Post by Dragus on Oct 16, 2023 6:27:46 GMT -8
Squeak! "Approaching Mos Espa, Great Devourer." Squeaked a ranat in a filthy smock seated behind the flight controls of the Dragenburg, its rapid speech a combination of squeaks and squeals that somehow the Dread Lizard seated further back in the bridge seemed to have no difficulty discerning. Practically shrouded in the darkness of the unlit bridge, the black scaled barabel in the captain's command throne leaned forwards, resting two claws ending in curled obsidian talons on the armrest of his chair, their razor sharp tips carving furrows in the Pzobian black-stone. On a table attached to the command throne's right arm was a perfectly smooth orb of midnight hued nihil smokestone, swirling unnaturally as the currents of the malevolent fey were channeled through the telepathic alchemical transmitter. The Blood Wyrm focused his terrible psychic will into the darkside corrupted palantÃr, which in turn caused his thoughts to be broadcast throughout the C-9979 modular frigate's interior, reverberating in the minds of the night ewoks and vermintide that laboured within its dark depths. As he channeled his thoughts into words, the rakatan ocular implant set in the Hungering One's left eye seemed to crackle with an ethereal amethyst light, blazing like a motte of witch-fire.
<< Ready yourselvez my Flock, your Shepherd commandz you. The Feassst Day of the Eye sssoon approachez and another red tithe mussst be harvesssted. The Eye hungerz for the soulz of the innocent, and ssso do I. Hear me and obey. That iz the will of Famine. >>
A nightmarish shrill cry rose from the ravenous hordes within the bowels of the Dragenburg as they felt the wicked touch of their master, their minds as equally depraved and rotten as He-Who-Hungers, eager to reap from the civilian population of Mos Espa. Outside, the four grey Alpha-class Xg-1 Star Wings throttled ahead of the modular frigate as their verminous pilots pressed forwards on the accelerator and milked as much speed as they could out of their sinister snubfighters. Leading the way, they positioned their crosshairs over select targets until the ridicules turned red and the weapons systems chimed with a lock. Gnarled digits squeezed the firing triggers on their flight sticks, releasing streaking hex missiles packed with a modified variant of trihexelon gas, what was known as Famine's Breath. Missiles streaked down in loping angles into the local space ports circular landing bays, unwittingly open to the sky, rupturing shortly thereafter as they delivered their horrific payloads. A great plume of toxic green gas erupted and expanded from the landing bays, choking those caught out in the open with alchemical poison that liquified their lungs and caused every orifice to bleed, the victims agonizingly drowning in their own blood. The foursome of Star Wings quickly banked after that first launch, opening up with pairs of laser cannons that shattered roof tops and rained down ferrocrete debris onto the city streets.
As the Dragenburg neared the eastern edge of Mos Espa, launch chutes on the bottom of its rear wings swung open to expose the interior of the C-9979 to the stifling mid-day heat. Wide winged swooping shapes dropped like bats from the openings, soon revealed as hang-gliders crafted from long slender Rishii bones and sinew, with wings of stretched animal hide. Attached beneath each of these dark gliders was a pair of night ewoks, charcoal furred sentient bears with beady red eyes that possessed a feral demeaner and appetite for human flesh. One cackling bear piloted the air-bound glider while the other dropped glass globules containing more of the Famine Lord's caustic gas, shattering on impact with the ground and filling the streets with a pestilent chemical haze that stole the air from desperate lungs. After a dozen gliders had been launched, a vast stream of verminous winged shapes began to pour from the open maw in either rear-wing, what the Dark Apothecary affectionately referred to as his 'banats'. In truth they were ranats with goggles and gas masks over their crooked snouts, wearing wingsuits with membranous flesh that caught the air and slowed their descent towards the ground. They fell in droves upon the citizens of Mos Espa, tearing into them with filthy claws that stripped skin with fervent ferocity.
