Mezhan Kwaad's Profile »
As I Die - Chapter 5
Authors Note + Update: Yeah I know, I have not been around much, well I am hoping that will change - I won't bore you with why, but I will let you have a look at what I have been doing with myself for some of that time :)
This is my current WIP - a request art for Sector C-1138
And now more of a fic about this guy below
Disturbed? You should be....the fic however is far less disturbing, far less....pink. Confused as to why this is chapter 5?! Then you need to be looking back along my blog history for more chapters, go play catch up now :D
As usual sorry about Yahell's wonderful formatting and way with ruining half the little marks I put all over my fiction, and most of all thanks for reading!
Chapter 5:
Nom Anor had begun to tire, braced against either side of the gigantic creature?s throat-ridges as he was. Arms and legs screamed inwardly in agonistic protest for some form of respite.
Sooner or later, he would be forced to admit defeat, forced to face the fact that no one was coming back for him.
Funny, the former prefect realized, he had never imagined he would die like this, in ignominy.
Of course, his tale of final-moment humility and self-sacrifice would live on through stories the Solo's and Skywalkers told to others, but ultimately, shame would await him in the afterlife - if indeed, there was an afterlife.
He would be remembered best for all his misdeeds, all his foiled foolish plans that never seemed to work out, no matter how hard he had tried - And Nom Anor did not like that version of events at all.
So there he clung, watching the darkness curl around him like the lover he never had, waiting for any sign that he was no longer alone.
Time seemed to pass without event, unending and relentlessly?.there was nothing, no sound or sign of rescue- Had he been a fool to think that someone would actually wish to return for Shimrra? That in his final days, Shimrra had made more enemies than any of his predecessors, who wouldn?t leave the dread lord to a pitiful death? Who wouldn?t rather vie for a chance to take his place - had that not been Nom Anor's plan anyway?
Wandering through thought processes, his method for ignoring the grating ache that assailed his fatigued limbs, he found himself lapse into a dazed semi consciousness.
That was, until he felt it.
A harsh jolt that almost shook him free of his precarious perch, followed by another, as if a suckered dread weapon had latched onto the maw luur with it's attaching mandibles.
Something had found him - something had actually come back for him!
*****
Domain Skell Worldship, 165 years ago:
If he judged it right, he would be able to cross the long, well-lit hall and make it through the adjacent entrance membrane, before the porthole irised closed completely. The shaper initiates would be due to arrived soon for their morning duties, and Nom Anor would join them as inconspicuously as possible.
As a crecheling belonging to the intendant caste, he had no right nor a reason - at least in the eyes of others - to be here. But Nom Anor knew himself well enough, even at the tender age of nine Yuuzhan Vong years, to know that he never did anything without a reason.
His reason, in this case, lay beyond the porthole to the shaper damutek. This week's lessons from the priests of Yun-Harla, would prove ironically useful. Subterfuge was the most expedient way to gain the information one required, without your enemies becoming aware of your plans. But of course Yun-Harla was a fickle mistress as she was a foe, and she could quickly turn a situation on it's head. Subterfuge required the favour of such a fickle trickster and as such, Nom Anor had spent many hours paying due to the goddess. This had all cumulated in him sacrificing two fingers from his left hand, he would perhaps replace them with useful biots if his plan succeeded. This would also please the priests no end, and their favour would work within Nom Anor's own. It never hurt to have a contingency plan.
Yes, things were about to become much more fortunate for Nom Anor, and the pompous, stuffy igot known as Q'an Skell, would be choking on the bitter tang of the insults he had dared to humiliate the youth with the previous day.
A delicious tingle of adrenaline shot down his spine, it was a risk returning here, but Yun-Harla would find this equally as appetizing.
One Ket Later:
The teaching grashal teemed with the buzz of scandal and saccharine curiosity thick enough to proverbially stir. Rumours passed between cr?che lings as mere whispers on their lips, the gods would have been called to witness, it would not do to speak of such rumours before the superior speaker - especially as what they whispered may be false accusation.
