Sheog the Mad

Slowly spinning a large domination credit-chit between his chubby, greasy fingers, the Lord of Gluttony moved swiftly towards the refreshments, quite satisfied with the day’s outcomings. Patting a young apprentice on the shoulder, (Rez), Sheog let a small amount of Sith energy into the man, which gave him the temporary feeling of great hunger for the Force, as well as a feeling of power. With a small sigh, Sheog reached out in the Force, towards the mind of the Dark Lord, <>

((The Actions of Gonzo Lockjaw, posted here, were with his permission)) With his crimson eyes, Sheog observed his old apprentice, the Barabel Sith Gonzo Lockjaw, take to a knee with the rest of the crowd. One figure seemed to still be standing, holding aloft a Cognac-filled goblet of silver, etched proudly with the insignia of the House Diresto; The Sith Master Exodus. Ever jolly, even in the face of adversity, Sheog smiled and watched cautiously, prepared to act, to defend Hayley and the crowd from any coming blowback. Hopefully, this was a pre-planned toast to the new Dark Lord, as a typical Sith took no pleasure from surprise.

The insane Hutt smiled broadly at the great Sith Master before him, who had taken him up on his offer of the finest Cognac the galaxy could produce. Exodus was one of the few to accept his offers of drink and food in many a long year. The Sith were far too paranoid for their own good, and they should know the master of Gluttony never poisoned food or drink. The reasons were many, but the main was that he almost always forgot that he poisoned it, or more likely his hunger overcame him, and he was just as likely to eat the poison as his victim. He was no fool. With head bowed, Hayley poured many a fine shot of the Cognac into the goblet, pausing a moment to undo the wax wrappings, and to uncork it, before handing the fine silver chalice to Exodus, keeping her eyes dutifully downcast. With a smile, Sheog raised his own large bottle of port and finished it off in one swallow. The voice of Furion caused him to quickly stifle a belch that rose from his very depths. An all too familiar and annoying presence broke through his thoughts, as the Sith Kiffar Lucifer meandered up, clanking noisily in what appeared to be at least four layers of armour. Sheog narrowed his eyes, trying to cast a silent signal to the man that they were in the middle of a conversation, and that interrupting two Sith Masters in the middle of one such as theirs was plain stupidity, but the Kiffar seemed to not notice them, and clattered up to them. He reached out with The Force to get a reading on his intentions, but all he got was a residual wish to see a house aflame. Always happy to oblige the insane, as long as it meant a lack of conversation, the Lord of the Krath projected into Lucifer’s mind the sight of a great mansion ablaze in orange, yellow and red. From the windows, a never-ending conga-line of blazing clowns came leaping to their deaths, trying desperately, and in vain, to extinguish the flames consuming their hilariously dying brethren with pressurized soda water, and creamed pies. Unfortunately, such a vision could not ward off the kiffar, and the man spoke up, even as the Dark Lord was speaking. ''Forgive my intrusion gentlemen, but I couldn't help myself. Might I join you two in this moment of glory. It is rare that I meet a true legend. My former master spoke much of your exploits Lord Exodus. You are a true inspiration to us all. And Sheog, last I heard you were Dark Lord I am curious as to your latest exploits, afterall we have so much to catch up on.'' Sheog sighed and pointed silently up to Furion, who was in the middle of a tirade, about them attacking Gala, and getting minions lost at Coruscant, which Sheog didn’t have all too much to do with, other than leading the assault to Gala, which had been a moderate success, as they had killed countless Jedi. Reaching out with The Force, he touched Lucifer’s mind, and spoke to him through it ...We shall speak after The Dark Lord is finished with his lecture, for now, silence is golden, and might allow you life... While you contest for transitory power, I will be transcending my very fate. Now...kneel to your Dark Lord. ...Hmm... Kneeling... This is perplexing... Kneeling is a bit impossible for Hutts. Perhaps he will take a bow. I think I can do that... The Master of Gluttony bowed his bulk in response to The Dark Lord’s query holding his gifts for Furion, and in unison, Hayley went to her knee, still cradling the bottle of Cognac. At the same moment, the Greyjoys bowed as well, scattered throughout the crowd, and though many kept their eyes downcast, through The Force, they were wary of the Kiffar Sith who stood before their leader.

An interesting fellow... Remarkably well-spoken. The books do not bear him justice... Probably because there were no real pictures of him, just apt descriptions, written by love-struck authors. The voracious Hutt smiled at the Sith, known as Exodus, observing the man’s countenance and posture, whilst keeping his own in a positive and friendly manner. His stomach growled stealthily, and he took a long drag at the bottle of inexpensive port, trying to calm his incessant hunger, before it drove him insane. Well, more insane. With a small wink, Hayley and the Greyjoys spread out among the crowd, setting the stage for a response, in the off chance that a guest did something stupid. Hayley returned to the ship, and retrieved a package. Making sure to not fling any spittle onto his esteemed conversational partner, Sheog spoke, <> He took another drag from the port, and then glanced down at the bottle guiltily. < With that, he motioned Hayley forward, and the chestnut haired hacker brought out a bottle of Fullbank Cognac 1077, made from the vineyards of the Fullbank Brandy Company more than five centuries before, on Alderaan, which was now, obviously gone. She also took from a her cloak, a goblet of silver, marked with the Diresto family crest, which was little more than the engraving of a Hutt wearing a monocle and tophat.

