A Horde in the Clone Wars (Star Wars AU)

[Grimmatt]

Now, many who venture among the Jotun are aware that they are beings that love their drink and have a deep rooted fondness for contests and friendly competition. It would surprise few people then, that they have some very popular drinking games that have extended even to their sworn.


Mjöð-skjóta; Translated literally as Mead-Shoot, this drinking game is a simple one, and one that has resulted in more than a few careless injuries in the past. As it is, setting it up requires two targets, two mugs and two ranged weapons. Each of the shooters takes turns firing at the target. If they score a bullseye, their opponent drinks a mug of mead. If they miss the target entirely, then they themselves take a mug of mead. They take turns shooting at the targets until one misses three times in a row or passes out from the alcohol.

Mjöður-söngur; Several outsiders have come to the conclusion that the Jotun worship spirits of black hunger and hidden malice after witnessing a Mead-Chant. The truth, as they look at each other, taking turns chanting and droning on before the other stabs them (and it is the one doing the stabbing that drinks the mead), in voices so bland and lifeless as to make paint peel and crack (a common occurrence during this game), is that the goal of the game is to see who can recite the most bureaucratic reports or endure the most, stabbing the other when they cannot listen to them any longer and taking a mug of mead as a forfeit.

Mjöð-umræða; The Mead-Debate is one of the most famous of their drinking games, thanks in part due to Jedi Master Fay having won three Gold-Pearl Mugs in her time with them. This particular game is more complicated, as it requires either a panel, or a audience. Both parties take turns presenting their points, usually of a philosophical nature. At the end of each round, the judges decide whose point was best, and the loser of that round drinks a mug of mead. This contest usually lasts for ten rounds, until one of the parties passes out or one of the parties concedes defeat. It should be noted, that additional points are scored if the debaters can make their arguments in song or rap battle format.

 

[Grimmatt]

Striding into the battlefield, the black armored forms of the Blacksteel Colossi can be considered a strange lot by the standards of the Jotun in that they are primarily defensive experts and the members of the race that tend to the fortifications. Still, many of the warsworn consider sheltering in the shadow of a colossus as it is one of the safest parts of the battlefield.


Blacksteel Aegis; While the colossi may use rimeblades and ranged weapons, their signature piece of wargear is in the massive shields that they carry. Similar in shape to riot shields, they are at first glance simple slabs of metal with a number of crystals studded in the center and edges. However, looks can be misleading, and the purpose of the crystals is twofold. Firstly, it extends the range of the armors existing defenses, creating a bubble similar in function to a ships shield that nearby allies can take cover behind. Secondly, when locked into a shield wall formation the potency of the defensive benefits greatly increases.

Bastion Crystals & Field Fortifications; While any force sensitive can technically use Bastion Crystals, which f8unction in many ways similar to shield generators, they are entrusted to the colossi when they are deployed, if only because each one has received training that makes them the equivalent of a field engineer, even if only a handful are able to rise to the prestigious ranks of warsmiths. Still, any Colossi can at least shape and manipulate earth and metal in rough manners and has an eye on fortification.

 

[Grimmatt]

Among the Jotun, there exist a handful that have been alive since their race was first created near the end of the Hundred Year Darkness. For thousands of years they are roamed the galaxies edges, righting and honing their prowess even as many of them faded away or fell to the dangers of the life they chose. Of the remaining thirty or so that remember their races birth, only three participate with any regularity in the affairs of their kin, and often then primarily as advisors.

Of these ancient warriors, the Jotun divide them into two broad categories, The Elders (The Paragons) and The Dreamers (The Ascended), and the difference between them seems to largely be a matter of ritual and practicality. An Elder is old and set in their ways, somewhat eccentric and generally devoted to training or some task or challenge. However, they also tend to be balanced and rational as most would understand it.

The Ascended on the other hand are deemed insane. Powerful and possessed of powers and abilities grand and terrible to be sure, but the cost of these powers has warped and consumed them as they have consumed the power in turn. They view reality through the lens of a lucid dreamer whose grip on the lucid part can ebb and flow and as such, their mentalities can be considered alien and strange to those who dwell in the waking world.


