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Sheog the Mad

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  1. The Hutt watched with glee as the undead struck, but the glee began to pass into anger as his enemies refused to die so quickly. Though there was not the feast of death, there was pain that would whet his appetite. Perhaps they were stronger than he had envisioned. Would these pitiful Jedi be the last living things upon this cursed world? A blaster shot burrowed into the Hutt’s flesh, rippling into the fat, spilling maggots in their swarms from the torn flesh. The Wookiee’s lightsaber came then, tearing into the flesh and muscle of his face. Its power ripped through him, cutting his lopsided smile far beyond its nature. His flabby jaw hung open now, dripping globs of spit and partially digested food. The pain was truly immense. The corpses, that danse macabre, dropped to the ground, the Hutt’s pain overwhelming his ability to control them. They returned to the Revel, devouring themselves instead of their enemy. The Hutt tried to smile at the irony, but there was no longer the control he needed to do so. Instead he sighed, feeding his pain into the Storm overhead and below. The heartbeat of the ground was beginning to join truly with that of the Revel. One, listless, yellow eye stared at the circling saber as it passed by from its strike. He could hear its defiant heartbeat. In his formal years, in those playful days of ignorance and mass killings, he would have been worried about the possibilities of death, but he no longer cared. The Power he had tasted was beyond the veil of mortality. The world of mortals was but a pale reflection of life as it could be and he was the mirror to the underworld. All the same, a lightsaber was the weapon of a Jedi, and he didn’t care to leave such a thing uncorrupted. Be unto the river, devoured. Starless night streamed from a greasy hand, reaching to strike at the lightsaber’s handle, at the very heart of its soul. He could almost taste the crystal within, its life calling to him. He would devour its power unto himself, and with it slay its master. Somewhere, lingering upon the wind, came the apprentice’s voice, questioning the power he saw. How am I doing this? The despotic voice was that of a lingering wraith, roiling forth in its hate from the veil of the Force. There was an unsubtle power to it all. It invited the apprentice to partake. To consume. To join the revel of madness, that fell stream from which such magnificent power could be drawn. Deep, guttural laughter came from about them all. Behold, The Dark Side of the Force. There was a sudden charge to that wind that blew about them all. Hair would stand on end, inky blackness playing upon the shadows. The heartbeat of the Revel began to pound loud and fast, a primal call to gluttony, to consumption; to that delightful, devouring greed of the ouroboros. The wounded Hutt’s laughter began to take on a derisive edge, and from the seeping wounds and dripping maggots, dark lightning began to curl and play. His strongest opponent was, for now, disarmed of his greatest weapon, and it would be a cruel mistake. The Master of the Krath opened himself further to the madness that drew him, letting himself seep into the power of the Maw, to feel its pull upon his mind. The Hutt tasted of the emotions on the wind, the terror of the recently dead, the pain and devastation of a planet in its death throes. He would channel it all towards the Wookie and his hapless apprentice. Dark lightning rippled from his flesh, from those seeping wounds, churning the air with the smell of death and ozone, the putrid scent of scorched fat and rot. With a waggling tongue, the Hutt thrust the tip of his ornamental cane towards the two and unleashed the storm. Chain lightning, dark and cruel, would rush towards the unarmed Wookiee and his blaster-toting apprentice, fracturing the wind with the deafening rumble of devastating power. He would cast them into the heart of the storm. The ground shook, a rush of geomantric energy coursing from the storm, channeled as it was through the Hutt. ((2)) ((Took damage from blaster and lightsaber throw, loses necromantic control due to damage taken. Attacks WJ's Lightsaber with consuming darkness, attempting to drain the life from the crystal and make it useless. Attacks Johan and WJ with chain lightning.))