Nevertheless, the entire intendant, crecheling population of this worldship had been summoned to this grashal to receive some news, news big enough to warrant the day's lessons to be cancelled at very short notice.
From a side porthole, that opened out onto the gargantuan tongue of a mature ganadote, stepped an elderly intendant, whitened whorls of spectacular tattoos adorning her very lean frame. She was dressed in the flowing, green robes of her caste, and seemed to command quite a presence as she entered the room, rendering the hall silent in that instant.
Once she had set foot upon the tongue of the creature, it had extended it's self fluidly, elevating her above the height of the crowd, until she was visible from the farthest point of the chamber.
Extending one hand towards the crowd, the lithe female gestured to all as she spoke,
"You have been summoned here, from your duties, to receive some information important to the learning of you all."
The crowd were all ears.
"Receive it well, for one day you may count on the lessons learned by this event, in order to deliver yourselves from such an ignoble fate."
Now the muttering had begun again, reaching a level, that the warrior guarding the entrance to the grashal, found abhorrently unacceptable. He cracked his own amphistaff against the thigh-plate of his armour, sending the crecheling nearest to him into a wise quiescence, and then he bellowed,
"Silence, petulant fools!"
It had the desired effect, and the elderly, ganadote-elevated intendant, chopped her head once in acknowledgement and thanks. A rather rare exchange of respect.
"I bring word of assassination," Her eyes now narrowed, sockets darkened by the deadly serious scowl she wore upon her furrowed brow, "Naught but a ket ago, High Prefect Q'an Skell was discovered in his damutek, slain in a most dishonourable way."
No one made a sound, nor dared to draw breath, death was to be embraced when honourable, dishonour would mean eternal unrest, to be spurned by the gods and denied the glory that awaited the honoured! For one as auspicious as the High Prefect to be denied this, it had to be the work of the gods, did it not?
The female continued,
"Poisoning, one manufactured by the shaper caste, not naturally found among already existing biots."
Among the packed crowd of creche lings, Nom Anor sat patiently, inconspicuous, due to his diminutive height, listening to the female intendants' report, but inwardly he was alive with the glory of satisfied excitement.
It had been risky to say the least, acquiring the protocol to shape a yanskac, but to then modify it?s chelipeds in such a way as to make them lethal, as opposed to merely painful, on contact, well?.Nom Anor knew he had outdone himself. He had a knack for such things, and he was not entirely sure why - the shapers arts merely made him curious, they were also an expedient way to gain what he wanted, it seemed.
If only his birth parents could have seen him now, know what he had engineered, perhaps in some minute way, they would be able to feel the same sense of selfish pride he did now? After all, he had to have inherited such surreptitious inclinations from somewhere.
"Prefect Yoog Skell has been escalated to the rank of High prefect, by order of Supreme Overlord Quorreal. The shapers responsible for the acts of assassination taken against Q'an Skell, have been sacrificed on charges of heresy."
Heresy? Had his shaping taken on a heretical turn? He had not suspected that. Nor did he care.
As the female finished her speech, stepping down from the ganadote tongue, Nom Anor allowed himself a pleasantly indulgent smile.
*****
Present day:
Another harsh jerk, followed by a grating scrape, as thought the pod of the maw luur's corpse, was being pulled between a giant set of jaws, set Nom Anor on edge. This was it, there was no turning back now, only forwards - be that into oblivion as it might well be. And all this meant that he would need to go through with the final, horrific part of his plan.
It would take the warriors a while to pry open the clamped-shut jaws of the deceased maw luur, during which time, the highly corrosive stomach acid of the creature, would have enough time to thaw some.
Glancing downwards, as if staring death in the face, Nom Anor prepared himself for the unthinkable.
