A Horde in the Clone Wars (Star Wars AU)

The Gore Host
Among those that know of its existence, few names inspire as much horror and terror as that of the Gore Host. Some where created on purpose, others the brutalized and insane remnants of Goretides brutal rampages that he ignored in favor of prey closer at hand to be slaughtered. But, when the more intelligent members of the host an gather these shattered and insane remnants, they form a plague on nearby star systems that spread and kill, hoping to ignite another visit by their lord and master in the pursuit of every greater atrocities and carnage.

Some are under the impression that they can be hired, as mercenary as other Jotun factions or warbands. But members of this host do not accept credits or resources. The only payment these crazed figures demand is blood. They demand that they are thrown into the bloodiest fighting and where the blood will flow. The price of their service is carnage and atrocity with staggering and appalling collateral damage that has all too often ended with Goretide manifesting an Avatar and the worlds to be conquered torn apart.

They are the eaters of worlds, the ravagers of civilizations and the baying hounds of the Blood God sitting on his throne of skulls.


Goreghoul

The most common member of a Gore Host is the Goreghoul, a creature that bears an uncanny resemblance to a rakghoul. This is no coincidence, as the Goretide is one of the few living creatures remaining in the galaxy that can call himself an acolyte of Karness Muur. While not taken an an exact apprentice by his master, Goretide was able to learn enough secrets to create his own variation of the plauge and in the ages since his masters passing, has improved it.

As it is, the baseline Goreghoul is a creature notably stronger than the species it was spawned from, but resembles an emancipated and pale version, with an exaggerated muzzle, fangs in place of teeth and clawed hands. The skin usually gains a corpse like pallor as well, and often they look weak and on the verge of death. All of this is absurdly deceptive.

Firstly, every Goreghoul has their biological limiters removed, enabling them to possess greater strength, but damaging themselves in the process. However, this ties into the fact that they cannot register pain. While they can technically feel it, it is noted as unimportant and disregarded in the pursuit of more and more prey. Third, and one of the breakthroughs of Goretides alchemy, is that Goreghouls have two innate force abilties.

The first is the ability to project their own blood as weaponized plasma, coating them in a cloak of their own blood that strikes and burns nearby foes. The second the ability to feed on the pain and suffering of nearby living creatures to heal themselves, allowing them a form of regeneration thanks to this version of Force Drain. However, the average Goreghoul has no conscious control of these abilities, and instead they activate whenever their adrenaline spikes... such as when they are in combat.

There are three main variations of the base Goreghoul.

Gorebrutes; The most common variant, these ghouls have gorged themselves on flesh and have grown to roughly half again their former body mass. As it is, the exact trigger is unknown outside of the host, but is common enough across multiple unrelated species that some have speculated that most of them had latent markers for giantism. Aside from their greater size giving them greater strength, there is nothing outstanding about them.

Gorelurks; While rarer than the brutes, these particular mutants are also much more dangerous. A touch more cunning and blood flowing with a toxin that acts as a paralyzing agent, even if you are not infected contact with their blood leaves most species sluggish and weak. However, their most terrifying additional ability is an instinctive grasp of Force Stealth, becoming extremely hard to notice by organic prey before they strike.

Gorechiefs; They lack the power of the brutes or ambush abilities of the lurkers, but it is the chiefs that are most feared by those that know of them for one simple reason. Unlike the lesser ghouls, they have kept much of their ability to reason and plan intact. While much more aggressive and blood thirsty, they are able to enact strategies and have a rough grasp of tactics, and their granted abilities are to coordinate and compel to a degree lesser ghouls.


The Sanguinary

One of the improvements that Goretide made over his masters work was his own sorcery could infect other force users, transforming and corrupting them. The curious thing however, is that it does not turn them into mere ghouls, but dark side creatures that retain the full breadth of intelligence from their prior life and many of the memories, however twisted and warped.

The only powers they all have in common is an innate grasp of hemokinesis, ability to command Goreghouls and the ability to consume blood to heal themselves. In addition, they tend to resemble their former selves, save with longer and sharper canines and a corpse like pallor. While they are young, inside a year or so of their initial transformation, they tend to be as physically strong as a ghoul, but can learn to disable and control the amount of biological limiters for their muscles.

The most terrifying thing, from an outside perspective, is that this process is effective at transforming latent force sensitives of sufficient strength as well, well below what is considered to be the cut off for the jedi order.
 
Force Drugs! And Booze
So, I had been talking in another forum today, and happened to come up with two little items, one of which is a Jotun alchemical creation and the other is a new type of drug that some slaver groups are creating. Note, if Sideous had all the details about said drug, he would be killing the makers off.


Force Mirror Ale

The Jotun are fond of alcohol and well versed in alchemy. It should come as little surprise that they have combined the two on many, many occasions to create drinks with properties that go beyond the merely natural. One of the few that actually makes it with some regularity into republic space is the infamous 'Mirror Ale'.... which despite the name has NO alcoholic content.

Instead, this drink, which appears reflective like a mirror and smells vaguely sweet and bitter acts as an emotional mirror and amplifier, including feelings of peace and calm. It is for this reason that they place a warning on the label to avoid situations that lead to hate, pain and anger for thirty minutes after drinking.

This drink was created by the Jotun so their friends and allies who could not tap into the force had an idea of it... and show why using the force to tap into the dark side, after applying a force number, is a BAD idea without a clear head.



Seven Peak Fragrance

This is the latest in a line of drugs created by a ring of slavers and kidnappers in the mid rim territories, and one that looks to be one of their greatest success stories. Now, this invisible gas could be noted for the seven types of sweetness that could be smelled, but most often when you are exposed to the gas its effects start to work on your physiology and everything is fine.

In fact, that is the single greatest notable effect of the gas. Those effected by it are happy, calm and passive, with little in the ways of will or motivation. They will sit there and so long as there are regular doses (once every hour) they will continue to sit there with a calm smile on their face, with little brain activity occurring without outside stimulation, spending it in a calm and pleasant thoughtless daze that takes approximately two hours to wake up from to full mental faculties.

However, this drug has a particular effect on force users, or rather, the midichlorians. In that this gas rendered them dormant for several hours on exposure, something found only in a rare handful of chemicals. However, this particular effect is not actually well known, if only due to the lack of force sensitives exposed to the gas.

Three Jewels Balm

A creation of those that created the Seven Peak Fragrance, the Three Jewels Balm is a tool of slavers who wish to at the very least appear kind, or at least condition their slaves into becoming blind to the chains. This balm comes in two types, one that works on each biological sex (male and female), even as the creators look to expand to the other biological sexes.