  2. Bleary eyes, yellow and red, set deep into their malformed sockets, stared into the veil of the Force. The Wookie had come to fight, followed by an apprentice, both strong signatures within the Force. A grotesque smile played across the crooked face of the Master of Gluttony and Greed. Those that came for him were bright stars, burning bright and hot, but once a star crossed the event horizon, it could not escape the clutches of the dark. Misshapen nostrils flared, sucking in a slobbering breath as Sheog licked his pale lips with a quivering tongue. They would join the heart of the revel, that torturous display of consumption, and in turn be devoured by the Maw. The Wookie’s voice echoed, and the Hutt stared upon them, incredulous, leaning upon his dark staff as though old and decrepit. It had called his work… Filth. Barking, twisted laughter, flavored with phlegm and salted with the sighing whispers of overworked, obese breaths. Gluttony’s foul song, that shuffling heartbeat of madness rang out into the winds of Sullust, the storm echoing the refrain of Avarice. The words that came were of two voices, split, but echoes of each other. It churned not only from the Hutt’s crooked tongue, but from the jaws of the withered dead strewn about the fountain ...Biters and Reprobates… Sheog’s joyful demeanor was all but gone, replaced by a wicked thing, all faux grace and poise fallen away to the embodiment of the Dark Side. It beckoned the two to fall into its embrace, that temptation to consume. To join in the corruption of soul, for it gave such sweet pleasures. The black stream erupted into a river, rolling in black flame like the fierce Phlegethon, yet carrying a woe deeper than the Acheron. Temptation was beheld within its waters, for it crested in dark fire. It held a dark energy, attuned as it was to the Revel of Gluttony and Avarice. Crimson light smashed through the storm, burning a line of char across the Hutt’s immense side, streaming from the apprentice’s blaster. Pain seared with it, and the Sith Master’s laughter took on an even darker madness. The Wookie’s bladework came next, and the Sith Master lurched backwards, springing back upon his massive tail. There was little point in the attempt to block the Jedi’s blade, but Sheog attempted to give the blademaster some respect to it, using his strength to move one of the three strikes from their intended target with his staff. The other two found purchase, slicing deep gouges into the flabby, thick flesh. Façade dropped away under the combined assault, and the Wookie’s lightsaber exposed rotted, decomposing flesh. Maggots crawled about the wound, white and dark, undead even in themselves, spilling onto the dark ground in wriggling heaps as the Hutt completed his backward leap. He needed distance from their blades. Pain from the combined attack bled into his control, and the great storm above leapt with dark lightning. As if answering to the wounds of their master, the bodies that surrounded the corrupted fountain awoke from death. Scrambling, shrunken forms of unlife leapt to swarm the Jedi, aiming to hold and delay them with a dozen grasping, desperate hands. Their wilted tongues carried the shrieking pain that they felt. They were shambling husks, but sloppy clones of humanity. With a flabby hand in the Force, the Mountain of Gluttony admired his creations, consuming the pain he felt from his wounds. Weapons made from rags of skin, emotions marionetted by inhumanity, a feeble interpretation of the breath of life. They had enjoyed life’s once, but they had turned their eyes from Heaven, to seek Greed and the all-consuming desire for more. More than can ever be gained. All they wanted was to rejoin their revel, the dying joys of gluttony’s overreach. Oh, such beautiful Sin, and these Jedi were stopping them from it. They would tear and howl, seeking to consume the Jedi as though a meal. <<Drink now of the Acheron, revel in her woe, and drown in her flame… Be awash in this... Filth...>> A deep wave came from that broken, black river, as though a dam had burst, bringing with it all manners of evil. It would coil and lash towards the Jedi, aiming to break against them and tear them away into the clutching hands of the undead. It was no longer the waters of Sullust, but some dark and decrepit thing of the Maw. It roiled with dark flames, within which lay the extinguished light of a thousand stars. It waters reflected naught but night, and even then, it appeared as though the fires came as through a dark mirror, for they were made of radiation. It aimed to burn them to nothing but bone. With slow and slithering movements, the great Hutt continued to back away from the Jedi, reaching into the tectonic depths below, inflicting it with his pain, letting it echo into the storm above. His belly roiled, churning with pain and rot. The Jedi would not escape the Maw. ((1)) ((Took damage from Johan’s blaster pistol as well as two of the strikes from Kiralocca. Attacked using an undead swarm combined with a vast wave of radiation.))
