The Primeval Crusades: Episode I: The Fires of Industry

[Amelia von Sorenn]

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The Order of the Righteous Flame​

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"We shall cleanse this Galaxy with a Righteous Flame..." ​

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..:: Episode I: The Fires of Industry ::..​

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The Northern Sectors of the Galaxy have been held beneath the sway for a dangerous Force Cult, focused upon ancient deities and spreading their beliefs with a zealous fervor. World upon world fell beneath their march, and at the height of their power they challenged the Mandalorians, Republic and even the Silver Sanctum Coalition; made even more dangerous with their close ties to the One Sith Empire. ​

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They looked poised to over run the Northern Sectors of the Galaxy; yet rather than turning upon those worlds without, they fell upon those within. ​

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Civil War!​

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With their leaders disappearing or otherwise mired in their own power grabs, the Primeval has fallen unto itself, and those Sectors, Systems and Worlds they once held are now left defenseless or under the sway of those few remnants of the Primeval that still cling to power. ​

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The Order of the Righteous Flame can not let this stand, for the people have been held in bondage by the cult for too long. Thus the Fires of Industry burn brighter, smoke fills the skies and machines of war are forged for the First Crusade. ​

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A world of conflict...

One which has seen countless liters of blood and oil spilled upon it during the Clone Wars...

One which has seen even more blood shed upon its soil in the passing years...

Its riches; minerals, ores, nova crystals, and all manner of precious gems...

Mygeeto is a world upon which one could stand and still they would accomplish nothing if they were unable, or incapable of taping into the riches of the world. Many have fought over it, and the world has fallen beneath the regime of a dozen if not more, Governments claiming the world. Now though there came those that did not seek it for its riches as much as they sought it for its location, for its industry was just a boon that would aid those that came to the world.

Their eyes were focused upon those world beyond Mygeeto, those worlds spread among the stars that had once fallen into the hands of those that worshiped dead gods and deities of unspeakable madness. The Primeval had stood once, victorious over many and poised to strike at those they called enemies. They had made inroads, and accomplished something that one could not complain if it were said to be impossible, peace with the Sith.

Those that came now were those that sought to remove such a trace from those worlds. For the Primeval had not truly fallen, it had merely floundered. Those that sought leadership fought among themselves, tore at what remained of the carcass of a once mighty empire and sought what little power remained for their own needs.

And as always it was the people that suffered, it was the common individual that had not fallen to the zealous chants and calls to some ancient deity, that needed the aid that was to come.

For the winds picked upon the voices, they carried a simple whisper that was growing larger by the moment.

Crusade...

This was to be the first, the first called by the Order of the Righteous Flame.

For now their eyes pierced towards the worlds once held by the Primeval, where the remnants of such remained feasting upon what was left. Now they stood, poised to strike, though first they knew that they would need to match fire with fire. Mygeeto was thus the base chosen to do such, for it would be from here that they would strike.

It was clear now, to those that gathered and to those that heard the growing whisper...

The Primeval Crusade is now begun...

The Fires of Industry bellow and scream...


[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]
[member="Mantic Dorn"]
[member="Tubal Sahon"]
[member="Suravi Teigra"]
[member="Miles Varden"]
[member="Talos Rygat"]

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Deep within the Rift,​

A serpent holds its dead heart,​

Spirits it will lift.​

​

His love did depart,​

His broken presence did drift,​

Unholy new start.​

​

- A serpent uncoiled​

"Miiiiiishk... hear me dearest... I have called to you for so long! Your embrace of pain... I am deprived my love, I have constructed such beauty you shall never witness! I curse the love of Balagoth! His shadow stole you from me, made to my eyes unsightly... missing and without feeling. I have uncoiled my heart for you, tore it from my own breasts, and yet through its cold embrace it stills beats for you in the hope of fleshly sensation... show me a sign dearest, show me what Balagoth cannot hide, find for me my purpose in this meaningless world devoid of pleasure..." Before an altar of unsightly make, a congregation of the dead surrounded that undying many-handed snake, whose name meant murder on a billion worlds. Blood pooled around the principal organ which tied tragedy to master, The Artifact which had been rended from his own flesh. With its chilling pull on the darkside, sent frost through the dark crimson liquid, illuminated only by a sliver of light pouring in from above the altar, which was otherwise surrounded by an otherworldly darkness.

A figure encircled the peripherals of the blood magick warlock, a being of unadulterated eldritch nightmares contained within the silhouette of a man who no longer existed. For a time, the spindly spider legs which had tore themselves into his mind, had utter control over the thoughts and emotions of the shattered glass that had become of this incarnations personality. One shard above all, had in recent times, in the fear of oblivion, superseded all other voices in the single minded pursuit to bring back its lost love.

