I Want It All

[Arage Bao]

​

[SIZE=10.6667px]You would think that the Underlord traveled in style. That his ship was luxurious, accommodation. With a big spacious bedroom. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]Leather[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]seats[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]. And every other utility that comes with the perks of being the crime lord of a vast syndicate that spanned the Galaxy. But [member="Loxa Visl"] soon found out that her new beau was not entirely concerned with matters like comfort and luxury - that all he really cared about was utility, as long as it [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]worked[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] and was [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]efficient[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] he was satisfied with it. Khal had tried to convince her to leave Wayland behind. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Even offered her his resources to move everything from this world to somewhere… safer. Loxa didn’t want to hear any of it. Her living temple was here, the trees were growing, the ship too. Part of him wanted to leave anyway, leave her behind. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]It would have been the rational decision. The [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]efficient[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] decision. But something had stopped him from operating as usual. It might have been the life growing inside of Loxa, it might have been the night they shared or the nights after the first one, but [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]something[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] had made Khal decide to stay on Wayland for now. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]In a world of HoloNet transceivers, hyperspace travel and even telepathic communication he really did not need to be anywhere in particular to have his word heard anyway. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]He propped up the pillow underneath his head and gently brushed some of Loxa’s hair away.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“We should leave soon, priestess.” the voice, deepened from years of alcohol and cigarette abuse, almost growled- yet there was some gentless to be found.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“Word has it that Zambrano already torched Dantooine. Who knows where he will set his eyes next.”[/SIZE]

 

[Blackthorne]

Loxa did not open her eyes, but judging by the knitting of her brow she was considering his words carefully as she always did. The Priestess was not one to complain, as he had found she had no comment or opinion of his lifestyle. Likely she had never known luxury. Likely what he considered to be stark and utilitarian was what she may have believed to be luxury. A ship of his own, full of his own belongings, with the given advantage of leaving upon a whim - traveling wherever he will.

No strings.

No Gods.

No Masters.

No tethers.

Luxuries quite unfamiliar to her.

"This one cannot yet leave," she replied over a quiet exhale of breath, idly tracing her fingers over the arch of her protruding belly, golden eyes folding open to look up at him, "a man knows this."

She had explained to him, the first time he attempted to convince her to leave, that interrupting the current of Sargon now would be detrimental to Eogorath who was so very close to complete bloom. The behemoth required the continued nutrient source of Wayland or its growth and shaping could be stunted permanently. Yvarenthi, the temple, could not be moved without taking irreparable damage. Her roots had grown far too board and deep. And the sapling? It was the most delicate of the three - it would not survive removal. Not without its soul, which presently still grew within the Priestess laying disrobed next to Khal.

Korangar visibly shifted, kicking, causing Loxa to close her eyes again in a wince of discomfort.

Her belly had grown quite significantly within the last month, her fatigue as well. Loxa found she spent less time conjuring and more time resting, meditating. Nights spent with Khal were a curiously welcome reprieve. The hand that traced her belly lifted to his chest, finding by touch alone the curious array of scars that she had come to memorize over their many encounters.

<<The risk is too great and we do not know that he will look to Wayland. There is little of value here to him.>>

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Arage Bao]

His frown only deepened. There was no arguing with her when she got like this though, in a lot of ways it showed the fundamental difference between the two of them. Whilst Loxa had accepted servitude towards the Gods… Khal had picked a different path a long time ago. Factually he understood what she was telling him, but he didn't consider it worth it. Try telling that to the head priestess of the Primevalian Gods though.

Khal brushed her belly, feeling the kick that made her flinch so. The frown softened with his expression.

“A strong soul.” Khaleel said, his hand rested softly on her stomach. Part of him wanted to reach out towards the life growing inside of her.

It would be a mistake. Such an intimate connection so early would surely corrupt the aspiring soul. With no firm identity in place his touch would push it towards a predetermined path.

Difficult.

“I will bow before your wisdom, Priestess.”

For now.

But plans were already forming itself in his mind. He had already established small hyperspace drones around the sector - if anything came this way… they would know in advance.

If it came to that Khal would not hesitate to act.

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

The Priestess gave a grunt as she felt Korangar shift again, kicking upwards into her ribs. Her brow knitted tightly.

