Populate F E A R | BotM Populate of Cathay

[Vesta]

Preparations had to be taken.

Not for the next world, nor the one after, but for the final goal on Tython where it would all come to a head. There were many that expected things to be decided by a grand battle, by some overt struggle that pitted the best of every side against each other, and in some ways they were right - but ultimately not. Subjugation on Cathay and the things that came after would leave the world with a substance that would only linger on for so long before it faded into memory, at which point it would benefit nobody. Here, now, as the executions were carried out, a nearly rejuvenated Sith lord would feast on the collective trauma inflicted upon those that died, were dying, and the rest that watched it all happen in fear and helplessness.

She needed to be ready, something she wouldn't be for Teta, in order to do what anyone else might've thought impossible - from a number of perspectives.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Cathay, city of Solus
Tags: Open

It had been months since those triumphant public executions.

Now, in Tython's wake, a far different mood had overtaken the Maw.

That mood was urgency. The Brotherhood had thrown everything into their assault on the Core Worlds, a powerful and relentless assault driven by mighty fleets and colossal armies... and for a time, that all-or-nothing strategy had paid off. Selvaris, Xa Fel, Foerost, and Teta had fallen to the Mawite onslaught, a spear driven into the heart of the Galactic Alliance's industrial territories. But while the Alliance's military and civilian planets had collapsed in the face of the Brotherhood's fearsome war machine, the Jedi holy worlds had managed to hold out. First Jedha, then Tython, shattering the tip of the Mawite spear.

The losses suffered at the Jedi's founding planet had been crushing. The Brotherhood's great prophet and leader had been slain, and untold thousands of warriors had followed him to the grave. Fleets had been annihilated, armies crushed, and all those sacrifices had still not been enough to secure a Mawite victory. In the war against the entire galaxy, a war that the Maw had - against all odds - been winning for quite some time, the Brotherhood had finally found their limit. A coalition of every other major power in Known Space had finally proven enough to halt them, and now they were reeling from that defeat.

So, urgency. A new Dark Voice had seized power, keeping the Brotherhood from collapsing into infighting for now, and that more or less solved the leadership crisis. But there was still a crisis of materiel, a desperate need to replace all the forces lost in the assault on Tython. That was what brought Tu'teggacha back to Cathay, so long after that triumphant ceremony when the figureheads of the planet's resistance had been put to death. That was what brought him to Solus, the great tradeport of Cathay, to seize all that he could from this rich but isolated world. It would all be fuel for the Mawite horde's rebirth.

"Shut down the spaceport," the Taskmaster ordered. "Seize every warehouse. Impound every cargo. Capture any citizen that defies curfew, and press them into service." He stood atop a hovering platform, allowing his sort frame to see out over the city streets - and over the heads of the crowd of warriors and drudges he had brought along to enforce his will. What they were doing here was shortsighted and destructive. It would disrupt Cathay's industries, keep the planet from smoothly integrating into the Mawite military-industrial complex... but the Brotherhood had little choice.

If they did not bring these resources back to their core territories...

... resupply the forges of Mar'Zambul and the shipyards of Osseriton...

... then the Mawite domain would fall as the Alliance struck back at them.

 

[Marlon Sularen]

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F_E_A_R
Crisis at Cathay

FINAL DAWN
CATHAY, UNKNOWN REGIONS

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Since the initial public executions on Cathay, the Planet's vast industries had been seized by the Final Dawn who had since utilized them to fuel their own War Machine. Cathay’s vast Shipbuilding and Industrial Facilities had been pumping up new warships and military equipment. With the loss of Copero during the initial stages of the Maw’s push into the Core Worlds, the Final Dawn was in need of new shipbuilding facilities to continue the production of its warships. Initially the plan was to secure the shipyards Cathay, Oram Mei, Foerost and Xa Fel which would vastly increase the Final Dawn’s shipbuilding capabilities in the wake of the loss of Copero, but as the Mawite push into the Core Worlds continued, the Final Dawn fell short of their objective as the Alliance destroyed their Shipyards at Foerost and Xa Fel as part of a scorched earth policy against the advancing Mawites.

Now, all the Final Dawn had gained were the Shipyards at Cathay and a small repair and resupply station at Batorine far from what High Regent Sularen had sought, and with the Tribes of the Maw growing even more defiant and with the Alliance placing more pressure on the Maw’s Corridor into the Core Worlds, the integrity of these vast facilities had become of great importance to the Final Dawn. Thus when Taskmaster Tu’teggacha arrived at Cathay ordering his men to strip the spaceport of Solus, High Regent Sularen was understandably furious. The Taskmaster had not informed the High Regent of his operation nor had he even asked permission to relocate his assets. Already the High Regent had to deal with defiant Mawite Tribes who threatened the integrity of the Maw, now he had to deal with Mawite overreach into his territories and assets, not to mention that the relocation of Cathay’s resources would disrupt the Final Dawn’s own Shipbuilding Production and compromise Sularen’s future plans.

