Watch Out [Primeval v.s. Silver Watch]

[Boethiah]

As the Silver Sanctum Coalition fights the Triumvirate at Ruusan, the Sentinels on Rhen Var have never been more isolated--and in danger--than now; on their icy world. Exiting hyperspace in the deep black depths, a fleet of starships arrived from Wild Space. The great Cathedral vessels of the Primeval, and unmistakable too. On board the zealous crusaders chant once more. Calling for another March.

Although a shadow of their former power, their fleet remains venerable, and is in the hands of those shrewd enough to have escaped destruction long ago with the rest of the Host. Now their eyes set upon Rhen Var Citadel, where Jedi young and old vowed to protect the peace and harmony of the world. Their mission will truly be tested, as will be the resolve of the Primeval. Whose very namesake has now been placed into question.

Aboard one of the several Cathedral-class battleships, a young girl sat surrounded by advisors and servants. Her heterochromatic eyes darted between the various beings who dotted her line of sight. Their curious gazes locking on those who have precedence, before finally falling upon a familiar face. [member="Orkamaat"] was one of the few people she had fondness for. A sentiment she rarely felt as two powerful spirits fought within her. Vying for total dominance over their adolescent vessel.

The polar world was now in sight, and if they haven't managed to pick up these signals yet, they'd soon realize their precious Citadel was under siege...

Spoiler: OOC

I understand this is quite short notice--as well without forewarning--but after taking a gander on the Silver Watch forum, I thought the Primeval made a good match for the faction. I'm fine with however this ends up playing out. As well, I'm patient--so take as much time as you need to reply! I am hoping the suddenness can help motivate the mission behind the Silver Watch faction; with the Primeval being your baddies.

[member="Coci Heavenshield"] | [member="Thurion Heavenshield"]

 

[Evaelyn Zambrano]

The Zambranos had always had strong ties with the Primeval. Her father the Butcher King had reigned from Drommund Kaas for a time. Her twin, Joycelyn, had once marched into battle by the zealots' side while shouting the praise of Vahl. Vahl had not been their god, but Joy had seen the similarities. Now it was Evaelyn's turn. She did not care for Zambrano traditions, oaths or past allegiances. She cared for battle. The Primeval offered it to her.

Evaelyn, or 'Elyn', came properly equipped. She wore the Advanced Agent Tactical Armour, with its helmet currently resting on her right leg with her right hand on top of it. In addition to her lightsaber and axe, she also carried the SAR-1 Dual-weapon Assault Rifle. At least the Primeval had been kind enough to ensure that she came well dressed for battle.

The blue-haired beast was seated in one of the dropships coming along with the fleet. She sat arching forwards with her head bent downwards. She was preparing herself. Her role would not be to pilot ships or command fleets. When this transport touched the ground, she would run out and charge whatever was there to be charged. She would find her mark, and she would plant her phrik-coated axe into its skull. There wasn't much more to it than that. That was what mattered. That was the only truth. Evaelyn put her helmet on.

 

[Orkamaat]

“Daughter.”

The world left his lips, alien and strange.

“Daughter, you must focus.”

Easier said than done when you had two ancient entities vying for control inside your mind, but it was necessary nonetheless. Orkamaat pinched his eyebrows, the darkness pooling even harsher in the hollows of his eye sockets. He looked like a scarecrow escaped from its field, complete with the ripped robes and the insides spilling out.

Only there was no straw.

Most people on the bridge avoided him. That was because most people in the Primeval were highly intelligent. Not, perhaps, the sort of intelligent you’d send off to the best universities in the Galaxy to pioneer advances in fringe sciences. No, they were possessed of a baser kind of instinct, the kind that had them react to danger and unforeseen circumstances with awesome speed. Ancient urges, etched into the genes of their primordial predecessors.

Orkamaat, incidentally, had known some of those predecessors. They’d had nice chats once upon a time, before evolution had moved higher up the chain.

[member="Boethiah"], he began anew and stepped closer. Have you spoken to your mother about this?

