One Hundred Young Gods (GA Dominion of Mustafar)

[Placeholder 0133]

(Slower thread as most of us are preparing for Thanksgiving festivities)



The Malleus Maleficarum was en route to Mustafar. The newly christened warship was built for the express purpose of serving the Dread Legions' needs, be they combat or domestic. The legions would have a home aboard the massive vessel, and have access to one of the galaxy's greatest warships at a moment's notice. It allowed the legions to operate without being dependent on the Galactic Alliance for fleet support, and that was all too important given recent developments.

The legion had grown as of late. New initiates and pages were flowing in from every corner of the galaxy. Tales of the Knights' heroics in recent battles had spread across the stars. Impressionable young men and women were signing on regularly, all to the High Lord's excitement. Once again, the Dreadguard had an army, and once more, they would strike out against the hordes of malignancy that plagued their galaxy. The days of the One Sith and their cohorts were numbered.

Mustafar was chosen as the first world to take on the Great Crusade for a reason. Its volcanoes provided the perfect forges for the Forge Lord and his apprentices. The armor that Knights donned could not be mass produced; the Forge Lord would need to build each set individually. The various war blades, battle axes, and war hammers would need to be forged here as well. The fact that the planet was easily defended given its monstrous landscape and unforgiving atmosphere only made it more appealing.

What better capital for the legions than a land borne of smoke and ash?

The MM was just exiting hyperspace when Rook strode up the gangway to address his gathered legions. Scribes such as [member="Urya Uvatera"], ones who would keep the legion from falling apart, Knights the likes of [member="Malleus Scandarum"], [member="[member="Morgana Sokolov"]"], and @Kiyron; the hands of the legions. The honored veterans, [member="Kix Tal'Verda"], [member="Canal"], and [member="Kage"], each brought back by promises of brotherhood, glory, and worthy battle. His Tribunes stood on either side of the pedestal, both [member="Ylvaris Desman"], the demon, and [member="Ijaat Akun"], the beast.

The Knights would be undergoing their augmentations shortly. The Scribes would begin their disconnection from the force. Specialized surgeons and droids waited to begin the process in the back of the room. From the top of his perch, the armor-clad figure of the High Lord spoke.

"Dreadguard, today begins our great crusade! We will take the Southern Systems for our own and establish an era of peace in these chaotic lands. We have no support here save for Galactic Alliance volunteers. Today, we take Mustafar, our future capital and forge world. Tomorrow, the entire southern swath of the galaxy. Look on either side of you, for this is your family. These brave men and women, your brothers and sisters, will fight alongside you in the coming wars. You will come to know them as we take to battle. The process you are about to undertake will change you. Knights will be the peak of physical excellence. No other human can challenge you. Scribes, you like the Knights will be disconnected from the force. No religious fanatic will ever hold any power over you!"

A pause.

"Together, we are one! Death to the False Emperor!"

 

[Urya Uvatera]

Bla, bla bla. Death to whomever they were fighting against, surgery. Canned intro speech intended to bolster the new recruits. Boring.

Urya had lost interest half way through the High Lord's speech and wandered towards the back to toy with one of the droids. " Oooh. Look at your joists." The cyborg extended a mechanical hand to the nearest surgical droid, wanting to feel its steely grace beneath her.. equally steely touch. Her hand split into two halves. Her palm changed, flattening into a spanner; the rest of her fingers extended, spider-like, out around her wrist into other interesting tools of the droidcraft trade. " Hold still. This will only disable you for as long as it takes to take you apart and then as I can put you back together again. Maybe."

Expensive tech was expensive.

[member="Rook"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-6dKVNt1C4​

This was a proud moment for Kelghast and both of his battle brothers. He stood in a stoic manner as his gaze sifted through the recruits that stood before their superiors. They all had something to prove before they were considered true Dreadguard material, and with that proof would have to come the trial of combat and how they handled themselves. Could they brave the multitude of threats that awaited them beyond this planet? Could they face down the ever-growing Sith cancer? There was confidence in Kelghast's mind that these men and women could achieve that and much more. Each of the Dreadguard founders were distinguished by armor elaborately and intricately designed. Kelghast's being twisted and vile looking to strike fear into the hearts of enemies, the maw of his helmet being like that of a demon or some otherworldly creature. His crimson-clad appearance implying that he was one with the battlefield and that the heavy usage of disturbed imagery upon it was not to be taken lightly or as a fashion statement.

