Ascent | The Primeval

[Boethiah]

Flames and smoke rose high in the air, signalling the decimation of yet another settlement...

Dantooine had always carried with it a pioneering spirit. Time and time again the world had been conquered, time and time again those who called her home scattered and died. Once again there were those desperate or brave enough to till soil and erect homes. Yet like the times before them the locusts soon descended to eradicate what had been born.

Boethiah looked on from the distance, her eyes too far to make out any details. "What is going on?" The young woman asks curiously.

"Death," a high priest answers. Death... The prophet allowed the word to echo in her mind. "We're wasting time--I have decided, it will be here." The priest simply nods and behind him a handful of armed zealots begin to set up a long-range beacon.

Those who kept the old codes and remained watchful of dormant channels, they would be the ones to know. On Dantooine they'll discover...

The Primeval have returned.

[member="Antherion"] | [member="Cady"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Lethia Morow"] | [member="Loxa Visl"] | [member="Nick Imura"] | [member="Satia"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

A single ship emerged from hyperspace, its form slowly rotating through the void as it neared the shadowed orb of Dantooine. Undoubtedly there would be others, many would come to investigate the signal that had radiated throughout all of the old channels, but the occupants of this singular ship cared not for any others. Powerful sublight engines propelled the bat-winged ship through the emptiness and down through the planet's atmosphere, flames wreathing the hull in incandescent light.

At last the turbulence faded and the ship leveled out above a great stretch of forest stained by blotches of ashy plains where the skeletons of great machines lay where they had fallen, their chassis a mess of bent metal and torn circuits. War and genocide once ravaged this world, and while nature had slowly come to reclaim what had been destroyed it would be many many long years before the planet fully healed, if it ever did. The ship's scanners detected life not too far away, a great cluster of them surrounding the signal's origin, and the vessel descended in preparation to land. It hovered above a clearing near the edge of the ruined forests, its arrival scattering what animals remained and flattening foliage too weak to weather the gales that undulated from the ship as it neared.

With a hiss of hydraulic pressure the ship came to a full rest and the boarding ramp lowered itself to allow the passengers to disembark. Or, it would be more accurately described, to allow one passenger to disembark. A man shrouded in darkness emerged from the ship's hold, his body swathed in thick black robes that concealed all aspects of his physical features. He moved with purpose towards the assembled group, his mere presence demanded subservience from those around him.

And he only uttered a single inquiry once he had come within earshot, "What is the meaning of this?"

[member="Boethiah"]​

 

[Garza]

Never would I believe that this radio silence would end.

It seemed forever ago that a call would come out for the Zealots of the Primeval. The Host Lord calling upon any able body to fight in the name of the gods. That was a simpler time. One where I knew what to do. One where I knew where I was headed, and who I was fighting for what reasons. Now? Not so much. Even so, Having another voice in my head was not helping the situation any better. While it was sporadic, I hated it all the same.

"You are a Sith! You fight for no Gods. They are false claims to the Dark Lord. You are a fool to follow them."
"And you are a fool for letting me capture you."
"You forced me."
"You tried your best old one. However, Your power is mine to control. I choose what we do."
"When I get out of this I-"
"Yes, you are going to kill me. Shut the hell up and go back into your cave."

Hearing a few curses in the Sith language as his voice faded from my head, I moved into the cockpit as the Zabrak Assassin was piloting the ship. Kinta was a woman of no consequence. She didn't like the idea of coming to see this rising tide of the Primeval, but as my apprentice, she would join me even if she didn't like it. She had no real view upon the galaxy. Considering she never had any place to stay than with me, She might find a home with this place.

Taking a look through the viewport, The planet of the Dantooine. One that had been known for Jedi Enclaves, and once owned by the Mandalorians. The planet was known for its crops, as well as the estates in which many lived. As well as the mythical cave systems with incests that could spawn eggs to hold crystals within them. Nodding to the woman, She brought us down planet side. I could feel the presence of others. Those that were powerful in the force, or even new to it.

