Faction Draelvasier | Kindling

[Primal Architect]

Draelvasier holdout
Balamak
Outer Rim Territories

- Kad, Juggernaut Elite

He pulled the hood down over his eyes, avoiding the gaze of the crowd of alien filth around him. Moving shoulder to shoulder with humans and other pathetic aliens made the large Drael feel sick, like a heretic. Kad hated hiding, most Draelvasier had not adjusted well to the need for subtlety. Himself included. All throughout the Galaxy, hunters sought vengeance against the Draelvasier campaign across the Outer Rim. He and his brothers all wished to fight, but they knew it would be a pointless death. On a planet like this, at least there was a great forest for them to hide in. Still, coming into civilised territory was always dangerous. But Kad was thankful that other species of the stature of Drael existed.

Otherwise, the tedium of just existing at the moment would become a lot more difficult. The situation at hand made matters far worse, some beast had taken apart their transmitter. Something that, if discovered by the Jedi or Sith would again alert the Galaxy to their presence. It had been eight years since Tathra's disappearance and only now was the Harak had spent years piecing the thing together, hoping to reach out to more of their kin. They knew most of them had been scattered throughout the Outer Rim. But they just didn't know where.

Seven years ago it had been just two of them and it was still just the two of them. But there used to be billions of Draelvasier. That was why they couldn't just fight, they needed to gather. Such was the point of the transmitter, now functioning and in the hands of the civilians. If there was even a chance of risk, it meant everyone in the town had to die. Lots of noise, and they'd have to relocate before anyone came looking.

Kad was trying to maneuver closer to the transmitter when a familiar voice nearly made him jump. For a brief flash, a tall armoured Drael came into view. A broken, messy image that only lasted for a blink. But it was enough for a chill to run down the Juggernauts back. His eyes were wide, frozen for a moment as he gazed up where the image was. The crowd around him was oblivious, half not paying attention and the others were not experts in the sound and look of Tathra Khaeus.

​

When Kad returned to their hideout empty-handed, all eyes were on him. Pulling his hood down as Haral approached, looking concerned and confused, his red eyes scanning Kad up and down a dozen times over looking for a hidden man-sized transmitter. His tongue was caught in his throat, he couldn't tell them what he saw. It could have very well been an old transmission, that glimmer of hope he had - it would be a curse of them if it came to be untrue.

"Where is the transmitter, Kad?" Haral grazed the back of his hand against Kad's shoulder, shoving his broad-nosed face past the Juggernaut, looking over his shoulder.

"It's not out there, Haral. Left it in town still." Kad pushed past the larger Drael, taking off his hood and throwing it aside to some improvised seating they'd come up with. Six months living here, and that was the longest they'd lived in one place since the fall. If Tathra was back, that would change everything. But, Kad couldn't get his hopes up.

"WHAT! Kad, why?" Haral didn't know. He sounded ignorant, angry.

"They've set it up in the center of town and we can't take on a whole town ourselves." Kad wasted no time, pulling a military storage box out from under his bedding. Haral recognised the box, stomping closer.

"No, don't..."

"I'm tired of this running, Haral."

"It's too risky!"

"There's more at stake than you realise. It's worth the risk." Kad stood with the medical beacon in hand. Once activated, it would call out to the nearby systems. Hopefully, another Draelvasier would answer the call, and soon. Or the entire species would feel the wrath of the Galaxy renewed.

Tags: Sethrak | Sylok'Vanari | ​

 

[Sethrak]

Lothal
Earlier

​

Sethrak stood, observing a war table with a variety of chips, figures, and scribbles from various Drael leaders. The Warlock had been planning the next steps for what remained of The Bryn'adul Empire. With limited numbers and no more cloning, their efforts had been futile. Things had gone from bad to worse, and from worse to hopeless. Most planets once held by The Bryn'adul had been lost. At first The Bryn Empire had simply dissolved, and the planets were fought for between warlords, and foreign scum. But now The Drael on many planets had resorted to hiding. They were no longer conquerors. They couldn't even hold their conquests. They were now no better than those they once dominated in war....hiding, hopeless against a more numerous foe.

