The Great Unrest - Razing of Dantooine

Zambrano the Starweird · Oct 31, 2015

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0GU-6_mwkw&channel=GmRebelliousV

"Look, more closely, Captain Slika..." A voice of deceptive silk, poured out as a liquid, displacing the subtle vapours of decadent death, in the air. Crimson filled the air between the cracked grey lips, as the lulling sound lumbered in its deep tenor-baritone to the ear long decayed into nothing more than a sullen pit. Flakes of flesh tumbled slowly from the bone-white forehead of the deceased man, as the gentle breeze of the serpents hissing words disturbed their resting places upon the remains of the cadaver.

"What you see as the world..." Sewn eyes were brought forward, the skull tapping against the soft flesh of the looming beast that hurtled faster and faster towards the damned, as a vision of the world was brought into view by the fine... cold mists of viridescent malignance.

"Is a lie..." A tongue composed of the shade of midnight coalesced over the crackled flesh of those ravenous charred lips, coating it in a thick dark dribbling of liquid, marking the trail of its pursuit for the soft moistened ground of the beast's gullet. Then, from beyond one's view, a mass of similarly 'bleeding' tongues crawled through the air, as they wrapped around the vaporous form of Dantooine... and crushed it... banishing it...

... into Darkness.

-----------------------------------------

The Primeval Fleet orbited above the harmonious world of Dantooine, content and comfortable with its soft presence without the hard militarization so common on other worlds. Renowned only for its latent history with the Jedi at one point in history, and being insignificant in any other part of it. The Natives held a sizable influence these days, though no presence was absolute on this world.

The Fleet stationed here, was a partial one, meant merely to respond to threats if one ever arrived. Though with the Seekers of the Rift taking their Enclave to this place, filling their Riftsingers, Bloodborne, and Riftwalkers with the power of the dark side of the force in their particular rituals as they attempt to progress forward to the conclusion to their endless journey. It was not the concern of the fleet...

... but today, it may be yet.

"Admiral, we seem to be receiving a message... it comes from the Chiloon Rift... from, Admiral Thetsh." An officer on the bridge of the Primeval-Class Star Destroyer Balagoth notified Admiral Hgar. "All it seems to say is... change. Do you know what that means, sir?

"That's the entire message?" Hgar questioned, confounded by this oddity.

"Yes, sir... wait... there's another one. From Vice-Admiral Jok'u... change." The officer looked up to his admiral from his station, and something off-putting had suddenly put concern into his voice. The Admiral was about to speak, when another officer spoke up. "Another one, sir, Rear-Admiral Weab. Same message." The Admiral whirled around with a clear look of confusion, unable to formulate a clear response. Another officer attempted to speak, but the Admiral cut him off.

"Enough, somebody ask them what this means. I don't have time for nonsen-"

"A ship just dropped out of hyperspace, sir... it's The Thorn." The Admiral's heart skipped a beat. "Another message. Commodore Vun." Then the other officer spoke up. "Captain Slika." Hardly a moment later, "Sir, another ship dropped out of hyperspace... it's not a design I've seen before."

"Hail those ships immediately! Order them to stand down for inspection! I don't know what this Warlord or his lackies are doing, but I say enough to this cryptic nonsense. If they do not comply, shoot them down." A moment of silence filled the bridge.

"Sir..." An officer merely looked outside of the bridge, to which the Admiral had his back turned. Realizing the officer had nothing else to say, he turned around slowly to see before him, sprawled out across a blanket of stars... ship... after ship... after ship... hundreds of them... arive. The officers continued to receive the cryptic message of change, from more and more dead members of the Black Prophet's former crew, all identical and being transmitted from the Chiloon Rift.

The Admiral stood there breathless, before issuing one order:

"Prepare for battle, and send a message to Bastion immediately... it may be our last."

Boethiah · Oct 31, 2015

Bastion.

A fortress world unparalleled in this galaxy. At any point in the past, Bastion would've unleashed a fleet equally unparalleled upon the Warlord of the Rift.

But as the call went out to Bastion, no answer returned... The world is dark, all lines of communication are silent and the Host Lord nowhere to be found.

Those upon Dantooine are at the mercy of the Warlord, and all those who dare to stand against him.