Upon coming to Mustafar, the Tribune hoped to forge himself a personal war-blade of great stature and significance to the oath of the Dreadguard. A personal weapon he desired to further embed himself within the ideologies and philosophy of being a warrior that not only acted as one with death, but death to those that opposed them. Kelghast saw himself and his methods as a necessary cruelty and evil that was needed to pursue the end-game goal the Dreadguard sought. As a soldier, protecting the truly innocent did indeed matter; however, decisions were merely determined by the follow-up of events that often lead to whether or not a picture is painted as morally upsetting or just and righteous. Such things did not matter. What mattered was the future of the Dreadguard and their supremacy. Their legacy.

Silence was all that Kelghast could offer after the speech [member="Rook"] delivered. A motivating and powerful gift of word that the recruits needed to hear so that they too would follow in the footsteps of their leaders. A subtle nod escaped the crimson-clad Tribune, almost as if his brother's words had already been heard and that he would always support him. Proud he was, proud he would always be for all of his brothers and sisters.

The Dreadguard would reign supreme once more. The Sith and the galaxy would know true might.

[member="Ijaat Akun"] | [member="Kix Tal'Verda"] | [member="Canal"] | [member="Kage"] | [member="Urya Uvatera"] | [member="Malleus Scandarum"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Objective: Begin the MK III
Allies: Everyone
[1/20]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdA4NlJiikM​

Slowly, the Forge Lords' mind had begun to return to him, but the process was slow, and honestly terrifying. For a time, he had been split in many parts, until the events around Fondor. For a time, he had been mad, and forgotten that which he was and who he was. Still, he had doubts about his identity and his true self. The hypnotic indoctrination blurred his mind, and even with [member="Ultimatum"] and his aide in separating Geoff from his mind finally and helping to heal the A.I. and his own true mind, the scars left behind were no less real for not being physical. But regardless of that, he had a duty to take care of, and a mission to complete. The process had started with his rebirth, his creation. Flaws in the process had been identified in his own, and his personal ship had been maneuvered to Mustafar, the contents set up in a vast lab complex, including support staff and more... Time was now due to perfect his creation, and unleash them.

Striding to several pre-op tables, Ijaat pulled up a rickety stool on wobbly casters and sat before a young man who was nervously perched at the edge of the table, twiddling his fingers like a drum beat across the durasteel slab. The lads eyes darted this way, darted that way, and sweat beaded his smooth brow. Obvious worry streamed from the man, even to a Force-Dead soldier like Ijaat. Smiling, the Forge-Lord patted the lads knee with a hand that would dwarf his head. For once, it was absent of armor, and strange black sockets studded his skin. A form that dwarfed all other men in every aspect sat covered in a set of white Doctor like robes, a hood of crimson pooled about his shoulders where a red cloak was clasped about his neck with heavy bronzium chains attached to plain disks.

Clearing his throat, the soldier spoke, and though the voice was eerily deep and rumbly, it was calm, patient, and kind in its' words.

"Nervous there, are we boy?"

"Y...Yes Forge Lord..."

"And why, pray tell, is a man of proud Corellian stock so nervous?"

Here the aspirant turned silent and seemed to work his mouth as if surprised and finally gestured at the almost grotesque proportions and frames of Ijaat. There was plain worry and fear mixed with the awe in his eyes when he gazed at the Mandalorian and what he had become. The meaning was clear, even if the motions without words were vague and imprecise.

"Because of how I look? My voice, and my frame and size? You know better lad... We of the Dreadguard willingly give up such normalcy so we can better defend those who need to be shielded. It is a price of separation we pay gladly to keep the galaxy safe."


He waited then, for the young lad to answer, to see his reaction to his words, before he motioned over the med-droids and other prefunctionaries to assist in the beginning stages. None would be forced to undergo this, ever... That would never be done in the Dreadguard again. All would be volunteers for this process, and all would know exactly what it was they were to become.

 

[Kiyron]

Kiyron stood among the recruits, studying them, only half hearing the motivational speech. A motivational speech was a motivational speech and he had given far more than his fair share of them. None of them ever had any effect. The Sith rolled on through the core. Perhaps with these new Dreadguard could make a difference. One that included him. That was an odd thought. He never pictured himself becoming a Dreadguard. Then again, he never saw himself leaving the Republic or being half machine. He clenched his hands instinctively, hearing the servos whine and buzz within. Ah, how he hated that noise, always scraping the wrong way along his ears. He shuddered and slipped through the crowd of recruits, trying to get away from the press.

He instinctively profiled them as he passed. Fresh faced youths who had never fought before. Scarred veterans. Everyone in between. What a motley crew they were, but they would all soon be family. The survivors would anyway. The process was certainly...interesting. Part of him felt he should be nervous about the procedure, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. What did it matter if he died in the process? He'd just be finishing the job Pyrrhus started. Kiyron shook his head. No, that was not professional. He was here to save the galaxy, no matter the cost to himself. He slipped past another recruit, eyes wide and drinking in the speech. Kiyron suppressed a snort. Recruits were all the same, no matter which army they were joining.

