Lunar Accords: An Ancient Despair (Primeval)

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Anirc...​

​

A planet on the outer-reaches of the galaxy, deep within Wild Space. So far and away from the reaches of the Chiloon Rift and its murderous Warlord... one would think. Even still, the sympathy extremist groups can gather is truly outstanding... especially when so reactionary in a truly conservative state, previously ruled by a theocracy... now ruled by anarchy.


Barriers had been erected in the time following the Host Lord's death... but these barriers were nimble and constructed poorly without the leadership needed to keep the Warlords in line. Already, Warlord Ba'jurir of Echoy'la had declared independence from the Primeval regime, Belkadan soon following, and such systems as Bastion, Telos, and Muunilinst had condemned the actions of the Warlord Hutt on Dantooine and Mirial. There were other systems however, which have sat by and watched in curiosity, possibly sympathy towards the untimely revolt. Those systems included Dromund Kaas, Korriban, and Ziost... unsurprisingly the Sith triangle, among other words on the fringes of the Theocracy.



Dromund Kaas had been attacked by the Silver Sanctum and her allies in the Republic, and Galactic Alliance... decimating the Warlord's convoy and preventing an immediate subsequent massacre... and although the remainder of the fleet is in question, what isn't in question is that the Warlord had not been present for the surprise attack. This then begged the question... where had the Black Prophet gone? What became of him after his genocide?


Cradling the humanoid artifact, hung from a noose tied around his neck, with a face obscured by his customary white skull. Both hands gently caressed the dark Artifact, frost breaking with each movement of his tendrils... frost bitten to the point of having lost acid or even feeling. The L'ans Zodouist had come to this world not for massacre and mayhem, but for something completely contrary to his character...

... peace.​

​

​

The presence of the Hutt in the force was obscured... it was unclear the sort of sacrifice that Host of Balagoth had procured to make the Shades that followed him possible. Whispering to it gently, weakly hunched over it as he sluggishly advanced to Yuri Academy, the Artifact remained unnervingly static.

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​

Warlords across Primeval have received an audience with a most unnerving ambassador... a remnant of the Mirialan Genocide sent to haunt the Primeval with their message.​

​

Regardless of allegiance, a Moot had been called for all the Warlords to assemble upon the Anircan moon of Chinlish... and those who had participated in the Genocide personally, or defended his convoy on Dromund Kaas, would be personally contacted by one of these undead Shades.​

​

Whether or not this was a trap, the opportunity it presented in ending the civil strife within the Primeval in one fell swoop, would be too great to ignore​

​

Though the Hutts mission was an ambiguous peace... to what end that meant for the Warlord...​

​

... was an atrocious disparity.​

​

[member="Darth Pikiran"], [member="Ozuvyn Sar-Sargoth"], [member="Bloodknight"], [member="Kaster Sane"], [member="Kadri Ughad"], [member="Catalys Maijora"], [member="Khaleel Malvern"], [member="Darth Rapax"], [member="Dion Kayl"], [member="Vilox Pazela"], [member="Lord Ajihad"], [member="Mishk"]

 

[Matreya]

Damien arrived, it would appear before all else. Clad in his Beskar'gam, with a Cloak of Nuun draped around his shoulders, Tantibus on his back, Betty Blasters in the fully stocked Gun Belt around his chest, and his Cater Coat under the Nuun, he was ready for battle, if it arose. Believing that it would not, he sat silent against a large rock for a while.

He awaited the rest of the Warlords with silence, meditation, and confusal.

 

[Catalys Maijora]

The armoured Exemplar marched down the halls where the moot was to be held; Anirc was hardly a world of note--at one point it had merely been a staging ground for the large-scale invasion of Mandalorian space, and now had since been all but forgotten.

Of course it did make sense that there were those who'd use the land available for their own gain. Afterall, it was known that Titan had a facility somewhere on the planet after making a deal with the Host Lord.

