Serpent's Daughter [Primeval Open]

[Darth Grimoire]

Bastion, Primeval Capital World

Cutting through the bitter winds of a Bastion night, a small transport descending from upper atmosphere of the capital world of the Primeval made its way to a landing platform. The large platform was built into the side of a large tower designed to receive guests from other worlds. One such day had peaked the interest and attention of the leadership of the now powerful force in the outer rim.

A special envoy from the One Sith Empire, currently embroiled in a struggle with Republic, had made special request to speak with the representative of the Host Lord [[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]] of the Primeval, Warlord [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]. The agreement was that the Hutt and his cohort of trusted retainers would meet the envoy to receive a special project to treasure and develop. The transport made its touchdown and sighing mechanical gears opened the bottom hatch. Stepping out from the belly of the steel beast was a thin 3PO unit which had been custom made for holoprojection. Behind it was a young woman of dark brown hair and eyes powdered at the rims in dark inks. She wore a black tunic that split between her legs and touched her ankles. While over it a long ornate black cloak.

Passing by the first group of welcomes, they were escorted to a inner-chamber hall where the Hutt and his followers would host the reception.

The Holodroid 3PO bowed and in rigid gestures explained his presence, "Her dark excellency and my master Darth Hauntruss bid you greetings Master Zambrano." the Droid began speaking in both at once Galactic Basic and Huttese.

"She has instructed me to play to you a personal message via my hologram projection protocol. Will you agree to receive it." the Droid inquired.

Meanwhile, the quiet young woman stared at the Hutt and his cohort with a long gaze one devoid of any hidden emotional judgement or mental study. Pure bright red eyes gazed into the large bright eyes of the Hutt.

 

[The Traveler]

Bastion, [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] estate @Grimoire @Grimoire

Like a deeping darkness lost in the void of eternity of the nethervoid, he sat in his chair his nightvision mode engaged so he could read the tome he had at hand. He cared nothing for the Host Lord or her religion, or any religion for that matter he only cared about expanding his knowledge and his own agenda. Of course that meant for the time being ensuring that the Primeval viewed him as a useful asset, he couldn't achieve that which he desired on his own and it would take many lives to accomplish it. What was his task you might ask? The complete and utter destruction of the force religions and the chaos that they brought to the galaxy.

He gaze turned as he felt a new being of the force, it felt dark but yet innocent. As if it were the petal of a dying rose in the midst of a garden of darkness. Perhaps, perhaps he could make use of this if he could get to it before the fools despoiled the thing. He sighed as he moved towards the desk.

" Please do not put this up, i intend to return and read it. IF i can not find it easily on my return then the pits of tartarus and the fields of despair shall seem like a paradise compared to what i have intended"

The vision modes on his hud flickered and stabilized as he returned to the normal viewing spectrum. He would meet the hutt that fancied itself the retainer lord of this world and he would proceed with him in o so dogged fashion. Appearances must be kept, he needed the giant slug and to dispense of him with a giant shaker of salt would be to soon and to damning for now. So he played the loyal soldier, if at least one that it had not really met.

 

[Boethiah]

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The footsteps of marching soldiers echoed across the beaten path, denizen eyes shied away from the Host Lord as few dared to gaze upon her face. For Anja, these subjects were whispers that danced around her ears but failed to enter. The Host Lord and her soldiers entered the scene where a droid was communicating on someone's behalf to [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] who likely had the Directory nearby to keep him from getting into too much trouble.

If one took a moment to think about it, they might realize that Anja and Zambrano have never really met face-to-face. Not an unusual fact, considering the autonomy of Warlords within the Primeval.

The footsteps of her troops grew louder for those conversing, then their march halted suddenly with the wave of Anja's hand. She alone continued forward, her steps were nearly silent and only keen ears would notice her movements. Anja walked around them and stood off to the side, observing rather than partaking in the conversation.

Her pale eyes would follow any movements within her peripheral vision, but her focus remained on the Warlord and the droid.

