Dominion The Rising Storm | BotM Dominion of Durace

[TK-818]

The Night Vulture screamed to life over the barren wasteland of Durace as long cracks rippled along the expansive horizon. There was a storm brewing, a terrible omen of the darkness building just beneath the surface of this most terrible war.

Durace is a toxic, barren world in one of the most inhospitable regions of the galaxy. The Unknown Regions, MAW Space.

This planet was known for it’s diamond infused deserts covered in black sand, it’s alkaline seas, and perpetual storms. Rare herbs grew here, illegal specimens that could garner small fortunes from harvesting their contents. It was no surprise that local governments fought for control over the region often ignored by the greater MAW crusade over their insignificance. Until now.

​

Objective One​

The mighty warlord Kyrel Ren ; Master of the Knights of Ren, Lord of the Crimson Hands, and Champion of the Mawite Hordes as the infamous Wrath of the Maw, has brought the might of the amassed MAW Holy Crusaders and the very tribal fiefdoms down on this world. Driven by glorious purpose and wretched intent, he seeks to wipe out all life in the region then springboard into the heart of the Alliance. A deadly march toward the Core Worlds.

This world is dead, lifeless and insignificant aside from a lone space station shared by researchers, corporate interests, and more locked in orbit over the desolate planet. Ensure the colony once established by the New Republic is wiped clean of life, then send their heads to Coruscant as a reminder of what true fear is.

Outpost 17 is protected by mercenaries, corporate security, and former GADF military with ties to the current administration. Due to the amount of precious gems and raw material worth of this world, it is generously guarded and protected with automated defenses inside. Whilst it may be ideal to just bring it down and let it fall into the surface below, some individuals may get hold worth. The Heathen Priests have deemed them all fit for death yet one must always keep an open eye for ‘fresh talent’. Capture any who you find use of and bring them to Tu'teggacha for ‘re-education’.

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Objective Two​

Scientists from Outpost 17 discovered a pictograph star map in a series of caves on the surface that matches others from several unconnected systems. A matching symbol in the iconography depicts the sacred idol of the Hidden Maw, the very word of the Heathen Priests and the great pilgrimage into the Unknown Regions.

The foolish students of the civilized world have little idea what they’ve uncovered. Deep inside these caverns rests the ruins of an ancient Mawite civilization. The first followers of the Hidden Maw scripture, evidence towards abyssal entities claiming to be manifestations of War, Death, and Rebirth.

The Heathen Priests demand these ruins be captured and stripped clean at all costs. Rumor has it that this place is possibly the resting place of the sacred artifact known as the Font of Rebirth, a holy place built by Rebirth herself and mistakenly attributed to the Mortis Gods. If such a thing exists it holds more power than any of us could possibly imagine. Seize it.

​

Objective Three​

No beach parties, I’ll burn this motherfucker down.

 

[TK-818]

DEVIL​

The Night Vulture roared. It's engines scorching the rigid sky as it peeled off into the upper atmosphere from the surface. Shaking, rocking back and forth as the violent storm threatened to overtake the ship, lightning crashed against the metallic shell vaporizing the stealth features engaged. The Vulture's camouflage peeled away like an onion, revealing the darkened mass piercing the heavens. The clouds parted before it, systems kicking into overdrive, the ship broke to escape the low orbit with their eyes on the prize.

Sinh pressed forward on the throttle letting the rapid response vessel go to the brink, blaster fire erupted from the nearby station defenses as it approached obviously aware of the impeding danger. The Brotherhood Armada had alerted the enemy to their presence, not that it truly mattered, they were outnumbered 1000 to 1, a vast invasion force laid before them would do more to drive the occupants into frenzy than a defensive spirit. They were doomed, yet he had no desire to see his favorite vessel burnt to a crisp. Sinh scowled under his breath.

They were going in.



After a short pummeling, the stealth shuttle slammed into the enemies' hangar bay and skid across the durasteel flooring, The landing gear hastily popped out, breaking from the brunt force of the crash landing as the landing ramp slammed down sparking against the metal floor. A sudden stop was signaled with the coming crash against the control room, a observation deck destroyed as the supports gave way from the immediate force of a starship spearing through.

Smoke filled the air, debris rained down.

Security forces moved into the hangar bay to clear the area, the alarms began spiraling into high alert. Sinh slowly approached from the dark side of the vessel's entry way, his halberd in hand as he slowly regained composure after leaving the cockpit for the hangar. Straightening his posture the Knight of Ren stood tall as several silhouettes appeared behind him.

Time for everything on this station to die.

 

[Derix Tirall]

P O W E R
HIGH REGENT OF THE FINAL DAWN
OUTER DURACE SYSTEM | CONFERENCE ROOM | FDS "IMMORTAL"

​

Long had they waited

The countdown had begun. Far from the prying eyes of the Galactic Alliance and New Imperial Order, armadas were being deployed. Armies were being readied for a type of shock combat the galaxy hadn't seen in centuries. There was nothing that could stop the Imperial War Machine about to be unleashed on the core. It was almost poetic. For years, Imperial regimes sprung up like weeds in the Core. The Imperial Confederation, the Grayson Imperium, even Lord Admiral Nox's Frozen Hand. None compared to the awesome power of the Final Dawn.

On board the dreadnought Immortal, High Regent Derix Tirall overlooked the Durace System with a smug sense of superiority that could not be missed. His pristine white uniform glistened under the pale light. The warlord's eyes burned bright with purpose, a sea of red in a galaxy of black. With both hands behind his back, the High Regent summoned for his Supreme Council.

The time had finally come.

Probes sent into the Core revealed predicted strategic weaknesses, political instabilities, opportunities for Mawite incursion. While the gaze of the MAW HOLY CRUSADE was set solely on War, the vision of the Final Dawn was set in motion.

"My children' he began as the first attendees entered the chamber, "it has been far too long" His eyes drifted slowly towards the first few gathered. His orders had been confirmed. He'd finally see them. The key to their future. The Electra Sisters, as they had been called by General Stahl. The supposed genetic miracle necessary to reap the benefits of the Chiss, without the Chiss. Such unnecessary overlap, he thought to himself.

Marlon Sularen | Aldo Garrick | Xuan Vo | Electra-13 | Electra-12 | Haon Hafey | Open to all Final Dawn Writers​

 

[Thalia Senn]

Objective One

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The machines of the Maw were crude and ugly in their design but definitive in their purpose. To destroy and terrorize. That was their goal. On this barren world though, what could be worth taking or destroying or terrorizing? It didn't matter. Tempest just wanted to smash something. Opening her eyes to see the wild blur of hyperspace she began pulling the vessel out, touching the raging storm of the Force and trusting its waves to guide her off the Path. Her crew was used to this now, though before it caused friction between her and her crew. The Jedi called it Instinctive Astrogation, a skill she'd come into after abandoning that path and joining the Maw. Amazing really how much the Jedi had chained her potential. Darth Solipsis had shown her what her potential could do.

The Spider Cruiser flew out of hyperspace, more or less maintaining a portion of its momentum. They were less than a kilometer from the space station and proximity alarms were blaring across the small bridge. The combination of the insanely accurate Path Engine and her own abilities brought her so close to the station that the defenses Her crew was silent though, used to their Tempest's wild maneuvers. The heavy music mixed with the alarm and created a deafening cacophony over which protests would be lost anyway. With deft hands trained on the harsh waves of Pamarthe, Tempest flipped the cruiser into a reverse burn of her ion engines. The crash of durasteel ripping through durasteel caused the cruiser to shudder before it locked itself into place.

"Are we ready?" She asked. A twi'lek with his teeth sharpened and filed nodded before snapping a helmet over his head.

"Aye." Thalia stood, grasping the electroripper staff nestled beside her seat.

