Primordial Chaos

[Boethiah]

"The gates are shut! Three days and the Host has not answered. Our banners have halted, our fleets wander aimlessly, and the Exemplars who swore to protect us refuse to act."

It was eight years ago when the Primeval first happened upon the galaxy. An ancient, cryptic power whose origins are left untraceable. They've fought the Mandalorians, the Silver Jedi, and even the Republic with a seemingly endless amount of resources, and fearless legions at their backs. Who they are--where they've come from; everything about them mystifying and unknown. Those last brothers and sisters in arms who carry the trinitarian pyramids as their symbol of power will be blessed.

One such child was called, a heathen turned zealot, a lost one who walks her path without direction. The silent guardians pushed themselves to the side, the woman's stride like a tsunami, a force incomparable and undeniable that they must bend to its will. Thunderously, the gates opened to let this one soul entrance when all others were denied access.

"Come to me," a quiet whisper would seep into her mind, should she allow it.

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

Loxa Visl, former Priestess and Steward of Moross, a voice of their 12 Gods and once loyal hand to the three living Aesirs, slowly walked the pathway leading into the citadel. From here and far away the voice that summoned her had been heard, loudly - clearly, as if the Gods themselves had spoken in her ear. Her blind walk had lead her across the stars, from the 12 Aesirs of Moross to the dark path of the Primeval. She considered this quietly, each footfall holding the weight of her beliefs. They'd been shattered, regrown and nurtured only to break once more.

Walk blind.

Listen for their word.

Know your purpose.

Come to me.

The gates rumbled open and Loxa Visl's pale golden eyes peered into the darkness glowing. No fear to be seen on the face of the newly risen Sha'Matri of Wayland, but a curious concern was evident. She stepped forward, footfalls echoed by the deft tamping of her staff and then finally by the sound of the gates sealing shut at her back.

A few steps more, calm and quiet, Loxa passed her gaze around slowly, her own senses keening on awareness, reaching out into the intangible ethers.

"This one has come as you command," the echo was distant and strangely eerie, "...Host Lord?"

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

The halls were vacant; a palace once filled with guards and servants seemingly empty of all lifeforms save the two.

Further back along the high chairs and sitting upon the Fel Dynasty's throne was the very woman who had led the Host all these years. Yet something was different. If Loxa looked not with her eyes, buy with her perceptions in the force and magicks, she'd know that the chaotic wonderment of Anja's powers were unusually calm and fading. "Step forward," the same whisper called out to touch the mind of a faithful follower.

Anja could not rise from her seat, she had even lost the strength to raise her voice loud enough for anyone to hear conventionally. At the witch's side were two objects; one an old book with no lettering on its binding, and the other a sword forged not long ago. The Host Lord's skin was pale, even more so than usual for the Umbaran, and droplets of sweat dripped across her skin and soaked the ceremonial garment she often wore.

Those foggy eyes of hers stared blankly at the bland ceiling.

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

Loxa's steps were slow but true, carrying her towards the fading figure of the Host Lord with growing concern. The waning life force did not escape her senses, yet where in others this may have drawn out great urgency, in Loxa it strengthened her resolve.

"Host Lord," when finally she came to stand at the base of the throne Loxa lowered herself into the ritualistic bow she had shown the woman each and every time before. First to her knees and then, with care of the burgeoning life at her middle, she dipped her head towards the floor, "I am not worthy."

 

[Boethiah]

With Loxa nearer, finally Anja's true voice could be heard. "You are more worthy than you might think," the woman's words were vacant of accent and articulation; spoken only in such a manner that they could be heard clearly enough to be understood. With a weak motion, Anja gestured for Loxa to rise.

Her chest heaved just so that she might breathe a little longer, her body and mind held together by will. "I have seen a vision... Witnessed an end, a coming conflict that even we could not hope to resist. I am unsure its meaning, and I haven't any time left to find out. If I could--if you are willing--allow me to share with you what I have seen many nights as I close my eyes." With her last efforts of strength, Anja rose from the throne and gradually moved down the many steps.

Only weeks ago this trek of sorts was effortless, she had walked the palace without fatigue but now even meager steps seemed to sap the energy from her body.

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

"Asante," she answered back, slowly rising to her feet amidst the soft swaying of white robes.

