Dominion Give The Crazies A Big Gun: BotM Dominion of Empty Hex West of Rhand

[Darth Solipsis]

The intervention of the New Jedi Order in the affairs on Mar'Zambul and the prior interference by Galactic Alliance personnel in the rescue of the Jakku Enclave Jedi has shown the Mawites that there are those unafraid to combat the darkness. These wretched servants of the Light spur the disciples of the Hidden Maw into action under the vengeful direction of the Warlords themselves.

Relocating a sizeable workforce from the Osseriton Penal Colony and materials from the Dread Forge shipyard, a project begins out in the deep recesses of space. Droves of slaves work tirelessly against the crack of Tu'teggacha 's whip. Secret designs and engineers from the Deep Core under the Epochan Engineering Corporation operate under the watchful eyes of the Warlords. Their goal? To create a experimental super star destroyer platform capable of mounting a future superweapon aboard for direct assault against the Maw's enemies.

The brainchild of warlords Lirka Ka and Zachariel Steelblood , failure will not be tolerated by any means.

There is much work to do in ensuring the development of the Maw's first super star destroyer goes smoothly. Raw material lifted from the remains of the executor-class on Jakku has given us plenty of scrap to work with. Oversee the designs of the destroyer and help construct the latest flagship of the Brotherhood's fleet by your own hand. Add your own personal touch to the future doombearer and most of all keep construction moving or feel the wrath of the Warlords yourself.

Pirates lurk in the dark corners of the Unknown Regions, they prey upon shipments as they approach the system and take away from the resource intensive project. This will not stand, find where these thieving scum make their lair and annihilate them for their transgressions! It is said they were last seen in an astroid belt not far from the construction site.

Whatever gets you to post chief​

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Objective: 1 (Doomsday Weapon)
Location: Deep Space, Brotherhood Shipyard
Tags: Open

Above all else, Tu'teggacha was skilled in the art of... motivation. In situations like this, he had to be.

In a way, slave-soldiers were simple creatures to create. You took the lives they already had, stripped away everything that was not useful - empathy, morality, memories of family and friends - and filled the gaping hole with hatred, along with certainty of the Maw's dark truth. It was delicate and time-consuming to do it well, but once it was done, the finished product was perfect: an utterly loyal, utterly savage warrior in service to the Brotherhood, one who could not be turned or bribed or persuaded away from any course set by the Dark Voice.

Labor slaves were another matter. They did not receive the intense reconditioning of the slave-soldiers; the time and energy of the Taskmasters was not infinite, and such weaklings were hardly a priority. But forced labor, if not carefully controlled, could turn from a cheap and simple solution into a costly and disastrous miscalculation. The stories of slave malfeasance, from the great revolt on Dromund Kaas at the statue of Darth Varawn to Galen Erso's construction of a secret flaw in the mighty Death Star, were important cautionary tales for slavemasters.

It was Tu'teggacha's task to ensure that the Great Weapon the Brotherhood was building was completed to the Dark Voice's satisfaction, and without delay. But there were a thousand ways that the penal worker gangs from Osseriton could try to make that go wrong, given the chance. Sabotage was always a risk, and it need not be as spectacular as Erso's to be effective. A few vulnerable power conduits in the right places could drop shields or depower weapons mid-battle, and even something as simple as 'mislaid' tools could bring significant delays.

Tu'teggacha was, of course, on site for the entirety of the construction project, and many lesser taskmasters had been brought with him. But it only took a moment for a slave to cause a delay or create a vulnerability, and in a project as massive as a Super Star Destroyer, they could not oversee every slave constantly or all at once. And so, in his search for control, Tu'teggacha relied on the art of motivation. If the slaves felt only hate and fear, they would take their chance to strike back. But if he dangled just a bit of hope in front of them, that changed things.

And so, each day, Tu'teggacha's servants publicly rewarded the work crew that made the most progress. They were given double helpings of better-quality food, the opportunity to use the 'fresher, and a dormitory filled with soft beds for the night. They were the first to be allowed to sleep and the last to be woken for the next shift. Their dormitory had transparisteel walls, so the other slaves, squatting in their miserable quarters, could see exactly what they had missed by being slower and less thorough in their work. They would feel envy... and also hope.

Tu'teggacha arranged it so that no crew ever won twice in the same week, keeping hope alive.

