Faction Belkaden: Beginings

[Djinn Rizzla]

The world of Belkaden. A world of dense jungles and swamps. A world of History so deep the galaxy itself had forgotten it and once again, a world for an empire. A massive fleet of hundreds of ships ranging from ancient to nearly mythical in age orbited the world like an unkindness of ravens slowly circling their newest meal. It was nowhere near as malevolent as that, however, Belkaden had not needed a battle. Most of the current inhabitants simply wanted to be left in peace, and Djinn would allow such as long as they did not interfere with his plans. He had no hatred for the people, it was their rulers who kept them weak and poor whom he hated.

He stood in the main government building, a cloak of furs hung from his shoulders like some ancient primitive war chief, which was not so far from the truth, and held down the former governor with a massive boot clad foot.

"You will regret this, fool!" The man said as he struggled beneath the behemoth epicanthix, "We have many friends and our strategic placement will have you found and killed in no time!"

Djinn looked around the room at the other officials and security, their eyes all filled with fear and loathing. They were all nothing but Eopie staring at a krayt dragon. He saw no will to oppose him among them. They were fodder. Nothing more.

"We shall see." He said and nodded to one of his generals who began tying up each one with manacles and binders, a mishmash of gear from as many cultures as took prisoners.

"Slaves? Is that it?" The governor cried out drawing Djinn's eyes. He had almost forgotten the pompous man.

"Hold." Djinn said and pointed at his general, a large black and grey wookie. "General Chuuwaroo, was a gladiatorial slave for one hundred and fifty years, an expert in combat the likes of which you have never seen."

He pointed at a klatoonian.

"Command Sergeant Grigg, was a slave in the shipyards, he and his crew restored nearly every ship in our fleet with their own hands, and he writes beautiful poetry. You are not worthy to be slaves and count yourselves our brothers and sisters. You will be sent to your homes, and you will remain there out of our way, or you will be tied to our hulls as a warning to others.

"General, continue."

And he did....

They would build a base here and then the crusade would begin in earnest.

(Free form, do what ever you think you would want to do. I'm going to make a base and maybe like a fortress or something.)

Dante Iblis Bastard Rika Hiro Avernus Dash Farstar

 

[Bastard]

Bleak Beginnings

From the Word of Bastard
Man-at-Arms and Chronicler of the Iron Vow

It was a day that started like any other.

Our men were embedded throughout the largest of the Emperor's warbands outside the capital city of Belkadan. We expected a fight from the moment General Grigg paid our pittance, but the residents of this planet were... docile. No amount of taunting from the conqueror's more enthusiastic soldiers earned their ire. It was almost a pity. Their discipline in the face of such foolishness proved admiral. These Belkadan's may make fine soldiers once our men get their hooks in them.

Word came to us from the communications tent early in the afternoon. The Emperor had broken their governor–albeit generously.

The fool yapped about powerful friends and strategic placement as if their plight would disappear simply because an ally came to their aid. It was an idiot's gamble at best. One the Gray Cloak would not have permitted in his service.

The messenger, Grinner, cleared his throat to get my attention. "It looks to me like I should tell the men to break out the whiskey. Stick lifted a crate of Corellian from a smuggler caught trying to sneak off-world."

I sneered.

Corellian Whiskey tasted like piss.

"Not quite." I turned on the boy, enjoying the realization dawn within his bright blue eyes. "Take Rook, the Jawa, and Misses into town and determine whether or not this fool's claims bear any truth. We were hired to ensure the Emperor unmolested in his conquering of Belkadan. I will not have insurgents hiding in our backyard."

"Yes sir." Grinner saluted and slunk out of sight, his earlier enthusiasm wasted. I left the tent not long after him. To say my curiosity led me to check the state of our camp would only be a half-truth. I enjoyed the sensation that swept through the outfit as the Commander's presence became known to them. Like a shadow, I loomed nearby. Watching.

The officers kept the others busy running drills or making the land livable. They knew the consequences of failing to meet the Iron Standard set by the Bastard.

"Sir!"

I turned to see Grinner already running back to me. The Jawa scurried after him, his oversized disruptor rifle thrown over his cloaked shoulder.

"Porg found Riot halfway to the town! He was completely torn up, like a goddamn beast got to em!" Grinner's skin reddened before my very eyes. The boy kept his temper in check most days, but he took every loss to the outfit personally. "What are your orders, sir?"

