Zabraks On Iridonia

[Dezoti]

Home.

That's what Iridonia was to Krest. The place he was raised for his brutal childhood. Where he was beaten and broken time and time again to become nothing more than a lifeless shell meant to kill everything he was told to do. But he had beaten this fate, became something else, something better. He walked down the street to the small town he would have called home with a different father. It was empty and practically devoid of all life. Even the plants and animals stayed away, and for good reason. It was burned to the ground with no way for anything to live. Given time, perhaps nature could reclaim it, but the Zabrak doubted it would be anytime soon.

On his hip was none other than a new sword he had made, something he was planning to test out to it's fullest. Otherwise, he was dressed in simple clothing and had no other weaponry. Little did he know, however, that the test for his weapon would come sooner rather than later.

[member="Xavka Duquo"]
[member="Felran Natri"]

 

[Xevek Nekonis]

A cloud of dust was being kicked up around the rapidly moving form of a tanned and scarred Iridonian Zabrak. His body was mostly bared, the only scrap of cloth that he wore was a pair of baggy, black trousers. The rest of the Zabrak's clothes along with his weapons were set off to the side of him. Held within his hands, one biological and one cybernetic, in a tight grip was a long staff that had a pair of curved blades fastened to the ends of the short staff. The weapon was one that any Zabrak that had grown up within a Clan on Iridonia or any Zabrak that had studied the past of their species would recognise - a Zhaboka. Surrounding the Zabrak was a line that had been carved into the sand that covered, surrounding him and trapping him within a circle.

Slamming his right knee into the fine grains of sand, sending it a flurry of it up into the air, the Zabrak swept his left foot drag along the sand, swinging his body around to the right. In the same movement, he span the weapon around him, letting the momentum of the weapon carry it around his neck when he let it go before catching it again after it had completed one rotation, slamming one of the blades into the ground. From that position, the Zabrak pushed himself up from the ground where he was kneeling, continuing on with the Kata that he had been following.

Every movement that the Zabrak was preforming was predicated by a specific Kata that he had learnt as a young kep when he had still lived with his Ru. A Kata that had been passed down within his Ru for many generations and that was associated to a single activity, a rituralistic dance known a Kal'vyshde - War Dance. The dance was one that was preformed to celebrate the Vyshtal Ama - Warrior Spirit, of a Zabrak. It was also a dance that the Zabrak had been neglecting recently and he had sought to correct that error and insult to his heritage and ancestors.

After hours of effort, the Zabrak slowed to a halt, letting the Zhaboka drop to the sand. Panting heavily, the Zabrak ran his biological hand through his ashen hair, carefully avoiding his Orat that lined his head. Walking over to where he had left the items he had brought with him, he grabbed a towel and ran it over his tattooed and scar covered torso. Dropping to the ground, the Zabrak began to pull his other clothes back on. First, a leather harness that was prevented from touching his skin by a strip of soft cloth that was attached to the back of the leather. From there, he began to attach his varying weapons to the harness before pulling on a heavy, black robe and turning to leave, heading back to his ship. The only sign of what he had been doing was the discarded Zhaboka, the circle drawn into the ground and the compacted, disturbed stretch of sand.


[member="Krest"] | [member="Felran Natri"]

OOC Note:

Spoiler

By idea is that Xavka runs across Krest and Felran on his way back to his ship. I was mainly just establishing Xavka's presence on Iridonia and revising my knowledge on Iridonian customs.

 

[Felran Natri]

Iridonia. Home of the Zabraks. Not home to Felran specifically but it was the home of his species. He had come here for multiple reasons, but the main was to learn about the culture here. Felran had never actually visited Iridonia strangely enough. He never had a reason too. But know he was so interested in his own kind he wanted to learn more about how they lived. Felran was born on ship, so he never got the chance to learn about his own culture.

He had just returned from a local shop to see what they were selling. Nothing of interest there. But he had a feeling today was going to be much more interesting that what it was so far. Felran was dressed in his traditional black Sith robes, he had his saberstaff hidden away, hooked to his belt in case anything went out of hand. To many people here he was an oddity, a stranger to his own kind. Felran didn't mind though. He was a oddity to many.

[member="Xavka Duquo"][member="Krest"]

 

[Dezoti]

And there he was. After a little bit of sightseeing, Krest couldn't help but investigate the familiar feeling he had gotten on the planet. The feeling? [member="Xavka Duquo"] . Oh yes, he knew this Zabrak. Rather well actually, given how close the pair had been before. Brothers, essentially. That's what it was when you belonged to a clan. Though, it was more of Xavka belonging to the Templars clan, according to the official rules. Or traditions. Eh, Krest had never been too keen on the actual traditions, he just knew the power of kinship. When the younger Zabrak made his way to his ship the elder stepped right on out, sword in hand, eyes burning with a mixture of lethal intent and joy. A small smile played on the lips of the man as he simply nodded once to Duquo.

"I've been looking for you, you know. Ever sense I felt you. Care to cross blades?"

Right to the point, as ever. There was a burning desire for Krest to test his kinsman, and with all the bundles of cloth wrapped around Krest's face he may be able to just pull that off as a stranger.

[member="Felran Natri"]

 

[Xevek Nekonis]

Stopping where he stood as a voice that dredge up memories from years previous, back from when Xavka had only recently joined the Sith Assassins and had not yet even been sworn into loyalty to the Dark Lord, memories from when he had found a bond of brotherhood forming with a fellow Zabrak; even if said Zabrak was not of desert planet Iridonian heritage, but of the warrior clan Iridonians. However, Xavka knew for a fact that the voice had been lost when his fellow Zabrak had shed his form to take presence in another body; one that even Xavka, who didn't like the fact that the Zabrak body of the Sith had been discarded, had to admit held an advantage due to its immunity to assaults upon the mind - a weakness that Xavka himself possessed.

However, just as Xavka was moving his hand to wrap it around the hilt of his durasteel sword and begin channeling the Force through it to give it protection against lightsabers and blades of a similar cutting abilities, the harsh winds of Iridonia changed direction and ran towards Xavka with the being standing by him being downwind. Xavka's nose twitched as his nostrils flared, taking in the scents that were carried upon the wind as was instinctive for him to do from his time as a hunter when he lived upon the very planet he was now on.

Most of the scents were exactly as he expected, the smells of burnt sand and sun scored rock, barren lands and the feint smell of death that came from those that failed to survive within the harsh climate. One of the scents caused a sense of confusion to overwhelm him for a brief moment as he was confronted with a situation that he had never been in before. The scent was that of Darth Ferus before he took residence within the body of an Epicanthix.

"Well, this is an unusual experience."

Turning, Xavka used the fact that his robes flared out from such an action to hide his left, cybernetic arm within said robes and wrapped the hand around the hilt of his sheathed sword in a reverse grip. Reaching up with his right hand, Xavka pulled down the cowl of his robe to expose his face to the being who held the scent and voice of Darth Ferus. A mess of scars ran across the entirety of his face, making it seems as if a blind man had attempted to carve a face out of wood but had instead created a mockery of one covered in the slips of the knife, however the majority of them were gathered around the right side of his face, particularly the empty right eye socket. Two black tattoos wound their way up from underneath the chin, following the arc of the cheekbones. Six tattoos crawled their way from the bridge of the nose, three on either side, one stopped bellow the eye sockets while the other two wove their way toward the temple. The top tattoo had a branch reach from it across the forehead, following the hair line. In the middle of the forehead, two tattoos formed an inverted triangle. His dark grey hair was pulled into dreadlocks that were woven around jagged horns and hung down from the back of his skull to disappear into the back of his robes.

"And who are you?"


[member="Krest"]