He was about as certain of his role in the child’s life as a soldier would be in the clothes of a doctor. Even though she hadn’t been sired through biological means, the girl was likely more a part of him than most children ever conceived. Quite literally, the Priest had reached inside and torn away a piece of his being. This pulsing, writhing creature he’d then joined with the spirit of a witch he’d once known, a long time ago, and implanted them both in the emptied vessel.

The frozen planet had grown large in the viewport of the ship, and he realized touchdown was imminent. Duty squeezed his heart even as the sharp claws of Shaping inched higher under his robes. Orkamaat drew them tight with a long exhale and placed a calming hand on the Prophet’s shoulder.

“Lead them well.”

His purpose once they landed would not be destruction. No, for that they had armies of zealots, who loved nothing more than to wield their magic and weapons in the name of the Lost. The Priest would escort Balagoth to the surface, and introduce it to the Sentinels.

[member="Evaelyn Zambrano"]

 

[Vhaeri]

Vhaeri was one of the people of the Primeval who had given her agreement to going into a little rumble with the Silver Watch. Or whoever they were, really. The girl didn't really think much about who she was going against. All that mattered to her was the faith and blood. If it was anything other than that, it barely meant anything to the girl.

She was one of the people seated in the same ship as Boethiah who was kind of like the leader of the forces. Vhaeri preferred walking the road alone and having independent battles, but she had had to agree to join the mass this time. The once glorious Primeval was not what it used to be and every little piece of manpower was important. So how could she betray the people whom she shared the faith with? Even thinking about such an option was heresy; it was taboo.

The girl's bloody eyes looked over the people who were with her. She didn't really know any of them that well that she could do anything alongside them, really. But whatever, she would keep on giving the best fight she could.

Trying to cover up her wounds with a piece of clothe, she pretended to listen to what was going around while she really barely knew what they were talking about. It would have been too creepy for the crowd to see her bleeding, even though we are talking about the Primeval right now. Times had truly passed and even Vhaeri was not who she used to be. She didn't really bleed out of blood before fight anymore. She tried to keep it subtle because she didn't need a ton of good luck in battles.

Luck was good in small amounts, like a fine seasoning, not as a main course of the meal.

[ [member="Boethiah"] | [member="Evaelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Orkamaat"] ]​

 

[Isar]

A crow fluttered down from its perch to land before [member="Boethiah"]. It squawked once, twice, then on the third its beak continued to open wider and wider. Black eyes bulged from sockets. The body of the crow undulated and bulged with bubbles, boiling like water until at last the bird exploded in a spray of black feathers. In its place stood a diminutive ursine, wearing naught but a necklace of bone, a belt with many leather pouches, and a peculiar headdress.

An Ewok was he, with a tar black fire burning in that mad, frenzied gaze. The savage pointed one paw at the humanoid girl with the two-color gaze, but said nothing. Around her, advisors muttered darkly. Adorably round ears twitched at their discontent.

The creature toddled forward until he stood close to her. He tilted up on tiptoes and whispered, hot breath tickling her ear. "I want what I was promised, Warchild," he squeaked.

One lock of hair from her head.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

The cluttered bridge rang out with various objectives, each of it’s officers tending to a different section of the ship in the same way the brain monitored the body of a mortal. From the rear of the bridge, two solid blast doors opened with a small pressurized hiss, from the hallways entered the massive form that was Ebon, the once warlord of Dantoonie. Dressed in traditionally all black clothing of the One Sith, he gave an intimidating and foreboding presence, making no effort to conceal his corruption or presence.

Yellow fangs snarled at the crew as he took off his hood, making his way over to the witch that summoned him with what grace a massive warbeast as he could muster. With little more than soft growl, he introduced himself with a question;

“You are the one who summoned the Primeval once more?”, his tone equal parts condescending, and questioning.