Loxa listened in still quiet, baleful eyes never leaving the Host Lord's figure. Words uttered on a strange tone completely foreign to the woman she thought she knew, the Priestess was left to wonder if once again her foundation of faith would be tested. A decade ago the living Aesir Inari had spoken similar words and the years following had been some of the most spiritually difficult that Loxa could remember. How long had it taken her to find her new place here amidst the believers of the Primeval? How much longer, then, till the words of her old Aesirs left her lips?

Her gaze broke finally from [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] to look over at her staff and the etchings enscribed upon it by the master smiths of Kalee. Though considered blasphemous by many, Loxa could not bring herself to part with one of the very few things she had left of her great reprieve of life. She'd not even kept a Book of Moross. At one point she wondered if perhaps her neglect to let go of it had kept her from ascending within Prime, but more recently she'd come to find that was not so.

Loxa released the staff and it stuck where it stood by unseen hands, the phrik plating gleaming in the dim light of the hall. Her eyes returned to the Host Lord and she nodded in assent, raising her free hands towards Anja as affirmation to her willingness and also to give strength to the failing woman where she had none of her own.

 

[Boethiah]

Each small step was killing her, every move of her muscles tore away at what life force remained within her own body. This decay was not going to be her demise, however. Instead Anja knew what last bit of magicks she had left would serve a far grander purpose. Once she had thought herself a conqueror and crusader, someone who would do what no other could. Yet the path she walked and proven one thing--that fate could not be predicted. Her Gods had plans and it seemed her purpose would soon be fulfilled in those plans.

Reaching out, Anja took the woman's hand and gripped it tightly with her own. Dark tendrils of energy formed of flesh, blood, and life force seeped from her skin and slithered across Loxa's arm, biting into her flesh and flowing throughout her body. This energy carried Anja's last visions, offering Loxa with knowledge that only the Host Lord knew of until now.

And within that vision, her last will and command--leave nothing for the taking.

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

Loxa gripped the woman tightly despite the sudden surge of black energies. She would not, under any circumstance, fail the woman that had so willingly taken in a heathen and so fully held faith in her ability to ascend. Ever the collected person, the frailty of the spirit she now held onto took her by complete surprise.

"Haaa-" a hiss emitted in response to the searing fire of the arcane magic working its way into her being. Loxa grit her teeth against it. Her mind raced amidst the tumult of knowledge pouring in, the imagery of a holocaust scene. So much life lost. Embers in the winds of the ether...what was happening to bring on these visions? What power could possibly effect thing upon such an empire?

Loxa knew the answer to this because she'd lived through it once already: the power of broken faith.

And then she felt the dwindling flame of Anja's life flicker before her - within her - and surged forward to catch the failing body, golden eyes wide.

"Host Lord...!" she began, feeling the sting of her knees against the stone of the floor, the pain breaking her concentration just enough for the ancient Pacean language to break through, <<...Anja ...what's happened to you?>>

 

[Boethiah]

Falling glass?

That is what she saw as darkness began to surround her, what little was left of Anja joined inside Loxa.

Bitter cold nipped at her skin, the pieces of glass etched deep into her flesh, separating the witch at the seams. A voice echoed in a language she could not understand, a language that was utterly unfathomable to the woman's ears. All she knew was that the voice was Loxa's. Anja tried to reach out, to say something, but as her lips moved no sound came from them, and even in her mind she could not piece together any sentences.

Then she heard a familiar sound... Thump. Thump. Thump.

Her heart's pace began to slow, and finally what small particles of light she saw before had vanished completely.

So this is what it's like to be blind?

For the first time she could not see... She wondered if this is where her Gods resided, in a prism without light nor sound, a place to which they only had themselves.

Thus in the arms of Loxa the Host Lord's life force had vanished, and from this world her death would echo. This is a calm before the storm, soon the Primeval would be set ablaze with no one to hold it all together. How much could've been prevented? Who knew.

Death was a funny thing. An entire nation held by the life of one.

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

<<Anja?!>>

Thump. Thump. Thump....

Sand through her fingers. For a split moment Loxa was back on Aaris III, bloodied knees against the pebbled beaches, raw fingers grasping onto the black sand in the waves.

<<For every piece of sand you lose you will suffer.>>

She felt her fingers tighten around Anja's wilting body, fighting to keep her life essence intact, enveloping the Host Lord against her bosom with all the strength she could muster.

Loxa remembered the striking of the lash against the skin of her back, tearing through the tattered Witch robes, fresh blood pooling along deep gashes, fingers laced as tightly around the sand as possible. The lapping waters still washed between the gaps, stealing away those microscopic stones.

