Boost THE FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH - RUMBLE ON RUUSAN

[Mr. Usher]

AFTERPARTY​

Spoiler: Mr. Usher – Biomass Construct Types

Mr. Usher – Biomass Construct Types

Husk (1 HP)

• Human-sized (~1.7m)
• emaciated build
• Role: Reconnaissance, infiltration, mimicry
• Traits: Fragile, quick, capable of speech and tool use
• Notes: Can impersonate civilians, workers, or low-level officials; often deployed in groups or as sleeper agents

Warrior

• Size: ~2.3m tall, muscular and predatory
• Role: Frontline assault
• Traits: Bladed limbs, enhanced strength, fast reflexes
• Notes: Highly aggressive; used for direct engagements and biomass harvesting in active zones

Prowler

• 1.5m at shoulder
• quadrupedal with elongated limbs
• Role: Stealth raids, sabotage, dismemberment
• Traits: Sinewy, silent, capable of wall-crawling and burrowing
• Notes: May cloak or camouflage in environments; often sent ahead to break defenses or ambush targets

Hulk

• ~5m tall,
• massive and heavily armored
• Role: Biomass hauling, brute force, siege and suppression
• Traits: Slow, near-unstoppable, at full biomass, capable of carrying or deploying smaller husks from its mass
• Notes: Typically deployed for structural demolition, biomass transportation, or heart anchoring.

The roar of battle above had given way to scattered grunts, crunches, and the occasional husk screaming “Corn dogs! Spiced spleen! Two for one!” before being silenced.

But the density of proxies was thinning.

In the aisles where slain biomass piled up, twitching limbs and torsos convulsed toward one another, amalgamating, folding together like warm taffy until new Warrior-class proxies stood tall from the carnage. They roared into the conflict.
The brawl shifted.
Less chaos.
More coordination, yet still a glorified bar fight.

A Warrior picked up a bench and tried to club a sith with it. Another kicked a hovering vendor droid into a plasma-scarred seat. Someone shouted, “Sit down, meatball!” and threw a drink. A husk caught it, stared at the cup, and sipped from it.

Above, Prowlers darted across rafters and overhangs, snatching corpses in clawed silence. A fallen merc here, lumps of slain husks there – dragged into shadow for repurposing.

Below, the scuffle was muted, heard in the thumping of ordnance faraway rattling of footsteps.

In the dark of the sublevel there was a another sound.
Bone against metal.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

Outside the blast-hardened vault where Sal Katarn and Razmir Tezhyn stood, the Hulk-class biomass construct knocked on the door.

It struck the door with deliberate rhythm, as if testing the sound of made. Each slam shattered more of its own fists before they re-knit themselves and struck again.

The door seemed to hold, but the sound carried through. From the other side of the vault, a low, muffled growl of a voice croaked out:

“Knock knock.”

Location: Stands above | Sublevel vault below
Objective: Upper: Harvest & hassle | Lower: Psychological warfare
Tags: Sal Katarn | Razmir Tezhyn | Jerec Asyr | Xeykard | (feel free to kill these proxy Goobers in PvE or PvP them) Open brawlers still welcome
​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"There will be a debt to be paid. But not now. Do as you will."

Jerec took stock of his surroundings. Dead hive mind bioforms, a few dead Black Sun, his cousin Flurrrik, and other spectators. The kaggath still ongoing in the center. And across the way, an orbital bombardment scouring portions of the stands, sterilizing even. Weighed against all that, the big saurian Sith's promise of eventual vengeance still managed to intimidate. A little.

"Look," he said over the thunder of everything, lowering the chunk of railing that was currently his prime weapon, "I don't remember what I did to you or how much I owe, but how about this? Forget it all. Black Sun hires you on at a real good rate for today and maybe longer. Alternative is one of us puts the other one in that lava down there, if all this fething walking meatloaf will give us some breathing room."

