I, Yuuzhan Vong | One Sith

[Ra Vizsla]

Selvaris​

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I have a private theory, Sir, that there are no heroes and no monsters in this world. Only children should be allowed to use those words.​

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Artemis stood on the embankment of Mount Estraphia, looking up at the precipice.

His mind was completed, his body infused with the rush of seven centuries of triumph and technology. The Simulacra, an ancient artifact devised by the Dread Lord of another era, had given Artemis Obauldi's mind a gateway into the present. His vessel was Tsavong Kraal, ex-leader of the Hrosha-Gul and all Yuuzhan Vong factions within One Sith territory, ex-Voice of the Dark Lord. The Myrshavong, a hybrid descendant of the Yuuzhan Vong, had exiled himself following the defeat at the hands of a specific unnamed Tournament combatant. During this same time period, Tsavong had experienced several religious setbacks, leading him to discover his ancestry... an ancestry that led back to the ancient Supreme Overlord Artemis Obauldi... and to the Simulacra, the trap devised by Artemis to divert his consciousness into whichever vessel dared disturbed it.

And after having removed the hybrid's... physical impurities... the Yuuzhan Vong was once more alive and well.

Artemis Obauldi had a vast array of knowledge at his disposal. He had led a massive empire when he was once alive, the largest Yuuzhan Vong faction that had ever graced the face of the Galaxy with the only exception being their initial incursion. Many would hold Supreme Overlord Obauldi as superior in nearly every way to his predecessor Nas Choka in the history books. Many more would hold him as even more idealistic than Supreme Overlord Shimrra Jamaane. Ferocious in his first life, the Dread Lord had conquered his way across the Galaxy in the hopes of instilling a new empire of the Yuuzhan Vong, superior to all those that came before it. Artemis was a family man, and all Children of the Gods were his family. Artemis was a leader, and all subjects were his to defend.

Artemis was a vengeful, tyrannical warlord... and all Jeedai were to be destroyed, without recompense, without negotiation, without acknowledgement or legitimacy.

The memories of Tsavong... this brutish warrior, though intelligent he may have thought himself, had been deceived. By the One Sith, by the Dark Lord, by this pretender Yun-Amon, by Darth Moridin and Daella Apparine. He had been nothing but a pawn to them, nothing but a trinket for them to collect. The Sith viewed the Yuuzhan Vong as tools to wield against their enemies, a manner of which the Galaxy was unprepared for. A manner of waging war in a way unexpected, for the Sith to collect what they viewed as rightfully theirs. It was not rightfully theirs. The Sith had not changed in seven centuries. Conniving though they were, the Sith too were led by sheep, by cowards who masked themselves behind thrones. They planned, they plotted, they manipulated, they claimed they dominated the Force through sheer will.

But they didn't know the truth.

There was no Force. There is no Force. There will never be a Force.

Artemis was the only Force, and the maelstrom on which he rode to the factions of the Yuuzhan Vong on Selvaris would turn the outsiders into ash. He would free these slaves, these children of Yun-Yuuzhan and their creations, from their arrogant overlords. He would free them all and plant an Obelisk in the face of this mountain, overshadowing the rest of the Galaxy.

A Rebellion is coming.​

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The wrongs of Tsavong, of Yun-Amon the Dark Lord, of Darth Moridin, of the Hydra Queen, of these... pretenders... would be righted.​

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A Rebellion is coming.​

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The One Sith would have no choice but to react, and for this, Artemis was prepared.​

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A Rebellion is coming.​

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Do-ro'ik Vong Pratte.​

 

[Khallesh]

"We failed because we did not adapt quickly enough. They learned how to beat us faster than we could evolve. The infidel machines of our home were smashed because we rose up and created new weapons from the fabric of the gods to end them, yet we stagnated. Look at what Titan industries is doing with our shapers, and yet it is mostly humans who are reaping the fruits of these endeavours. Traditionalists, like most of those in Domain Val would stick so closely to the old ways, that they would drive us to extinction."
Khallesh sat in silence. Every ideal was being challenged. Was this a test? Would she be finished if she responded incorrectly. "But the True Way...."

“Of course the True Way!” Paarth interrupted. “But do you really think the Sith value the True Way, or are they just using us? Which is better, a flourishing Yuuzhan Vong society, still under the values of our gods, but evolving and changing to challenge the rest of the Galaxy on our own two feet or a dying society, sticking rigidly to the old ways, but slowly dying off in wars fought on behalf of Sith masters.

“They have warriors of great renown in their Jeedai, but so do we. Our greatest designs are used to gather coin for human business men, and territory for the Sith. Yet those who most dislike this cling so tightly to the old traditions they refuse to change.”

Khallesh shifted position on her bed. The night was hot, humid and uncomfortable. A thin sheen of sweated coated her body. Sleep did not come easily to someone bothered by both a change of climate and with so many errant thoughts refusing to be quiesced. Her home on Alderaan has been pleasant and cool, but here on Selvaris, much of the landscape in the central regions was still humid jungle.

How had she allowed events to transpire in such a fashion? Just months ago she had been a loyal member of the traditional Domain, ready to take her place alongside legions of loyal warriors. Her view on the galaxy was simple, with right and wrong discretely partitioned into two groups. Somehow, she had been caught up in greater machinations. She still didn’t fully understand the battle lines that had been drawn, but there were Yuuzhan Vong unhappy with both their place amongst the Sith and advancements of their technology, and those groups that wished to stick rigidly to the old ways.

Khallesh had always been unhappy with the notion of fighting alongside godless Sith, as well as half-breeds and escalated infidels. Her own views had been thoroughly challenged. Did she believe, as Jun Paarth kept telling her, that the Yuuzhan Vong needed to evolve and change to break free from their Sith Masters? Was the Dark Lord really the avatar of Yun-Amon, or an imposter?

Just thinking such thoughts added to her discomfort. She would have little sleep tonight. Paarth’s group of revolutionaries was certainly influential though. They had elevated her beyond her position, she was young by Yuuzhan Vong years, yet Subcommander to the warrior legions of Domain Val.

A harsh sound brought her out of her reverie, and she sat bolt upright. Rolling off her cot, she fumbled in the dark for the villip.

“Do you really want to play your part?” came the sing-song voice of Master Shaper Jun Paarth. Khallesh merely grunted in reply. “Time to choose Khallesh.”

“Why?”

“Things are moving faster than we had expected. An opportunity arises. Think carefully about which side you wish to stand on. Your Commander will not be on the side of progress, you may need to take action.”

The communication was cut off suddenly. A meek voice called from the opening to her chambers: “Subcommander Khallesh? Commander Shuun Val requests your prescence.”

Khallesh didn’t dignify the request with a response. A few moments later she strode out of her room, clad in her armour. She came to a halt next to the worker, but didn’t even acknowledge his presence. “Where?”

 

[Reverance]

Velvet sky rolled upon itself, sheets pulled from the bed to reveal itself once more, an eternal tumble. The world ached, blood seeping from a wound allowed to fester, stinking of rot and puss. The tempered mind drew conclusions, soul searching for the purpose beyond what was presented at face value. The shared commodity of a planet could only go so far, idealism be damned, as two halves fought over unequal portions. One one side, the native inhabitants who dwindled against the burning flame of the Shai domain. On the other side, the Vong burning so bright for their own missions and prerogatives. Something split down the middle would never equal the whole, no matter how much the Wrath tried. But in the end, it was obvious where his allegiances would lie when those of the Shai were put against their inferiors.