Others gathered closer to me. I felt a slew of emotions fall upon me like rain, bloodlust mixing freely with an unnatural desire to kill.

"Have Misses, Eight-Fold, and Grifter put together hunting parties and search the woods. Once we determine their location I will deal with them. Personally."

 

[Kyros of Memnon]

OWUMILA PRIDE – THE BROKEN CITY​

...BODELLIN CITY, THE EASTERN JUNGLES​

They had swept across the jungles to the east with little resistance so far. Sparse villages were met to little fanfare from the invaders, their inhabitants summarily dealt with as the Emperor's edict dictated. What little militias had come out to fight were met by the warband under Kyros' command. Numbered in the thousands but primarily consisting of those slaves who hailed from the stables of Owumila dominance, they were far from the destructive lance that was Owumila's core warriors, but their spirit was as indomitable as his own men, and their numbers plentiful and expendable.

Those who survived the skirmishes at the vanguard would be rewarded in time, and those who perished shall find their ancestors to guide them into the great beyond. Their priests would ensure of this, he had promised. As for the villages themselves– they would burn.

Granaries were plundered, the healthy were shackled in the same chains that had once held his many of his warband in bondage. From henceforth their lives would be expended in service of the Great Emperor's vision. Whether in the flesh or in death itself, they would all eventually play their part in their Lord's reclamation of power.

The meticulous task of running down slaves and continuing the requisition of resources and sentients was left to his second-in-command, Ageleus. The warpath would not cease until they had reached Bodellin itself– the truth source of wealth, and the gift he wished to bestow upon his Lord's throne.

...THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL'S HEAD.​

The Governor may have been the source of true power on this world, but the Captain-General's influence was not too far behind. He had turned Bodellin into his own personal fiefdom, complete with the armories, the industry, and the manpower to man them all. It would've been a daunting task for any one army to assail a force with these capabilities behind it, but Owumila Pride was not the savages and barbarians who made up the fodder under his command.

They were the elite of a once great nation, and the Fire of the Gods themselves led them personally into battle.

They arrived ta the outskirts of the city to staunch resistance, and many of his followers bravely threw their lives to the Savanna's of the Ancestors to absorb their tremendous firepower. Owumila's Elite were held in reserve, awaited the command of their Warrior-Prince before unleashing their blades into battle.

From behind the safety of the defilade to their front, Kyros arose to the sight of his warband's fodder being slaughtered all around. "How fortunate, cousin. We've not the weapons to spread to these men, yet they die so readily, without threat pushing them forwards, or fear to hold them back." He'd remark to his cousin, the two-and-a-half meter tall man with bronze-colored skin rising to his left.

No sign of sympathy could be seen on his cousin's face as he watched their warriors die by the dozen, but advancing ever closer to the enemy. "Their cowardice has been forgiven by the Emperor, and so they fight to redeem their honor."

Kyros nodded. "You are right." He took a step forwards and lifted himself fully out of the defilade, his cousin not far behind with his twin axes in hand. A single outstretched hand reached towards the dimming sky, the embers of the god's fire permeating off the Warrior-Prince's eyes. A tendril of spiraling flames descended from the sky, coalescing into a radiant orb as bright as the sun around his hand.

"Then let their deaths be the catalyst to earning the Emperor's favor."

He pointed at the line of fortifications and trenches, completely unmoved by the whizzing bolts and whistling slugs near-missing around him. His cousin knelt to his front, the massive shield in his hand erupting with a power field that protected them both. The orb of condensed fire erupted from his palm with a thunderous boom in the air. All in its path no matter friend or foe would find themselves set alight and incinerated in seconds, their screams barely exiting their throats before all that was left were ashes.

The orb collided with the command center at the rear, a deafening explosion engulfing the entirety of the center line of fortifications in a blinding haze of reddish-orange fire.

All but him would have to close their eyes at the sight of such magnificence.

The end result was a much quieter battlefield, and the complete eradication of the strongest point in the enemy's defense. His own men had stopped advancing upon viewing the power of the gods firsthand. Though many had perished in the fires themselves, there were more than enough to continue on with their task.