What this lip balm does is a simple enough thing in some respects, and in others it is cruel and insidious. When the one wearing it kisses one of the sex the balm is designed for a series of chemicals are triggered that provide a combination of pleasure and a feeling of rightness. The balm can be used with more than just the lips, but the end result is a greatly accelerated Stockholm syndrome as the target begins to associate the one applying the balm with feeling good... and whats more, just how right it feels.

Of course, there are a number of other balms and products that are part of the 'Conditioning and Healthcare' line, each designed to elicit particular emotional responses useful in conditioning a target.
 
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Jorm's Tatooine Adventure!
For the most part, as the dust storm cleared in the ring, there was not the figure of a giant and a dragon laying there in an embrace. Or rather, the dragon had changed her shape a touch, looking now rather closer to the one she had just been fighting. But then, was she not the daughter of Ekkreth, the great changer of shapes? Still, as she looked into his eyes, she spoke in the tongue of the desert, in the hidden language of the slaves. "Beloved, you are here for the slug on his perch?"

Her tone has teeth, for she knows, and she is eager, even as clawed hands play over his chest, amber eyes turned to the horizon as Jorm laughs and leans down to place a kiss on her forehead, as he replies in the same tongue. "Why but of course! Young Eddard has called for all the leaders of the hutt clans be brought before him in the chains they so delight placing your siblings in." There is mischief in his eyes, as he gets ready to stand, and as he looks over the crowd that has gathered here...

And how several are looking at holocommunicators that are now showing footage of hutts being brutally killed as the Jotun go to war, and as he lets a hand reach out, helping her to her feet with a wink and chuckle. "Race you to the palace beloved?"

At this, Leia snorts, her form shifting once more to her usual one, as both paragon and desert goddess move swiftly over the sands. Along the way they gather up a good sized crowd, of all the folk deities of the desert save for Grandfather Sarlacc and Ekkreth (the first could not leave his pit, and the latter's current incarnation was across the galaxy at the moment) as they raced, the Storm grumbling at their heels and hungry for what was to come.

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And so it was that this procession came to the gates of Jabba's palace, and Jabba was no fool and had seen them coming from some ways away! And so he ordered the gates to be made shut... even as he was raging, for that very morning, all of his slaves had gone missing! And then that holocall and now this? He frowned, and gave an offer to his court, to the scum and bounty hunters that attended him.

"Ah, come my soldiers of fortune, a rare chance awaits you! For each head of those that come for this palace, a million golden peggats!" This mighty sum he declared with great force and arms spread out, as the crowd murmured and made ready... though a select number knew they would not collect. How did this handful, as greedy hearts moved and prepared know this?

This was not the first time they had seen The Worldshaker in action and they had no desire to fight THAT!

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As it was, as Jorm walked up the gates, the bodies of all the mercenaries who had not possessed the wit to surrender torn apart or incinerated (one of the little mercs had thought a rocket would help!) and now coating the ramp, the jolly giant knocked on the door. "Jabba, Jabba, won't yout let me in?"

At this, Leia, and many of the others, sighed and gave him sidelong looks, as he knocked again. "Jabba, if you don't open up, I'll huff and I'll puff and blow down this door!" Deep inside of the palace, Jabba scoffed, as this Jotun could not do such a thing. That was impossible, even as Jorm took in a deep breath, the sands being pulled back towards his mouth and the palace seemingly shifting just a little, before he 'huffed and puffed' and the door indeed get blown down!

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Of course, as Jorm walked into the depths of the palace, whistling and smiling, he was curious just how Jabba expected he was going to save himself. Then again, he paused a moment. Jabba was a hutt, and so was likely, as the giant chuckled, to try and bribe him to go away. As if he would forgo this chance to strike a blow against one of the great tormentors of his wifes family!

And of course, as he entered the throne room, Jabba did not dissapoint.

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The first thing those outside of the palace knew about it was when a screaming Rancor was thrown through one of the palace walls, soon followed by a laughing Jorm, Jabba screaming and writhing in his grip as the giant leapt after the rancor, which got up, groggy and shaking its head... only to be knocked to the ground as Jorm used Jabba as a club, the hutt screaming bloody murder as the Jotun swung the slug between the rancors claws and jaws, until the rancor was ready to leap at him.

With a grin he threw Jabba towards the rancor, jumping and using the crime lord as a spring step as both fists slammed into the other monster, the force of which made it explode. Looking around and smiling, giving a sigh of relief, he was not prepared for Leia to smack him upside the head. "Did you really have to show off like that husband mine?"

Her tone was long suffering, as Jorm laughed, roaring as Jabba looked like he wanted to try crawling away. "Leia, it was fun!" And the giant said that as if it was the only thing that mattered.

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Soon enough, Jorm was boarding his ship, a promise to return soon given, dragging Jabba behind him in a net of chains, even as Rotta the hutt was tied to the Jotun's head like a hat. departing to where the lords of the hutts would be tried and likely found wanting....
 
Leia Makes Good On her Promise
As her husbands ship left, Leia turned to her little siblings, the children of the desert, both those in chains and those that were Free, and a smile was on her lips. Long ago, her father had inspired her siblings to sing her into being, born of their hope and their pain, of their very selves and souls. And she had made a promise to them as she left into the desert that was mother to them all when she was so very small.

Jorm had left, as was his habit, a great trove of gifts. To be sure, she had a new pearl for her crown, but the greatest gifts he had brought? She smiled as she opened the crate, revealing many blaster rifles and cannisters of ammunitions, many signal jammers, scanners, bacta patches, thermal detonators, rocket launchers and final components for the speeders and scrap areo-fighters. And of course, enough gear to outfit a regiment of each of her husbands adoptive children.

There was, as she looked at the assembled children of the desert and people of the sand, a rather predatory smile on her face, and it was knowing as well. "Little brothers and sisters! Cousins of the desert! Is it not time that we cast the masters out?" A great cheer from the crowd is the only reply she needs to hear, as the supplies were passed out among the people.

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2 Hours Later
(Mos Espa Cantina)

It was hard at times, Kryssk thought, to be a decent mercenary. Sure, he wasn't all that enthusiastic about the whole slaver thing, never really saw the point when droids were less of a hassle, but it afforded him chances to score points, and its not like he didn't let the slaves that gave a good hunt go. After all, the best prey yielded the best points even if he couldn't make a proper hunt of it.

But, as he rested on the ground, tied up, as the former slaves unchiped others fairly close at hand and relayed information to each other on the comms, it could be worse. At the very least, he might even have a job after all this was over and done with. Always a good thing really, and its not like he cared overmuch, as long as he got chances to hunt and score points.

