Faction Introductions on Crakull - Brotherhood of The Maw

[Jester]

Jester sat with his eyes closed on the bluff overlooking the annonymous fortress on Crakull. He heard the sounds of The Dagda Mor speaking to him as he communed with his Sword that currently had its pommel against his forehead. This was the next step in the cycle, the brotherhood. After the destruction they wrought at Csilla, his blade had pushed him closer and closer to this place.

He knew little of the young master of this Crakull, only that she had great power and could guide him to even greater destruction. And they knew nothing of him, but soon they shall know him, when the ground is soaked with the blood of their soldiers, they shall know he is worthy of their attention and he will be given their favour. Or so the visions brought on by the wicked blade had showed him.

A rivulet of blood rolled down his face from the freshly opened rune on his face, cascading down his many time broken nose and dropping on to the pommel of sword, he felt the presence within the sword shiver at this small taste, begging for more.

His eyes opened and he focused on his objective, standing, he picked up his large sword into his right hand and began to walk toward to fortress. Jester slid down the bluff, kicking up small stones and branches along the way, upon reaching the bottom, he made one last prayer to the dark side and started to jog, allowing his rage to build within him. By the time he reached the first patrols he was at full sprint, they had little time react as he launched himself at them, cutting them down in moments with his powerful blade. It had begun, there was no turning back now.

"Maestus!" He roared "bring me Maestus!" He turned his yellowed eyes toward the next pair of guards, who ran for cover as fingers of force lightning chased them down from behind and stopped them in their tracks.

The way was open now as he passed in to the fortress, casually choking the last gate guard behind his barred window as he walked past. He heard the gurgling of the guard and the snap of his neck, dropping him in a heap before moving on.

"WHOS NEXT!" he screamed.​

Maestus but other Mawites welcome to come and play

 

[Maestus]

Jester wanted her attention? He was earning it. From the front gate of the fortress, 2 of Maestus'Chosen emerged. These were no mere guards, as Jester would soon find out. The Chosen moved in unison. Each footfall heralding destruction. They carried vibropikes. The tips were sparking with deadly power. Shirtless except for pauldrons on their left shoulders, they stood before Jester, vibropikes lowered menacingly. One spoke.

You will come with us. The Mistress requires your presence.

The Chosen maintained their gaze upon Jester. Vibropikes stayed lowered and pointed at him. He had little choice but to move to the fortress and the terror known as Maestus that waited within. ​

​

 

[Jester]

The two warriors stood across from Jester, a challenge? They looked strong and moved with skill, a test? He would not be led like this, dragged behind them like some whipped dog to be treated as no more than a rank soldier by his intended leige. No, he would not go willingly, prudent as it may seem at face value.

His hand squeezed the leather handle of his sword "kill them" he heard the whisper. He allowed the darkness to wash over him and the rage of the force building as he met their gaze squarely. If they had any sense at all they would know he was going to destroy them.

"I called for Maestus!" He yelled at them, "not dogs!"

He pushed his hand toward the warrior on the left. He attempted to use the force to slam him into the wall, while simultaneously launching himself at the other warrior, trying to close the distance to remove the advantage of the pike. He brought his sword in a wide arc while yelling a curse in a dark tongue.​

Maestus

 

[Tarok Vassket]

T A R O K​

"Mild," Tarok declared. He had only just learned the word. He liked it to the point of frequently misusing it.

The Vardon was leaning against a wall. One of the chairs here had attempted to take his weight. It had failed as abysmally as the pit fighter he had just placed a wager on.

This Brotherhood might have had a religion that Tarok could not have cared less for, but they had a philosophy close to his heart. They took what they wanted - which included pleasure from violence - and the strongest survived.

Tarok had no interest in taking part in the violence within this particular hall. Captives tossed together for blood sport. They almost had enough of something called corellian ale that he might just get drunk. Their kind hadn't discovered alcohol as early in their evolution. For him it was a marathon, not a sprint. Otherwise he had an entire organ that would flush his system of it.

His people had developed poisons very early in their evolution.

There was a commotion. The next fight hadn't started yet.

