Dominion &nbsp; The Rising Storm | BotM Dominion of Durace

Aldo Garrick |

Erion Justeene | Tu'teggacha

Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Desolation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Devastation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Desperation)
Praetorian-Class Star Destroyer (Decadence)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Dancer)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Dabbler)
Crucifix-Class I Destroyer (Deliverer)
X10 Samael Class Frigate
x8 Cr90 Corvettes
X71 Squadrons Nssis-class Clawcraft
x27 Squadrons of Support Craft
X24 Spider Cruiser fully load with Crusader troopers

Dyans pulled her cloak close to her body as her group pushed on in the direction of the anomaly. The wind howled all around them and the storm was setting in quickly. The Alkaline snow started to come down so heavy you couldn't see more then a couple of meters in front of you. Yet Dyans and the engineers kept their heads down and stepped the same tracks the crusaders leading the expedition. At any point she could have had them turn back leave this folly behind, yet she was a stubborn woman and she need to know what laid at the end of the metaphorical rainbow.

The wind became so wicked glass ripped from the trees and the area and began to mix with he toxic and acidic Alkaline. The glass ripped through the all temp cloaks and the alkaline ate at the metals and other exposed areas. One of the soldiers commed back to Dyans. "Perhaps we should head back?" She could only see the silhouette of the crusader leader of titan squad. Her eyes emerald eyes glared right through him, the hunger in her eyes if they weren't covered by her helmet would have show through. She could sense and feel his pulse pounding even through his armor. She wanted to destroy him for even questioning her, but she held back from emasculating him in front of his men.

"No we keep……" Before she could finish her state ment something broke through the comms from the dominator squad picking up the rear.

"Oh…..goooo….by the….Avatars what the hell is…..ahhhhhhhh…." The comms broke out and it wasn't long before both Dyans and the leader of Titan where coming dominator squad frantically, but no answer came but they heard fire open up behind them even with the howling wind they could hear the heavy fire of dominator squads weapons. Then they heard the most horrific roar of some beast they could see but it was so loud it echoed all around them.

"Push forward NOW!" Dyans screamed the engineers and Titan squad picked up their pace in the direction they were heading. There was no turning Back as they took of in full sprints staying a tight knit group the Titan squad forming around Dyans she was more important than them or the engineers. As they charged up the hill a couple of the engineers got lost to the wayside their fates sealed in the heavy storm. Rushing to the top of the hill the storm broke only for the briefest of moments and they're before them remains of an old ship a war ship. The Markings marked it as the Nebula-Stalker a war ship of ancient area.

Knowing they were being pursued by something they began to frantically search the ship out edges for an entrance weather it be hatch or breach. The roars dipped in an out as they searched like what ever it was, was circling around them but that was impossible the ship covered a large area. Maybe it was bouncing and echoing off the hills around them. Though Dyans felt the worst possibility of all was that there was more than one of these beasts and they were being hunted by a pack.

Scientist and soldiers scoured all across the twelve island five off which had been fully rifled and other then a few miscellaneous treasures nothing of real value to the Maw over all was found. The Soldiers on those five islands began to wrap up and take their few gains to the spiders they brought. A call came from the Desolation in space from Commander Elric. "We haven't heard anything from Dyan's and her crew in several hours. As precaution I want you to meet up with their spider in the northern pole region as extra back and assist in anyway you possibly can. Plus maybe the spiders can help boost a single through the storm in that area so we can have direct communications."

None of the five spiders and their crews argued as they finished packing up and began to head fly towards the pole region. Though the scientist in the group were little hesitant as they just wanted to head back to the desolation and play with the little bit of research they had gathered. Though these groups had not found the flower it wasn't like they hadn't found nothing interesting to mess around with. Idea's for alkaline bombs, since it was so high in concentration here played in their heads. As well as ideas for a few uses of mutated mushrooms they found. Yet their chances to create think tanks, plot, and Plan where being put on hold for this detour to the pole region.

The other units on the other islands got the message as well but for the time being they still had ground to cover. It would go faster if the scientists with hem would stop intrigue about this or that thing they always seemed to find. The Soldiers just wanted to find the damn flower or nothing at all the pole region at least seemed a little more intriguing or at least they might encounter some hostility their instead of being board out their minds only killing the occasional man eating plant or poisonous snake.

Khaostra Devoid · Jan 6, 2022

A World Crying Out

Khaos had managed to get back to her feet the vines and world still screaming in her mind. She meandered a bit in a bit of daze and confusion, but the vines guided her movements. As she stumbled about in the direction of this omen the vines screamed about, she noted the area was getting a bit crowded sith and soldiers moved about around her. They didn't seem to pay her no mind, why would they she was a known figure at this point among the Maw. Not a single sith or soldier seemed to ask if she was seeking the same thing as their leaders and Masters.

Her head continued to pound and flood with a thousand demands from the vines. Ever since OoL she hadn't been able to stifle the voices like she once could. Her connection to planets and nature had grown tenfold to the point as she stumbled about shew as still being pulled in the right direction of the omen. As she grew closer, she noted and felt from a distance several figures ahead and even the omen. The omen was familiar, and as it gnawed at her she realized it was a Barren.

Khaos came to an outcropping of rocks, and she forced herself to them and up against them. Though sith and soldiers in the area knew she was about she didn't want to get noticed directly by the omen until she got a good look at it. She put her back to the rocks and closed her eyes for a moment. She spoke out loud while no one was directly around her.

"I need you to be quiet now." Her tone barely a whispered as she spoke the vines of the world. Slowly the voices one by one began to calm down their tone going to a more manageable chatter then a scream of wanting to be noticed and heard. "Now lend me you're hearing and sight." She whispered to the vines of the world and her sight and hearing expanded to every tree, shrub, and blade of grass in the area. She heard the voice of Mongrel one she had worked with a few times.

"Release my warrior. Then we'll find the truth."

Then as she saw through the vines her green sight saw the one, he was talking too. Landing upon him she noted familiarities in face and body language. There was no doubt the vines had spoken true the Omen was a Barren but not one she knew, then again, she of knew Michael and Erskine, Michael's Father. Michael had also spoken briefly of his mother on the few occasions they saw each other face to face on Lao-Mon and Dathomir. So, who was this man, she could see the confusion on his like he didn't even know who he was? Mongrel seemed to be trying to deescalate the situation and his second in command seemed to leave his side heading to scout the area.

Khaos watched and listening know this man, this Omen was a barren not one she knew but then again, she had vowed to wipe that bloodline from existence. It didn't matter did if he remembered who he was or not, his blood was the enemy. Michael and his smug visage passed briefly through her thoughts, and she saw a hint of it in the Omen. Anger start boil in her blood, it was her duty to kill this man and throw his head at Michael's feet. Yet as cruel as Khaos wanted to be she could see the confusion and even fear in the man's face as looked back at Mongrel. Khaos knowing she was in safe spot where neither Mongrel or the Omen could see her, she could just let this play out. She was a bit torn she really did have sympathy for the omen not knowing, she had felt that feeling before not knowing not remembering her past. In that moment she wished she could be as cold as her mother and even her older sister Cord. Both would have outright killed this man with out a single question or caring if he knew who he was because the bloodline was meant to be eradicated.

