A day for Yun-Ne'Shel [Legion Yun'Do, PM for Invite]

[Yurzhoc Shai]

Selvaris

Aboard the Shipwomb or On the Ground of Selvaris

Morning time

They called it the Festival of the Yun-Ne'Shel. Arguably a misrepresentation of the celebration, which would occur at all times of the year when other Yun'O were finding themselves not glorified. Such was the nation of the Legion, that the Yuuzhan Vong would leap frog from one God to the next, constantly glorifying and seeking to repay them the favor of creating the universe and all the obstacles to be overcome, through the True Way. It would all lead back to varying degrees of orthodoxy that maintained trials of the Yun'O would be replicated in every facet of the Yuuzhan Vong's life as they sought to prove themselves worthy of the inheritance. To earn their mantle. As such, the Festival of Yun-Ne'Shel wasn't truly a festival but more an emphasis, one placed on shaping and the ever maturing shaping protocol. And it was an emphasis that would extend passed a day or week or maybe even a month.

An old and dilapidated Yorik-Vec assault cruiser had lifted the Warrior from the gravity of the planet to land in an analogous landing bay of the growing shipwomb. Composed of oqa membrane, the area was a growing modification of a standard cofferdam, allowing entrance into the Shipwomb without fear of death in the blackness of space. Often times, the organic shipyard was constructed from the dead and bloated remains of planets claimed in the Yuuzhan Vong conquest. However, such was the not the case for Selvaris, showing a slower form of maturation as organics were pulled from the native inhabitants for nutrients and materials were mined from dual suns of Selvaris. Gravimetric beams, pouring out from engorged and enlarged dovin basals, would compliment the planet side nutrient input to exhibit and slow yet steady growth, one far more lasting. One more closely resembling the love for life often mentored in Yuuzhan Vong culture, despite it's twisting and molestation.

Yurzhoc rested his hand against the bone and flesh of a makeshift hand rail, thin yet sturdy membranes providing a skewed vision out into space. A shaper approaches and Yurzhoc, like all too often, would greet them with a scowl followed by the baring of teeth. While the Warrior Caste was not one for mingling with the Shaper Caste, this particular warrior had seen the effects of their work on the battlefield and knew that respecting their work was the truest path towards glory. Yun-Yammka was the strongest God, even contending with Yun Yuuzhan, but Yun-Ne'Shel demanded their own form of pause and thought.

"What is that?"
"What?"
"That!" He pointed towards a protrusion of yorik coral from an enlarged polyp, one of many, that composed the different birthing bays of the Shipwomb.
"An immature Yaret-Krinra."
"Yoret-Krinra?"
"Yes, a shaped Yaret-kor...stolen from other technology manufactured in the universe."
"How far along is it?"
"Several months...there are many more beginning to protrude now from the Womb."

He chewed on his cheek for a moment, giving a nod as he caressed Stebbles upon his shoulder. He watched as the various Mabugat Kan rotated with the shipwomb, circling the planet, the specialized Dovin Basal throbbing with it's capacity to block incoming and outgoing Holonet information. From afar, he could almost see them smiling, or perhaps that was merely the reflection of the womb against the shiny surface of it's glossy back, constantly growing.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Abraxas"] | [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Thirteen"] | [member="Arakiel"] | [member="Agarus Nethear"] | [member="Darth Isolda"]

OOC:

Spoiler

If you are wishing to partake in a Vong oriented roleplay, this would be. We are looking to focus on character development, biotech development, or a combination of the two. You can take part in the shipwomb, diving into defenses and other such stuff, or you can be on planet messing with things. However, if you weren't tagged, I ask that you pm me first.

Objectives:
1) Flesh out defenses and growth of the shipwomb
2)Detail plans for new ships being built on the shipwomb
3)Detail new dovin basals, bioengineered for different purposes
4)Interact with the mern kane, fleshing out their roles as drones and sentries both on ground and in shipwomb
5)Anything else really. If you want a chom-huun, this would be the time for it. Or any other cool items produced by the Legion.

 

[Via Dolorosa]

Babysitting was not in his job description. Technically he was assigned to escort duty on one of the Slaveships that was being dispatched with slaves, prisoners, and other unlucky sods, a total of two hundred in all, to assist in the growing creation of the Shipwomb. Upon the delivery of the goods, he would be free to return to the planet of Selvaris to assist in defining what role the mern kane would play on the planet. And if time was provided, perhaps seek out to obtain his own chomm-hunn. The latter was just a pipe dream for now. Duty always called, and he always answered.

But first, he needed to drop off the babies.

Thirteen walked back and forth, his Amphistaff resting in the crook of his massive left arm and his Chitin carbine strapped to his back, along the eastern corridor that housed the babies he was assigned to watch over. Most, judging by the looks of them, seemed to have chosen servitude over fighting and dying for their freedom. Weakness sickened him in all it's purest forms. But one thing he had learned since throwing himself with this lot was this; the strong ruled and the weak simply endured their lot in life.

"Where....where are we going," one of the wretched dared to ask as he passed by his cell.

Thirteen stopped and took two steps backward, his right eye boring holes into the slave's body. The look was all it took for the slave to cower back into his cage. Thirteen wasn't one to demonstrate his superiority over lesser fools by shooting them hardened looks. He was a man of action. However, this slave like all the other slaves where needed, property that could not be afforded to be spoiled. Once aboard the Shipwomb, the slaves, including this one that dared speak to him, would no longer be his problem.

"Shall I ruin the surprise," Thirteen answered.

When the slave elected not to respond to the question posed to him, Thirteen shook his head as he walked away.