After swooping over the city's centre, the Dragenburg's repulsors began to whine in a deafening screech of hot air, as the large landing craft stabilized and spun around before descending to the ground. Landing gear extended and the large doors at the base of the boot flipped open, followed by a resonate bang as the boarding ramp slammed down into the sandy street. Night ewok lancers charged out of the poorly lit hold astride monstrous mutant ubese thorn-back war dragons, warped by the Dark Apothecary's alchemy into sinister sithspawn, exuding sulphurous clouds of rancid breath as they loped towards fleeing townspeople. Each night ewok was armed with a long wooden poll affixed with a poison glazed obsidian spear tip, which they used to puncture flesh and spill open guts as the dragon-glass parted skin and muscle as easily as a vibro-blade. Striding down the ramp behind them was the Famine Lord himself, the twisted terrorsaur known amongst the Sith Eternal Empire as Lord Dragus, Dark Apothecary and Beast Master. He led a marching colomn of night ewoks carrying primitive bows strung with high tensile strength rishii intestinal cord, which they used to fire wooden arrows of Pzobian oak with serrated obsidian arrow-tips, glistening with a fast-acting paralytic poison.
Garbed in a cloak of black rishii feathers with a matching bird bone-cap adorning the top of his crocodilian snout, the Hungering One was an awful sight, wielding in the butchers hooks he called claws a large hateful mace. Exsanguinator, it was called, a fell product of sorcery and smithing that the Great Devourer had personally forged in the volcanic caldera of Mt. Tawntoom on thrice cursed Roon. The ruinous device snarled in his grip as he thumbed the trigger attached to the man-hide bound handle, awakening the potent weapons arcane circuits, simultaneously activating the seismic generator housed in its flanged head. A burning brazier in the middle of the Sith iron mace began to bleed purple tinged narcotic smoke, causing feverish nightmarish hallucinations in any unfortunate enough to inhale the darkside imbued fumes. Swinging the heavy maul in a figure eight, Dragus struck out at a filthy human woman attempting to flee, striking her across the spine with the wrathful weapon's head. The woman wasn't so much smashed as she was molecularly disassembled, shred apart by the potent seismic field that caused her body to explode in a fine red mist. Exsanguinator growled in his grip, drawing in captured beads of blood like a hungry leach, feasting on the vitae before it ever hit the ground.
Mos Espa was in total disarray. Those that could, fled into the dunes outside the city, though for most there was nowhere to run. The attack had been well coordinated, designed to seal off escape for the most part. The four Star Wings circled the perimeter from the air, picking off landspeeders and swoop bikes attempting to make a break for it. Every radio frequency was filled with panicked pleading for help. Dragus doubted it would come. There were no heroes this side of the lawless Outer Rim, only villains, of which he was without question the worst. The serrated tail spike capping his overlong tail swept across neck of a sunburnt duros scrambling for safety, swiftly decapitating the alien. Releasing his left claw from his malevolent maul, the black scaled barabel caught the severed head in his hand, finger talons puncturing its face until the jelly was squeezed from its eyes and ran down his scale covered digits. He flipped the cadaverous offering over until he stared down into its weeping stump and dipped his forked tongue inside, lapping at the crimson refreshment. "Plenty of meat here. Siss Siss Siss!" He hissed throatily with a bubbling wet cackle.
<< Ready yourselvez my Flock, your Shepherd commandz you. The Feassst Day of the Eye sssoon approachez and another red tithe mussst be harvesssted. The Eye hungerz for the soulz of the innocent, and ssso do I. Hear me and obey. That iz the will of Famine. >>
A nightmarish shrill cry rose from the ravenous hordes within the bowels of the Dragenburg as they felt the wicked touch of their master, their minds as equally depraved and rotten as He-Who-Hungers, eager to reap from the civilian population of Mos Espa. Outside, the four grey Alpha-class Xg-1 Star Wings throttled ahead of the modular frigate as their verminous pilots pressed forwards on the accelerator and milked as much speed as they could out of their sinister snubfighters. Leading the way, they positioned their crosshairs over select targets until the ridicules turned red and the weapons systems chimed with a lock. Gnarled digits squeezed the firing triggers on their flight sticks, releasing streaking hex missiles packed with a modified variant of trihexelon gas, what was known as Famine's Breath. Missiles streaked down in loping angles into the local space ports circular landing bays, unwittingly open to the sky, rupturing shortly thereafter as they delivered their horrific payloads. A great plume of toxic green gas erupted and expanded from the landing bays, choking those caught out in the open with alchemical poison that liquified their lungs and caused every orifice to bleed, the victims agonizingly drowning in their own blood. The foursome of Star Wings quickly banked after that first launch, opening up with pairs of laser cannons that shattered roof tops and rained down ferrocrete debris onto the city streets.