Crews that never won were not allowed to commiserate; they might lose their hope, realizing that they would never reach the offered rewards, and be seduced into acts of resentful sabotage. Instead, Tu'teggacha broke up those crews, distributing their members among other work gangs. And if a slave consistently ended up in crews that never won, that slave soon disappeared entirely. The Ebruchi could eat almost anything, but there was nothing he loved more than raw, wriggling meat cut straight from the living bone, and this was an opportunity to indulge.

These techniques seemed to be working. The Great Weapon was swiftly coming together...

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Deep Space, Asteroid Belt
Tags: Open

​

Within the durasteel hold of the Brotherhood shuttle, itself contained in the hangar of one of their warships, The Mongrel waited. There was a grim smile upon his lips, and he gripped his scattergun tightly. Those who had been foolish enough to steal from the Maw were about to learn their terrible error, and their punishment would come at his hands.

A twinge of agony ran through the marauder's body, and he shivered. Beneath his leatheris jerkin, a huge bandage soaked in bacta bound his chest and back, wrapped around him in layers. The grievous wound he had taken in the battle on Mar'Zambul, when a Gundanbard mace had crushed his rubs and nearly pulped his organs, still pained him. Even with the best treatments the Maw could spare for the Dark Voice's own anointed, it would be some time before he could move without being reminded of how close he had come to death.

His chest would forever be a brutal patchwork of scars.

But The Mongrel vowed that it would not slow him down in his pursuit of the Maw's dark designs. He had been chosen among all the others tortured and killed on his adopted homeworld, and each day he knew he had to continue proving himself worthy of the Dark Voice's blessing. He would not hesitate, even as spasms of torment ravaged his flesh. Soon the pirates would be found, and he swore to be among the first to leap aboard their vessels and bring them the righteous judgement of the Three Avatars. Death would feast, and War would smile.

Skilled Brotherhood trackers in small, stealthy vessels had followed the thieves to this dense asteroid belt, the perfect place for outlaws to hide... at least, until their lair was discovered. Now the war fleet of the Maw descended upon them with dark and vengeful purpose, surrounding the area to ensure that none could escape. These criminals would no doubt fight hard, and the asteroids would keep the larger Brotherhood vessels from entering the field and directly engaging their little hideaway... but their savagery could not possibly match that of the Maw.

With a lurch, the shuttle launched, and the marauders aboard called out songs of vile praise to the Avatars. Uglies moved in all around the dropships, ready to protect them if the pirates tried to shoot them down. The Mongrel checked his scattergun's ammunition, then pulled the Gundanbard helmet he'd taken as a trophy from his satchel. He had padded the inside heavily, both for protection and to make it fit his much smaller head. Sliding it on, he bellowed out the holy chants along with all the others, even though each word was agony in his chest.

Time for vengeance, and to prove he was still worthy of the Maw.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Darth Solipsis | Tu'teggacha | The Mongrel | Lirka Ka

A Super Star Destroyer, a massive construct for any group. For the Brotherhood, it would be massive beyond compare, and it would be their flagship. The only thing that came close would be the Holy City, but they hadn't built that, and it was no true ship. This though, this would be glorious, and it would be theirs. Another weapon in their ever growing arsenal, all created to make the galaxy burn. That mere thought made Zachariel grin with bloodlust, thoughts of carnage passing his mind. But he squashed them simply and quickly, now was not the time for that.

No, now was time to observe the massive construction sight, and appreciate all the work being put in. After all, this was partially his own brainchild, and that made it all the more worthy. He only hoped he could command it in destroying a planet one day. From his observation point, Zachariel saw that potential in this ship, he knew it for the blueprints that had been designed. The weapons and general concept itself, all potential for death. And the various slaves that worked so diligently, it was beautiful, and he'd need to thank Tu' teggacha afterwards.

Quietly watching the mass of slaves working at the ship, Zachariel slowly allowed his gaze to travel along with construction zones. Beautiful, so very beautiful. Smiling one final time, Zachariel turned and strode towards the exit of his perch, already envisioning where new weapons could go, ones that hopefully wouldn't draw too much power. Stepping out into the platform beyond, Zachariel spoke to his nearest marauder.
"Find Tu'teggacha, and tell him to expect me. I will be joining him soon, for I have some ideas for this construct."

The grin in his voice was evident, even as the marauder bowed before running off. Turning in that direction, Zachariel strode along, the masses parting before him. But he didn't pay attention to that, no. His eyes were solely on the SSD being built. Once it was done, it would be very formidable. A unique weapon with which to wage war upon the galaxy.

