Contest of Balagoth [Primeval Dominion of Mavericka - Acolyte Tournament!]

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Spoiler

Objective A
The Primeval have descended upon this world in the spirit of Balagoth's Season, where the religious celebrations shall take place upon this foreign world in the form of a Tournament, attracting the rich and famous with an interest for the force. These guests are powerful directors and owners of companies that can influence the local politicians.

They are here for a show they never will forget. The Primeval organized the tournament for the wealthy upper class, both providing entertainment as well as a subtle hint to the true power the Primeval represents.

Those gathered are given dark promises to be taught in the dark arts in exchange for pulling the strings of their government to fall in line with the Primeval. The truth of Sargon shall be opened to the blind!

Tournament Participants:

[member="Evan Kenner"]
[member="Felista Rakk"]
[member="Einar Shadowmane"]
[member="Naga Itesak"]
[member="Artemis Exor"]
[member="Vhaeri"]

Bracket:

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1UfcKydNKLdLuGOj-C74xdO3uNXWhLvxgARpSv12fWG3aC2RSfpbeVWo38psFchtjXkc-cJYiCpar8yzg

Objective B
Negotiations. Zambrano the Hutt, newly self-proclaimed Black Prophet of the Rift, goes to meet with the government and tells them that he wishes to celebrate his cultures holiday celebrations here! .... oh, and he'd also like the planet and all of it's inhabitants too.

It's time to choose a side. They can't stay neutral anymore. Either they sign a treaty with the Primeval allowing them a self-government, but only under Primeval supervision, or they will face an invasion from the Primeval. He has sent the ultimatum, and left them to deliberate with Primeval representatives and guards, while he goes and initates his Contest of Balagoth.

Objective C
Sabotage the droid factories.

Since this planet stands proud and independent, The Black Prophet will need a little help with his 'negotiations'. Primeval Agents must infiltrate and blow those droid factories sky high.

Once that is done, the Warlord of the Rift can cross his fatty arms and patiently accept the begging and humiliation from the government as they realize they are being forced into a treaty without their droid factories to reinforce them.

Objective D
Do you own thing. Shoot Kolto, or whatnot.

- Mavericka -

The Black Prophet meditated as he piloted his organic ship within the confines of his Cognition Throne, hovering above the world in secluded harmony. Then there was the chaos of the rest of his fleet arriving above the pathetic world of Mavericka. The Directory, though disturbed by the recent developments of their Warlord, have finally located him... only to discover that their usual means of control have, entirely, evaporated. The Black Prophet has taken control, and he intends to use it to it's maximum potential. The entirety of the Chiloon Rift Armada (the part dedicated to expansion of course) appeared above the world, poised to obliterate any of its orbital defenses.

Other ships from other parts of the Primeval began to congregate as well, generating an imposing image of poises destruction. The Black Prophet of Balagoth had spoken, announcing the commencement of the Balagoth Season, to be initiated first upon this unfaithful world, rich in resources for conquest.

Eventually the Warlord would land upon the surface of the world, and gathered the apprentices that would accompany him, as he organized the Contest. It would be a short prelude to the far more interesting games of blood and dagger, that the Acolytes would play on this day, on this world, whether it submitted willing... or at the end of a thousand blades.

Sitting upon his hovering Throne, holding his grotesque "Voodoo Stick", composed of both human and animal remains infused with the dark side as well as arcane Magicks, with a necklace of human and animal teeth, and a new skull like tribal tatoo upon his face, complimenting his sith markings. It was a temporary paint of course, so it was not always applied... in fact, it would only ever applied when his presence was demanded upon important assemblies... such as the commencement of Balagoth's will.

"Acolytes! Initiates! Have you prepared yourselves for Balagoth's will? This world must be baptized in your fallen blood, from your delectable wounds! It must be baptized with the compliance of this unholy earth," The monstrous being boomed with his voice, as he and his newest procession entered the government building... perhaps their were guards? It did not matter, they were likely droids anyway. The meeting would soon begin.

