Dominion Exterminate the Gundanbard: BotM Dominion of Mar'Zambul

[The Messenger]

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The Brotherhood of the Maw has descended upon countless worlds, burning all in their path to their dark salvation. Countless lives have been enslaved or outright lost at their hands, and now the eyes of the Heathen Priests set upon Mar'Zambul. This world, this dark planet hosts a ravenous horde of it's own, bloodthirsty and relentless. It was the idea of the most glorious Deacon Mardok the Terrible, one of six High Priests among the Heathen Priesthood, to induct the race of cruel warriors into the Brotherhood's ranks. Negotiations were sour, the ideologies of the two forces clashed against each other and the fury of the Gundanbard was taken out upon the leader of the negotiations. Dark Father Baaluk, Heathen Priest and inglorious Warchanter is dead.

Our rage cannot be put into mere words, a speaker of the Hidden Maw's truths has been silenced. The Voice of the Maw commands blood be repaid, all of their blood. The Brotherhood marches with but one order, extermination of the Gundanbard. Let their corpses litter the land and their heads reat upon pikes of their own making. Run the streets red with their blood and decorate their cities with fire.

The planet hosts many great cities and is dotted with ancient ruins of a once glorious past. Zambul'Tacris, the capital city of Mar'Zambul hosts the source of the Gundanbard's power. A great nexus of Dark Side energy lies within ready to be harvested and used against them for their great blasphemy. It is protected by powerful shamans and warriors, they will not give up this vergence without a fight. The Gundanbard are hardy large creatures, with red skin color. They are concerned only with war and will savagely fight till the last man. They are much larger and more physically capable than most humanoids, so beware. The Gundanbard have a powerful connection to the force and force sensitive Gundanbard are highly respected, show them the difference in power.

​

The Brotherhood's Armada pounds against the surface of Mar'Zambul with fire from above. They being death to the cities along the planet, leaving only Zambul'Tacris, the capital, be. The Voice of the Maw and the Heathen Priesthood descend from their ivory tower to make war upon the treacherous Gundanbard for their inherent blasphemy. Destroy the capital of Mar'Zambul and let no Gundanbard survive your fury for it is the will of the Hidden Maw! Topple their cities, burn their idols, and make trophies of their bodies for if you hesitate they surely will do the same to you! Make today the end of the Gundanbard and wipe this scourge from the face of the galaxy.

The Heathen Priests toil in matters arcane, seeking to strip the essence of the Dark Side from the vergence within the soil of Mar'Zambul. The profane New Jedi Order interferes in our great work yet again, this time with more wretched servants of the Light. They come from the Core Worlds to halt our expanse and put an early end to our crusade before we cannot be stopped. This will not stand, annihilate them! Protect the priests, do not let them stop the ritual!

Whatever gets you to post chief..

​

The drums of war sound off in the distance, a shuttering cloud of warriors gather in protection of their dark world as the sky blots out in landing craft and fighter craft. The Warlords of the Maw come and with they bring what the Gundanbard value most, WAR.

Red lights flash in the distance, the vast cities of the Gundanbard are hammered away by the fury of the fleet. Only the battle to come remains, the fight for the capital, the extermination of Mar'Zambul begins..


Varloc | Zachariel Steelblood | Maestus | Cedric Grayson | Syrenno Maraan | Kyrel Ren | Inferious | Eldervine | Jayda Vanator | Ssloak-Goa | Gren Blidh | Anabasa | Darth Kinrath | Lirka Ka | Ryv | Dagon Kaze | Darth Empyrean

 

[Ssloak-Goa]

"Daedelon! Go fourth and slaughter! May their blood flow from their veins to appease War,
take their skulls as trophies to honor Death, and be Reborn in the crucible of war!
Today bear witness to your own might! Blood for the Gods!"
​

Ssloak-Goa's voice would shriek over the field as the legion of House Daedelon stormed forward and crashed into into the warriors of Zambul'Tacris. He had spent far too long perfecting the genetic and cultural aspects of the Knyghts, and House Daedelon in particular, it was.. refreshing to watch his creation tear the enemy apart on an unprecedented scale. Today Daedelon began their grand campaign against the galaxy under the banner of the Brotherhood.

There was a greater plan to this however. Ssloak-Goa would turn to a ring of acolytes, dressed in thick red robes and not bearing any distinguishable marks of the Brotherhood itself. This group of personal apprentices would raise their arms in unison as they began to chant, a dark ritual which would take a good few minutes to fully complete. The end result being something akin to the Thought Bomb used by the Brotherhood of Darkness although it would lack the actual physical bomb, just the explosion, channeled through and aimed by Ssloak-Goa as he watched the battlefield. House Daedelon was powerful in their own right, but this 'heavy artillery' would certainly keep the battle in the Brotherhood's favor.

"Guard the ritual! Together we will create an explosion large enough to force even the most
resilient to bow before us!"



​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Equipment: Kyrel's Necrochasis, Vader's Bane Lightsaber, Tsawak-krataa (Armor)​

With Kyrel's victory in the arena, came the next conquest for the Maw. Word was now slowly being spread throughout the territories of the Unknown Regions, even the Western Reaches of the galaxy had heard word, and even saw these figures. The Brotherhood they called it, raiders of a unique sort that wish to bring all destruction to the galaxy, if not converting you to the journey to the Maw they called it. Ultimate burning and cleansing all that they across for the outcome, and what was worse a half-dead was among them. The Master of the Knights of Ren always came with him. For those that heard his names once recalled a dark warrior of the First Order, others recalled the Warlord of Mustafar, or even blight of the Sith All still the same when the Brotherhood advanced, Kyrel and the Knights themselves would follow.

This time the Knights accompanied the Heathen Priests themselves on Mar'Zambul, this time hoping to speed along the great journey, through gaining immense power in the shadow. The Ren had followed with them, acting in honor as a sort of Elite Guard to them when it was called for. Given Kyrel's own methods and philosophy, he was sure to make a fearsome foe, for anyone that came across his path. As the Warships descended, the war cries and hails to the Maw given, the Warriors as usual launched a brutal assault on the world. For when the Maw came, blood was always to follow. Not even civilians were spared in the first assault. But unlike most assaults, this one gave the Maw a challenge worthy of them. The planet is home to the Gundanbard, strong warriors that would fight fiercely to protect what they had. Oh, how lovely converts they would make.