<<You cannot hold it with your strength!>>

The lash cracked through the air and Loxa cringed, biting back her cries, bearing down against the pain she knew was coming...

all at once the Host Lord's flame extinguished in a peaceful, painless stream of unseen smoke. Body limp in her arms, Loxa released a tight, deep breath, and opened her eyes, blinking away the fog of tears forming at the corners. She looked down to the sunken face of the woman that had once been so strong of will and stature, her stare alone would fell the masses. Now, as the body sunk lower in her grasp, still and limp, the Priestess knew the sudden and terrifying truth she held in her arms.

There was nothing left to stop the Chaos that would unfold.

 

[Blackthorne]

For a long time Loxa sat unmoving with the Host Lord's body cradled in her arms, sifting through a maelstrom of memories and emotions she had not felt in many years. The pain of loss was not so foreign to the Priestess, but never had it quite hit so close to home or her heart. Within she had grown a love for the Host Lord that she could not explain, and so now she suffered a pain just as mystifying. How does one grieve the loss of a Leader? A God in her own right?

Loxa's world was about to fall apart and she was unprepared for the consequences it would enact upon not only herself but the whole host of Primeval peoples.

With another deep breath she set the Host Lord's body down upon the floor and stood to consider her next move.

Leave nothing for the taking.

<<I will not fail you.>>

Loxa approached the throne where she found the Host Lord's sword, Dreamweaver, quietly waiting on a table. She took it up and sheathed it at her side before turning to where the Nameless Book once sat. Golden eyes spied nothing in the place of where it had been and though curious to its fate she felt the pressing issue of Anja's last words. Loxa could not wait.

-----

The gates opened again and through them the Sha'Matri walked, footfalls heavy with the weight of the Host Lord's body now wrapped in her cloak and in her arms. The hood had been pulled to conceal Anja's face from view and with the life force vanished she could not be felt by any others.

"Sha'Matri?" a waiting Witch approached her as she walked through the crowds, garnering the curiosity of the guards she passed by.

"This One is blessed by the Host Lord," Loxa replied stiffly, "a great offering made for the Trees. Return with haste one must."

Loxa was not accustomed to lying but she could not risk the honor of putting the Host Lord's body to rest or the chance of Chaos unfolding so soon. She had to get off planet. She had to find [member="Khaleel Malvern"].

 

[Arage Bao]

Meet me halfway… was the mysterious message that had accompanied the vision. Khal wasn’t a mystique, but he was well versed in the matters of the arcane, a matter of necessity more so than choice, but the touch had been unmistakable. Visl had made contact with him. Her location had been vague, but he had a feeling he knew where it had come from - if his hunch was right, then something dark was coming for all of the Primeval.

Wayland… was where they would meet, but Khal did not travel as most would. He did not use a ship, did not travel by hyperspace and the cruel, cold void of outer space: instead Khal utilized the same realization a different man had used in a different time.

The fact that the difference between here and there was but a single digit. And through this realization it was almost bafflingly simple to warp the fabric of reality itself, to accommodate a shift in those digits.

Until finally an Underlord took a step and moved from one plane to another, then a third and after a few dozen more steps, he stepped back into reality. This time surrounded by lush forest, the echoing screams of wild life and the distinct panorama of Wayland.

Deep within himself he felt the darkness spread, but some risks had to be taken for the greater good.

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

It would take Loxa much longer to reach Wayland.

She had not slept despite her body craving the rest. Meditation was all her haunted mind could manage. Visions plagued her the entire trip back - foreign entities swimming through her mind that had not been there before. Loxa was not aware of how deeply the Host Lord's essence now ran through her veins but certainly she would find out sooner or later.

Upon arrival an exhausted Priestess stepped down the ramp of her ship, cloaked body held in her arms, her will alone maintaining her poise and strength. They landed just outside of Eogorath's site and the gnarled, massive tree greeted her ominously in the darkness.

"This one must act alone in the eyes of the Gods," Loxa told her attending Witches, "return to the Temple until daybreak."

The Witches dispersed and the Sha'Matri approached Eogorath, staring upwards into the tangled network of branches, her own figure dwarfed by the massive roots arching out of the ground. The tree groaned in the winds to which she smiled and slowly dropped to her knees. Khal was here, somewhere, but she hadn't the strength to reach out to him along the Force.

