Seth, the Bloodthirsty.

[Seth]

[OOC: I'm open for anything, really. This is my first post here in a long time with a new character, and I'd quite like this to be a defining thread for him, so if you think your character will make a real impact on mine, please do post :)]


A bewildered stare struggled forth from beneath the man's heavy brow. He scanned the horizon, seemingly lost in a whirlwind of thought and possibility, two brilliant green eyes amongst a sandy desert. Dunes, winds, blistering heat were all he could see for miles around. Yet somehow, this was the very start of his journey. Somehow, his clothes were crisp, clean, almost prepared for what lay ahead.

It was now or never, he reasoned, putting his best foot forward and beginning the long walk to salvation. Salvation. The idea was laughable for him, even as he embraced it so readily; how he wanted to be atoned for the sins of a lifetime, yet how he so wanted to commit so very many more of them. A grim smile curled its way onto his face, hidden beneath the layers of dusty rags he wore to shield himself from the hot sun. He walked on.

[Ira Yahff]

The flapping of cloth was only competior with the wheeze of the strong winds. Beating against each other, they combined to harden the lone figures step in his cloaked attire. Prints of his life were pressed into the surface, only to be blown moments later by the powerful gust that swayed his movements. The large, gray hood laid over his face, distorting his features under the shadows in the bright sunlight.

Rays splashed over the heated soil, nearly melting the man's boots. A rest came on the land, however, only to be proceeded by another strong gust. The blow sent the figure's hood back, exposing his distinctive traits. From his pearly white locks, clean and boyish facial structure, he was a man of the Echani. A smirk cracked his stone features, as he looked further into the distance, deciphering the bold puff of the wind.

"Something?" He whispered. A dry crack itched at his parch tongue as he let the mutter escape his mouth. The aches of the dunes seemed to have gotten to him.

[Khendon Sevon]

The swoop vibrated in thin waves that swept through Khendon’s skeleton in a mildly uncomfortable way. The minute pulses were generated by the lack of cushioning and dampening between the engine—which the entire vehicle essentially consisted of—and its rider.

Entirely garbed in a black, environmentally controlled combat suit, Khendon did not notice the pounding heat of the planet. Indeed, he had been raised on a hunk of rock that spent half of its year too close to a star and the rest too far away. He was well acquainted with planetary saunas.

The Imperial Executor cut the silence of his noise-gated helmet, “Sergeant Hammersfield, are you sure of your intelligence?”

“I’m certain, my Executor.” Stormguardsmen didn’t make mistakes. They were the perfect soldiers picked from the best of the very best personally by Khendon. Each had experience in a plethora of fields. Where a full battalion of soldiers was needed, only two guardsmen had to go—the amount that now flanked him.

They were covert, they were intimidating, and they were deadly. Men after Khendon’s own heart.

[Seth]

A rhythmic beat began to develop from Seth's pounding pace upon the dry desert floor. His feet, wrapped merely in crude animal-hide shoes, felt nothing of the baked earth beneath them, surely calloused against such things long ago. His garments swept behind him, the loose ribbons caught in a startling backdraft produced by his determined pace. Where was he going? Was he searching for something, or was this man simply walking, ludicrous as the idea sounded in these harsh inhuman conditions. The heat was bearable, yes, but surely one would not take to these vast planes through choice?

If there was any recognition of others' presences within Seth, it was not obvious. His painted eyes simply glared forward, expectantly as always, waiting for the next few feet of desert floor to roll over the horizon toward him.

[Ira Yahff]

Dust and the wind's whistle had distorted the Echani's senses, but not enough. A soothing purr shattered the decrepit fuss of the gusting sands. The soil below his feet boiled with thee strong heat above, but he retorted with a yell. Letting the words dash off his tongue, from the depths of his dry throat, he called for assistance.

"Hello!" He screamed, cupping his lips. The intense, faded eyes stared off into oblivion in desire of response. For a moment there was nothing--nothing more than the rampant murmur that accompanied the rustle of the wind. Than, for a second, the muzzle on the moan was released, allowing his ears to catch what could be heard.

"A vehicle," He thought. "Out here?"

Putting in the ignition to his feet, he pressed forth. Jumbling across the hard dunes, the Echani felt the toasted soil jump up under the beating of his feet. He moved slow, but sand was below him, a long with the strong weight of his husky clothing. Nothing seemed to point in his favor as he took another step, going up a small hill of sand. Crawling hastily about, he managed his way to the top only to fall. Splashing against the harsh floor of the baking lands, he watched and listened for the sound.