Kyrel stayed closely behind the Heathen Priests, his Knights close among him, along with anyone else the Priests thought suitable to add extra security to them. There was only one problem that came with the conquest. Not sort of a problem, but a challenge he was eager and willing to face. The New Jedi Order. While the Priests conducted the ritual to gain more from the Shadow. The servants of the Light came to the conquest, adding more to the fight. When news had reached his ears that the Jedi had finally moved to attack the Priests, Kyrel moved with speed, his dark aura projecting out, hoping to gain the Jedi's attention and buy some time before the priests were put under Jedi Capture or worse execution.

"Come out and play Jedi! I'm the one you want! By the Shadow, I won't let you get to them!"

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Outskirts of Zambul'Tacris
Tags: Ssloak-Goa

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"Charge! Kill them all!" The Mongrel screamed as he ran forward, scattergun at the ready, feeling the energy of the horde behind him. He and his tribe had been honored by the Dark Voice itself for their raids and conquests, and had been permitted to be among the first to attack the capital of the blasphemers. It was a holy task, taking vengeance upon them for their unthinkable heresy: the killing of a Heathen Priest. That they would dare to silence one of the speakers of the galaxy's vile truth was an offense punishable by utter extermination.

Rising up to meet them was a force very much like their own - savage, violent, and certain of its dark blessings. The man that The Mongrel had been before would have been terrified to face one of these Gundanbard, let alone lead the charge against an army... but that man was dead, buried beneath the twisted rubble of a broken soul. The Mongrel felt only eager anticipation and vicious hatred. He looked forward to facing an enemy worthy of the Brotherhood... and crushing them utterly, leaving not one of them alive. It was their destiny.

He would make sure to take many trophies from these hulking foes.

"Jendu! Jendu!" The lines of Gundanbard shouted, beating their chests and slamming their weapons together. Evidently that was the name of their war god. The Mongrel's lip curled. He did not need to pray; his god, the Dark Voice, was a living god, truly watching from above... and truly intervening to ensure the Brotherhood's victory. The Avatars of the Maw spoke through him, and so in this galaxy, he was the Maw, or at least its chosen vessel. The eyes of that wicked deity were upon The Mongrel in this battle, and he would not be found wanting.

The lines of warriors met with a titanic clash that deafened both sides. The Mongrel stopped just short of crashing into the Gundanbard front line, slowing to a walk and opening up with his scattergun. Each shot tore apart one of the hulking alien warriors, shredding their flesh and driving back those beside them. Yet it was not so easy all down the line; the Gundanbard had the advantage of size and muscle mass, and where close combat broke out they could hold their own... or even drive back the Brotherhood's warriors. That would not do at all.

Letting his scattergun dangle from the strap around his shoulder and chest, The Mongrel reached into his satchel. He pulled out a grenade in each hand, exceptionally vicious weapons; the traditional fragmentation grenades, already deadly, had been wrapped in mesh studded with poisoned metal shavings, doubling the normal shrapnel. Priming each with his thumb, the marauder threw them deep into the Gundanbard lines, behind the places he could see them pushing the Brotherhood back. Screams of pain and rage followed soon after.

The Mongrel smiled, then took up his scattergun. Time to keep killing.

 

[Ryv]

Sword of the Jedi
New Jedi Order
Damnation
DARKCOM

​

An emerald blade cleaved through the deformed body of a marauding warrior, drunk on the dark side's malignant power. Crimson burned within the rabid gaze of another as they pushed past the broken body. A jagged blade carved through the air towards the Jedi Knight standing atop a growing mound of corpses. He shined like a beacon in a vast, dark sea. His blade called many to attention, as did the horde who swarmed his position. Each swing of his saber brought death to the enemy in a single, painful instant. Hatred and spite assaulted him from all sides. The Maw abhorred this enemy. Everything the Sword stood for, they sought to destroy. Through bloodshed and fear, they would see the galaxy brought to heel, a husk of its former glory, ravaged by endless chaos.

Ryv stood at the precipice of such a fate. He stared down the proverbial barrel, lightsaber in hand, unwilling to surrender. He had heard the stories. Aaran and Dagon had made it clear what the Maw intended for his home. Even if it killed him, the Jedi Knight would not surrender. This was a fight for the very right to survive. He knew this fight well. Every time he charged off to engage the Bryn'adul, he felt this strain, the weight of a galaxy on his shoulders. It broke the minds of lesser men.

He couldn't keep the smile from his face.

This was where the kiffar belonged. Not cooped up on his apartment couch. Not on some pretty beach as far from the front as the Alliance could get. Battle called to him. The lives of the innocent relied on him. Every evil creature felled in righteous retribution fueled the Jedi Knight. He would break this tide. If not here, then in the next battle. Ashla relied on her most loyal Sentinel, the Blade She used to smite all who opposed the will of the Light. Fate deemed him a Champion for all things just and true. There would be no cause he would abandon. The Sword of the Jedi lived for the struggle. He loved every second of it.

"Bring me your champion!" Ryv bellowed, his voice thundering for thousands of feet in all directions. Another cleave from his saber split a scrap-covered marauder in two, adding another corpse to the growing pile. Viridescent light illuminated the grizzled remains of crimson gore beneath him. Filth strewn anarchists crawled up the mountain of the dead to meet the Jedi Knight's divine edict, only to see a flash of green before fading away to nothing. Their bodies thudded at the base.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, strengthening his resolve.

Elsewhere, the New Jedi fought on. The plan was a simple one. Their greatest warriors would engage the Priests and horde directly, while other Jedi used their distraction to free the prisoners captured on Jakku.

Ryv led his Order from the front, unwavering in his duty. Doom surrounded him on all sides, the darkness struggling to choke out the light that pierced even this slaughter.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The Gundanbard had initially turned him away.