"What is wait for?" Tarok bellowed.

 

[Maestus]

Maestus Fury
Maestus Chosen​

​

The Chosen on Jester left was indeed slammed into the hard duracrete wall that made up the outer barrier to the fortress. He dropped to one knee, steadying himself with the butt of his Beskar pike (Not vibropikes, I got the weaponry confused, apologies).

As Jester moved and turned to launch himself at the Chosen on his right, that Chosen warrior grasped his Beskar pike firmly, and braced for impact. His eyes shifted, and he nodded once, prepared for the attack by the rebellious man.

Since Jester has his back turned, Chosen on the left pushes back to his feet, thanks to his pike for the assist. He took a step and utilized the length of his pike to reach Jester. And drove the razor sharp tip of the pike into the back of Jester's right thigh. To add insult to injury, the Chosen twisted the pike sharply, attempting to sever muscle, tendons and ligaments.

Stay down, or you will die.

The Chosen who is on Jester's right lowered his pike level at the downed man's heart, just in case he was feeling like giving them another go.

And then everything happened.

The heavy doors blew open to the fortress. Duracrete and debris flew everywhere. Dust lay thick in the air, choking people as they tried to inhale. Through it all, stormed hell in Lethan Twi'Lek form. She wore only a simple diaphanous silken robe, black with red stitching. Lekku twitched as she strode down the walk towards Jester and her Chosen.

As she approached, the perceptive would notice red sparks flickering from the fingertips of both hands. Her eyes, black as death and ringed with fire. Her lips set in a fierce scowl. Brow furrowed in anger.

The closer she got to the trio, the hotter it got around them. The Chosen were used to such temperatures and the sudden changes. Jester, however, would more than likely start to sweat and become even more uncomfortable than he already was.

Finally, she came to a stop. Her boots next to Jester's head. Using the tip of one boot, she placed it under his chin and tipped his face to look upon her visage. Jester could physically feel the fire burning within her, it emanated fiercely from every fiber of her being.

She spoke, her voice deadly calm and quiet.

How dare you?

Tarok Vassket​

 

[Jester]

Jester lay at the feet of the warriors that had bested him, the force suppressed the pain in his leg but he could tell it was a bad wound. He grinned, if this was what Maestus surrounded herself with, he had come to the right place. He could almost feel the amusement coming from his blade as he lay there.

As the guard threatened him, and Jester weighed up his options he felt it, a surge in the darkness, something powerful was coming, moments later there was a blast and out strode the Twilek. Jester didn't have to had seen images to know this was who he seemed, the aura of darkness around her was intoxicating.

Jester felt the fire in the air around her and indeed he was sweating, the heat made even breathing uncomfortable and he gritted his teeth, not willing to show his discomfort.

"Mistress Maestus" he replied through gritted teeth, his hand grasping his sword tightly as he felt the burning overcoming his pain suppression "i offer myself as your servant, teach me and I will serve you well"​

Tarok Vassket

 

[Tarok Vassket]

T A R O K​

The ground shook. It seemed the next pit fight wasn't going to be starting soon. Tarok sighed and stepped away from the wall. It was one thing to be attacked, another to have it entirely ruin his entertainment.

"Fine," he sighed.

The fortress was solidly built. It wasn't narrow and cramped like the inside of the ships humans built. Tarok only had to hunch for half of the time it took to reach the outer wall.

"Oh," he muttered in dissapointment. "It is under control."

Walking all this way and there wasn't even any violence at the end of the journey.

 

[Maestus]

She stared down at Jester with contempt. What to do with this man? By all rights, he could be killed for his insolence. That fate would suit him. And was well deserved. Still, something stayed her hand. He was strong, she would give him that. But did he have promise? She could feel the Force within him. That meant little. So many had a touch of the Force, yet either remained unaware or squandered it away, serving the Light.

In silence, she turned and began striding back into her fortress.

Take him to the arena. I think he will find Tarok Vassket awaiting him.

Once within, she made her way to the grand arena, she took her seat upon her throne. Her eyes scanned the gathered crowd until she found Tarok Vassket and grinned wickedly.