As such, upon his orders, the Overseer of Cathay had arrived at Solus backed by a sizable portion of the Final Dawn’s Garrison from the Cities of Xzeenia and Xzeench along with elements of the Local Garrison in Solus to confront the Mawite Taskmaster and his Men and to prevent them from disrupting the Final Dawn’s operations here via aggressive negotiations or through force. As such, Final Dawn Sith Troopers along with Armored Vehicles began positioning themselves in front of key facilities, denying Tu’teggacha’s men from even touching them while Tu’teggacha’s portable holoprojector would start ringing until he would pick it up. Once he would, the face of High Regent Marlon Sularen would appear.

“Taskmaster Tu’teggacha, what’s the meaning of this? Cathay is under the jurisdiction of the Final Dawn, yet you bring your men here unannounced to relocate my assets offworld, vital assets to the Final Dawn's War Machine, not to mention giving orders to imprison my citizens and force them into becoming Slave-Soldiers of the Maw? All without informing me or even asking for my permission?" Sularen was visibly frustrated considering the great many things he had to deal with outside of this matter here at Cathay. But nevertheless it was a Final Dawn occupied world and he would not allow it's key Shipbuilding and Industrial Facilities be relocated elsewhere, especially if they would end up in the hands of the same Marauder Tribes who'd challenged the authority of Darth Mori. at Exegol.

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Tags | Tu'teggacha ​

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[Darth Ptolemis]

CITY OF SOLUS

Tu'teggacha Marlon Sularen

a return​

Having new responsibilities afforded certain privileges, but also meant tighter control over him. As Hand, the Blasphemer found himself governed by the tight vice of necessity, just like all the various leading figures of the Maw following their dismal defeat at Tython. For these reasons, he had been ordered to assist the one whose skills were most crucial not only in space battles, but also in their time of rebuilding.

The Blasphemer has educated himself on Tu'teggacha, the Taskmaster of the Brotherhood, and very much looked forward to meeting the Ebruchi in person. His vile and grotesque invention, namely ebruchization intrigued the scholastic Sith in particular. Hood and cloth whipped in the air as Ptolemis raced through the streets of Solus on a swift hoverbike. Guided only by his senses, he ducks as low-hanging holoboards almost split his head in two and skids to the side to avoid collisions with frightened pedestrians. Yet he accelerates still. He darts past Mawite troops rounding up curfew-breakers and finally takes a break-neck turn around a corner to arrive on the street leading to the Taskmaster. A blur of blackness with a spot of gold is all that can be registered of his form. What he sees however, are complications. Troops marked by the infamous Final Dawn insignia are in the process of deploying, staunchly in opposition of Tu'teggacha's troops. It appears the role of chairman may well be bestowed upon him soon.

The arrival of the Shadow Hand is unannounced, his assignment more or less being the ambassador of the New Sith Order; observation and secretive information-gathering. The speeder bike roars loudly as his gloved grip twists the throttle of the dangerous vehicle to the limit. The envoy of the Sith is still a few blocks away, but in a few minutes, he will arrive at the last known location of the Taskmaster.​

​

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Cathay, city of Solus
Tags: Marlon Sularen | Darth Ptolemis

Ah, yes. The inevitable challenge. Tu'teggacha's facial tendrils twitched.

Though its name might indicate solidarity and unity of purpose, the Brotherhood of the Maw was a loosely-welded coalition at best. In the beginning, when it had been little more than a collection of marauder tribes in thrall to the original Dark Voice, the internal competition had been manageable. Warlords and their servants had jockeyed for position, and for glory in the eyes of their prophet, but they had all been fundamentally alike, and that kept them from truly tearing each other apart. But as the Mawite domain expanded, new allies joined the tribes. Very different allies, with very different cultures and goals.

Rhandite sorcerers. Sith. Krath cultists. Mandalorians. Drengir. Holy Crusaders.

And, most different of all, the neo-Imperial legions of the Final Dawn.

It was this last subfaction that most clashed with the Brotherhood's original goals. Where most Mawite warriors were eager to earn glory and plunder through destruction, Sularen and his followers wanted to create. They were builders and dominators more than they were ravagers and annihilators, with their master dreaming of carving out a vast swath of space under his direct and exclusive control. It was an ultimate goal totally incompatible with the Brotherhood's vision of true galactic cleansing, bringing an end to all empires and birthing a new age. Sularen didn't truly want change that radical.