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30 Minutes Later
(Outskirts of Mos Ilos)

Toombs, as he ducked and rolled for cover, another barrage of bolts coming for his head, sighed. "I should not have taken the money." It was a mournful statement, but hey, he was a hunter and morality and ethics are not really part of the business. But, as his eye looked at things, and the fact that the Sons of Skuller headquarters are still on fire (and just where the HELLS did they get whatever did that?), he sighed and tried moving for the next patch of cover, hoping the hanger was still holding on.

Because forget the hutts, he was getting the fuck off this dustball while his skin was intact!

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Twenty-Five Minutes Later
(Air over Hammerhead)

She danced in the sky, Nyla Stormrider, in her bucket of bolts and fury, swooped down at another of the speeders that were not marked, that had mercs and hunters and scum opening fire on her siblings. And she screamed at them, and the storm screamed with her, tendrils of the suns molten fury lancing out to break and shatter them, even as she danced and laughed and hunted anew for those that ignored the calls to stand down, that the chains had broken.

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One Hour Later

He laughed and dreamed, or was that dreamed and laughed, as he floated among the children of the desert, of his siblings and those that would take up his mask and mantle, even if his current self was rather far away at the moment. Still, as he and himself winked at the force, she laughed and nodded, and below them both, the clouds rolled in.

For now her children were free, and Ar-Amu could weep freely, and so rain fell once more on Tatooine.

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Same Time
(The Negotiator)

Anakin jolted out of bed, as the sudden sense that he should have been somewhere, doing something slammed into him. As he blinked, there was something almost like a giggle on the edges of his senses, and as he blinked the somehow literal sand out of his eyes. "Okay, just what the kriff did I miss?"
 
So, currently working on a few ideas and have a rough idea of some of the next arc. Or at least some of the points for it. Which really, is how I've been doing things anyway :D Still, I will be asking this... anyone have any requests for the upcoming phase of the war?
 
A Year in a Night, Nar Shadda
Hour of Preparation

The Jotun were not fools, even as they sought to bring the empire of the Hutts to its knees in blood and fire. Yet, they admitted that some targets, which were necessary for the waging of their campaign would be far more problematic. Yet, to some who did not know, there was much mystery about Nar Shadda, the Smugglers Moon. Eddard had drawn up no war plans and issued no orders to the horde concerning one of the most populated and heavily defended worlds of Hutt Space, host to massive infrastructure, orbital emplacements and guardian to their capital and homeworld.

The only words he spoke, which brought a chill to the blood and marrow of those that knew, was a simple statement, dismissive even. "I make no plans for that moon, for several of the dreamers have laid their claim on THAT battle. If you have an issue with this, take it up with the Radiant Queen, The Lord of Dust and Scribe of Hours."

With each of those three names dread pooled in their hearts, as the questioners bowed their heads in supplication. Far be it from them to deal in the business of the Dreamers!

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(The Depths, Nar Shadda)


Deep in the dark, deep in the gloom, a light strode forth to those largely forgotten as the city built ever upwards, unable to make the claim back into the light. Many of them turned and hissed at first, before they began to weep, reaching out as the light washed over them, as it lifted them in her arms and whispered words of comfort into their ears, the pains that had been normal for so very long fading, washed away in that glorious and awesome presence.

Still, they held cried out, reaching for the Mother of Mercy, as she walked away to offer hope, to comfort and bless, as her daughters and companions, smaller lights but no less kind, followed in her wake, clean water and food flowing from them, whispers of knowledge and comfort and teaching as they looked around and with eyes now wide and open, dared to hope that things could be better, that life could be improved for them and their children.

And so, in the dark, with a thousand hands, was a seed wrapped in the light and cradled, ready to be nurtured in the night to come.

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(Halls of Silence, Nar Shadda)
(Mood)

Inside the halls of this monastery, tolerated by the hutts largely as they paid their taxes on time, as great gong rung. It did not produce a sound, but instead an absence of sound, a mournful promise of endings. Still, as the brothers and sisters of this order came to the central chamber, there was no noise, no whispers or disturbances. It was if they were ghosts, for all that the monks yet lived.

There, some five hundred years ago, their predecessors had brought a relic when they established this refuge, this place of solemn duty and reflection. There, they occasionally discussed matters of import with the eldest of their order and learned the deepest lore of the shadow lands beyond as generations worked to cultivate this moons spiritual life, to make its afterlives a place of peace and rest, a refuge from the corruption high in the spires and the hunger that gnawed from below.

And yet, of late The Lord of Dust had been asking of their stances on war. He did not command, though he very well could have. No, this elder consulted each of them, for each of them, living and dead, had value. And so, a day after the broadcast that shook hutt space to its foundations, it came as no surprise to all that the call had come, that volunteers were requested and the final preparations made.

With the toll of bells and the sigh of dust, the dead of Nar Shadda marched to war, a single cloaked figure, scythe in hand, at their head.

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(Holonet Access Chambers)
(Mood)

It had been close to four thousand years since they last had a breach of this magnitude, as a single figure stood in the central part of the complex. At first glance, it was a Jotun, a species that the Hutts had a passing familiarity with. Yet this one was odd. Its skin was the color of old flimsi, and eyes golden with hourglass irises that burned with a silver hue that defied casual description. There were tattoos across the giants skin, patterns that shifted and warped with the angle and time and yet remained wholly in place, as said giant hummed.

"Look, this won't change a thing really, but I want to tell you a little story." The giant seemed amused, as things stepped out of the angles around the building. Some of them were creatures well known to anyone that wandered the stars save for masks of mirrored silver and translucent blades, and creatures that seemed to be a strange mix of hound and lion, save that they had no skin and a strange blue glow came from them, sparks rippling as claws echoed on the durasteel floors.

"Its not a complicated one, but rather, it involves a little specialty of mine. And don't worry, I'll avoid giving too many spoilers." There is mocking in the giants tone, as his companions cut down the guards, organic and droid alike, as silver-blue lightening dances across every terminal. "But, thats just the thing really, I'm one of THOSE people, who can't help but read ahead, who has looked across the weave of destiny and as it is, I'm not impressed by what the current bunch have planned, not for the days to come."

The figure hums then, as a finger twitches, and a million unseen threads impose themselves between the moments, twisting and dragging objects into patterns that match with a carful arrangement of forces, of dancing troupes and acrobats in azure-sliver clothes and mirror masks across the moon, deep in the depths from hands that had been paid to drop items of small size and worth three thousand years ago, to tokens of futures that will never come to pass dragged into the present day.

"So, I look for threads, options for extra throws of the dice, for ways that this little melting pot of idealistic fools and villainous scum we call a galaxy might be preserved a bit longer. And in each case?" The figure now has a gaslow grin, as anomalies ripple out, as time itself bends and contorts, as inside the bubble that is Nar Shadda things are swept into a raging river.

"So my good friends, let the Hour of Twilight usher in this good night!"
 
