Public A Little Elbow Grease - Rebuilding Crakull (BotM + Public Welcome)

[Maestus]

BotM: Darth Solipsis Zachariel Steelblood Darth Kinrath Eldervine Koleric Kyrel Ren and anyone else I may have forgotten or if you just wanna jump in!


Her ship set down about 2km outside of Alkonost. Once a shining beacon of Croke wonder. Now, it looked like an advertisement for a gang shoot out movie scene. Buildings destroyed, reduced to rubble. Dead Croke carcasses were everywhere. Truth be told, the little creatures didn't have much of a chance. The Brotherhood is legion. The Croke not so much.

Plumes of smoke burst forth from under the ship as the ramp lowered. Preceeding their master came the 40 Chosen. As always, units of 5, 8 units in total. As their boots hit ground, each unit moved to either the right or the left. When the last unit formed up in the middle, their line was perfect. Behind them now, came Maestus. Black eyes rimmed with red flames, her skin glistened and shone in the light. She wore her trademark black robes, with red stitching. On her belt now, were 2 lightsabers. Each vastly different looking. One, feminine and slightly ornate. The other, purely function over form.

She strode down the ramp, hands clasped loosely at the small of her back. She moved through the rank of the Chosen, until she stood before them. Looking past them at the ship, almost as if waiting for someone else. Then she addressed her warriors.

It was not long ago, that Alkonost and all of Crackull were pristine. Strong. And then came the Brotherhood!

She raised her voice, and the Chosen did the same. Shouts of triumph rang through the air.

Now, our work begins. We will rebuild this planet. To my liking and ends. It will be a shining bastion of the strength of the Brotherhood, and we shall make it so! First, we start with Alkonost. Before rebirth, we must remove. Remove that which is dead and broken and of no use. Your orders are simple, my Chosen. Scour the city. Finding hidden survivors is the first priority.

She paused, and glanced over at the ruined city behind her. Then her lip curled into a vicious sneer.

Bring them to me.

 

[Alars Keto]

Kryll sat among the smoking ruin and blood soaked debris that was Alkonost. The Brotherhood of the Maw's conquest over the Croke had been swift and absolute, without a hint of respite the Croke Reach fell to the Hidden Maw, world by world. It was glorious.

The marauder lieutenant remained seat around the small bonfire lit up of charred raider bodies and mangled corpses of Croke alike. The flames were stoked by the occasional brute warrior as they danced before Kryll's eyes, he sat silent, contemplating their next moves. He had heard the stories and knew the call was being made to rebuild. A troublesome chore, one he was not quite used to, he had become so used to killing and destroying he wondered if his hands could do any such thing other than bringing ruin.

He sat up from his slumped position, his go-to's on each flank, and the newcomer Gren Blidh not too far off with his Croke trophy. He could still hear the chants for Maestus , the Warlord who brought down the shields, being called in the distance in celebration. She had claimed this world as he own domain, much as Lirka Ka had on Rhand, and Zachariel Steelblood with Osseriton. He stood up slowly, eyes scanning for anyone in particular as slaves began to unload from transports in the distance.

He wondered if The Mongrel had collected any new trophies, it had been sometime since he had a word with him.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Crakull, Ruins of Alkonost
Tags: Open

With a crack of his neuronic whip, Tu'teggacha sent slaves scurrying over the rubble-strewn streets.

This was the Ebruchi's first visit to Crakull; he had been on Explume Minor during the invasion, negotiating with the Lugubraa elders of the Legion of the Leech. Those all-consuming aliens were now ravaging the rest of the Croke Reach, supported by the deadly battle fleets of the Brotherhood, and that meant that Tu'teggacha's work with them was done for now. Here on Crakull, however, there was much that remained to be done. Just as it had transformed Osseriton and Lao-mon, the Maw would now transform the former Croke capital world.

Truly, the Avatar of Rebirth was at work through Maestus and her servants.

While marauders hunted down the last survivors of the attack, those clever Croke who had managed to evade the initial invasion through their powers of deception, Tu'teggacha set his laborers to the task of excavating and scavenging the ruins. The Ebruchi did not know what Maestus's vision for the planet would be. Zachariel Steelblood had made his throneworld of Osseriton into a colony of perpetual fear and bloodshed, a prison with barbed walls in the minds of the prisoners as well as around the penal colony itself. But every warlord had different whims.

