|
|
Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Apr 9, 2013 11:18:36 GMT -8
The history is currently unknown.
|
|
Caoimhin Shan
Member
Posts: 112 
Affiliation: Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Caoimhin Shan on Aug 19, 2013 12:30:08 GMT -8
In the forests of Wayland, there was a chain of three relatively small outposts, linked together by three pathways carved through the foliage, plus one comm station in the middle of all three. They were listening outposts, and though it usually only required one outpost to cover a sector, the redundancy here was due to the fact that they had learned from history: the more targets an enemy had to hit, the more they had to split the forces and the more time the other outposts had to alert both their neighboring stations and their allies.
There were, however, only two Jedi assigned to this outpost: Jedi Knight Dawson Naviss, a human, and Padawan Shalik Days, a Rutian Twi'lek. They travelled the pathways by foot, each taking a separate outpost in rotations by days. Today, Shalik was monitoring the southern outpost (Outpost Delta), while Dawson was in charge of the northwest one (Outpost Alpha). The paths took only a few minutes to travel by speeder, but Dawson felt it was important to keep up with one's physical training, and this was one of the many exercises he insisted on the pair of them doing daily. A single platoon was also stationed at the chain: ten troopers at the central comm tower (including four engineers), and ten troopers at each outpost (with only two engineers assigned to each). The Lieutenant in charge of all of them, Daniel Felix, was in charge of the northeast outpost (Outpost Beta). He, too, travelled the path by foot, for similar reasons.
They all knew that there was a war on, so they knew that while their job was not the most glamorous, it was still essential. Wayland was dangerously close to Ordo, Concord Dawn, and Mandalore, and that made it both risky and beneficial to have a listening outpost stationed here. Any intel on the enemy's movements could prove invaluable..
|
|
Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
|
Post by Darth Belial on Mar 13, 2014 18:47:36 GMT -8
In a sizeable clearing far from the outskirts of the capital settlement, the obsidian clad shuttle came in for a landing. Trailing lingering tails of atmospheric fire, the craft appeared to be a comet as it knifed towards the surface. It was an unstable descent, but one that was easily recovered from with the calculated skill of the shuttle’s artificial pilot. Throwing up thick walls of loose foliage and fallen branches, the vessel rocked heavily upon it’s respulsors before touching down. The beetle like appearance of the craft shimmered under the light of the nearby star, sending beams of ebon graced luminescence into the darkened depths under the canopy of mottled trees. As the visage of the craft had suggested, the landing struts dug themselves into the fertile crust of the shattered world – leaving only the two back-swept wings to rise. It was as if the insectile craft had taken the pose of a dung beetle about to take flight, seeking to blend in with the surroundings in the hopes no one would notice. Breaking that image with jets of hissing hydraulics, a single metallic rampart extended from the ebon frame of the shuttle, thundering into the ground with such force that several tufts of earth were thrown towards the skies.
Removing himself from the steel shod embrace of his recently procured shuttle, Belial stepped into the insipid warmth of Wayland’s jungle. An odd flicker of familiarity surged through his system, harkening back to the days his body had spent within the wilds of Anobis. Biting his tongue in the attempt to smother his twisted soul’s previous life, the Sith Lord began to taste the coppery twang of his own precious blood. With the thought pushed from the forefront of his conscious mind, the hulking behemoth stepped down from the boarding ramp with thundering steps. The jingling of his scale skirt had done little more than add to the cacophony of noise his arrival had made, but he did not mind. Belial had not come to this world under the shroud of secrecy, nor did he deign to mask his terrifying mien. The remaining pieces of Arcanus Sunstrider’s skull were bound to his face by thick chords of tanned leather, masking his weathered flesh from the tip of his nose to his crown. A lengthy mane of raven black hair cascaded down to his shoulders, billowing softly in the gentle shift from the pressurized cabin to the steamy tropical habitat.
Breathing in a heady mixture of life and death incarnate, Belial eyed his surroundings to garner some sort of direction. It would have been significantly easier to land within the compounds of this system’s primary settlement, but with the rotting corpses inside his procured shuttle’s cockpit – he couldn’t risk dealing with the planetary authorities. Not yet at least. He needed to regain his strength before taking on anything inherently dangerous, for even though he was birthed from the womb of chaos herself; his flesh was still crudely mortal. Weakened but far from powerless, the Sith Lord set off into the jungles; carefully shuffling through the thicket of trees. A world like this, though as damaged as it was, had no lack of predators stalking the darkness beneath the canopies. Belial would soon find himself beset upon all sides by every stripe of this world’s inhabitants, for to them he was seen as an invader; and most likely held to the same standards as the violent Yuuzhan Vong. It would not matter that they would flock to him, as the antibodies within his flesh sought to oust the foreign bacteria, for he would feed upon their essences – restoring his own body as theirs withered and died.