...The full might of The Order, in its maddening display of strength and power, all dressed in such opulent colours. Truly magnificent... Is that cake? Mhmhmh. Oh, it’s muja cake. Blast it, who in the Sith really thinks that is delicious? Well, there goes the cake-stripper idea. Really, healthy food at a Sith celebration? Nobody enjoys that. If that was my cook, he’d be basted in his own gizzards... The Lord of Gluttony sighed and grabbed a slice of the cake to whet his appetite, for what would hopefully be a grand feast, fit for a crowning of a new Dark Lord of the Sith. At least that was what he hoped. The muja cake fright had undermined his confidence a bit, and set him worrying that the new Dark Lord might be a health nut, at which point he would take his leave of the order. He had no plans to turn in an exercise and nutrition plan, like it was once again the fifth grade. With a small smile of disgust, he passed his uneaten cake to Hayley, who gratefully ate it with great gusto. He eyed her cautiously, concerned that he might be on her future menu. For but a moment, he envisioned her as an Exogorth, chowing down on an Imp Star Deuce. The girl had a high metabolism, and perhaps he had forgotten to feed her in the past few days. He turned to push himself away from the cake-table, but was stopped by the sight of the Greyjoys, his personal dozen Sith Masters (of varying races, as Sheog was an equal opportunity employer) who followed him loyally, gazing enviously at the cake knife he was holding. With yet another sigh, Sheog served up another dozen generous slices of cake and handed them to his men. They stood there awkwardly holding the cake, watching him until he could take it no more. < One, a fatter Rodian fellow, by the name of Rygal, spoke up joyously “Actually, we were waiting for silverware and napkins, but a glass of punch would do nicely.” Sheog shook his head and smiled, gathering up a dozen sets of silverware, along with napkins, and tossed them to his men, along with the punch, albeit much more carefully, as it was held in crystalline glasses, which looked expensive. Once each Greyjoy had his fill, Sheog turned to observe the rest of the ballroom’s occupants, and opened himself up to the full influence of Avarice and Gluttony, and the power of The Force that came with them. His Greyjoys were immediately recognizable, each with their own personality traits and presences within The Force, each more loyal than any of his friends of old. Closing his crimson eyes, Sheog reached out with The Force, and widened his sphere of responsibility, approaching and recognizing the presences about him, of old friends and adversaries, and those that were much newer to him. One in particular was incredibly strong, yet at the same time ancient in its power and fully new to him. The overlarge Hutt’s eyes opened, and settled upon the newest arrival to the party; a tall being, with hair the colour of hay, with tips of chocolate, the very thought of which brought saliva to Sheog’s mouth. This was a Sith that none had seen within The Order for many a year... In his studies within the Library at the now defunct Coruscant temple, before he had slain his master Ason, he had read of the Sith, within the histories. The Tails of the Trinity had him as a leading member, and The Official Cookbook of the Sith had a dish named specifically after him. It was Exodus, the Lord of Transcendence within the Trinity, and former Dark Lord. His masters were some of the most famous of the Order, the great Kakuto Ryu, and Nurgle, but in his own time, the Sith had eclipsed them in memory and fame. If Furion had called the phantom from the transitory mists, then none could ever challenge his right as Dark Lord. The mountain of greed pushed himself through the crowd, angling to end his movement beside the man, but at a comfortable distance, as he knew some Sith preferred personal space. The Hutt Sith pushed himself to match the pace of Exodus, kindly pushing aside several Sith with his ornamental staff before he ran them over. With an insane twinkle in his eye, Sheog spoke in his inside voice, trying to not deafen everyone in the room <>