She let out a heavy sigh and then called out the vines once as her hands reached into the spirit realm and pulled forth a seed of life. The ground beneath the Omen and

The Mongrel 's feet slowly revived and life began to back into existence. The vines screamed out in exaltation as they felt their savior had come. As life began to revive across the glassed trees and sand coming back to life the soil turning fertile vines began to creep from the soil around

Thomas Barran 's feet and began moving up his body to restrain him.

The Vines of the world began to sing praise to Khaos louder and louder their chants became in her head. The aura of the world seemed to spring a heartbeat something that had been missing for a longtime from this place. Though there was no way Khaos had the power yet to heal a whole world she could at least spring forth a small patch where life might thrive and spread.

Thomas Barran · Jan 6, 2022

3rd post

Thomas Barran
"The Flayed Blue Lion"

Objective 3: BYOO
Tags:

THE LIVING ARTIFACT: REANIMATION OF A FIRSTBORN - PART THREE

Durace (Summer of 870 ABY)

What now? If these warriors don't know.... Who, among all those stars out there, could?

'Why are you doing this? Why must your lack of knowing torment me like this?'

Looking back at the Amnesiac with nothing but incredulity in his eyes, shaking his head as if to wonder how badly damaged his new acquaintance's mind was, Dreamer retorted,'I - could ask you - ah, fuck! The same - fuckin' thing!', exclaiming through the pain with a noticeably aggravated tone. Not fighting, not even attempting to shield himself from the nameless one's wrath, not even trying to curl up and shield himself in the spirit of meekness, this was one like Rook - completely freed of his fear. In this, the stranger came to a new understanding of the men surrounding him on all sides, in this, the Amnesiac realised that he was among something altogether different to anything else he'd encounter along the way. But still, the nameless one was still utterly furious that his would-be captors knew nothing of who he was, utterly galled at the sheer audacity of chasing a dream that led them to him without one shred of information to give him, utterly gobsmacked that none around them could answer this simple question either.

'All I want is to know my fuckin' NAME, UNDERSTAND??!?! IT'S A SIMPLE FUCKIN' CONCEPT AFTER ALL, IS IT NOT?!?!?! A SIMPLE CASE OF,"WHO THE FUCK AM I?", SO WHO?!?! WHO, MR. GAS-MASK?!?!?! WHOOOOOOO?!?!?!'

Then all of a sudden, a voice carrying far more authority in his tone called out,'Who indeed?', from somewhere in the frontal distance, but still close enough to hear the echoing nuances of his spire-like cover. Coursing with a strength that could only be described as mechanical, the Amnesiac could hear a light digital hum emanating from within, though it almost sounded damaged somehow, like the one who relied on it was hurting somehow. The nameless one couldn't help but feel more and more confused as time passed, but curiosity was once again taking hold, listening with hand gripped around the cracking gasmask of the Mawite beneath him, listening as the voice continued,'You are the reason we have come here... but it seems that even you yourself cannot tell us why.', like there was nothing in the world but them. Confirming what was driving the Amnesiac wild to begin with, but affirming somehow that they had not come to harm him in any way, (or at least no more than the stranger would deserve) he listened.

For once, the Amnesiac was actually listening.

'Release my warrior. Then we'll find the truth.'

'Seems you'll be walk- what the fuck? Who the fuck do you bastards think you- Gyah! Fuck! YOU ALL DESERVE TO DIE FOR THIS!!!!', the stranger roiled and raged, ensnared in some sort of fast-growing vine as he was on the verge of letting Dreamer go, and very much feeling betrayed by it. Looking up towards the voice in the distance, the Amnesiac audibly growled, though the voice in the distance had no way of knowing for sure how badly his captive was frothing at the mouth by then, but then the nameless one bellowed,'SCUUUUUUM!!!! YOU WOULDN'T EVEN GIVE ME THE CHANCE TO LET GO!!!! IF YOU WON'T HELP ME FIND THE TRUTH, JUST KILL ME!!!! JUST PULL OUT A BLADE AND SLIT MY FUCKING THROAT!!!!', with all his might, doing untold tortures on his dry, weakened larynx in the process.

'Wait a minute. Are these vines - healing my hands? What the.... Saviour? FUCKIN' SAVIOUR?!?!?! Right, thaaaaaaaat's it! WHAT IN THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE, MAN?!?!?! THIS GETTING WAAAAAY TOO WEIRD NOW!!!!'

Ssssshhhhh..... Caaalm dooown, child.... They're trying to help, but I'm sorry. Some things they say, won't.

'What do you mean, woman?'

Remembering, it will pain you worse than any torturer ever could.

The Mongrel · Jan 7, 2022

Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Tags:

The Mongrel rolls with the punches

To feel Mercy withdraw from his mind, the sensations he had been denied for so long slipping away like dew evaporating in the sun, seemed in that moment to be more painful than any of the wounds that had maimed him. The feeling of her touch gave way to the numb emptiness that had been his constant companion for five long years and more, and for an instant panic surged in his mechanical heart. He almost called her back, almost broke down and begged her to return to his mind. It was cold and dark, and he was alone within himself...

... but he was strong. He would endure. He had to.

Still, to hear her express the same longing that he felt, to admit the torture of being separated... he almost broke a second time, almost gave in, almost slaughtered every member of his warband then and there so that there would be no witnesses to his submission. It was only with a titanic effort of will that he held his desire in check, preventing it from overwhelming his judgement. He realized in that moment that he must tread very carefully. He had often faced foes more powerful than he, but no one had ever had power over him like this.

The one who gave him hope could also destroy him.

It was a blessing, then, to come face to face with the omen. The sight of this strange man, already at blows with some of The Mongrel's warriors, anchored him to the present and reminded him of his duty. It gave both him and Mercy something else to focus on. As always, he stepped forward to deal with the threat head-on, and she fell into her place as his watchful shadow. They had played these roles many times, often enough to trust each other fully, and to move with an instinctive understanding of what the other would do.

That was the simple part of their "relationship".

For a moment, it seemed as though the warlord's commanding words might deescalate the situation. The Mongrel did not care about Dreamer as a person, of course. He had little capacity left in himself to have empathy for, or place value on, the lives of other individuals; all of that had been beaten and burned out of him by Mawite torturers more than a decade earlier. But he did value his warriors in a tactical sense, and his experienced subordinates most of all. Dreamer was just a piece on his personal dejarik board, but a valuable piece.

One he would not see sacrificed unnecessarily.