 

[Maestus]

​

OBJECTIVE: 2 SEEK AND DESTROY

Maestus stood near th doors on the same shuttle as The Mongrel . Black eyes, rimmed in red, looked slowly and carefully at all the marauders ready to kill and enslave in the name of the Maw. Such devotion. Not that they were given the option to know any other way than this. Tu'teggacha saw to that with his special kind of reeducation. As like the rest of the Maw, he was anything if not efficient.

As she scanned the faces, she idly wondered how many would die. Who would die? And how would they die? Maestus had an intense interest in the mysteries of life, and often let her mind go into a stream of consciousness thought style. Frequently, her thoughts led her to musings on life and death. Right now, she shook her head to clear her mind. She must be focused on the task at hand.

Finally her gaze landed on The Mongrel . He was a nasty sight. It was a wonder more people didn't run at the very sight of him than already did. Maestus had watched him in battle before. Zealous and determined is how she would describe everything about him. Everything he did was with that attitude. If only the Maw had more like him.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

​

His eyes burned with the fires of Mustafar and the sulfuric airs of Oricon, he scanned the horizon, drifting from various areas over the vast behemoth in the making from the bridge of a nearby vessel. He could hear the insects scurrying behind him, operating the Crucifix-Class I Destroyer with vigor in their step and fear in their hearts. They stood in the presence of the Voice of the Maw, the mouthpiece of their deities, the will of the Hidden Maw, a living conduit of the Dark Side of the Force. The Dark Voice projected an aura of utter dread through the Force to all those in his vicinity from his solitary stance, motionless, gazing into the void over the project at hand.

The dark prophet had come to see the great work for himself and to 'suggest' minor modifications to the final design. He had ensured the best engineers from the Deep Core world of Epoch, under the umbrella of Epoch Engineering Corporation, were at the Maw's disposal while undertaking this labor intensive project. The time had come for the Brotherhood to arm itself for the coming armageddon, the dark crusade that would be unleashed from the Unknown Regions upon the rest of the galaxy. The New Jedi Order had already become a nuisance to their affairs during the early expansionary efforts and now attention was being cast on the ravenous hordes from unsavory factions. It was no surprise, their efforts were not quiet or meant to instill a sense of security in nearby galactic powers, the message was clear. No one would be safe in the end, the galaxy would burn.

The Dark Voice chuckled under his breath, his long term plans were coming to fruition. There was still much to do and little time to put it all into action. His gaze shifted away slowly, creeping off from the glasteel view unto the lowly form of a unsavory crewmember groveling for the Voice's attention. "I.. I bear news.. mighty Voice!"

His wretched hands, twisted and pale, equipped with vicious talons capable of rending flesh from bone, reached forward and gripped tightly around his signature headpiece resting upon a lone pedestal nearby. The Dark Voice lowered the adorning crown onto his head, moving fully to face the servant of the HIdden Maw with open arms as his presence ignited in the Force, sending shockwaves to all those present on the bridge.

"Speak and I shall listen."

 

[Alars Keto]

They were coming in hot, and they knew it. Hell, these pirates knew it too. Hiding in the dense asteroid field was the smartest move they could make in such short time. Establishing a base here for short raids and quick get away from MAW patrols was genius, nothing like ripping off the marauders. The only problem was.. the marauders were onto them. Kryll didn't blame them in all regards, in his past life he would of thought to do the same, likely they were obvious to the true depths of madness within the cult's ranks. He almost pitied them, when the warlords and their entourage got their hands on the leaders of the raids, it would be messy.

Kryll stood silently, biting down on a thick cigarra as he held onto the nearest hand-guard in single file with the rest of Syrenno Maraan 's minions. His dropship was in close proximity to Maestus 's own, filled with warriors and chosen alike. He wasn't one for religion, especially among a cult of crazies. There was something to this though, he couldn't help but start believing the words they spoon fed him. Everything that was happened had been laid out by the dark clergy of Heathen Priests, their war plan implemented perfectly by the Warlords as they moved from system to system. The proof was in the pudding, look at The Mongrel , over the last several months he had risen among his brothers from a mere broken slave-soldier to ferocious warrior. He had seen the bodies on Mar'Zambul left behind by the scrawny marauder, perhaps he truly was blessed by some dark deity and it's mouthpiece.

