Chloro
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Iziz
Sept 16, 2013 20:58:32 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 16, 2013 20:58:32 GMT -8
The space above the teeth momentarily pulled back, showing even more dental work in the process when Tuulia politely smiled at Diva before relaxing back to it's usual display. The voice seemed to come from nowhere in particular - softly spoken, an intimate whisper from one to another.
There's. Going. To. Be.
A. Lot. Less. Talking.
And. A. Lot. More. Killing.
The red-eyes exploded into a beautifully synchronised conflagration - the explosions overlapping and melding together, with Diva and Kuroro being at the point where they would converge.
BOO-OO-OOOM
The beautiful blaze had Chloro hypnotised. Even though her vessel was failing - perforated by bayonets, scorched by chemicals, burnt by fire - she still believed she could make it. Again and again, she threw herself into the breach, until she could defeat Kuroro. She knew it was insane, she knew that she could die if she failed to hold onto Tuulia and she knew that she should run away and attack again when they were least expecting it. But she was driven by a force greater than herself, pitting her against monsters she was impossibly outmatched, serenaded by the song that said she would never die. Who was it?
Chloro prepare to charge, Tuulia's maw stretched.
She was about to fulfil her purpose.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Sept 17, 2013 14:27:31 GMT -8
Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 17, 2013 14:27:31 GMT -8
A rumble, a great quake -dirt shaking, resulting in any flowers digging roots into the surround square kilometer to quiver with enough violence an onlooker could swear they sensed a great fear. Maybe they were afraid of the undead champions; maybe they quaked at the force of will demonstrated by the living pair. It was all details. The one thing that was for certain was the great clouds of obfuscation produced by the striking of the eyes -which at first seemed to explode with all their effulgent earnestness.
!CLAP!
The conflagration of murky inclination begins to bubble at the "point" of impact, expanding outwards before a swirl appears to churn in its midst.
!CLAP!
A maelstrom breaks out around this warping, sucking every bit of the discharge in a rush that pulls with impossible strength. And this happens with such persistence that it almost felt like the entire combat area was under duress.
!CLAP! CLAP!CLAP!CLAP!CLAP!CLAP!CLAP!CLAP!CLAP!CLAP!
"Brava! Brava! Bravisima!"
And as the final bit of the cloud is absorbed, Diva's horrid face breaks through the stark shadow offered by a sun high in the cloudless sky. She is grinning, that tongue that extended well past her chin, purple, wiggled with the same exuberance the snow white fingers of her hands did. One of those eyes splays while the other narrows as those eyebrows twist and bend.
"Really, I'm so happy! You want to fight me, that thing that goes bump in the night, with occultism. Yes, I'm so very happy that you'd fight a bad joke with a parody of a bad joke! Tell me: how retarded have the living things become? No, NO, No! Don't spoil it and don't ever ruin it."
Ice Incarnate waves the angry faces toward her.
"Enough with these bullshit appetizers. . . Show me those teeth."
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Deleted
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Iziz
Sept 18, 2013 9:32:02 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Sept 18, 2013 9:32:02 GMT -8
"Shit, he rabbitted."
Whatever had tipped off the targets, they had bugged out in a hurry. The team had expected the targets to hang around at least for another day, and were caught completely flat footed. Their bugs had been destroyed by the baradium charge, and they had never successfully gotten anywhere near the target's freighter. The probable destination was known as Dressel, but either way, it was out of their hands. This cell knew nothing of the overall plan, only that they had just spent several months in a tiny little room trying to keep tabs on the target. Well, time to report up.
"God, this is Alpha. Target has left the system, appears to be heading towards the promised land."
That's a good copy, Alpha. Why are we just now finding out about this? You were supposed to notify us at least twelve hours in advance.
"We had about three minutes' worth of warning ourselves. Something spooked them, so they rabbitted."
They?
"The target has made contact with Artemis."
Another thing you were supposed to notify us about. Status?
The operative swallowed nervously. God was not pleased.
"Artermis was badly wounded, we know that much. The target rescued her from an ambush and provided medical treatment."
Of course he did. How are they getting on?
"The target is responding well. He's showing several markers of affection. But we think there are two problems. We were waiting for confirmation before we sent the report."
Do tell.
"One, he suspects interference. We don't think the target has figured out what's going on yet, but he's suspicious, and therefore dangerous."
Spare us your opinions. Anyway, the second?
"Artemis appears to be reciprocating."
There was a sharp intake of breath from God.
That is...surprising. Her profile suggests that she would be more likely to sucker him in and suck him dry before destroying him. Are you sure it's not a ploy?
"Quite. She doesn't seem to be happy about it, either."
Thank you for your report, however late it might have been. Your assignment is complete.
"Apologies, sir. What is our next assignment?"
Investigation into the Netherworld of the Force.
"Beg pardon?"
Goodbye.
The apartment, the operatives, and all evidence of their existence vanished in a burst of baradium-fueled light. Forensics would note that the explosion was almost identical to one that was set off mere moments before across town.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Sept 18, 2013 21:42:06 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 18, 2013 21:42:06 GMT -8
Diva's effortless absorbsion of such an explosion and earth-shaking power, along with her macabre display of happiness, unnerved Chloro.
"Who are you, really?"
She whispered the same question that hundreds of soon-to-be-dead people had asked when they were pitted in a life or death struggle against her and found themselves inexplicably losing. The frustration was only matched by the despair and terror of losing to the Ice Queen. She was fighting a bitter war of attrition, exhausting herself in trying to kill the dead. The way forward seemed impossible, mocking her pitiful attempts to make progress. Even besting Kryptman seemed like such a hollow victory now.
Her hands started to lose their resolve, losing their grip on Tuulia.
Tuulia opened her eye.
Chloro realised that she was asking the right question, but to do the wrong creature. Staring into Tuulia was like staring into the abyss. She thought that she was helping the briefcase, that helpless half-a-person. But staring into that fiery, dead red eye, Chloro suddenly realised there was more to fear in the galaxy than just Diva. The amorphous mass that she held seemed to bristle at her loss of resolve.
Why. Do. You. Even. Try.
Give. Up. While. You. Can.
She spoke into the into the mind of Chloro. Giving up seemed like a good idea. Besides, fighting didn't seem to be doing her any favours. Diva had done most of the work. All Tuulia needed to do was swoop in and scoop up the finished product. Chloro's defenses were penetrated. All her vicious aggression had been bled dry. Her brutal determination was depleted. She was crying.
Chloro gave up.
RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
She gave a bloodcurdling scream as her teeth seemed to slip off their track and run off her face. But they were expanding, forming into a bigger loop. Planting her teeth, she challenged Diva to a new game.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Sept 25, 2013 13:09:04 GMT -8
Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 25, 2013 13:09:04 GMT -8
And that was the rub in this tepid situation, wasn't it. It was all a bloody game -entertainment in both its highest and lowest of forms. Every second the last of the three "heroes" devoted into outpouring her violence and idea towards the diva was like a moot point. Not useless, not discarded -nay, the living so beautifully charged were like the most precious of volcanic fires- melting tiny fragments of even the coldest of heart shaped coffins.
But to call it anything more than a luxurious joy was a bold lie.
At least, that is how it worked in Diva's excuse of a mind.