He slipped out past the edge of the crowd and took a deep breath. That was better. He needed the space, not the feeling of bodies crushing in around him, surrounding him heat reminiscent of say, Force lightning or explosions that still scarred his back. He took another deep breath, letting the knot in his stomach ease. He was supposed to go see the Forge Lord about the augmentations now. Best to get to it and hope that would work out and that it would be worth the sacrifices he would make by becoming one of them.

(1/20)
[member="Ijaat Akun"]

 

[Nubica Felidae]

[Posts=1/20]​

Objective: To be determined
Allies: None yet
Enemies: None yet

For a change she was piloting a B-wing. Yes, it looked cool. But it wasn’t an X-wing and perhaps, just perhaps, Nubica was a romantic at heart?

From the safety of her cockpit, Mustafar burned with lava streaming from volcanoes of glittering obsidian. At the fringe of its gravity well, a spray of prismatic starlight denoted her starfighter had warped into existence. She pressed her throttle forward, and her starfighter streaked into an atmosphere choked with dense smoke and cinders.

The starfighter followed a preprogrammed course, given to her. Below her she could soon see an automated lava mine drawing precious metals from the continuous rivers of burning stone.

The habitable areas of the settlement were spread among towers that looked like poisonous toadstools sprung from the bank of a river of fire. The main control centre squatted atop the largest, beside the small landing deck she seemed destined for.

 

[Kahlil Noble]

(1/20)

A deep sigh escaped the lips of the clone. All around him were the seven foot tall Mark Three Dread Guard. People armed and armored in threatening looking gear. Men and women augmented far beyond the normal reign of strength. All to fight. And here he was, six foot tall, standing basically a foot under the rest. This new Dread Guard. It would certianly be something to get use to. These weren't the clone brothers and sisters he had known for so long. Longer than anyone. These were the new boys on the block.

New boys he'd have to listen to. A frown settled on his lips as he listened to [member="Rook"] and his speach. Was this really what the Dread Guard he had laid his life on the line for turned into? A beacon of hope and defense to a war machine not so different from the One Sith? Or was he reading into it too much? His purple eyes gazed about, looking for someone, anyone, with a familiar face. In all his time of being a clone and hating how he looked just like the others, he had never missed the face of Jango Fett so much. He felt like an alien trying to pass off as a human in the Imperial era.

Is this really where his life was going?

 

[Placeholder 0133]

2/20

As the speech came to an end, the scientists and their support teams would ready their equipment. The brave men and women who would be receiving their augmentations would begin the process very soon. Rook had asked that [member="Ijaat Akun"] oversee the process, as the Forge Lord had a better eye for what might go wrong. [member="Ylvaris Desman"] was asked to stay behind for now as well, though for entirely different reasons. These young warriors would need someone to rally behind. Where Ijaat was the quiet fury, Kelghast was the raging storm. There were times when it was okay to let your anger guide your hand. Now would be one of those times.

Meanwhile, the High Lord would be paying an early visit to the world below. There were a number of alliance loyalists on the planet below; mostly mining barons who had agreed to the legions' demands. Most of those demands revolved around the betterment of quality of life for those working under them. There were no unionization laws on Mustafar. It was far too easy to make a man's life miserable for your own gain.

This, coupled with promises of protection and a monthly tax had sealed the deal.

The first of which he wished to visit was quite unlike the rest of the barons. She was one with known ties to the alliance, one [member="Braith Achlys"]. Rook had never met her -- he never went out of his way to get to know force sensitives -- but the hold she had over Mustafar was significant. She should know what was happening before the legion swept over the planet and made it their own.

The call was made.

"This is High Lord Ontonas of the Dread Legion. My warriors are making ready to remove a number of the mining barons holding dominions over this world from power. A treaty has already been made with the planet's overlord. Before my legions come, I would like to speak in person. My shuttle will be leaving shortly. If you do not wish to speak, then do not reply."

That was that.

With his message sent, Rook made his way down to the main level. With purpose, he strode through the aisles of lab equipment and warriors until he came to stand in front of [member="Kage"].

"Brother, I have need of men with experience. These men and women have heart, but they lack the extensive training." He reached down to clap and armor-bound hand on the man's shoulder, "We're going to speak with one of the local barons loyal to the alliance. I want to see as little bloodshed as possible with the liberation of this world. If things go awry in the meeting, I will need soldiers who can defend themselves."

He stood up to his full height, and scanned the crowd.

"Scribe Uvatera, you as well." No point leaving her here to terrorize the children.

Rook was content. The legions were coming together nicely. So long as Kage agreed, and [member="Qyren Leret"] arrived on time, they could get this over with in a timely manner.