 

[Dr. Alset Niest]

Location: Shipwomb

The pipe lifted to the mans mouth, a haggard expression complimented by the wafting of smoke. Each lift pushed higher and higher, reigning in stagnation near the organic ceiling, before being sucked out by some preposterous beast. Likely some sort of monster capable of producing a vacuum or current. Alset hypothesized the vexing notions at length as the fire engaged the perimeter of the wooden bowl, each breath giving life where it once didn't exist. Placing his hand against the wall, he gazed down a lengthy hallway of the Shipwomb and lifted the voice recorder to his mouth.

::The hour is...:: He checked the left arm watch, clicking the digital screen with a tap of the finger. ::The hour is unimportant. I have chased this particular Chazrach Sentinel through the Shipwomb for the past 7 hours.::

He placed his hand against the roundness of the handrail, before lifting the recorder to his mouth and scratching the strong initial foundation of a mustache. ::As far as I can tell, it doesn't seem to need rest. I have tracked it's movements through the Shipwomb and it seems to have zero purpose beyond it's meandering.:: He paused and placed his back against the wall. ::I have spoken with the Master Shapers, responsible for the construction of this beast, and can only surmise that it was an attempt to create something valuable from an otherwise useless creature. It moves through the shipwomb as a droid would move through a shipyard, only taking breaks to scan with it's glowing red eyes - they are always red, despite the nature of the biot from which originated.:: He exhaled. ::A trait that I postulate in a normal member of the Legion would have them thrown into the Shamed Ones caste. The cognitive dissonance bemuses me, but I digress.::

Hearing the movement begin once more, the scientist turned and crouched as he followed the Mern Kane, hand against the wall as the illumination from the Lumen reeds and glow-lichen were quaint and cooling, but not in the least bit efficient. Dr. Alset followed cautiously, whispering into the recorder, as each passing reed illuminated the bald dome for which such a magnificent brain found shelter.

::The movements of the Sentinel are slow, yet presumably methodical. The heavy gun at it's side seems attached and equipped with some form of buzzing, I shall endeavor to discover it's origin.::

[member="Khallesh "](just for tagging, not necessarily associated with this specific post)

 

[Arage Bao]

[SIZE=14.6666666666667px]Selvaris[/SIZE]
[SIZE=14.6666666666667px]Dau al’Zhaelor[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Dau al’Zhaelor… the Mouth of Truth, it was a little place hidden away between the folds of organical tissue, waste and some residue of that which came before. Inside was the dedicated entity which performed all kinds of [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6666666666667px]services[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6666666666667px] to the Legion, most of which came down to the scouting of worlds - picking them out for the glory of them all, the stalking of those that were marked and the hidden blades in the shadows.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Four of them, there were. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Not exactly a favorable disposition in regards to the rest of the Legion, but Durzo Qinvah had worked with less in the past. To be a follower of the truth, was to walk a path that few of the Yuuzhan Vong truly wished to commit to - there was no glory in being one of the Intendants, or at least that’s what the common consensus was under the Warrior caste.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]He cared not. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Sitting, his feet resting lazily on the table and eyes calmly studying the pacing of his brother; there was amusement in those eyes. In a lot of ways this life was a practice of patience and if Qinvah had learned something in his long life, it was that time… there was plenty of it and to rush was to fail.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]To fail? Was to die.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px][member="Vrag"] | [member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Abraxas"] | [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Thirteen"] | [member="Arakiel"] | [member="Agarus Nethear"] | [member="Darth Isolda"] | [member="Khallesh "]| [member="Reverance"][/SIZE]​

 

[Tanalth]

The sights and sounds were all familiar. The atmopshere was all familiar. Everything was so familiar. So why did Vree feel so alone? She made her way through the crowd of Sith, fellow Vong, and others present for the grand Day of Yun-N'Shel. Vree knew what this wad for. Even as a Vongling she had attended these sort of festivals, if they could even be called that, to honor one god after another and another. So why would this one be so different? Simple: she wasn't a ture Vong anymore. After failing as a warrior Vree had personally become a Shamed One, the lowest rank among her people. She had only brought herself out of exile due to the want to reagin her fallen honor. She had her plans to make that wish a reality but, of course, that needed time. Time that seemed to wane on for too long for her. She passed her way through avoidng contact with anyone. She was only here because she felt some obligation to be here. She was of the domain of Choka, one that was respected among the warrior domains. She may not have carried the name as greatly as she did in the past but it was still her name reagrdless. She just hopped no one would recognize her as she looked towards the floating ship above. She knew she was unworthy of that privalage these days. If she wanted to be there, among the true Vong warriors, she needed to get that respect back the hard way. Her eyes fluxed between the colors of green and light blue, due to her implants. She was a bundle of emotion that became all the more clear.​

​

[member="Durzo Qinvah"] [member="Dr. Alset Niest"] [member="Thirteen"] [member="Yurzhoc Shai"]​

 

[Darth Eversor]

Location: Selvaris, ground.

A new day had dawned for Abraxas, one of alliance and self-interest. Actually, it wasn't a new dawn at all in those regards. It was simply foreign and a change of pace to align with that of the Yun'Do. There was no other reasoning to give other than the very essence of domination. To gain control and pillage with no remorse required. A brand of thinking that had served Abraxas well when it came to waging wars against feeble groups such as rebels and even self-proclaimed kings. Life did not truly matter when it was being wasted so foolishly and without care. Death was by far a better suited purpose for egregious militia and poorly structured governments.

Yet this calling held a different parallel of the galaxy. One that granted an opportunity.