  3. Around the great mountain of filth, a world continued to die, bleeding away into the void of the Maw. The sands beneath his bulk had been sterilized even down to the bacterial and fungal life that had made up the majority of the industrial world’s flora. The world seemed to shift and surge, tectonic plates crashing like the titans of the underworld beneath the power of the Force. Yet... There was another presence that stood out against the background of death and gluttony. A song that was opposed to the resplendent beat of the heart of the revel. The Wookiee and his Apprentice. The Hutt smiled in the heart of the storm. How many of this Kiralocca’s apprentices had he killed? What was one more death in this storm? A voice leered, distorted by the lensing of the storm, erupting around the Jedi like the volcanoes about them, <<Come then, Kiralocca. Let us have a fight, blade to blade. The fate of a world hangs in the balance.>> A drifting laughter came then from the shifting sands, rippling them like waves. <<I won’t explode a shuttle this time, I swear. Geki is long dead, just as is Ar-Pharazon. Against me fell Darex and Fitt, Dahar and all the others. Will your fate be different?>> The Hutt would await them, in the heart of the broken city, beside a still running fountain. The water had turned an inky dark with the soot of a dying world. He was the heartbeat of the darkness, his veins rooted into the world, a horde of dead about him. ((Feel free to join into the duel Johan, I will not kill you no matter the outcome. It'd be a good dueling lesson, feel free to read the dueling guide. I'm happy to walk you through it if you need it, as is WJ))
  4. 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.>>
  5. 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.
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. 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.
  10. 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
  11. 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.
  12. 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
  13. 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.
  14. 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…>>
  15. 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.
  16. 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>>
  17. 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.
  18. 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.
  19. The Sarlacc vs Svata Dragoste Overall, very well done from both characters. Duels between apprentices and their masters can be a little dicey regarding power levels, and I believe you both wrote to that very well. A little different from most training duels, usually you aren’t actually trying to kill each other. Dialogue: Speaking and monologuing is great for character build-up and is generally considered a “free-action”, however, Sarlacc I would caution the use of full dialogue between attacks for the following reasons; duel posts should take a very short amount of time between attacks, and it doesn’t make much storyline sense for a person to take on the attack of another, wait for them to stop speaking and then attack back. It tends to throw the pacing of a duel off-kilter very quickly. Aside from pacing issues, Sarlacc, your dialogue was very much written as one would speak, which for many RPers does not come naturally. Svata, your internal thoughts were done very well and portrayed action-response and gave true life to your characterization, I applaud you, as well as Sarlacc for this. Damage Taken: You both did a fantastic job taking damage and respecting each other’s attacks, no attack went unaddressed it appeared as though both sides took appropriate damage for the attacks given. It did seem a bit odd to see pain as a fuel for a non-darksider’s connection to the lightside, but that is not my purview, nor in my scope for judgement. Attacks: There was a lot of things going on in this duel, a lot of things to manage with not only there being force propelled lightsabers, but blasters and rods and all sorts of force shenanigans like the Defender’s evaporation. A word of caution here: there was a lot of telekinetic application to devices held to turn the opponent’s own weapon into an attack against them. There is a lot of grey in this, while not an internalized attack, there is a lot of potential for abuse in such attacks for the following reason: If you take control of an opponent’s weapon in order to attack them with it, it’s incredibly more powerful than a normal attack, there isn’t an ability to parry, that opponent has to overcome and defend themselves from their own weapon (because of “respect your opponent’s attacks”) and then somehow also attack you back with the thing you just used against them. It runs this dangerous razor’s edge between god-modding and being okay, so be incredibly careful with it. The Ruling: This one was really close, both sides were rather equal coming into the third post, but at the end, Sarlacc’s reliance on ballistakinesis against a lightsaber is kinda telekinesis at that point and, there is much in the way of controversy on whether one can apply telekinesis to energy beam at all due to its intangible nature since there is no mass to push on at all. Svata’s use stun blasts were simple yet effective in contrast. The Winner is Svata. Well done to you both.
