Jedi Gungan Death Cult

[Kaane]

Sullust

Somewhere Underground
​

Two robed figures cloaked in black and a Mon Calamari walk in silence, the hooded spectres at the outsider's flanks, pushing and prodding him onward relentlessly. The sound of their footsteps resonate through the dimly lit tunnels, hewn into Sullust's volcanic rock. Bursts of steam can be seen emanating from both the metallic pipes lining the walls and the rock itself: a common sight, given that these tunnels were built right next to one of the planet's many active magma flows. Fans can be seen periodically, ventilating the air and making it somewhat bearable, though the tunnels are still quite hot. Ash litters the floor in places, already having covered the Mon Cal's pants in crud. It is not something the Sith-like figures seem to mind though, pushing through the dirty, overheated maze of tunnels with cool familiarity.

Whatever the young smuggler knew about the base he was being escorted into the very bowels of, one thing was certain given the wicked-looking assault rifles these two cultists sported and the tight electrocuffs that graced his hands.

He had kriffed with the wrong crowd this time.

@Minuteman75

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, out just beyond Sullust's atmosphere, a Scuttler class yacht is in orbit. Waiting. Scanning perhaps. Looking for something.

Whatever it was, it found it; the ship then descended with great haste.

 

[Minuteman75]

Snatch and grab she said. Easy pickings she said. Miss Teran sure forgot to mention that these guys were quite organized.

Rens Ahim thought disgruntly, as he was forced go on through the tunnel. Blaming his far off client however didn't change the fact he got caught trying to steal the weapon shipments from these death worshippers. Then again they also probably pretty pissed that he vandalize a statute of their almighty leader, clipping off the nose, drawing tears in the eye section before finishing the insult by writing in big bold letters the words 'I GOT NO BALLS' on the chest. That wasn't part of the job in truth but it sure seemed fun at the time. He couldn't resist, the idol just stood out in the open, giving an overrated impression of the cult leader who no doubt had a bloated ego of himself.

"Stang this so kniffing hot and my new pants are ruined now." Rens muttered before one of the zealots smacked his shoulder again with the butt of a rifle. Grunting the smuggler commented.

"Frak you too Mr. Goon. I would be a sour sleemo too if I lived like a womp rat in these tunnels."

His verbal jab was answered with another shove, spiking more pain his back. Rens Ahim forced himself to display a defiant smile in spite of the agony. If he was going to die, Rens fully intended to make trouble for his so-called hosts as much as possible.

 

[Outlander]

"So." Bria said, in a manner that accurately conveyed the amount of skepticism she was feeling at the current situation. "You're telling me that this Jedi-Gungan Death Cult you heard about is based on... Sullust." Even from behind him, the Trandoshan in the pilot seat would be able to feel the deadpan look she was giving him. "You know, I'm not very well versed on Galactic Geography, but I am fairly sure Gungans don't live on Sullust."

Honestly, Bria was cautious about giving any of Slars conspiracy theories validity. Even more so accompanying him directly to deal with one. But, he'd insisted that there was someone they'd want to recruit being held by the cult, which meant the operation fell now into her lap. And, regardless of how outlandish the theory was, they couldn't pass up any opportunities to recruit more capable people.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to criticize his choice of conspiracy.

@Minuteman75 @Kaane

 

[Kaane]

Slars, still in his Sunday best despite the clandestine nature of this operation, looked backwards at Bria from the pilot's seat. He noted her skepticism and uninterested glare with a chuckle, turning back to find a good place to land the Naszril among the treacherous, barren ash plains of Sullust's Gussuru Wastes, with Ceeba's assistance.

To be quite frank, he was somewhat hesitant when Bria joined in this little escapade; he did promise after all that he'd keep GLN business separate from GALAF unless she specifically asked him to...not to mention after the little incident in her office he was more than worried about getting her pissed again. But there was also a bright side to this whole thing; maybe with a little firsthand experience with Slars' action-oriented brand of showboat journalism, she'd begin to understand his crusade a bit better. A way of patching things up as it were.

"I gave 'em the name...publicity reasons and all. But it fits, I mean, it's quite obvious: the Jedi have gotta 'ave some sort of relation with these Gungan things, 'cause let's face it, everyone else on Naboo hates them, and Jedi will happily bust their balls trying to incite outcasts into revolution, it's how their power structure works. Now, their little proxy guerrillas have been forced offworld by their own government for their terrorist activities, and they obviously thought no one would look for 'em here."

He pointed to himself with a gloved thumb: "Except me o'course, I'm onto these kids like a gaddlefly on a Hutt's ass. The civilian murders, each single one of the corpses with their eyes removed across at least a dozen star systems....they didn't happen themselves, mate. Regardless of what's going on down there, even if i'm totally wrong about their identity, this is real kriff. Not to mention at the end of all this, we get to save a hostage, AND bring a smuggler with more experience than every single Corellian in the galaxy aboard GALAF. Which is why I'm also making you my co-host for the day."

With a snap of his fingers, a small camera drone activated and began its diagnostic check as it floated right above Slars' shoulder. It was a risk, to do something like this. But generally people who participated in his little conspiratorial miasma for even a few moments would come around. Eventually.

