Dominion Give The Crazies A Big Gun: BotM Dominion of Empty Hex West of Rhand

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 1

The construction drones steadily kept up it's work, while Kyrel was lost to the visions before him. The voices that had always plagued him, granted him visions of power. Of when Kyrel would no longer be the servant, but the Master. A being that commanded legions of the Brotherhood, and moved upon the galaxy. All his enemies, the First Order, Sith, Jedi, all of them would soon die by his hands. But first the voices told him to break free from his chains. Chains that always held him at a leash, that held him down since he was a First Imperial, from his days to serving the Sith Empire, and then working with the New Imperial Order.

Within the darkroom, it was as if these dark voices thought to use him as a conduit of sorts. A vessel on which they would give Kyrel purpose. But even that he was no stranger to. The voices told him to kill the Heathen Priests, to kill those that led the Brotherhood, and take it all. To finally show what a threat he was. At first he tried to deny the voices. The dim-lit room went from dark, to the Sith Runes glowing in a dark red. It was as if the spirits of the Sith had roamed the carcass of this vessel. Given it had it's former ties with Darth Sidious, and his dark side adepts He wasn't sure if the voices were just real, or a manifestation.

He remained crosslegged channeling the dark energies of the dark side. Gaining strength from it. Even finding power in the visions of what he long sought after all his life. To be free to do what he wished, without being someone else's lap dog. With the voices silencing, his eyes slowly opening. Yet the runes remained with the red hue that adorned them. A red mist seemed to have permeated across the room. Kyrel spoke softly to himself, careful of any prying ears or eyes, watching out into space. "Yes.... It's clear... I know what I must do."

 

[Alars Keto]

Kryll nearly made way from the hangar before hearing the call of The Mongrel , sorting through the spoils of war. His eyes danced between the warband leaving and the treasures left behind for the taking. A brief sigh followed his departure, who knew if there were any survivors left. The Mongrel was right to start claiming, if not now then nothing would be left. Such was the way among the Maw, you keep what you kill and take what you want.

"What do we 'ave here?" The marauder approached, sorting alongside the Mongrel with a careful eye for any treasures. "Alot of ammo, firearms, and.... ooooh yeah." He pulled a broken saber from the box, itself tethered to a power source. A protosaber, rare and still usable despite it's ancient age, well with the right repairs it would be.

The lieutenant attempted to turn it on to no avail, frustration building at each attempt. "Junk." He dropped it in a fit and moved on, there was obviously something more suitable among the relics stolen. His eyes locked with the Warlord, Maestus , "Anything good?"

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Darth Solipsis | Tu'teggacha | Lirka Ka | Cedric Grayson​

He hadn't heard what the Voice had offered, but Zachariel could guess. It'd be something along the lines of power, if you kneel. So few took that offer, unfortunately for them. Those who did though, they became all the more powerful for it. Point in case, Lirka Ka, the warlord who despised equals, and didn't see any other as close to her. It amused Zachariel to sense her emotions every now and again, the same way it amused him to observe the other warlords that existed. In the grand scheme of things, and over his many centuries, Zachariel had few equals. And these warlords were the closest that came to it, so it amused him greatly to know they didn't consider one another equal.

It was most likely true, but in some way or another that never truly mattered. The only thing that mattered now, was how much blood one could spill, and how much the galaxy would burn because of you and your actions. Something the rest of the galaxy would learn through violence, something this Jedi would soon enough as well. As it was, Zachariel was only half paying attention to what was being said, and instead focused more on the actions of both parties. The words mattered little, for they had been uttered in various ways many, many times. It was only a matter of accepting them as true, or fighting against them. And failing.

That said, what the Jedi was saying did bring him enough amusement to garner a chuckle. Dropping his arms as the Voice spoke once more, Zachariel drew his sword at the same time the Voice attacked Grayson with lightning. Smiling at that, Zachariel took a step further into the bridge, sword hung idly by his side. But the manic glee in him reared itself fully, and his bloodlust made itself known with a laugh.
"Fight Jedi. Fight and die. Or be captured, and let me torture you for an eternity, before you break beneath my blade."

A mad grin was still on his face, though Zachariel didn't attack by any physical means. No. His Force presence instead attacked, lashing out at Grayson with his bloodlust and rage. It was a simple beast, no subtlety to the attack, essentially a slash, but made up for it with raw strength and experience.

 

[Gren Blidh]

​

The path to the hangar bay was as lifeless as space outside. Mere minutes ago, this corridor had been alight with blaster fire as the pirates made their last stand against the Brotherhood. Now it was an alley of fresh corpses, smoke from dead blaster fire rising from singe marks in the durasteel all around Gren. He had seen Alars Keto , who had become something of a partner with him, cleave a man's head off for simply trying to surrender.

What could men do in the face of such reckless violence?

