Brayark Vizsla
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 76
Affiliation: Death Watch
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Post by Brayark Vizsla on Mar 7, 2019 9:41:51 GMT -8
Champion City. Aptly named, considering Clan Vizsla was now taking up residence within the city. Most of the citizens of Contruum ignored their presence, but a few kept a wary eye on the arriving Mandalorians and the ships that were now holding position above the city, ferrying supplies down to the surface. Once enough of the Clan was on the surface and enough supplies had been brought down, Clan Vizsla would begin setting up an enclave and help push the local economy, creating jobs to build up the clan's resources.
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Brayark Vizsla
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 76
Affiliation: Death Watch
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Post by Brayark Vizsla on Mar 19, 2019 17:59:54 GMT -8
The 'invasion' of Contruum by Clan Vizsla, had been a silent thing. No shots fired, no blood spilled. Nothing. Instead, Clan Vizsla's non-combatant members began to integrate into Contruum's already functioning economy and use their acquired positions to help aid both the natives of Contruum and those of Clan Vizsla.
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Ga’ab Solomon
Member
Posts: 63 
Affiliation: Clan Jugsmuk of Gamorr
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Post by Ga’ab Solomon on Apr 3, 2019 10:29:02 GMT -8
Champion City Spaceport
The Axe of Urk'kruk gently descended through the atmosphere, following landing coordinates to the newly renamed Champion City. As the spaceport grew larger the shuttle's wings began to fold up, decreasing it's landing profile. Guided by small tractor beams and cushioned by reulsorlifts the Lambda Shuttle came to a gentle rest on an assigned landing platform,
"Alright, this isn't Hutt space." Ga'ab reminded the gaggle of Gamorrean boars in the shuttle's cargo hold. "People are a lot squishier here but the guns are a lot bigger. Keep it tight and we'll be back to Gamorr before you can miss Potwa beer." With that, he extended the shuttle's boarding ramp and descended with his Gamorreans in tow.
They must have looked quite the site because several spaceport employees stopped what they were doing and fixed their attention on the Lamdba's disembarking passengers.
A party of 6 large Gamorrean boars would have been a confusing site on any planet this close to the core, but perhaps what was more shocking to the onlookers was their apparent leader, A white haired, near-human male, bedecked in Gamorrean armor whose face was nearly obscured by large optical implants.
Ga'ab had considered whether or not to bring weapons out of the shuttle but much to the annoyance of his guardsmen he had elected for them to disembark unarmed. He had argued with partial success that keeping their war-axes on the ship would save time and expedite their return home.
It proved to be a fortunate decision as a port official and accompanying security guards, all apparently Contruum natives, approached Ga'ab and company. Ga'ab had noticed the Mandalorian warships in orbit but the presence of Contruum natives maintaining some authority and more importantly their weapons, Ga'ab surmised that it had been a relatively peaceful transition. That did not mean however that Mandalorians would not appear and offer their own line of questioning. But for now, Ga'ab only had to contend with the port official.
"They warned us to expect Gamorreans." Said the Contruumi port official matter of factly. The security guards weapons were still holstered but their hands hovered near them, expecting the worst. "What's your business on Contruum?"
Ga'ab replied amiably, "As I informed orbital-control I'm interested in purchasing surveying rights on one of Contruum's moons."
"What do Gamorreans want in our system?" Asked the man suspiciously.
"Absolutely nothing. This is a personal venture, I will be its singular financier and I can guarantee that you won't be seeing an influx of Gamorreans here."
"Is that so?" The port official began to relax a bit. "What are they doing with you then? Why're you in their armor?" He indicated Ga'ab's Gamorrean guards.
"You might think the are Hutts despicable but they're not dumb. They wouldn't use Gamorreans as guardsmen if they weren't good at it and I can tell you from personal experience that in close quarters a Gamorrean with an Ar'gorak could give any Mando a run for his money."
"I'd pay to see that. My money's on the Mando though." Said the official who finally seemed satisfied. "Docking fee is 40 credits a planetary cycle, payment upon departure. We keep the bays locked down until you pay and clear your departure with us." He said sternly. "Other than that we offer refueling, and repairs and maintenance if you allow us access to your ship. All services will be charged to your docking tab."
