Faction Broken Mirror, Primeval Shriek [Primeval Resurgence]

[Zambrano the Starweird]

High Above Gulamendis, near the black hole at the edge of the Aegis System...​

Zambrano clutched the saber in its hands, inspecting the last relic of the Sith. Or at least, what should have been the final word in the book regarding their order. Taken from the body of their fallen Emperor, its nephew two incarnations ago. Only now, where the Primeval should reign, in its place a Sith Empire stood with that very Nephew alive and well ruling supreme over a galaxy lost in the chaos of other heretical nations. All these thoughts passed through the mind of the Starweird, floating in the void before the black hole that passed nearest to Gulamendis, an astral body closest to Sargon, eclipsing the distant light of Aegis, the body closest to Nogras, while the Prophet of Balagoth contemplated the flaws present in all of Halrormalenth's unbelieving creations.

Taking a meditative pose, remembering the trials the ancient Starweird had gone through to unite the faith of the galaxy before, it knew what it must do now if it hoped to do so again. After escaping the time-bending Chiloon Rift, the Starweird leaped through hyperspace to a place most familiar, a world of tombs and warriors of death, a holy world to the Primeval. Here their crusade began so many years ago, and here it would begin again, anew, but not as it did before. This time, it would be different. Pulling itself deeper into the force, and bringing itself closer to the Black Hole, the galaxy sped around the Black Prophet. For years the force flowed through its incorporeal body like a conduit, feeding the voice that the Primeval Witch would produce when finally the true faith of the galaxy seemed to be at its lowest.

Silence would fall over the idle form of the ghostly visage of the Black Prophet, and for years this was how it remained, the pinnacle of relentless timeless patience...

​

A telepathic shriek of a size unheard of for a Starweird echoed across the stars, a powerful and painful banshee cry that passed over the minds of the unfaithful without event, but rattled the minds of the true faith, no matter how little of faith. The echo crossed the gulf of this faithless reality faster than every ship that was ever built, and with the ferocity of a rampant plague, except instead of imparting death befitting of Balagoth's prophet, it instead offered a choice and an opportunity.

"Hear me, faithful of the Lost Ones, the Black Prophet of Balagoth. The death and rebirth of the Crusade is upon us. To affirm your faith to the Old Way, make a pilgrimage to a world untouched by the faithless so that we may start anew..." The voice reverberated painfully in the skulls of Primeval worshippers young and old, the known and forgotten, and through the pain of the voice, a map appeared intuitively in their mind to a world, not on any star charts. At least, on no star charts that existed in this galaxies history...

Micah tol Powl , Ellie Mors , Darth Assimilus , Sankt Yora , Vaulkhar , The Hive Mind ( Akestos , Xrgggnka , Gorogoth , Kylraya , Sere Reene , etc.), Anyone else interested in a Primeval storyline on an unknown fresh world.​

 

[Kylraya]

Hive Impulse: Observe Reconnection With Lost Clusters
NPCs: Various small Terminus Flux Drones of different species nearby, some armed with swarm claws. Many drones being much smaller than you think.
Items: Terminus Barab Armor
Tags: Zambrano the Starweird

Telepathy. A calling. Communication preferred by the hive, the seeded planetary nerve clusters hearing it long before it reached the minds of those nearby. The calling only reinforced the impulse to come to this place.

Long black Talons extended, carrying the swarm mother forward, Terminus limbs making her ascent and digging chunks out of the ground. Beating to a drum unheard to the naked ear. There was no stormsurge sign in this place, no cloud in the sky to mark the sign of arrival from beneath the earth, there was instead higher mind impulse for her to arrive alone and see what would transpire. Alone yet the hive’s voice echoed in her mind. Many would think the hive had been silent and it had these years, but the infection agents had never stopped evolving, for no cures had been found.

As she approached the meeting place. We could speak of a girl with a gift for bonding with animals, of a captured force user, or of a weapon. Today we speak only of a monster or what was left of one. Armored from head to toe in natural terminus barab armor. Updated with evolving biological design, the result of constant experimentation and mutation of the virus itself upon many millions of tiny hosts, many smaller than your finger.