His glistening golden eye’s wandered around the crowd around her, sizing each of them up in their own ways;

First, [member="Orkamaat"]. Despite Ebon’s size, and ego, he could feel something dark from this malformed abomination. It made him unsettled, but not scared. The Zabrak was not easily intimidated, more likely due to his hard headedness than pure skill. Still, this eldritch being was one he’d have to follow, especially if they were to keep meeting.

Next, [member="Vhaeri"]. Another hybrid, and a young one at that. She looked like she had potential, if not a slightly crusty gold speck in a vat of acid. Still, she gave off no serious presence Ebon could feel for, and his attention quickly changed onto the third in the room.

An Ewok, [member="Warok the Defiler"]. Not something Ebon expected to see in the far reaches of space, but it was certainly something new to him. He’d never seen an Ewok, especially one that spoke, yet it seemed to remind him of the wookies he’d dealt with on Nar Shadaa. If those wookies were one meter tall, and three times as menacing. Make that five, as despite the size this… thing, was giving him the creeps.

Ebon licked his fangs, waiting for the young matriarch to speak back to him, or perhaps someone else.

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

The Primeval were a strange lot and spoke to Joycelyn in ways only the Ember ever had. As she sought to find parallels to her own goddess in the Pantheon of these strange polytheists, she came to respect them deeply. As such, she did not turn down a chance to fight alongside them and strike a blow against the Jedi. As the Silver Jedi crossed blades with the Sith on Ruusan, the dagger of the Primeval made a vicious stab.

Armoured like her sister in a Primeval Advanced Agent Tactical Armour, Joycelyn was just finishing up on cleaning the One Sith SK2 Ripper. On the right side of her hip,she had a lightsabre. Its blade was begrudgingly blue, courtesy of her master, @Lassiter. Still, it was better than nothing. On the left side was the sheathed MOHC Dauntless blade with its custom flame enchantment. It did not do much extra in the way of damage, but it sure freaked some people out when it left trails of fire in the wake of her cuts.

A clip went into the Ripper and the gun was placed safely in its holster. Joycelyn turned her brown eyes on her blue-haired sister, [member="Evaelyn Zambrano"]. Together, they would storm the snowy planet and carve a bloody swath. Together they could tear down mountains, of this Joyce was certain. The sisters Lyn; inseparable to the very end.

 

[Jada Raxis]

The Surface
Silver Watch Outpost

There wasn't much to Rhen Var other than snowy wastes and a few citadels here and there. Jada had joined a small group of Silver Watch, seeking to learn more about them. As a warrior lost in a peaceful tradition she was drawn to them. Her sole purpose as of yet was undiscovered, but she knew she loved battle, and craved it often.

There was no warning except for the flutters of the force. As surely as the winds whipped the icy surface into a frenzy of snowdrifts, the force was crashing through the young warrior. Having learned the very basics of meditation, she took to it often, spending vast amounts of time immersed in the currents.

But there was a grave disruption now. They were stirring ever more fiercely. In her minds eye the cool blues and calm patterns of the web were crumbling, being assaulted by sickly green tendrils and lashing red tints. A deep unease worked it's way into her gut, and she felt her focus, much like a spinning wheel topple from it's perch.

Her silvery eyes opened and flashed with fire.

Someone was coming, which meant hopefully a battle.

The rest of the Watch may have felt it, or may not, but that was none of her concern now. Rising from her crosslegged seat she stretched and slipped on her black Fiber armor, then scooped up her Echani battle blade. The weapon felt reassuring in her hands. The weight, the way the double ended blade glistened sharp and powerful in the dim light.

Not as good as a lightsaber, but it would do...

 

[Zak Dymo]

Location: Rhen Var Citadel
Equipment: Riptide, Robes, Survival Circlet, HoloBoy Advanced

This was serious!

Never before had a young Nautolan ever faced such a challenge as this. "Hmmmm," the little green one mused aloud, hand cupping around his chin. Forefinger tapping thoughtfully against the side of his cheek as he surveyed the battlefield before him."Hmmmm...." he murmured again, as the dark orbs of his eyes seemed to be calculating each possible outcome of what was about to go down. "Hmmmmmmmm."

