star. From a distance, just the silhouette of a robed figure moving in time with an unheard cadence, filed with a mirth and maddening pace. Mad little man on a sad little hill.
Upon closer inspection it was a far different scene as this silent and lanky figure was able to wrench free the scraps of alloy, pulling them around his form with practiced ease of a magnetic aura. Cocooning himself in an orbiting mass of scrap much like the planet's own gravity lanes did for the rogue Jawas. Filthy creatures. Not a single one within twenty meters of this unusual site. On occasion, when the right morsel was selected it flew to the mysterious masked figure, and clutched in his durasteel grip. Held fast to his chest, the skeletal structure leaned back as if to fully appreciate and revel in the mastication of the discarded scrap.
Why were the Jawas so un-interested in this strange and silent visitor? In point of fact they were very interested. The curious hooded freaks were all about investigation in their large numbers. Their issue was not the specter, it was the pet. The mutated Gizka chomped in their direction, playing a heated game of 'hunt the jawa'. Venom laced it's barbed teeth as it hopped about in demented delight, frightening off the skittish scavengers. Happily enjoying the romp in the wastelands while it's Master fed on the planet's abundant supply of plasma rich materials.
Nikato's shining gem wasn't as spectacular as the name made it appear. The only bit of refracted light shining in this wasteland of scrap was the reflection of a lava stream off of an eaten away ion drive. The air was a combination of stale oxygen and toxic fumes from the mammoth tons of metallic scrap that littered this planet-wide junkyard. A circulating vortex of wasted durasteel husks circulated on gravity lanes powered by antique engine bays that the skittering hooded Jawas kept in a consistent use. The sound of wrenching metal scraping against it's likeness filled the air with a sickening din of a dead and dying world. Yet among the heaps of discarded and torn apart tech, it was a veritable smorgasbord of plasma rich opportunity for an inter-galactic scavenger with a metallic rich diet.
Looming like a silent specter, the 'wizard on the hill' stood atop a heaping pile of scrap directing his metallic digits like the conductor of the un-dead ships, weapons, and structures all forgotten and wasted here, rusting in the afterglow of the planet's ardent star. From a distance, just the silhouette of a robed figure moving in time with an unheard cadence, filed with a mirth and maddening pace. Mad little man on a sad little hill.
Upon closer inspection it was a far different scene as this silent and lanky figure was able to wrench free the scraps of alloy, pulling them around his form with practiced ease of a magnetic aura. Cocooning himself in an orbiting mass of scrap much like the planet's own gravity lanes did for the rogue Jawas. Filthy creatures. Not a single one within twenty meters of this unusual site. On occasion, when the right morsel was selected it flew to the mysterious masked figure, and clutched in his durasteel grip. Held fast to his chest, the skeletal structure leaned back as if to fully appreciate and revel in the mastication of the discarded scrap.
Why were the Jawas so un-interested in this strange and silent visitor? In point of fact they were very interested. The curious hooded freaks were all about investigation in their large numbers. Their issue was not the specter, it was the pet. The mutated Gizka chomped in their direction, playing a heated game of 'hunt the jawa'. Venom laced it's barbed teeth as it hopped about in demented delight, frightening off the skittish scavengers. Happily enjoying the romp in the wastelands while it's Master fed on the planet's abundant supply of plasma rich materials.