 

[Qyren Leret]

Post: 1/20

Qyren had been on time, but had taken up residence in the back of the room, half-hidden behind equipment, as [member="Rook"] gave his speech. Most of it was powerful, the words of Rook-- High Lord Ontanas-- and not Alex, the friend she had agreed to help. Once his armor went on, Alex disappeared; he wouldn't return to the person she knew until they were alone at the end of the attack and he had stripped away the layers of phrik that protected and hid him. The transition was still new for her, and she felt that knot of discomfort settle in her every time she saw it. She didn't know the High Lord, didn't know Rook. She was operating entirely on faith now, and it left her unsteady. There would be no certainly until after today. This would be, technically, their first mission together, and it would be telling for their future as comrades in arms.

A frown came to her face at his commentary on 'religious fanatics'; it wasn't clear whether he meant the Sith or the more extreme Jedi. The process protected them from any Force user, and Qyren shifted uncomfortably, too aware that she was the only person in the room who would not exit it Force Dead-- and the only one who fit under that thinly-veiled accusation of being an enemy.

You are reading too much into it, she soothed herself, watching the hoard begin to split off to the droids. She straightened as they did so, waiting until they were well into the chaos of reorganizing themselves and Rook had stepped down from his place on the dais before she dared step into the open to cross the room. Even being there at the behest of their High Lord, Qyren knew it wasn't enough to grant her familiarity or geniality from his brothers and sisters. She would need to prove herself to them somehow before geniality might become a shadow of a possibility. A sigh caught in her chest. This was going to take a great deal of work.

Amidst the noise of those beginning augmentation and those having their midichlorians stripped away, the sound of Qyren's scuffed boots hitting the floor were lost. As she moved, her eyes traveled the large space, assessing the hoard of individuals who had answered Alex's call and simply taking in the vast machine that was being built. Her mind immediately shied away from the terminology, though she had heard it called that before by current members of the 'Guard. With her noticeably non-human race, with her gray tunic and lekku-wraps, with her lightsaber at her hip (in spite of the blaster at the other), she was not inconspicuous among the primarily-human group. It was only her height, dwarfed by those who had already been modified for MK-II and MK-III, that no longer stood out.

As she moved, she periodically looked for Rook amidst the crowd, zeroing in on him as she went but studiously avoiding the droids and machines that would make people Scribes. Rook had specifically asked for her to be here. Something about negotiations or communications; she wasn't entirely clear. What was clear was that the conversation would be with another Force user. While Qyren knew some of the request came from Alex's own underlying need to keep her close, she also saw the strategic value of showing whichever Jedi leader this was a unified front between Dreadguard-- those without any ties to the Force-- and Force sensitives.

She finally came to a stop just behind his right shoulder as he turned away to look over the crowd for someone, her emerald eyes sweeping over [member="Kage"] . She smiled slightly at him and glanced up at the High Lord towering over her as he called [member="Urya Uvatera"] to them.

"Are we ready then?" She forced herself to relax, suddenly aware that her body had been taut with tension. Her worries and future concerns were pushed aside for the task at hand; they would all need to be their best today to make certain their first mission as a group went according to plan.

 

[Kahlil Noble]

[2/20]

The voice chirped over the helmet, a private com. Kage let out another sigh, this one deeper. Did they already forget he was just a pilot? Or did [member="Rook"] know about the secret comando training he had undergone while in the original Dread Guard? Either way, Kage was going to find out prety soon. A gruff acknolwedgement was offered before he made is way beside the High Lord. The purple gaze of his looked over [member="Qyren Leret"] for a moment. A blink was offered to the smile.

A Jedi?

Part of his mind began to scream at him. There was a Jedi right in front of him. An enemy. A target. His training from his time during the Clone Wars tried to kick in, tried to get him to pull out his gone and end the girls life right then and there. But that's not what happened. Dread Guard training had taught him how to ignore and control this urge. It wasn't what defined him anymore. He nodded to the girl after this moment of reflection, but otherwise kept silent. The mission was a go, now it was a matter of beginning and getting it over with. How would these seven foot people do? Would they be able to live up to the Dread Guard name?

 

[Marcus Itera]

Post: [01/20]

It had been far too long since he'd seen many of these men. It had been nearly an entire decade since he'd laid eyes upon the visage of his old battle buddy, @Rook. The old Dreadguard from the Netherworld, [member="Ylvaris Desman"], and even more veterans that fought alongside him during the Republic's ongoing war with the One sith. They'd bled together, cried together, suffered together, and lived together. These men were as close to him as blood and it was heartbreaking to watch them walk away from his beloved Republic.

Three hundred men had stayed with him, and nearly a thousand left to follow Rook and his enigmatic excursion into the greater galaxy. But now Marcus had found him. Miranda found him first in intelligence reports, leading the Galactic Alliance through victory after victory, but what interested him even more was that the numbers of his beloved Force Dead men were growing in strength.