"I won't be here more than a few hours so just a refueling. How far's the administrative or government district?" Asked Ga'ab.
"When you leave the docking bay your datapad should sync with the city-data-net. You'll find directions there." Replied the port official as he inputted the fuel request into his own datapad. "If there's nothing else, we wish you a pleasant trip on Contruum. And do keep your Gamorreans under control." He said before he and the guards departed back to their normal stations.
"Mar'drog you take the boys and find a quiet cantina and do your best not to scare the locals. Warfgar and Qi'brog will accompany me. I'll collect you when I'm done." Ordered Ga'ab. Following the general direction of the port official, Ga'ab and his Gamorreans exited the spaceport and the two groups broke off. Ga'ab and his two guardsmen walking briskly to the government center, and Mar'drog and the other Gamorreans eagerly heading to the nearest cantina.
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Ga’ab Solomon
Member
Posts: 63
Affiliation: Clan Jugsmuk of Gamorr
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Post by Ga’ab Solomon on Apr 13, 2019 11:28:59 GMT -8
Office of the Director of Surveying and Land Development
Regulus Bixby had been born and raised on Contruum. In the 42 years of his life he had never left the planet. When confronted by friends on why he was such a home-body he replied amiably that he hadn't even seen all that his own world had to offer. With this guiding philosophy, to explore his own beloved world, he had found employment with the planetary governments Surveying and land development bureau and over the years had risen to the respected position of Director of the bureau. While he missed the daily hikes and explorations he had once done as a journeyman he was content with providing guidance and leadership from his current role. He was just entering his office after a late lunch when he caught sight of the man already sitting in his office. His brow furrowed and he walked slowly past the young man to take a seat behind his desk.
"Do we have an appointment?' Asked Regulus, knowing the answer would be no. As he sat in his comfortable desk chair and placed his box of leftovers away, he stole surreptisiou looks at his uninvited guest. He appeared to be human with short cut white hair and large optical implants that covered the upper half of his face. Implants were not wholly uncommon on Contruum so that did not give him pause, what did however was the man's garrish body armor.
The man replied with a smooth, disarming voice. "No Director Bixby, I'm afraid I must impose on your time."
Something about the man's voice put him at ease and a quick glance at his schedule indicated he could afford some few minutes to the stranger. "I see, well this is most irregular, but what is it that I can do for you... Mr?"
"My name is unimportant." Said the man and Regulus agreed, he didn't need to know the man's name. "I was hoping I could procure the rights to survey land on the moon of Contruum 6 and after I find a suitable location, receive development rights to begin cosntruction on a small settlement."
That was quite the proposal Regulus thought to himself as he began to gather the myriad of forms. "Well I'm happy to help, I have here the necessary forms you'll need to coplete in triplicate and of course we'll need a list of assets, references and a proposal for this settlement, but I must warn you our Mandalorian residents are operating on the moon and I do not forsee their acquiesance to your request." Said Regulus as diplomatically as possible.
The white haired man's smile didn't waver and neither did he accept the stack of flimsiplast documents that Regulus held out for him. "Director Bixby, I came specifically to you because I know that you can fast track my request." Insinuating quite a bit more than simply cutting through the red tape.
Regulus hurrumphed and puffed out his chest in indignation. "I hope you're not suggesting I..."
He was interrupted by the man's voice which sounded quiet but boomed in his mind. "You will approve my requests."
"I... Will... I will approve your requests." Said Regulus after a moment of mental struggle.
Ga'ab nodded in satisfaction as he watched Director Bixby comply with his request. The filing took over 30 minutes, but afterwards Bixby assured him that the request had been approved and now held legal standing. However, Ga'ab's mission wasn't over. While his force suggestion was potent, its effects would wear off and eventually Bixby or his peers would discover the expedited land development request and questions would begin to be asked. He had to ensure that Bixby would reliably maintain cover for the Ryn refugee settlement if there was any hope that they could hide from the Tenloss Syndicate.
"Director Bixby, you're in fine shape for a government employee." Ga'ab said matter of factly.
"Oh, yes... I uh like to stay active. I used to be a surveyor you know, and I still enjoy a good hike."
Ga'ab clapped his hands together and rose to his feet. "Is that so? Well Director, I would be honored if you would accompany me on my survey of Contruum 6."