The overlarge, and opulent, heavily armoured luxury cruiser, The Cake is a Lie, exited hyperspace, outside of the newly formed, Spite Station. It was fitting, to have such a station hidden within the Maw, where the Death Star had been constructed with the assistance of Wookiee slavery, until the abolitionist New Republic had put an end to the mutually beneficial relationship the two groups, the Wookiees and the Empire, had had with one another. To prove the point that one could not exist without the other, The Empire had pointedly exterminated the workforce, sparing them the evils of freedom, New Republicanism, and voting Democrat. The deal with Black Sun had been brokered, and it would only cost him the life of one he had already killed once. Hopefully, the new Dark Lord was consenting to Black Sun’s terms of agreement, and not a stickler for such things like interorder brotherhood, or in general had his head emerged too far into philosophy. Sheog truly hoped that this new Lord yearned for battle, but most of all, was competent in leading a war, and knew how to garner and maintain alliances. Leaning upon his ornamental staff, the Lord of Gluttony and Avarice stretched within his armour of Sith iron. He felt like a tank, and thoroughly enjoyed it. With his overlarge smile covered by his Hutt deathmask helmet, Sheog pushed himself towards the landing ramp, as the ship began its landing procedures upon one of the finer docking platforms. The Hutt paused for but a moment at the liquor cabinet, and selected a millennia-year-old bottle of Cortyg Brandy©, worth at least a hundred-thousand credits on the Black Liquor Market (which was located, oddly enough in the asteroid belt that used to be the planet Alderaan, within a small space-station that held a liquor festival once per standard year, marking the destruction of the planet in typical style, with great drunkenness and debauchery), as a gift for the new Dark Lord. He selected a large bottle of cheap Aldrigayn Port for himself, and slaked his thirst with its contents as he manoeuvred his way to the lowering landing-ramp. Along the way, he nabbed a box of the finest Shallmak Cigars® for the Dark Lord as well. (Handmade by Ewoks upon the steps of the Fullbank Mountain range who were part of the Shallmak Cult of Eternity, which had ended abruptly and tragically, when a piece of burning space-trash had been mistaken as an omen, and they had all killed themselves by throwing one another into the tobacco thresher. The box Sheog had grabbed contained the cigars made from the rolled tobacco mixed with threshed Ewok, which added greatly to the flavour and aftertaste). Signalling for his assistant and trusted Protégée, Hayley, to stay and shadow at distance, Sheog pushed himself down the landing ramp to the bare metal decking below, forsaking the offered hover-sled. He rather enjoyed moving about on his own, as it kept him in tip-top shape for a Hutt, and made him always ready to do battle with either his weaponry, or the strength of The Force. Suddenly, he felt a strange voice communicating with him through The Force. Brothers... Our time beings now. Gather in the ballroom. Sheog raised an eyebrow beneath his armoured helm and quickly consulted his datapad for the blueprints of the space station, as it had been his hard-swindled and stolen credits that had funded its creation. It had not been kind on his pocket-book, but a gift to so many brothers seldom came cheap. With a grunt, the Hutt summoned powers of The Force, and began to move towards the apparent location of the ballroom, swilling some of the port as he went, keeping his senses open for any attackers, friends, allies, Dathomiri witches, apprentices, clowns, ghosts, nanites, and the like. He could sense many familiar presences, ones he had fought beside and against, and others whom he had never once felt before. Other presences were strangely lacking, like that of Masters Geki and Ar-Pharazon, but that was hardly surprising, as they were technically considered rouges. He commed flight Greyjoy to land in their designated hanger, and follow him inside. With a smile, Sheog swept off his helm as he entered the ballroom, and glanced across the assembling masses, quite pleased with the turnout. There was great potential within the hands of the Sith. He looked forward to being a general in the coming war, one which he had started, upon Gala, where several ranking members of The Jedi Order had been slain, and their temple demolished. As if to announce his arrival, the Mountain of Insanity belched loudly as he leaned upon his staff, his greasy hands carefully cradling the expensive bottle of Brandy and box of Cigars, brought for the new Dark Lord.

The Sith Hutt smiled broadly at the criminal’s proposal and nodded slowly. <> The large Hutt burped loudly, waking the sleeping babies, who began to wail incessantly, and quickly made his leave, propelling himself with The Force like a morbidly overweight superman towards and through the doorway, back to his ship. Entering it, he let Hayley set in the course for the newest stronghold of the Sith Empire, centred around the Maw, with several microjumps programmed in.

The massive Hutt entered the rectory, wearing his finest suit, of the deepest black with a tie of bright red, and a tophat reaching at least a meter above his grimy head. With great gusto, he reached out with The Force, and connected to his surroundings, feeling familiar presences about him. One he knew to be the Vigo of Black Sun, and the others he had felt only once before, when he had been Dark Lord of the Sith, back on the temple at Coruscant. He had made amulets for the three, but he doubted the mother had ever passed them on. If he ever saw her again, she would be swiftly executed, and served to the Gand as an appetizer, before the main course of the rest of her clan. They felt to be at peace, for which Sheog was happy. Children were innocent, and should never be raised as those on Dathomire were. Innocence was to be kept, never spoiled by bad mothering. Sweeping from his knapsack a small blanket and a rattle made from the bones of the extinct Gungan race, he placed them on a nearby changing table, and pushed himself over to the oddly familiar man, with a pistol strapped to his hip. He could have sworn he had seen him somewhere before, during the Clone Wars. He smiled at the young babe sitting in her crib, and made a funny face, to which, unfortunately, she did not laugh. The Lord of Gluttony sighed and placed a heavy hand, gingerly upon the man’s shoulder, withdrawing a small device from his side, holding it aloft. <>