TBC
Ahahahah haha! I know, I'm sorry, but really - it's best if you wait to see
This is my current WIP - a request art for Sector C-1138
And now more of a fic about this guy below
Disturbed? You should be....the fic however is far less disturbing, far less....pink. Confused as to why this is chapter 5?! Then you need to be looking back along my blog history for more chapters, go play catch up now :D
As usual sorry about Yahell's wonderful formatting and way with ruining half the little marks I put all over my fiction, and most of all thanks for reading!
Chapter 5:
Nom Anor had begun to tire, braced against either side of the gigantic creature?s throat-ridges as he was. Arms and legs screamed inwardly in agonistic protest for some form of respite.
Sooner or later, he would be forced to admit defeat, forced to face the fact that no one was coming back for him.
Funny, the former prefect realized, he had never imagined he would die like this, in ignominy.
Of course, his tale of final-moment humility and self-sacrifice would live on through stories the Solo's and Skywalkers told to others, but ultimately, shame would await him in the afterlife - if indeed, there was an afterlife.
He would be remembered best for all his misdeeds, all his foiled foolish plans that never seemed to work out, no matter how hard he had tried - And Nom Anor did not like that version of events at all.
So there he clung, watching the darkness curl around him like the lover he never had, waiting for any sign that he was no longer alone.
Time seemed to pass without event, unending and relentlessly?.there was nothing, no sound or sign of rescue- Had he been a fool to think that someone would actually wish to return for Shimrra? That in his final days, Shimrra had made more enemies than any of his predecessors, who wouldn?t leave the dread lord to a pitiful death? Who wouldn?t rather vie for a chance to take his place - had that not been Nom Anor's plan anyway?
Wandering through thought processes, his method for ignoring the grating ache that assailed his fatigued limbs, he found himself lapse into a dazed semi consciousness.
That was, until he felt it.
A harsh jolt that almost shook him free of his precarious perch, followed by another, as if a suckered dread weapon had latched onto the maw luur with it's attaching mandibles.
Something had found him - something had actually come back for him!
*****
Domain Skell Worldship, 165 years ago:
If he judged it right, he would be able to cross the long, well-lit hall and make it through the adjacent entrance membrane, before the porthole irised closed completely. The shaper initiates would be due to arrived soon for their morning duties, and Nom Anor would join them as inconspicuously as possible.
As a crecheling belonging to the intendant caste, he had no right nor a reason - at least in the eyes of others - to be here. But Nom Anor knew himself well enough, even at the tender age of nine Yuuzhan Vong years, to know that he never did anything without a reason.
His reason, in this case, lay beyond the porthole to the shaper damutek. This week's lessons from the priests of Yun-Harla, would prove ironically useful. Subterfuge was the most expedient way to gain the information one required, without your enemies becoming aware of your plans. But of course Yun-Harla was a fickle mistress as she was a foe, and she could quickly turn a situation on it's head. Subterfuge required the favour of such a fickle trickster and as such, Nom Anor had spent many hours paying due to the goddess. This had all cumulated in him sacrificing two fingers from his left hand, he would perhaps replace them with useful biots if his plan succeeded. This would also please the priests no end, and their favour would work within Nom Anor's own. It never hurt to have a contingency plan.
Yes, things were about to become much more fortunate for Nom Anor, and the pompous, stuffy igot known as Q'an Skell, would be choking on the bitter tang of the insults he had dared to humiliate the youth with the previous day.
A delicious tingle of adrenaline shot down his spine, it was a risk returning here, but Yun-Harla would find this equally as appetizing.
One Ket Later:
The teaching grashal teemed with the buzz of scandal and saccharine curiosity thick enough to proverbially stir. Rumours passed between cr?che lings as mere whispers on their lips, the gods would have been called to witness, it would not do to speak of such rumours before the superior speaker - especially as what they whispered may be false accusation.