"Then we begin." Already she could hear the thudding boots of the thirty or so raiders assigned to her cruiser as they waited for her to give the order. They were chanting in anticipation. She had flown many of them on raids over the last two years but this was the first time she would be given command. Though, knowing the Maw she couldn't tell if the words Rip and Tear were meant as a way to amp them up for the spoils or for the possibility in which Tempest failed and they would take their pound of flesh from her. It didn't matter. Donning her own helmet and twisting the activator on her staff she roared before jumping down the boarding tube and into Outpost 17.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

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Objective: 1

The Master of Ren waited on the ramp of the Night Vulture. Besides him stood the holy crusaders, and his own blood thirsty band of raiders. All hellbent on cutting a bloody swathe of destruction across the stars. This time the plan was for him to cut through GA space. Plans were already set in motion for a massive invasion force, the first step in such grand plans started with terror. Kyrel himself was a firm practitioner in the art of terror. He stood and waited patiently, while the dark creatures of the Crimson Hands could hardly contain themselves. They were eager for blood and meat, and yet all the same they seemed disappointed not to go against a large force.

When the Vulture had finally docked in the station, having so effortlessly cut through the defenses. The black door before Kyrel opened, and finally the light shined upon them. Before the mass of dark and crimson stood what seemed like a meager security force. Kyrel stood, his arms folded and not even his saber brandished out in the open. As if what he saw was something far too pathetic. What he could see was looks that tried to resemble defiance, and all too well he could just smell the fear radiating from them in waves.

“Kill them… Kill them all.” He said as he was simply disgusted by the security force before him. In an instant the savage pack was unleashed upon they’re foes. The men yelling out to pen fire, before some were cut down in a volley of blaster fire. Others charged in with rusty and sharpened blades still stained with blood. The crusaders following behind, yet seemed more elegant than the barbaric counterparts that made no qualms about ripping through the enemy.

The hanger bay soon erupted from what some thought as a quick skirmish to a bloody massacre. The Hands hacking off limbs, lopping off heads, or in a frenzy would eat into the flesh of their prey. Kyrel all the while only walked from the landing ramp in a slow stride, as if to observe the carnage taking place. His eyes soon shifting focus to the security forces retreating from the visceral display. The blast doors in front soon shutting down to try and block off the escape. Finally his saber ignited it’s beautiful crimson. “Advance… none are to be left alive on this station.” He said as he plunged his saber into the blast door. The crimson of his blade meeting bronze to create a golden color as he started to cut through. His men eagerly awaiting to advance.

 

[Thomas Barran]

1st post

Thomas Barran
"The Flayed Blue-Lion"

Objective 3: BYOO
Tags: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel

THE LIVING ARTIFACT: REANIMATION OF A FIRSTBORN - PROLOGUE

Somewhere between the Netherworld and Living Existence (Summer of 870 ABY)

NEVER-ENDING!!!! IT BURNS THE MIND!!!!​

Tunnel after tunnel, ladder after ladder, running around and climbing onwards and upwards in the dark, almost aimlessly at times, but the Flayed Blue-Lion soldiered on regardless. Thomas wasn't alive, but he wasn't dead either - not any more.

WHY DOES THE LIGHT SPURN ME?!?!?!?! I WANT TO LIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!​

For tireless was the Stormchaser's firstborn in this state, sleepless like a monster of the greatest, most-grotesquely evil sort, like a demon with his eyes never closing for restful sleep, just like it was for him in the Nether he'd only just escaped. Thomas had nothing but the distant light he was always running towards but never could reach, and as much as it frustrated and dismayed him more than enough times to be driven insane by it, Barran would keep running, keep climbing, keep moving in perpetuity. Covering mile after mile of hazardous tunnels between dimensions, walking where almost none had walked before him, completely devoid of life, and eerily showing no signs of there ever being life or souls of the departed before him. Whatever travelled these tunnels, whatever had made these tunnels would've been gigantic in size and quick in stride, and by the gathering of dust and erosion alone, the Flayed Blue-Lion could tell that it had been more than a few centuries since anything of the sort treaded these networks-between-dimensions.

GIVE ME EXISTENCE!!!! GIVE ME PAIN!!!! REAL AGONY!!!! REAL ANYTHING!!!!​

Desperation had overcome his sense of autonomy, dragging his feet farther and farther across the rocks, gravel, and dust of the ground his own mind was seemingly torturing him in the process of treading.

The former Lord-Commander of the Lost Brigade was losing his mind, his memories and his sense of self in the process of his own reanimation, but Thomas would remain clueless to this until long after his return to the realms of the living. There are some things in the cosmos, and all it's many multiple dimensions, that man will never know, and all of it was working to erase the memories of the man the Woad had been before and in the horrifying process of experiencing his afterlife in the Netherworld, a dimension his soul should never have travelled to in the first place. A slow death of everything he ever knew, loved and hated, all fading to obscurity as his will to live intensified with every corner, loop and rise he traversed, a curse of contrasts that Thomas could never wield enough power to negate it all, completely out the hands of a departed mortal soul.

But then a ladder appeared in the distance, one that completed the amnesia just as soon as the Flayed Blue-Lion's hands made contact with one of it's rungs. Not that it mattered to the fallen firstborn in that moment, as the madness had remained, and remained to drive Thomas even farther into an insanity he would also forget soon, driving him even farther towards the light of the living, pushing his legs and feet onward as the very concept of who the Woad was began it's own process of waning from the certainty of his mind's memories. None of this would ever matter to the desperate, dead-eyed man in the remaking, all that mattered was life, rage, and a particular vengefulness the Flayed Blue-Lion wouldn't be able to articulate or comprehend for a fair while yet. Such would be the curse that would afflict Thomas henceforth, but there was much and more in the way of the curse the Woad didn't know yet, much and more with his memory-loss that was yet to prove the power such a curse could hold over him - much and more creative ways in which it could inflict pain and discomfort.

THIS IS IT!!!! THE WAY!!!! MY ONLY DIRECTION TO LIFE!!!! MY ONLY DIRECTION TO DEATH!!!!

THE LIVING ARTIFACT: REANIMATION OF A FIRSTBORN - PART ONE

Six Feet Under,
Durace (Summer of 870 ABY)

Waking under compact, dried mud wasn't great, but clawed through he did, and there would be no stopping until the amnesia-struck human reached the surface.... But his hands bled, and his arms got tired, unbelievably tired.

Was it the dryness? Was it the heat?

The afflicted, nameless man couldn't say.

Everything felt so new, so unfamiliar to the nameless one, even the elements that made up the ground between himself and the clean air he was seeking so desperately, making his desperate upward-tunnelling efforts all the more erratic as time steadily robbed the afflicted one of his usable air-supply. The nameless one would draw his life-expectancy even closer to the line by accidentally inhaling dust-particles, such that made him cough and gulp down unwittingly greedy chunks of the dwindling air the nameless one needed, and the more it happened in the desperate clawing at the dried ground above his head, the more desperate the heat and the dryness made him in the process. It wouldn't take long for his hand to eventually punch through the last few inches of dead earth near the top, revitalising both his natural air and his efforts to flail and crack his knuckles on the last of the fraying edges to widen the gap, screaming with desperation until he could climb out and cough on the sheer volume of air he could finally breathe.

'What is this?'

A man who lived a happy life, dead by orbital bombardment, fought for an end to his own suffering in death, only to come to life again on a dead planet.

'I don't know what this is! What I climbed from or why!'

I - I don't even know.... Who I am, or what I am! Oh, no! I need to know an' I need to know now!​

'IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?!?!?! SPEAK IF YOU HEAR ME!!!! SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAK!!!!'

It might have been something of a poetic moment to others in that moment, but all it did was bring out the most intense disappointment, such that brought out the raging, primal, chest-beating screams of a man with a nothing but loathing in his heart for everything he could see.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!'

The only thing that would stop this primordial wrath was the man who was exerting it, and this would happen more quickly than even the amnesiac could predict, arriving in the form of pain within the inner workings of his gut and abdomen, and vomit that consisted almost entirely of blood. If anybody had been close enough to hear him screaming, it wouldn't have taken them very long before they heard the loud, violent retching too, sounding almost like a night-creature or Sith-spawn of sorts as the bloody contents of his stomach erupted out of his mouth at projectile velocity, something no normal being would dare approach if they knew the story and the individual behind the agony itself. A horrid reanimation to experience by that point, but the nameless one still remained resolute in his will to return to his feet, even if all he could feel was pain, loathing and confusion - along with the slow-creeping murderous-tendencies he would learn much and more before long.

