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Sheog the Mad

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Sheog the Mad last won the day on June 14

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  1. A flavour emerged from the background, like a fish-head rising to the surface of a good soup, where the eyes seem to stare back at you, waiting to be devoured. Hunger changed its attention from scouring the planetside, upwards towards a new morsel. The flavor of it was somehow familiar, but lost to the fog of time, like a mince-pie you had in a dream, but whose taste you always pursue. The Mountain of Filth stared skyward, beyond the circling clouds, beyond the consumption of the Maw. He could see it now, on the Event Horizon, a powerful force. All he had to do was tempt it to stray further, and he would be sated for a time. Half a planet had died and yet he was still unfulfilled, perhaps this would fill him. Familiarity crystalized, and into the Force the Hutt greeted the approaching one with a wisp of desire, the grumble of a stomach. An invitation to consume. Come and join the heart of the revel, for what fun was eating if there was no one to share the meal with? The Hutt looked down to a small droid nestled in his palm, a trophy from long ago. <<I haven’t tasted of you since Corellia… My it’s been a long time. If you can't talk, I do still possess your tongue.>>
  2. The Diviners of the Maw Sorcerer Subclass: All Krath of the Court of Madness are Diviner’s of the Maw, and train aboard the Ghost of Zakharyina, a derelict Super Star Destroyer that resides within the Maw Installation. The powers gained are those below. Reminder, guides such as these are merely a spectrum of power, on which you may expound within your own creativity On Radiation Damage: This is like any other damage-type, it is not the ultimate power in the universe able to churn through the finest beskar, or something to shrug off. It has killing power, treat it with the respect any attack deserves, but don’t expect to lose a duel because you got hit by it or something. Abeloth’s Gaze: This attack harnesses the Force through the eyes of the Maw, and thus concentrates the Dark Side into a concentrated attack that takes on the stylization of a beam of radiation. The Dark Side would act to denature flesh and break the chemical bonds that hold flesh and bone together. Although most radiation is invisible, this takes on the visage of liquid night, reflecting the Maw’s consumption of light. (Allows it to be dodged, redirected, etc) Dimensionless Rift: This is a gravitational-based attack that harnesses the Dark Side to change gravitational pull within a specific zone, starting with a few meters of area, and increasing to that of several dozen meters at Master Level. This takes a few seconds to summon with a growing darkness over the specified zone. In this area, tendrils of darkness begin to pull whatever within it down towards the ground. The rift acts like a glue-trap to those that step on them, and can disrupt the flight of those that sail over it. Gravitational Lens: The Diviner bends reality about them, using the change to leap a short distance across a battle-zone. Even within the veil of the Force, such a change takes time, and a gravitational lens will take a few seconds to activate, and is as such not an insta-teleport button, so don’t use it like one. In a technical sense, it is a reskinned force jump, but can be better used to maneuver on the battlefield and confuse opponents. Breath of the Unseen: The Diviner reaches into the Maw and harnesses the Dark Side into a rush of radiation and applies it to the enemy in a blast like a coronal mass ejection, throwing dark radioactive fire in a wave about him/herself. Eclipse of the Gods: The Diviner draws in light about him, bathing the battlefield in darkness with the effects of a warping eclipse. Used to draw in power externally if internal power begins to wane. Devourer of Stars: The Diviner is consumed by hunger, reaching out with the Dark Side with ravenous hands of distorted light to devour their opponents piecemeal. These ethereal hands carry radiation damage and will begin to eat away anything they hit, be it their opponent or any material in the area.
  3. Hunger, that insatiable starvation tore across the planet, spreading out like a ravenous cancer from the capital of Byllurun, taking everything living into the storm. The planet’s heartbeat, those tidal flows of magma that swirled through the planet, took on that of the Hutt, reflected in his madness. There was a volcanic rush, tectonic plates fighting against each other in a mad scramble of fire and groundquakes. Pyroclastic flows reached across the cities like searching fingers, finding the hiding life within and devouring it to ash and fire-gnawed bone. About the Hutt, a world began to die. The power of the Maw had come, and Sullust was crossing the Event Horizon. That life which was not directly consumed, such as fungi and bacteria, began to whither away from the radiation that poured from the atmosphere. The Storm was growing, rippling with radiation and gravitational abnormalities. Sheog consumed everything about him, corpses whithering away, their consciousnesses eclipsed by his own. All that was left was sardonic mimickry of life, shattered bones tottering like zombies through a wasteland that had once been a capital.