There had been some success in the eight years since the fall. Sethrak had survived The Nether, tormented with the cries of fellow Drael trapped in the land of the dead...The Killing Fields. But when he returned, his connection to The Force was stronger than ever before. It didn't take long for The Warlock to realize that the longer he was away from The Killing Fields, the weaker his connection became. He found that old wounds wouldn't heal unless he took time in this nether. But, somehow, he seemed invulnerable. So many wounds that should have been fatal, yet here he stood. It was something he didn't quite understand. A gift...or a curse...it mattered not. Sethrak would avenge his fallen brothers. He would fight until he could fight no more.

"Chieftain, there is a distress beacon from Balamak. It is Drael."

Balamak? The Drael presence there was all but eradicated. Sethrak hadn't even considered the planet in his efforts lately. It was a frontline planet eight years ago. It had to be a trap, and action there would cause enough of a scare to The Galaxy for them to pay attention to The Scar Worlds, potentially harming Drael efforts. But Sethrak couldn't pass an opportunity to reignite the fight. If Drael still lived in Balamak, he couldn't imagine how many were deeper into old Bryn space, hiding, waiting for a sign that they had a fighting chance again.

"Assemble a rescue team. Only our best. And contact Gordrak , we may need his assistance."

​

 

[Sylok'Vanari]

Day 1,149 without Weaving
Time: 11:23:44PM
Area: Haunted Straits

Before the Transmission...

The silent breeze that whispered through the cavernous maw of spires echoed across the still water. Ripples protruded from the depths of the sea and the dark unfathomable creatures that awoke beneath were nothing compared to the one that remained wide awake from above. The scent of crushed salt and steel lingered like it always had. Threads of knitted ropes and string hung over the makeshift drying rack, tiny bones and scraps of meat hanging low enough for the dim lit fire to nip at. The fire crackled and when the coals burned their brightly red a new scent would become part of the salty steel mixture. It was the only sign of a successful hunt or gathering. That scent was meat. Only from afar, there was nothing, no one. To the ordinary eye the tiny twenty by twenty-five foot camp nestled just at the base of an inner woven spire in the Haunted Straits seemed abandoned.

However, in the darker shades of the camp remained a remnant of the past. A creature that was once feared throughout the entire galaxy, only to be left to his own devices and in hiding. It was here he had made a life for himself. Or rather, a despicable one.

Sylok'Vanari should have been dead. Much like that of his brother and sister Draelvasier. Only his fate was worse than death. He was forced to watch their once great empire fall before his own eyes. Now, he hid. It was weak and disgraceful. Worse than that, Sylok couldn't shake the deep feeling of regret. The Aeravalin had warned Tathra, spoke out against a few Warlords and even tried to get his comrades to heed his words. They were ignorant, but ruthless. They were exceptional at conquering, but weak in their efforts to succeed against real threats. They were superior, both physically and mentally, yet Sylok stood defeated.

With such a magnificent loss, Sylok had to escape. Finding solace for sometime in the outer rim, he eventually landed on Maramere. He heard of tales that frightened petty humans and other species alike. Tales of ghosts and paranormal phenomena. Sylok was once great at calling out to the spirits of the force with his command of Weaving. In defeat of his people, Sylok didn't just stand defeated, but broken. No longer could he utilize the force, he was an empty shell of what it meant to be an Ashaka. In truth, the only thing that stayed sharp was his mind. It's what kept him alive for the last eight miserable years.

Still, he got to understand the pestilent persistence of other species. The way they work and how they acclimate in times of joy and despair. He hated the admiration he gained for other life, but what really bothered him is how easily he found himself acclimating like them. He started with crafting. Moved on to gathering, like fishing; given the close proximity of water. Lastly, he found the art of hunting to be primitive but pure. Well, when weapons weren't being used to rip apart his prey. That was the only disconnect he had from this god forsaken world, he was still a monster, but ineffective at being one. Sylok struggled with his own gifts early on, when the Bryn'Adul took hold of the galaxy like loose pocket of change. That chaos birthed his usefulness...his purpose.