The dust-covered mess of a man was on the verge of standing, but had collapsed and descended to loudly vomiting blood again, a poor state to be in, but being fresh from a nine-year dirt nap was never going to win him any beauty-pageant trophies along the way. Half-consciously aware he was throwing up blood everywhere, the stranger had but a few moments to see the extent of his blood-vomiting before passing out from the pain, and though it was expected to get worse for him as time slowly passed, the acquiescent amnesiac sighed with readiness to accept whatever life was willing to throw at him. Losing the battle against his heavy-eyelids eventually, the nameless one still managed to catch a short glimpse of the last retch sending a small measure splashing into one of the numerous little blood-puddles gathering around him at the time, sending spatter splashing off the dry, dusty ground and embers before him as his waking consciousness finally gave way to the stupor.

 

[Aegon of Vitria]

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Tag(s): Kyrel Ren , Thalia Senn , TK-818
​

After New Mandalore had fallen, New Keldabe been pillaged and razed, Aegon had acquired a few squads of loyal Mandalorian warriors. Former members of the Deathwatch, they were now incorporated , officially, into the ravaging warbands of the Mawite Death Hands. But as any Sith would, as any warlord should, He made sure that these warriors were loyal without question. The Sith Lord had His own standards for loyalty and would ensure the uttermost obedience and fealty possible, by all means.

New Keldabe had burned, it was an altar for the Dark Side and a feast for any Sith, the deaths, the emotions, the fighting fueling the furnaces of every heart with fire, the passion burning hotter than the sun around which the planet turned itself. It was an ideal opportunity to ensure the loyalty of the Mandalorains by enhanced means. The Gutji Vazona had been conducted after most Mawitte forces had left the city. The Death Hands which Aegon submitted, became the Deathshroud and were absolutely loyal to Him.

Two of the Deathshroud, the two most forimidable warriors, selected through an on site competition which had reduced the original number of Mandalorian warrior by two thirds, were now standing guard in front of the cabin which Aegon was seated in. They were on a cruiser of the Mawite fleet, a small cog in a large warmachine. They were intimidating statues, absolutely unmoved in their scorched and scarred, moss colored beskar'gam, one holding a cruel looking halberd, the other a massive battle axe. And they were selected to protect their new master.

The inside of the cabin was filled with thick incense, the thickness of olibanum lay heavy along with sweetness of cinnamon and the disgustingly sweet smell of decay and death. Candle were flickering in the reduced stream of the minimal life support and air exchanging system, lulling the entire room in a misty smoke. In the middle of the room were painting on the ground, made with blood and other, less favorable substances, painting runes in hypnotic patterns. The unfit soul staring at them would vomit blood right away or ust loose his sanity, it was infused with the Dark of Sith magic and the writing seems to move and twist like snakes. It was an aide, a channeler for the sorcery conducted by the man-witch sitting in the middle of the paintings, two swords in front of him, unsheathed and perfectly fitting into the image.

Aegon was sitting in the middle of His ritual circle, His fists clneched and put together so that the knuckles would touch each other. He was naked except for a pair of pants, His muscular torso distorted with deep scars, forming random engravings, witnesses of past fights and pain. The man had cuts and stabs from lightsaber, burned and cauterized, marks of claws and teeth, blaster wound and various of more diverse origins. Proof of a harsh life, proof of a life full of fights, suffering and learning. His eyes were closed, His mouth speaking without any words being aired. The only movement on Him was the calm rising and lowering of His chest as He breathed and the necklace, which was vibrating with energy, the eyes of wolf on fire. It was shivering in its levitational state.

In the cabin of one of the assault ships which were starting their attack on the outpost over the world of Durace, the Deathshroud was waiting silently. Mandalorian warriors, raised and trained by their traditional code of honor and combat, clad in their individual beskar'gam, they waited for the assault ship to land and spit them into combat. They were looking very similar to the two who were guarding their new overlord. Battle and duel marks of their initiation tournament were still visible, their armors colored in tan and olive, looking dusty. Carrying their standard weapons, blasters and blades, flamethrowers and rocket launchers, most having their jetpacks, they all had a new addition to their equipment: a necklace with a shard of glass. The product of the ritual conducted in New Keldabe. It was their connection to their master, to Aegon. Through them He could enact His will upon them, sense what they sense and guide them. A very personal and dominating battle meditation, for He desired His own goals. Yet the spread of the witchcraft form of battle meditationg would be felt, even though weakly, by all of those who had a connection to the Dark side.

The planet held minerals and gems which He desired. Somewhere on the station, probably in locked and barred safes or bunkers, were some of the precious b'omarr regeneration gems. His warriors would find and bring them to Him, or perish. Failure was not acceptable, no matter in what circumstances. This is why He took care of the matter quite personally, remotely guiding the Deathshroud to their target. Of course they would spread death, destruction and mayhem on their way, afterall they were meant to be a part of the Brotherhood of the Maw. The Mandalorians were made to wage war, they believed in a higher culture and honor, but it was just an excuse for devoting themselves to acts of war and destruction, every being desired dominance, everyone wants to feel more powerful and to remain on top. In every aspect of life. Those submissive deserved to kneel, to be cast aside like the worthless trash they were for nature and society.

Aegon just made sure that His Mandalorians were fighting without thinking about moral, honor and any other values than dominance. When the armored gunship put the warriors into the hangar under heavy fire, partly breaking apart in the process, they would unleash hell onto the defenders. Jumping, lfying and sprinting out of the gunship, the Deathshroud was engaging the enemies directly in close combat, blasters spitting bolts, the hum of cutting vibro-blades and the woooosh of flamethrowers were the last thing many defenders should hear.

The beskar-clad attackers crashed into the lines of defending soldiers and security forces, the noise of metal, explosions and screams was ear-battering. The wet smacking of heavy blades going through uniform, skin and flesh, the smell of burned skin and tissue, the warcries and shouting of opponents who tried to survive in the cataclysm of melee combat was omnipresent. The beginning of a battle was usually the most forceful for the senses.
The Mandalorians proved their worth, the best warriors of the families which had submitted to Aegon, those that had survived His cruel tournament and challenges, were prevailing in the ferocity of their own onslaught. Overwhelming the first defenders through brute force. Nothing else was possible in the narrow hangar, there was no time or space for finesse, just violence and survival.

Those which failed in both were left on the ground, moaning and screaming. Entrails were laid bare through open cut bellies, blood was streaming from wounds cut all over the bodies, the smell of burned flesh accompanied every post-blaster confrontation. The smell of cordite, blood and excrement added to the flair of a real battlefield. The unleashed gore and pain fueled Aegon in His meditation and connection towards His minions, the edge of His mouth briefly tipping into a smirk as His methaphorical fist hit the first resistance and shed blood.

Aegon was satisfied. For now. It was just the beginning.

​

​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Tags: Thomas Barran

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel makes a strange discovery - the risen Thomas Barran

Black, alkaline sand crunched beneath metal feet.

Raising his head in spite of the flesh-scouring wind, The Mongrel stared out over the dark horizon, the little mechanisms of his eyes whirring as they cleared away grit and zoomed in and out. What a dark and desolate place this planet was! More inhospitable even than Mar'Zambul, the harsh adopted home of the Scar Hounds, where the foundries once employed by the nearly-exterminated Gundanbard now churned out the war machines of the Maw. Here there were no factories, no cities, no temples. Only black sands, jagged rocks, and howling wind.

Thousands of years earlier, when it had first been scouted, Durace had been reported to be a green and pleasant world, ripe for colonization. What exactly happened between that report and the next one, made by a CIS probe droid near the beginning of the Clone Wars, remained unknown... but by that time, the planet had become the storm-ravaged shell of its former self that it would be known as forever after. Everything here was designed to kill: carnivorous plants, toxic alkaline "seas", vicious wildlife, endless electrical storms...

Perhaps it was the ancient Mawite civilization, long hinted at in the ancient pictographs found within the planet's deepest caverns, that had led to the place's radical transformation. Perhaps some dark ritual or ancient superweapon they'd wielded had twisted the landscape into its current nightmarish form. Perhaps the Maw of today would discover the truth as they investigated the lost ruins, uncovering the mystery, connecting to an older version of itself. The Mongrel did not care. History did not matter to him, for he looked only to the future.

Toward the Galaxy To Come, as the Avatars willed.

