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Sheog the Mad

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  1. Sheog the Mad

    Nubia

    The HSD Bourbonne erupted from hyperspace above the temperate world of Nubia, death in its wake. It had come from no particular hyperlane exit point and was far distant for a viable approach vector for any of the major cities. From a distance, the C-3 Passenger Liner looked alive with its hull painted in the blues and greens of the De’Subar crest, but to scanners everything was far from alive. The transponder had reverted to the long lost ISL Thesuvious, which had been designated as lost with all hands on the Pabol-Sleheyron route in Hutt Space nearly two decades past. There were no less than ten hull breaches which streamed oxygen like banners as the ship hurtled through the orbital space of Nubia. The hull at every breach was curled outwards as if by massive contained explosions, and parts of the scarred hull was stained crimson, pitted and marked by corrosion as by direct application of acid. The Passenger Liner’s speed began to decrease, its autopilot finally failing, leaving it at the mercy of the gravitational pulls of the Traxel planets and the other worlds of the Nubus system. A single repeating line of dialogue repeated on the longwave emergency broadcast: It showed a haggard humanoid, standing upon the bridge of the unfortunate vessel. His features were greyed, and his uniform was disheveled, but still showed his ranking as a boatswain’s mate, a man who had little reason to be in command. He stared at the decking at his feet, curled and corroded durasteel stained with greens and reds. His lip quivered and he could barely look at the camera as he spoke in a gravelly, frightened voice, “The hunger… it overcomes us all. It is our very nature." He took a bite of his own hand, screaming as he tore through the pale flesh, severing tendons, teeth grinding on bone. As he chewed, the camera faded to static and the message began to repeat.
  2. Hunger. The Maw continued its feast, unabated. The force storm began to die, consuming itself as it in turn was devoured by the gravity well, and its master heard… Nothing. There was no echoing call in the Force, no answer to the ravenous desire that bound itself within the Master of the Krath. It was no different than any of the countless storms and fires he had spilled from the bowels of the derelict station which clung to the gravity currents of this place, all to die in the formless hunger. The hulking mountain of filth moved, a creaking and hideous movement marked by a groan of wrath that shattered the stillness. Years of study without tangible result. The rusting decking protested his movement, having so settled under his bulk. A greasy hand passed across the bulkheads, grapsing and wrenching the durasteel free. He stared at the sheeting balanced on a sweaty palm, his crimson eyes taking in the speckled pattern of oxidizing rust. It was as beautiful to him as the stars themselves. Pure entropy. Within the eye of the force, that embrace of gluttony withing which the world appeared to the Hutt, there was a glimmer of something deeper within the steel. He breathed in a gasping breath, his offset nostrils flaring wickedly. Bacterial and fungal lifeforms. Another great breath and there; a pitiful flicker of his own power as the primitive life-forms were consumed by the Force. The bacteria was gone, stricken from the galaxy as by a plague. He had taken their life into himself a distorted reflection of the power of the Maw itself. He breathed out, distorting the forms of the fungi, changing them with the gift of the bacteria. There was subtle change as he placed within them his own hunger. The rate of corrosion increased markedly, but the life did not take to his gift as he had desired. Before he could take another breath, the fungal colony had devoured itself. His hunger was that of an ouroboros. The power to consume, but only eating itself. The Sith moved again to stare into the formless twisting of light that was the Maw. It had been ages since he had heard her voice, and he would have to wait another age for the Maw to speak to him once more. The ripples he had created in his early days had still not reached their shores. It came then, a feeling of subtle sweetness. It piqued his desire. Crimson eyes widened, their many lids slipping back to reveal the sulpheric yellow that stained his corneas. To the Hutt, it was the undeniable confirmation of his path. The blessing of the Lady, and of her daughter’s path. The sweetness changed to salt and smoke. The Firebrand had made Cathar her bed, following the wounds as he had