A field requires tilling, a building requires maintenance, and a bog requires constant monitoring. The workers had taken to their duties on the early rise of sun, hanging lazily in a drift of blood burnt clouds. Lambent fields required a tender and trained touch, the vonduun crabs made clickity clack noises that pierced through the chirp of insects and croaks of native amphibians. Gabriel stood, as a farmer often would, over the land he had helped to create for the prosperity of those he accepted as his people. In his own way, crimson eye would linger over the flats of the land as he drew upon the envy of these people - to be so intrinsically tied to their proclivities and tendencies, evolved senses handed down for the admiration of pain they exhibited. Of course, this wasn't something entirely invested in the world of Vong. But it was the reason that the Wrath so desired the company of the Shai. Even among the Shamed Ones, sense of duty and desire for pain and sacrifice reared it's head in the form of solemn ambition and drive. Work ethic, without a single falter. He was proud to count every single one of them within the ranks of the Legion Yun'Do.

"How long have you been up?" He was Arkanian and Kiffar, but he spoke the tongue of the Vong as if he had uttered it's semblance from the womb. He looked slowly towards a member of the Shamed Ones, walking the edge of the bog. A failure of the Mqaaq'it grafting, this one had earned the disdain of a Master Shaper. Incorrect shaping, the eyes remained red no matter the emotion present. And in the end, he had screamed out during the process - though it was for the pleasure of the act, not the pain, the sin had already been claimed and cemented, standing monument to his name in the great Legion Qahsa. It was an incorrigible tradition but one that Gabriel would not act against.

"Since before sun rise. The amphistaff and vonduun habitats are colliding, fights are breaking out." The man smiled, teeth filed to a point. A warrior once, he was nothing but a lambent farmer now who tended to the nutrient bogs when requested. Gabriel gave a smile as he leaned against a walking stick, the sun catching the frame of his chest and the assortment of scars and tattoos that littered the canvas of his body. Each a memory, or perhaps an idea or reflection, for what the man should be. Each was an etching or notch, a reminder of things that passed for when the memories found themselves flash burned away. Twisting the stick into the ground, he felt the shift in the wind and looked up towards the sun, standing hand against forehead to shield his eye.

"Give it time. With the compacted lens...it will hold eventually. Until then, we'll keep pushing water in and breaking up the fights when they happen." The shamed one gave a nod. "Of course." With that, Gabriel approached and handed him the walking stick. For scaring off the amphistaff. "With your service, you honor Yun-Shuno. Between now and the end, you'll find your pardon."

"Between now and the end...I'll look towards the horizon for that day." Gabriel didn't cater to the sentiments of the Vong Caste system, everyone was part of the Legion and pertinent to the purpose. Glorification of the Yun'o. But even now, he felt a shifting change on the planet, a sort of stirring that pulsated deep within him. Between the Chom-Huun on his hip and the proximity he held to the Vong, he had developed a form of Vongsense that attuned him to these people. With a smile and nod to the worker, he moved on to peruse his purpose for the day. He felt something significant in his near future.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Twin fathomless pits of black stared fixedly at an old brand, a Massassi symbol burned directly into the blubber. Despite age, the charred text leered, angry and stark against the hairless, onyx hide. ​Time heals all wounds. Only an unwounded fool would cite such an idiom. The brand ached, in body and mind. Slave. That's what it meant. A tool. A weapon. Now, masterless.

The One Sith played at unity behind a single being. The Dark Lord.

A puff of air whooshed from the seated Herglic's spout and his squat head shook with a ponderous motion. He balled his flipper into a fist and felt the scar stretch with the motion.

Those who still truly believed in that unity were fools. Once, Orcus had believed. Once, he had been a tool with a purpose, utilized by a cunning mind. Yet here he sat, discarded, though not by the choice of wielder or blade. He'd slipped from fingers grown numb with death. The Dark Lord was no more. Whatever charade of a spirit they had conjured up was just a pale imitation of the Dark Lord's former self. Something to trot out when the troops needed inspiring, or when authority needed backing.

It left Orcus feeling... hollow. Just a husk now, floating out to sea.

They. Who were they? The oligarchy. Self-proclaimed paragons of the Sith, conferred titles based on the decisions of a dead master. Oh, once they had been great. Even now the galaxy recoiled in fear when the One Sith beat their drums of war. But it was not the Sith they feared.

Conical teeth clacked together once, twice. Wide lips thinned. Blubbery brows drew down in folds. Orcus did not deem himself given to brooding, but he would wish to see the being who would begrudge him this worry.

He sat in an empty courtroom. Many a time he had looked over at that cathedra, empty but for the frail shade, and his thoughts had turned toward dark affairs, rife with power, greed and blood in abundance. Yet he stayed his hand, thinking that better minds than he had the reins. He was no longer so sure.

An affliction tormented his thoughts, a cancer within the Sith. The infestation of extra-galactic invaders. Foes since before the dark times. In the search for power, they had allied with these weaklings, thinking them a mere supplement. In time, the forces had grown. What was once a mere auxiliary force had become legions of line-infantry. Weapons, soldiers, armor. All Vong. The outsiders had wormed their way into every facet of the One Sith empire, from corporate monopolies to government policy makers. Since then, it had always been only a matter of time.

The slave's chains were broken, but he found he could not run. So he sat, staring at the barren throne as though it were already a ruin

After some time, he stood and lumbered forward, each step an act of thought. The Herglic reached the edge of the dais and paused, a moment of doubt crossing his features, then he turned and lowered his bulk onto the throne.

The act brought him no feelings of sudden power or crushing anxiety, only the unenviable sensation of cramped buttocks pressed against a cold, unyielding surface.

At last he rumbled, "What a small chair."

 

[Darth Vaildra]

Many faiths and religions this Galaxy had to hold. This constant battle on who was right and wrong brought about Chaos. Darth Valdra was the sword in the middle of the chaos. He had his own beliefs, thoughts and plans, but right now, on this planet, he only held one truth; death comes to everyone and to fight that is pointless.

Darth Valdra stood on his ship patiently waiting. He had no personal quarrel here and in fact knew nothing about the Vong, but it was not his place or desire to argue, only fight. He wore his red trench coat with his black armor underneath and one his back was a large claymore that he wielded like it was a katana due to his training. Neither of these items were much, but soon he would be given armor and a sword that would make him superior on the battlefield. A Sith sought superiority on the battlefield, always pushing to be stronger and better than the others.

His thoughts today were short and few, but until Wrath ([member="Reverance"] ) summoned Darth Valdra to the battle he would stay on his ship waiting for the enemy to need to be weeded back. Like an unruly plant he was the sheers to cut away the dead.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

Oi'rokk Minor City​

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Yuuzhan Vong Grashals​

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Dead Of Night.​

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30km west of the lambent fields​

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Good, Artemis thought, sitting with the leaders of the various castes within the city. Even the Hu'saa, one of the many proclaiming to be the Yu'saa of the Shamed Ones, was in attendance. And the temperature was feverish.

"Yun-Amon is a false Yun'o!"

"The One Sith spread lies among our people!"

"My hands tire from work in the fields, and wages are poorer than ever!"

"The Dark Lord sees us as slaves, and our weapons are our tax!"

"The Emperor isn't even real! It's just a conspiracy by the Sith!"