Durace had little strategic value, little that would aid the Maw in its war against the powers of Known Space. There were no significant deposits of useful metals or fuels, and the surface was strewn with the bones and wreckage of previous attempts to set up outposts and colonies, proving the futility of such a venture. Tiny clusters of medicinal plants, and the famous black diamonds of the Diamond Desert, were intriguing curiosities, but hardly worth the trouble of extracting them on a massive scale. Landing a bulk freighter here was almost impossible.

At most, it would be useful as a proving ground, a place for the Maw's new recruits to be winnowed down to true survivors.

But The Mongrel had not come here for strategic reasons. No, he was here to chase a vision, to track down the object of a prophecy. A week earlier, every last one of the Scar Hounds' tech shamans had awoken in a cold sweat, shaking from the chill of death. It soon came out that they had all beheld the same dream. In the dream, they had seen Durace, this harsh and unforgiving world. They had seen a land of jagged spires, silicate rock formations sharp enough to shred durasteel starship hulls with ease: the Forest of Broken Glass.

From the tip of each spire had flown an NIO flag, tattered and burning. Far beneath this grim spectacle, at the base of the spires, the black sands of Durace had churned like the sea. From deep within the sands had emerged a terrible beast, a leonine creature dripping with azure blood. In its mouth it carried its own flayed hide, impaled on the jagged points of its hideous teeth. It had roared, and the spires all around it had shattered, sending the burning flags tumbling down into a great abyss. The shamans had all agreed: this was a powerful omen.

And so The Mongrel had come to Durace, to the place where they had seen their vision. In general, the warlord had as few dealings with magic and mysticism as he possibly could; his Scar Hounds put their faith in technology, in the things they could scavenge, rebuild, and relentlessly modify. But the Avatars still spoke to them, these beings beyond all comprehension, whose inevitable cycle drove the galaxy ever onward. And if the Avatars had blessed them with so clear a prophecy, he could not turn away, no matter his misgivings on the Force.

The Mongrel had brought with him only a small honor guard; finding a landing zone for a single transport ship was difficult enough on Durace, let alone trying to land any significant force. He had brought a few of his most trusted trackers, honed in the deserts of Mar'Zambul and the jungles of Lao-mon alike, along with several tech shamans to interpret any further omens - and to help protect him against any hostile magic. The Mongrel would face down any warrior in the galaxy without fear, but he had no magic of his own, and needed such protection.

So he and his little band hunted through the Forest of Broken Glass. Black sand and silicate shards crunched beneath his cybernetic feet while dark purple lightning flashed overhead in a ceaseless discharge, and the wind screamed between the great spires all around him. It seemed to carry howls of agony each time it blew, cries of pain and desperation to churn the stomach and make the heart quail, but it was only an auditory illusion... or was it? That last cry, and the retching and vomiting that had followed it, seemed different. Oddly real.

"Find the source of that sound," The Mongrel commanded, dispatching his trackers into the groves of dark stone. He would have his omen, the source of this dark prophecy. If it was a threat to him, he would kill the thing, leave this prophecy stillborn. But it seemed by the signs his shamans had seen that the threat the vision had represented was not to him, but to his enemies... to the hated NIO, the Maw's fiercest foe, most of all. And if there was something of tactical value to be gained here, a weapon to help him burn down the galaxy...

... he was going to seize it, and make it his.

 

[Dyans Keto]

Post: 1
Objective: Victory
Tags: Kyrel Ren | Thomas Barran | Thalia Senn | Derix Tirall | TK-818 | The Mongrel | Aegon of Vitria

Spoiler: Fleet

Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Desolation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Devastation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Desperation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Decadence)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Dancer)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Dabbler)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Deliverer)
X10 Samael Class Frigate
x8 Cr90 Corvettes
X71 Squadrons Nssis-class Clawcraft
x27 Squadrons of Support Craft
X24 Spider Cruiser fully load with Crusader troopers

​

Looked out from the throne she sat upon on the bridge of her star destroyer at the world they had found themselves orbiting. Many of the Maw brethren had come here this day to this violent and turbulent world. Somewhere out securing the one main inhabited area of this world outpost seventeen while others were in the fame and supposedly haunted Pictograph Caverns. Each seeking their glory or an answer for the maw legitimacy. This world of Durace had so many legends once described as a lovely paradise by the crew of the Galaaron one of the stops on their long journey. Yet now one looked on the world as a hellscape of sorts, legend after legend say this world had been cursed both Jedi and Sith were blamed for the omens that had befallen this world.


The funny part is what ever had happened here very long time ago it had been buried deep. Information was scarce restricted to deep old forgotten archives in the old republic's records. The little Dyan's spies in the Krath could dig up spoke of a plant on the island in the Alkaline Sea where plant grew with interesting healing properties. It was unclear but at some point, the old republic had banned any mention or use of the plant. It had been nearly wiped from records with only a few sporadic mentions. It was unclear if it had been deleted because of the stranglehold Bacta and before that Kolto had over the galaxy. Then again it could just they thought the world Durace was too dangerous after all no one who came here in search of treasure or resources seemed to come out alive.


"Our scans are complete. We have a lock on several islands that could fit the description. We also have a lock on an anomaly near the northern pole of the world." These words pulled Dyans from her thoughts and staring endless into the stormy abyss of the world's atmosphere. Especially the part about the anomaly.


"Send a dozen spider cruisers to search those islands. Tell them to be careful Alparas flower is rare and very useful. With it the crusade won't need to rely on Bacta alone." By extension neither would the Maw and from what little they could gather this flower was even able to cure some rare disease. The Plant only bloomed every hundred years but that hardly matter they could get geneticists to alter that factor. Still, it was looking like a needle in the haystack hunt.


Dyans stood up from her throne and walked over to the computer, her crew member stepped aside to allow her to look at the information before her. She stared at the information for a long moment like she was trying to figure out what the anomaly could be. "I will take two squads crusaders with me and six engineers to the anomaly."


Dyans second in command gave her an odd look in that moment. "Engineers?" Dyans nodded and gave him a smile as she came up by her throne and picked up sheathed sith sword and strapped it to her waste. "I believe we may have found Nebula Stalker."


She started to head for the docking area where the spider was waiting for when her second in command spoke out to her. "The nebula stalker is a myth?"


"All Myth's and legends have a grain of truth to them. This world holds many secrets and many have tried to keep them buried for so long people think this place is a dead world." With hat Dyans headed to her spider she wasn't sure it was Nebula-stalker but something at the back of her mind to the old Vampire that it was.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective I.: Reporting for duty.
Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || OPBC-01m
Writing With: The Mongrel | Thomas Barran

[ Steel Commanders ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

I know I should still have stayed in the infirmary, but I could no longer lie and be there. I had to move, do something! I was still damn annoyed that I had not been able to defeat every soldier who had been sent against me in the intelligence building. And what happened there, that is, the whole thing, is still incredibly strange and confusing. Yes, I didn’t want to believe he came for me, but he did. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy to see you here. But I was not ordered to stay in the infirmary. So I escaped, I was strong, I am able to prove this.

I arrived on the planet a little later, one dropship brought me down and out, not far from where he and the others were. Now I was wearing only a simple, body-hugging, ultra-light body suit, "armour". I was only able to move normally because of so many painkillers. I had some deep wounds that were still quite dangerous, especially in my kidneys, which made me almost bleed out.

He, too, knew exactly what injuries I had, received a report of them, so he probably also knew how strong my pains were. Although I did not show them. I showed plenty of weakness when he saved me. I had to prove that I would be worthy to be one of his best again. Yes, maybe it was my ego that suffered the most damage. When I got close, I addressed him in two ways, in thought and out loud.

~ I'm here… Mongrel. ~ just telepathic words, but I almost purred his name.

"Warlord, I am reporting for duty!" I said in my usual voice.

I showed no sign of what was between us, how dangerously close we were. The excitement, the desire. Nothing, I didn’t want anyone to use me against him. It will be up to him to decide how much of this to take on, after all, I was his and will remain his. Nevertheless, I telepathically reached out to his mind and touched the part of his mind where he could feel touch. Gentle, caring caress on his face and then a kiss followed it too.