"Advance." ​

His voice bellowed into the air, amplified by a minor act of his god's favor. Battlecries of Owumila Pride filled the air once more, the fodder resuming their task of overwhelming the defenders at once. His Elite surged forwards at the previous command, darting through the corpse-ridden killing field with unnatural speed and resistance. His prize cowered in the city– He could feel it. Nothing would stop Kyros short of the gods themselves from seeing that prize seized with his own two hands.

...HIS HEAD IS MINE TAKE.


​

Djinn Rizzla | Bastard ​

 

[Bastard]

The reports did not exaggerate the dusty codger's condition.

Both of Riot's arms were torn from his torso and left to rot in the underbrush. His legs were completely crushed by a fallen trunk likely fashioned into some primitive trapping. To the old man's credit, Porg and the Jawa found half a dozen blasters and a vibroblade abandoned nearby.

"Must've killed six of them." Porg squealed from my right. The hulking gamorrean carried a massive vibro-axe slung over one shoulder, and an atrisian kanabō he lifted from some bounty hunter over the other. "Grinner said it was an ambush. That little trick he does with his glove told him so." His assertion, no matter how off the mark, carried an inkling of truth. Porg's loyalty eclipsed his stupidity by spades.

"Good. Grinner," I ignored the hollow feeling in my stomach as I turned from our fallen brother.

"Sir?" The boy stepped forward.

"Misses has discovered the Insurgent. Take Porg and join her." Pulling my cloak tighter about myself, my free hand fell to the hilt of my black blade. The weapon thrummed with sorcerous power. Its hunger strained against the sheath that entrapped it, begging to be loosed upon our hated enemy–the killer of our kin.

"What about you, sir?" Grinner asked in a rare display of curiosity.

"I will follow after you soon enough. Doppelganger has infiltrated their rank, so I've little concern they will slip this noose." I departed from them without another word, gently fingering the crimson gemstone embedded in the weapon's pommel. Even now, all these years after Vella Forte , rage lingered like a silent killer, watching me from the confines of the mist at the edge of my mind.

The insurgents killed Riot.

They were promised peace, yet they spit on the Emperor's benevolence and killed one of mine in answer.

Tension befell our camp. Something like a hunter's snare, taught, primed, and ready to snap. My men felt similarly, it lingered on their conscious thoughts like the insidious urge for just one more drink. They wanted blood.

I would give it to them.

Djinn Rizzla | Kyros of Memnon

 

[Hyperion]

Aboard The Dominator,
Belkaden Orbit

I gasp.

The voices are gone, the talking maws of the cosmos shut into the familiar, vast patchwork of simple flickering dots over the black canvas of space. Relief washes over me as I feel the sturdy deck beneath my feet. The knot of the past remains fastened as the Iron Oath dictates.

I am the Navigator now...

or rather the Captain.

Its weight bears heavy on my shoulders, burdening me with the fate of the last Free Fleet of Syrinx. And there is no one to share it with. I am a Captain not by commission, but by law. A law written over a hundred millennia ago. A Captain of saltier sailors and grizzlier crewmen than I was; veterans of the Ru'rath Wars, the Parallax Rebellion, the Xeno-Rift Crusades, and a thousand more battles. Tales only our Chronicler can recite to a fault.

"Captain, we're receiving a distress call from our mining droids." Proton, the comm-officer on deck, reported. There was a hint of worry in his voice. The chromite deposits we had found were important to our endless repairs to return the Fleet to an adequate state.

I lifted an eyebrow. The Iron Fleet was merely a part of the thousand-ship flotilla of Rizzla the Destroyer obscuring the skies of Belkaden. Who the hell was stupid enough to even raise their hand without permission?

"Tell the Bastard to investigate." I said before turning back to gaze at the abyss of space, seeking the forbidden past.

 

[Gorogoth]

Tag: Hyperion | Bastard | Djinn Rizzla | Kyros of Memnon

Bestial noises filled the air at the western flank of the Kyros of Memnon 's battle. The Malformed Host, clad in runic golden armor bestowed upon them by their serpentine force goddess, stood as shunned figures—outcasts for their ugliness, deformities, or the terror they invoked.

Leading this diverse host, the prophet's voice resounded, guiding beings of various shapes, sizes, and visages. Some towered high, while others slithered or crawled closer to the ground.

"We are monsters of men, yet still men," the Golden Prophet declared. "Embrace your nature, reclaim what they deny you. Make them confront their deepest fears and darkest futures."