Known Elders; Jorm The Worldshaker.

Known Dreamers; The Goretide, Freya

 

[Grimmatt]

As the chemical factory began to explode around them, as chaos descended and ruin made its way in the final spiteful actions of petty men... the universe seemed to pause and fork. In one branch, the Sith had never tried to create something from the Rancor, or perhaps they had died off, and Fay had never met the Jotun, and would have proceeded to have a lightsaber impale her, before she had to make the ultimate sacrifice to allow for millions more to live, having the cure returned by Obi-Wan, even as deep in the core, the dark would laugh and gloat that a long term thorn in their side, a legend of the light, was cast down.

However, in this branch that baleful red light impacted a pair of wings formed of light, and the dark sister who bore that bloody blade winced and cried, an arm thrown up to protect her eyes. For that light was not light as most would know it, but rather Hope, Compassion and Mercy given form and expression. A sad smile was on the ageless Jedi's face, as she turned, her head inclined in sympathy, a hand reaching out.

For the light had not burned and scoured Asajj Ventress, not reduced her to ash. 'Come back into the light, there is hope yet!' sang those wings, but, rage and pain ran through her, a poison not entirely of her own making, as chains within and without made her flee.

But, as those wings retracted, Fay shook her head, lips sad, even as she placed a hand on Kenobi, to restore his strength for the journey ahead. While it had been a rough and confusing start, she had grown rather fond of the Jotun... even as she despaired at understanding their sense of humor. Still, she had work to do yet, and lives to comfort and save in this war.

But one of these days she was going to find out who had told them of her reputation as an angel of mercy and have a firm talking to with them.

 

[Grimmatt]

One of the reasons that the Jedi had disapproved of Anakin (one that they did their best to bury and never acknowledge), was that he was at times prone to shifting in ways odd to describe (and not in ways that the Shi'do or Clawdites did), and this was not always, much to the masters alarm, a physical thing.

One of them spoke of it, when Anakin was still young, as looking at a mirage that wore a mask that did not quite fit right, and sometimes, in their efforts to patch the mask up, or as the whim took them (as it might a curious and vibrant childs), it decided to add a number of flourishes and touches from other sources and things, even if they did not make the strictest sense.

Another, before they gathered themselves and lectured them on control, did not speak of burning suns devoid of mercy, gazing into her and stripping away all the things she had built up around her innermost self, to expose the heart of her to burning and stinging sands as the winds rose and danced across the bleeding carcass of what she considered to be her self.

Obi-Wan, when he first met Anakin, called him a pathetic lifeform, desperate to ignore what he already knew. He was a moon caught in the grasp of a sun, dancing and circling, and yet... this was where he was always meant to be, and the path he had always been walking.

Yet, as he aged, the mask stayed more and more firmly in place, though Sheev Palpatine from his office had his own musings on that, as he observed the boy, physically, electronically and through deeper means. Was the boy really human? He had his doubts, and marveled at it. The boy was power and something grand, a tempest of fangs and teeth of every predatory beast whose fangs dripped with blood, and yet it presented a human mask... and the Jedi sought to turn the mask into the truth of the beautiful and terrible being.

Among the slaves of Tattoine, they knew the stories that could save your life, and always knew the line of Ekkreth was odd in their own ways. Many of them seemed to find disguise a natural thing, slipping into and out of masks, shapes, so very easily. Some could even assume one or two masks very different indeed. And yet, as they looked at the Rain-Bringer, whose eyes looked to the stars and future only he could track, they merely nodded their heads. For this one, much like the first, was the son of the desert.