Regulus hesitated. While still under Ga'ab's thrall he had never left Contruum and the thought of it conflicted with him at his core. "My work, I should stay here. I could... I could see if Arca is in..."
"No. You will accompany me on my expedition. Inform your personal secretary that you are taking a few personal days." Ga'ab commanded, pushing with the force.
Regulus stiffly activated his desk speaker. "Prita, I am taking several personal days. Please forward important messages to my commlink. That'll be all." He said as he cut the connection.
Several minutes later Ga'ab and Director Regulus Bixby made their way to the spaceport, Gamorreans in tow.
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Brayark Vizsla
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 76
Affiliation: Death Watch
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Post by Brayark Vizsla on Jun 22, 2019 17:31:24 GMT -8
Torian City, the second major settlement on Contruum and the home to Hjalmar Priest, the governor of Contruum and the public 'face' of Death Watch, was a place where the majority of Death Watch members resided when not out on missions. With Brayark competing in the Great Hunt, the event was being live-streamed from Nal Hutta. Direct real-time feeds were being sent back to Nal Hutta from each competitor's ID10 Seeker Droid. So far, Brayark had only just arrived at Hoth, though many of his clan and friends were eagerly awaiting to see him tackle his first hunt...
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Brayark Vizsla
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 76
Affiliation: Death Watch
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Post by Brayark Vizsla on Apr 18, 2020 8:27:13 GMT -8
Champion City - Life continued on, as it always did. Clan Vizsla integrated into the general populace of Contruum. It was peaceful and prosperous. Despite the ongoing galactic events, the people of Contruum were unaware of the larger scheme of things, or indifferent to it, as it did not affect their lives. But life continued, just the same, in Champion City, and on Contruum in general.
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Aug 11, 2020 0:26:27 GMT -8
Torian City, Spaceport Fringes.
He reserved a table toward the back, dimly lit but lengthy enough for a dozen men. They never expected that many, but during the old days, it was not uncommon for the rabble to become raucous. Parties in Harnaidan were a spectacle, easily able to rival the halls of Asgard despite their more humble origins. The Muun had wealth that they could throw around freely with iron assurance it would always flow back to them. In those days, no one believed it would ever end.
Contruum was a far cry from that. The raw history of Rebellion made it a hive for roguish spacers and fugitives with no interest in Empires or Alliances. This particular bar was the earliest dive on a path from the Spaceport into the city. In short, it was filled with undesirables and all manner of malingering bodies who would have no interest in bending their ears toward anyone's business.
It was the perfect venue for a conversation that needed no eavesdroppers.
Alkor took his seat along the outside of the table, never interested in either of the edges. Those spots were slotted for people with an interest in command, in lording over others. They were the seats taken by the Sages and the Lord Governors, the men with aspirations toward grandeur. Alkor's only delusion was a fair price for alcohol, which was quickly abolished when the swill cost him a handful of the credits on his chip. The economy was hurting, though.
Had been since the Imps moved in. Taxes up, market constrained... made sense people were resorting to smuggling jobs again. It was a lawless galaxy, the way it had been during the Rebellion Era.
"With any luck, one of them will arrive soon," he muttered as he took a sip of the ale. It was more bitter than he preferred, but he never complained about a drink.
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Post by Bedrovelse Hevn on Aug 11, 2020 19:35:48 GMT -8
Bedrovelse enters the cantina flanked by his stalwart lackeys, Alpha and Claws. Hevn is layered in a thick tangle of baggy robes. His face and head covered in a tight wrap of the same sandy brown color. His pale sapphire eyes are shaded behind large tinted goggles. His minions kept to a similar disguise. That of a smuggler, scavenger, or spacer. A way to blend into the roguish locals that inhabited Contruum.
Though a bold and prideful man, unnecessary attention was unwelcome on this day. Alkor had made the tedious effort of arranging this meeting and it would be a shame to spoil it with a visit from anyone stupid enough to try claiming the price on his head. Far more a shame to reorganize an effort so discreet. What Hevn could not hide was the boisterous presence of the dark side. A storm at which he was always the epicenter.
