Drakonian Liar - Undercity, Taris

"You are a rather ugly fellow," a deep-set Tarisian voice said through the veil of darkness that swam around the Sith Lord's throbbing mind. He grasped at the voice with what little strength he had left, using it as a lifeline, keeping himself afloat above the lurking sea of blackness. "Ah, your awake after all."

His drooped head was raised by something cold and metallic and the Sith's fiery, yellow eyes snapped open to see who dared speak to him in such a way. A heavyset and balding man stood before him in elegantly expensive clothing cut to Coruscanti standards. He could see some armor plates carefully woven into the clothing so that it did not disrupt the pleasing appeal of the man's taste in fashion.

The metal that had touched his chin now moved to his left cheek and pushed his face to the side before it switched and pushed his face the other way. "Never seen so many scars on a man before, then again your eyes certainly are not human." A snarl escaped the Sith Lord's pale lips and he was smartly rewarded with a slap of what was now obviously a silver-smithed tipped cane.

"We'll have none of that now, my little Dark Jedi," the bald man sneered and stepped back from his chained prisoner. Someone else stepped forward, a Gand, and began to adjust something around the Sith Lord's head. "Is his mind scrambled?" The Gand answered in his language an affirmative and explained that the Dark Jedi would not be able to concentrate long enough to summon his magics.

"Good."

That explains the headache, the Sith thought and began lashing out against what he now understood was a neural dampener. But like the Gand said, he would not be able to concentrate long enough to summon the Force. Silently he submitted to his predictament for the time being and observed his surroundings.

He saw that he was in a bare chamber with him located in the center of it. He was held by some kind of energy binders attached to the floor and ceiling that left him standing spread eagled. His cloak and top robes were missing as were his bracers and he began to notice that the Darkside was not emitting from him like it normally did when he did not have those bracers.

The through frightened him. For so long he had gotten use to being the embodiment of the Darkside and without its comforting familiarity he felt suddenly naked and vulnerable like a new born child. How this arrogant gangster leader was able to suppress his curse he did not know. Then again he could not even remember how this man was able to capture him. All he remembered was standing in front of his lightsabers and was about to take them when something had happened.

Then there was blackness and he found himself here a prisoner.

"What do you want?" he croaked through a parched throat and cracked lips.

"What do I want?" the gangster said. "I want you dead of course. But you will be useful before you die. There is a rather high bounty out for anyone who uses the Force, trained or not. Though you seemed to be rather quite untrained, like some mangy pup who just found a new trick and is trying to learn it."

Stygius snarled and yanked against the energy binders in an attempt to get to the Tarisian. The man laughed heartily at the Sith Lord's pitiful struggle before walking away, leaving him alone with himself and the company of only himself. The Sith Lord relaxed and allowed himself to hang by his arms as he attempted to concentrate again on removing the affects of the neural dampener. He was rather surprised that the man relied on such a very unreliable piece of technology.

Did he not know that Jedi and Sith could easily overcome such devices given enough time? If he didn't, the man was certainly going to learn soon enough.

With a determined sigh, the Sith Lord closed his bleached eyelids and focused on the task at hand. The headache was not helping much and neither was the distracting hum of the energy binders. But despite all of the distractions and miseries that plagued him and after several hours of attempts, he was able to briefly touch the Force and felt the surge of the Darkside course through him and reverberate outward like a star gone nova.

He winced and cursed his curse.

Now he had more things to be concerned about. He had to worry about when the Jedi Princess and her guardians would arrive here to finish him off. If he did not get free of his captivity soon, he knew he would be a dead man. And normally, for a man who devels in death with his alchemical skills, has lived for thousands of years and knows the secret to eternal life; he does not fear death.

Then again, neither has he ever been this vulnerable before in a very long, long, long time...

Deep within Yuuzhan Vong-controlled Space

With no recent communication from the Upper Echelon of Yuuzhan Vong command, no word of even the Supreme Overlord himself, J'aac Domain Halikron marched onto the yellow-spattered bridge of the Solus Altissima. Bridge-servants and soldiers all turned to regard their supreme commander, displaying his raw devotion to the gods in only the finery they had granted him at birth. J'aac wore only a crimson loincloth adorned to his waist, bare legged and chested, displaying his scars and tattoos in all their vicious and terrible glory.

The other members and servants of the bridge staff continued staring at their commander with enrapt attention, while he drew his coufee and began hollowing out the sunken cheek-scar on his jawbone. Blood began to freely flow down his face and dripped onto his collar bone as he stared out the lambent viewportal, gazing upon the other yorik coral vessels as they came into position.