A hive which purpose now might have come to fruition. The millions of infected drones seeded around the galaxy for this moment to be adorned in faithful service. Would the directive from beyond the rim come or would the microbe being carried lay in waiting for another eon. Time would tell if the Hive was to follow this higher calling, if it would return to shadow, or follow a different more bestial path entirely. Insects beneath the earth moved and readied themselves if more would be needed in this place.

 

[Ellie Mors]

THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW

She had never quite belonged in the Primeval, though that possibly wasn't the most accurate way of phrasing the distance she'd felt in the short period she spent with the group after waking from what amounted to stasis. A group that harbored fanaticism in belief of the supernatural in a way that goes beyond the commonly accepted view of the force and invites worship of beings on a higher plane, a belief that was not altogether dissimilar to her own. So what, then, distanced her from this religious body?

To her it was simple.

The Primeval was filled to the brim with those that believed themselves beholden to beings above their station - for the woman that had long endured being called a witch it was quite less vertical in difference for her, and in truth believed she sat among those whispering stars as any equal would. It was why the shriek that was carried across the stars was met with visible disdain, though she left for the bleak void of space all the same for even the stars find themselves trapped in the tragic play of those tiny few that dance in their twilight.

 

[Hiro Statura]

​

The call was sharp. It made the hair on his neck stand. The Host Lord called. To those outside of the Primeval, it might have seemed as this Deviant had lost what little he had left of his mind. Many, those very few who escaped the purgoratry of the Primeval's authority. Those whom had been deemed as "Unholy" had believed that there were no gods. No superior power.

It was a wonder they didn't surrive to tell the tell of their philosophies. The warlord pounded his fist into his flagships command throne, and simply raised his hand. All those aboard the relic, the last surviving Marr Class Star Destoyer or should have been the last, had felt the call as well. And so very soon, Deviant watched as his warship slipped into the blue embraces of hyperspace.

 

[Xrgggnka]

Deviant Val | Ellie Mors | Zambrano the Starweird

Hearing the call the warbeast was beckoned onward, the thunderous noise of three rancors shook the ground, the wildlife around them scattering long before they were even in view. Instinct taking them toward the landing site, to secure it for the potential arrival. In the largest of the three, there wasn’t higher reasoning but there was understanding within the warbeast's simple mind.

This place was to be protected.

Coming to a loud stop as foliage and earth were ripped asunder in their approach, they towered above the landscape, clearly marking the spot where the gathering could take place, and clearly defending the territory around it from their vantage point. There was simple metal sheets of durasteel armor upon the lead rancor, its large toothy maw growling at the others for dominance, and there was a harness on each beast for them to be used as transport if needed. Usually these beasts would have ripped each other apart being this close together, or at least fought for dominance but something else had a hold over the giant creatures.

A concept of faith. Bred into them. What faith was to a beast was akin to saying good or bad. Safe or unsafe. Protect or kill. These concepts were wrapped up in the telepathic signal sent to them all, something they had been trained and fed since they were young, this understanding kept them from tearing those of faith apart. The only danger was, making sure you were faithful and true to the ones arriving... if this was the day the old structures were remade anew.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

The world was small, fragile, and verdant green, just as Zambrano remembered it. That description could have been any world in all the countless worlds of the galaxy, the hidden gems of the universe. This world was a virgin world, the progenitor of its own life, unseen by any intelligent eyes until this hallowed day. Part of the reason being the similarities it shared with Gulamendis, namely the black hole the entire solar system orbited, and the nebulae matter surrounding it. Protected from interference for millennia by its obscurity, and lacking any intelligent civilization from attracting attention to it. It was as flawless a creation that Halrormalenth could manage, without giving it its proper people.

As it has done with many things in its own galaxy, Zambrano would rightfully correct for the mistakes of the gods. It would be this doctrine, a purpose greater than simply to "find the gods", that would lead its people to greatness. What good were gods if they left you without guidance? What purpose could this realm serve if not as the cauldron by which new gods would rise, and supplant those original titans? This was the dream of the Black Prophet, this is what it saw, the Great Unblinding was less about the faith of the Primeval, and more about the knowledge that through a great enough change, those mortals instruments of the Lost Ones shall not only find their deities but become them. Or they would disappear, and parish along with the rest of the universe, left in the perpetual darkness and emptiness of Sargon.