Nevertheless, the entire intendant, crecheling population of this worldship had been summoned to this grashal to receive some news, news big enough to warrant the day's lessons to be cancelled at very short notice.
From a side porthole, that opened out onto the gargantuan tongue of a mature ganadote, stepped an elderly intendant, whitened whorls of spectacular tattoos adorning her very lean frame. She was dressed in the flowing, green robes of her caste, and seemed to command quite a presence as she entered the room, rendering the hall silent in that instant.
Once she had set foot upon the tongue of the creature, it had extended it's self fluidly, elevating her above the height of the crowd, until she was visible from the farthest point of the chamber.
Extending one hand towards the crowd, the lithe female gestured to all as she spoke,
"You have been summoned here, from your duties, to receive some information important to the learning of you all."
The crowd were all ears.
"Receive it well, for one day you may count on the lessons learned by this event, in order to deliver yourselves from such an ignoble fate."
Now the muttering had begun again, reaching a level, that the warrior guarding the entrance to the grashal, found abhorrently unacceptable. He cracked his own amphistaff against the thigh-plate of his armour, sending the crecheling nearest to him into a wise quiescence, and then he bellowed,
"Silence, petulant fools!"
It had the desired effect, and the elderly, ganadote-elevated intendant, chopped her head once in acknowledgement and thanks. A rather rare exchange of respect.
"I bring word of assassination," Her eyes now narrowed, sockets darkened by the deadly serious scowl she wore upon her furrowed brow, "Naught but a ket ago, High Prefect Q'an Skell was discovered in his damutek, slain in a most dishonourable way."
No one made a sound, nor dared to draw breath, death was to be embraced when honourable, dishonour would mean eternal unrest, to be spurned by the gods and denied the glory that awaited the honoured! For one as auspicious as the High Prefect to be denied this, it had to be the work of the gods, did it not?
The female continued,
"Poisoning, one manufactured by the shaper caste, not naturally found among already existing biots."
Among the packed crowd of creche lings, Nom Anor sat patiently, inconspicuous, due to his diminutive height, listening to the female intendants' report, but inwardly he was alive with the glory of satisfied excitement.
It had been risky to say the least, acquiring the protocol to shape a yanskac, but to then modify it?s chelipeds in such a way as to make them lethal, as opposed to merely painful, on contact, well?.Nom Anor knew he had outdone himself. He had a knack for such things, and he was not entirely sure why - the shapers arts merely made him curious, they were also an expedient way to gain what he wanted, it seemed.
If only his birth parents could have seen him now, know what he had engineered, perhaps in some minute way, they would be able to feel the same sense of selfish pride he did now? After all, he had to have inherited such surreptitious inclinations from somewhere.
"Prefect Yoog Skell has been escalated to the rank of High prefect, by order of Supreme Overlord Quorreal. The shapers responsible for the acts of assassination taken against Q'an Skell, have been sacrificed on charges of heresy."
Heresy? Had his shaping taken on a heretical turn? He had not suspected that. Nor did he care.
As the female finished her speech, stepping down from the ganadote tongue, Nom Anor allowed himself a pleasantly indulgent smile.
*****
Present day:
Another harsh jerk, followed by a grating scrape, as thought the pod of the maw luur's corpse, was being pulled between a giant set of jaws, set Nom Anor on edge. This was it, there was no turning back now, only forwards - be that into oblivion as it might well be. And all this meant that he would need to go through with the final, horrific part of his plan.
It would take the warriors a while to pry open the clamped-shut jaws of the deceased maw luur, during which time, the highly corrosive stomach acid of the creature, would have enough time to thaw some.
Glancing downwards, as if staring death in the face, Nom Anor prepared himself for the unthinkable.
TBC
Ahahahah haha! I know, I'm sorry, but really - it's best if you wait to see
Help us improve The World of Star Wars.
And twisted is good no? :D Glad you liked it! More soon.
This most recent installment, mostly how you left if off, is twisted.
WELL DONE!