A flirt that no one can see, hear or perceive. However, the mind was very wonderful. And luckily, I was a telepath. If things like that can’t work normally because he doesn’t have a physical body, well… no one said that it can’t be solved through the mind. Yes, it’s a pretty squeezed and twisted way to socialise, but let’s face it, none of us are just ordinary. I came to him slowly. I suppressed the urge to step completely close to him, to do something tempting, others could see us. True, they were also people of the Scar Hound, but even so, they were... others.

"Why are we here, warlord?" I asked.

~ I’ve been trying to practice since Dromund Kaas, if you think of me and call me in my mind, I’ll hear and listen to you, so if I’m close, we can also “talk” in mind, so that no one else can hear us. ~ a little teasing, flirting…

 

[Erion Justeene]

​

Objective I: Make observations
Location: Durace, Grasslands outside the Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Tags: Open

​

Barren, desolate and without a single breeze. There was no life here, yet the force is humming with something, something that Superious can't put a finger on. Whatever it was it was sinister, and it is ready to uncoil like a very unpleasant spring in the eye.

He had been sent here to figure out what exactly was going on, so far, he had no success. It is as if the presence knew he was here. So this requires sharp senses and a hand on his Lightsaber hilt. His wrist ached dully in a reminder of Dromund Kass, that was hell to heal, all the little bone fragments needed to be put back like a jigsaw puzzle with unorthodox pieces.

But all in all, it healed enough to be useable again. He learned his lesson, stay out of grabbing range next time, and think things through when fighting against a Mandalorian.

Dead grasses crunched underfoot as he trekked across the dead land, there were traces of a thriving planet, but something happened to change it into a husk of, nothing but death and silence. Ignoring the chill down his spine, Superious pressed on, HUD on full alert for any hostiles, which knowing his track record, will soon arrive to either kill him, take him away to a storage hole or just outright eat him.

Thankfully, he wasn't on anything's lunch menu, but he soon might be. Which is why he hurried and only stopped for 5 minutes. The dead flora crumbled as he walked, blackened like charcoal. Something is very wrong with this planet.

A storm is gathering on the horizon, the Galaxy was very tense, the air heavy with animosity. Something is going to open the floodgates of War, Death and Rebirth. The 5 horsemen will come down upon the world they all knew.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Durace, Pictograph Caverns
Tags: Open

Spoiler: TL;DR

• A Brotherhood expedition begins tunneling into the lost Mawite city

At last, the Taskmaster thought, an opportunity to fulfill my usual role.

All around the hunched Ebruchi, the brutalized slaves of the Maw - and the placid, glassy-eyed Drudges who supplemented their numbers - labored for their cruel masters. With hand tools, mining explosives, and industrial laser drills alike they burrowed deeper into the ancient caverns that ringed Durace's equator, the fear of the electro-lash driving them to work as hard as their malnourished, abused bodies would permit. When the New Republic had discovered these caves in their centuries-ago expedition, their archaeologists had been incredibly careful not to disturb the ancient cave paintings, even if it meant letting deeper chambers go undiscovered.

The Brotherhood of the Maw was far more callous in its treatment.

Though the pictograms had been imaged for later review, the Mawites were far from content with mere wall paintings. Ever since the discovery of Hidden Maw symbols on the walls, the marks of a secret culture that no previous archaeologists had recognized, the Heathen Priests had been whipped into an eager frenzy. The promise of ancient relics sacred to the Dark Three was too great an opportunity to delay in, let alone pass up, and excavation crews had been dispatched immediately to dig deeper into the equatorial caves... far deeper than any previous expedition, concerned with preserving history, had dared. Because the Maw did not care for history.

It cared only for what the treasures of yesterday could do for it today.

The clear existence of long-buried Mawite ruins, and the rumors of the legendary Fount of Rebirth, had been more than enough to justify a considerable expenditure of resources despite the ongoing demands of the war effort. Actually deploying those resources had proven harder; Durace's high winds, electrical storms, and jagged, metal-ripping terrain had made landing zones difficult to come by, and several transports laden with slaves and equipment had been lost on approach, crashing and burning amid the wastes. Some of the survivors now scavenged the corpses of their fellows, ensuring that nothing useful went to waste.

Such was the way of the Brotherhood.

Eventually, enough laborers and equipment had arrived on the surface to begin the colossal task of breaching and excavating the lost city of the Maw... though they had been forced to land some distance from the caves where the expedition was to take place. The overland trek to the equatorial caverns had resulted in more losses and delays; carnivorous plants and brutal predators, perfectly adapted to the unforgiving environment, had claimed yet more slaves and drudges, and more than a few marauder guards as well. But in the end they had arrived, and work had begun at once. To Tu'teggacha, only his own safety mattered, so all was well.

The Taskmaster was incredibly pleased to be back doing as his title indicated: overseeing the slaves, ensuring that the process went smoothly. He had been given few opportunities to engage in such work over the past several years. The demands of commanding the Mawite Warfleet in so many battles, and of managing the increasingly sprawling Brotherhood logistical network, had taken virtually all of his time, forcing him to delegate most tasks like this to lesser overseers. But this one was important enough that it made sense for him to pull rank and take it over personally, and he had eagerly done so. For one thing, he was far safer here than on the Fatalis.

Durace might be dangerous, but it beat the front lines of the Hyperspace War.

Deep-penetrating sensors indicated that they were getting close now. The back of the cavern, closed off by some ancient collapse, was weakening, rock and grit whisked away by teams of laborers once the massive drills and controlled detonations ripped them down. There was a mood of both eagerness and apprehension among the little expedition. What might the ancient Mawites have left behind? If they had intentionally sealed the place, no doubt it would have traps and guardians; that was what the Brotherhood would have done, after all. If they had not, did some echo of what had destroyed them linger here, perhaps still an active threat?

There was no way to know until the last wall of stone collapsed.

 

[Aldo Garrick]

R E B I R T H
FINAL DAWN
Admiral Aldo Garrick
OUTER DURACE SYSTEM | CONFERENCE ROOM
FDS "IMMORTAL"​

The Sith Cultist-turned-zombie listened as the others gathered around the esteemed leader of the Final Dawn. It was a rare day to see the Supreme Council gathered in one place, even more so to see them outside O’Reen. His dead eyes scanned the room slowly, the glossened look of a once-dead was enough to break the spirit of any man. Aldo’s very presence was a confirmation of the unholy arts at play within the heart of the Final Dawn, within the Church of the Dark Side. To the initiated, he was blessed. A reminder that Death was not the end, and their dark masters held powers beyond comprehension. To the uninitiated, to the stock and file Neo-Imperial, he was an abomination, a thing that should not be and yet.. was.

The truth was somewhere in the middle, saved from the clutches of death he was forced to serve as a preserved corpse. To Aldo, even this falling was but a minor consequence in the end. Everything has a cost, he gladly paid the due.

“It is good to be here. Milord.”




Derix Tirall | Marlon Sularen | Electra-12 | Electra-13 | Xuan Vo | @Final Dawn

 

[Dyans Keto]

Post: 2
Objective: Victory
Tags: Kyrel Ren | Thomas Barran | Thalia Senn | Derix Tirall | TK-818 | The Mongrel | Aegon of Vitria | Keilara Kala'myr | Aldo Garrick | Erion Justeene | Tu'teggacha

Spoiler: Fleet

Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Desolation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Devastation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Desperation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Decadence)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Dancer)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Dabbler)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Deliverer)
X10 Samael Class Frigate
x8 Cr90 Corvettes
X71 Squadrons Nssis-class Clawcraft
x27 Squadrons of Support Craft
X24 Spider Cruiser fully load with Crusader troopers

​

Dyanss at in the copilot's seat as the spider descended down onto the planet. The ship rocked and jostled about as they entered the stormy atmosphere. The pilot looked to the former Queen. "You alright, Lady keto?" Dyans slight turned to him and gave him a nod that she was. This wasn't her first rough ride through the atmosphere of a planet. Yet she knew to her soldiers it was rare she went to the surface during an active conflict, though she would be far from the main fights. Her eyes returned to viewing the descent through the storms, she put on helmet as she did so. She was dressed in a light armor now that would protect her from the harsher elements of this world.


It was long and they had broken through the clouds, as they did purple lighting scatter through the sky. In this part of the northern pole of the world it was snowing, snowing Alkaline. Unless you touched it or analyzed it close enough you would know at a distance it was very different from hydrogen oxygen snow fall. The Pilot again looked to former queen as he also searched for a spot to land close enough to where the anomaly presented itself. "It's nasty weather out there."


