Tchirin stepped through a vast corridor of unending sadism and harrowing fear, its gap making him feel as though stalking down the throat of some monumentous monstrosity. His pale Mandalorian helm could not protect against the fetid aroma of death that surrounded him, assaulted him.
His body shuddered visibly under the stress of the dead about him, the very air seemed to constrict him, to haunt him. His search thus far for life had failed, the closest thing being the steaming corpse of a freshly slain.
The warrior peered down, his interest grabbed by a discarded heap of bones. Its flesh was virtually inexistent, and yet something about it had captured him. He knelt down, peering at it, touching it gingerly with two gloved fingers.
The bones were beyond the normal size for a man, and yet its vertebrae and skull - though broken and withered with time - matched the unique shape that only a human could provide.
Curious.
The age-worn armor, which seemed to be the only shell it wore, looked fairly identicle to his own, though its smooth design scratched away over years. The warrior rolled the armor out of its face-down position, so he could answer some of questions that were coming to his mind.
His gloved fingers ran gently across the armor, pointing to where identifying marks may be. His fingers left a trail on the dust covered armor.
His fingers reached a mark that very much caught his interest, on the armor's shoulder plate: a feather inside a circle.
This was obviously the sign of a mandalorian comando. But any other marks on the armor was anihilated, for it had been blasted off. His fingers dug into the laser holes, looking for anything else to identify this pale reckage.
Nothing was found, all Tchirin could conclude was that the body was that of a mandalorian comando, nothing more. He layed down the mandalorian, and tried to find a place to give his body a decent burial.
He put down his lens, scanning for any life on this desolate moon. The green vision of his lens showed only the heat of his own breath in multi-colors. He sighed and flipped up his lens, picking up stones and laying them on the corpse of the mandalorian comando.
Dissapointed that he found nothing alive, the warrior turned and approached his Skipray Blastboat: The Rage of Mandalore.
When he entered his ship, he heard the harsh growl sounding language of Trandoshians, coming from his co-pilot, K'Rishrr. "No, K'Rishrr, there was nothing." Tchirin told his lizard shaped friend. K'Rishrr went back to scanning for bounties in the computer.
"It appears that we have been sent on a wild goose chase, my friend." Tchirin added to K'Rishrr, leaning into his comfortable down-feather chair, and preparing to leave the foul moon of Bogden.
The Blastboat left orbit and jumped into hyperspace toward the planet of Mandalore.
His body shuddered visibly under the stress of the dead about him, the very air seemed to constrict him, to haunt him. His search thus far for life had failed, the closest thing being the steaming corpse of a freshly slain.
The warrior peered down, his interest grabbed by a discarded heap of bones. Its flesh was virtually inexistent, and yet something about it had captured him. He knelt down, peering at it, touching it gingerly with two gloved fingers.
The bones were beyond the normal size for a man, and yet its vertebrae and skull - though broken and withered with time - matched the unique shape that only a human could provide.
Curious.
The age-worn armor, which seemed to be the only shell it wore, looked fairly identicle to his own, though its smooth design scratched away over years. The warrior rolled the armor out of its face-down position, so he could answer some of questions that were coming to his mind.
His gloved fingers ran gently across the armor, pointing to where identifying marks may be. His fingers left a trail on the dust covered armor.
His fingers reached a mark that very much caught his interest, on the armor's shoulder plate: a feather inside a circle.
This was obviously the sign of a mandalorian comando. But any other marks on the armor was anihilated, for it had been blasted off. His fingers dug into the laser holes, looking for anything else to identify this pale reckage.
Nothing was found, all Tchirin could conclude was that the body was that of a mandalorian comando, nothing more. He layed down the mandalorian, and tried to find a place to give his body a decent burial.
He put down his lens, scanning for any life on this desolate moon. The green vision of his lens showed only the heat of his own breath in multi-colors. He sighed and flipped up his lens, picking up stones and laying them on the corpse of the mandalorian comando.
Dissapointed that he found nothing alive, the warrior turned and approached his Skipray Blastboat: The Rage of Mandalore.
When he entered his ship, he heard the harsh growl sounding language of Trandoshians, coming from his co-pilot, K'Rishrr. "No, K'Rishrr, there was nothing." Tchirin told his lizard shaped friend. K'Rishrr went back to scanning for bounties in the computer.
"It appears that we have been sent on a wild goose chase, my friend." Tchirin added to K'Rishrr, leaning into his comfortable down-feather chair, and preparing to leave the foul moon of Bogden.
The Blastboat left orbit and jumped into hyperspace toward the planet of Mandalore.