He'd been quick to recount the horrors inflicted upon the Croaks, and the massive fleet that was now at the Maw's disposal: they had laughed him out of the room. Their people were not keen on listening to the warnings of outsiders, and Cedric interpreted their standoffishness as their leaders thinking that such a threat might have been great to a human, but of little consequence to their own people. How wrong they were.

Part of him had wanted to leave immediately, but his heart had kept him in place. With the war against the Sith Empire still raging, there was little the great powers could spare to slow the advance of the Maw. He didn't dare bring his own armies to bare against the threat: there weren't many Essonians left, and dying for foreigners had become something of a sore point for his people.

He would simply have to work with what he had, which was unfortunately not very much.

When the fleet arrived, he tried to talk the Gundanbard leaders into allowing him some sense of command. The exile had observed the siege of the Croak worlds from the ground, and he felt that he understood their tactics well enough to exploit them. Unfortunately the Gundanbard would have none of it, and laughed off his suggestions just as they had his warning. After all, what did a small pink skinned human truly know of conflict?

The only ones that had listened were the children, and even then most paid him little mind. As the Maw's ships descended, he'd wandered the slums, trying to convince the families that would speak with him to find shelter. Nearly all the men had gone off to prepare for the enemy's arrival, and the mothers were so confident in their mates' ability to protect them that they refused to leave their homes. Two families chose to heed his words and made way toward the transport he'd arrived in, along with half a dozen street urchins. It wasn't necessarily safe, but it was more secure than the slums, and it was means to escape if things went the way they had with the Croak.

When the Maw's forces arrived, Cedric had moved to slow them. He dealt with several of the smaller squads on his own, but their numbers grew quickly, and no man could fight a war on his own. He contented himself with moving from one position to the next, providing support whenever he could, and it during one of these outings that he sensed the familiar stink of the Bogan in the air.

It was akin to a hurricane spinning above a sea caught in the throes of a violent thunderstorm, and as always, he found himself drawn to it.

Bogan's Lament roared to life as he stepped out from an alleyway, and found himself face to face with a throng of hooded things that vaguely reminded him of the Ashlan priests. At their head stood...something. It might have been human once, but now it was more akin to a thing horrors: an abomination born of the Bogan, a body diseased and desecrated by the cancer that was the great enemy. This was the hurricane; this was the manifestation of all that Cedric reviled.

"I wasn't aware the Maw allowed animals into their cults," he called out, sparks of energy flickering off the end of his blade as he pointed it at Kyrel Ren in a warrior's salute. "Though I can't say I'm surprised. It seems like the barrier for entry isn't particularly high."

 

[Aldrouk Grandaun]

Location: Aga'Dul, Zambul'Tacris.
Tags: Whoever want to fight

They had come. After thousands of years foreigners had come to Mar'Zambul. Today would be full of death, whether it was the Gundanbard's end or there's, the galaxy would not forget this day.

Aldrouk stood in the temple, before him were the grand priests of Jendu. They spoke to him with urgency in Gardak, he had to fight, to bring victory to their people. They wish to destroy us. They will use the stolen power to destroy us, we will not let them. You must destroy the Sorcerers that are working against us. Said the High Priest. But if the inner ring of the city falls you are to return to the temple immediately.

Aldrouk gave a obvious look showing his displeasure, but before he could speak the High Priest spoke again. We must not lose all the blood of Clan Ulsor in a battle we may lose. Aldrouk was furious, how could they say such a thing. Jendu would never let this happen, but he did not say anything, he gave a short growl as a response and left.

As he stepped out of the main temple and onto the grounds he saw smoke rising from multiple directions, the plaza usually full was completely empty. He marched to the walls of the temple grounds, he saw the groups of elite soilders posted on the wall. No need He thought. Even if they got to the temple, being on grounds would slowly kill them. He then took up a run after leaving the temple complex, he did not feel the wind for his armor was completely covering him. He soon found himself on the front lines, far sooner than he hoped. The invaders were clashing with Gundanbard troops and Militia, there is little difference between the two, and the Maw was crawling forward. He ignited his lightsaber and lept over the makeshift barricade and into battle.

He slashed through two bodies of the invaders, not taking any time to even look at them. His mind was searching for the location of the wielder of the 'Force'. At the moment he wasn't entirely sure of there location, but they were not safe from him.

 

[Vexander Graves]

Lately, the showdowns against the Brotherhood of the Maw been many... and such battles were not really wanted... but they were necessary due to the darkness and horrors they inflicted upon the words were they descended.

Last time around, he didn't stand with the Croaks against them, his mission was different and he had to divert from the small strike team of Jedi that heeded the call back then... but this time, he would not sneak past them... they might be prepared for him this time around and his cloacking and concealment ways, this time... Vexander decided to help the Sword and face these darksiders head on.

This day, Vexander was there to taunt the biggest warriors, the strongest ones. And he would do so side by side with his fellow Jedi. With his lightsaber ignited, his cyan blade gave a soft hum of light and hope, like the many beacons in the Jedi's hands around him.

He was a teacher alright, he promised to stay in the Jedi Enclave preparing others to learn the ways of the Force... but he couldn't forget his resolve to serve the light and help the Jedi against the darkside. Today, he would honor the call from the Force, today he would stand and die if needed.

Flourshing his lightsaber, he created some sort of shield around him... from afar, people would see a cyan ball... but close enough, people would just notice the man with a steady pace advancing while moving his lightsaber. Some of the minions of the Brotherhood charged at him hoping to break his defense, but Vexander didn't have to even make an effort to dispose them... his defense was unwavering.

"My my... you keep trying?" He had learned through time to remain calm in the heat of battle, to control his emotions and try to level the surges of feelings that would come pouring in during the battle field by keeping a positive attitude... when he could.

From the distance, the howling of Ryv could be heard just a few meters away, challenging their greatest to battle. When he listed, he just raised his eyebrown and look at the direction where it came from, he didn't know if he would hear him or not... but there was something about it that just snapped in his mind... he shushed as he moved his lightsaber with a vertical sweep cutting another being in half "You are being too loud!" he hoped that he would listen to him, he tried to ease of the tesion and keep his cool with those words.