But even as the mysterious man seemed poised to release Dreamer, his powerful grip beginning to relax, the situation changed. Beneath The Mongrel's feet, the ashen soil of Durace - dead for thousands of years - suddenly bloomed. Seeds that had long since turned to dust found life energy flowing into them from the Netherworld, and they grew in seconds into firmly-rooted plants, their vines twisting up around the omen's raging form. These creepers pinned him to the spot... and he, in turn, pinned Dreamer all the more forcefully.

The Mongrel hid his surprise, which was easy wen you didn't have a face to betray your emotions. He had not given the order to restrain the strange man, and no one in his little entourage could have accomplished something like this in any case. In fact, he knew of only one who could: the life witch

Khaostra Devoid . They had fought in a number of the same battles in service to the Maw, though most of what he knew of her came from his warriors, for they had never directly spoken. Still, he was well aware of her great power.

The warlord did not know exactly where Khaostra stood, and could not guess at her motives for coming here, save that perhaps she had seen the same signs his shamans had. But her actions so far did not indicate that she intended to kill this man, so The Mongrel could proceed as he had planned. "Strength rises to meet strength," he intoned, stepping closer. "Violence begets violence. The 'civilized' people of Known Space claim this is an evil thing, to be avoided... but it is simply the natural order of the galaxy, an eternal cycle."

He took another step. "War brings Death. Death leads to Rebirth. The Reborn return to War." He indicated the vines restraining the strange man... and also healing him, the life energy they radiated leeching into him. "The ashes of destruction are fertile soil. In this way, violence is cleansing. Through battle we are restored, made whole." Such was The Mongrel's own greatest desire - to pass through Rebirth, to earn his own renewal, to end the emptiness he had been imprisoned within. "Stop struggling. Let nature take its course."

"Does it matter who you were? Now you are, and your destiny can be shaped anew. This is your moment of Rebirth. Embrace it."

Keilara Kala'myr · Jan 7, 2022

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)

COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective I.: Reporting for duty.
Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || OPBC-01m
Writing With: 

The Mongrel
| 

Thomas Barran
| 

Khaostra Devoid
| 

Erion Justeene

 [ Steel Commanders ] 

"Galactic Basic" |  ~"Telepathic" communication ~  | << comm. channel >> ​

It indicated a lack of inexperience and practice as I retreated from his mind and felt a slight headache and throbbing. The simple thing about trying to read in his mind is simple, but when I try to reach a specific little part like the touch and kiss was still stressful and burden. Feth! At that moment, I was damn happy that my body was full of painkillers, so it didn’t hurt all that much. To make it easier and less painful, I had to practice. But the road leading up to it seemed to be lined with unavoidable barbed-wire.

As I looked at it, I felt a pleasant spasm in my stomach. At the moment, I didn’t care how painful it all was. I longed to do what he asked for, which he almost begged for. I wanted to see and feel how he reacted to it, to my caress, gentle and seductive touch. But he was right, not now, there were too many here. By the time we got to the scene, I had time to put my thoughts in order, and I did my thing after I arrived at the scene. I’ve spent quite a bit of time on my side knowing what to do, what I’m doing. This was easy, I know this side of his, the warlord.

In a place like this, I can’t get information, I can’t stab the enemy in the back and he can't bleed them dry with the information I’ve given him. With that information we have already won countless battles. No, here as a member of his tribe, it was my job to protect him even at the cost of my life. I would have done it any time, I would have protected him at any time. That was my duty; but I had to realise something at that moment… feth!

A new feeling that only Ziare had felt before. I was worried about him. Not like before. So far, that was just a simple worry; for my warlord, my commanding officer. What will happen to the tribe if he is no more. But at that moment, it hurt me painfully that I was worried that I wouldn’t be on his side anymore, we couldn’t talk, I couldn’t fight for his esteem and to be recognized as his best. That I couldn’t feel anymore what I felt when I was in his mind. At Dromund Kaas, my words were mostly part of a game. Now these thoughts are not…

Feth! I couldn't be so attached to anyone! I am independent and yet I longed to he notices me, to be his … FETH!

The beeping in my head jolted me back to reality. An unknown, possible enemy person came to the target area. I was still holding the pistols at the man. When I saw the vine as it started to grow. Feth! What kind of witchcraft and sorcery is this? I've never seen anything like it, but neither has Ziare. I haven't moved for a few moments. Rather, I sent a telepathic message in the crazy direction of the unknown screaming ( 

Thomas Barran
).

 ~ If you don’t stop screaming, your wish will come true and I’ll cut your throat before you even notice where I am! So shut up and give due respect to the warlord who is standing before you! ~  The first half of my words were still almost purring in the man's mind, a promise that I would be very happy to cut his throat. The second part, however, is already an ice-cold threat.

After that, I turned in the other direction where the unknown person was and took a few steps to see. A woman. I positioned myself so that with one pistol I could still aim at the man and thus support the warlord, but I raised the other weapon at the woman. To do this, however, I had to give up my cover and jump up on top of one of the ruined stone walls. I was sorry I didn’t have my cloaking device because I would have put a dagger to her throat a long time ago from behind.

Are they healing the man? What the feth is going on here? I still had to stand in open ground, about two metres high on the stone wall, as the warlord continued to speak. I wasn’t happy to be in a place that was just visible to everyone and I'll be anyone's target easily. For those who were here in the area. But that was what I had to do to keep both the man and the woman in target cross. It is true that I also told my comrades where the woman ( 

Khaostra Devoid
) is. Even so, I didn’t like such open battles. I should have come in fully equipped…

"Or deny it and the Avatars will welcome your soul in the afterlife." I supplemented the warlord's words.

 ~ Well, what's your answer? ~  I asked, lifting the blaster pistol from his chest to his head. A bad or just a good answer and I'll send it back to where it allegedly came from…

Thomas Barran · Jan 8, 2022

4th post

Thomas Barran
"The Flayed Blue Lion"

Objective 3: BYOO
Tags:

THE LIVING ARTIFACT: REANIMATION OF A FIRSTBORN - PART FOUR

Durace (Summer of 870 ABY)

If you don't stop screaming, your wish will come true and I'll cut your throat before you even notice where I am! So shut up and give due respect to the warlord who is standing before you!

'You're not the voice from before, are you?'

The world around the Amnesiac was seemingly growing smaller with every waking moment, instilling a regret for opening his mouth to call for help in the first place, but the words of the mechanical one were ringing in his head as common sense, like the nameless one could feel his good fortune for being in the vicinity of the sole voice of reason among the approaching presences. So much he was unfamiliar with, so much to be confused about, but something about this experience felt different, vastly different to how he felt before. No doubt these were fearsome presences, but in that same regard, he felt welcome somehow; especially around the likes of Dreamer and the booming voice from beyond, these corporeal entities who had every reason to kill the nameless one where he stood, but somehow were holding back on no account but on the Amnesiac's own.

Or deny it and the Avatars will welcome your soul in the afterlife.

'Being honest? The latter feels so damn inviting to me.... Almost covetous at this stage.'

