Private Hidden in plain sight

[Tathra Khaeus]

Aboard Stryker
Inbound to Groth
Tag: Mazoga |

The last few days... it had left him reeling. Bar Ostak, he'd yet to encounter any Draelvasier from this part of the Galaxy. It was as if their entire empire had been swallowed up by the outer rim, seeded into the fabric of space. Everything was gone, so much of their work undone. Draemidus Prime, a ruin, and his people missing or scattered. Tathra's clawed fingers pulled back the throttle as the Stryker dropped out of hyperspeed, slowing to a crawl on the edge of the system. He didn't know what he'd expected. But Tathra had certainly hoped for a little more than nothing, a little part of him died with every system he entered swept clean of the Drael presence. It was a cruelty of fate, choosing to laugh at him that he'd found Kardun Drael at Draemidus Prime of all places.

But at the very least the wilderness of the fauna gave him peace. No sign of the Warmind.

Kathrok and Ostak were still recovering from hyperthermia, and so was he. His eyes, watching the shiver crawl up his knuckles. When he'd slept, he'd awoken choking like ice was in his lungs. A new dread at night, one of plenty. When the Stryker received a signal from a distant system. He'd elected to go alone whilst the others repaired the scavenger's ship. He needed time to think, to plan. He didn't want the other Drael to see the hate and panic knotting his stomach over and over and the only thing that made that feeling go away was distractions. Like hoping he would not return alone. The ship was closing in on the planet now, following the beacon to what looked like a fresh settlement built on an untouched area of the planet. Groth had fallen under their control like every other planet in the system a long time ago.

Perhaps it was just aliens, ignorantly tinkering with old technology. Maybe it was a trap. There was no way to tell. But this was something he had to do, he refused to send any other in his place. These were his kin, his Drael. If any other than he was to gather them, it would present a rival to his leadership. It was his responsibility, his burden. A burden that had already taken him to one too many gravesites or long-since climaxed land stands. The weak aliens had come for them like hungry Draeyde, craven and desperate to put their feet on the neck of a superior species. Equal parts disgusting and unsettling.

The Stryker remained cloaked, lowering into Groth's atmosphere and darting down to make a run over the settlement. The observation port zipped by, not able to make much out other than that the settlement was in a clear, open area. Tathra rose from the seat, easing without his weight. Red glyphs displayed the exact coordinates of the transmission, a coded diagnostic report repeating over and over. It didn't reveal anything, but the vagueness of the message could have meant anything.

 

[Mazoga]

Vigo Mornz had once been a very successful and happy Volpai, surrounded by a large brood of children and his doting wife. He ran a rather popular cantina in the Capital City of Takodana, and for a time he was on top of the Galaxy. At least, he certainly felt that way. When war and destruction came to the system though, and people fled the city in favour of the safer, more remote countryside, he found himself left floundering, unable to continue to upkeep his business, and a few ill thought out loans taken here and there fast landed him in hot water.​

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His family was taken from him, held by the local Green Moon Clan, and Vigo was given a deadline through which to earn back their release. He started out taking odd jobs here and there offworld, each new position taking him further and further from his home. The deadline soon caught up with him, and since he hadn't made back the credits he owed the Green Moons hunted him down. They gave him one last option: his family could go free, but he'd remain indentured to them. He accepted these terms, not knowing that it would land him in a sphere of perpetual violence. Vigo Mornz went from kind and compassionate cantina owner to vicious pit fighter in a matter of months. A gladiator forced to draw blood lest his own life be forefeit.​

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Once a beautiful orange, run through with black tiger stripes, his reptilian skin soon became marred with bone-white scars, callouses, and burns. His weapon of choice? A vibro trident, one of the prongs slightly bent, he'd wrenched from the corpse of his first kill, and a round energy shield that acted more as an armguard given its petite size. It hooked around his forearm, just beneath the crook of his elbow, always on his right. While at first he despised this new lifestyle, he soon found a bloodlust rising within him. Vigo was... enjoying this? Yes. And he was making his Green Moon Masters a lot of credits in the meantime. They brought him to the Hutt Worlds, renown for their gladiatorial arenas, and on Groth he really began to make a name for himself.​

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Enter Mazoga.​

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She had grown tired of wielding the little toothpick of a rapier her former skin had been known for, tired of existing as some prudish, once-noble Hapan. Tired of being fawned over by those she passed by, regarded for her apparent beauty as opposed to her strong arm. The delicate grace required to wield such a weapon wasn't impossible for her, but she found it so... unnecessarily timid. Constantly retreating, stealing lame hits where she could. No, simply put Salaste Thel had to die. And in the eyes of the arena goers, she had.​