Zambrano the Starweird · Nov 1, 2015

A mercy, unlikely to be given. The Black Prophet hurtled through space un cusp of a new rift upon the horizon of space, hundreds of instruments of war, at the behest of his call... haunted remnants of the control that once commanded him, now twisted into his own design. This armada, was formed upon the stolen dream of the one who so foolishly allowed the Actor to Direct.

It all came full circle now. A mere killer upon the streets, brought in to merely play a part... and by chance, through a random series of events... that puppet had been given the resources, the power, the will, and life... to destroy everything in his path. The Puppet Masters had been strangled by the very cords and strings they had relied upon to enact their control.

"Now all, shall suffer that folly," A grim smile carved itself into that malicious face, concealed by that helm which granted him the control of his beastly stead through the dead of space. The serpent which held the Captain's skull, let out a low hiss, as if in laughter while everything else dripped of coordinated silence.

-----------------------

"We've got nothing, sir." The officer responded, as the sky became obscured by the sheer amount of firepower presented against them. It was clear, that one several ships, bodies had been strapped to the outskirts of the ships... likely members of the crew that once accompanied the Warlord of the Rift prior to their demise.

"Nothing? What do you mean?"

"Bastion is dark, sir... they aren't responding... we're on our own." A loud silence obscured the thoughts of those on the bridge, as they came to the realization that Dantooine would fall... yet after a few moments, something changed within them... the realization of faith. That necessary tool of a thought, the connected the lives of those locked in arms together, that held them grounded to the people they served and fought their freedom for. Faith brought them from the pits of despair, and held them to resolve against these odds by finding the support they needed by any means necessary.

"Contact the other Warlords... Echoy'la, Wayland, Dubrillion, anyone. If Bastion will not respond, maybe they will. Hail The Thorn." A stern look fell upon the Admiral's face as the rest of his ship bustled with the activity of impending doom.

The hail was answered... though only breathing could be heard, and his visage did not grace them.

"Krando Ramesh Gorra, Warlord "Zambrano" the Hutt of the Chiloon Rift, "Black Prophet of Balagoth"... why do you put these forces against the Primeval? Your brethren in arms?"

Ughad · Nov 2, 2015

Kadri and his cabinet sat in the meeting room of one of the ships of the expansive Vanguard fleet. The grand funeral would be soon, and perhaps not soon enough, and it seemed that the warlords would know only too late. This event truly would test the mettle of the warlords in these dark times, the petty squabbles would begin soon, with another, more pressing issue currently at hand, unless the warlords united under a single banner, then the mighty state that the Host Lord had built would fall to pieces in the deranged Hutt's hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The distress signal had indeed been received, but perhaps, it was better not to respond. The fractures were deep and many, as if the gods themselves were mourning over their loss.

"What would you have us do, Grand Executor? The ships are ready to make the jump on your command." One said.

"You fool! Even if we sent them he has control over a vast number more still being produced under his command, with our greatest means of production under the control of this heretic it is a war of attrition that is not in our favor!" Claimed another.

"All of you, quiet," The aged Umbaran commanded. "Your endless bickering disturbs me. We all knew that this day would come, when one of the warlords would go hostile to the will of the Host Lords. What we have is a monster afraid that the sun is about to set on us. He is wrong. For the Sun is only about to rise. Send a message to all of the loyal warlords.---

The heretic Zambrano has moved against the will of this great state, and therefore against the will of the Host Lord, and in hand against the will of the gods themselves. His blasphemy has driven him into madness far deeper than we can comprehend. Those who do not join us against him have directly gone against the will of the Primeval, and will be dealt with severely. We are coming. Kadri, Grand Executor of the Primeval, and Right Hand of the Host Lord herself."

Azrael Asura · Nov 3, 2015

The warrior did not stir.

He did not move, nor murmur, nor make any plans to do so. Still, the voices screamed at him. Some came from outside his cave. Others came from within. Thoughts, not of his own, rampaged inside his mind, begging him to act. They yelled for him to do something about the imminent threat from above. In the distance there was panic, lying in stark contrast to his calm. People had heard of the fleet that overshadowed the world. And it scared them. All they knew was what their friends and family were telling them over comm units. It wasn't much.

Very little information had made it to the ground. Hence the silence of the lizard man. He did not have context for their screams. At least not enough. What he knew was that there had been something in the force. Maybe not the ripple of a death, no, maybe the ripple of a response to it. He didn't know. Whatever it had been, it had caused the giant to become... concerned. And so he had been preparing himself for what was to come. For him that meant hiding in a cave, away from everyone else, surrounded by nothing but his thoughts. His feelings. The force.