"Oh, he's real." Tsavong's voice boomed through the large open grashal, much the size of a gymnasium. They had all met here under cover of darkness, in secret. Only torch fire lit the grashal, as they did not wish to consume resources that would have to be... reported in the morning. "I have seen him with my own eyes." Artemis knew Tsavong had never met the Dark Lord, but he knew what visions the Myrshavong had been encumbered with. There was only one being in creation that Artemis knew of capable of creating those visions, especially to a creature as removed from the Force as he.

The crowd fell silent. Tsavong, red skinned, was much different in appearance from your usual pink, gray or tan Yuuzhan Vong.

But all the same, none could deny the purified blood of Artemis Obauldi. "Yun-Amon is false, sent with malicious intent by a false prophet. You have been deceived, as I have been deceived. But does this sleight warrant action? Does this grievance displace trust? The One Sith have given our people renewed vigor, a home to stay, a land to till." Artemis was boo'd, heavily. The crowd was angry, and the large Yuuzhan Vong smiled in return. He offered his hands to shush the crowd, and after a few moments, continued.

"Yun-Amon is false. I know this, for I have been sent his dreams, and know now they are false."

Tsavong raised his hands again to keep the crowd at bay.

"Brothers, sisters... I have a new dream, today."

Artemis gave a half-smile as the boiling point in the room was reached.

Thunderous applause. Tsavong began to shout over it, though even his guttural bass could barely be heard over the roaring approval of the crowd. His eyes turned to Commander Shallesh and @Khallesh, standing in the crowd of the dais.

"I have a dream that one day, down in the fields of Selvaris, with its vicious Sith racists, with this system's feudal Imperial lords dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification"... one day, right there in the lambent fields grown men and women of the Yun'o will pick up the hydra, will pick up the dagger and march down to the Capital and say ENOUGH."

The crowd was going crazy with the fervor of rage and revenge.

"I have a dream!" Artemis began to raise his arms to the crowd, his golden eldritch tattooes glowing brighter with excitement, beating his bare chest with massive fists.

"I have a dream," he shouted to the crowd, "that one day every valley shall be consecrated with the blood of Yun-Yuuzhan, every hill and mountain shall be made low by the thunderous march of the Yun'o, and that the crooked capitals of these... heretics shall be made straight. 'AND THE GLORY OF THE GODS SHALL RAIN UPON THEM FIRE, ROCK, AND SALT... UNTIL THEY ARE RETURNED TO DUST.'"

His neck-vein was popping, sweat dripping from his brow as Tsavong's massive form etched closer towards the crowd. Artemis yelled in one particular man's face.

"I HAVE A DREAM," he repeated.

"This is the faith I aim to go to Coruscant with. To Alderaan with. To Fondor. To Lhwekk. The Ruins of Corellia, and all the way eventually to New Yuuzhan'tar. But it starts here. We start here."

Feet began stamping the ground. A lot of noise was being made here, in the dead of night.

"With this faith, we will hew out of the mountain of despair and anger a new stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the discordant chaos of our people into a renewed beautiful symphony of strength and prosperity for our people. With this faith, we will be able to march together, to pray together, to struggle together, to fight together, to die in the name of the Yun'o together, knowing that we DO NOT ANSWER TO SOME FALSE GOD, WE DO NOT ANSWER TO SOME FALSE KING, THAT WE ARE YUUZHAN VONG, CHILDREN OF THE GODS, WARRIORS BY BIRTHRIGHT, WE ARE NOT TO BE MADE SOME GIFT OF SACRIFICE TO THESE SSITH, WE ARE NOT TO BE SOME TOOL USED UNTIL OUR BLADE DULLS IN THE FIELD, WE WILL BE FREE, AND WE WILL HAVE RECOMPENSE FOR THIS INDENTURED SERVITUDE, AND OUR TAX WILL BE FLESH, OUR LEVY WILL BE BLOOD,"

Tsavong took a breath, red eyes bulging, as the crowd had been applauding.

"I had a dream."

"That I am Yuuzhan Vong." Everyone grew dead silent in the grashal. Artemis began to pace once more, doing circles in the middle of the grashal while slowly - methodically - beating his bare chest.

"We are Yuuzhan Vong."

"Long life to us all, beloved of the Gods."

He slowly walked back to his seat at the dark side of the gymnasium and sat, as there were others who wished to have a say at this meeting.

 

[Reverance]

Even the dead of night can stir the living, with the right direction of wind. And when that happens, who knows who might show up in Oi'rokk, 30 km's west of the lambent fields.

In the silence of the Grashal, following the rousing oratory display by [member="Tsavong Kraal"], a singular clap began slow and steady as the stereophonic perception moved meekly through the gymnasium. Never changing pace, the sound of claps could be heard smacking and echoing against the organic walls in the building, preceding the entrance of the accepted Warmaster. Until a time when someone more suiting takes the position, he wore the armor of those whom he considered his own people. Not the modified Vonduun Skerr Ygris, no, he returned to the roots of what made these people powerful and great. The Vonduun Skerr Kyrric, in all it's gray and black glory, garbed him in a sleek appearance that offered protection against his chest, shoulders, legs, and abdomen. But his arms remained unhindered by the living beast, a special modification he had requested of the Shapers for this particular suit, revealing the notching of scars and tattoos alike. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary, he wore this not for the protection, but for the symbol that it represented. As far as one could assimilate into this culture, without being born into it, he had done so.

A crimson eye, not Mqaaq'it but one of his own natural mutation, gleaned with brilliance that may cause question as to whether it was a biot or not. He scanned the room beneath sun hardened visage, age not adequately connotated by the lack of wrinkles upon skin. He had bled with these people, had tasted the glory of victory and defeat together with them, and had grown with them. But it was only fair for them to seek more, it was the mark of an ambitious and great people to never settle.

"You carry the gift of the silver tongue..." He looked towards the massive figure, Tsavong. Standing not even 2 meters, Gabriel would easily be dwarfed by the man, if not for the fact that he was now sitting. Gabriel let his view wash over the leaders of the caste within Selvaris. Members of the Legion Yun'Do, they carried a great hardship and struggle that any member of the Vong culture could respect and appreciate. These were hard people and not entirely wrong. "I too have seen the Emperor...he is as real as anyone here." He paused, the Chom-Huun letting out a squeal against the small of his back. With a movement of his hand, he pressed a free lambent fruit to it's mouth to be devoured in a singular, gripping gulp. Most would know him, here, as Reverance. Perhaps Tsavong had heard the utterance of his name, perhaps he hadn't.

"Your people have known hardships, there is no denying that. You have been deceived time and time again, manipulation forming the foundation of your existence. But with the great disappearance, we changed all that...together..." He swung his arm around, not just to the leaders, but to those attending. "We have bloodied the universe in our wake, set this world to kneel beneath us, all in honor and remembrance to Yun'O. The One Sith of old is no longer in the place to use you as a tool, I don't...I won't...allow it."

He pointed an opened palm to the previous speaker, the man whom he didn't know but felt an odd sort of kinship, Perhaps that was his own developed vongsense, the extending sense coming from the lambent crystals, or maybe the ere of former legacy. "But...He is right. You deserve your pound of flesh." The hushed whispers began to grow in the hollowed ground, the presence of the Vong in such a gathering almost intoxicating. He raised a finger to the overarching ceiling above. "The One Sith would have you share this planet with the native inhabitants." He smiled and made a face suggesting a lack of agreement on the subject. The boos from the crowd, the moaning, would indicate they agreed. He gestured with his hand, as if trying to work them down. "But I think it's time to cut away the cancer plaguing your great people."

