Faction Feast for the Weary

[Kyrel Ren]

SELVARIS ​

The Wrath of the Maw could never stray far away from the front. He contemplated the path the Brotherhood has been on within the ruins of a Yuuzhan Vong Internment camp on the world of Selvaris. He watched as Mawite raiders, and a few Heathen Priests set up provisions along the front of the Second Great Hyperspace War. With a pensive stare he thought how the Brotherhood had never skirted closer to disaster in trying to maintain the hold of the Core Worlds, he couldn't remember the last time he had any sort of respite. He spent most of his days on the battlefield, if not boring bridges with plans that may seem all for naught. To be honest the Wrath of the Maw was afraid for the future, and if the Maw would survive. Regardless if he an Mori shared the same goal he slowly started to doubt his authority in leading the Operation. Even if he was trying to follow Sidious's plan that he had outlined centuries ago, only Kyrel wanted to perfect the military campaign. Pressing a hand to his face he couldn't bear the thought of losing the Second Great Hyperspace War, and see all that he hoped for regretfully turn into ashes in his mouth.

The Priests, and the raiders of the tribes would try and turn a beautifully horrific place into a rest station. Ancient instruments of the Maw would play guttural music, aided by the throat singing that would recall ancient chants of the priests from eons past. Soon flames would start to light up the dilapidated courtyard. Bones of the dead still lined the ground, along with vibroaxes, and shackles of an organic nature. He could sense the horrors the Vong had done on Selvaris, and the beauty of such death was what brought calm to the dead man. He only hoped that in this act of desperation he could provide some relief to his brethren. While Kyrel didn't need to rest, as Warmaster he was in charge of the moral of his men, and all of the Maw. If he couldn't push an intense campaign of pillaging and slaughter, then he would have truly failed in his duty as Wrath of the Maw.

Along with the ominous and guttural chanting of priests that had started singing, even seeing instruments made of bones start to play along with the voices. The music that sounded all around was intimidating, in a way mimicked the ancient tongue of the Sith that could sound all around. "M-My Wrath the guests have arrived." Kyrel would turn his back to the cowardly voice of his bone covered officer Commander Grodd. The man showed fear whenever in Kyrel's presence as he should. "Good, I do believe the food has been readied." He said watching the table become assorted with meats, and bloodwine. The bloodwine was a special cocktail of the Crimson Hands infusing and fermenting the blood with various fruits to create an interesting, albeit rough alcoholic beverage that was stronger than Corellian Whiskey. With the mysterious meat, and bloodwine came the spoils of war from Nerfsteak to fried numa legs, and of course the best drinks in the core from vintage Alderaanian red wine to Corellian brandy. Kyrel had planned an elaborate gathering filled with music, food, and of course entertainment.

On the far side he could hear the chanting, and bets being placed in the pit below. The pit below was used as punishment to throw prisoners into a large, cramped hole with no way to climb up. It was filled with obstacles, and rusted weapons for the combatants while the zombies infected with Kyrel's blood would serve as a third opposition. For boredom and sport the Mawites would drop prisoners of war, or slaves to see who could possibly win. The Mawites would cheer to the bloody sounds of combat, he could even see a few in disagreement. They loudly argued until one was tossed into the hole, what followed was the blood and screams. Truly this was quite a gathering in a horrible place from the past. Torches as crude as they were would light most of the celebrations. "WAR, DEATH, REBIRTH!" The riled up bunch of Mawites shouted, and as Kyrel looked to see the arrival of tribal leaders, allies, and Mawite of every kind he would contemplate the very meaning of the mantra. This would be a night for many to rest, and contemplate the future as well as to- celebrate the past.

 

[Caraxes Xargrodon]

Caraxes would arrive to make sure the Maw would have some sort of rest. They had sacrificed far more than they had actually earned. It was time that the Brotherhood came together in order to drink, and rest. It would be a time of celebration as well as reflection within the Brotherhood of the Maw. All around the preparations around the old Yuuzhan Vong prison camp would be nearly finished. The fighting pits were one of the first thing to be constructed, as the Mawites themselves savage in nature didn't lack for entertainment. Even now he could hear the raiders of every tribe cheer at the bloody spectacle taking place before them. Instead of using prisoners of war as conscripts only for this night would they be sacrificed in the name of crude, but effective sport as it boosted morale and allowed for the men to settle old scores through bets. If gambling was not to be settled between the Mawites so would follow deadly combat.

"We truly have something to be grateful towards. My Brothers and Sisters we stand here in hopes of resting our wicked bones. Feast and we may fight harder, stronger than all our enemies combined." Caraxes would try to deliever a hopeful sermon to those that listened. Others simply ignored the Heathen Priest to gorge themselves on bloodwine, and the spoils of war they had gained from the campaigns. With a cup of bloodwine in his hands he took a sip, before pouring some of it on the ground. "We will also remember our fallen, and honor them such as our Dark Father, Darth Solipsis without him we would not be here..." He said to what it seemed like only himself. Slaves would arrive to oversee a few more additions such as bloody carcasses strewn about to provide the unsettling atmosphere of the Brotherhood.