"It is, this world wants to keep it's secrets buried but we will not turn back now. Over there is clearing in those glassed trees." Dyans pointed it out both on the radar and out the view port. The Pilot strained his eyes but eventually made out the spot she was talking about. "Damn you have good eyesight." The pilot remarked, Dyans smiling slightly under her helmet to the compliment. A hunter must have superior eyesight to spot their prey from afar. In fact most of Dyans senses were very Keen she was hunter of course one that fed on the blood of sentients.


It wasn't long and the spider had landed and Dyans was making her way to the back as she did, she made one last comment to the Pilot. "Keep her warm for us." He just gave her a nodded. As she made her way towards the now open hatches the energies formed up on her and the Crusader squads formed a perimeter around her. "We are about one and half clicks out from the anomaly. The Spider did make a pass over the area but couldn't see anything. Engineers stay between the soldiers, Titan Squad you take the lead, and Dominators squad you take up the rear." Dyans then gave a nod to each of the squads.


"Move Out." Came the commanding voice of Titan squads leader and the treacherous trek had begun.

​

Spider craft began landing on each of the islands and as they did so soldiers began to pour out of them. Their mission though not combat like they were itching for, instead they were on a plant retrieval mission. Though they had been all been given a small brief they couldn't help but feel this was beneath their station. Working with some scientists to bring back a plant that might according to stories had healing properties. They would much rather be fighting the mercenaries in the outpost or hunting monsters that were rumored to haunt this world.


Yet despite the crusades displeasure they were meant to be the loyalist and fiercest each tribe of the Maw had to offer. The soldiers began form into their squads and form out across the many islands their groups had landed on. Though they thought they were hunting flowers of myth they were unaware at the moment something was watching them and hunting them.

​

Aboard the Desolation Dyans second in command was informed they had lost contact with Dyan's spider. Though no panic reached his eyes it was to be expected the storms of this world were violent and turbulent communication was usually the first thing to be lost. This however didn't mean he wasn't worried, if the Empress was lost, injured, or worse at any point it could mean catastrophe for the Krath and this New Crusade. Yet he could not focus on that, the Empress had twenty-four hours to complete her mission as did the spiders on the island. The counter began the moment they lost communication with Dyan's spider as a few of the spiders on various islands could still be reached.


Dyans Second in command then turned his attention to his domain that of space. His orders were simple keep anyone that did not present themselves as Maw from leaving by any means. Though Dyans he knew would much rather capture them if possible. Supposedly she was working on some knew interrogation and brain washing techniques she wanted to test out. How ever it wasn't Commander Elric's place to question or even ask about such things. He shook the thoughts from his mind, it was time to focus on the matters at hand.

 

[Khaostra Devoid]

A World Crying Out​

Post: 1
Objective: The Kids aren't alright
Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: Red Midnight Duster | Red Sith Armor | Sith Mask | Grav Boots | CrushGaunts | x2 White lightsabers | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | Variety of Explosives | RSKF-44 heavy blaster | X-21 shock glove
Tags: The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr | Thomas Barran

​

Across the stars a world had cried out her, it spoke through the broken root systems. However, it's cries were not those of pain, pain was all this world had known for an eternity. No, it's cries a message that something was rising from the ground and it was not vines of salvation it thirsted for. Long had the plants of this world feed on the alkaline blood of this world it had burned scarred them. The poison had infested them made them constant pain a vile enough to thirst even for flesh as they hoped one day the vines would come and heal this world.


The screams had driven the daughter of destruction here, they continued to scream in her mind. Telling her of the one that was rising on this world. Yet they had not made it clear who it was just that it was important to her. They needed her to come not only for this omen that was coming but because she was a vine caller and possibly the bringer of their salvation. Little did they know Khaos was no savior of worlds her life was ruin, her life ruin and that was all she could truly given them more suffering.


Boots stepped off the Hot Mess touching the blackened glassed earth, her eyes looked up in marvel at the forest of broken glass. The forest called out to her, most thought the forest was dead, but Khaos could feel it and even speak to its heart. It was in pain, but it had endured this pain so long that it sometimes for moments forgot it was there. Something horrible happened on this world but not even the roots dare speak of it out of fear a worse omen might befall it.

There was other life on this world and carnage was on the edge of breaking out the roots spoke of this, but it mattered little to Khaos about the Maw war machine coming to conquer. "Tell me of this omen that is rising?" She demanded as the plants were trying to pull her in a million direction because they wanted her to be their salvation.


"Bbbbbbaaarrrr….." The forest tried to speak the Omens as it conjured images in Khaos' head of the fires of Lao-mon and the slaughters of Dathomir. She dropped to her knees as her left hand digging in the black sand glass. The images flooding in over and over it was overwhelming as it kept trying to speak the Omens name. "Bbbbbbaarrreeennn." It finally spit out, as and image of a head breaching the surface digging itself out of a deep grave entered her mind. Khaos's orange orbs squeezed shut tightly and words left her lips.


"How can it be?"

 

[Electra-12]

Location: Conference Room - FDS Immortal
Tags: Derix Tirall Aldo Garrick

She stood like a statue.

Their eyes pored over her like she was one, as if through gaze alone they could find malignancy in her construction, impurity in her DNA, or mistake in her presentation.

Perhaps to their disappointment, particularly those of the skeptics in the room, they would find her without flaw.

It had very quickly dawned on Electra-12 that her lineage, that of the Electra-series strand-casts, were considered to be a breakthrough by many powerful figures in the Final Dawn. The benefits of the Chiss, without the Chiss. Rebirth, made manifest. Purity, in practice. And yet, the voices of detractors and skeptics sang out as well. Impossible. Soulless. The Chiss are dead, let them stay that way. Nevertheless, here she stood, a walking abomination to some, a manifestation of the Supreme Ruler’s will to others. Regardless of what they believed, she served the Supreme Ruler in her own way. Electra-12 would represent far more than the Chiss reborn, but also the last and the greatest TIE ace of this decaying, putrescent galactic order.

Faced with the High Regent, Derix Tirall , and many other prominent figures, Electra-12 delivered a crisp, unerring salute of the Pure Order, before giving a deep, contemplative breath as the meeting commenced.

 

[Thomas Barran]

2nd post

Thomas Barran
"The Flayed Blue Lion"

Objective 3: BYOO
Tags: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Keilara Kala'myr Khaostra Devoid Erion Justeene

THE LIVING ARTIFACT: REANIMATION OF A FIRSTBORN - PART TWO

Durace (Summer of 870 ABY)

Who....​

Unconscious, almost completely, but his mind was trying to do things while his stupor continued, almost working to wake the Amnesiac in it's strange ability to detect presences nearby; even in his dark, dreamy haze, the nameless one continued to sense that he was surrounded, with the presences closing in at a careful, cautious walking pace. The stranger's eyes would begin to open into wakefulness, under a duress he thought he could feel coming, like a creeping feel of dread he couldn't shake if he tried, not without standing to face whatever was stepping forth to close the distance. But it still wasn't enough yet, the Amnesiac's eyelids still felt much too heavy to consider himself wakeful yet, with the urge to drift off again still very much present and keeping the stranger too weary to do anything about it - stuck in a rut without any such available means of snapping out from it.

Who....

You'll find out in your own time.... Just know for now that you're not alone in this universe. WAKE UP!!!! ​

It was like three ethereal voices were speaking through the same feminine larynx, or as if they all had voices of their own, synchronising their whispers to an almost-frightening degree of accuracy. The stranger found himself unsettled by it, made further-fearful by it, and even more so when the screamed demand was uttered in the same, perfectly-maintained unison. Whatever, or whoever it was, felt old, perhaps even ancient, and though the Amnesiac had no clue what was going on, it seemed like the self at the very central depth of his soul was screaming out recognition with everything it had. However, the unsettled feeling was beginning to intermingle wildly enough with both fear and confusion that it was just moments away from giving the nameless one a chance to snap out of his stupor, a small blessing that would be embraced with both hands.

