Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Reminiscence [The Primeval]

reminiscence
ɹǝɯᴉuᴉsɔǝuɔǝ


Grassy plains flow under the blue; the hush wind left a kiss on the herd. The farmers kept their crops well to feed the hungry and desperate... The Primeval weren't always this dark, once they were simply lost amongst terror itself, the darkness left upon the galaxy like a cruel birthmark that was hidden due to embarrassment. They didn't choose to flee, but they did choose to fight. A fight they knew they could not win but that isn't why they did so; they had hope. Hope that in their sacrifice a message could be displayed to end the cruelest of terrors. Wars, famine, murder, corruption, and zealousness.

Thinking of the past -- life before all this -- was the only touching thought given to the children born in the deception of pain and death. To believe you're already dead, to believe that salvation exists only for the strong; these are not conditions for compassion and so it is in the hidden texts, most destroyed, that any chance of righteous redemption exists. To redeem oneself from The Primeval was not a task openly taken and those who do generally fail; they and their bloodline purged from existence. Is it any wonder why these zealots are able to slaughter billions, burn worlds into ash, and destroy the imagination of children? There is no remorse when life no longer matters. The heart of their people was taken away long ago by the one who they praised most. A prophet regarded for his unconventional wisdom but more so his unwavering compassion for all life; a man whom they trusted as their hero and savior, a man of true humility. The Prophet is no longer remembered by any name -- only simply that and perhaps it was his own choice but some do remember the truth of his origins. He was a farmer like many others who made life under the soft laid light of Umbara's shadowy landscape and chose to bring light to his people. Like many he also had a family, fears, and bent knee to the will of masters aplenty. This very world that had bore scars of wars and struggles too many times to count. In service to their own interests and feinting alliance with the light led Republic for countless ages until it became convenient for them not to.

He rose to defend the people of his world not because he wanted power but because he feared the systematic destruction of all those he loved -- of all those who love -- and aside war he saw only one cure. Compassion for life in its most primitive form; there was no ego or ambition just words. He was remembered for being the one who fought with his tongue not by blade or rifle, but by wisdom and persuasiveness. Of course there were those who felt threatened because others chose to listen; they tried to kill an innocent man who only spoke of peace and love because they feared he bore the same greed they did. A lust for power and authority insatiably by any opportunity to grow it. The First Prophet in the twilight of his time on Umbara had many followers, and many others listened to him from across the galaxy like heeding whispers from a dying friend. This was what lead to their exile; the peak of war had brought Umbara to its knees and a jealous leader saw threat in the man who never took a life or brought destruction to his people. A man who wanted nothing but fairness and humility in content.

Countless were slaughtered at the feet of this jealous warlord, a person who feared nothing but the eradication of their wealth and power. So then The Prophet struck a deal; he begged the Warlord to allow them to take the oldest ships in the mothball fleets and leave the system forever, stripped of any weapons and armaments and only with what supplies they procured from other worlds. The Warlord of course grew suspicious but when rumors in his court spread that the Prophet had gained terrifying powers capable of wiping worlds, he relented: granting the prophet his wish. The exiled followers saw their world from the starry expanse like an intricate pearl delicately disappearing amongst the darkness. Years passed and the darkness inside their Prophet grew, the darkness that lead to The Primeval and the fear of those faithful to the old ways.

To reminisce of the past -- before the Darkness -- is the most heinous and blasphemous crime one can commit and so it would be the Bleeding Sun to take up this call; to eliminate all heresy.

Breath.