It took a very familiar voice to draw him out of that. Of course he had heard the woman's footsteps. The sound of her metal-edged boots hitting the rocks, carrying a sense of purpose with them. That had told him who it was long before the smoothness of her voice did. But it wasn't until she spoke that he bothered to acknowledge his HRD's presence. He knew she wouldn't mind. She hadn't been given an AI yet- though that was in the works. Only the best for the mother of the Reptilian Armed Forces, of course.

"Azrael. They have requested your presence. They're worried that forces will be sent to the ground, and they want you to comfort them, or to stand beside them as they burn. Though they didn't quite word it that way." Everyn stood a few feet back from her Master. Both of her hands were held politely behind her back. She offered him no help as he stood up. There was no reason to. Never had the monster of a man needed the assistance, and she didn't believe he ever would. 'Twas not in her programming to wonder. Only to listen to him as he turned to look at her with a toothy grin.

"Give me a gun."

50H31 · Nov 3, 2015

Was it righteous for a android to conquer?

A question he had posited to himself often. But a difficult one. Not one without meaning. Not one without...order. Here, on Lorrd, he had built much. To sway the 'debt' to Voracitos, he had developed a rather interesting solution to the problem. Under his tutelage, the Lorrdians had begun using their vast knowledge to sell research, moving massive amounts of credits, amassing wealth from lore and turning it into a rather unique asset.

Still, he had a way to go claim the debt of an empire. Of course, even upon the dead, there could be recompense...if there was an ideal stratagem.

"Sire--" an acolyte began. A small, soft-spoken protocol droid. "We have reports, sire. Dantooine is under attack. One of the Warlords has gone mad, and attempted to usurp power."

Five-oh stood, slowly rising from his meditation bench. Well, that was unfortunate I guess now it was time to answer his other conundrum. Would he be able to conquer and be just? Would it be righteous for him to save those who could not protect themselves, or would it be the foolish arrogance of a mechanized madman? He cocked his head to the side. "Heaven will show us the path. My ship will join with the response fleet."

Zambrano the Starweird · Nov 3, 2015

The voice boomed into the ears of Admiral Hgar, prior to his imminent doom.

"Balagoth... has called out to me, from beyond the Unseen Rift..." Static interrupted his speech, as more and more ships entered the system. "The Host Lord is dead... the gods... disown us. Our stunted growth, our stagnated progress... we no longer garner their attention to lack of interest." The first vanguard ships of the Time-Rift class hurtled towards the fleet, forward shields powered to the maximum, yet did not fire even when fired up.

"Never shall the Unseen Rift at the foot of Balagoth be found, if we do not adapt!" Droid starfighters began to pour out of the various ships as they hurtled forward towards the defending fleet, and at last as they fired their turbolasers and other ordinances, the Time-Rifts responded with a massive disorientating electronic warfare system... magnified a hundredfold by the sheer number of Star Destroyers. Yet even as the defensive fleet failed to strike these approaching ships significantly... the invading armada failed to unleash the awesome power of their ordinance.

"I have come as the arbiter of that evolution!" The voice roared in euphoric rage, as starfighters from both sides intermingled and destroyed one another in a glorious bloodbath of sparks and bone. Then... it began to happen. Thousands... upon thousands of missiles and torpedoes, launched from the vanguard fleet of the Armada and struck against each ship simultaneously... allowing not a small number of them to begin falling past the blockade. A great brilliance filled the sky with exploding star ships both defending and invading... yet the horrors of that death from above... had yet to truly arrive.

"Now face me, and CHANGE!" The transmission was cut, just as the first ship entered the atmosphere...

...and fell...

...falling...

...burning...

...crashing.

First, one fell to the earth and scarred its surface with the annihilation of an entire region, bathing wildlife for kilometers from the epicenter of the blast in flames and debris. Then another fell. Then suddenly, it appeared as much as a dozen were all falling on a direct path to collide with Dantooine. These ships hit settlements, natural areas, old constructs, and notable forests... even with the full firepower capable of razing its surface in ordinance... the Warlord had chosen instead to ram whole ships into the earth in a glorious demonstration of power. He did not need the full might of his fleet to destroy them, and was not afraid to take grave losses to accomplish his goals.

