Torjesgo
Crazy Man McJangle
All nightmares are dreams but not all dreams are nightmares.
While it may have been true, the Garani seemed to no longer have the luxury of the second part of that saying. Everything he dreamt about was awful. Whether it was watching his planet burn, seeing the endless waves of Rakata descending upon his people, or having to look upon the dead and decayed of his kind in failed sleep chambers. It was all nightmare fuel that was thrown into the seemingly endless selection his memory had to chose from.
Torjesgo wished for an ounce of control over what appeared in his dreams but he no longer seemed to be able to control any aspect of them. The only constant right now was that there were Rakata involved in it and he was the victim of it. Whether a physical one or simply an observer to the destruction that they wrecked on others. This was the one guarantee in his life; when Torjesgo’s eyes would close for sleep he would dream about the evils of the Infinite Empire. It went hand in hand with him sleeping, waking, and breathing. If those happened then he would dream of the Rakata.
Except the dreams were starting to twist.
No drastic changes to the themes of the dreams, but the players in the scenes would start to change. Instead of watching the Garani people dying to the Rakata, he would start to see other alien races that he had run across. He was unable to name any of them, nor to make out any great detail on them, but he knew they were different. Whatever swaths of his memory were being swabbed for this information were doing a good job of keeping him from sharing the same awareness when he was awake. While the players may have changed it was the script that remained the constant.
His own hands even being warped before his eyes to match the other beasts as they died. But he did not feel their pity, he could not. Torjesgo had no pity left for the galaxy. It had all burned away because of the wretched Rakata. Hate and vengeance didn’t leave room to allow for pity for other species. None of these species held any right to survive. They were all slaves to their Rakata overlords, beasts who continued to pull the strings of every government and species in the galaxy. These weren’t civilizations they were just toys for the Rakata to play with. Toys that were there only to dance when the puppeteers demanded it from them.
Toys that were meant to be broken by their Masters.
To dream was something that Torjesgo had enjoyed immensely prior to arriving at this galaxy. They were a place to escape the harsh reality that was living underground on Garan, worrying about the Rakata every waking hour. When he slept, he could dream about peace and relaxation. He could dream about being on the surface without fear of the Infinite Empire zeroing in on his position and either killing him outright or capturing him for servitude. A servitude that would be played out only until their lips were wet enough that he became an appetizer for their cannibalistic natures. These dreams were wondrous things, full of vivid color, hopes, and desires that he knew would likely never be achieved. His slumber was a place of paradise and enjoyment, places that he could dream of helping his people return to.
It was a dream that would not come to pass. The Infinite Empire crushed his people and they died as a delicacy to the monstrous amphibian race.
This fact wasn’t entirely proven, but he had no doubt that it was the case. The ship he had woken aboard told him that the Infinite Empire had obliterated the other vessels and that the ship he’d been on had no other life signs. It had been a difficult journey to try and get off of that ship. His life running before his eyes as he had debated his own death so he didn’t have to survive as the only one of his kind. He had searched and searched in hopes that the readings were just off but looking at the decayed bodies of his people took a toll and he could no longer. Instead he’d done the only respectful thing he could do for his people; he destroyed their evidence.
He burned the history of his kind that was left in that ship. A funeral pyre of sorts having been made in their honor and remembrance, as well as to prevent the Rakata from getting their hands on any of the Garani remains inside to do who knew what. His own life having been spared by the grace of the Gods above in their encouragement for him not to commit his suicide and the wary traveler that had discovered him in the woods of the planet. He didn’t know what planet it was and he never wanted to know. They were gone and he wouldn’t gain anything by trying to find where what wreckage that was left has been absorbed by the nature around it.
The Rakata had destroyed everything he knew and taunted him by leaving him alive now. They played at him from the shadows, pulling the strings of everything around him in order to guide him to a sadistic death. It was a death that he would not let them enjoy. They needed to suffer for what they had done to his people and every race that was manipulated by them served only as an extension of their evil. Everyone needed to be punished for what they had done. There was no innocence in the galaxy.
His kind had been innocent. A people that hadn’t even reached the stars before they were descended upon by these monstrous invaders. Turned from a civilized people into nothing more than food for the aliens.
Innocence was dead and the Garani along with it. Everyone left was at fault. Even the Hutts whom there had been limited contact with could have done more to save his people from the threat from space.
No one came to the Garani’s aide.
No quarter was given to the Garani.
No one opposed the consumption of the Garani.
This hate that brewed in Torjesgo had finally been enough to put him on the ground when he cried out against those around him on Manaan. One echo of pain that was focused out in a scream of hate and unfulfilled vengeance. This was to such a level that his body had never reached before that he had just collapsed afterwards. He had collapsed for hours as his body tried to recover from what had occurred.
Where he was at the moment, he didn’t know. His mind didn’t care. He felt free from the concerns of the flesh for a moment. Just as he had for the years before he was alone.
This feeling was fleeting though. What had started to form before his eyes wasn’t an enjoyable vision. Torjesgo felt a great weight pressing down on his form; a crushing weight that only seemed to get worse as the air was sucked from his body. There was no source for the mass that was crushing his thoughts and the Garani had no idea what he could do. All that he could feel was that overbearing presence that was pushing down on him, forcing his thoughts to only focus on that pain that rocked through him.
He began to shift, muscles screaming at him with just the effort to try and move his pinky. Every fiber in his body telling him that he couldn’t move, that it was too much. That he needed to stop because the battle would be too great to remove this weight.
They sounded right. The desire of his flesh was strong and he could feel his mind starting to give into that crushing weight that was upon him. A purpose for which was unknown though he could start to feel his ribs splintering as the weight removed his ability to breath anymore. Torjesgo felt his eyes widen and dilate as his ability to breath was struck away. The pressure on his chest coming from both mass above it and the defeating sensation of being unable to breath. His arms claws at the formless weight that was above him, swinging through the darkness in front of him.
There was nothing here but darkness in all directions. While he could feel his body here, the only other sensation was this weight on him. Something was keeping him in place, something that he needed to get beyond. A great weight of unknown origin keeping the Garani from knowing the potential that he had in his body. A potential that the Rakata had used as their weapon to forge their Infinite Empire. A born attribute that his kind had mocked as nothing more than silly magicians practicing their tricks for what pittance of money they could get for it.
A magic that was more real than anything that the Garani people could have ever believed possible.
This was the great weight on him. A weight that he could not remove because he did not know what the cause of it was. He did not know that he had exposed himself to this weight when he cried out with the millions of dead voices at once and killed that alien on Manaan.
His innocence was in tact.
An innocence that, like his people and of all creatures, was meant to be lost at the hand of another force.
While it may have been true, the Garani seemed to no longer have the luxury of the second part of that saying. Everything he dreamt about was awful. Whether it was watching his planet burn, seeing the endless waves of Rakata descending upon his people, or having to look upon the dead and decayed of his kind in failed sleep chambers. It was all nightmare fuel that was thrown into the seemingly endless selection his memory had to chose from.
Torjesgo wished for an ounce of control over what appeared in his dreams but he no longer seemed to be able to control any aspect of them. The only constant right now was that there were Rakata involved in it and he was the victim of it. Whether a physical one or simply an observer to the destruction that they wrecked on others. This was the one guarantee in his life; when Torjesgo’s eyes would close for sleep he would dream about the evils of the Infinite Empire. It went hand in hand with him sleeping, waking, and breathing. If those happened then he would dream of the Rakata.
Except the dreams were starting to twist.
No drastic changes to the themes of the dreams, but the players in the scenes would start to change. Instead of watching the Garani people dying to the Rakata, he would start to see other alien races that he had run across. He was unable to name any of them, nor to make out any great detail on them, but he knew they were different. Whatever swaths of his memory were being swabbed for this information were doing a good job of keeping him from sharing the same awareness when he was awake. While the players may have changed it was the script that remained the constant.
His own hands even being warped before his eyes to match the other beasts as they died. But he did not feel their pity, he could not. Torjesgo had no pity left for the galaxy. It had all burned away because of the wretched Rakata. Hate and vengeance didn’t leave room to allow for pity for other species. None of these species held any right to survive. They were all slaves to their Rakata overlords, beasts who continued to pull the strings of every government and species in the galaxy. These weren’t civilizations they were just toys for the Rakata to play with. Toys that were there only to dance when the puppeteers demanded it from them.
Toys that were meant to be broken by their Masters.
To dream was something that Torjesgo had enjoyed immensely prior to arriving at this galaxy. They were a place to escape the harsh reality that was living underground on Garan, worrying about the Rakata every waking hour. When he slept, he could dream about peace and relaxation. He could dream about being on the surface without fear of the Infinite Empire zeroing in on his position and either killing him outright or capturing him for servitude. A servitude that would be played out only until their lips were wet enough that he became an appetizer for their cannibalistic natures. These dreams were wondrous things, full of vivid color, hopes, and desires that he knew would likely never be achieved. His slumber was a place of paradise and enjoyment, places that he could dream of helping his people return to.
It was a dream that would not come to pass. The Infinite Empire crushed his people and they died as a delicacy to the monstrous amphibian race.
This fact wasn’t entirely proven, but he had no doubt that it was the case. The ship he had woken aboard told him that the Infinite Empire had obliterated the other vessels and that the ship he’d been on had no other life signs. It had been a difficult journey to try and get off of that ship. His life running before his eyes as he had debated his own death so he didn’t have to survive as the only one of his kind. He had searched and searched in hopes that the readings were just off but looking at the decayed bodies of his people took a toll and he could no longer. Instead he’d done the only respectful thing he could do for his people; he destroyed their evidence.
He burned the history of his kind that was left in that ship. A funeral pyre of sorts having been made in their honor and remembrance, as well as to prevent the Rakata from getting their hands on any of the Garani remains inside to do who knew what. His own life having been spared by the grace of the Gods above in their encouragement for him not to commit his suicide and the wary traveler that had discovered him in the woods of the planet. He didn’t know what planet it was and he never wanted to know. They were gone and he wouldn’t gain anything by trying to find where what wreckage that was left has been absorbed by the nature around it.
The Rakata had destroyed everything he knew and taunted him by leaving him alive now. They played at him from the shadows, pulling the strings of everything around him in order to guide him to a sadistic death. It was a death that he would not let them enjoy. They needed to suffer for what they had done to his people and every race that was manipulated by them served only as an extension of their evil. Everyone needed to be punished for what they had done. There was no innocence in the galaxy.
His kind had been innocent. A people that hadn’t even reached the stars before they were descended upon by these monstrous invaders. Turned from a civilized people into nothing more than food for the aliens.
Innocence was dead and the Garani along with it. Everyone left was at fault. Even the Hutts whom there had been limited contact with could have done more to save his people from the threat from space.
No one came to the Garani’s aide.
No quarter was given to the Garani.
No one opposed the consumption of the Garani.
This hate that brewed in Torjesgo had finally been enough to put him on the ground when he cried out against those around him on Manaan. One echo of pain that was focused out in a scream of hate and unfulfilled vengeance. This was to such a level that his body had never reached before that he had just collapsed afterwards. He had collapsed for hours as his body tried to recover from what had occurred.
Where he was at the moment, he didn’t know. His mind didn’t care. He felt free from the concerns of the flesh for a moment. Just as he had for the years before he was alone.
This feeling was fleeting though. What had started to form before his eyes wasn’t an enjoyable vision. Torjesgo felt a great weight pressing down on his form; a crushing weight that only seemed to get worse as the air was sucked from his body. There was no source for the mass that was crushing his thoughts and the Garani had no idea what he could do. All that he could feel was that overbearing presence that was pushing down on him, forcing his thoughts to only focus on that pain that rocked through him.
He began to shift, muscles screaming at him with just the effort to try and move his pinky. Every fiber in his body telling him that he couldn’t move, that it was too much. That he needed to stop because the battle would be too great to remove this weight.
They sounded right. The desire of his flesh was strong and he could feel his mind starting to give into that crushing weight that was upon him. A purpose for which was unknown though he could start to feel his ribs splintering as the weight removed his ability to breath anymore. Torjesgo felt his eyes widen and dilate as his ability to breath was struck away. The pressure on his chest coming from both mass above it and the defeating sensation of being unable to breath. His arms claws at the formless weight that was above him, swinging through the darkness in front of him.
There was nothing here but darkness in all directions. While he could feel his body here, the only other sensation was this weight on him. Something was keeping him in place, something that he needed to get beyond. A great weight of unknown origin keeping the Garani from knowing the potential that he had in his body. A potential that the Rakata had used as their weapon to forge their Infinite Empire. A born attribute that his kind had mocked as nothing more than silly magicians practicing their tricks for what pittance of money they could get for it.
A magic that was more real than anything that the Garani people could have ever believed possible.
This was the great weight on him. A weight that he could not remove because he did not know what the cause of it was. He did not know that he had exposed himself to this weight when he cried out with the millions of dead voices at once and killed that alien on Manaan.
His innocence was in tact.
An innocence that, like his people and of all creatures, was meant to be lost at the hand of another force.