Dear Warlord... you should know what Balagoth takes, he does not return... we are the Black Prophet.

"KHASSSSS!" Hissing in rage, the milky eyed half-corpse whirled around and scratched through the air where it perceived the ghostly visage of something that did not exist. The tendrils once so full of life appeared starved and lifeless, bereft of movement as they were arrested by the cold proximity of his heart and their incessant fondling of the organ. It was a poor creature, cursed, and deranged...

It saw something swirling in the blood... a vision.

 

[Mantic Dorn]

The dominion of the Primevil, the very core of evil in the galaxy. Having sworn to find and seek out these cultists, this death sect Mantic followed a gruesome trail of pain, deception and sorrow to the far reaches of the known galaxy where once the mighty Primevil warlrods had held undisputed power. Now they were turning on each other in bids of power and appeared to have lost whatever it was that once made them work together.

In the midst of the old Primevil realms floated a lone small Republic craft

Without realizing the entire complexity of the Primevil Mantic had identified one of the most dark and vicious tendrils of the Primevil, the sect of Balagoth. A religion who's followers had appeared on a multitude of worlds in the core, where war and chaos had paved way for desperation. A trait that an evil cult like this had reached out to take advantage of without remorse. the jedi knew only that this sect had to be fought by whatever means possible. While most parts of it seemed to have moved into an underground movement there were however still clear official seats left. This was why he was here, The Black Prophet. A person or group that seemed to inspire this sect greatly.

Mantic flipped through yet another endless possibilities of routes leading forward in the investigation. He sighed and blinked. Rumors about the cults strong presence in the Chiloon Rift had lead him so far and now was the question about where to go in this massive field of asteroids.
Recently, he had begun having hard times concentrating. It was as if some thick wet carpet had lowered itself over the rift, it made it harder, more tiresome to sense anything but those that urged to invoke fear and a sense of hopelessness.

Mantic knew he on to something important. But the hunt was a slow one.
Taking a deep breath he felt a heat to the air. The sensation almost cause nausea.

What was that?

 

[Mishk]

Korriban​

​

The vast plains of Korriban breathed its dark power in slow mouth. for eons the darkness had ruled, yet now it was threatened. the breath increased.
Too soon...

The dead wind will carry the warning
A servant stolen

Soft rythm, careful treading, black blood. The breathing intensified, tearing open ripples into the sand. Forced to start a dance of increasing intensity without bearing one ounce of sanity or sense.
This is not right....

Aghast with crippled will
A dead risen
With fury and devotion still

The breath kept growing into a winding. A storm was coming. A storm to witstand time and to endure the dangerous light that had begun shining.
Stop it...

Set loose upon his shattered road
The Black word shall the heart plow

Slowly, and almost lovingly, the tiny bones were brushed by the heated breath of the dark entity. Pure hatred raised its pained tendrils into the night. Save me beloved one....

Does the Black Prophet will it?

 

[Tubal Sahon]

The Black Prophet of Balagoth had fallen so far since he and his enemies had so destroyed themselves in a fit of rage and bloodshed fit for the gods themselves. Genocide on a scale that rendered such a massive empire all but mute within only ten years of its latest foundation. And even he was at first not a true believer. The Gods had willed them unfit to rule just yet. But the...thing, this slug had determined that he would turn himself on the very gods that had so blessed him for some creature that it had once showed interest in. For the first time, perhaps, the cruel paladin known in many tongues as "the Tower" felt what he could describe only as pity.

Out of morbid curiosity the Tower continued to watch this half-living thing go into its insanity-fueled death throes. Things that it now called visions, things that it longed to see in hopes of finding a thing that it once loved. Perhaps for atonement, weakness found in the flesh? The longing for life once more? It's words were merely inchoate now, as if the ramblings of a mad man that had been overcome with dementia. The Tower wondered if he should, or even could put it out of its misery and claim its position of power for himself in order rekindle the crusades in the name of the Great Destroyer. Would such an action be heresy unto Balagoth, or merely carrying out the Black God's will? The Prophet himself seemed unwilling to fight the tides of heresy anymore, that was clear.

It stared into its own blood, seemingly oblivious to anything that was happening outside of itself. How long would it be until it became aware of reality once more?

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]
[member="Amelia Sorenn-Syrush"]

 

[Miles Varden]

Sitting aboard his personal Niathal class long range shuttle, the Valkyrie, followed by the Escort Cruiser, the Hornet's Nest, a Command Cruiser, the Queen Bee and a few Paladin class fighters, sat over the planet of the Order of the Righteous Flame. High Command had sent the orders to start a Crusade against the cultists, The Primeval.