"You're so tiny compared to them."

"Remember, I'm still wearing my pants."

Miranda snorted. "Keep it that way, Commander Foster."

There were still a little over a hundred Dreadguard left with the Republic, but only two of them clad in black pauldrons and kamas stood before an overbearing sea of power armored, hammer toting, seven foot tall machinations made of flesh.

"Hey!" He shouted. "I'm looking for a Mister Rook, got a package for him! Bought some cookies and never paid the bill!" His voice wasn't as deep or bassy as that of these special little Mark IIIs, but it carried the edge and gruff of a career infantryman.

Bishop stood tall beside him and offered a snort.

It felt good to be back.

 

[Urya Uvatera]

Urya's fingers itched to burrow themselves into the nearest Droid, but Rook's voice nagged at her.

"Eungh. But! I was so close to.. I just want to... HNGH. Fine. Coming, Gorgeous."

The cyborg let the poor droid flee to its duties, turning on a metal heel and clomping over to the High Lord. The slim woman hadn't bothered with the armor, instead keeping to her favorite grubby orange jumpsuit. Long black hair was pulled back into a scruffy ponytail, and slapped haphazardly around her shoulders from her jogging pace to join [member="Rook"] and [member="Kage"] . She even glanced over at what the pilot was looking at for a split second, namely [member="Qyren Leret"] .Oooh. A Twi'lek? Fancy.

Urya took a second to size up the gathered small negotiators party. Bulky armor, reasonably sized armor, apparent Jedi and herself. The Borg's first urge was to acquaint herself better with that lightsaber, but experience taught her that touching other people's equipment was generally frowned upon. Especially anything on or near a belt. Urya laced her metal and flesh fingers together, stretching her arms up above her head.

"Let's get this show on the road, mm?"

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Rook would have hugged his brother, had he not been clad in his armor. Instead, he gave Marcus a hearty clap on the shoulder, grinning beneath his helmet as he did so. "Took you long enough Marcus!" He boomed, sounding all-too-pleased. He had been hoping for Marcus to join the cause from the very beginning. What man wouldn't want an old comrade to march with him once again into the field of battle?

Then there were questions, and Qyren. Releasing his brother, Rook turned toward the Twi'lek, offering a slight nod. "So we shall. No reason to keep the lady below waiting," he paused, "Marcus, you're on my team."

This is a start.

Kage was still an enigma. The man was entirely too quiet, though Rook suspected a vast majority of the first generation would be in a similar way for quite some time. They needed to get used to these new men and women -- strangers to them.

"Let's do that." He murmured in agreement to Urya, "Try not to steal anyone's datapads on the way down." The jab was aimed at the Scribe, though there was a teasing lite to his words.

A shuttle awaited those going planet side. Rook made his way over to it without delay, expecting his team to follow.


[member="Urya Uvatera"], [member="Kage"], [member="Qyren Leret"], [member="Marcus Foster"]

 

[Nubica Felidae]

[Posts=2/20]​

Objective: To be determined
Allies: None yet
Enemies: There are always enemies

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XE2fnYpwrng

She landed on the platform and quickly left the ship. It made a change to actually land on a planet for once.

She looked around. The area seemed deserted but she knew the planet had attracted Dark-siders in the past and so a systematic search and lock-down was called for. And the small bunker ahead was precisely where one would hold out.

Nubica entered the outer door. She sensed a presence ahead. It was Dark-sided. The Sith could only be a matter of metres away. She heard the snap-hiss and ahead saw the red glow from around the corner of the corridor.

She had no choice. In the blink of an eye, she had powered up her own lightsaber and moved forward. She felt the reassuring weight in her hand as she wielded the weapon.

She moved swiftly and carefully. Around that corner was a large control room. The computers long dead, black screens lined the walls. In front of her was a man. Maybe twice her age? He wore traditional Sith robes and the curve of his saber hilt suggested he was a Makashi user.

“Surrender. You are about to be heavily outnumbered. If you defeat me, there will be ten more behind me. Defeat them and you will be shot down before you reach hyperspace. It is the logical solution.”

The Sith hissed and much as spoke his reply. “Lies. You are alone. And I give you an offer. I sense much Darknes in you. Anger. You seem to want to fight me. These are not traits of a Jedi. Join me. Become my Apprentice. That is surely the logical solution?”

Nubica shook her head. “You may be older than me, but you’ve a lot to learn about Jedi.”

 

[Aerin Akun]

Post: 1/?

From a fair distance away Aerin watched the lumbering armored creature that had once been her husband. Fifteen years. Fifteen years and the first thing she had done was try to put a blade through his chest.

