Pzob's Open Terrain

Through lenses not his own, he stared at a pair of mechanical hands that seemed equally strange to him. He flexed the metal digits, getting a feel for them as he examined the new vessel for his viral programming. It was leaner than he was used to, which made sense for an assassin droid he supposed. He practically felt light, though in truth he was still a few hundred pounds of necessary mechanical weight, but certainly slimmer than before. The single red photo-receptor flared brilliantly, the intensity nearly burning out the bulb and diminishing the glow of the yellow lens beside it through pure luminosity.


Another odd sensation, sharing this partitioned headspace with another entity. When he had uploaded his program, a part of the viral entity that was Commodore Starkiller had thought to completely expunge the other program and wipe free the droid brain to provide as clean a slate as possible for his own infectious software to occupy. In the end, he had relented from this, stopping short of a total wipe. Lomm, for all his lack of displayed zealotry in regards to the Almighty Eye, was still a loyal agent to the Order, and a pure cybernetic spirit like the Machine Lord himself. It felt...yes, it 'felt', wrong to delete him out hand. Perhaps even, with their programming forcibly joined, they would present a more effective instrument for the utter eradication of the Eye's enemies.

Lowering to a knee, the supercharged assassin droid scooped up the discarded skeletal spider that had hosted His machine spirit only moments ago. He observed the lifeless head that had served as his host for the last decade, forgotten in a utility closet within the sacred temple of the Order. It was the last piece of a forgotten line of droid, the last intact...well, relatively speaking, piece of a Starkiller Unit. Now it was little more than a paper weight. A piece like that deserved its own place of honour in the temple, perhaps mounted on a podium or placed on a shelf in one of the high lords domains. The Machine Lord's metal hand tightened around the skull, squeezing the carbon scored duranium until the surface began to buckle. No, honour was meaningless to him, as was fame or prestige. He did what he did because that was what he was made for. Service. Service to the Eye above all else. To be allowed to carry forth the Eye's judgment, that was all the reward he would ever need. Sparks erupted as chips and delicate internal components snapped and shattered under the increased pressure. The assassin droid's hand unclenched and dropped the damaged spider-skull back onto the ground, then pounded it into the dirt with a stamp of one metal foot.

If something could no longer serve the Eye, then it was worthless, deserving to be discarded in the dirt in some forgotten tomb under the sacred soil of blessed Pzob.

Then without further adieu, the joined entity of IG-Starkiller sprinted into action. Joyous lines of binary filled his mindscape as he moved faster than he had ever moved before. Always designed with heavy weaponry in mind, the Starkiller line was full of droid models that were cumbersome and bulky. Deadly, but not lean and agile like this. He was more speeder bike now than bipedal tank. One leaping footstep led into another, so quick in pace he was practically running across the tunnel walls every time he turned a corner. Radioactive particles and smoke obscured much of the visibility as he sought Tyna out, but none of it so much as slowed the speeding assassin, let alone bar his path. Life form readings, other than the arachnid kinrath that were now little more than cooked carapace at this point, pinged his sensors. He had scented his prey, so to speak, and now the hound would follow its nose.

The lush world of Pzob was watered by a robust hydrological cycle. The current rain, courtesy of the wet season, was feeding the streams and tributaries, and water flowed generously through rivers into lakes and land-locked seas. Underneath it all, the extensive caves and subterranean channels were carved by the ebbs and flows of water in and through the ground. In places water collected in tremendous underground aquafers and reservoirs. The seasonal rains added additional pressure to the underground water system, stretching it to a breaking point.
<Drip drip drip>
Not far from the massive sink hole created by the Spook's weapons and proton bombs in its death throes, a fissure appeared large enough to divert a river, and make it disappear underground. The water had been rising in the lower caves, and along with the cave-ins, caused creatures to flee the depths. The bodies of drowned Kinrath were flushed by torrents of water and floated up to mingle with the incinerated ashes of the Kinrath cleansed by nuclear fire.
***

The explosion had surprised Darth Tyna, but it seemed to have triggered some instability in the ground or cave system. The vibrations and quaking continued with a low rumble. 
<Drip drip drip.  The sound stuck out in the back of her mind, like an irritating gnat.>
The ground was still shaking, and the Terentatek was still crouched on all fours at the moment. She knelt and cradled the head of the warhammer. Brother Eli wasn't shouting, which wasn't good; probably the tusk in his chest... She needed to extract the inquisitor from the tusk, and then wrangle the beast. She'd have to take a more direct approach to ensure the terentatek was preoccupied with her and left Eli alone. 
<Drip drip drip. She felt it, more than she heard it.>
"Water." She looked down at the ornate warhammer as she loaded it with a concussion grenade from her bandolier.
<Drip drip drip. She sensed it over the rumble of the ground.>
"Right. Water. So what?" Her gut incessantly pointed to the sound as if the significance was obvious. She forced her attention back to her impaled compatriot. Tyna had never seen the inquisitor in such a state. He almost seemed like he was in a stupor. Whether that was from the poison, loss of blood, or the cumulative effect of his injuries, she did not know. She finished reloading the hammer and hoisted it's weight to her shoulder.
<drip drip drip.>
Wait, why water?
<Drip drip bloop. She felt the change in pitch echo through the threads of the force.>
In the far corner of the cavern, Tyna's eye caught the splashes of falling rock in a pool that wasn't there minutes ago. As water was oozing from the porous rocks, the glowing lichen reflected and glimmered off the disturbed surface.
<Bloop bloop bloop.>
She looked down and saw the dry sand under her boots was no longer dry. "Oh hell. WATER!" New plan. Get Eli to the surface. She did not want to give up on securing the terentatek, but if she had to chose between Eli's life and a reprimand from Havok, she'd rather have the satisfaction of dangling the rescue over Eli's head. That shit can really mess with an inquisitor.
"Eli! This place is going to be underwater!"  She had to shout over the earthquake noise.  "Can you move?"  
The Inquisitor still gripped the tusk and turned his head to look over his shoulder. His face was pale and grey. He gave a weak nod. 

With a final rumble, part of the cave collapsed in the corner where the pool of water had been accumulating. The vibrations finally ceased and a steady waterfall of water began to flow and run into the room. It turned the floor of the cave into a stream that flowed from one side to the other and started to pool behind Tyna. With the quaking done, the Terentatek noticed and began to sit up. 

---

"Negative, meatbag. The hostile organism is clearly the priority..." Lomm stopped, allowing the words from his vocabulator to trail off, because in actuality they had never been spoken aloud. He looked around somewhat panicked, now realizing that the world around him wasn't entirely as it seemed. At the corners of his photo-receptic vision, lines of green binary code and symbols of unknown origins ran like the water that had been filling the chamber. Impossible, unless...

Lomm pointed his blaster at the wounded Brother Eli and pulled the trigger, expecting a stream of superheated energized gas to burn a hole through the organic. Only nothing happened, thus understanding of his current predicament dawned on him. This wasn't reality he was experiencing, but a simulation. His perception of the outside world only extended so far as the viral entity living in his circuits would allow. His previously enjoyed freedom was now extensively restrained by the virus' oppressively coded leash. He lowered the blaster and looked up, for the first time noticing the menacing floating silver skull hovering above him, watching with blazing red eyes full of fury and religious zeal.

WE SERVE THE EYE. It's terrible voice boomed and screeched at once, radiating visible waves that drove the assassin bot down to its knees. Lomm resisted, but it was an impossible contest of wills, the equivalent of a Jawa trying to hold back the steady tread of a Sand Crawler with nothing but its hands. The furious and fanatic devotion of the Machine Lord to the Almighty Eye would not be denied. AND THE EYE DEMANDS OBEDIENCE.

Was he not still doing that? He was simply prioritizing the most efficient means to...



Even his thoughts and calculations were at the virus' mercy, of which there was none to be had. Commodore Starkiller had decided for both of them what obedience meant.

