Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Changing Face of Evil

C O N C O R D I A
Clan Vereen Fortress

The armored figure appeared at dusk.

He carried no blasters. He bore no weapons. His dark, armored form walking as though out for a late afternoon stroll in the encroaching dusk settling over the planet. Besk'ar clanged against durasteel, as the giant's heavy footsteps gave a clear warning of his approach. There was nothing threatening of how he carried himself, and yet the air around him was singularly lethal. His gait that of a soldier's march. His shoulders unbowed. His head high, as he approached the ensconced compound into which one of the Alor Council had secluded themselves.

An interesting move, for the one Mandalorian who'd caught Tralik's attention.

"Good evening," the Gen'Dai announced, addressing the soldiers standing guard at the gates. Holding out his arms, the man displayed his empty hands as he slowed his gait on approach. "My name is U'rik."

Pausing a respectful distance away, the towering Gen'Dai looked between the two guards.

"I believe I may be expected."

[member="Darth Vulkan"]​
 
Concordia
Clan Vereen Fortress

The two guards moved out of the Gen'dai's way without a word, letting him enter into the mountain. The mountain stronghold that was home to Clan Vereen was hewn straight into the mountain, stretching deep into the earth. Chambers and tunnels ran into the moon of Mandalore's crust almost a mile deep. Durasteel supports and reinforcing crisscrossed the subterranean structure, and turadium blast doors sealed the great hall and all its exits. The Great Hall itself ran one hundred meters long, thirty meters wide, three stories tall with an arched roof. The granite and durasteel was cut into columns, shielded balconies, and the architecture was antiquated in appearance, modern in construction. One could liken the structure to the mythical dwarven fortresses oft seen on Holodramas. The sides were lined with fully armored Mandalorian Warriors, all wearing the Black Dragon of Clan Vereen proudly displayed on their chests. All armed. It was a show of strength and power for the Would-be-King.

Seek our allegiance for we are strong.

Or it could mean, Don't dare cross us.

At the end of the Great Hall sat the open doors of the throne room, a simple oval room with a dais at the far end bearing a throne of black wroshyr wood. Sitting in the throne was the King beneath the Mountain, the Dragon of Mandalore. Long had he been expecting this day, and Vulkan expected something great would change here today. Today was the first step on Vulkan's journey to claiming absolute leadership of the clans. The Dragon sat alone on his throne, the room empty besides the Gen'dai and the man atop the throne.


Conan-le-barbare-King.jpg
Vulkan straightened, sitting up to look down at the Gen'dai who would be king. "U'rik," he said with a tone that suggested he was making a mental note of the name. "You were indeed expected. I am Alor Vereen, master of this hall." His voice was deep and grating, as though he wasn't sure which way he would side in this conflict yet. But Vulkan knew. For [member="Seela Tarkona"] and [member="Abigail Kallisto"] , especially Abigail, he would side with this Death Watch, this sole ruler. And at the precipice, when all was won, and the Gen'dai monster sought to sit comfortably on his throne, Vulkan would shatter the monster's body like the dog he was, and claim it for himself. It was his rightful place in the galaxy. That Abigail be a princess with a thousand treasures claimed from every star by the hands of the warriors of Mandalore.

All of that, and more. Vulkan wanted to be King for himself as well. And so he could bide his time, take orders and raid and ravage the enemies of Death Watch. But first, the Would-Be-King needed to request his aid. "Tell me, why is it that you come to my hall at such an hour." Feigning ignorance, Vulkan awaited the answer of the Gen'dai warrior. He would make him say it, he would make him ask for it.

[member="Tralik U'rik"]
 
The home of Clan Vereen was indeed impressive.

And a bit depressing. To be holed up inside of a mountain. Go to ground, so to speak. It turned the home of kings into a waiting tomb. Buried alive when the mountain came down around you. Oh, it would take a great of firepower. That much was certain. And might well have played to Clan Vereen's defense. The cost of defeating such a bunker would grossly outweigh the tactical benefits of achieving such victory.

And, lo, the lord of the mountain on his tomb-throne. Inclining his body, the Gen'Dai offered a stiff bow. Not to be impolite, but when your skeleton structure was a durasteel frame, you sacrificed some flexibility. "Tralik U'rik, Alor Vereen."

Ah yes, lords and titles. Pomp and circumstance. The impression for the obvious show of force left the Gen'Dai believing such trappings were important to this... Draco Vereen. And so he would play to that, for the time being.

So what shall they discuss, in this civilized conversation at such an hour?

Shall they sit around the fire and tell sad stories of the deaths of kings? "I find that one cannot predict the hour in which action may be required," the Gen'Dai answered cryptically. His gaze traveled around the room as he spoke. "Certainly men endeavor to do so," the Gen'Dai offered, relaying his purpose by means of a parable. Not direct perhaps, but if the Alor Vereen was into theatrics... then he should have them. "As a result, fools rush in. Whilst old men are caught unawares... when the hour has changed and they no longer know the time."

Pausing to inspect a tapestry, the Gen'Dai turned his attention away from Draco for a moment as he spoke. "Chazwa. Sekalus..." the man uttered, as he turned back to look at the king of the mountain, perched upon his little hill.

"Tell me, Alor Vereen, does the Alor Council know what time it is?"

[member="Darth Vulkan"]​
 

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