Now, there was no Bryn, there were no warlords. There were no Drael. There was no Tathra.

So, Sylok hid, biding for a moment in time that may never come. He knew it too. Wasted and wretched, Sylok'Vanari was close to being nothing, without nothing but his crafted trinkets and a farfetched dream of the past. No threads even bothered to visit him now as he sat, like he always did watching the fire burn away the past mistakes in front of him.

Day of Transmission...


Sylok tossed and turned, the loud thumping of his heart played like war drums in his mind. The percussion fueled his nightmare as he continued to relive the crackling buckle of the ground beneath him. The stirring voices of those he lost screaming out to him. Again, just like before it was too late, he tried to jump, but the dream world took him under, yet again. The reoccurring nightmare had been a nasty reminder of his past and the everlasting feeling of falling made his body jerk with tense anticipation. Sylok knew what came next and as he almost hit the bottom of the never-ending fall, a bright shimmering light pierced through the darkness.

Sylok snapped upward, reality focusing back into his current affair. Whether awake or sleeping, Sylok continually seemed to drown in the past. The Draelvasier grunted, his lenghtier limb reaching for one of his many trinkets near his stone bedside. He touched the morphed metal effigy, but again to his own disappointment nothing came to. Draelvasier tech was outdated and pretty much useless without the proper data. It had been wiped clean from effigy years ago. His own father's memory lost to a world that he wished he could burn. Out of frustration, he tossed it to the side. The shimmering metal ricocheting off the wall on onto an oval transmitter.

The decrpyted Drael communication device hadn't been on for roughly three years, but as it rolled, half destroyed a bright array of beaming disrupted lights ignited his hollow home. The static drifted for only a mere second before the illicted image reminded him of his once great leader Tathra. Sylok's eyes widened, the creases under his scaly pupils showing age and tiredness.

"Tathra!?" Sylok's voice exploded through the intertwined caverns abound.

As quick as he heart had ramped up from the incident, it quickly calmed.

Tathra was dead.
The Bryn'Adul was dead.

It had to be a trap. Sylok's mind ran through possible scenarios and as he finally got to his feet, he lightly kicked the same circular device that almost gave him hope. He turned away, lifting a small wooden stick and placing it on the fire. His tall stature allowed him to over look the smaller stone spires that erupted from below. There was nothing but water and tiny indications of the ship he stowed away on below. Of course, he killed the crew once they arrived. He thought about how long ago it had been. Sylok hated it here.

He grinned and turned from the view of the water and gathered his usual things for gathering. A brown satchel crafted from local fauna hide is what he relied on for herbs and other acceptable forms of vegetation. The rocks began to crumble beneath his feet as he started to walk away. Then as if a spark of blazing energy hit him, he stopped.

Stunned at a slight feeling, the feeling.

Sylok cranked his head to the side, looking down at his camp.

Then he heard it...

"On...Balamak..." The transmission replayed. "Kad and Haral....Seeking...More...ZZZZT....ZZZZTT..."


The device went dead.

Sethrak | Gordrak

​

 

[Gordrak]

--- Somewhere near Lothal ---

​

An eerie silence permeated the all but abandoned looking safehouse the Ultras had since claimed for their own. The asteroid field was relatively small but it served it's purpose in keeping this location secure. Gone were the crew that originally staffed it and in their place was what little remained of the once mighty Juggernauts. There were exactly ten of these seasoned warriors left and they had absolutely nothing to show for their sacrifices. It had been their policy to serve as the Chieftains fist but their jaded leader had since withdrawn them without so much as a word. Things had changed for them and, while they still technically served, they would only die for a cause worth the sacrifice.