The Golden Prophet reached his hands into the air, and a golden hue bled into the surrounding landscape, showing her face and image to all who would see. Promises of riches and plunder ignited greed and narcissism among the Malformed. Whether the Prophet invented the display and tricked them, or this was some other being, the anticipation in the men grew.

Bathed in golden glory, he lowered his hands, and the Malformed Host charged to their salvation, running towards lines that had no idea what was headed their way. They would seize all they could and offer tribute to their goddess.

"Let her will be done."

OOC:

Spoiler

Action: Charging from the west.
Forces:
250 x Malformed Monsters of Men.
1x Golden 'Goddess' Character switch is possible for a duel.

 

[Bastard]

Less than fifty able-bodied men remained in the camp as I finished preparations for my departure.

Beskar had stumbled back into the camp sometime within the hour. Leech tells me he was out of sorts. Mentally discombobulated. So we put him to sleep and entrusted him to the doctor and his medical droid. After word spread about Riot's gruesome passing, most of the garrison were happy to see Beskar return unharmed.

A string of shouts sounded from the communications tent when I was about halfway across the compound. Against my better judgment, I veered off course and pushed through the flaps with little fanfare. "What is going on in here?"

"We've received transmissions from the Dominator and the eastern front." Sarlacc, a gnarled twi'lek answered curtly. An old veteran of Ryloth through and through, he long forsook decorum in favor of efficiency. "Kyros' Pride has found little resistance, but a new threat approaches him from the west."

"Insurgent?"

"Not likely." The twi'lek smartly moved on and played a second transmission. This one detailed the delay in Hyperion's mining operation. I knew where it was going well before the Captain's orders were issued, but the sneer found my lips nonetheless. These sorts of side projects were many and varied, only increasing the difficulty of those under my charge. But I'm not sure the old spacer cared.

Our word was rooted in Iron. It defined the expectations placed on every soldier within the company. It was why I could not say no.

"Very well." Forcing the words out through gritted teeth, I activated the company-wide communication relay and spoke into the device. "Wraith will take point on crushing the Insurgent. I am needed elsewhere."

A slew of affirmations rolled in as I departed the tent.

Coordinates to the mining encampment appeared on my HUD. So did information about the droids, their directives, and the importance of the chromite being mined there. Each piece of information gnawed at my patience, threatening to dismantle what little I had left to ration. The Captain's nature to overexplain may have been a boon to the less seasoned of their fleet, but it only fueled my desire to destroy my earpiece and handle this in peace.

Hyperion | Kyros of Memnon | Djinn Rizzla | Gorogoth

 

[Kyros of Memnon]

The sound of warning erupted from the west, heralded by Tarassi Warhorns carved out of the ivory tusks of the great savanna beasts. A runner approached him and bowed, the young man shaking uncontrollably from exhaustion and fear combined. "M-my Prince– they've brought reinforcements!" Kyros looked at him inquisitively, wordlessly commanding the runner with his will to continue on. "Monsters.. they ambushed the vanguard forces on the west! Giant man-like beasts, as if the ancestors cursed their form!"

A hand extended towards his cousin, who deposited the scavenged monocular before resuming shielding their leader's frontal arc. Kyros peered across the battlefield and watched as the horde of monstrosities tore through their western flank. Frightened men and women perished in the dozens, their ad-hoc formations routed away from the fighting with ease.

He closed the monocular and pocketed it beneath the black tunic covering his upper half. "Very well." A hand dismissed the runner back to the rear of their lines. "I leave you in command of my elites, and the seizing of the breach the gods have allowed me to create."

There was no questioning from his cousin on this decision. The massive powered shield was lifted onto his back, his twin vibro-axes unsheathed from his side. His cousin called out to the ancestors for strength and protection, and they delivered their blessing upon him thereafter. Crimson energy blazed from his eyes, an aura of shifting reddish-orange hues empowering his body, and granting him resistance against the perils of man. With a great leap the giant shot into the air, then descended upon the struggling defensive line with the devastation of a baradium bomb.

His axes carved through mortals without bias, his blades only avoiding those Elites who were Sons of Memnon themselves.

Kyros lifted into the air himself after watching his cousin's display, the fire of the gods creating a jet of flames from the souls of his boots. It took him no more than seconds to propel through the ensuing battle, the flames at his feet occasionally incinerating those unfortunate to have been caught in their wake.