With no reason or perceivable way to lie to his captors, the nameless one's cracked lips would ramble on, completely unaware that he remembered nothing to endanger himself anyway.

Reaching a new low by that point, the restrained Amnesiac's head bowed low as his jaw clenched his teeth together instinctively, trying his utmost to hold back the flood of emotion that was overcoming him despite the effort to keep such despair in check, a particular feeling the nameless one never wished to experience again for as long as he lived - but life sometimes has a funny way of laughing in the face of the people living it. There was nothing the stranger could have done to stopping the lump-rising sensation in his throat, giving no chance for the stranger to hold his emotions down any longer, giving way to tears that consisted almost entirely of blood; and they pained the Amnesiac, almost as much as they were paining his soul, pain the nameless one wished to see slashed with murderous intent, the same fate he wished to see exacted on his throat.

Until the Warlord spoke again.

Giving a beacon of hope in the darkest shadowy depths of his hopelessness, the voice of the Mongrel reverberated all around the nameless one, booming out from a closer angle than before - leading the stranger to believe this presence was still bravely approaching at his own pace.

'Strength rises to meet strength,'

Reason, how is it that I can only find it - in his voice, and his voice alone?

Even with the bloody tears in free-flow, hope for a real end could be felt in the voice of the Warlord, an end that didn't make him feel like scum, an end that wouldn't result in dying without a fight for survival preceding it. All the Amnesiac's hopes of bringing all the suffering to an end once and for all, and in the most meaningful way possible, rested in the cybernetic hands of the Mongrel. And in that bloody, bleary eyed predicament, the nameless one gladly listened as the ultimate judge of his fate loudly said,'Violence begets violence. The "civilized" people of Known Space claim this is an evil thing, to be avoided... but it is simply the natural order of the galaxy, an eternal cycle.', listening as the mechanical presence drew nearer with every passing second. Heavy were the steps that tread the sharp gravel beneath them, loud were the paces, booming deep enough that the nameless one guessed the voice belonged to one who would be a fearsome sight to behold, but the nameless one would be unable to see this for some time yet.

The tears were still flowing, the stinging sensation in his eyes were still forcing his eyelids to shut instinctively, so nothing could be done to change the fact that the stranger couldn't see his own would-be saviour, at least until the pain and the despair had dissipated.

'War brings Death. Death leads to Rebirth. The Reborn return to War.'

Another deep-impacting mechanical stomp, once again edging closer to his restrained stationary position, the Mongrel continued,'The ashes of destruction are fertile soil. In this way, violence is cleansing. Through battle we are restored, made whole.', finding further gains in his attempt to persuade the Amnesiac to abandon his needless fatalism. Speaking with more passion and drive than any voice he'd heard thusfar, the mechanical presence of the Warlord was appearing more authoritative and commanding in the mind of the nameless one. Fully embracing war, death and rebirth seemed to appeal more than just dying like some random sacrificial bull to these avatars, something calling out from with the Amnesiac wanted to give these higher powers a show worth watching, a story worth following in his life's journey with the Scar Hounds. And with further encouragement to comply, the nameless one could only listen, soothed as the Mongrel growled,'Stop struggling. Let nature take its course.', in his last efforts to impose a sense of calm on the stranger.

'Does it matter who you were? Now you are, and your destiny can be shaped anew. This is your moment of Rebirth. Embrace it.'

Well, what's your answer?

An ultimatum, the last of the likes he would ever know, but the Amnesiac still couldn't help but wonder if following the Scar Hounds' strong-willed leader was the right choice after all, but time was the nameless one's greatest enemy in this moment, diverting further ire away from the Mawites surrounding him as he steadily came to his final decision. Considering what the future held for the first time, a future the stranger wasn't even willing to consider before, and wouldn't be if the final verdict had been to slit his throat before.

'If you can bring an end to the pain in my soul, giving me purpose - and a means to know myself eventually....'

The vines around his wrists, his ankles, knees and torso would steadily loosen their grip on the stranger, but slowly; still expressing peak caution, the slow release of the vines would eventually let the Amnesiac go, still apprehensively hoping the captive wouldn't turn violent at the last moment. Fortunately for Khaostra's vines, the reverent, serene demeanour of the nameless one would solidify the deescalation between himself and all the Mawsworn warriors surrounding him, pacing out slowly until his legs started giving out beneath him; and from there, the captive would drop down on all fours, in willing show of capitulation to the fate that awaited him. Seeing this with ease, all the Scar Hounds in attendance would relax, detected by the Amnesiac in the process of feeling all the heartbeats around him slowing to calmly rhythms, fully affirming the wisdom of the choice the stranger was on the verge of making as postures lazily, and audibly slouched one by one.

'Then I will leave it all to you! I LEAVE MY FATE IN THE HANDS OF THE SCAR HOUNDS - YOU WILL SHAPE MY DESTINY!!!!'

Jin X · Jan 8, 2022

Richard Ramirez by SKYND

Character Voice: X

Location: Diamond Mine Camp, Diamond Desert
Gear: Lightsaber, Lightwhip, Pistol, Sniper Rifle
Tags: ??

Perched upon a ridge with a visual advantage of the camp below, the Fiend watched the activity of the camp with great interest. In that camp, and most undoubtedly under heavy security, were crates of raw and unpolished diamonds scavenged from the nearby mines. Those precious little stones were in high demand, especially in the black-market inner circles, and as such; they fetched a high price in terms of financial compensation for anyone willing to barter prices. The lives sworn to protect those diamonds were soon to go extinct, the camp undergoing a transformation to desolation and tragedy. But only the foolish would rush head-first into a camp they were grossly outnumbered. The Fiend needed to thin the ranks.

Repositioning herself on the ridge by laying belly down, she slowly began to track the initial targets with the sniper rifle, waiting for the next round of storms to hit. The instance the first flash erupted behind her, she squeezed the trigger with haunting speed, dropping the first four targets. Her kills did not go unnoticed as others in the area reacted by drawing out their weapons, turning their gaze upward to the ridge. Unfortunately for them, the storms blinding lightening prevented them from spying their newfound threat. Covered well between two rocky formations, the flashes aided her by illuminating the camp below. Two more shots, two more dead. The camp's inhabitants began scrambling: ducking into tents, broken-down vehicles or vehicle beds, and makeshift buildings. They were, in theory, planning a defense against the onslaught; but in reality, they were unknowingly constructing personal tombs. And still, the storms raged with ferocity.

Leaving her long-ranged weapon on the ground for later retrieval, she charged down the ridge's slopes utilizing the clusters of rock formations to cover her descent into the camp. As she broke through the camp's perimeter, she produced the hilt of her "borrowed" lightsaber and ignited it a split second before entering the first tent. Her speed caught the occupants off-guard, and they too added to the residency of the graveyard. Two more tents, four more bodies. The slaughter was on!