Now, he wasn't aboard the best ship for leading a micro fleet, but that didn't matter now. It could serve its purpose until he could acquire a better one.

"Knight Varden, word has come in to move out. We are headed for Balagoth, sir."

Alright, set a course and recall all fighters. Once we are loaded, take off.


Miles had recently joined the Order and found himself holding the title of Senior Knight Errant. This gave him control over a small unit of men and access to some of the Order's fleeting units. Currently there were the two ships and a battalion of marines. the Crusade against the Force Using cult was to be their first against the galaxy that now ran rampant with Users of all walks. They needed to be corralled, their disregard for those without the gift has gone on long enough. It was the time to bring back a balance to the powers of the Jedi, Sith and every other Sect that had sprung up like weeds in the last few years.


All wings docked and ready for jump to Hyperspace, sir.

Good, engage!


[member="Amelia Sorenn-Syrush"]

Spoiler

http://starwarsrp.net/topic/20868-mc15-niathal-class-shuttle/
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/32669-horn-class-escort-cruiser/-Hornets
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/39460-unyielding-class-command-cruiser/
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/30358-os-g3-paladin/

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Ebon's eyes slowly opened to only darkness while his ears rang with near painful volume. His breathe lay hindered in his chest, struggling for each breath before pushing the large concrete slab from his collapsed form. The weighted rubble slipped off the edge to his left, falling a short time before shattering against the ground beneath. As Ebon's eyes adjusted to the dark crevice he found himself in, he remembered where he was, the collapsed ashes of a building that lay broken in a strategic strikes place.

Balagoth must've looked towards Ebon this day in good favor, and his rank, yellowing teeth shot out in a hard grimace as he crouched down, pulling his lighstaber from his side. Quickly, he found the weakest point in the wall by the small rays of light that invaded the darkness, each a smaller glimmer of hope for his continued survival. As he leaped, slamming his way through the vertical hole in the roof, he felt the building shutter, but not collapse.

Outside the temporary cave, he saw what few men still followed him, charging forward against a wall of laser gilded death, Ebon their commander. He let out a powerful war cry, and lurched into combat once more...

This is what Ebon's life had become. War.

War of the finest degree, with all the blood, stench, fear, and adrenaline that came with it. in this, he fought with the men he freed and converted from prisons across the galaxy, although small in numbers now. It's in this, Balagoth, his god of war, had graced him. With the gift of violence. He was sensitive to his cries, his commands, but most importantly, he was confident in Balagoth's praise in him.

He fought for one thing only, and that was blood, the very essence of life.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Gray eyes peered deeply into the swirling vortex before him, and in an instant the serpent felt as if sand and ashes fell from his eyes, eliciting a quite gasp in recognition of a pain he had not felt in years. Insect legs began to poke out from beneath the corona of his eyes, and bulged under his eyelids. These were not the dreaded arachnids to which the hate of Zambrano became manifest within his imagination, these were the stingy bugs which once clinged tightly to the corpse-like visage of...

"MISHK!" Suddenly his frozen arms swung wildly, acid flying from the few tendrils that still remained living and not completely overtaken by the frost of his dead heart resting before him in the air nearest his chest. They scratched around frantically, in a motion that indicated a need to grasp something, to embrace something. However, the vision was not over, and it locked his eyes to the crimson pool...

Black lightning flashed, and hisss face became manifest. That dreaded Assassin, who took from him his most dearly beloved, who committed his genocide foolishly, who died and suffered the vision he granted him. The vision of what fate rested for him when finally his soul was cast to meet with Sargon. "Aaaaajihaaad..." The growl that escaped his maw clenched his broken muscles, and tightened his entrails closer to his ribs. [member="Lord Ajihad"] was seen within his vision.

White flame then erupted from his eyes and mouth, and a new face appeared before him that the slug had never witnessed before. Behind him, there stood an army of dozens. To either side of him, his Lover and his Killer stood, before finally, the stranger would cut through his Lover, just as his Killer would stab the Hutt through the back of his skull. The vision ended as the massive face of Zambrano lunged forward, spitting blood onto the face of the alter.

The vision... was unsettling even for one such as the Black Prophet. "Tower of Balagoth... we are pursued by a Crusade of White Flames, and an enemy of mine alone. We must find them both... must find them both... must..." The Prophet began to babble again, now that his lucidity had subsided. Madness of a different sort, had invaded the already fragmented reality of the sorcerous stye upon the galaxy. Once the pleasurable of pain ceased, perhaps his faculties would return... but the prospect of his love, and death, and pain had livened his baser emotions so that thought was meaningless. Only emotion dictated the course of the witches actions.