Finally, the boy took a step forward. An accusatory finger was leveled as the child mustered all of his resolve and spoke so that all evil-doers of evil would know that truth and light and justice would always prevail. He spoke the words of righteousness. He spoke to inspire hope! Hope in that which would save us from starvation...

"Breakfast, you may be the most important meal of the day, but you are NOT PREPARED!"

No, seriously, breakfast wasn't prepared. And none of the older kids or adults were around at the moment, so he was kinda winging it here.

Shuffling his way into the shared kitchen of the distant outpost, the small Nautolan made his way among the shelves and cabinets that contained the supplies for the autochef field unit that helped to prepared the food for everyone at the citadel. From one of the lower drawers, the boy produced the timeless and classic yellow cereal box of Toastios. But, did he really want cereal?

Or, I mean, just cereal?

Reaching up a hand for the higher cabinets, the small Nautolan found that his reach was too short. Straining, the boy held onto the counter top with one hand while trying to stand on his tip-toes... but that still wasn't working either. Finally, Zak just pulled himself up so that he was sitting on his knees on top of the counter. That way, he was high enough that he could reach into the cabinets all the way to the back!

In short order, he'd pulled out a box of frozen waffles, some strawberries, a can of whipped cream topping, and some syrup. Tossing a stack of waffles into the autochef, the boy waited for those to warm while pulling down a plate so that he could start doing the assembly work. As the waffles came out of the autochef, the child arranged a loose stack in the center of the plate. Dressed it with the whipped cream. Sprinkled with toastios, then studded with strawberries. And, finally, a drizzle of syrup.

It was glorious!

Marveling at the awe and majesty of the food, the boy grew stern as he planted his hands on his hips. "It's a stack of awesome, with all the POWER of a breakfast!" he declared forcefully. Except...

"...but I can't eat all this by myself," the child realized, as he started looking around. "I need someone to share this with... like a... a..."

An alarm sounding through the outpost interrupted whatever the boy was about to say. Looking up, the child saw what looked like churches floating in space. Were those B'omarr Witnesses? Southern Vianist Convention? No, he'd seen flying-church-things like that before. Ziost... maybe?

Wait, that meant they were Primeval!

"...oh, well maybe those Primeval people just want breakfast, too," the boy wondered aloud.

 

[Auswyn Nothrael]

As a contemporary of the priest, she was often found in [member="Orkamaat"]'s company, and while she had never shared the faith of those around her, instead clinging to a system of belief in gods from another time and place, she held a respect for the faiths of others that was telling of the intellectual, scholastic mind found subsumed underneath the layers of mental affliction, predisposition, zealotry, and specific proclivities that moulded her thoughts and drove her actions for years before she acquired control. These things dwelt within her still, never to leave, but the clarity of mind she now possessed made her act and speak with deliberate purpose.

And if remaining in the priest's circle kept her within the sphere of the Daughter, all the better. The taste on the air of [member="Boethiah"]'s very soul was unmistakeable, and pulled on Auswyn's own heart and soul as the once-upon-a-time witch had, in coming to replace a long-since lost lupine that had once occupied those spaces. The girl was young, but the scholar knew what she felt and lines that once had no existence still blurred from time to time.

As in now, for once, when she had nothing to say amidst others who had plenty as they approached the girl, asking of her, demanding. Presuming to touch her even with so little as the air they breathed, making the woman feel the limitations constructed around the drive of her psyche begin to blur and fade. She swallowed hard, feeling parched, the lush, dark green of her eyes crawling up the back of the priest to refocus for the sake of not making an unneeded scene, to keep the pins of her hinges where they belonged.

Being so civilised was no simple affair.

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

Théo had been up before the dawn, he wanted to see the sun rise over the crest of the mountains before his day would begin, it is becoming a ritual with him since the day he lost his grandfather to the darkness. Food is not something he can stomach in such wee hours and would not until the body demanded it. But after the coming of the dawn he had spent his time in the control room of the Rhen Var Citadel, it was while he was there that the scanners had picked up on a ship entering the system, unknown to the Sanctum. Curiosity raised a brow as he watched the ship move across the blue screen heading their way. "Send a message to the Will of the Force requesting aid to Rhen Var", not everyone was in Ruusan and not the entirety of the Silver Sanctum fleet.