Catalys did not provide much attention to the others who assembled, instead he continued his stride over to the seat reserved for the Warlord of Telos. Across from his ally who rules Bastion, [member="Kadri Ughad"], and others whom had formed a loyalist movement to restore the Host and remove the extremists from power.

Only one thing had brought the Umbaran here, his steely gazed masked by the black helmet that much like the rest of his armour covered his body completely.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Darth Pikiran"]

 

[Lord Ajihad]

The room's air temperature would rapidly drop, until its occupant could see their frosty breath roll out before them. While some of the warlords might have interpreted this as the Sith Lord trying to have a dramatic entrance, he had something of an ulterior motive. There was a very good chance this was a trap, and many would try to send shadows, holograms, or even droids in their absence. If some of these men had chosen that option, no icy breath would appear before them, and the assassin would know. While most others wouldn't make this observation, he found it essential in case a fight happened to break out at the moot. He needed to know who to ignore and who not, among other things.​

​

Lord Ajihad, the Fist of the Demon strode into the chamber. Just as he reached his place the room's temperature would return to normal, and he would stand waiting for the Hutt. If this were a trap (which there was a good chance it was), he would be ready. The master assassin was already carrying his gaze about the room, looking for advantages his environment could give him in the event of a fight.​

​

[member="Catalys Maijora"] [member="Darth Pikiran"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]​

 

[Matreya]

Damien nodded to Ajihad as he passed. Sending his presence outward, he grazed the Mark on the warrior. It would tingle slightly, almost as if to get the warriors attention. When, if really, Ajihad looked towards him, he would find a burning steel bending gaze.

The message was absolutely clear: "If its a trap, we kill as many as we can together."

[member="Lord Ajihad"]

 

[The Upright Man]

"Ahhh!" uh-ahhh! AHHHHHHH!"​

A Gulandi raiding skiff was closing in on the meeting, and fast. It was strafing low, the tormented Sephi clung to the side of the vessel with bladed hooks. They bounced and cackled with delight. A bright crimson flag was hung high above the skiff, a symbol for the Raiders of Sar-Isbandia. The bloodcurdling screams continued, louder and louder as a man was being dragged behind the skiff. Flesh and muscle was flayed from his body, the Gulandi watched as though it were a spectacle to be admired by all.

The Death Cult of Gulamendis were those who gave birth to the Primeval, but the Host Lord was quick to anger the High King, and so the Sephi had remained independent from the Primeval for many years. They raided the outskirts of Primeval space, and beyond. While there were few who served the Host Lord against their Kings wishes, they were a rare sight to behold. They had been the elite infantry of the Host Lord herself. Now Gulamendis was beginning to squirm its way into politics. A rare trade among the warrior culture.

With the Primeval weakened by no true ruler, the High King was seeking dominion of what he claimed as his right. The Raiders of Sar-Isbandia were among those who sought to claim his worlds for him, and they had begun with Anirc, closest to Gulamendis. It was only a short jump across the pond to be on Chinlish, and Delekhan had come as an ambassador of his people. He stood at the bow of his skiff, arms folded as he gazed across the vast expanse before him. His skin was a sickly grey with hair as black as night. His face was marked by crimson paint.

The skiff slowed, the screams dying away. There was little left of the man they brought with them. The warriors hurled themselves from the skiff and picked at the mans remains like vultures to a corpse. Delekhan dropped from the skiff, landing with a tremendous thud. He entered the chambers where the Moot was being held, taking a careful note of those present.

His Marauder Cuirass was as equally terrifying as it was dangerous. Sharp edges and jagged spikes adorned the body armor. It's purpose was for close-combat, preventing enemies from grappling with the warrior, but maximizing the damage he could do if he grappled them. Edge ridge and blade of the armor was as sharp as the best vibrosword. More than armor, it was a weapon. An Amphistaff draped itself around his shoulders, and a plasma pistol was holstered at his hip.

