BESKAR-SURGERY POWERS, ACTIVATE!

[Tubal Sahon]

Ḑ̷̀͘á̸͠r͘͠k̷̢̨n͘͝e̕͘͘͢s̨̨̀͢ś̴͠͞​

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Indeed, this galaxy had forgotten the true face of the Primeval. Where there was once fear struck into the hearts of billions, and an air of mystery, there was now only a shadow, a darkness. But as the setting of Twilight comes, so will the shadow come to grow larger than the face and become more distorted until the host is ever-encased in darkness. Our Story begins on one of the many many moonlets of Echoy'la, a captured Mandolorian colony. The Slaves worked tirelessly under their new masters, the lack of food as common as the cracking of electrowhips. But that is not our focus.

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Perhaps you can see it here ,the one on the bottom left, so far away from its parent. It is here in a former apothecary that a lunatic lays on a table of metal awaiting his transfiguration. This bloodletter, through favors, has found himself naked, awaiting ascension of his form. A way to become a true avatar to his god, Balagoth, the mighty whim of the universe's destruction.

This man's body was scarred and mutiliated with not only the scars of battle, but the wounds of his own mutilation. He was further drowned in insanity than even a Gulandi could fathom. He had no lips, and his gums dried and a dark red, his teeth stained with yellow and black, and his pale blue eyes longing for the coming ritual of metal that he began himself many years ago. Even now he could still feel the sting of stretching his mouth's muscles too far and causing his gums to split and bleed, and he lusted for it like any filthy canine would the raw meat of fallen prey. The glint of metal hanging from the walls, plates and blades awaited to be nailed, hooked, and skewered into him, and never to be removed willingly. For this man, this monster, this lunatic was Tubal Sahon, the Tower of Balagoth.

But as all things, this ritual had a journey, a journey of Earth, and a journey of Fire. It had to be obtained, extracted. As Tubal's namesake implies, it had to be forged in the fires to be in its shape. For even the simplest Beskar starts out as little more than a shimmering stone in the earth. The cracking of electrowhips raged as a young mandolorian boy was forced to use what little strength he could muster to beat at the stone until he could pick it up and deposit it into hovering carts which were then taken to be smelted in the furnaces by his father. So forth and so on, for such is the life of the slaves here. Monotonous and eternal labor.



[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Anja saw a future in Tubal, a future for him in the Primeval and the greatness he'd bring to her people.

So to transform him into a servant of the Gods, to give him an ability of use to his missions and goals, that was something the Host Lord decided to take part in herself. Surrounded by engineers, scientists, and acolytes, the Witch Elder approached the Umbaran, looking at him and only seeing the end result that was soon too come.

"Are you ready for this?" The Host Lord asked, her eyes examining the figure.

It would certainly be a procedure that placed immense stress on the body, survival was hardly guaranteed. That was something she did not need to mention though, he knew the risks, and sought the reward even if he were to die in the process. That is the dedication of a zealot... Of someone who knew what it was to be Primeval. The Acolytes, scientists, and engineers all approached shortly after, a small table lay in the middle.

It would all begin soon.

[member="Tubal Sahon"]

 

[Tubal Sahon]

"Let it be finished! You know as well as I that I am ready to be given to Balagoth himself!" The Umbaran's gum split open, blood rushing between his teeth and dripping slowly into his throat.

The process for refining Beskar is very similar to that of the common iron. The fires burned bright and clouds of dust made from rocky ash choked the furnaces. A man in shackles heaved, his tongue parched from days without water. He would try to escape, steal, anything, but he was the case of many here. The rebellions had been nearly overwhelming at first, as these many were promised fair rule in exchange for their colony. They could have never been more wrong. They had learned to be helpless.

No longer did the veteran want to fight. He had lost his will and become contempt to be a slave for the rest of his days, for this was his fate. He closed his eyes to whimper in his sorrow, and perhaps become lost in a different world whilst his bare feet stomped slowly on the burning grated walkway. But that was not the way that the gods had determined he would serve. For soon his cart jammed into the side of one of his captors.

"Why you little-!" The Gulandi's own voice was interrupted by his actions as moved away from the cart to push the slave down by his shoulder. Thoughts of more pain flowed through the slave's mind as this is the same event that he had experienced so many times over such a short course of time. He wished that he could still fight. The electrowhip crackled to life as the overseer raised it to strike.