Who....​

Pushing his body up from the black dusty ground, rising above all the blood that his face had been lying in until that moment, the nameless one would reach a defensive standing position before he finally opened his eyes. Bloodshot to almost completely-reddened extremes, though the left had appeared redder, and darker than the other.

Who....​

Snarling, his eyes would struggle to see everything as they darted to and fro, but it didn't seem to matter, as all his senses were seemingly working in overdrive, especially his sight - detecting the darker shaded in the red that had seemingly burst forth from his waking, conscious retinae. One approaching behind appeared braver than the others, but then another stepped out from their spot in the encirclement to his right, moving every part as confidently as the other. Expecting trouble either way, the Amnesiac decided to strike out and find out what was going on, deciding on choosing to be the first to spill blood if need be; but would the need be, would the stranger rip his aggressors' throats out, would he go every step of the way in an attempt to escape?

No.

The Amnesiac was feeling curious all of a sudden, and like it was with the unsettling uncanny feeling in the latter stages of his stupor, intermingling with everything else - but overpowering everything else.

Slowly but surely.

'WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?!?!?!?!'​

As if by instinct alone, the stranger pivoted on his back foot, his left foot; but the Amnesiac wouldn't register this in his mind until hours later, the pain would only assail him when he recognised it definitively as his back foot in CQC and sword-duelling, much like it awaited in recognition of these disciplines, but it was all very much escaping his recall in his waking moments. Despite the stranger's cluelessness, the pivot itself was cleanly executed as if by instinct alone, and in the process, made the process of turning to face the one sneaking up behind him look easy; leaving nothing to chance from there, the nameless one sprang forth with disproportionate speed and ferocity, snatching at the brave one's throat as he attempted to meet the threat in the middle. The only thing that was keeping the Mawite alive in that moment was the fact the other had fired multiple tranq-darts into the Amnesiac's shoulder and left arm in a short series of three-round bursts, but to both braves' horror, the blood-soaked, dust-covered stranger was unaffected in his seemingly-otherworldly wrath.

'WHO - THE FUCK - ARE YOU?!?!?!'​

'The others call me,"Dreamer", and the one you're strangling - he answers to,"Rook". We're Scar Hounds, Mawsworn, warriors of the Mongrel.... Let - him - go! NOW!!!!'

None of it was finding recognition in the mind of the Amnesiac, as all of it had transpired long after the man from before had been killed in the line of duty, all of painful if ever he came to recall it. The words being thrown his way in Galactic Basic seemed like a jumble, of a future he had no way of predicting, but that made him curious. But the curiosity turned him back to the one he was strangling, then it turned him to pondering on the main question he'd been asking himself since he first climbed out from the dry ground nearby. Pulling Rook closer, the nameless one would look through the goggles and find himself impressed to see that see the fearlessness was persistent enough to stare back, and in the struggle to breathe, the stranger would find nothing but defiance staring back at him.

'Then who - the fuck - AM I?!?!'​

'Wha-gyah! Ease - up, man! FUCK! We - don't know! Haaaauurgh! Tru- truth, man! He-fuuuuck! CALM-'

Finally letting go of one he knew was no longer an aggressor, the nameless one turned his attentions back to Dreamer, leaping into a sprint as he barrelled into the one who attempted to tranquilise him, with the darts still sticking into the shoulder and left arm as they both careened hard into the black dust and sharp gravel together. An outcry of pain underneath him brought out an understanding that his foe was in fact a sentient, blood-and-brain biped, one he would throw the same question to, frothing at the mouth as he demanded,'Answer my question,"Dreamer"! Rook isn't saying anything USEFUL!!!!', slamming his head into the Mawite's own and cracking the nose-ridge area of the gas-mask he was wearing at the time. From there, the nameless one would grip at the mask as if he was gripping at the skin and flesh of the face it protected, snarling with murderous attempt as he awaited Dreamer's final answer.

'Idiot! That's because he's too busy pointing a gun-barrel at your head! In fact, you know what - I'm just going to say it.... That obviously isn't for us to know, you wanna know why? 'CAUSE WE ONLY DREAMT OMENS OF YOUR ARRIVAL!!!! AND ON THIS PLANET OF ALL PLACES!!!! We hoped at least you would be able to answer this, and we hoped you could decipher the dream every living Scar Hound experienced together! WE HOPED YOU WOULD BE THE ONE TO KNOW, gEnIuS!!!!'

Not good, this only meant that the confusion would remain, one such the Amnesiac realised he would need to adapt to, especially if he hoped to survive the storm that was headed his way. A never-ending torrential maelstrom of violence, pain, anguish and death awaited, but the nameless one was nowhere near ready for any of it yet - a feeling that was becoming all too aggravating to bear.

'FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!'​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Tags: Thomas Barran | Keilara Kala'myr | Erion Justeene | Khaostra Devoid

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel discovers Mercy's telepathic gift, and craves more
  • BUT there's only so much he can do in front of others without looking weak
• The Mongrel discovers Thomas mid-scrap, and demands that he release Dreamer

The Mongrel had not called for Mercy when he had come to this wretched place. After everything that had happened on Dromund Kaas, where he had lost so many good troops and she had nearly died at the hands of the Eternal Empire's elite, he had left her in the care of a Final Dawn infirmary. For one of his tribesmen he would have used harsh tribal medicine, the kind that killed the weak and left deep scars on the strong. But not for her. Only the best of care for Mercy, his most trusted agent... and one who was becoming something far more.

Yes, he had left her behind to recuperate, to regain her strength after that brutal encounter in Kaas City. But he had not ordered her to stay there, had not insisted that she be kept in the infirmary until she recovered. It was an oversight, a lack of thoroughness he would not normally have displayed. But the truth was that he had wanted her to follow him, wanted her to be at his side whether she was ready or not. She was the one creature who made remaining in this accursed galaxy seem worthwhile, the influence that restrained him from martyrdom.

So when her voice spoke in his mind, a sensual purr that echoed in his thoughts before physical words were spoken, he would have smiled... if he'd still had a face to smile with. His secret hope had been fulfilled. Raising a durasteel hand, he brought his honor guard to a halt, waiting while her shuttle descended to meet him. He watched her walk closer, enjoying the sway of her movements in her form-fitting bodyglove. She showed no outward signs of her terrible wounds, the blood loss and organ damage that had so recently almost killed her.

The thought of those injuries filled him with rage.

But that rage, that moment of blinding, white-hot desire to rip apart the already-dead men who had hurt her, dissipated like mist in the breeze in the next instant. The Mongrel felt something he had not felt in years, something he had lost long ago, when they had scooped his brain out of his ruined body in the wake of Coruscant and dumped it into a metal shell. He felt touch. He felt her slender fingers run gently over skin he no longer had. Impossible though it was, he felt the heat of her breath, and the press of her lips against his long-lost flesh.

It was some kind of trick, some feat of magic, some blasphemous gift invading his mind and playing with his abused nervous system. He had killed for less, hacked down Jedi and other sorcerers who had dared to infiltrate his thoughts and compromise his brain. He had buried Sakadi Marathi Sinvala alive in the dungeons beneath Goshen Keep when she had spoken to him through magic, trapped her - at least for a time - behind a waterfall of dark stone with a clever explosion. He ought to react just as brutally now. He could not risk this.

But he found that he did not care. No, he craved more.

~ Mercy... ~ The name - not her true name, not the birth name given to the body she had arisen to control, but the only name that mattered to him - bubbled up in his thoughts. He was no telepath, and had no practice with forming mental messages that another could wordlessly understand, but in that moment he wanted to learn. He wanted to abandon this foolish hunt for omens and prophecies, to bring her back with him to his sanctum and explore all that her mystical touch could do. This was his first chance to feel again, and he hungered for it.

~ Again, ~ The Mongrel... commanded? Pleaded? Even he was not sure. The power dynamic between them, the twisted relationship of master and servant, abuser and victim, had suddenly shifted, for now she had something he wanted more than anything else in the galaxy. That thought jolted him back to reality. He could not show weakness. Not here, in front of the warriors of his tribe. Legend or not, he was growing old in their eyes, a warrior for ten long years and a warlord for half that. Some young pup would rise to challenge him soon.

He must not give any of them an easy excuse for it.