All right... Uriel. Your post was... A bit excessive. And by a bit, I mean ungodly excessive. You cannot do so much in one post, especially inside an enemy base. Reading it over I found a few things that I shall list as unable to do, for multiple reasons. A. Nanites: They’re not listed on your character sheet. They cannot replicate so fast as to burn through your restraints, the floor, the seat, another floor, a tube of some sort, and more. What, is your whole body made from nanites? For nanites to do such things, it would take... Months. To replicate to such a large mass, would take years. They cannot in any way, replicate so fast as to be able to retrieve your weapons for you. That’d be like you dropping the tip of a pin full on nanites onto the floor, and in five minutes expecting them to reach the mass of an elephant. You cannot create something from nothing. You also posted having "stealth reserves" of nanites... Something that seems impossible. They're not stealthed. They cannot... Replicate so fast as to change forms. You cannot, physically or mentally, control your nanites to do so many things at once. It is impossible. Sure you can do one of those things, but you are not the entire borg collective. As a human, albeit an enhanced one, you do not have the processing power to communicate with such a... Collective. You’ve posted cutting through floors with nanites, something that would take hours upon hours to corrode such metal. You’ve posted doing such to many, many floors. Also, nanites don’t conform to anything and everything you like. You have them growing into weapons, new arms, etc. Simply put, No. That would take months, and months. You have them disabling all the security systems... No. Perhaps one camera, but not so many. Your nanites are not self-aware. They are not able to be communicated with, and talked to through The Force, as to give you a tactical advantage... Lastly on this section, let us go to a previous post, by Lord Furion: These scans would have caught all of your nanites, since they are traceable. It would have been very helpful to have these in your character sheet, so the mods and players can know whatever your character has. B. Tactical NPCs: You posted actions of Sith NPCs throughout your entire post. You are not a Sith with rank to do so. You are a declared enemy, inside that enemy’s base. The stars do not align that far in your favour. You post getting past multiple tactical NPCs, with no regard to their power, or those playing them. To think your nanites can cut through hallways and everything without setting off a buttload of alarms is folly. You are in the middle of the station, a station filled with thousands of sensors, fullblown Sith, and roving patrols. You cannot simply slip out that easily. You cannot ignore all the defences, whip up a perfect picture for yourself, and then slide past everything and everyone, as you describe each and every action of NPCs you do not own. It might be allowable to sneak past one or two guards (if your escape was even conceivable, which it is not.) but to get through every conceivable area, by cutting through a spacestation’s ducts via nanites, along with this overstretched series of complex and vague actions is simply game-breaking, unsportsmanlike, and evasive. You cannot post this, as you are not a Faction-leader, or a ranking member of the Sith order, but simply their prisoner, the tactical placement of rooms, of weapon-stashes, and the like. That is simply bending everything to your will, in a place that is not yours to bend. Posting tactical advantage over NPCs that are not yours is something you cannot do. This is something that was made clear in LAP's ruling over Tobias, which is almost essentially the same situation here. C. God-modding: Coming excessively close, and transcending god-like abilities to sense everything and everyone, controlling your nanites to such excess and distance... Using senses through the force that would be hard to achieve even for a master of the force... Following “the memories of nanites” to get out... Submerging yourself into the very veil of The Force, in order to communicate with your nanites, on a verbal level no less, whilst under the influence of stun... D. This... I'm not exactly sure what this is: So... You’re dead then? Gone Lightside? You’re a darkside character and seemingly not dead... Essentially... What you posted doing would have taken months, if not years. Your nanites are not able to do anything and everything. They have to be programmed to do something, like attack or heal. They cannot climb up walls, throughout an entire station to rewire the surveillance system, cut through ducts, etc. You have done far too much in one post, inside a faction-base that is not your own. Your post is nulled. In its entirety. Start with smaller steps... Like setting up for an escape. For now, you are still captured. I'd recommend AIMing those that have you captive and working things out.

With a large, happy grin, the mountain of avarice leaned heavily upon his feasting table, feeling through The Force, the utter fear coursing through the small porcine creature within his greasy hand, as the realization that it was, in fact, about to be eaten, had just dawned upon its primitive mind. In Sheog’s opinion, the beast should have realized that fact while it had been marinating in the finest Corzbegan Brandy, or perhaps it had become too intoxicated to dwell upon the feelings of impending doom that its bestial mind was trying to process. It was how he preferred his meat; inebriated, with a side of liquor, and perhaps a touch of Cailey’s Corellian Cream. Leaning back in his throne, the massive Hutt motioned to Hayley to pour him a glass of the brandy to accompany his meal, and activate the holonet station that he enjoyed listening to when he ate. --Click— “What does it say about the college coed Susan Cluke, who goes before a senatorial committee and essentially says that she must be paid to have sex? What does that make her? It makes her a sl*t, right? It makes her a Prostitute!" <> --Click-- “There's a port on a western bay, And it serves a hundred ships a day, Lonely sailors pass the time away, And talk about their homes. And there's a girl in this harbour town, And she works layin' whiskey down, They say "Brandy, fetch another round" She serves them whiskey and wine...” <> With great gusto, Sheog slammed the wee smashed piggy into his gullet and washed it down with a goblet of brandy mixed with Corellian Cream. The enormous Hutt swayed to the music, humming along, quite out of tune, letting the music’s lyrics inspire his alcoholic nature. “The sailors say, "Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a fine wife you would be!” A sudden crackle of electricity cut out the sound of the music, right during its chorus, and caused Sheog to turn towards the cockpit. One of the servants had tripped over a precariously placed electrical extension cord, yanking it out of its socket, and bringing the song to an abrupt end, as he crashed headfirst down a flight of stairs. The master of gluttony sighed, and pushed himself away from the feasting table, and made his way to where the slave had fallen. From his view, the clumsy Rodian was quite dead, having landed in an oddly convenient pool Fluoroantimonic acid, and was in the process of dissolving, very quickly. The hyperspace exiting alert system’s incessant beeping caused him to tear his glowing, crimson eyes from the liquefying Rodian. They were about to come out above Dubrillion, the heartland of Black Sun, with whom the Dark Lord wished to have an alliance. Sheog had worked with the syndicate before, and enjoyed their chaotic style. Smash Diasaku’s opulence was the envy of the Hutt underworld. With a flick of The Force, Sheog brought The Cake is a Lie out of hyperspace above the Criminal Planet. Opening up a comlink, the Hutt broadcasted his intentions, as Hayley brought forth his gift for them, a small droid, taken from the body of one of his kills. <>

