Kazahan
Jan 24th, 2016, 12:35:19 AM
The Mringni was heavy; this was good. He would eat well tonight. He carried it on his back, up to the little shack on the edge of a desolate wastes along the mountains farther North than he'd gone yet. The days were getting shorter, such that Kazahan thought that he might experience a six months' night. At least the temperature was not quite cold, though the chill was pervasive and ever present.
There were no Ysanna here; at least, not that he could tell. He was alone.
Carving the creature up was a task that took most of the late afternoon; four hours after the sun's highest point in the sky, darkness was encroaching upon the land and his sturdy little shack was lit and warmed by a small firepit made of a circle of stones. Over it was short spit of metal which admirable held much of the mringni's weight. While he cooked the food and added the herbs and spices he'd managed to put together, he pulled out a small worn book and began to write.
This was Kazahan's life, and to be honest, he did not mind it overly much. Some company would be fine, especially if it were Tak, or Raji, or Matea. But Tak would get bored quickly unless he could get her interested in topography and geology. Raji would die without a machine or droid to work on. And Matea was doing what she was meant to do.
Radioactive wastes farthest north. No Ysanna tribes. The Hulyumra spoke of this area as being silent. But there is life, plant and animal. Perhaps they meant something different.
Kazahan shrugged his heavy coat a little closer as the wind whistled through the walls, and slowly turned the spit with his footpaw.
The morning dawned dimly, the light though clear and with no clouds to block still only falling on this part of Ossus obliquely. Kazahan woke swiftly, and began his morning ritual in the quiet of the not-quite-dawn.
He meditated in his fashion, focusing on his physical form until everything else was gone. He did not reach for the Force, but instead let it flow through him as it willed; if he was an active participant at all, his concentration would waver and he would need to begin again.
When the light began to warm his body, he would begin his exercises, which were simply small muscle twitches in every consciously controlled muscle group in his body. He did ten 'revolutions' of this, starting slow, and picking up speed until he was going through them as quickly as possible.
He did not practice with his lightsaber.
He ate and drank the morning meal, thanking Schulya for the gift of his first breath that morning and sight, as well as wishing good health and happiness to his family and loved ones.
He then opened his book and noted on the checklist he had made which task was meant to be done this day. The rest of the day was devoted to the task.
Final day. Place antenna and transmitter array. Return.
Kazahan picked up the container for the antenna and transmitter, and strapped it to his travel gear, which was in turn settled on his back after he garbed himself warmly. His eyes looked up to the peak of the mountain, and he climbed.
He did not return to the shack until night was falling.
Entering the small wooden abode, he shrugged off his travel gear and pulled the transmitter array from its container. Placing it upon a roughly made table, Kazahan powered it on and checked to make sure it communicated with the antenna, flicking through frequencies and bands until he was sure it was working correctly and there were no problems.
The transmitter fizzed and sparked, and the Trianii hissed quietly before shutting it down and staring at it in consternation.
He knelt outside the shack and meditated once more, but his eyes were trained on the southern horizon, and watched the last bit of light dim and die in the sky.
The Long Night had begun. And Kazahan was alone.
There were no Ysanna here; at least, not that he could tell. He was alone.
Carving the creature up was a task that took most of the late afternoon; four hours after the sun's highest point in the sky, darkness was encroaching upon the land and his sturdy little shack was lit and warmed by a small firepit made of a circle of stones. Over it was short spit of metal which admirable held much of the mringni's weight. While he cooked the food and added the herbs and spices he'd managed to put together, he pulled out a small worn book and began to write.
This was Kazahan's life, and to be honest, he did not mind it overly much. Some company would be fine, especially if it were Tak, or Raji, or Matea. But Tak would get bored quickly unless he could get her interested in topography and geology. Raji would die without a machine or droid to work on. And Matea was doing what she was meant to do.
Radioactive wastes farthest north. No Ysanna tribes. The Hulyumra spoke of this area as being silent. But there is life, plant and animal. Perhaps they meant something different.
Kazahan shrugged his heavy coat a little closer as the wind whistled through the walls, and slowly turned the spit with his footpaw.
The morning dawned dimly, the light though clear and with no clouds to block still only falling on this part of Ossus obliquely. Kazahan woke swiftly, and began his morning ritual in the quiet of the not-quite-dawn.
He meditated in his fashion, focusing on his physical form until everything else was gone. He did not reach for the Force, but instead let it flow through him as it willed; if he was an active participant at all, his concentration would waver and he would need to begin again.
When the light began to warm his body, he would begin his exercises, which were simply small muscle twitches in every consciously controlled muscle group in his body. He did ten 'revolutions' of this, starting slow, and picking up speed until he was going through them as quickly as possible.
He did not practice with his lightsaber.
He ate and drank the morning meal, thanking Schulya for the gift of his first breath that morning and sight, as well as wishing good health and happiness to his family and loved ones.
He then opened his book and noted on the checklist he had made which task was meant to be done this day. The rest of the day was devoted to the task.
Final day. Place antenna and transmitter array. Return.
Kazahan picked up the container for the antenna and transmitter, and strapped it to his travel gear, which was in turn settled on his back after he garbed himself warmly. His eyes looked up to the peak of the mountain, and he climbed.
He did not return to the shack until night was falling.
Entering the small wooden abode, he shrugged off his travel gear and pulled the transmitter array from its container. Placing it upon a roughly made table, Kazahan powered it on and checked to make sure it communicated with the antenna, flicking through frequencies and bands until he was sure it was working correctly and there were no problems.
The transmitter fizzed and sparked, and the Trianii hissed quietly before shutting it down and staring at it in consternation.
He knelt outside the shack and meditated once more, but his eyes were trained on the southern horizon, and watched the last bit of light dim and die in the sky.
The Long Night had begun. And Kazahan was alone.