The Ultras no longer bore weapons solely made and wielded by the Draelvasier. Indeed, they had taken to using whatever they could get their hands on. The same could be said for their armor as it had become patchwork and jury-rigged all so that it might function as well it had in the past. Still, while they might look past their prime from a gear standpoint, they still looked the part as far as masters of killing go. In many ways, it wouldn't have been wrong to experience an almost tribal or primitive thought when looking at them. The cargo bay that they had set up in was abandoned save for a single drop ship, some crates, and what scant lodgings they had created for themselves. The large bay doors were closed, ensuring as safe an environment as possible for them as was possible in an asteroid base. The scattered Ultras continued about their business until a single sound roused them from their almost automaton like state. They all stared toward the only door in the cargo bay that still functioned. Some looked at one another at first but their attention inevitably found it's way toward the door. Wordlessly, as if entranced, they all made their way to the door and deeper into the base. As they walked, they heard it again and again. Bang after band dolling out almost soulfully. The sound of metal on metal. It rang out to them in summons and they had answered without hesitation.


The Ultras filed into what was once the command center for the entire safehouse. In functioned now as something more akin to a throne room and, sure enough, something of a throne sat in the middle of the room. In the center of the room was a large table of sorts that, when activated, displayed a variety of tactical images and reports. Seeing as it wasn't really relevant anymore and power was something of a concern, it now operated as something of a dais. A throne of welded metal, bone, and junk sat on the dais, imperious in its sort of way. The dim red lighting in the room certainly helped as did the figure sat upon the throne. Larger than most of his Baedurin kin and clad in trophies, the thrones occupant looked every bit the warrior king. An array of skulls, bone, weapons, and bits hung from his waist and armor as trophies claimed during their eternal war. To the right of the figures throne was a massive axe currently sat head first on the ground. Judging by the damage done to the dais, this is what was likely making the noise. As the Ultras filed into the room and knelt before the dais, everything had gone silent. As they knelt in silence, they patiently waited for their master to address them.


Gordrak looked down at his Ultras and said nothing. To say they were a pathetic shadow of what they once were was being entirely kind. Battle after battle, slaughter after slaughter, they had done nothing but waste their lives in pursuit of a goal they couldn't achieve. Gordrak was about to address his Ultras when a nearby communications console came to life. Of all the objects located in this command center, only the lights and comms console had power running to them. Gordrak knew who was contacting him and he honestly wondered if he should answer. Was he being called to perform more posturing and subservience? Or was it to finally request he sacrifice the last of his warriors. To claim he held ill will to the Chieftain wasn't quite correct. He had personally extracted the Chieftain himself from the Nether after all. No, it was reticence born of wariness if anything. After several long moments of silence, Gordrak finally motioned for someone to answer.


It was time to see what all the fuss was about.

 

[Kad]

Balamak
Tags: Sethrak | Gordrak | Sylok'Vanari

The durasteel capped boots rapped against the concrete floor, over and over moving through the lens of flood lights. It was halfway through the night and no reply nor sign of other Draelvasier. Haral didn't take long in deciding that that meant there weren't any or that none were coming. For all his crying about the townsfolk in the settlement and whatnot, Haral was apathetic enough to let Kad take first watch. The older Drael had resigned himself to indifference, it was like he didn't care at all anymore.

Kad so no Draelvasier in Haral. But, he knew more about the Galaxy than he. Only two years old when the Empire fell. Kad had no real understanding of the Galaxy until he was forced to learn and quickly. Haral on the other hand, descended as he rose, to the task. His boots moved at a quicker pace back now, disabling the floodlights lighting up the exterior of their hideout.

He'd risked discovery long enough and now, it was well into the night and the risk of being spotted by early-rising hunters grew with every passing moment. Kad was tired, settling down on a cargo box. He pressed the barrel of his rifle into the ground, both hands resting on the butt of the rifle. Red orbs for eyes scanned over the tree line for a hundredth time.

Maybe all the other Drael were dead. He didn't know if that was worse than not caring like Haral.

An hour passed, and then another.

Kad's head had sunk lower and lower, now resting against his hands and the butt of the rifle. If they had to deal with the townsfolk alone, they'd either die or miss a few. Maybe both.