A Year in a Night, Nightfall
Hour of Twilight
(Mood)

Tell me oh mortal man, child of long dead stars, do you remember them? Do you mourn for them, those whose lives and suffering have been the currency of your half-life? Of all the innocents you have cast into the abyss? Or have you forgotten? Dismissed them from your mind even as their blood drips into the dark, as the ledger of your life fills with yet another sin? Do not worry, for this I can promise you. They have not. In the grey halls, your name is whispered, your crimes remembered.

And yet, you shall ask, whys is it now that we come to call you to account? Why, you cry, is it that your allotment of years are running out now? Some of you will try and bargain, to plead and offer up blood and souls that you shall live a moment longer. Others will call on pacts whose full measure they have no hope of understanding even as the jaws close around them. This will not save you. This will not free you.

Time itself has constructed a cage around this moon. In the dark, Mercy gathers those she can under her wings in preparation for what is to come. Be aware of this, oh children of dust and ash. I am the Guardian of the Dead and Keeper of the Silent Halls. It is not my role to walk the world of the living, and normally, it is not my place to collect the souls of the living for judgement. But the forms have been observed, petitions made, the emissaries sent and offers of reconciliation rejected.

Flee if you must. Fight, if you will. Listen for the tolling of the bells. But today, the accounts will be settled. Make your peace and pray to the gods that will have you oh mortals. The grave awaits.


The Lord of Dust to Nar Shadda​
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It did not take long for all the people above, all the rich and powerful that used the moon as a meeting ground, all the smugglers that used it as a port of call, the Hutts great bastion that it orbited... no, the thing that scared the hutts as they looked out and within was not that somehow the moon was covered in some form of containment shield (though that led to no small amount of panic), but rather that it seemed to be made of time itself, whirling eddies of the impossible.

Yet, among the spires, the words echoed in their souls, etched in silence and graven in the void. It is a minority that collapse to their knees under that cold and silent regard, but even the least force sensitive can feel it settling on them. It was a weight, it was cold and empty, devoid of passion and yet so achingly empty that it burned and froze, their breathes visible in the air.

Yet, the dead did not come on the wings of this message. A full day and night was given to them to reflect, to repent if they possessed the will, and yet, as they looked to the sky and the stars, a cruel jest was revealed. By the count of the stars, the long hours had been but minutes or seconds. And then came the reports in the lowest levels, of dust gathering and rising, before it became a storm and with it, came the shades of the dead.

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Nat Phar shook like a leaf, as he held his blaster up to the whirling dust devil, as the chill spread in his veins. He did not weep, but was a near thing, as he looked around him. He was young, maybe nineteen and had dreamed of the life of adventure and glory... and ended up a hired gun trying to earn enough credits to book passage back home that he could throw himself at his parents feet and beg to be a farm hand again. At there, there were no angry ghosts looking to tear him apart!

And of course... his eyes turned to the still warm body of Jodi Garn, which had been dragged off... she had thought of running, of surrendering, of taking their chances as they had not killed anyone. Sure, looked tough and wave their blaster around, but neither of them had done anything! And so, she got shot. Which... considering the fact that they were up against the angry and unquiet dead was likely not Vaks best idea, not that he would every say that out loud... as he would be the one cooling on the ground next.

Yet, as he prepared to be thrown into the Hells, he saw HER riding out of the storm, shrouded in light so pure that tears erupted from him, and he fell to his knees as she rode forth, blasters loosing from the lines and bending around her, even as he felt a small prick, and then weightless darkness, a feeling of safety and warmth, as if in his mothers arms when he ran to her bed as a storm raged outside as a child.

When he next opened his eyes, the sun was rising, and there were only a handful of others close at hand.

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Many times did this scene repeat itself in the lower levels, as the dust storm rose and the heralds of mercy rode, the light from them proof against blaster and bolt as their steeds leapt through the air, as in their arms they gathered the slaves and the lost, the innocent and those to be spared, taking them back into safety, back into the depths.

For in their wake came the dead, whose silent hands sought out their old foes, who whispered accusations and demanded justice... and proceeded to take it with their own hands. For this was an old moon, and built on bones.
 
A Year in a Night, The Nine Corellian Hells (Part one)
The Hour of Hell

(Corellian District)
(Mood Music)

For the most part, those in the district were jumpy, but what else could you be, when it seemed like the dead were rising up and the impossible was bursting into the waking world? It was enough to drive the crooks and 'honest businessmen' in the district into the cantinas, there to drink whiskey and boast over hands of sabbac of how much of a hoax this all was, some freaky and weird force bullshit sure, they could buy that, but this was real life, not some cheap holo drama!

And then the lights across the district flickered, and they all say it, right on the edges of their vision, no matter were they stood. Those gates, those terrible gates! Some claimed that those gates were made from the bones of the damned, coated in the blood of the innocent, red and black from ages of rot and gore and endlessly added to. Others screamed and wept of impossible angles that gaped and twisted in space and time. Some, spice burning through them, whispered of a maw made of screams opening wide.

And then a figure stepped forth. He was a man, claimed the women. A woman, exclaimed the men. But still, they were the same in most respects, being of greater than average height, attractive in built and with features so fair to look on that it make the heart ache to look on them, a sense of shame welling up as they dirtied that figure in their red suit with something as crass as their eyes.

"My friends! My subjects to be!" The devil itself spoke, gesturing for a waitress to bring them a glass of something red and steaming. "I come to you with tidings of great joy! Normally, the Lord of Dust keeps the gates sealed shut, makes you all wait to experience my hospitality!" The smile brands itself into their minds, the jovial tune itching down their spines and twisting along the way. "But alas, he has imposed rules, he and his brother this fine night. But what a night I have planned for you all."

There is laughter, mocking and echoing, ringing in their very souls as they quaked, as they came face to face with the fact... well, they would have eternity to pay in the actual hells they swore by even as they considered it nothing more than a saying, a figure of speech!

Still, the devil spoke, arms held wide. "But, I have a deal for all you lovely people! Come down to Red Spires with the heart of a family member and you get to live out the month free from little ole me." There is a twinkle in their eyes, grin wide as they pulled out a stop watch. "But, please be aware, this is very much a limited time offer and a limited opportunity! Only the first thousand that reach me by dawn will get that special little brand."

Their grin was a beast, blood dripping from their chin. "But don't you worry good and honest business folk! I'll have additional deals for the rest of the month!" And so the devil laughed, as family turned on family for the promise of temporary safety.

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And so it went with the next month in the night, of deals each day that debased and betrayed, that sank and pitted all against all and made of them beasts. Torture, rape, betrayal and worse stalked the district, as those with lighter sins were driven into corners, to be either prey or fall into the abyss. Yet, as the month drew to a close, as the last day dawned, there was a sigh of relief, that things might be over at last.