And indeed, some two of the children of the slave quarter ran with him, laughing as they played much as children were wont to do, and to each other Kitster and Wald pay no mind when the mask slips, when Anakin's lips are stained red and the shadow of burning wings can be seen behind him. To be sure, the womp rats have a few bites out of them, but as they roast and the children tell each other stories around the fire, hungry eyes looking to the skies,

Tendrils of burning shadow whispered to him. echoing in voices like the droning of locusts and the cry of deer as the wolf tears out their throat, caressing him and lifting him, and filling him with purpose.

AN; So, was reading some eldritch star wars stories of late. Expect to see some influences.

 

[Grimmatt]

One thing that very few people ever considered, among those that knew of his talent with shatterpoints at least, was just how many little ripples and shatterpoints that the war caused. Every day was something of a headache that never fully abated, and every time Skywalker was brought up it was like a trio of particularly energetic younglings decided to use his head as a drum, but decided to use picks instead.

And then, this broadcast came from over the Holonet. He paused a moment, as the shatterpoints whirled and span like a blinding snowstorm, until there was that familiar twitch and throbbing of the vein that only happened when one of Skywalker's more absurd stunts occurred.

Now? Now he was feeling nothing, all emotion and sensation scrapped out of him with molten glass and freezing water, leaving a void of utter tranquility and serenity behind. Still, he rises and nods to the other council members, as he speaks in a calm and conversational tone, as if discussing the weather or a matter of no great importance, not a single trace or speck of dark inside of him or his presence,

"Pardon me. I need to go and force choke a bitch."



AN; So, this little thought came up at work today, after reading about Windu's shatterpoints and how Ani gives him a headache. So, on hearing the broadcast interlude (I be working on shit).... yeah, let me know if its funny!

 

[Grimmatt]

(Written by Vensers Prodigy on Spacebattles)

Meetra woke to the dirge of bleak bells mourning her rest. At least, that's what it felt like. While the force has many cures for hangovers, insufficient sleep was much more difficult. Her fist flew out and righteously smite the fel alarm clock by her bed.

"Five more minutes..."

As her mind slowly acclimated to her return from the domain of dreams, the shattered steel upon her table began to shift. Crumpled dents unfurled as torn hinges latched upon screws stripped minutes ago. And exactly five minutes later, the bells tolled once more. A calamitous cacophony sounded the signal for her master.

"Enjoyed the festival last night? Or would that be morning Meetra?"

"Master Ulzuin! I was just getting up."

The old Jotun chuckled, a camera tucked away into his apron. Acquiring pictures to embarrass his students with once they had apprentices of their own was one of his favorite hobbies.

"Today will be an important lesson little smith. Come with me, your standard routine is postponed until it is done. That includes breakfast, shower, and changing out of that scandalous sleepwear you're too fond of."

"Yes Master Ulzuin."

The old Jotun trundled out, making his way to the ice and ash beyond the barracks. Lava flowed through conduits carved by his hands millennia ago, still channeling the volcanic bounty beneath their feet. As Meetra arrived, he assumed the same stance he did with his first apprentice when he started this very lesson on the same soil they now stood upon.

"A decade ago, I took you on as my apprentice. You have studied alchemy and have forged trinkets to further your craft and yourself. You have stood upon the shoulders of giants, working to improve upon the legacy of generations. Today, you will learn something else. How to use nothing more than your own power to forge the tools required to survive. These methods were developed during my darkest hour, where my life's work lay shattered before me and my enemies nipped at my heals empowered with stolen secrets. They saved my life, and should the worst happen, may save you as well."

The young apprentice stood, attentive and anxious. Her master had pushed her from a humble slave-girl to a mildly respectable artificer in a mere decade. He has also given her the name she now bore with pride, even if she did not recognize the legacy attached to it she knew she bore expectations of excellence. For such a lesson to be offered was a sign of trust, respect, and an acknowledgement of skill in one.

"I am ready-"

"No, you aren't. Nobody truly is. That is why we are doing this tonight. To bring you any closer to the state you will be in when such techniques are necessary would prevent you from learning them. Your liver is weak from purging so much mead, your limbs are weak from bedding so many of the fairer sex. Your stomach is empty after a night of nothing but junk-food. And you got half of the sleep you need. As was planned."