He only wanted enough change to put himself at the top of the galactic order.

Someday, perhaps someday soon, there would be a great reckoning between the true believers and the neo-Imperial opportunists... but neither side could afford for that clash to come today. As the Final Dawn forces closed in around the Taskmaster's press gangs and deputized looters, Tu'teggacha gave a simple order. "Stand down," he burbled. "I will deal with this." Just as he'd expected, his comm was already buzzing with Sularen's insistent hails, as if the Grand Overseer were a lovesick teenager whose girlfriend wasn't picking up the phone. Steeling himself, the Ebruchi answered the incoming hail.

He listened to Sularen's blistering outburst without interruption, his rubbery features cold and emotionless. When the barrage of questions was done at last, he replied, his wet voice somehow also icy. "Your citizens, Grand Overseer?" the Taskmaster asked, an edge of deadly calm behind the words. "The Final Dawn's jurisdiction? Surely you have not forgotten that you do not stand alone. One would think that your unceremonious ejection from Byss would remind you of the dangers inherent in that strategy. You, and your Final Dawn, and this planet, are all cogs in the machinery of the Maw."

The Ebruchi let the words hang in the air for just a moment, then spoke again before Sularen could make any reply. "We are on the back foot, Grand Overseer. Our losses on Tython were staggering. If we are to recover, and to stand any chance of maintaining our gains in the Core, we must exercise... unsavory measures. It is the only way to replenish our forces in time." His facial tendrils twisted into the ghastly expression that his species called a smirk. "I am not without sympathy. My forces chose Solus, and not one of the larger cities, to reduce our... impact on your operations here."

Would this set the Final Dawn back? Perhaps. But it might help the Maw as a whole survive.

And without the Brotherhood as allies, the Final Dawn would surely fall.

They were not yet strong enough to stand alone...

... or so Tu'teggacha assessed.

Engrossed in his confrontational conversation with the Grand Overseer, the Taskmaster did not yet notice the arrival of Ptolemis... though he did shiver slightly as a chill ran down his spine, a feeling that came from the Force rather than the physical temperature of his surroundings. The New Sith Order was yet another faction with great influence over the Brotherhood's affairs... but not exclusive influence. Solipsis had wisely hidden them within the ranks of Mawite fanatics, making them manipulators from the shadows rather than open rulers, and that strategy had borne tremendous fruit over the past decade.

But what would the ambitious Sith do now that Solipsis was gone?

Which subfactions would they choose to support?

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

CITY OF SOLUS

Tu'teggacha Marlon Sularen

silver lights​

The jumpspeeder gradually slows to a complete stop before the wall of marauders on the multi-lane. The masked stranger dismounts the ragged vehicle. His boots touch the ground and he takes a raspy breath as he looks over the surrounding buildings, effortlessly spreading his awareness through the Force, touching and registering individuals with his mind all over the streets and housings of Solus. Silence and wary looks await Ptolemis. Two heavily armored warriors from Tu'teggacha's gangs approach the Sith Lord standing by his bike.

The Blasphemer speaks first when they come near and makes his declaration unceremoniously; his tone characterized by monotony instead of disdain. – I am here to talk with the Taskmaster. – He feels no further identification or justification is needed. As his gaze drifts upon the currents of life signatures in the aether, he is finally fixed upon one who is also touched by the Force. The Taskmaster.

Should the Ebruchi hover over in person, or alternatively if Ptolemis is escorted to Tu'teggacha, he shall comply without conflict as long as he isn't physically touched. Although he believes his personal ambitions are far grander – in truth bordering megalomania or even lunacy – the Brotherhood is still necessary for him to facilitate his end goals. Therefore, his approach today shall be one of de-escalation. He curiously awaits his first encounter with the Taskmaster.​

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[Tu'teggacha]

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Location: Cathay, city of Solus
Tags: Marlon Sularen | Darth Ptolemis

The Taskmaster's words hung in the air, a clear challenge to the Final Dawn's authority, and no immediate reply was forthcoming. Tension crackled in the atmosphere like electricity, a charge generated by friction between the wills of two powerful beings. Not powerful in the Force, of course. Even Tu'teggacha, master mindbreaker, was limited in this regard compared to mighty Jedi and Sith. No, his real power - and Sularen's - came in the form of influence. Both of them could sign the death warrants of millions in an afternoon, for they controlled the fates of entire worlds. But whose authority was greater?