"What in the name of the gods are you doing, overseer?" The electrowhip was soon turned off at the commanding voice of Tubal Sahon. "Can't you see that the beatings are useless against them now?"

"Ba- Bannerman Sahon? Why are you here?!"

"It matters not why, scum... I told you to release the slave, he is obviously no use to you."

"But who will push the cart to the refi-"

"You....obviously."

The tendrils of the force reached from the then bannerman's words into the mind of the soldier as he began to push the cart unerringly towards the refinery. For even to the relatively force-weak Sahon, this man's mind could be bent. very sad really. The slave soon threw himself prostrating before his savior, the cruelest of masters one could bow their knees to. Tears came forth from his eyes. It had been so long since someone had stood for him.

"Thank you! Than-" He was quickly cut off

"Silence, scum. It's not as if your life actually holds meaning. Get up. Off your knees, human. Follow me.

Not wanting to disappoint the one who just saved him, the slave quickly got up off his feet with renewed energy. Where would he be taken? Would he finally be freed from his bonds to live his life as a Mandolorian once more? The man who led him was tall, taller than any man had a right to be, and he lumbered. Slowly. The slave felt as if he had finally followed him for days, but yet this tower of a man still remained resolute. He finally stopped. The slave knew this bridge well, for it was right over the furnaces. The smell of molten metal filled his mouth and nose, the stench overwhelming. The slave balanced himself on the guardrail, for he was dehydrated and could not sweat.

"Slave, do you know what this is?" The slave nodded his head. It was the furnace, and the most gruesome part of his daily walks. His feet were still scolded from the many weeks he had to walk over the grated surface of this bridge. "You must be wondering why I would bring something as low as you here, no?" The officer didn't wait for a response. "Because you're nothing but scum. You're skin is disgusting. Your species is retched. You. Have. No. Purpose." Tubal quickly grabbed this slave by his neck and threw him over the ledge. The fall was quick, but to the slave it was an eternity of torment and anguish. The heat grew hotter and hotter. He could feel the heat begin to singe his very pores. He felt a jolt as his back hit the molten beskar. There was no pain, for his nerves were dead before they hit. He sunk in quickly, and then was no more.





[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Servants and salves brought forth the metal, freshly forged beskar that still burned hot. Surrounded by her acolytes, the witch began to summon forth the magicks around them, dark tendrils of energy ate into the Umbaran lying there on the table. At first the magicks served to stabilize him, to make sure that no matter the trauma his body would still endure. Then it acted in a way that brought his reality to a transformation, changing the way nature and energy collided.

"Be quick, but careful. One wrong move and he'll die on the spot," this certainly motivated the slaves to try harder... Fear was a powerful tool when used properly, but too much of it would turn them into cowards. Only the Gulandi reveled at the thought of death.

The procedure itself still required more preparation, the pain had yet to begin.

[member="Tubal Sahon"]

 

[Tubal Sahon]

"You think these insects capable of harming one such as I? I am disappointed in you, Host Lord." The tall umbaran chuckled at his little bit of sarcasm. Whether or not that's how it seemed would not be up to one such as him. He could see the slaves tremble in fear at the very thought of this perversion of nature they were about to create. The fear of true Ascension.

"You're right to fear what lies before you, slave." The servitor of Balagoth looked one of the slaves directly in the eye as he approached with instruments of what seemed like torture in hand. The Umbaran's lipless form clicked and uttered its ventriloquist's words, carefully uttered to seem like their true form, only to create something unearthly. "Heed well the great work you are about to create, for it will the only one your hands could possibly muster."

The instruments of his ascension began to pierce his flesh. The large needles weaved through his skin one by one. Tubal's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he began to convulse from the pain, lingering on the brink of consciousness, sleep, and death..


[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Now was the time for the painful part...

Magicks began to separate the reality that held flesh together, causingt he nervous system to panic and send painful reactions across his entire body. Then as this all began, acolytes and servants slowly inserted the metallic bits and pieces into his flesh and held it there as long as possible, as Anja and the other witches slowly reversed the process. For Tubal it would be as if a pack of kath hounds struck him down and began to tear into his body, even the spirit that held his soul together would feel as if it was being torn apart.

Few could survive such an operation, even the Host Lord--in all her power--was unsure if the procedure would succeed, and it was far from over.

