- Joined
- Oct 21, 2014
- Messages
- 501
- Reaction score
- 35
Time: Dusk
Things were quiet.. Only the sound of the waterfall echoing throughout the cavern could be heard which of course, had proven in the past to not always be a good thing. On the moon known as Dxun, silence had proven to be the last thing that many had heard prior to an ambush from any of the countless predators which inhabited it's jungles. This was a fact which one Rattataki had learned in a deeply personal way only days prior to the present.
For days both he and his grandfather had been eluding a pack of Maalraas which had been pursuing the pair relentlessly, seeking refugee wherever it could be found. Given his age, the elder of the two had begun to succumb to the nature, a combination of biological limitation and a lack of access to medical service, this of course proving to make it all the harder for him to perserve through the rigors which the world presented to all of it's inhabitants, eventually to the point that upon being ambushed one night, he, unlike his grandson would prove incapable of surviving the packs most recent onslaught.
While his grandfather had been lost to him, Zravi Vecca, the former Sith Acolyte turn defector lived on, albeit covered in numerous deep cuts where the claws of the Maalraas had found their marks upon his flesh. His robes in tatters, his right pants leg missing from the knee down and the left having large slices torn in it beneath which more wounds could be viewed, the force sensitive had managed to provide himself only the most basic of treatments, wrapping the more severe injuries in rags beneath which a number of herbal remedies had been applied while the less threatening of injuries were simply covered over in mud.
Sleep deprived and looking as if he had only just survived a horrific battle of sorts, Zravi had taken refugee in a cave where he currently sat, his stomach rumbling, the lack of sustenance and sleep deprivation slowly beginning to get the better of him. Every muscle ached, his wounds seemed to keep him in a constant state of agony, infection slowly beginning to take hold and leaving him in a feverish state. Part of the nineteen year old actually wished he would succumb to his own injuries, simply to escape from his torments and what was seemingly a hopeless situation... And yet all of that was overwhelmed by the promise that he had made to his grandfather when he had first been rescued from the Sith.
He would live on and he would bring honor to his namesake. He wouldn't lose his identity to the Sith, becoming a nameless soldier for a corrupt order. He would not succumb to the wounds inflicted upon him by beasts. He would survive and make his escape from the damnable moon one way or another. He would become the warrior that he had always been meant to be. Somehow he knew that his destiny was not to die alone in a cave, having failed to protect the one person who cared for him in the world..