  4. Various reports began to surface on the Holonet. Sullust had lost communication with the galaxy. The hypernet-relays were intact, but communication was dark. The last words had been of a dark storm over Byllurun, the capital. Eventually reporters found a singular source, for one solar-powered camera continued its broadcast. It was typically used as a live tourist information relay camera to check crowd flow in the downtown of Byllurun, and now all it showed was the death of a city: Natives ate everything in sight, each other, and even devouring clothing when flesh became impossible to find. An unending and crippling hunger. Withering corpses faded away, as if eaten by unseen locusts. Storms washed across the land, turning beautiful architecture into rubble. Most of the camera's more graphic depictions were scrubbed for public consumption, and reports to the public spoke only of environmental disaster. Behind the scenes there are calls for investigation to the Sith, as well as the Jedi and Rebel Forces.
  5. Something like Hunger moved across the surface of Sullust. A Lust for Indulgence. It struck with the fury of a famine. Gluttony in all its forms. Five spectors with it came, all the fell offspring of famine: Laute, that of exotic indulgences. Studoise, that of the excess. Nimis, that creature of unending insatiability. Praepropere, that animalistic instinct of the ancients from which feasts are born before the famine. Last was Ardenter, that fell bastard of Avarice and Hunger, which drove men to horde and devour. All were manifest in the mountain of Filth that channeled the storm. The ground itself cried out in the cravings of famine, churning with ravenous tectonic rage. A Storm rose above Byllurun, the capital of the falling world, and into it, Sheog channeled the very heart of depravity. Avarice and Gluttony ruled and was reflected in the Maw. What could be eaten, was in overindulgence, but still they starved. They were like rats in their warrens, feasting on their own young but still starving. Insatiable. It was all a reflection of the Madness that was the Master of the Krath. Dark clouds began to fall from the sky, ripping into the city of Byllurun with howling wind. It was assaulted from above by the sky, with lightning and ice, while from below the ground quaked in its insatiable rage. The city was a ouroboros, the populace devouring themselves and each other in an orgy of hunger. At the very heart of the revel, was Sheog. He relaxed, leaning against the stout bark of a Vyspian tree, in a field of death. He took in life itself, ripping it into shreds just as the maw devoured light. Flesh crumbled to ash, bone to dust. He feasted on life and on the emotions of the tortured populace. The Maw had been unleashed.
  6. The Basic Rules of Dueling Do not disrespect your opponent: What this means, is to treat them not as a hostile writer, but as another character in your narrative that is worthy of your respect. This is an over-encompassing ideal that sets the stage of this RP. Under this umbrella are further rules Do Not God Mod: This is another umbrella term, which means do not make yourself a mary-sue or a gary-stu. In the context of a duel, you are not the god of the scenario. For example, if you are an apprentice, you do not have the lightsaber skill of a master. Posting far too many attacks for your power level is another example of god-modding. Posting attacks your opponent cannot mitigate or defend against is another example of God Modding, or internalized attacks as will be outlined later. Unmitigatable Attacks are Unacceptable: Attacking your opponent by collapsing the entire room around them in a sphere of death. Attacking from every angle simultaneously. On Internalized Attacks: These can be taken literally, you CANNOT under any circumstance use the force to pull on your opponent’s internal organs. Or post your lightsaber actually hitting. Or directly ripping into someone’s mind. Those things are forbidden directly. You can attempt to open someone else’s mind to the force, and it is on them to let you do so or make up a legitimate defense. Every Attack you make must be defendable by your opponent: It cannot be internalized or overpowered. You cannot, for example, whip out a concussion missile and shoot your opponent in the face and laugh because there is no way for them to escape the detonation zone. Do Not Make Closed Attacks: What constitutes a closed attack is as follows; (and is not an exhaustive list, but only the flavor of it so that you may avoid doing so) posting an attack on the opponent AS WELL AS the outcome of that attack. If I were to swing a lightsaber at your face, I should post that, NOT that it strikes and takes out your pretty jaw and your pearly whites. Don’t throw a grenade and have it also explode in your post, this removes the narrative ability of your opponent; maybe they wanted to toss the grenade out an airlock, or smother it in the heroism of a sacrificial NPC, or a variety of other things. Do not, for example throw a grenade, bring it to your enemy with the force and then hold it there making its detonation unavoidable. This allows your opponent to make a defense against your attack and take the damage themselves in the way THEY see fit. After a duel, you should discuss the outcome, and don’t demean the enemy in death. On Taking Damage: Part of respecting your opponent is in the respect of their attacks. If you simply block every attack because you’re an uber-jedi who is an invincible god, you will get a smackdown. You do not have to take damage from EVERY attack, but a good rule of thumb is to take one to two hits per round. Damage can be taken in a variety of ways, but it should always be meaningful and doesn’t have to be debilitating or fatal. Damage should be carried over in your further posts of narrative. (Ask yourself this; If you’ve