Red lights flashed in the corners of the dropship as they closed in on the asteroid base the pathetic raiders carved out for themselves. Uglies passed on, beginning their runs to engage the pirates as the troop transports closed in for deployment. Kryll cracked his neck and let go of the hand-guard, gliding to the Atrisian warblade at his side. The vessel began to shake and rattle, turbulence increased as they narrowed in on their prey. The transport flew into the big blue shield gate into the wide hangar bay setup in haste, it's floors still made of rock and unleveled. Landing was a chore, he could hear the vessel become fired upon as soon as it touched the ground. Red bolts flew by the viewports in a flurry, the drop door fell, releasing the horde.

Everyone screamed a blood curling roar in defiance, Kryll included. It was time.

 

[Maestus]

Objective 2: Seek and Destroy

When the ramp lowered, she waited for the heathen horde to disperse. They had a duty to fulfill, and she would not deter them. Besides, what better way to draw out the enemy than to send an army against them?

When they horde had emptied the shuttle, Maestus strode down the ramp. Her boots hitting rocky ground, she paused. It was important to get the lay of the land. Let the horde rush headlong into a trap. Better the horde than the Warlords or Priests.

She took a deep breath. As she inhaled, she inhaled the Dark Side of the Force. She felt it pulsating within her, and the rage in her heart reacted. It began beating faster and harder. For Maestus, it was an exhilirating feeling. She never felt so alive as when she was commanded the Dark Side.

When she exhaled, she let the Dark Side loose. She widened her senses in the Force. Searching for other life signs and Force signatures. When she found them, she turned and marched off in that direction.

 

[Alars Keto]

Blaster fire fell upon them like rain as the pirates fired away from their defensive positions throughout the makeshift hangar carved from the cavern in the asteroid rock. Kryll dove for cover immediately, his body guarded from fire by a large supply crate filled with stolen goods. Their goods.

The damn thing was half open, good way to ruin weapons.. wait.

His fist slammed against the side of the crate stacked atop the other, a long weapon dropped down, bouncing off the floor violently. His eyes lit up like a child on Life Day, his hands grasped the tribarrel as he rose up. Quickly stashing ammo before anyone could hone in and take him out. Taking as much as possible he dropped down to a slouch against cover. His hands moving without thought, loading the weapon and prepping the ammo belt.

Kryll rose up and immediately began to unload into the defensive barrier. The slugs traveling as if they were a solid line or laser as shell casings pumped out faster than the eye could see. One.. two.. three.. armor less pirates shredded to pieces by the fury of the tribarrel's rate of fire.

He could sense something cold approach, dark and powerful. He dared not look until he was sure the enemy was dead or in retreat further into the asteroid via makeshift tunnels.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Deep Space, Pirate Fortress
Tags: Alars Keto , Maestus

​

The shuttles slid into the hangar bay of the pirate hideout like needles into flesh, and the howling horde poured out of them, frenzied by the prospect of blood. The Mongrel charged among them... but he was no longer at their head. The pressure on his chest, still only half-healed, made it difficult to breathe, and he found that he could not keep pace with the fresh berserkers at the front of the line. Wheezing as he went, the marauder still called out the dark war cries along with the others, and readied his scattergun in his scarred hands.

As it turned out, not being in the front rank likely saved his life. Just beyond the hangar's blast doors and all around its rocky perimeter, the pirates had set up impressive defenses, creating a killing zone on the hangar floor. A dozen marauders were ripped apart in the first volley of E-WEB fire and precision marksmanship, leaving the survivors to dive for cover. So this was why the pirates hadn't tried to intercept their shuttles; they planned to draw the Maw into the place where they were strongest, forcing the Brotherhood to fight on their terms.

It wouldn't matter. They had no idea what they'd unleashed.

Taking shelter behind a huge stack of weapon crates, The Mongrel found himself shoulder to shoulder with Alars Keto . It felt strange to fight beside the other marauder again; he owed the madman a debt for his aid on Mar'Zambul, for he was the only reason that The Mongrel had survived his grievous wounds there. But to owe a debt among the Brotherhood was a strange and uncertain thing, simply because it was so rare; most marauders would simply have left a wounded comrade to die, or finished him off to loot his trophies and ammunition.