[member="The Traveler"] | @Grimoire

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

The Black Prophet of Balagoth, was the forebear of a new interpretation of the Primeval faith, still early in its infancy. After all, it had only been so long ago that [member="Mishk"] passed into the Unseen Rift at the will of Balagoth. The serpent still shed tears for the small Jawa, to whom he had truly loved more than any other being in the cosmos within this life. The newly self-anointed priest however, had gained more from Mishk than a simple boost in power... he gained his very essence, the very personality and piety of the faithful dark child. With it, a new understanding of the universe had occurred to him upon his return to the Chiloon Rift... and now understood the separation between the Seen (The Physical) and the Unseen (The Spiritual) worlds coexisting with one another, most predominately within the Rift itself.

From there, the zealous Hutt had begun a perilous search for the Rift, and recruited other Seekers enlightened to his divine truth of the universe. The universal presence of Sargon, and the infidelic natures of those mongrels who saw Sargon as something other, and divided, or merely a tool to be used as one saw fit... when those gifts should be used to to open the eyes of those blind to Sargon. Through the Rift, the Black Prophet had been reborn under the bloody purpose of Balagoth, reawakened to the greater truths of not only the universe but the tangle mess of his past selves.

A great fusion of thoughts began to transform the very essence of the unholy abomination, into the face of a reborn faith, as the first Riftborne Seeker. Already the preparations necessary to begin his great trials, where commencing. Before him lay an arcane table with odd emblems that bore an eerie resemblance to the witches of Dathomir (an order he was supposedly never a part of) as well as the typical Sith runes. Upon this alchemical workshop, was the severed head of Captain Slika... recently killed over Aeten II shortly after Mishk's death. So in a sense, the Directory was sort of watching over him? The truth of the matter though, the Director was searching frantically for him, unable to ascertain what happened on his ship or the whereabouts of the decrepit slug.

Spirit ichor, filled the crevices, and intermingled with his contribution of sacrificial blood, wringed from the dead man's severed neck. The eyes seemed to be removed, and the mouth sewn shut, but thus far the head appeared to be more or less unmolested. The serpent smiled as his hands, conjuring the green mists of the Water of Life, as he invoked the spirits from the Unseen rift for whatever this ritual he had created.

As the new presence arrived however, it appeared the reformed being had finished the invocation, and set his hands to the arcane table, the blood and ichor sizzling under his acidic touch. A single tendril acted as a finger, as he brought it around the circular pentagonal designs on the surface and an odd manner.

"Patience my Mishk, you will someday soon know my touch again, when finally the Unseen Rift is found." He spoke to himself in the dark.

------------------------​

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Later...​

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The Warlord awaited, still splattered with blood, and accompanied by no one. Everything that was important to him had been killed, or he had killed in blind rage. Mishk was dead. Captain Slika was dead. His crew was dead. And yes, even Lovey, his Vaapad, was killed dead. They all died for Mishk, for the Black Prophet of Balagoth, they died in his pursuit of the Unseen Rift. That all important Seeking of the Rift had become all that he knew, and blood was the only path he knew how to practice.

Nonetheless, he awaited them in his usual persona, unafflicted by the more sinister thoughts, that had dug depth into his charade of senseless insanity. The depravity that now inhabited them, would likely cause them to question the Warlord and his intrinsic loyalties... but rest assured, faith, was a binding factor among people that instilled loyalty even into the most untrustworthy of practitioners. [member="Grimoire "]and her droid approached his midnight from, sitting upon his oddly clean Throne, bereft of the usual corpses he often donned... though the blood suggested it had not been long ago that they had been there, despite their seeming absence. Where might they have gone? The devil only knew.

As the pair, and the others entered, they would witness a remarkable absence of the usual thrall's that accompanied him... absence... it was an unusual feature that off put the presence of the ordinary habits of the Black Prophet who sat above them. Totally alone. His ears heard to the droid speak and its words, but it was his mind that innately understood why they had come here already. Soon, the Host Lord [member="Anja Aj'Rou"], as well as [member="The Traveler"] would arrive with their own entourage, breaking the emptiness of the room, but leaving it no less unusual, while she opted to observe the Warlord personally for the first time... with his infamy and recent transformation... it would be unlikely she would be disappointed with what she saw, but may feel subjected to believe the stories surrounding him must have been exaggerated given his eccentric personality. That of course, would be the case so long as she did not wonder too long what he did with his slaves here today... especially not in the basement.