taken a shot to the leg and then it proceeds to not at all interfere with your movement, concentration, etc, have you really TAKEN damage at all?) Physical Damage: Taking a scoring hit from a lightsaber or blaster If you’re worried about survivability of injuries during duels, we have medical professionals as part of our staff (Myself and Delta73) who are happy to advise. At some point during a duel, you SHOULD be taking some form of physical damage, otherwise it’s a feel-bad moment for your opponent and you aren’t truly respecting their ability to HARM you. The Displacement of Good Positioning: You planned on attacking head on, now you can’t. It ought to screw up your plans a bit, and you ought to speak to that in your narrative, or it really isn’t taking damage. Loss of Set-up Attacks: You had planned on lambasting your opponent from a leftward swipe with a telekinetic attack or lightsaber blow, but now you cannot. Now, this implies the following: Set up your attacks beforehand. You cannot just say, oops now my force storm won’t work, if you didn’t speak to a force storm in a previous post, or else you aren’t taking any damage. Loss or Damage to NPCs (This is specific to classes that use these in their arsenal): Your favorite Mandalorian squaddie just lost a leg or something, now he can’t shoot as well or be as mobile. Loss of Weapons or Armor: Getting your blaster cut in half by a lightsaber, or a piece of your armor being slagged, or a weapons system becoming inoperable. This should be meaningful to your player or narrative. (Oh no, I just lost the ability to play music in my helmet, is not meaningful damage. Think instead of losing multispectral readout from your HUD, or nightvision, or something that indicates actual harm from your opponent’s attacks.) On Attacking: Set up your attacks, you should be hinting at those to come throughout the duel, because you cannot pull out force powers like party tricks, there is always a setup, a buildup. Give them life and meaning, it helps those who are reading it, because this is a story with two writers. If you’re going to swing a lightsaber at a person’s throat, don’t just say that, give meaning behind it, indicate your character knows what they’re doing, and your opponent and mod will find it easier to give the attack weight Example: “Terra cut at Ar-Pharazon’s chest with her lightsaber” turns into “Terra threw her full might into the blow she aimed at Ar-Pharazon’s chest, hoping to drive her sword deep into his black heart” See? Much easier to respect and gives the attack some character. On Thermal Detonators and Disrupters or anything that will kill the opponent if it touches them: Generally, don’t use these, they aren’t banned per say, but how can someone respectfully defend against your attack if they insta-die if it touches them? Typically such items are used only for inspiring movement from an opponent in a fortified position. On Mental Attacks: Some attacks may be considered “undodgable” in a physical sense, such as some mental-based attacks (Like Force Insanity, or Malacia, or a variety of mental attacks that exist in Star Wars Canon). These can be “resisted” through the narrative of the defender in the same way that one may dodge a blaster bold or a thrown grenade. Like all attacks, the defender has the prerogative on what kind of damage they actually take from a mental-based attack. On Tactics: Setting up attacks, movement patterns, and diversifying your attacks are especially important. If you swing a lightsaber at your opponent’s face again and again, you have become predictable and boring. If your only arsenal is in the swing of a lightsaber, vary it up, add in some leaps, some diagonals, try to get the high ground. Always discuss the layout of the battleground with your opponent, don’t just go “I now have the high ground good luck idiot, or gotcha you’re in a chokepoint now this is Thermopylae now” there should be a consensus and give and take. Setting up the taking and giving of ground is important to narrative and to those reading the story. On Equipment: You can only fight with what is on your Character Sheet in the databank. Don't be tossing out random secret weapons, tactical nukes, exploding ships, a fleet of Star Destroyers, etc. It should be in line with your class. On the Basics of Writing and Narrative: This is a story written by two authors. You should both write like you are the protagonist and make the story interesting. No one wants to read a sterile instruction manual of combat. Give your emotions and your thoughts some layout, it will help the readers and the mods take an interest. At the end of the day, you can throw out a million attacks and still lose because reading it was a slog for everyone. We have all types of writing advisors here, seek us out on Discord, set up conversations and advice. We have all read great stories, and we want to read yours. Other Assorted Rules The Three Day Rule: Try not to take longer than three days to post a response to your opponent. After this time has run out, they can legally kill you. We discourage people actually doing this because of hurt feelings, so talk about it if you have a family emergency or work stress or depression. Everyone is understanding. Moderator Rulings For Mod Rulings: Every Duel is ruled on by a Moderator with the assistance of an Advisor (from the Admin/Mod Team) to determine the winner. Mods take the following things into account: Were both opponents respectful to each other? Were all attacks accounted for properly and was the damage taken appropriate and respectful? Did anyone God-Mod? Were the tactics sound for both sides? Was the story good to read for both sides? What determines their giving the win to one side or another will be discussed with another mod or admin who will also be reading the duel, as to minimize blindspots and hurt feelings.