  20. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The oversized mountain of filth slithered across the semi-abandoned hanger, austere behind his façade as a kind and idiotic Hutt, but within, the Maw churned through its digestion of the Jedi’s energy. It was a meager feast, but it was sustenance that he had not found since the violent end of the Jedi Council’s response team during the hunt for Geki. …Notes of cherry and happiness. Love perhaps? Why did it taste like a shower-scene? What had been the last thoughts of the Jedi as she had died? Were they of peace or of Love? Were they of the Code and the admonishment of life it brought with it? The Hutt could not quite taste the truth, but there was a feeling of peace within the meal, which saddened him. He preferred terror, horror, or even despair over such a melodramatic peace. It was like unspiced Nerf, sautéed in plain linthseed oil. No real flavor. Crimson, slitted eyes blinked, their many lids sliding and focusing upon a figure at the far side of the hanger. The Force reflected the storm of grief and rage that played upon the Sith’s soul. So the Lord Xahl was dead then, and a meaningful bond shattered. Poor boy. The Hutt slithered on, concealing his rotting wounds by knitting the shattered flesh together like a babushka knitted a blanket for a babe. The Sith Master drew in the pungent puss and ichor, binding it into his undead flesh once more. It wouldn’t do for the boy, that Lord Mavanger, to see his favorite apprentice as the Master of Filth he was. Sheog raised a greasy, dirty hand as a soft greeting as he approached, inclining his misshaped head in a small bow, a line of drool dribbling down his multitudinous folds. His voice was soft, filled with empathy instead of joy as it had been. <<My Lord, you have my condolences for the loss of your friend. I have a gift, taken from the kill of a great Jedi Lord, may it help to ease your suffering.>> The Hutt tossed the Jedi Master’s lightsaber to the decking at the Sith’s feet. The lightsaber echoed like a wound in the Force, a reflection of The Maw and of the terrifying power of a master of the Krath, imprinted forever with the death of its former owner.
  21. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The Maw consumed all life that came before its wrath. Once caught within the Event Horizon, there was no escape, and so it was for the Jedi Master. Flesh to lifeless ash and bone to dust, just as had happened to the Child before. So was the desire of that maddening hunger, and so the Jedi passed beyond, with neither pain no conscious thought. There was no soul to reap, for the great Master of the Jedi had escaped that fate and met her end peacefully. The Lord of the Krath paused, his furious hunger momentarily checked by the substantial meal. Crimson eyes blinked, multiple lids narrowing as he began to comprehend that the battle had finished. A smile twisted his malformed lips as he stretched out a hand, the Jedi’s lightsaber jumping into his grasp. It rebelled against him, screaming to unify itself with its consumed master, but he did not give it peace. A Jedi’s weapon was said to be part of their soul, so it would be his to hold for now. Perhaps it would give him better usage as a gift to Lord Exodus, or as a bargaining chip to some Jedi Grandmaster in the future. The Hutt’s overlarge bulk labored beneath him as he pushed his way back towards Le Morte de’Shadowfett. He had taken many wounds in this battle and he would need time to reknit his rotten flesh. He slipped away his morose mask, his rotting flesh appearing as though that of a more alive Hutt, and not as one so deeply corrupted by the Maw. The charade with the Lord Mavanger would continue.