Falling through the sky, the ghostly Prophet of the Primeval descended to the fresh world, capturing some of the void along with it. Its arms waved around it in a well-practiced dance, that had the semblance of beauty even with its practitioners haunting appearance. The air of the world was never breathed by the incorporeal being, as it was pushed away in a perfect swirling sphere. To those that would meet its arrival after some time of travel through hyperspace, it offered a telepathic greeting, with only a smidgen of pain.

"It is through you that the Primeval returns, welcome!"

Kylraya Ellie Mors Deviant Val Sankt Yora Darth Assimilus Micah tol Powl Vaulkhar @Others

 

[Kylraya]

Deviant Val | Ellie Mors | Zambrano the Starweird

The hive waited for impulse. Kylraya tried to perceive. Free will had its advantages, but also more intricate questions to answer. What would a hive be to faith, the two were a strange pairing and also not. A hive was absolutely faithful to its self-preservation, countless organisms controlled by instinct forming a mind. Why would there be faith to an outside force? She did not know, only the feeling of faith spreading through her being. So far the Terminus introduction into the galaxy had been limited, it had met with resistance obviously but also many setbacks as might be expected by such an eccentric entrance into an ecosystem of races, factions and star systems

While the hive mind itself didn’t construct these complicated thoughts, the many millions of smaller organisms and hives scattered around the galaxy had done, and so that was the consensus. Survival, evolution and of course hunger… but now also faith? Why?

Kylraya’s taloned, spiderlike form hammered its terminus limbs across the landscape toward the sphere, she passed the rancors guarding the area, huge lumbering brutes. Immediately the thought occurred to her they would make fine drones, but larger animals were so difficult to bond with or replicate compared to less complicated species. Instead, her natural instinct to bond with the smaller animals beneath the earth had brought several of them to the surface, it was a limited bonding but it allowed understanding to grow. Mimicking what she was bonded with, her characteristics became that of a small curious creature looking at the orb.

Connection… her connection. Now the hives connection… In the back of the mind, the Hive Mind’s many nerve clusters on various worlds were reawakening. Faith? Why? PERFECTION. A biosphere of PERFECTION. Suddenly reinvigoration of countless nerve clusters and smaller hives lacking drive lit up across many different worlds.

Kylara’s talon-like black limbs curled inward, she looked toward the sky at the ships approaching, she looked back to the orb, but overwhelmingly it was the biosphere that made the Swarm Mother walk backward as if drunk with new impulse.

They had engineered faith into the biosphere. Faith in the perfection of creation.

 

[Konsentrates Mnium]

/// Fluttering torches cast shadows all about the chamber, movements and shapes appearing within the blaze just out of the corner of the eyes of the vaults inhabitants. Within a circle of light stood a thin, pale figure, the sheen of oils reflecting upon its shaven scalp. The figure raised it’s tattooed head and stared at the seated beings before him.

“I have come here, without resistance and without hesitation. I would hear of the crimes you accuse me of.”

His voice echoed off the stones of the chamber before one of the hooded figures before him stood, staring down from its seat.

“Konsentrates Mnium, former keeper of the Great Library of Ossus, you stand accused of betraying the very code the Jedi have followed since our orders birth! Taking up weapons corrupted by the Darkside of the force, stealing away relics of our ancient enemy from the vaults of the Jedi! You will answer these charges to the satisfaction of this council and you will submit to whatever punishment that it deems appropriate.”

The following silence was filled with tension. The figure within the circle turned and stared slowly, meeting the eyes of every figure sitting within the galleries, gazing upon them with such intensity it was as if he was not merely looking into their eyes but the very depths of their being.

“I see none here whom have the authority to judge me.”

Ripples of sound filled the gallery, first murmurs and then raised shouts as many of the council stood and threw accusations upon the figure.

“Quiet! We will have no disharmony within this council!”

The accused figure turned and levelled it’s terrible gaze upon the speaker.