Gren had his blaster unfurled, his own barrel hot from blaster fire. He leaned over a body here and there, pulling the final trigger over those who still clung to life to finally release them of their mortal coil. The smuggler performed this job with a cold, detached stare. It might appear that Gren was simply doing a duty no more reverent than sweeping a messy floor, but inwardly he knew it was more. There may have been a hint of mercy in his blaster bolts that finished off these men, though he would never let his Brothers know it. He silently and without remorse ended their suffering on the corridor floor, knowing that death was far preferable to whatever fate they imagined awaited them as prisoners of the Brotherhood of the Maw. Gren was not unlike these men, not so long ago. A mere space pirate making his way from job to job, aimlessly riding the galaxy into a purposeless abyss.

But that was then. This was now. Now, they couldn't be any more different. He had found power; they, death.

Them's the breaks.

Gren made his way into the hangar where treasure waited. It seemed that most of the more unmistakable treasures had already been looted. The smuggler was left rifling through a small strongbox until a ring fell into his palm. Such a peculiar object, and yet Gren was oddly drawn to it.

 

[Maestus]

Data theft complete, she looks to Alars Keto ...

With any luck, there will be useful information. Names, shipping routes, cargo manifests. Such could be useful to resupplying our fleet.

She turned then, and went to the edge of the hanger. Something wasn't sitting right with her. Something imminent. Something that had been overlooked or forgotten. This feeling gnawed at her, make her unsettled.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Pushed her cloak back revealing her pair of sabers for ease of access.

Then she waited.

 

[Alars Keto]

"Aye, I can see that malady. These pirates acted alone right? Scavengers picking off the edge of known space, I was once like them. Then the Maw happened and here I am. They'll learn, or they'll die." His eyes gazed down as he bowed his head, "What would you have me do?"

He rose his head unsettled by the distracted, battle ready Warlord. "Lady @Maestus?" Something was going on, he felt the cold hate resonate from her form. Straightening his posture he turned to the slaves gathering what was left and whistled, "Get a move on, hurry up."

His eyes fell upon Gren Blidh as he sorted through the pirates' trove. He wondered to himself what the ol' boy had found.

 

[Maestus]

She didn't look at Alars Keto when he spoke. She maintained her gaze outward. Eyes scanning the heavens and earth for the source of this feeling.

Perhaps it is nothing. I feel...Unsettled. AS if we're missing something, forgetting something. Or something is coming.

She shook her head, as if to clear her mind from this weirdness. Rolled her shoulders a few times, and turned to look at the HEathen horde mid plunder.

Where are we on liberating the valuables?

 

[Alars Keto]

He didn't understand what she meant, truth be told he didn't care. The strange senses of those trained in the Jedi Arts or Force as they called it were a strange lot. Steeped in prophecy and future telling, concepts he had no desire to waste his precious time delving in. In reality, he didn't believe in fate or telling the future, but they did carry a big laser stick and have magic that could kill, that was enough for him.

"They are moving as fast as possible, we have the goods being loaded as we speak. Is there something I should know or worry about?"

 

[Maestus]

Something in his tone of voice. Or was it something with his choice of words? She wasn't sure, but something set off a chain reaction of anger into rage.

She whipped around and faced Alars Keto with violence flashing in her eyes and venom on her tongue.

Where is your master? He is not here, yet you are insolent.

Slowly her arm lifted from her side. She was taking time. Relishing this.

When her hand was roughly level with Kryll's throat, one by one her fingers curled into the making of a fist. As she did so, Alars Keto would feel the tightening on his flesh. Then little by little, his blood supply being cut off to his head. And finally, she lifted him off the ground.

I am your master now.

 

[Alars Keto]

She caught the hidden insolence in his tone, the facade of respect peeled away as she cast a dreaded glare over him. Entrapped by the awesome power of the Force, the lieutenant found himself suspended in the air, choking with no reprieve in sight or defense against her power.

He'd fought Jedi before but this power, it was one he had not seen. Only heard.

Kryll struggled to make words clear, using his air to swear fealty or die. He was no coward, but he was no fool either and there was no shame in submitting to one such as Maestus . "Y..hes.. muhy.. masteee..rr."

 

[Gren Blidh]

​

Gren moved the ring between his fingers. Its band was gold in hue, and sported a bright ruby between its prongs. Upon closer inspection, the ring appeared to have fine engravings and a symbol etched into the stone. Gren held it closer to his eye.

He was no archaeological expert, but Gren had been around the galaxy a few times. Looking down at the engravings, he smiled upon recognizing them. These pirates had been to Dathomir.

"Looks like you boys have been around," Gren said, nearly to himself, as he turned the ring in his hand. Noting that Kryll was right beside him a moment before, Gren turned to offer a look to him, only to find him rather incapacitated at the moment.

Bad time. He stood aside as Maestus suspended him in the air.