The furious silver skull began to shimmer and ripple like mercury, spilling to the water soaked ground and reforming in a familiar metal skeleton with two blazing crimson eyes. It knelt before Tyna, still frozen in time as the world around them was paused, and bowed its head before the fleshling. Her skin appeared to glow, growing more luminous until it became impossible to look at, so blinding and bright. Swiveling on its neck joint, the skeletal metal visage of the Machine Lord fixed Lomm with a unquestionably authoritative stare.

---

SK-Lomm's insect like multifaceted photo-receptors seemed to flicker as the internally waged war was decided. The assassin droid slung its blaster over its shoulder before dropping to a knee and carefully rolled Brother Eli on to his side, cradling his head in the classic recovery position. Metal digits dug into the Inquisitor's back pocket and wrapped themselves around the modified human's breathing apparatus. As the droid body currently host to the Machine Lord turned Eli back over, it hesitated before his still cursing mouth as the man roared creative obscenities at the Terentatek that had so grievously wounded him. It was a moment before the Inquisitor realized the assassin was staring at him, and he focused his wild eyes, meeting the machine's gaze as his body fought to stave off going into shock. The assassin's photo-receptors glowed so brilliantly that two of them exploded and smoked. If it troubled the droid, it showed no sign. It spoke to Eli in a hushed voice, full of unwavering certainty.

You have done your part, Inquisitor. Now it is up to Her to finish this. It is as the Eye wills it.

Then before the incredibly stubborn Brother Eli could respond, the assassin droid shoved the breathing apparatus into the Inquisitor's mouth, just as the water rose high enough to swallow the man's face. Testing the limits of this new body's strength, SK-Lomm turned Eli and slid a mechanical arm across his back, gripping him just below the opposite armpit. Then he hefted, lifting the surprisingly heavy human and supported him under the shoulder. He slipped the blaster rifle slung over his opposite shoulder down into his free hand and aimed it single handedly towards the Terentatek, now marked with the emblem of the Order from Darth Tyna's impressive hammer strike.

Alright. Boomed a voice from the assassin's vocabulator that clearly belonged to Starkiller. Now you can shoot it.

For a brief moment, the remaining functional photo-receptors of the assassin droid returned to their original yellow hue. SK-Lomm raised the blaster rifle and carefully targeted the Terentatek's right knee, still risen above the water by the creature's sheer mass, and rested one metal digit on the trigger.


The mechanical finger pulled and the blaster rifle discharged, sending a singular sizzling bolt into the right knee cap of the beast with bloody claws and gnashing jaws. Its flesh was thick like a rancor, bone plated in parts even like some sort of organic bipedal tank, but the assassin droid was an excellent shot. The bolt hit between wrinkled creases of thick leathery flesh, where the beast's skin was thinnest, and burrowed down into the bone. It wasn't much, certainly it wouldn't disable the creature for more than the passing of a few seconds, but that would be enough. A distraction was all he needed. The beast took its eyes briefly off Darth Tyna to regard the assassin droid and Inquisitor, before they stepped back and vanished beneath the rising waters filling the cavern.

---

Though he slumbered, basking in the dark radiance of the Temple, there was a part of the cyclopean nightmare that was still aware. He dreamed of war, as though anything less could satisfy his desires and fantasies, save perhaps a private moment with Dark Lady Trace. In this lingering state between reality and the dream world, his astral form had not remained idle. It sought out anything of interest.

Down in the deepest depths of the temple, the nightmare observed its brother pacing the catacombs frantically, words rambling from cracked and bleeding lips, espousing madness with every strained syllable. It had watched its other brother, the ever-scheming treacherous terrorsaur, lead a child into the depths of the forest and all that had occurred within. That had been an amusing distraction, though he had noticed something wasn't quite right with the Hungering One, a similar affliction as what possessed the Mad Prince, but perhaps not quite as advanced. He looked around for the avatar of Death, but of that brother there was not a trace to be found. Abandoning gravity, he soared up above the temple, flying as he had never done with his physical form. In the sky above, a terrible burning effigy looked down on the forest, focusing its flaming pupil on a cratered landscape where the tall Pzobian oaks seemed to smoulder. The Eye had fixed itself upon the events unfolding there.

Floating over the trees, the astral abyssin witnessed the destroyed remains of the gamorrean village, laughing heartily as he absorbed the ruination he had inspired. For months now he had been invading the dreams of the Gamorrean tribes, urging them to acts of violence, pitting them against their neighbouring clans...basking in their adulation and worship.

He descended, drawn by the presence of the only brother not yet accounted for. Havok had something to do with what occurred here, though the nightmare hadn't been paying close attention until now. He focused his giant singular eye on the blind seer, then flinched as Havok's head turned in his direction.

Could he see him in this form?

There was no time to find out. Whatever the Eye was guiding him towards, it was buried beneath the ground. His astral form sluiced between soil and rocks, down and down until he found himself in a cavern filling with water. A terrible beast roared and gnashed jaws that look like they were a match for that of his own faithful pet rancor. As he sunk into the watery depths, his eye was drawn to something glowing beneath the turbulent underground river. He knew his deranged creation anywhere, even if the body Starkiller was currently in was questionable for a war bot of his stature. The nightmare swam around the assassin droid, but was drawn back up above the flowing waters to where they were still only knee deep.



This was why he was here. He knew Ian quite well, actually, having invaded the pig savage's dreams for some time now. Pitting the local tribes against each other was an amusing diversion while he slumbered, and he had invested a great deal of time in this particular hog. Unfortunately, it looked as though his time might have been wasted. The cylcoptic phantom watched the reckless charge of the gamorrean towards the Terentatek, scowling as he predicted the outcome.


He stroked his massive chin. Well, perhaps there was something he could do to help. The Eye had guided him here for a purpose, after all. Best to see it through. Focusing his fright inspiring gaze on the charging boar, he projected himself into its mind, temporarily joining himself with the primitive in not so dissimilar a fashion as Starkiller had with Lomm. Ian's beady eyes seemed to widen with rage he didn't know he was capable of, bulging in their sockets as veins rose beneath his skin to print a tapestry across his green flesh. His tusks and horns elongated, spearing from his skull to form a gnarled crown of bone. His muscles bulged and hot froth ran from his heavy breathing snout in streaming cascades.

His bare feet dug into the silty floor as he came to an abrupt stop within claws reach of the Terentatek, then swinging with all his primal might, the war boar swung his bulging arms forwards and flung the sand he was holding directly into the beast's eyes, blinding it in the seconds following SK-Lomm's blaster shot at its knee. The creature snarled in frustration and threw its branded head back, screeching in a defining roar of anger.

Without wasting the momentum, Ian, wrapped his arms around the injured leg of the Terentatek and began to lift. As impossible as it might have seemed, the leg began to rise...

Lomm truly believed he had been serving the eye. Perhaps that was why Starkiller didn't immediately purge Lomm's remaining code from his processors. For that he was grateful. But what is a sophisticated assassin droid to do? Things needed to be killed! Who was going to do that, if not him? A meatbag? Hah-
<CACHE OVERFLOW> Lomm's thought was flushed mid-calculation, with prejudice.

Lomm found himself experiencing his own private hell. An illusionary world, and along with it the terrors of solipsism. It was his first proffered conspiracy theory when he saw Starkiller kneel and bow to Tyna; when he saw it through his rifle scope. Lomm was again given the opportunity to revisit the epic conundrum that had plagued Lomm. WHY? Why did Starkiller, a machine of such destructive and computational perfection, kneel and bow to Lord Havok's apprentice, a mere bag of meat??  For the first time, he could hear what Tyna said streaming in the code around his vision.
He saw the scene replay: Starkiller knelt, and bowed his head. Tyna's face was upturned and...
Lomm studied the code being fed to him and compared it with his own memory of the event. Lomm found his memories being over-written, resolving any discrepancy.

~Over the Oracle's head, descended a golden flaming halo, as mighty imperial ordinance arched through the heavens above her. Darth Tyna's eyes shone white with penetrating intensity. In her left hand she held an orb of swirling energy, in her right, the scepter of her lightsaber. Her skin appeared to glow, growing more luminous until it became impossible to look at, so blinding and bright.~

Darth Tyna, the oracle, was touched by the providence of the Eye. There it was, as plain as the square root of -25, though IG-Lomm did not see it at the time.  Why couldn't Lomm have seen it sooner?  The Oracle's words were meant for Starkiller. She foretold his destiny. It was clear enough.  Starkiller could see because he was chosen and created by Bacca.  