  22. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The Mountain of Gluttony’s anger increased, paired in equal with his mounting hunger. Even the lifeforce of the child could not whet an appetite for long. Not even the Jedi Master before him would satisfy him now. Perhaps not even all the lives of Kuat, of the paired and dueling fleets above, would abate that which drove him, that unyielding greed. Yet the Jedi still lived. Jedis and their shields… Name a more twisted pair. Preserving themselves and accepting the deaths of the innocent. Uriel’s heartbeat contorted again, lust sated for the moment as an ear was taken from his prey, but as always with lust, it was never calmed for long. The handle of the great bearded ax, Armalite, found its purchase in the awaiting palm of its great master, leaping and jittering with the excitement of a Kath hound treeing an Ewok. Pain came then to the Great Hutt, shearing against his flank as a vibroknife bit into his tender, rotten flesh. It tore into the muscle of his great tail, causing it to spasm and weaken, and the Hutt felt unsteadiness seize his overlarge form. He turned his pain to rage, forcing it upon the child as he sagged backwards, the wave of acid subsiding, for there was no joy in the digesting of a meal before it was eaten. Blackened blood slipped into ash as life was consumed, transformed into the energy of hunger. A heartbeat faded, a last high mewing scream, one of pure pain, and the Child was past the event horizon, her fate sealed by the acceptance of the Jedi. The pale canvas of flesh, so torn with holes, melted away to reveal sinew and muscle before that too was transformed into the energy the Hutt desired. There was no longer breath in the child’s lungs to scream, but the soul reflected her torture until its end within the Force. Her heartbeat was now that of the storm and her body was no longer but bleached and gnawed upon bone scattered upon shattered decking. The Mountain of Filth was bleeding puss and ichor, pain seeping deeper into the storm that brewed in the Maw, but still the Hutt stood in all the glory of his filth and hunger. It was hard to move now, to propel himself, but he would not break to some Jedi girl. The electric fire began took on the hue of crimson, and the hum of its creation took on the screams of the broken child. The Hutt chortled a mimicry of the child’s death knell, a gasping withering laugh that echoed against the crackling of the electric fire that was the storm that brewed. Arcs of green and amethyst curled across the greasy staff, for it was the heart of the storm; that soul reaper with its wicked blade humming the reflections of death. The Maw was feeding, engorging itself with the life of the child as an aperitif before the main course of Jedi Master. The Jedi’s silver light came, but the flitmoth was ready and it was met in its turn by the orange fire of the Hutt’s lightsaber, streaming from the storm that was his ceremonial staff. He drove the silver light from where it desired to strike his throat, allowing it to furrow along the side of his great mass instead, to split the skin and boil away excess fat. It burned as it passed, burning away ichor and puss, but it was all madness now. The silver light was locked with the orange fire of his own. Pain and desire matched together as the great parasite moved to devour his prey, driven so by the Maw. The storm was unleashed. Driven by his hand, Armalite hammered down towards the hilt of the Jedi’s blade, at that heart of the shield, to smash away the pain and to utterly defang his prey. The great ax whistled as it flew, its heartbeat in the Force leaping with pain-filled lust; the howl of an uncaged demon. From the tip of his staff, on the opposite of his great lightsaber, from that soul reaper itself spat the curses of the darkside. The storm erupted into lightning of crimson, amethyst, and malachite, reflecting in the spilled ichor and slime, brighter than even the Jedi’s lightsaber. The power of the Master of the Krath spilled into the night, arcing in one cataclysmic blast aimed for the seat of the Jedi’s soul, her heart. He would consume her, the world below, and the fleets above. ((3)) ((Took slicing damage to the Hutt’s tail, lightsaber damage to the side. Attacked with a blow from Armalite followed with Sith lightning. Great duel, loved it.))
