Public The Lurker Beyond

[Council of Captains]

Blood to seal and blood to hold,
Blood to warm the dead and cold,
Blood to sign the final pact,
Blood to seep between the cracks.​

High Priest Ukhaztesh smiled as he watched the carnage unfolding in the valley. Through the Force he felt each death, mostly those of his own Zanibar cultist-warriors; those who had come to benefit from this blasphemous disjunction, scavenging the ruins of the past or feeding like leeches on the veins of the Dark Side, were powerful indeed. But it didn't matter where the blood came from, only that it was shed. So many outsiders were in battle now that there was havoc and butchery every second, and all of it fed the Great God.

Below him, Ukhaztesh could see a woman driving hard toward the village at the gate's base, slaughtering half a dozen of his cultists with her speeder cannons and light-weapon. He breathed in their deaths, tasting their energy as it flowed to Great Cxydhirc. Glorious. The slaughter of this village would be the final seal... and if it did not provide enough death, the warriors he had waiting with the remaining prisoners would be more than happy to open their throats and complete the Great Work. There was no stopping the Great God's rise now.

A bone-chilling gust of wind issued forth from the northern hypergate, washing over the valley. It left a thin film of gritty slime over the skin, an exhalation bearing the last watery remnants of digested worlds. The breath of Cxydhirc... it was so close now, so close that even Ukhaztesh could barely stand feeling its presence within his mind. How many years had it waited in the far reaches of Otherspace, where the stars burned black in an endless field of maddening grey? Millions? Billions? But now it slithered toward release.

Woe to all who stood before it, for they would be its first victims, dragged screaming to eternal torment in the Netherworld.

 

[Rance Draysom]

Location: Eastern Pylon | Tag: None

Rance didn't know how long it'd been - seconds? minutes? hours? - when he finally emerged from the nightmare.

He could still hear the voice in his mind, whispering down his spine, crawling under his skin. It was cold, rubbery, utterly alien. The temperature in the valley had dropped fifteen degrees, and where he'd been reasonably warm before, he suddenly found himself clutching at his arms and shivering. He could feel a film over his skin, like dirt-laced saliva or watery vomit, that tingled and burned every inch of his exposed flesh. He tried to wipe it off, but it wouldn't go. He wondered if even scrubbing hard in a 'fresher would get rid of it.

If he ever made it back to a 'fresher. A sense of hopelessness was spreading through his battered brain.

Looking down, Rance realized what had happened. Foray had given him some kind of injection, slowing his racing mind and heart enough that he could function. "Thanks, buddy," he breathed, giving the droid a quick hug as he forced himself to his feet. He had to focus on the mission: find his people, get them out. He could picture their families' faces with perfect clarity... and all too easily imagine their expressions, their wails of grief, if he had to tell them he'd failed. He was not going to let these folks die under Zanibar knives and teeth.

The valley was in chaos, little battles everywhere. Whatever unearthly pull the thing in the hypergate was exerting, spreading rumors of valuable tech and dark power on the lips of a thousand hidden servants, it was working. Rance picked up his blaster from where he'd dropped it and stalked closer to the edge of the prison camp. Two Zanibar guards stood near the entrance, hands on their blasters. The Fleet Marshal looked at Foray. "Okay," he said. "I'll take the one on the left. We go on three. One, two... Three!"

On three he sprang forward in a full-body tackle, bearing the left guard down under his weight. The surprised Zanibar didn't even have time to make a sound before he'd planted his heavy blaster between the cultist's sharpened teeth and pulled the trigger. The big gun drilled a messy hole through the back of the alien's head, putting it down instantly. Then Rance was on his feet again, readying his gun, hoping that his little buddy could pull his fat out of the fire twice in one mission and take down his other opponent before he called out a warning.

 

[R7-4A "Foray"]

Location: Eastern Pylon | Tag: None

"Re-oooo deet bweep!" Foray trilled in relief as his master came back to full consciousness. He let out a happy little whistle as Rance hugged him; it was good to be appreciated. And it felt good to have a friend nearby, since he could still feel those horrible whispers trying to worm their way into his programming. He couldn't find anything in his databanks about mystical energies affecting droids, but maybe that hadn't been important when he was built. At the time, they'd been facing the Yuuzhan Vong, who were entirely outside the Force.

Foray wasn't too sure that Rance should already be headed back into combat, but he knew better than to try to dissuade the stubborn Fleet Marshal; for all his faults, the man took the safety of those he was responsible for very, very seriously, and carried the weight of their lives on his shoulders. Besides, the little astromech could tell that they would need to act soon. Things were clearly getting worse in the valley. The gust of slimy, frigid wind that had washed over the place was only a breath, a precursor to something far worse.