"You have met Kyros of Memnon!" ​

His voice boomed out with unnatural amplification. His body lifted confident and erect as he hovered meters above the fighting, his hands outstretched to his sides to allow the god's to empower him once more. Burning orbs coalesced into spherical suns within his palms, and his eyes glowed so bright that peering into them was akin to staring up into the great stars above.

"Son of Tithonus! Of Owumila Pride! The Unconquered Sun of my people!"​

He swept his hands across the canvas beneath him, the deliverance of the god's divine fire enveloping monster and men alike with a wall of terrifyingly unnatural fire.

"And you shall perish beneath my flames, by the will of my ancestors and the gods above!"​

Djinn Rizzla | Bastard | Hyperion | Gorogoth ​

 

[Djinn Rizzla]

At last he stood among the disorder a of the government offices. He loyal troops marched the ineffectual bureaucrats out to their homes where they could be watched and monitored. He had no concern for a retaliation. Not from them. He was concerned about very little in fact. The vast majority of his people had been slaves, and though they called him emperor now, it was because he had earned that in their eyes. And he had earned it. From the gladiator pit revolts of asteroid base zeta-six-six-one. To the shipyard liberation of imperial orbital three point one six two. He had led them out of bondage and away to glory. He had found them ships, weapons, armor, and most of all glorious purpose. They knew in their hearts that he would fight for them, and so, they would fight for him in return. Ranks were based on merit. And as such, all had a place and the ability to rise. Just like it was in the salt mines of the Republic, and the arena of tears of the mandalorian empire. He had weathered them all and through focus, determination and sheer will, he had accomplished the impossible.

He took his massive sword from his back in one smooth motion and clove their massive conference table in half then defiantly sat in the center chair as one of his troops, a Kaleesh woman he had met in the salt mines, came in.

"Orders for us, Glorious one?" She asked with a deep bow. He didn't force her to stop. It was wrong to deny people their own ways of respect and honor. To do so would be to dishonor their traditions.

"Have the fleet continue to jam all communications." He said as he spun his sword in a circle as it stood tip down, "And by Crom send reinforcements to any trouble areas. Belkaden belongs to us now. The people must accept that or be removed. We have no place for those who refuse to stay out of our way. Then, bring all of my generals and commanders here to plan our next target. And plan for wine. We've all earned it."

"As you wish Emperor Rizzla." She bowed again and left to carry out his orders...

Bastard Hyperion Gorogoth Kyros of Memnon

 

[Hyperion]

The abyss did not speak to me again that day, I could almost hear its mocking laughter slither through the low hum of the bridge.

"A transmission from the Emperor's retinue, Captain -- they are summoning all commanders to the planet." Proton called out from his seat. "Shall I send for a shuttle to be prepared?"

Great.

I could feel Corde's piercing-blue gaze on my back, assessing me like a cadaver. She knew well how much I disliked setting foot ashore, wherever that may be -- the decks of ships and the vast sea of stars was my home. I waited for a moment.

But she said nothing, uttered no words of encouragement, nor even a friendly advice veiled beneath a sarcastic remark. We were still building a rapport, trying to. She had been the previous Captain's first mate aboard the Dominator, perhaps the one most deserving the commission among the Iron Fleet, but the letter of the ancient law had snatched it from her.

"Go ahead, Proton." I said, turning towards the bridge's turbolifts. Corde's eyes followed me all the way until the lift's doors shut.

The commanding officer is ashore. XO Corde has the deck. XO Legate has the Fleet.

The stench of fire and blood, of soot and ash welcomed me to Belkaden. There was a distant familiar sense to it all and I wondered if the urge to spit away the ratchet smell, turn and leave back to the ship was not something I was actually... taught.

But the abyss was no benevolent ruler, nor a caring sage. It was a crazed tyrant, a krayt dragon hoarding its secrets.

I passed through the horde of liberated slaves, now serving as the standing army of Rizzla the Destroyer. There was a hundred, maybe more, different races. Races I could not even recall ever seeing until the Emperor had freed us all from servitude. All bound in fealty to the Destroyer.

Reluctantly, still yearning for the stars, I joined the Emperor's gathering among the rest of his commanders and personal retinue.

