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The peace was broken, the sky darkened by the hostilities of [member="Catalys Maijora"] and his Old Guard fleet. The Warlord of Echoy'la ran through the catacombs led by [member="Kadri Ughad"], tailed stealthily by the Warlord of Wayland. Open fighting resonated through the streets as combatants detonated charges beneath the moot point and a small swarm of Mirilan Zodou Shades attempt to overwhelm the combatants still present. Chaos had broken loose, and the Host Lord of Balagoth had had enough. Beside him stood [member="Talos Rygat"], and [member="Warok the Defiler"], to which he revealed that the purpose of the misfortunate moot was not to unite - such was impossible now - but to expose the division, and the unrest. Now brother would slaughter sister, and all of Wild Space would become open to the Unseen Rift. It was unclear if the ewok would provide any assistance or words of additional wisdom... though there was hope the Hutt might find an ally in the Warlord of Dubrillion.
Before them all, the fleshy orb flowered open revealing room enough for all of them should they wish to follow him to the Gulandi homeworld in his quest to secure an alliance with the bloodthirsty warrior race. This though, was only a transport to the Warlord's Flagship, TheBalagoth. From there... destiny would find their true destination...
This was the end of the Primeval as the galaxy knew it, but most certainly, this was not the end of the Primeval's pursuit of the lost gods. Soon the Rift would open, and all would flock to it... but it would only open after enough of their own blood had been spilled, this much the Host Lord knew.
"Talos, ewok, come with me if you so wish... there is much I have to show." The unfocused gray-blue eyes stared upwards, as his slimy tail curled over the lip of the strange black orb, as his frozen hands clung ever tightly to the screaming Artifact - The Heart of Zambrano.
During the chaotic mess of the skirmish, Catalys managed to slip away from the Sith warrior and found himself tucked away within the Hutt's starship as it made its way to the Primeval-class Star Destroyer, Balagoth. Such a vessel was not befitting of the traitorous Warlord who knew not how to appreciate his own power.
Eventually there would be a time where the two clashed, but for now the agent observed, hopefully unnoticed, as the Hutt began to talk with his two new companions. As to why anyone would willingly align with [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] was a good question to ask.
Perhaps there was some sort of sick appreciation to be found within the depths of his sadistic insanity. Or, more likely, he was an easy vessel to utilize on their own journeys to achieve power. Whichever reason they chose for themselves made little difference, however, as Catalys had one goal.
To kill the Hutt. To end the life of the Warlord of the Rift.
Anja may be dead, but her will would be enforced by this Exemplar of the Bleeding Sun.
"Only a bit further, only a ways down now before we will reach the exit." Kadri had at least taken the time to memorize these tunnel systems before the moot, but of course, the fact a map is simply an abstraction of the actual object catacombs was only slightly different.
The duo, or possibly trio still, took another turn to the right. These halls were old, not in a grid-like efficiency that modern architects used for vast structures like this. Rather this was the chaotic web of a spider with no senses.
"Third hall on the left from here, follow the path straight from there and we'll be at the exit."
The black fleshy-orb with its stowaway, and any guests that chose to board it, lifted to the air in unnatural eeriness. It made no sound only rowed its way through the air with its tendrilled appendages, leaving behind the burning chaos of the ill fated moot. [member="Catalys Maijora"], and indeed the others if they were on board, would find no comfort and stowing away on the unliving flesh. The cold, corpse-like creature heaved itself out of the heavens of Anirc's moon, and into the empty abyss of outer space. The black sky filled with the hostile specks of metallic silver, as they pilfered the planet with fire and plasma... meanwhile one metallic structure continually grew larger and larger, as they approached. The Balagoth, the Primeval Class Star Destroyer... how far had it fallen.
The prize ship looked to be in ruins, suffering still from the damages it had been inflicted on Dromund Kaas, by a combination of the Silver Sanctum and the traitorous Old Guard. The reactionary terrorists who still clung too tightly to the past rule of Anja Aj'Rou, and would refused to accept the change needed to succeed and thrive once more with new leadership. Scores of darkness covered the ship, like some herculean beast had hurled itself into the mass of metal, dug it up, and made it its newest home... a leviathan of tyranny. Half-flesh, and half-inorganic structures protruded from various points across the ship, seemingly patching up the damage it suffered, holding the whole ship tentatively together.