"Yes," she agreed with Khal, shifting herself more onto her side, facing the man, "very strong. Mmf."

No pillow to be had - they found out quickly enough that the sharpened spikes crowning her skull tore holes in the things without any effort on her part. Just as well, Loxa was not in the habit of using one. As Khal learned the Priestess was accustomed to a bare-bones lifestyle of only the essentials. She had very little to call her own, and what extraneous things there were existed only because they had been bestowed upon her by others.

Anja's sword and nameless spellbook, for instance, both of which were securely hidden away within Yvarenthi. Her lightsaber was with them, too - passed down to her upon the death of her former Master. Her battle armor from her days within Moross were dressed on a form in there, Loxa knew it would never fit properly now. The Morossi Phrik Staff remained stubbornly in place in the temple of Bastion. No one had been capable of moving it from where the Priestess last left it. Some day she would have to return for it.

A deep, slow exhale sounded from her nose as she focused on calming the life within her. Its restless nature had grown more prominent like her belly as of late and it was becoming quite exhausting for her to continue to assuage it's apparent wanderlust. Korangar did not seem to like it when she fell still for too long. Sleep was hard to come by.

"A man has no need to bow," subdued words from her lips, her same hand followed the line of a long scar that followed a path up along his chest to his throat, "and is free to leave when he wishes. This one has never expected more than what a man has already given."

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Arage Bao]

His eyes closed themselves as he thought long and hard. This wasn’t one of those fairy tales where the man instinctively knew that it was here that he belonged, that it was this woman that meant it all for him, frankly… Khaleel didn’t know what was moving him. She might have suggested it was the influence of the Gods, but that was not it. Not by a long shot and it made him quite… concerned.

“I have not felt anything like this in... ever.” he replied after a while. Khal’s hand found hers, taking it in his and letting it all rest on his scar and chest.

“I have not felt since I stopped trying to play for a Jedi.” ever since he had left the Order behind him. Ever since he went back to Nar Shaddaa and took Jimmy’s from Jimmy, ever since he took the first few steps towards solidifying the Exchange.

Ever since all of that… there was only dedication and movement. The body acted, but the soul was asleep.

Khal opened his eyes and met the golden orbs, filled with kindness?

“I do not know what this feeling is, but it is telling me to stay here with you. Not that I will be able to do much if a fleet appears overhead.”

Not that he had much to fear of a fleet. Khal wasn’t sure if he could survive being incinerated by a barrage of turbolasers, but at the same time… the tattoos on his body might spare him from complete incineration and might just induce a feth ton of blunt trauma. Would probably knock him out cold for a few weeks, but the body could heal.

Yeah, but even if that was true. Even if he was immortal. Loxa ain’t, and that was enough of a rationale for him… for some reason.

What is this?

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

Loxa was no closer to understanding what was described than he. She lay, muted, by his side as he puzzled the words out, attempting to make sense of the compulsions and emotions he felt. Perhaps another woman would have told him he was in love, but Loxa did not know love. It was as foreign to her as the Jedi Code or the oath of fealty given by Sith.

What the Priestess knew was this: she found enjoyment in Khal's presence; amusement in his accent and wardrobe; curiosity in his mannerisms and opinions; a certain sense of awe in his strange and otherwordly powers; a simmering confusion in his seeming detachment from the Gods - any Gods. He was a man unlike all the others.

"Av'era la-ren," she said, a phrase of no solid translation to basic but inflected as something akin to: I accept what is.

Loxa offered a tired smile, "A man is still strange."

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Just as Loxa did not know love so did Khal not [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]believe[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] in love. No, there was something different at play here and it would simply take time to figure out what that was. Perhaps his instincts were simply pushing him towards an investment that would pay off later, guiding him towards a resolution he wasn’t even seeing right there and then. Maybe. Khal wasn’t sure, it only brought confusion to him at the moment and he didn’t like that feeling at all.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“A woman too.” he returned her smile with his own. It felt foreign. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]The Underlord did not get to smile often. It went against the entirety of his job description and existence in the Galaxy.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]But sometimes… sometimes ya had to make an exception. Or two. His hand moved past her swollen stomach and brushed her chin, planting a kiss on her lips. Before deciding to step out of the bed, the day wouldn’t be waiting for them.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Sadly.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px][member="Loxa Visl"][/SIZE]