Bastard Djinn Rizzla Gorogoth Kyros of Memnon ​

 

[Gorogoth]

And you shall perish beneath my flames, by the will of my ancestors and the gods above!

A clash of ice and fire erupted, flames licking nearby as the prophet cooled water in the surrounding air. The cooling condensed water formed a protective icy barrier against the onslaught, offering a brief respite from the assault.

Under strain, the Terminus Houk leaned forward on his large war scepter, his heart racing to maintain his meager alter-element abilities. In the heat of battle, all understandably took the approaching monsters as enemies, triggering a swell of violence across both sides of their lines and chaos across the field of battle. Unwavering, the Malformed Host Crusaders fought for their lives, determined to earn their names in her golden glory against all who stood against them.

With claws extended, blades drawn, and pure wild abandon, they battled relentlessly, but it was clear they would not stand against both sides for long. Sensing this, a radiant golden war scepter plunged into the ground, its glow illuminating the tumultuous battlefield ahead, bathing it in a divine force light.

He had spoken of the sun. The Unconquered Sun of his people. Sun met Sun.

The golden image of their 'flawless' goddess elevated above the attacker's and defenders' eyes, whispering her sweet promises of riches, legacy, indulgence, and excess. These words, like honeyed venom to the mind, were blinding in beauty and temptation toward greed. If only they turned on those around them and joined her in glory, all they could crave would be theirs. The hearts of the greedy were vulnerable, for she spent so many years compelling the weak of heart, twisting the truth of what she offered.

How many would be compelled to turn upon their kind? It only took one among the unprepared masses to cause panic and chaos. If any looked closely through the force, they might see a powerful ghostly spirit nearby, the one behind the grandiose displays of force light lingering over the chaos.

"Kyros of Memmon. Behold the Gilded Commander of the Sceptre, the Herald of her will." Not above or below, his god was in his hand! He pointed his weapon directly at the other Champion, blazing her divine purging force light toward his very soul. Kyros of Memnon

Tag: Hyperion | Bastard | Djinn Rizzla | Kyros of Memnon

 

[Bastard]

Deliver Us From Evil

Djinn Rizzla | Hyperion | Kyros of Memnon | Gorogoth ​

The stench of sulfur clung to the earthen corridors Hyperion dubbed the chromite mines. Such a thing did not bode well, but my oath demanded more of me than cowardice, so I dove deeper into those silent depths alone–as I had done so many times before.

Droid parts littered the tunnels. They still sparked occasionally, casting myriad shadows across the room at uneven intervals, but I paid them little attention. Deeper within the caverns something stirred. The corridor shook as pebbles fell from the ceiling, dislodging tiny puffs of dust. Its movement sent ripples of maddening shadow across the psychic winds. I steeled myself, envisioning a bastion of invisible power all around me.

Malignant shadow met Iron as amber light pierced the barrier between realities. The sulfurous stench grew stronger as spectral hands began to claw through the fabric of space-time.

"By Bogan's bloody cock!" Snarling at these apparitions I drew my blade. "Back to the Hells with you!" I threw myself among their ranks. My umbral blade flashed left, then right, its force-imbued edge cutting through their incorporeal forms like rotted fabric. Cries of pain howled around me, joined by emotions of stark terror and pleading fear. These souls were damned long ago, and in their final bid to escape whatever prison awaited them, they hoped I would turn my blade aside.

Hope shattered within their eyes beneath the shadow of my weapon.

There would be no mercy. There would be no pain. Only the force awaited them, and I drew those psychic winds to my will with absolute intent. Every inch of my body felt stronger, more alive. My senses sharpened. A thousand thoughts flew through my head in a matter of seconds. Their spectral forms disappeared around me as the Soulstealer held within my grasp drank of their essence completely. Their might became mine as a sensation like euphoria flooded my every cell

I howled as I charged deeper into the depths.

The stench of rotten eggs only grew stronger with each raging stomp. Durasteel scraped on stone as my ragged race sent me through the earthen maze in a blur. I felt it. Within the heart of this mine, lingering on the edges of our reality, the entity responsible for all this waited. And it felt me. Our minds touched for only an instant, but even an instant was long enough to catch glimpses of its accursed realms.

Flashes of the damned stared up at him.

Bathed in flame. Bathed in pain. Bathed in loss.