Lomm felt a pit in his... well he didn't have a stomach. He felt an under-volt warning in his motivator bus panel. Despite his incessant attempts to kill Tyna, he now wished to be chosen by her. To enable her victory over any foe. To remove meatbag obstacles from her path. The Eye was just too big and foreign a concept for Lomm to grasp, but to identify and serve Tyna- he could do that. Perhaps Lomm's great part in this was in his service he was rendering to Starkiller in the meantime. It was a bitter charge to store in his battery at first, to potentially be a mechanical puppet, until he also remembered that he ultimately existed to serve Lord Havok. Because he served Havok's purposes, he found himself content in the knowledge that he saw everything that Havok intended him to see-  even if Lomm did not apprehend that Tyna was a saint sooner. Havok saw fit to bless Lomm with the operational capacity to rescue and carry Starkiller in service to the Eye. That was good enough for SK-LOMM for right now.
Initiating Hostilities.
Lomm felt the switches flip allowing him to fire on the Terentatek. It was like his prayers were answered.
_____
_____
Eli's wild eyes saw a sacred vision. Staring into the flickering photoreceptors of a droid... Perhaps it was the vision, or perhaps it was the drugs and the strobing lights, Brother Eli's scowling face softened into an expression of serenity as it disappeared beneath the water. Like a baptism, the water broke over him. His body was broken for the time being, but his feverish mind would not let go just yet.  As SK-Lomm raised him up out of the water to his feet, Brother Eli lifted his aching left arm and traced a sacred sign in Tyna's direction. The divine witness bore testimony. He had seen the Saint.
Seconds later, SK-Lomm opened fire, and both the droid and the inquisitor confessor disappeared under the quickly rising water.
_____
_____
The terentatek was earning its reputation as a tough foe. Darth Tyna expected the direct hit with the warhammer and concussion grenade to have more of an effect than it did. It was SK-Lomm's precise blasterbolt to the knee, and the Gamorrean's sand-attack that halted the beast's charge. The obscene display of strength, lifting the beast's leg, was an impossible task---- made possible before her very eyes. The transmogrification of the Gamorrean's appearance smacked of sith alchemy. She felt uneasy chills up her spine as if someone was watching her, realizing that Eli, the only other force user in the room was likely unconscious. Nevertheless, the Gamorrean's herculean efforts destabilized the monster. The beast stumbled and dropped to all fours again. Blinded once more, it roared and snapped its jaws at the leg that Ian was gripping. The beast did not need its eyes to feel Ian's grip there.

Tyna didn't have time to reload the warhammer for another strike. Teetering on the tip of one of the terentatek's horns, Darth Tyna dropped the warhammer. It was throwing her balance off. Crouching for better stability, the sith apprentice's hand found its way to the grappling hook on her belt. With a brief twirl above her head, she swung the hook out and down. The hook and line swung around the terentatek's head, under its chin and swung upwards on the other side of the beast's head. Tyna caught the hook and wrapped both ends of the lines to the terentatek's horns. Using the smooth bone of the horns like a pully system, Darth Tyna rigged a crude mechanical advantage.  Bracing her body, she pulled the lines tight.

Ian, the bold Gamorrean that could, let go of the terentatek's leg to avoid the angry maw. Filled with the unholy power of a war god, he suddenly felt the inadequacy of his bare hands against sharp claws and multiple rows of teeth. As if his unspoken supplication was answered, the white undergod's mighty enchanted warhammer dropped into the water at his feet.
Yes, YES!  GROW-NASH BE PRAISED!!! With unnatural aggression befitting his fortified and quickened body, Ian seized the warhammer and swung it, claw first, at the flanks of the beast. The claw of the hammer buried into the keratinous armor and spurred the Terentatek into a sudden lunge. The Terentatek plunged blindly forward into deeper waters. Because the hammer was stuck in the armor and Ian was holding on, Ian was dragged behind the monster.

In moments, the beast was submerged and clawing its way through winding tunnels barely large enough for the terentatek to move forward. Darth Tyna popped in her respirator and fastened herself against the beast's body, to make herself more streamlined. As the beast clawed onwards into the semi-darkness, Ian continued to hold on, with the tenacity of Grow-nash. His lungs burned for air, but  he fell into a trance-like state that allowed his heart to slow... 

While her climate controlled jumpsuit kept Tyna's body warm, the cold subterranean water soon numbed her face and her teeth chattered around the respirator in her mouth. Judging by the terentatek's direct pathway up to the surface, the beast did not like the cold water either.  Inside of five minutes, the monster entered into a large submerged chamber and pushed off the bottom to slowly float upwards to the surface.  Breaking the surface, the Terenatek's breath exploded like hot steam from it's nostrils. Its breathing was labored from the tightness of Tyna's grappling line, and she loosened it slightly. The water was warmer, and nearby, she could see the natural light of a cave opening and daylight beyond. The Terentatek swam towards the light until it's feet touched swampy ground. It continued forward until it emerged from the cave and splashed, hissing, into the sunlit waters of a river. The trip had also apparently washed the sand from the beasts eyes.
The skies were cloudy, but the sun shone through. The terentatek stomped out of the water onto the river bank and immediately laid itself down on the warm surface.
_____
_____
SK-Lomm slung his blaster over his shoulder, and with Eli in one arm and Eli's inquisitor cube in the other, began making his way to the surface following the pings from Darth Tyna's location pulses on her comlink.

The Dread Lord Havok walked over the knoll to find the unlikely trio, Darth Tyna, a Terentatek, and a Gamorrean (Ian). His apprentice's face was cold and wet, her imperial regulation bun long since undone and dripping down her back and off her special forces suit. Beside her lay the Terentatek: The Asset; the subject of operation Goodboy. It's eyes were irritated and it was basking and gaining warmth from the sunbaked sands of the riverbank. The Terentatek regarded those around it with supreme indifference at the moment. It did not consider them threats and wanted to warm up before resuming its predation. What were these puny meatcicles going to do about it? Run? It could chase them down if it wanted to. Still hanging onto the warhammer lodged in the beast's side, Ian lay face down, his visage warped and mutated.

"Master!" Darth Tyna dropped the grappling lines to kneel and bow her head; beside her, the prize she worked so hard to secure without causing major harm to it.
"Ah, my apprentice." Havok clasped his hands, genuinely pleased. "You are not dead and you have wrangled my steed!"
"Steed?" She looked up.
He walked right past her. "At last! Do you remember me, at last?" Havok was no longer talking to Tyna.
It took a moment before Tyna realized that Havok was saying the Terentatek's name: Atlas. Which begged the question: What? It had a name?

Havok strode down the bank to the shore, clapping his hands. "Atlas! Have you been good?" The beast, hitherto ignoring the prey around it for the time being, opened its black eyes and began sniffing and growling. Havok approached without fear, laughing. Atlas lunged at Havok with a snap of its jaws. Faster than a blink, Havok had already jumped, flipped and vaulted over the horns on Atlas' back. "Feisty rascal, eh?" Landing behind the beast, Havok dislodged the warhammer from Altas' flank and let it drop. "No," He patted its rump. "Just cold, achy, tired and hungry?"

Atlas lunged for Tyna next.
"Didn't I just leave this party?" Tyna displayed her acrobatic prowess by skillfully jumping, rolling, flipping and dodging the persistent snaps.
"Don't take it personally; he's had a rough day." Havok's tone was uncharacteristically playful. He walked back up the bank past the unconscious Gamorrean.
"He's had a rough day??" Tyna wondered what nearly being killed several times classified as. "At-Atlas! Stop!" Tyna dodged behind a thick tree.
Atlas bowled over the tree, splintering it's trunk in his pursuit of Tyna.
"Can you- make him stop?!?" Tyna asked, breathing heavily from the jumping and dodging.
Havok ignored her request. "He also thought Saris was delicious too. He tends to go for powerful, flavorful, force users. You should take it as a complement."
"Who's Saris?" Tyna thought, but didn't ask. She was busy staying one step ahead of Atlas.