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Pulled into the back of the pits, and left to rot alongside a small pile of bodies, Mazoga waited for another to pass her by then pounced. The Volpai's memories were rather... tasty... going down. She drained him of his knowledge, of the very things which made him him, and then took his skin for her own, down to every individual scar. Where Saleste had lain, now a husk of a man slipped into the great beyond. Vigo was no more.​

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And yet as she stepped out into the pit, trident held aloft, it was his name which rang out. "VIGO VIGO VIGO" the crowds chanted after their Reptilian Tiger, eager to see the three prongs of his mighty weapon skewered through yet another sucker. Mazoga grinned, feeling Nyk skuttling through the armour at her back, and paced toward the center of the arena. The Kraemonen once more began its twice daily ritual of sending out signals into the void, calling for any Drael who might possibly hear it, while Mazoga-turned-Vigo's opponent was revealed to the crowd.​

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Tathra Khaeus ​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Mazoga

Repeating sonar blips built out a basic silhouette of the settlement for the old Drael. A simple, small town. But one feature stood out, aureate eyes piercing through the red hologram. It was visible now through the observation port as well. An arena, a Coliseum. The origin point of the signal was coming from the centre of the Coliseum. Every muscle from chin to temple tensed like he was preparing to be struck. Nearly a century ago, and the violence of the arena was not lost on him. The prowess of a Gladiator was rarely matched. But for all the supposed good it did, that rage for aliens began right there and all he could feel was it bubbling to the surface.

Blood and fear. The stench rose from his own memory, brow flexing as his eye twitched at the blood spraying out from the girl's chest. Tathra growled, snapping at the air. Eyes darting round the cockpit. Confusion faded as he returned to the present, left hand grasping the hilt of his Glaive so tightly he was surprised it didn't snap upon release.

No matter what state the Drael he found was in, body or broken - they were coming with him. The Titan extended the landing pad, pulling the hood of his cloak up over the collar of his armour, draping down over his crown and between his eyes. Heavy mechanical footfalls made his approach clear as the settlers watched the ginormous being depart from the thin air onto their planet.

The dead grass and mud were left with heavy impressions with every movement, only slightly sinking in with every step but far enough to make it obvious he was inhuman. His eyes flashed infrared, looking at the meat sacks gathering around the edge of their town. Galking at his approach. The cannon retracted on the back of his right wrist became visible as he drew closer, the tattered fabric of his cloak giving way as the wind struck his side.

The Titan stopped three steps short of the border into the town. The alien vermin were gathered, pointing their rifles and blasters at him. Tathra looked out to the Coliseum, inhaling a large breath of air as a shrill, heavy scream echoed across the settlement. Emanating from his throat.

He was here for his kin.

 

[Mazoga]

Mazoga recognized the greyish skinned Falleen almost immediately, as he hulked across the sandy arena floor toward her. For all the bulk he'd put on since joining the network, Czax retained an agile edge - to say nothing of the pheromones he was known to exude mid-fight. She'd fought him once before, many moons ago, as Marusk. The Gamorean had ultimately perished, or so the crowd were led to believe. Yes... A formidable foe.​

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But she wasn't some freshly birthed welp any longer.​

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Czax hefted his siccae and glowered in her direction. "Oh, I've long waited for this day, Vigo," the Falleen practically sang, turning his weapon over in his grasp as he waited for the signal that they could begin, "Dandoran, three years back...Kinraal..." Almost immediately Mazoga began to sift back through Vigo's memories, until she latched upon the one in question. Kinraal, the Umbral Shadow of Dandoran, a roguish Defel who bent the light and was well known for stabbing opponents in the back.​

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"Her fear was divine" Mazoga-turned-Vigo interjected, as she turned the head of her trident down to be within his viewing point, specifically the bent prong, "'twas she who left it crooked..." A bold grin gripped the length of the Volpai's lips as Czax's skin began to turn a heated red.​

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"She was my mate" the Falleen spat, "Oh... I'm going to enjoy this."​

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The signal went off, and Czax was fast to act. Propelled on by rage and grief, he was even faster than he was usually known to be and Mazoga was forced to slink back. When next he came she swiped her foot at the sandy floor below, kicking up a wave of dust which temporarily obscured the space between them, and --​

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There, in the distance, a whistle like no other she'd heard. Every part of her seemed intent on reacting to it, and Nyk's skuttling ceased as he too primed himself in response. ​

