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Jul 16, 2019 4:02 AM
Gannayev wanders into Nar Shaddaa and meets Occlus
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Gannayev-of-Dreams is rudely awakened from his latest dream by a droplet of water landing square on his forehead. He huffs, affronted, and cracks open an eye. A second droplet follows the first, this time impacting his nose. Not a one off, then. He sits up, looking at the roof of the barn in irritation.

"Your shoddy craftsmanship," he says accusingly to the barn, "has disturbed me from a rather interesting dream." The barn is silent. "Nothing to say in your defense? Not even another guilty drip?" Another droplet impacts his head, dampening his hair. "Yes, I thought so. Criminals like you so rarely can contain themselves."

Banter with an inanimate barn is briefly amusing, but only briefly. He's already tired of the joke, so now he must figure out what to do. He could attempt to find a place he won't get dripped on, try to rediscover that dream he'd been having, but he doesn't have high hopes for either. This barn is badly maintained, which is possibly why the farmer that owns it consented to letting a hagspawn sleep in it. Finding a place that'll stay dry would be an exercise in frustration and futility, unless he went and patched the barn himself. Easy enough to do for a shaman of his power, but really, why bother? The dream he'd been in is likely impossible to chase down, now. Madmen are so inconvenient about staying still.

Besides, if his sense of time is correct (and it hasn't been incorrect in years) it's already morning. Sleeping in too much is likely to incite an irate farmer, which sounds even more unpleasant than getting further dampened. It's less trouble to just get up, and try to find something to do to stave off the insatiable hound of boredom. He moves to a sitting position, hands loosely clasped on his lap and his eyes closed. Another droplet impacts his head, and he hisses an annoyed breath through his teeth. Shoddy craftsmanship. Still, however shoddy the craftsmanship, he's managed to commune with spirits in worse conditions. He can tolerate a bit of a drizzle, if he has to.

He proceeds through the typical dealmaking that takes up his morning - usually he pays his end of the deal with shared scraps of interesting dreams he's come across or crafted, a sharing of the taste of his breakfast or the smell of burning incense, and occasional minor tasks, when they're not too out of the way. This day isn't particularly remarkable - there's a hawk spirit that wants to feel the wind with him as he hunts, an otter that wants to feel water rushing through Gann's fingers, a bear that wants an offering at an out of the way shrine, among others. Gann keeps track of who wants what with the practiced ease of someone that has done this daily since he was seven. It might have been impressive once, but now it's only a passing amusement. Something to keep his attention, for a little while. The most remarkable payment he agrees to is to take an inquisitive sparrow to get a closer look at, quote, 'a strange sounding anomaly,' which sounds quite interesting enough to do for free. Not that he's going to. A good spirit shaman never does anything for free.

His deals made, he opens his eyes and stands. He runs through the easiest of the tasks immediately - burned incense for the squirrel, made from the fat of that rabbit he killed and a couple of plants he harvested; a bit of water from his canteen through his fingers for the otter, caught and cleaned with a cantrip and returned before it's wasted on the barn's ground; a farm plot purged of parasites, for the farmer; breakfast, for himself. Soon enough, he's free of all tasks but the sparrow's. Off he walks, at a leisurely pace, absently wondering if this will be worth the lost dream.

It is. Gannayev tilts his head at the tear in front of him, eyeing the ripples reverberating through the ethereal plane. If he's not mistaken, that's a tear to another plane. A curiosity, especially here, in the Rashemi wilds, with no wizard or sorcerer to create it. He observes it thoughtfully for a minute, decides that it's stable enough for his purposes, and sits down to figure out if any of his current entourage could manage to bring him back. Curiosity and boredom are not enough to cause all of his senses to leave him. The squirrel could get the direction right, with the hawk helping with the aim, and with another spirit providing the power for the transition itself - yes, he could get himself back.

He considers for another second, consults with the spirits to see the general opinion - most of them are quite positive - and steps through.

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This is mostly definitely not the Rashemi wilds. Which makes sense, of course. A tear that returned him to the same place he was would be no tear at all. As for what this place is- that's a little harder. There's just so much going on. Light and sound and the heady bustle of more and stranger people than he even knew could exist. Flashing neon signs in alien script, a low pulsing bass beat that might be the backing for music being drowned out by the susurrus of the crowd, and in front of him, an enormous golden statue of some kind of slug creature with a rather dapper hat. A city of some kind, but none he has seen before.

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Well, this is all remarkably tacky. Especially that statue. Ew.

Is anyone taking issue with him having appeared out of nowhere?

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A brief disruption in the flow of the crowd that seems to have resolved itself.

While he stands still, some sort of flying platform bearing glowing words swoops down out of the sky to hover in front of him. The display flashes insistently in words he can't read, alternating with a colorful outline of a scantily-clad female with what appear to be tentacles on her head contorting herself around a pole.

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Despite himself, he's briefly distracted. Both by the tentacles, and by the contortions. He's very far from the Rashemi wilds, isn't he. He can't even identify her pedigree. She must be a professional - no, stop that, he'll be annoyed with himself if he get distracted by pretty women missing most of their clothes while on another plane.

He doubts anyone's trying to arrest him with titillating pictures (though that would be novel, wouldn't it) so he ignores it in favor of trying to pick out languages spoken by those around him. Are there a multitude of them, or is just one major one?

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Two big ones, and a smattering of others.

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Hmmm.