Like a silent fish, the nasty "ship" that had carried them to the skies descended upon the abominable thing that was once The Balagoth, and was accepted into the shields of his hangar bay. Upon an entering, a palpable stench of corpses and congealed blood filled the decaying nostrils of the deplorable slug, and a smile almost began to form on the withered face. Once more the half-living thing that he occupied opened up, sprawling out as a withered flower to the cold metallic floor, filled with the stench that seemed to have mutinied and commandeered the entirety of the ship. Slowly, Zambrano the Hutt descended down the creature of his own creation, and observed the many strange bodies half fused the hull of the ship, and the tendrils that spread about the walls and especially the ceilings, holding it all together as if the metals that made the ship was soil. Black non-living flesh invaded the expanse of the ship... meanwhile the previously living occupants that operated the ship had been killed, and taken apart for their entrails... or where otherwise used to decorate the ship infused directly into the floors, or hung from their necks by vines hanging from the ceiling. A sickly dark sludge seemed to ferment at the edges of every wall.
Mirialan Zodou Shades walked the halls in perfect unchanging paths, carrying the same things, doing the same things... seeming more machine in behavior than corpse. Two dozen of them approached their Black Prophet, forming an assembly of two lines on either side of their new Host Lord. Their bodies were marred and bloodied, hacked apart yet forced together, hideously murdered each and every one. None spoke, and the hangar was characterized by the groaning ship, and silence.
What hell had the Host Lord's Personal Enforcer trotted into now?
Warlord Balac of Wayland followed the duo, both of his customary pistols brandished and ready, with his Ubese hatred prepared to unleash his quick-firing fury. He would assassinate the Warlord of Echoy'la, and the other dissident as well. What they spoke of would destabilize clearly, what the new Host Lord had begun. None sought to lead, and the Hutt while brutal, only lead in a way befitting of conquerors, and indeed the Primeval. His passion for his own religion was admirable and very similar to himself. His views of the Mandalorians was that of opposition, that they had all fallen into a state of Dar'manda-ism. That the false Mandalore, Dar'Mandalore, had lead his people astray. Only the Primeval had offered him the solace he needed to correct that mistake.
Now they finally had a strong enough leader, with radical enough methods, to get the job done.
While these mooks sought to resist that simple fact. The fools brought a whole damnable fleet to a peaceful demonstration, a call to arms against the enemies of the Primeval. They couldn't look past the present, and accept that their political opposition was in control now. They had to fight back, and start this coup. When his Mandalorians soldiers died at the hands of the Old Guard, he would blame them, and hate them for the war that they had begun.
All these thoughts pre-occupied the Warlords mind as he stalked the traitorous pair.
OOC: [member="Kadri Ughad"], or [member="Catalys Maijora"] can control Warlord Ba'jurir of Echoy'la
(Sorry for not responding, I've been quite busy with school work and the like, was also waiting for [member="Catalys Maijora"] to respond)
The two continued walking for quite some time now, their pursuer ever stalking them silently. It was obvious that they were soon to approach the exit of these damned catacombs.
"These are indeed dark times, are they not?" The old man would ask to the warlord. The silence was beginning to bother him greatly. He could have even sworn there was another set of footfalls. Paranoia, obviously, that would be hard to count with the guards trailing the two.
"I almost fell into his following myself. I thought that he would be an answer at first, even if it was so quick a response. I thought that he would be content to show his military strength by fighting the armies in order to consume control. So I watched as he burned Mirial into oblivion. That is when I realized we needed this to happen. The hutt is a demon, nothing else would burn what they controlled so securely on a whim. Now he denies those damned corpses release. He is a coward, I say, to hide behind the dead in order to maintain shoddy control. Death should be permanent, it is a tenent of our faith."
The man expected no response. It was merely his thoughts, of course. How the warlord walking alongside him would react, he would never know. (Or those of the warlord trailing them for that matter)