“Exiting hyperspace at the traced coordinates, master.” Sheog sipped noisily from a chalice filled with fine brandy as he looked over his star and hyperspace charts. He was perplexed at his readings. Their location was far within the deep core, which was treacherous as far as hyperspace jumps could go. He was following old hyperspace routs from the times of The Old Republic, coordinated with the trace he had gotten on the Jedi ships, along with the maps known to the Sith. He had lost half of his fighters due to hyperpace fluxes, which was annoying, and when he was annoyed, he ate. In fact, when he was feeling any type of emotion, he ate. Resetting his ship’s designation, to that of his Hutt family, he felt more reassured about the meeting with the Jedi. There was only one planet that lay on this hyperpace route, which had not been touched by the Sith since the time of Darth Bane, and before him, the Krath Dark Lord, Belia Darzu and her infamous technobeasts, of which he was jealous. Taking up his chalice once again, he drained the contents, and commanded The Cake is a Lie to exit hyperspace at the edge of the system. His trace had followed through, and the Jedi were now once again to be hunted. His crimson eyes glowed slightly as he observed the planet from a distance, sitting like an oceanic, forested gem, alone within the galaxy. The only planet close enough by to be of interest, was Haruun Kal, which only served as a small support base for the Jedi, and home to a small business of Sheog’s, the Thyssl-Bark trade. <> The Cake is a Lie slowly approached the world of Tython, with the remaining members of Greyjoy squadron staying within the far reaches of the system, in order to take down any ships that entered the system to reinforce the Jedi. There was only one small city with a decent spaceport, and more importantly, a good restaurant in order for him to try the local cuisine: Ashla. The planet resonated with The Force. Selecting an overpriced luxury starport, which advertised some rather exotic specialities in which Sheog had no interest in as a Hutt, he set The Cake is a Lie down upon the landing platform. With a smile, he exited his ship, pushing himself down the landing ramp to the metallic plating of the port, with Hayley marching in tow in her fatigues, emblazoned with the Hutt order’s insignia. Paying the starport’s keeper, with a handsome tip in addition for his silence, he set off towards the city’s eateries. Selecting a large, family-owned bakery, named, rather stupidly: The Sugar Plum Bakery, which existed outside the starport, as his destination of choice, Sheog breathed in a large gulp of the Tythonian air and sighed with pleasure. It was a good spot for a vacaction, and an even better spot for a battle. Entering the bakery, he paid for a pair of baker’s caps, one in a XXXXXL size for himself, and one in a small for his accomplice, Hayley. Taking up a pair of headphones for the both of them, he started the audiophone tour of the bakery, which began with a bit of family history of the proprietors, Susan and Sharon Sugar-Plum. Listening to the drolling tone of the guide, who spoke of persecution on Nal Hutta for the pair, who were a couple, Sheog sighed. It was going to be a long tour. He hated hearing about the hate-crimes of Hutts, mixed with an unhealthy overtone of Liberalism and trite statements about personal freedoms. ((OOC: Trace established on Dahar's ship,here.

“Master-and-Commander, bogeys, taking off from the destroyed Jedi temple! Requesting permission to engage, priority one!” The giant Hutt, the mountain of avarice and greed, turned to acknowledge his second-in-command, Haley, and activated the monitors to show the incoming ship. The Cake is a Lie hovered a mile above the surface, within view of the temple grounds, armed with the best weapons the Krath order could provide to its Grandmaster. Sheog was quite pleased with himself, having destroyed the entirety of the Jedi ground-forces, including the dangerous Wolfspider droids. Nearby, flight Greyjoy, swept about, providing air-coverage for the Sith forces. The datascreen before his massive, muscular, bulk showed several flights of shuttlecraft leaving a single hanger-bay within the ruins of the Jedi temple, and from their signature throughout The Force, they were filled with Jedi. A large smile rose upon his greasy face, and he keyed his comlink to his escort fighters. <> Sheog was a major supporter of death, but today, subtlety was the better part of action. Keying his main sensor-bay, he set a tracer onto the Jedi's shuttle-craft, to discover the man's next movements in hyperspace. Today would be a good day for discovery, and if luck would hold, he would discover a Jedi base, ripe for the pillaging. Once the ships had entered hyperpace, and the trace was locked, flight Greyjoy, and The Cake is a Lie, cleared the planetary gravity well, and followed the Jedi into the depths of space. EDITS ARE MOD APPROVED.