"Well, my good subjects, my month here is done and over. But please, turn your attention to the one who will be your overlord for the next month! You all remember him as the Count of Cristo, of legend and myth, the Tyrant who imposed order as you reached for the stars, the madman who fell to the whispers of the very evil he destroyed! Now, I shall let him speak!"

And with that, the devil vanished, even as the childhood tales face emerged from every holo, every screen in the district, cold and stern as he addressed them. "In the time of my absence, it seems morality and decency have become words on the wind." He looked around, his eyes cold and cruel, even as he smiled. It was not a soft smile, but a predators one.

"But, fear not, for at the end of my mortal eyes the truth was revealed to me, a truth that you all dance around." He looks at them, before he reaches out and grabs a woman, skin and bones and visibly weak, by her neck, even as he begins to squeeze, his voice never changing from a tone of polite and aloof calm. "We are animals. We are savages. We are cruel and vicious and morality extends only so far as it is pleasurable and easy. So," with that, the womans head pops from her neck, blood spraying as he licks his lips, "for my tenure as your overlord, this is but the singular law. Might is right."

Tossing the woman aside, he smiles at them all. "Justice, law, these things extend no further than the reach of your arm and the strength of your ability to crush anyone who says otherwise. And least you think me unfair, why would I be any different? If you can slay me, send me back to the Hell which has been my home for an age, why, then it is obvious you were correct, is it not?"

He smiles, quirking his head, bloody red eyes looking over them all with a smile. "Now, please, return to your regular business, or the business of your righteous desires." And with that, the feeds showing him cut out.

And the world went mad.
 
Will freely admit. I need seven more figures of Corellian legend and myth for the other seven hells. Main reason this is going to be in a few parts. I of course welcome suggestions and ideas!
 
The Count of Cristo
Once, in the early days of Corellia, he had been one of its noblest defenders, a warrior of the light with powers beyond that of mortal men who led his people well, ensuing their prosperity. Yet, the force is not a place of strictly linear time and he fought against a demon of blood and darkness, managing to banish the creatures avatar with a sword glowing with the light of his love of the people.

Yet, in the years after that day, he would become increasingly erratic, increasingly bloodthirsty. Where once he was a fair and temperate leader, his reputation became stained in blood as fear and terror gripped his lands. Eventually, as he was put down, he was a raging monster that devoured blood, and yet, he retained a sense of self and self-loathing as he killed and resorted to ever more brutal methods of keeping order. Yet, as he fell, he was said to have thanked those that slew him with his last breaths.

In the ages since, he became little more than a ghost story, an accounting of what would in later years be a green jedi (though that order was not founded until long after) that fell to the dark, or at the very least had been deeply corrupted by something dark over the course of years. While later generations of Jedi would search for the location of his resting place, it had never been found.
 
A Year in a Night, The Nine Corellian Hells (Part Two)
As the month passed the district became one of blood, of violence and brutality, of civilization replaced by brute animal savagery as all descended into the red haze of murder and mayhem. Many, to supplement their rations turned on others, eating the still screaming flesh. Yet, much as it had before, the month drew to a close. This was marked, as some would say, with a surprising lack of brutality and direct action by the count.

To be sure, he killed at least ten people a day and often in ways disturbing and gruesome (more than once tearing out and eating the still beating hearts of his victims after passing judgement on them), yet he had not gone any grand scale purges. Oh, there may have been a new forest of impaled bodies, the fools still somehow alive as they screamed and begged for mercy, but they hardly counted as it was only eighty thousand or so.

Yet, soon on the calendars marked, it was the night of the next one to appear, right on the eve of Lifeday.

******************************************************************************************************************************************************
Festival Square
(Mood Music)

They noticed it first as the snow began to fall, red and green lights in the stars, even as the scent of fresh baked bread and cinnamon and home drifts into their nose. It is the smell of childhood and innocence, even as there is a sound very odd. A crunching of a hoof on the snow, and the sound of something breathing, a red lit glow coming from ahead. And then he was sighted.

He was a man of somewhat average height, clad in red with white fur trim. Yet, as they looked on, they could sense in their souls, that this was not the Gift-Giver, the spirit of mercy and rewarder of good deeds. No, this figure in his red sleigh had axe and spear close to hand and a body that seemed carved from cold steel as eyes that made glaciers seem warm looked around. This was he in an older, darker aspect, as behind that sleigh came the shuffling of beasts, some flinching back.

In many respects, they were Wampa's, save their fur was a dirty black and with eyes of blood shot red, flakes of yellow dancing in them, save for their horns. Great and curved like rams stretching upwards, from which hung a collection of skulls on rope as they shuffled forwards at their masters heels, eyes moving to glare at those that approached.

Yet, soon enough the figure on his sleigh reached the stage, and he stepped off. "Good rest ye maerry gentlemen!" Yet, despite that rather pleasant greeting, there was no joy in his posture. "It gives me no pleasure to do this you know. I much rather prefer being in my gift-giver aspect when I can be, though really with how the traditions have limited me..." He snorted and shook his head, bread swaying in the cold and rising wind. "Still, each and all of you, I have known since you were children, your names and deeds going into the book. Many of you..."

He sighed, and in that moment he was very much an old man who had seen a bit too much. "Well, after the last two months, it will take something more than what any of you have time for to avoid the hells. But, anywho, I got tapped for a very simple reason." His tone and posture changes, and there is something... dangerous about him, something vicious and wild and much more brutal than one would expect.

"In the faith before the jedi came, I was the patron saint of children, their guardian and friend. And some of you lot?" His eyes and tone are colder than the blizzards of Hoth as he lifts up that axe. "Some of you had a fondness for going after children. And that? Well, that, on this night, I can do something about." His grin is wide, as his shadow is long as he lifts the axe as his followers perked up.

Still, he picked up a horn, a simple thing of horn with a number of runes etched into it. Yet when he blew the sound echoed, rumbling and shaking the ground in the entire district as the winds howled and screamed. The baying of hounds and the pounding of hooves were heard, as he cried out. "So, for the next month, each night shall the Wild Hunt ride once more!"

And with that, the hunt began as those who preyed on children were made prey in turn!

*************************************************************************************************************************************************

A month later, the sun rose and many looked up, praising the return of safety and perhaps forgetting that another month of horror and dread was before them, that the patterns they grew used to would change once more. Yet, there was no announcement, no proclamation of their sins. Yet, as the members of the district ventured outside, one of them heard a whisper. "I come for you!"

And with that, he gave a shriek, and vanished into the shadows, dragged there by someone no others could see, an expression of terror on his face as fingers dug into the duracrete, bloody furrows that slowed him not at all. Yet, as soon as he vanished, as they rushed forward with light, his screams cut off and vanished.