Tu'teggacha tried to guess at the Twi'lek warlord's intent. Her words were interesting, different from what he might have expected from a servant of the Maw: 'rebuild', 'shining bastion', 'rebirth'. When Lao-mon had been captured, its principal city had never been restored; instead, a ramshackle war camp had simply been constructed among the ruins, squatting on them like a scavenger hunched over a corpse. But it seemed that would not be Alkonost's fate. Perhaps Maestus envisioned a dread palace, a structure built to last, a fortress to resist the Brotherhood's foes.

But it was not his place to ask what or why they were building. Tu'teggacha was valued and respected among the Brotherhood for his unique talents, but he was not the equal of any warlord, and he had not right to question any of their desires. Instead, he would motivate the slaves to follow whatever plan Maestus laid out for them, whenever she chose to reveal it. For now, the labor crews stripped the ruins of Alkonost of anything of value - technological salvage, metal scrap, valuable chemicals. All of it would be brought before Maestus, a tribute to her glory.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Crakull, Ruins of Alkonost
Tags: Open

In the crazed eyes of the Mongrel, the battle for Crakull had been something of an anticlimax.

At first, the Croke and their deceptions had been a significant threat to the Maw, their camouflaged turbolaser defenses cutting down countless charging marauders. But as soon as the Brotherhood had learned to see through their little tricks, the entire defense had collapsed. The tiny Croke had illusions, technology, and nothing else; to The Mongrel, that made them hardly worth the effort of fighting. It had been more frustrating that glorious to hunt down the camouflaged aliens. There had been no sense of clear victory despite the burning cities across the Reach.

They had won, though, crushingly, and the marauder was doing his best to feel like it. His necklace of fingers and ears had become rotten in the months since he had taken them, and so on Crakull he had worked to modify it. He discarded the wasted flesh, instead stringing the finger bones of the marauders who had thought him weak along the leather cord. Between them were the chitinous legs of dead Croke, pulled from their pathetic little corpses. It inspired less immediate terror than obviously severed flesh, but it was far more practical.

The Mongrel seldom stayed on any one planet for long, moving on with the Maw's great invasion fleet as soon as the battle was done, but he had lingered a while on Crakull. Although he had been personally anointed by the Dark Voice, and did not serve any of the Warlords directly, he had remained behind to do the bidding of the warlord Maestus by his own choice. He sought to vent his frustration at the Croke by ensuring that no survivors lingered in the ruins. Perhaps he would manage to scavenge up some interesting loot or trophies along the way, if he was lucky.

Accompanied by a squad of hardened marauders, he roamed the rubble-strewn streets, kicking over debris in the toppled buildings to look for hidden basements and bunkers. They carried powerful life form scanners with them, searching for telltale heartbeats and respiration among the devastation. This species had been declared all but worthless to the Maw, too difficult and too pointless to break to their will, and so it had been marked for death. For a warrior like The Mongrel, reborn of violence and pain, that was the kind of decree he preferred to hear. It kept things simple.

He desperately hoped that he would find survivors. He wanted to crush them beneath his heel. Literally.

 

[Maestus]

The Heathen Horde worked tirelessly. Or rather, they were forced to under the heavy lash of Tu'teggacha . Maestus marveled at the way the slave master controlled and motivated his charges. He was the true unsung hero of the Brotherhood. His ingenious training methods made the Maw the force they were today.

After some time spent recovering any stray Croke and scavenging for anything useful, Maestus gathered everyone together so she wouldn't have to repeat herself.

Crakull is ours now. And I will rule it. I have a vision for Alkonost and the world.

She studied the eyes of those gathered. Searching for weakness or any wavering in their determination. She found none. This pleased her.

Knowledge and information are power. Without them, we would be lost. With no purpose. And we must not sit back and grow lax and lazy. Then we are no different than the Sith Empire. Holed up on their planet, clinging to old, dead ways that failed.

No! We shall usher in a new age, fueled by as much information and knowledge as we can glean. The Croke have amazing technology. Technology we can harness and use to further the mission of the MAw. To be a force of change.