In this contest of wills, which of them would be forced to yield?

The answer would have to wait a moment. The chill that Tu'teggacha had felt moments earlier now intensified, and he recognized it for what it was - the presence of a powerful Force-user, one steeped in darkness. It took only a moment for the Ebruchi to identify this particular presence, for he had felt it before: Darth Ptolemis, master of wicked rituals, keeper of fell knowledge. It was his mystic power that had anchored the great rite of beckoning on Tython, opening the way for the Bloodsworn army to travel through the hypergate network and unleash a terrible slaughter upon the defenders of Kaleth.

Not that Tu'teggacha had noticed at the time. He'd been busy in the skies above.

I am here to talk with the Taskmaster. So the Sith Lord spoke, and none dared to bar his way. The Ebruchi's guards parted before Ptolemis like waves drawing back from the beach as the tide receded, clearing a path through the chaotic streets of Solus. That path led the Sith straight to Tu'teggacha's platform, where he stood locked in social combat with Sularen, his challenge extended. Turning away from the comm, the Taskmaster regarded Ptolemis quizzically, his glassy black eyes taking in the sinister figure before him. What did he want? Why did he seek the Brotherhood's logistical expert and slave-breaker?

Most of all, whom would he support, if it came down to that?

"Lord Ptolemis," the Ebruchi finally said, inclining his bulbous head in a hunched, awkward bow. "You honor us with your presence." The dark presence gave nothing away, no hint as to his motives or intent. War raged in the Core Worlds as the Alliance pushed back, fighting to retake the worlds they had lost to the Maw, and most of the Brotherhood was deployed there - or on the various other frontiers, for the Maw was at war with everyone. But the New Sith Order came and went as they pleased. No warlord could command them, no overseer deploy them. They traveled as they willed, whenever they saw fit.

"What is it you wish of me, the Maw's humble Taskmaster?"

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

CITY OF SOLUS

Tu'teggacha Marlon Sularen

silver lights​

The crowd parted before the Sith Lord and he promptly walked the path toward the Taskmaster. Facing forward, he did not reciprocate the curious stares of the many he passed. His long, dusty robe and hood are completely void of decorative designs; the black fabric frayed and visibly cheap. Only his golden mask provided contrast to the long rags he wore. The man was lacking a cult of personality. 'Who is this clown?' 'Why are we letting him pass?' The thoughts of those that didn't know him were louder than their words could be. But Darth Ptolemis was and forever will be, an anomaly. A silent observer hooking his fingers into the strings of fate.

Ascending to the high platform of the slave-breaker, a gentle draft follows him upward, and Ptolemis raises his metallic gaze to look at the hunched Ebruchi turning away from his comm device. The Taskmaster's lifeless ebon eyes were perhaps the only ones that could take in the shadow pouring out from behind the eye-holes of the Blasphemer's Mask. Immediately, Ptolemis noted the Ebruchi's mental capabilities. As the Shadow Hand concluded his approach, the Taskmaster spoke, and he listened without interrupting.
​

"Lord Ptolemis," the Ebruchi finally said, inclining his bulbous head in a hunched, awkward bow. "You honor us with your presence."

Ptolemis first answered with a nod, then provided a greeting of his own. With a calm click under his hood, he switches off the built-in translator in his mask. – Taskmaster Tu'teggacha. – Contrary to many a Sith Lord's renown, Ptolemis reciprocated the offered respect by attempting to reproduce the alien phonetics of the Ebruchi's original mother tongue and speak his language directly. – I have long waited to meet you in person. – His accent is undoubtedly laughable to the ears of a native speaker, given that he is lacking the physical characteristics of his fellow commander's vocal organ (especially for the other near-humans around that may be listening to their conversation without the aid of a translator device), but still, Ptolemis' vocabulary and understanding of Ebruchese grammar is considerable, and he wishes to continue the discourse in this most curious language.​

"What is it you wish of me, the Maw's humble Taskmaster?"

Continuing with almost surreal guttural gurgles, Ptolemis answers. – I am not here to give orders, Taskmaster Tu'teggacha. I am here on New Sith Order business, the details of which I cannot disclose. – Void of ego and straight-to-the-point, Ptolemis reveals his true purpose for being here without hesitation. – However, I do have something personal to ask of you. I have heard about your Ebruchized. – A brief pause.
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I care not for pain or side-effects.​

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Ptolemis' tone turns dour, and takes two steps closer.​

​

Grant me two extra arms, and you will gain a favor from the Dark Voice's second-in-command.