He was seen, an hour later, dangling from a pole, flayed alive and subject to grisly and terrible torture. And using his own pelvic bone as a spike, his skin as parchment and blood as ink, were his crimes pinned to his corpse. And then, from the crowd, another shriek, and another vanished into the dark, only to be seen again, miles away, an hour later in much the same state.

For the next month they surrounded themselves with light, barely sleeping and jumping at shadows as many vanished one by one, as bodies appeared, tortured until they confessed and executed, bodies left by unknown means to spread fear. They all knew who it was, the monster stalking them. The Lord of the Night, the Night Haunter, a royal prince stolen as a youth and thrown into a prison that had no light and escaped a man, brutally insane and bringing the dark with him as he hunted down the criminals that escaped justice.

And now? They were his prey.
 
So, how does the news segment look all? Asking as I have no experience writing them
loved it, just getting back up to speed on this story and the catharsis of seeing the huts reaping what they sew is very rewarding. just one thing though: I would think that "The Skywalker" sounds more like a title than the surname of Anakin Skywalker, because there presumably are more people with that surname.
 
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I would think that "The Skywalder" sounds more like a title than the surname of Anakin Skywalker, because there presumably are more people with that surname.
I'm actually borrowing from a series on Ao3 for this one. It IS a name and title both and it goes back a ways. But, of those that have the name, it is Anakin who is the incarnation of said mantle.

Metaphysics, Skyguy is complicated :D
 
I'm actually borrowing from a series on Ao3 for this one. It IS a name and title both and it goes back a ways. But, of those that have the name, it is Anakin who is the incarnation of said mantle.

Metaphysics, Skyguy is complicated :D
It's the Double Agent Vader serries right, with fialleril's Tatooine Slave culture? I know it, it's great. The thing is, we as readers know that the title "The Skywalker" references to Anakin, but in-universe there are likely hunderds, thousands or millions of people who have surname Skywalker, call themselfs name 'the skywalker' family-name or use 'The skywalker' as a nome-the-guerre / public name / artist name to hid their true identity. So it kind of feels like a stretch that a media station is immideatly so sure that some random thing / person with the title 'the skywalker' must refere to Anakin Skywalker, jedi knight & better known as 'hero without fear'. But that is just my feeling, maybe the Force influences things i don't know
 
A Year in a Night, Devastation
The Hour of Devastation
(Music)

Even as the Corelian district was closed off, darkness rising and space looping in on itself to bind all inside by strange and unnerving paths, the truth was, the the real battles for Nal Shadda were beginning in earnest in a handful of locations thanks to a number of simple factors.

While cut off from the wider galaxy by the currents of raging time, worlds such as this did have their own ability to feed and power themselves, at least for a time. Oh, like any other world spanning city there would never be enough to feed all of its citizens, nor would the recycling plants be able to handle the waste for protracted periods, not the air exchangers. Yes, the power production hubs would last for centuries more, and the Nutrient production plants would keep running so long as there was organic material to feed them.

Thus, in the upper levels, as the regional power brokers fortified and secured their positions, there was confidence that they would be able to outlast the shield above them, and the slow pace of the enemy coming for them did little to dissuade them of this notion. The dead it seemed, were content to take their time, to clear out the lower levels before marching to the next ones.

Yet, while the dead took their time, other things had been dragged from the depths of the spirit world, now clad in forms suited for making sport of mortals.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************
Kolgans Corner
(Nal Shadda, Level 29, Lower Gallery of Brilliant Delights)

They huddled together in the building, all that was left. There could have been others, others above them or below them, but trying to leave... many of them shivered, as the mercenaries and hunters gripped their weapons, as fear wafted off them like a mist, cloying and clinging to them as the lights flickered again, scratching at the door, a voice calling out.

They shivered, as they looked to the doors, the sealed up windows, and behind them, as on the floor of the cantina above them came a creaking sound, and some of them, Kolgan thought it might have been a Munn, started to whisper a prayer under their breath, even as the old man could not find it in himself to scoff. After all, there was no telling if there were any other survivors.

Once, a few weeks ago, they had comms working, noticed a few odd things move in. Not droids, they checked and those things, metal and crete and straw of all things shaped like some ancient harvest golem, had seemingly just appeared not long after the broadcast. And then, when nobody was looking, they moved. Which, was less creepy and more unusual and generally more seen in droids with disturbing programing.

No, it was the disappearances, the fact that lights seemed to keep flickering, the sounds... before anyone could really tell what was happening some of the businesses were used as fortresses, groups getting together and holding watch. And then? And then the damn things started to get damn active. So, they started shooting at movement outside whenever the lights flickered, when ever the voices came and scratched at the doors.

Sure, some people made it to the corner, but with those things on their heels? They screamed, as they were torn apart... and then their pleading came once more, broken, twisted and warped.

Yet... as the Munn was joined by a Trashodan, praying to the Scorekeeper, the lights flickered as their voices, echoed and grating, repeated from each of the corners, as blasters and slug throwers roared and voices screamed and laughed.

****************************************************************************************************************************************************
The Gallahne Water Recycling Plant
(Nar Shadda, Floor 21)

The flames raged and the ashes surged once more, even as blasters roared and thundered, as teams were dispatched, foam blasting out to try and contain the flames even as from above, Timin Gokhaf pondered the risks. On the one hand, this was the fifth time they had to deal with the damn ash wraiths today and the flames were, while worrisome, still under control. Of course, as he looked at the damage reports, that was hardly the point.

The simple truth was that this plant was critical for the chemical plant two floors up and kept most of the district supplied with water besides that, so losing it.... there was flickering on the corner of one of the ash piles, and he roared out. "Get those ash piles dispersed!" Now, panic was in his tone, as guards came forward with the equipment, blowing and scattering the ashes as relief teams moved to extinguish the flames before they could do much damage to the durasteel beams, or spread across the damn duracrete!

Yet, even as it seemed all was under control is this little part of the moon, or at least, not on fire, there was a billowing roar some ten clicks away, a glowing sun blooming in the depths as it seemed one of the fronts against the ash wraiths just went up in an inferno. As the heat contacted, he swore, and measured his chances.

The problem with the ash wraiths, which honestly should not have been a surprise, was that they refused to stay dead. Sure, the first few times you shot them to pieces they were not that hard... but they learned and got stronger each time their ashes reignited and they reformed, standing once more moving to charge, to laugh and kill and spread flames with each rebirth and death. Granted, scattering the ashes bought time... but, as flame erupted from another guardpost, he wondered....

How long they defend themselves, when everything existed as fuel for the pyres?