A calling was heard, and an answer was given in the form of appearance. The creation armored from head to toe in wicked resolve, armed with both the fang of progression and the edge of a promise to cut ties. A new dawn indeed for the coming of an age where the fall of hubris was to be seen by all lifeforms, and the rise of something potentially more worthwhile. Or so Abraxas calculated.

This was about filling a void within the heartless; to adjust to the new flesh, to wage battles once again.

Standing on the very soil of Selvaris, Abraxas looked upon the horizon whilst pondering over what was to come out of this servitude for the Yun'Do. His blade was dry, a thirst yet to be quenched until opposition was found in any manner or shadow.

Long live the new flesh.

[member="Vree Choka"], [member="Durzo Qinvah"], [member="Dr. Alset Niest"], [member="Thirteen"], [member="Yurzhoc Shai"], [member="Matsu Xiangu"], [member="Reverance"], [member="Vrag"], [member="Sage Bane"], [member="Zambrano the Hutt"], [member="Darth Isolda"], [member="Arakiel"], [member="Agarus Nethear"]

 

[Reverance]

Selvaris

Ground, Grashal


"You smell of heresy..."

Gabriel smiled as he placed his hands over the flame, the symbiotic countertop served as sepulcher for the obtainment of the Chom-Huun. The heat responded differently to each hand, pulling skin upon the left and angering the Voxyn in the right. The lumen reeds hoisted within the grashal gave reflections across ceiling and mirror like floor, painting his scared and inked body in faint blue light and shimmers. His torso free of clothes, his lower half covered in robeskin, he cracked his neck and sighed. There weren't many who could live through such an insult.

"And heresy has no place in the Legion..."
"You speak with a tongue not your own...and treat it as right." He looked over his shoulder to the armor Vong warrior, a figure vying for his position as warmaster. The glow of his single eye, crimson and soaked in blood, resembled the shine of a Mqaaq'it but with an enhanced vibrancy.

The Amphistaff swung out from the warriors hands, turning erect, as he stabbed with the staff towards the Warmaster. With a step to the side, the amphistaff plunged deep into the table and the grashal groaned and vibrated in retort. With a press of the polyp, Gabriel turned and stepped back with the ignition of the Chom-Huun.

"YOU RETREAT!"
"The Legion is wasted on you. It deserves better than your narrow vision can offer." Another charge and the Warmaster laughed as he dodged to the side, a tilt of his body, as he swung from his left to right, clipping the vonduun armor just where the armpit is located. Stepping away, he watched the lumbering warrior grasp his side and heave a heavy breath. The armor began to squeal as the Warmaster aimed his saber towards the know kneeling Warrior.

"The gills lie beneath the armpit. You have gone too long without true competition...a mistake."
"One of the Warrior Caste should not know such things."
"And that is why you will be carried off by the shamed ones, to forever join their caste in shame."

That angered him, even more so, as he stood breathless and charged once more. The whip of the amphistaff slashed out at the ground as Gabriel stepped to the left. Another attack, and he would step to the right. His opening appeared in the gasp of breath that followed, the tightening of the vonduun was no easy caress. A flick of the wrist, the leg was sliced free at the hip joint, just beneath overlapping plates of chitin, as the warrior fell and dropped the amphistaff. The weapon would stay by his side, even to the end.

Before the Warrior could speak another word, Gabriel cleared his head from the shoulder and watched quietly: the roll of the body, the splat of the head, seemed oddly intriguing. Extinguishing the blade, he re-approached the table and placed the Chom-Huun down next to a row of the sabers. A priest approached with hands clasped.

"Find me Tsoring Shai...of the Shai Domain."
"He's still wounded..."

Gabriel merely snapped his head, his silence enough to understand the implications of a failure to abide. The priest smiled and nodded, walking off, as the ooglith dragged across the floor. The shamed ones began to scrape up the body and remove it, for the Husk Carrier that would take it to the pits.

[member="Vree Choka"], [member="Durzo Qinvah"], [member="Thirteen"], [member="Matsu Xiangu"],[member="Vrag"], [member="Sage Bane"], [member="Zambrano the Hutt"], [member="Darth Isolda"], [member="Arakiel"], [member="Agarus Nethear"], [member="Abraxas"]

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Selvaris

Truly this had not ever been a world the midnight slug had ever been to. His presence here, within One Sith space, was sparing at best. It took something incredibly interesting for him to escape the grasp of the Directory that held him within Primeval space, for his status as a Warlord. His powers in the force were great, though not the best. It still required refinement... but that was not the Warlord's interest here today. No, his interest today lay in the flesh, the most coveted flesh. His devotion to flesh, and its resulting carnage, was unlike anything the galaxy knew.

The glorification of pain too, was also an avid feature of the twisted soul that resided borrowed into the blackened and rotted flesh of the sickly serpent, who once had an identity of its own. That identity has been long dead however, ever since the perilous soul that was once Titus Zambrano, and was once Darth Durablis, and was once a hundred other identities before finally being Jedi Healing Master Chael... corrupted with the fall of his Grandson, crumbling to the dark side ever since. The blackened soul seemed to have some penchant for pain, whether it be physical or metaphorical... it had a sick sense of humour that sought to torture the lives it lived, and had since ripped asunder any semblance of reality to the flesh that experienced it. Whatever identity that had owned this body previously, had been entirely consumed by the spirit that called itself these days, Zambrano. The only thing it knew, was the infliction of pain upon others.