The Will of the Force, would receive the message a dispatch the request across Sanctum space to those able to come, if they are not on Ruusan. The Will would not come however, that ship takes a life time to move and Théo is not privy to it's location, only the grandmaster and the Assembly have that information. "Keep me updated on the movement of this ship, contact them asking what purpose they have here". He left the room and headed to his quarters to suit up for a fight if that is what was to pass.

"Unauthorised Vessel, this is Control of Rhen Var Citadel and the Silver Sanctum, state your purpose for entering the protected zone of Rhen Var". The young man hailed the Primes ship. Whether they would receive a reply was yet to be determine, but Théo kept the lines of communication open. The alert was sent to all of the Watch still stationed here.

​

[member="Auswyn Nothrael"] | [member="Zak Dymo"] | [member="Jada Raxis"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Ebon"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Vhaeri"] | [member="Orkamaat"] | [member="Evaelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Boethiah"]​

 

[Boethiah]

Boethiah's trance was interrupted by [member="Orkamaat"] the young girl's head turned to face the abominable high priest. She watched, but did not speak. Her eyes focused on his lips as they moved, curiously she gazed, half distracted and half paying attention. Finally, the appearance of an ewok managed to take her attention entirely; luckily just after Orkamaat had finished his small speech.

"After we're finished here, little bear." She spoke with a soft, almost whisper-like voice. Difficult for anyone to hear but her and [member="Warok the Defiler"].

Upon her exiting words, another voice--this one less familiar--spoke to her, the girl's head now twisted to face him. [member="Ebon"] seemed familiar, rather than alien, but she could not recall how she knew him. Of course, she had yet to truly comprehend the nature of that which she hosted inside of herself. "I speak for our Gods, child," she made sure to place emphasis upon that which she referred to him as. For he was young in their faith. Ironic, of course, given the difference in their biological ages.

"You wrap yourself in the garbs of Sith, but we are not Sith. Why do you dress this way? You cannot run from our faith, child." Boethiah said it again, this time less aggressively than before. Her tone clearly reflected Anja's for any who recalled their late Host Lord, but the subtle differences--the truth that she and her were not the same--remained.

Finally, curious eyes scoped out [member="Auswyn Nothrael"], another she felt a familiarity with but another which she could not recall. "Who are you?" She asked, hiding not her inquisitive thoughts. Before an answer came, however, a report from the ship's commanding officer came to the young witch's ears. "They're hailing us, Your Worship, our presence is not unnoticed. How shall we proceed?" The raspy voice was unmistakable. Slicing through the surrounding chatter like a kath hound's claws through tall grass. "I will reply," she commanded. The officer nodded, and opened their channels for communication.

To [member="Théodred Heavenshield"] the voice of a young girl no later than her teens was obvious. "Whose authority do you represent, that you may defile my sanctuary with probing questions?" Diplomacy was perhaps an area she needed to enlighten herself in, but the instrument of those words certainly betrayed any threat which lied within them.

[member="Jada Raxis"] | [member="Zak Dymo"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Vhaeri"] | [member="Evaelyn Zambrano"]

 

[Jada Raxis]

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"]

The Darkside stench was permeating everything now. Like a long shadow it cast a pall over her mind whilst the young warrior stalked down the halls. With blade in hand and black fiber armor making a metallic rustling noise as it slid slightly with each step. There was alarms going off as the outpost was called to action. Officers and soldiers alike rushed down the hallways, other Padawans and Knights of the Watch were cutting the crowd, moving in the opposite direction like water.

Jada caught their movement and fell in behind the group, moving in synch, light footfalls barely registering a noise until the small group had made it the main citadel.

"Silver watch reporting sir!" One called off with a smart salute.