The manifestation mirrors the Champion of the Explosive, giving Chloro a wide, toothy smile to match her intensity and determination. Unfortunately for the living, however, it was getting closer to the time in which the fire must die out. And how to smother and choke out such a fine and young thing? Why, with a tempest, of course! Thus the parody of a girl extends her arms out to her sides to the point of impersonating an icy cross, and then a swimming, shimmer sound begins to torment the air between them. It is like the noise of a thousand tiny legs sliding softly against hardened steel, like scales shifting tenderly over a wet expanse. Louder and louder does this noise become until it is a full fledged rumble, and then the minions appear: pouring outwards with a frothing mass as if each arm were no more than a huge barrel. Black and brown spreads out from beneath her, collecting, growing.
Roaches. Thousands upon thousands of trembling roaches, rich in assorted brown hues, hissing, fluttering their disgusting wings, fouling the earth with their incessant slime. These creatures begin to reproduce -as if watching a hyperbolic nest grow at 600 frames per second. These bugs shake themselves, feast upon themselves, mate with each other and squeal, bursting with more and more young ones for the cause as the the parents are even consumed in the midst of their copulation.
As one mass they begin to eat; as one mass, they throw themselves -some flying in a thick enough to be considered a moving, antenna ridden wall while others scurry with enough feet to thunder- against Chloro.
"You don't even know who I am. You poor little sod. Don't worry, my friends seek to enlighten every pore you have with knowledge fine."
Her mouth continued to move and speak more verses, but at this point the horrid music as the orgy of insects threatened and prepared to pick off the flesh of the two fools who would be so foolish as to fight on level ground.
And Kuroro, where was she? Moving unseen in the mass? From this point of view it was impossible to tell.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Sept 29, 2013 9:05:22 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 29, 2013 9:05:22 GMT -8
On this plain field outside Iziz, Chloro was dug into the earth, gritted her teeth and held on for dear life. She had been determined to find freedom by opposing the oppressor, with little regard or interest to what happened after that. But having failed to do such a simple thing against Kryptman, Kuroro or Diva, Tuulia picked her up. Chloro had been a slave, if not to others, she was a slave to herself. To the little fears, the unknown, to dirty teeth. The truth was, she cared little for freedom. No, all she really wanted was a purpose.
Which was why she all too gladly had thrown her human trappings to the ground and challenged Diva to cross that line.
Tuulia gave her a purpose.
Diva stepped over, summoning her swarming creatures, with their disgusting squealing and little mandibles. The teeth curled a little further back, aching with anticipation to what the next command would be. Closer and closer. The rolling tide swept in, quickly covering her ankle and rapidly climbing to her knees. It burnt, unlike anything she had felt before. Worse still, Tuulia was gone - she couldn't feel her mind, its comforting presence nor its strident command. The glowing eye didn't turn to her, telling her it would be okay, that they would win. Her song faltered. The illusion collapsed.
She was a helpless girl, flooded and thrust deeper and deeper into a pile of flesh-eating creatures, screaming, over and over again the name of the one that had forsaken her. The irony of being eaten by the one she was meant to consume, the insult of being eaten by those pseudo-teeth. Even though she had surrendered her higher thinking, her body still rebelled, thrashing and stomping with the desperate will of one that did not want to submit. Who would never submit. Never? She could see the mocking smile of Kryptman, a man who far outweighed her ability for sheer determination had bowed and surrendered. She could begin to feel her consciousness slip - the memories, plans, even the tiny ember of hope. A garden where she would never plant a landmine.
Chloro sunk down. Then the wave begun to sink down into the field, swallowing the rolling tide faster than it could grow and creeping toward Diva herself, threatening to drop her into her own pit, seemingly attracted by her song.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Oct 4, 2013 5:30:10 GMT -8
via mobile
Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Oct 4, 2013 5:30:10 GMT -8
"What's this? Laying down already? Where's all that good shit you were talking a moment ago? Say it isn't so! Come on, stay pounding on me— just a bit more, I can almost feel my legs trembling. Up, Shitstain, up! You'll give me the pleasure of your company until, until, such time as the stars seem fit!"
The arms which are not arms wave about in semi circles, cooing the horde to relent and show the center of the sunken pit. What wonders would be shown in the center? For the Ice Queen, the wildly and wanton lust in her eyes could only be matched by the greedy grinding of her teeth.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Oct 6, 2013 1:47:41 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Oct 6, 2013 1:47:41 GMT -8
The crawling mass relented and revealing the centre stage to be empty. The entire pit of roaches seemed to sinking into a hole. Had Chloro's frail body, already fatally torn and damaged, been assimilated into the dark hole? The only part of her that truly was inedible was her hands, now completely stripped of their synthetic skin and floating atop the teeming insects, still tightly clenched from its owners last command.
Hands meant so much to her. She had loved to collect the hands of her enemies. Ever since she lost her own, it was as if she could never get enough of them. There were so many memories tied to her hands - the explosion that had robbed them, the person she had killed with that explosion, her impotent rage at being completely helpless. And the person who gave them back to her, the power that they could bring to bear. She needed her hands. True power came from those digits, wielding the power of her determination.
A new pair of hands, bigger than before, the colour of rust, emerged from the pit roaches and grabbed Diva by the ankles,dragging the Ice Queen into her own bloodbath. More hands, lesser hands, joined in, wrapping themselves around her calves, pulling her. Suddenly, there were no more roaches. Chloro arched her back and heaved at Diva, pulling her toward the maw that had asked for her, by name. It had sprouted teeth into beautiful spirals, arranged like the petals of a flower, until Tuulia's mouth had fully opened. The mouth found the roaches to be a delicious starter. A little crunchy, but filled with the a kind of umami flavour that hit the spot. What was Diva like, it wondered?
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Oct 6, 2013 7:37:35 GMT -8
Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Oct 6, 2013 7:37:35 GMT -8
It was quite possible for an incarnation of strife to dodge or weave away from slow moving and grasping hands. It would have been a short order. But Diva was not a beast of self-preservation, but one of passion and lust unrivaled. And if something so dark, twisted, and rust laced as these maniac hands clawing away were willing to embrace and lacerate the ice that was her body, then she was damn well going to enjoy it. Damn the cockroaches: they were terrible in waves but quick to attempt to flee if faced with a superior defense. Disgusting, weak familiars, currently being plucked from the sky in droves -how Diva hated the weak minded ones that squealed with no class. Yet, for every twenty they were smashed or had their wings pulled, there was one that fought back; their overwhelming need to consume absolutely anything short circuited any other response. Where these minions gathered, they would latch on to one of last champion's many hands and nibble them to nothingness within a few seconds -only to be destroyed by another well placed slap or as they simply turned on each other and pulled their very brothers and sisters apart in selfish anger.
It was the chaos of life surmised in a ten meter area, and a plethora of tepid swamp hued exchanges.
!BBZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTT!
The sound of a shining blue lightsaber igniting is the only thing that can stab the air in the midst of this madness -but its objective is not to stop this incoming wave of moribund rust. As the hands clamp down, the Ice Queen's flesh is nearly eviscerated. Her left shin breaks like a cheap splinter and sickening, moist "snap." Those fingers puncture nearly every space her body can contain, each driving into the muscle, causing weeping sores and wounds that leaked openly, wantonly.