 

[Sethrak]

Present
Balamak, near the distress signal
​

Sethrak stood at the top of the exit ramp, temperate wind beating against his face as the old gunboat slowed to a stop. It was one of a duo, each carrying 30 Drael. There was a time when hundreds of these gunships would roar over a battlefield, delivering entire legions of Draelvasier and blasting enemy positions. Now this meagre duo was considered a significant amount. Every time Sethrak boarded one of the battered gunboats it reminded him of what he was fighting for. It was no longer his mission to exterminate the galaxy indiscriminately, following a blind chieftain. It was no his responsibility to rebuild The Bryn'adul Empire that his brothers had died for.

But Sethrak didn't know how. All he knew was war, even in his governing as Warlord of Lothal, his focus had been on a coalition of the most elite Drael and Allied races in order to continue the war. He knew little of The Draelvasier before Tathra Khaeus' crusade. As Hrajlmak had told him in The Nether, the endless wars were the only purpose of The Bryn. Surely there was more than bloodshed.

The ship finally slowed to a stop and lowered to the ground. Sethrak jumped off, landing with a thud just moments before the ship itself reached the ground. Quickly the remaining 29 from his gunship, and the 30 from gunship two dismounted, and as quickly as they had come, the gunships took off again. They would land far away and await further direction from The Warlock.

The Drael warriors needed no direction. They had been given a briefing before the landing. They were to spread out and close in on the distress beacon...with haste.

The heavy shuffling of sixty Draelvasier warriors grew nearer and nearer to the location of the distress beacon.....

 

[Sylok'Vanari]

​

Day 1,153 without Weaving
Area: Balamak, Near Distress Signal

Night of Arrival...

The churning sound of the rusted ship careened forward, breaking into the stratosphere with a bright warping flame. The stench of human remained after years of it's dormant sleep, even after the few days it took to reach Balamak. Worse than the stench of human was the circumstance in which it was being piloted. The makeshift connections to the computers in front of the Draelvasier were too foreign to understand organically. Instead, frayed wires and tiny innovations made flight possible. Small stretches of odd looking flesh seemed to almost take the main computer over, an ancient form of Draelvasier technology that was used to stow away after the Bryn'Adul downfall. Still, it worked and the beatup ship made due as it bucked into a slower descent.

Sylok hated flying, but the if the transmission was as real as it seemed to be it would be worth the risk of being discovered. He knew many Jedi used tactics to try and lure the remaining Drael into situations just like this. The difference here was the tugging gut of Tathra's image stained in his mind.

It was too coincidental...

In Sylok's mind, it was fate. The lound humming of the landing gear latched safely on the ground, beginning stages of the useless machine powering down. Sylok was already up and moving to the lowering ramp, no clothing could hide what he was and in the dead of night in the tree coverage he had no need of robes. Instead, clutched in his hand was the small orb-like device, the rusted Draevasier device was what brought him here. He hoped Kad and Haral were still alive. He hoped that he was in time. He hoped that if they were alive they weren't captured by the small town he flew over.

Only, Sylok knew hoping had no place in a true Drael's heart. So, Sylok grunted, wiping the pitiful thoughts from his mind before stepping onto the cold earth beneath him. He looked back at the ship, mentally telling himself that Drael ships were far superior and missed them. He looked down at the comm device. His finger nail traced over the center and a tiny ping infiltrated the dense treeline. The signal was due north, less than a mile. His fears were confirmed...

The signal was in the small town ahead. Sylok encouraged himself with defiance, words slipping out in their native language.

"Brothers and sisters, no more Froka."

Sethrak | Gordrak

​

 

[Kad]

Tags: Sylok'Vanari | Sethrak | Gordrak

"Kad...Kad!"

The young Drael jumped, pulling the butt of his blaster against his shoulder as he rose to his feet in a ready pose. Instinct, aiming wildly at nothing around him. Then he realised what had happened, he'd fallen asleep on his post. His head slipped between his shoulders, sheepishly expecting a scolding from Haral. But that flinching faded when he saw the older Drael toting a Kraker. The younger Drael felt the blood drain from his hands, like his plates had gone pink rather than their natural deep red.