Jada scowled, twirling the blade haft idly in her gloved fingers.

"Jada Raxis with them. And I haven't met you, who might you be?" She asked, stepping out from behind them and extending a hand...

 

[Orkamaat]

An outwardly cold exchange passed between the two beacons of Primeval who were both less and more than what they appeared. Few people knew what connection the Prophet and the Priest shared, and none [SIZE=14.6667px]were[/SIZE] present on the bridge. Their relationship lacked the warmth one would normally expect between father and daughter, and thus even the keenest of minds would be hard-pressed to discern the true origin of their familiarity.

Orkamaat turned away from [member="Boethiah"] with a minute nod, nimbly maneuvering past the unassuming stature of [member="Warok the Defiler"]. His daughter was old enough to take care of her own business, even if she didn’t show it. Save for himself, the girl was probably the eldest entity on the ship.

It was this wealth of experience that the Priest called on as he stalked down the deep green corridors of the vessel. Thousands of years, all lived to their full. Somewhere in there, hidden amongst the stars, would be a memory of the planet below. [SIZE=14.6667px]A world[/SIZE] much younger than this one, much softer and gentler. There had been less ice, this much he could remember. The finer details were eluding him, however. The noise and chatter of fanatics preparing to slay a different band of fanatics had always been the downside of this religion. In the golden age of the Host Lord, it had been even worse. Despite the decline of intense warfare, or perhaps because of it, the most zealous among the cultists had retained their penchant for bloodletting.

Like it or not, Orkamaat had to retreat into a meditation chamber to find the peace required to browse [SIZE=14.6667px]his[/SIZE] memories. There, the Priest settled on his knees before the statues of the Lost, closed his eyes, and hummed a soft prayer to Balagoth.

For what seemed like a long time, his mind remained blank. It was dark like only space without stars can be dark. Then the first spark of recollection appeared, distant and flickering, but it was there. He latched onto the ancient souvenir of Rhen Var and followed its whispers further into the archives of his life. Down winding paths and wild turns the memory took him, and at times Orkamaat had thought himself [SIZE=14.6667px]lost[/SIZE] until the spark sang once more where he least expected it. When he reached its origin, the Priest smiled and stepped into the glare of the sun.

When he would return, he would return teeming with knowledge of things buried under millennia of primordial ice.

[member="Jada Raxis"] | [member="Auswyn Nothrael"] | [member="Zak Dymo"] | [member="Evaelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Ebon"] | [member="Vhaeri"] | [member="Théodred Heavenshield"]​

 

[Isar]

"Good, good," muttered the shaman, retreating from the war child's side. As the humanoids continued babbling, Warok waddled away. His meandering path led him to the hangar of the ship. He stared for a moment, watching craft depart.

So curious. So strange. Iron ships to sail through the void. He knew a wood that was strong as iron. Maybe stronger. Warok extracted several of the seeds from a pouch at his belt. Brylark wood, strongest of all the barks. These humanoids, they thought him savage. True, he did nothing to dispel their notions. Even encouraging them in many regards. But Warok knew of the line from the famous warrior, what was it he had read? 'Appear weak when you are strong.' And so Warok hid his sagacity behind inane acts and blathering, nonsense words. They underestimated him.

Silly humanoids. Did they not realize that all their civilization would eventually crumble into ruins? Then only the plants would remain. Warok's plants. He had learned how to shape them, how to mould them, from the Green Witch herself, the Sith Lady, Sirella. It was time to recall those old lessons and repurpose them for a new task.

Not because he needed to, but simply because he could.

Warok rolled the seeds around in his palm. What did they need to grow? Light. Well, this was space. The hangars were open but for the ray shields. There was enough radiant light from the nearby sun. So they had light. What else? Water, yes. And nutrients. But how to get it to them... how to... his wandering eyes aligned upon a mechanic. A slow, horrible smile split his chubby cheeks wide.

He waddled over to them.

"Hello."