[member="Tubal Sahon"]

 

[Tubal Sahon]

Scream, tearing of flesh, the sting of a stab. This of course was one of the least sanitary ways that this procedure could have been carried out, but that is not what the Primeval want, no, they want true resolve. For this was the only way that Tubal could honor himself before Balagoth and the other mighty gods. No other way in his mind. But that was not what coursed through his mind, no, he had entered the primal and ancient instinct of all animals. His body told him to escape this pain and kill all those before him in vengeance. The leather straps strained under the strength only brought about by adrenaline. Screams fled from his mouth, wailing in agony. But all of the slaves knew that if they ran then their lives were his as a sacrifice to his lord. blades and plates cut deep into them as they infused with his flesh and bone. Muscle fibers moved out of the way to make place for metallic fastenings as they drilled into his bone, and his nerves screamed more than ever before, and he with them. There was nothing that Sahon could not feel. His body reviled, but with what little conscious thought he could keep, he relished it, for he knew that this was the only way to ascend to serve his master, Balagoth.

Now the question was not how this man could endure such a procedure. It was now a question of what would become of this monster?


(sorry for not posting in so long, I ended up getting very busy with schoolwork.)

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Tubal Sahon]

(I've been meaning to get back to this on my own for a long time now, but school and such has been keeping me busy and mostly away from the site. I will be wrapping this up now that I have time.)

Dark Magic flowed through this monster, fueled by primal rage, a bloodlust unknown to the common man or slave. The beast pulled at his restraints, but to still yet no avail. For Tubal had lost control of the body that he had claimed as his own. What remained of the man knew that the procedure was almost finished, but only now could ascension truly be achieved. The crusader let go of himself, for pain seemed as a thing of the past, for what only lied ahead was spiritual bliss, for he knew that Balagoth, father of destruction smiled upon him.

Crimson dripped from his mouth and gums into his throat, being swallowed like spittle as the body fell slump. Breathing continued. Not even a tower of resilience such as he could handle the pain of suffering. He knew his mortal form was unworthy of the gods to even glance upon. But Tubal would prove to them his worth. For this body of metal and flesh would bring glory unto them as no other before him.

 

[Tubal Sahon]

The Smell of burning flesh reached the bannerman's nostrils. His lipless mouth stretched into an inhuman grin, his dried gum splitting and bleeding. The smell of death lingered so sweet. The slaves stood contempt, however. Their wills had been broken by this Tower and his men. The wafting fumes ever so slightly, as if by the will of the Force, whispered good tidings to the bannerman's ear. For the veteran was indeed a favorable sacrifice, and his soul a good feast to the gods.

The Mandolorian boy cried as the pain became too much for him to bear. His equipment fell to the ground as all of his strength left him, his Gulandi warden beating him with the electrowhip and then kicking him in the ribs until the child drew one last breath. At least now there would be something to make slop for the slaves. The boy's father would not know his son's plight until he was allowed his four standard hours of sleep. Such was life in these mines. For they were at the whim of a chaotic man under the influence of an equally capricious and destructive god. These memories were Sahon's dream, for, through some unknown means, he could smell the burning flesh of that man in the beskar that had been fused into his body.

He woke with a start. He could feel the cold metal fused into him. Fused into muscle and bone. No longer was he just a man. For he was now the instrument of a god.

 

[Tubal Sahon]

The slaves were done crafting their vile abomination ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE. The will of the Host Lord finally complete. His ascension was complete. Metal was infused with flesh in horrifying display, a soul worthy to serve Balagoth himself. Their hands shook in utter horror JUBILANT PRAISE OF THE GODS! For they knew that more would be killed under this monster's hand. But, they found the doors meant to contain the monster AWESOME CRUSADER OF THE GODS were in fact closed and locked. The Host Lord was gone, as were the acolytes which had made this gruesome operation possible. It was almost as if the universe had gone silent aside from one voice. Tubal had regained his consciousness. His breathing grew ever hoarser. Quicker now. Quicker. The bonds holding him to the table were released. The monster was released. All five of the slaves in that room knew what fates awaited them. They begged, they screamed in horror, they prayed to their heathen gods and ancestors. But all of them would lie dead within minutes. Their throats ripped out in a primal rage GLORIOUS ABSOLUTION! Balagoth was pleased in his paladin.



BUT NEVER WOULD HE BE SATED...