Perhaps if he fed upon their souls for long enough, they would not only leave him be in favour of more pliant prey, but the chance his strength could swell up to levels unknown were too great. Awkwardly stalking through the enforced darkness of the tropical forest, the Sith Lord traversed the landscape in search of something he had seen in his dreams. A place where the answers would be made apparent and the hulking warrior’s path to power finally set in stone.
|
|
Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
|
Post by Darth Belial on Apr 10, 2014 18:50:10 GMT -8
The souls of the dead and dying fauna had sated his hunger, for the time being. Their lifeblood trickled down in rivulets from his stained gullet, causing the Sith Lord to relish the uncooked flavour of the native beast. He knew it made him nothing more than an uncouth barbarian to feast upon the flesh of the recently slain, but his mortal body required sustenance. Had he the tools or the time to create a fire, Belial would have roasted the vile tasting animal’s corpse to enhance the flavour; and his body’s ability to retain the raw meat. Wiping the blood from his face by dragging his thumb across his lips, the Dark Lord flicked the errant droplets of the crimson vitae to the foliage below. Left with nothing but the stained remnants of the creature’s soul upon his lips, the giant of a man continued on into oppressive thicket of curling trees. Despite the incessant chatter of the native sentience, the relative silence had given Belial the chance he desired to reflect upon his previous works. By now the very heart of the Galaxy was set upon the path of destruction through several simple deeds, leaving him free to operate in the outer reaches of the galaxy. He knew of the destructive power of the Empire, of how it was merely waiting for the chance to be unleashed across the greater expanse of the galaxy. Should their operatives find out that an errant Sith Lord, whom refutes the command of a woman with a title, his mortal form would not survive the ensuing conflagration. Not unless he was prepared for the coming assault, and in order for such a stand to be made; the Dark Lord required a citadel of his own.
Wayland offered such a fortress, in the ruins of Mount Tantiss, the Emperor Palpatine’s former storehouse. Though much of it had been destroyed in the war against the extra-galactic invaders and the ensuing Ossus – project, what remained would be a suitable enough foundation in which to rebuild the Mountain. He would have to act in secret however, as to not to draw unwanted attention to his operation. That meant he would have to build his citadel underneath the foundations of the old storehouse, leaving the galaxy blind to the supposed horrors he would create. Smiling to himself as he came to this realization, Belial began formulating a plot in which to curry the needed favour with the local inhabitants of this world. The tribes of Psadan and Myneyrsh would be bent to service his every need, whilst the immigrated races of Human, Yuuzhan Vong, and their Chazrach slaves would serve similar aspects. In the time spent from traveling from the heart of the galaxy to its outer most reaches, the Dark Lord learned of the Vong and what his vessel’s database held on their culture. Many worshiped pain, whilst others believed themselves to be masters of the natural universe – shaping it to their design. Belial could respect this fact, for it seemed that their goals while opposite in their implementations, were aligned in direction. Thus he could utilize the knowledge these base creatures had developed, and perhaps apply them to several aspects of his alchemy practices.
He had kept his mind busy whilst he trudged through the foliage of the jungle, almost occupied enough to miss the pools of light off in the distance. Shaking the distant thoughts of a possible future from his mind, the Epicanthix narrowed his crimson eyes. He couldn’t see just how many lifeforms there were due to the thickness of the coiling trees, but when he transcended his physical form to enter into the realm of the force; he felt a large gathering of minds several metres ahead. Their combined consciousness minds were a collection of dim candles amid the darkened canvas of coloured oils. These flickering flames of mental luminescence had drawn him closer, like a moth to a flame he stalked through the dense thicket. He was curious at what caused these minds to flicker and ebb within the realm of the force, could it be that these creatures were sentient enough to provide the Dark Lord with the relief of a pleasant conversation; or as pleasant a conversation one could ever get on this lush and backwater planet. Blinking twice to rid himself of the discoloured visage of the ethereal realm, Belial bore witness to a tribe of Psadan’s living out their lives in relative peace. That was until he had made himself known to the chitin bound creatures, that their lives had been upended with his appearance. Warriors of all stripes had approached the giant of a man, their primitive weapons pointing in his direction. They spoke to him in their native tongue, and Belial was taken aback by how brusque their tongue had been. His curious smirk had faded when they began jabbing their spears towards him, emphasizing their intent despite the barrier of language.