"Rally the Halikron battle group," J'aac, chieftain of Halikron, announced, thrusting his bloodied coufee into the air, and pumping his arm violently. The gesture splashed any nearby with the crimson life-fluid of their commander, blessing them with his essence. His muscles were swollen by their flex, monstrous in nature and reality, as he pointed forward. "For tomorrow the infidels shall lay in puddles of their own blood, living as they yet die, beneath the violent gaze of glorious Yun-Yammka!"

TAG: Why, myself of course.

Caen Palace, Talya, Toprawa

Gliding the Earthshatter to a graceful peace atop the only landing pad on the western wing of Caen Palace in the capitol city of Talya, Prince Jace Halycron descended the ramp dressed in his most-royal finery. His legs were of the deepest winter, white as the snow, his tunic of emerald adorned with golden embroidery at the hems, as well as the stark epaullets at the apex of his shoulders. A ceremonial saber fell from his left hip, responding to his sway and steps with its own characteristic swagger, matching the wearer movement for movement.
A woman dressed likewise approached the Toprawan royal and presented herself. Yes, Jace recognized this woman...
Annissya d'Tana had become his closest confident and chamberlain, both advisor and often-times lover. She knew as he did that their relationship could be neither public nor was it appropriate, but they made do with twilight trysts from his off-palace apartment or hers, but never within the Stateroom of the High Prince of Toprawa.
"Welcome back, Majesty," Annissya demured lightly, touching his arm just so.
"It is good to be home, back among friends..." Jace trailed off, before catching her eye and holding her hand against his arm so she could not pull it away.

TAG: why, me again!

Deep within Yuuzhan Vong-controlled Space

The Siege at Dathomir had lasted a very short amount of time.
When the Halikron battle group arrived at the desolate, lightly-guarded brownish sphere, the piecemeal Infidel fleet had rallied against their bizarre invaders. At the battle's onset, only the Solus Altissima and her coralskippers had engaged the modest Old Republic-era defence force. The ship had not suffered a single blow, so talented were the servants of Yun-Yammka who guided its dovin basils, by the time the rest of the terrible armada arrived. The space around Dathomir had turned into a brief warzone, before lava spouted from the Yuuzhan Vong flotilla like a dormant volcano pouring it's violent wrath upon the defenders.

That had been months ago, nearly a year now. Drawing himself to his terrible and frightening height, J'aac Domain Halikron rose from his coral throne in the now-terraformed mountain fortress and sauntered onto a balcony. The tower now stood like a coral pillar near the mountain, called Vua'thir Citadel by those who had shaped it.
He gazed out with orange eyes, scanning the horizon and surveying the vast field of warriors' huts and Shaper damuteks. To his most severe right, bellows and roars could be heard - the latest labour of his shaper cadre. The beasts, more than three warriors tall if they stood atop one another, were called 'Rancor' by the locals. Thus, beneath the eyes of Yun-Harla and Yun-Yammka, the breeding of shaper and warrior would take place to produce the newest warbeast for J'aac's vast legions...

J'aac had dressed in his blackened vonduun-crab armor breastplate, it's red shell colored by ash and blood and steroid-like chemicals. From his shoulders rose great talons, reaching for the sky like a great beast. From these his command cloak fell, black as the darkest midnight. His legs remained largely bare, save for the violently spiked greaves he wore from his feet to knees. The same loincloth adorned his groin, it's shimmersilk nearly matching the crab armor.

A vision before his eyes, trim and lithe, dressed in a dramatic flourish of deep teal shimmersilk, Jikala lead a long procession of warriors, priests, and her shaper brethern. The mountain wind was cool as it rustled the tails of her dress, tantilizing him with glimpses of her bare thighs and midrif. J'aac had to force his lust into his chest, lest he be found out by the absent licking of his heavily-scarred lips.
She looked the part of a seductress from the tales he'd been told as a young crecheling. He would claim her later, in his private sanctum atop the Citadel... but for now, she had a present for her Commander and lover.

"My lord Halikron," she said with flourish, genuflecting before him. Her shimmersilk gown parted again, giving him an ample view of her back and rear as she knelt. "I bring before you the first and strongest of our newest labour."
From behind the procession came a great beast. It's leathery hide was an earthen hue of brown, but it's sides and shoulders were covered with the same bioengineered vonduun crab armor the warrior commanders wore, like J'aac himself. "Among it's people, it was called Arigoth, 'the chieftain of the mountains', and now it shall serve you, our chieftain of the mountains. He is the first of our Ran'spar."

And thus Dathomir became the citadel world for the Yuuzhan Vong's expeditionary force, marking their first sinister footsteps into the Infidel galaxy, and similarly the Rancor tanks were born.

TAG: My dear Kane, if he so feels