Their mouths oozed a mixture of scab and blood as their agony-filled screams called out to me. Horrid abominations stalked among them, feasting on flesh that slowly reformed. Distant figures loomed over the madness. Hands the size of homes fell among their stricken victims, lifting them like toys to be played with. Some disappeared into their titanic mouths. Others splattered against the burning stone across the raging cavern.

And then I stumbled into a greater cavern and the visions disappeared. A creature of the nether loomed above me, a swirling portal of Dark Side energies raged amber as a monolithic hand not unlike what I saw within the vision began to reach into our world. It swung about blindly in search of something.

Leave.
​

My gaze rose to the beast and I hefted the blade. "No."

Then you will die.​

Spoiler

I join to booze with an NPC after next Rizz post.

 

[Djinn Rizzla]

​

The sounds of energetic movement and laughing filled the government building as Djinn watched out the tall windows of the governor's office on the third floor of the building. He had tried sitting at the desk but it was built for a much smaller being than he. No matter, he had his sword sheathed at his back as he watched dropship after dropship land and disgorge his people. From workers to builders many came and began unloading materials.

Finally the construction ships began landing near the city and began setting up.

​

Djinn nodded to himself and turned to begin greeting his generals and commanders. He still needed to hear the rest of the reports.

"Get the construction of the fortifications underway as soon as possible." He told his aides, "We have a lot of work to do, and the warriors need their celebration. If anyone interferes, crush them."


Bastard Kyros of Memnon Hyperion Yagetaka Gorogoth Rika Hiro Dante Iblis Dash Farstar Legate Serpentis

 

[Serpentis]

As the faithful Gorgoroth and the formidable Kyros locked in their titanic struggle, Kiara rallied those who wavered toward a glorious destiny or a bold ballade reaching its final act.

The ghostly apparition behind the force light materialized further, her steps radiating pride through the carnage, elegant and refined on battlefields. Kiara concentrated the Malformed Host, her kin in torment. Pointing towards their prize with an outstretched hand, and urging them toward the city ahead.

"Do not waste your strength on each other while plunder and riches lie ahead. The galaxy is ours to despoil and take by the throat," she declared, her voice resonating in harmony, a soft chorus on a summer's day. She projected far and wide, the glowing rise of her sun-drenched visage.

"The glory and honor belong to you; their hearts are weak, and their minds falter. Seize eternity—it is yours," or be lost to fate.

With a unified roar, the Malformed host disengaged and focused on the defenders, hurling themselves across their lines in a display of splendor, one Kiara Keth appreciated. Their armor outshone their ugliness, and their bravery a mask for their troubled past—all fighting by her command, her husband's absence keenly felt, and her brother's pitiful submission long overdue.

Hyperion | Bastard | Djinn Rizzla | Kyros of Memnon

 

[Astrid pentoghast]

Djinn Rizzla Bastard Kyros of Memnon Hyperion Yagetaka Gorogoth Rika Hiro Dante Iblis Dash Farstar Legate Serpentis

Astrid walked across belkadens surface a lioness amongst prey how easily the both invaders and the invaded could be brought to heel of she wanted but that wasn't why she was here now. While she could more than likely take control of this newly forming "empire" she saw the potential power this djinn rizzla could wield. He would need a wife an heir and she could supply both if his empire grew and he proved himself worthy of her hand. As she walked through the capital she used the force to make a clear path to djinn a one woman parade as both invaders and the invaded knelt down before her.

She walked the whole way unbothered exerting her control over the population as a half dozen warriors who allegiance to djinn began following Astrid to the capital building she exerted her control over most in the capital building except djinn walking into the room djinn was in astrid sat in a chair a a dozen or so feet away from the huge man before her. The six warriors flanking her three on each side in a line prepared for combat of djinn initiated it. "Your future holds great promise or great ruin I could help you both stay alive and help drive your enemies before you but I would want to sit beside you as we do so" she said sitting there awaiting his answer.

 

[Djinn Rizzla]

The big epicanthix sat and observed the bold woman for a moment. She had paraded in as if already a queen and begun asserting herself. She was not the first to promise power to him. Many offers of power, wealth and influence had been thrown at his feet since he had led the revolts and amassed an army, nay an empire and taken it across the infinite black. Most had been trying to bargan for their lives. Some wished for control or prominence. He had granted nothing to those. The few he gathered close were those who could stand beside him. The few who would better his newly founded people and increase their safety. None had offered to be his queen.