 

[Evan Kenner]

Objective A: Evan's final act under the will of "Balagoth"
Personal Objective: Participate in the Tournament, learn something, win or lose, just don't die so we can get the hell away from this group of religious zealots
Allies: Primeval, for now
Enemies: [member="Felista Rakk"], his opponent for the tournament
1/20

Evan stepped away from his starfighter as he observed his surroundings. He was quickly summoned to the side of [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] with the rest of the Acolytes of the Dark Side.

Evan knew he had learned a lot in recent years, but he never thought he'd hear himself admit how horribly wrong he had been by letting the Dark Side consume him so deeply. He even felt faint signs of his fall upon his face. They would appear as scars, but to the young chiss, they felt much deeper. Mental scars more than physical.

Vassara was right...Nefertari was right...they all were. The Dark Side corrupts overtime. I have gained no satisfaction in learning from it. It just feels...wrong now

He simply awaited for the pompous, grotesque hutt he was supposed to consider his "leader" to direct him toward his battle so he could leave. He had some apologizing to do, some redemption to seek.

Masters, I hope you may find it in your hearts to forgive me...I have not only wronged you, I have wronged myself.

 

[Aleksandyr Gaillard]

Objective: A - Wait her turn.
Location: The summoning grounds.
Allies: No one.
Enemies: [member="Evan Kenner"] or [member="Felista Rakk"] ; whoever wins.
[01/20]

How long has it been since Artemis had seen her homeworld? Too long. After being brought to Korriban and tossed into slavery at the Sith Academy, Artemis now found herself in some sort of twisted tournament honouring gods and madmen. She knew nothing of this Warlord of the Rift or whom he stood for, the Primeval to her remained an utter mystery, one she wasn't keen on solving anytime soon.

She gazed upward at the sky, a few white clouds flew overhead. With clear weather, she didn't have to worry about rain or storms getting in the way of her inevitable fight. What the acolyte did wonder was who she'd fight, they told her nothing of how this worked... Only that she'd be told who her opponent was when the time came. Those around her didn't seem particularly frightening. There was a slender Chiss, and a tall man being the most notable.

If she had her way, she'd take the Chiss over the Valkyri any day.

Until the time came to fight, Artemis kept her mouth shut and waited.

 

[Felista Rakk]

Objective: fight
Allies: primeval.
Enemies: [member="Evan Kenner"]
[1/20]

I stepped into the arena. I wouldn't be up against Evan until I defeated the beasts. I'd fought a lot so far, but the Rancor was next. The beast trundled out of its cage and into the pit. It's roar shook the audience, and prompted the loudest cheer if ever heard. I ignited my lightsaber and ran at the monster. I jumped up and spun my blade around into its hand as it tried swatting me down. I landed and it hand followed. I stabbed upwards before the hand came down on me. I flipped back and ran up its arm, slicing its neck and landing begins it as it crashed to the ground. The crowd gave a standing ovation. I smiled and walked back to the waiting room, where I would wait for my fight with Evan.

 

[Evan Kenner]

Objective A: Evan's final act under the will of "Balagoth"
Allies: Primeval, for now
Enemies: [member="Felista Rakk"]
2/20

Evan's jaw dropped when he witnessed the woman he was supposed to face, that girl he met briefly on Bosph who seemed...somewhat incompetent, in the arena, slaying all sorts of beasts.

Wait, what? Are we slaying monsters too?!

She was then pit against a rancor. Evan was certain she would perish. She didn't seem very skilled. She seemed to be a young acolyte without much experience.

Yet...there she went. Slew a rancor...as if she had done it dozens of times before. Something seemed wrong. There was no way that was possible for one so...untrained. He crossed his arms and sighed heavily.

Well, maybe now she's exhausted. Should have taken a ton of effort for a meee acolyte to slay...a karking rancor. By the Force, the Dark Side is so unpredictable...