And to all this she did not betray a peep -she couldn't: her manifested throat had been torn off along with the vocal chords housed just a bit lower. Metallic and burning hot fingers were pressing against her tongue, and a thumb was buried deep inside her left eye, now popped and flapping and shaking with the large mass. The angle made it look horrid, like some cheap impersonation of a rather intimate moment. Still, in the midst of all this damage the Dark Side maintained a wide smile. It had to, the hands were pulling it apart.
In a few moments, Diva's body was completely hidden from view as the mass of hands continued to grow larger and larger -growing now to the size of apartment buildings. It was a city filled with spires shaped of fingers legion.
".............whu..... Wh.... What the fuck?!" The normally feigned sweetness of Kuroro's voice was shattered, gasping to push out the sounds. She could not understand what was happening. The mind couldn't calculate what it was seeing. All she knew at the moment was a fear unlike anything in her past life, plant life, or undead stint. The shadows of the hands were so very immense, so intense. They drew over her face and cast her countenance in a shadow swimming like tiny mites. Those pink eyes sputtered and lost their light, for in the face of this phantasmagoria even the dead shake and tremble.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Oct 6, 2013 21:07:13 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Oct 6, 2013 21:07:13 GMT -8
Who was the creature with all the hands, hands that ripped and tore with the unrestrained innocence of intentions, although knowing exactly how to rend flesh from the bone, they were mute to the exact reason why they acted as they did? The hands extended from Chloro, but she barely resembled the girl terrorist that had begun the fight, or the one who had marched alongside two greater monsters. The earlier mix of ingredients, revenge and desperation had been changed with hope and determination. And now she sprouted hydra-like hands while fueled and simultaneously consumed by a most basic desire to consume. And how well did her form suit her purpose! What did she need her nose or eyes, when all she needed was her mouth to feed and her hands to grasp?
So. Fearsome.
The monster handler Tuulia smugly praised her own retrofitted creation. For a moment, she was afraid that the vessel would simply break under the abuse that she and Diva had put it through, but the minor monster had perservered. All that power that had been lavished on her, the fire and explosives, the Ice Queen's tempering and testing - it had all culminated into transformation of Chloro into what she was now. The results had far surpassed her own expectations and her directive. She had been ready to close her suitcase and present the completed project.
Then her directive changed. Her command had been a single, unhelpful, sentence: stop Diva.
It was an impossible task. The one-eyed being had seen her fair share of challengers face and fail in their valiant, but beleaguered and ill-conceived effort to stop Diva, the Smiling Mouthpiece, Ice Queen, Ruler of the Undead. There was quite a list of honorifics attached to the unassuming soprano monster and all of them were painfully true. Even as the mindless Chloro tore at Diva and fed her insatiable appetite, Tuulia knew that her clockwork toy didn't have the stomach for Diva. Still, she had recovered the initiative and it was time to change the rules again.
Chloro spread her grasp and stopped for a moment to swallow the half-masticated Diva chunks before she spoke.
You're. Enjoying. This. Please. Don't. It's. Not. My. Intention.
Chloro's new mouth was not particularly good at making sounds. It had the mechanical and forced quality that was clearly Tuulia's.
We. Could. Talk. About. This. Like. Civilised. Beings.
The hands manipulated Diva's mouth into a caricature of speech.
Tell. Me. Why. Are. You.
Oh dear. Chloro was going to stupify herself, much like her other half, if she tried to find a single word to describe Diva.
Diva: That was an excellent description for the monster: an actor with singing parts, on the galatic stage. She was the central actor, with the supporting cast of minions and familiars, setting the tune. It was an extraordinarily convincing act but Tuulia knew that she didn't make her own lines. She was scripted. She had to be. Just like Chloro. Perhaps, like Chloro, there was a reason why she would let herself be cast in such a role. Why was Diva, Diva?
Diva?
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Oct 19, 2013 5:07:01 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Oct 19, 2013 5:07:01 GMT -8
!Buh-DAMN – bDAMN – buhDING!
Despair was all she could know. The Sithspawn struggled with trembling knees as she exercised her final bout of futility. These high explosive rounds had no effect upon the nightmarish mass of hands –bursting like red raindrop against an ever shifting wall. Kuroro was no idiot, despite all the evidence to the contrary with her feigned demeanors. Should she be happy? With the Ice Queen eaten, she was her own master –she could run, flee faster than Chloro could chase, hide within the city, seduce food to propagate the continuation of her unlife, and adopt new identities on any number of worlds or vessels –maybe even project new obsessions unto another being like Eralam, or Diva- or better yet, someone like both of them.
Kuroro thought these selfish thoughts, and even wanted believe she had the strength to see it through, but her body did not obey with the fleeting mental rivers which poured over psychopathic hills.
-will you abandon me?-
Was there even a need to respond to the presence?
!BA-DAMN!
She could hear the rationale behind it manifested as swirling trumpets, for all of the Smiling Mouthpiece’s victims had one thing in common: a profound fascination with music, and they all –from powerful chevalier to moribund geneticist, devoured citizen to reanimated corpses, churlish schift to cackling familiar- first to last heard music, were assaulted by music, were perforated with music.
!BA-DAMN!
To fight until the bitter and most likely painful end was the only honorable thing left to do. And even if she metaphorically scared shitless, the music would help guide the hopeless chevalier loudly into that terrible dawn.
-somehow, killing you has made you seem so much more alive- -so much more complete- -so much more beautiful- -stop crying, because what comes next will kinda hurt-
Why. The age old question. Why. Sometimes it was followed simply by: Why not?
The worst kind of violation is the most subtle, and that is exactly what every single black cell that slip slid around überChloro’s innards was currently doing: feeling every bit of her from the inside, softly touching the prickly tips inside her small intestine, or cheerfully indulging in the burn of her stomach acids, or brushing tenderly through the fibers lungs and sucking in the carbon produced on every exhale -into the bladder, into the pancreas, into the gray matter, flicking itself in equal parts against the red blood cells. And when they came out, and they did, they did so at one instance, sweating out of the pores of the human’s skin, or gently rushing out of every orifice that the mass of hands and teeth could hold with icy prejudice. Why? Why not. It would not be off to describe the sensation as being suddenly thrown into a pool of freezing water.
“Who are you, Gutless Construct, to question me as if you’ve achieved absolution? I don’t even know your name nor have you made any resolution, and you’d have the gall to ask? True, now I definitely know you without any lack, from beating heart to peerless soul and I’ve found more to prove that concept tired, old: verily, the most interesting ones are those who fold asking ‘why’ when the answer is known.”
“Here’s the truth -let me rub you in it, stay but a while, you’ll be sure to love it for every last minute. there is no great tragedy that makes gravity, simply, matter collects then attracts. How many times must I have to explain it? I’ve been here since force blessed and maimed it: life is sordid, a horrid mess, and each number of the mass of living cries out begging for death. Thus, my edict is clear: to help the wiggling people achieve a state so beautiful as called Death. I am because you have summoned me. You want me. You need me. Your collective voices are like the grand choir and one by one I bring you all in to that eventual end and happy peace. Now here is the comedy of the matter, now that the tragedy has been explained. Life is comprised of souls, not collected for the sake of some religion, but to give each their proper due in the end, some to harmony, and some to torment. Why is it funny? Because that all sounded like the bullshite you people insist on hearing.”