[member="Amelia Sorenn-Syrush"], [member="Mantic Dorn"], [member="Mishk"], [member="Tubal Sahon"], [member="Miles Varden"], [member="Ebon"]

 

[Lord Ajihad]

Mygeeto​

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A world once held in Primeval rule, now its chains broken and its citizens free once again. The planet wasn't all too hospitable, its crystalline surface plagued by neverending winter storms. However, the native Lurmen had made do with what Sargon had provided them, creating impressive cities amongst the falling snow and frigid cold. They had survived for millennia there, living in conditions most lifeforms couldn't put up with. The little creatures had built lives there, until the Primeval came.​

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They swept the planet by storm, easily dispatching the outgunned Lurmen in battles that could be easily mistaken for massacres. The cult overtook the government with sickening ease, killing any that did so much as raise an eyebrow towards their occult regime. The natives lived in fear for years, cowering before their mighty foreign overlords. The only way they survived was to obey the every command of their oppressors, or else they and their families were murdered in the most grotesque ways imaginable.​

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Only recently had they broken their chains of oppression as the Primeval collapsed in upon itself in semblance to a dying star. They were just beginning to know the sweet feeling of liberation when the Templars made their move. The Order of the Righteous Flame may have thought that they were freeing the planet, but in actuality they were just renewing their bonds. There would not be freedom for the planet way or another, the natives just didn't know it as they embraced their so-called "liberators" with open arms.​

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Lord Ajihad was one of the aforementioned oppressors not so long ago. He stood side by side with the Primeval cultists as they took the galaxy by storm, leaving nothing but broken carnage in their paths.​

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That was until the Great Schism, or so it had been dubbed by the still-faithful. The Host Lord had died, splitting the Primeval in two. The followers of Balagoth and the Old Guard, those still siding with the Host Lord.​

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And so was the beginning of the end.​

​

Ajihad himself was leaning towards siding with the Old Guard, until they launched a devastating attack during a parlay meeting that had severely displaced his trust in them. Feeling responsible for the creation of the monstrosity that was [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] in the first place, the assassin wanted to right his wrong in some fashion by helping to stop him. Instead, he ended up joining him.​

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Theirs was an odd relationship. One could never truly tell what the Hutt felt, as he was most definitely insane. Ajihad could never tell if the beast still held a grudge with him for killing [member="Mishk"], or if he had gotten over the whole thing and moved on to greater things. Ajihad was beginning to think the latter until his death at a not-so-abandoned assassin sanctuary in wild space. The assassin was to ascend to the palace of the dead, but was instead confronted by a form of Balagoth. And so the Hutt's true intentions were finally revealed.​

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Now, cursed with the sick blessing of seemingly eternal life, unable to ascend into the afterlife, Ajihad once again wandered the galaxy a mortal man. He regarded the Hutt as his single greatest enemy, someone he would hunt down and destroy. He would not stop at anything to achieve this goal, no longer fearing death as he once had. Now, he embraced it.​

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The Demon's Fist drifted above Iridonia in his Phasma-class Infiltrator, just finished with examining some classic Iridonian martial arts in the works. He was suddenly besieged by a vision of that all-too familiar face, slithering in front of an evil altar. It zoomed out as if viewed by some sort of advanced satellite array, revealing the location of the Hutt to be none other than Mygeeto. The assassin snapped out of it, his brow creased in thought. After but a moment of consideration, he spoke to his R-7 unit.​

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"Plot course for Mygeeto."​

​

[member="Amelia Sorenn-Syrush"] [member="Mantic Dorn"] [member="Tubal Sahon"] [member="Miles Varden"] [member="Ebon"]​

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Aboard the flagship Ascendance, a Sovereign Class Heavy Cruiser, sat the once known Warlord named Ebon. His amber gilded eyes watched his crew move in near rat like formations, scurrying to finish whatever project they had set in their mind’s eye, while their contemporaries did just the same. It interested Ebon, how in unison they could work simply out of choice, with no true gain to be made for themselves outside of Balagoth’s blessing.

Interrupting his train of thought, a young female officer of his bridge came to him and spoke softly;

“Sir, you said we had a planet you wished to jump to. Could we ask what it is?”

Ebon nodded for a moment, moving his hand from his cheek before speaking slowly. His voice seemed hoarse, rash and broken, but it made the sentence perfectly.

“Mygeeto. We head there for our next purge.”

The crew sprung to life at his words, various buttons clicked to his command. A short radio message relayed between the fleet, all eleven ships of the Obsidian Crusade broke into action, arranging themselves into perfect fleet pattern before the final hyperspace command had gone active.