He flexed his hand into a fist, displaying nothing but physicality in a gesture. "Cut your pound of flesh from this planet, see it's ailments removed..." He made a sweeping cut, away from his body, as the uproar began once more. It was time, he felt, to give the Vong their due. And they would start with this planet. "...and wash the streets in the blood of the unworthy!" His voice rose in a deep crescendo, elevation of his tone enough to indicate his intentions. Amidst the crowd, he would carve away the old of this world, taxes be damned. Money held no value, only the sacrifice and the gain. And for him and the Shai, it always led back to the pain. And with those thoughts, he turned back to Tsavong.

"Join me..." He gestured with his hand out. "Let's finish what was once started, so long ago...Reclaim this world in it's entirety, for your...our renewed faith."

 

[Khallesh]

[member="Tsavong Kraal"]
[member="Reverance"]

Khallesh slowly turned her gaze from the first speaker to the second. A choice between a half-breed and a human who claimed to be one of them. But what mattered the most, she pondered, your genetics or your faith. Both, she affirmed to herself after a moment. Still, Tsavong's words spoke to her at a profound level. Perhaps that was because it was so close to the views the Master Shaper and her cohorts had been attempting to imprint on her in the last months. Her pulse had quickened, and she could feel her arachnostaff stir from its slumber in reaction to her emotional state.

Her Commander's visage reflected a rather different view. His jaw was jutted out and his eyes narrowed, as he often did when losing patience with a pupil.

He ignored the human - Reverence, Khallesh knew him as - and called across the open space to Tsavong. "The priests have declared Yun Amon amongst us. My warriors will follow him. It is not our place to question."

Khallesh looked to Shuun Val as he spoke plainly. His face was etched with scars, and showed the experience of a warrior in his prime at nearly a hundred and fifty. He was a legend amongst Domain Val, their greatest Commander in generations. He brought glory to the domain with every companion. Perhaps he was one of the only reasons such a traditional domain still persisted.

It might have been a trick of the light, but Khallesh was certain she saw a head on the far side of the room nod in her direction. A moment later Jun Paarth, the Master Shaper caught her eye and made a similar gesture. They were expecting something of her, but to undermine her own commander could mean death. He was already turning to leave the gathering when she took a half-step forwards.

"Is the 'Dark Lord' Yun-Amon?" she called out to Reverence. Despite his mocking applause and eloquent speech he had said little. Time to cut to the heart of the matter. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Shuun's shocked expression slowly turn to one of disgust. Too late to go back now.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

"The priests are not infallible," Tsavong stood. "They are wrong." He waved his arms around the grashal. "Who among you have received these visions? Who among you has received the blessings of Yun-Amon?"

The Yuuzhan Vong once more beat his bare chest in an animalistic rhetoric.

"I am Tsavong Kraal, Khattazz Al'Yun'o, Yun'tchilat, the sword of Yun'Yammka, exiled Warmaster of the Hrosha-Gul. I was once Myrshavong, decrepit and bastardized; yet now I stand before you, consecrated, purified in the eyes of the Yun'o. My physical deformities have withered, and the blood of the Yuuzhan Vong once more pumps through my veins. I ask you, how would this be possible, how would I be standing here before you if what I've said isn't true?"

He silently paraded once more in front of the audience, speaking to them, not the others who had addressed him. Folding his arms behind his back, Tsavong began to temper his tempo as his voice became somber.

"You are questioning yourselves, now. You are meant to question. The Gods test us. Yun-Yuuzhan tests our faith, every day. This... abomination, this false god, has been a test."

And then his hand slowly raised as a knife's edge... in the direction of Reverance.

"Your presence and your offer is very respectful and kind, Ssith,"

Tsavong slowly approached Reverance. Unlike the masses of the Yuuzhan Vong gathered in the grashal who would appear as a void in the Force to the Sith, this particular Yuuzhan Vong was giving off a particular vibrant Force signature, similar to that a group of Sith might give. Though Artemis possessed no connection to the Force, this dark aura he was giving off would certainly make anyone who could sense it quite curious as to why he possessed it.

Tsavong spun on his heel to face the crowd.

"And should we consider it?" He asked the audience. "Should we capitulate before this Sith, once more, as we have done a thousand times? Should we assuage the beating heart of the Yun'o with this offer of mitigation?"

He turned back to Reverance as a majority of the crowd began to boo.

"I didn't think so. We are Yuuzhan Vong, children of the Gods. You are..." Tsavong approached, the massive figure he was as he towered over the Ssith, gently placing a hand on his cloth and picking at it slowly. "...an infidel."

Pivoting back towards the crowd, Tsavong raised his hands in the air triumphantly.

"WE WILL NO LONGER BE SLAVES," he roared. "WE WILL TAKE WHAT IS OURS."

He turned back to Reverance and growled. "Starting with you."


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[member="Khallesh "] [member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He studied these people and their responses to this figure, this arbiter of their proclaimed desires. If it was fear that he intended to produce, it would fall short upon the heels of disappointment. These were more Gabriels people now than [member="Tsavong Kraal"]'s, having felt the earth quake beneath their feet long after his leave of his absence. He was but a fresh breath of stale air in a stale room, kicking up dust to see the way in which the wind blows. And while the congregation was intent on the stir of raucous, they knew the score and they knew the stakes. Gabriel was on their side, through and through, no infidel to any cause of theirs. With the growl and accusation, he smiled and turned towards his people. Tsavong could make claims but in the end, the origin was the origin, and no changing of body or craft would mend such discrepancies.

"I am..." He turned towards the caste, members of the Legion whom he had shared of the sparkbee honey and known the prayer to the Yun'O. Whom he accepted as his own cohort. "Not born of your people. But through our trials and tribulations, we have shared in the offering of faith and suffering." He turned towards Tsavong, thrusting a hand out accusatory. "Where was this man when we subjugated Manaan!?!" He looked towards the group, the faces coming to the realization that perhaps, just perhaps, they were being driven astray. He smiled and smacked his chest. "Where was he when we fought on Prakith against those who interrupted the rituals of escalation!?! " He paced, mirroring the actions of the once Myrshavong, as he soaked in the boos of the Vong in the Grashal, echoing his sentiments towards this figure of a Vong, newly minted and purified.

He lifted his hand into the air. "WHERE WAS HE WHEN WE RIPPED THE BEATING HEART FROM THE CHEST OF KASHYYYK!?!" He was screaming now and the tempo rose to shake the building as the screams of the Legion echoed his own. "WHERE WAS HE WHEN WE BURNED THE FIELDS! WHEN WE RIPPED THE FLESH FROM SELVARIS, TO MAKE WAY FOR YOUR RIGHTFUL CLAIM!" The sounds were deafening, the roar was primal, and in the end, Gabriel merely closed his eye to uprising and roars of those who had had enough. Talk was cheap, action was pertinent, and this instigator was intent on loud noises. But the Wrath was intent on changing that, on swaying him to the righteous path.