 

[Blackthorne]

Indeed it would not.

~~~

Wayland's jungles were alive with the chatter of local fauna as the pair departed from [member="Khaleel Malvern"]'s ship. Situated in a clearing near Temple Yvarenthi, it was a short walk through the swamplands along raised wooden platforms to reach her home. Loxa came upon Yvarenthi to the welcome greetings of her clan witches, many of whom now lived within the premis of the ever growing, living temple.

Many moons had passed since this particular heartseed took root and already it had grown to twice the size since Khal's first introduction ot it. Alive, aware, Yvarenthi emitted a sensation of warm familiarity as they passed through the entry gate constructed of tightly knit branches, vines, roots and brambles.

Dozens of Witches of varying ages worked around the perimeter, their coded ritualized hymns and spells helping to shape and grow the temple as they willed. Here and there flashes of light denoted the power behind their words.

"Sha'Matri," a young witch arrived carrying with her a basket of stones carved with archaic symbols. She bowed her head, offering a hand forward palm up in the customary greeting. Loxa reached out and gently stroked her fingers from the woman's wrist to fingertips, uttering a gentle reply.

"The runestones you requested for Korangar are finished," she held the basket forward for Loxa to inspect.

"Not since the days of Aaris III has this one seen such beautiful carvings," the Priestess intoned smoothly as she lifted the flattened stones to look at them in the light. Blackened and polished to a glossy finish, the runes glowed at her touch, "and the slabs for Eogorath?"

"There has been trouble, Sha'Matri,"

"What trouble?"

"Warlord Kotyc'ade has barred our trade caravan in the western mountains where we have gathered the stone."

Loxa's lips drew thin in thought, "Has anyone been hurt?"

"No, Sha'Matri, but the guards keeping the caravan have not allowed them to move. They will run out of supplies soon. Forgive me, the messenger only arrived to tell us this morning."

Balac Kotyc'ade had been of no issue up until the death of the Host Lord finally reached public knowledge. Afterwards it seemed the man had grown paranoid of the resident Witch clan and it's ever growing numbers. Thousands had flocked to Wayland to seek refuge from the burning planets at the core of the Primeval, and to seek sanctuary in the presence of one of the few devout Priests of Sargon left: Loxa Visl.

Balac was not a practicing worshipper of Sargon and never had been. His rule over Wayland had been granted on the whims of people who were less concerned about the world so very far away from the main hold of the Primeval. Easier to let a local handle the planetary affairs rather than waste resources trying to depose him.

Perhaps now that there was no longer central leadership it would be time to reassess the virtue of this particular Warlord.

"Give the stones to Yvarenthi," Loxa said quietly, "and call the Mar'eshi."

Mar'eshi. Khaleel knew that title. It belonged to the clan warriors.

 

[Arage Bao]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Mar'eshi.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]The title was, indeed, known to him. The clan warriors were a worthy lot. Their ways were as ferocious as they were set in their loyalty to… whatever they preached here. What was [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]also[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] known to the Underlord was what it meant. The Mar'eshi were not called on a whim or a simple dispute that could be solved with a few diplomatic words or an offering of some nature. No. They were only called upon when the only resolution was a swift lunge and piercing through the heart. It [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]meant[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] that Visl was going to do something that… Khal wasn’t sure.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]A week ago he would have approved of the action, but now there was gnawing something at the very core of his being. He could not put it into words, sentences or any other expression of speech that was known to him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Concern[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“You cannot lead them.” the words were out, before Khaleel even understood the gnawing feeling. Before he even realized what he wanted to say it had already slipped from under him. Perhaps she hadn’t even been planning on leading them into battle, perhaps she was wise enough to see what a bad idea that truly was.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]But Khaleel Malvern did not live by 'maybe’s' and 'perhapses'. Loxa had led them into battle before, chances were she considered it her duty.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]He truly did not know. Much of his… what was she to him? Much of her was still a mystery to him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px][member="Loxa Visl"][/SIZE]

 

[Blackthorne]