Coming planetside, I looked at the planetary systems through the ship. Trying to find the location of where the signal came from. Pinpointing it a little to the north, I made my way down the ramp, and towards this new meeting area. Maybe I can find some answers there.

[member="Boethiah"], [member="Darth Carnifex"],

 

[Isar]

An Ewok waddled in from the treeline. His brown fur was quite patchy. He spotted the foreboding, even terrifying black robed figure of a disguised [member="Darth Carnifex"], and promptly wandered toward him.

"You... you..."

In the trees beyond, shapes moved. All around, corpses picked themselves up off the ground and began to follow in the Ewok's trail. Those missing legs merely crawled.

Warok peered up at the tall man swaddled in robes. His very round ears flicked. "You seem familiar."

The warlock scratched at his arm. Clumps of hair came away from beneath his fingers.

"Warchild promised me company. Are you here to keep me company? I get... lonely."

[member="Boethiah"]

 

[Lethia Morow]

To Lethia's otherworldly sight, the gathering was quite the spectacle.

Before the involuntary sabbatical that transformed her into the creature that now stood, she'd often preferred a nice, quiet room and a book. These days, she preferred to sit in the dark and meditate, or perhaps paint. Barren desert planets didn't often have a surplus of bookstores, and so she'd fallen out of the habit during her involuntary sabbatical. There was also the fact that, despite being not-quite-literal, Lethia's Sight was far more interesting than anything she could ever read in a book.

The world appeared as if alternately painted in broad strokes or drawn with exacting detail, and every sight revealed truths about whatever entered her awareness.

The High Priests had hearts of deepest black, pumping diseased blood to limbs and brains twisted and tainted by the enchanting darkness of their Mistress. Boethiah, the aforementioned Mistress, was to Lethia's vision split in twain and stuck back together, each bisected half struggling and writhing as if trying to wrench itself free of whatever held it to its counterpart.

The menagerie of metaphor grew even more enchanting when the visitors arrived.

First upon the scene was a towering beacon of darkness, an empty void in the shape of a man that blackened the soil with each step it took. Obviously something powerful, but it cloaked itself in robes of inky black, obscuring its face.

And then, a sudden shift from the eldritch to the absurd.

A horde of corpses, faces frozen in agony, approached. Lethia had to admit that that was an impressive display of power, and one worthy of praise. Now, who was responsible? Milky white eyes scanned the horde, and -

A raspy sound, something vaguely like laughter, escaped the monstrous maiden's throat.

An ewok of all things stood at the head of the horde, flesh and entrails dripping as it waddled up to Boethiah.

---

[member="Warok the Defiler"]
[member="Darth Carnifex"]
[member="Boethiah"]
[member="Nick Imura"]

 

[Lady Death]

The Primeval vanished years ago, collapsing from within under their own might. It was the last thing uniting the raiding parties of Gulamendis after their High King had perished in combat. The struggles of lesser Primeval warlords tried in vain to keep the gargantuan empire upright, but there will was weak and their influence short. Among the first to toss aside their loyalties to the Primeval were the Gulandi, while some raiding parties of Gulamendis had chosen to stay with the Old Guard others took it upon themselves to reap the benefits of the Primevals destruction. Arms, armor and ships were taken, riches as vast as the oceans were seized and then squabbled upon by the nobles of Gulamendis. A bloodbath ensued, and those desperate enough fled Sar-Sargoth into the endless void. A great schism rocked the world of the wretched Sephi. Raiding parties exhausted their soldiers as they battled one another for supremacy and for many a year the civil war raged on Gulamendis.