“The truth of the matter is that Life may be my mother, but boy oh boy do I hate it. I’m really here because you blew up my home. You blew up my fucking house. So once I’ve sent you both to the Netherworld, you’ll have thousands of years to mediate on truth.”
The voice booms from above, as motes of black ink collect and create a rather dank looking storm cloud.
“Congratulations, it’s not every day I have to engage in my natural form! Ahhh, feels good to stretch, yah know?! Welcome to level three, I hope you brought more than hands and questions.”
And as the voice finishes the thought, a massive arachnid leg rears and reaches out from the cloud, pushing enough size to compete with a typical skyscraper, then slams down unto the battle plain, intending to crush the lot of them in one fell boot heel.
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Iziz
Oct 19, 2013 7:28:47 GMT -8
Post by Jinso Buntini on Oct 19, 2013 7:28:47 GMT -8
A TIE/D Defender slips down towards the planet, and eagerly into the Space Port. Struggling to pull himself out of the top hatch of his ship, two beaming yellow eyes peer about the hangar bay that he had docked in. Pulling himself up out of the hatch, Jinso flopped to the ground. As he stands up he makes sure that his hood is properly covering his face, and smooths out his robes. The wrist-datapad fixed to his left arm beeps.
"Nah, I am definitely not going there!"
His squeaky voice comes from somewhere from within under the hood. He shut the screen off and made sure that his lightsaber was properly concealed on his right forearm. He heads to the security check point that would be standing between him and Iziz.
"Jinso Buntini, here to party and work!" I said to human behind the desk. Their scrunched up nose told me that I had let some odour about myself out. Pulling hard on my robes I headed out of the space port and into the city.
His hands pulled out a pair of headphones and put them on. His head bobbed as he walked through the city streets. He didn't really want to be in Iziz, he wanted to go see the great temple and get some exploring in. His squeaky voice could be heard humming some melodramatic tune while he walked. "You took me to Statuary Park, it was June and it was dark." His furry hands clapping together with the music as he continued singing the weird melody. "17....17....17....24, 24"
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Iziz
Oct 19, 2013 8:55:23 GMT -8
Post by Jinso Buntini on Oct 19, 2013 8:55:23 GMT -8
Still rocking out while he wandered the streets, Jinso popped open the top of one of his rings before bringing it up under his hood where he inhaled deeply. If his yellow eyes had pupils they would be greatly dilated from the use of the spice powder that was stored in his ring. It was an addiction he had developed while under cover on Kessel, and eventually caused his expulsion from the only Jedi Order he had belonged to.
Now a wandering hermit Jinso wanted to be rid of the substance, but without it he would get the chills and shakes. Something that didn't make a Jawa look too good, and might give off the impression of being some feral and rabid being. "Yes....no! Dooo doo do!"He sang as he headed towards the first cantina he could spot. It was a nightclub variant that played high bass and rapid electronic music.
Hmm, electro dance, I can dig it. He thought to himself as he entered the club. The club was naturally packed with the more youthful variety of beings, most of which were human. Many were packed on the dance floor gyrating to the trance melodies pumping through out the club. Definitely can dig this. He thought as he slid into a booth and ordered an Arkanian Sweet Milk, a type of mead that was potent and imported. Two things that the Jawa liked the most, imports and quality.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Oct 21, 2013 18:13:23 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Oct 21, 2013 18:13:23 GMT -8
The bullets pecked at Chloro's arms, which automatically covered the fragile and important piece of anatomy. Lead was bad for her teeth. She so badly wanted to reach out and tear Kuroro limb from limb but she quite frankly found Diva more tasty. It had been a very special and a very new sensation that Chloro had experienced. Her mouth had absorbed all her surrounding senses and was sending all kinds of interesting things to her brain. Like: what it was like to interpret what she had just eaten with her eyes. A pleasing hypnotic pattern that was a little too bright and simultaneously too dark. That stank like overripe fruit. So many feelings. It was so good.
It started with a churning in her gut and spread from there. Anything that tasted as good as Diva had to be bad for you. She tried hugging herself with her hands, squeezing the growing discomfort and staunching the growing hurt. Her skin crawled, as if there were insects beneath. Far more than she had fingers to scratch. Her mouth burnt and she fed it one of hands to soothe the hurt. Then Diva started to push out, stretching her vessel, brushing past all those nerves. Chloro felt both numb and burnt by the ice. Her teeth ground down, severing the hand inside. Diva had escaped and left the newborn Chloro as weak as a lamb after that ordeal, wrapped in a blanket of arms.
Although Tuulia had infused Chloro with a new vitality, a new body and a purpose - the sad truth was that she did not actually care for the little monster. No-one did. Still, it was pitiful to see it lying prone, sweating and violated, labouring for breath. And all that to hear Diva's song. Tuulia listened attentively, while Chloro simply had no choice but to hear. There was only one thing worse than being wrong - being right. They had dreamed up the worst possible scenario.
And it was true.
With another monster, Tuulia would have laughed at its ultimately self-destructive nature. But not with Diva. For once, there was something that not only could dream the impossible but make the nightmare a reality. Now she could see what the Doctor had seen. And Diva had to be nipped in the bud. But how? Chloro was simply no match for her. She had be immensely useful in discovering the true nature of Diva. But she could do was buy time. And die.
As the skyscraper came down, Tuulia reached out and flung Chloro high and far before receding into her pit as the skyscraper came down. She'd need some more help...
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Gaiscioch Dearg
Adventists of the Eye
Posts: 107
Affiliation: New Order of the Eye - Warriors of the Iron Fists
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Iziz
Dec 5, 2015 22:53:19 GMT -8
Post by Gaiscioch Dearg on Dec 5, 2015 22:53:19 GMT -8
Gaiscioch Dearg hated crowds. They constantly stared at him as he made his way through. It marvelled him that in a galaxy where aliens, space travel, and what was essentially magic, was commonplace, a man that was eight feet tall was something to be pointed and marvelled at. His yellowed eyes scanned the crowd around him as they bustled about their regular, every day, pathetic lives. Onderon was a place of routine and stagnation. The Monarch ruled from the palace and handled the planets affairs, and the people went about their jobs and routine as if nothing outside the galaxy was even happening. They were a simple people, and for some reason the Sith Lord liked that about them. They had been incredibly agreeable when he had taken the planet over. The military had fallen in line, and even accepted members from the old Warriors of the Iron Fist and the New Order of the Eye into their ranks. The people had continued about their day-to-day lives and accepted the necessary changes he made to the laws of this planet. The only people that had ever tried to break his rules were the primitive beast riders that lived int he jungles, and their rusted blasters and trained animals were a nuisance at best. Now however it was impossible to tell that he had protected these people and shaped them into an actual force to be reckoned with. How long did it take for them to pretend his reign had never happened? There was no sign of his banners, his defences had been torn down, and patrols no longer swept the streets. He shook his head as he thought just how easy it was going to be to take this planet over again. He had no ships and no army, yet by the end of the month he would be unanimously accepted as King of Onderon once more.