With that being said, Vex charged head on to the next group of minions... trying to find their commander or one of the Priest... he had to buy some time for the other team to infiltrate and rescue the prisoners and stop this wreched dark ritual.

 

[Rhook Mandragoran]

Rhook did not know what he expected of this world, or its inhabitants. Ever the optimist he had hoped for some light in the darkness. An ally within this wretched place, a people that would strike back. The Gundanbard were a ferocious people that would not take kindly to the Maw's advances, but they were no ally to the light.​

​

Not voluntarily anyways.​

​

The Tower of Chaldea stood outside a war encampment that stood to defend the capital. It stood tall with its wicked watchtowers and black iron gate, the bodies of disobedient slaves hung trussed in barbed wire while carrion feeders circled the site in the skies. The towering giant in his armor was every bit the beast that these kin of darkness were, though he was a slavering war-hound to an altogether different cause. He could see their sentries in the distance notice his presence even before the horns blew.​

​

The Tower stood. His hand grasped at Dawnbreaker, the lightax planted butt-end into the battlefield soil as he watched the gates open. A grey skinned warrior matted with brutal brandings and tattoos that carried a cleaver like sword strode out to meet him. An entourage backed him, though they remained at distance as the warrior alone approached. Aul-dual, they were called. The warrior leaders of these people.​

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<<"Ij preavendas come avo our gaaveuk. Ve mat. Atigat iuk no oavhas faave.">>​

​

Was this a challenge? If this species had concepts of honor perhaps that could be wielded. He focused, letting the Force fill his mind as he concentrated on the harsh, brutal tongue spoken by the Gundanbard.​

​

"I come offering a single chance to save your species. Abandon these heathenistic ways. The Jedi Order comes to your world to save what can be saved - whatever the Light can still reach in this place. Everything else shall be lost." The force conveyed his meaning, and the warrior before him laughed.​

​

"We have seen your kind before. You are a pretender before Jendu. Your screams will join those of the invaders before the sun sets upon the horizon."​

​

The field was still. Two generals holding parley; one without an army. The other at his fortress. Rhook held no fear. He was an instrument of the Light, and directed by it he would cleanse evil from the world, and return to the Force when he had served his purpose. If today was that day, he only prayed to be taken in battle.​

​

"A god that delights in suffering and cruelty -- such a god is a false idol. You value strength? Come, see what strength Jendu has to lend you." The ugly smile faded on the warrior's face at such an insult. It was replaced by a sneer of hatred as he took up the sword. Dawnbreaker's sapphire blades exploded into ignition with a violent growl, the air being filled with the acrid scent of plasma.​

​

He let the Force fill his body, felt his heart-rate climb as blood was forced through his muscles at an increased rate. Felt his body ignite like the thrusters of a starship at full throttle.​

​

As the Aul-dual charged the gap between them he brought his weapon to bear. From the start, he prepared to finish it. His hands clasped in the hammer grip of Diakoptis, letting the croix of the polearm rest towards the ground with the butt of the haft jut forwards at an upward angle like a farmer might drag a plow through a field. The first strike came as a wrathful overhead cut that he rebatted with the butt, forward to riposte with a thrust of the same to the Aul-dual's face.​

​

The warrior was fast, but he had not faced an opponent like this before. He jerked to one side, dodging the blow as he began to redirect the incredible mass of the cleaver sword back to bear. The missed thrust was morphed into a hooking motion as Rhook gave pursuit, cutting off his retreat with an angled advance, snagging the butt against the back of the opposing giant's neck to rip him into a knee strike to the midsection, impacting with inhuman force as an already powerful man was made yet more powerful by the Force.​

​

Rhook burned with cold fury contained like lightning in a bottle as he felt ribs fracture with the force of the strike, digging his ultrachrome plated forearm into the warrior's face as he planted his foot down and shoved. The rattling breathing of a punctured lung reached his ears as he threw the warrior to the ground. A moment later the Dawnbreaker rose and fell in an arc, silencing it.​

​

Uproars of rage and protest flew throughout the entourage, but Rhook had only begun. He had delivered his warning. They were evil incarnate. If the Light could not reach them, they could not be saved. As the other warriors charged forwards the Tower reached forwards with a massive hand. The foremost in the charge, a red-skinned giant stopped, shuddering before convulsing, screaming as he was lifted into the air. Fear ran through the others as the invader revealed his true nature. Blood spattered the ground as that armored fist slowly closed, forces unseen to the naked eye crushing the body of the warrior in mid air, breaking and twisting his body in unnatural ways before he fell to the ground in a motionless heap.​

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One of the warriors looked out to the Tower, an awe born of terror coursing through him. "What gives you this power?"​

​

Rhook lowered his arm slowly. Every warrior flinched as he began walking towards them. "This power is born of the Light. It is insurmountable. It will wash away the darkest shadows, cast away the greatest foes. Something you cannot yet comprehend," He paused before taking the Dawnbreaker in both hands once more. "but you will learn of it. One way, or another."​

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. . .​

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Mar'zambul, Invasion of the Maw​

Legion of the Lightsworn​

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As it turned out, strength was a dominating value of Gundanbard culture. The sheer might of the Tower of Chaldea was proselytizing to some of them. Not all, but enough. Enough that Rhook had built a battalion's worth of warriors to follow him into battle. These Gundanbards took to calling themselves 'The Lightsworn', and painted the symbol of the Jedi order in white war paint upon their shields, armor -- and for some -- upon their right cheek, mirroring the mark upon Rhook's helm.​

​

They were zealous in their support of 'The Light' and the strength that it gave. For strength it did deliver, as they pushed towards the dark ritual like an instrument of Ashla's divine wrath. They still did not fully understand, Rhook knew. But in trying it was enough for now. If he managed to bring any of them off this planet it was going to be a rather interesting time for him to teach them the finer points of being 'good people'. There was more to good than a willingness to fight evil, and he was sure this larger point was all but lost on his new found followers.​

​

As they neared the dark sorcery being performed upon this world, he knew that they would soon encounter more resistance. Time would only tell what that resistance would manifest as.​

​

((Open to dancing partners.))​

 

[Darth Solipsis]

Objective 1: Take What They Value
Location: Zambul'Tacris
Tags: Ryv | Cedric Grayson | The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren | Ssloak-Goa | Maestus | Zachariel Steelblood

False thunder roared over the battlements, fire reigned over the bleak desert horizon as flashes of red imitated lightning across the darkened sky. They came wielding weapons of war, speaking the only language the Gundanbard were willing to hear, the language of blood. Fury raged from the heavens, the dark anger of the Brotherhood of the Maw raged across the planet's surface as they unleashed wave upon wave of marauder upon the capital.