Foray had tried to analyze the chemical compounds in the slimy film, but couldn't identify any of them.

As they approached the edge of the prison camp, Foray understood his role in Rance's plan. He'd been built as a starfighter droid, but his new modifications gave him plenty of ways to be useful. As Rance leapt forward, taking down the left guard, Foray popped open a compartment in his chassis and unleashed his carbonite ray. A beam of hyper-cold mist washed over the other Zanibar, freezing the cultist in his tracks. Still as a statue, covered in a crust of dark grey frost-rock, the guard toppled over like a felled tree.

Foray let out a little victory trill, then quieted. These were only the first of many cultists they might face...

 

[Darth Argentum]

Western Pylon

This was going to be too easy. At least Maro had thought so at first. There was no one to stop him. He doubted that any automated defenses were still functional.

It'd been millennia since the builders had died. The local savages wouldn't be capable of repairing them. He doubted that they even had electricity. Let alone maintaining this place.

That'd been before the other arrivals. He was studying the main entrance's controls when he noticed the first ship. It was off in the distance. Yet there was no mistaking where it was headed.

He scowled. His easy search wouldn't be so easy anymore. There was no time to waste. He needed into the facility without notice.

The front entrance would be too obvious. There'd be a rear entrance serving as a portal for workers. Opening the main gates would be bothersome for such mundane activities. A lifetime spent in finance taught him that the real work seldom came through the front.

The Muun found it after a short search. Seeing the smaller entryway brought him satisfaction. Even the mighty Gree still thought along similar lines as his own species. But the grin quickly faded as the door controls proved to be non-functional.

A look above showed the other vessel was that much closer. A resigned sigh came as he drew his lightsaber. A ragged hold through the durasteel would be a telltale of entry. Though time was of the essence now.

The crimson blade gouged the metal. The stink of the burning assailed his nostrils. It was painfully slow-going. Yellow eyes tracked the ship as it landed in the near-distance.

Seconds ticked by and ancient alloy parted. The saber hummed and sparked. He wished for an instant entry instead of this. But the crude entrance was finished at last.

It fell in with a resounding clang with a Force push. Then it was ducking in for the Muun without a second thought. The ancient air filled his nostrils as the crimson blade served as a glow-rod....

 

[Laertia Io]

Laertia's ornate pistol fired a continuous double cryo-beam into cultists, freezing them solid before her spear would shatter them. Others got impaled, frozen solid on the tip of her lightsaber spear, then were broken off in icy chunks as she piloted the speeder telekinetically. It looked badass, was badass to perform, and anyone else who had seen it would have marveled at just how much had been splurged on the FX budget.

A lucky shot from a cultist hit the bike and sent her careening off it, teleporting above the cultist who had fired the shot, spear aimed downward to stab him through the skull as she landed, kicking his frozen body off her weapon, spinning it around, a round, blue lens capping the pommel, emitting frost.

She twisted something in the staff until there was a click and then her thumb pressed a button.

The Eternal Cold of the Heart of Lysandra filtered down the energy focusing mechanisms of the staff. Laertia felt a chill spread up her arms even through the armor. Not incapacitating. But she noticed it.

A blue-white beam erupted with a high pitched hum and she sweapt it through the crowd, freezing the cannibal feths solid, or gravely wounding with even a grazing hit. The staff collapsed and Laertia pulled out her antique as more cannibals closed the distance while she retreated towards the hypergate.

The indigo beam erupted with a low but powerful hum, and Laertia, even with her strength, struggled to control it's gyroscopic effect. She put it on secondary setting and its already long length now extended to a full fifteen inches.

She swung with all her might and speed possible, and it effortlessly ripped through eight that got too close. Then another ten as she committed to Form One, her wide, unpredictable slashes mowing through Cultists defense, chewing through their armor, even as they attack her from all sides. The Indigo blade cut effortlessly through them, but it was also the reason so many hits were getting in...her attack speed was slowed by half. But the trade off was that if the blade made hit, there was almost no chance of survival. She rammed the blade through their ranks in a circle.

Then the hypergate breathed.

The psychic wave nearly overwhelmed her, and would have if not for the armor, but she was covered in slime, and they got a few more hits with shotguns.

Laertia's scratched and dented armor got more scratched as she got up, covered in slime like the rest. This was not working. That thing on the other side was only getting closer to being freed.