He continued to make his way through the streets of Iziz, working his way towards the palace. The only way to control Onderon was to control the throne and so it was there he was headed. Now there was an easy way to do this. The palace had its own security force and automated defences as well, but they would be nothing compared to him. Gaiscioch Dearg had been fighting for too many years to fall to fifty or so guards backed by turrets and droids. However his presence, name, and limited mind control powers would be able to get him in without a fight. Once he was inside the building, and the made it to the current ruler, it would be a simple task to intimidate them into doing things his way from now on. There was really no need for him to wear the crown himself, he could rule the ruler instead and have his rule imposed by them. Of course there was the fun way to do things as well. His hands twitched for another fight ever since killing the Mandalorian soldiers on Duxn. It was also a much faster way to assert his dominance over the soldiers and ruling family. A talk was one way, and he could debate and threaten back and forth. Or he could dramatically shorten the debate by splitting open multiple soldiers with his vibroaxe and possibly a member of the royal family. Gaiscioch Dearg was not interested in doing this the long way. No, he absolutely knew that his takeover would be swift and bloody and that worked for him. It was time Onderon remembered who he was, and what they could be with a dominant hand guiding them.
Dearg rounded the final corner and was greeted with the sight of the large ramp that lead up to the palace. It was woefully under guarded, only three soldiers on guard with a turret placed a small distance beyond them. The energy shield he had installed was either taken down, or not switched on. It bothered him... how could an entire planet of people not care? Mandalorians and Sith have been fighting over this rock for years, and yet these people were only missing a welcome mat. He had known it was going to be easy to take Onderon over again, but he had no idea that it was going to be like slaughtering gizka in a pen. His hand curled into a fist and his pace increased towards the soldiers who had yet to stop, or even notice him. At this point he could not tell if he was going to enjoy this or not.. slaughtering the helpless was tasteless and a waste of his time. Dearg longed for the days when he had an entire armada at his command to clean up simple jobs like this. Sweeper teams, and Sith Acolytes that lived for the senseless slaughter. They would have mopped up this operation in a day, allowing him to walk in the front door and plant himself in the throne. Instead he would have to spend the energy and time wiping these fools off of their own planet. A planet he was allowed to legally park a shuttle on, waltz up to the palace gates and, begin to murder the entire population inside of it. It was ridiculous! Had other planets fallen into such a state of apathy? Could a Jedi cleanse the Sith off of Korriban so easily? One Jedi Master walking in the front doors of the great Academy? Things were going to change around here and soon. After he spent a few days ridding the planet of its trash. The hulking Sith brought his thoughts back into focus as he finished closing the gap between him and the palaces "first line of defence."
==Guard== Excuse me Sir, this is a restricted area. I'm going to need you t-
SSSSZZZZZZZT!!!!
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Gaiscioch Dearg
Adventists of the Eye
Posts: 107
Affiliation: New Order of the Eye - Warriors of the Iron Fists
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Iziz
Dec 8, 2015 16:34:33 GMT -8
Post by Gaiscioch Dearg on Dec 8, 2015 16:34:33 GMT -8
Outside the Palace
==Medic== Sergeant! We have a survivor over here!!
At the medics shout a small crowd immediately began to surround the still living palace guard. His injuries were bad, but not severe enough to kill, or leave him unconscious. The medics still made a fuss over him, applying bandages and checking his vitals. A military sergeant walked over quickly and gave him his own once over. Definitely battered and beaten, but extremely lucky. Everyone else had been slain while a broken defence droid had landed on this lad and hidden him from view. This was the break they needed. They could finally get some information on the people attacking the palace. He glanced at the medic, trying not to look impatient while he and his team patched up and asked their own questions. Every minute wasted was more time the Royal Family and Guard were on their own against a hostile force. Finally the medics backed off one came his way.
==Medic== He's hurt... badly. However he can still answer questions. Be gentle with him.. he's been through a lot.
==Sergeant== He nodded and strode forwards, kneeling beside the semi-conscious guard. Glad to see you're still awake son. I know you need a cot and some rest, but first I need to know.... You have to tell me who is attacking our palace and with how many. Did they have any badges? Sigils? Knowing which family is making a power play is very important. Think now! Tell us what you can.
==Palace Guard== Y...you don't understand... It's not military.. it's not militia. It's not even "how many" it's "who!!" It's HIM.... the Dark Lord of Destruction has returned... he is back to claim his throne!!
The Onderonian Sergeant found himself being pulled away and pushed aside. The young man's eyes had slid upwards into the back of his head as he spoke the last word and collapsed. The medical team now swarmed him, not allowing anyone near him anymore. He felt himself almost doing the same. His knees threatened to buckle as what the guard had said settled inside his mind. Gaiscioch Dearg, the old King of Onderon had returned. Most said he was dead, but others were terrified he had left in secret to pursue dark Sith things. That was years ago. Had he truly returned? Why was he slaughtering the guards? It was as he had been told.. the Dark Lord had returned and had apparently not been pleased to see his crown resting on another's head. He slowly turned and stared at the palace gates, left slightly askew. He had to go in there.. all of them did. They had to try and stop him from murdering the King. Unless he had already taken the throne for himself.... in which case they would have to kneel before him!
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Inside the Iziz Palace
They all fell before him. Palace guards doing their duty charged at him with their blasters firing and vibroswords bared. Gaiscioch Dearg struck them all down. His lightsaber flared in his right hand as he swung it, casting blaster bolts back towards their owners or severing the life of a guard along with their limbs. His vibroaxe hummed with power as well, gripped tightly in his left hand. Any guard in reach of his left side found the axe buried deeply inside them. Dearg used his enhanced strength to pull it out effortlessly. Some begged for their lives, others tried to reach out to him, some just screamed. The Lord of Destruction heard none of this. The force raged through his body like a wildfire and it turned him into a tempest, bringing death to any unlucky enough to enter a room with him in it. His goal was not far. The throne room was close and the Warmongering Sith knew that Onderon had nothing that could stop him from walking in there. In mere minutes he would face to face with the current ruling monarch and separate their head from their shoulders. There would be no mercy for the man or woman that had taken his powerful planet, his own Empire, and dragged it down into stagnation and complacency. Their blood, and the blood of the other fallen, would wash Onderon clean and allow him to rebuild. The people would fall in line once more and his, and his ancestors, home would once again be secured under a proper ruler. Just as soon as he finished with his grisly task here.
He rounded the corner and was face to face with another squad of guards. They yelled their battle cries and opened fire. Gaiscioch Dearg gripped his lightsaber and the force and swung them both. Blaster bolts bounced back, finding their mark in the very people that fired them. A split second later a telekinetic wave slammed into the group, sending them sprawling backwards. They struggled to rise, but the Sith Lord was on them, both blades red and silver flashing and cutting into the soldiers.