Clouds of barely perceptible unease consume every patron in the cantina well before he swept imperiously through the door. His talent with the darkness and sorcery, combined with his existence as a sithspawn fortified by alchemy and spells made it a nuisance to contain. So he didn’t bother until exceptional circumstances require it. It was a waste of effort considering that Hevn had grown into a monster that preferred to deter his enemies with forthcoming terror and overwhelming power. It took far too trained an eye to spot such a thing in the dense cloud that surrounded him. It was as much a cloak as stifling it.
It took but a moment to spot Alkor seated in isolation toward the back. With a nod, Alpha and Claws find their own tables on opposite ends of the cantina. They position themselves to keep an eye on all others in the cantina, as well as those who would arrive. Hevn’s hands fold into the baggy sleeves of his robes and his long strides find him upon his brother in arms.
Beneath the wrap Hevn sneers as his nose picks up the cheap drink clenched in Alkor’s fist. He seats himself at an end of the table, and his cool speech trembles quietly with the hum of the mechanical assistance.
“Is that the best they’ve got?”
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Faust Skirata
Member
I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Faust Skirata on Aug 12, 2020 16:28:59 GMT -8
The Prophet of Harangir entered the cantina without preamble, shouldering his way past the throng gathered near the doorway. They parted easily enough, some scrambling out of his way, others glaring with bleary eyes before recognizing the armor and hastening to follow their less intoxicated peers.
Faust's lip curled with derision as he scanned around the ramshackle interior. His HUD automatically compensated for the low light and smoke filled air, and it only took him a moment to spot the two dar'jetti seated in the back. Alkor Centaris and Bedrovelse Hevn: both former employers of the Reaver Fleet, both skilled warriors, and both possessed of a certain, bestial ferocity not unlike his own. Had any other forceful reached out to him, the message would have gone ignored.
Time would only tell if this exception was justified.
The soft jangling of Faust's ringmail joined the rest of the cacophony as he made his way to their table and took a seat opposite Centaris.
"...the best they've got?" the largest of the three men was asking as the priest dropped heavily into his chair.
"Su'cuy, dar'jetti." One hand freed his dirk from its sheath and placed it on the tabletop as he spoke. "I assume you have need of beroya once again?"
Behind the iron mask of his buy'ce, the Reaver Lord's sulfuric gaze shifted to Bedrovelse. "Or perhaps you wish to fulfill an obligation."
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Aug 14, 2020 19:53:27 GMT -8
Alkor turned his gaze to Hevn as the Mando'ad joined them at the table. It had to have been at the behest of the other Jen'jidai, because to the best of his knowledge, Alkor had kept no love with the clans after his bitter and brutal departure. Of course, he kept no contact and burned what bridges he had; unless it were someone particularly well informed, most Mandalorians wouldn't have his name on a short list.
It flickered back to the Reaver moments later, some sentiment hidden behind his murky gaze. "It's the best swill they can afford without paying Imp taxes," he shrugged. "I don't particularly care for those either, so I won't say too much."
His eyes trailed back to Skirata, the strange armor only a slight deviation from traditional beskar'gam. He'd heard of a cult devoted to the old god, Kad Ha'rangir, but he never imagined he'd see one up close. Berserkers like that didn't last long compared to the more conservative Supercommando types.
So he stood corrected. Su'cuy, Shekemir," he greeted, though not warmly. "I cannot imagine what use Bedrovelse has for fanatics, but if he has called you here, I trust his faith in your mettle.
Now, to the matter at hand. Word has gone out about a resurgence. A Dark Jedi Order, reborn. What do you make of it?"
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Post by Bedrovelse Hevn on Aug 16, 2020 17:51:31 GMT -8
The Reaver Lord was hot on Hevn’s heels. Finding the Jen’jidai shortly after Hevn took his own seat. Alkor seemed to lament the quality of drink just as much as himself, as well as the intrusion of the Imperials. It didn’t seem to matter where or when you lived, you couldn’t shake them. They always existed in some shape or form. The irony of arresting thieves and smugglers, while they used the strict confines of the law to do exactly the same seemed to be lost on all but the most shameless of them. Those realists were few and far between.