As the Dragenburg neared the eastern edge of Mos Espa, launch chutes on the bottom of its rear wings swung open to expose the interior of the C-9979 to the stifling mid-day heat. Wide winged swooping shapes dropped like bats from the openings, soon revealed as hang-gliders crafted from long slender Rishii bones and sinew, with wings of stretched animal hide. Attached beneath each of these dark gliders was a pair of night ewoks, charcoal furred sentient bears with beady red eyes that possessed a feral demeaner and appetite for human flesh. One cackling bear piloted the air-bound glider while the other dropped glass globules containing more of the Famine Lord's caustic gas, shattering on impact with the ground and filling the streets with a pestilent chemical haze that stole the air from desperate lungs. After a dozen gliders had been launched, a vast stream of verminous winged shapes began to pour from the open maw in either rear-wing, what the Dark Apothecary affectionately referred to as his 'banats'. In truth they were ranats with goggles and gas masks over their crooked snouts, wearing wingsuits with membranous flesh that caught the air and slowed their descent towards the ground. They fell in droves upon the citizens of Mos Espa, tearing into them with filthy claws that stripped skin with fervent ferocity.
After swooping over the city's centre, the Dragenburg's repulsors began to whine in a deafening screech of hot air, as the large landing craft stabilized and spun around before descending to the ground. Landing gear extended and the large doors at the base of the boot flipped open, followed by a resonate bang as the boarding ramp slammed down into the sandy street. Night ewok lancers charged out of the poorly lit hold astride monstrous mutant ubese thorn-back war dragons, warped by the Dark Apothecary's alchemy into sinister sithspawn, exuding sulphurous clouds of rancid breath as they loped towards fleeing townspeople. Each night ewok was armed with a long wooden poll affixed with a poison glazed obsidian spear tip, which they used to puncture flesh and spill open guts as the dragon-glass parted skin and muscle as easily as a vibro-blade. Striding down the ramp behind them was the Famine Lord himself, the twisted terrorsaur known amongst the Sith Eternal Empire as Lord Dragus, Dark Apothecary and Beast Master. He led a marching colomn of night ewoks carrying primitive bows strung with high tensile strength rishii intestinal cord, which they used to fire wooden arrows of Pzobian oak with serrated obsidian arrow-tips, glistening with a fast-acting paralytic poison.
Garbed in a cloak of black rishii feathers with a matching bird bone-cap adorning the top of his crocodilian snout, the Hungering One was an awful sight, wielding in the butchers hooks he called claws a large hateful mace. Exsanguinator, it was called, a fell product of sorcery and smithing that the Great Devourer had personally forged in the volcanic caldera of Mt. Tawntoom on thrice cursed Roon. The ruinous device snarled in his grip as he thumbed the trigger attached to the man-hide bound handle, awakening the potent weapons arcane circuits, simultaneously activating the seismic generator housed in its flanged head. A burning brazier in the middle of the Sith iron mace began to bleed purple tinged narcotic smoke, causing feverish nightmarish hallucinations in any unfortunate enough to inhale the darkside imbued fumes. Swinging the heavy maul in a figure eight, Dragus struck out at a filthy human woman attempting to flee, striking her across the spine with the wrathful weapon's head. The woman wasn't so much smashed as she was molecularly disassembled, shred apart by the potent seismic field that caused her body to explode in a fine red mist. Exsanguinator growled in his grip, drawing in captured beads of blood like a hungry leach, feasting on the vitae before it ever hit the ground.
Mos Espa was in total disarray. Those that could, fled into the dunes outside the city, though for most there was nowhere to run. The attack had been well coordinated, designed to seal off escape for the most part. The four Star Wings circled the perimeter from the air, picking off landspeeders and swoop bikes attempting to make a break for it. Every radio frequency was filled with panicked pleading for help. Dragus doubted it would come. There were no heroes this side of the lawless Outer Rim, only villains, of which he was without question the worst. The serrated tail spike capping his overlong tail swept across neck of a sunburnt duros scrambling for safety, swiftly decapitating the alien. Releasing his left claw from his malevolent maul, the black scaled barabel caught the severed head in his hand, finger talons puncturing its face until the jelly was squeezed from its eyes and ran down his scale covered digits. He flipped the cadaverous offering over until he stared down into its weeping stump and dipped his forked tongue inside, lapping at the crimson refreshment. "Plenty of meat here. Siss Siss Siss!" He hissed throatily with a bubbling wet cackle.