The warrior stepped over the bodies and continued on his path. His campaign to reclaim the throne would be over soon, there was nothing they could do! He had fought and killed those they had considered the guardians of Onderon! There may be some pitiful honour guard left waiting for him in the throne room, but what could they do? They would die like the rest had, for there was no one on this planet that had a hope in the underworld of surviving the power of his mind, let alone the weapons in his hand. His lightsaber came up without a thought to block a blaster shot from another defence droid. His axe flew from his hand, spinning end over end and buried where the power core lay. Dearg extended his hand and the axe returned to him just as fast as it had gone. He felt a growl rise in the back of his throat. He was wasting his time! Why were they even still fighting? They had lost when he decided to leave Duxn and set foot in Iziz. Their guards, turrets, gates, and droids had not been enough to stop him? What were they hiding? Were they destroying valuable data? Perhaps they did have an ace up their sleeve? No, it was impossible. If they had a plan they would have enacted by now. They had no fighting force capable of coming head to head with him, and if they were stupid enough to evacuate the royal family then they left the throne wide open to him. With him waiting for them on their return, weapon in hand waiting to greet them. His heavy boots thudded onward towards the ornate doors that housed the hall where Onderon's ruler sat. He gathered himself and the force and pushed both doors wide open. The King, for it was a man, sat on his throne. He held no weapons, yet held himself proudly. Fool. Gaiscioch Dearg recognized no strength in this man, nothing worth leaving him alive. An honour guard did indeed stand behind him with their weapons ready, but that did not concern him. They would die like the rest. His teeth showed in a wicked grin and he advanced towards the throne, his lightsaber raised for the final blow, and yet the soldiers did not fire and the King did not move. His step faltered as the heavy doors closed behind him with a crash seemingly on their own. All at once he realized what had been waiting for him. The ace up the King's sleeve. He felt a new presence behind him and heard the all to familiar "snap-hiss" of a lightsaber. He spun, his own raising in defence....
SSSSSSSSZZZZZZZZZZT!!!!!!!!!
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Gaiscioch Dearg
Adventists of the Eye
Posts: 107
Affiliation: New Order of the Eye - Warriors of the Iron Fists
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Iziz
Dec 15, 2015 22:20:14 GMT -8
Post by Gaiscioch Dearg on Dec 15, 2015 22:20:14 GMT -8
The Jedi was well trained and putting up a fight. Gaiscioch Dearg found himself defending as often as he attacked against her strange style. His left arm came up and crashed down with his heavy axe only to find that she had once again slipped to the side and was countering him. The lightsaber in his opposite hand swept up and turned it aside, and the Jedi found herself slightly off balance. It wasn't enough though. Dearg himself had been thrown off as well by his axe missing its mark. The two enemies stepped back, raising their guard, and found themselves back at square one. The Lord of Destruction brought his anger under control so that it was no longer a blind wildfire, and instead was a constant hum vibrating in his bones. The Jedi struck out again, somehow being able to attack without announcing her thoughts, feelings, or even her force signature. Dearg lashed out with the Force, sending out a telekinetic blast and knocking her back. His back leg dug in and he threw himself towards his opponent. She was slippery and seemed to move through the shadows, but let her try that when she had a mountain crashing down upon her! Both light and dark, Jedi and Sith, clashed and traded blows. The Jedi had much less room to maneuver which her fighting style seemed to rely on, while Dearg was a near master of Djem So he was perfectly content to force himself upon her and rain blows upon her. His lightsaber and axe descended in perfectly times attacks. The Jedi's bright blue blade met each one, one after the other, but she was starting to falter. Gaiscioch Dearg refused to give her a moment to spare, breathe, or think. His heavy strikes dropped down, but any time she tried to redirect herself his blades whipped in from the sides to block her. She fought on just the same, but he knew the fight was almost finished. Their blades clashed again and again, sending sparks and flashing brilliant white. The Jedi was still confident, she was giving ground, but not giving up. Then her foot bumped the wall. She stumbled and the Sith Lord swelled in his battle lust as her eyes filled with fear. His burning red lightsaber slammed against hers, locking in a grinding sound. His left hand swung up in a vicious uppercut, halting with a satisfying, and sudden, crunch...
Gaiscioch Dearg stood still for a moment. His senses chilled as he watched the light fade from the Jedi Knight. The villainous Sith allowed himself a moment to enjoy a defeated Jedi since he was clearly in no danger any more. The honour guard behind him were terrified and the King was silent. Dearg released the grip on his axe, and deactivated his lightsaber. Both lightsabers sputtered out and as the giant turned and stepped away while the dead Jedi slid to the floor. The image must have been terrifying seeing as one of the guards actually dropped their weapon, while the King sank back into his throne. Onderon had fallen at his hand and it had taken him a day. There was no one left to oppose him now. Any other rotten Jedi that may have been here would have made their presence known by now to save their fallen ally. Unless they had run away like the cowards they were so well known to be. The King was too busy trying not to be sick to be a problem, and the honour guard was standing in stunned silence. He could not blame them. Not many people on this planet could say they had seen such a battle. A fight between a Jedi and a Sith was definitely a terrifying sight to behold, and these men and women had just watched one of the galaxy's "greatest hero's" fall to a man they had betrayed and given up for dead. Honestly he was shocked they weren't begging for their lives or feinting. He brought his lightsaber back to life as he neared the throne and the man sitting in it. He accepted his fate, he couldn't even look up to stare Dearg in the eye. As he stepped up to the gilded throne of Onderon he stopped and gestured to the King. The man stood slowly, and finally squared his shoulders and looked up into the Sith Lords eyes. Dearg reached out and took the crown off his head, and plunged his lightsaber into his chest. The man gasped in pain for a moment before fading away. Gaiscioch Dearg once again switched off his lightsaber and watched as the dead man fell to his feet. His eyes shifted to the honour guard, some were already kneeling, with the others were broadcasting the message to the rest of the palace. The message was simple, Gaiscioch Dearg was once again King of Onderon through the act of Regicide. All were to surrender.. or fight the new King and what remained of the reformed Kingsguard.
Not long after Gaiscioch Dearg still found himself in the throne room, but looking at a very different scene. The Jedi and past King had been removed from the scene, and the governing dignitaries of Onderon had been summoned to swear fealty to him. He stood by the throne, this new one not being strong enough to support him, and held onto the gaudy crown. Each member in turn would drop to their knees and swear to follow him until death. It was their own ritual and he allowed them to carry it out in full ceremony. It would give them more reason to support him if he allowed them to carry out silly things like this on their own. He could understand, after all there was more than enough ceremony in the Sith. Too much in his opinion. He nodded in acceptance of the current gentleman offering his life and service, and fought the urge to roll his eyes as the next in line stepped forwards. He should have left the King alive to do all of this for him. Hopefully it would be done soon, and he could move on to reshaping this planet back to what it was before he had left with the New Order of the Eye. The Onderonian Shipyard were gone.. destroyed some time after he had been killed there by Dragus. He would have to decide if he wanted to rebuild that or not... he didn't have the money, resources, or the man power to run a space station like that any more. So much was lost to him now.. his fleets, his armies, the support of other Dark Lords of the Sith. Rebuilding his armada to take on the Jedi would be a slow process if all he had was Onderon, He would have patience. It would take time but it would happen. Not every ship, weapon, or soldier had to be obtained through proper and legal means. He sighed internally and watched as the governing women and men filed out of the throne room, leaving him relatively alone.
==Gaiscioch Dearg== He sighed and tossed the crown of Onderon onto the throne and moved over to where a small group of guardsmen stood around a handful of datapads What news? Has my name been spread in the streets, and have the people accepted the regime change??