Sometimes the pain was quick and sudden, other times it was slow and deliberate, the vong-loving Sith was a multi-faceted creature that enjoyed the accompaniment of all types of pain. He was quickly learning how to emulate it with nothing but the application of his mind, but it was most effective when he was able to touch the friend in question.... for more than one reason. The other being, that he had two more mouths to feed, beyond his own, his Vaapad's, and his new Apprentice back at home. Those mouths being his own, in the form of his ravenous Dalek Hands, that had recently suffered a splitting at the invasion of Wayland, but they had since began to heal. The bones beneath their flesh were regenerating more quickly than anticipated, and thus allowed the Hutt to utilize the force more proficiently than he had when he first got them. It would take many months, and several years before the full power of his energies could be sent through his enveloped bones as conduits.

Such was the cost, for having such lovely biots for one's hands. Zambrano noticed a few tendrils trying to snake their way up his arms in a most invasive fashion, displeased by this insubordination, the monsters mouth reached down to his arms flesh, and tore out the unnecessary growths and ate them. As this was done, he suddenly found himself within the presence of the Shipwomb. It would appear he had abandoned all technology upon entering in whatever fashion he found himself entering in, and this was fine with him. He needed no throne to tread here, despite his decrease in speed.

If all went well today, and he was notice for the beauty that he was, he would be rewarded with gracious gifts that would help to eliminate his inherent weaknesses. In the meantime, he touched the biological hand railings, and felt the course of their past flow through his mind's eye, from when they were first born.

 

[Khallesh]

Khallesh strode through the crowd of Yuuzhan Vong, flanked on either side by two of her most trusted subordinates. Instead of her full Vonduun Skerr Kyrric, or even the Cloak of Nuun that marked her out as having trained with the elite hunters, she wore a simply robeskin. The ooglith was tightly fitted, and shaped to ensure her collection of scars, tattoos and jewellery were visible*. Many of the warriors nearby were of Domain Shai. She found their practise of self-mutilation abhorrent. Pain, wounds, scars – these were all things to be earned in glorious battle, not inflicted upon oneself whenever the urge arose. Her arachnostaff had coiled itself around her upper arms, its head lay still on her shoulder. A couffee, grown to be more ornamental for ceremonial occasions, hung from her left hip.

They had come from New Yuuzhan’tar, where Domain Shai had found its old home. They had all been born there, until following Hrosha-Gul on their quest. However, following the events of the aborted uprising on Selvaris, it had been decided to move outside of the One Sith, and re-establish their home. A shamed one** crossed the path of the trio and was too slow to move out of the way.

“Out of the way!” Khallesh snapped, one of her fellow warriors already reaching for his amphistaff to deliver a painful lesson if she failed to vacate the area quickly. Khallesh was a full Commander of Domain Shai’s warrior caste now. It had been a much shorter trial that the events that led up to her taking the mantle of subcommander, but a far greater test of her skill and resolve.

~​

She had returned to her domain following the bizarre events in that isolated grashal, where Tsavong Kraal had challenged the position of the Dark Lord as Yun-Amon. Commander Shuun Val, the greatest warrior of the domain in five generations had been waiting for her. A line of his most trusted subcommanders stood behind him. Khallesh had dismounted before them, standing before the group, her chin held high in defiance.

“Your challenge is accepted!” Shuun shouted across the muddy ground that separated them. The rain had been falling hard, puddles several inches deep were separated by slick dark mud.

Khallesh said nothing. Speaking out of places at the meeting could have been taken no other way. She had to either be challenging his position, or she would have to apologise and accept her punishment. Her stoic silence was all that was required, the other warriors moved around the pair, forming a wide ring.

“You show much promise Khallesh!” Shuun called. “A shame that you cannot hold your tongue and show me the respect I have earned. I will show you the same respect,” he said, as his amphistaff slithered down to his waiting hand. “There will be no honourable death today Khallesh. I have decided that you do not deserve such. And perhaps, with time, you could learn to be a proper subservient member of our domain. Such talent and good genetics should not be wasted! When you lie defeated, know that death does not await. I will have you paired off with one of my lower commanders, perhaps even a warrior without rank. Perhaps after twenty years or so of mating, you can return more compliant and dutiful. If not, the shamed ones would welcome you with open arms!”

Khallesh blanched. For the first time in years, her resolve waivered. A cold sensation crept up from her gut. Fear. Death could be accepted easily. Pain was something to be embraced. What Shuun was proposing was humiliation, wrapped up in the pretence of mercy. Her arachnostaff sensed the hesitance, staying wrapped around her forearm.




*See Bio
** [member="Vree Choka"]
***Italics set six months ago

 

[Tanalth]

Vree suddenly felt herself being pushed aside by someone. She looked and growled before seeing it was a trio of warrior castes. Immediately she went still, the angered look still on her face. If she was still the warrior she was then they would do well to respect her. But she felt she deserved to be treated less because, in truth, she WAS less. She was a shamed one after all. Instead of putting up a fight Vree lowered her head and backed down. Perhaps when she reclaimed her glory they would meet again but for today Vree did not want to cause something she knew she'd lose. ​

​

@Khallesh​

 

[Zulia Kwaad]

Zulia Kwaad, Master Shaper of the Legion Yun’Do, passing by the rows of squat gla with their roofs of mica, made her way to her the enclave of laboratories on the xenoformed world of Selvaris. Her newest experiments patiently awaited the eight nimble fingers on her bio-engineered Shaper Hand. Five figures hanging upside down, each in their own Embrace of Pain. Two were human, a Zeltron, a Twi'lek, and one three-eyed Gran, all provided by a Hand of the Dark Lord of the Sith, Sage Bane, acquisitions from a recent One Sith military operation on the world of Belgaroth. Apparently the five were junkyard thieves, although what they were in their former lives were unimportant to the Shaper. The only life they knew from now on would be pain. Pain and transcendence, although the latter would most likely be lost on the infidels.