Anja sat inside her personal chambers; wearing the traditional garments of a warrior-in-training. She preferred these green robes held together by a simple rope, they breathed well and provided great flexibility and kept her aloft and agile. Her hair was tied up in the traditional manner as well, a simple knot keeping it from covering the back of her neck and away from the ears. The Host Lord normally wore her armour -- a symbol of her authority -- but when she was alone, absolutely alone, she felt at her true self. For few would suspect that she meditated deeply on the heretical documents of the old ways. The original path of the First Prophet. Her curiosity was known amongst the highest of her people to be insatiable and as it may be her greatest weapon; it will also likely be her greatest weakness and perhaps even her downfall. For now, however, the Umbaran woman simply prayed to her Lost Gods; asking for guidance amongst the stars and to lead her people to them successfully. She had just concluded a diplomatic effort with the One Sith, offering them her aid and that of The Primeval. Her scepter -- given to her as as a simple of her position, her most prized weapon was just recently polished. The metalwork bore a simplistic design that lead up to the fearsome claw-like head that acted both as a mace and a spear, the weapon itself equally able to be fought with like a short staff.

Meditation kept her free of torment and stress; her mind open to learning and growth in power. It was time for her to master not only that in which she was taught but her new-found powers in the force as well. She was ready for the war ahead of them, the invasions to come, and the end when they finally face their Gods.


[member="Jorda Ulluto"]
 
Jorda Ulluto's new life consisted of spending her days in a darkened cell on a ship called The Omen. In her cell she meditated, read ancient texts, and flogged herself, all to appease the Elder Gods. Her mind broken and indoctrinated with the dogma of the Primeval, the former party girl infochant had given her life over completely to the old gods. It was Nogras who touched her the most, the first creation of Sargon. "The Starmaker" Jorda wasn't certain of much these days but one thing she was convinced of was that she was a chosen acolyte for Nogras. After all, she had survived the autoboarding, the most grievous torture imaginable and had come out stronger than ever. She knew Nogras was pleased by her tenacity. Another one of Nogras' blessings, an awakening of Force powers within the Zeltron, and for this new dark burgeoning power, Jorda was extremely grateful.

And so she showed her gratitude with the mortification of her flesh. As she knelt on the floor of her cell, head down, methodically beating her own bloody back with a bladed cat-of-nine-tails, she got word from one of the guards that she'd been summoned to the throne room of [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] The Host Lord. She had not seen the Host Lord since her time before she was born again as a servant of Nogras, a time she could barely remember but through a fog of never-ending parties and sexual dalliances. As he made the announcement she arose, feeling enthralled. It was a sign from Nogras that she was pleased with Jorda.

She was given a set of ragged robes tied together with a string which she immediately donned. Following the guards to the throne room, she entered and immediately knelt before the Host Lord, her head down, raven hair curtained around her face. She dared not speak in the presence of her leader without first being spoken to. So on her knees, the Zeltron, her blood spreading out in a large stain on the back of her robe, simply waited to be addressed.
 
Anja tuned towards [member="Jorda Ulluto"] so that she may face their latest disciple. "Tell me your name.", she said quietly in voice just above that of a whisper. Her scepter was kept closely and held like it was only a trinket, something to hold onto when there wasn't anything else. A light smile came across her face as she relished the obedience -- the moment that one bowed down appropriately. She could recall the moment she was first chosen as Harbinger of Nogras; recalling a vision that came to her in her sleep. A vision of fire but through it a beautiful burning nebula surrounded by cold stars in the hidden depths of the galaxy. A vision awoken on her fifteenth birthday and just the day after she had killed her childhood sweetheart, a boy whom she considered a great friend and compatriot. Of course when they were chosen to prove themselves worthy of their training she did not hesitate much; there was grace in a holy kill and her training had been complete. It had always made her wonder whether or not they chose him specifically to test her and that thought made her deal a more painful blow than to any she's faced before on the proving grounds.

Of course as these thoughts flashed back she could only consider the moment that would come when Jorda too would be tested of her worthiness. Forced to kill someone dear and close to her, whomever it may be. Anja's strides were like she was walking on air, her feat glided across the metallic floor bear of any shoes or cloth, like it was natural for her to feel the floor with her feet. Agility was a proper talent that had been the center of most of her training, despite her learning the most aggressive combat form: Form VII: Juyo, she had utilized it in ways that were considered unorthdox -- favouring endurance over raw strength. Her strategy was to force the enemy to exhaust themselves before striking. Keeping their eyes on the weak before being challenged by the strong. It was quite fitting of a strategy of an Umbaran; a race known for never showing you all they know or their true motives.