There was a roll of disgust in his stomach as he felt the toll of crushing the IGBC. The Imps swept in to benefit from Hevn’s retribution. People farther and wider than he’d ever have foreseen suffering from the circumstances of an economic crash. His roll of disgust wasn’t from any sense of responsibility for it, though. Bedrovelse Hevn had leveled the field. Evened the bloody odds. Reset the matrix. Those who suffered failed to stand up for themselves. Failed to fight back. Failed to seize the strength and opportunity his attack provided. The weakness that wracked the systems was pathetic. Another Empire polluting the galaxy while the will to rebel faded with each facade of safety and peace they preached.
You didn’t need the Force, or Chaos to stand up for yourself. To free yourself or your people from oppression. The Reaver Lord was a gleaming example of what could be done with cunning, skill, and something to believe in. A leader with fanatical purpose and unfaltering belief in even a delusional sense of divinity. Although after Hevn’s experience with the Dathomiri Gods, he was far from certain that Faust Skirata was delusional at all. When his men fell on Muunilinst he did not feel their deaths echoing through the force. It was as though they were swept away, claimed by another, something far more powerful than Hevn’s prideful imagination could conjure.
Suddenly a fleeting and curious thought bemused the Dark Sage. ‘Did the Destroyer God smile upon the Jen’jidai?’ Did the Reaver Lord come of his own accord, or because his God knew that death and destruction followed Bedrovelse like a plague of reckoning?
As Alkor issued his frigid welcome to the Reaver, he wondered if it would be interpreted as a slight or a compliment. Would Faust’s mouth twist into a smile or an equally unsettling grimace?
“Greetings, Lord Reaver.” He understood something of the Mandalorian tongue, though he was not as fluent as either of his present company. He’d mostly picked up key words from being locked in their compounds during the crusade. Learning what he could as they tortured him. “Indeed I have summoned you, that we may take another step closer to completing our pact.”
The Reavers were essential in toppling Muunilinst. The blitzkrieg cavalry gave the Banking Clan and the leftover forces of their old Order more than they could handle. The hell they rained gave Hevn’s team the opening they needed to seize the contents of the vault, after of course Alkor had been persuaded to allow it. Did the shadowy guardian of those relics invest himself in this resurgence? His interest in a new Dark Jedi Order was one he thought left long behind, as the man had always seemed to participate in it completely begrudgingly.
Hevn’s bass heavy sinister grumble of laughter vibrates, muffled, from the wrap over his mouth. “A resurgence of our Order? Or simply the rise of a new one, brother? Anyone who does not call themself a Sith is by loose definition, a dark jedi. Lacking any urge for a more creative name, much as our masters before us, anyone without the Sith creed can carve a womp rat on a banner and claim the name for themselves.”
Hevn’s mockery implied that they had evolved beyond the need to cling to such names, or defend their honor. That the two of them were somehow different than whatever rise was taking place. That their interests were separate from it. Their once proud order stood as a collective of powerful force users. Ranging from the wholly wicked, to misunderstood anti-heroes. Only a Jen’jidai could command the respect or attention of another. There was nothing in the galaxy that could save a soul from the wrath of their true unity. Fortunate for all who opposed them that the destruction came from an epic implosion of ego and direction of their cumulative power.
“Have you determined whether they may be a credible threat to us, or valuable allies? I see no reason to concern ourselves with their existence until evidence of either condition emerges. To the uninitiated, we are no less fanatical to our ideals than the man beside us, to ways that are long since dead and gone. In this paradigm, they are pretenders. Let them pretend.”
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Amaya
Member
Posts: 8
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Amaya on Aug 17, 2020 10:26:00 GMT -8
Since the escape pod’s crash on Contruum, Amaya had followed the Force to her next destination. Almost immediately after landing on the planet, a potent darkness had stood out to her, one far stronger and more focused than anything she had felt before. Most would have made a point to avoid its origins, and rightfully so, but it represented to her the sort of strength that she sought out. Being one naturally attuned to the darkness herself, others like her were a welcoming presence as opposed to one to be fearful of.
It took hours, but eventually, she found civilization. Or, more aptly, the first piece of a truly civilized society she’d ever laid eyes upon, though by galactic standards it was less civil and more home to those the rest of the galaxy would sooner forget. With her talents in the Force she was able to cast a veil over herself so that she would go unnoticed, causing most to look her over as if she never truly existed in the first place. It was that which got her through the city, and led her to her final destination: a cantina.