Tarok! I bring you a plaything. You may leave him alive or dead. The choice is yours.

The Lady of Crakull leaned back. Hands resting lightly upon the arm of her throne. She anticipated a brilliant fight between the two. She allowed Jester to retain his weapon. He was brutally injured, and that left him at a severe disadvantage against a mighty warrior such as Tarok Vassket . It was not kindness or sympathy that propelled her to leave Jester his weapon.

No, she wanted to see how he functioned injured. Leaving him his weapon would even the odds. She truly did not wish to lose such a powerful warrior as Tarok Vassket but if he was bested by the injured Jester then he deserved his fate. And if they fought to a stalemate, then they were both worthy and she would allow them their lives.

The Chosen outside with Jester removed the Beskar tip from his thigh and stepped back, allowing him room to stand. Neither Chosen offered him aid in standing, and kept their pikes leveled upon him.

Our Mistress has spoken. Move. ​

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[Jester]

Jester allowed himself a breath of relief as the burning subsided slightly and the expression of imminent murder disappeared from Maestus face.

He pulled himself to his feet, not seeking any help. He focused on suppressing the pain in his leg as he was unwilling to show it on his face. As he took his first steps he could tell he was hurt, but the fire in his belly and the dark force fuelled him. He proudly attached his sword to his back, held his head High, only nodding to make a respectful 'warriors nod' toward the chosen that had taken him down. "You and I should do this again some time he grinned at the warrior, bearing his teeth in a cruel smile"

Not waiting for the reply that would be unlikely to come, he followed the chosen in the direction Maestus had indicated. He wondered who this Tarok Vassket was, another powerful warrior he expected. He was ready for the arena, many of the strong had proven themselves in these places.



​

 

[Tarok Vassket]

T A R O K​

"But this one already broken," Tarok protested lightly. He turned and headed back into the fortress without saying any more. He was a guest after all, and having started drinking his way through the cellars was no excuse for being rude.

It wasn't far to go, though perhaps it felt a long way for Jester already having one leg in need of medical attention.

The fighting pit had little in the way of decoration. A short step down into the pit so that those watching were right in the middle of the action. Blood-stained straw and sand across the circle. They had already been pitting slaves against one another for sport.

Rather than approach with sword, the twelve foot tall marauder strode across to Jester with a flask. It contained something strong enough to strip grease from engine parts.

"Here," he declared, stooping to offer it. "For leg."

"Your..." Tarok paused as he searched for the word, his Basic sometimes failed him. "...attack on castle. Not go to to plan, eh?"

It seemed more like he was making casual conversation than preparing for battle.

Maestus Jester

 

[Jester]

Jester looked at the beast in front of him, he had not seen the like before, it looked strong and powerful. Was he meant to fight this?

Tarot offered the flask and Jester took it, swigging deeply, no sense dieing with an empty belly, the raw liquor burned in his throat.

He replied to Tarok, "Things are going as they are meant to go, be it by my plans or someone else, I have the eyes of your master now, that was worth the risk."

He pulled his sword off his back, and squeezed at the wrap, the soul within the blade was cackling and baying for further blood and it truly wasn't picky whose it tastes.

"So what happens next?"




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Tarok Vassket Maestus ​

 

[Tarok Vassket]

T A R O K​

Tarok turned his horned head slowly, looking towards the twi'lek.

"Ah," he went knowingly. "Tarok has no master, but understand."

He laughed, and gave Jester a pat on the shoulder with a hand roughly the size of the human's chest.

"Tarok once killed a brother for a woman, but Adrak had always been ugly one. Shame no women in your galaxy worth fighting for, eh? They all too fragile," he said, making a lewd gesture.

Tarok took his flask and stepped away. The time spent on small talk had not been wasted. Some of the marauders that had followed him since he had trodden on their previous leader had fetched the rest of his armour.

As was common for his culture, many pieces of armour were bolted directly into his very bones. The chest plate, helmet and gauntlets needed to be worn.