  7. The Demented Madness dropped into realspace above the unfortunate planet of Sullust, and with it came hunger and madness unrivaled in the galaxy. The ship was a tattered starbarge, scarred from its time under the pulls of the Maw and its master. It was a dead thing, a lifeless hulk propelled by no living crew. A transponder beacon labeled it as the skybarge Soulless Fancy out of Veruna by the Hydian Way. The Hutt pondered the world as it approached. Sullust was the gem of Rimma Trade Route, well known for its mineral wealth. With it under his control, the Sith Empire’s constant hunger for raw materials would be sated, for a time. Would his own? A blubbering sigh echoed across the rusting bulkheads as the ship set down in the quarantined dockyards. Even the Jedi Master, Sarna, had been but a momentary pause in his consumption. Her essence had barely filled him, and only for but a moment. Another blubbery breath, this time of the harsh Sullustian air. Crimson eyes stared up into the polluted skies. Hunger crawled through him, twisting his visage. Around him was a loading yard, all scattered machinery and cargo ships, all waiting for the bureaucrats to complete their lengthy inspections. To pay their tolls and tax their cargos. Dockworkers bustled about, looking busy in the laziest way possible. The Dark Side moved, sparked to action by the Greed and Gluttony of the Maw, overpowering the insignificant emotions of bureaucrats and dockworkers. Beside their simple lusts for credits of leisure, the Maw was an all-consuming desire for more. He could feel the lives about him change, bending unknowingly to the will of Hunger. They were delicious. As each was brought under his control, life began to ebb away. Just as starlight streaked into a Black Hole, unknowing its death until beyond the Event Horizon, so too were the lives about him. The more power he consumed, the more he could devour. Beneath his great bulk he could feel the patterns of the world itself, the echoes of distant tetonic plates, their constant grinding played across his malformed lips. The polluted sky began to shift, unnatural forces overtaking those of Nature. It was not the Hutt’s desire to cause such change, it was but the consequence of such power moving, the physical manifestation of the Dark Side. A storm was building
  8. Another com-message addressed to the Sith Master, Darth Mavenger from a loyal Hutt apprentice “I see, my Lordy master that you left me on read and didn’t respond. It seems that most don’t tend to actually respond to my messages, so I’m not that offended, but anyway, I will be scouting and or taking over a planet for the Sith Empire. I know that Sith Masters desire…. Initiative in their students." The scene cuts to a blindfolded Hutt holding a dart before a map of Unaffiliated or Rebel-Held planets. The Hutt tosses a dart, missing the map completely. “Well scouting the Unknown Regions is a silly Thrawn-ish sort of thing to do.” Another dart thrown, landing on Mon Calamari. “Hm. This planet seems cliché at this point, and I know the Sith consider the cliché anathema” Yet another dart thrown, this one landing on the Sullest system in the Rebel-Held Brema sector, in the heart of the Rimma Trade route. The Hutt nodded with a smile that showed absolute trust. Throwing darts truly allowed for the Force to act. “Ahh, Sullest, that volcanic wasteland of those multi-jowled rodent-like creatures. Thankfully, I have enough jowls to fit in!” The commlink cuts off.
