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The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon

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The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon last won the day on October 4 2021

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  1. A quite strange and illusive character slipped through the shadowed and Imperialized streets of Nar-Shadda. It was a planet of rust, the heartland of Imperial pride. Steel-clad boots echoed a staccato rhythm as the creature passed through the security gate with a subtle smile and a nod, for that was all it would take to get past Imperial Security. It was all the same, nothing had really changed since Black has been in power, but now there was a pretty face on the throne. Rumers held the Empress enjoyed the company of the furried variety. Had it been a ranat that had stolen the apprentice of Tiana Cathlye’s heart? An Ewok perhaps? Or maybe a particular Kiralocca had decided to sire an heir at long last. Dark hands hefted the rugged bundle he carried. A bloodstained cloak that contained two lightsabers. One in crumbled bits, the all too familiar frail handiwork of the Sith Emily, but the other had more of an Aryian flair. From Lehon apparently. The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon struck a match, reveling in the sulphatic essence of it, lighting up a cigar as he made his way to the Empress's chambers, taking a solid drag of the sweet nicotine. A small beeping began as the smoke alarm detected it, but the creature pressed onwards, placing the bloodstained bundle on one of the many tables. With a flair of his hand he extinguished the cigar into a particullary shabby carpet and disappeared
  2. The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon had finished what turned into one hell of an awesome vacation. Considering the overarching fact that he was still largely ensnared by evil magic forever, he was in a great mood. He packed up his gear, snatching up every special lotion he could carry and made his way out of his room. If his eyes were not ruined by magical profanity, they might have teared up slightly. It was not the case. Dead retinas and screwed up rods and cones were just that. He put his electronic key card on the desk as he proceeded out of the Kat Nargal resort. ”œThanks for a great time. I really appreciated it.”
  3. ”œAll right, Al Qaela, I believe my master has plans to be on Bespin sometime soon. Compared to an entire planet, finding one man in Cloud City should be a relatively simple exercise. I trust you can handle it.”
  4. ”œOh, you can say his name in my ship. Ar-Pharazon! Say it all you want. I just don't want to mention it inside the resort. Master Ar-Pharazon has, let's just say”¦ defiled the owner. It was quite the mess. So”¦ understandably, they hate him here. I'm actually surprised they even let me in. I had to take a few oaths not to screw with anything. But what you say does sound very important. Therefore, I am willing to give you his whereabouts; however I would once again like you to reconsider sharing my bed, at least for a night.”
  5. The Mouth was not born yesterday. He was born some 1,500,000 days ago. If there was advantage to be reaped, he would sow his ensorcelled seed carefully. ”œBefore we continue discussions, I'd like to know where you'll be sleeping tonight? It's a big, dangerous galaxy out there, and these discussions could take us very late into night.”
  6. The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon climbed up and out of the swimming pool. He was exhausted. It had proven to be an intense, yet enjoyable work out. Too long had it been since the last time he could just cut loose in the pool, do some laps, dive for rings, and even just practice his various swim strokes. He was also satsified with the pool's low urine content. Some of the less glamorous pools on Coruscant were over 70-75% pee, yet the pools at the Kat Nargal Resort were no higher than 35%-40% pee. That was a nice change of pace. Though, the Mouth would not admit it, the waters might have increased by a percentage point or two, from when he dove in initially, to when he climbed out. Luckily, anything under 62% pee was still considered completely safe and swimmable. To punctuate his aquatic experience, the Mouth made his way back to his room, in order to grab his cigarettes. As easy as it would have been to just smoke in his room, he decided not to. The Kat Nargal Resort had been more than accommodating for his visit, so he had no intention of breaking their no-smoking policy, even though he strongly disagreed with it. Hurrying, in order to get his fix, he changed back into his normal clothes, with the black garb and cape. He crowned himself with his signature gigantic helm, covering his dead eyes. He also brushed his teeth, because it added a fun sting to the menthols. Then, once ready, he made his way to the designated smoking area near the entrance. Once there, he sat in a large glass chamber. There were loud fans spinning and various air filters, circulating air in and out of the room. He turned on a Holonet sphere and glanced at the news. Without wasting another moment he lit one of his cigarettes and took a long drag. It was a friggin' godsend.