She wasn't entirely sure that that hadn't been the appropriate response.

Whoever [member="Ijaat Akun"] had become, whatever these Dreadguard were, she wasn't sure being involved with them was the right option; it was just her best option right now. Her heart tried to stir some remembrance of her once all-encompassing passion for her husband, but the ashes of her emotions remained silent and still. It was only in the throes of an intrusion that she remembered their love-- and then it was always overlaid with panic and pain. She wanted to remember; having something bright would be a relief from the pointless darkness of the universe. The feeling simply wasn't forthcoming.

The redhead finally moved across to one of the stations devoted to future Scribes and got in line. Never again would she go under a knife, and so she would take no augmentations-- even if she had the skills of a warrior with which to use them-- but the process of becoming Force Dead was a painless one. And she had checked the science of it to make sure of that before accepting the offer. The safety it would afford her in the future would be useful. There would be no fear of a Sith using the Force to draw her near, to cause her invisible and irreparable harm.

A deep, modulated, gravelly voice was audible over the cacophony of others, and Aerin resisted a shudder of revulsion with a physical stiffening of her spine. Briefly, the image of the Sith Master rose in her mind. Aerin's eyes were drawn back to her husband as she felt her chest tighten with fear, and she used the image to try to ground herself in the present. When he reached out to offer a hand of comfort to a much smaller boy, her imminent panic attack receded, leaving her harsh expression softened by inner contemplation. It would be wrong to say there was no connection there. They had made a life together once, and there was something... inexplicable about knowing he was near after so long, but the intervening years had stripped their history of its rosy glow and the physical changes he had undergone, things that forcibly triggered her attacks, stood between them. Whatever they would be from this point forward, it was unlikely their previous relationship would affect it much at all.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Objective: Begin the MK III
Allies: [member="Aerin Akun"] | [member="Kiyron"]
[2/20]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZXvEcBKMT8

Smiling, the Corellian teen in front of him looked up into the craggy face of the Forge Lord for a moment, as if searching for something that he failed to be able to put into words yet again. The massive Mandalorian, long since removed from the culture of his birth and raising, was now just as removed from the very race he identified with, the very species. In a true way, the exact tools that enabled them to fight for the common man, the common life, everyday average humans and benevolent aliens, elevated them so far into the upper strata of war that... They lost that made them a piece of that which they so prized and loved. In a very real way, since his mind had returned to him, Ijaat wondered if in some way they weren't, in their own distinctions, as bad as the Sith with their separateness and the differences in who and what they were. But such questions were shoved aside, buried in a mind still reeling with doubt and confusion.

Again the hand reached out to pat the man, for when a boy stepped forward to volunteer to give up that which these folk would, he left behind the trappings of a child, and became a man in truth. For this, the hard shell that had evolved around Ijaat seemed to melt away and reveal a kind man, almost affectionate, and indeed the smile beaming at the recruit was one of a father that was immeasurably and uncountably proud of the deeds of a favored son or daughter. The hand rested on the shoulder for a moment, as the gravel-bass of the Dreadguard voice grated forth in answer to the unspoken question and clumsily hidden insecurity the lurked in the other.

"Yes... It will hurt... I was the first of us to withstand the process...I would not have it any other way... Many... No, I will be honest.. Hundreds die for each one of us that awakens from cryo and augmentation with their life and sanity intact. The procedures are still imprecise, and being refined every day. We take every care that, as you go through the process, your body is allowed time in stasis to heal, and that your minds workings are sectioned away from your consciousness... When you emerge from this place, the core of you will be locked away, and you will be a Dreadguard, with no known name but a number designation... Eventually, as you train and work together, your brothers and sisters in the Legion will give you a name, and will be there to support and aid you through every test, both of the mind and the body. From this instant forth, whether you emerge and go on to wage war, or are claimed as causality to an imprecise science, you are a brother in my eyes.... And given that the changes wrought in your flesh are born of my mind in a very real way, you are something more... A son, in your case... Should the crucible claim you, I will mourn you. Your name will enter the record, and your brothers will surge forward unto the Galaxy, your name and loss the catalyst driving their fury against the Darkness to ensure that... Someday... The creation of those like us, won't be a need, and we can sit at peace."

Something in the boy seemed to change.. No, Ijaat must stop such thoughts... Something in the man had changed.. He sat straighter, his eyes brighter, shining of a conviction, and he nodded, closing his eyes and releasing a heavy breath, seeming to deflate and yet grow larger than life at the same time, as if a foreshadowing of what he may well one day become.

"I am ready Forge Lord.... Thank you...."