 

[Arage Bao]

[SIZE=10.6667px]There was no such thing as fate, just as there was no such thing as luck and yet… they were here all the same.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]It came as a soft whisper and as breezy as a light touch of the wind, a moment passed and there were now two in front of the Eogorath. While she knelt it tiredness, Khal stood silently, clothed in his usual attire. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“You called.” the Underlord stated calmly. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]And then he waited for what she had to tell him, though he already suspected. By the looks of what she held in her cradled arms.[/SIZE]

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

 

[Blackthorne]

<<The Host Lord is dead...>> these words spoken in quiet, lilting Pacean were muddled with the weight of heavy grief. Loxa lifted a hand and gently pushed the cowl of the cloak away from the body's head to reveal the ghastly face of the withered husk she now held. In her youth and her prime, Anja was a woman of savage, unique beauty. In death she was a ghoulish reminder to all that even the untouchables could be culled. Loxa's brow knit tightly as she lifted a hand to brush the hair from Anja's face.

<<I could not leave her there to burn in the fire she has foreseen,>> there was an uneasy waver to her tone, a stifled breath as she glanced around, momentarily lost in a surge of renewed anguish, her fingers absently clenched the frail figure in her arms, <<if they do not know yet they will soon. Everything she has built will fall to ruin without her.>>

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Arage Bao]

And so the queen falls.

Khal did not have the same reaction to Anja’s death as Loxa. His relationship with the deceased Host Lord was a… complicated affair and yet not complicated at all - they had never really trusted each other, or at least their trust had been built on a fundamental distrust between each other. She knew that he would always first think of his own gains: and because of that knowledge she could trust him, because she knew exactly what to expect from him.

And Khal?

Well. He probably would have ended up assassinating Anja himself, at a later point. When his own position was less precari- or rather, when he did not have a billion and two things on his head the entire time.

But then again. He would probably spin this to his own gains anyway, some of his contacts within the Underground had known of his interaction within the Primeval Collective - they had assumed he was infiltrating the organization… how sweet it would be to claim that he himself had arranged the death of the Host Lord.

With one act the great Primeval Crusades fallen, something that not even the Mandalorians or the Silver Sanctum had been able to accomplish.

“Her death will mean a great deal of suffering for those that do not deserve it.” Khal stated after some pondering.

That complication would be bad for business… the Underlord could already feel a headache coming.

“Have you told anyone about this?”

[member="Loxa Visl"]

 

[Blackthorne]

<<Not a soul but you.>>

And Eogorath, it seemed. The great tree's branches swayed in the winds, dropping black vines that slithered in around the pair curiously. Seemed the awareness of the soul trees was not something to be trifled with - both a great blessing and a curse. Loxa chose to think of it as the former, for before her she did not see a tree, but a soul growing and learning and remembering all that it was in its former life.

<<Look well, Eogorath,>> Loxa imparted her grief upon the tree through touch, a palm pressing against the nearest root, <<for you will be the honored bed for the Host Lord.>>

A deep, quaking groan sounded from the massive trunk that rumbled through the ground. Loxa felt the quaking around her and yet she was not afraid. Eyes closing, she shared with him the weight of loss and the great honor that would be his. Eogorath began to twist, began to bend, and ripped from the ground several of his mighty roots. Dirt and debris flew through the air within a cacophony of squealing, rending wood. The shudder grew more powerful as a shower of splintered bark rained down upon them.

Then, suddenly, it stopped.

Loxa looked up to find a gaping doorway opened between the joining of roots leading into the tree, illuminated by a green glow.

<<Will you help me lay her to rest?>> Loxa asked of Khal, tired golden eyes looking up at the man.

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Part of him wanted to decline immediately. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]It wasn’t anything personal, but he had a lot of things ahead of him. Things to organize, things to scheme and webs to pull - all in an effort to minimize the damage that would be done to his operations and the innocents that would lose their lives by the death of the Host Lord. It also meant an opportunity presented, he would need to contact a few people… perhaps Catalys, with the Exemplars on his side this would be so much easier.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]But there was something in those eyes, [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]something[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]The Underlord looked into the golden miasma for a moment, before diverting his own eyes. Perhaps in an effort to hide whatever could be found within the doorways to his soul, instead he looked onto the corpse of a named might. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]So… frail without life now, almost unbelievable this was the same woman he had spoken to only a week ago. Such was life though and there was not enough time to dwell on it all, someone would have to move and move fast.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“For you? Yes.” Khal finally replied, as if to clarify that he was doing it not for the Host Lord.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]His hand gently moved, invisible arcane bonds wrapping itself around her corpse, blue light enshrining her and she would float away from Loxa’s arms.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“Come. Let’s see what Eogorath has prepared for us.”[/SIZE]

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

 

[Keira Priest]

Spoiler

As a note, Anja did give me permission to post in this thread.