 

[Merion Oreno]

Meanwhile, up on the cliffs overlooking the Valley of the Jedi, the Cult of the Central Isopter wept with gratitude.They'd been watching the kaggath through macrobinoculars and seen a disappointing lack of death. But now, as portions of the stands devolved into carnage, punctuated by orbital strikes, it all seemed worth the ten-mile desert hike to get up here. Some days Merion didn't feel much like a Cultist of the Central Isopter, but he sure did today.

 

[Mauve]

"It's certainly nice to know," she told Mauve Mauve over her shoulder, "that after a century of life, one can still have new and interesting experience."

"Too new and too interesting by half. It's all just disjointed violence and meaningless chaos. No respect, no decency, no decorum... " Adekos sighed heavily, "Oh, yes... It's a true kaggath now."

The info-maven looked up from wiring Sars Sarad his funds and tugged at an earring nervously as the flames from outside rose in a torrent. If she listened close enough, she could just hear the screaming through the glass.

Mauve smiled weakly.

"Apologies for the interruption, I am sure you saw recent Toydarian developments. I would be a poor host if I placed you all in danger. Although I must admit my associate's methods are... rather comprehensive."

Darth Kentarch | Darth Adekos | Ashin Cardé Varanin | Darth Empyrean | Aether Verd

 

[Xeykard]

A misunderstanding, to Xeykard's benefit. "Ha!" he bisected a bench, then the meat-sack swinging it at him. "A creature of business. So be it, Jerec Asyr. But you will do more than hire this one, as this one has more to offer."

Another brutal stroke, sending three husks reeling and two into the lava below. They were monsters, certainly, but in the moment Xeykard looked monstrous, Force blazing around him. None could withstand him; now he advanced, even as the animal-like forms tried to escape he cut those he could reach down. A moment of reprieve came in time, at least for this small pocket of the kaggath's stands.

"No payment today. Only an introduction -- when the time comes that you and your ilk require a different kind of strength. This one brings the might of a Sith Legion, and more. Credits are good. This one requires glory as well. To be seen winning." He approached Asyr again. "This, you will provide. In time."

Jerec Asyr Mr. Usher ​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

This one requires glory as well. To be seen winning." He approached Asyr again. "This, you will provide. In time."

"Sure, bub, that's all fine." Jerec finished pulping a bioform and let the length of railing fall with a comprehensive thunk. It rattled down the stands and arced out over the lava. "Consider it done. Look around. Know how many cameras are here?"

The stands were huge. The chaos of the attack and the bombardment were relatively small in comparison, and what was death against the draw of watching Round Two? This whole area, one of the worst, was a lot more manageable now Some were sitting down.

He sat on down in his ringside seat. It squished.

"You're on the news or will be. Slaughtered your way to history. Saved the whole galaxy from the meatloaf."

 

[Xeykard]

"Glory for the weak," he gestured at the dead. How typical for a criminal to think so small. Fortuitous for his own plans. Yet still, a grain of truth. "One must start somewhere."

He returned his saber to his belt, and started away. "This one will be in touch. Until the next."

Jerec Asyr ​

 

[Sael]

"Sael. Say-elle... Hmm. I like it. Reminds me of some kind of flower."

Amber eyes blinked and she felt a flash of a foreign emotion sting her cheeks. Never had she been likened to anything that could be found wanted — a flower was a beautiful thing, natural, fragrant, and used to brighten up spaces, to draw delight to the eye and senses. She'd always hated her name. But this might have been the first time she found herself disliking it not quite so strongly.

Smoothly, he interjected himself into her work. It felt foreign in the way she hadn't shared mental space before, and found great discomfort in someone's machinations plucking along the threads of the net she'd stitched together — but he was as unobtrusive as he was swift. In less than half the time it had taken her, a chorus broke out, fists banging on whatever surface they could; action and voice harmonized in praise.

She felt another emotion roil in her belly — but this one, she knew. Envy. He was stronger than she was. Almost eloquent about the way he worked. And..inebriated too! She still felt stiff, and focused.