[member="Kadri Ughad"], [member="Azrael Asura"], [member="50H31"]

Sirak Kolar · Nov 3, 2015

Ebon's fleets, although small, began to rise from the planet at his command. He had been watching the activities of [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]'s fleets himself, and as time finally came for him to attempt combat himself. No, he couldn't do true combat against the ships, not with his forces, but he had a plan that was already spread through his zealot forces. Each of them knew their plan, respectfully, and each would rush a ship themselves, a capital ship if possible, and commandeer the bridge. Step two, they would use the weapons available to them to fire on their fellow ships, and if not possible, they would crash the ships into each other.

Various ships held small amounts of cloaking capabilities, and the men aboard were battle hardened and elite in nature, if not held back by their lack of numbers and equipment, but if their tactics go well, they each would be able to find their target in time. The ships began their breach from the atmosphere, each able to watch as the fellow ships around them began to crash into the atmospheres themselves, and Ebon himself sat meditating in one of the numerous ships that now were lifting through the atmosphere.

Ebon's ship itself was cloaked entirely, a corvette with a hundred men prepped and ready to board. Ebon himself was sealed in his own pressurized suit, in case he became exposed to the environment outside. His eye's moved to near slits as he focused on the lead ship he could sense Zambrano was on, and he himself began to slow not only his heartbeat, but hide what force footprint he had, hoping to entirely cloak the ship itself from him. He began his battle meditation as his lightsaber sat in his lap, the occasional throat mic permeating the silence to tell them the distance from the ships that still lay in orbit.

Vaulkhar · Nov 4, 2015

Vaulkhar cared not for the Host Lord or the Primeval. He was simply a warrior that offered his saber to aid the likes of his half brother, Enoch, and whatever [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] was to him. So when a call was made to Ziost, seeking his half brother [member="Enoch Zambrano"] to aid in this little venture, Vaulkhar was there to answer it. The call was a simple one, a call to arms by his brother, the Hutt one that is. And for several days after the call, Vaulkhar sat upon the throne of Ziost in careful consideration. Since the disappearance of his half-brother, he had been in charge of Ziost and anything involving the planet. Some called him the new Warlord, others the Steward, but in reality, it mattered not. The blind warrior knew the end game for the planet, as it was explained to him by his brother. And this would simply aid in that.

So now he stood upon the deck of of his personal ship, staring out at the destruction being brought upon the planet by his brother. It was devastating, entire villages and forests being destroyed by these ships falling to the surface. He was unsure how to go about this, considering this little battle was not so much a battle, more so a display of power. An odd one at that. So he decided to stay comfortably within his ship and watch, not moving to aid either side.

And at his beckon and call was the fleet of Ziost, something he personally had been putting together since arriving at the planet.

Zambrano the Starweird · Nov 5, 2015

A lone thing exited from The Thorn, and flew past the various Star Destroyers that made up this detachment of his droid Armada. Worthless scraps of metal they were, the organically obsessed Warlord had enveloped himself and massive tendril-ed mass of magickal flesh, siphoned off from the sacrifices he held on his ship to unleash this odd abomination of unnatural abhorrence. The black sphere of blood and skin plummeted downwards against the backdrop of the night sky and falling ship spears, burning up below him in the atmosphere as they collided with the planet in glorious fashion.

The Riftborne knew only how to spread their faith through blood and conquest, and when faith was dying in a Theocracy, an awakening was needed to remind them just what they stood for. If the Primeval refused to thrive after the desolation of its worlds by one of their own, clearly it did not have a right to exist. It was by the will of Anja Aj'Rou, to leave nothing for the taking. Whether the Primeval would persist in a new form as the Warlord hoped, or the Primeval would wither away beneath his colossal ambition, the Zealot served his faith faithfully... in seeming irreverence and betrayal.

Sainthood. This is what would become of Zambrano the Hutt in his own eyes, for he would be the one responsible for the continued rise of the chosen peoples of the galaxy. Or if not, he would die a martyr to them in preventing the vultures from picking at the remains... for once he was finished, they would merely dance in the ashes of what once was. A trail of green mist surrounding the obsidian colored writhing orb of flesh, as it fell further and further to the atmosphere. Soon, the Warlord would be planet bound, and the true slaughter would begin... as there were other orbs falling with him.

He was merely the first to arrive to stoke the flames he kindled.