A long sideglance was given to the man at his sudden outburst. Several eyes watched him from nearby, lingering with a tenseness that occurred when one attempted to tell the person in charge what they could or could not do. Loxa may have unwittingly absorbed the last remnants of [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]'s essence, but she and the former Host Lord were not one in the same.

Without a word back to the man she turned and made her way along the wooden walkway into the temple, white robes swaying at her feet.

Inside she strode unimpeded through the throngs of resident Witches. There were Mar'eshi already stationed here, but many many more had taken up positions are the remaining two trees and at the newly founded village deep in the jungles. Words of honor and reverence followed her as she made way through the halls of roots, branches, vine and bramble, back to the spiral stairway that lead down into the heartcave.

There she arrived upon a gathering of Witch Elders in commune with Yvarenthi, their minds imploring the tree the will of growing and shaping, feeding to the temple their wisdom and knowledge for all the generations to come.

Loxa spoke a gentle request in Pacean, her very presence drawing the attention of the tree - vines coiling to stroke along her arms and shoulders. From a tangled, writhing webbing of plantlife above a single thick vine descended and deposited into her waiting hands the gleaming hilt of her lightsaber. She thanked Yvarenthi and clipped it to the belt at her hip just beneath her outer robe.

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Boethiah]

Stars reflect on the ocean waves, reminding the primitives that once were and still are the possibility of the galaxy which awaits them.

From world-to-world, children of the stars leave their mark. How does life ever spread across the deep, dark expanse? When did it come to be that long ago pilgrims escaped the plight of darker masters, and fled until they could not see starlight, to settle on the fringes of the galactic disk and wait millennia until they were destined to return? Imagine yourself gradually, slowly fading away; not a child of the stars, but a child of dust.

Can death truly be cruel, if its judgments are weighed? All life is to come to an end, whether it be by number of years or overwhelming ailments. But what if a life were to take another, then how is that weighed? If there's an afterlife, what measure is used to define who deserves grace and who deserves punishment? Perhaps the Gods are indeed merciful, and the prophets blinded by their own sense of personal glory; defiance towards the old order.

And now one such prophet of the new order, a woman whose very name wrought carnage, would too be carried away by the cosmic sea and destined for distant shores.

How will she be judged? What legacy has she left behind, this child of dust?

[member="Loxa Visl"] | [member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Loxa Visl"]

It hadn't been so much an outburst as much as a slip of the tongue. Even when being moved by things he himself did not understand Khal wasn't the man to scream and yell. That wasn't his style. Not his lingo. He would keep calm and centered, even when every fiber of his body told him to do otherwise, because that was what it meant to be the Underlord. You could not afford yourself to be led by your emotions... or your pride.

"This is no longer about you." his words would reach her across the grotto. His silhouette would barely be visible in the shadows, and yet his form was at ease here.

Amidst the magicks and arcane, the echoes of the Gods and the growing of power... Khal felt right at home. It didn't make him awed or scared, he just was.

"You carry the seed now. To lead means to put it in danger, making all our efforts for naught."

It was analytical. Precise. Logical. And entirely not why he had voiced his concerns in the first place, but such were the ways of Khaleel Malvern. Even when concerned he wouldn't reveal the real reasons - that too, was part of his game.

 

[Blackthorne]

"This one will always lead her people," Loxa replied calmly, saffron eyes glowing balefully in the gloom, "there is more than a single way to lead."

Her instinctive reaction was, of course, to lead the siege against the current Warlord, yet even Yvarenthi was of an awareness to pose concern for this move. Her vines had stroked across the burdgeoning belly of the Priestess, squeezing gently with insistence to stay. In those quiet moments Loxa felt something stir within her that was not part of Korangar but something far older and malevolent.

Orkamaat, a voice hissed along the Force, come.

"This one will call upon a Champion to lead in her stead and bring to Eogorath this heathen Warlord and his ilk, where this one will wait. What a man chooses to do is his choice alone."

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]
[member="Orkamaat"]

 

[Orkamaat]

His eyes shot open as an ancient voice caressed the flowing expanse of his mind, and in an instant, the Priest pulled back into himself, presence retracting to his immediate vicinity. A quick inspection of the hilltop confirmed his initial suspicion: the speaker had contacted him from afar, conveying meaning through the far-reaching Force.