~ ... but not yet, ~ he hesitantly amended. Whatever it was that was happening between them, it would have to wait. Already the anticipation was killing him, driving him, urging him to finish this task as swiftly as he could. When he spoke again, The Mongrel spoke aloud, answering the question Mercy had posed with her audible words. "We seek the source of a prophecy," the warlord boomed, his powerful mechanical voice giving no hint as to the state of his yearning mind. "A weapon against our enemies, buried here but soon emerging."

Trying his best to push the lingering memory of sensation from his mind, The Mongrel beckoned his hunters onward once more. He did not know that others had also traced the source of the omen - others like Khaostra Devoid and Erion Justeene , who even now closed in on its location - but he could feel in his long-absent bones that he needed to make haste if he was to be among the first to discover its source. As if in answer to the thought, the warlord heard heated shouting begin to bounce between the many jagged spires of rock.

One of his pickets must have found something.

It was not difficult to close in on the source of the bellowing; whatever Rook and Dreamer had uncovered, it - or he, as it turned out - certainly wasn't subtle or quiet. As the mysterious man, clad in ash and blood and his cracked mask, pinned Dreamer against the silicate pillar, the rest of the Scar Hound hunting party closed in, slipping through the forest of sharp rocks like a herd of sleek Trintian Gallazes melting out of the trees. They formed a ring around the trio, watching, waiting. Not one man would move until The Mongrel gave the signal.

"Who indeed?" the warlord boomed, his powerful voice echoing through the narrow channels between the spires. "You are the reason we have come here... but it seems that even you yourself cannot tell us why." The Mongrel stepped forward, the servos of his legs whirring, and peered at the strange man who had been reborn from Durace's accursed soil. Had he been able to peer beyond the mask, he might have noted a resemblance to someone he knew all too well... but he could not. "Release my warrior. Then we'll find the truth."

If it came to a fight, he knew Mercy would have his back.

Even wounded, he trusted her with his life.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective I.: Reporting for duty.
Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || OPBC-01m
Writing With: The Mongrel | Thomas Barran

[ Steel Commanders ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

My detour at the current infirmary was different from what was after Jakku. After Jakku I was cared for by members of the tribe, so there was a trace left on my belly and back that the spear had pierced completely. Now, however, I have been a guest at Final Dawn. In much more modern and better conditions and circumstances. Where I had a better chance of surviving what happened to me. A few more scars didn't really matter, Ziare's body was still full of scars. Traces of her nearly twenty years of suffering. It was essentially the top of my neck, and my face was the only area on my entire body where there were no scars on it… on us… on ME!. All other body surfaces can be hidden, her family members said.

As I walked over to him, it was as if I could feel his gaze as he watched me. I smiled, but only to myself. I didn't show anything to suggest that there might be anything between us because that would put him in a vulnerable position. Especially until I'm healed. So I wouldn’t even be perfectly fit to protect him or myself. Mostly him, as he was important to the tribe. He was the first one there. The rest doesn't matter.

As he thought of my name, another smile appeared on my lips, but only in my thoughts. I thought I did what I wanted. I was still inexperienced in doing things with the minds of others; with Taskmaster, we worked mainly to strengthen my own mind and, of course, to keep Ziare from reappearing, but to keep her only in the prison she had locked herself in. The Taskmaster's mind was too strong, with protection, I could never do anything. The Eternal Imperials received an unpleasant surprise, but I have not been able to do it again. It could be caused by injuries or pain that I felt on Dromund Kaas. I'll have to talk about this with the Taskmaster later.

As I heard the pleading, I paused in my mind for a moment. It made sure I did what I did, but the reaction was so unexpected that I was surprised. When he nearly plead to me to stay alive, it was one thing. But this? I think even the surprise appeared on my face for a moment, it caught me off guard. I felt almost tangible when our old relationship was shattered, transformed, changed, turned into a new one. I have no idea what, how, but it has changed, and I think it has become more twisted, stronger, closer... more corrupted.

For a moment I was overwhelmed by the urge and desire to step close and kiss him, not caring if I had to kill everything and everyone after it because they saw this. But I didn’t move because I couldn’t physically do it. That "again", was intoxicating, ecstatic. Would it have been what others have said that it is very easy for women to gain power over men with their games and actions? I knew nothing about this, Ziare had no experience in this area. But…

~ As you wish… with the greatest pleasure! ~ I think my voice was also full of longing and desire.

I started to concentrate better again and touched his mind again, with a similar effect as caressing. However, when I sensed the following hesitant thoughts, I stopped and stopped the movement in my thoughts. End of foreplay…

~ Why I should stop… now? This is torturing… ~ I asked, there was still a longing and lust in my telepathic voice.

Luckily, there were a few moments until he answered aloud, so I was able to completely retreat from his mind and now pay attention to the environment and those around us. Nothing was seen from the former interlude, there are benefits to not noticing anything from it. I raised an eyebrow at the words now uttered aloud. It was then that I realised that I knew almost nothing about it, apart from the myth and legend that everyone else knows. I knew the warlord, but the man, Mongrel, didn't. Yes, I wondered who he was, who no one knew.

"A prophecy, warlord?" I asked back, I was able to control my voice and stay official, maintaining the appearance of a working relationship. I mean to say that he is only my warlord, nothing more. "Some kind of an ancient superweapons?"

A few moments later I heard voices shouting, screaming. Instinctively, I reached for my weapons and moved to protect the warlord. For a few moments, I also forgot how injured I was and how his bodyguards were here. In any case, I no longer laid down the two pistols, but they remained in my hands. Because of the painkillers, I was able to move at a normal pace. If the drugs don't work anymore, it will really hurt, but now it doesn't matter.

When we arrived, I moved a little further away, covered by the ruins and trees, from where I could see the person and even be able to aim with my gun. However, he could not really see me, but the others cannot see me because of this, including the warlord.

~ I'll cover you from the side, if necessary I'll shoot him! ~ I reassured him that I had disappeared from his side and near for a reason and not left behind because of my injuries.

I got down on my knees and locked the man in the crosshairs of the two pistols. I would have liked to laugh, because Ziare would have tried to run away screaming that another dead man was crawling out of the depths of the earth. After the warlord's question, I waited motionless for the man's reaction. For both pistols, I kept my finger on the trigger.

It’s enough of a bad move, and I’ll send the central figure of the alleged prophecy to the deepest potty of hell and the Avatars will feast on his soul…

 

[Erion Justeene]

Objective I: Make observations
Location: Durace, Grasslands outside the Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Tags: Thomas Barran | Keilara Kala'myr | The Mongrel | Khaostra Devoid

More Sith arrived, their footfalls audible in the blackened earth, Superious was inspecting what was once a tree, datapad floating beside him. His objective was simple, figure out what went on and whether or not this planet is of value. So far, it wasn't, but he knew from the remnants that many years prior it was full of life. There does not look like there is a way to judge fully at how it can be reversed. He had no aptitude for healing, nor anything that benefits the preservation of life. He is here because he was curious and wanted to learn about it

The progress was slow and that hum of stifling pressure in the force had kept him acutely aware that they are not truly alone out here, in the bleak expanse of nothingness. This is why he kept an eye on the pressure as he looked and poked around more. He should be in the forest now, aiding the others in their plans. But this was an opportunity to do a little bit of digging first.

They fanned out, collecting whatever they can find, even going out of where they can be seen, one of the Sith had ended up in a hole, his scream was too faint to hear. This is where he will remain, unfound and forgotten. Superious paid little attention as he had been talking to two others, Darth Malum and Darth Malignis, who had tagged along for the adventure, or expedition. They were recruited by the Ubese, who did not give them a choice in the matter.

"It's dead, there is nothing left to know."

<"Obviously, yet there is something very much alive out there and it's not that far from us.">

"You don't know zat, for all we know ze planet is sending confuzing force aura out."

Superious considered this as a possibility, for all he knew he could be sensing the death of the planet and its scream of torture. But then again, this wasn't a normal background hum, the background hum was the Rigour Mortis of a planet stripped of life. this was something else and it's on the move. Then echoes of yelling reached them, no wind to dampen them. Rage, confusion and madness coloured the yells.

<"I hate this place, more so than I hate everything else."> Superious muttered to himself, a small twang of an impending headache looming, he made no moves to seek out the source, he is busy and nothing distracts him while he is busy.

Yelling be damned.