Z Hutt begins falling to the surface with his Terror Runners encapsulated in magick flesh.
[member="Ebon"] will be able to board a Time Rift Star Destroyer, but will find it more difficult to commandeer, given its droid piloting.
[member="Vaulkhar"] will find that the Warlord Armada would pay no heed to the Ziost Fleet, unless engaged upon.

Ughad · Nov 6, 2015

Hyperdrives had been engaged, the Vanguard was coming. Surely this heretic would pay with complete servitude or his life. Either way a new warlord of the Rift would have to be established as soon as possible. The flaw, however, was that Kadri was going in blind. He depended on what little explanation the good Admiral Hgar had provided to him. Hundreds. A blanket across the stars. A power vacuum was about to begin. The Primeval had been stable for so little time under their Host Lord that without her, there were no plans, there was nothing laid out in contingency. While the Grand Executor's words were filled with charisma and hope for victory, Kadri himself doubted that it would be so. Without a leader the Primeval would recess back to their dark edge of the galaxy, waiting for another Host of Nogras to be declared. So far, it seemed that this Hutt would be the one to carry them on.

This was unacceptable. This hutt was a weapon without a mind or voice to control it. Nothing to guide the blade, nothing to stop it from bleeding its master dry. The Zambrano had to be stopped.

Hyperspace rushed around his fleet as it moved towards dantooine. It was not nearly as sizable as the fleets directly under control of the host lord. But it was large enough to overwhelm most opposition, but only most. Perhaps about the same size of the Zambrano's fleet, or perhaps not, there was again, little to go on as far as size went. Especially since the admiral had not transmitted information ever since the Grand Executor began his fleet's jump towards the planet. Had the warlord already crushed the opposition, or the stationed admiral's ship destroyed? Could a simple warlord truly have that much power?

(Plan to jump in on next post. Jumping takes time, yo.)

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Vaulkhar"] | [member="Ebon"] | [member="50H31"] | [member="Azrael Asura"]

Zambrano the Starweird · Nov 8, 2015

Simple, this Hutt, was anything but. In a time so short as a year, the Chiloon Rift had with its unique properties produced over five times the ordinary average of any competing shipyards. The sheer magnitude of how many ships this armada contained was rather scary, considering it was under the sole control of a literal psychopathic lunatic bent on the destruction of everyone around him... merely to prove a point.

For years, this Hutt had been regarded as the most infamous Warlord in all of Wild Space, a reputation that fit all too well with his name. It would not be so easy to simply oust this decrepit being. For years he has had powerful ties to the Primeval, both directly and indirectly. For years this Blade of the Primeval had been handled with care by a bureaucracy who had leash perhaps too loose for comfort... and now that they were dead, his predilections for bloodshed was now unchecked.

It may have been an exaggeration when Admiral Hgar had reported 'hundreds' of Star Destroyers blanketing the sky, but it was still no exaggeration to the magnitude of forces presented against the helpless residents of Dantooine, who suffered the tragic explosions of falling Star Destroyers annihilating entire portions of planet at a time. The Bastion Fleet could not come sooner, while the Ziost Fleet merely watched it all take place with seeming indifference. Other Fleets from across the Primeval had begun to receive word of the opened hostilities between the 'Revered' Black Prophet of Balagoth and Dantooine, and soon they would mobilize shortly after the Bastion Fleet arrived. In the meantime though, Dantooine remained to his mercy.

Quietly though, at an untouched portion of Dantooine, very near to [member="Azrael Asura"], black orbs feel to the sky. The first one, a tendrilled mess of bleeding black flesh splotched against the grassy plains, and slowly receded from its unholy occupant. Like some sickly flower, it unfurled around the bulbous mass of the Warlord, his blood red eyes opening in grotesque glee. A white skull was worn across his face, and his scepter of the Zodou crossing his chest, while his other hand held a deactivated Chom-Huum, also across his chest. Behind him, falling star ships created a scene of utter death and destruction, just as more of those eldritch orbs fell to the ground, giving birth to his oldest Primeval atrocities: The Terror Runners.

There was no expense the Warlord would spare to ensure that Dantooine would burn in every possible bloody manner.

[member="Kadri Ughad"], [member="50H31"], [member="Ebon"], [member="Vaulkhar"]

50H31 · Nov 9, 2015

(OOC: I posted three days ago and it disappeared. One more time!)