"What will you do?" He spoke to the crowd, focusing back towards Tsavong. "Will you side with this man, intent on robbing you of your rightful claim for some hidden purpose?" It was rather obvious now to Gabriel, Tsavong had a straight line focus on something not entirely attached to the prosperity of the Vong. After all, killing the Wrath would lead to the utter annihilation of this planet and everything inhabiting it. In truth, Gabriel and his comrades would be the few standing in the way of such immediate reaction. Placing a hand upon his chest, he smiled and turned towards his people once more. "Or will you join me, Reverance, Wrath, Warmaster of the Legion Yun'Do, naturalized member of the Shai Domain, on the field of battle once more? To take back the land only partially given to you because of greed and claims of pragmatism?"

The noise, the cacophony, was almost too much for the Grashal to withstand. These Vong, since the arrival of Gabriel long ago, had moved far beyond the unnecessary killing of those worthy of their station. He had proven time and again that he was an asset to his breathren, his family, his people. And as he approached the previous speaker, he crossed his arms, his own presence and aura matching that of the massive hulk of a man. While it was obvious who would win in an all out physical altercation, Gabriel was far more than what lied in the front pane. and he was fully prepared, despite the image of nonchalance, and despite his desire to mend wounds currently gaping and festering with bile.

"Tsavong Kraal, Warmaster of the Hrosha-Gul, Khattaz Al'Yun'O, Yun'tchilat..." His pronunciation was spot on, practiced, and his emphasis on the lack of 'exiled' would easily be noted by Tsavong. They were in the present, no longer dwelling on the past. He lifted his arm once more, to the corresponding roar of the crowd. "Tchurokk Yun'tchilat!" Turning towards [member="Khallesh"]. "Honor to Yun-Amor, no matter what form we are graced with. Let us ride together, tonight...and after, we can settle whatever score remains." He looked back towards Tsavong. "Do-ro'ik vong pratte!"

 

[Khallesh]

Khallesh turned her head from one speaker to the next. Tsavong's words almost directly addressed her concerns. He spoke of cleansing his half-breed nature, of questioning that which they were told, almost exactly as Jun Paarth had been trying to teach her. But in the end they were still just that: words. Intangible things that held no value until they led to action. A promise was only worth a damn when it came from someone renowned for following up on their word.

Reverence and that other one, flag was it? Khallesh forgot. The pair of them and a handful of others had embraced the Yuuzhan Vong and their ways, that much was true. Yet his insistence on going on a wild quest seemed a token gesture to placate their warriors, rather than addressing their concerns seriously. Then she thought on it from a different angle. Perhaps he thought to sate the blood list of the warriors before events spilled over. But to what end? To keep them in line, or so they could rationally decide on the future of an entire culture. Gah! Thinking like this made her head hurt. Maybe the pair should just battle and the gods could decide!

Priests, politicians, and others chattered quietly amongst themselves. The warriors were more animated. Many took aggressive stances towards the Sith, snarling and making threatening gestures. Others formed up around the Sith. They were mostly of Domain Shai, she noted. Fools who failed to grasp that pain was to be earned through hardship or glorious battle. Not something to be given as readily as a promise. The atmosphere in the room was electric, fighting could easily break out between the various pockets of warriors in her estimation. Her Commander had already left. Khallesh knew that she would either return to her Domain and have to fight the legendary warrior, or be cast out as a shamed one. There was no point worrying about that decision; Khallesh never did concern herself with the past. What had to be done, had to be done.

These two spoke with so many words to say so little. Khallesh would never be like that, but then she had been born into the warrior caste, not an intendant.

"No," Khallesh said, her left hand swinging out to one side, as if brushing the notion aside as she addressed @Reverance. It was about as animated as she had ever been. Anything more than a grunt usually counted as the young warrior being animated, however. "The pathetic creatures that skulk in the shadows of this world will still be there tomorrow, awaiting their fate. We address the issues now. Where were you when the false gods of the Moross ordered New Yuuzhan'tar burned to a crisp? Where were the Sith when Alderaan was purged of our kind?

"No, we do not want a 'pound of flesh'. If we cleanse this world what comes next?" This time she turned her head to face her kind. Her gaze paused on those few she knew loyal to Paarth's cause. "Do we sit and wait for the next Sith war? I expect we'll be the front line in another invasion that we had no hand in choosing!"

"Do the Sith truly believe their Dark Lord the avatar of Yun Amon, or have they lied to us deliberately?" she asked Reverence directly. There were a few murmurs of agreement. Khallesh noted where they can from. "Would you speak on our behalf to the Dark Lord and request - no, demand - that our people make their own decisions? Go to war with the Sith if we choose, and take any planet as our own by force if we choose. If his wrath is as great as they say and he strikes you down for making such a demand, it would be a fitting sacrifice to the gods and we would cut a swathe across the galaxy in your honour."

She cast a wary eye over Tsavong as she finished, looking for his reaction. The half-breed seemed intent on whipping the crowd up into a fervour, which was never the greatest challenge when so many aggressive warriors from separate domains were gathered in a smelting pot. When she had been just a youth in training, he had led Hrosha Gul into battle across the Galactic disk, brought glory to the Yuuzhan Vong again. She would have questions for him too, but she might not get the chance. If battle was joined with warriors standing on the side of the two speakers, she still did not know on which side her arachnostaff would fall.

 

[Reverance]

Gabriel couldn't help but smile at the notion that this intruding creature should pronounce the fate of his 100,000. Those who had elected him, through conquest and battle prowess, to steer them towards the goals of their people. And their desires: had they been so far removed that the Legion Yun'Do now stood entirely separate from the Hrosha-Gul? Were the Yun'O glorified so differently between the groups that this division couldn't be mended? The notion hurt the Warmasters head as he flung his arm out, ending the derision between his familiars and those who sought this schism with growls and unnecessarily cruel words. He reached forward and rubbed the wrinkle on his brow, the early onset of a headache likely to fester and live on.

"Where was the One Sith on Alderaan? Do you mean the original shock trooper attack by the Omega protectorate?" He lifted out his hand, palm upwards. "I am still cleaning the stain of their blood from my palms. Or do you mean the recent taking by the Republic?" He waved his hand upward. "The One Sith were here, securing the domain of the Vong for the area that it could defend. You see..." He pointed his finger, accusingly at the female who spoke out without any form of ranking that deemed her worthy for it. "You look towards the lambent fruit and wonder why it wilts upon the branch while we, more inclined towards the big picture, take heed in the overall fruitful harvest." He ground his teeth, dropping his hand, as if wiping away the scum from the surface of the bog.

"While Alderaan fell, I burned these fields, I compressed the earth beneath you, and grew these grashals to serve the Legion and the Hrosha-Gul." He smiled, tilting his head. "A nang hull upon the cord is worth more than two in the comb. But tell me, warrior, where were you when these places fell to overwhelming forces?" He ticked his tongue, nearly rolling his eye against the lambasting of his character. "That you now desire isolation from a group that you forsake for it's lack of protection? WHICH IS IT?!" He turned, his arms spread wide, towards the group. "Do you want the One Sith or do you not? Because all I see now..." He turned, a warriors pirouette, as he faced [member="Khallesh"] once more. "...are rebels without a cause."

He paused, taking in a breath through his clenched teeth, before straightening out his posture as he procured a fist behind his back. His hands clasped, he flexed his chest. "I am the Wrath. I know his wishes as well as anyone, but I will speak on behalf of the entirety of the Hrosha-Gul. I will divine his intent and willingness to allow the required independence and inform you, so that we may move forward." He blinked. "As for Yun-Lingi. I am but a warrior, much like yourself, of the caste I claim my own. I will not presume to know the will of Yun'O. I will not assume the role of interpretation, I leave that to the priests of the Hrosha-Gul and of the Legion Yun'Do."