There was no hope, no mercy, only death. Neither side would give an inch, and the Brotherhood would settle for nothing less than the extermination of the blasphemous Gundanbard for their wretched betrayal. Dropships and ugliest came down from above, raining overhead like raindrops from a storm. The Brotherhood had bolstered their numbers from the conquests of the penal world of Osseriton and the occupation of Lao-Mon. The influx of slaves, and the maddened clones bred in the underbelly of Gehinnom fed the ever turning war machine that was the Brotherhood of the Maw, supplementing the already formidable force arrayed against this world and soon enough the galaxy at large.

Explosions flashed before his eyes, illuminating the dark form of the Voice of the Maw. His dreaded gaze set upon the advancing horde as army clashed against army. At his back was the Heathen Priests, wielding a powerful command of the Force and utilizing the wicked power of the Dark Side against the Gundanbard themselves with their dark magicks. The six foot tall Dark Voice scowled, a single warrior leapt into the air with a spear in hand, ready to pierce his heart and end the dark prophet where he stood.

The Dark Voice reached out in anger, the form of the flying warrior was seized mid-air and suspended in place for but a moment as the Voice's hand closed tightly. The Gundanbard warrior collapsed in on himself, his form crushed beneath the weight of the awesome power of the Force. Blood splattered against the Voice's facial covering, his gaze shifting away as he dismissively tossed the body aside.

"Bring me your champion!"​

The Voice of the Maw broke away from the form of Deacon Mardok and the other High Priests, their advance toward the vergence in the Force temporarily halted. "The Jedi." The Dark Voice hissed, "Continue the assault, level the temple and strip the vergence of it's power." It only took a simple glance to the warlords at his back, "Come with me."

 

[Ryv]

Cedric Grayson | Rhook Mandragoran | Vexander Graves
The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren | Ssloak-Goa | Maestus | Zachariel Steelblood

Damnation
​

Dirt and sand turned slick with the blood of the damned, the Brotherhood's cruel weaponry tearing into the heinous creatures they arrived to destroy. Ryv saw no friends amongst the crimson eyed horde staring back at him. The force churned, a great storm whipped it into a frenzy, not unlike a hurricane ravaging an otherwise peaceful sea. Waves of ethereal power crashed into the kiffar. He stood unwavering, the dark energy unable to topple him from the growing mound of the dead beneath his feet. His shouts continued to echo, calling those who would face him to action. He was the eye of the storm, the central calm that promised an end to the chaos. Other Jedi fought on nearby. Their power brought to bear against the monsters who stood before them.

"Keep fighting!" Ryv howled. "Stand strong! Do not yield!"

He knew such words weren't necessary at that particular moment. The Jedi at his side were not green Padawans or wet behind the ears Knights. These were warriors who knew the cruel touch of battle. They'd experienced loss and death at an unprecedented scale in service to the light. For every enemy torn asunder by the kiffar's emerald blade, Vexander, Rhook, and Cedric conquered another. These were men born to fight, forged in the fires of war, honed into weapons of unparalleled skill. One Jedi Knight was worth one hundred marauders thrown thoughtlessly against them. The Maw would not be permitted to forget this day.

Midway through a strike that saw one of the Brotherhood sliced in twain, Ryv felt a chill shoot down his spine. A dark power approached from the priest's direction, one cloaked in an ancient, baleful evil. It sapped the very warmth from the air.

Bogan himself smiled upon this Champion of Darkness.

Ryv pointed his blade at the darkly garbed figure and launched a wave of telekinetic force through the horde. Dozens were thrown about, their scarred and malformed bodies tumbled through the air like rocks kicked up by an angry toddler. A path had been cleared for the Sith Lord. Ryv grinned, a wild excitement evident in his amber gaze. He could not make his challenge any more clear.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

Objective 1: Take What They Value
Location: Zambul'Tacris, Confronting the Jedi
Tags: Ryv | Cedric Grayson | The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren | Ssloak-Goa | Maestus | Zachariel Steelblood

The Voice of the Maw approached the Sword of the Jedi, undeterred by the bodies tossed like ragdolls telekinetically aside. He felt the air blow against him from the residual energy left from the attack as he approached, a windbreaker in a storm. He could see the bastions of light echo out amid the shroud of blackened shadow that entrenched both Brotherhood and Gundanbard forces. These intrusions by the Light would be tolerated no longer.

Stepping forward with his walking stick in hand, he fixated his terrible gaze upon Ryv , the Sword of the Jedi, his challenger wielding the emerald blade. His route was quick and direct, taking the opportunity of the open path directly to the leader of the New Jedi Order.

His hand tightened down against the wooden shaft of the walking stick as it crushed inward, shattering beneath his grip. Sliding out from the hollow interior of the broken top half of the walking stick came a lightsaber made of yorik coral into his grasp. Clenching hold of the lightsaber, the secretive Sith Master abandoned the remnants of his walking stick to the streets of the capital. The voice of the Elder bellowed and distorted as his lips remained closed shut, a haunting presence lurked in it's wake as a voice echoed to the nearby Jedi Master Cedric Grayson .

The Dark Voice's haunting gaze was clouded by his dark facial apparatus attached to his crowning headpiece yet remained fixated on the young Sword of the Jedi. His lightsaber, primal and simplistic, remained unactivated as he slowly paced in buildup. His anger seething from his very pores as the Dark Side clouded over him. With a flick of his wrist, the Elder grasped the void and attempted to yank the Jedi Knight from his place standing to the Voice's own. His free hand crackled and popped as red hued sparks leapt between his fingertips in anticipation of the close and personal moment. He would enjoy this.