"So what next? Now I suppose you earn her attention yes? Or maybe no," he continued with a shrug. "Still, very brave to attack castle for woman."

Tarok walked back to his side, finishing off his suit of armour and taking up his dread blade. He stepped out into the pit and waved Jester on.

Maestus Jester

 

[Jester]

Jester looked over at Maestus And raised his eyebrow, did he think?? Maybe, she was in great shape and there was something about a woman with that kind of power. But only someone with a death wish would entertain those thoughts he laughed.

He watched as Tarok Vassket finished donning his armour and then beckoned him to the fight. So this was it, he drew the blade across his face, reopening the only just healed scar, allowing a few drops of blood to drop down onto the floor. His aura darkened and his eyes began turn yellow, he felt his connection to the ancient sword grow and the deep rage that fuelled his power building. He spun his sword in his arm and roared, running at the beast.

Jester would not expect an easy victory, he had been careless against the chosen in the street, but he could tell that the creature in front of him was truly a challenge. The force held the tendons in his leg from rupturing and he barely noticed it as he lept forward, using the apparenty injured leg as his source of movement.

His first strike was to be an exploratory one, he would not fully commit until he knew how fast this creature was, and how its armoured plates reacted to his sword. He knew of few metals that could withstand its alchemical sharpness and waited to see the effect as he launched his strike.

If his was to be the dance that proved his worth to the dark woman who stood by, he had better make it good.


​

 

[Tarok Vassket]

T A R O K​

Cutting his own head was a curious gesture. To Tarok, it seemed a good way to get blood into your eyes in the middle of a fight. He didn't know this galaxy's customs. Perhaps it was some kind of mating ritual, seeing as he was trying his best to attract the attention of the twi'lek.

Tarok didn't rush into the fight. It would have seemed impolite to go all out when he was injured, trying to impress a mate and very, very small.

Tu'teggacha had given him his first Dread Blade, but since then he'd had one made that was properly sized for him. The crimson blade of light was nearly eight feet in length.

Tarok stepped back shifting the blade into the first strike. There was venom in the strike, the impact rattling his shoulder. He set himself in a defensive posture, holding the centre ground with his blade. He had to tilt the tip low to be at Jester's chest level.

"Ah, good!" he bellowed. "Come on then!"

Maestus Jester

 

[Jester]

Jester looked at the long energy blade of Tarok Vassket saber, it looked more like a spear that a sword, but matched the monstrosity in front of him well. His strike was hard and his opponent blocked it deftly, the impact of the two weapons was impressive and both fighters felt it in their joints. Jester was an aggressive fighter, if he could get inside the creatures reach he should be able to strike.

Jester advanced again, gripping his blade hard in his hand. He struck with his blade toward Tarok, anticipating that the blow would be blocked, but hoping his natural speed and force enhanced reflexes would allow him to turn the block sidewand follow up with a strike to ward the gaps in the armour at the abdomen.

He roared again, channelling his rage into his strikes.


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Tarok Vassket Maestus ​

 

[Tarok Vassket]

T A R O K​

His armour plating gave him plenty of protection now he'd affixed all the plates and put his helmet on. It moved with him, a second skin. A good fraction of the armour couldn't even come out without something between surgery and mechanical work.

It gave him a sense of security. One that was perhaps misplaced. The alchemically etched sword cut deep. Tarok roared, stepping back and sweeping his blade in a wide arc to make some space. He felt his own blood pooling beneath the compromised armour plate.

There was a sharp change of pace in Tarok's movements. It wasn't hurried, it wasn't unbalanced. A shift from giving his opponent plenty of time and space to stake his case to Tarok taking the fight to him.

His dread blade was weightless, but Tarok was not. Using his significant advantage in reach the Vardon cut tight arcs and thrusts to force Jester back. He used a single hand to swing. He could easily pick up a man with just the left and his armoured gauntlet would be enough to stave off one blow at least.

A feint of a high strike was followed up with a sharp kick for Jester's chest.

Maestus Jester

 

[Jester]

Jester felt the familiar satisfaction in his hand as his blade met living flesh and drew blood in his monstrous opponent. This was good, if it bleeds it can die.