"As for the fate of this planet and those...skulking shadows." He squinted at the female vong, in far deeper than she may have expected.. "That is NOT your decision! It is mine, as governing body over Selvaris and accepted Warmaster of the Legion Yun'Do, until someone more suiting takes that position from me, I will deem what is more suiting for my people and their best interests." He turned his head towards [member="Tsavong Kraal"]. "I am through with words. The Legion will wash over this land like a tide of blood, cleansing the streets of the unfaithful. Join me...or get out of the way and forever remove yourself from the spoils to be had." He looked back towards Khallesh. "And upon our back, the grip of the Yuuzhan Vong will spread across this land to which it was always intended. Join me, rid this world of that which doesn't make us stronger, and let us heal and move forward. And I will have those words with the Dark Lord, as promised."

It would be now that the dissidents should realize the overwhelming fitness of the Legion Yun'Do, standing at 100,000 strong and amassing the greatest amalgamation of bioweapons since the days of Yuuzhan'tar. Sliviliths, renewed to their original state, roamed at the controls of the Legion Yun'Do. Nuhlrokka's renewed the bogs and lambent fields with blasts of fire from the sky, the ever stretching hand of vong forming creeping upon the un-annointed land like fresh reaches of flowing water. The Legion was but a chitin carbine primed, prepared to fire. And their allegiance was unfaltering to the Warmaster that had cared for them and drove them to prosperity and self-reliance when no one else considered their interests, beyond the notion of using them for selfish purposes. As it seemed was the case now, those desiring what was directly in front of them.

Behind the armored Lord of War, his legion growled in defiance of the proposed claims and words, instead opting for inclined action. They wanted this world for themselves and no matter how much this female vong or Tsavong spoke of the ill will of the Sith, they knew that Reverance truly sought their best interests. No placating, just finishing what he had originally started.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

In contrast to his earlier speeches, Tsavong took the time to silently listen to the crowd, to Reverance, and to the woman who spoke. He sat on a raised structure in the rear of the grashal, near Reverance and the other speakers, silently nodding his head. Red skin flaired with stark oblique tattooes similar to those Artemis wore when he was alive adorned Tsavong's skin, showing his Yuuzhan Vong heritage. Green eyes veiled with concentration and attentiveness stared out at the crowd as he continued to soak in the very long and thought out speeches of his counters. There was the Sith, the Yuuzhan Vong woman... her commander whom was leaving... and a few Legionaires of the human's supposed army. They were Yuuzhan Vong. Tsavong snarled, but continued to listen to the pleas and cries of the massive gathering.

The girl was speaking again, asking the Sith if he would confront the Emperor. Tsavong chuckled.

Now it was time for the Sith to hop back up on the pedestal. He seemed to embrace the ways of the Yuuzhan Vong, but he was still human and had obviously not been escalated. Tsavong folded his hands and watched him, he seemed to be making a show of force, to cull the crowd with this "Legion of Yun'do" threat. And it seemed to be working.

Tsavong stood, stretching his massive arms.

I will speak on behalf of the entirety of the Hrosha-Gul. I will divine his intent and willingness to allow the required independence and inform you, so that we may move forward.

Tsavong started shaking his head "no", rolling his massive shoulders back and forth, snapping his neck to and fro, and slightly jumping in place. He continued to listen to the speech.

I am but a warrior, much like yourself

The massive Yuuzhan Vong started to walk in the direction of Reverance in a fervored pace, those close to him could continue to hear him whisper "no, no, no."

That is NOT your decision! It is mine, as governing body over Selvaris and accepted Warmaster of the Legion Yun'Do

Two Legion of Yun'do Guards stepped forth as they started to move towards Tsavong, who gripped them both by their heads and slammed them to the ground, bending their backs in a way that shouldn't be bent. A girl nearby screamed, but the Sith was continuing forth.

The Dark Beast screamed over top the Sith's massive speech, finally breaking through and narrowing in on Reverance. "YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US, INFIDEL" he cried, his voice dripping with gravel and broken shards of glass.

I am through with words.

"THANK THE GODS," Tsavong roared, the towering beast leaping at the Sith as his hydrastaff began to uncoil from around his red tattooed arm, swinging it at Reverance's head.

This Sith had no rightful claim to anything. A human who hadn't even been escalated, vongformed, nothing. He might as well be a Jeedai.

Long live the King of Nothing.

[member="Reverance"]
[member="Khallesh"]

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Orcus yawned heavily, then raised a blubbery brow as his data pad beeped.

"Hmm?"

He opened the message and clacked his teeth at its contents.

"Ah. Finally."

The Herglic attempted to get out of the throne.

Several times.

At last, he extricated his bulk from the pointy-edged chair with much discomfort. Time to leave this place.

Orcus stomped out of the throne room.

 

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

He lingered and lumbered about behind his battlefield brother [member="Tsavong Kraal"], The Darkness hid his massive 9'8ft height and the roar two debating muffled his weighty foot steps. He had been their the whole time listening and pondering the out come. He had waited years for this moment and so far it was just as he envisioned it? The Gift of natural farsight was common among his people and he their prophet after all. The Vong was Javik's second family, accepted by the Yuuzhan Vong for fighting beside them and pledging to forever become one. The ritual was prolonged.... due to Sith politics in short, but it was destined to happen down the paths of time.

In the background the massive De'Nochsax growled lightly in a hum, His Tribal tattoos grew blue as he opened his white blind eyes and standing upright he looked down at everyone from behind the one he believed in.... who was [member="Tsavong Kraal"].

"That is NOT your decision! It is mine, as governing body over Selvaris and accepted Warmaster of the Legion Yun'Do, until someone more suiting takes that position from me, I will deem what is more suiting for my people and their best interests."

Hearing this much from the Wrath of One Sith Javik raised a brow and began to voice his thoughts aloud. His mind quickly connecting with the masses naturally without use of the force. His mute voice would be birthed into existance through the minds of everyone he connected to. << "Listen to the Wraths words carefully, Do not forget them as I continue to speak." >> Javik paused and loosely eyed [member="Reverance"] and then continued << " Governing body. A group or person who formulates policy and direct an institution along with its management... That is the very Definition after all.">> Javik breathed in deep and crossed his primary set of arms against his chest. << " If you side with the Wrath... You will be his Institution. You will be his property sworn to promote what he believes despite what he says now. For a institution by definition is a public or private place of care or confinement of inmates, Look around you now and ask yourselves who really has your best interests? But before you birth an answer..." >> One of the De'Nochsaxs secondary arms pointed at the Leigon of Yun'Do. The massive army that was loyal to [member="Reverance"] alone. As they continued to threaten the population Javik began to wrap it up. << " Order followers... Words make that phrase sound pleasing to the ear and mind but do not be fooled. Open your eyes... All of you! AND LOOK WHAT YOU WILL BECOME IF YOU DO NOT STOP HERE AND NOW AND THINK FOR YOURSELVES!!" >> He voice boomed in the thoughts of all.

<< "For Words are powerful despite what is believed..." >> he whispered in the thoughts.