"Speak freely, friend, I will listen." The Warlord offered, as his eyes maintained a tealish color of indifference.

 

[Darth Grimoire]

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="The Traveler"]


The droid bowed and replied, "Code accepted." Rising up the droid's body began to shake and strands of light began to envelope his limbs as a holographic form was digitized right before them. The figure of a tall imposing woman began to bleed into focus, long dark robes, pure white mane and a dark red stained flesh. Golden Sith eyes blinked open and the droid had transformed its visage into one of the most notorious figures of power in the galaxy - Imperial Warlord and Sith Lady of vile reputation - Darth Hauntruss.

The hologram of the Sith Lady smiled as her black inked lips stretched. "Greetings Warlord." Hauntruss smiled at the Hutt, turning to the Host of the Primeval she bowed her head, "Your excellency." Her words held a venomous purpose. Hauntruss stretched out her hand backwards and with one curl of her index finger, Grimoire stepped forward to line up with her dark mother's projection. Static rattled as Hauntruss spoke.

"I and your faction hold a common bond and in this bond I trust your talents with one of my most powerful...and precious of treasures." hissed the Warlord. Her hands rose up and the palm of her hand caressed Grimoire's chin while the rest of her fingers wrapped around her cheek. Grimoire kept her gaze at the Host and Huttese Warlord. "This is Grimoire. My most prized creation, spawn of my flesh...my daughter."

"She is powerful." Hauntruss gleefully chuckled, then lowered her hand, "But is weak in the way of the world and the way of the darkside and the force. She is too feeble to be sent into the waves of the One Sith. And so I in trust her with your brilliance dear Host and Warlord. Know that I will repay you in this favor."

Hauntruss turned and placed her hand on the child's cheek. "She will be my greatest legacy. My darkest triumph." Hauntruss' gaze burned into Grimoire's. Facing away she gestured Grimoire to introduce herself.

Grimoire paused. Bowed to her mother and then bent the knee to the Primeval reception, "I am Grimoire. I am at your service, my masters." Cold and obedient. That is how Hauntruss breed the child. A weapon without conscious, but a weapon that will nonetheless learn.

"Make good use of her." Hauntruss grinned once more, "May the darkness breathe power into your endeavors...Primeval."
The droid shook and the image died out. Grimoire herself remained kneeling.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

It pained the sickly serpent to listen to the fellow Warlords tale of progeny in Grimoire, having recently felt the crushing loss of one he loved, seeing a being before him belonging to another that enjoyed the pleasures of something akin to affection for another being. His face deceived the procession however, failing to betray the ache his dead heart felt at the reminder that his love had passed through the Unseen Rift. With a particularly edged malice, that few who dared know the Hutt would recognize, the Warlord spoke down to Grimoire with a particular level of loathing... or more accurately, jealousy.

"Blind. She is blind..." The Black Prophet spoke, as if alone in the world. Of course, he was referring to the Sith Lady and less to Grimoire, but it was left ambiguous to the true meaning behind his words, at least as far as to whom it was directed towards. Those great bluish eyes closed as it wore a face of indifference, shaking to either side in seeming disappointment. The eyes reopened as the head shot forward in his seat, blazing orange and crimson with bloody fury, as his passions were raised towards this other dark child.

"You would seek my friendship? You would seek the favour of Sargon? Of Balagoth?" The Huttese Warlord leaned back again, his eyes cooling to a flickering spiteful golden hue. His tendriled hands, seemed to search the air for something, as if gathering the scent of the air of some nonbeliever they must destroy. "Sargon, offers nothing. Balagoth, offers only the unobtainable Unseen Rift... yet holds it out of reach. Not even Nogras may offer the light to the way to that which is sacred to Balagoth without confining them to his domain, and Halrormalenth may offer no creation that will entered the Rift and return the same as before. The Dead One stands at the precipice of Sargon, administering the change of those seen, to those that are unseen, as well as those unseen, to those that are seen... there is great power in seeking out Balagoth and his Rift... but only if you've the will to see it." The beastly serpent paused, perhaps betraying more thought than others had been lead to believe he possessed... though anyone is capable of spouting out words, to attribute names to certain things, and to believe in what they say holds meaning. Even as the Warlord, he was the Black Prophet... a duality that worked only to expand his faith that his darkest reach, may finally touch upon the face of Balagoth, and rip from him the Rifts of Chaos, from which Mishk is contained within that coexisting realm. Sometimes... he even felt that the small Jawa might be right there next to him... but pulled from him by the Dead One, that accursed god that he worshipped.