Ebon’s mind rolled back to the vision he felt, pushed on him by Balagoth. He knew not what it meant, nor it’s purpose, but he could feel it’s importance. The very opus of his grand galactic campaign through wild space would come down to this, he just knew, and with it he would carry the combined forces of over twenty thousand men, all with Ebon’s passion as their own goal.

Soon, the trumpets of war would cry out his coming, and he would achieve the greatness he sought. Quietly, his mind wandered back to the times of peace before the civil war, each of the stars infront of him descending into long white lines of places passed....

[member="Lord Ajihad"]│[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]│ [member="Miles Varden"]│[member="Tubal Sahon"] │

 

[Amelia von Sorenn]

It began with a flash...

The first of many as a vessel dropped from hyperspace, then another, followed by another. Dozens of vessels appeared above the world, and though not the full might of a crusade, it was a seed to be sown. The world of Mygeeto, chosen for industry would soon be belching flame and smoke as the vessels slowly descended upon the world. Upon the bridge of the lead vessel stood a woman, clad in armor, her eyes turned towards the world below. A soft smirk crossing her lips as the vessels slowly shook upon entry of the worlds atmosphere.

Dozens of corvettes, laden with supplies and soldiers came to rest upon the world. Platforms and hangers taken over as the boarding ramps slipped down. Loud thuds filled the air quickly followed by the rhythmic stamping of boots upon metal. Those that had arrived were the first wave, yet they would seed a crusade that would stretch out across multiple systems and hundreds of worlds. What was left of the Primeval was to be wiped from existence, for nothing of that cancer could remain.

Eyes flashed open, the woman smirking softly as she spun upon her back foot. Stepping forward she nodded to the crew before disappearing from the bridge. As she marched through the halls she was quickly joined by others. The armor scraping together making for a metallic marching music. The thuds of boots, the clinking of blades within scabbards. The woman at the head of the formation remained focused, eyes forward as she marched down the boarding ramp into the vast hanger bay.

"Unload our supplies and secure the facility."

"Yes Ma'am."

Slowly she turned towards the gathered forces. The hanger bay alive with the movement of supplies and personnel. The vessels remaining silent for now, though soon they would be joined by others. As she watched, she reached out as an aide approached, a datapad falling into her hand.

"We're ahead of schedule. Supplies should be offloaded within the hour. The facility should also be secured by that time. Construction can begin shortly."

Nodding softly, she paid no mind to the individual next to her, merely following her eyes over the reports pouring into the datapad. Her smirk grew slowly before she slipped the datapad back into the aide's hands. Her own slipped behind her back, clasped together as she stepped forward, followed by the individual.

As she moved through the hanger bay she watched the forces gathered. The Order of the Righteous Flame would call this world home for a short time before moving on. If anything they could at least use it as a small outpost, or as the Republic had with worlds in the past, it could be an O.R.D., marked on their maps as ORD Mygeeto.

"Ma'am. We've reports though of Mandalorians massing, it appears they'll begin their own invasion of this world."

"Let them. Inform all forces that the Mandalorians are to be left to their own means. Do not, under any circumstance engage them unless engaged first. We can not risk the Crusade on a misunderstanding."

"Yes Ma'am."

She stopped at the edge of the hanger, looking towards the sky as her smirk remained. The last of the corvettes slowly cut through the atmosphere. Only a dozen arrived, though by the time they were ready, countless many would leave the world and spread out among the stars of the region. The Crusade was just beginning, and the seed had been planted.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]
[member="Mantic Dorn"]
[member="Tubal Sahon"]
[member="Suravi Teigra"]
[member="Miles Varden"]
[member="Talos Rygat"]
[member="Isley Verd"]
[member="Drin"]

 

[Miles Varden]

The Escort Cruiser, the 'Hornets Nest' was the first to exit hyperspace over Mygeeto. Followed closely by the 'Queen Bee' a command Cruiser and lastly the 'Valkyrie', Miles' personal long range shuttle.

"Take us in Captain, we are landing by the rest of the fleet. As soon as we break atmos, deploy the squadrons!" Miles barked over the comms.

"Affirmative Errant Knight Miles!"

Miles sat at the pilots chair of the 'Valkyrie' as they descended upon the surface. The Elite starfighters deployed and began to encircle the fleet. A dozen Paladin class elite fighters now roamed the skies.


[member="Amelia Sorenn-Syrush"] [member="Ebon"] [member="Lord Ajihad"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Tubal Sahon"] [member="Mishk"] [member="Mantic Dorn"]