<< " As the Chosen Race you are blessed beyond all else, I though accepted by your kind can see this. I could and cannot lead you it is not my destiny, but their is one here who wishes to rightfully guide you. He stand infront of me now." >> Looking down the large one known as Javik smirked as the one he decisied to follow went into action displaying his physical strength. << " So what is your answer? What is your decision?! Will you cast away your conscience... Something I myself consider a blessing or will chose to preserve it through Tsavong Kraal direction? Or maybe you will seek an alternate path that is unseen now. Whatever you decide do so with your own mind!" >> Javik's telepathic voice boomed once more in the minds and faded away. Javiks alligence was to Hrosha-Gul and the Chosen Race's very way of life the majority knew this and though the souless beast that was the Yun'Do stood ready now ready to strike without thought Javiks words would not be simplly feared out of the Yuuzhan Vong people so simply. In the end the People truly had the decision... not Reverance.

<< " The Decision is yours as a individuals, Not Reverances or Tsavong Kraal's..." >> he whispered after the crowd began calm down after Javik was done with his main talk.

Looking over the crowds the De'Nochsax tilted his head at [member="Khallesh "]and grinned. Stepping back some the massive blue lizard eyed the actions Tsavong Kraal took against the Wrath with a smile. This was right.... Rebellion.

 

[Vrag]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBjw17M2WAg​

Voice… or Hand?

There was a good reason why Vrag carried the latter and not the former as her title; she'd never been much for talk. Oh, she could recognize the power of a well-placed word, or the ability of a skilled demagogue to sway a bloodthirsty crowd. It would take a silver tongue and a surprising amount of knowledge and cunning to manipulate a warmongering people with talk alone.

If [member="Tsavong Kraal"] had chosen any other place to start his uprising, perhaps he'd have found fertile ground to sow the seeds of dissent upon. His dream would have been met with the nodding of heads, with understanding and accord.

But not here. Not on Selvaris, where the Yun'Do roamed and thrived, their allegiance and loyalty sworn first to the Wrath of the Dark Lord, and only second to Yun-Amon.

Gabriel.

She would have smiled behind her mask, if it weren't for the gravity of the situation. Many a mêlée she had seen beside him, beside them, the Yuuzhan Vong, a unified mass of hunger for flesh and thirst for war. They had felt pain together, waned together, surged together, all while fighting side by side. Despite the perceived differences the orator tried to portray, bellowing across the grashal, on the battlefield they were brothers and sisters. Be it black or red or blue, the color of blood never mattered, so long as it was spilled.

And in the end, mercifully, the prolix speech came to an end; in the end, the rebel, for all his words, was just another slighted, bitter man with a bone to pick. She would not wait to see his ignominious demise at the blade of [member="Reverance"], instead moving forward, her strides purposeful as she weaved among the throng of restive Vong, her blue eyes set on the other instigator.

"[member="Khallesh"]!" she called out to the Subcommander, the rows of Yun'Do parting before her like a certain sea might have before some prophet in a galaxy far, far away.

Now, the firrerreo was no prophet, but she had walked through seas of red and always emerged stronger than before. If she had to walk a sea of black today as well, then so be it.

Her fingers would wrap around the hilt of her trusty weapon — a tool, no more, no less — as she came into the wide measure, the sound of her chitinous boots against the floor lost amidst the unnecessary roaring and baying of the insurgents. Well, insurgents might be too strong a word, considering the leader of this rebellion had chosen the most loyal of the Vong to pitch his scheme to. Unwise? Careless? Dumb?

Perhaps Tsavong Kraal was not so cunning after all.

The thin line of her mouth quirked ever so slightly upwards, and the red eyes of the skull seemed to glow brighter for a fraction of a second as her heart skipped a beat. No matter how this day unraveled, the Hand of the Dark Lord would walk away with a smile on her face.

"We have killed together, Khallesh of Domain Val," Vrag spoke, an act not dear to her heart, but a necessary evil she could not avoid forever. "Countless planets have fallen under our might. Countless people slain under our blades. Countless cries to the Yun'O, from our throats."

"And what of HIM?" Her voice carried none of the composed elegance that Reverance possessed, for she was no wielder of words, but her hand could point an accusing finger at Tsavong all the same.

"Tell me, Khallesh," the woman paused for but a moment, her eyes boring deep into those of the Vong warrior. "Do you follow men of deeds… or men of words?"

[member="Javik Quar-Kai"] | [member="Darth Valdra"] | [member="Nui Akona"]​

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Orcus stared at his shield. A massive, chitinous aegis, the stymie of many a dolorous stroke. The Vonduun Skerr's tan, pebbled surface did not glint beneath the sterile light of the soon-to-depart shuttle's interior. The Herglic ran a flipper across the shield, tracing scars and dents, pockmarks and furrows of black char. He heaved a heavy sigh, then stood, lumbered over to the shuttle ramp, and tossed the shield out onto the permacrete below.

It clattered against the unyielding spaceport floor before it lay still and silent. It looked small there, surrounded by enormous shuttles and structures. Orcus continued to stare at it as the boarding ramp closed.

Several minutes later, the shuttle was well on its way into deep space. Orcus sat at a table with several hologram projectors. He sent out a call to [member="Adekos"], [member="Sasha Santhe"], [member="Jacen Cavill"],[member="Selka Ventus"], and [member="Darth Carach"].

"We have a slight problem. Hauum."

 

[Reverance]

Had he not been hyperfocused on Tsavong and his display of impatient dancing or whatever it was, Gabriel would have scoffed at the giant blue figure speaking to the Vong through telepathy. He remembered this person, a makashi training session so long ago, and wondered how a figure of his size and characteristics got onto Selvaris without Gabriel knowing. However, there was no need to rebut the words spilling across the spectrum, unspoken. If he wanted to stir some appeal of logic within the Legion, he only assisted the Wrath in galvanizing them behind his very purpose. They weren't easily moved, especially through the display of such tactics - while they may not be sensitive, assuming the presence of vongsense, they were vigilant of such prying abuse into the minds where the intrusion was unwelcome.

Tsavong should have taken time to shake the rust free before engaging someone as seasoned as Gabriel. With hands clapped behind his back, formerly speaking to [member="Khallesh"], he watched as the figure did nothing but telegraph his every intent. From the initial moment of claiming the Wrath as infidel, Gabriel was aware of where this was going. He was thankful, in these times, that he fed the chom-huun and kept it willfully happy. And as Tsavong leaped forward, an amateur move against a seasoned tactician, Gabriel stepped back on his foot and used the inertia, plus a robust injection of force speed into his left hand, to send a hail of debris towards the mid-air neck, chest, and face of the assailant. POCKET SAND! Well, not really. It was magma pebbles, shotgunned out from the grip with the aid of fitness and force speed, with an agility that would likely make others question whether the toss occurred at all. Subliminal messages spliced into the qahsa. And as he tossed it forward, the chom-huun ignited in a pulsating glow of orange from the right hand, as he continued to back step, knocking the hydrastaff attack away and to his left. He would clear the distance, allow re-orientation for the fight, as the crowd gave room for the dance off that would soon occur.