Khaostra Devoid · Jan 11, 2022

A World Crying Out

The vines cold have swallowed him whole snuffed out a brief rebirth, left him to die in the darkness he had been brought back too. It would have been one less Barren in this world, the first life taken between the families. Yet Khaos let the vines heal and retreat as the man's rage subsided. She had no idea who the man was other then he was indeed a Barren. Her eyes looked to Mercy (

Keilara Kala'myr ) a woman Khaos did not personally know could tell by the way she acted and the way she longed that she had some attachment to the

The Mongrel .

Slowly and cautiously Khaos moved from the rock she was hiding behind. Her long red Midnight Duster and sith armor standing out. She looked out of place among the Scar Hounds, several of which pulled their weapons off her once they realized who she was. She had earned a lot of respect from many of the Mawite tribes from her fight on Csilla all the way to Lao-Mon and beyond. Though she personally had no tribe she had made herself one of the Mawites and it was still just a whisper that she was daughter of the Rhandite Elder Tegan Starfall.

She looked at Mercy and then back at The Mongrel. "I mean you no harm, the vines have spoken to me, they brought me here." She let a small smile move upon her face as she gave them both a head nod. "Khaos, if you don't remember." She spoke to directly to Mongrel as she said her name. Other then see each other across the battlefield the two had never directly met until this moment. She looked back to Mercy hoping the woman would put the gun away that she had trained on her.

She watched as Scar hounds began to surround the Barren blooded one. She had listened to the Mongrels speech and the reason she hadn't killed the man is because Mongrel was right the man had been born again to fight for the Maw. Who he was did not matter, who he became now was? Barren may be in his blood, but he had every right in rebirth to denounce that and claim his new legacy. If a day would come where he did feel the need to claim his bloodline that would be the day Khaos would slit his throat for now though he would be given a pass.

She waited for Mercy to put the gun but in the meantime she focused on Mongrel and telepathically spoke to him. "The man before you is broken and forgotten, his memories however are dangerous. Best he not remember his bloodline and try to reclaim it for if he does I will be the first to send him back to the grave he dug himself out of." Though she didn't say who he was to the Mongrel it was clear by message alone she knew something of the man even it was just that he was a barren. The reason she didn't reveal it to The Mongrel is she knew that such information was a valuable card to hold. His next epic fight with the famed General Erskine he could just blurt it out to try and get an edge no that was her card to use on

Michael Barran when the time was right.

Erion Justeene · Jan 12, 2022

Objective I: Are we truly alone...?
Location: Durace, Grasslands outside the Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Tags: Open

So far nothing is working, each test brought up new questions. But the background yelling seemed to have subsided, good as he was on the verge of marching over there and seeing who or what in the name of the Sith Ancestors was roaring like a Rancor stuck in a huge electric fence. Superious did see such an event before during his apprentice days. The stupid beast tried to shove its way out of its pen and eat the keepers for lunch, the noise of the screeching was enough to burn into his memory.

With the oppressive silence and hum of darkness firmly back in place, the Sith continued to gather samples, fortunately, no one else fell into hidden holes in the ground, nor did they get lost. Considering where they were, that luck could run out.

Superious had seen something move just out of his peripheral, but he could not be sure of what. But now he was alert and had made sure the others were in sight. He had a very bad feeling about this. Still, he needed to investigate all the possibilities, stubbornly if necessary. There it was again, the blot in his periphery, he can sense it, it was not friendly, and it was not happy to see them.

A shrill noise spurred him into action, his lightsaber ignited, only to see one of his companions get pulled up into the air and down into a crack with the sound of gurgling screams. Yep, the landlords are not happy. But there is no life, so how can there be these things?

But he wasn't going to stick around and find out, he turned abruptly and took off into the Glass Forest, not looking back as his team were picked off one by one, he can't mourn them, his instinct to survive didn't allow it. After what felt like hours he stopped, he lost them.

By the looks of it, so was he. He needed to think of something very quickly or he's going to go a little peculiar with being lost.

The Mongrel · Jan 12, 2022

Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Tags:

Khaostra Devoid

The Mongrel grants the omen a new name: the Shriven One

The Mongrel returned Khaostra's nod, then stiffened as her voice whispered in his mind. At first he had expected the words to come from Mercy, but Khaos's voice was different, and quickly dispelled that illusion. The warlord felt a momentary surge of disappointment, but he listened carefully nonetheless. It was clear that the Life Witch knew more than she was saying; she mentioned a bloodline, but did not specify whose bloodline, or why she would destroy this stranger if he reclaimed his lost identity. More questions than answers.

So be it. The Mongrel's purpose was not to understand. That was best left to the Heathen Priests who interpreted the will of the Avatars. His role was to serve, to forge and wield the weapons of the Maw in order to achieve their great galactic cleansing. He did not need to know who this man was, only to judge how best to use him against the enemies of the Brotherhood. With Mercy at his side, the warlord knew no fear despite the man's ferocity. He knew that she would guard him against any threat, stand by him no matter the challenge.

And this challenge was drawing to an end.

"'If you can bring an end to the pain in my soul, giving me purpose - and a means to know myself eventually.... Then I will leave it all to you! I leave my fate in the hands of the Scar Hounds - you will shape my destiny!" The omen knelt before The Mongrel, sinking to all fours, no longer raging or threatening or choking the life from the warrior he had seized. It was a moment of submission, of release, born of a hunger for the kind of purpose that could bury a broken soul's agony. It was a moment that would shape the future of the Maw itself.

"In time we will end all pain," The Mongrel intoned, stepping forward, his metal feet crushing the ash just in front of the omen's face. "We will sweep this wretched age clean of suffering and usher in the Galaxy To Come. By giving yourself freely to the service of the True Gods, you have chosen to share in the only worthy purpose in the universe: ending its stagnation." Drawing forth his gleaming blade, the warlord touched it to each of the man's shoulders, a reflection - or perversion - of the knighting ceremony of the Jedi and Sith.

"Your past is lost, your identity stripped away. We look instead to your future. We cast aside the mystery of who you were and embrace the potential of whom you shall become." Flourishing his blade, The Mongrel returned it to the sheath built into his cybernetic back. "In the vision that led me to this place, I saw a beast flayed of its hide, carrying its own skin impaled upon the points of its teeth. It bled, but it was its foes who suffered and died. So shall you shed your pain, and let it fall upon your enemies instead."

"Rise, Shriven One. You are born anew to the Maw."

Keilara Kala'myr · Jan 12, 2022

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)

COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective I.: Reporting for duty.
Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || OPBC-01m
Writing With: 

The Mongrel
| 

Thomas Barran
| 

Khaostra Devoid
| 

Erion Justeene

 [ Steel Commanders ] 

"Galactic Basic" |  ~"Telepathic" communication ~  | << comm. channel >> ​

This voice, that is, the accent! It was very, very familiar. Previous voice? Okay! Another crazy one; although I was not surprised by these circles. Come on, do something, because it was very uncomfortable to pay attention to both. Especially since I was still thinking about where I heard that accent before. It was very unique, and it was not me, but Ziare. In any case, I answered his question.