The Dark Lord sighed, letting his arms fall to his side in an act of apparent defeat. He had to show this inferior race that he meant no harm, even if it meant debasing himself in front of their guards and subsequent Chieftains. Whilst the piles of shifting rocks had directed him towards the largest of their conglomerated tents, Belial began probing the surfaces of their unguarded minds, taking what scraps of their language he could and matching it to his understanding of basic. It was neither perfect nor ideal deed to enact, but he made the choice to ally himself with these creatures – thus if he desired to rule them- he had to at least learn their language. When the flaps to this grand tent were pulled back, Belial was directed into the depths of its smoke shrouded interior.
“Well, isn’t this pleasant.”
He said loudly but lacking the distinct duality his tone usually took, though knowing his words fell upon deaf ears. After his misunderstood proclamation the Sith Lord was demanded to sit upon a patch of soft moss, situated before an elliptical gathering of padded chairs. Each of these ornately carved monoliths was filled by an overtly large creature, bearing torques of onyx and twisted bands of gold.
“Hrsosohm mata deuytimay machta,” the largest of the beasts began, letting the armoured plates compromising his mouth move in time with the lashing tendrils of muscle hidden beneath their hardened exterior. “Iyuti – passing upon our territory. If you would so kind, Stranger, please reveal your purpose onto us.”
Belial was surprised that his mind was able to combine the two differing languages into something understandable. The Sith would have been able to rip the understanding of their native dialect from their supple minds, while implanting his own in its place. It would have been easy, it would have been right; but Belial didn’t feel like forcibly subjugating this tribe to his will. Ruling through fear was the Sith way, yes, but having the people love you to a certain point whilst ensuring your strength was the proper way to rule.
“I have come from the ocean of stars beyond the Sky.”
Belial returned the Chieftain’s courtesy, ensuring to capitalize on the information he had skimmed from their unguarded minds.
“I have come to heal this world of its wounds and restore this planet to the way it once was.”
The largest Psadan scoffed.
“Our world has been broken for many years. Many have tried, even the Invaders. Many have failed, especially the Invaders. I can see that your desire is strong, Titan, but what makes you so sure that you can overcome the failures of those that tried before you?”
Belial smiled in response.
“Unlike those that came before, none claimed my benevolent divinity…”
|
|
Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
|
Post by Darth Belial on Apr 11, 2014 10:40:43 GMT -8
The Psadan Chieftain burst into a horrendous fit of alien laughter when the Titan had proclaimed his divinity. His mind had registered the dried blood caking his mouth, and felt as if the Giant man-thing was playing games with him. How could anyone claim to love a world when they feasted upon its life force? The shifting mass of rock hard flesh smiled at this thought, for he recognised the hypocrisy in his personal musings. His tribe had feasted upon the life blood of the world; it was ever their way of life to do so in order to survive. Thus having illuminated himself to the error of such judgment, the hulking Psadan motioned for one of his indentured menials to step forward. The seemingly frail creature approached the Grand Tent’s newest visitor with a bronzed ewer filled with an amber liquid. A burnished cooper goblet was provided for the offered fluid, and it had soon found itself within a new master’s hand once Belial had reached out to gracefully take it into his embrace.
The Sith sloshed the liquid about to determine its viscosity and take civilized whiffs of the alcohol’s bouquet. Belial was pleased that these vile creatures were able to ferment a wonderful blend of what smelled like local fruits and honey into a delightful wine that tantalized his palate. Downing the contents of his cup in one swig, the Dark Lord exhaled his pleasure in a hearty sigh. The stained blood had all but been washed away; leaving droplets tainted the shaved flesh about his chin and the enameled chips of his obscure battle helm. Knowing how disturbing his visage would be, even with the removal of much of the dried vitae, Belial reached up and removed the skull faced headpiece. Placing it to the side with an odd reverence, the Sith Lord blinked away the crimson violence written within his eyes – reverted into their natural state by the ever expanding vagaries of the ethereal powers. Belial’s face, now revealed to that of the Chieftain and his Council, curled into a pleasant and warming smile.