He glances back at the flashing display, then murmurs, "Kele," and invites the sparrow into himself. The sparrow, curious thing that she is, is absolutely thrilled to possess him.

For half a second, his head swims with the sensation of too much information. But his purpose is clear, even if his mind is not, and the words on the screen in front of him snap to legibility. The sparrow Kele has never before encountered this language, but spirits are not things of language. They are of thought and purpose, and so if he pulls a spirit into himself, he can channel it to translate. With enough practice, anyway, which he has quite in hand.

Of course, to protect his mind from an over-eager spirit, he'll just be translating the one language. He'd rather not have his mind turn to sludge today, thanks.

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LIVE - GIRLS - TWI'LEK - ON STAGE - THE HAPPY HUTT - CASINO BAR AND LOUNGE - OPEN 24/5

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He resists the urge to giggle. Of course the first thing that greets him is an advertisement to a strip club and gambling den. Of course. This world is not so alien after all.

(Have you built a nest yet??? You shouldn't find a mate if you don't have a nest where will your eggs go!!! anxiously wonders Kele.

I have not, and will not, but am nonetheless flattered by the offer.

Okay that makes sense it was very nice of her but she should pick someone that's built a nest that's how you have safe eggs!!)

"No thank you," he says politely in Basic to the sign, attempting to shoo it with a hand.

Any interesting conversations that he can understand now?

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Unless he actually hits the sign or starts walking, it's not going anywhere.

Most of what people are talking about revolves around mundane daily life, sex and shopping and celebrity gossip and drugs and have you got time to catch that new holodrama next week. Some discussion of potential business opportunities now that the war has flared back up.

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He picks a direction away from the major crowds and starts walking, eavesdropping on casual conversation. There's a war, apparently, who's fighting in it, and is it likely spread here? Where is here? What are the major social structures at work, who's in charge?

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Not many people are talking about the war. This city(?/moon?/planet?) is apparently somewhere many people come to get away from concerns like that. But there's two sides, an empire and a republic. People don't seem concerned about it spreading to this area of the... galaxy? The Hutts have some sort of neutrality policy.

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And then one of the storefronts he's about to pass by explodes in a burst of lightning, and a pair of people come flying out. A woman in black robes with a snarl on her face stalks out after them, shaking sparks off a hand.

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...

Gann takes several measured steps back, murmuring the otter's name to protect himself from electricity.

Is the general feeling of everyone nearby 'run away as quickly as possible' or 'watch the show'?

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Mostly just 'give the show a wide berth and carry on with what you were doing'.

She stalks over to the two, who are cowering in fear. "Perhaps you were under a misapprehension as to exactly who you were dealing with. Do you care to revise your offer?" She raises a hand, and for a moment it looks like there are four arms, faintly purple trailing through the same motion,

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Huh.

He recognizes that voice, and - restless spirits, what is going on with those things tied to her? Gann squints thoughtfully at her.

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'Restless spirits' is actually a pretty good descriptor.

"You- We- I-," stutters one of the people on the ground.

"Too. Late," she hisses, bringing down her hand and unleashing lightning. He screams in agony. The other starts trying to crawl away. They don't get very far before she clenches her hand, ceases the lightning, and unclips a metal cylinder from her belt and strides over. She thumbs a button on the side and a thrumming beam of red light emerges. She stabs it down into their back and they stiffen with a gurgle, then relax, eyes glazing over.

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'Murder voice' is certainly living up to her moniker, isn't she.

No wonder, though, with that mess of a spirit binding she's got set up - he sort of sees what she's done, she's obviously siphoning them for power, but she's greatly out-taxed the meager protections in place between herself and the bound ones. Not to mention how, if he's not mistaken (which he doesn't think he is), it looks like her power's starting to rot her from within, turning her into a walking corpse, not even well made enough to be called a lich. All of that's quite enough to drive anyone mad.

He could probably fix it. She's already got them under her control, the trouble is that they're using the connection for more than anyone would sensibly want, if he could just force their power to move in the proper direction, against themselves to stop them from bleeding through -

Gann remembers that he is still standing here, staring thoughtfully at someone who is very definitely murderous, and that maybe that is unwise and he should stop.

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Too late, she's spotted him.

"You. Who are you?"

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Well, he doesn't think she lacks intellect or memory, so his identity's blown the minute he opens his mouth. Might as well own it.

"A fellow voice in this madhouse we call life, who else?" he says, lightly. "Hello. I see that you've been busy."

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Her eyes widen in shock.

"The... poet? How-?"

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"No, not here. Inside. Now." She grabs him and drags him into the building whose window she recently blew out.

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He magnanimously consents to be dragged. That is his story, and he's sticking to it.

"Asking would also have sufficed," he grouses, but he's consenting to be dragged, so he doesn't try to fight her off.

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"I do not ask." There's a door in the back; she pushes it open with a wave of her hand ahead of them and fairly throws him at a chair while she shuts the door again.

"Explain your presence here."

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He lands in the chair with minimal embarrassment. Practically a graceful landing, really.

"I found a tear to another plane, and decided to explore the other side."

(Hey!!! I was the one who found it!! protests Kele.

... I apologize for the attribution, I am trying to keep you a secret so she doesn't think to chain you like she's done with hers.

Oh!! You're keeping me safe, okay, thank you, you're a good shaman!

Thank you, I try.)

"I was just in the middle of that when you threw those two through the window. All else, I'm afraid I have only supposition."

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"What do you mean, plane? Where are you from?"

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