Darth Voracitos
Chaos-God of Gluttony
Flesh.
Such an odd thing to have after so much time lying in the dirt. He couldn't even imagine how he had existed in Chaos. It had been years ago, when he was still alive that he had performed a binding ritual between his still living soul and his specially designed Holocron. He was an Emperor then.
There is no title he regretted holding more than that... at least publically. In essence, Voracitos had always seen himself as the puppet master... but when he put himself on the pedestal in the stead of someone else... rather than holding power by proxy. It did something to him.
His ambition, while still large as life... seemed to stall. Everything in the empire stalled. It all lived to serve him, to pamper him. When instead, was supposed to be an engine of war... and he had removed a very important cog in his machine.
So, a coup occurred, which ordinarily would have been culled like the rest of his opposition... but they held one thing that he had not expected. A man who was prepared, a man who held with him a device of the Emperor's own making to ensure order within his Empire. The collar merely pricked his flesh, and its poise spread through his body, damaging the living circuits within him that allowed him to commune with the greater force, thus allowing his body to die after years of abuse without anything left to support it.
It had been his flesh, not the same flesh that he wore now, but his all the same.
Settling into your own skin was... rather unsettling.
He didn't like it.
Within the retreat in the Chiloon Rift where the Warlord Zambrano the Hutt - how he hated that name - the incredible bulbous mass of flesh rivalling that of his hutt Grandfather of all things, sat in a Throne similar to the one the resident Warlord sat in... though with any of the gorey treatments the slug typically liked to apply to it.
How long had it been now, since the black enigma rescued him from the thorny maze, to return back to the sacked capital of Dromund Kaas. That had been where he had died, and he suddenly felt an odd connection to it... a merciless vengeful fury that this could have been done to his seat of power, and he cursed and spat upon all those who followed in his gigantic footsteps.
A string of inferior rulers desecrated his Empire, but the worst among them was named...
"Zambrano." That low royally treated baritone voice echoed throughout the chamber as his hand plunged deep into some bird like carcass. A dozen others of its kind were strewn about around the chamber. Ever since being resurrected into a fully fleshed form, his hunger was indescribably voracious, even more than when he was actually living.
"I'd curse that name if only I hadn't reserved such a punishment for Varanin." More grumblings as the hand came up to his enormous mouth, and the meat was crushed under his teeth and distracted into mush... not at all dissimilar to the Empire beneath the Mandalorians, Republic, and other meaningless less important fledgling nations.
Even now, well over a decade since the fall of the Empire, his voice still echoed his spiteful opinion on the debacle that caused it to fall.
In a fit of anger the meaty arm slid across the table, disposing of its contents, and his mind throwing the table to shattering against a wall. The echoing clatters frightened the various servant in front of him.
"More damnit!" Hesitantly, a servant rushed to his aid, offering another bird. "Fool!" As he spat the word, and glared at the servant, they began to quaver, as he ripped the bird out their hands, ripping a chunk out of it with his teeth, and chewed. The servant was silent, but wouldn't move... and if one listened closely enough, they could hear the struggled breathing of the servant, as if they were trying to scream, but physically could not.
"My Lord, I must speak with you." A new, more level headed aid came to his side. One that was used to the normal horrors that were associated with those within his family and clade.
"Shut up. I'm not done yet..." Another leg was ripped off in his mouth, and he continued to glare at the shivering servant. The aid was able to spot blood, beginning to well up in their nostril, as their eyes frantically looked everywhere, teeth clenched, and their arms still holding the tray they used to offer the bird.
A dozen seconds passed.
"Sir."
"No... interrupting." The lord said, sounding only slightly strained by whatever task he was accomplishing. It was clear now the blood was leaking out of their nose... and now their ears... and now their eyes. Suddenly he released them, and cough from the slave spat blood to the floor as they collapsed, before they began to weep and wail.
"My tongue desires more than simple poultry!" The fat man spat a chunk of bird at the grovelling slave, before with the flick of his fingers, his neck snapped in a sickening pop. The body dropped to the floor instantly, prompting the full attention of all the slaves in the room watching, waiting to serve their dish.
"Now..." Still chewing, the Sith Lord grabbed a napkin and began to wash his hands. "What... is... so important?"
"An associate of ours is here to meet you. An InterGalactic Banking Clan member. He shows some interest in backing us in your little... heist."
For once, the Dark Lord of the Sith, smirked, before the napkin obscured it entirely to cleanse him the no longer desired poultry... as evidently clear from the body lying on the ground next to him.
"Splendid." Immediately, his Hover Throne swiveled around and left the chamber, much to the relief of those slaves within it, still holding their dishes awaiting the moment their fate is decided on whether or not their Master felt in the mood for what the had to offer. The failures had been stacked up into the other corner of the room... though no dish was left uneaten or cold.
This better be good.