Inhix, he replied and stood from his sitting position, brushing off a few stray blades of grass still clinging to his robes. The usually immaculate purple cloaks had not fared well with prolonged exposure to the harsh wilderness of Wayland, and where the crimson threads hung tattered, strips of flaking gray flesh lay revealed beneath.

What do you require of me? he asked even as he made his way down the slope, bare feet digging into the pleasantly cool dirt.

Even as he posed the query, the Priest of Balagoth already saw it laid out before his inner eye; a grand feast of blood and flesh, given freely and taken by force. It would please It, if It knew pleasure at all.

But It did not, and so the sacrifice would be to the Rest, whom Orkamaat respected but had never come to love. Perhaps today, that could change; perhaps [member="Loxa Visl"] could change him.
Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?


[member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Orkamaat"] [member="Loxa Visl"]

"D'zcksivina." his presence touched the youthful presence of the living tree. It was a flavor of fine tobacco, mixed with spiced liquor and cologne -- the taste of the urbane come together to hail the new. Thank you. It said to the spirit of nature grown. For a few moments nothing happened, there was silence, until a soft rumbling transferred itself through the void to his mind again.

It was baritone laughter, amusement incarnated, before centering itself in contemplation.

"Your pronunciation. It needs work, Shimmering One." shimmering one? Now that was something new. Khal refocused his attention back to Loxa, who didn't seem all that angry - but she never did, always serenity, always the calm in his raging storm. How did she do that? What was her secret?

His interaction with the spirit finalized, at least in his opinion, the Underlord revealed a lit cigarette from his palm. It was fit between his lips, then a crooked smile flashed itself at her. One of his charming ones, maybe to push away the attention of his indiscretion a few moments ago. Whatever had caused him to convince her to stay here in the first place?

A mystery for the ages.

"I will aid this champion of yours, of course. I am not the one with the swollen belly, my dear." the smile turned into a grin this time.

 

[Blackthorne]

A body... answered the slithering voice along the Force to [member="Orkamaat"], ...I see it now, tethered on the strings of fate.


Loxa's pale eyes slowly followed the gentle sway of vines around her, wistfully amused by the exchange between Yvarenthi and the man of offering. The temple tree had grown substantially over the months, the age of the woman from her former life finally settling into the deep roots, taking hold of the youthful soul within and growing through. Wisdom saturated its stalks, trunks, branches, leaves. Calm resolve strengthened its boughs, arcane mysticism colored the buds. As fiercely loyal to the Gods as could be, but with the firm and gentle nature of a mother long since watched her children grow.

Now she would preside over the children of the eons.

The Sha'Matri looked upon that charming smile with curiosity, securing the saber hilt at her waist with one hand while the other smoothed the material of her robes over that swollen belly of hers.

<<Thank the Gods for that...>> she returned to the man, a bare smirk briefly evident in a rare show of humor. Brushing past [member="Khaleel Malvern"], Loxa moved to retrace her steps out of the heartseed alcove.


Do this bidding of my Protege... Champion of Wayland...

 

[Orkamaat]

A body? he echoed across the barely tangible thread in the Force, though once tapped, it was rich and thick and ancient, like the two ends it connected. Warm or cold?A little bit of both, perhaps?

Through simple questions, deeper meaning was relayed, through inflection and cadence and ripples in the energy that had wound together to form their momentary link. Orkamaat smiled, and nodded, and jubilantly skipped across the rolling hills of Wayland. Where once reigned a sprawling jungle was now a stretch of plains, grounds scorched and revitalized after the massive battle between Primeval and the Mandalorians in that very same forest.

The Priest hadn't been here, but he might as well have been; the lingering ghosts roared and whispered as they accompanied him on his journey across, towards the settlement that had grown at the foot of an intimidating mountain whose head had been lopped off by the gods. As he neared the looming peak, Orkamaat craned his neck to the skies, his burning orange eyes tracing the jagged path of a crack running the length of the slope from top to the very bottom. Perhaps a missed first strike had cut the chasm into its side?

Even he was too young to have witnessed this feat of decapitation, and then the shadow of Tantiss was upon him, and his gaze settled back on the city.

Would you prefer fire or ice, Inhix? he inquired, fingers tingling in anticipation. It was so rare, to be able to let go, but here he would be witnessed by the gods' umbrage, no less!

