The Cartographer
May 10th, 2005, 10:21:27 PM
Obi Wan Kenobi?
The inflections of the name when spoken had a poetic meter to them, as if an artisan had crafted the man's name upon christening. It would be a name the Cartographer would not soon forget. In the ageless being's ageless mind, the name found ample space to grow. To sprout roots, and leaves, and to enrich other thoughts into growth. Soon, a garden of epiphanies flourished in his mind's eye.
The sage had to stop walking for a moment. His four meter form stooped and settled onto haunches. Four sets of hands grasped an ancient wooden walking staff, bracing a long, arching back for support.
To the unfamiliar, the Cartographer would seem some curious cross between an old man and a beast of burden. His great size, long mane, and broad, thick-skinned snout looked like some arcane husbandry between a dewback, and one of the great equine beasts of Ithor. His six appendages sprouted from his trunk like the legs of an AT-TE, but moved with a serene motion that belied no menace. A long, fleshy tail swayed in his wake, as if sweeping the ground clean for passers-by he did not know. Age-dried skin was adorned over every inch with curious brands and tattoos; the strange geometries and calligraphies of those who knew their meanings.
The wind blew, tossing blonde and grey locks from the creature's blue eyes. It was a warm wind, carrying with it the vigor of binary stars' embraces.
This was a planet he knew of. This, was Tattooine. It sat at a great galactic precipice, at the gateway of everything and nothing. For over a thousand years, it was known to him only in a book. That which the one before him had written. Seeing it, he was sure that pages were yet still to be written in that very same book.
Of course, it was not the knowledge inherent in books that brought him to this desert planet. It was the spirit.
Obi Wan Kenobi
Considering it proper, the Cartographer resumed his way on the streets of Mos Espa. As he and the spirit both knew, Tattooine was but simply a gateway. A gateway between here and there, but also a gateway between the wisdoms he knew, and the wisdoms he did not.
A seeker of knowledge is therefore a seeker of humility, and thus the Cartographer held himself prostrate to a long-deceased Jedi Knight - the guardian of knowledge he did not understand, but was beckoned to learn.
The inflections of the name when spoken had a poetic meter to them, as if an artisan had crafted the man's name upon christening. It would be a name the Cartographer would not soon forget. In the ageless being's ageless mind, the name found ample space to grow. To sprout roots, and leaves, and to enrich other thoughts into growth. Soon, a garden of epiphanies flourished in his mind's eye.
The sage had to stop walking for a moment. His four meter form stooped and settled onto haunches. Four sets of hands grasped an ancient wooden walking staff, bracing a long, arching back for support.
To the unfamiliar, the Cartographer would seem some curious cross between an old man and a beast of burden. His great size, long mane, and broad, thick-skinned snout looked like some arcane husbandry between a dewback, and one of the great equine beasts of Ithor. His six appendages sprouted from his trunk like the legs of an AT-TE, but moved with a serene motion that belied no menace. A long, fleshy tail swayed in his wake, as if sweeping the ground clean for passers-by he did not know. Age-dried skin was adorned over every inch with curious brands and tattoos; the strange geometries and calligraphies of those who knew their meanings.
The wind blew, tossing blonde and grey locks from the creature's blue eyes. It was a warm wind, carrying with it the vigor of binary stars' embraces.
This was a planet he knew of. This, was Tattooine. It sat at a great galactic precipice, at the gateway of everything and nothing. For over a thousand years, it was known to him only in a book. That which the one before him had written. Seeing it, he was sure that pages were yet still to be written in that very same book.
Of course, it was not the knowledge inherent in books that brought him to this desert planet. It was the spirit.
Obi Wan Kenobi
Considering it proper, the Cartographer resumed his way on the streets of Mos Espa. As he and the spirit both knew, Tattooine was but simply a gateway. A gateway between here and there, but also a gateway between the wisdoms he knew, and the wisdoms he did not.
A seeker of knowledge is therefore a seeker of humility, and thus the Cartographer held himself prostrate to a long-deceased Jedi Knight - the guardian of knowledge he did not understand, but was beckoned to learn.