“I know you, Garrol. Master Garrol, of the Jedi Council of Ossus no less. So, this is why I am called, because I chose to keep what I myself found within the vaults? Because I refused to surrender my findings to another!?”

“What you found should have been destroyed long ago!” Now it was the speakers turn to shout, his robes rippling as he stood and threw an accusing finger at the figure. “You will return it and make amends for your arrogance or face the censure of the Jedi!”

A wry smile broke upon the figures face as it continued to stare at the speaker. A black tongue flicked out to lick it’s lips before responding, it’s voice a low hiss.

“And if I will not? What then, Garrol? What if I refuse to submit to the petty rulings of this…conclave?”

“Then you will pay for your folly, Sorceror and you will be cast into the darkness, away from the light of the force for all eternity.”

“And what” continued the accused “if I do not agree to submit as willingly as I arrived?” As the figure spoke, it began to reach within the folds of it’s robes, withdrawing a black tome, bloodstained chains holding the grimoire shut. Still smiling, the figure began to loosen the clasps of the chains, the screams and sudden movements of those within the gallery ignored.

“What then?”

Opening his eyes, Konsentrates retreated from the memory, the same smile still upon his face. Often did he tread within his own memory, moments trapped within like flies upon pins, held in place until their owner loomed forth to inspect them.

It was not often he returned to that specific memory, when he had turned fully away from any chance of a different path, when the various futures within all the verses had coalesced into a single, solid thread. But it was fitting, for now he was beginning a new journey, another step to his destiny.

He had heard the call to the planet, a summons from a familiar voice he had never heard, ending one journey as another began, the eternal cycle of the sentient storms that existed beyond the bounds of mortal comprehension playing out wherever he looked. And so, he would await, until they were all gathered, until the true journey could begin.

Kylraya Xrgggnka Zambrano the Starweird Ellie Mors Deviant Val

 

[Mr Black]

Upsilon 5, An Unidentified Cyber Syndicate Frigate Class ship arrived into orbit.
@All

The sleek grey corporate ship in orbit looked functional, stylish enough outwardly to make an impression but not much in the way of luxury. Black sat in his leather chair and looked out the viewport, his grey desk completely clear of any clutter. Tidy and organized. There was no one else in his personal observation lounge, just the secretary outside dutifully working away at her own desk.

Bzzzzt came the intercom.

“Sir we are in range.” The secretary said over the comms.

“I understand. Ready the droids,” Black replied, turning in his chair to watch the descent.

In the ships cargohold 100 HRD droids sat ready and motionless waiting to come to life. While onboard limited cyber syndicate corporate security roamed too and fro, all dressed in armored suits and ties going about their business. There may be a few HRD’s active on board, but you could not tell them apart from the regular guards, which was the point.

It was by chance or design on a long range recycling run that the Ruusanian had been contracted for at the edges of known space, he had come across a potential lead on the Terminus virus. Tracking the orb and call from the beyond had led the executive here. His sources had said that this planet was perhaps the key to the entire mystery behind it all.

The world was unlike anything he’d ever seen. For some reason he’d been selected. Unknown to him, perhaps it was his faith in the efficiency of a better galaxy, where nothing was wasted, and all was reused. This belief might be the reason he was chosen to descend upon the planet, that or he was useful and motivated. He already had faith, he just didn’t yet know the messenger. All he cared about were answers. The message he had received was to come prepared, and so as Upsilon 5 touched down upon the ground, a wall of steel HRD droids started activating ready to proceed.

The HRD’s were droids with the appearance of being human, all programmed with unique directives in line with the Cyber Syndicates core policy of recycling and reusing what was to hand. This place had no debris, no waste, it was a curiosity to the sensors and his cybernetic eye.

Bzzzt

“Sir we have landed, and your personal escort is waiting.”

“Thank you Selane. Please ready my environmental suit, and test the atmosphere for toxins.”

 

[Hiro Statura]

The trip to the surface was not pleasent. The small shuttle shook and dangled into the atmosphere, billowing steam. Inside, the warlord paced the small confines nervously. The Host Lord hadn't spoken of a world such as this. It was dangerous. The entire night of the Primerval hadn't arrived in the strange universes, the Universe in which the Sith Empire existed. It disgusted him.

