Boethiah
Dark Messiah
First things first. You may skip to the part that begins under 'Bastion' in big orange text. Second; this is a thread where people can delve into the lore of our faction. Everything here is optional and is to be sought after if you wish to develop your character as a true believer of the Primeval's faith.
Third, I didn't proof-read so expect many, many typos.
The thread will be rather short, but not rushed, and all are welcome to participate.
Third, I didn't proof-read so expect many, many typos.
The thread will be rather short, but not rushed, and all are welcome to participate.
There was a time when peace was possible, where people did not bear the sins of their forefathers nor did they suffer the wrath of tyrants and witness falsities in their darkest forms. There were no Jedi to war with Sith, no Sith to terrorize worlds. It was as if perfection had once been reality, that somehow a paradise had been revealed by early dawn during the galaxy's youth.
The Primeval is not named because it is ancient, but because it is a reminder of these times. Truth be told, the Primeval was once something else entirely...
Many centuries ago the galaxy was a place of war much like current times. Great nations clashed and peoples were unable to agree on anything. Umbara, the Shadow World, became the stage for negotiations due to the Umbaran people's revered political wisdom. Leaders from across the galaxy, sectors in the core and rim, all gathered in hopes to prevent war. Secretly, however, there were a select few who wished the opposite; they wished for conflict.
Troubled times meant trouble was always following the wake of important events and only one man seemed to care. One of Umbara's eldest, a modest man from a higher caste, had spoken critically of these talks and even went so far as to suggest that although peace was being discussed publicly, the nobles and politicians secretly made pacts and prepared for war.
This man's wisdom became a beacon for the lesser, and quickly it spread across the stars; his voice reaching worlds he never dreamed of.
When word reached the ears of those who indeed were making secret deals and scheming for power, jealously ensued. The stakeholders in galactic affairs feared his charisma would bring about reformation and an era of peace and stability. It might seem idiotic that people who are capable of holding power would be against such qualities but where integrity exists, greed cannot follow. It is this hubris which leads to corruption and shortly after, downfall.
The preacher's voice was one which many powerful beings sought to silent. First they did so through legislation, hiding behind the illusion of security they began to ban certain rights afforded for free speech and assembly. Yet still his followers grew. Hundreds became thousands, and thousands became much more.
Then they resorted to more clever means... Propaganda was created in an effort to brand him a lunatic, a struggle which tore his family from him. Yet this only strengthened his resolves and still his people grew in strength day-by-day. More came to listen to what he had to say.
Finally they realized that tact and laws were not enough to silence him, so they resorted to more violent means. Of course killing him would ensure he became a martyr, and public execution would guarantee rebellions. Instead they sought to break the chain from the center, splitting his movement in half by turning the more radical followers into militants.
For a moment these plans succeeded and a small, yet resolute group of followers began to lash out against their governments which not only created a rift but gave the powerful just cause for eradicating this sect. Yet things changed...
One day the wise man woke up with a vision, he saw the spirit of a God speak to him about life, death, the galaxy, and everything in between. Things that only caused debate were clear to him, facts disputed over the ages were doubtless, and answers thought not to exist were now on the tip of his tongue. And the people loved him.
Instead of fighting each other, this following turned into a religion with unity and resolve. An entire movement, the Primeval was born. Seemingly left with no choice; the leaders of Umbara sent in their army to eradicate the heart of this movement. Yet much to the galaxy's surprise, pilgrims from worlds far and wide flocked to Umbara in defense of their prophet. The conflict lasted one whole year, a bloody year. With no hope of defeating the prophet without great losses, the sinful leaders struck a deal. He and his followers would leave Umbara and never return.
And thus they left, aboard ships old and massive they left their world behind. Pilgrims of many species joined their prophet and his faithful Umbarans along a great voyage into the unknown, stopping on many worlds as they made their way towards dark space. Arriving a decade later, they had reached the outskirts of the galactic disk and stared into the void at darkness where only the light of distant galaxies existed, except one.
Revealing to them was a faint star orbiting the galaxy, a star that held a world whose beauty had no equal. A world lush with foliage and fauna, valleys and rivers, whose mountains run deep with ore and gems. In every definition of the world, it was a paradise. Here they would settle and grow... Yet somewhere along the way they changed.
The 400 year darkness ensued, leaving the galaxy in Chaos and the Primeval completely isolated for centuries. During this isolation something inside their hearts had changed. The prophet lived despite all odds and his people began to follow new doctrines, they saw this paradise not as a refuge but a reminder; a reminder of what once was. With a renewed spirit they grew in strength and power, raising armies and fleets and sending them out into the galaxy. Many have disappeared without a trace, few managed to return empty handed, and none succeeded in their divine mission...
To bring about an end to empires, to balance order with chaos, to reveal peace through bloodshed, and to spread the truth to those blinded by sin.
This is the Primeval and that was their story.
Bastion
Anja woke as dawn's light penetrated the veil of night, white stars dotted the soft blue sky which glowed faintly through the palace windows. Stretching her arms up, her lips allowed a single yawn to escape before her muscles surrendered and her arms fell down behind her head and onto the delicate surface of her bedding. For a moment she had forgotten what it was like to have burdens. She was not the Host Lord, nor an Elder in the Seekers or Bleeding Sun. She had no responsibilities and her faith was nonexistent. A brief moment where she was simply Anja, a woman with dreams and thoughts that were her own.
Slowly she rose from her bed, two pale feet placed themselves on the warm stone flooring and her legs found the strength to stand herself upright. Walking towards the bathroom, she stared at herself in the ornate mirror and wonders about the affairs she'd face today. There were many things to do as Host Lord, many things one must do correctly.
Her hand went up and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear that hung annoyingly over her right eye. The wintry orbs offered no window into her soul for anyone to witness. Instead they were empty and without meaning, the fact of which sunk all feelings in her heart until she too accepted that as truth.
Then she recalled...
Today was a special day, an anniversary of sorts, the day when the Primeval was forged. On this occasion, followers of the Primeval were offered a chance to become bound by blood; a ceremony where they became one with the Primeval and were declared brethren of the cause.
After she made herself ready, Anja went down through the palace and made her way into the chamber where those who wished to take part in the ceremony would be.