[ [member="Darth Pikiran"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Catalys Maijora"] | [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] ]

 

[Isar]

An Ewok walked in...

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Warlords and soldiers from all across wild space entered through the doors of the building.

While the other Warlords had entered the Moot with dignity and hesitance, there was one surprising and notable exception. A shuttle had arrived from Echoy'la, and was currently ferrying the young hot headed Mando'a woman who called herself the Defender of Echoy'la'yaim. There were three other Mandalorian clad warriors who seemed to guard her, armed and prepared to snag the Warlord and leave in a hail of blaster fire. The redhead stormed the meeting place, and started spouting words.

"Where is that sack of chit! I want that slugs tongue on a platter, and I want his written promise he keeps his abominable sludge away from my planet... I don't care what he uses for ink, I want it!" The fiery Warlord Aaray'ad Ba'jurir stood in her booth, and leaned over the short podium and glared at the others assembled here. Then another figure entered the room, and although he too was clad in a more traditional Mandalorian armor... the air that surrounded him was far different and menacing than his Echoy'la counterpart... a particular malevolence some within the room shared with him.

"What? You fools can't seriously be here believing that serpent called us here for peace. We all know what he did to Dantooine and... Mirial. Don't any of you want his head?"

"He only does what is deserved, prison scum. The Primeval without its Host is without direction... so, he has gathered our attention in the only manner he knows how. It's something that I can personally respect." Warlord Balac Kotycade of Wayland spat with his reverential venom, speaking in high regard to the methodology of the Black Prophet. The death stare he earned from his fellow Warlord could have burned through the Ubese warrior if not for the fact his mental armor was impregnable.

Before another outburst could begin however, a Shade humbly drifted into the center of the room, quite as a ghost, even as it shuffled softly with its mutilated green corpse. There was a great incredible pause as the viridian shadow waited for itself to be noticed by those assembled, earning the sorrowful rage of those sympathetic to the Old Guard, or those disgusted by the actions of the despicable Hutt. This was the product of his insanity.

"The Black Prophet of Balagoth... is here."​

​

Moments later, a great black shadow manifested behind the currents of a booth suspended high above the others, looking down upon them... it was hunched, cradling some unseeable object within its tentacled arms.​

​

[member="Darth Pikiran"], [member="Ozuvyn Sar-Sargoth"], [member="Bloodknight"], [member="Kaster Sane"], [member="Kadri Ughad"], [member="Catalys Maijora"], [member="Khaleel Malvern"], [member="Darth Rapax"], [member="Dion Kayl"], [member="Vilox Pazela"], [member="Lord Ajihad"], [member="Darth Kentarch"]

 

[Ughad]

Step by step the aging Umbaran made his way into the chambers. Of course, he would have rather sent a delegate or a holocommunicator to these meetings, but that would be seen as cowardly, suspicious. He could not run the risk of losing what favor and admiration he had amongst these warlords. He wore no armor. This was a meeting for peace, not an arena in which to fight to the death. Of course, it could easily turn to into such. He held hope that his regent would be competent enough to keep the crusade against the twisted heretics of the Court of Balagoth at bay. It would make him a happier man if he came out of this alive. Unfortunately for him, many of the warlords were in fact established Sith Lords, a fact that lead him to believe that they would be the primary suspects behind the Hutt himself if this were indeed a trap. They were infamous for betrayl in order to gain power. Then there were the Gulandi. It had been so long since he had been forced to talk to one of their own that he did not torture in favorable submission, they could easily become a problem if their High God-King decided now would be a good time for a coup.