That was until Lady Death returned from the far reaches of the Unknown and with her a host of seasoned veterans. The Blood Masquerade. One of the youngest raiding parties of Gulamendis and while not known for their raw ferocity in combat like the mainstay of other raiders, they were known for elegant brutality, awe-inspiring skill and their incorporation of the Jedi art of Ataru into their combat, an acrobatic-like form that saw them leaping and bounding in all manner of circus-like moves as their weapons rained death and their swords drew blood. With other raiding parties weakened by their fellows it was an easy feat for Lady Death to sweep through the city and claim control. Though this sudden truce was uneasy it was strengthened by an unlikely call from Dantooine. Rumors whispered on the wind, the Primeval had returned.

Marauder-class Raiding Skiffs dropped into atmosphere over the planet. Five of them, each one representing the different raiding parties of Gulamendis, for while they had been seven the civil war had seen one utterly obliterated and the other fled far from the cruel reaches of the Gulandi. Each were painted in different colour schemes, the illuminscent green of the former High Kings raiding party was there but with them were elderly warriors, many disfigured. The weakest of the lot for they had taken the hardest hits but had still lived. Yet their will to fight and die by blade and blaster was as present as ever. Chief among the skiffs was the Blood Masquerade, painted in an argyle pattern of dark red and blue. While their ships were among the smallest present, their warriors were far from sparse. An endless tide of death that would crash upon the battlements of any enemy. Lady Death leaped from the skiff and came to a rest, the other raiding parties joining her and the Blood Masquerade.

 

[Boethiah]

Boethiah sat criss-crossed atop a metal crate amongst others like it.

A few of them were opened already, the metal hatches pried off and revealing a cache of weapons and ammunition; as well as other supplies. The young woman points with her finger towards [member="Nick Imura"] first. "You seem familiar, yet distant... Who are--" She quickly turns her attention to [member="Warok the Defiler"], the stout and mangy necromancer standing out perfectly alongside the cloaked figure.

"Warlod!"She shouts happily.

One of the priests was about to answer said figure's question, but immediately bowed out once Boethiah spoke up, and just like that her demeanor shifted again. "Friends, allies... Children of the faith. So many faces; some I recognize and others new." The woman hops off the crate, her feet scattering dust around them. A single hand swipes the familiar blade once belonging to Anja from the dirt where it had been stuck.

Boethiah brought one open hand to ear, crouching low. "Listen..." She says in a hushed voice, "countless cries of anguish. A galaxy at war, spiraling into unending chaos." She rises. "I have spent six years listening as I wandered the stars, and in those six years many of us have deserted their faith--abandoned that which made them Primeval. They are missing out."

She walks along the interior circle of the crowd surrounding her, passing a glance to [member="Lethia Morow"]. "Today I have listened enough... Now is the time to act. To finish what my predecessors have started."

"There will be blood. Starships will ignite in fiery torrent. Energy beams will pierce atmospheres, deafening all in their wake. It is the price of their arrogance; to think we were so easily defeated. So tell me... Who among you will be the first to leap? The first to remember what it is we are." Boethiah brought herself in full circle, now leaning against the very crate she had sat upon.

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Lady Death"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He finally dropped the veil, letting the darkness melt away from his form to reveal a muscular warrior-king dressed in armor and robe. With one hand he drew back his hood, his grizzled patrician features set in a hard frown as his eyes swept over the procession. Zealots and mind-addled cultists, that was what the Primeval had been reduced to since its implosion. He recognized several of them, but only a scant few caught his attention.

"The faith of the old gods has long since been broken here, Warchild."

He addressed her by the same name [member="Warok the Defiler"] had for convenience's sake, himself casting several wary glances at the diminutive necromancer. He gestured to the stars, to distant worlds and distant conflicts. "But the time is ripe for its return, this land is weak and riddled with strife. Long have I considered myself an ally of the Host Lord, even after her demise I fought for her ideals until the cult consumed itself. There is a change upon the wind, we Sith have begun to reclaim our ancestral ground with the weakening of the Jedi, and the Mandalorian's hold on this land is likewise losing its grip. In days past the Sith and the Primeval were staunch allies, perhaps we can be so again."