The Antique flashed on and Laertia ripped and tore through another crowd before getting enough clearance to teleport all the way to the gate itself. She teleported on top of one end.

Her spear came out, even as she avoided blaster fire. She jammed the spear tip into the material of the hypergate itself, avoiding the energy of the raging maelstrom it channeled.

The blade the crystal generated damaged alchemized materials. She figured something this powerful channeling the Dark Side would have to be alchemized in some manner.

She gored the tip of the blade into the ancient metal. It was only scratched at first. Then it it smouldered and took on a cracked, melting, blue-ish white appearance that turned frozen and icy as soon as the blade was withdrawn for another stab.

Deeper and deeper the spear went into the material, pulling chunks of magically frozen hypergate away. The portal began to fluctuate, sputtering dark energy out of its recesses as it started to malfunction.

"Madness! She is attempting to destroy the gate!" One Cultist screamed. "GET UP THERE!"

Grapple hooks began to be fired, cultists daring to risk ascent as the now malfunctioning gate sputtered more dark energy.

The first to reach her were the first to get hit by her cryo laser pistol, ascension claws ripped away all while continuing the same stabbing motion with the spear, until finally she was just forced to leave it, letting it sink in. Letting it burrow deeper and deeper into the hypergate, the ancient magic of the Ice God Kuraokami chewing through even more ancient material, the malfunctions of the gate growing ever so slightly more violent with each inch the lightsaber spear chewed through.

Laertia then teleported the spear back to her, telekinetically opening its crystal housing and grasping the blue gem in her fingers, channeling the Lightside. She manifested it as a green, focused laser that she channeled downed the trench she bore.

The gate began to severely malfunction as the light began to freeze the internals, violent discharges of energy rocking the ground, the rumbles threatening to knock her off...even as more cultists began to ascend...

 

[Marlon Sularen]

Location | Western Pylon
Objective | Secure Dat Gree Technology
Tags | Darth Argentum

Spoiler: Forces

• Agitator-Class Super Heavy Battlecarrier [x1]
• RDAGx [x1]
• Phase I Dark Trooper-Class Battle Droids [x24]
• Augur-Class ISR Drone [x10]

As Marlon's RDAGx decended through the atmosphere of Seline he suddenly felt uneasy and it was then where he heard the wispers. Ia Ia Cxydhirc, ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cxydhirc R'avkal wgah'nagl fhtagn!. With the Dark Troopers were carrying static that seemed to say the same thing. It was only then when the Gunship's doors opened and Marlon got a glance at the barren wasteland that was Seline. It was say worse the
he expected and already the New Imperial Commodore was having a bad feeling about his Operation here on Seline

However soon atleast the RDAGx arrived at the location where the Gree was rumored to be located at the Western Pylon landing right behind the Pylon far from the sight of the Zanibar who roamed the Valley. After disembarking from the RDAGx, Marlon and his Droids managed to find a small rear entrance , one lage enough for the New Imperial Commodore and his Droids to pass through.

However from the looks of it it seemed that someone else had reached the Western Pylon as Marlon noticed lightsaber markigs as if someone had cut through the door of the rear entrance. "Aight stay on high alert whoever is here might be hostile" Marlon said to his Droids as he readied himself for an inevitable confrontation

Marlon Sularen had a long hatred for Force Sensitives. Only 3 years ago Cedric Grayson had promised him control of the boundaries of the Corellian Confederation but he has deceived by the Essonian Jedi Master who sacked him from his inner circle after he decided to Ally himself with the Corellians.


Then again , Marlon wanted to take what was promised to him by force and expanded and furher militrized his Paramilitary orginization known as the Directorate in which had expanded to the point it had the potential to bring down the Galactic Alliance , until the Viceroy of Eriadian and Sith Lord Credius Margate essentially stole his Orginization , taking away nearly all of Marlon's Followers to form his Zweihander Union and leaving him with only a Large Private Fleet and a handful of Officers and Loyal Troopers once more foiling his plans.

However was here , Marlon intended to kill quickly as a means to ensure that no one would ever take away what was his , today he would have his Gree Tech and he would go through great lengths to get ahat he wanted and to advance his secret agenda. He was tired of Force Sensitives ruining his plans and now he had the opportunity to teach one of those religious bastards a lession they would never forget.

And soon fuelled by his hatred of Force Sensitives, Marlon headed into Western Pylon followed by his Dark Trooper Droids ready to confront anything or anyone who stood in his way.