When the shuttle landed, Deviant almost jumped out of it and ran toward to meet the Host Lord. In his hand lay the stolen Sith Sword of the fallen Darth Talous, a Sith Lord whom had been victim to Deviant's raids.

"Host Lord, Great Prophet. What is this?"

 

[Ellie Mors]

The Primevals resurgence was a sight to behold indeed.

Faithful and fanatics alike arrived on the world below to greet the return of their last host lord - though it was immediately obvious to those who recalled Zambrano the Hutt that this was someone who was both the same and yet altogether different. Like she to her lover, whoever this crier was shared this similarity with her, although she could understand that the similarity only ran skin deep. Braxus had coaxed her out - her true self - from the endless stars and pushed for her crossing into a plane that was never meant for her, but the cost had been the loss of the woman that had shared her identity, the living dream made real replaced by its progenitor.

Zambrano, she could tell, was no such entity, but he was also not the same man that had lost his sanity after the war with the Mandalorians had divided the Primeval. It interested her, then, enough to leave her shuttle far in the sky and walk amongst those that congregated to their host. What speeches did he dream up, what words would honey his lips? Did he dream, as all had dreamed, of deities that would never come - or did he wish for a future of apotheosis, of godhood?

She stepped between two larger men, whose features she cared not to notice except to ensure that she wasn't immediately in clear sight, and captured the Starweird in her gaze, moon-like eyes fixated on his terrible appearance as an artist would to the paint on a canvas. His voice came to her, though it was an internal voice, and likely came to the rest who had arrived with a strained greeting, but it wasn't the tone or the greeting itself that informed her of the fate woven for this new congregation. The words, or perhaps rather their phrasing, within the greeting was a message all its own, giving importance to those in attendance.

'Is he?' She thought, but allowed it to go unanswered as she waited for more from him.

It would be pointless to make an assumption so early.

Zambrano the Starweird

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

A familiar voice met the ephemeral creature as it drifted, a questioning voice that came from the same mirror Zambrano had broken. It was one of incredulity, an understandable emotion coming from a reality in which they had ruled all, no star untouched, every hidden world discovered, razed, or converted. Faith demanded the attention of every living being, their collective force energy at Zambrano's command, it's cult absolute in its ability to peer where their eyes were never meant to be. The reality they found themselves in was in disarray, and faithless, their energy in the force a divided pittance of such a state it had taken the Elder years to sift through their minds to deliver the message that would capture their attention. So many faithful died waiting to receive the summons, Zambrano considered it a miracle anything recognizable showed up to this ancient jewel. Then, a question was posed, one which this universe begged an answer for.

"Host Lord, Great Prophet, these are meaningless titles without a Host or a Great Prophesy. I was both once, but now, like you, I lack both. What you see before you, what you see congregating here now, are the last remnants in this galaxy of its true faith. The faithful come in all shapes, sizes, and their faith likewise comes in many forms and amounts, some deeply different, and depressingly little." The empty eyes scanned across the horizon, seeing unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar beasts as if the nature of this world itself rose to Zambrano's presence and the presence of those he called here. The Crusade that would be lead this time would not be fought entirely by men of the sword, but by beasts of burden, and forces of nature. The sword they would wield would not be of forged metal but by sacrifice and conviction.

"Even the least of us are needed, the doubters most of all. For through them, our conviction will be tested. I did not conquer a galaxy to stare the gods in the face only to be swatted down to a godless dimension where the blind rules over the seeing. My spirit shall not rest until our Crusade is finished, and we have ripped from the Primeval Gods their eyes of power and dash them across the cosmos. The Gods are not lost! They cower behind the Great Rift between us, in greedy fear that which they had no intention of creating shall come for them. Let the gifts they have lent to you in ignorance be the knife-edge we use to cut open the divides between us and omnipotence." The ghost of the Primeval seemed to flow in fury of vengeance, and its voice rose and fell in pain. Pain was the message the "Great Prophet" seemed to speak, the pain of its loss, the pain of the Primeval's loss, and the pain the Primeval would inflict on everything else until it was snuffed out or accomplished its goals.

