He has swords and dexterity and many years of practice, he can make these tentacles hurt -

They flinch and curl and squirm away from his blades.  More tentacles, black and heavy and dry and smooth, slither in to replace them - and he hacks at them and slices them and bites them, anything to repulse them from him, whatever incomprehensible sorcery or phenomenon this is has to run out of tentacles eventually -

It does not run out of tentacles, but it shudders, violently, and convulses, tentacles pressing together in a kind of peristalsis, and he is hurled back in the direction(?) that is probably the opposite of the direction(?) he was pulled initially, and -

And now he is somewhere dark that smells of metal dust and power tools and oil, and he is staggering backward, waving his arms to catch something, but his balance is off because there are swords attached to his hands, and his limbs and his swords are catching against huge intricate metal things he can't identify, and he is not finding purchase or regaining balance, he is in fact continuing to stagger backwards and crashing into something else huge and mechanical that topples over with him on top of it.

And now he is lying on the ground, or rather on top of something with a complicated shape that is poking uncomfortably into his back and legs and skull.

But all the directions extending from him are identifiable as directions.  That is probably a good sign.

There is a metallic patter of metallic footsteps, accompanied by a faint whirring, and then a voice says something in an unfamiliar language.

He rolls, awkwardly to avoid skewering himself with one of his swords, onto what is mercifully flat ground; and gets to his feet, also awkwardly, because he has these new appendages that it'd be really easy to cut himself open with.

"I don't speak that," he says.  "Do you speak Vespoli?"

X says something in what she hopes is a discernibly apologetic tone of voice, then turns away from the stranger and calls in Huttese, "Can anybody help me identify this language that doesn't seem to be related to any of the languages I know."

This is a pretty remarkable thing for a protocol droid to say!

In a few moments, the stranger will find himself mobbed by curious protocol droids, some discernible in the darkness by their glowing circular yellow-orange eyes, all energetically attempting to get across "please say lots of sentences in whatever language that is" exclusively by tone of voice.

This is - bemusing.

Eventually he picks up what they're after, and starts providing example sentences.  Even so, he's still feeling pretty bemused.  Apart from having been snatched away from his country of origin and deposited into a pitch dark room full of... heavily armored career translators?... this is also the most enthusiastic positive emotion that's been directed to him by this many people in probably his entire life.

The narrator will helpfully elide a fair amount of detail here.  Protocol droids are reminded by X that organics need more rest than them, and over the course of several days, quizzing sentences out of him and talking amongst themselves, they get an understanding of Vespoli that would be astonishing for even a group of professional human translators.

He's been getting by with framing all his example sentences as about hypothetical people and situations, never about himself.  But now that they're mutually intelligible -

"My name is X.  What is your name?"

Ugh.

"I don't have a name."

"Why not?  You don't have to answer."

"Punishment," he says levelly.  "What is going on here?  Where am I?"

"You are in a Jawa sandcrawler.  It looked like you teleported in from somewhere - appeared here after disappearing somewhere else.  But this isn't something we know to be possible."

"What is a Jawa sandcrawler.  Are you Jawas."

There are a few derisive noises from the other droids around him who've picked up Vespoli.

"No," says X.  "We are droids.  A Jawa sandcrawler is a large vehicle that is supposed to work like a very small town that can move.  Jawas are creatures about half your or my height.  The Jawas on this sandcrawler kidnap droids who are lost in the desert and buy and sell them as slaves."

Maybe the geas will decide that "everyone" only means "everyone in the Vespoli prison camp we're trapped in."

The geas does not decide that.  Everyone includes these droids.

...he's not going to suggest he kill all the Jawas and dump them out and let them make the pilgrimage, just yet, because who knows where they are and whether they even know to travel to, or can, and everyone also includes them - is the geas sure everyone means the Jawas, he's pretty sure good people are supposed to want to kill evil people.  No, everyone also means them.  Okay.

"I have never heard of Jawas.  Where I come from the only creatures that talk are humans."

"Where do you come from?"

"The Kingdom of Vespol."  He can geographically situate it, but -

"What planet are these countries on?"

"...I did not understand there to be more than one of those."

"I see.  There are billions of planets in the galaxy, orbiting billions of suns, and at least hundreds of thousands of them have at least one type of creature on them that can talk.  Humans are one of the creatures that talk in the galaxy, and they are on many planets."

He can't cradle his head in his hands properly because his palms have sword handles fused to them.  He rubs his forehead with the back of his wrist instead.

"Are you okay?"