Zulia was, like most shapers of her kind, thirsty for knowledge. The beauty of the Legion Yun’Do, was that their Supreme Overlord was lenient on restrictions on the Shaper’s use of cuttng-edge technology, and while Zulia herself still personally felt that using mechanical devices was a crime akin to heresy, she found it quite easy to put aside her own religious ethics for the thrill of discovery. All personal beliefs aside, Zulia felt that the Shaper Caste should always view the galaxy through a scientific lens. Otherwise advancements in bio-engineering were nearly impossible.

 

[Khallesh]

[member="Vree Choka"]

Khallesh’s brow raised in surprise as the shamed one actually turned and held her gaze for a moment. However, that incredulous surprise soon changed to a cold rage that had her hands balled into fists and her knuckles white. Even at a festival, only so much insolence could be tolerated. The Shamed One lowered her head and started to back away, but the damage had been done.

“Yadag dakl, ignot!” she snarled the insult and darted across the gap that separated them in a flash. One hand snapped out to grab the filthy garb of the impertinent wretch. “How dare you look at a Warrior in that way,” she chastised. “Was your fall from respect so small that you dare you look me in the eye?” she demanded. “Tell me before I choose your punishment, how did you end up shamed?”




Eventually, she found the will to move again, calling her staff to her hand and taking up a defensive posture. She watched the master warrior as he strode into place just a few feet from her. Even with that short walk he exuded an effortless grace, his taught muscles bulging beneath his flesh with every step. It was said that Shuun Val had taken the heads of three Jedi Masters in his career.

“Begin!” came the shout from one side.

Khallesh started to move, but Shuun had already taken a stride forwards. His right arm came around suddenly and his amphistaff unfurled as it crossed the distance between them. The head of the creature slapped against the top of her helm with enough force to send her sprawling to her backside.

Her vision swirled as she stared at the stars for a moment, yet she still had enough wits to hear the chuckle that ran around the circle. That was a move typically deployed as a punishment for insolent trainees. “The kiss” they called it. It was enough force to discombobulate and leave a painful welt, but nothing more.

Rolling onto her front quickly, she found that Shuun had not advanced. He held his position, an angry snarl across his face, with just a hint of mirth in the corner of his eyes. “Foolish girl. When you have finished your servitude to the Domain through breeding, perhaps then we will teach you to become a real warrior.”

Khallesh shouted a cry of challenge. Even some part of her was aware she was being baited, but she still charged on heedless of the danger. Shuun stepped aside and delivered a backhand slap to her rump as she passed. The tail of his amphistaff coiled around her ankle and sent her back to the mud. Her armour was coated in a thick layer of it now. Khallesh did not even hear his next round of taunts as she spat mud from between her teeth and rubbed it out of her eyes. The disgusting clinging slime would only slow her further. For the second time in a long, long while, she started to doubt herself.

 

[Darth Eversor]

Selvaris, en route to Grashal.

Walking alone among the Yuuzhan Vong as a stranger was a peculiar situation to be in. While being partial to the One Sith, Abraxas was not a familiar face among either the Vong or those that practiced Dark Side teachings. Watched he was, like through the eyes of a predatory bird that had found its prey and intended to make a meal out of it; however, what would the predator do once it has realized they prey is actually much more lethal than originally seen? The creation's face was hidden away by hood and helmet, only small blackened holes to allow breathing. It was a primitive kind of thing, but when one was composed of primarily technology and bio-engineered genetics, there was no need for much else. An elongated blade was sheathed at Abraxas' back, his tool made to relinquish suffering unto his foes. An extension of his dark will.

Being followed by a small grouping of what appeared to be a warrior caste, the monstrosity simply ignored their implied motives. Puffed chests and snarling was nothing more than a sign of weakness or insecurity. Even if little was known about this species, one could assume that acting upon a loner with a group was as pathetic as it gets. Their footfalls were gaining ground and approached Abraxas ever closer; the smell of foreign blood disturbed these warriors, and they wanted to know what made a stranger believe they could freely roam the surface of Selvaris without being allowed. In their minds, they had already made up that they would teach this intruder a lesson in respect.

Yet the issue of respect wasn't lost upon Abraxas, it was them.

He stopped. The creation halted and turned around to meet face-to-face with his opposition. There was a silence between the two, staring each other down before the leader of the pack had the gall to open his mouth and spew meaningless banter. If such was the way of the Vong, then surely they would fail as a species. This child had never been taught discipline.

"Why do you wear a mask among us? Are you a coward?"

No response.

"You do not belong on this planet. There only few Sith worthy of our respect, and you are not among them."

No response.

"Speechless with fear, are you?"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1YU0zQJnS2Y​

The group of warriors began to surround Abraxas to undermine his ability to feel like he had any strength, to put the lone man at a loss before any fight had even sparked. One of them even tried toying with the creation's blade, laughing with his kin as they summed up this cloaked figure to be nothing more than a showy compensation for lack of any true skill. They were wrong. Just as the pack leader put his hands on Abraxas, the creation unsheathed his long-knife with blinding speed and began to shank the disrespectful warrior over and over; bleeding and falling to the ground, the mouth of the pathetic body of warriors was silenced. From behind, Abraxas could feel arms wrapping around his neck with an attempt of what seemed to be choking. Subduing the beast at this point was futile anyhow.