[member="Boethiah"]​

 

[Garza]

The voice of a young woman reached my ears. Pointing me out among the group. Yes, I had a name, but she seemed to forget. I had heard that Host Lords could learn from previous ones. However, how could she have known of me exactly? Her face was strange to me, yet was resemblant of the past. Waving it away for now, I stood there as she spoke. Telling of the days that the Primeval once stood. Now as it had fallen, and many forgot the names of the gods.

I shook my head. Foolish children. Leaving the faith as though their parents went away for the weekend. They were never truly gone. From sight? Yes. However, doubt within your heart, or leave them out of mind, would wind up leaving you in pain. Kro Var had their own Gods and Goddess. I believed in some. However, through many of the Galaxy's religions, I found this one to be.. nearest to the truth.

The Sith Lord spoke up. Saying that the time was just right to bring forth seeds, and plant ourselves once more. We needed to gather our forces and make ourselves known once more. I had to agree with the man. Even as the connection between the Sith, and the Primeval will come forth.

​"To not take this opportunity would be idiocy."

[member="Darth Carnifex"], [member="Boethiah"], [member="Lady Death"], [member="Lethia Morow"], [member="Warok the Defiler"],

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion had arrived late. It turns out, when your legs felt like you were propping up a heavy piece of drapery with two thin, thin sticks. This was fine, as he was patient, and his time in this Galaxy was long yet. He listened to the woman as she spoke. She spoke of faith, of 'gods', of other things that held little meaning to him. He was not an initiate into their mysteries, not a disciple of their deities. If they produced beings worthy of worship, evidence of a beyond worthy of reverence, he would gladly fall too his knees, but such promises had never been fulfilled, and he was skeptical.

Then, a familiar face from Kro Var. A familiar face from Malachor. A familiar face from Ziost. Scattered stars of darkness, blazing novas of power, swirling around ideas that seemed once to make something truly great -- and a few faces yet unfamiliar, a few presences yet untested. A ghoulish corpse-thing. A masked confection of steel and lethal intent.

He passed over them. His eyes were on her. In the eyes of the Force, the woman was vibrancy. She was a storm, a war within a war, a dark pillar of snakes eating themselves, she was a lightning bolt frozen in four dimensions. Like a solar afterimage burned into his eyes, it tempted him to look further, deeper, to blind himself in its pursuit. It was beauty, in the platonic, artistic sense of an ideal incarnated and purified.

So he kept silent. He kept his distance. And he watched.

| [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Lady Death"] | [member="Nick Imura"] | [member="Lethia Morow"] | [member="Boethiah"]

 

[Poe]

​I never felt any connection to any religion, regardless how stout their mantra was, but the moment I stepped onto Dantooine surrounded by the others; an awakening captured my heart. A lone tear rolled down my cheek as my knees trembled to drop me into a posture of genuflection; but I too was stout in my mantra, so I remained upright with hundred, if not thousands, of questions running rampant through my mind. I was a Monster that killed not just out of sheer pleasure, but out of a need to survive, and eat. Would these Gods accept a cannibalistic murderer as a daughter of the Faith? The choice wasn't theirs to judge, it was mine to offer myself to them. Actions will always begat judgement, but a Faithful servant was a Faithful servant. And I would serve these Gods with extreme suffering until they decided that I was worthy to be called daughter.

​Gathering my composure, I split from the group to connect with the planet's energy; basking in it's horrors wrought upon it for thousands of years. This planet's suffering was now my suffering; and in time this planet would not just be home, but my casket of an eternal rest. Again my eyes betrayed me, cascading another series of tears which I accepted as a form of cleansing from sins past committed. The Monster that slaughtered the innocent and feasted off their warm flesh now waved a new banner, that of the Primeval. But would I ever truly be worthy, or just another misguided dark soul forced to face the reality of what I was. Forsakened.