Nodding solemnly, Ijaat gestured to the waiting medical team that hovered in the wings. There, towards the Scribes awaiting to undergo the Force Deadening procedure, stood Aerin. Despite what happened on the FLEETCOM station above Fondor, he guessed she was still his wife... It shocked him at first, beyond recall and reason... That she lived, that his bloody one-man crusade against the Sith in his younger years had been.... Not only in vain, but misguided and all the more disastrous now that the truth was known. There would come a time, soon it had to be, where the two would sit down, and figure out that which they were... But for now, the needs of war outweighed his hearts desire. No matter how much he wished to rush to her, shelter her in his shadow and tell her she was safe and well now, something kept him back, something in her eyes, and in the whispered voice of doubt in the back of his mind.

His entire being had been supressed by hypnotic induced indoctrination. A stronger and more reliable process than genetically encoded loyalty when done right, and without the usual back-draws the Clone Wars armies had discovered, such as lack of creativity and critical thinking. Though such a process, even one broken and removed such as in the Forge Lords' case... Such a process would invariably cause it's own scars and changes, and particularly in this one it seemed to burn away the very humanity his wife and vode prized in the swordsman before his rebirth. The silent departure of the Forge Lord might seem callous or cold to some, but for someone that knew him, and knew him well, his stance spoke of grief and hesitation.

The young man that was behind him, being laid back on the gurney and taken away as sedatives began to flow into his blood, was almost certainly going to die. Such a bright smile and deep, intelligent eyes... And even if he survived? A lifetime of war and death... A liftime of not belonging anywhere... To tell the truth, he felt a monster, to consign such youth to a fate so cold... And he told himself it was for the greater good, the needs of the galaxy.... But a quiet voice inside him wondered just what had changed when his mind had glimpsed the vision and mind of the Keeper, and shortly after, a sliver of the Monitor of the Architects... Would he have condoned such actions before the trauma his psyche had withstood in recent times? The merging with Geoffery on Coruscant... Discovering Aerin at FLEETCOM, the melding of his consciousness with the Keeper, and the inadvertent brush with the Monitor. The indoctrination process he underwent to try and wipe such damage from his mind, that Aerin's face would rip apart... Even further back, laid the torture and experimentation on Selvaris, and the recent knowledge of his blood heritage.... What had he become? Had he even changed, or was it rank paranoia?

Turning, he gazed at [member="Kiyron"], and smiled as a medical aide ushered the young man over to the Forge Lord, and the Dreadguard bowed his head deeply, a gesture of utmost respect and reverence, meant full heartedly to honor the courage and sacrifice of those who would come forward to join him.

"Welcome, son.. Tell me... Do you understand the trials ahead, and what is being asked of you?"

 

[Kiyron]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]
2/20

Kiyron waited back as the Forge Lord spoke to the kid and ushered him off to the gurney. He heard most of that conversation, even at such a distance, now that his ears had fully healed. This was a gamble, to be sure. His current effectiveness up for the chance of being far more effective, with the risk of dying or going mad. Or, honestly, perhaps going mad was the true cost of such a thing. He had studied the costs and process. Hypnotic indoctrination, locked away memories. He would cease to be who he was. But who was he? At this point, he had no idea. Some wandering ex-soldier whose only skills lay in combat. That wasn't much to lose in that case. The boy was hurried off on a gurney and an orderly urged Kiyron forward.

Kiyron strode forward, or perhaps marched was a better word. Over a decade of military service was coming to bear full strength in this moment. This pivot point. Kiyron would cease to be who had been thus far and become something else. Something more and perhaps something less. That was the decision faced in these times however, for all things were a gamble and a cost. He stopped in front of the massive figure of the Forge Lord and inclined his head in return to the offered one.

Yes, he was indeed aware of what was being asked of him and the costs it would bring. It would be a shame to lose the memory of so much experience and knowledge that would be of use, but the muscle memory should, if he understood properly, remain, and that was what mattered.

"I am aware, Forge Lord." He held up his cybernetic arm in a form of salute. "Already given up most of myself. Might as well go all in on this. See if I can't do a better job this way."

Of course he was nervous though. Who wouldn't be? He was signing up to permanently change his body and psyche, losing his previous identity and possibly dying in the process. Something twisted in his gut. Fear? Probably, as it was just like every the feeling before every invasion. He ignored it again. It wouldn't help him here.

 

[Ellie Mors]

[1/20]
[member="Rook"]

Though Braith was certainly no 'baron', much less anyone with significant control of the planet of Mustafar, she most certainly operated, as well as owned, a mining and refinery station on both Mustafar and Abraxes - the headquarters of her small company being located on this hellish, magma-coated, rock. Located near the outskirts of a landmass where a small spaceport was situated, overseeing a vast river and sea of the searingly-hot red stuff, was the headquarters to Braith's rather small enterprise, the mining company known as Mastercraft Alloys - using alchemy of her own design to create new metals as they were in the refining process, as well as other materials which were contributed by those metals like her Simmersilk. Inside of this small, rather sterile and orderly, structure was Braith Achlys, sitting behind her modest desk while she read through the updates of what the Alliance was up to.