The words echoed out, like a hammer driving a point into Meetra's skull. Shock told hold, briefly clouding her mind until grim tenacity took the wheel.

"When do we start?"

Ulzuin grinned, as weakness was transmuted to strength before his eyes. Preparing the next generation of artificers for war and peace was one of the hardest challenges the Jotun faced. The warsworn were the worst of the worst, with the most bad habits and the least time. And what kind of Jotun would he be if he didn't enjoy the challenge?

 

[Grimmatt]

It had been almost a week since the Jotun, savage and wild, had broadcasted their atrocities and declaration of war across the holonet. They had not tried to hide anything, nor had they called for assistance. They merely announced that the end of the Hutts was at hand and showed images of brutal and senseless deaths.

But, it had taken time for the outrage to gather and ferment, for the senate to be packed full of delegates that spoke of the atrocities occurring and that even if the Hutts were not part of the republic, perhaps this was the chance to bring them on board, to annex them and bring them into the fold? Many voices spoke of potential profits that could be had, even as many others pointed out, quite reasonably, that the Hutts were gangsters and slavers and NOT members of the republic.

So, it came as a surprise when another call came from them, this time addressed to the Senate. Its message was simple, blunt and to the point.

"We have no interest in you. We have no desire to have anything to do with your republic or your current conflict. However, we understand that you in the core have trouble understanding basic concepts and will likely try and force our hand. Make no mistake, we freely acknowledge that we are not able to pay the price to hold a core world. When we compare the benefits to the costs involved, the core worlds are not worth the effort. However, in the interest of history showing us that you will require proof..."

The figure trailed off for a handful of moments, before their comms blared and screamed, reports of Alsakan rippling and cascading with fire as it tore itself apart, reducing itself to slag as the figure looked on, impassive.

"To us, the only value a core world has is as a message. You will leave us to wage our war on the hutts. And then we shall depart. If you decide to wage war, to accept the hutts into the republic, we will detonate all of the devices that we put in place twenty three years ago and crush the cores beating heart with the press of a single button. You have been warned."

And with that, the call winked out, the silence stretching on as the core worlders now had to wonder if it was worth it, if THEY would bleed for a prize.

 

[Grimmatt]

Two Days after Stormfall
(Tatooine, The Dune Sea)

It came as a feeling at first, even as the whispers of the hutts, of the masters, having been overthrown across several worlds, as slaves rose up and figures of myth and legend came from the stars to place fire in their hands, that they may water their lips with blood to celebrate freedom. And yet, even if the masters were tense, it was the grandmothers that noted it first, and those children of the desert who could see into the ether noted it.

It was a sense of stillness, of anticipation, of something long awaited coming at last. The tribes of the desert heard her first, as her welcoming roar echoed across the winds, as the walls of the cities trembled and the slaves perked their head at the Elder Sisters call, even as a singular ship entered into orbit moving to a strange circle of standing stones as old as any could remember, the vessel ignoring the hutts hails.

The brave and the foolish gaped in awe, as from her lair came Leia The Mighty One. A dragon of vast size (those who considered such things important claimed that she stood at five meters at the shoulder, and stretched to nearly twenty from her maw to the tip of her tail) and whose form was scales of the shifting sand and unyielding stone. In her eyes was the fire of the suns, and her bearing was that of a queen who ruled all she surveyed. And she was no queen without crown!

Atop her head nine gleaming pearls sat, or objects that were alike to peals as the moons were to pebbles. Each shone with an inner light, gleaming in colors of the visible spectrum and in ways that the waking mind could not describe, but could very much feel. This was a crown of power and freedom, of wisdom and healing and war, of the glory and the duty and of deep abiding friendship that longed to be more.

And from that ship came a host, an honor guard as they saluted the Mighty One, and a figure emerged, giving out an answering roar that was the thunder of a grand horn. He was a giant even among Jotun at five meters tall, and he was a pillar of muscle. It was not that of a bodybuilder, but it was not the lean build of an athlete such as a swimmer. No, it was the massive bulk of a warrior, who lived and breathed and waged endless war.