  23. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The Great Mountain of Filth felt the subtle change in the light before him, a feeling of resolve, of detachment. A feeling of acceptance. The Jedi’s eyes were always turned from life. Always focused on a peaceful utopia, occupied by only the insane and robotic. The Hutt gurgled a laugh at the mockery of life it showed. Acceptance… they pretended to care, but always referred their emotions away. Inhuman. Words came, a whispering, devilish thing of grime and grease, sputtered through a haze of spit. Cruelty, the mockery of the light. <<I’m so glad you can accept the deaths of others, I’m sure it makes them feel so much better that you’re okay with it. Just like the victims of Dark Sun Station...>> He twisted the force and the child’s screams intensified, broken by tears and choking sobs to form into a pained frenzy. She tore at her flesh with nail-bitten fingernails as crimson blood blossomed from a hundred gaping holes, which had been punched through the freckled skin by the force. Her blood wept from the skin, turning to blackened ash as its essence was consumed by the force, giving the child the appearance of a molting, shivering insect. He let the pain of the child wash into him, fueling his hunger into a feverish pace which was matched in turn within the conjoined heartbeats; those of the primitive worm, the shattered soul, the afflicted child, and his many own. It was delicious. The metal decking within the Hutt’s locus of control twisted, shifting to meet his starvation. The air echoed the child’s shrieking with the tone of contorting metal. Uriel’s heartbeat contorted, a maniacal lust reflected into the Force, for he had tasted the Jedi’s blood. Armalite had found a target. The blood that flecked the darkmetal of the blade absorbed into the alchemical matrix, bonding into the Force and into the void that was the Hutt’s hunger. The purity, that faux innocence within the blood whet the Hutt’s palate and it was like a sweet, dessert wine. It reminded him of the Snevrain Hajan Vintage he had once tasted at Ar-Pharazon’s table, and it had paired well with the roasted Ewok that had been the center dish. As the Hutt relished the aroma of Jedi blood, the light struck at the flitmoth; the Jedi’s lightsaber swung at his bulk. The first strike drove a molten line across Sheog’s thick gut, puss and ichor weeping and burning against the heat of the lightsaber. The scent of boiling rot filled the air, and the Hutt hissed venemously, reeling back, off balance from the pain. Metallic decking crashed from where he had held it, passed from his control, falling away from the heartbeat of hunger. The Jedi’s other strikes were met by the orange fire of his lightsaber, and a new heartbeat joined the hunger, that of his former master, Ason Antilles, from whose body and soul the lightsaber’s crystal were created. Light burned through, a beam of silver against the shadows of his mind, and in his momentary weakness it startled him, The Maw had not held such a bedazzling star since before the recording of time. Multi-lidded eyes blinked and narrowed. <<What are you... All the Jedi?>> Beyond the brilliance, rage blended into the pain, bleeding into the madness of hunger to form ravenous starvation. He had tasted the Jedi’s blood, now he would have it all. He passed his own pain into the child, enraptured by her sobbing cries. She held her own eviscerated stomach, her fingers tearing at bowels that felt as though they had caught fire. Her heartbeat was fading. He fed upon the child's pain, reveling in it, casting it about the paltry light, focusing his hunger upon the Jedi before him even as pain rippled through his body. He would sup from her energy like a ravenous parasite, just as the Maw devoured the stars of heaven themselves. Nothing had ever escaped the event horizon of the Maw, and nor would this Jedi escape his. He wanted all of it. All the light would be his to consume, to pervert and to defile. A storm was growing within the Maw, crackling with the energy of pain and madness. Ason's heartbeat twitched along, the orange light throbbing to waves of the oncoming storm. Electric fire crawled about the handle, leaping in arcs from the Soul Reaper. From his churning stomach blossomed a fountain of corrosive acid, propelled by the madness of the Force. It spewed forth between malformed lips, given a life of its own by the pain and starvation. The Hutt had given birth to a hypercaustic wave of bile which aimed to strike against the Jedi who had made the mistake of coming so close to a mountain of filth, so close to the Lord of Gluttony himself. It would consume and destroy all in its path. From the decking into which its blade had bit, Aramlite leapt, driven then by dual madness of both its master and the soul that had been laid into it at its creation. Uriel wanted to taste of her again, to apply his lust. The bearded ax whipped through the air in a high arc, aiming to smite the head from the body and to feast once more of the Jedi’s blood before it returned to Sheog’s awaiting, greasy palm. The storm grew. None would escape his hunger. ((2)) ((TL;DR: Took damage from the lightsaber strike, planned metal-plating based telekinetic attack disrupted. Attacked with Force-Vomitus and with Armalite in a pincer maneuver))