 ~ No, I didn't talk to you before. ~  I replied.

I could have lied, but I didn’t see the point at that moment. However, I laughed at his next response, in my mind, so he was able to hear it. How rare is the moment when the victim wants what you want. Usually at the very end of the torture, but there was no torture here. Yet, by the Avatars, how willing I would have tortured him before I killed him. Just like Iggy. Iggy… I paused in my thoughts for a moment. The accent; this was also linked to the NIO, as was Rausgeber.

 ~ It only takes a word… ~  I purred to him.

In the meantime, the woman introduced herself and the warlord did not attack her either, so I lowered the weapon I held on her and so my full attention was already filled by the unknown, amnesic man. I nodded to the woman that I was not going to hurt her as she was apparently with us even though the name Khaos was not familiar at all. Since I no longer had to be in my previous position, I jumped down and walked back to the warlord. Meanwhile, I raised both weapons on the unknown man all the way. I still didn’t trust him and his intentions.

It looked like we were going to take the man with us, so when the warlord said he was now a member of the Maw, I lowered my weapons. Now was the time to take a closer look at the man I had aimed so far. When I looked at his face the features were familiar and then I looked into his blue eyes. The features, those steel or ice-blue eyes, the hair color, and the accent. How did I not recognise him at the first moment?! Now I knew exactly who it was, that is, where it belonged.

"FETH! Are you fething kidding me…" I said in surprise.

Such traits, the eyes, the accent cannot be ignored. One of NIO's best-known bloodlines! Ziare was a noble, not least the guy to whom this man was his relative was quite famous. The warlord didn't seem to know this or he did not care who he was. I didn’t trust Iggy from the first moment and that intuition was right. Now I feel that way again. Maybe because he was also a member of the NIO. Ziare, too, but they couldn't break her. The NIO members around Mongrel weren't the best decisions, and no, I never was a NIO member, just Ziare.

 ~ Warlord… this is a Barran! Relative of Erskine Barran… ~  I telepathically sent my words to the warlord.

Erion Justeene · Jan 13, 2022

Objective I: Locate allies within the Forest of Broken Glass!
Location: Durace, The Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Tags:

Keilara Kala'myr

He ran, ran slap bang in the middle of the Forest of Broken Glass, he stopped when he knew the tentacles were not following or stalking him from below, Superious huffed a sigh. This is beginning to be a very difficult mission. Which he usually thrived in. The last two didn't involve rapidly closing in tentacles. Well, he had his team gobbled up by whatever that was. So he needs to be wary now because he could still become lost in this sick, dead planet. Now the Ubese's next move would be to find and stay near a group as he will be vulnerable now and easy pickings as a prey item.

However, he is not without a plan, he survived Dromund Kass, with wits and his new toy. So now there is nothing to indicate other people are here, the screaming was long since over, but he couldn't hear much else, even silence is deafening. It didn't take him long to figure out a quicker way to find anything alive in the area is to reach out with the force.

He reached out until he hit a wall of force near the Northeast of his position, he only brushed against the signatures, to get a bearing on his proximity to them. So now he had an idea of where he was and where he is supposed to go. He used force speed to get there at least before he finds himself as that thing's lunch.

It took him little time to reach his destination, but in his rush, he had clumps of dead thorny brush stick to his slacks. He used the force to remove them before he stepped out into the clearing where the others were. He kept quiet because clearly, something was going on, and he knew better than to interrupt.

Jin X · Jan 14, 2022

Richard Ramirez by SKYND

Character Voice: X

Location: Diamond Mine Camp, Diamond Desert
Gear: Nightmare of Exegol (Lightsaber), The Fiend's Grin (Lightwhip), Pistol, Sniper Rifle
Tags: ??

Like the apex predator that she is, Jin X prowled through the campsite killing anyone foolish enough to challenge her. The initial shock of surprise had worn off, rallying the entire camp to thwart this attacker. The numbers game, spite it being slightly down before the skirmish, was still against the cyborg. For those that opted to utilize the tents as a cover where easily chopped down, but those that saw the result now changed tactics and fell back into the mine; an attempt to draw the monster into close quarters. And Jin X was more than happy to oblige them.

Before carelessly walking into a known trap, she activated a grenade scavenged off a corpse and tossed it inside the opening. The grenade bounced a couple of times with no results. It was a dud. However, seeing the grenade hurled inside the mine, it did manage to scatter the enemy closest to the mine's opening with the assumption it would detonate. Some of the enemy dispersed toward the back of the mine, splitting off into the numerous cavernous tunnels. For others, they mismanaged their concept of flight from danger and ran straight out the opening into the waiting arms of the Fiend.

The first three of the six were gunned down in a flash, the other three still hoping to distance themselves from an explosion that never came halted their advancement; only to be thrust to the ground by an invisible force, their weapons scattering away from them. Retrieving the hilt from her left front side hip, she activated it whilst changing the format of the blade into three tendrils. The tendrils of her lightwhip crackled and hummed, turning those grounded enemies' faces into masks of fear. Grinning fiendishly, she fed her deadly weapon fresh flesh.

Ripping a piece of flesh from one of the dead for herself, she began masticating the bloody meat whilst turning her cold gaze back to the opening.

Thomas Barran · Jan 14, 2022

5th post

Thomas Barran
"The Flayed Blue Lion"

Objective 3: BYOO
Tags:

THE LIVING ARTIFACT: REANIMATION OF A FIRSTBORN - PART FIVE

Durace (Summer of 870 ABY)

Another presence had joined the procession surrounding him, but their heart's rhythm ran naturally faster than the others, a different race, a different species - though with a slightly smaller heart as according to differing physical proportions. A woman's, though no doubt not the one who was speaking to him in his mind, and not doubt not the one who spoke in his mind before that either.

The vines that were healing him were flocking to this one, this he could feel like thuds and vibrations rumbling beneath his stationary, prostrating with head rising to see the mechanical legs the hero advancing towards him as the new arrival unwittingly laid claim to the binds that healed his hand. More still were advancing on their location from a distance, but expressing almost as much caution as the Scar Hounds were as they bore down on what was seemingly becoming something of a ceremonious occasion; the way everyone was gathering, though the Amnesiac had no real means of knowing yet, it was very much looking like a moment of great prophetic significance, but also one of great historical significance at that.

'In time we will end all pain,', the Mongrel said, putting forth every semblance of strength as he paused to step forward with maintained caution, though this time with more confidence in his decision to keep advancing. They were close enough that all around them would've been wise to assume they were directly in front of each other at that distance, as Thomas himself could see the outline of the great warlord's metallic legs, though it was still red and hazy to see as the Mongrel continued,'We will sweep this wretched age clean of suffering and usher in the Galaxy To Come. By giving yourself freely to the service of the True Gods, you have chosen to share in the only worthy purpose in the universe: ending its stagnation.', holding the nameless one's attention with every word. Feeling singular ceremonious touches on both of his shoulders, something stirred within the Amnesiac in that moment, like a reflex was reminding what that meant.