However, the old man would not be a fool. With him were two guards, dressed in ceremonial robes with electorstaffs and blaster pistols. He took is proper seat across from his most loyal ally during this uneeded schism, [member="Catalys Maijora"]. He ignored the rabbling of the two disagreeing warlords who had recently entered themselves. Ba'Jurir in particular was too impulsive, proper soldier, horrid leader, blinded by her rage. A worthy ally if only he could garner her trust. With a nod he acknowledged the agent turned warlord, and prepared to listen to what proposition this insane Hutt had to make. It was like the Hutt to make a grandiose display, and it was rather annoying. Or rather it was a means of protection against his own trap. Kadri was beginning to have the creeping feeling that he should have contacted this moot with a hologram after all.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Darth Pikiran"] | [member="Ozuvyn Sar-Sargoth"] | [member="Delekhan"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Bloodknight"] | [member="Kaster Sane"] | [member="Khaleel Malvern"] | [member="Darth Rapax"] | [member="Dion Kayl"] | [member="Vilox Pazela"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Darth Kentarch"] |

 

[Kaster Sane]

The savage cannibal had landed on Anirc and already hated everything about the place. He was unsure as to why he was calles here but he hoped there would be bloodshed, It had been awhile since he'd bathed in blood and he misses the taste.

Clad in his bloodstained beskar'gam he stood waiting for the others to arrive, So far it was just him and another male clad in traditional Mandalorian armor. Kaster was mostly unsocial but he decided he may as well greet the man. Beskar plated leather boots softly thud upon the ground as he made his way over to the man and spoke.... "Got any fethin idea why we're on this blasted rock?


[member="Darth Pikiran"]

 

[Catalys Maijora]

Catalys slouched in his seat, another loyalist Warlord had entered; only this one spoke far too loudly on the subject. Echoy'la was an important world... Not just for the Primeval, but for the Mandalorians as well. This made it a hot zone for conflict and skirmishes, yet the Mandalorian woman who ruled the world had managed to keep it firmly under her control, and within the boundaries set forth by Anja Aj'Rou even after the Host Lord's sudden death.

If it weren't for the appearance of the mad Hutt, Catalys may have very well sought out a conversation with Ba'jurir. Rising from his seat, the agent stood first but by no means in any form of respect towards [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]. Although he may have once been a Warlord, to the loyalists he was nothing more than a traitor, and likely far less.

"And so enters the false prophet, who claims for himself what the Gods do not grant him... Why have you requested a moot? It is not your say. You are not Host Lord and nor would you ever be." The Umbaran spoke up, not even hiding the fact he was actively using his race's ability to subtly influence the will of those around him.

[member="Kadri Ughad"]

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

The shadow continued to be characterized by a certain slowness, a serene, even deathly, calm. The imposing size of the amalgamation of darkness then with sudden deliberation, parted the curtains... a face as white as snow peaked out in the visage of a skull. Behind that ghostly white mask, was that old graying skin, cut through by the tragic black of night.

Frost went creeping all the way up his thinning arms, the tendril-ed hands clasped shut around a mysterious Artifact that had a ringing sensation in the force... a constant screaming that with enough exposure might make one scream with it if attuned to the force. Beside him, a Shade held his Staff of Zodou, that amalgamation of desecrated animal and human flesh sewn together.

The disease ridden Hutt looked far more gaunt than usual, as if refusing to eat for the past several weeks... and his eyes... those wild mood-stone eyes occupied a cloudy dark blue. Fear. It had penetrated him deeply, and it may have been visible upon his face, if not for his outward appearance. This Hutt had been given far more power than was deserved for a simple mentally diseased murderer... [member="Catalys Maijora"] could have passed him by, paid him no heed, and left him for dead at the hands of a Jedi Master. It would have been better and avoidable for everyone had the agent not made the mistake in believing this slug could be controlled. It is impossible to control the essence of Chaos in the mind of a mad man. But who is the maddest of the two? The psychopath, or the man who still employed him?

"Yet, here you all are."

The Hutt remained silent a moment, as he let settle the fact that indeed, even without the power or say to gather them all here... they still gathered here. It was out of fear. It was out of anger. It was out of a respect for his character that they did not wish to admit. It was his power, that summoned them, gravitated them nearer. He had seduced them to his presence even as they being repulsed, attempted to run or ignore him. Yet they could not ignore him... they could not run.