"Please enjoy the festivities, mingle with one another. We do not know when we may rest again." He said somberly to end his sermon to those that still cared to listen. Caraxes would go into the crowd towards the large table. He would start to speak to a few Mawite raiders with a pitcher of bloodwine, and what looked to be an arm that was roasted, if it could still be called an arm that is. As the feast would start to begin, the camp looked more like a funeral scene, or more accurately put it a wake compared to a party. The crowd would interact, and soon guests would start to pack the camp quickly from the Scar Hounds, Crimson Hands, and Bloodsworn. Even the Final Dawn were invited to attend, and of course the New Sith Order. Soon all tribes were gathered in joyous celebration of the Brotherhood's founding, and the what came after.

 

[Zinn Zinn Bink'sa]

Zinn Zinn was back, yes everybody’s lovable trainwreck of a spice addict was back in Maw this time it had gotten worse. The Sith apprentice of which the Maw even forgot stood in chains. “What you mean Meesa a slave???” The ragged looking Gungan asked his captor who dragged him into the fighting pits. “Oi shut your filthy pie hole. You ain’ts nothing but trouble since I found you spice feigning on Tython.” He said with the crackle of the electro whip across the back of the amphibian Sith Lord. “Owwwsa… Okiday Meesa sorry please Mesa won’t question… Owwsa.” He cried out with another crack of the whip.

It appeared that life caught up to Zinn Zinn and now he appeared to be nothing more than a bum turned into a slave of the Maw. He tried to plead that he was a Sith, but the spice use has left him weakened to the Force. He was starved, and in shackles. The abs he once built from Sith training had now been reduced to skin over bone. The Gungan looked more closer to dying than appearing alive. “For all the troubles you caused you’ll be tonight’s entertainment.” The Jailer would say with a cruel laugh before shoving the Gungan past a metal door into a small pit. Immediately the Gungan turned to pound against the door. “Meesa will karking kill you… Meesa will get out of this cell, and tear you apart!!!!” He yelled, and even started to lick against the door in some crazed confusion. The sound of growling came from inside the pit, the Gungan would turn and face him and start beating his chest to assert dominance. “Yousa wants some of meesa???”

This display was futile, as the figure he saw in front of him was a Mawite starved and feasting on a corpse. The figure even wore a helmet made from what looked to be a Wookiee skull. He appeared as inhuman and would only snarl at the Gungan. The Gungans red eyes would twitch as if insulted. He quickly started to approach having felt slighted by the exchange. “Yousa wants some… Yousa gonna gets some…” He said flicking his tongue out at him. This would only aggravate the already pissed off Mawite, grabbing a hold of the Gungans neck he started to strangle him, while the Gungan who could barely gasp for air held his index finger in protest and barely spat out. “Meesa… want timeout.” All the while the raiders from above would cheer at the first moves of the spectacle.

Zinn Zinn would only see darkness, and when he opened his eyes he could see the bone Mawite shake his arms towards the crowd in approval. The Gungan had enough as he looked to someone in the crowd, a Raider could see the Gungans plight and gave him a golden wooden chair out of pity. Perhaps the raiders hoped for the Gungan to die faster. “No ones take a the cheap shots with Meesa.” While the bone Mawite was showered in the affection of the crowd, the Gungan would stealthily come up from behind, and with a thud of the chair hitting his back the bone mawite would go down. The crowd went wild while the Gungan bowed, and hollered out. “Yeah! Mesa numbah 1… Who is bombad mesa that’s who!!!” He said basking in the victory he gained for the moment.

 

[Darth Nemris]

Darth Nemris stood apart from the rest of the Mawites in the gathering, dark eyes travelling over the gathering from his vantage point. A drink sat beside him on a small table, brought by slaves to Nemris once he had been spotted. Their bodies lay crumpled to the side of his position, their blood still warm as it slowly made its way down the hill. Nemris did not usually lash out the way that he did here, but recent events had Nemris on edge, as he was certain many others in the Maw with enough reasoning left to see the dangers were. Those celebrating below certainly could not understand the perils of what was coming.

The war with the Galactic Alliance was turning against them. For so long they had held the initiative; worlds had burned, armies were shattered and the burning hulks of fleets still littered the void in the galactic core. The drive for Tython had been the Brotherhoods greatest accomplishment, but it had also sown the seeds of his weakening. The resources expended to push that far into the core were difficult to replace, perhaps impossible. The loss of Darth Solipsis, the leader of the Maw for so long sent shockwaves through the Brotherhood still having aftershocks. Even the ascendancy of Darth Mori to the mantle of Dark Voice and leader of the New Sith Order and Brotherhood at large had only slowed the downturn.

But there was change on the wind.

Nemris was not certain what the change was, but he could feel...something. It was in the air, an electric energy that Nemris could feel on his skin. It permeated the air like a fog just beyond the ability to see. Those not connected to the Force would feel it as nothing more than an itch at the back of their mind, a source of unknown motivation to push forward. For those cursed with the connection to the Force, it was something more substantial. He glanced up as the echoing roar of the Wrath of the Maw rose across the gathering, a cry that was picked up by many of those gathered below and around.