suggested. A blubbering sigh came with the intrusion of brilliant life within the Maw. He felt it immediately, nearly two-hundred life-forms. His many-lidded eyes blinked slowly; sloth replaced by avarice. --------------------------------------------------------------- “WELCOME FOLKS!” The fake Corellian accent was stained with a backwater drawl, but the tourists aboard did not seem to care, barely looking up from their sabbac games. The HSD Bourbonne was a gambling ship, a salvaged C-3 Passenger Liner originally outfitted by Leonore Luxury Liners Incorporated nearly five decades past and had been run under the designation ISL Thesuvious for luxury passenger service along the Pabol-Sleheyron route in Hutt Space under their Sheny-Brior subsidiary. About a decade prior, the unfortunate Thesuvious had been impounded by Formos Port Authority and subsequently purchased by Thrillian De’Subar who had turned the vessel into a luxury gambling and tourism ship, for which it had come into great renown in the Unknown Regions for high-value tables and plentiful glitterstim. Now under the propriety of ex-corsec enforcer Picadillo Aldi, the starliner had been renamed the HSD Bourbonne, and focused more on sham tourism. “Look upon the Maw Installation fair tourists!” The girl who held the comlink that linked to the command deck could hardly be over twenty standard years old, but the blaster pistol on her side and green lapel marked her as lieutenant in the security service. She motioned with a finely manicured hand to the distant outline of a derelict station, highlighted by the plasma of the gravity well. The viewscreens panned the outline into better focus, showing the rusting holds of a long-forgotten station. “Our researchers tell us that this hulk was once called Spite Station, the headquarters of one Sith Master Furion, who some of you may know for popping up from time to time and then immediately disappearing once something goes slightly against his direction of plan.” The woman, named Gwenhyvar blinked. She had no idea where that information had come from. Another officer gave her a hard, sideways stare for her unauthorized impromptu. Had anyone been paying attention, they would have one of the many derelict ships that were caught in the soft gravity well around the station come to speed and head for the Bourbonne’s underbelly. Gwenhyvar stuttered for a second, a pounding headache beginning to overwhelm her senses. She felt so hungry too. She passed the commlink to lieutenant Fenhalmen, a Rodian of noble birth, and he continued the rehearsed spiel about the rarity and luxury of such unnantural views of the Maw Nebulae. She stepped from the gambling deck, slipping into the employee shamlift and dropping into the main cargo-hold. …Why even am I going here? The lieutenant glanced down at the handful of banquet rolls she had snagged while passing through the deck with surprise. She hadn’t eaten gluten in nearly a year, but even her own indignation couldn’t halt her hand from bringing the bread to her lips. She could smell the yeast and spices. The woman took a tender bite and then gulped down three like a ravenous strill. A voice in her mind, crashing through her hunger like a landspeeder running over a toddler. <<Good evening my dear. Tell me, how is the bread?>>
  3. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    A com message arrives from the deepspace intended for Quealala
  4. Primary: Sheog the Mad Discord: Fieldgrey Name: Redacted Active Characters: Fieldgrey, Kyrie Eleison
  5. The spirit drew away, taking with it the power and strength that had been offered. Far beyond the galactic rim, The Hutt smiled. Instead of a demon, now there was only a fainter feeling of the Hutt beside the girl. <<You have turned away from power. Away from power not your own.>> The stagnant pool fell away, dropping the girl into mud and darkness. <<You have made the choice that few Sith could make. You are strong enough now to be on your own.>> Sheog reached out, across the galaxy and felt the skin of her shoulder upon his hand. One last physical touch before madness would consume his once more. <<Build a lightsaber and become a Lord of the Krath… Darth Awenydd…>>
  6. The demon transformed into water-bound smoke. The familiar curl of pipesmoke. It held itself with bemusement. A broken, deep laugh wrapped itself around the naked girl. Visions of Corellia’s destruction, the death of the Jedi Council, all at The Hutt’s Hands. <<Why would you turn away from power?>> The spirit flooded into the water his power, charging the pond with the Force. What was consumed had been turned into energy. Tantalizing her with his gift of eternal power.