Tu'teggacha . Build a prison. Design is your decision and yours alone. You will be master second only to myself. None may question you or your methods.

Alars Keto . Build an arena that serves two purposes. To train our marauders and to serve as a source of entertainment when we need amusement. Gladiatoral battles to the death. We must cull the weak. I will NOT abide weakness in my horde.

For those without an assigned task, you are to remove any and all debris so that the rebuilding can commence. If we can make use of the debris, ensure it is safely kept.

The Mongrel . Any remaining Croke are to be brought to me. They will be put to new tasks, that advance the Brotherhood's mission of galactic cleansing. Whatever manner you bring them to me in is of no consequence. I need their minds unharmed.

The rest of you. Begin setting up communications. This is to be our most important duty right now. The ability to intercept transmissions will prove key to our mission.

She stopped then, and surveyed the gathered horde. She had plans, and wanted to see them come to fruition. She had a vision. Of the growth of knowledge, the increase in information. Information could be bartered, bought and sold for what the Maw needed at the time. As well, the intercepted transmissions could lead to all manner of things. More knowledge, ships, slaves. The Maw would consume all.

 

[Alars Keto]

The call had been made, her claim laid forth upon the ruins of Alkonost. The edicts of Maestus were clean and clear, the planet would be remade in the image she projected forth. Kryll had been tasked with overseeing the creation of a grand arena where tournaments would be held, fights to death, blood stained sands, and crowds of insane cultist chanting praise to the dark mistress responsible for it all. He could see it now, such sights would be marvelous and grandoise in scope. The civilized powers of the galaxy would never allow such a marvel to exist, the reasoning on morality, a weakness long since discarded by those of the Brotherhood.

Kryll set to work, breaking from the encampment for the slave masters, acolytes of the Taskmaster himself Tu'teggacha . He would need their forced labor and steady hands in the construction of such a marvel. Designs were drawn up over datapad, schematics of the structure and the pits that would serve to hold those who would fight. Exotic fauna, enemy prisoners of war, defective droid combatants, hell even areas for the warlords themselves were added in to ensure this monument would fix the vision of the Dark Lady Maestus . Alkonost was her gem now, the ruins of the Croke civilization buried beneath the titan of industry forming in it's wake.

"Move it!"

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Crakull, Ruins of Alkonost

The Taskmaster bowed low at Maestus 's pronouncement, absorbing the new task with a gleeful wriggle of his facial tendrils. It was... unusual for the Maw to care about such things as knowledge and technology; it was far more common for them to simply ravage, kill, and loot the remains. But that was part of the Brotherhood's strength: each Warlord brought something different, a different philosophy or tribal organization that strengthened the whole. It made them unpredictable, and allowed them to benefit from diverse ideas and sources of power.

Although Tu'teggacha was most at home in the deep dungeons of Gehinnom, he could not deny that he relished the opportunity to design a prison to his own specifications. The Holy City was a powerfully oppressive place, full of despair and dark energy, but it had not been created with his specific techniques in mind. To best break a slave, despair had to be balanced with hope, a hope that was carefully controlled by the taskmaster. Over time, exactly what the victim hoped for would change, even as despair and pain stripped away the old identity.

Slave soldiers ended up hoping for safety through obedience, and for vengeance upon an uncaring galaxy. The Brotherhood of the Maw delivered both of these things.

And so this new prison would have it all: fighting pits, beast pens, torture chambers... but also places where those who responded to the dark process, who broke down and embraced savagery, cruelty, and blind faith, would be publicly rewarded. It would be a jewel of Maestus's new fortress world, a place to create the most dedicated of marauders... and to hold and break the most dangerous of prisoners. It would take considerable time to complete it to the Ebruchi's exacting specifications, so he wasted not a single second, sending slaves scurrying to begin.

The arena, of course, would be left to Alars Keto . It was a task for which the crazed, sardonic marauder was well-suited; Tu'teggacha had no doubt in his mind that the man was well-suited to blood sport, and had the twisted imagination necessary to create a truly memorable gladiatorial stadium. The Ebruchi directed that Kryll have full access to whichever slaves and lesser taskmasters he required to complete the project. Fortunately, resources were plentiful. The ruins of Alkonost provided all the raw materials they could possibly need to build Maestus's dark designs.