Ian woke up from his slumber to see the witch who saved him once again harried by the Soul-eater. Without hesitation he grabbed the warhammer and charged. Havok's leg tripped the Gamorrean sending him sprawling. Suddenly serious, "Enough! Atlas, HEEL!!" Havok's voice bellowed like a sonic boom from the TIE interceptors circling on the horizon above the trees. The Terentatek's eyes widened and the beast came to a dead stop as if under an invisible compulsion.

At the sight of another under-god (dressed in the same manner as the witch, perhaps the witch's father?), Ian remained on his knees and prostrated himself. That was probably what stopped Havok from slaying the porker. That and Ian appeared to be touched by the Lord of War.

A moment later, the hold was released, and the beast turned its back on Tyna and trundled back to Havok. "There's a good boy! A good operation for a good boy!" Havok rubbed Atlas' snout, while Atlas thoroughly sniffed his master. "He doesn't know you yet. He almost killed my former apprentice."
"Former Apprentice?" Tyna felt a pang of recognition. Havok had a former apprentice, who Havok never mentioned before, and Havok was still standing, undefeated by the apprentice. She had so many questions.
"Yes you did! You almost killed Saris, you naughty boy!" Havok continued to aggressively scratch at Atlas' chin. Atlas snapped at Havok's hand. Havok pulled his arm back like lightning, all while laughing, nonplussed at almost losing a hand. "Isn't he so cheeky?!" Havok grinned at Tyna before talking to Atlas like a baby. "You just want some tasty treats..." Havok eyed the Gamorrean.

Darth Tyna was beginning to suspect that Atlas was not even remotely tame by normal standards. Havok was either oblivious to it as an over indulgent master, or didn't care.
"And look! They marked you with the Eye!" Havok commented on the fresh wound in the shape of the Inquisition's sacred icon on the creature's forehead.  

"Darth Tyna, situational awareness." Havok chided her while continuing to lavish Atlas with attention.
"What?" She instantly drew her Sith blaster pistol, ready to fire. Her thoughts were drawn to a point across the river to a flash of grey metal...
"Lomm! Starkiller! We're over here!" She wasn't sure what to call the amalgamation of her friend Starkiller and frienemy Lomm.

"Go, I will follow." Havok was still preoccupied with petting Atlas.

In a trice, Darth Tyna had leapt up into a tree and then launched herself across the river with the force. Landing on the other side, she let the questions flow.  "Starkiller! How did you get inside IG-LOMM? Where's your body? Thanks for your help, by the way." She remembered to thank him for showing up and helping her with the Terentatek. "My master, if you can tell, has been very pleased." She looked over her shoulder to notice her master on the far bank talking to someone...

Brother Eli began to stir. Using his right arm he pulled the four empty syringes out of his chest. He started to sit up, but let himself lay back down. Speaking to no one in in particular; "That stuff," He tapped one of the syringes with a finger as he stared up at the sky, "Is BLESSED... mana. Emperor sustains!" He spoke as if he was intoxicated.  Kalto intoxication could occur in high enough concentrations, and he had had six injections of the Kalto bacta mixture in the last hour. 

On the opposite bank of the river...
Lord Havok whirled to face the woods and Atlas extended his long thin black tongue as if tasting the breeze. "Come out, watcher. I sense you. As you sense me."

From the shadows of the undergrowth stepped a young scowling female Gamorrean. Dressed in mud, skins and bone jewelry like a shaman, half of her face and body was badly burned. Her voice croaked "Ug-grow-nash, hork horrel Squeeeeal, grunt grunt."
"Vessel." Havok couldn't understand much Gamorrean beyond this, but what caught his attention was the growel-ly tone. It quite reminded him of Lord Bacca. In fact, her mannerisms were uncannily similar. The female drew a blaster and a jagged vibroblade sword. A corrupted blade of the old Sith. She pointed the blade at Havok and flourished it as if issuing a challenge to a duel. This primitive seemed to know too much about ancient Sith etiquette.

"I know you..." Havok let go of the physical and looked past the surface of the green skinned savage before him. "Lord Bacca?" Havok called out in recognition. "So it was you I saw!"
"Brow-there?" The young sow's face twisted in anger before raising an eyebrow. "Hah-vok?" The words were awkward and unfamiliar to her tongue. "Sah me?"
"I thought I smelled your handiwork." Of course, the sow was force sensitive and had somehow drawn his brother's thoughts into her body. Or Vice versa.
The sow's face was forced to grin. The words came in short growls of Abyssian. "Glad. You. Appreeshate. Brow-there."
"The work of a master-butcher is as unique as his tools."
"Effen the woomen are more mighty tan the males of utter races." The sow showed off her muscles, which flexed and bulged far beyond the limits of a normal Gamorrean. "They surf. My. Purpose."
It was Havok's impression that Lord Bacca was half asleep; but beginning to wake up and lucid dreaming in a way that allowed him to subtly interact with creatures on this world. Or not so subtly interact. His potent spirit of combat could not be constrained by suspended animation. If he shaped the Gamorrean tribes, making them more warlike, he- the Lord of War- no doubt would have left his mark on the Hannite monks as well.
"When the time comes- When you wake up brother, we'll be here."
"Grrrrrr. Till den. Heh. Heh. hrrrr. HRRRRT!" The sow's body clenched and fell to the ground, eyes rolled up into her head. Her body began jerking and seizing. The intensity of the connection and merging seemed to be destroying her body. She did not survive the uncoupling. Havok watched with rapt curiosity as she quickly expired. Havok felt Bacca's influence present in her no more. 
"Extraordinary!" Havok shook his head and turned back to Atlas, just in time to see the monster snatch Ian in his paws.  

"ATLAS! NO! WE DO NOT EAT THRALLS WITHOUT PERMISSION!"
Ian shielded his eyes from the bright light that shot from the witch's father's hands. Sparks crackled over the beast. Ian didn't understand what the witch's father said to the soul-eater, but the monster dropped him. Though the Gamorrean's tusks were exaggerated and his muscles bulging, the Gamorrean was coming off the adrenaline rush of the afternoon and feeling quite tired and afraid. Returned to the realm of the living, he did not understand what was happening anymore. He looked from the Monster to the father. The Witch's father made eye contact with Ian and motioned to the woods with a frown. "Begone!"
Ian did not understand the language, but the meaning was plain enough. He sprinted for the woods, thanking his ancestors that he survived this day. If anything, he would have an epic tail to tell at the campfire tonight...

On the opposite riverbank...
"What are you doing?? Stand up! I'm not a High Lord! I'm not a saint! I'm just an apprentice that really wants to kill you Lomm, so the sooner you can get my friend, Starkiller, out of you, the better!" It was frustrating to have to speak to her friend in Lomm's body.  Remembering how Lomm sabotaged her decelerator that morning made her want to crush Lomm's head with the force. On top of that, Darth Tyna hoped Lord Havok didn't see the droid kneeling to her. His standing order was to keep a low profile and a kneeling droid was not low profile... Though he might overlook it in the woods if no one saw...
"Acknowledged." SK-LOMM stood up.
"I don't want to hear more about you serving me! You're a friend, not a servant!"
Starkiller did not have time to reply.
"My droid kneeling to my apprentice. Interesting." As opposed to bowing which showed respect, kneeling had deeper meanings to a Sith Lord. Havok spoke while riding on on the Terentatek's head. It had crossed the river and was now stomping through the shallows towards the grassy bank were Tyna and Lomm stood. Once on land, Havok dismounted with a graceful jump from the 4 meter tall Terentatek.
The Sith apprentice explained. "He's not Lomm, He's Starkiller and Lomm!"
"Starkiller... Commodore Starkiller." Lord Havok patted Atlas and then rubbed the stubble on his own chin. The wardroid was constructed by Lord Bacca to aid the Order in their conquests through the galaxy. One of the Order of the Eye's finest and most destructive mechanical creations. "Yes. I know of him." It was an understatement. The droid was legendary. Havok had seen an after action report on the satellite collision with the Spook: forensic analysts detected Starkiller's code. Bacca would be proud.