"What the kriff? Who let you in here? Nevermind, look furface, we've got work to do right now, but -"

The mechanic's sudden shrill scream was silenced as roots sprouted rapidly from the seeds and pushed their way down his throat. Gagging, the man fell to the floor, clawing at the roots. But it was too late. His fate was sealed. The seeds fed upon the water in the mechanic's body and grew, brylark saplings sprouting from the still twitching corpse's mouth. The wood twisted and turned to Warok's plying demands and soon the bark had engulfed the Ewok entirely.

The pod of wood then began to move, rolling slowly at first, then quicker, before shooting out the hangar and falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Flames licked at the surface of the brylark orb as it fell from space and into Rhen Var's atmosphere, but seemed to find no purchase. Warok didn't remember how long he fell. It seemed like a while.

He did remember the landing.

The cherry-red surface of the pod slammed into the tundra of Rhen Var and tore a long furrow in the ground. Snow and ice melted quickly around it and steam rose in curls. The bark seemed to melt too, sloughing off until all that remained was the Ewok.

He stepped out onto the taiga of the planet and grinned madly. "Silveeers, where are you? I can hear your ghosts whispering to me. Come out to play-e-ay."

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"] | [member="Zak Dymo"]

 

[Zak Dymo]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_izvAbhExY​

Life was boring.

Now, adventure? Adventure needed a soundtrack!

Some old school Corellian disco could be heard from out of the HoloBoy Advanced on the boy's utility belt. His feet shuffled through the hallway in time with the rhythm to the music. Sometimes line dancing, sometimes moonwalking, and often times just giving it a strut as the young Nautolan made his way through the interior of the citadel. The boy was balancing the stack of waffles on a plate, alternating the use of one or both hands as the breakfast teetered precariously along the journey.

A streak in the sky caught the boy's fickle attention. As he turned his head, peering through an open canopy out onto the frozen wastes of Rhen Var, the boy's mouth dropped open as he saw an object like fire hail down to the ground below. Distracted, as he swung his hips, the boy's balance went askew. He fumbled the plate, sending the waffles sliding in one direction as the Toastios and strawberries each went flying in the opposite direction.

A blur of Force Speed transformed the child into the likeness of a green ghost as the child haphazardly worked to get everything back under control. The waffles stacked on the plate, the strawberries and Toastios all accounted for.

Well, a couple of Toastios had flown off onto the floor, but that wasn't important. And if he claimed not to notice or know anything about it, then he couldn't be faulted for not cleaning it up.

...and at least one strawberry landed in his mouth. Purely by accident. A delicious accident.

Sliding up to the threshold the boy held the plate aloft. "Skills!" the youngling sang out in a cheerful voice, as the door lifted away to reveal the room where Théo and some blue chick were talking. "Hey, I... I saw this, like, meteorite land," the child remarked, in his trademark outside voice. Indoor voices were sooooo yesterday. "It was totes astral!"

Anyway, that wasn't important now.

Well, it was important. Because it had been cool. But that wasn't what they were talking about now, that was what they were talking about then. This is now now. And right now, the question was, "Who wants breakfast?"

[member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Jada Raxis"] | [member="Théodred Heavenshield"]​

 

[Sirak Kolar]

“I speak for our Gods, child.”

Ebon’s fist clenched for a moment, a snarl forming on his lips as the amber abyss that was his eye’s closed to mere slits. What was this, being talked down to by a child half his own age? His fingers cracked under stress, air releasing in small pops before she spoke again, her tone taking on something he didn’t expect.

“You wrap yourself in the garbs of Sith, but we are not Sith. Why do you dress this way? You cannot run from our faith, child.”

And in those words, he felt like a child. A wave of familiarity rushed over as he remembered the late matriarch he served so diligently. Perhaps he was still angered at the child, but his fist unclenched and he uttered a soft repose to the young girl.

“Y-Yes, Matriarch.”, he voice seemed to hesitate at first.

He wasn’t used to showing any weakness, hesitation being one of those. He quickly cleared his throat and watched the blips on the screen light up as they were hailed, his mind finding it’s way back on track to the objective at hand. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this child yet, but until he decided, he’d do exactly what she demanded.