"My friendship, is to be earned, and with it, many new games shall open up before you... only, if you should follow their rules, and not your own. Until then... will you seek my prize?"

@Grimoire, [member="The Traveler"], [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[The Traveler]

[member="Grimoire "]Anja Aj'Rou Zambrano the Hutt


In his own fashion the Traveler arived and stood back just a bit to observe what was going on, the Host Lord and the slug Prophet were entertaining the girl and her entourage. He listened only for a moment until the hutt started spouting off the religious nonsense that so many of the fanatics seemed to echo here before he took stock of the girl. The Traveler began his approach and stopped just to the side of the droid and the girl, his visor switching scan modes and finally returning to the normal spectrum.

" Obediance, not with standing judgement. Much like the hounds of oblivion, bred for the mighty and the powerful. Yet refined and perhaps... a streak of rebelion in her soul" he said in his cold metallic voice. He paced around her and the hutt before he stopped to scratch his armored chin as if thinking. " Has the spirit been beaten out of you already girl? Do you have no fire? Do you have no mind? Those who are slaves can not master that which is the force, they can only be used by it. To define one self in so little....substance.. Like the blackened hells of the pits of Despair, walking upon that is hallowed ground. Bedeviled and seductress, temptress and slitherer, before thine very eyes shall the open upon the spirit of knowledge and ye shall be granted that which is the gods" he said as he started to pace around again this time stoping behind the girl and taking a good look for once.

" Small, lithe, no rear end to back it up. Power is not yours to have, it must be taken, it must be forcefully bent to your will" he pulled his katana and held the blade up to peer at the edge "Keen is the edge of destiny, the stroke of fate and the path of eternity. Worked and forged, molded and annealed. The Prophet or the Host, that is a mighty preponderance. Sanity or lack there of, the gods or god. Decisions, which path to walk, which edge do you seek. Use your mind, use your will be not slave of ancestry be a weapon of exile and oblivion" he was far off into his own mind now " Either choice to make oblivion is what you will find, the end of what you are and the beginning of what you will be".

 

[Darth Grimoire]

[member="The Traveler"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

Proselytizing and sophism poured down on Grimoire's head. Hissing in the same ponderous fashion as her mother Grimoire arose from her knelt position. Dead eyes made their reply to the Hutt and armored man. Quiet as the night, Grimoire reached for the black buckle that held her cloak together and unpinned it from its locked position. The cloak slid of her back. Reaching for the edges of her sleeves she rolled back the black lengths to reveal her scarred skin below.

Etched into her very flesh by way of dark magic was a series of scar tattoos. Heinous and cryptic symbols intertwined with bizarre hieroglyphics. Ancient spell codes and Sith lingual decoding squeezed their way around her arms. She presented both of her arms outstretched in a mocking embracing gesture, as if she expected the darkness to hug her back. Humble yet venomousshe replied to the Hutt.

"I am both." Grimoire hissed. "I am my mother's extension and I am my own forge. Darkness gave me life but I will give it destiny."

Grimoire then lowered her arms. "However, I am no fool. Obedience gains skills and knowledge. And quiet disposition gains loyalty. My mother is great and terrible. So shall be my legacy. But in this moment...I am but a new vessel for your powers to fill. Whether it be this Rift. Or the expertise of a war monger. I shall consume all, like my mother before me."

Her words were sharp as a blade and cut through the lecturing to the heart of the matter. A dark aura permeated from her body, one that those who had been haunted by the Sith Lady that created her they would know it was the foulest and most vile darkness.

Grimoire kept her glare, she would complete her mother's task and then forge her own dark destiny, no matter the resistance.