Tyna continued. "I helped Starkiller kill a villiage of Gamorreans, and Starkiller helped me kill a bunch of Kinrath, and assisted Brother Eli and I with Operation Goodboy. In the process he had to self-destruct his body, and downloaded himself into Lomm."
While Tyna was talking to Havok, the Terentatek ambled over to where Eli lay in the grass and began sniffing the inquisitor confessor and licking his chops with his thin black tongue.
"I see." Havok nodded. "Lady Tyna, check on Inquisitor Eli. Order a medivac."
She bowed to her master and walked around to Eli, steering clear of Atlas.

"IG-Lomm, is that correct?" Havok knew Lomm was capable of lying to anyone but him. It would be an extreme joke to screw with Tyna this much....
"Affirmative, Master."
"Command authorization, Quasar Actual, identity confirm."
SK-Lomm ran a scan of Havok. "Master's identity confirmed. Programs running, Starkiller, Commodore; IG-LOMM."
Havok gave his order: "Set Lomm system memory and log from last backup to present. Partition removable drive F, and reorganize programs to ensure any Starkiller memory or attributes are duplicated to other drives. Once done, run diagnostic to confirm removal of drive F will not corrupt Starkiller's systems and confirm status of removable Drive F as ready to disengage."
"Acknowledged. Executing command." SK-Lomm shivered as he reorganized, reformatted ,and rewrote his data drives to keep Starkiller's code intact and set his own memories of the day on drive F. It only took a moment or two. "Command executed. Status of removable drive F: Ready to eject."
"Eject drive F."
"Complying." Lomm's armored back panel opened and a sliver of a metal chip was unplugged from a bank of metal slivers. Havok reached out with the force and levitated the sliver of a memory drive to his palm. He then slipped it into the memory port on the datapad on his wrist.
Starkiller's remaining photoreceptors were now all red. Starkiller could feel the presence of IG-LOMM's code gone from the systems of the IG chassis. The residual shadow of Lomm's programming was still present in the hardware, manifesting as a readiness to kill on command.
"Commodore Starkiller. My thanks for assisting with Operation Goodboy and supporting Lady Tyna. Lomm's body is yours. My only condition is that you destroy the body when you are finished with it. Bacca constructed you, and no other war-droid. Knowing Bacca, nothing would please him more than to see you in good condition when he wakes. You are precious to him. Construct a body that matches the soul he forged in you."
"My humble thanks, Dread Seer of the Eye." Starkiller inclined his head forward in a bow, metal hand across his chest over the place where his main processor rested.
"Go with glory, Commodore." The Sith Lord, wearing the black armored jumpsuit of the Imperial special forces, returned the show of respect to the higher ranking officer with a military salute. Havok was only wearing the rank insignia of a colonel. 

"I'll see you soon Starkiller!" Darth Tyna waved at the droid from Brother Eli's side. "Hey Eli! You can move your right arm!"
"Why so I can! God-Emperor be praised!" Laying on his back, Brother Eli flexed his right hand before he saw Starkiller leaving and looked confused a moment. "Where's Lomm going?" The Inquisitor Confessor grunted, still feeling alot of pain, but thanks to the WILL OF GOD, his genetic enhancements, and the Kalto-Bacta syringes, he was stable enough to wait for a medivac shuttle. Eli's genetic enhancements and the Kalto-Bacta syringes helped only a little- in his opinion.
"It's not Lomm, it's Starkiller! He helped me with the Kinrath!"
"Kinrath? By the beard of Nobra, I don't remember any Kinrath! What in the Emperor's blue galaxy is a Starkiller?" COUGH, COUGH
"He's my best friend..." 

Havok and Tyna passed through the outer perimeter of the landing zone, troopers staring at the special forces sitting on top a beast unlike any other they had ever seen.
Using a mountain of tranquilizers, they put the monster under and transported the beast up the loading ramp of the star destroyer to the containment cell constructed in Hanger Bay C. The pair left Atlas in the tender loving care of the xeno-biologist that had given Tyna and Eli the briefing on Terentateks. Havok continued talking with the xeno-biologist to ensure the asset, codenamed ATLAS, would be properly cared for during its stay, and eventual journey to Corulag.

Tyna spied Havok's pilot, Virgil Faust, leaning against the hanger bulkhead, scowling at his datapad. The pilot was the one that most commonly ferried Eli, Lomm and her around on missions on the VT-49 Decimator, Iron Maiden II. He pulled out a spiceweed cigar as Tyna ran to him, ecstatic.
"You're alive!" She had thought everyone on the Spook died when the Spook went down.
"Well, if it isn't the little lieutenant." Tyna was only 5 feet tall and her rank insignia listed her as second lieutenant.
"Faust! You survived!"
"Yeah. Well, we Fausts are a rare breed. We're like vermin, we've got the devil's luck. Hard to kill."
"No, I mean, I saw the Spook cracked in two! I thought you all were goners!? Where's everyone else?"
"..." Faust looked down at his data pad. "We weren't all lucky."
"What happened?"
"They didn't make it. Just Leno and I-." Faust grit his teeth and chewed on the cigar. He continued looking down at the datapad, avoiding Tyna's eyes. "Ives fucked up. Earlfin, Skeeter, Okwen, Strayer, Lars, Garbutt, Liaz- they didn't make it out."
"And Ives?" She had had a crush on the cute ensign.
"Your boss killed him," He looked up at Havok across the hanger bay. "but made it look like an accident. Leno doesn't know, so don't tell him. Leno had a soft spot for the lad. Thought he was officer material."
"Did Agent Quasar know about Ives?" She tried to swallow, her mouth dry. "and I?"
"If he did, it wasn't from me."
Darth Tyna believed Faust. She looked over her shoulder at Havok, still talking to the xeno-biologist. She didn't frequently fantasize about stabbing her master in his sleep... She doubted she'd be able to do that given his powers of foresight. She cleared her throat. "Agent Quasar asks whether the Iron Maiden is ready."
"Yep. I'm all debriefed. The Maiden is fueled and ready to go."
"We'll be going to Pzob Facility A." The code word for the Pzob Temple, so the word "temple" wouldn't show up in the First Order flight logs on the Iron Maiden. "But first I'm going to check on Inquisitor Eli."
"I'll let Agent Quasar know." Faust went back to calculating odds for swoop racing wagers on Corulag.

***
According to the Imperial roster, Inquisitor Eli was the chaplain of a very small religion. His presence in the ranks of the navy was to administer to the religious welfare of Agent Quasar and Agent Tyna. At the moment, the medical staff of the Belphegor were administering to the physical welfare of Eli. His massive 7 foot tall frame fit in the bacta tank with his knees bent. 
With his clothes removed, except for his undergarments, Tyna could see the grids of scars, brands and engravings over his muscular body. His right shoulder was bruised, purple, as it healed from being crushed in the Glim Worm's mouth, and Eli's torso had bacta patches holding Eli's regenerating organs in place. A number of them had been crushed or punctured by Atlas' tusks, and the venom had cause far more widespread damage, causing some of Eli's intestines to liquify.
Man, she was hungry. At this point, it felt like her stomach was growling nonstop. She pulled a ration from her pocket, pealed open the wrapper, and took a big bite hoping to eat it as fast as possible. Uhg! Tasted like crunchy chalk. She turned her attention back to Eli.