  7. A spirit of hunger. A devouring demon shattered the stillness of the water. The moss and algae began to wilt and curl as life itself began to be consumed. All would die and be consumed. All but this girl. His Apprentice. <<What brings you to call upon me… After all this time?>> A deep laugh roiled in the water <<My Fieldgrey…>>
  8. Recycled air. With a deep, slobbering breath, The Mountain of Filth could taste nothing but the faint essence of the ozone the filtration system used to scrub the air clean of impurities. Another breath and the Hutt’s gullet shuddered. He smelled dirt, despoiling uncleanliness and witchcraft. A fat, grotesque hand steadied the insane Hutt. A spawn of that witch Quaeala. Telpie? Telperonion? Some strange name. Would she be whore like her mother or a spoiled man-child like her father? The Master of the Krath stooped to enter to bridge of the Scarab. Even such a large blast door was small for his oversized frame. His crimson eyes stared across the assembled crew and fell upon the lithe frame of the Dathomiri girl. She looked much different than he had remembered. Skinchanger perhaps. With an awkward cough, the Hutt gave the girl a small wave. The bridge was packed with people, and he felt he might need to clarify that he did not come with an explosive ship. He moved his pipe from his lips, letting a greeting be carried to her along with the smoke. <<Greetings child of Ar-Pharazon. Nice…>> His gaze skimmed over her tunic. She looked oddly legal, which he did not expect. He couldn’t have been gone that long. <<Arrows. Yes. Arrows. Wonderful weapon for space conflicts. Yes.>> “Excuse me sir, there is no smoking on the bridge!” The Hutt stammered for a second, caught off his guard by the reproach and turned his bulk to appraise the speaker. The woman no fleet uniform, but wore a flowing dress, which did not accent her purple hair at all. The Hutt took another breath of his precious tobacco and stared at the woman. <<Who are you?>> The woman gave him a stern and patronizing smile. “You are a trouble-maker aren’t you. My name is Vice-Admiral Holdor” The Hutt pursed his lips and glanced over the bridge staff who was looking at him in horror. Apparently this woman deserved undeserved respect out of nowhere <<By the looks of you, you either slept your way to the top or sued Human Resources to give you the fleet stripes.>> The woman’s hands curled into fists before she crossed her arms and tapped a foot in frustration. “Typical misogyny. Something i am doing my utmost to remove from this fleet! When I served under Darth Emily she would always say… Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you'll never make it through the night." The Hutt’s brow furrowed. <<What is this, the worst holofilm in a once respected series?>> Sheog turned to the child of Ar-Pharazon, letting the Force flow to her with a feeling of ravenous hunger. Perhaps the witch would drink the woman's soul. Or spirit. Or whatever witches did these days. <<Am I hallucinating? I can never tell these days. The veil of the force is so thin…>>
  9. The Hutt breathed in a blubbery breath of the stale air of the Dark Lord’s personal chambers. It was claustrophobic, the air tasted of latent fear and broken souls. It could also have been because Sheog’s massive mountain of a greasy body was not meant for the humanoid living quarters. His heavy-lidded eyes, horrifying crimson flecked with sulfuric yellow, scanned the room, passing over the Empress with little interest. …Lord Sheog… The Hutt’s deformed nostrils wrinkled, a momentary disdain for the title. He was a Master of the Sith and killed more Jedi then the rest of the active order combined to get there. Somehow, he had even killed several of the Jedi several times. …What do you think the Sith have become? The Hutt pondered the question. He never knew, when talking to his Sith brethren, if such questions were traps, or bait, or reason for some idiot to attack him. He didn’t care to be cautious with Exodus, diplomacy and guile were not the Hutt’s style, and would stink of dishonesty even worse then the noxious grease that stained his flesh. Sheog set the stage with a recounting of Kuat, the last battle at which the Sith had been tested. He was blunter then normal. <<Our Sith got kriffing rickrolled by Stormtroopers without lightsabers.