Evan did not dare meet her gaze until he stood before her to duel before the audience. If he were lucky, perhaps he could defeat the acolyte rancor slayer. How powerful would that make him look?

For now, the young chiss awaited his order to enter the arena, feeling a bit more tense and nervous than before as he watched some workers start cleaning up what remained of the rancor's massive corpse...

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Objective: Consecrate this world in Sacrifice
Allies: Balagoth and Sargon's Truth
Enemies: Sacrilege
[2/20]

The 'meeting' was quick, and harmless for the Hutt. His serpentine body coiled within his Throne as he appeared above the first pair of acolytes within he stadium recently converted for this purpose. This was a religious event, and this world would see it observed, or be destroyed. The massive dark beast towered above them, and raised his magick stick to the air, bones rattling against it. His massive skull painted face pressed deeply into the atmosphere of the coming duels, reveling in the death of animals. He tired of simple minded beasts however, and knew it was time. The magick stick of differing remains, hit against a metal gong of some sort, to garner the attention of those assembled here.

"Contestants of Balagoth, onlookers to the sacrifice, infidels of Mavericka... look upon these lowly warriors of the Primeval faith, and despair to the truth they will share this day... let them begin!" His voice boomed into the stadium, announcing the first bout to begin, against [member="Felista Rakk"], [member="Evan Kenner"], [member="Einar Shadowmane"], and [member="Naga Itesak"] to begin drawing blood from each other. Elsewhere, Primeval Agents were either negotiating with the hostage leadership, or destroying droid factories... but those were cursory to the Warlords interests. It was through faith, not through power, that anything could be gained or accomplished, and this is what he would show to this world.

Soon, the Primeval acolytes who among them was the greatest... the benchmark for their success in theirs hopes to succeed. This was the way of the Rift, this was the way of the Primeval.

 

[Rapax]

Objective: A - Waiting his turn
Location: The summoning grounds.
Allies: No one.
Enemies: [member="Einar Shadowmane"]
[01/20]

Naga entered the arena with the weapons which was his lightsaber and dauntless blade and stood to face his opponent, Naga had determination surging through him like a river just released from its prison. Naga's adrenaline was at an all time high right now he was wanting to face his opponent and dig his teeth into his flesh until he is broken and he will do anything to see that it becomes a reality.

 

[Enoch Zambrano]

Objective: Obj. B; Negotiate on behalf of the Primeval.
Location: Mavericka's Capital
Allies: Great(est) Uncle [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]
Enemies: Generally speaking, everyong.
Post: 1/20

"I'm sorry, my Lord Zambrano, but my people will not sign a treaty." the man before Enoch spoke, holding out his hands in a, 'what can I do?' fashion, before steepening them back together. Without showing any emotion, Enoch stared at the man. Currently, they were sitting at a desk, across from each other. A high ranking politician, with some daft name Enoch couldn't remember, sat in his comfy leather chair, his back to a massive window overlooking the planetside. Enoch, too, sat leaned back. Yet he was in a rather uncomfortable one, nothing like the politician's, and his heels were disrespectfully resting on the desk, legs crossed at the ankles.

"Oh, but you see, that's not going to work." In what appeared to be one swift move, Enoch stood up, and moved to sit on the edge of the desk, his back slightly turned to face the man. Enoch looked down at the desk, and picked up a pen sat in a little cup. He began twirling it in the air as if he was writing, and spoke, "You have two choices. You can either sign our treaty, and spare your people. Or..." Enoch quickly snapped the pen in half, "...your planet will burn, and you will die hearing the screams of your wife and children, knowing you could've saved them." During his little speech, Enoch's voice had remained monotone, and hee dropped the pen, looking down to the man.

"Now tell me, which do you choose?" Enoch truly doubted he would get this man to comply. The young man might have to go over his head, or perhaps through it. That was always more fun. Unfortunately, the Zambrano was right, and the man simply stared back at Enoch, his face stern, yet with just a hint of fear. "You have two standard hours." Enoch stood, and quickly left the mans office. Now, what other politicians could he torture?