*******************************************************************************************************************************
The Umbral Gates
(Nal Shadda, The Great Chasm)

The Great Chasm as it was called was actually an important hub of the moons transportation hubs, where construction parted and allowed the depths to be visible for some thirty layers. There, massive banks of speeders and lifts moved cargo from the depths to the heights and in reverse, even as others used it as a means to quickly traverse the moons many layers.

Of course, it was not really defended, save for some hodgepodge placements, and what had been hurriedly assembled in the weeks, a month and a bit really, since the broadcast. Most of it was makeshift, but included several ships anchored in place via repulsor platforms, their guns ready to open fire as needed.

Yet, as the crews largely drank and waited, they were not entirely taken off guard when the Umbral Gates, those on the lowest levels of the Chasm, started to shake, then buckle.... and finally exploded outwards, a howling duststorm screaming in its wake, tendrils of scouring ash and dust moving in ways that made the spines of the void dwellers crawl. Yet, they took shots into the storm, blaster bolts making ripples before it closed, as the storm continued to climb upwards, reaching to the sky with hungry and clawing fingers.

There was brief com chatter, even as voices whispered and echoed and screams came across, along the sucking of moisture from flesh, and the tearing of meat from bones before all became the tolling of bells.

As it was, the dust was not fast, and if it kept the same pace it would take almost a month to fill the chasm.... and, to the blood of the Hutts in their spires, chilling in their veins, it was not like the dead did not have time. Time that for them was swiftly running out.
 
Jabba and the Skywalker
Jabba was wise, all among the kajidics knew this, knew of his canny dealing and his long memory. In his youth, he had visited ancient libraries and devoured the words of the past, soaking in the lessons of the ages, even as he moved to take the lessons of the long dead and apply them to the modern age. All in all, as he moved the clan from victory to victory, building their strength to dominate... and only the recent republic meddling that spoiled his mood.

All in all, he was not overly concerned about the latest dispute between the Jedi and Sith. Their empires had risen and fallen, and still the Hutts remained, even if he had to break out the old records and make sure that they were properly positioned for whoever won. As it was, he had his suspicions, as several things had seemed a touch too... convenient for the Republic. Yet, just the thought of those that had stolen his little Rotta sent a spike of rage thundering through his veins.

Even as his court moved around him, Jabba paid them them little mind, his thought as he gave the orders and prepared was for how he would enact his vengeance and make those that sought to manipulate him suffer. Even as he brooded in the fortress, his thoughts reached out, chains of shadow and venom rattling to those sensitive to such things, the master bloated and brooding on his throne.

It was then that those who had his child returned, it was then, as amber eyes locked on the Togruta that had his gurgling Huttlet... there was a moment of relief, even as a mind that was a touch too sensitive, eyes that could see a little more clearly... well, a different rage gripped him, as the name was given.

"Ekkreth, you come into my fortress with my child. But a slave you were born, and a slave you shall remain!" It was not Jabba that spoke in that moment, as he locked eyes with his old enemy, but Depur. For this had in it all the signs of his old enemies tricks in it! "I will reward the Jedi for returning you to me, but you shall not escape, not this time."

Several in the room, including Obi-Wan and Ashoka Tano were confused, and if Jabba was more aware, as he held his son in hand, he would be curious of this matter as well, having never met this slave in person before! Oh, he was a Hutt of Tattoine, he was well aware of the fact that those that took the name of Skywalker needed to be enslaved, that they would always cause many headaches free... but you finish off one family and another would appear elsewhere, always having some of the same traits.

Yet, Jabba was honest about this, as he looked at the Jedi, Jedi that the Skywalker had called Master. A part of Jabba, Depur, was sure this was a trick, was part of some grand deception... but he was not having it! "Tell me oh Jedi, what would your council consider to be a suitable reward for this one?" A hand gestured at the slave in question, at the Skywalker who was not truly free.

Yet, even as a holocom was lifted and he began to speak with the Senator... eyes locked on eyes, an unseen war was taking place. Do not fault the Jedi for not noticing it, or more than the echoes of a whisper. For all of their claims at spirituality, of embracing the force, they had a remarkable tendency to stare so firmly into the light as to be blinded to all other possibilities.



In a space that was not a space, more to the side of reality and a step into the realm of metaphor, a slug made of chains wrestled with a mask whose form shifted and slipped out of those fingers as dark as spilled blood and dry and grasping always for more. The red bird laughed, beak of freedom and cunning stabbing at the fingers, each drop of blood exacted a soul long lost to the dark now set to walk and dance the star paths to rest and home.

For some time, as nets were deployed, lashes, blasters and collars, all of which the formless one took up a new mask, escaping and reducing each to naught in turn. Again and again Depur sought to chain and bind Ekkreth, to clip his wings and pour burning steel onto the mask to weld it in place, to wrap about the One Who Makes Free and Bind him.

Yet, nimble and cunning, with a laugh on his lips and mockery in his heart, the trickster danced his way along. It should not be surprising then, that as more and more jewels were stolen, that Depur grumbled out. "Ekkreth. You have served well in returning my son to me, and your masters," Depur sneered here, his words a lash of venom, "will be rewarded for this. But this I say to you. You shall never bring the rain, and if you try, I will boil it before it strikes the ground!"

The slug made of shadows and chains roared, as he gripped the small red bird in hand, throwing him from the palace, even as a mocking laugh called out. "Can you not hear it Depur, my old enemy? It is not just the rain I am bringing!" And with swift wings the little red bird fled, a mewling Akul cub in his claws, as in the distance, thunder pounded like war drums.



Those that did not have the eyes to see, or the ears too hear, would say that Padme brokered the deal that let the Republic pass through Hutt Space, Jabba among them, though he was left with the feeling that there was another score to be settled, a matter of vengeance that had gained another tally. Yet, he was not sure why this feeling came on him, and ultimately he would decide he would have vengeance on Dooku, or perhaps, Dooku's master, hidden in the shadows.

But did the Sith not know that the Hutts ruled the dark places of the Galaxy? Soon enough, his vengeance would have a target....

So, muse has not been kind, but will be trying to post more! Have this little number!
 
Force Headcanon

So, as it is, I use the Warp to describe the force as a whole a lot, even if its not the most accurate comparison. At the same time, the difference between them can be close enough for government work until you start to really delve into either. As it is, I'm using my own sorts of rationalizations, my own understanding as flawed as it may be to try and... well, explain and look into things.


At the base, The Force as a whole exists as an energy field that runs through all matter and other forms of energy. It is no more truly aware of things than any of the other fundamental forces, save that it is influenced by all life that it is part of, sapient or not. These influences create currents, fields and bubbles inside the force, or at least that is how it appears to those inside of the energy field. Yet, sentient life, to say nothing of sapient life, is bonded with this fundamental force, often seen as midichlorians in all organic life... and yet, as the force is present in all things and the existence of force using Tsil and Shard species, so it is not an exclusive property to organic life.


