Landing on Zasii...

5519 BBY

The Exalted spun through the air, the cockpit awash with the red glow of the single warning light in the entire ship. It was a small, battered vessel, but it served the Defel's purposes to get from point A to point B - except now, as stars seemed to swirl around him rapidly through the three viewports that served as his freighter's only visual offerings. Mihoru's head spun nearly as much as his ship as dizziness began taking him. His scanners, as outdated as they were, picked up not just the planet he kept seeing, but some other object further in the distance. He ignored it, too busy worrying about his predicament.

A dozen or so swears were growled from the Defel's maw within the span of a few seconds before he finally adjusted weight in the freighter to help steady the vessel. He sighed in slight relief as he found his ship flying straight in for a crash landing on the planet rather than the star. He heard creaking and howling from his poor vessel, which had been ripped right out of Hyperspace by this field.

A slight shake of his head signaled his resignation. He pulled himself out of his seat, standing swiftly - but quickly ducking after remembering he was too tall, and smacking his head on the ceiling. He scuttled back, snatching up a few bags: his tribal and ceremonial gear, his necessities, and an air suit. He blinked, fidgeting a little as the interior of the ship suddenly became aglow with orange and yellow, and the temperature seemed to skyrocket (though he continued to plummet). He moved double the speed, sliding the suit on with haste. He clipped the other two bags to himself, as well as his blasters and staff, followed by putting a pair of ocular enhancers on so he was not blinded by the local star.

His clawed, furry fist smashed into a big red button near the back of the ship, marked Don't Touch Me! The back wall began sliding open, turning into the cargo ramp he used to walk down all the time. He glared, everything tinted an odd violet colour with his eye-piece, then took a deep breath.

He leaped.

He fell rapidly, the sheer speed of his fall sending him flipping head over heels in the buffeting winds. He slowly righted himself, watching his vessel fly straight off and leave a trail of smoke for him to follow. He sighed in relief when he mentally calculated it'd at least land somewhere on the beach (although the massive darkness that seemed to suddenly appear a few miles from said beach disturbed him).

He swore again as his air suit's "parachute" flapped out, raking against his body as it slowed his descent in a less-than-comfortable fashion. He grumbled a little, then went quiet after seeing he'd only have about a ten minute swim to land - acceptable. Crappy, but acceptable.

And so he did, finally landing with a crash in the water and forcing himself to trudge along in the salty water, carrying all his gear and fighting for all he was worth to get to land alive without drowning. He never was a very proficient swimmer, but the gods would be damned if they hadn't made Mihoru a resilient, stubborn bastard. He collapsed on shore, panting massive breaths that would put an adrenaline-pumped, over-worked Alpha rancor to shame.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief nap right there on shore.

He'd find his ship later...

Mihoru blinked quietly, always disconcerted every time he forgot to remove his ocular enhancers - he was used to seeing the world through the ultraviolet spectrum, so it was always odd when everything was tinged several shades of violet. He slowly eased himself up, glancing around in a small radius to make certain everything was accounted for, minus his vessel.

The poor thing was probably crumpled, burnt, and scattered across a kilometer of land. He mumbled, sidling up along the beach and following his intuition; the trail of smoke and destruction was invisible at the moment, but it became clear he was going in the relatively-correct direction within moments...

The top of a hill less than half a mile from the beach was nearly sheared right off, marking where his ship struck. He picked up his pace into a slight jog, keeping himself steady in speed and exertion, preserving his energy the best he could. He wasn't so much worried about his ship as he was about two pieces of specific cargo he couldn't carry with him.

He blinked rapidly in true, honest surprise as he finally climbed the tip of the hill. Ahead, his ship seemed barely damaged by the crash. Of course, this was just a first glance; gazing longer, he noticed it was still the piece of crap he flew around in for the last ten or so years. He sighed in relief when he then saw two figures ambling around the downed vessel, dragging chunks and shards of the ship.

XTC-2, or Ecstasy Two, was a droid designed by someone Mihoru had met only once before - and met only briefly. It had been years upon years before, but he had still utterly respected and feared the solemn man who had gifted him with a rebuilt version of his own droid. It was an ugly thing, to be sure, but it was more intimidating than an angry Wookiee and more use than a Sullistan mechanic.

SE-27 was far simpler, being a compact Astromech droid designed for maintenance and repair. It was a stupid thing, but loyal, hard-working, and resilient. It's been running strong for years, serving the Defel since he first left his home planet many, many planets ago.

Mihoru Nanakaru shook his head, shouldering his gear and heading down to greet the two droids and aid them, pondering over his situation, and silently wondering if there was any civilization on the planet...

Mihoru grumbled, sitting quietly as the droids did their business. He ached all over, sore from the long swim and uncomfortable sleep, and was still irate over not seeing any signs of life save for the trees and himself. He scratched the side of his head now and then, even more irritated that he kept hearing someone giggling, but no one was around.