Change. Evolution. Words that often eluded the technological. Words that were often the domains of organics. Why then, did the Hutt knowingly propose those words? Stagnation, of course. The bloated, corrupt mystic had grown tired of his uncontested might, and had decided to show his hand--to see if any were powerful enough to usurp it.

"What do we know?" He said to one of the many adjutants on board his small corvette. He was neither a warlord or a fleet commander--he simply used his skills as an independent contractor. He was young and hungry compared to many assembled here--a man with neither planets nor power to his name.

The adjutant, a young cyborg, spoke softly. "Lord 50H31," she began, "The fleet consists primarily of droids and renegades form the Chiloon rift. When hailed, the only message given in response is.....'change.' The directives seem to include a siege of Dantooine."

Dantooine was a peaceful, quiet planet, filled with fairly primitive people and wide, idyllic grasslands. Many officers wished to retire peaceable to such a world. He nodded. "Hail them back with a Sub-space communication, encrypt it to provide a false trajectory for our landing. Text only, followed by coordinates."

The adjutant didn't not seemed perturbed by the strangeness of the question. "What is the message we will relay, Master?"

Five-oh simply stood and grinned. "Bear Witness," he said gently.

An encrypted message, sent across typical channels, with no discernible location, would ring out on every vessel in orbit over this planet. Any who cared to open it, would simply read the message. Bear Witness. For if the strange "uncle" among the Zambrano demanded a change of action, a change of pace, a change of the primeval, then he would get his wish. He would.

--Meanwhile, in the belly of the Ship Heaven's Wrath--

Five-oh grinned over the large robot body. "Soon, we shall begin our little test," he said with a smirk. He began adjusting the fusion cutters, twisting wires, instructing his followers to begin aiding him in the construction of his newest creation. After all, was this war for the sake of change not the perfect backdrop to build and christen a new warrior?

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Kadri Ughad"] [member="Vaulkhar"] [member="Ebon"]

Zambrano the Starweird · Nov 17, 2015

It burned almost too well... the fireworks in the sky, while still going on... had yet to exchange its deadly blows with a true force of opposition. It would appear that any manner of defense had come far too late, and far too surprised to act. The senseless droid armada in space hardly even reacted to the Droid Monks message.

A blade yellow as urine flickered violently as it tore apart the lithe flesh in front of it, opening up a wound and quickly sealing it closed in the dreadful heat of its lashing plasmic tongue. A cry yellowed out as mother and son are separated in two... a boy who would never be born, and a woman who would never know the love of motherhood. Blood burst from the cauterized wound as the her bloated body fell to the ground with a sick wet flop, and her legs tumbled ungracefully next to her disemboweled torso. Those hideous soulless pits stared at her eyes before they succumbed to unconsciousness, and then death, and they seemed to smile in their red benevolence..

The father roared in anguish, as he fruitless barged in, too late and powerless to prevent his atrocity... he above all represented the Primeval forces at Bastion. So close, but too sluggish to act in time, only to arrive to a fresh site of murder. He charged at the midnight monstrosity, and was met by the grim bite, of his reanimated Staff of L'ans Zodou, a nightmarish conglomerate of human and serpentine flesh. He thrashed hopelessly, as its bone stabbed into his back and spine, the human skull of Captain Slika latching into his shoulder blades with a bite, while the serpent at the top of his skull sinking those deadly fangs into the base of his neck. His arms thrown back and flailing in pain, it was all too easier to summon the man to stumble closer and closer into his outstretched and waiting swarm of burning finger tendrils. Once more his hoarse voice shrilled as the micro-appendages spiralled deeper into his flesh, unleashing their toxic touch as it ate through him to his heart... where an unveiled skeletal hand reached out, and crushed it. All the while the home filled with the smoke of burning wood all around them, consuming them just as the Warlord consumed this world.

Outside, dozens of mindless thralls screamed as they senseless ran into the village, slicing at anything out of fear... before detonating at random intervals. It was the purest form of Chaos that the Primeval had ever witnessed. This is not the machinations of a Warlord, this is not a war, this is madness!

[member="Kadri Ughad"], [member="Azrael Asura"], [member="50H31"], [member="Ebon"], [member="Vaulkhar"]

The Great Unrest - Razing of Dantooine

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The Black Prophet of Balagoth

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Dark Messiah

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The Black Prophet of Balagoth

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Give Him A Gun

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The Black Prophet of Balagoth

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Balagoth's Herald

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The Black Prophet of Balagoth

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The Black Prophet of Balagoth

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