 

[Maestus]

​

The 40 of Maestus Chosen formed a protective ring around the Heathen Priests. These were no mere marauders or raiders. These were true monsters. Selected by Maestus and trained to be highly effective warriors. Their command today? Protect the Heathen Priests at all costs.Failure would not be tolerated. Death was the only release acceptable.

Bellows went out, calling for the champions of each side. Maestus made no attempt to interfene. Gave no hint in her expression what her thoughts were today. She let her actions speak for themselves today. As Darth Solipsis called her and her fellow Warlords to him, she stood ready at his side. She wore no armor, clad in simple black robes with red stitching. A lone saber hung on her waist belt. Gloved hands curled loosely at her sides.

She would do as her Master bade her. Until something else forced its way into her line of sight. Til that happened, she accompanied Solipsis towards Ryv . She studied the form of the Jedi as they approached each other. Powerful, sure of himself. Arrogant, even for a Jedi. She must remember to ask Aaran Tafo about Jedi adn their arrogance.

Then something caught her eye, tickling at her peripheral vision. Rhook Mandragoran was engaging with the local Gundanbard. And from this distance, negotiations weren't going as planned, or so it would appear. Maestus glanced sidelong to Darth Solipsis then veered slightly towards Rhook Mandragoran . It wasn't far, she could still see Darth Solipsis and Ryv when they began to engage.

Making her way towards Rhook Mandragoran she unfurled the Dark Side she held captive within her. She commanded it to her flood her blood and muscles. Forcing her blood to flow quicker, and her muscles to swell and strengthen. And her mind. It was as if it had awoken from slumber. So strong was she in the Force, her body tingled as the electric power flowed through her.

As she crossed the battlefield, her gaze was kept locked on Rhook Mandragoran . She found his eyes, and latched onto his gaze. She let forth an explosion inside the Jedi's mind. Attempting to tear through memories. Searching his feelings, thoughts, desires. But most of all, his FEAR. She would stay in his mind as long as it took to get what she wanted. And she was not gentle at all.

 

[TK-818]

​

Following in the wake of his master and the other Knights of Ren, Sinh kept up a rear guard. Striking at any Gundanbard warrior as they approached the dark clergy of Heathen Priests. The overzealous warriors were powerful and brutally efficient in the arts of war, such a worthy race to feel his blade and stain his steel. Sinh hacked forth as one such creature descended upon him, with the Dark Side empowering his fury. He cleaved at the warrior's head, watching as it tumbled and rolled.

Before another could set itself upon him, he battered against his chest to pump his adrenaline further. He could feel his body tire as they continued to tear a whole through the opposition enroute to the temple at the center of the city. The monument was a vast marvel that caught his eye, only the nearby fighting of Inferious would break his concentration as he continued to engage his opponents.

He could feel the Jedi near as their master, Kyrel Ren , taunted out to the servants of the Light. He was ready to meet their mettle head on without mercy.

 

[Rhook Mandragoran]

[POST THEME]​

ALLIES: Ryv | Vexander Graves | Cedric Grayson
ENGAGING: Maestus

"LOWER THE PIKES!" Rhook's voice bellowed over the sounds of battle like the roar of a terrible beast. Amplified by the force it rang out amongst the ranks of his legion. The climate of the planet, the fires, the heat rising off of the mounds of corpses of cultists broken by their advance was stifling. Under his armor, beads of sweat formed on Rhook's body. The Jedi would ordinarily have no issue with utilizing a form of tapas to remain untouched by the heat. There was nothing ordinary about this, however. Leading a battalion of these Gundanbard into battle taxed his abilities with the Force enough. The pikemen lowered their weapons. Long hafts of hardwood jutted between the shield bearers and over their shoulders like the many spines of a porcupine, tipped with brutally serpentine-like blades in the face of another counter charge made by the Horde of the Maw. He shifted the Force he was channeling, extending it to the ranks of pikemen, investing his power within them. Empowering them beyond the strength of what was natural.​

​

"THE LIGHT IS YOUR ALLY! LET NO FILTH THROUGH YOUR RANKS!"​

​

Rhook was easy to spot within the ranks, towering above the average Gundanbard by half a foot he made an alarming figure that was yet still distinctive, clad head to toe in shining ultrachrome alloy plate armor like a knight of old. That armor, a weapon by his side, and the Tower of Chaldea himself resonated with the Force so strongly he could be felt long before he was seen. A beacon of the Light, no doubt produced by strong force imbuement on his vestments​

​

As the latest counter charge of the horde crashed upon the lowered pikes of the formation, their front ranks were ran through by the sheer mass of men behind them. Pikes piercing through them were held firm by the monstrous Gundanbard warriors until the points were dragged into the ground by the sheer weight of warriors skewering themselves upon them. The subsequent ranks crashed into the shield wall where warriors engaged with brutal cleaver-like swords and wickedly forged spiked tower shields. The roar of battle encompassed all of Rhook's being as he watched the body count pile up. He waited, stern faced behind that fearsome helm until the ranks of the Horde had fully engaged with the shield line.​

​

"SKIRMISHERS, TO THE FLANKS!" He roared when the time was right. A contingent of riders upon beasts like giant wolves howled with battle-lust, spurring their monstrous mounts into a run around the edges of the front ranks. As they passed they began to hurl cruel, hooked spears upon the flanks of the Horde's masses, punishing them in mass killings for the counter charge.​

​

As focused as he was upon the direction of the Lightsworn, the height of his grasp over the Force dedicated to directing the battle, crushing the Horde in open warfare he was unprepared as a sudden lance of pain spiked through his mind. His control wavered as the battle raged on. He could feel a sinister presence forcing its way into his mind and staggered, a hand coming to his helmet. He felt the claws of some unseen mind began to dig through his memories, pulling them apart. Visions of his wife and child flashed before his eyes - mornings being awoken by Kara in her little nightgown when the sun had climbed high into the sky, begging him and Saskia to come from bed to see a family of split-horns that were wandering by their home.​