Certainly nowhere meant for a child, but she didn’t know better. Unbothered by the harshness of her surroundings, for to her this was far nicer than anything she’d seen before, Amaya entered.
Immediately her senses were assaulted by sights and smells never before known, but thankfully she kept enough wits about her to maintain the artificial anonymity that allowed her to step further inside, her small size letting her weave through the crowded entryway with ease. The darkness that had guided her for so long was here, and now it was a matter of finding the table where it sat.
There were three men at a table near the back, half cloaked in shadow, either armored or similarly deadly in their own right. Without much pause she hoisted herself into a chair next to the man at the end, and if any of them had ordered food she would point to it, only then showing her true age. “Are you going to eat that?”
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Zeverance Stargo
Member
Posts: 3
Affiliation: The Eclipse Syndicate / Stargo Crime Family
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Zeverance Stargo on Aug 17, 2020 18:08:49 GMT -8
A dull flame breathed to life, orange glow burning like a sun against the backdrop of shadow that veiled the corner of the cramped manager's office. The light lasted only a heartbeat before it flickered and faded, leaving behind what seemed to be a smoldering hole in the darkness. Zeverance let his eyes fall closed and his head lean back - his hand gently spinning a circle with the burning end of his cigar. As he sat there, barely visible in the soft light from the overhead lamp, he coaxed the wave sweet smoke over his tongue until it seared the back of his throat. He let the cloud of toxins sit there for a moment, the pleasure of the small high washing over him briefly before he craned his head back to full height and forced his eyes open.
"Let's try this again" Zev sighed, tails of caf hinted smoke curling over his lips as he spoke.
A muffled scream followed as a bloated Gamorrean arm yanked a blue Twi'lek male from the floor by his lekku. Swinging the Twi'lek violently by the head tail the Gamorrean slammed his victim into the flattop of a boa-wood desk sat beneath the lamplight in the center of the office. The walls echoed the hallow thud of the twi'leks skull and the sharp crack from within his mouth - triggering a shriek of pain that was held back by the thick piece of fiber-cord tied around his mouth. In seconds the shriek faded into an infantile gargle as a pool of crimson blood began pushing through the gaps between his front teeth and the gag. Zeverance watched on stoically for a moment as the blood collected on the brown desktop, streams of red quickly becoming puddles of black. He mocked a sigh when he spotted shards teeth mixed in with the blood.
"We didn't have to resolve it this way, Idek. You know I don't enjoy it" Zev mused as he stood and approached the desk. His cigar breathed to life again as he took a short puff and let the smoke curl from his lips, "But if I allowed you to make this mistake then what about the rest of my operation? Everyone would start making costly mistakes and that's something I simply can't abide."
Idek mumbled unintelligibly, his words choked by blood and muffled by the fiber-cord. Zev gazed down at the twi'lek for a moment before motioning subtly to his Gamorrean associate. At Zev's signal the thug ripped the fibercord away from Idek's mouth, letting loose a flood of spit and blood that oozed across the desk and began dripping onto the floor. "I swear, Zev" Idek moaned, his words distorted by the nubs where his front teeth used to be, "I thought they were good for it...the whole city was talking about them"
"They aren't good at much anymore, Idek. Soon you won't be good at very much either." the allusion coaxed a sniveling plea for mercy from the Twi'lek. Small timer or not, Zev was dealing in spice and Idek knew all too well what happened to people who ripped off a spice dealer...
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...Unfortunately for Idek the credits were gone and so were the spice. Now the small Cantina would require new management that wouldn't sell a cargo hold of spice to a bunch of spacers on a promise and a dream. Emerging from the back office Zeverance strode through the crowd, stopping briefly to crush his spent cigar into the bar top and leaving it there in a pile of crumbled ashes. He stood at the bar for a moment as the last wisps of smoke rose from his cigar and he took in the bar. He was a soar spot among the ramshackle crowd in his black armor weave coat, synth-silk shirt and Corellian dress pants while the majority of the patrons were lucky to have more than a spacer suit thrown over their shoulders.
The dive was a collection of scum and villainy, but none of it was particularly successful scum. That this was one of the best places to begin racketeering on the planet was a testament to the state of things. So far the decision to start operations on Contruum had been a colossal failure despite the ripe market for black market goods under the rule of The Empire.
