Objective 1/3
Tags:
Ingrid L'lerim
|
Judah Lesan
|
Damsy Callat
Duel: CLOSED
Warpost: Anyone else warposting and attacking Akar Kesh, if you wish to join the fight, feel free to! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!
Links:
Weapons |
Chosen | Some vehicles and other stuff
Zachariel snorts once more at her words. There is truth there, in most situations her words would hold true. Perhaps Solipsis had simply been in the right place at the right time, and yet he had still done more with that power than any other. It was two very different things to organize something, and to follow through and succeed. And few could say the Brotherhood hadn't succeeded in their goals. The dozens of worlds and systems conquered would attest to that, the countless more burned in the name of the Avatars was ample proof.
Tython was the last world in that string of bloody assaults. It may be the last one for them, but it would be a glorious end. And should they survive, then they would continue on as they had. Any who had fought them, knew them, would understand only their utter destruction would stop the Brotherhood. Watching Ingrid, he saw that she finally understood. Perhaps it had been how he'd expressed himself, or she could finally see the truth of the Brotherhood, of Zachariel himself.
The sorrow and grief in her voice made his eyes narrow. It confused him, made him suspicious. What did she know, or suspect, that he didn't? He had never hidden his beliefs from her, that of the strong ruling the weak, of the Avatars being true powers to be respected and followed. The further the Brotherhood pushed, the more this was proven to be true. They were led by a strong ruler, Solipsis, followed strong gods, the Avatars, and proved their strength in battle after battle.
"
You have seen much, learned much, yet you're still blind." Laughing, he shakes his head. She hadn't seen enough. "
No matter what you know, what you've seen and done, you still won't understand. Your power is great, the foes you've faced formidable. All have been overcome, beaten or escaped. But here and now, you will see. The Brotherhood is not one simple foe, the Avatars not one mere god, one belief system. They are more, and we are legion. The galaxy will run red with the blood we spill!"
Perhaps she would understand in time. The slaves of the Brotherhood were all equally brainwashed, the marauders all trained and then specialized in their warbands. The higher up the totem pole one went, the stronger the individual became. Strength ruled over all else. Where one fell, another would rise to take their place, leaving only the strong behind.
"
Strength rules all Ingrid! Where one falls, another rises, and only the worthy continue on."
No one in the Brotherhood would ever admit how tenuous the alliances truly were, nor would any showcase this to others. So long as they had a leader to follow and an enemy to conquer, the Brotherhood would thrive. No matter the losses sustained, the enemies fought, or the battles won and lost, they would thrive. For no other reason than to ensure the strong would be there in the end. Whether this was the Brotherhood themselves, or another group.
"
The galaxy is changing, it already has changed much. It will continue to change as time passes, we are simply the catalyst to bring about that change even faster. Should our goals succeed, the galaxy will be as decreed!"
All Mawites believed in the
Scripture of the Hidden Maw. Above all believers were the Avatars, the Dark Gods of the Maw. In their name, the strong ruled and the weak served. They adhered to the dogma of the Avatars and the Brotherhood, following the words of the Heathen Priests. Of all the political and religious systems in the galaxy, the Brotherhood was one of the few that truly followed through in every aspect of who they were. Ingrid believed what was said to be a lie, but where was the lie? The Brotherhood followed the scripture, with every battle they changed the galaxy, forced that change on the non-believers.
Laughing loudly at Ingrid, the warlord of the Bloodsworn sneered. She may not enjoy what was about to happen, but he would. The strong ruled, the weak served, and the Brotherhood held true to its beliefs.
He held true to his beliefs. And as her necklace was removed and they fought, that didn't change. Blade versus blade, will versus will, and centuries of experience on both sides brought them to fight. A blur to all but the two of them. Sword and axe versus daggers, the clang of the blades echoed around them, and each strike created sparks and one could see the air displaced.
Suddenly she pushed him back with the Force. And even that barely phased him, with him merely brushing it aside and slicing once more. Only, he cut through empty air. She had teleported once more, prompting him to straighten and twirl his blades about once more. He didn't look any worse for wear, despite what she had absorbed from him. There was simply too much death and destruction happening all around, he simply reabsorbed what was lost with the souls of others.
Watching her with wary eyes, he snorted as she spoke. He had suspected she would wish to speak once more, it's what always happened between them. In all their fights, they had spoken to one another in such a manner, between boughts of clashing blades. This was simply a more serious matter than those more light hearted fights. Twirling his blades once more, he snorts again. He is still a powerful warlord, a warrior and bladesman with a millennia and a half of combat experience. On top of that, he was a gen'dai. His confidence in the face of her words could be easily sensed.
That confidence didn't waver as she rebuilt the shattered skull, though disgust joined what he was feeling. She insulted the honor of that bounty hunter with such an act. Still, as it was floated to him, he held the skull in his hand, watching her as she spoke. He easily understood her words as an order, and scowled as he saw she still didn't understand. He hadn't lied, and she didn't believe him. Looking away from her and into the eye sockets of the bounty hunters skull, Zachariel's scowl deepened. Then his head shifted back to look at her, his rage evident as his lenses flared.