​Dropping to my knees, I raised my murderous hands to the Gods of the Sky casting away the label of forsaken and muttering one simple word under my breath, ​"Reborn."

 

[Darth Athora]

A lone, blackened starship entered the airspace not far from the area where the group summoned to Dantooine were speaking with one another. Cadyssia had arrived late due to her needing to replenish her energy which took a bit longer than it normally does. Poor little Hapan. He tried so hard to keep his willpower, but Cadyssia, eventually, broke it. As she always does.

The starship landed nearby and it's boarding ramp descended until it reached the dirt beneath the ship. A single masked feminine figure walked down the ramp. Once her feet touched dirt, Cadyssia scanned the horizon. She had waited far too long for this moment. She was all to prepared to bathe herself in the glory of the gods once more. And when that transmission reached her ears, she could not help but accept it. Cadyssia walked over to join the group near the very end of the woman's speech. Her scarlet painted lips curled into a grin as the woman's words crawled into her mind, filling her with a dark joy.

This was home.

[member="Satia"] | [member="Antherion"] | [member="Boethiah"] | [member="Lady Death"] | [member="Lethia Morow"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Nick Imura"] |

 

[Blackthorne]

Amidst the High Preists stood the one who witnessed The Passing and who carried the soul of she who would return for a new beginning.

Sha'Matri of the Wayland Skarsovi witches, The One Who Sees the Way, the Voice of Balagoth, the Will of Sargon, and the vessel of the Host Lord stood watching in silence as her daughter finally heard the words of her Gods. Though [member="Boethiah"] had largely gone independent through the stars over the last several years it was under the watchful eye of the Sha'Matri that her ability to grow and learn and lead was honed. Much as she had expected the time had come to unravel the will of the Gods upon the galaxy once again.

This was good news for those of the faith.

She would leave the girl to her guests: they had come to see the Host Lord Reborn and it was their right to revel in her presence. Loxa would set about the plans in preparation for their new lands. A ceremony to be had, a ritual giving for the Gods. Dantooine would become home to the next rooting of Skarsovi Soul Trees and there was so much to do to be ready for it.

 

[Lethia Morow]

As the crowd grew, so too did Lethia's discomfort.

With what was probably an irritated hiss, the monstrous maiden skittered away from the crowd and settled herself in the shade of a nearby tree. Still well within earshot of Boethiah - it was only polite to listen to her savior's speech, after all - Lethia allowed her mind's eye to shut. The cascade of color and fantasy was replaced by the relaxing emptiness of her half-vision, broken only by the flickers of motion amongst the crowd - the only thing the maiden's eyes could still detect. Inconvenient? Yes. But good enough for hunting and combat, most of the time. She hadn't had the luxury of leisure time in quite a while.

Curled up like some sort of hideous freakshow-cat, Lethia licked congealed blood from her fingers, the remnants of her last meal, and let out a nails-on-the-chalkboard rasp of utter contentment.

---

[member="Boethiah"]
[member="Antherion"]
[member="Loxa Visl"]
[member="Darth Carnifex"]
@Whoever I missed

 

[Boethiah]

Boethiah still leans against the metal crate, lazily adjusting the grip on her hilt.

"Then we will prepare... Gather your things. Any vestige of power, weapon, or tool." The young woman pushes off the crate, standing tall... Well as tall as she could. Her dark brown locks waved freely in the gentle Dantooine wind, held in pattern by wood carved ring. "We will eradicate what is left of the Black Court and reclaim the Rift." She of course meant the heretical sect once led by the venerable Hutt traitor.

With that very slug now missing--perhaps deceased--it proved as good a time as any to strike against the remnants of his followers; for whatever reason they still followed. Boethiah maintained a firm stare, her eyes darting from face-to-face. Up and down, adjusting for height. Not one person did she stare at too long, not even [member="Loxa Visl"], her mother and teacher.