He should have one up soon. He's been away fishing all weekend, and hasn't had a chance to post.

Well done, V. One of the best stories I've read in a good long time. Of course, this is probably one of the first I've read in the Library... It was bloody brilliant, it was awesome to see the internal workings of the Mod team, just as I imagined them.

Corellia... A most familiar presence... One most delicious... The Wookiee... Kirlocca... As the atmosphere began to buffet his craft, and the TIE/Ds of Flight Greyjoy, Sheog could feel the battle through The Force, below him, around the temple, in all its wicked, magnificent, maddening glory. The Sith were about to become engaged in battle, true in form, against the full might of the Jedi. His control consul lit up bright red as Black Sun forces began their assault upon the hard-targets, but something more drew his attention. Whilst the Force ebbed and flowed with battle, he could detect one very strong presence through The Force, one full of light. The Wookiee, Kirlocca, whom he had faced on Corellia, was there, amongst the forces of the Sith. A dark smile illuminated the Maddened Hutt's face, as he toggled his console, and began illuminating targets for Flight Greyjoy. Toggling his comlink, he executed his command. <> His glowing, crimson eyes, swept over his weaponry command console, observing the full capabilities of The Cake is a Lie. Within the missile bays, lay 20 Proton Bombs, and 20 Electro-Proton Bombs, prepped, and ready to launch, at a nano-second's notice. At the nose of his superior craft, lay nestled four Diamond-Boron missiles, each impervious to anti-missile fire, and packed with a payload that could devastate an area in roughly a 500 meter radius from the point of impact. There also was the quad-laser cannons, with overlapping fire, which would be awesome in power, but nothing in comparison to the anti-mechanized-infantry weapons that dotted his oversized luxury-craft. These, were the Gatling Slugthrowing Cannons, each loaded with 30mm shells, designed to puncture tank-class armour, and devastate anything in its 4,000-8,000 foot range. The Dark Lord smiled, imagining the terror he was about to unleash. Greyjoy squadron itself was armed very well. Each of the twelve TIE/D Defenders were armed with two Ion cannons, and four laser cannons. Adding to that firepower, the Greyjoys were also equipped with two missile launchers, which were currently loaded with four Concussion Missiles, and four Proton Torpedoes, respectively. Flying each craft was Sheog's personal guard; Sith Masters who were sworn to protect him, from one family, as Dark Lord, and carried massive battle-axes whilst in combat. They were eager for blood. Haley's voice broke through the maddening chaos. ”œFifteen seconds to ground, my lord... Scanners indicate 12 armored bogies on the Temple grounds, reading as Wolfspider Arachnids... Clear to target as immediate?”

”œGreyjoy Lead, Sir, readings state the satellites are going dark. They know our plan.”

The Cake is a Lie exited hyperspace over the target, in the most racist way possibly imagined, and at its helm commanded the Master of Gluttony, Slime, Filth, Greed, Cheese, Clowns (castrated ones, as Sheog did not tolerate male clowns, as he considered them a threat to the Sith Order), and Alcohol (Huttese XX only though, since Sheog was the most interesting Hutt in the galaxy). From his greasy, frothing lips, came a loud belch, which echoed about the command bay. As the planet of Gala flashed on-screen, a large smile formed on the mountain of filth's grotesque face, and his crimson eyes burned with hate. With a flick of his wrist, he placed his tricorne Commodore's hat upon his slimy head, and began to dive into The Force. He was hungry... Within the veil of The Force, lay the Glutton's table, the Mad Hutt's true connection to the Living Force. Upon it was laid a grand feast, one worthy of a Sith Master. The feasting-table was adorned with the trophies of his past victories. In place of his typical bib, the Hutt found himself wearing the pelt of the Wookiee Jedi he had slain on Corellia. He felt the soft fur with a greasy hand, and then used it to wipe the edges of his mouth. Examining the fur, once it had parted from his lips, he examined the fur's quality. It was rather coarse, and of unusual low-quality, just as its former owner. With a bellowing laugh, he began to eat. Delicious... Sheog's crimson eyes sparkled as he pulled his mind back from the madness, before it could completely consume him. One needed control for the coming battle. With a blast of The Force, he brought a leg of bantha to his side and shredded it into finely formed strips. Taking several in hand, he pushed himself to the control centre, and looked upon the planet of Gala, which was fast approaching. Expanding the madness of his mind, he pushed out his consciousness, and sphere of influence, to include all those aboard his ship. He observed each process within the droids staffing their stations, and then each weapon within The Cake is a Lie. Each bomb, each torpedo, each missile lay nestled within its proper bay, ready to wreak havoc. Over the comm system, a message crackled through, followed by a nudge in The Force ”œGreyjoy Lead, this is Greyjoy One. You ready to kick ass, my lord?”