Grabbing on to the creature's arms, the creation flipped him over onto the body of the fallen commander. The two Vong on either side of Abraxas also tried their hands at assault, but they too would fail in misery. If this species didn't feel fear, they would soon know it well. Being charged head-on, Abraxas caught the poor excuse of a warrior by the throat with his right gauntlet. He squeezed hard into the flesh, finger-tips ripping to the neck and causing the weakling to convulse and choke on its on blood. Like a fly in a trap, there would be no escaping. The body was dropped to the ground like a bag of stones, and nothing else would come from such a "warrior".

The final two remained. One unconscious atop his commander's corpse, and the other standing defiant despite the fact that his kin were dead.

Feeling the combat stimuli course through his two beating hearts and veins, Abraxas let out a spine-shattering roar from behind his face-plate. These mere servants would understand what a true warrior was, what a real monster looked like. Designed to be a near-perfect killing machine, the creation would not falter where they had.

"WRRRRYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!"​

​

The able-bodied warrior tried to strike at Abraxas with a dagger of his own only to be parried by the knife of the beast. His left, bloodied gauntlet shot out for the throat of this next victim and squeezed once again with inhumane, unnatural vigor and strength. The body of the Vong was lifted high, and the long-knife of Abraxas began to gut the stupidity away into oblivion. Gore and grime littered the ground along with the blade itself. Turning toward the unconscious one, the creation walked toward it with the clanking sound of death incarnate; the armor of a murderer. Grabbing the vermin by the head, Abraxas rammed the knife through the Vong's skull with the satisfying crunch of bone being displaced and cracked open. The wet embrace of flesh hugging the blade was almost like music to the monstrosity.

Sheathing the knife and allowing the blood to remain upon himself, Abraxas carried on in silence like nothing happened.

Still walking as a loner towards Grashal to see if there was anything of interest.

[member="Reverance"],@Khallesh, [member="Zulia Kwaad"], [member="Vree Choka"], [member="Durzo Qinvah"], [member="Yurzhoc Shai"], [member="Zambrano the Hutt"], [member="Thirteen"]

 

[Tanalth]

Vree was surprised as [member="Khallesh "] suddenly jumped out and attacked her. She held her out and threatened to beat her while asking why she was shamed. Vree still held a dulled looked, her eyes pale blue as before. Despite being threatened by a true warrior the shamed one did not feel any different. She flinched a little when threatened to be hit but nothing more. She did not truly expect this from warrior after all she did was look at her. Even after the respect she'd shown by backing down was apparently not enough. When she insisted Vree finally answered in her native tongue.​

​

<Because I tried to be a better warrior than most... And failed.>​

 

[Khallesh]

[member="Vree Choka"]

Khallesh kept her fist tight around the front of the shamed one’s clothing, knuckles white from the strain. As far as Khallesh was concerned, an angry look from a shamed one ordered to move out of the way, was more than enough of an insult to require punishment, such was here adherence to traditional Yuuzhan Vong ways. Whilst those beliefs were constantly being challenged by several prominent shapers she associated with, her instincts always had her revert to type when challenged.

However, a sardonic smile crept across her face as the shamed one’s words. There was an uncomfortable pause as her expression shifted between rage and mirth. “Right. You tried so hard, that you were ostracised from the greatest of the castes. I…” Khallesh was a warrior of few words, and she struggled to find the right ones for this situation.

“Why don’t you explain, precisely, what you did? It is a festival after all, and I could do with the amusement!”




Her hand sunk several inches into the mud as she tried to push herself back to her feet. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, caused both by her exertion and her turbulent emotions. She felt, rather than saw or heard the amphistaff coming. A forwards roll gave her some distance, but the sucking mud slowed her down, almost sealing her fat. Mud was sprayed all around her. There was a hiss close to her head as the head of the whip-form staff came perilously close.

She turned on her heel, bringing up her arachonstaff instinctively, ordering it to form a stuff barrier. Shuun’s amphistaff, slapped against it. However, the creature gripped the staff and tried to spit venom into her eyes. Khallesh tilted her head to the side and the dangerous globules passed over her shoulder.

She saw Shuun change his posture, and realised he was going to try and pull her from her feet again. As he did so, she commended her staff to go limp. The creature, more agile than Shuuns, unravelled itself from the amphistaff’s grip. The Commander stumbled back a couple of steps, but kept his footing.

Rain started to fall. Light at first, but a complete downpour within moments. The light started to fade, and the pair were left staring at each other’s silhouettes across the space between them. The droplets made a loud pattering noise as they slapped across her chitnous armour. At the least, it washed some of the clinging mud away.

“Better!” Shuun cried out, his voice followed by a rumble of thunder in the distance.

With a few moments to gather her thoughts, Khallesh tried to quash her own doubts. If she put up enough of a fight, perhaps he would have no choice but to finish the job and give her a warrior’s fate. He would not risk her existence if there was the slightest possibility of her returning to challenge, she surmised. The thought gave her hope.

That hope was hard to cling onto as Shuun crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, seemingly unperturbed by the treacherous footing. His strike slammed into her block with such ferocity that it nearly toppled her again

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Zambrano felt himself intrigued by this place to no end, the flesh that was present here truly fascinated him. Unaware of the presence of the Legion Yun'do here, or anything other than himself, his ravenous hands, and the tales of the past held within the folds of flesh that passed as a hand railing. A long winding trail of Hutt slime, and acidic saliva withering all that he had touched upon coming here, fell behind him as he pressed forward deeper into the temple. His curious light green eyes looked frantically in wonder at the strange buzzing sound of drones flying over head, yet no one yet had discovered the damage he was causing in his unawares.