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The cut of Czax's siccae against her forearm drew her back to the present, a growl wretched from the lips of the Volpai, and she raised a leg to cleanly kick him back. More weight lay behind it than there ought to have been, Vigo was not known for his strength, his was a very slight form after all, yet it looked as though Czax had been hit by a hovertrain with how far he flew.​

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Usually Mazoga had enough sense to pull her punches, but something in her... Something yearned to call back.​

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Not while this was ongoing though. She blinked and focused back on the Falleen who was fumbling to find his feet once more. Suddenly heavy steps were taken toward him, and Vigo's expression seemed to morph into a more bestial, unnatural state. Prowling, like a vornskr on the hunt.​

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"She was weak" Mazoga spat, even her voice at this point no longer seemed to match with Vigo's, "She was pathetic," another step, and when Czax pushed to stand she tossed aside the trident and stomped her foot down on his chest to keep him down. There he was, pressed into the sand, sinking further into it with each pascal of pressure applied, "She died calling out for you."​

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Czax didn't even get a chance to scream before his ribcage crushed and the organs housed within were trodden down. It was a fast death, in truth, faster than perhaps the Falleen deserved, but Mazoga did not care, did not have the time to relish in it. Instead she turned, still a strangely dissonant version of the Volpai known as Vigo, and lifted her head to return the call.​

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Tathra Khaeus ​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Mazoga

The man cradled his head, blaster held by white knuckles as his split ear drum oozed blood over his trigger finger. Others only a little further away were experiencing similar effects. Rifles still trained on the Titan as he stood, palm resting against the hilt of his Glaive. The heavy black cape flowed in the wind, rippling from the effects of Tathra's war whistle. The Drael's eyes moved between them. Little more than bags of meat and fear sewn shut. He'd fix that. His stance widened slightly, preparing to lift his leg into and through the alien swine whimpering in front of him. His heavy metal boot scraped across the sandstone road and dead grass beneath his feet, crushing it with his sheer weight.

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The deeply growled Drael words meant nothing to the militia before him.

But they would understand his intent.

It came and went, the sound of a Coliseum's applause reduced into a single sharp sound as red haze filled the air where the man holding his head used to be. Parts, small and unrecognisable were immediately scattered. Those immediately outside of arm's reach, coated in red. Tathra snarled like a wild zilo beast, growling through his pincer-adorned maw. Right arm cocked the cannon into firing position, raising his arm straight and level with his chest as he fired deeper into the crowd. A large blast like a turbo-cannon rattled the street, leaving a charred dent in the road upon impact and a dozen armed militia in various directions with fewer limbs than they'd arrived with.

The Glaive's twin blades extended in either direction, the hilt grasped in his left as he swung in a single - upward stroke, bringing the right-most blade overhead as he cut through two. The uselessly pelting blaster bolts almost went unnoticed by the Titan as he brought the foremost blade down over his shoulder, cutting through another. Bisecting the alien creature from head to toe. Human, maybe.

Tathra's cannon gargled, its underslung plasma thrower unleashing a long stream forward into the backs of the retreating stragglers. It was a punishment for their cowardice. Their screams were like high-pitched wails to him, annoying. Nuisance. He continued onward, slowly and procedurally slaughtering everything in sight.

The arm-mounted cannon was fired again, blasting through a building's mid-section and forcing it to collapse in on itself. Tathra dodged below the stream of an anti-matter sniper. A disruptor. Swiping low and taking the legs of another before darting across the street, with one hand flipping over a transport - blocking the fire of the sniper as the cannon charged.

He wouldn't stop until he found the Drael.

 

[Mazoga]

"Well now" the booming voice of the Weequay announcer called out to the arena goers, "I did not see that coming! Vigo, Vigo, Vigo, where have you been keeping that move hidden?" Turning to the Hutt at his side, he fumbled for something witty to say only to be met with dissatisfied Hutt noises. "Ah, yes, of course, it seems our illustrious benefactor wishes to see more! Releeeaaaseee theeee--" All at once the crowd cried out in unison: "RANCORS!"​

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The sound of clanking chains emanated across the sand as a gate on the far side of the arena was winched upward. A trio of Rancors came lumbering from within, each of differing shades and lumbering heights. The tallest was a dusty blue, and it was he who stomped over to where Mazoga-turned-Vigo stood, having just finished her whistled response.​

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Her head swiveled toward it as the ground rumbled thunderously, and a much louder screech was ripped from the depths of her throat. "I have not had rancor in far too long" she hissed, losing any pretense of being the Volpai whose skin she still barely wore. Even that physical form seemed to shift and change some, his reptilian flesh becoming far more chitinous and taking on a redder hue. Thin lips pulled back to reveal an open maw of teeth, and mandibles which split forth from once-orange cheeks.​