>> The Hutt snorted derisively, pausing to deal with the phlegm that came from his action. He almost coughed the slimy bolus onto the Dark Lord, but caught himself, swallowing it like Lallu would have. He continued, his disgust bridling on anger. <<Well Lucifer died, which is par for the course... Have you ever played Acceron mini-Golf? Like one shotting every hole at a family fun center. Yeppp... Lucifer got bloody roasted. His apprentice too. Wasted by an unmounted TIE pilot no less.>> The Hutt produced a small, desiccated wormlike lizard. Its dead flesh was cradled in his palm. The chubby fingers slowly curled around it, crushing it into bloodless chunks. Wordless disgust. Ysalimiri <<Oni died like a bitch against what they called a... Sexorcist I think. Probably was a fun death by the sounds of it. Got burned alive by flames, must have been one hell of a night. You ever had a night like that? Burning the bedsheets…>> The Hutt glanced sideways at the Empress and gave her what he thought was a coy smile but it came across as a grotesque interest. <<They don't call you Sexodus for nothin I'm sure.>> The Insane Hutt calmed his absurdity, halting his prattling monologue before it became more indecent. He glowered at the tiara, pondering the Imperial’s efficiency. They had used some form of Meta, had won everything, but had still lost. <<What have the Sith become?>> The Force was rocked by the Hutt’s concentrated madness. Gluttony and greed entwined, wrapping themselves about the Hutt like a cloak. The staff cracked against the flagstones, sending sparks into the shadows. <<They do as most creatures do. Shirk from responsibility when it is foisted upon them. We have a galaxy to conquer, let us not allow the weak to feed upon our strength, like a babe sups upon the breast…>> His eyes fell to the Spider’s, and they shone with power <<Let us forge it in our strength. If the rest of the Sith are to follow, they will need to grow up from the children they are. To leave their sandcastles. Their toys. Their whores...>>
  10. A roiling hunger. Bitter in its chaos, a tempest of untampered madness. Lighting and smoke of crimson. Greed and Gluttony tore at the veil of the Force, allowing their master to enter physical form once again. A mountain of filth, never broken. Insane, but never disloyal. <<Do you think I would ever… Truly… Leave you, Shadow Spinner?>> The deep laughter of the Hutt, flecked and filled as it was with phlegm, held true joy. Mirth carried by insanity. A silver tiara landed at the feet of the Spider, tossed by the Master of the Krath. A gift for the Dark Lord. <<Kuat and the Empress are yours. As promised.>> The Hutt breathed in a deep, blubbering sigh. For a moment he gave himself pause. Had he come too far into the Spider’s web, to his very bedchambers? No matter, Such an entrance would have given even Ar-Pharazon enough time to disguise his whores. The Hutt snorted, clearing his nostrils and leaving such cares behind. The Force subsided, his entrance made. He had no need to impress the leader of the Sith, the Hutt knew grandiose entrances were mundane and cliché. <<Did you think I would leave the Krath to Draken?>> His staff dragged upon the flagstones as the Hutt bowed his form, what little resemblance he could muster to kneeling. <<I am not Furion...>>
  11. Sheog the Mad

    Korriban

    The spiced smoke was sweet upon his tongue and burned as it passed to the great Hutt’s lungs. The soft tip of the pipe’s bit lodged itself into the misshapen corner of his maw, but it gave him no pain, even as it rubbed into the spit-laden sores that ringed his mouth. The Hutt’s fractured mind was occupied by his work, and not on the pain of his daily reality. “Whatcha building Sheoggggggggg?” The small, lovingly mocking voice drew him from his concentration. The Hutt startled, almost dropping his elaborately carved Veshok-Briar pipe upon the slime-soaked flagstones of the Krath temple. He gave the girl a stare with his crimson eyes, letting the sulpheric lids drag across his visage to concentrate upon her