Mercy . Of course, it would be her."

"You know of Mercy?"

She might have asked more, had a nearby section not exploded with violence, fear and death. Anger poured from the sky, incinerating a moat around a protected area. Sael faltered, felt her hold on things become tenuous and wobble. And then, just as they'd roared out, the screams had quieted to coughing, to groans, to the wet, ugly sound of someone trying to keep their own blood inside.

Her eyes glassed over—feeling.

The panic warped, and spun itself into something brittle and vibrating just beneath the surface. She moved quickly, threading it into something useful. Gently, carefully, she wove fear into awe. Pain into loyalty. People were always looking for a reason not to collapse. And then, perfectly timed, Mercy's personality gave them that reason:

"I just wanted a real fight. Flesh and bone. Meat against meat. But I am stuck fighting a toaster and a coward. Where is the justice in that?"

A ripple.

Sael felt it break the tension in the crowd. Not completely. Not cleanly. But the laughter in Mercy's voice struck something raw in the people around her—something envious, admiring, hungry — ravenous, even. They wanted to laugh like that! They wanted to stand like that! Especially now as the world fell apart and so many fellow attendees turned to corpses. In this moment, Sael was particularly grateful that Mercy had managed to get her an elevated box seat, safe from below.

Their emotions flooded her.
A man clutching a crushed arm, whispering: "She's still going?"
A woman, half-burned, mouthing: "She's laughing?"
Another, on their knees: "What is she made of?"

____________________________________________________________
Isar
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​

 

[Isar]

The corner of his lips turned up as he felt those flickers of emotion from her. Most Zeltrons might seem them as spots of color, or scents. Isar, hopped up on all this glitterstim, felt every little noradrenal rush, every pulse of serotonin, every flush of dopamine - clear as crystal. So visible in the throes of his half-hallucination that he felt he could reach out and feel their texture. Buried beneath layers of anxious trepidation, confusion, and outright fear, he could sense the outlines of an unspoken need coiled within her. A want to be wanted.

Doesn't everyone, love.

A small frown pinched his brows together and he pursed his lips as he felt that other need in her mix with something else, a jealousy welling up within, a thick, green acidity.

And sometimes we just want.

A streak of light crashed into the stadium, so bright it dazzled Isar's eyes and he had to blink rapidly to try to clear his vision. It was followed by a slew of more blindingly bright bolts of red, enormous and sizzling. He heard the crackle as they burnt down through atmosphere and then the world shook around him BOOM, BA BOOM BOOM BOOM. The stands opposite them near the skybox blew to pieces, flames roaring high and bodies everywhere.

"What the hells?" He muttered.

More screaming in the middle of the crowd, figures fighting - he caught the glimpse of lightsabers as his vision cleared.

"Huh."

He braced himself for another chorus of cannon fire from orbit, but nothing followed. And after the initial screaming, matters started to quiet down fairly quickly.

But throughout the panic and the chaos, Sael had managed to maintain her focus on the web - despite the agony of the crowd. No. Because of the agony. He saw now how she drew on it to feed those emotions.

He caught sight of a figure tottering, half their body charred away. They wouldn't last long. Isar watched them stumble. Fall. He could feel their pain. The tattooed Zeltron grimaced.

"Damn."

Reaching out, he gave the poor sod some last measure of peace, wading deep through their agony until he could find the threads of memories and pull them out, pushing away their pain and immersing them in a happy moment. Something about their childhood and an old rope swing, he didn't really pay much attention to it. They died a few seconds later.

Meaningless.

Isar took a long drink from the bottle - he'd just survived potential obliteration by orbital strike after all. When he finished, he nodded, wiping the back of a hand across his mouth.

Isar sighed, turning back to Sael .

"You hung onto all of that through this? And you fed it too. You've got real talent," he nodded, more to himself, "Aye I know Mercy, me and her go back some. Worked a few jobs. What are you doing running with her, she's a sledgehammer, and you, love, you're an artist."