"My people, this world shall be the first to hear this call to arms, I as its Warlord, not its Prophet or Host Lord. Yet for those with word and faith stronger than the metal the faithless carry," The Lightsaber of the Last Sith Emperor Kaine Zambrano floated before the Starweird, "Let this be our first Prophesy: This Blade shall bring an end to the last faithless of the Primeval, when at last it is returned to its Master." The blade ignited and illuminated the ghastly white banshee, floating in the void with its swirling arms, and crossed legs. Its face was a menacing reflection of the owner it spoke of in ivory and bone. "If you are moved by this, then I am your Prophet. If you should follow me for what I seek, then I am your Host Lord. If you should follow me for the sake of battle, then I am your Warlord. Choose, or leave to become one of us in the next life."

Kylraya Ellie Mors Deviant Val Sankt Yora Darth Assimilus Micah tol Powl Vaulkhar Konsentrates Mnium Mr Black @Others

 

[Ellie Mors]

At first she smiled, smug with satisfaction that he was bringing a message of independence from a pantheon that was as distant from its flock as it was from itself. That smile then sank, now an amused smirk, as he spoke in frustration of an action that sounded entirely like an act of her brother's. But then that smirk fell into a frown, and her brow furrowed into a deep crease, as he got out the rest of his declaration.

She could feel the conflicted anger and grief at play in his words, though she felt at the most basic of levels for his sense of betrayal, but all she could hear was heresy and unveiled threats. She had rendered herself vulnerable by bridging the gap between the source of her creation to this meager galaxy, and this was what those that had cried out for so long wished to repay her with?

Dash her across the stars like a sacrifice across the stones beneath a cliff?

Here she stood, clothed in the quivering flesh of mortality, as vulnerable as the man that stood beside her, with no more desire than to aid the Primeval on a path of enlightenment and free them from the shackles of reliance on beings that never shared her care for them, and yet he spoke with such certainty that they had been abandoned. She fumed, silently, as he spoke of supplanting them rather than rising to them - to drag those they envied down rather than to pull themselves up. This was independence, certainly, but it was not the way she had wanted them to walk.

Angered though she was, the path she had chosen to take was to walk among them, not above them. If it came to a bitter end in which violent children wished to murder their parents, then she would deal with it when it came to pass - but she would not force them into a path they were not willing to take. The stars would not speak to this angry mass, there would be no retribution, no retort - Braith remained quiet and wondered if she could influence them as an eager follower might, if she could persuade them to strive for greatness without their gods.

Zambrano the Starweird

 

[Gorogoth]

Perhaps one of the apex of the terminus creation walked before the others of the swarm present, with more free will than almost any, a necessity for the application of planetary travel and hyperspace calculation across vast differences. Bound of course by the swarm's consensus but not its nuances on the concept of faith.

Ellie Mors “Serve something greater than their form.” The concept of all and their (not hive) was perceived by Gorogoth but no sense of true self, instead an intricate understanding of a billion organisms collectively, the Hive Talon…. No the Hive prophet? Was released to fully speak, even if the words were disjointed partially. There were ecosystems in balance across the galaxy, like a turning cog in a biological machine so vast it defied even the Hive’s expanding understanding and all played their part. Others might know this as the force. All the swarm knew is here this planet was a keystone of perfection, and the prophet before him had led them here, where another prophet might be born, given an understanding of what faith meant.

“Speak for more. Speak for will. Will follows. Prophet has consensus.” A pledge, from more than those few beasts of burden that had arrived here within this force witches circle, prophets decree or distant calling. A golden armored form covering a twisted terminus creature, twisted by another Man's ambition and greed. A Sith who had lacked faith in anything but suffering and pain could be corrected in the most unlikely way.

Depending on the gravity of this calling more pieces might follow, others and greater still. For now one goldened armor terminus bred Houk, truly a broken piece of creation, stood before the Prophet of Balagoth ready to be made whole. To be more than just the beasts and more than a hunger to fill a void that could never be sated. Many of those arriving were broken pieces, some were just looking for that one thing missing, or had heard the calling in passing.

In the end it did not matter… they had come home.

Ellie Mors | Zambrano the Starweird | Others.