==Guardsman== Your highness, word of your takeover has been spread. The civilians are taking it about as expected. Changes in regime happen, and your rule was widely accepted before. It will be again. What is more interesting.. my Lord. Is that we've been running your name through the HNN and other open channels. You've been mentioned, somewhere else in the Inner Rim. The guardsman continued his report at a nod from his King A planet called Manaan. Known for being a water planet and being the only place in the galaxy to produce the healing agent called Kolto. Well it seems a man flew into the system on a single shuttle and started announcing that the planet was his home, and the home of an older faction called the Warriors of the Iron Fist. The man mentioned you by name before his transmission ended. Does this mean anything to you my Lord?
Gaiscioch Dearg looked up in shock. An Tiarna Dubh had resurfaced once more had he? The old man returned to Manaan and was once again calling family home. At least he assumed so if he was speaking of the Iron Fists returning. Dubh was completely rooted in family so it seemed unlikely that he had assembled a new team to bring back the Iron Fists. If he had then he wouldn't have been talking about his old apprentice on an open channel. Unless... was it a trap? Was he setting an ambush for the people of his past? It wasn't unlike him. He was a shrewd man and had laid more than one successful trap in his day. The academy on Kashyyyk had fallen at his command, and the first time he had been killed was because of a carefully laid plan set by An Tiarna. Unfortunately Dearg couldn't say what was going on in the mans head.. and he wasn't going to find out if he stayed here. He knew that he had to go to Manaan himself. He hated the thought of leaving so soon. He had literally just taken over Onderon today and was now planning on leaving already? Things were delicate here now that he had murdered so many people in cold blood over the span of a few hours. If he left now the planet could see it as a slight and revolt before he even got back. Dearg was a powerful man, but he didn't like the idea of fighting the entire population all at once on his own. Of course there was a chance that the Iron Fists still had hidden or frozen assets. Gaiscioch Dearg could return with ships and his own troops to secure his hold here and begin training the population under his rule. He had to go, going meant the possibility of support, while staying meant trying to force the small military force here to bend to his rule after what did. They could plot behind his back while he was gone all they wanted, when he returned he would crush traitors in his fist, and continue on with his plans. The new King of Onderon dismissed the guards in front of him and made his way over to where a handful of aides stood awaiting orders.
==Gaiscioch Dearg== Send word to the spaceport. I want my shuttle prepped for flight. I must investigate why my name is being thrown around the Inner Rim so casually.
==Royal Aide== The aides looked at each other until one spoke up Actually your Highness... you may not need your shuttle. We have something to show you, the King had kept... something from when you were here last. If you will follow us... you should see this before you go.
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Gaiscioch Dearg
Adventists of the Eye
Posts: 107
Affiliation: New Order of the Eye - Warriors of the Iron Fists
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Iziz
Jan 22, 2016 12:33:16 GMT -8
Post by Gaiscioch Dearg on Jan 22, 2016 12:33:16 GMT -8
Iziz was left relatively unchanged after the Sith Lord Gaiscioch Dearg had taken over the throne once more. People were always terrified the first time they heard that a Sith had taken over their planet, but most quickly relaxed after the first few weeks. Gaiscioch Dearg had, so far, not been the type to order mass hysteria. The common folk were left to their own devices for the most part, they went to work, haggled in shops, got drunk in the cantina's and repeated the cycle. There were a few differences here and there however. His Lordship had ordered an increase in police activity and city repairs and defences. The old King hd become lax in security and Gaiscioch Dearg had become wary of attacks from Beast Riders from the jungle. The police kept mostly to themselves, and children loved to see heroes in the streets. Especially if Royal Guard decided to be running an errand through the city of Iziz as well. Life was running calm and smoothly for the people of Iziz for the time being.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Iziz
May 2, 2016 21:53:50 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on May 2, 2016 21:53:50 GMT -8
Today marked the second year since the Prael Authority had been established and the sixth year since Potentate began his political career that led him to this position and height of power within his life. The Phaeron family enjoyed great privileges and power over Onderon and the system of Japrael, a number of the Potentate's skilled relatives were within high-ranking positions of the government, serving as commanders, politicians and advisors to Sol. Military campaigns brought the planets of Morvolo, Caloma and Overt under the firm control of Onderon's government where military governors were installed to keep the peace and enforce the laws of the Prael Authority. Control over the system boosted manpower and trade as well as expand the power of the Phaeron family across the sector. Though it was an age of renewed glory for Onderon, it was a time of darkness beneath the surface as the arrogance and cruelty of Sol Phaeron became legendary across the Japrael sector; no rebellious individual could hide, criminals were given no mercy, law was heavy and ruthlessly enforced. Fanatics, under the Dark Side influence of Sol, feuded with non-believers and declared those who defied the Potentate as heretics, ensuring that there were plenty for the military to arrest and execute. Despite these troubling elements within the fabric of society, much of it was covered up by the army with witnesses having their memories altered by Force-sensitive inquisitors and mind-altering drugs created by Phaeron agents known as Fidelis Officers. It was a utopia upon its surface while tyranny lingered beneath its surface...
It was noontime as crowd gathered outside the Iziz Royal Palace, now the center of the Authority's government and the home of the Potentate, Sol Phaeron. Throngs of people had gathered within the main plaza of the capital to witness the results of yet another 'witch-hunt.' Armored soldiers of the Onyx Guard and confederates of Phaeron's cohort of force-sensitive warriors were at their stations around the execution site, Dark Side fanatics urging the crowd from within to praises of the Potentate's righteous authority and denouncing the accused as heretics and misguided in their judgment. The soldiers kept the citizens at bay as the execution went underway. A firing squad ascended the platform, led by a Fidelis Officer, who oversaw the execution and represented the judgment of the Potentate. An order was given as blaster rifles were leveled at the accused, followed by another order as safeties were released. The crowd began to go into a wild frenzy as the soldiers aimed their blasters before an uproar occurred as the troopers fired, five bodies went down instantly. This was the second mass execution this month and the sixteenth this year alone, yet the people believed that their Potentate was keeping them safe from harm and ensuring that law and order were always present in their lives. Many of these individuals were hardly guilty, but rather, connected persons that had treaties and assets which could upset the balance of power. It did not matter to Sol as the government's treasury was enriched by these events.
Upon a massive balcony of the Royal Palace, the Potentate witnessed the clean execution of the five accused. They had been charged with planned sedition against the Prael Authority and using credits to buy up arms and mercenaries. Sol suspected much of this was fabricated, but the crowds enjoyed it from the looks of things. He reaches over, taking a glass of wine from a servant droid that stood nearby. He sniffs the glass, admiring the aroma of fruity hints and stale alcohol before taking a good gulp of it. He had been reviewing new reports involving troop deployments throughout the sector and economic estimates for the coming quarter before taking a break to watch the execution himself. It was surprising that such a young man, like Sol, could become a charismatic and ruthless leader that he was today. His former enemies, the Lords of the old Royal Council, that viewed him with caution and disdain, had truly underestimated the Phaeron solely based on his age; they were wiser because, by their views, they served the King before and had years of experience. In the end, they did not expect that the Potentate had Force powers to boot along with a cadre of force-sensitive warriors to back him. His supporters were richly rewarded as the old government was torn down a new one placed over it. Power, it was what the Potentate truly enjoyed.