Either she’d earn his respect, or he’d stop her from resurrecting a broken Primeval. There was no in-between. His arms crossed, the soft black garb he was wrapped in dangling gently to the floor, ever few glances beneath offered a glance at the exoskeleton prototype he was wearing.


[member="Boethiah"]

 

[Boethiah]

Eager warriors await the icly world below, their feet shuffling in place as they ready themselves to march. This was their dance of war, and the Primeval knew it well -- they've clashed with the sons and daughters of Mandalore, and the Silver Jedi defenders of Ziost, too. The Republic, the Red Ravens, the Imperial Remnant... So many enemies past and now, and even though the Host is dead, their Gods yet live. So long as they've something to reach for, they will not stop, and even in the shadow of their past glories they have so much left to reach.

The metal hull of their Cathedral drifted closer and closer until it breached the outer atmosphere, cascading flames around its exterior shielding. A beacon in the dreary afterglow of starlight. "Prepare to March," the young witch announced to all within the vessel. From every quarter to the assembly room where their troops stand tall, the three sacred words were heard. The March on Rhen Var had begun, and with it the Primeval return to the stage of war once more. Rowdy cheers echoed as the various warriors, soldiers, and champions of the Primeval let out their war cries.

Rising from her seat, Boethiah strode towards a large table filled with weapons both ancient and new. Swords, and staves, lightsabers and vibroblades. She eyed each of them, scrutinizing every last detail of the weapons, seeking out the one to deliver her victory in the battle to come. Her hand reached out above them, hovering over but not touching. She took several deep breaths, before finally gripping the hilt of her lightsaber which she clipped to the side of her belt. Then she grabbed a seemingly plain vibroblade, before marching off towards the assembly where her troops awaited. Soon they'd land.

[member="Ebon"] | [member="Zak Dymo"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Orkamaat"] | [member="Jada Raxis"] | [member="Auswyn Nothrael"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Vhaeri"] | [member="Evaelyn Zambrano"]

 

[Dezoti]

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]
[member="Evaelyn Zambrano"]

If there was ever anything to help with the cold, it was tea.

And a big, big fire.


On top of one of the empty buildings within the temple grounds sat a lone figure, bundled in many layers and still clearly shivering. The cold never did agree with the Zabrak. But tea and fire certainly did. The man sipped at his tea, letting the hot liquid drip down his throat to send warmth all through his body. Yes, tea could warm him so quickly. Then again, the leaves used to create such a wonderful tea were altered with the Force to get such an effect.

While the tea was good, the fire really wasn't. He couldn't actually have a real fire on the roof of the building, so a little electrical heater was placed with a tea kettle on top. It worked, at least for the water, so there wasn't much to complain about. Nothing to complain about at all now that he thought about it. It was another cold, uneventful night working with the Silvers.

Though there was a tremor that might change soon enough.

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

"Whose authority do you represent, that you may defile my sanctuary with probing questions?"

"I believe that question was answered, we are the Silver Sanctum Coalition, who are you to ask such a question young lady? and please state your business here", Théo spoke into the comlink as he continued to suit up to enter the outside if that was required.

However he would not wait in his room for her reply. As soon as he had prepared, he went directly to the mess hall to find the others if they are there. A dispatch was sent out to all the members of the watch to be on high alert and ready for anything. [member="Krest"] and [member="Jada Raxis"] would receive the dispatch.

As he entered the mess, he saw Zak sitting at breakfast. "Hey, we have company. I am heading out to the wall to see for my self exactly who has paid us a little visit, you coming?".

While waiting, Théo checked him armour and saber before pulling over his thick black fur álk coat, "I will be on the wall".

Spoiler

Sorry for the short post, trying to catch up with this thread

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| [member="Krest"] | [member="Boethiah"] | [member="Ebon"] | [member="Zak Dymo"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Orkamaat"] | [member="Jada Raxis"] | ​