"It will be done, my lady," Tu'teggacha swore, cracking his neuronic whip at his cringing slaves.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Crakull, Ruins of Alkonost

Maestus 's orders for The Mongrel were almost what he'd hoped for. The mighty warlord instructed that he was indeed to hunt down the last of the Croke survivors... but she wanted them alive, their minds unspoiled. The marauder sneered, cracked lips pulling back over rotten teeth. He could not imagine what possible use the little slugs would be; their petty illusions had proven to be little defense against an enemy like the Brotherhood. But it was not his place to decide such things. The Warlords spoke, and the marauders obeyed. Her will would be done, for it was the will of the Maw.

With his squad of toughened tribal warriors all around him, each of them equipped with a handheld life form scanner, The Mongrel advanced deeper into the ruins. One of his warriors stayed at the back of the group, equipped with a bulkier but more powerful backpack scanner unit, re-checking their work as they went. The Croke were small, and the marauders had discovered that suppressing their own life signs was within the power of their magic. It wasn't an illusion, since it worked on technology; it was literally control over their bodies, slowing their heart rates and respiration to near-undetectable levels.

The key word, of course, was near-undetectable. With a determined search, the wretched bug-snails could still be found. Sure enough, though the men with handheld scanners had already moved on, the marauder with the backpack scanner held up an arm and called out an alert. The Mongrel turned back, regarding him curiously. "Well?" The other marauder indicated a patch of rubble they'd passed, the ruins of a defensive structure. It had once been a turbolaser tower, one of the network of planetary defenses that had been obliterated during the ground invasion. Beneath it, faint life signs.

Calling over the other marauders with a sharp hiss and a snap of his fingers, The Mongrel began to dig through the wreckage, moving still-warm fragments of durasteel beams and pulverized duracrete. It took them fifteen minutes to clear, but sure enough, they found it: a trapdoor set into what had once been the floor of the tower's interior. Waving the others back, The Mongrel produced a block of detonite and knelt beside the hatch. He carefully worked the lumpy grey explosive around the hinges, using just enough to pop this trapdoor like a cork without killing whoever was inside. Not yet, anyway.

Scrambling back, he drew a pistol and took aim. Once precise shot set off the detonite in a sharp, loud bang, and the trapdoor collapsed inward. The Mongrel hurried over to the hole in the ground, drawing a glow rod out of his satchel and dropping it into the darkness below. A crooked smile spread across his ugly, scarred face; they had struck aurodium. Half a dozen Croke lay concealed in the small crawlspace below, probably an electrical maintenance shaft. The temptation to grab them and squeeze them apart in his bare hands was overwhelming... but he managed to resist. He lived to serve the warlords. That was all.

So instead he drew a stun grenade out of his satchel, primed it, and dropped it into the shaft. There was a burst of electricity, and whatever awareness the injured, malnourished Croke still had was momentarily swallowed by unconsciousness. The Mongrel reached down into the crawlspace, seizing the aliens with what gentleness he could muster and stuffing them into a sack. Then he handed the sack over to one of the other marauders. "Bring these little wretches to Maestus." A promising first catch, but there might yet be more. With a whistle, he summoned the rest of his squad back to resume the search.

 

[Maestus]

As the torture master and bruisers Alars Keto and The Mongrel set about their tasks, Maestus turned her attention to the rest of the decisions she had to make. Where she would live when home. How to repopulate the planet. Most importantly, she needed to get crews busy removing all debris and rubble so the rebuilding could begin in earnest.

She rounded up her Chosen 40 and stood before them.

Your task is simple. Take the tribe and clear all debris. Anything that can be reused, either by us or the Maw is to be saved. If it is unusable, destroy it. Take no electronics or research material. Mark where they are and report back to me.

She turned away, no reason to dawdle. The Chosen would not question her. They knew her rage and fury was magnificent. They were wise not to provoke her. That was the primary reason the Chosen worked so well. They were capable of thought and decision making. But only because they knew what was expected of them. And Maestus left no room for failure or disobedience.

It was not long after, Maestus had busied herself in the ruins of one of the Croke's technological buildings. She paid mind to the building materials or dead bodies littered about. She moved to a room with all manner of computers, research equipment and....What was this? A lone, ballsy Croke attempting to....Do what?