​

Memories of when Saskia was still carrying her in her third trimester. Promises he had made that he would always be there for the family they began together.​

​

Promises that by being here he was breaking. The invader could feel it as he began to marshal his strength over the Force in defense as she clawed further, like a rising tide pushing back against her influence. A growl began welling in his throat as he pushed back, taking his hold over the Force from the troops he lead, welling it within himself to push back.​

​

She could see memories of another Jedi that was here in the battle, but when he was just a boy, a padawan within the Order. Memories of afternoons in war time held dear to his heart when he returned to the temple, a careful guiding concern that he leveraged towards him when he was in adolescence. Of advising him in matters of young love, of strength, honor; what it meant to be a man of his word.​

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The strength he had martialed began to reach a crest, a tidal wave forming in the ocean - mounting into a monstrous force that threatened to crash down upon her intrusion.​

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She saw one last vision. One of a world like a sparkling verdant green and blue gem amongst the stars. Chaldea. His home, and that of his family's.​

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She was pushed from his mind with a jarring temptest of resistance all at once, a crashing power that carried with it a feeling of cold fury. He picked up his head, directing a gaze that was held in shadow behind the thin visor of his battle-scarred helm.​

​

She couldn't see his eyes from where she stood, but she knew - he was looking across the battlefield at her and her alone.​

 

[Maestus]

She had not been expecting to see.....So much. The love Rhook Mandragoran held for his wife and daughter was palpable. They felt alive, the feelings did. Such love and caring was alien to Maestus. She did not have such feelings. Never had. All her life, even before her transformation into Maestus was complete, and Via still lingered, love was not a concept she had inner working knowledge of.

She felt something else. His fury. His anger. But what was it directed at? What was the cause of such negative emotions within the Jedi? Was it simply Maestus violating his innermost memories, emotions and fears? She believed her mental invasion violated the Jedi in a way he was most displeased with. Perhaps such had never been done to him before? Had he never felt being helpless before? Maestus intended to find out.

When he did finally shove her from his mind, she reeled for a moment as her own mind processed all the information she had gleaned. Quickly filing things away for use at a later time, she memorized the child's form. Kara.

MEANWHILE...

Her Chosen, ringing the Heathen Priests and armed with dual bladed swords, defended the Priests viciously. Any Gundanbard who came close was cut down without hesitation. The blood was flowing freely, from Gundanbard and Chosen alike. A couple Chosen had fallen, creating gaps in the ring. Without need for communication amongst themselves, the Chosen adjusted their spacing, leaving no gaps.

BACK TO OUR HERO...

Rhook was right. Maestus could not see his eyes beneath his helm. He was also right, she did not need to. She could feel his rage filled eyes glaring at her. She, in turn, wore no expression. No smile, smirk, snickering. She simply...Was.

Until she commanded the Dark Side once again and was ...more. More aware. More capable. And most of all, more debased.

Drawing from the Dark Side, she gave a slight hand motion. For Rhook Mandragoran and all to see, something happened. Someone appeared at Maestus side. Holding the Sith's hand, and gazing up at the Sith with admiration. A beautiful and innocent little girl.

Kara.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Nearby: TK-818 Inferious

Kyrel had taunted the Jedi, only to be met by several signatures in the Force, and one that seemed to call out to him. Addressing him in a mocking way, even as his Knights were not far around him. All he did know was that the echoing voice of the creators that resurrected him still resounded in the back of his mind. Consume, destroy, dominate. Like a faint echo that still called to him every now and then. Kyrel himself was an apex predator for all those that walked the light, and was more than happy to dispense justice for those that dare disrupt the vision of the Heathen Priests.

His taunt was met with responses, and one particular response in the form of Cedric Grayson . As many foes have done before, time and time again have sought to mock Kyrel. He couldn't count how many times the same song and dance had been done by every light sider. As it was in a way a sort of greeting, a greeting undertaken before the deadly waltz that was to be had between the two of them. Kyrel did nothing but stare beneath the mask of his armor, the red cracked lines shined out, as behind the small visor, were eyes that had been filled with both hatred and determination. The excitement was going through every inch of his malicious form.

Vader's Bane hummed with the crimson blade roaring to life, the blade that had brought the First Order glory, fear to all Sith, and the blade that now served the Maw would strike any Jedi down. Particularly it would face down the Jedi scum that had come forth and challenged him thus far. The blade within his hand demanding blood, as well as his own dark side energy, and in return it gave anger, fury, and intense strength to work against his foes. Kyrel smirked, it had been far too long since he had a proper fight with a Jedi.

"Animals as you mean Apex Predators, then yes. I was made to dispense justice to both Jedi and Sith alike. I'll be kind and give you one moment to pray before I send you to the Force itself." He said, the vocabulater hiding much of voice, as he slowly advanced, his saber lowered, before raising to strike in a powerful first blow, aiming for his head.

 

[Alars Keto]

The wretched screams pierced his bloodied ears, monsterous creatures wrestled to take his life from him as his thumbs dug into the Gundanbard warrior. He felt himself go limp, his body flung across the street into a nearby column as one of the defenders pulled him off it's ally. With a heavy thud, the psychotic warrior felt a rush of pain flood his body, yet all he could do was chuckle as he struggled to stand once more. Blood ran from his lip as his arm smeared it away, it was glorious battle, unrestricted and untamed. The fight of a species to prevent extermination, the Maw had come for them and they would not go without a proper fight.

Kryll looked to the warriors at his flank, members of Syrenno Maraan 's warband, hammering away at the defenses laid by the Gundanbard. He felt like it could rain at any moment if not for the dry heat and chapped lips coated in blood. The sky thundered with the sounds of the fury of the Maw fleet, the defenses of this world would not last forever. The warrior grabbed hold of the stone column and picked himself up with an intense groan as his two enemies rallied, both readying themselves for another go. He was only human, taking on two of the Gundanbard would only assure his death without his trusty sword mere feet away. His eyes scanned for a quick moment for any opportunity and he reacted, taking a dive forward the moment his enemies charged.