"Oh," she mutters under her breath before climbing back onto the crates, finding her way to the tallest of them. She points outwards to the burning settlement. "There are raiders that way, someone should take care of them... Before they get bold." Certainly a stockpile and encampment would prove desirable to a band of clueless raiders thinking themselves unstoppable after slaughtering settlers.

[member="Antherion"] | [member="Cady"] | [member="Nick Imura"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Lady Death"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Satia"]

 

[Darth Athora]

Cadyssia's eyes swiftly shifted to the direction that Boethiah was pointing towards. Her golden eyes sparkled in the sunlight in a way that made them look yellow in a way. "With pleasure." Cadyssia managed to procure herself a land speeder from some salvager. She hopped on the contraption and started it up. "I'll see you all there." Suddenly, Cadyssia sped off in the direction of the distant settlement.


[member=Satia] | [member=Antherion] | [member=Boethiah] | [member="Lady Death"] | [member="Lethia Morow"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Nick Imura"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Lady Death]

At one point in time the Primeval had been feared in every sector of the galaxy. Their conquests weren't spearheaded by the desires of self-indulgence like the Sith or the mad cruelty of the Gulandi, they held a purpose. They had gathered a mass of warlords and dog soldiers from every walk of life, it wasn't the same now for all she saw were Sith. Or perhaps it had always been as such and Lady Death had never noticed. It had been so many years and time had a way of warping memories. She had never had cause to show up at gatherings, she had been a raider for the Iron Hand party and bade the will of her strike leader. Simpler times indeed.

Her attention snapped back as [member="Boethiah"] rose a hand to the horizon where a plume of acrid black smoke rose in a single high column. Raiders. She knew raiders well for all Gulandi were raiders by birth, raised into the profession. She almost ignored the suggestion to deal with them when she saw the former High Kings raiding party activate their skiffs engines, then another party started up. They were going to compete. It was a blood sport for Gulandi. Who could reap the most lives in name of their god. "Very well," Lady Death uttered, her face hidden behind a mask set in silent anger. With a motion of her hand the Blood Masquerade were leaping onto their skiff, the most brightly painted of the Gulandi marauder-class skiffs present, and in all of Gulamendis too.

The skiff held a wicked blade under the keel of the vessel, stained brown from the dried blood of past victims. Every facet of the skiff was adorned by blade or stake all ready to impale. The raiders upon the vessel hung from the rails of the skiff, leaning dangerously over the side of the vessel. In their hands were polearms of brutish design and hooks attached to long metal chains. Others stood on the bow of the skiff with rifle and pistol in hand. One of the Gulandi glanced down at the host as Lady Death climbed aboard, his face hidden by a mask of a smiling skull and in his hand was a weapon of immense size, surely a hand-held cannon or rocket-launcher with a blade that curved downwards from the end of the barrel like a maddened scythe. The skiffs engines roared and shot off towards the far village where the other Gulandi skiffs joined pursuit.

 

[Poe]

​The prosepect of killing cast a gleaming, yet haunting, smile across my face. I was bred for killing, murder, and destruction; it was my forte in life, and I done it remarkably well. And anything associated with a Hutt past, present, and future was bound to have a date with my incredible talents to extract pain. It was a Hutt that had robbed me of my childhood, forcing me into a game of survival in the pits on Nal Hutta. It was a Hutt that used me as a tool for her own gain, only in the end to discover the blade she sharpened would strike at the very core of her soul. It was a Hutt I aligned with, the rival of the one I was forced to call Master, that also made the fatal error of thinking he was manipulating me; when in fact I played him. Now they were all dead, everyone associated with them lied in ruins, and like the apex predator I was destined to be; I stood upon their rotting corpses while the carrion animals and insects picked and pecked away at their flesh.