Nemris reached down at last to the cup brought to him, grabbing it gently with silver encased hands. Talons set into each finger delicately wrapped around the cup, and Nemris brought it up to his face. He pulled his mask away with one hand just long enough to drain the liquid from the cup, but setting his mask back in place. He tossed the empty cup on the bodies of the slaves, watching it bounce off them and then tumble over the edge of the hill. He heard it shatter down below, a sound almost entirely drowned out by the savage warriors of the tribes as they began to celebrate in earnest.

"Things must change..."

Kyrel Ren

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Amidst the chants, the feasting and the cheer that came from the spectacle of the pit fighting. Kyrel would watch the Mawites with some slight sense of reflection of where they had all gone. They started as a band of simple raiders, and have achieved so much. Now with the Maw being pushed back from the conquests they have gained on the road to Tython. He feared for the future, and for the War as a whole. As the Warmaster he feared the Maw wouldn't survive the push brought on by both the Jedi and the GA.

Still, he tried not to dwell on it with a cup of bloodwine in his hand. He took careful sips of the drink watching the others. From the sounds of some bumbling fool in the pits, to the awkward mingling of a Heathen Priest among the tribesmen. Kyrel had found a gathering like this to be interesting. If one could point out that the Brotherhood spent more time making war than resting. It was time that the Maw had earned some sort of rest, even if it was only for today there would be some distraction before the War continued tomorrow, and all would honest the Hidden Maw. He hoped to mingle with some of the tribesman that saw similiar views such as Zachariel Steelblood and of course watch the machinations that was Marlon Sularen who seemed to defy his warnings.

His gaze would soon be brought to the attention of the masked Sith Lord. The man known as Nemris that had come to attend the celebration among the Maw. From the mask like Kyrel he couldn't gauge the emotions that came from the former Jedi. Kyrel was careful among any Sith Lord, and Nemris was one that carried many questions, as he suspected he held answers to. When he said that things must change Kyrel would nod in silent agreement. Many would wonder what the future would hold, even as many hoped to celebrate past accomplishments and honor the dead.

Darth Nemris

 

[Marlon Sularen]

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F E A S T_F O R_T H E_W E A R Y

FINAL DAWN
SELVARIS, WILD SPACE

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While, the Tribes of the Maw wasted themselves on the surface feasting and partying, the High Regent and the Final Dawn would sulk in his flagship, the FDS Predator, which stood in orbit of the world of Selvaris, where it all began. It was here where the Maw's Push to the Core had begun and since it's conquest by the Brotherhood of the Maw, it had been under the direct rule of the Final Dawn. Although as usual, Sularen was quite annoyed with the Tribes presence on Selvaris. Like at Foerost which was also under Final Dawn control, they always thought that they can go wherever they want and do whatever they want without the Final Dawn being able to lift a finger. They were constantly stepping over the Final Dawn, acting as if they had any true power within the Maw when in reality it was the New Sith Order and the Final Dawn that held all the strength considering that they were formed specifically as a counterweight against the New Jedi Order and the Galactic Alliane Defense Force's Navy, without either the New Sith Order and the Final Dawn, the Maw would be overwhelmed and overrun within mere weeks.

Regardless, there was a simple reason for why Sularen was absent from the main festivities on the surface and that was because of business. Unlike the Tribes, he was an extra busy man, always planning and scheming to ensure that the Final Dawn would emerge as a new galactic power once the Maw had outlived it's usefulness to him. The First Step of Sularen's plan to ensure such had suffered a major setback due to Kyrel Ren 's machinations as he had intervened at a Summit at Eriadu humiliating the High Regent infront an assembly of Warlords, which deprived Sularen of any chance at even convincing them to turn against the belligerent rogue Warlord and self-proclaimed High Moff of Eriadu Vandar Tarkin . Now the High Regent found himself with few assets in the Outer Rim, hardly enough to establish his long-desired fifth-column network across the region, all thanks to the stupidity of Kyrel Ren and the arrogance of Tarkin.

But now as the Brotherhood of the Maw planned it's next offensive against the Galactic Alliance, Sularen made plans to re-assert himself in the former territories of the now defunct Confederacy of Independent Systems. He had suffered enough setbacks so far, and given his stubborn nature was unwilling to give up on what he still saw as an opportunity for the Final Dawn which had massive long-term benefits. But of-course people like Tarkin and Kyrel Ren failed to understand the bigger picture. As such, Sularen would summon a new partner of his, James Ephraim to his flagship above Selvaris while also summoning another fresh face in the Final Dawn, The Scout Trooper in order to set the stage for the first step of Sularen's plan to ensure the successful establishment of his envisioned network regardless of the opposition he faced.

As such, inside his office within the FDS Preadator, the High Regent of the Final Dawn awaited those he had summoned. He had grown tired with the constant setbacks he had suffered through the past few years with so many people running around and thinking they could simply walk up to him and smack him with constant betrayals and humiliations while denying him everything he wanted and took away everything he had. No, Sularen had to put his foot down and say enough was enough. He would no longer be treated as a pushover for others to walk over him, and soon everyone in the galaxy would understand that whether they liked it or not.

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Tag | James Ephraim | The Scout Trooper ​

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