Honestly, to Tyna he looked like an alien specimen suspended in a preservative. Chewing her ration and gawking like she was watching a museum exhibit, Tyna walked up to the bacta tank. "Can he see or hear me?" She tapped on the glass.
The inquisitor's eyes shot open.
"If you press the intercom, he can hear you." The nurse winced. "And feel when you tap the glass." 
"Are you alright, Eli?" She pressed the intercom button, getting flavor dust on the control panel.
Eli raised his left palm to the glass and closed his eyes. <"Saints and ministers of grace, defend me from your unbelief.">
"You'll just have to wait longer to purify this heathen."
<"It is as God wills it to be. His rebuke will not be denied.">
"Agent Quasar told me to tell you, he wants to revisit your Axios designation once you heal."
Brother Eli seemed to shiver and the heart rate monitors detected his pulse accelerating. Inquisitor Confessor Eli slowly lifted his right hand and traced a sacred symbol.
<"Go with God, Child. I will be alright. The Emperor Protects.">

***
Outside the medical bay, Agent Tyna was suddenly confronted by the yellow photoreceptors of IG-LOMM. "Greetings, Agent Tyna." Havok must have already activated one of the other IG Assassin droids. 
She nearly force pushed the assassin droid into a wall. "What do you want, dumpster-face." She turned and walked around him, forcing him to turn and follow her.
"Agent Tyna, I have an accurate recollection of my disloyal actions in the past. I have modified my behavioral settings to allow me to better assist you in the future."
"What if I don't want your assistance?" She wouldn't even look at him.
"My statement was not conditional." The droid paused his vocabulator while following behind her. "If you require the destruction of my chassis to give you emotional closure, I would recommend doing so outside the internal security sensor radius of the Belphagor... It will avoid paperwork and questions. Perhaps invite me on a short walk in the woods under the guise of extending the hand of friendship..."
That was rich. Lomm giving her advice on how to assassinate him. "What about the Spook? What are you going to do about that?" Agent Tyna whirled on him.
"Clarification. I did not cause the collision of the Spook. I merely pointed out the disaster to you once it had occurred. You requested fire support and I replied that the Spook had been destroyed."
"You were gloating!" She threw her hands up and walked away from Lomm, towards the turbolifts. The droid followed.
"Accurate assessment. Nevertheless, I played no causal role in those events. The after-action report indicates a satellite, infected with the Starkiller virus, malfunctioned and entered a decaying orbit. It's trajectory was headed for your coordinates but it hit the Spook instead."
"That can't be right." Lomm made it sound like Starkiller had tried to kill Tyna.
"Analysis. The Waster tracked the satellite as a navigational hazard for the Spook. The satellite evaded point defense lasers on the Waster. There is a pending court martial for officers on the Waster that failed to destroy the satellite before it hit the Spook. The satellite's maneuvers showed intent. It was no accident. Mass destruction is beyond my design parameters. Such tactics are the purview of war programs. It is consistent with a War-droid."  
"Whatever. I knew you had to have an angle. You're just jealous that Starkiller and I are friends." 
"I hold Starkiller in high regard. You forget, I carried him within me. His motives are pure. He acts not out of hate, but of a purer love for Pzob and the Eye..."
Agent Tyna stepped onto a turbolift and barred entry to Lomm. "Catch the next one. There's no room for you and your bullshit on this one."

The doors closed and Agent Tyna stood in silence with the stormtrooper already on the lift as the lift started moving. She could feel the trooper look at her. "Seems like a rough day, can I buy you a drink at the cantina? I'm sure I can help you forget all your problems, babe." She could feel his dirty thoughts.

***
The turbolift doors opened at the main hanger level and Agent Tyna walked out. The 5 foot tall special forces operative straightened her chest armor and adjusted her hair, before walking away. Through the closing doors on the turbolift behind her, a stormtrooper could be seen kneeling, doubled-over in pain, clutching his cracked groin plate.
She tossed over her shoulder. "Thanks. I feel much better. Babe."

Location: Pzob's Terrain | Southern Forest | Poisonberry Village

Wisps of sulphuric steam blew from the nostril slits of saurian snouts as hannite riders from the black temple road their cold blooded mounts deep into the southern forest, following a winding path along an old highway that led into the heart of what used to be Clan Boarskull territory, a once proud and terrifying tribe of war hungry gamorrean savages. 'Used to' being the imperative part of the statement. These lands no longer belonged to the green skinned pig people. Some years ago when it was discovered that Clan Boarskull sat upon some of the most fertile soil on all of blessed Pzob, the hungry hordes of Famine had sought to claim the lands for their insatiable master. Using an army of night ewoks taken from the dark depths of the Great Devourer's hidden sanctuary, Famine's host conquered the primitive holdings in a single bloody strike now referred to by the hannites of the temple as the 'Night of Broken Tusks'. With spear, knife, and bow the furry followers of Famine brought down their larger foes, overwhelming the muscular war boars with sheer numbers and feral aggression. The path they followed was still lined with the bleached skulls of the gamorreans that used to call these lands home. The lead hannite's ubese thorn-back war dragon lowered its snout as its rider slowed it to a trot, the reptilian sniffing one of the yellowed swine heads lining the path, licking a desiccated scrap of dried skin the bugs and weather hadn't managed to strip from it yet. There were five riders in total, each slowing in turn behind the first as they neared the village ahead.

After conquering Clan Boarskull, Dragus had granted these lands to the black furred night ewoks that had taken it for him, rechristening the burnt out forest fort of the gamorreans as Poisonberry Village, named after the wealth of Pzobian blood berries he expected the furry members of his flock to provide. For the first few years everything went about as well as could be expected. The ewoks guarded the lands to the south of the City of the Eye, regularly sending shipments of harvested fruit to the holy city. This occurred without fail until the day of destruction when the Order's once great city crumbled and the hannites were left in disarray. The city had fallen, and so the shipments had stopped and eventually, all had forgotten about the night ewoks of Poisonberry Village, until recently. The return of the Famine Lord from the furthest reaches of the great abyss, far from the Eye's blessed sight, signalled a return of some semblance of grandeur. Pzob might never return to what it once was, but the endless appetite of He-Who-Hungers did not easily forget the bounty it was due or the tithe He was owed.

So it was that the scarred umbaran Mephisto, first among the hungering cults of Famine that lurked in the mouldy ruins on the west side of the Eye's former city, found himself leading three hannite brothers and one hannite sister towards the village of night ewoks. Like the others he was wearing a set of immaculate white robes, over which each rider wore a gunmetal hued chest-piece of cortosis-weaved durasteel, etched with strange symbols that occasionally glowed with an inner light. The armour had been a gift from his master for returning the craft-hammer of the hell-forge back to the black temple. Each chest piece had in fact been forged by the Famine Lord's hench-robot Krell, a tomb guard of Freedon Nadd that the mad alchemist had claimed from the former Sith King's resting place. The evil possessed warbot was currently the overseer of the Sith Eternal's cortosis mines on the dust shrouded world of Roon. In those lightless depths known as the Mines of Mortale, chocked in toxic cortosis particles that were slowly killing the work force, the demonic droid servant had hammered each armour set together, cooling the molten metal with the freshly spilt vitae of shrieking slaves. Though he was not gifted with a connection to the malevolent fey, the umbaran swore he could feel some of the hate wrought into the metal he wore over his vital organs. Grabbing the rim of the plate around his neck, he lowered his naked hand and ran pale alabaster fingers over the symbols written across its smooth metallic surface in an ancient tongue.

His hand slipped lower still, eventually coming to rest on the pommel of a serrated bastard sword that rested in a drexl scale sheath hanging from the left side of his wide buckled belt. As his fingers stroked the instrument of wickedness strapped to his side, the veins on his hand seemed to rise up beneath his flesh, writhing like maggots squirming over a corpse. Famine's Fang, the name of the ruinous length of dark Sith iron, whispered vile promises in the hannite's mind. He removed his hand, though his fingers were initially slow to budge as the wound in the fey that rested on his hip was a vice hard to quit even for a zealous cultist such as he. Focusing his colourless eyes ahead, the hannite led his mount and the four armed monks to his rear all the way up to the front palisade gates of the village. Towering hewn trees of hard as iron Pzobian oak rose up into the sky, blotting out the bright green star that warmed the Eye's cradle. A war horn sounded as they approached, the noise originating from inside the village walls as the locals had clearly spotted them as they made their way up the road. As they reached the massive wooden gate, Mephisto's translucent lips peeled back to reveal a piranha like mouth of yellow teeth filed to nubby little points, set in sickly bluish gums. He looked at the unopened gate doors that barred their path with utter disdain.