 

[Lefthander Narrator]

disregard this

 

[Beltran Rarr]

Location: Abandoned Jedi Outpost
Objective: Fix ship, figure out what the feth is going on
Allies: Lupewaurreg (NPC), Jost Cal Dayne (NPC), Westenra Mina Westenra Mina , Laertia Io Laertia Io
Enemies: TBD
Ship: The Imperialis
Loadout:

• Armor: Jedi Sentinel Armor
• Primary Weapons: Lightsaber (clipped to waist), Death-Dealer Handcannon (drop holster, right hip - loaded with Sith-Killer Ammunition)
• Secondary Weapons: Requiem Precision Support Rifle (slung on back), Reaper Blaster Pistol (chest holster), Beskar Sword (back scabbard)
• Misc Equipment: Spare Magazines, Rations, 2 x Hermes Scanning Drones

"Laertia went off to the Hypergate in the North to battle more of the cultists. I think she intends to try and disable the Gate itself. Something vile from beyond seems to want to come out of it. That's the impression she got from orbit anyway. She directed me to secure the landing area, assist survivors in escaping this wretched place, and salvage technology if at all possible."

Beltran raised an eyebrow from behind his mask as Westenra Mina tossed her lightsaber, shield and vambrace on the ground in front of him. That's one way to show peaceful intentions, He thought silently as she spoke. He had listened to the woman-who he was strongly suspecting of being a droid-'s explanation as to the whereabouts of Laertia Io .

"That would explain what I've been sensing," He replied softly, looking down at her weapons. It fit with the ever growing sense of unnatural wrongness that had been assaulting him since they had landed on this world. To her question about his being with the Silver Jedi, Beltran responded truthfully. "I am a Lieutenant with the Antarian Rangers," He said. "I've also been learning some about the Force."

He didn't want to call himself a Padawan exactly, because he didn't really feel like he fit that mold. First off, he was much older than most who came to study the Force at the Silver Rest. Second, he'd had a long and storied career as a warrior before he ever learned he possessed the ability to manipulate the Force. Third, while he supported the Jedi in their quest of freedom and equality. His methods and theirs didn't always....mesh. "You could call me a dabbler, I suppose."

That was a good a term as any.

Just as the last syllable left his mouth, the woman-droid maybe-person spun away from him and jumped. She moved so fast that all Beltran could see was a blur as she put herself between him and the arrow that had been on target to hit him. It struck her chest and Beltran tensed, prepared to see her go down but she landed gracefully instead.

"I'll be back." She told him before charging directly at the newly arrived group of cannibals. Beltran watched for a few heartbeats as she, quite literally, tore into them.

"Definitely a droid," He murmured to himself as he centered his mind in the Force. With a flick of his thumb, he re-activated his sunset orange blade and, using Force Valor to increase his speed, he charged forward after her.

By all accounts, Beltran was still very much a novice when it came to lightsaber combat but, having trained with swords in the past, he'd progressed relatively quickly in the art of the First Form: Schi-Cho. This was lucky for him, since Schi-Cho had been created specifically to fight multiple enemies in the chaos of the battlefield.

He would enter the fray only a few seconds after Westernra, swinging his blade in controlled but wide arcs and angles. He would almost dance between the various attacks that came from the enemies, cutting off limbs as he did so. The savage battle cries of the cannibals would quickly become simply cries as the two beings dispatched this latest threat quickly leaving splatters of blood gore and severed body parts in their wake.

When finally the last of the cannibals had met its fate, Beltran switched off his saber and re-attached it to his belt. "To answer your question from before, yes my ship is damaged. Our hyperdrive motivator malfunctioned, sending us here when we were supposed to be going to Denon. Luckily I was able to find enough components that I'm confident my crew will be able to get it fixed."

Almost as if on cue, the boarding ramp to the Imperialis lowered and the massive Wookiee Lupewaurreg strode down, carrying his bowcaster at the ready. Peeking out from behind his legs, the short but rotund figure of Jost Cal Dayne spoke. "Uh, hey baldy. Thought we might come out and see if we could help..."

Beltran was struck by the urge to chuckle, but he suppressed it. "No," He said instead. "I think we're okay. Here," He passed the dufflebag filled with components to Lupewaurreg. "You should be able to make a patch for the motivator out of this. There's apparently some kind of dark ritual going on to the North. Another member of the Silver Jedi has gone to investigate and I am going to back her up. Get the ship ready to fly and then com me, we may need you to fly overhead and pick us up."

Waurr growled and nodded as he turned to walk back up the ramp, Cal Dayne following close behind. Turning back to the woman, Beltran spoke. "Let's get going, odds are Laertia Io is going to need some back up."