The smile remained on her face as her pale-blue eyes danced between Jorda and the rest of the room.
 
Genuflecting on her knees on the cold, metallic floor, Jorda Ulluto raised her head to look upon the Host Lord, her hazel eyes full of reverence. "My name is Jorda Ulluto," she said obediently in a throaty whisper, her voice echoing through the chamber. "But you may call me anything that Nogras herself deems fitting." With that she bowed her head again. She was curious as to why she had been called in front of the Host Lord, but held her tongue, determined to speak when spoken to. Nogras would be irate if her servants didn't show the Host Lord the proper respect. After all, the woman was a direct line to the Elder Gods, and only with her help could the chosen ones like the Zeltron herself be made pure again.

It wouldn't be hard for an outsider to see that Jorda's decisions had been ripped from her and her life consisted of being told what to do, what to eat, wear, and what time to sleep, but Jorda welcomed the order in her life. She enjoyed the simplicity of knowing her single purpose in life. The thought of finding Nogras made her face break out into a wide, malicious smile. She would do anything the Host Lord wished if it would bring her closer to her new obsession. The torture and brainwashing had thoroughly fractured the Zeltron's mind so much that she felt worthless without the approval of those around her.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]
 
The Host Lord was visibly pleased by the results of her indoctrination. "Jorda? You may keep your name.", she had no intention of reshaping the girl's identity so long as she remained loyal. There was much need from her knowledge of the galaxy at large; a knowledge The Primeval simply lacked. Standing up the Host Lord took her scepter and walked over to [member="Jorda Ulluto"] , stopping just a few feet away.

"Rise."
, she commanded -- her voice did not fluctuate often and kept a firm appeal about it; neither attractive nor demeaning. It was poised. The room they were in was one used for many things but most notably it was where Anja addressed the needs of her people and operated her fleet from, she wasn't much of a front-line commander so much as she preferred to witness the big picture and rely on others to operate the pieces. There were flaws in the strategy, to be sure, but there were merits in having a strong officer corps. It kept the faction versatile, diverse, and above all united in the midst of failure -- something that came rarely.

Her eyes turned back to Jorda and gave her a sturdy rundown. "Are you aware of why I summoned you?", she asked.
 
At the Host Lord's behest, Jorda arose. She had no opinions about keeping her name. It was no longer her identity, but if it pleased the Host Lord, the unnamed servant of Nogras would continue to answer to it. Once upon a time that name was called out by angry Hutts or passionate lovers back on Zeltros, but Jorda would no longer make those associations with it. Her name would now be a means to an end. A name that history Holos would contain in reference to the purge of all who were not chosen by the Elder Gods.

Standing still, her body taut and ready to spring into action at Anja's command, the raven-haired Zeltron looked directly at her dark haired Umbaran Host Lord with bright hazel eyes. "I am not aware of why I am being summoned, Mistress. It is not my place to ask. I only serve." she said, waiting with bated breath for the woman's response.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]
 
The Host Lord was even more impressed by this obedience; Vile was definitely praise-worthy of this even with his heretical past. "You have something I want. Your mind.", she said -- the knowledge this Zeltron had could very well give an unparalleled edge in upcoming conflicts. Regardless of that it wasn't the true reason she was summoned.

"I want to train you myself. The agents of mine are all very skilled but sometimes their luxuries blind them of the truth.", she added. She had her doubts towards one of her top agents -- Catalys Maijora -- for some time now. He had been the one to bring Jorda, Tesar, Keira, and Lesana but his actions during the rescue operation were less than vague. Of course she wouldn't purge him because of that. He was too valuable, she needed to be sure he wouldn't betray her. "I want you to be my eyes and my ears, my voice, my will.", she finished her statement and began to pace -- building up energy inside her.

The Primeval was changing, evolving, and Anja would be the one to bring that change. This pilgrimage would not fail: Not like those that came before them.