It was a good day for great deeds.

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]​

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Orkamaat"] | [member="Loxa Visl"] | [member="Boethiah"]

She brushed past and Khal's hand briefly dandled her swollen belly in passing. His. According to Loxa the Gods had laid their claim on the childe growing inside of her, but it was only because of his acceptance of this fact that it would be thus. His choice. She wouldn't see it that way, but her faith ran too deep to see it any other way - curious, considering her faith had once been in a different set of Gods, one could wonder if the one thing she truly needed was simply something to believe in.

"Oh, you are funny." the Underlord replied with a snort, following her out of the room.

An inhale later and the chemicals of the cigarette found entry. Some moments later it started to spread through his veins, focus started to concentrate and will reinforcing itself within his being.

Arcane magicks were a complicated affair, but one thing was certain. You needed a focus point, a focal point even. A way to increase your concentration and let your will push against the fabric of reality itself. Most of the time Khal did not need the cigarettes or any other external mediums, but this wasn't most of the time. This was now, and now there would be an extended fight in front of him and this Champion.

They would need all the help they could get.

 

[Orkamaat]

A tilt of the head, a smile, as if someone had said something funny. One of the ghosts, perhaps, though nobody was around to ask what Orkamaat was smiling at.

More's the pity. Soon he would smile no longer, and the expression was a rare sight indeed.

He reached out to the other, brushing up against a faintly familiar weight of age that slowly made for the settlement, coming from the west rather than from the south. If his predictions were correct – and they invariably were – they would meet up at the gates to the city, given their current pace. Just as well.

I remember you, demon, he spoke instead of a greeting, moving effortlessly across the plains towards the cluster of houses at the foot of the great mountain. Soon, they would be nothing more than sacrifice for the Gods, reduced to screams and blood and bits of lingering memory. Integrated into the colorful tapestry of Wayland, like the thousands of Mandalorians that had perished here before, and the Yuuzhan Vong before them, and the Jedi, and some other unnamed army, all the way back to the very first beasts vying for the lush territory in the sprawling jungles.

Except for Orkamaat, these weren't mere second-hand recollections; it was his life.

He'd been here before, Force knew how many aeons ago, when the peak still stood tall, and when there were no houses dotting the uninterrupted forests. He had to admit, the planet had looked distinctly better without the blemish of civilisation upon its face.

The Priest would be more than happy to do his part in restoring it to its former glory, even if it required a little blood spilling. Nothing was ever achieved without some sweat and blood.

A good thing, then, that he had neither.

[member="Khaleel Malvern"] | [member="Loxa Visl"] | [member="Boethiah"]​

 

[Boethiah]

Wayland was more than a jungle, the force breathed life into the planet itself unlike most others. Perhaps it was the taint of the dark side that drew the slave towards Wayland's heart, the Warlord who ruled cared little for what she saw; or what any of the witches saw. Cruelty was his answer to prophesy, and despite the warnings he would not falter before the might of the Primeval's remaining loyalists. Yet what loyalty was that of those who witnessed the Host Lord's death? What drew them to Wayland, was it that which drew the slave? Perhaps if she listened closely, the whispers would become a calm voice of wisdom; telling her what they could hear.

How could I understand the weight carried on the shoulders of a giant? A world that has seen life slaughtered, their blood spilling into its soil; the jungles it nurtured torched by the fires of those who do not hear its cries.

How could I, a world of pain, ever hope to bring new life after witnessing so much death?

The Warlord's cruelty was a reflection of that pain, the longer you live here the deeper the whispers dig within your mind. You dream of its desires, and if not careful become a slave of its whims. As an army marches on their doorsteps, the Warlord's frightened subjects scurried like common insects, finding themselves deeper underground in hopes of avoiding death. Shouldn't they desire it, an escape from his wrath?

Approaching the sacred Altar of Sargon, her amber eyes stared into the nothingness, a vague statuette with indescribable features was carved out of the mountain rock which the temple was built around. It was in this place where Wayland refused to speak, a quiet sanctuary away from the cries and the torture. A place where the lowly slave could begin to hear her own thoughts again...

[member="Loxa Visl"] | [member="Orkamaat"] | [member="Khaleel Malvern"]