Looking towards [member="Yurzhoc Shai"], who currently held his amphistaff, he gestured 'no' towards the warrior and opted instead for the product of the Legion. Tsavong wished to shrug free the reigns of the One Sith but his adoration for a gift from the One Sith, a gift from Yun-Amo n, made the Wrath question the sincerity of the original proposition. There was a yoke there and he wondered, what would happen once the gaping maw of this particular Vong was pulled from the teet of the One Sith. Would he still lash out as he did now, a child angry over finding out he was adopted all along? And with the inner thought racing across the neural passages of two minds interlinked, the realization of something hit him like a pile of bricks. All the while, Vong forming the planet for the purpose of Hrosha-Gul and Legion Yun'Do, he had never stopped to realize that he was entirely unwholesome to these people. No amount of scarification and glorification would pronounce equality to the process of escalation. It was something that begged the question: Was he truly committed to the Yun'O, to the people he claimed his own? The thought tore at him as he stopped pacing and turned towards Tsavong, in whatever state he may now be in, switching the grip of the chom-huun from his right hand to his left. An unusual notion for someone who clearly favored his right hand. He looked towards [member="Vrag"] in her Vonduun Skerr Ygdris.

"You're right Tsavong. I haven't sacrificed..." His posture wasn't aggressive but instead, accepting. He thought back to his early life, to the rip of the eye from his socket on sight of sin. But that, that was for guilt and for crimes committed. This, this was for penance and glory and acceptance of the sacrifices made by the Yun'O so long ago. He thought about [member="Matsu Xiangu"] and the prices that she had paid and wondered if it was anything like this. "For Yun-Yammka and Yun-Harla..." He raised his right arm out, the energy beam crossing his body and touching just at the deltoid, held rigid in the his left hand. "For Yun-Yuuzhan and Yun-Amon..." He squinted, not an ounce of recognition as the beam began to cut in at the top of the arm, scalding and boiling the skin. His gaze remained unbroken on someone he respected more than he cared to admit, for his fervor and unfaltering faith, despite his opportunistic nature. "I swear my fealty to the Hrosha-Gul, to the Legion Yun'Do, to the Yuuzhan Vong, and to the Yun'O. In their honor, I sacrifice for my escalation." Like cold knife through butter, the blade was forced down, severing nerves and tendons and muscles and bone. Until there was nothing left but a charred and cauterized stump, the limb smacking the mirrored floor in a limp slap.

Pain didn't seem to overcome the surreal sense of looking down at a part of himself on the floor, still shaking from the misfiring of synapses as fingers tapped against the floor, playing an unknown song upon invisible instrument. He couldn't override the notion that he had been here before, blood awash in the snow and simmer of fire and spruce. Extinguishing the blade and wincing, he placed the weapon back into the pincers of the armor on his back, as he leaned forward and lifted the arm with the one that remained. Inspecting the arm, he controlled his pulse to prevent an exertion of blood pressure that might open the sealed stump. With a sigh, he tossed it towards the Warmaster and staggered. "A pound of flesh, maybe more..." He felt the overwhelming sense of faintness as he pressed his right foot out, adopting a horse saddle stance, prepared to continue this fight should it be needed. The force bellowed from his aura, focusing him beyond the realization of the consequences of his actions: on the pain and it's capacity to sharpen his senses, if not blur and merge them. In the end, he was a candle burning violently. Hot, wild, and soon to fade.

With teeth clenched and forehead showing the chronic signs of perspiration, he growled and placed his hand upon the Chom-Huun and lifted it, igniting it once more. "I am no Infidel!" The Legion would rally to his cause in the form of armored warriors, renewed in their faith in their Warmaster - a faith that remained unmoved, despite metaphorical blow after blow from those who would question his commitment.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Tsavong Kraal"] | [member="Javik Quar-Kai"] | [member="Nui Akona"]

 

[Ra Vizsla]

"I am no Infidel!"

"Maybe not, Ssith," Tsavong stood over him, kneeling down as the Sith began his sacrificial rite. "But you cannot fool me." The massive alien moved to wipe the charcoal off of his clothes, the magma pellets away from his face, small burn marks left on his clothes as his hydrastaff began to slither up his arm once more. Artemis was no amateur, he'd fought a thousand Sith. Artemis was no greenhorn, he'd lay waste to a hundred systems. These actions of aggression had one singular purpose, a purpose only visible to Tsavong and Reverance at this point in time - to force Reverance to do something they both knew he was going to do eventually. A side-effect of serving a Sith overlord would be to see his true side, his true face. The only thing that mattered to him, even above his faith to the Yun'o.

The Sith's reliance on the Force.

Reverance was a religious, devout man. Tsavong could see that. But there was no way one could serve both the Yun'o and the Force, and for that - always for that - this human would never be worthy in the eyes of the red skinned Yuuzhan Vong that stood before him.

Never trust a Ssith.

Tsavong wore a scowl as he gripped the man by his collar and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. "Your legions are a farce, and your imagination will fold like paper under my reality. I will have Hrosha-Gul sweep over this Empire like a fire that cannot be purged until I have what is mine...and the price of your pain is putting me before your Emperor, this... Yun-Amon." He said the words like he wasn't familiar with Yun-Amon, which would seem strange. Tsavong had been Yun-Amon's avatar, his Al'Khattazz - why would he speak of him this way? Perhaps it was nothing.

He let Reverance loose from his grip, smiling and began to laugh, standing up to look at the crowd.

"Maybe the heretic isn't so heretical after all," he laughed, and the crowd laughed with him. "Perhaps we should take him on his offer, perhaps the escalation shouldn't stop here. Perhaps Selvaris and this... Wrath... are a good place to start."

His scowl enraged under the fires lit within the grashal, a larger shadow than even Tsavong being cast behind him.

"After all, aren't we... family, now?"

 

[Reverance]

He growled as he smacked the large hand of the Vong away from his collar, re-asserting that while he was damaged, he was far from removed of this discussion. Yet his eidetic memory would store the whispers, for future analysis. If there was ever a Sith Lord to not rely on the force, Tsavong was witness to two: Reverance and [member="Vrag"] . They were truly warriors in the greatest sense, melee weapons and the coating of blood were their currency. But Tsavong was blinded by his own sense of worth and pride, for too induced in self derived coma to come to terms with that. "And you cannot fool me, Tsavong Kraal." He laughed amidst a grunt, his breathing labored for the euphoria of pain suddenly washing over him. Like lightning, it traced from the wound towards his chest and through his skull, pulsating as the glow of his now extinguished chom-huun. "You are as coated as I am, in the blasphemy you so vilify..."

He lifted his head from the ground, breathing and the rise of his chest were like pangs of numbness interrupted by blinding pain. He couldn't help but laugh as he wiped the drops of sweat from his nose, listening to the words of the Warmaster. "But at least I have the decency, the stones, to be honest and truthful to those you claim significant...Tell me...US!" His words were interrupted with a sigh as he lifted his head, dropping his arm to his side. "Why do you attempt to deflect observation of such anomaly? Why do you share the aura of any other Sith? Why do you proclaim independence from the force but are washed in it?" The Vong who were silent began to murmur, to whisper, as if this was news to them. Because it was. They weren't laughing anymore, but the Legion wore smiles across their faces.

Perhaps that was a trap of a question, something set forth to reveal some odd abnormality that would tip the odds back in Tsavong's favor once more. But if they were going to be family, just as Tsavong had so sarcastically declared, it was time to fess up to the origins of his odd aura. Gabriel shrugged and smiled, turning towards the groups within the grashal. "Inquiring minds...are dying to know. And once that is answered, perhaps we can find wounds healed in the wash of blood...to drown out the noise of our disagreement." He approached the fires and warmed his hand upon the embers and flame, no longer focused on the potential rebellion that could have been, that may still be.

[member="Tsavong Kraal"]