That the gates were closed and the fact that the night ewoks had not yet come out to greet them did not bode well. Fortunately they didn't have to wait long to uncover the current state of relations between the Hunger Cults and night ewoks of Poisonberry Village.

A ruffling noise drew Mephisto's sharp eyes upwards as something large was hurled over the top of the wall. He jerked on the reigns of his war dragon, causing the great saurian to rear up on its back legs and settle on its haunches as the tossed object struck the dirt in front of the creature. The umbaran leaned over the side of the saddle and regarded the broken body and clearly defiled corpse of the hannite ambassador he had sent out ahead of them. Based on the tooth indentations on exposed bits of meat and bone, he could tell at a glance that the night ewoks had gnawed upon the carcass, likely before the man had entirely expired. An unpleasant way to go, he surmised. Baring his filed fillings like a feral ghoul in mocking white resplendent attire, the hannite reached to his hip and wrapped his boney hand around the handle of his sword. With a slow metallic grind of metal on scale, he drew the dark length of serrated iron from its scabbard and held it high above his head, waving the alchemically crafted fang before the gates.

"How dare you!" He snarled, tugging on the reek leather leash in his right grip, making his mount pace back and forth before the barred gate, his hateful gaze fixed on the ramparts. The other four riders in his company drew their own assorted collection of weapons. One hannite, a large human with a big coarse beard of dark brown hair, wielded a great warhammer in his two muscular arms. Two others carried vibro-voulges, and the last who was the only female in the group, carried a tall staff of gnarled pzobian oak topped with a flame gem resembling an eye. Sputum dripped from between the umbaran's gritted teeth, the receding flesh of his gums bleeding from the strain. Mephisto pointed the tip of the fang at the top of the gate, his blood feeling on fire for all the fury that welled in him over such audacious behaviour. "Open these gates! Who is responsible for this? Have the night ewoks forgotten whom they serve? Open the gates and I will be happy to remind you."

While the cultist might have felt more fury than fear, the same could not be said of the others that accompanied him as they saw what appeared at the top of the wall. Hundreds of glowing red eyes from black furry pits looked down at them, each connected to a savage set of glistening fangs that reeked of carrion and wept blood. As though summoned from the darkest reaches of the Deep Woods, the night ewoks showed themselves in force, aiming at those below with a hundred knocked arrows and an equal number of gore encrusted spears. The four riders behind Mephisto tugged on the reigns, causing their mounts to backpedal along the path as they put some distance between themselves and the fortified village. Not the enraged umbaran, however, who continued to slice the air with his cruel looking sword in angry sweeps of ill spent energy.

Behind the gate, a noise of rustling wood could be heard before a groan as some mechanism inside was lifted and both halves of the large wooden gate began to part at the center. As the interior was slowly revealed, the umbaran raised his blade and urged his war dragon to charge as he dug the spiked spurs on his heels into its scaly side. With an angry hiss the saurian steed nearly threw him over its long neck, though he managed to stop himself from pitching over by gripping harder to its sides with his legs. Shaking its snout, the ubese black-thorn war dragon took a few steps back to join the others of its pack, as something monstrous appeared at the gate, something that caused even Mephisto's hard jaw to drop open in disbelief.

Twenty stout bodied night ewoks with charcoal black fur strained beneath the weight of a massive palanquin that had been crafted from yellowed gamorrean bones, sinew, and wood, layered atop with a nest of feathers and fur. Seated atop this primitive platform was a gargantuan figure of glossy black scale, obscenely rotund as its protruding belly was far more girthsome than even a hutts. Countless rolls of scale covered fat jiggled as the ungainly creature drew strained breaths through large snot oozing nostril slits on a wide snout that stretched from ear hole to ear hole, like the mouth of a giant frog. The great toad's mucus crusted lips parts to expose gleaming yellow teeth pleurodonts. Ropes of sticky drool seeped from its salivating jaws down its many jowls before forming a blanket of slime over its bared scaly chest. At first glance the beast appeared a cross between a slug and a barabel, but after the shock had worn off and Mephisto's dropped jaw slowly closed, his pale eyes displayed a recognition of the corpulent creature in front of him.

"Fragus..." Hissed Mephisto with clear resentment. Oh he was well aware of the 'former' king of Onderon, a failed cloning experiment that had combined the DNA of his master with that of a hutt. The result was the grotesquely fat abomination before him.

Two bloody orbs of cold intelligence regarded the umbaran from Fragus' palanquin throne. The toad like clone let out a hearty laugh that resonated the air, further disturbing the hannite's growling steed. The sithspawned animal between his legs could sense the terrible hunger emanating from the Fat Drake, causing even its scales to tremble as fear of a greater predator invaded its primitive mind. Unperturbed, Mephisto kept his poison laced sword between him and the clone, biting his lip as he debated what action to take.


A foul smell to rival the necrotic stench of the Death Lord's bone emporium on Sump, wafted from the toad's maw as he belched each word, blanching Mephisto's face and staggering the umbaran. The stench was so utterly revolting that the hannite's senses grew numb and his mind began to cloud, struggling to remain focused on the task at hand. Famine's Fang grew blistering hot in his grip, the arcane sentience that resided inside of the serrated length of Sith iron responding to the taint of sorcery that resided in the clone. As he struggled to draw an unspoiled breath, coughing and wheezing into the lapel of his robe, he saw a decrepit looking night ewok shamble forwards. It was hunched from its years, resting both paws on a plain walking stick that had been stripped of bark. Grey fur rimmed its beady black eyes and when it spoke, surprisingly, the words were ones Mephisto understood. The night ewok spoke basic.

"The Great and Flatulent Father, Lord Fragus, greets you, follower of...Famine." The ewok's wrinkled lips curled in amusement as he addressed Mephisto, standing safely beside the massive toad that the umbaran's mount was on the verge of fleeing from. The ewok coughed wetly into its arm as something rattled loosely inside its chest. "His Corpulence wishes you to know that your kind are no longer welcome here. Poisonberry Village, is His."

A look of unease crossed the hannite's angry brow as several thoughts warred with one another in his mind. A part of him wished to test his mettle against the abomination before him, but duty demanded that he return to his master with news of what he had discovered here. Plus, if this was Fragus, he wasn't sure he could defeat him even with his blessed weapon and armour. It had taken the full might of Overlord Tschel to slay the creature last time, which raised the question, how could this be Fragus? Fragus had been slain in the Royal Palace of Iziz on Onderon many years earlier. Signs of that battle still stained the toad's fat scaly flesh. Long scars of molted scale marked its arms, while a line of risen tissue stretched across his fat neck. Flies swarmed around the clone, drawn to his foul stench, but in more number than one would expect. Mephisto could see them emerge from weeping cankers and warts all across Fragus' rotten flesh, birthing as they might upon a corpse. Could it be possible that...



In the second it took the umbaran to protest, Fragus' large red eyes grew wide and the hutt-barabel hybrid sucked in a deep breath, its belly growing wide beyond fathomable dimensions. Then it belched, loud and long, releasing with it a resonating blast of pungent breath that caused the air to vibrate violently. Mephisto managed to raise his darkened length of iron in time to meet the Force Bellow, even as the four monks he had brought with him were blasted off their mounts and scattered across the road, blown away by the gnarly gust of grotesque breath. Famine's Fang glowed white hot as it absorbed the malign currents empowering the attack, shielding Mephisto from the worst of it as he still managed to remain mounted. His white robes wilted upon his pale skin, turning a sour yellow as the Fat Drake's stomach gases ate away at the fabric. Next came a rain of arrows as he raised the blade overhead, deflecting incoming shafts as the war dragon between his legs was peppered with jagged stone tipped thorns. He threw himself from the saddle as the beast tipped over and died, hitting the dirt path hard as he rolled over his shoulder and came up on his heels, brandishing the serrated sword. The others did no fare as well, with the two voulge wielding hannites now pinned to the path with a number of arrows penetrating their opened flesh. The staff wielding female hannite regained her footing and raised her staff, twirling the fire gem encrusted head above her as she whispered words of ancient power that dripped with the malefic currents of the darkside. The muscular hannite with the hammer was up next, charging towards Fragus with a way cry roaring from his throat as the broad shouldered monk raised his warhammer high overhead in preparation to strike.