It was no great secret that he loved women and wine. Often together. But he had not met one bold enough to propose a union beyond the carnal. Perhaps she did not know what she asked. To sit at his side, it meant a throne. Perhaps he was misinterpreting her words.

"You ask to sit at my side while we conquer." He said his deep voice calm and infused with the confidence of one who had lived through arenas and fighting of the most brutal sorts. "You have clearly snared my warriors with a spell, witch woman, but what besides your beauty do you think to offer me that I can't grant myself, or buy at every port between here and the hydian way? Speak freely, woman. I do not harbor ill will toward wizards and witches with honest tongues."

He leaned his great arms onto his knees and readied himself to pick through a politicians words. He had not become a leader by being a fool.

Astrid pentoghast Bastard Kei Amadis Kyros of Memnon Yagetaka Rika Hiro

 

[Bastard]

Djinn Rizzla | Kyros of Memnon | Hyperion | Gorogoth | Astrid pentoghast ​

The room swelled with an impossible heat as the sulfurous winds of the nether assaulted our world. Incorporeal creatures wreathed with hellfire marched toward me with outstretched arms. I could see their flesh melting off the bone. Other horrors pierced the amber light with misshapen limps wrought by only the darkest nightmares. The Abomination danced above it all, its third arm weaving strange symbols in the air from the crackling amber portal held aloft by its other two gnarled and cracked arms.

Melting limbs clawed almost uselessly at my plated form, if not for the intense heat that threatened to cook my very flesh. I stumbled back and thrust my arm toward them all with a snarl. Invisible winds lifted the flaming corpses from their feet and sent them tumbling head over heels backward over a sea of malformed shapes. Disgust propelled me within the ranks of these monsters.

I drew deeper into my abject hatred for these pitiful things that would dare to cling so weakly to life. Another wave of telekinetic energy pulsed outward. It carried corporeal and the incorporeal alike out of sight, clearing a path toward the portal-holding nether beast.

"I have seen battle the likes of which you could not begin to fathom with your alien mind, creature." I spat out each word as if every syllable tasted of rot. "These wretches you've summoned are what? The remnants of Sith-Imperial troopers? Have you dragged the whipped and beaten dogs of hell before me?" Another surge of energy carried me through the swarm, but what little strength their bodies could manage broke apart against my psionic bulwark.

That very same power saw me through the air like a screaming banshee, my blade of darkest midnight cleaving a bloody wound through where his third arm connected to his neck. Gripping tight to the oblong limb, I reversed my grip on the sword and drove the weapon down into the wound over and over. Each strike heralded an ear-splitting screech of agony, so I continued until the thrashing creature crashed into the stone some thirty feet below us.

 

[Gorogoth]

Hyperion | Bastard | Djinn Rizzla | Kyros of Memnon | Astrid pentoghast​

The tide of battle remained uncertain, but the Malformed host secured their place in her eternal glory. Like a golden-tipped spear, they broke through the city lines with unshakeable faith and belief in their cause. Ready to raid and plunder her riches to ensure their place among the growing throng of warriors.

Their prophet, a beacon of her glory, followed in their wake. Striding over those who fell before him, he leaped into the trenches with his war sceptre, breaking the will of any who resisted inevitable salvation. A golden blanket of runic battle armor and light covered the way as the Gilded Commander of the host threw himself at its walls. Pulling at the metal with a hundred hands beside him, ripping, puncturing, and clawing at the last hope of protection. The metal resisted, and the defenders atop its embankment held firm, their spirits to defend their homes not easy to overcome. But no wall could withstand the faithful, they climbed, lifting each other over like brothers in arms, and spilled into the city.

Claiming the plunder and riches as a tribute to the rising Emperor and fulfilling the story their goddess had foretold. Another Keth creation, but from a different hand. The glassing of Eshan's wound now bore new fruit from Kiara, as suffering often did, provoking the Echani spirit constantly an eternally bad idea.

They chose buildings based on their outward appearance, guided by their goddess's vanity and desire for outward radiance. They prioritized temples, stores containing jewelry or other trinkets, and gold for its religious significance.

The host began amassing tribute in the city's center, set against its ongoing battles; large crates were arranged and laid out for inspection.