With a small, or perhaps large, explosion, The Cake is a Lie, exited hyperspace above the Kat Nargal Memorial Resort, with as much luster as could be expected from a mad Hutt's personal vehicle of insanity. A small bit racistly, the overlarge craft of opulence glided to a halt upon one of the landing-platforms. Sheog, with a small, sad smile, ushered his friends and allies from the lowered landing ramp, passing to each one a hefty bag of credits. As the last Sith had exited his craft, the mountain of gluttony saluted them all with a wave of his grimy hand, before triggering the landing-ramp to raise back into position. With a large grin, the insane Hutt patted Hayley of the shoulder and used The Force to guide The Cake is a Lie towards the heavens. As the ship cleared the gravitational ring, Sheog personally typed in the hyperspace coordinates of a far off, and undisclosed sector of space. He had much to do.

A com message arrives for the Vigos of Black Sun, from the Dark Lord of the Sith, which would be directed to Jacen Onnd and Delta73.

A long-beam, encrypted transmission arrives for Black Sun, via The Sith Empire's Frequency: Requesting the traditional alliance between the evil factions of old.

A highly encrypted comlink transmission arrives for Darth Lucifer, from the Dark Lord of the Sith, via Sith servers.

With a rumble like an earthquake killing thousands of innocent Gungans, the newly Mastered Hutt rose slowly and racistly back to his full height, a towering four meters, holding his battle-helm in hand and nodded slowly at the Golden god's command. His large crimson eyes burned with the very fires of hell, and within them, if one looked closely enough, one could see the soul of a tormented Ewok being scalded by the boiling blubber of an Ithorian. It was no cute scene; the mangy Ewok looked rabid, and wore the garb of a Jedi, its hair sizzling in burning fat, wreathed in golden flame. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of the light. In a voice terribly insane, the mountain of muscled filth spoke. <> The enormous Hutt turned towards the door to leave, the oiled armored plate creating little sound other than the sound of a gentle wave of clinking metal, like a stealthy, armored mountain had moved past. As he pushed himself, Sheog concentrated the force upon his armor, grasping the spikes upon his back, prepared to launch them at any moving creature. As if summoned, a small rat meandered sleepily from its hole, and was immediately impaled by a Sith-Metal spike propelled by the force. With a small belch, the Hutt brought the rat back to himself and ate it, savoring the exotic taste of the nearly extinct Dagobah Sleepy Rat. It was delicious, though a glop of sludge-meal would have improved the taste substantially, and eliminated the bitter aftertaste, caused, no doubt by the tears of the dead rat. As Sheog and Gonzo approached the surface, Hayley brought The Cake is a Lie in for a landing, lowering the landing ramp for convenience. She greeted them at the doorway, dressed now in a simple black tunic, her brown hair tied back in a plait down her back. On her shoulder, the symbol of Sheog's house shone like blood upon the darkened background. Instead of a helmet, she wore a small translucent monitor that snaked from below her ear, and rose in an HUD display before her left eye, on which Sheog could see the coded readouts of the ship. If Lord Ar-Pharazon decided to follow them onboard, Hayley would immediately lead him to his quarters, which were decorated in the style of Korriban, with the skulls of many different species arraigned in organized hills about the floor, and mounted in the walls. The great craft rose from the swampy surface, broke from the atmosphere and gravity well, and on command, it entered hyperspace to deep space.

In the sky above, Hayley brought The Cake is a Lie around for another pass, scanning every angle of the sky and ground for any threats. She brought her violet eyes over to another one of the items upon the Hutt's couter, and picked up a small, bloodstained, silvery droid, inscribed with 41D. It seemed to be interesting, but she would wait to analyze it until she had the explicit permission of Sheog himself. She sent a small com transmission to her master's comlink "No threats yet, but weapons are armed." ---- From the bottom of the stairwell, which had fallen behind him like a heap of cannibalistic ewoks, Sheog felt the death of a powerful force user, echoing through The Force, like a whirlwind of released fire. It was simply glorious to feel, much akin to when he had wiped out the entire Corsec Strike-Squad in one magnificent day, in the aid of a fellow Sith. With a gesture of his grimy, armored hand, the overlarge Hutt reached out with The Force and caught his apprentice, easing the Barabel to the rubble-covered floor beside him. Sheog stretched slowly, allowing the massive armor to bend around himself, and withdrew his battle-axe Armalite from its sheath upon his armored back. Leaning the bearded axe upon his shoulder with one hand, he entered the room carefully, holding his ceremonial staff with his free hand. A leg flew haphazardly over the overlarge Hutt as he crossed the rocky threshold. Within the room were gathered quite a group of individuals, including the most important Sith in the entire galaxy, the Golden god, Lord Ar-Pharazon, who seemed to be standing over quite a massacred man, in utter glory. With his enormous eyes, the color of arterial blood, lit with a flame of evil, Sheog belched loudly, and pushed himself carefully towards the mighty Sith. Withdrawing the string of Jedi, Sith, and CorSec scalps Sheog bowed and caste them at Lord Ar-Pharazon's boots. With a flurishing bow, Sheog swept the horned helm from his grimy head. With a large, booming, and perhaps even racist voice, the gigantic mountain of gluttonous armor spoke in a low rumble. <

