Name: Grrow'lun'gh'ung'hh (possibly Groww for short)
Occupation: Previously a tribal shaman, now captured as a slave for the arena pitfighting circuit
Species: Tusken Raider
Appearance: Average Tusken Raider clothing: ragged, smelly bandages (thanks to slave living conditions), and goggles
Personality: Groww does not have much of a personality per se, as he is constantly bewildered by his circumstances. He is, however, far less belligerent than the Tusken Raiders are famed to be, no doubt due to his elevated status as tribe shaman. Due to this mysticism, he is thoughtful, and seeks to understand his surroundings. He will not hesitate, however, to defend his life with combat.
Skills: Groww is an anomaly among his people: he is a bona fide force-sensitive individual, and is able to harness this gift in limited ways that allowed him to become shaman. It generally manifests itself as an ability to see a muddled vision of the future, or to read the thoughts of others. It also grants him eerie clarity in battle, and a limited way of judging his opponent's moves before they execute them.
Equipment: He has his traditional Tusken garb always on his body, and his gaderffii is kept by the slaving company for him to use in matches.
Other: Despite having been in slavery for months, he has yet been unable to realize exactly what is going on, due to his limited frame of reference on Tattooine. His thoughts are generally severely muddled, and only when he is in combat or in meditation does he have a clear vision of events. Definitely a different point of view
Brief History: Groww was appointed as shaman to his clan on Tattooine in his teens and served so until a slaving company specializing in exotic goods raided his village. He along with a dozen of his tribesmen and women were taken captive and made to fight. As the months progressed, the group dwindled until only Groww remained, thanks to his abilities. He is now still attempting to figure out just what has happened to him and how he can return to the life he led.
((Sorry about the late entry, didn't see this thread until...today, hehe. I tried to pm you, Gojan, with the application, but since the inbox was full I figured I'd go here before things went too far ahead. Hope it's not minded...))
Noise of the dream became the noise of awake. The arid, dazzling light of his desert gave way to a stark opposite in the dark, wet world he occupied in those miserable hours he wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t asleep. He hated awake; awake was nasty, it was noisy, and it smelled. Nothing ever smelled in his dreams.
He hated this new smell. He was happy when there was no smell, and he was happy in his dream. When the smell came, that was when he became unhappy. Was it the smell that made him unhappy? Or was the unhappy place simply a place of bad smells, of blood and bile and urine and decay? Impossible to tell. Unanswerable.
A mind approached his slumped form as he lay in the damp yuck, in the muddy, unpleasant straw that was made so by water. He was so much happier when there was no water, and he knew that. When everything was dry, he drank the water and it was good. When everything was wet, you drank the water and died. His people, his tribesmen that had followed him to the smelly place had done it, and they had died.
He reached out and touched the mind. His hands lay where they were, on the floor made of yuck, but he reached out anyway. He felt him leave himself lying there and enter the mind, swirling around and around as the biting sand when the wind blows. He felt the mind, but it was no different from the dozens of others he had touched in the smelly place: alien. He saw its alien words and felt its alien feelings, but none of them meant a thing to him as he swirled around inside the mind. Disappointed, the sands quieted and flowed back to his own mind.
The mind standing in the opening of his wet little world grunted twice and kicked his chain. The rattle noise came, and made the noisy world and the wet one become the same thing. Grrow lifted his hands to his ears, and grunted in protest. He felt the kick coming before the mind knew it was, but he did not want to move. He stayed in his lump in the wet yuck, and seconds later felt the blow from the kick. He stayed where he was, and the mind wrapped a meaty hand around his wraps and dragged him through the yuck. Grrow simply moaned a little as he was pulled.
He was up higher, pulled away from the wet to his feet. His wet hands suddenly held their old friend, the gaderffii. One more swift kick, he was forward and the mind was back behind a barrier. His world was light and even louder. He saw minds, too many to count, watching, looking down on his new light world. Red covered the ground, along with carcasses. They used to be minds, but now they were meat. He thought on it.
Then a fist came flying out of nowhere, butÃ¢Â€Â¦not yet.
He backed up, a quick half-step, and the knife-wielding opponent lunged through the space he had inhabited just moments ago. Understandably bewildered, the once-mind, now-enemy looked at his intended target only to find the gaderffii lodged soundly up the nose and in the skull.
Then came a flying body butÃ¢Â€Â¦not quite yet either. The body landed where Grrow had been, and turned a foot for a blow. Well, he hadnÃ¢Â€Â™t turned it yet, but he would, and Grrow was already moving into itÃ¢Â€Â¦
He blocked the blow as best he could and managed not to go sprawling, but was still brought to his knees by the kick. A foot came up to stomp his waiting skull into the floor, but it was all too easy to avoid even before it was raised. The gaderffii flew again, this time covered in blood and snot and brain, and hit with the blunt end the opposing creature (had he any knowledge of creatures, he might have identified the Barabel). Even that blunt end, however, had an edge to it, and by drawing it across the winded alienÃ¢Â€Â™s stomach he let spill all the guts it had gone through so much trouble to preserve.
The combat high of awareness, of lucidity was already beginning to fade. The other combatants in the ring apparently had no interest in this relic from far away; they were far more concerned with the preservation of their own lives and the earning of a significant prize. PeopleÃ¢Â€Â¦mindsÃ¢Â€Â¦lined the arenaÃ¢Â€Â¦light-placeÃ¢Â€Â¦he saw them all, saw their alien eyes, but felt nothing from them.
Electricity sizzled through him. His goggled eyes backtracked, through the crowd and toward a table in the bar. Even as he felt himself slipping back into the muddy indifference of his confused life, as he felt the clarity of combat dropping from him with his adrenaline, still he knew this was important, this was special. The brown creature at the seat with the white one, if only he would lookÃ¢Â€Â¦his mind was like none Grrow had met so far.
By chance, perhaps, or perhaps a twist of fate, or maybe the fact that both creatures were highly intuitive, the Selonian met the Tusken RaiderÃ¢Â€Â™s gaze.
The muddiness cleared at once. With that instant of connection between them, Grrow understood. There was a language there he understood, completely unlike the alien minds that lived around him. Here was a mind he could understand, and that could understand him. Now he understood everything.
The world of wet and yuck and smell and sounds dissipated with that furtive moment of connection. Now, he was on Ord Mantell.
((Figured I should say what happened exactly, since stream-of-consciousness isn't exactly best for clarity. The Tusken Raider is owned by slavers and used as a gladiator. He was sent into the ring in the bar, where he was attacked by some brawlers but was a ble to kill them. Still confused by his surroundings, he glanced around the crowd and saw Drac. Since both of them are force-sensitive, he was finally able to make some sense of his thoughts, and realized exactly what was going on. Now he's standing in the cagefighting area, lost in the moment. Now that he's a little saner, my posts should be clearer from now on...))
GPI: Fondly regard crustacean