Am I truly deserving of - knighthood? Even in this sorry state?

Having never been knighted in life, and only ever reading or seeing such ceremonies from a third-person perspective, this memory wouldn't hurt - this foggy memory would instead heal the stranger in complete contrast. Memories of learning, of studying the stars beyond a world he still couldn't remember yet.

What - the - fuck is this?

Pondering on the reasoning of this, internalised questions would yet give rise to further affirmation of his soul's sense of belonging, and with head bowed, the general understanding of what he was before (and was set to become) was slowly beginning to dawn on the stranger, bringing out a sense of awakening coherence, an explosion of lucidity from the darkest corners of his foggy, blurred mind. It was a memory, but from within his own blood, from the very people who passed it's nature down to the Amnesiac himself, one such memory that the nameless one had never been born yet to experience, learn or know for certainty. Vivid it was, so vivid that he could feel the cold of the snow, the strength of the biting cool winds that carried the snowfall for himself, though much to the nameless one's annoyance, it was over all too soon - likely to be one of the few flashbacks the stranger would ever want to continue a little longer.

Drawn back to the present as the Warlord sheathed his blade with a flourish that revealed a deft skill in swordsmanship, but whether it was trained by another or learned in the crucible, the Amnesiac couldn't discern yet. He couldn't even see the nuances in the Mongrel's movements properly, but even then, as the Warlord summarised,'Your past is lost, your identity stripped away. We look instead to your future. We cast aside the mystery of who you were and embrace the potential of whom you shall become.', and with absolute sincerity in his demeanour as he spoke, the nameless one knew this individual was no stranger to fighting his own battles with it. And as his eyes raised to see the head-and-shoulders form of the one who would be his warlord, perhaps his last, the stranger would see the armoured shell that covered the shape of the individual beneath, though he would remain completely unaware of the Mongrel's true form for a while yet.

Embracing these cold, hard truths, the nameless one would consider the future in ways that may have been more satisfactory to the Mongrel by then if he had known, but then, as the Mawsworn hero continued,'In the vision that led me to this place, I saw a beast flayed of its hide, carrying its own skin impaled upon the points of its teeth. It bled, but it was its foes who suffered and died. So shall you shed your pain, and let it fall upon your enemies instead.', only then did the Amnesiac understand what it was the others meant, understanding the vivid imagery alone and how it could've been enough for an entire group of warriors to travel the stars in the search of him. This was no normal knighting ceremony orchestrated by dreamy artisans, this was no fabled moment in the stories they told children in those days; according to the stranger, this life-affirming moment, this feeling of true-reawakening, was a heart-warming initiation into something much greater than himself.

'Rise, Shriven One. You are born anew to the Maw.'

Penitent, repentant, and in the process of rising to his feet as a Mawsworn champion of the Mongrel's tribal order, forgiven of all his previous sins in the process of rebirth - a rather fitting designation to say the least.

Then, in the moments after, Dreamer would then put a sheathed sword in the Shriven One's hands, whispered,'Welcome to the Scar Hounds, brother.', as another presence stepped forth in the distance, appearing as a corporeal presence like the others, though there was a power to this one like the woman controlling the vines. But something else happened in that moment, drawing the tribe's latest initiate's attention away from the latest observer of the proceedings, though it bore no real physical or spiritual presence, at least not until the Shriven One was able to recount the memories it conjured in his mind.

'Brother....'

Who - is this man?! Why do I feel like I know-

'Gyah! What's hap- AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!'

Remembering, it will pain you worse than any torturer ever could.

Pain...
Pain!
PAIN!!!

The recalling of a brother he still couldn't recognise or name yet, as his first ever recollection of his life from before, had pushed the Shriven One beyond the point of conventional pain, as the agony his body was experiencing by then would be the worst he would feel for quite a lengthy span of time after that night. Not that it mattered then, as the initiate was no longer able to stand due to the sheer severity of the throbbing in his head, attacking in waves from the back of the head to the eyes he was still struggling to see with; plummeting off to one side, the Shriven One would then feel his ribs, hip and right thigh make hard contact with sharp, black gravel remains of the wind-beaten world around him, unbothered due to pains much greater than that of the falling impact.

'Remembering- ah, not another one! Remembering- HAAAURGH!!!! REMEMBERING - IT WILL PAIN ME WORSE THAN ANY TORTURER EVER COULD!!!! Oh, this is brutal.... Haaauuurgh! Oh, damn it! WHAT N-'

With nose and ears running red with blood, weeping sanguine tears that were flowing with grief for a life he still couldn't recall ever living, the sheer weight of his agonies would prove to be all too much to bear, rendering the Shriven One an unconscious, bloody mess on the ground for the second time since being resurrected by unknown entities a while before. The initiate would live to embrace his belonging another day, but it had debilitated him heavily enough that it would be a while before he snapped back out of it, and whether they would choose to wake him in time or just carry him back to their dropship, the choice would rest entirely in the hands of his new masters.

In the hands of the Scar Hounds, the last friends the Shriven One would ever know.

The Mongrel · Jan 22, 2022

Location: Durace, Forest of Broken Glass
Tags:

The Mongrel makes the decision to hide the Omen's identity from him
Three Starweirds come through the rift that Thomas came through
The Mongrel orders a retreat, for only sorcery can hurt the wraiths

He rose, and the course of history was changed.

The Mongrel watched as the Shriven One, this creature of prophecy reborn from Durace's blackened soil, stood and received his sword. Though the warlord could not sense the strands of fate as the shamans could, he still felt something in that moment, a shiver that ran through the remnants of his organic mind. What had happened here, in this distant and dead corner of the Unknown Regions, would have great and terrible consequences for the course of the war. He did not know how he could tell, but he knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

And then Mercy spoke in his mind, and it clicked.

With all that he had seen in his travels across the galaxy, bringing blood and fire to every corner of Known Space, The Mongrel had learned not to ask how something could be possible. In his experience, anything and everything was. He had seen Force anomalies and technological rifts and displays of power that no mortal science or knowledge could explain. He had come to accept that the contents of this vast universe defied categorization. There were only the gods, and by their will the laws of reality itself became malleable. He took nothing for granted.

Barran. The name sent his mind spinning back through the long war's most important battles, from Csilla to Ilum to Korrriban to Nirauan. For all the Jedi and Sith he had fought, all the sorcerers and commandos and armored legions he had faced down, The Mongrel had never known an enemie quite like Erskine Barran. Sometimes they had clashed directly. Sometimes it was Barran's acolytes, the likes of Aron Gowrie and the Mandalorian called Shai. Sometimes it was a struggle between their armies, with only a glimpse of each other through the struggle.

But it all always stemmed from the two archenemies.