Maestus used her prowess with Illusion to make herself seem invisible. She walked towards the Croke as the thing punched buttons on a console. With a swift grab, Maestus had the Croke's slimy neck piece in her hand. It started screeching and thrashing about, but her grip was true. She gave the creature a good shake, and it stopped with the thrashing.

You exhibit a bravery not seen in the battle. The majority of your species has been killed or enslaved, yet you have eluded capture. you are either crafty or simply lucky. We shall see which. Tell me, Croke, what are you attempting to do?

The thing became belligerently silent. Glaring at Maestus with hateful eyes. She gave it another, harder shake. It screamed and began to cry.

Deleting our research and studies. it can not fall into the hands of someone like you!

That is precisely what I wanted to hear, you vermin.

Croke in hand, she turned and left the building, and went in search of Tu'teggacha . She moved through the remains of the city, a grim smile on her face. She had plans for Alkonost. And for Crakull as a whole. She envisioned a world brimming with The Dark Side and power. To get that power required knowledge and information. Both things that would come in time. There was heavy lifting to be done right now, and a lot of blood, sweat and tears. Preferably someone elses.

Upon finding Tu'teggacha she lifted her hand, letting the Croke dangle for a moment. Then she held him out to the slave master.

I need this one alive, and his mind unbroken. It's body remains yours to do with as you please. I only require it's brain unharmed and it stays alive.

 

[Alars Keto]

The combined planning of the Taskmaster Tu'teggacha and Alars Keto was magnificent, the aid provided had doubled efforts as they moved onward. The construction would be on schedule and magnificent in design. The was unwanted territory for the lieutenant and the Brotherhood as a whole. Reconstruction, devotion to furthering their technology and science. Was the Warlord planning on civilizing them? Or was she looking boldly into the future at untapped potential waiting to be harvested?

Kryll did not care either way. The Arena had become an obsession, would he intended to enter once finished and seize the right of champion.

The crackling of whips and thunderous sounds of machinery and slaves laboring was becoming music to his ears. He could see why Tu'teggacha praised such and mastered such a divine craft. He sent unspoken praises his way, it was as if he had found faith once again. How the mighty Maestus would be pleased, perhaps it could rival even that of the Goshen War Camp!

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Crakull, Ruins of Alkonost

Tu'teggacha turned from surveying his latest project as Maestus approached, his facial tendrils drifting into a curious and open pose. He could sense the dark certainty driving her actions, but he could not yet divine their purpose; she had only just set him a task, one that he and Alars Keto had given a promising beginning, and yet here she was seeking him out again already. It must have been something unanticipated, something that had altered her plans. Based on the wicked satisfaction that radiated off of her, it had altered her plans to her benefit.

The Ebruchi bowed low as the warlord approached, then straightened, cocking his head to better hear her words. He blinked his huge, bulging eyes as she held out a Croke before her, suspended in open air through her dark power. He listened carefully to her commands even as he watched the little alien, wriggling helplessly but determinedly in his invisible grip. "By your order, my lady," he finally replied, bowing again. Reaching out with one of his knobby, long-fingered hands, he snatched up the Croke, carrying it with him as he turned back to his other task.

It was clear that this particular specimen had knowledge that Maestus valued, or she would not have phrased her instructions the way she had. The taskmaster's tendrils contorted into an Ebruchi's version of a smile. His next step would be to keep the creature from escaping, though he would have to be careful to do so in a way that was both effective and wouldn't drive the little wretch mad. Would it be better, then, to break its multitude of little legs all at once, rather than one at a time? Less entertaining, but less risk of breaking its mind as well.

Unfortunately, he would have too little time to make a long-term study of the Croke physiology and how best to torment it. Given that his focus still lay on the massive task of rebuilding Alkonost to the warlord's specifications, he would have to go for simple, quick, and dirty solutions for making the prisoner... pliable to whatever questions Maestus asked of it. No matter; he would still draw enjoyment from causing the little alien suffering, even if his enjoyment had to be brief. "A quick but thorough shattering of the will," he promised, and smiled once again.

Maestus would have no trouble with her prisoner once he was through with it.