"My crusade has finished... the blood of Mirial had given me the shape of Balagoth's lips, and I know the word he speaks. The time for change is ever upon his, yet I have foreseen the death of impiety and the rebirth of divine influence. So then, I offer this one proposition..." The Hutt paused, as if to take a breathe... yet not breathe was drawn in.

"Secede to me your arms, and I will send them to our enemies hell. If you do not... then I will secede those arms from you, and I will send them against your own."





| [member="Darth Pikiran"] | [member="Ozuvyn Sar-Sargoth"] | [member="Delekhan"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Bloodknight"] | [member="Kaster Sane"] | [member="Khaleel Malvern"] | [member="Darth Rapax"] | [member="Dion Kayl"] | [member="Vilox Pazela"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Darth Kentarch"] |

 

[Isar]

High-pitched laughter followed the ultimatum. It rose, raucous and loud amid the stunned silence, until at last the Ewok from before stepped forth. A bandolier of chains weighted down his shoulder and he wore a pair of gauntlets that glinted beneath the eerie light of the gathered Moot. But stranger still was the way he bore himself. Three feet and change of proud defiance.

"Zo guduma mekn ant jiso gloture."

The ancient Sith tongue rolled forth, an unnatural reverberation to its tone.

"If you want them, come and claim them, Decayed One."

The eyes of the Shaman, black as tar pits, came alight with an unholy flame born by Sith magic and steeped in the wisdom of the ancient evils. Zambrano was not the only being present who understood the deeper workings of the Spirit World. The Exile of Endor, Ziost's vile Necromancer, turned his wicked stare not upon the would-be Host Lord, but upon the staff he cradled so dearly. An object which dripped with spirit ichor. Warok could feel the magics within, a dark concoction of spells meant to suppress them all.

"But do so without your crutch."

How would he hobble then, how would he crawl? Upon his bulk, a pathetic slithering mass. Reliance on such conduits bred weakness. Warok despised him for it, reminded too much of the shamans who had banished him from his home. Those sanctimonious fools. Warok seized the hatred as it bubbled up, familiar and hot, and funneled it through his smoldering gaze.

A hellish fire would grow around the object of Warok's Deadly Sight, a smoking inferno of sorcery. And at what, pray tell, did he stare?

Why the staff, of course.

The staff.

"Saud'vartoti."

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

 

[Matreya]

Damien replied, finding his natural accent and home language returned for a brief moment, "//Try to, Hutt, and see your own never reach your people!//" Shaking his head, he was surprised by his use of the Mandalorian language - he had long ago given it up for basic.

While eyes began to glow a rich lavender, as he readied himself for battle, he drew energies from his bound spirits. Touching his chest, he felt one, then around his arm another of the Talismans of Concentration he could draw from as well. He had several other weapons with which he could attack, but it was likely this would be a battle of Wills and Control of the Force.

With his power freely spreading across the room, eyes brightly glowing, he called, "Zambrano, you reach to far. Past your own limits. Know this, and rescind your promise." He then glanced towards Ajihad, to see if he would stand beside him - dual Master Force Walkers against a powerful, yet omnipotent he was not, Hutt. It seemed much more beatable.

[member="Lord Ajihad"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

 

[Catalys Maijora]

Catalys remained standing, "you misunderstand, Hutt. I am not here because you've summoned us; I am here because you -- the former Warlord of the Rift -- have betrayed the Primeval." The Umbaran walked past [member="Kadri Ughad"] and descended the metallic staircase towards the main floor, stepping in front of the throne once reserved for the Host Lord.