Never in her life had Keira grieved for anyone or anything. There were better things with which to occupy her time other than with the passing of an individual or a material object. It was rare for her to truly care for another to the point that genuine emotion of any kind burgeoned within her core at their death. That had only occurred once in her life, and that old mentor hadn't stayed dead for long. There was no one else she could fathom ever truly caring for besides her family, those being the only ties that firmly connected her to another sentient. Everything and everyone else was, for the most part, secondary. And that included her own life. It was that she seemed to care for least of all.

Every now and again, however, something happened by to change one of those presumptions. Something that uprooted her sense of simply existing, disturbing the casual and often carefree air that accompanied her. At one point such a sensation had brought her quite literally to her knees, driving the breath from her and leaving her uncertain of just where and who she was for a few long moments. That cloying feeling of unreality had persisted in the days afterward, but like everything else, she moved on. She had to. Nothing seemed to prepare her for the same thing happening a second time. There were no words that could quite sum up such a fleeting warning. So, once again, she was caught off guard.

It was a funny thing, death. Such a fundamental fact of life had the greatest skill at catching any and every individual unawares. Even those well-adjusted to it sometimes found the oppressive wave it brought hard to shrug off. This time it didn't begin as something quite so easily detectable. Instead it manifested as a slow-trickling poison, one that pricked at the hairs on the back of her neck and sent fingers of cold running down her spine. As was commonplace with her general stubborn attitude she brushed it off at first, not seeing it as anything else other than a nuisance to what she was currently busying herself with. And, as usual, it was that willingness to do so that got her in trouble in the end.

Within mere seconds that same feeling doubled, this time prompting her to lean up against the nearest wall for support. Alright, maybe now she would pay a bit more attention. It didn't take long for it to come again, this time forcing her into a sitting position as the muscles of her jaw worked, hand clenching into a fist. This was someone she recognized, someone she knew well from times past. Someone she would have much rather not known, all things considered, but life wasn't the greatest at giving a choice in the matter. Only one sentiment really rang true, and that was that this someone was dead. What she had been feeling through the Force was their life ebbing away until nothing but an empty corpse remained.

"Anja." The name fell past her lips in a nearly silent whisper, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed what the enormity of it all meant to her. The only answer she could dredge up was next to nothing as a whole. After all, she didn't owe the woman and her followers anything other than perhaps a bullet between the eyes. But still, this wore on her in a manner nothing else could quite accomplish. Despite all of the enmity boiling between them the two had shared a bond that spanned across the ethereal, connecting them on a level much deeper than what most sentients could manage. It was that which grated on her senses the most. Her only regret, however, was that she hadn't been the one to put an end to it all.

 

[Blackthorne]

Loxa, grateful for Khal's help and presence, nodded and made a reaching grab for her staff...only to find it was not there. Golden eyes quickly swiveled to the empty air beside her, staring into the void.

Her staff.

It was back on Bastion, standing alone before the empty throne, the sigils of the Morossi Aesir's dully gleaming in the darkness.

The profoundness of this moment could only be understood and felt by the one experiencing it, despite only a few seconds passing by. Loxa knew now that she had transcended her prior position and suddenly, as though someone had switched them on, the whispers of the Gods returned to her. Their faint murmurs were indiscernible but distinct in their nature - she knew them well.

With a deep, centering breath Loxa pushed herself slowly to her feet and nodded, leading the way into the tree. The hollow lead into a sloping drop stairway shaped by intertwining roots and illuminated by the strange green glow from deep underground. Were it not for her renewed purpose she might have displayed awe or wonder at how much Eogorath had developed over such a short period of time. They were the first to see that the heartseed resided deep within this vast undergrown cavern of roots and was the source of the strange power.

The stair ended in an opening to a dank, bottomless cavern set ablaze with vibrant green light. It was quite hot and humid, the air pulsed with the energy of the heartseed: a massive translucent pod suspended at the center of the chamber by a web of roots. The temple's heartseed paled in comparison to this behemoth - nearly the size of a small house. Loxa felt compelled to approach it and so carefully stepped down upon the nearest suspension root, its girth as wide as a walkway, and began her way across.

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]