A large space yacht, colored in grey and black, rumbled out of hyperspace, above the swirling mists of the planet Dagobah. The planet had a nexus of dark-side power upon its surface in years long passed, and within its power, Sheog hoped to be bestowed with a proper vision about a Lordship trial for his apprentice, and perhaps teach the Barabel of places of power. To his surprise and disappointment, within the force, he could not pick up a trace of a darkside nexus, but instead picked up the presence of multiple Sith, of great repute and power, at least by their presences. Focusing upon the area of the planet where the power was concentrated, he directed Hayley to bring The Cake is a Lie in for a landing. With a smile, she obeyed and the oversized space yacht decended through the mists. The high-grade sensors began to warble about something-or-rather, which turned out to be an ancient tree that loomed out of the mist before them. Toggling the point-defense lasercannons and sensor-screen, the craft decended Hayley, quick on the response, entered in a command, and the four quad-lasers popped out of concealment and blasted the historical, ancient tree into splinters. Continuing to depress the trigger, Hayley blasted a clear path for their decent, meanwhile destroying many old-growth trees, causing a species of ground-mouse to go extinct, and vaporizing a family of camping humans. Sheog's oversized frame shook with laughter as he felt their presence extinguish, and directed Hayley to bring the craft down on a now-pockmarked, crumbling concrete platform. Lowering the shields for but a moment, the two Sith hurried down the landing ramp and into the rain. Hayley raised the shields again once Sheog and Gonzo were safely off, and began to scan the atmosphere for abnormalities, keying all defenses on high alert. She brought the craft up again, and engaged the sensor mask, hovering above the platform, the weaponry sweeping the platform and sky, waiting for anything to happen. Sheog moved swiftly to a rotted, rusting staircase, letting the rain drop from his heavy armor, holding his ceremonial staff in a grimy, armored hand. Without a second thought, he moved onto it. There was a slight rumble, and the entire stairway collapsed beneath his bulk. Gathering himself up in the force, he slowed his decent, down a hundred meters of collapsed stairwell. Anyone in the next room would hear a large rumble of collapsing stairwell, along with a powerful force presence, likened to a ravenous, yet jolly rancor.

The energies of gluttonous power flowed about the caverns, crafting and drawing material together. Gluttony took shape with its brothers Lust and Pride, forming into invisible hands, to aid their master. Their master was the heaving bulk of muscle, covered in a protective layer of fat, forming a pure mountain of Sith-like monstrosity. A few wriggling worms protruded from his slimy lips as he wove together the powers of the Sith, and weaving together a bitter contraption of metal and power about himself. Armor was being created, plated-mail crafted from the charred starship metal, taken from part of the ruined engine housing of the medical shuttle, collected before his apprentice's departure. As the armor took shape, Sheog glanced over at his datapad, observing a fattened man, whose complexion was that of Lando, beginning to cover the morning's news, in a high-paced tone, which made the report all the more interesting. The man, Ollie, by the name underneath his bulky frame, was beginning coverage news of the Blossom-Day Event, (put on by RJ's Blossom Emporium, which happened to be a Dug Mafia cover business which was charitable enough to throw a city-wide celebration of ancient Hapean tradition ((along with a perfect opportunity to press drugs into the hands of eager young children))), and was speeding through it. Within a few seconds, he had finished with the celebration, and had moved on to more pressing matters: The assassination (and martyrdom) of the Hapean governor Mire Serolod. A large smile spread across his grimy face, and a feeling of pride swept across his blubberous frame. His apprentice was turning out to be even more exciting than he had first thought. A rustling in the bushes made him turn to the cave entrance, where he witnessed a young woman run inside, armed with a blaster-pistol, wearing a pair of black shorts, and a simple T-shirt of black fiber. She was athletic in build, and carried herself with an air of confidence. She paused as she saw before her the massive, armored bulk of the mountainous Hutt, the darkness obscuring her view. Sheog burped loudly, causing her to scurry swiftly backwards, where she tripped and fell over a barrel of medical supplies, with a yell of obscenities. Her face fell into the light, and Sheog recognized her immediately, she was a hacker, wanted in the Hapean system on every planet, according to the newscasts, for mischievous hacking and troublemaking. Scooping her up with the tender hand of the force, which caused another stream of obscenities to stream forth from her mouth, he set her softly upon another barrel. With a flourish of the force, the cave came to light with light, streaming about the girl in the form of flying dragons, fully illuminating the cave, showing himself in his true form, fully armored in blackened plated-mail, in all his gluttonous glory. The girl's yellow eyes narrowed, as she analyzed her situation, and then spoke slowly. ”œYou”¦ Going to kill me?”