  7. THE MOUTH OF AR-PHARAZON'S CHARACTER SHEET Identity [!ident] Real Name: It is not told in any tale, for even he had forgotten it. A.K.A: The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon Homeworld: Unknown Species: Fallen man Physical Description [!dscrp] Age: Thousand of years Height: 6'2 Weight: 120 lbs Hair: None Eyes: Dead Skin: White Sex: Male Equipment [!equip] Clothing or Armor: Dark robes, armor, and a humungous helmet Weapon: A cane with a phrik blade in it Common Inventory: Cartons upon cartons of cigarettes, a lighter, money, a gem with the soul of Lord Darth Sadism trapped inside, datapad, comlink Faction Information [!factn] Force User Alignment: Evil Current Faction Affiliation: Sith Current Faction Rank: Minion History: [!hstry] Force Side: Dark Trained by: Self-Taught Trained who: N/A Known Skills: Basic Force Maneuvers Background: The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon is a sorcerer that has been ensnared and enslaved, forever, by Ar-Pharazon. He is the chief spokesman for the most important person in galactic history. He is blind, but manages to see through sorcery. He will never die of old age, as Ar-Pharazon has given him eternal life. I AM THE SCOURGE OF GOD APPOINTED TO CHASTISE YOU SINCE NO ONE KNOWS THE REMEDY FOR YOUR INIQUITY EXCEPT ME. YOU ARE WICKED BUT I AM MORE WICKED THAN YOU SO BE SILENT
  8. The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon was anxious to get out of his room for a while. Completely uncovered except for his large resort beach towel, that was wrapped around his swim trunks; he made his way through a long hallway, toward the swimming facility. He had waited until later at night, with the hope that it would be less crowded. It seemed like a good idea. Making his way inside, his hunch proved worthwhile. There were several swimming pools, and only a handful of people were using one of them. ”œPerfect,”
  9. Leaning forward, the Mouth of Ar-Pharazon relaxed, resting his aging arms along the sides of the luxurious hot tub, safely away from the dangers outside. A professional masseuse, employed by the Link's premier resort, rubbed his uptight back and shoulders. The Mouth was seemingly in heaven, sitting cozily in warm, bubbly water that was now scented with floral oil from the gift basket he received on arrival. It was tantalizing. ”œCould you turn on the news?”
  10. The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon was so utterly content on soaking his ruined body in the warmth of his room's hot tub. He hadn't enjoyed a good soak in many years, so his experience was akin to savoring the exciting passing of a well-known comet, first as a child, and again decades later as an old man, forlorn and approaching the twilight of the later, restless years. But now two experiences, linked together as one, gave him one hell of a memory worth having forever. As he sat there, sitting on the plastic rim of the hot tub, with the jets shooting hot water on and around his body, the Mouth just wanted to extend the moment forever. He occasionally plugged the jets with his finger, only for a few seconds each time, just to see what would happen. Though, as he continued to try it, it never actually changed anything. But that was part of the awesomeness that was sitting in the hot tub. That's what mattered. No one was there telling him not to plug the jets. So, even in vain, he tried to plug the jets.
  11. The Mouth of Ar-Pharazon wondered what sort of business young Raven had with the Galactic Alliance. It was surprising, if not downright startling to see someone so young affiliated with such slow-moving, tired bureaucracy. Either way, he was on his overdue vacation. It was time to relax, cut loose, and not worry about complicated crap in the galaxy. He had earned it. Finally making his way into his room, he dropped his death-stick scented leather baggage onto the floor. The decorations were top-notch. The resort was as advertised, and chock full of fine amenities, good food, and overly luxurious accommodations. Jumping hurriedly onto his bed, the Mouth somersaulted across a large, cushy bed. There were probably at least a dozen pillows of all shapes and sizes. He came to rest on his back, so he spread out and made himself as comfortable as possible, while just wading his arms across the covers. It was a genuine upgrade from the bed Ar-Pharazon given him. The Link's beds did not contain protruding sharp springs, and they had sheets. Several sheets. Warm ones too. The Mouth had no qualms accepting the change. He remained spread out on the bed for several minutes, just savoring the comfort, while breathing gently. After some time, he disrobed entirely. He even removed his helmet, which he had not done in a great long time. Activating the hot tub was something he had dreamed about for days. Ar-Pharazon had never let him use a hot tub before. As he dropped his body into the steamy, watery vat, he was more comfortable than he had been in years. He allowed his face to sink into the water, just up to his nose. It was amazing.
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