  9. A comlink-call, addressed to: Mr/Mrs. Sith Master, Mordahcai Mavanger, Esquire " Good morning fine sir Sith, it is I, your wayward Hutt apprentice, chief among your horde. I have finished the conquestication of Falleen and require further orders! Where should I invade next, in order to set the stage for the greatness of the Sithpire. Sith Empire. Sith Imperium? The Imperium of the Sith? Mavangers Avengers? Anyway, call me back. Love yo- Son-of-a " The comlink-call cuts off
  10. The Hutt paused, sipping upon his ornamental pipe, savoring the spiced taste of the perique blend as he watched the Princedom of Falleen fall into ruin. The Lord, Karys seemed to have the combat well in hand, alongside that beloved clone trooper. The Hutt spoke up from the rear of the Sith line as he squeezed his bulk among his own troops to return to his ship, <<Well done… Karys, you may well be the new Lord of Wrath! Keep up the good work, I’m sure Exodus will have great things in store for you.>> He waved a greasy palm at the clone trooper, a wry smile curling across his malformed features <<Sorry, spaced out, you know how it is. Sometimes these damn invasions are but skirmishes. I kinda hoped for a few Jedi to devour…>> He breathed out a spicy trail of smoke. <<Anyway, I’ll probably show up again randomly, you know how it is. Could be a week from now, or randomly at the next fight. Hah, could be never, you never know!>> And with that, the great Hutt was gone, his ship roaring away towards the heavens and doubtless another damnable invasion. Galactic conquest was an unending game, and one the Hutt had much disdain for. There was little mischief to be had, and far too little to eat.
  11. Hunger flicked in the air, twisting and rising above the Hutt like the acrid smoke of a spice-pipe in the hands of a Twi’lek preschool teacher. Artillery fell around the Sith like rain, and from them the Krath drew deeply of their energy, bleeding it into his veins. A sprinkling of shrapnel richocheted from the AT-PT, spraying across the Hutt’s bicorn and wig. The superheated metal seemed to warp and bend as it flew close to the Hutt, bleeding away mass as if it were being drawn into The Maw itself. A voice spoke up from beside him, and the Hutt eyed the newest addition to his group with consternation and displeasure, the man smelled of pure-blooded arrogance and misplaced wrath. The Hutt bowed slightly to the man and spoke, <<Ah… Lucifer was it? Didn’t I kill you at some point?>> The Hutt’s eyes rolled back and his tongue waggled across his misshapen gums as he tried to remember if he had tasted of the man’s soul in the past. A finger wound through the ringlets of powdered wig, feeling the coarseness of the wampa-and-wookiee hair blend. <<Hm, perhaps not. Well… Darth Lucifer, I will trust you to disable their anti-aircraft.>> The Master of Gluttony smiled next to Delta, giving him a quizzical raise of a rolled eyebrow <<Not quite sure if battle meditation still works as it used to, the Force is oddly fickle these days... Wouldn't surprise me if it was restricted to the Jedi Con->> Hunger surged as the Hutt trailed off, lazily squelching himself to the side of his saddle, causing the whole speeder to list dangerously. A mass-driver round cut through the air, setting part of his wig alight and the whole speeder toppled over in a horrendous crash. The AT-PT driver was unlucky, being cut in half by another round, while his co-pilot leapt from the burning walker. The Hutt chortled a dark laugh as he pulled his mass from the tangles of his reigns. The Sith Master’s crimson eyes sparkled with hints of flaming gold as he looked upon the distant skyscraper from where the blast had come from. <<That was my finest stallion… Cost me damn near a hundred ginnies.>> The AT-PT’s co-pilot began to screech and dove to the ground and roll as if he was on fire, as hunger began to consume him. Flesh turned to ash, serrating nerves and eliciting pain to drive a frenzy of emotions, a dualistic feast upon which the Hutt could sup. The Sith channeled the man’s pain and flesh into raw power. The rearmost rank of landspeeders from the Emperor’s Household Hussars leapt forward, driven into the darkening sky by the power of the Force, snatched from the ground as if by the winds of a tornado. The flaming AT-PT was wrenched into the air, its metal howling and shrieking as it was bent and warped by the Hutt’s power. With a derisive sniff, the Hutt whipped all seven landspeeders and the AT-PT to the speed of sound. The crackling booms of the sound-barrier being broken added to the cacophony of war, and the Hutt sent the eight missiles towards the skyscraper. The terrified screams of their crews echoed from the Hutt’s own wrecked speeder and the Hutt’s laughter continued. <<Oh, well I hope your prince isn’t in there…>>
  12. As the distant artillery began their rumbling report, a low whisper came from the jolly Hutt, accompanied by the smell of stale tobacco and partially digested rum <<I never tire of the taste of Jedi, damn good stuff no matter the age.>> The Hutt’s eyes blinked several times, <<Well that sounded better in my head.>> The sound of air-fighter engines began to whine in over the verdant hills. The Hutt Master smiled again, a crooked and ugly thing. Hunger began to whip through the evening wind as he called out orders <<Hussars, to the rear, pour anti-air fire into the bastards as they try a strafing run, free fire by platoon.>> To Delta, he smiled again, rather whistfully. <<If we had someone to duel and tie, I’d volunteer that boy Mavanger for the Forelorn Hope, poor lad just wants recognition… Despite his proclivities.>> With a whip of his reigns, the Hutt began to move his landspeeder to work down the line of Sith forces, to inspire them with his charismatic smile and to feast upon the fear and trepidation that battle brought with it.