That though, did not last for long. A Yuuzhan Vong, alerted to the pain Zambrano had been causing to the great creature here approached him from around a corner. His vong biot eyes, reptilian in their appearance, focused in surprise upon the bony face of the warrior who bared his teeth at him, most likely in anger. His amphistaff hissed at Zambrano menacingly, as his mood colored eyes changed from their curious green to a pleasant gold. A smile spread across his face at the sight of it. The Yun'do Legionnaire hissed at him words in his native tongue, that the Sith Hutt, was surprisingly capable of understanding fluently.

<What is your purpose here? Why do you desecrate the flesh of Shipwomb?>

In an instant, the Hutts whole body straightened and froze, as his eyes instantly morphed into blackened orbs of death... the windows to the soul beneath. The slackened face of the giant slug, spoke suddenly and slowly, with a voice not its own as the Warlord.

<I am a powerful Dark Lord of the Sith, and I have come to inspect the progress of this world. It's flesh served the purpose of delivering me pleasure, in the price of its pain. This body, is most pleased by the prospect of... pain.>​

The sudden and rapid transformation of the Hutt, just as soon collapsed, back into the ordinary reality of Zambrano the Hutt, Warlord of the Primeval. The blackness left his eyes and returned to a glowing gold, and he laughed in the face of the Vong who witnessed the strange... possession, he decided. With an apprehensive face, the Vong wasn't sure what to make of the disease infested Hutt. It certainly did not look the manner of a Lord, but it spoke with such a tone as to make him believe. Besides, the creature carried the eyes of the Yuuzhan Vong, and held living hands that were not its own. Surely it's "pleasure of pain", and its various biots was proof enough that this cretin, was probably the real deal. It would probably need to see someone in charge however, to supervise this seeming outsider, and to measure whether or not what he spoke was truth enough to accept it into the Shipwomb as a guest.

<Follow me.> The Vong finally snarled at the Hutt, and turned heel expecting the slug to follow, who did so with not a little bit of giggling.

 

[Khallesh]

Rain hammered against the shoulder plates of her armour and large drips fell from her helm, obscuring her vision. Every time they traded blows, a shower of water was thrown from their staffs. Khallesh was fast, and managed to keep her balance on the treacherous mud. However, Shuun was a masterful warrior. As she tried to outmanoeuvre him, his footwork always cut her off from her planned direction. He boxed her in and carried on hammering away at her defences. Decades of experience gave him the edge, but his advantage in strength and weight ensured each block sent bolts of pain up her arms.

What was more painful was the laughter than rang around the circle with his collision of amphistaffs. The only hope Khallesh held onto was the hope that she put up enough of fight for Shuun Val to finish her at the end. She couldn’t even imagine the other fate he had described.

Trying to chance the pace, she deflected the head of his staff out wide and tried to close the gap between them. The tail of her arachnostaff lashed out for his thigh. He angled the plate of armour there to deflect the blow, giving just a few inches of ground. In return his right arm shot out and his palm slapped against her shoulder. The strike was simple, but delivered with enough force to push her back.

As his amphistaff transitioned to a whip, she prepared to block again. However, reeling from the palm strike, her back foot slipped on the thick mud. The fangs of the staff struck home and blood ran freely from her shoulder.

There was a flash of lightning and Khallesh pumped her legs to get upright and try to counter attack. Her arachnostaff shifted at her command. Its head wrapped around her forearm and the rest of its body went stiff in a gentle arc, leaving her with something akin to a scimitar.

Khallesh struck high, then feinted a thrust before going for a quick slash for his waist. It was awkward for Shuun to deflect such a succession of strikes with a staff, but he managed it. He effortlessly transitioned between forms, even if he had to give ground. Another flurry of quick slashes seemed to force him back further.

As he took a wide step, she sensed an opportunity. As the head of his staff came up, she tried to rush in, desperate to land a solid strike. As he stepped back, he twirled the staff around, and the tail of the staff swung up from underneath her line of sight. He planted his feet. The tail of his amphistaff stuck her in the gap between plates.

Khallesh cried out as the tail passed straight through her, to protrude a few inches from her lower back. Shuun extracted the staff and stepped away. Feeling her strength wane, she took a knee. Her right hand returned from the wound slick with her own black blood. There was a round of applause for Shuun’s display of skill. Stupid, she thought, he even taught you that manoeuvre himself.

His threats had affected her, in a way that the threat of death never could. She wasn’t thinking straight. The edges of her vision went dark. Very cautiously, she made her way upright. She gripped the arachnostaff with two hands, but she wasn’t sure how long she could hold on for.

“Ah you have spirit!” Shuun called. “Vaghst, would she do for you?” he called.

Vaghst was one of the lower subcommanders in Shuun’s inner circles. Ranked well below Khallesh. He looked her up and down. “She’d do,” he replied with a shrug.

“Argh!” Khallesh screamed in pure rage, leaping forward to strike at Shuun.