For a moment, The Mongrel was tempted to strike down the omen, to unleash a blow that would take his head from his shoulders and lessen the number of Barrans in the galaxy, prophecy be damned. But that urge passed quickly, because the pain it would cause the warlord's nemesis would pass with equal swiftness. After all, wasn't it Erskine himself who had taught The Mongrel the value of the tactical long game, to fight each battle with one eye fixed firmly on the war as a whole? He must not be wasteful. He'd been given this gift for a reason.

"Well done," he thought to Mercy. "But tell him nothing."

To forge a good sword, the metal had to be cleansed of impurities. Pitted iron made weak blades, the kind that shattered on the first strike. That was why the Taskmaster had scoured The Mongrel's mind of his history... and of kindness, empathy, and remorse. The omen, the Shriven One, had already lost all that baggage, all the impurities that would weaken him as a warrior of the Maw. He did not need to be reminded of them, to have his weaknesses reintroduced. But The Mongrel could wield the omen's past, make it a weapon against Erskine.

Let his undoing come at the hand of his own kin.

As the warlord watched, the trauma of the Shriven One's strange transition began to overwhelm him. One moment he stood, his new sword in hand. The next he fell back to the earth that had re-birthed him, screaming as half-memories ravaged his mind, blood running down his face like thick crimson tears. In a moment he was unconscious, spent by his ordeal, his delivery to this strange place from the even stranger beyond. The Mongrel bent down beside him, scooping the warrior's limp form up in his mechanical arms. He was needed alive.

He was the spearpoint that would pierce the NIO's flank.

Yet as the warlord straightened, noticing for the first time that

Erion Justeene had stepped in among the circle of Scar Hounds, a gust of frigid wind passed through the Forest of Broken Glass. The Mawite tribesmen looked around uneasily, shivering in the unnatural cold; they could feel it sinking into their bones, into their very souls. Something else was coming, slipping through the crack in reality that Thomas had been thrust through. There was a wound in the fabric of space here, an opening that predators could not fail to notice.

That was when the wraiths began to come through, creatures from the endless void between stars. They were tall and gaunt, a mane of white hair floating around their shriveled heads as if caught in an unseen current, their eyes like darkly-glowing holes in reality. Three of them rose from the cracked earth, flexing long, rending talons. Strangled gasps issued from their throats, each sounding like the last, rattling breath of a doomed hospice patient. They were translucent, incorporeal, surely immune to physical weapons. And they were hungry.

"Retreat!" The Mongrel barked. Only a Sith could face such a foe...

Marlon Sularen · Jan 22, 2022

T H E_R I S I N G_S T O R M

Part 0.5 : Congregation over Durace 

FINAL DAWN
DURACE SYSTEM , UNKNOWN REGIONS 

A Supremacy Mark-I Star Destroyer emerged out of hyperspace in proximity to the FDS Immortal within the Durace System with a Single Shuttle escorted by four Final Dawn TIE Fighters escorting it emerging from it's Ventral Hangars beginning it's approach towards the Immortal. Inside it was Grand Overseer Marlon Sularen , a high-ranking official within the Final Dawn whose influence and power was surpassed only by that of the Supreme Leader and High Regent , the latter whom the Grand Overseer sought to replace although he was certain that Tirall knew that , the only thing keeping Sularen in line was the fact that the Core Worlds has yet to be claimed by the Final Dawn and the fact that they were literally at war with the entire Galaxy with any form of infighting being detrimental to long-term Final Dawn plans. Soon enough the Shuttle arrived into the main hangar of the Immortal with the four escorting TIEs eventually breaking off and returning to the Star Destroyer. 

Once the Shuttle had landed , Marlon Sularen emerged from the Shuttle escorted again by a squad of Elite Raptor Supercommandos , Cybernetically Enhanced Super Soldiers who were extremely loyal to the Grand Overseer only serving as his Personal Bodyguards and his Personal Enforcers. From there Sularen and his Supercommandos began walking towards the Conference Room where the High Regent and other Prominent Figures within the Final Dawn awaited the Grand Overseer ready to begin making preparations for something Sularen had waited a long time for : The Final Dawn's Conquest and Occupation of the Core Worlds. Already the Grand Overseer had begun working on his own little project known as Operation FROZEN HAND which when executed would cripple the Galactic Alliance's Navy and leave dozens of Worlds in flames , or at least that was the projected outcome of the Operations. Sularen was aware of the growing strength of the Galactic Alliance Navy and it was hard for the Final Dawn to catch up to them making such an Operation even harder to execute and although the Grand Overseer had plans to deal with these disadvantages , there was no way of being 100% certain that these measures would work. 

Nevertheless the Grand Overseer would move forward with his plans confident that soon enough he would be able to return to the Core Worlds triumphantly finally crippling the Galactic Alliance and putting an end to Decades of plotting and fighting against the Democratic Regime that has exiled him from the Core Twice , denying him from his ambitions of ruling over his Homeworld and creating his own Domain within the Core Worlds. Soon enough the grand Overseer would arrive at the Conference Room where High Regent Derix Tirall awaited him along with other Individuals such as the recently resurrected Admiral Aldo Garrick and the Fighter Ace Electra-12 who represented the benefits of the Electra-Series Program which had provided the Final Dawn with Capable Pilots capable of rivaling the Galactic Alliance and New Imperial Order's Finest. The Benefits of the Chiss without the Chiss as many called it. "High Regent." The Grand Overseer said informing him of his arrival. "It's good to be here your excellency" . Then Sularen turned to Aldo Garrick. "Admiral Garrick. It's nice you back. I look forward to working alongside you in the Near-Future once more." then the Grand Overseer finally turned to Electra-12. "Ah , If it isn't one of our finest Pilots. It's nice to meet you in person at last EX-0012-41." Sularen said as he greeted the Ace Pilot. 

Tags | 

 Derix Tirall
| 

 Aldo Garrick
| 

 Electra-12
| 

 Electra-13
| 

 Haon Hafey
| Xuan Vo | 

 Kenth Berik
​

Kerstan Blackmoore · Jan 22, 2022

The Brotherhood of the Maw were an interesting group. There was a diversity among them Kerstan had not expected to find. What kept them from falling apart into the division that befell other groups was the one thing that remained constant.

All of them were fanatics.

From the least to the greatest, every single individual was fanatical about something, and it had been focused. The galaxy needed to be purged, and the Maw would see it done. Kerstan believed in them, and believed they could do it. His own fanaticism would join with theirs, and he would craft the perfect soldiers for them. He had come so close, and he would do so again. What he needed more than anything were live test subjects, and here, he would find them.

Darkness had finally taken its toll on the man. Years of trying to recreate the perfect weapon after already creating his dear Aine had almost made him insane. There was a new resolve. With his weapon drawn, the Sith began to search the pile of bodies for those that were still alive. The injured and incapacitaed would make perfect test subjects. His formulas were ready.

Erion Justeene · Jan 23, 2022

Objective I: Locate allies within the Forest of Broken Glass!
Location: Durace, The Forest of Broken Glass
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Tags: