Deus Gor Bel
Character
The Shores of Cinder
"I remember I awoke to the stench of palpable heat, a brazen wind blowing ash overhead and stinging my skin; I remember how much the taste of the liquid flame, blood red in color, contrasted so haughtily the bright azure heavens above. The landscape - beautiful, superb - black volcanic sand in contrast to the bright flux of magma and air; the locals, not so much, ugly beasts with bulbous eyes and the odor of sweat."
- Deus Gor Bel
A sullen beep fragmented the silence; an innocent ploy to attract Deus' distant attention, and it worked; he was a callous man, but not one void of concern for his necessities and this droid was one of them. A R4 model agromech droid, designated 'sixty-eight' as deemed fit by his developer; though he had recently acquired a rather unfitting nickname of 'Jeeves' at the behest of Gor Bel. It was more so from the ploy of self-gratification, wrought by Deus' ego, than the droid's own character; Deus knew nothing about communication with mechanical intelligences, and would simply translate the pitches of their seemingly repetitious vocalizations into whatever he wanted to hear: "What's that, Jeeves?" Deus inquired in a gravely voice, kicking up small clouts of volcanic soil as he marched down the shore of a river of magma; he adjusted his helmet, to slip an arthritis-plagued set of digits beneath and wipe away the collected sloughs of sweat. "It's too hot? Don't be such a bantha-suckling jawa; it's the crap like this that makes the pools of ease all the more enjoyable! Discard your fears and grind your gears, we'll find a ship soon!"
"Boop," responded Jeeves defiantly.
"I'm glad you agree."
Such was the depth of their conversations: a self-satisfactory ploy for the sake of Deus' amusement, much to R4-68's unfathomable annoyance. However, the droid would follow along, down the trench of plowed earth so eagerly divided by Deus as he marched down the cinderblown beach with startling naivety; before his wide kicks, like a child, marching home from school, the soft sand parted like the Red Sea before Moses, and the pair commenced their journey with a rather overzealous pace. Yet, unbeknownst to either, no town lay ahead of them; neigh, the Sullustans dwelt in the subterranean cities below; they marched only to a vast, collective lake of crimson lava, whose intense heat simmered beneath the cool morning sun. As they came upon it, Deus calmly sat upon the pallid earth, fingers worming into the sallow sand; he smiled beneath that helm, as if such a sight was to be expected all along. Indeed, it retained its own beauty, perhaps more spicy than the traditional flavor of gorgeousness, as Deus would word it; but all the same, in the contrast of brightness - between the cool sky and warm crust, one would be hard-pressed not to stay and wait a moment; wait to hammer such sights into unforgettable memory.