And these two giants, giving matching bellows rushed to the center of the stone ring, bodies colliding with the force of a thunderclap, the shockwave of Leia and Jorm's meeting, as they moved to grapple and throw each other as they laughed and spoke (after a fashion), as force was pitted against force. They shoved and and threw each other, struck each other striking blows that made the ground quake from the impact against the other and whose shockwaves knocked over those who came too close.

Eventually, as the sands rose, as the dust cloud from their violence and wrestling match covered the ring some day and a half later, the sounds from that ring turned from indications of a martial contest to a marital one. At that, the Children of Jorm and the slaves and tribes of the desert shook their heads, amused, even as the warsworn invited the others into tents and pavilions.

After all, even if their father had business with Jabba, well, Leia demanded his first attention when he came this way.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************
Stormfall
(Nar Shadda, Strell House)

This had once been a place of charity, healing and compassion, even when it had been taken over by a sith in ages past to form a cult. To be sure, they had done it for a relic, and yet... this place remained a place of hope, comfort holding onto its walls even now in later ages as it was buried far below the new surface of the gamblers moon.

And it was for this reason, that a number of women gathered here in the dark, a simple idol now placed down, as they kneeled and prayed. And while many on the surface would sneer and shake their heads at this foolishness, these Valkyrie had a reason to have faith. For as they prayed the idol began to glow, its ivory light radiating Love and Compassion as a form gathered from the light.

She was a giant made of light, clad in a feathered robe that whispered of the hopes and dreams, that offered comfort even as the matron walked forward, a smile on her face, reaching down to her sworn daughters. "Come now little ones, there is work to be done." And so she smiled, as her eyes full of stars, radiating love and hope and joy and determination as the others rose.

All of them had spears strapped to their backs, drums on their wrists, as they exited the house, and began to play, light drifting off of them like mist, seeping into the poisoned duracrete of the moon, tainted by ages of greed and misery. Yet, to the wretches in the dark and the laughing slugs above, a medicine was rising, a poison that could overthrow empires and shatter the galaxy.

For as they sang in the dark, they brought health and hope with them.

 

[Grimmatt]

To speak of the Jotun, you must come to accept that they are creatures of paradox, a people who embrace contradiction as something natural. They defy many expectations, for they see no reason to cater to outsiders opinions. At the same time they delight in learning more of other cultures and modes of thought that they can incorporate it with their own practices. They prefer to speak the truth, but one must always remember that many things are true from certain points of view.

Jotun know from where they came and why they were made, and as such, see no reason to be ashamed of acting as according to their purpose, that is, to wage war. At the same time, they are living creatures with thoughts and wills of their own, and how does one come closer to ones creator than the very act of creation? And it is into this that one comes to the crux how how the Jotun view their life and the world around them.

One of the first things outsiders will note about them is the almost riotous explosion of color, symbols, artwork and music, that the Jotun are almost always pursuing one of their two great passions, Art or War. Their economy is almost entirely a military one and they see next to no separation between civilian and military life, even if they are able to recognize that not all share this view. And yet, amid all of this chaos, there is the underlaying sense of order, how the chaos blends and moves to form a greater and more unified whole.

This extends to how the Jotun wage war. At first glance they are not a race of soldiers, they are warriors, fighting either alone or in small groups. And then as one keeps an eye on the battlefield, things become clear, that each small group is part of the whole and acts as one.

But, to continue on the topic. The Jotun are a created species. They have purpose. Other mortals need to search for theirs, but the Jotun, much like droids, know theirs literally from birth. Yet, they do not spend their every moment with war in mind (even if most topics do eventually relate) for there is a simple fact. They are individuals with desires and wills of their own, interests and dislikes that are determined by themselves and not of their purpose.

To their thought, there is no need to choose between the two aspects, as they are both part of the singular whole.