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A gasp of amazement rang out through the crowd as Vigo seemingly hybridized with something else, body morphing until it was neither Volpai nor any other creature known to the Galaxy at large. It wasn't even a Draelvasier who stood there, just some nightmarish amalgamation of flesh and bone. Up, up, up the creature grew, and though it remained dwarfed in comparison to the Rancor itself it was still a towering sight to behold.​

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Mazoga blinked, eyes flashing a brilliant orange, and as the Rancor's mighty fist beat down toward her she snatched it from the air and twisted, hefting the creature over her shoulder as though participating in some caber toss. When next she stepped, her foot stomped down over the remnants of the Falleen eviscerating him into a cloud of viridian ichor.​

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"HAVE YOU HAD YOUR FILL?" her voice echoed, so loud that it drowned out the stomps of the other two Rancors as they made their approach, "PATHETIC ALIENS..." She spat at the ground, then turned toward the second Rancor to make it to her, the smallest of the brood, some 12ft tall. Hands reached up, gripping the beast by the waist, before the air around them shifted and thrummed with the Force. All at once the creature began to wither as the very heat emanating through its core was stripped away, until not even the sun overhead could keep the blood within it warm enough to pump.​

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The second Rancor was soon left brittle, and with great effort and a bestial roar she tore at its flesh until it fell to the ground in pieces.​

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Soon enough the first was back on its feet, disoriented but clearly ready to stampede down its newfound enemy. With two Rancors now tailing her, Mazoga seemed to flee back toward the edge of the arena, as though seeking some way out. The once cheering crowd began to laugh, and the announcer muttered words of cowardice about her. Right up until the point in time that she led the pair of Rancor Bulls directly beneath their viewing box.​

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"Feast" she hissed to the bulls, as she tore open the gates meant to keep them housed within the pit itself. While Mazoga could not ensure that the Rancors made it up to the box, that they would seek their vengeance against those who held them captive, she certainly paved the way for such to be a possibility.​

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Tathra Khaeus ​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tag: Mazoga

The metal hull of the over-turned transport was bent awkwardly, allowing a small view of Tathra's right side as the militia nearly doubled in number in the small time Tathra had been behind cover. Some blaster shots skirted on past him, beating into the sandstone road. Likely civilians joining in the defence of the settlement. Admirable, but pointless. He placed the Glaive on his hip, steadying the transport with his right hand as the left punched through its underside, taking a fistful of mangled electronics and metal parts and hefting the now mobile cover as he peeked out again, finding the heat signature of the sniper. He was sat on the top shelf of a modest-looking chapel.

The irony of god-fearing people having an arena for profit wasn't lost on him. He'd give them something real to fear. Most of the fools had remained hiding in their homes, watching the quarrel unfold. Tathra charged forward, throwing the transport in front of him, turning the closest of the militia into a red paste on the tarmac. Every footfall, snapping through red meat as he rushed into the town's square and out of the sniper's direct line of sight, whipping flames about him in a miasma of heat, catching fire to nearly every building within its reach. His left arm raised the shotgun from his back, firing off the entire magazine into the crowd of militia and civilians carrying weapons, from left to right killing at least one with every spread of slugs. Before he could see it, he heard the snap-hiss of a rocket being released from the launcher, a purple-pink bolt of plasma skirting overhead as he dropped onto his left knee. He could see the horror on the shooter's face as the missile crashed into the window of the town dinner, hitting maybe fuel or an active stove - blowing the building into a ball of flame, glass, and wood bouncing off the Titan's shoulders as he rose, spearing the Glaive with a throw that impaled the militia man before he could reload.

The sniper had moved into the lower, more exposed tower extending from the side of the chapel. The next blast of disrupting energy forced him to leap, unable to smoothly avoid the shot as he'd already thrown his momentum into the Glaive. Tathra angled, landing on his stomach and firing off his cannon into the base of the chapel's tower. The sniper screamed, yelling for help as the tower collapsed around him into the ground below. Tathra pushed with his palms, bringing one knee into his chest and pushing upright as the other foot pressed flat against the ground. He snarled, feeling electric energy curling around his mid-section as a stun baton was thrust into his waist.