"You may hold a few worlds in your grasp, but you are vulnerable. Right now you -- the one person standing in anyone's way -- is surrounded by those who either wish to see you dead, or agreed to your fragile alliance for reasons that hardly spell loyalty..." He paced back and forth, the armoured agent's voice slightly distorted beneath the black helmet. His pistol holstered at his hip, and a blade sheathed along his upper shoulder.

Finally he stopped in place, once more facing the Hutt directly. "You will submit to the Host, and surrender your life; resist and I promise the Gods will forsake you in the next life." After speaking those words, above the world and in the darkness arrived a fleet carrying a small force to descend upon the moon. Leading the ground troops were the mercenary, [member="Dresden Verbrennung"], and the unstable Sith warrior, [member="Auswyn Nothrael"]. By now the dropships were likely making their way to the world below; and certainly a many unexpected events would unfold.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Kaster Sane"] | [member="Darth Pikiran"] | [member="Delekhan"]

 

[Matreya]

Damien cast his eyes towards the one who recently spoke, "The Host is dead. To whom may he submit? You?" Damien asked, eyeing the agent with those oddly cold luminescent orbs, "While attempting to take through genocide, and threaten even those that follow him, are incorrect, who shall control him? The best offered to do this has gathered here." Damien then gestured towards the mass of Masters gathered, "We whom have interest in the events unfolding, provide the best chance of containing one tainted such as he."

While no loyalty was provided to the Hutt, Damien's honor was intact, and would not let the beast be taken into custody by meager men who mean little.

"What it boils down to is this: what power do you hold? I sense no Force in you, so you cannot even claim righteousness. This is an act of a child, born to cause more devastation if allowed to continue down this path." He called, stepping forward, "Leave the Hutt to those have a chance before you unleash his power upon yourself and your men."

[member="Catalys Maijora"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Lord Ajihad"] [member="Warok the Defiler"]

 

[Isar]

The Ewok was now wondering if, in the subsequent flood of voices and grandstanding, his own delusions of grandeur would even be noticed.

 

[Ughad]

Remaining seated the Grand Executor pondered on the bickering petulance of the warlords before him. No wonder this holding was falling so quickly. With all of this infighting there would be no one left to rule. What was needed was order under someone with a more sane and critical mind. A position that he would like to give to himself if possible, but such was greedy and in complete blasphemy to the gods themselves. Host Lords in particular were chosen for their natural connection to the force. Something that Kadri knew not that he had, but only a tinge, nothing spectacular.


"May I remind you, Sith, that the Host Lord at one time had no power in the force. The Host Lord is chosen through a strong connection to the will of the gods. A strong connection to the gods is shown with great displays of leadership and the ability to lead their followers on Crusades against the heathens unbelievers, not commit to the genocide of their own followers. Very few have displayed the power in the force in the ways of the late Host Lord, Anja Aj'Rou." He paused for a mere moment. This was a debate, both sides of this argument had to be seen.


"Catalys. Need I remind you there is a difference between the hosts and the Host Lord? A unstoppable and wild force of will and power, a host does not unmake. I will insist that we do not jump to more savage means of diplomacy. Do not fall into heresy! To solve the problems that we are dealing with now we must look to the ways that the ancestors and founders of our culture have dealt with the death of the hosts in the past. We must wait until the next Host of Nogras presents themselves before their people. Only then will we know. And we will know when such times come."


[member="Darth Pikiran"] | [member="Catalys Maijora"] | [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Kaster Sane"] | [member="Delekhan"] | [member="Bloodknight"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] |

 

[Lord Ajihad]

[member="Warok the Defiler"] [member="Darth Pikiran"] [member="Catalys Maijora"] [member="Kadri Ughad"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

The assassin tilted his head as the vile slug tried to command all in the room to join him. Ajihad was never the first to speak in a situation such as this, as he preferred to listen to others first as he waited in the background.​