form. <<Hayley…>> The auburn-haired girl skipped towards him, and Sheog’s gaze was drawn to her scarred orbital socket, and the mechanical eye that gleamed within it. A gift from the pirates of Mrykyr. It shone red in the half darkness, scanning the room and the pile of corpses before the Hutt. They were stacked like cordwood, freshly dead, and not even stinking yet, even though the bloatflies were beginning to swarm around them. “That is my name yeah. Were those the Coruscanti refugees?” The Hutt reached out with a slimy hand, letting the Force flow around him, catching her as the young teenager slipped in the slime and blood that had slickened the floor. He breathed out a puff of spiced smoke which clung to the air and settled upon the bodies. It seeped into their pores and orifaces like the bloatflies that were searching for a meaty place to lay their eggs. The Hutt appreciated their tenacity and their willingness to repurpose the dead. It was a trait they both shared. <<Yes. Their minds, before they were broken, told me of a harrowing escape. Mandalorians. Moonfall. Moon Knight taking a world with a storm of death? A moon hits a world and a Moon Knight conquers it…>> The Hutt sighed out more smoke from his lungs, letting it fall onto the corpses once more. The Force moved through him, feeding on his greed and hunger to corrupt his desires. The bodies began to heave and twitch. Sheog’s labored, noisy breathing paused <<No, not Moon Knight. A servant of Kad Ha’rangir…>> A slobbering breath filled the room as the Hutt began to laugh <<Little Terra has finally come to her own. My old master’s Pariah. Never seemed to be able to talk with her…>> Hayley watched from where she was suspended still by her master’s will. “She took Coruscant?” The bodies continued their seizing, epileptic dance <<Apparently.>> The wraiths rose from their writing stack of flesh and began to shamble out of the door, their body’s twitching as if they were marionettes on a string. The Hutt focused on a single body, that of a toddler who had been nearly decapitated by his lightsaber. He hadn’t even noticed her. He watched as the body’s twitching became less abhorrently gross, the muscles refining their touch. <<Such a crude thing, Necromancy…>>
  12. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    “M-master we are but m-moments from K-k-k-” Sheog’s crimson eyes turned slowly to the stammering dancing girl. With a yawn he returned with his own words and a dismissing wave of a grubby hand. <> The Hutt sneered at the voice he heard as his concentration returned to the training before him. He had heard the voice in his dreams over the centuries of his madness. Greed incarnate, the demon Mammon. He enjoyed the strength of otherworldly creatures, but they were not a lasting strength. A murmur came from the Hutt as he placed the ornate mouthpiece of his longstem briar-wood pipe to his slobbery lips. <> The Hutt puffed on his darkstained pipe, letting the tobacco with spiced burley and intense flavour curl through his widening maw. His apprentice was smashing his toys like a toddler, but about the man was a coiled serpent, perceptible only to the force-touched insane. The blonde-haired girl shuddered upon the ground and raised herself to sit up, scratching her face with clawing hands. His voice was much louder this time, booming over the man as he destroyed his creations. <> Several more Jedi prisoners were tossed into the laboratory, their hands bound with stuncuffs. Their brown robes. They shone brightly within the force. Candles piercing the darkness of his sanctuary. They were resolute knights, not self-doubting apprentices. Sheog’s crimson gaze settled upon them as the viewscreens showed their drop from hyperspace. The stars extended like a mother’s arms and tore them from the whirling insanity of hyperspace. Then there was a startled cry as the Jedi were exposed to the wound in the Force that was the Hutt’s hunger. Before them stood not a Hutt but a girl, bound in bandages and dripping with bacta-fluid. She was their doom, and she carried their souls into the Hutt’s dominion. Madness and Hunger, like binary stars orbiting a black hole. All of Kuat would feel it.