“I thank you for the gift of such a fine vintage.”
He said with gratitude coating his every spoken syllable. The Sith Lord would not be able to return such kindness as of yet, for he needed something other than his shuttle to bargain with. Perhaps he would bequeath them with – He stopped himself before he continued on with such a treacherous line of thought. No, instead he would play the games of court and figure what it was that these people believed in, and warp his history to fulfill the prophetic words of their ancestors’ legends. In order for that resolution to come about however, he had to find a way to learn of their histories before embarking upon the path of religious dominance.
“So, you come to heal this world, Outlander,” the Chieftain began, shattering the incumbent silence with a deep resonated voice flecked with wisdom and experience. “Tell us, how you think such an undertaking could be accomplished by a man just as you?”
Was this his ingress? No, Belial mused, they desire to know of my plans and I shall be honest with them. Honest, at least up until his plot with the Mountain becomes apparent. Dropping his stoic gaze from the ambered eyes of the Psadan chieftain, Belial began to outline the basest aspects of his scheme.
“This world has endured much over these past eras. From the rise of the Human Imperium under the watchful guise of their Emperor Palpatine, to the crazed Jedi Master taking residency within that madman’s storehouse. In most recent years this world has endured the betrayal of the Yuzzhan Vong and their Jedi compatriots with the failed Ossus Project, where it left much of the planet scarred by the former’s invasion of the Universe. Those places untouched by the Vong’s corruptive touch have been transformed, making Wayland a death world rather than the hub of cultural beauty it once was.” He paused for a moment, letting the grandeur of their history settle in the forefronts of their mind. “I seek to return this world to its former glory.” Belial stated plainly, as his eyes shot back to meet the Chieftain’s gaze. “And to do that, I will require the knowledge of your species past and traditions.”
The Psadan leaned back further into the embrace of his chair, wondering where the Titan was going with his point. The Chieftain could clearly see that this man was true in his purpose, the passion contained within his crimson and jade eyes had made such a fact apparent. Through his feelings alone, the hulking Psadan was convinced that this man was different from those that came before, as the Empire, Jedi, and the Vong cared little for what the local indigenous creatures thought. They merely asserted their dominance over those that had been forced to live upon the broken planet, believing that in ignoring their pleas and wishes they were doing what was best for the galaxy. As all three parties were no longer around this world in such force, Belial knew following in their footsteps would not bring about a different resolution.
“We shall tell you of our past, Outlander.” A pause stalled the hulking Psadan’s words. “But first, tell us of your past. A figure such as you interests us, for despite the titanic visage and terrifying war helm, you are caring and courteous to those who are but strangers to you. I am sure you understand how intriguing men such as you are in a galaxy filled with egotistical deities and delusional fools.”
“I do, Chieftain.” Belial stated after he was certain that the hulking leader had finished his request. “And in the spirit of camaraderie, I shall tell you of my history.” Pausing to pick up the warhelm, the Sith turned the headpiece about in his hands so that the socket less leering skull faceplate glared back into his eyes.
“I was born upon a system known in the Galactic Databanks as Anobis. It was an agricultural world, before the people there had been caught up in the eternal wars between the insidious Jedi and their counterparts; the Sith. My family died when the forces allied with the Jedi had scoured the surface of the planet with bolts of emerald thunder from the sky. Like the dying moments of the Emperor’s mountain, the resulting fires had spread throughout the city; turning the pink-skins to ashen monuments to death.” Belial stopped to relish the sensation of sorrow his body had created, further enhancing the story by the invocation of emotion from the speaker. “From then on, afflicted by grief and feelings of vengeance, I scoured the galaxy to avenge the fallen of Anobis. Anger had become all that I knew in those dark days, that until my quest had been complete and my planet avenged, I realized my purpose in life had become singular; One task with but a single resolution.”
“I spent many years sitting upon the ashes of the past, unaware of the possibilities that could become of the future. That had changed after I had met the spirits of my family on a world where the veil between life and death was paper thin. They had guided me towards the path I walk now, one where my goal would prove to be the most worthy of all.” Returning his gaze to that of the Council that encompassed him, Belial concluded his story with a smile upon his lips. “Like my world, now forgotten and left to rot, I seek to deny the fates of their prize and revitalize what others ignore. By utilizing the powers I was born with, I will reshape this world in our combined image.”
|
|