"Something, lots of somethings. Perimeter sensors have been triggered." Haral moved into a position behind a set of crates hidden behind a bush, they'd planned for this - set up positions.

Kad didn't think, didn't respond. He ducked behind the tree nearest to him and scoped downfield between the trees. The Drael felt his adrenaline kicking him, his organs working to fuel his bloodlust.

"How many of them were set off?" Kad hissed, looking from sensor to sensor but he couldn't see anything yet.

"All of them." Haral was white-knuckled, grasping his Kraker.

Kad wished he had it instead of a lowly alien weapon. But he had to make do. What was coming for them? An army of Jedi, or alliance soldiers ready to snuff out what was left of their species. He'd said the night before that he was tired of hiding, maybe this was what he wanted. Maybe this would be a final stand for the two last Drael. Kad was ready, finger itching over the trigger of his weapon.

Then they came into view. Kad's jaw went slack, blaster rifle falling to his side as he walked out from the cover of the tree.

"Patak! What are you doing?!" Haral growled from his cover.

 

[Sethrak]

The Drael had been allowed rather close to the encampment before those residing within seemed to notice. Sethrak first faintly felt the emotions of those within. Fear, surprise, and determination were among the most prominent. Then, Sethrak could see movement through his natural infrared vision. Large beings with equally large weapons. Could it be? Those residing within were...Drael?

Now it was The Warlock's turn to feel relief. It appeared that this wouldn't be a trap after all, unless it was that of a rogue warlord. The Draelvasier remnants of The Bryn'adul on Balamak fought on, indeed. This was a pleasant and surprising revelation to The Warlock. Immediately he communicated with his warriors telepathically, "Lower your weapons. There are Drael here. They are Kraerd."

Immediately the seasoned Drael obeyed, lowering their weapons, and now it was their emotions The Warlock could sense. They were optimistic, hopeful, yet guarded. Sethrak shared these feelings...feelings many Drael hadn't felt in a very long time. Sethrak scanned the settlement for a moment before issuing his next statement.

I will approach first.

The Warlock began to walk toward the settlement alone, his forces observing from their perimeter. After advancing a couple dozen feet, contemplating his words and possible scenarios the whole time, The Warlock called out, "Draelvasier! Your Chieftain hails!"

Now it would be up to those within to decide what happens next. Either they will attack, following the directive of a rogue warlord, or they will call out to Sethrak that they are allies. Sethrak couldn't imagine them attacking, not after risking so much to call him here.

 

[Kad]

Tags: Sylok'Vanari | Sethrak | Gordrak

The words both Drael heard made them retreat slightly. Chieftain? Kad instinctively raised his weapon again, scoping down his sight. It didn't sound like the Chieftain, not like he remembered. Had the communication been real? Was Chieftain Khaeus here for them with an armada at his back? Kad looked to Haral, confused. The older Drael rose, using his war whistle to sound out through the forest. An ability only Draelvasier had. If the 'chieftain' replied, they'd lower their weapons again.

"Found em. By sensor six." Haral spoke, voice soft. Like he was processing something as he spoke. Almost sounding confused.

Kad turned with his whole body, throwing his scope over the sensor. Where the Drael had expected a TITAn, instead was a narrow Drael, about a foot smaller than Haral, wearing a spiked crown. If he didn't whistle back, Kad would happily shoot.

 

[Gordrak]

---THEN---

​

The Ultra had returned from the console and relayed the contents of the message to Gordrak. He snorted almost derisively as he mulled the information over in his mind. A drael distress beacon had apparently been activated and now the Chieftain, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to go and investigate. Had the concept of a trap never crossed his mind? Even should the beacon be legitimate, why would he risk himself? Gordrak found his anger beginning to rise but, with practiced ease, he crushed it before it could gain any traction. He rose from his throne and looked toward his Ultras. They had all heard the message get delivered yet they remained where they were. Gordrak had bled and nearly died alongside them and it was mainly to him that they held their allegiance now. Gordrak remained silent for a further few moments before finally deciding to speak: "The 'Chieftain' calls...and we will answer. As we always have."