  13. A troop of landspeeders were on the move, flying tightly in formation, the air filled with fluttering banners. The sound of the pulsar-engine’s droning whine was drowned by a cacophonous speaker system that filled the dusk with the sound of synthetic hoofbeats, a façade of ancient calvary noises. At its head was a massive LAVr QH-7 Chariot, painted in obsidian black, with a fake horsehair tail fluttering from the rear. Upon a leatherbound saddle, sat a similarly massive Hutt, his corpulent mass hoisted into the crimson jacket with leather crossbelt of a bygone age. Upon his bald head was a distressed powdered wig, windblown and matted beneath a black bicorn from which an avian feather streamed. The massive Hutt pulled upon the reigns that came from the windows of the repulsarcraft, turning it to slew beside the Sith Forces and greeted their leader with a bray of obnoxious laughter. He reached a greasy leather riding glove down and patted the roof of the speeder. <<Delta, my boy! Don’t you love her, picked her up from a breeder in Borkuna for a small fortune in ginnies.>> The Hutt caressed the metallic roof and gave the clone an eye glittering with mirth. <<You don’t see many of her speed and handling outside of the Pokmanian Rim these days.>> The Hutt looked upon his old friend’s invasion force with a crooked smile and gave them a wave of greeting from his saddle. <<My Emperor’s Household Royal Hussars are at your command>>
  14. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The Hutt’s crimson eyes caught those of the Dark Lord as the Spider stepped to congratulate the Warrior Mavenger. They shared a look, one the mad Hutt could only hope to decipher. Was it lust with which the Dark Lord gazed upon his corpulence? Was that an eyebrow waggle? A blink or a wink? The Lord of the Krath supped in a moist breath, a froth forming upon his tongue. He had missed the mysterious Assassin with which he shared so many ages of history, but that was mainly due to the Hutt’s own propensity to disappear into the madness of the Force. As the Hutt self-reflected, the Master of Assassins moved past, to address the man of the hour; Darth Mavenger, renowned duelist of two ties. Why Sheog wasn’t getting a pat on the back for smacking down a Jedi Master, the Hutt would never know. But he was beyond vanity. Or was he? The Hutt scratched at one of his multitudinous chins and took the time to admire the Dark Lord’s sword. The angle of the ebony blade was perfect. It fit the man’s stature, and for a moment, the Hutt was utterly proud of his oldest friend. It had slayed many, there was no doubt. The Hutt sighed, almost seductively through his heavy breathing, and looked for Mavenger’s sword, but found none, which was somehow both disappointing and relieving.
  15. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The Hutt kept his head bowed, his multitudinous folds of fat lapping into ripples that were luminescent with grease. His multiple lids fluttered across his crimson eyes, his best imitation of a grieving apprentice. The Sith Master had, in truth, little care over the death of the Lord Xahl, whom he had met little of, and had never conversed at length about politics over a tankard of Lumninats Brogg Ale with the man. The Sith Lord had seemed more of an IPA man, and so he had a disdain for the dead man. To which Sin did you adhere, Xahl, that left you so predisposed to mortality? Why do we mourn the passing of the weak? The Hutt stared out into the frenzied and irritable Sith forces, mystified as to why they too seemed to care about the death of a minor Sith Lord. Were the forces of Exodus so bereft of decent fighters that such a loss was meaningful? With a small flourish, he snatched his discarded gift from the floorboards, the saberhandle leaping into his greasy palm with a wet slapping sound. The mountain of filth breathed in, taking in the taste of the emotions that flew through the room, the rawness of rage, that mix of bitterness, the grief of lost love. A delicious cacophony of unrestrained emotion. He let it channel through him, feeding upon it like the Maw, drawing from it strands of emotion to savor and roll upon his tongue. A new sensation. The Spider had come. Sheog pushed his way to the side of the Lord Mavanger, leaning heavily upon his ceremonial staff. He bowed low, his folds tripling, the seems of his flesh, that façade of life, buckling against the stored rot within. He kept silent but eyed the Spider with a coy slyness. He would have given a quip or started inane rambling, but he didn’t care to ruin the moment.
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