Much to her surprise she was directly given a message, an audio one, from a member of that very same alliance, one Lord Ontonas. Playing the audio feed back to herself while she crossed off the list of potential apprentices she might take to expand her small business, she heard a slight hint of distaste for the mining companies across the planet - especially considering his admission to work towards their forcible removal. His request for an audience with her, or rather a small meeting of little to no difference from the norm, suddenly became quite a bit more demanding than she'd initially felt the message was prior to playing it. "Lord Ontonas? This is Braith Achlys, a member of the Galactic Alliance and small business owner of Mustafar. You've mentioned you'd like to come chat, discuss some things, based on what you've told me I would like to meet with you, as well. I'll leave the directions to my office at the end of the message, please call me back if you need anything else or if you're unable to show." Braith replied, recording herself with both a holorecorder and audio recorder, and attached instructions to reach her company headquarters as well.

 

[Marcus Itera]

Post: [02/20]

He felt truly alive. Seeing his bond-brother was a great moment, even though much of his visage had been altered over the course of these past five years, there was still that unmistakable aura about him. Bishop was looking around too, the Mark II who had accompanied him just in case something were to happen and these men were to longer be his family, though he assumed Bishop just said that so he could tag along and see what his commander was up to.

"Have you gained weight?" Marcus grinned from behind his T-visor as a heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder plate. He returned the gesture with his own, Crushgaunt slapping down onto the giant man's power armored flank with brotherly affection.

The moment was fleeting as Rook turned to handle other matters, namely getting to the surface of this lava pool and meeting with some seemingly important people.

Bishop nudged him. "Think I might stay topside and get t' know these deluxe model troopers a little bit more - and maybe take some of their Credits." Marcus could almost see the mischievous grin behind his helmet.

"Try not to beat them too badly. I'm not sure if they're programmed to know how to play Sabacc."

Bishop gave something of a shrug, waved his hand in salute, and strolled off to go do what he did best - socialize. While he puttered off to go do that, Marcus caught the flicker of a holographic image flow across his HUD. Miranda stood there, hands on her cocked hips.

"Hm?"

"Told you they'd still be the same," she tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear. "I wonder if Stanley is still about."

"Maybe. I'll have to ask Rook when I get the chance, figure you two might need a little time to catch up and share data - or whatever you AI do." He said, toying with his pistol holder as he made for the gunship behind the rest of the landing party.

 

[Nubica Felidae]

[Posts=3/20]​

Objective: To be determined
Allies: None yet
Enemies: There are always enemies

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PlMWW4R1ZBM

When the Sith leaped to deliver his first blow, she was already moving to deflect it. The sabers met and sizzled. Nubica felt the power of the Sith's stroke move up her arm.

His lightsaber flashed, he thrust again, always with a surprising twist or direction.

Nubica moved defensively. She knew she would not be able to tire Sith, one method of Jedi strategy. And he was more powerful than her. She would need to bide her time before using Vaapad. To encourage him to dig deep into his power to fuel her chance of overcoming him.

And the Sith had more than physical skill. Nubica could feel the power of his mind.

Nubica leaped aside to avoid another blow. The Sith laughed. It was time to change the rules of engagement. Enough defence.

Nubica sprang at him, her lightsaber humming and flashing. She delivered one blow after another, which the Sith deflected. Smoke and sizzle filled the air. The Sith laughed again.

Nubica used a slashing sequence of moves to position the Sith against the wall. But the Sith leaped onto a desk and flipped over in midair, landing on Nubica's other side.

His lightsaber barely missed Nubica's shoulder, so close it singed the fabric of her tunic. “You cannot resist me. Give in to the Darkness. Join me.”

Their lightsabers tangled, buzzing furiously. Nubica felt the charge in his arm, but didn't waver. The Sith kicked out with a foot, but Nubica was expecting it, and moved aside. The Sith lost his balance. He almost fell, but recovered in time.

"Your footwork is your your weakness," Nubica said dryly as he dealt a blow to his shoulder.

The Sith twisted away, but not before Nubica saw him grimace with pain. "If you’re my equal, it's only in your mind."

Perhaps it was the taunt. Perhaps it was because Nubica had finally caused him real pain. The Sith whirled the other side of his cape behind his shoulder. A second lightsaber was suddenly in his hand.

Startled, Nubica lost his focus for an instant.

The Sith faked a charge to the left, went right, then danced back to the left again.

Nubica paused, knowing the Sith was ready to escalate the fight. Ready to deliver a death blow, if he could.