​First, it was a band of marauding raiders that were set upon my targeting gaze. Our leader had expressed a proclamation of judgment, and I shall be that mystical figure walking through the mists of their life showing them the horrors of their misguided ways. Death would come swift for some, while others would unravel under the strain of crucifixion; and still for the chosen ones, they would become my food. Gripping the handle bars of the speeder-bike, I headed toward the village to greet these raiders with blood-lust in my heart. The blackened storm of salvation was coming, but there will be no mercy or forgiveness; only the casting down into the abyss where none has ventured back.


[member="Boethiah"] [member="Cady"] [member="Lady Death"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Slaughtering brigands makes for an unsatisfying pastime, but I will indulge these eager youths."

Darkness exuded from his being in palpable waves, saturating the air with the stench of war and death. Far away deep within the confines of the ship that had brooked him passage to Dantoine a small wrought-iron cage opened on its own accord, and from within emerged a small bird no bigger than a Dathomiri Raven. It hopped along the hold's floor until it reached the still extended boarding ramp. Then, with a shake of its wings, it took flight and soared through the air until it neared the gathering point. At that moment the Sith Lord extended his right arm out and the small bird perched itself upon his forearm, its talons digging into the fabric without actually causing injury to its master.

Their eyes met and he gestured towards the distant smoke plume that rose from the far horizon, "Tu'iea talsasi asarji âti tave degiklis va." The raven cocked its head to the side as if pondering the strange words that flowed freely past the Sith's cracked lips, and then with a shake of its body it leapt free from his arm and again took flight. It would fly high above the ground to avoid the advance made by the Primeval, moving swifter than any bird that size should.

It landed near the far end of the destroyed settlement where it witnessed several brigands partaking in the pleasures of a captured female settler's flesh, their boisterous barbs and insults masking his approach as he glided down to land atop an overturned cart. One of the men standing off to the side noticed the bird's arrival, and initially thought nothing of it and wagered that the bird had arrived in search of carrion from the slaughter.

But then he noticed something.

The only flying creatures that he had witnessed on Dantooine were the manta-like Brith, he'd never noticed any avians like this one skulking about. Especially one with with feathers black as pitch like this one, or the sentient, almost malevolent, gleam in its dark eyes. Before he could delegate his misgivings to his debaucherous fellows, the raven opened its mouth impossible wide and expunged a green tendril-like fog that snaked through the air to encapsulate him in its binding grasp. With each passing second he found himself losing strength, his muscle mass deteriorating as the vitality was leeched from his flesh and bones and siphoned into the familiar.

By the time the others noticed what had transpired it was too late. The unfortunate raider was nothing more than leathery skin hanging loose from brittle bones, his face contorted in a frozen scream of unfathomable agony. The raven hopped off of the cart before any of them could grab their blasters to levy a shot, and even if one did manage to get his gun fast enough the raven began weaving an illusion to conceal itself from their dim-witted minds.

And Carnifex fed off of their fear through the link held with his familiar, his eyes closing in rapture as a dark smile spread from cheek to cheek.

[member="Boethiah"]​

 

[Boethiah]

Boethiah watched as some went off to eradicate the raiders, already sensing the force grow stronger as some began to unleash their powers.

She herself walked through the encampment, a pair of seemingly docile kath hounds following behind her. Although the snarled and snapped at nearby souls as she passed by. The young woman makes her way towards a singular starship parked central and surrounded by even more crates, as well as makeshift buildings. It was one of the few dropships deployed, and their fleet assembled somewhere in a nearby system--awaiting their return.

Looking back, the witch gave [member="Loxa Visl"] a rather longing glance. A silent come here as if she needed to talk. The rest in the encampment began to load essentials back onto the ship first, and in the sky above other dropships soared past from various points across the surface. Boethiah wasn't going to leave just yet, and she knew her mother's plans for the world. There were still a handful of things left to do, and for the witch herself she sought to retrace the steps of her predecessor.

Once Anja Aj'Rou had walked on Dantooine's soil, and here she explored a remarkable cave not too far from the burning settlement.