  24. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    A madness began to writhe within him, erupting through the carefully placed shielding like a bushel-basket catching fire from the flame it concealed. The rawness of the dark side ripped through the room, an ancient Sith revealed to the fullness of the Force. He was the reflection of the Maw itself, its unquenchable hunger drawing upon everything about himself. The Kriskwallon Bread Puffs roiled in his stomach, and he reached a hand into his satchel scattering the decking with white worms as he shoveled a handful into his gullet. The air seemed to change its taste. There was great hunger here, even so far from the Maw. So far from Her. White worms scattered the deck, writhing in that perpetual agony so natural to non-sentient prey. Their deaths were easy and thus the meal they made gave little sustenance to his troubled mind. The Jedi, however, would be a meal worthy of the madness. His malformed lips twisted, bubbles of air creeping through from one of his many stomachs in an explosive belch which shook the air. The Force was twisting his starvation into the tools he needed to procure his sustenance. “Let the Child go from here.” Crimson eyes focused, the multiple lids closing and opening to help the lenses with their task. The Hutt reached out with a worm-stained hand, motioning to the beautiful Gwenhwyfar as she reached for her blaster pistol. He reached out, beyond his body, ensnaring the girl in his locus of control. He could feel her heartbeat increase as his hunger crept through her veins. It began to echo within his own, middle heart. The worms on the floor, even within the folds of their own primitive reality, reflected himself; a mirror of his life in the eggbeds of Nal Hutta. He was beyond the realm of response, or the formation of words. Hunger was all he could feel. He stretched out beyond the worms and the girl, finding the brightness of the Jedi, her purity reflected upon the universe. Another heartbeat, one filled with life and warmth. He was drawn to it like a flitmoth to the flame, but unlike them he did not worship the heat or bask in the light; he was the malformation of a black hole, and the Jedi was a failing star upon the event horizon. He would consume. Devour. Her other words went unheard as he began to pull upon the heartbeats about him. The tenderness of Gwen, the primitivity of the worms, his own hunger, and the light of the Jedi. It burned within him, his stomach roiling. All would feed him. The knives cracked to speed, born by the Jedi’s power, a few shades of light against the darkness of the Maw. One of the blades scoured a furrow into his greasy, defiled flesh, drawing beads of puss and rotten blood, which reflected as malachite in the silver light of the Jedi’s blade. Pain seeped into the background of his hunger, driving it into a maddening pitch. Gwenhwyfar screamed as pain reflected into her, ripping and tearing through the nerves of her shoulder, a mimicry of the Hutt’s wound. The second knife, tossed by the fair hand of the Jedi shattered against the blade of Armalite as the Hutt hefted it in hand, the cold-worn blade of the bearded-ax splintering the durasteel with a near-sentient cry in the force from the spirit trapped within the alchemical weapon. It began to match the furious heartbeat of hunger that the Master of Krath had bound himself to, adding its voice to the madness of it all. All Kuat could feel it now, the locus of control spreading, eating at everything in its wake. He would consume all life, and bring it all to the void. When the shockwave came, ripping through the decking, the Hutt used its momentum to launch his bulk at the paltry Jedi with her sword of silver fire. He breathed in a blubbering breath, adding the metal to his control, watching as it began to bend and quake to the heartbeats of hunger. He added Gwenhwyfar’s pain into himself, amplifying her terror into a source of power, applying it to the durasteel around him. Steel plating buckled and failed, tearing up around him as he flew and shattering as he landed in a shockwave before the Jedi. The light was close now, close enough to swallow, to drain away into darkness. There was a weakness within it. The Jedi had cared for the child. To care was the weakness of the Jedi. It was how they all fell. He fell upon that tender heartbeat like a Krayt to a nerf. Sheog’s flabby finger slipped along his ceremonial staff, using it as a focus for his hunger. Through the soul reaper, he focused upon Gwenhwyfar, upon that heartbeat that mimicked his own. He spread out within her, entwining her like a coiled serpent. He tore into the furrowed flesh of her shoulder, peeling back the skin and revealing the exposed nerves to the bite of the cold air. He amplified Gwenhwyfar’s pain into a nightmare of pain and reflected it upon the Jedi before him. What the Jedi valued, would be defiled. One hand upon his ceremonial staff, the other on Armalite, the Hutt tore at the light, at that foreign heartbeat, utilizing the child’s pain as a tool. With the twist of his palm, he sent Armalite flicking towards the Jedi’s chest, thrown like an oversized tomahawk to skewer to woman into the shattered decking. It moved in an unnatural pattern; the spirits bound to its metal consumed by the maddening hunger of their master. They desired blood and could smell it in the air. Gwenhwyfar’s screams echoed through the halls, shrill and terrified against the stillness of the facility. ((1)) ((TL;DR: Damage taken from one of the knives. Mental attack on Sandy along with an alchemical weapon toss aimed at her chest.))
