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Exodus

Savareen

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Savareen


Astrographical Information
Region: Outer Rim
Trade Routes: Corellian Run
Orbital Position: --
Grid Coordinates: --

Physical Information
Class: Terrestrial
Atmosphere: Type 1 Breathable Oxygen Mix
Primary Terrain: Deserts, Oceans

Points of Interest: ???

Societal Information
Indigenous Species: Savarians, Humans
Immigrated Species: --
Primary Language(s): Basic
Faction Affiliation: Neutral

Defense Rating:  One

 

Description:

 

Savareen was a planet that was located at one spur of the Kessel Run, in the galaxy's Outer Rim Territories. The planet consisted of sandy landmasses and huge oceans. Savareen was also known for its famous brandy drink. The Crimson Dawn once had a business there and they chopped off the tongues of the natives.

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Great. Just great. Dump refugees on a desert planet with a moisture vaporator, half the farming implements needed to set up a workable farm, give them fewer supplies than necessary to subsist on, and expect the local population to help out. Super.

Granted, Ash was probably overlooking the fact that the Galactic Alliance had just been dealt a huge blow to its available resources what with Coruscant's moon crashing into it and all, and if anything he should be thankful he escaped with his red skin intact. But still, here he was, wondering how he was going to survive the next few days, much less get back to the galaxy proper and reestablish his life. Things had always been funny like that for him. When he was a toddler, some madman named Faust had caused the shields to drop on Coruscant, killing a significant chunk of its population to include his biological parents. Now this?

At the least, they had shelter, if it was only a couple dozen community tents, and for the time being they had water. The locals had already shown they weren't too keen on having to put up with a bunch of refugees, but nobody really had any say in the matter and nobody was around to truly accept blame for the situation they found themselves in. Except the refugees, of course, they were the outsiders, so naturally they weren't to be trusted. Already there had been several incidents of theft among the three hundred or so refugees, and a few isolated reported events with the locals, so at the least several bad apples had already cast a pall over their group.

Ash was just ready for it to all be over. He closed his eyes as he rested on his cot, trying not to think about how the rest of his belongings were now getting sand in them as literally his only personal space was directly beneath him, and there was no floor.

Super.

Maybe tomorrow things would change. Maybe tomorrow they'd all die. He tried not to think about it.

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The small settlement drew extremely weary with time and the erratic abuse of sand storms that hounded them at every sunfall. He could feel the tension bleed from every tent, and the mouths of the stragglers all around him. Countrymen, refugees, and travelers all blended upon these shores of Savareen, combing their experiences together in order to survive. Aurion was no more than a fly on the wall, wrapped mysteriously in the bleached raiment of a merchant, with no more than the clothes on his back to offer. He was a survivor, with ties to no one in particular amidst the rubble, but an affinity for helping them all. 

It had been his third night enduring the wild winds, and the harsh thrashing of small stones, in order to operate in the chaos of the nightly tempests. Reports of theft had spread like wildfire, fueling the strain on the ungainly community, but he insisted. Under the mask of pandemonium, Aurion made his way by taking from the rich and lending to the poor. There were men and women who possessed more than what was necessary to continue forward, and hissed at the mention of splitting their hoards. These were the individuals he preyed on, indiscriminate of their reasons. Rationings of food and water appeared to be divided without bias, but as a fly on the wall, Aurion watched an undercurrent of corrupted power begin to slowly surge in the administration. Desperation would reveal the wolves in sheepskin, it was only a matter of time.

He suspected the refugee Ash knew nothing of his little excursions, even though proximity to his resting place essentially made them neighbors. For now, the comfort of his cot steadied him to sleep and worked to ease his subtle wounds. 
 

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Morning came without warning. Blazing heat following freezing cold, with the humidity from the shores not making things easier on Ash, who was used to temperature controlled buildings and luxuries like hair product. Live or die, he was certain this was Hell, or at least some extension of it. His adoptive parents used to talk about it quite a lot, taking him to religious services as a kid, but he mostly just relegated that kind of talk as fairy tales meant to scare him into doing his chores. Still, it worked.

One of the things he'd been taught by his human guardians growing up was to never use his pheromones. He'd been lectured long and hard about how as a Zeltron he had certain gifts that were unfair to unleash upon the unwitting. Ash had a strong moral code, and wanted to make his way in life honestly. He'd been taught moral virtues well, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and hunger was a powerful motivator.

So, at lunch, he allowed a bit of his pheromones out. He'd been practicing over the last few years anyways, working as a waiter it was appropriate to keep customers happy, but Ash never did it to get significant tips. That was unethical. The cook at the end of the line, if he could even be called a cook, was a raggedy man. Grey hair and wrinkles told the tale of weariness and hardship that the galaxy tended to offer to most, and he was no exception. But without knowing why, he looked at Ash with a smile when it was finally Ash's turn, and at short request, gave him a much larger portion of the hardbread than most others. He stuck it in a pouch he was carrying, of course, and handed it over without so much as a second thought. The people behind him who had seen said nothing, they were mostly smiling and enthralled by Ash's handsome features.

He'd been told it was like being drunk, but in a bubbly and happy way. All Ash knew was that if others were happy, it meant he was happier, but to force these feelings on others without their explicit permission was wrong. At his cot, he stared at the pouch for a long time, thinking about what he'd done. What if it meant less for someone else, someone who needed it? But there would be more, the refugee aid personnel wouldn't let people starve, and the community was large enough here that they could make more food and water soon... Still, it weighed heavy on his mind, and for a long while he debated with himself whether or not he should take it back. His stomach eventually won out the argument, and without another thought he pulled out the bread and took a large bite.

Precious crumbs dribbled down his lips, and the taste wasn't particularly amazing, but it was food, and instinctively he continued. A small sound behind him alerted him a few bites later, and he turned to see the man who had the cot next to him staring at him. ((Aurion)) Ash was nearly certain the tent was mostly empty, there were a few people at the far end resting from the midday heat, but he'd somehow missed a man napping right next to him.

Slowly the scene dawned on Ash, and there was a long pause as Ash looked at his bread for a moment, before breaking off a sizable chunk and offering it to him. Not to silence him, though if Ash wanted he likely could have made him forget by distracting him with pheromones, but that would likely just cause more problems. That's how it always was, anyways, you cheat once and you wind up having to cheat again and again just to cover it up until it all crashes down on your head in a brutal tidal wave. It was better to just face the music in most cases. Here, though, Ash simply wondered if the man was hungry. It was the right thing to do.

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