"
I think... you underestimate me." With a single move, Zachariel crushed the skull once more. The skull had been lost in combat, an honorable end, even if it enraged him greatly. Moreover, he had been angered by the deliberate focusing of the skulls, rather than the loss itself. Rolling his shoulders in a false look of loosening them, he chuckled unamusedly. "
This. Is. Paradise."
"
I haven't lied my dear, not once. Should this ritual succeed, the galaxy will be torn apart by the forces at play. From this Force nexus to so many others, reality will break and bend to our will. Everyone will see the power we wield, the might we possess. And all our losses won't matter, because we succeeded." Spreading his arms wide, he laughs darkly. "
THIS IS PARADISE INGRID! What comes after may be a lie, our souls merely devoured by the Avatars, or left to wander the Nether. But this? This is paradise. A galaxy at war, endless bloodshed, with the strong ruling and the weak following." His arms lower as he focuses on Ingrid. "
If I must work with Sith to accomplish this, so be it. Once our goals are achieved, I will cast them aside, or be cast aside. Regardless, we will have succeeded. I will have succeeded."
Bolts and slugs tore through the air, vehicles rumbled about, grenades were thrown, and orders shouted. The battlefield was chaos, but as chaotic fanatics, the Brotherhood thrived in such situations. Despite that, they were still being pushed back, still failing to hold off the attackers. Squads were constantly shifting, moving up or down the area, taking cover where they could, or charging where they couldn't. Every inch taken would be a bloody battle, a price paid for in droves. It mattered little who paid the price, so long as it was paid.
Above them, Maeve made sure that price was paid in full. Each life spent was spent to the best of that life's abilities, as many as possible died in a fitting manner to the Bloodsworns ways. But her cries and taunts were finally answered, prompting the Chosen to turn towards Judah and Damsy's voices. In response to what they said, she laughed, prompting the Bloodsworn followers to as well. In particular, the slaves laughed loudest. Theirs were sad, wheezing laughs. Their minds were broken, almost nothing of their pasts remained. All that was left was the desire to serve their betters. So much so, that even if they had wanted to flee the Bloodsworn, they couldn't have.
Maeve herself replied to Judahs taunt, chuckling low before calling back.
"
Unfortunately for you, no. I simply quote one of the many, many enemies the Jedi have failed to beat. We are simply another onto that ever increasing list!"
Then they continued on, following through with the ritual of the Dark Voice. Symbols now adorned their bodies, from heads to torsos, to other limbs for those more mechanical than not. Many had even drawn those symbols on the dead and dying, adding yet more souls to the ritual. Then, they had continued on with their charges, with the battle. With renewed vigor they struck, determination filling them fully. They may not all understood what the symbols meant, they still believed they were strengthened as a result. This fanaticism sent them over the edge of insanity, with cries to their gods on their lips.
Maeve herself had stepped even further forward, openly showing herself to anyone who would witness her. Raising her hammer, she roared with rage and hate, then lowered her hammer and pointed it towards the enemy, her roar never stopping. A tide of Bloodsworn rushed forth then, prayers to the Dark Gods on their lips. Weapons fire spat forth from them, blades were waved in the air, and on they rushed. In return, they had vehicles thrown at them.
With few Force users of their own, much less ones equal to a Jedi Master and Sith Lord. As such, nothing but blaster bolts and missiles shot towards the vehicles. This only aided the plan of Judah, who shattered the vehicles and sent forth a tide of shrapnel and smoke. Soon enough the rushing tide was engulfed, hardly visible to one another, much less those outside. Bloodsworn were crushed under the vehicles, others were torn apart by the shrapnel, and breathing became hard to some.
Of all this though, the Bloodsworn were least affected by the metal dust and shrapnel they were inhaling. Every Bloodsworn wore a mask of some sort, all in honor of their warlord Zachariel. Many of these masks had been converted from respirators, or into respirators. Those that hadn't, they were still protected from the worst of the smoke. Enough so that they continued to charge, even as those all around were cut down. They were driven ever further towards the enemy, towards Judah and Damsy. All of them sought worthy deaths, or to kill the foe.
Through the smoke came the Bloodsworn, the charging squads cut in half. Survivors were left severely wounded, often maimed. Yet they still charged on. Soon they neared the enemy, weapons already swinging and weapons firing. Squads moved as one to engage their superior enemies. Melee marauders rushed in first, while their ranged brethren opened fire from afar. All their attention was on Judah and Damsy, striking whenever and however they could. They wouldn't do much they knew, and still they charged on. One rallying cry sending them ever onward.
"
For the Avatars of the Maw!"
Coren Starchaser
Celeste Rigel
Caltin Vanagor
Tracyn Ordo
Zark San Tekka
| Team Lightside
Ardana Vorco
(engaging)
Darth Libertas
(in vicinity) | Team Darkside