[member="Jorda Ulluto"]
 
As Jorda searched the Host Lord's eyes, listening to her Mistress's wishes, she felt a smile spread across her lips. She was pleased that the Host Lord wanted to use her mind. It might have been broken, but it was sharper than any vibroblade, and had been quite useful in her former life as an infochant. The role that Anja described sounded important, and Jorda was desperate for a sense of purpose. To be trained by the Host Lord was frightening and enthralling all at the same time. The woman was a feared warrior among the denizens of Order's End, and the Zeltron had no idea what this training would entail.

Jorda nodded her head in agreement with the Host Lord. Her face become less like a brainwashed mask, and more closely resembled her former party girl self. "My mind is one of my greatest assets," she said. "As is my body." With that she opened her robe so that Anja could view her shapely red flesh. "I would be honored to be your eyes, ears, voice, and will, Mistress," she said, raising her eyebrow and giving Anja a wicked smile. The Zeltron hadn't lost her personality completely. She merely needed to mold it to suit her new found, unwavering devotion to Nogras.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]
 
Anja continued to pace, heeding all that she was told carefully. "You have potential.", her eyes gazed briefly at that which [member="Jorda Ulluto"] had decided Anja to 'witness' and although The Host Lord was not particularly versed in such things, she could see the potential for manipulative actions. Nonetheless in truth Jorda was someone she had been looking for. Not a puppet, but a mask.

"I will train you to fight like me, to think like me, and above all to be like me. You will not lose yourself, you will become more. I need your... Old self, just as much.", she stated as her pacing continued before her feet suddenly came to a halt. The Host Lord's eyes reconnected with Joda's, like she was staring into her soul. Umbarans were well known for their sinister gazes first and rarely revealing their true nature second. Everything else about them was rather straight-forward. Very adapt to the dark, usually strong in the force, and intimidating to be around. Anja was different to many who knew of her race; she wasn't particularly dishonest nor manipulative. Then again she relied on others complete tasks for her.
 
Jorda closed her robes and smiled at the Host Lord, beaming with the notion that Anja seemed to approve of her. Then what Anja said next surprised her. The Host Lord wanted Jorda to be like her "old self." She considered it for a moment. It might take a bit of self-reflection to figure out who the old Jorda was exactly, but once she did, her personality could easily be rewired. Instead of flagellation, she would meditate on the "old Jorda." Where she went, who she screwed, what vices she partook in.

Masks were Jorda's specialty in her old life and for Nogras, she would happily slip one on like a glove. As Anja's piercing eyes met hers, the Zeltron felt a cold chill ripple through her body. Jorda was lithe, but hardly an athlete, and she had a feeling that training with Anja would not be easy.

As silence hung in the air, Jorda assumed that it was her turn to speak. "I can and will channel my 'old self' for whatever tasks you deem me worthy of Mistress." With that said, she waited for her next command.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]
 
The Host Lord was quite pleased by her immediate obedience.

Once again this was an attribute to their indoctrination techniques; a result of torture. Salacious Vile may have secluded himself to the depths of his laboratory but the efforts put forth were having an astounding effect on The Primeval as a whole. A jedi, an infochant, and of course a shipwright have been put to work.

Anja walked over to the edge of the room, setting her scepter down and picking up two aged polearms. Clearly these wooden staves were meant for training purposes only; in the backdrop two sheathed vibroblades equally aged could be seen resting in the corner. Tossing the training weapon to Jorda, "You will learn.", she said. That was it. Just that. It was a simplistic statement that represented everything there was about learning; it was done not spoken of. You could describe something but in the end the best way to understand was to see, to do, to practice.

This was how she had learned on her birthworld and it is how many in The Primeval continue to learn. It may not have been the most masterful method but it did prove one thing: Whether or not someone was capable to begin with. It was one thing to estimate, to guess, to suspect, but to see and realize are very different concepts with equally different results.

[member="Jorda Ulluto"]
 

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