He ducked, narrowly avoiding the return defensive swing by Tarok and took a step back, preparing his reply. But Tarok did not give him that luxury and pressed the attack. Jester fought to block the huge weapon, attempting to parry the blade and take an opening, but he found himself pushed back, only making small probing strikes against his enemy.

Tarok swung hard toward his him, maybe attempting for a quick kill? Jester saw his opening and closed the distance, attempting to strike, but was met by the enormous boot of Tarok squarely in his chest. There was a crack of ribs as Jester was launched backwards across the arena by the forceful kick. Jester used the force to slow and steady himself but only finally came to a halt when he stuck a pillar. He coughed for air and spat up drops of blood.

Looking across at his closing opponent, he channelled his rage into a burst of force lightning, trying to push Tarok back onto the defensive. Or at the very least give himself a few moments to rebalance and catch his breath. He reached deep in to his reserves calling on the dark side, attempting to say the essence of anyone nearby to embolden himself.

The sword was egging him on, its own bloodthirsty channeling him to greater violence, the pain in his leg and his chest were dulled by the pure darkness in his heart. He spat blood onto the ground and readied himself once more.

Maestus Tarok Vassket ​

 

[Tarok Vassket]

T A R O K​

The blaze of lightning burned sports into his eyes. It drove Tarok to his knees, but at least having a hand to the floor helped ground more of the charge through his armour.

The assault came to an end. Tarok could smell his own charred flesh. The growl he let out seemed to shake the ground itself. He stood up slowly, muscles still twitching.

This changed things. If the intruder was going to use magic then he was a genuine threat. Tarok couldn't stretch this pantomime out until the sith could decide whether to kill him or keep him. Tarok had to take this seriously. It meant not pulling strikes. It meant the next blow that connected was going to be fatal.

"Time to die now," he growled, willing his arm to lift his blade.

He turned his head towards Maestus

If she was going to end this, now was the time.

Maestus Jester

 

[Maestus]

Maestus had remained silent and unmoving through the entirety of the battle between Tarok Vassket and Jester. The only thing moved were her eyes, and they followed each man's movements. Not only the blows they landed but other things as well.

Placement of their feet, did they keep a steady stance. The movement of their head, did they telegraph their next movements with their eyes. The way they swung their weapons, were their swings well practiced or raw and untrained. She took in everything.

Finally, she held a hand up. 4 of her Chosen arrived in the pit, Beskar pikes pointed at both Tarok and Jester. One of the Chosen motioned towards Maestus with his pike. A clear indication for the two combatants to approach her. When they had done so, she spoke.

You fight well. Both of you. Tarok, I have seen and heard of your prowess in battle on Ilum. You display strength and intelligence here again. You are a worthy fighter and I would welcome you to my army.

She turned her attention to Jester then, folding her hands on her lap as she studied him curiously.

You have my attention. Now, tell me who you are.

 

[Jester]

Jester bowed his head down, as the rage inside him was filled with an air of honour, the feeling of his wounds began to return. He hardened his resolve, If Maestus could tell the agony he was currently enjoying, it wouldn't be because she saw it on his face. He wondered how long he could have lasted across from that beast, he had great respect for a strong warrior and would return the offer of a drink to him as soon as he was able.

"My lord Maestus, I am Jester, I am a servant of the darkness, guided by the great spirit of The Dagda Mor," he touched the pommel of his sword to his forehead respectfully. "I seek bloodshed in the name of the dark side I wish to serve you, by the company you keep by your side" he looked at the chosen, and at Tarok, "the spirit has guided me well"

He spent a short time listing some of the battles he had taken part in and the casualties he had been responsible for, he could not tell whether Maestus was impressed, bored or amused, but he had one chance to make his case. "All I wish is to be able to continue my service of the dark side under your command, I can learn so much from one such as you and I swear I will wreak bloody havoc amongst your enemies."

He dropped respectfully to one knee in front of the sith and bowed his head deeply, hoping for her blessing.


Maestus Tarok Vassket ​