Shifting Tides Prologue, Part One
Authors Note: This is presented as a sort of AU, where Xossk ends up becoming the Leader of Trandosha, allies with Umbara (eventually) and manages to change the flow of history (somehow). I've never liked how the Confederacy lost, and even less of Palpatine playing them like a fiddle, so it may deviate from canon at quite a few points.
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It is said that the tides of War are chaotic, always shifting and swirling, never calm and steady in their movement. And this War proved no different to those gazing upon it. Two sides clashed, one composed of flesh and blood clad in white armor, led by Mystics who wielded shimmering, ethereal blades of green and blue light. On the other side, a vast mechanical horde that marched onward, a sea of robotic foes that replaced one fallen with ten more, led by a variety of individuals. It was foretold by the sole Dark Lord that either side would result in his victory, his dominance over the sages that had decimated his kin so long ago. But what if something clashed with his plans, what if a variable had not been accounted for... What if the single action of a world, nay, a being, could change entire Galactic history... In this place, shifting tides reign supreme...
Boiler of Blood, Protector of Kin
Devourer of Foes, Savior of Comrades
Mighty Gandussk Cast Your Shield Upon Me
So I May Fight Another Day
Loosely Translated Trandoshan Prayer, related to an ancient book of folk-history and blessings.
Trandosha, 14:23 Hours, Galactic Standard Time, 21 BBY, First Year of the Clone Wars
On the arboreal planet that held a race of man-like lizards, there was nothing but jubilation, parades and parties going on, for the historical moment that recently occurred. Only five hours had passed, and with the yoke of the Republic off the planet's neck, they went about their current business... As various Trandoshans proceeded with festive gatherings, each one eating and drinking to their hearts' content, one current individual wasn't in the same joyous mood as they were, but instead aggravated, now waiting two hours. Such was the way of life, that the Trandoshan nearly tripped over something, glared downwards, and snarled in annoyance. His... Predecessor, a Human Senator sent to govern their world (thanks to the Republic's dislike of his race), laid sprawled on the floor, his guts spilled on the floor (after he had tortured him into resigning the world and admitting his corruption). The weapon that had ended his pathetic miserable life currently impaled the corpse's bulging, thick neck. Dark. Blood-stained. A Trandoshan's Warblade
Of course, it wouldn't be that easy, would it. Growling as he left his thoughts to recollect, he ripped the weapon out of the man's neck. Clotted blood lazily dribbled out of the large tear now, as he tenderly placed it back in the shoulder sheath he wore. Signaling to two guards, both B1 Battle Droids walked over, and dragged his sorry carcass away, the Trandoshan glad to see the Human body gone. Lazily, his tongue flicked out, the air tasting like stingy iron and ozone, one of the guards was still fresh. An unsettling grin decorated his face as he reached for the dead Quarren's hand, which had been separated from its owner by his blade. Pulling the hand away, he snapped off the fingers with a sickening crack, and popped them into his mouth, chewing slightly before swallowing. It tasted like what he expected, squid-like and salty, the nice wet pop of bones breaking and juicy flesh tearing. Wiping his hands on the dead Nikto bodyguard, and turned slightly, seeing the chiming holo-communicator-a rather well-sized one for that matter, set in the middle of the room. He then tapped a button on a small terminal in front of him...
The holo-communicator flickered for a brief second, before an image (only colored a translucent blue) appeared in front of him, obviously a Human male, his beard almost knife-like in its shape. He wore simple light robes with a fastened cloak placed on his shoulders. To some, this man was a former Jedi Knight. To others who gazed upon his visage, he was a Sith Lord, master of the Dark Side. But to the Trandoshan, he was simply Count Dooku, a wealthy Human from some Mid-Rim planet, and leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems... And as of now, his commander...
"Xossk, what is your report on Trandosha?" The calm, collected voice that spoke to him was underlaid with a hint of aggression, not wanting to waste any time with failures.
Xossk merely responded with a rumbling click at first, before continuing, his voice giving the speech an exotic accent to it. "Yesss, Count Dooku, I have ssucceeded with Trandosha, and now all on thisss planet claim allegiance towardss You. The Ssenator is dead, and any loyal sympathizerss of the Republic is ssuffering a fate worze than Death." The accented voice was rather exotic, and it took all of his focus to speak Basic as best as he could to the Count, and although this meeting was important, he'd much rather watch his fellows gut the Republic Loyalists and leave them for the Nekchaka*. But he was getting ahead of himself, and his brief thoughts ended as the Count finally spoke, another question for him to answer.
"Where is the Jedi they sent to protect the Senator? Your reputation seems to be lackin-" Xossk merely gave off a toothy, feral grin, and before the man could finish his words, he stepped aside, revealing the Lorridian head of the Jedi he was referring to, missing its eyes, tongue, and nose, baring teeth and claw marks on some of the sounds. The Count merely stopped his sentence, watched the head for a second, and focused on the Trandoshan again, the workings of a sly smile on the Count's mug.