"How does....Ana Braveheart sound? Got a nice ring to it, mate."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After what felt like at least an hour of straight walking, The two cultists and Rens would stop in front of a massive, ancient-looking door, carved out of stone. Crude carvings, obviously done by amateurs, were hewn into them; from what the Mon Cal could tell they depicted some form of buildings burning and people bowing towards....something or other. A vaguely spheroid object with some squiggly lines in it. All he could tell was that it didn't look good: as art, or for his well-being.

One robed figure would pound on the door in a very specific pattern, one that was obviously a form of password. The doors would open with a rush of steam from the hydraulics that powered them; within was nothing. Nothing but darkness.

The hooded figures would take Rens straight into it.

They stopped after an indeterminate distance, the door long having closed behind them. Minutes passed. Nothing happened.

Then came blue flame, lighting up the walls of a circular cave, revealing stalactites and stalagmites growing and merging in twisted forms. At their center, literally feet from where Rens was standing, a group of similar hooded figures could be seen kneeling behind one man.

​

"Welcome, defiler."

 

[Minuteman75]

Rens' defiance gave way to a growing sense of fear with the horror show these whack jobs were pulling in, from the art to the enforced shadows, and finally the the reveal of the hooded assembly. Even Despite the overwhelming heat, the Mon Cal began cold sweat when that eerily voice spoke.

Jeez what kind of deathstick are these guys hooked on?

This display reminded him a bit of the terror stories he heard about the Sith. If so then they're bunch of wannabes, he realized. Regathering his wits and pissed that these cultists dared to imitate the very ones who enslaved Onderon generations ago, Rens displayed a contempt-like scowl. He was more than determined than ever to remain defiant to the end. I'm gonna to die, so may as well deny them the pleasure of me begging for my life. Rens thought before shrugging then said.

"Guilty as charged, Rens Ahim at your service. I take it that you're No Balls then?"

He grinned briefly at his elected nickname for the cult leader.

 

[Outlander]

"Really." Bria said, not even addressing the actual issues with his conspiracy theory. "You want me, the distinctive armored cyborg and leader of a terrorist cell partially formed from the remnants of an anti-Sith government, to be your on-camera co-host."

She... honestly didn't know the proper way to respond to this. She did, however, know that appearing on a broadcast to millions of people was a very bad idea. If they found out that Slars was working for GALAF, she'd loose her ability to move freely. And if they learned who SHE was, then they'd loose their covert spokesman. No, they couldn't just have a recording of the two sitting out in the open for anyone to bring back to haunt them.

"I'm not doing it."

 

[Kaane]

Welp. It was worth a try.

"Eh, promises are promises. But you know, we can't have GALAF be a secret forever. People need a hero to lead em, not just a talking head to rile em up. You're that hero to me. That's all I'm sayin'."

He'd poke the camera drone, hitting a button and causing the small bot to drift to the ground with a light clank, brushing it out of the way with his foot. As his ship settled, he'd sling his AR and some packs of ammo on a bandolier around his tunic after getting up. "So let's get this show on the road, eh mate? These cultists aren't gonna kill 'emselves."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His retribution was swift. Namely, in a swift shin kick to Rens' fish nads.

"Pot calling the kettle black," the main figure muttered as the two guards would hold the Mon Cal up, forcing him to stand and take a knee to it again before he was completely through.

"With that business taken care of, we can now proceed to our trial."

A thundering boom of uniform assent echoed through the chamber, in what appeared to be a ceremony that had been rehearsed, practiced, and executed many times before.

"The Book of Veritas!" he called out.

"The truth is right and just," said the congregation in response, enthusiastically coloring the room with tones of zealotry.

"Bring the Book of truest truth!"

"What is right and just cannot be silenced."

Once again, they waited.

But it seemed this time the wait wasn't planned for. Murmuring began to circulate amongst the robed figures; the Bearer was not among them.

"Silence!" the head cultist commanded, halting any potential for any of his followers to say something had gone wrong with their flawless ritual. "Jugas, you will find the Bearer and escort him here. The Trial will then proceed as I have foreseen it."

With a quick nod, one of the men in the back walked hastily towards a heretofore unseen side door that seemed to be disguised as the cave wall, before disappearing into the outer halways.

Then, the man turned to Ren, stepping close to the fish he had been so desperate to catch for so long. The air before his hood reeked of sulfur, and his breathing was heavy. "Your demise will be upon you soon enough, cretin."

 

[Minuteman75]

Rens heaved over from the blows. Gritting teeth once more the smuggler muttered certain references about the cult leader's mother if he ever had one. Then Rens was forced to witness the crazy sermon these bunch were doing, rolling eyes in disgust. Then a secret entrance opened which Rens admitted to himself was pretty cool.

Finally 'No Balls' got in Rens' face, rubbing it in about his upcoming death. In respond, the smuggler answered, while grimacing.

"Kriff man your breath can kill a rancor. Do ya ever brush your teeth?"

Suddenly without warning Rens spit in the head cultist in the face before giving a violent head butt to the same area. Rens sliently hoped he broke reverend killjoy's nose.