​

The first to come forth was what looked to be an Ewok. It was not wearing its native dress, but a collection of chains around its torso and a pair of small gauntlets on its paws. It spoke the language of the Sith, a dialect the Sith Lord was all too familiar with. It was a tongue spoken all around him throughout the period of time he was a child (and even into early adulthood). Over the years, he had only hear of one noteworthy Ewok in the galaxy, and it went by the name of Warok. He had heard of the furry creature's exploits through the ranks of the One Sith, and could say he was slightly impressed. He had always held sorcerers and witch doctors in a higher regard than most, as a majority of people found them odd and unpleasant company. As he had spent some time on Dathomir, the assassin found the Ewok rather fascinating Did he learn Magick from the witches, or was there another cult he hadn't heard of?​

​

Almost immediately after Warok had finished speaking, Ajihad's friend Damien began to also voice his opposition. The two men shared a glance, confirmed they would stand side by side if a fight were to emerge. Indeed, the Demon's Fist had dueled the Hutt twice before. The first time, he caused an avalanche that had buried the slug alive (either that or I totally forgot how that duel ended ). The second time, the assassin had managed to kill the Hutt's Jawa friend. Shortly after, Zambrano practically ascended into godhood right then and there, ending the duel promptly. However, if it came to it, the Sith Lord was ready for round three.​

​

Yet another dissenter spoke up, this time going further than any of the previous warlords. This one called the Hutt a traitor, and even claimed himself to be the Host Lord. If he was trying to convince the moot to join his side, he certainly wasn't doing himself any favors.​

​

Just then, he felt a shift in the force. Many previously absent life forms had just seemed to pop into existence out of nowhere, though quite a ways away still. The Miraluka used the force to see out of the building, into the nearest reaches of space. There he saw a small fleet exit hyperspace, coming straight for the moon. He could sense the thoughts of the latest dissenter, as he didn't have the force to protect his mind from intrusion. These troops belonged to the dissenter, who had now compromised the meeting. He sent a mental nudge to Pikiran, subtly notifying him of the threat. He let no one else know, and slowly walked up behind the traitor whispering, "I thought this moot was to be held in a neutral demilitarized area?"​

 

[The Upright Man]

The crowd erupted. Everyone seemed to be at each other throats. Without a Host Lord, the Primeval had turned to chaos. The High King would be most displeased when Delekhan sends his report after this meeting. Chaos among your enemies should be celebrated with a feast of flesh, but chaos among your allies was nothing short of shameful. Delekhan could already anticipate the lashes he would receive for being the one who bore this news back to Sar-Sargoth. His body shivered. The Sephi admired pain and suffering, they relished in the pain of others. Their own pain was something else. No could could deny it was not pleasurable to experience. It was intense and horrifying. Yet it seemed a social norm among the Gulandi to pretend they had enjoyed the pain. Fools.

Delekhan bore the scars of his own suffering. Beneath his armor his skin looked like it had been grafted onto his body by a hundred-thousand different people. Scars zig-zagged across his flesh, as deep and thick as the most grievous sword wound. Irritation swelled up in his chest, dripped from every wound on his body, and spewed forth from his mouth. A mighty fist slammed down on the rail in front of him. "Hoekom moet ons wag en dink, dit is nutteloos. Ons vyand sit en lek sy wonde terwyl jy mindere mans kibbel en huil!" His gaze swept across the room, "Ons moet verenig, te staak in die hart van hierdie sterrestelsel en skeur dit versnipper vir stukkie, stuk vir stuk. Ons veg nou, en almal sal verlore wees." One of the Sephi beside Delekhan quickly ushered the translation to the crowd, speaking in a skewed Galactic Basic. His tongue oddly flicked at the pronunciation of certain words, revealing a forked tongue.




[[Translation:]]

Spoiler

1) Why do we wait and ponder, this is useless. Our enemy sits and licks its wounds while you lesser men bicker and whine!

2) We need to unite, strike into the heart of this galaxy and tear it shred for shred, piece by piece. We fight now, and all will be lost.