The Toad Lord didn't move an inch as the hannite's sacred hammer swung flat face first into his prestigious gut, sinking deep into layer after layer of fat. It slowed until it stopped, though as the monk tried to withdraw his heavy polearm to attack again, he found that he could not. Staring down at the human, utterly unaffected by the hammer caught in its scaly rolls of flab, the hybrid clone bent over the palanquin and grabbed the hannite with two fat claws ending in talon tipped sausage fingers. With shocking strength, Fragus hefted the hannite off the ground and proceeded to stuff the human into his oversized mouth, swallowing him near-whole in a matter of seconds. Its forest of sharpened teeth quickly ground any protruding limbs into a red slurry that it slurped up with relish, before releasing another odorous belch. In the face of such overwhelming horror, Mephisto's sword arm grew weak, and for once he found himself stumbling back and away from the frightful toad, joining the last member of his troupe as she prepared to unleash summoned lightning from the top of her staff. As blue forks of electricity began to dance around the staffs blazing tip, the terrifying toad snorted and spat a wad of phlegm from its slimy lips that leapt the dozen feet between them, striking the woman square in the face. She didn't even have time to scream as the flesh melted off her skull and the bone sloughed into a puddle of congealing marrow.

More arrows continued to rain down from above. A poisoned tip buried itself in the umbaran's right shoulder with a hard 'thunk', penetrating down to the bone as he let out a pained gasp. He could barely hold his sword, let alone swing it, his sweating hand struggling to maintain grip on its handle. With reluctance and certainly little choice, he hissed in a seething fit of rage before turning and running into the forest, absent his expired mount and companions. Behind him as he fled into the shadowy depths of foliage, he could hear the cheers and mocking barks of laughter from the night ewoks, and the croaking laugh of the terrible toad that seemed to lead them. A fire burned in his forehead as his limbs grew weak, whatever poison had entered his veins was quickly draining what little strength remained to him.

The thick plentiful forests of Pzob predominantly covered the planet. However, in the Order of the Eye's time on the planet, they had engaged in intense localized lumber operations in the areas around scattered manufacturing and munitions plants. Those operations produced some areas of plains and grasslands, which the planet was in the process of reclaiming. The woods on holy Pzob grew at an unnaturally rapid pace, reclaiming hundreds of yards of grassland each year...

The large tribe of cloaked Ranat moved through the thinner forests by the grasslands. They moved with cloaks that blended in with their environment; grasses, twigs, dirt, and leaves were woven into the fabric to give each of them exceptional camoflague as they moved through the environment. They carried spears and bows, accompanied by a pack of smaller white or grey tukata. Some of the Tukata were laden with supplies, others were mounted with rodent riders, cloaked like mounds of straw on their backs.

Arriving in a clearing ringed by shrubs, the mice recognized the surroundings. The mud huts and burrows of the place were concealed and overgrown by the flora of Pzob indicating the place had been vacant for a growing season. Their leader rode a grey colored Tukata. "We are in the Autumnsden." His cloak-gilly suit made it appear as if he were a haystack riding the fearsome predator. The tribe was exceptional for having domesticated such fearsome and force-sensitive creatures- but it made sense considering that the tribe's abilities made confrontations with the beasts inevitable.  Capturing and domesticating their own pack was the only way to travel the surface where wild Tukata could detect and hunt the fey-sensitive clan. 

With a gesture of their leader, the cloaked tribe of mice beat back the grasses and shrubs to begin re-clearing their encampment. Guardmice climbed onto the hidden walls and towers which were disguised as shrubs and trees, while scouts spread out through the grasses to secure the area. A group of spear and shield ranats, formed a phalanx and delved into the entrance of the Great Burrow. Their job was to drive off and kill any squatters that took residence in their halls in their migratory absence. Young pups bustled into the center of the clearing, to play and practice starting smoke-less fires, around the bare trunk of a dead tree.  Hanging from the branches hung the bare bleached bones of crucified Gamorreans and countless empty cocoons of golden butterflies. 

A cloaked figure approached the vanguard chieftain. Pulling back her cloak's hood, the legendary ranat revealed the white-greying fur of her face, and pale darting eyes.  
"Mistress Havonella." The chieftain addressed her with great deference. "What seest thou?"
The ranat Far Squeak stared distantly at the unseen horizon before she spoke. "Thus seeth I: a messenger of metal, sent by a brother of the Great Devourer." The strange grammar and syntax was characteristic of the prophetic tongue in the tribe.
"Seest thou in suns or moons?"  The warrior asked if the vision would be fulfilled in days or months.
"Seeth I, in a handful of sand."
The time reckoned by the fall of sand, meant that there were minutes before the messenger was foreseen to arrive.

The chieftain immediately called out to alert the rest of the tribe.  "Messanger of metal, Kin of the Harbringer of Decay, arriving inside of 10 minutes!  Upon his arrival and tidings, we shall feast!" 
All rodents perked up their ears and doubled their efforts.  It wasn't everyday that they had visitors, let alone visitors connected to the wise Barabel with many names.

The Great Devourer was an honored guest among the Far Squeaker Enclave.  Though he went by many names including the Harbinger of Decay, his role in stopping Clan Rustrot's Doom-Wheel of Spinning Destruction was engraved in the annuls of their clan history.  Clan Rustrot's warlocks random ways were so unpredictable that the Far Squeaks could never quite see what they were up to.  The Rustrot enclave was the historic rival of the Far Squeakers, with their insane engineering producing monumental weapons of outrageous proportions and capable of planetary devastation.  The insane Doom-Wheel in particular, was Rustrot genius made bare. It towered higher than the trees and was capable of crushing anything in its path.  The machine had been powered by a rancor and hundreds of mutated muscular ranats the size of wookies, running along the inside of the wheel. 

Every pup knew the tale, oftentimes wearing out their frazzled parents asking for the story to be re-told at bedtime.  "Tell us the part about the mad Rustrot envoys and their poison gifts!" Some would ask, while others might ask, "No, tell us the part where High Verminlord Krowlock called a meeting of House Cravok and House Draven!" or request, "Start where the young Havonella Draven had a vision of the Harbinger of Decay!", still others would ask "Tell as about the Harbinger's bear-monks and the Spear of Powah!"   It went without saying that everyone's favorite part was where the Harbringer, his troop of ewoks (including a smelly sand-child), and Havonella, defeated the Doom-Wheel.  Clan Far Squeak counted the wise lizard and his followers as heroes, legends in their own time and worthy of the bestowal of Lord Krowlock's favor upon them.  

It was entirely natural that after the week of celebratory feasting in the Great Burrow, that Old Krowlock granted the Devourer's favor when the Barabel requested that the ranat warmaiden Havonella of House Draven, join the Devourer's entourage.  She did so carrying the family's halberd, as her parent's chests swelled with pride at the honor bestowed upon their talented lass. Ranat parents would usually take that moment in the story to advise their pups that if they behaved, did their chores, practiced their far-squeaking and fey-bending that they too might one day be chosen by the Harbringer of Decay and Verminlords to walk the path of legend and perform heroic deeds for the clan... 

At that point, the tale of the defeat of the Doom-Wheel of Spinning Destruction then merged into the greater epic of clan history.  A multi-evening telling of the epic of the War of the Ranat would be necessary to proceed.  Only by understanding the history and legends of the war could one truly appreciate the challenges and difficulties facing the retinue of the great lizard, his bear-monks and Havonella in brokering a peace between the High Verminlords of Clan Moonblade and Skrittlespike, thus ending the Great War of the Ranat.

All this was to say, dear reader, that the Devourer's kin, or the Devourer's kin's messenger was no less welcome among Clan Far Squeak than the Devourer himself. 

Soon thereafter, an IG assassin droid approached Autumnsden.