"So it seems you are quite the Jedi-Killer, Xossk. I must retract my impression of you for it... But it does not mean I will think any more highly of you, for you to just earn my respect, Trandoshan." The words with spoken with slight malice, and Xossk bent his knees, bowing down to his superior in devoted respect, the Count having a pleased expression at the Trandoshan's loyalty. Rising up again, he understood what the Count meant completely, and stood at attention, listening to the Count as he went on.
"Captain Xossk, as part of your new duties, you will lead Trandosha, and you can appoint a Senator to Raxus. As for corporate sponsorship, my allies, Wat Tambor and Poggle the Lesser have wished to contact you soon, to set up facilities on Trandosha. You will also command a Fleet of four vessels, and be a ground commander of Confederate forces..." The Count grinned slightly, his face contorting with malicious glee as he spoke on. "And of course, you are needed. A fleet in the Token system is to link up with yours, take the planet and establish a beachhead for attacking the Mid-Rim. I suggest you do not disappoint, Captain, for there are worse things than death..." With that said, the Count flickered out of existence, and Xossk mulled over for a second, before shutting the communicator off, and walking away from the object, eventually reaching a large bedroom. Using the in-building comlink, he summoned five individuals to the extravagant (overtly for his taste) place, three of them turning out to be red-scaled Trandoshans, all male, a dark greenish-gray female Trandoshan, and a black-scaled, medium-height Saurin male, bearing the trappings of a priest, as they gathered around Xossk...
He felt his clothes fall away from his body. The male Trandoshans gathered around him, anointing his body in scented oils and lotions and powders. The role of Warmaster fell to him, the first in five hundred years, and he would bear the mantle alone. He will fight for the Confederacy whole-heartedly, if only to destroy the foul, xenophobic, craven Republic and protect his people. But not before nailing the various Republic senators to a wall, his hatred for them greater than it's masses. When they had turned their eyes from Trandosha's plight, as pirates killed and skinned Trandoshan citizens, their hides turned into clothing and personal wear, they earned the right to die a slow, gruesome death. It sickened him that they only interfered when Trandosha had paid their "Taxes" to the festering hive of scum known as the Senate. He felt the males finish, and the female Trandoshan began to dress him in the holy, sacred armor. The males assisted by helping to lift each piece of armor up onto him. The priestly Saurin, of course, was blessing him and every piece of armor, in the ways of the Old Traditions. The battle-hardened armor was fitted unto him, made of "Trandoshan" phrik and decorated by light blue symbols, runes and markings, all inscribed onto every section of the ancient armor. His armor proved a dark pine-green in color. Finally, it was finished, and he stared at himself, plate-like armoring protecting his body and radiated power and strength. A snarling smile was adopted, in which he then he fitted on the helmet. The facial section of the armor resembling a Qwauva, most of the mask covered in more of the same symbols as before. The demonic face stared at him when he had chosen to examine it beforehand, and then rose, to his full height. He snarled in approval, for now he was like the War-Masters of old, Trandoshan Warriors who had led entire conquests and campaigns. But his armor came from the most famous of all, Gandussk, who led the second most popular religion on Trandosha. In legend, he fought off fifty Sith and their army for days, managing to protect an entire Trandoshan city. And when his comrades returned, all they saw was his armor, his blade, and the mangled remains of the Sith and their warriors. Some whispering that he had ascended as a God himself, now worshipped when they made war and battle, prayed to when on long campaigns to die as gloriously as he did...
His helmet lit up, the ancient battle-armor modernized with current updates, a HUD flickering into view, as well as miniature armor cams integrated in the armor itself. One rumbling click of approval sounded from himself, and he stepped out of the room, onto the spacious balcony and accompanied by B2 Battle Droid bodyguards. Trandoshan masses were screaming and howling in approval. His grin suddenly widened, toothy smile revealing itself... With every word he spoke, they were riled up even further, ready to fight the Republic to their deaths... The Republic shall know the fury of the Trandoshans, and with it, the force of the Confederacy behind it...
Nekchaka: A nuna-sized arboreal insect, normally a bright blue in coloration and bearing resemblance to Mantid species. Its arms are closer to appearing as scythes, and is known for "seeing" with a thermal-sensing organ in their heads, covered by two movable plates. They are known for being swarm predators and very deadly to unprepared hikers and adventurers.
Qwauva: Demonic spirits in the Trandoshan lore, often resembling twisted humanoid figures, somewhat mammalian in construction. Studies suggest this legend may have been brought about as a result of Trandoshan folklore about a crashed colony of human explorers (none are so far confirmed to be alive.)
Gandussk: Legendary warrior in the Trandoshan Mythos, believed to have "ascended to the Gods" after battling fifty Sith Warriors and their combined army, with him mysteriously disappearing and the remains of the Sith and their armies. Curiously enough, no genetic remains can be found of him currently, despite well-established records of his existence, and there was indeed an extremely similar attack well-known in Trandoshan history. For now, many speculate him to be another legend of the universe, a small one in a place chock-full of larger ones.