​

 

[Tu'teggacha]

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Location: Cathay, city of Solus
Tags: Darth Ptolemis

I have heard about your Ebruchized. I care not for pain or side-effects.

Grant me two extra arms, and you will gain a favor from the Dark Voice's second-in-command.

Well, out of all the possibilities, that was one the Taskmaster hadn't been expecting. It wasn't even one he'd thought of. And all of it was delivered in grammatically flawless, if heavily accented, Ebruchese. Although Tu'teggacha despised his own people, who had given him nothing but a childhood full of pain and fear and torment, he had to respect the effort that Ptolemis had gone to in order to deliver his pitch that way. It was far from a common language, spoken only by the nomadic multi-species pirate crews in which his species drifted, and there were no textbooks on how to learn it.

"My lord, your request..." Tu'teggacha swallowed hard. He did not wish to deny this mighty Sith Lord anything, especially when granting what he asked for would mean favor in the new Mawite power structure - favor he would need to secure his place amid the chaos threatening to rip the Brotherhood apart. But it was a difficult request. "It is not what the process was designed for." Ebruchization - the injection of rubbery, resilient Ebruchi genetic material into a specimen - had been meant to strengthen clones of the Chiss Sky-Walkers, whose Force-sensitivity introduced often-fatal complications for cloning.

It had made them strong enough to survive development...

... though it had also turned them into twisted, half-mad mutants.

"... but if that is your desire, I will turn all my efforts to ensuring that it is carried out." After all, the Taskmaster had never been afraid to push the boundaries of science before - boundaries of knowledge and of morality. Perhaps the same process, introduction of Ebruchi genetics, could be used differently in a non-cloned host. Ebruchi did not have four arms, but they did have two. What if the rubbery green arms of an Ebruchi, scaled up to the proper size, could be grafted onto a non-Ebruchi? What if just the arms were cloned, and then attached to the subject? They would be strong and durable indeed.

It would require a frightful fusion of dark science and vile mysticism...

... but when had that ever stopped him before?

"I will have to perform some experiments," the Taskmaster told the Sith, "but I believe it can be done. They would be powerful arms, resilient, modified to suit your frame." He did not bother to mention that the process would be agonizing, or that madness and biological rejection were entirely possible outcomes - Ptolemis had said upfront that he did not care about pain or side-effects, and Tu'teggacha took him at his word on that. "We will require my laboratory facilities on Exegol, unless the necessary supplies and equipment can be brought here." There was an implicit question in that.

How soon did Ptolemis want these new arms?

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

CITY OF SOLUS

Tu'teggacha

silver lights​

"My lord, your request..."

"It is not what the process was designed for."

Ptolemis slowed his breathing deliberately to rest his strained vocal cords. All the while, he listened carefully and never broke eye contact with Tu'teggacha… not that his own eyes were visible. Regardless, his mask's hollow gaze remained on the Taskmaster.​

"... but if that is your desire, I will turn all my efforts to ensuring that it is carried out."

However corrupted, in his own mind the Shadow Hand arrived at Solus not with a demand, but with an offer. Regardless of the Taskmaster's recognized cruelty, there was a vile intellect to be admired in him; such intellect lead to victories both in naval battles and logistics, and the same mind could bring down the pathetic limitations of morality and ethics, as far as Ptolemis was concerned.​

"I will have to perform some experiments," the Taskmaster told the Sith, "but I believe it can be done. They would be powerful arms, resilient, modified to suit your frame."

Ptolemis nodded repeatedly; exhilarated by the hands-on possibility of a scientific undertaking, the violation of boundaries… breaking on through into the unknown, whatever the cost. He had already familiarized himself with all the information he could gather regarding Tu'teggacha's Ebruchized. He knew about the dangers of madness that lurked behind every step of this most profane transformation process. Yet he placed great pride in the strength of his mind. Whether this pride shall prove to be simple overconfidence shall only be determined right before the gates of hell; upon the Taskmaster's operating table.​

"We will require my laboratory facilities on Exegol, unless the necessary supplies and equipment can be brought here."

With an open-palm hand gesture, Ptolemis conveys sincerity. – Then as promised, Taskmaster, in your hands lies a favor from me. – His guttural speech continues. – When the time comes, I shall provide you with whatever is within reach of my own power. – The Blasphemer's arms disappear beneath his worn-out, flowing robe. He stands now as an ebon monolith. – Proper work requires careful preparation. When next we are afforded a break from our more... acute duties, I will seek you out on Exegol.
​

The wind picks up atop the Taskmaster's vantage point, and the Blasphemer extends his arm for a handshake as a means of farewell.

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