But there was no time to ponder exactly what Kryll's mercy meant, not while they were pinned down in the hangar. The Mongrel's scattergun was an excellent close-quarters weapon, but from this range it was all but useless; the scattered pellets, spreading far apart as they crossed the open space, would barely sting the E-WEB gunners by the time they reached them. Fortunately, Kryll found a better weapon among the crates of stolen arms. His deadly new tribarrel scythed through the massed ranks of pirates, clearing an opening.

"Well done, brother," The Mongrel said, grinning savagely.

Reaching into his satchel, The Mongrel produced something to help them follow up that opening: a pair of incendiary grenades. With the pirates' heads forced down (or blown off) by Kryll's brutal attack, it was easy to stand and lob the grenades into the clusters of defenders around the E-WEB guns. The makeshift explosives burst, and flames rushed out. Men and women screamed as they caught fire, running or rolling desperately in an effort to extinguish themselves. All such efforts were doomed to failure. The burning chemicals clung to their skin.

"Forward!" The Mongrel screamed... then coughed, doubling over in a hacking fit. When he straightened, the deck plating was flecked with blood.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

The servant scurried away as the Dark Voice dismissed the filth from his presence with a wave of his hand. There were minor details to be ironed out as told by the messenger, the news of the pirate interruption displeased him, yet the suitable response given by the Warlords gaze him faith they would remain on schedule. With Tu'teggacha at the whip, he had no doubt production was at one hundred percent output despite any setbacks.

His eyes scanned the horizon once more, he waited to receive word from the Warlords Zachariel Steelblood and Lirka Ka . The messenger taking with him the summons for them to meet him onboard the Crucifix-Class Destroyer's bridge. Eyes widened, his sight fixated away from the construction efforts, distracted by the sudden sensing of a disturbance in the Force.

"I feel a presence. One I haven't felt since Mar'Zambul. Ah." He paused his self speech, " Cedric Grayson , at last."

 

[Maestus]

Once she had her bearings, the battle was easy to spot. She fast walked into the hanger, walking with motivation and purpose. She wore a sadistic smile on her lips and a fire in her eyes. She drew her saber, the purple one. And began to jog into the fray.

Engaging pirates one after the other, she cut a swath through them. The pirates, poor plebs. They weren't used to anything other than blaster fire. So when Maestus was within their guard, they panicked. She had little trouble dispatching them, one by one.

Until one pirate, peeking out from behind crates across the hanger, got a shot on Maestus through her right arm. The sudden burst of fiery pain caused her to drop her saber. She seethed in pain and then came the rage. How DARE they fire upon her, let alone actually hit her. The impudence. The arrogance. She would show him the error of his ways.

She summoned her saber back to her hand, then hooked it on her belt. Shoulders rolled forward, chin down and eyes ablaze, she stalked the pirate behind the crates. With a wave of her hand, the crates flew apart, exposing the now trembling and haphazardly firing across the hanger.

As she strode across the hanger, several pirates were emboldened by her focus on the trembling pirate. They opened fire on her as they closed the distance. One whizzed right past her eyes, breaking her focus on the trembler. She growled, her rage rising higher and higher.

Realizing the odds indicated she would be shot and killed at some point, she inhaled as she growled. Then let out a blood curdling roar as she exhaled the Dark Side all around her. Her Force Repulse was terrible, a violent blast blowing all the pirates back and into various hanger stuffs.

Trembler got some nerve while she was distracted and started shooting at Maestus again. Her fury had reached its breaking point. Her left hand shot out towards trembler and curled into a tightly clenched fist. Trembler's hands immediately went to his throat, clawing at invisible hands.

Maestus lifted her hand in the air and trembler followed suit, hanging, feet unable to touch the ground. Maestus shook with deeply rooted rage. Unable to restrain it, or perhaps she simply diodn't want to hold it in...She snapped her hand to one side, breaking trembler's neck. She released her fist, and his body fell to the floor.

Maestus turned and looked over the rest of the hanger.

On to the next one

 

[Alars Keto]

Kryll nodded back savagely, his eyes like a predator filled with all the intensity of the moment at hand. His eyes widened as he watched what The Mongrel had next, taking advantage of the opening to really put some hurt their way. The incendiary went off with astounding success, men and women scattered out ablaze. The smell of burning flesh and charred bodies would soon fill the area as the Brotherhood now found itself an opening to advance.

Kryll's gaze snapped to the Mongrel with a firm look of satisfaction, "Now that was a throw mate! Lessss give em' a good gunnin'." He rose up alongside the Mongrel, brothers in arms, warriors of Hell. He began his charge eagerly with the rally cry forward from the Mongrel, his eyes snapping off only to see the rage of the warlord Maestus unleashed as she cleared her own path onward.