Gordrak had decided that, despite his reservations on the matter, their service to the Chieftain still held true. They would ride out to this 'Balamak' and assist. If nothing of note happened then so be it. Should the outing turn violent then the Ultras would ensure that, for everyone of them that fell, scores of their killers would also fall.

---Now---

​

The shuttle carrying Gordrak and what was left of the Ultras was now beginning it's descent. The gunboat that carried them was their only working transport and it bore the marks of makeshift repair and modification. The boat itself had been modified to allow Gordrak better room for movement considering his rather hulking appearance. The Ultras had long since readied themselves for the possibility of combat and each of them was bearing a full kit of gear. The boat slowed it's descent as the ground neared and, after a minute or two, it finally made contact with the ground. The side bay doors opened and the Ultras exited swiftly. After ensuring the area was indeed safe, they spread out and made a perimeter around the gunboat. The monstrous frame of Gordrak came into view shortly afterward as he stepped out of the vessel and onto the world. Gordrak considered getting back in the boat briefly before an Ultra approached him. "The Chieftain is nearby and it looks like he brought some troops with him. Think he's trying to handle an exchange non-violently." Gordrak wordlessly motioned for the Ultra to lead the way. As he was lead onward, the other Ultras fell into line and began to follow. They all kept a 2 to 3 meter distance between one another in the event explosives or heavy weapons found themselves in use. All it took was a mine or missile mixed with negligence to give someone a double or even triple kill. When he could finally see the Chieftain and his forces, Gordrak strode ahead of the column and approached. With his heavy armor, oversized chain gun, and general stature, he played the part of a war-engine more or tank than he did that of a warrior.

There might have been a more tactical or tactful way to approach the situation but Gordrak was quite unamused at this point. If someone lacked the common sense to stand down then he'd make quite sure that they regretted that fact for the rest of their lives however short they might be.

 

[Sethrak]

The whistle. Sethrak was familiar with it. Only The Drael possessed the ability to produce such a noise, and as such, Sethrak and The Remnants used it often to coordinate raids and ambushes. It was much simpler than telepathic communication. The Warlock didn't know what to expect. At first he expected it to be a order for the other Drael to fire at him, but that didn't happen. After a short moment, Sethrak returned the whistle.

As Sethrak awaited the stronghold's response he couldn't help but tense up. Countless battles, near-unlimited power, and still he was uneasy in situations like this. Seconds felt like hours still, because all it would take is one shot to potentially end his life. Any moment a total skirmish could break out. It wasn't fear that made him tense, but rather anticipation, adrenaline. He would be ready to act...

 

[Sylok'Vanari]

​

Day 1,153 without Weaving
Area: Balamak, Near Distress Signal

Night of Arrival...

An hour.

An hour had brought him to the cusp of a useless village, inferior to that of the once great Drael empire. He ascertained two things...

One, this was no normal village, it held little to no high-tech filth that Sylok was normally used to. These were more primitive living beings. Everything was wood, carved and formed from the great trees he currently hunched behind observing. The flickering light, reaffirmed the difference with thier lights...Torches. He questioned for a moment how they could have fallen to a society so behind other worlds. He reminded himself, these people were nothing like the real threat, Jedi. Unfortunately, even without Jedi, he'd be treated a monster if he stepped out into the dirt walkways interweaving through the large village. Sylok would be killed, if not hunted till death. He understood. His kind massacred millions of non-Drael. He accepted this and still agreed with it. They were purging the galaxy of mindless ants being controlled by other mindless ants. That's all they were, tiny ignorant and naive organisms. In the time he spent alone and dealing with those wandering into the Haunted Straits, he almost found a way to love his enemy...understand them better, and destroy them for it.