[member="Vassik Kilvaari"]
Such an odd thing to have after so much time lying in the dirt. He couldn't even imagine how he had existed in Chaos. It had been years ago, when he was still alive that he had performed a binding ritual between his still living soul and his specially designed Holocron. He was an Emperor then.
There is no title he regretted holding more than that... at least publically. In essence, Voracitos had always seen himself as the puppet master... but when he put himself on the pedestal in the stead of someone else... rather than holding power by proxy. It did something to him.
His ambition, while still large as life... seemed to stall. Everything in the empire stalled. It all lived to serve him, to pamper him. When instead, was supposed to be an engine of war... and he had removed a very important cog in his machine.
So, a coup occurred, which ordinarily would have been culled like the rest of his opposition... but they held one thing that he had not expected. A man who was prepared, a man who held with him a device of the Emperor's own making to ensure order within his Empire. The collar merely pricked his flesh, and its poise spread through his body, damaging the living circuits within him that allowed him to commune with the greater force, thus allowing his body to die after years of abuse without anything left to support it.
It had been his flesh, not the same flesh that he wore now, but his all the same.
Settling into your own skin was... rather unsettling.
He didn't like it.
Within the retreat in the Chiloon Rift where the Warlord Zambrano the Hutt - how he hated that name - the incredible bulbous mass of flesh rivalling that of his hutt Grandfather of all things, sat in a Throne similar to the one the resident Warlord sat in... though with any of the gorey treatments the slug typically liked to apply to it.
How long had it been now, since the black enigma rescued him from the thorny maze, to return back to the sacked capital of Dromund Kaas. That had been where he had died, and he suddenly felt an odd connection to it... a merciless vengeful fury that this could have been done to his seat of power, and he cursed and spat upon all those who followed in his gigantic footsteps.
A string of inferior rulers desecrated his Empire, but the worst among them was named...
"Zambrano." That low royally treated baritone voice echoed throughout the chamber as his hand plunged deep into some bird like carcass. A dozen others of its kind were strewn about around the chamber. Ever since being resurrected into a fully fleshed form, his hunger was indescribably voracious, even more than when he was actually living.
"I'd curse that name if only I hadn't reserved such a punishment for Varanin." More grumblings as the hand came up to his enormous mouth, and the meat was crushed under his teeth and distracted into mush... not at all dissimilar to the Empire beneath the Mandalorians, Republic, and other meaningless less important fledgling nations.
Even now, well over a decade since the fall of the Empire, his voice still echoed his spiteful opinion on the debacle that caused it to fall.
In a fit of anger the meaty arm slid across the table, disposing of its contents, and his mind throwing the table to shattering against a wall. The echoing clatters frightened the various servant in front of him.
"More damnit!" Hesitantly, a servant rushed to his aid, offering another bird. "Fool!" As he spat the word, and glared at the servant, they began to quaver, as he ripped the bird out their hands, ripping a chunk out of it with his teeth, and chewed. The servant was silent, but wouldn't move... and if one listened closely enough, they could hear the struggled breathing of the servant, as if they were trying to scream, but physically could not.
"My Lord, I must speak with you." A new, more level headed aid came to his side. One that was used to the normal horrors that were associated with those within his family and clade.
"Shut up. I'm not done yet..." Another leg was ripped off in his mouth, and he continued to glare at the shivering servant. The aid was able to spot blood, beginning to well up in their nostril, as their eyes frantically looked everywhere, teeth clenched, and their arms still holding the tray they used to offer the bird.
A dozen seconds passed.
"Sir."
"No... interrupting." The lord said, sounding only slightly strained by whatever task he was accomplishing. It was clear now the blood was leaking out of their nose... and now their ears... and now their eyes. Suddenly he released them, and cough from the slave spat blood to the floor as they collapsed, before they began to weep and wail.
"My tongue desires more than simple poultry!" The fat man spat a chunk of bird at the grovelling slave, before with the flick of his fingers, his neck snapped in a sickening pop. The body dropped to the floor instantly, prompting the full attention of all the slaves in the room watching, waiting to serve their dish.
"Now..." Still chewing, the Sith Lord grabbed a napkin and began to wash his hands. "What... is... so important?"
"An associate of ours is here to meet you. An InterGalactic Banking Clan member. He shows some interest in backing us in your little... heist."
For once, the Dark Lord of the Sith, smirked, before the napkin obscured it entirely to cleanse him the no longer desired poultry... as evidently clear from the body lying on the ground next to him.
"Splendid." Immediately, his Hover Throne swiveled around and left the chamber, much to the relief of those slaves within it, still holding their dishes awaiting the moment their fate is decided on whether or not their Master felt in the mood for what the had to offer. The failures had been stacked up into the other corner of the room... though no dish was left uneaten or cold.
This better be good.
[member="Vassik Kilvaari"]