They would reach the tunnels and push forward, but there were many obstacles set ahead. Makeshift barricades and a single refurbished Droideka, shield up, laid at the end of the hall. They certainly had dug in to form kill zones for the marauders, but they underestimated the zeal and numbers at their disposal.

Kryll turned to the Mongrel as he took cover along the corner edge of the hall, "Any bright ideas on this one?" As he spoke he bowed his head out of respect to the approaching warlord, Maestus. He also couldn't help but wonder where that powerful friend of his Gren Blidh was at the moment?

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The Hidden Maw had proven itself to be far more dangerous than Cedric had initially anticipated, but where it excelled in its violence, it floundered in its cohesion. As far as the exile could tell, the Maw was a conglomeration of several warlords held together by a shared faith and a singular overlord. It was more akin to several different states than one singular entity, a fact which Cedric fully intended to exploit should the opportunity arise.

He'd spent the past few weeks doing whatever he could try and stifle the Maw's efforts, though there was only so much a single man could do. His companions awaited him on Ruusan, but he could not abscond from the Maw just yet. There was much o be learned, and every crumb of knowledge could be a game changer for those the Maw wished to exterminate.

Right now he was keen on trying to halt the production of what he could only assume to be some kind of world devastator. He'd initially sought out the schematics in hopes of sending the information back to the Galactic Alliance, but such a venture had proven folley the moment he entered the construction site. Whomever had designed this thing was more elusive than Cedric's usual prey.

It was only by chance that the black robed exile made his way near the chamber of the overlord. He'd done well to blend in with the crowds thus far, but he felt the presence of Darth Solipsis the moment the Sith Lord noticed him.

There was nowhere to run here in the heart of the ship, and this presented a rare opportunity. If Cedric could remove the head of the snake before it could strike, then the threat the Maw posed would be negligent.

The doors to Solipsis' chambers hissed open, and Cedric stepped through the portal, a hand resting on his blade.

"I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting yet," Cedric glared up the old man. "Are you their king?" He asked, gesturing toward the guardsmen that lined the room.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

The Dark Voice remained motionless, peering out over the empty vacuum at the construction efforts over the star dreadnought as it came together. He could feel the presence of the Jedi Master approach and anticipated the meeting with each passing moment. When the doors to the bridge opened, the three Palatine Guardsmen nearby immediately fell into defensive stances. The Voice of the Maw however remained still in quiet contemplation.

His masked gaze shifted and fell upon the righteous Jedi Lord, his stance relaxed and his hand gesturing out to the newcomer with a open palm. "The pleasure is all mine. I've heard so much about you," the Sith Master hissed. "I am merely a shepard, what you see is my flock." He began to approach slowly, the air shifting coldly as he grew closer.

"Whatever you hope to achieve here, you must realize. You cannot. You will not."


Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The intention had never been to face the lord of the Maw, but then the will of the empyrean was one difficult to ignore. Cedric was uncertain as to whether the plans for the superweapon or this creature was the greater prize; that being said, there was no reason he couldn't take both. If he acted quickly enough he might even make it off the ship.

His gaze darted from one guard to the next, and finally came to rest on the cowled figure. The Great Ocean swirled violently around this one, and its waters were both bloodied and violent. That violence was contained to a degree however: kept in check by a will that Cedric could only describe as an iron cage.

This one's mind was a prison, and the Maw had been built behind its bars.

"A shepherd of the damned maybe," Cedric replied coldly, his expression that of stone. His hand lingered upon the pommel of his lightsaber, but he did not yet dare draw it. Who better to learn more about this new enemy from than the one that had created it in the first place?

"I'm not so sure you're correct old man." His gaze never left the Voice, but his attentions lingered on the decrepit creature's guards. If anything posed a threat to him here, it was the simple matter of numerical superiority. "What are you truly then? A self-appointed wiseman? What sort of wisdom could inspire this?" He demanded, gesturing with a gloved hand toward the weapon that was being constructed just outside the chamber.

Darth Solipsis

 

[Darth Solipsis]

A shepard of the damned? Not a bad assessment. Although the Brotherhood of the Maw willingly endeared themselves to such damnation at some point, whether it was after intensive mind breaking, brain washing sessions of torture and reprogramming, it did not matter. In the end, it was all sadly willing and voluntary. The Voice chuckled deeply, tickled by the association.