Second, were the mass amounts of lively species crowding the town. He looked down at the device and the signal was on the complete opposite side of the settlement. Guards, holstering blades, spears, and other un-civilized weapons ran by to find thier place at the close end of a gate on the north-west side of the building that sat right in front of Sylok. This was going to be more difficult than he thought.

The time that had passed worried him, but the extra time it would take to go around the entire settlement could take him hours. He guessed the full amount based on counting the rows of rooftops as far as he could see. The rooftops he couldn't see in order to count, he estimated to the almost non-visible wall on the far end. His mind clicking all the metrics together.

25 Kilometers...

The only idea he had felt wrong, dangerous and downright unwarranted, but out of everything he didn't understand about his mortal enemy. Sylok knew all too well of fire and it's delicate form of destruction. If he couldn't reach the signal, he would bring them to him. He grinned, the thrum of his heart thumping to the old war drums of the past. He felt alive for the first time in years. He took a deep breath, his nostrils expanding as he exhaled. Sylok's scaly face shifted, the wickedness of his plan finally playing out in his superior mind.

He lightly pressed the bushes in front to the wayside and as the crowded street fell empty, he bent down as low as possible for a tall Aeravalin. He looked like a lanky, slender shadow moving across into a dark shadow between the two houses. He pressed his back against the planks on the side of a small boxed house. He waited and bit down, his lips spreading to the wayside as he did. Sploshing of feet slapped the ground on the opposite side of him, more people. He felt anxious for the first time since his last hunt, but this was different. He was the prey now, the gazelle among lions. He wasn't stupid enough not to understand how the threads of the force turned on him.

Despite all that, he stood. Despite the monotonous years of grief and anger, he lived.

Like the darkness claiming another extinguished light into it's void, Sylok gripped onto the first torch. He slipped it close to him, praying to the false god Tathra Khaeus that he wouldn't be noticed in the mere seconds he had to hold it before he enkindled the first house ablaze. Then the second next to it, before the roaring fires grew to a magnificent opus of flickering destruction he ran out and into the next row of houses. The first signals had been lit and the backdrop of screams sounded like a symphony of success.

He took another breath, he was far from done. He whispered to himself once more...

"No More Froka..."

Sethrak | Gordrak | Kad

​

 

[Kad]

Tags: Sethrak | Gordrak | Sylok'Vanari

Kad lowered his weapon, turning to Haral. These weren't fakes, no replicant droids. They were Draelvasier, the first other than Haral he'd seen in years. The Draelvasier had survived, beyond a doubt the species was alive. Perhaps the imagery of the Titan was an old transmission? Had the new Chieftain defeated the old? So many questions. Haral and Kad both lowered their weapons, moving out from their cover. Suddenly Kad didn't care about the Drael's height or his crown. Seeing dozens of his own kin was enough for him. He looked to Haral, the young Drael waiting to follow the older ones' lead. But his attention was elsewhere, eyes glued to the giant stomping through the woods.

"Haral?" Kad asked, not yet noticing the gigantic Drael.

It was only when the thumping heavy footsteps stopped did he notice them. Kad turned to face the Chieftain again, eyes instead glued on the gigantic fifteen-foot-tall Draelvasier now opposite the Chieftain who in turn. Held his ground. The giant looked like he had walked straight off of one of the great battle theatres Haral had told him about before.

"Come, Kad," Haral, finally spoke. Slowly walking toward the Chieftain and giant opposite him with his weapon lowered.

Kad followed.

 

[Sethrak]

Sethrak's whistle, followed by Gordrak's approach, seemed to have been enough to convince the Drael across from him. It was not long before two Draelvasier approached. As they grew nearer, Sethrak examined them. It was hard to tell at first but eventually it became clear that one was senior to the other. It had been a long time since Sethrak had seen a younger Draelvasier. It seemed that the only warriors left were old, grizzled veterans, some older than Sethrak himself. First he found that The Drael fought on, long abandoned. Now to see a young warrior? In a way, just seeing the younger warrior was as refreshing as seeing the Draelvasier here to begin with.

"Come, warriors. Tell me your names. Why have you called?"