 

[Khallesh]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Every ounce of her fury was behind her first strike. As his staff rattled in his hands, Shuun's eyes went wide for the first time. Khallesh followed up with a series of thrusts that tested his limits and forced him to give three paces. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]She instinctively stepped aside as he wound up a straight stab designed to piece her chest. She swung from above and cut into his shoulder. It was too late that she started to recognise the patterns in his style. Shuun kept a tight defence and gave ground, but all the while he looked for the opportunity to counter attack and suddenly changed the tempo. Only her anger kept her moving, but it was her focus that kept forcing the Commander back. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Time was on his side, however. He knew it, and she knew it. Every swing was slightly slower than the last. The pain was immeasurable as each twist and thrust further tore her insides apart. Keeping key balance became difficult as the edges of her vision started to fade. They were fighting on several inches of standing water now, every step throwing up a splash of dark mud. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]One quick thrust threatened to break through his defence and for just a moment she felt hope. The strike came short, the edge of her staff just catching the bridge of her nose. Shuun stepped forwards and slammed into her with his staff held horizontally. Khallesh slipped back, her feet gouging deep tracks in the mud. She desperately tried to force air into her lungs, but instead coughed black blood down the front of her armour. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]There was a palpable tension in the crowd as they sensed the end draw near. Shuun darted to her left, but launched off his planted leg and swung from her right. The block was weak and the staff nearly slipped from her grip. He feinted high and near-delirious she fell for it. As the strike came in low she barely reacted in time. However, as she made the block the head of his staff coiled around the body of hers. Using both heads for leverage, her tore it from her grip and flung it high into the air. [/SIZE]

 

[Khallesh]

[SIZE=14.6667px]As she stumbled backwards Shuun raised his staff high. With a feral cry he brought it down with all his strength. The tail of the staff shot down into the front of her thigh. It came down with so much force it cracked through her armour, shattered bone and pinned the leg down. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Shuun stood over her, holding the other end of the staff. She had no little strength left, she barely even struggled. He twisted it in his hands, then pulled it over to one side and the other like a lever. Khallesh did not scream, she would not give him the pleasure, but her hands clawed at the mud. Only the pain kept her conscious. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]With one slow shove he pushed the staff deeper into the ground. Khallesh tasted blood as she bit off the tip of her tongue. He relinquished his grip on the staff and descended upon her, straddling her waist. Her strength had left her and she slapped against him feebly. He ripped the helm from her head and then his hands gripped her throat. He pressed down upon her with all his weight. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Thick muddy water streamed into the front of her helm as he pushed her down into the soft ground. She writhed and struggled, but it was hopeless. The only thing she could really concentrate on was the feel of his hands around her neck as everything went dark. His form was silhouetted above her, visible even through the mud as a bolt of lightning hit the ground. Everything started to feel cold. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]His grip shifted around her neck. She felt the mud sucking at the back of her head and then was was back in the air again. She coughed up mud and blood and tried to get as much air into her lungs as possible. The pain from her thigh dwarfed all the others, every movement sent waves of pain through her body, but at least they kept her awake. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]His face was just inches from hers. “I was never going to let you walk away Khallesh. So easy to put you off kilter,” he whispered. He forcibly turned her head to the crowd, placing his cheek against hers. “Look at them, they know the end is here. You were so flustered at my threat that you provided little entertainment. Few will remember you now. Poor Vaghst, he will be so disappointed. I’ll find him something better.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Her eyes went wide as she looked up at his cold stare. She hadn’t felt this helpless in decades. She [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]couldn’t [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]end like this, out with a whimper to never be remembered. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Khallesh spat in Shuun’s face. He wiped the blood from his face and grinned. His hand grasped the middle of his amphistaff, which was still protruding from her thigh like a flagpole. Khallesh braced her right elbow against the ground. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]As he started to lift himself up she pushed her leg out to one side, grabbing the staff with her left hand and pulling in the opposite direction. The pain as her thigh was torn apart was exquisite, but Shuun had been lifting himself up on the staff, as it fell, so did he. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The fighting claw shot out of the back of her right hand as he fell towards her. There was a loud crack as the point of the claw hit the chest of his armour. It was Shuun’s turn to look shocked as the blade slid through his chest. [/SIZE]

 

[Khallesh]

He hung there, balanced on the blade that split his sternum. His eyes moved downwards in short jerking motions. His mouth moved, but no words came. Then his eyes starred into the distance and his expression froze.

Khallesh had not the strength left to lift the heavy Commander’s body from her. Instead she managed to roll, carving another deep recess into the mud. She extracted her blade from his chest, but that was the easy part. His amphistaff was still embedded in her ruined leg. She grasped it with both hands and pulled it out. Every slow inch was agony, but eventually the job was done and she tossed Shuun’s weapon aside.

She looked up to a line of stunned expressions. It took a moment longer before they even seemed to register what had happened. One of the subcommanders came forward and offered her a hand, which she obviously refused. She found her own arachnostaff and used it as a crutch to get back to her feet. Her left thigh was completely ruined, the lower limb hanging on by shattered strands of flesh.

Every step was a battle to stay conscious, but with her head held high she marched out of the circle. She had the wits to watch them carefully as she left. These men were Shuun’s inner cabal, many fanatically loyal to him for decades. The danger was not over. That was assuming she even survived her wounds. That was far from certain.


Khallesh heard a familiar sing-song voice as she held the shamed one by the neck. Jun Phaarth appeared at her shoulder, and even had the tenacity to place a hand on her.

“Commander Khallesh Val, I do hope you weren’t thinking of drawing blood today. I’m sure when the Warrior caste has their festival there would be plenty of time for such entertainment.”

Khallesh shot the shaper a withering look, keeping up appearances in front of her subordinates. They were now a mix of Hunters loyal to her, and some of Shuun’s younger subordinates. Vaghst had even challenged her within a week of assuming the mantle of Commander. Much as Shuun Val had tried to do to her, she had savoured that battle and toyed with him for nearly an hour before breaking his back. Perhaps it had been a petty vengeance for his words, perhaps a suitable message to the others still loyal to their deceased commander. It had probably been both. Khallesh had certainly felt better afterwards, even if she had toyed with the notion of leaving him a Shamed One.

“That would be rude,” Khallesh admitted to the shaper after a suitably long delay. Her hands released the grip on the Shamed One’s rags.