"There is no shatterpoint on the horizon, no great tipping scale. Let go of the idealistic notion, it does you no good."

He halted just short of being face to face with the Master Jedi, his masked gaze matched with Cedric's own. "I am the Voice of the Maw, the mouthpiece of their gods." His hands raised softly to his headpiece, pressing in two divits on each side to release part of the interlocks on the crowning headpiece. Slowly the veil lifted and the mask removed, all that remained behind was that of smoldering eyes resembling the fires of Oricon and the hellscape of Mustafar.

"The galaxy must be purged, there is no longer balance. The slate must be cleaned. We are the eraser, the broom that will sweep the trash away."

Crimson sparks leapt between his right hand's fingertips, his left hand tensed in preparation.



Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The burning coals that were the creature's eyes stared into his own, and in them he saw nothing. There was no light of greater consciousness, no hint of emotion betrayed, only a grim absence of anything Cedric might have called human. This was the Maw's greatest representative on the mortal plain, one so enamored in the depths of the Bogan so as not to be anything less than its avatar.

He found himself dearly wishing he still carried the Blade of Ruusan.

"I know your gods," Cedric snapped dismissively, "And I know what you are. I have seen visions of the Great Enemy since I was a small boy. I prepared my people for it. The Galactic Alliance stands ready for your arrival." He wasn't entirely certain if what he said was true, but he certainly sounded like he did. Since being cast out, Cedric had little understanding of the state that had been painted over his old empire. He was uncertain if they could withstand the coming tide, but Ryv was there to lead them at the least. They wouldn't be caught wholly unprepared.

"I'm surprised to meet anyone so foolish as to bow to the whims of the Netherworld." He continued, fingers tightening around the pommel of his blade. "Though I suppose even the bitterest of honeys draw in a fly now and then. What do I call you then, voice, and why is it that you seem to have some interest in me? I know that was you in my head back on Mar'zhambul."

Darth Solipsis

 

[Darth Solipsis]

The Elder snapped into a minor fit of laughter, he quipped back in kind. "Oh but you're not prepared. Not yet. Your people have allowed themselves to scatter to the winds, your former subjects to busy picking apart an idle, dying beast subjected to the worship of a false god. They follow hand in hand with the Iron Sun, and with the right push.. even the sleeping purple giant can be woken."

He stood tall, straightening his posture, bones crackling from his frail body. "You perceive only a fraction of reality, the walls are closing in faster than you know. The Brotherhood is only the beginning, you must see this, it is the will of the Force itself." He opened his hand in invitation, "..but you do not have to stand against me. I have watched you since your birth, I've always been there in the darkness... as I promised your father."

"Would you like to meet him?"


Cedric Grayson

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 1
​

For days Kyrel had been left onboard the meditation chamber that was being constructed aboard the weapon. For when the wreckage, or what you would call the skeletal corpse that was the former Destroyer known as the Ravager eons ago. What had remained of it was being retrofitted into a superweapon of sorts. One that wound announce the arrival of the Maw, like the Nihil before them so very long ago. No one had seen Kyrel, much less spoke to him. Locked within the meditation room that was being constructed, the dead man had been plagued by voices, and visions from his past, and what dare would say the future.

The dark visions only helped further enhance the construction of the room. With Kyrel ordering in his own alterations, such as ancient dark side runes found from the depths of the Unknown Regions to be added. As well as some sort of Obelisk. The purpose of the obelisk would be to work as a target enhancer, and a second firing mechanism. If anyone was in the room using the weapon on say a capital ship, or the planet of which the intended target was. Anyone gifted with the dark side would activate a set of crystals within the obelisk. Functioning similarly to the technology of Sith Meditation spheres. It was a backup in case someone stopped the weapon from its main mechanism. It's secondary purpose was to use the extraordinary power of the dark side, the room being a focusing area to amplify it's powers and that of the individual.

The voices went from a silent whispering, all the way to slowly shouting within Kyrel's mind. Voices that had plagued him since he was an enforcer of the First Order. Voices that told him to take control of the great cleansing that would begin. He was shaking his head, pacing back and forth. Uncertain as to what to do with what troubled him inside his head. Yet it told him to think of gaining more power. To burn all the galaxy at his feet, and his feet alone. To no longer serve a master as he had done his entire life. To stop running from it all, and all Kyrel could do was fall victim to these voices.