Now, I have used mythology and afterlives in this story... and I would like to say this. Why would we assume that the Force, a mystical energy field running through all things exists solely in the physical plane? Or, if you want to put it in scientific terms, that it is limited to the dimension that we call physical reality. As it is, the force already exists somewhat outside the bounds of time (as one can use it to see the past or possible futures), and so to does it form a lattice with realms of more psychic nature.

Or, one could view the astral/psychic realms as pocket realms inside of the force separate from physical reality... and it would be hard to tell either way. In either case, they are connected to each other and the physical realm by the Force, which acts as a sea, bridge and guide.


Now, as for the Will of the Force. That is where we reach the deep and fundamental issues, as one has to ask this; If the Force has a Will, what does it Want? Now, in the form of Anakin Skywalker, we know that it wants Balance... and it does not view the modern Jedi or the Sith as conductive to the balance. As it is, the Force sort of has two desires/thoughts for 'Balance' both of which are equally valid to it, but one of which is much more unsettling to us flesh and blood types.

The first form of balance it could take is Entropic, that is, a complicated state falling into a simpler sate of equilibrium and where there is no possibility for change. Flat, lifeless and unchanging.... and an option for the force.

The second is to have its states more or less in equilibrium, which is more complicated and does not seem to work as often. Yet, to be balanced in this way, life needs to be fully acknowledged. Extremes cannot be taken, but instead, those with the greatest connection to the force need to simply live.

In a bit of irony, several darker sects would be considered to be much more balanced by the Force than the Jedi.

Or, in another way of looking at it, The Force wants Life to flourish. It wants change and growth. It wants all the things that come with life, good and bad. It wants love and hate, fear and compassion, respect and despair. And it has an insatiable appetite for drama.


And that does not say anything about those energy beings that live inside of the Force itself, that can influence it or at least the areas near themselves. There is no God as a monotheistic culture would see it... but plenty of gods from a polytheistic standpoint... even if in many places, the religion of science and reason has replaced and eroded them.
 
Pacts amid War and Sand
Time does not mean the same things for Gods as it does for men, we who are bound in much greater part by the forces of time. The gods are somewhat apart inside the force, past, present and future existing depending on where one stands, and where one moves. Many among their number had once been mighty indeed, but as their worship passed, as their memory among the living faded, so to did much of their power, becoming little more than memories in the ether. Yet, even memories can have a power of their own.

So it came to pass, that a great warrior clad in Beskar, long ivory spikes exuded from much of his armor even as he carried a Beskad openly, walked to a tent in the middle of a desert plateau, an oasis hidden from the lowlands next to it. Standing outside the door, he spoke, voice gruff and grumbling. "Su cuy'gar grandmother of the desert! I would speak with you."

He was respectful, if sullen, for he was here to ask a favor, to beg a boon that could cost him greatly. And so it was, that the door parted, and an old woman, beautiful in the way a worn and weathered rock is, or perhaps a lovingly carved sculpture wrought from a stump and polished by sun and sand. She was shrunken by age, but hardy and spry, weathered and winkled skin hiding her vigor and strength, as did the thin limbs. To be sure, she carried herself on a staff of bone, carved with the tales of the people, their hopes and history,

Yet, with eyes pinched and narrowed, she snorted. "Well then, come inside!" And with that, she harried him in as a elder would a child, directing him to sit, even a meal was placed in front of him. "Sit and tell old Ar-amu what it is that brings a Mando god all the way to her little tent." The eyes that watched him though were sharp and stern, with all the piercing strength of the suns.

And so it was that Kad Ha'rangir took off his helmet, and partook of hospitality. "Arasuum has all but won the war for the Manda. Peace, stagnation and idleness reign, and worse..." He looks far off and sneers, contempt as the god of change looks towards Depur's palace. "The sect of Bane seeks to make of my people an army of slaves, to create children cut off from the greater soul of their people, to bind them in such a way to devour them from the inside!" There was rage and hate in the gods voice, visions of chips dancing in his eyes.

Not directed at his people, who had tested and sought to keep moving to make sure they could face the dangerous and hostile galaxy, its horror's and threats... and not to poor children born of their flesh and blood that sought to belong, reached towards their heritage and in so many ways upheld it so strongly and grandly... and yet, with the command of some karking politician all of their will and soul would be devoured by the spider in his web!

And so, he looked at her, looked at the mother of the desert and he spoke. "I can offer little, but your child Ekkreth has donned his mortal mask. He is to bring the rain and shatter the chains?" There is laughter. a booming laugh that for a moment across the galaxy, every chain seems to rattle, the presence of something, of a change about to occur was in the air before fading away, and few noticed. "Such a glorious change, how could I not wish to meddle in the destruction of the age of chains?"

There is a grin on his face, as he looks at her. "Tell me grandmother, if you would convey an offer to your son on my behalf?"

And there is laughter, eager laughter in the tent, as blood is spilled and a pact struck, the details of the bargain not mentioned to mortal eyes.




Years later, the 501st would know their general, and they would love him, he that spoke to them by their names, that saw them as more than numbers. He was in many ways one of them, even if he was a Jedi. Yet, several of them could tell, he was looking for something, or someone among them. When Rex asked him, Anakin whittling and carving a length of wood as they traveled the hyperlanes, just what he was looking for, his general had that odd smile on his face, one that was playful and knowing.

"Waiting for the most part, but, liser gar keep a ranov'la?" Suddenly, and with an ease that was almost uncanny (and for some reason felt like more of that Force strangeness), his general slipped into mando'a, yet there was weight to it, a sense of the words settling in on his bones, even as Skywalker waves his hand. "Gar liser rejorhaa'ir gar vode."

It was strange at times, how his general could pluck the questions he was going to ask from his tongue, yet, if he was able to tell his Vode, his brothers? He nodded, and felt the words seem to settle onto his bones, a part of him that was hard to describe in any rational way, even as his Jedi's eyes twinkled. "My grandmother left me a gift not that long ago, but, as it is, it is a gift to be held in trust. I'm just waiting for the right time to pass it on."

Rex left that day feeling at least as confused as when he entered, one set of questions answered, and another gained, though, given how Jedi were not supposed to have attachments (even if their Jedi kept them close and cared so deeply), it would make sense to keep it quiet from the council, who did not approve of the general as a general thing.

Inwardly, Rex sighed. Even inside of his head that just sounded odd.




Translations; liser gar keep a ranov'la? Can you keep a secret?
Gar liser rejorhaa'ir gar vode. You can tell your brothers.
This is what my muse gave me.
 
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