  25. Sheog the Mad

    Kuat

    The overlarge Lord of Gluttony drew in a long breath through is malformed nostrils. He could smell them now, those lightsiders and so-called warriors of peace. He could almost taste their duplicity. It was delightfully rotten. He opened his commlink, watching the slow rotation of the orbital rings above the planet of Kuat. He spoke in resolute Huttese, a clarity forming about him. <<Master Mavanger, I feel your humble apprentice, that being myself, might go to the shipyards and strike where the iron is the hottest. Those are blacksmithing terms, maybe they are a warrior thing now for some reason. I will return with a prize, or not at all.>> With that said, the Hutt slithered back to his plundered shuttlecraft, Le Morte d’Shadowfett, where Gwenhwyfar began the undocking protocols. The Hutt himself prepared for war, for the first time in nearly a decade. He selected his finest cowl of silvered-grey, attaching it about his pompous belly with a belt of blackened leather which was studded with silverite buckles. On his side, he placed Armalite, the battle-ax of his own formation. His greasy fingers caressed the worn stave, and within the shimmering, ice-cold head, the Sith could hear screaming. Armalite fought his hand, leaping for a target that it could strike, but finding nothing to smite. …Uriel Stonedog. Even in death, your soul gives fight. May you be satisfied with Jedi blood… He tucked the bearded ax into the polished belt, picking up his ceremonial staff as Le Morte d’Shadowfett shook beneath him as it exited the hanger-bay. It was his Soul-Reaper and the last living memory of his Master, Ason Antilles. It almost brought him sadness, but his mind was distracted by the remembrance of how divine his master had tasted, mixed with a mint jelly and Cortag Brandy. The thought of a delightful meal spurred him to sling a satchel of wriggling white-worms over his shoulder along with a cask of brandy and his flask of Corellian reserve. His stomach churned and he satisfied it with an entire bag of Kriskwallon Bread Puffs, still frozen from the walk-in freezer. Turbolaser fire blossomed around him, and the Sith could feel the beginnings of terror and agony throughout space as Le Morte d’Shadowfett set down near the administration building. Sheog could feel the terror of war clinging to him as he disembarked, followed closely by Gwen. The Sithling had barely emerged from the hanger when the familiar snap-hiss of a lightsaber erupted before him and white light bathed the offices before him. He let out a sigh and motioned for Gwen to get behind him as he slithered forward, still concealing himself within the Force. <<Hello there, it is I, renowned Grey Jedi, Aryian Darkfire, here to assist the Republ- Empire? GA? What are we now?>> Crimson, multi-lidded eyes blinked slowly, narrowing in on the woman’s pale face. There was something in the Force that spurred recognition. Was it the freckles? Was there a pattern in them? Why did she look so delicious even so spindly. Mostly gristle… Onderon. Battle meditation had mattered then, and she had opposed him in it before the Jedi’s fleet had retreated. Why is it always the same kriffing Jedi at every battle? Ever since the Corellian debacle there were so few of them... The force's mask upon him began to slip, hunger bleeding through the cracks in the façade.
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