"Someone!" He called, once more as his aching body tried to oppress his mild injuries in a stand. "Somebody! Please!"

[Khendon Sevon]

It was a crackling sound that harassed Khendon’s ears—the noise of his auditory filter kicking in. Normally, a swoop would be far too loud for the pilot to even make out the blood curdling war scream of a wookie; however, the Executor had the best and greatest in technology at his disposal.

“Mark,” it was the Sergeant’s harsh voice, “civ garb at point eleven two.”

“I see ‘em,” the other guardsman.

“Could be a rebel that wandered too far away from base,” remarked Khendon with a devilish grin, “let’s say hello.”

The Executor brought his body hard right and manipulated the swoop’s delicate controls. In the blink of an eye, his fast moving shape banked and charged. Two sleek forms, his escorting troopers, followed suit a fraction slower and a notch less nimble.

[Seth]

(Sorry, I've had no net access for a while. Shouldn't happen again if you still wanna post :))

--

No more than a blip on the horizon; no more than the faintest sound in the distance and at once Seth's entire figure changed somehow. His shoulders hunched forward, his lips peeled back to reveal a set of glistening teeth. How was this man so well kept in these barren desert sands? It made no sense, yet nothing about this man was believable; as his pace quickened, he seemed more of a wild animal than a human being.

He seemed driven by a single purpose, a passion, almost a hunger for something he had lusted over for an eternity. And that was the case. The single thought driving through this monstrosity's mind was simple.

'Flesh.'

The creature lept forth, bounding over the desert towards the things he sensed; smelling them and tasting their very essence in the air. A number of vessels... he could smell the fuel, the machinery.. four men in all, none particularly near him. One, he had already picked out as his first meal. A lone wanderer much like himself, a strong young man, with flesh that would surely satisfy this monstrosity's appetite for days under other circumstances - however it had been such a long time since Seth's last meal. He would make swift work of all four. Soon, he would feast, but for now, there was still plenty of sand between them.

[Ira Yahff]

The vehicles burst at crazed speed, the rays of their speed darting about in the young man's eyes. A snarl played on his lips, twitching his features as the ache of his body called at him. Jehkran could not muster much more and tumbled to the hot floor. Banging his bottom to the surface, he felt the bare heat of the bright sand scolding his skin. Normally a scream would follow, at least for a normal, healthy man...but he was neither.

All impulses were dull and instead of instinctively jumping into fight or flight, he simply endured the slight singe. The twinge crept up his spine from his rear-end, jerking his face as the pain repeatedly jolted up and down his back. Slowly it ended and he could only watch as the swoops blasted across the sandy floor.

Letting his body rest, he lied back onto the desert floor. The baking orb above sent it's rays down upon him, only to be distorted by Jehkran's winching eyes. Blinking twice, he finally allowed his lids respite. He was still conscious, but he hoped for a rest soon.

In many ways...in all ways, much of his body envied his resting eyelids.

[Khendon Sevon]

Khendon grunted to himself. A civilian. Not even worth our time. “We’ll take a break here, kick the rebel sympathizer around a little.” He grinned beneath the riding helmet.

With skill, the three descended and slowed near the man.

The Executor shut down his swoop and freed the release on his holster. His external speaker grumbled in a rough voice, “Get up.” It was a command.

[Ira Yahff]

Words. They disturbed everything. Jehkran much rather keep his mouth shut instead of trouble himself in such interact. Most people he found himself about never seemed to be interested in him. Besides, why talk when you could listen?

And so the Echani did. Pressing his hands to the soft, clumped sand below his feet he felt the agonizing heat clash against his skin. The fresh touch left a tremor of pain through his arm and spine. His body recognized the overwhelming warmth, but he didn't respond. Instead he kept on, pushing himself further up until his legs were the only support.

At first he almost fell, like a child to his first step, but he managed. He always did. Vomiting his hands into his pockets, his uneasy stance quivered in and out of balance. The sun was still getting to him, and it kept his sight from working. Jehkran did not even attempted to open his clinched away in fear of the bright rays frying them in moments time.

He reserved more things than his hands, and eyes. Jehkran also kept his voice for safety. Hopefully in the near future he could use it at the right time, but he rather a formal greeting. He waved.