Valt Aythrodox
New Member
The sand storm is really whipping up now, clouding everything in it's path to the point of preventing most light from getting through it, dark orange is the only color here.
The color of rust, decay and to some a hot shade.
In this particular area of Tattooine sandstorms are a big issue for locals and animals alike with one happening almost weekly with enough force to bury and snuff out a life should they get lost in it's blinding grasp, most here knew what to do, hunker down in your homes and wait for it to pass or prepare for evacuation.
Not everybody was as afraid however as a hopeful light shines in the distance, a pinprick or a speck of light flickering past the tiny grains of sand that tried so hard to hide it. A cave, shelter from the endless barrage of sand in all directions.
It couldn't touch him there.
Valt lived in that cave near the edge beside a roaring fire reaching a few feat above his head to scratch the stone celing and singe it with a black covering while also warming the wrapped up individual next to it from the icy night.
The Tuskan would grumble while fiddling with his Gaffi stick that now laid at his feet, a rather crude but deadly weapon in the hands of the right person.
Many things happen on Tattooine, what shall break up this long and boring night for the former Raider?
The color of rust, decay and to some a hot shade.
In this particular area of Tattooine sandstorms are a big issue for locals and animals alike with one happening almost weekly with enough force to bury and snuff out a life should they get lost in it's blinding grasp, most here knew what to do, hunker down in your homes and wait for it to pass or prepare for evacuation.
Not everybody was as afraid however as a hopeful light shines in the distance, a pinprick or a speck of light flickering past the tiny grains of sand that tried so hard to hide it. A cave, shelter from the endless barrage of sand in all directions.
It couldn't touch him there.
Valt lived in that cave near the edge beside a roaring fire reaching a few feat above his head to scratch the stone celing and singe it with a black covering while also warming the wrapped up individual next to it from the icy night.
The Tuskan would grumble while fiddling with his Gaffi stick that now laid at his feet, a rather crude but deadly weapon in the hands of the right person.
Many things happen on Tattooine, what shall break up this long and boring night for the former Raider?