He turned on his heel, throwing all his weight into the strike, backhanding the alien out of his way. A puff of plasma from his thrower engulfed the next fool who tried to get close. The man slowed to a walk, dropping the baton as the blue flame covered every inch of his body. Tathra had expected screaming, but the swine just fell to his knees - staring at the flame tearing the skin from his arms before falling on his side. Even now, people were still running. Most hid in the chapel. Maybe there weren't many options for off-planet travel and he knew there weren't any other settlements on the planet. It was really their own fault that he was about to set them all on fire inside their own chapel. He was just the one delivering the punishment for their stupidity. Tathra walked from the town square to the chapel, larger than most of the other buildings. Sitting on its own.

Tathra raised his right gauntlet, activating the small control stone embedded in its side. With a single tap of his thumb, the Stryker shifted into autopilot. The kraemonen taking control. He ordered it to sweep the area around the settlement for survivors. He knew some would've been smart enough to run for the fields. The ship swung low over the settlement, opening fire on a house on the edge of town first - blowing it to smithereens before opening fire on stragglers. He had no interest in going inside the chapel. Heat readings suggested there were maybe a hundred or more of them inside. He'd just wait and see who was brave enough to come out. If any. The blue flame rushed out from the cannon, climbing up from the outside of the chapel's left side to the rooftop.

Next was the coliseum.

 

[Mazoga]

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN" a new voice over the speaker system called out, even as some in the crowd began to hastily make their way toward a safe exit point now they they were aware of what was happening down below, "PLEASE REMAIN SEATED. LOCKDOWN PROTOCOLS HAVE BEEN INITIATED."​

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It was at this point that news of the destruction beyond the colosseum was making its way to the announcers box. Trouble within and without, emergency protocols had been swiftly put into action.​

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"DO NOT LEAVE THE ARENA. PLEASE REMAIN SEATED. LOCKDOWN PROTOCOLS HAVE BEEN INITIATED. DO NOT---"​

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As the speakers droned on the open aired arena began to close in on itself, large sheets of protective durasteel shifted out from the top of the structure to blot out the sky and the world beyond, until only the artificial lights remained to illuminate the space within.​

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Of course, there was a great panic rumbling through the crowd who refused to remain seated as they'd been bid. Something of a stampede in fact as people ran to the exits and tried to pry open the doors to no avail.​

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Mazoga lifted her head and cried out once more with that piercing whistle she'd heard at the start of her fight. Whatever was happening outside, she felt certain it had something to do with that... With whoever it was that had known to reach out in such an unorthodox manner.​

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She did not pause to see what the rancors did, did not bother to wait for permission to leave, she began to tear her way through the inner workings of the area, prying open any door in her way to try and get out there, out to whoever or whatever awaited her beyond.​

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Tathra Khaeus ​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tag: Mazoga

The front gate of the Coliseum chaffed under the weight of the spectators, pushing and screaming as they tried to escape. He could see them through the thick durasteel gates. The height signatures of nearly a hundred aliens were there, pressing themselves against the two gate doors. Climbing over themselves, trampling each other. The Titan grunted a sound of utter disgust and amusement. They hadn't changed at all. Still the same weak, inferior species' that he despised. Tathra looked to the sky, watching as the Stryker swooped down from the clouds, making another pass over the settlement outskirts as it opened fire on the poor fools trying to escape in the fields. The Stryker flew overhead, passing over the Coliseum. Its roof had closed - leaving the Stryker unable to get a good look inside. That was fine, Tathra make his own entrance. Tathra tapped into his neural link, targeting the centre of the gate for the Stryker.

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He took three long strides backward, placing the Glaive back on his left hip. Tathra raised his left gauntlet in the way of his eyes, turning his head in toward his armpit slightly to avoid any shrapnel. The Stryker boomed by overhead, swooping down and firing a single blast from its cannons. Screams followed as the durasteel gate was destroyed, parts flying in every direction as the alien scum nearest to the door was eviscerated in the explosion.

Those inside would only hear heavy footfalls and the crunching of bone and flesh in the smoke before they saw his golden eyes and the flame that came with them. Those that survived wished they'd died as the flame curled out and painted the walls with fire. Tathra thoroughly took the thrower from right to left and over again. Ahead of him was a corridor with a selection of doors leading into the stadium surrounding the arena on either side. At the end of the corridor, a smaller gate made out of grids of steel was between him and the other... Drael. He saw her as the Drael replied with her war whistle. As he had expected, the Draelvasier he had come to find was being used for sport.

Beyond that, the arena was behind another set of doors. But that was not his concern. The door directly right of the Titan opened, blaster fire bouncing off of his armour as he simply raised his arm - unleashing plasma flames into the doorway. Tathra pulled down his hood, whistling back yet again to the Drael. He choose each step carefully as he got closer to the gate. She was young, very young. Almost a hatchling by Drael standards.

"Stand back."