Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Old Gods - The GenoHaradan

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Bastion
Capital of The Sith Empire

Cirqa 853 ABY

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In a time far from forgot, when the Galactic Alliance still probed with it’s infant claws throughout the galaxy, a grand cult emerged, though in this universe they were still a speck. This was the Primeval and as time rolled on they grew, they fell, and faded away. Now few even remembered that damnable name, the one that stood as the epitomy of the Dark Side now just another fanciful word that Darksiders make jests about.

But, as said before. It was a time that was left forgot. Though on a single world, the last Bastion of the Primeval skulks about holding with tooth and claw on their once grand name, and ironically, it was Bastion that they held onto. Poetic really. Though nothing more than that. And in that land a Cult Remains, one that hold onto thin strands of hope, pulling and grasping at it as every day it grows more and more frayed until one day it will snap. But that is why the Geno had arrived, to strip them of their rope and leave them in chains. Their current Prophet of Halrormalenth is little more than a failure, another of this universe who clings to old grandeur, with idle promises that he was never able to keep. They searched for unnamed gods and now the Geno arrives to fill their false prophets with new hope and a new god to rise from it’s smothered ashes.

But they could not simple arrive with declarations. They wished for new servants not corpses, so a few goals were set up for the selected groups of the Geno. Some would gather the Primeval artifacts, left on thin trails that the foolish worshipers were incapable to follow, whether mental innateness or over complexifying the mundane riddles. With that being spearheaded by few, the next was to take control of the outliers. They were of little value and of great threat, taking up most of their numbers in grand swathes. This would be seen as a ‘cleansing’ of the cult, a removal of those unworthy.

And finally, came the Prophet. Maliphant himself took the throne on this one, a sense of charisma was needed and few in the Geno had such honeyed words as the Slave.

Cells of activity still flourish in the underground networks of Imperial Space, but its hierarchy comes to a head on Bastion. The many see the single as its guiding hand, with numerous weapon caches established for a unified terrorist attack that has yet to come; but would devastate hundreds of thousands with ease should it come to pass; the only knowledge of its existence coming from those few turncoats with a higher loyalty for The Sith Empire than the dying corpse of the Primeval.

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Objective 1 - Convince The Prophet

The single unifying voice of what is left of the organization is that of The Voice of Halrormalenth. Convincing the final prophet that the reincarnation of their God’s has come to guide them is of the utmost importance, most importantly in consolidating their power and what remains of their influence into The GenoHaradan’s already growing hegemony.

Objective 2 - Kill the Outliers

While the Prophet controls much of the general ideations of The Primeval Remnants, The GenoHaradan’s Archons already understand that his sudden conviction alterations will be seen as heresy by much of the order, likely to cause a schism and possibly flairing the tensions that are already growing between the Imperial citizens and the cultists, who have waited in the darkness. Their death will force the Primeval to consolidate its view points to that of the Prophet, and allow for a greater control of them as a whole, should the Maven and Retainers be successful.

Objective 3 - Raid the Caches

To instill a stronger sense of loyalty within the Primeval, a series of Cache’s are located on Bastion for the sake of unified terrorist attacks. Within remains what is left of the Primeval’s holy artifacts, hidden during the Sith’s occupation of the planet. Raid the cache, collect the Primeval’s artifacts, and bring about a stronger claim for the Archon’s as they consolidate the group as a whole.
 
Loadout:
Chasis Slot: Thraxis Armour Helmet Slot: Enigma Gas Mask
Cloak Slot: Phantasm Cloak Greave Slot: Thraxis Armour
Pauldron Slot: Thraxis Armour Foot Slot: Thraxis Armour
Melee: Cruciatus Blade Overcoat: Jkiti Greatcoat
Rifle Slot: DEMP Sidearm Slot: Pistolas
Misc: Null Generator/ Hand-to-Hand Weapon: Vambrace
Tuck-A-Bag

Dressed in draping garments, Thraxis emerged from a crashed container, rotted metal and rusted seams crumbled into nigh dust as a pox of life laid in slithering pops, laid outstretch. To his side, to his newest acquisition was unphased and left untreated by the licking snaps of fire that burned and cindered the burnt land. His helmet glistened with life, the weazened churn of electricity pumping through veins of silicone radiated hues of green, an AI signal processing the landing and recording the details as he slowly pulled himself forward, cracking his neck as Adrenaline rushed through his body in throngs.

He groaned and hissed, a strange cabal of annoyance. This was less than a pleasant landing. Sure, none of them was ever a good landing. But the rusted metal and falling seams of the conatainer almost killed him as he pulled himself up, the crate cracking and breaking, laying him flat beneath heavy thick motes of rusted dust. His comms finally flared to life as he got his message across through the Geno on their private line, "Thraxis... Has made contact with the... ground? Where everyone at?" He mumbled and groaned as finally he was dragged out of the cloud, hi boots doing all the work with flashes of crimson light igniting and pushing him out inch by inch as he finally saw where his fort was located.

It was... a shack. A dingy little thing with a single Droid Man on the porch, scraping away dirt and fickle from his gun as with boops of surprise, angst and curiosity aimed the gun directly at Thraxis. Wel. If you didn't want artefacts stolen, a good first step was a Gun and a Crosshair.
 

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