His moment of glory was interrupted by the arrival of his advisors, led by his cousin, Khai Phaeron, a son to his Uncle Xerz. Sol sighs reluctantly and beckons Khai forward with the few advisors with him. They all bow to the Potentate, wishing him a good day and a long reign. Sol rolls his eyes slightly, becoming impatient with his cousin and the pawns that came with him. He waves to them, indicating he was ready to hear what they wanted to say.
=Khai Phaeron= Excellency, from the five accused, we have gained tens of thousands of credits and several manors. Land holdings have been secured from the planet of Bara which was where the accused were from. Along with these land holdings, the Authority has acquired a few fortresses, a small collection of trading ships, a handful of warships and a few thousand household guards.
Give the holdings to our relative, Garv and his wife. Ennoble him as a Lord and let him have... half of the acquired land from Bara. Distribute the rest to those who once served the accused and grant them the trading ships, along with some honorifics, to placate them and buy their silence as well as their loyalty. As for the household guards, see which wish to remain and which who don't. Those who retire, give them five years worth in their salary. Those that remain will be distributed to Garv and his new vassals.
=Khai Phaeron= Khai bows quietly, acknowledging his cousin's orders. Your will shall be done, Your Excellency. I shall send your orders and ensure that they are carried out to the letter. Is there anything else that this servant can do in service to you and the Authority?
No, now leave us. I wish to be alone.
Without a further word, the cohort of advisors bowed deeply and departed the presence of the Potentate who turned to gaze at the lingering bodies of the accused. Two were elderly men, one was a woman of middle-age and the last two were a male and female, both around his age. As his eyes gazed at the blaster-scarred bodies, Sol began to wonder what had gotten them in trouble. Surely, if anything, they tried to handle the fanatics that existed throughout the sector, those who blindly followed his will and adhered to his tenants of order and stability. This would have led them to be denounced as heretics and accused for sedition easily. Their lives were sealed once the acts were done and the charges made. The Potenate would then gaze at the skies over Iziz, looking to the unseen stars above... Sol wondered who was next to be put upon the execution bloc.
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Iziz
May 9, 2016 19:37:02 GMT -8
Post by Vasana on May 9, 2016 19:37:02 GMT -8
The Inquisitor’s body lay like some sort of badly contorted wraith from beyond the veil of Chaos itself, the skin ashen and sunken with time. The sight of the body did not unnerve her – the blood thickening, not yet dried on her copper skin – but rather, it was the smell. It was a smell, which could only come from freshly slaughtered animals. However, it was not an animal that had been butchered, at least not biologically. Morally, it was an altogether different story. Perhaps this was why the Warrior did not even deign to pay the body any of the customary respects allotted to one such as he. Instead, she left the corpse staring up at the paneled ceiling of the interrogation room, eyes quickly clouding over, the mouth open and the head very nearly cleft from the body.
The second was slumped against the North wall a few days later. This Inquisitor resembled a misshapen Tooka doll propped up against its will, unnatural in the way his head drooped forward, tongue lolling out of his mouth. From a distance, it appeared as if he wore a silken shirt of crimson, but upon closer inspection, no one could mistake this man – if he could be considered such – for one who was merely sleeping off a hangover or one who had died a natural death. The hole in his throat was a dead giveaway.
The next was found amidst the palace walls, with the stench of blood barely dried filling the air. The haematic colour stained the walls and floor in the near vicinity as the sound of dripping echoed throughout the halls. What might have been the innocent resonance of a faucet drip-dropping rung out, instead, like the beat of distant war drums. The Inquisitor was strung upon the wall like a wampa’s hide, resembling a trophy kill from a big game hunt. However, this body was accompanied with a message scrawled in the man’s own blood. “And we do what must be done. For traitors and kings shall both be judged.” This was not the end of the murders – it had only just begun.
The Warrior's chances were slim, but she could not let that stop her. It was escape or death. And she was not ready to die just yet.
The chains, serving as a constant reminder of the loss of freedom and the journey toward an unfortunate end, jingled with each step she took. Not only had she been restrained by the shackles encircling her wrists, biting into her once silky skin that was now shadowed in varying shades of filth, but she was also collared. She knew it was in attempts to humiliate her, but no matter what they did, she would never again bend the knee to the Prael Authority. This was not special treatment for those who now circled her, walking at her sides as they escorted her to her final judgment, were far too brainless and young to even realize just who she was. She was no one, and had even given the Authority's enforcement officers a fake name when they had first come for her.
Like everyone else, at first, she had been fooled by the appearance of the order and stability with which the Prael Authority had presented the citizenry of Onderon. For all the Potentate’s charisma, he had almost been successful in hiding the cruelty and arrogance that lurked beneath the surface of his seemingly good intentions. His ability for misdirection had been the only reason she had willingly chosen to remain in her position as part of the Royal Guard upon his ascendance to the throne. Long had she served those who had come before him and for nearly a year’s score time had she served loyally thereafter. It was then when she discovered the true darkness that walked so freely amongst the light, that she knew something had to be done.
Since that moment, when first she became capable of seeing the Phaerons and their followers for that which they truly were, her real battle began. She was not born of the light nor dark side of the Force, but she existed within its continuum and that was reason enough for her to hide her true nature from all. And if there was one thing she was good at, it was hiding. This was also the moment in which she made her unseen escape into the underground, joining and fighting alongside a silent resistance opposing the Potentate's sovereignty. Marked as a rebel – now, she had been sentenced to death.
The midday sun flashed off something out of the corner of her eye and she turned her head slightly to glimpse the presence of the Potentate milling about on a balcony overlooking the plaza she was currently being marched through. A slight scowl crosses her rouge-coloured lips as she notes this observation. Though, she did not turn to completely regard him on the off chance that her future intentions were plainly written on her face. Instead, she does not even dignify him with so much as her gaze. The corner of her mouth tightens as she raises her chin proudly and walks a little less like the vagrant she claimed to be and more like one of noble birth. The way she held herself, tall and proud, made her appear inhumanly perfect and untouched. Despite the coolness of the air on her copper skin bereft of even the most modest clothing, she resembled one who remained unperturbed – fire and fury she had in equal measure.
Two deep breaths and five heartbeats later, she turned and swung the chain, hanging between her wrists, across the nose of her nearest escort. In less than a second, his nose was an entirely new and different shape, his head lumpy and malformed – the guard’s skull had very nearly crumbled beneath the blows she had rained down upon him. The Warrior tried to recall what had led to this, how it was that she was here and in this state. Her last memory was of laying her head down to rest the night before. She did not dwell on it long, however, as she swung the chain around the neck of the next guard that charged her position. Neatly snapping his neck with a quick tug of the chain, she rose from his lifeless corpse to find herself surrounded.
That they did not rush at her en-masse, she knew her reputation did not precede her. All they saw was an unarmed woman, chained and collared, who merely got lucky. Fools. She raises her chin once more, looking down her nose at them, highlighting the patrician arch of her cheekbones. She chooses her battles wisely. Though, it is abundantly clear that this is not one she can win. So she will choose to stay silent until it is time to fight and when that time comes, she will rebel and she will prevail.
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