Grabbing hold of the nearest broken rock and debris he tossed it forward and sent it smashing against the first to come forward. His hand reached for his Atrisian warblade and as he rose he found himself fighting for control over the weapon with the much more physical Gundanbard warrior. He yelled out, " Gren Blidh how about some help mate!"

The Gundanbard warrior mocked him and laughed, Kryll responded in kind with a hock and spat blood into his face fiercely as a massive pod fell from the sky. Chuckling at the recent development the warrior began to lose the battle for the sword as the Gundanbard gazed at him puzzled. "Sorry mate.. we have something scarier than you."

Eldervine

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Outskirts of Zambul'Tacris
Tags: Ssloak-Goa, Alars Keto , Aldrouk Grandaun

​

Ordinarily, the Brotherhood of the Maw had the advantage in both numbers and savagery. They were the marauding horde out of deep space, the slave-soldiers with no purpose or even thought save to kill and die for the Dark Voice, and they fell upon the fortresses of civilization like iron rain to break them down into dust. But Mar'Zambul was different. The Gundanbard were a marauding horde all their own, a race that - had things gone but a little differently - might well have taken the Maw's place as the terror of the Unknown Regions.

This war across their homeworld tested the worthiness of both.

The Mongrel knew that he could never overcome a Gundanbard berserker in 'honorable' combat, blade to blade. Since his dark rebirth among the ashes of his adopted home, he had fought in many battles, becoming a skilled warrior... but he was still a scrawny creature, all wire and sinew, and could not possibly match the raw strength and tremendous reach of the towering alien barbarians. Further, though he had learned the ways of war quickly over the months he had been serving the Maw, he now faced opponents literally bred for battle.

His solution, as always, was to cheat mercilessly.

The Mongrel shouldered his scattergun, its ammunition spent, just as a hulking Gundanbard warchief stepped up to face him. The grey-skinned alien, covered in the blood of other marauders, reeked of death. His forearms were as thick as The Mongrel's neck, his thighs powerful enough to crush skulls; he could have lifted The Mongrel from his feet with one hand and collapsed his ribs just by squeezing. The alien looked down at his small, lean opponent and bellowed with laughter. How could this have killed the pile of Gundanbard behind him?

As the warchief raised his massive, two-handed blade, the motion setting the freshly-severed heads on his belt knocking against each other, The Mongrel drew his own sword: the Ryyk blade he had taken from the Wookiee warrior he'd barely managed to kill back on Batuu. Even that hefty weapon looked pathetic beside the Gundanbard's wicked edge, especially given that the marauder could barely hold it up. Internally, though, The Mongrel smiled. He bellowed a challenge at the bemused warchief, who charged in with a bellow of his own.

The Mongrel fell to his knees... not in surrender, but for a better angle.

Casually, with a grin of sadistic glee, the marauder dropped his blade and drew the heavy blaster pistol hidden in the small of his back. Raising it with practiced hands, he aimed for the joint in the warchief's armor where thigh met groin... and fired. The hefty blaster bolt lanced through the weak point and tore through the Gundanbard warrior's tender flesh, spilling him to the ground as his leg buckled beneath him mid-stride. Stalking calmly forward, The Mongrel jumped with both feet onto the hand holding his enemy's sword.

Then he shot the Gundanbard chieftain through the wrist.

He kept shooting, the smell of charred flesh wafting up to him, until only ash remained of skin, muscle, and bone, separating hand from arm. The Gundanbard, to his credit, did not scream despite the horrific pain. He did raise his face from the blood-soaked ground, razor-toothed mouth contorted in a snarl of hatred, and reach out with his remaining hand, trying to rend his attacker apart with his razor-tipped gauntlet. He took a pair of blaster bolts through the forehead for his trouble, finally putting an end to the power of his rage.

The Mongrel pulled the chief's helmet from the smoking ruins of his head, pleased with his trophy. It was a struggle to force the huge, spike-tipped hunk of metal into his satchel; it was almost too big around to fit through the opening. He would have to be careful not to fall on it, or he would impale himself with the reminder of his victory. Satisfied, The Mongrel looked up... and froze. The death of a Warlord would certainly cause chaos among the ranks of the Maw, even turning back their advance. But the Gundanbard did not seem to care.

They aliens came heedlessly on, the next ranks advancing without fear.

Scrambling back to a defensive position, The Mongrel took stock of the situation. They had spent their momentum in that first charge; now they were the rock against which the sea of Gundanbard would crash. That would be a problem; the strength of the Brotherhood lay in the offense, and the crazed slave-soldiers might break under the weight of a riposte. They would need the strength of Syrenno Maraan 's tribe to survive the coming assault... but it looked like Alars Keto and the other marauders had problems of their own.

"Dark gods, aid us!" The Mongrel screamed, praying for strength.

 

[Gren Blidh]

​

"We shouldn't help him. The strong must conquer their own battles."

The Croke perched atop Gren's shoulder watched the unfolding battle between Alars Keto and the two Gundanbard, his disadvantaged comrade struggling amidst the backdrop of death, rapine and plunder. Gren's captive from the Maw's previous campaign had proven to be rather mouthy. The smuggler stood surrounded by the chaos, his trenchcoat billowing placidly as he did not yet engage in the free-for-all.

"Maybe so," Gren answered the Croke on his shoulder. "But I don't remember asking you a damn thing."

At once the smuggler lashed out, his form moving like a blur across the battlefield. With raised viroknife, he thrust himself towards the Gundanbard, threatening to plunge the blade deep into the alien's chest and forcing him to react. The strong beast did, wheeling around to meet Gren's attack with an assault of his own. With a huge, menacing fist, he batted the smuggler's visage away, forced to let go of Kryll's blade. The smuggler at once then faded into dust, his shadow vaporizing before the Gundanbard's very eyes.

"That looked like it would've hurt," Gren said from across the Gundanbard's other shoulder as his doppleganger disappeared into thin air.

The alien's defenses were momentarily lowered, allowing Kryll to strike with his blade. Looks like Kryll would have to owe him one. Gren smiled. Just how the smuggler liked it.