  13. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The Great Hutt’s heavily lidded eyes blinked slowly as he watched his apprentice venerate the skill of necromancy. The Blonde shuddered and rasped as the Hutt stared into the soul of his apprentice. His words were soft and caring as he spoke <> The Hutt illuminated the connection he had to the blonde with the Force. The wisps of power like a second set of shadowed muscles flashed crimson for an instant. The girl began to dance, walking the steps of a Corellian Swing without a partner. <> A ghostly figure led the dead woman in her dance. Its hair was long and shaggy, and the gaunt face drove fear into the heart. The Hutt laughed a moment at his creation and the corpse dropped shuddering to the ground. The lesson was too simple to be interesting for long. <> His eyes were fully crimson now, great beastial eyes that belonged to no Hutt the prince had seen. He was more demonic dragon, half awakened in his true form. His soft, wormlike appearance was shifting. A large smile spread as the Hutt reached towards the kyber-laced bulkhead, and a great wailing began. Screams of fear in the Force. <> The glowrods flashed and there was a great tearing and agony in the force. It was unbearable evil. The wrenching heartache of death held no comparison. A great pressure fell on the room and a rush of freezing, bloodcurling cold. If any heart was open to the Force, it would feel the supernova of hate and corruption as it spawned forth its demons. The Hutt’s words were commanding and monstrous. <> And the blonde breathed
  14. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    *As the Fleet is almost to Kuat, training continues* < The Great Hutt sighed as looked about the ravaged and disembowled bodies. An orgy of violent death. It had been reminiscent of the deeds of those like Geki, Scando, or Ar-Pharazon. Such a waste of flesh. He breathed in the flavour of death, enjoying its pallet. The churn of spilled bowles, the sting of heated lifeblood. He could taste the phermones of battle in the air and could still feel the rush of terror before each had died. <> The air seemed to sweeten as the Force moved about them. It was almost as if the airlocks had released the air of a riparian forest to blow across them. A distant thunder shook the room and the bactabath unsealed to a small gasp. The Hutt reiterated his own philosophy. <> There was a collective gasp about the room, but no one was there but the dead. The Auburn haired girl rose first, her neck resetting with a delightful crack. She clambored to her feet, and stared at Milenko with eyes as yellow as burning sulphur. The rest rose then, the blonde’s empty eyesockets turned towards the princeling and a small smile curled upon her lips. The rush of air changed, and the dead were soulless, bound into the tempest of madness that was the Hutt in the Force. The blonde strode up to the princeling, her body contorting into the action of a sexy walk like marionette. She placed a blood flecked hand upon his shoulder, letting it wander across his chest with twitching fingers. When she smiled again, it was with all the evil of a hellbeast, the lifeless eyesockets an inferno of hellfyre as they looked into the Prince’s. It was the ineffable horror of necromancy, the greatest works of the Krath. An affront to God itself. <
  15. The Hutt slid from his dias, choosing to move instead of be still. He was like a placid lake, serene through insanity, with malice and evil lurking beneath the surface. The Hutt himself was drawn to his apprentice’s actions, to assess their greater meaning. The captives, an arrangement of soldiers and civilians were an interesting lot, each with their own drives. Their own horrors and nightmares. His words were in ancient Sith, but brought with translation to Milenko’s ears. < The massive Hutt towered over one of the unshackled teenagers and smiled at the girl. Her body trembled with fear and apprehension. He could the pheromones of terror in the recycled air. He touched her forehead with a greasy finger, smudging the remnants of makeup that badly concealed acne. <<Wickedness is reveling in death, squandering tools to sadistic pleasure. It is what made our empire weak in the histories...>> The girl slowly stood, her sweat tangled auburn hair falling in bunches about her face. Curtains falling to mark the end of a play. She faced the other captives, her back hunched, her small muscles bunching and unbunching as her shallow breaths shook her body. <
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