Zev was convinced that the fault wasn't in the market but in the caliber of scum available. Among the smugglers and thugs, killers and pimps was not a single legitimate businessman. Say what you will of Contruum but it was no Coronet City. There was no brains of the operation, just a collection of babbling imbeciles who'd soon enough be hunted down by any Imperial worth his salt. He wondered if there was anyone in this place that could so much as hold their own in his business. Just then...that familiar tickle itched the back of his mind. Narrowing his eyes, Zev did what he had always done since he was a child. He closed his eyes and focused on the strange feeling, letting it guide the tilt of his head...the pace of his breathing...the turn of his body...
Then he opened his eyes. The feeling was gone and he now found himself staring through the crowd, past the dozens of patrons to a dimly lit corner where a group of men sat with...a girl? Zev raised a brow. Even he wouldn't bring a child here. What were they up to? What were they doing? What about them had made The Feeling come on?
Almost without thinking Zev took a seat at the stool beside him and stared down the group for a moment. Then, turning towards the bartender, he slammed on the tabletop. "Hal" he called to the Ithorian serving drinks, "send over another round of whatever those men are drinking, but use Idek's special reserve."
The Ithorian looked at him perplexedly for a moment. Zev's mouth turned into a cold grin, "Idek won't be needing it anymore. Oh and send some moof juice for the girl, don't want her feeling left out."
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Faust Skirata
Member
I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Faust Skirata on Aug 18, 2020 10:24:28 GMT -8
The silence lasted for only a heartbeat before it was broken by the jangling of Faust's ringmail as he shook with peals of horrible, rasping laughter. His gaze shifted between the two darksiders, as if waiting for one of them to crack a smile and reveal that it was all in jest. When neither man reacted the priest finally fell silent and heaved a sigh.
Abruptly he seized his knife from the table top and buried its tip deep into the splintered wood. Heads turned at the sudden sound, and the table nearest theirs rapidly found itself empty as the occupants moved to safer waters.
"At times," Faust began in a whisper, "the audacity of aruetti amuses me. Astounds, even. At others, it serves only to try my patience." Twisting his knife free, he leveled the blade toward the cyborg, gripping the hilt so tightly the fingers of his shukorok ground together. "The Rites of Harangir are not something to be summoned at your leisure, wretch, nor the Chosen dogs on your leash, coming at your call. I find myself tempted to send your soul to Kad as recompense for this waste of his kriffing time."
The prophet took a long, rasping breath, exhaled it slowly, and tossed his knife across the table, where it clattered to a halt just short of the cyborg. "You will make an offering of contrition to the Destroyer for your sacrilege. Or," he shrugged. "Our pact will be ended, and you will burn alongside the rest of this heretical galaxy."
Behind the expressionless mask of his buyce, Faust's sulphuric gaze bored into Hevn's icy blue eyes, waiting.
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Post by Bedrovelse Hevn on Aug 18, 2020 22:42:09 GMT -8
Hevn’s gaze lazily drifts from Alkor, and his talk of rumors, to the absolute circus Skirata was putting on for him. Behind the head wrap his lips remained pursed, unamused with the spectacle. Petty, and insolent. Bedrovelse offered the man no indignation or offense. How the Lord Reaver managed to manifest it of his own accord made him wonder why any god would waste the gifts of divinity on a man so confoundingly impatient.
“Splitting hairs with me, Lord Reaver?” His voice countering Faust’s fire with chilling certainty. Hevn removes his hands from the confines of his sleeves. They grasp the knife tossed before him. He runs a thumb over the broadside of the blade, admiring the craftsmanship as his eyes fall to it. Mandalorian forge masters were objectively impressive. As Hevn’s thumb gets towards the point, he brushes the coiled shavings of wood Faust had dug up from the table top from it.
Hevn meets the sulfuric burn with frigid indifference. He tucks his wrist back into one of his baggy sand colored sleeves to polish the knife, quietly deliberating, though only for another few breaths while he focused on the iron clad fanatic. He could see the faces of men felled by Faust’s hand flashing through the metal, like a window to whatever hell he sent them to. He could hear their pleas for vengeance from the necromancer. He silences them. “I invited you to discuss a changing of our terms, to your favor. A reaving of Togoria. Excuse my delay in making it known to you. They are occupying an old fortress in which resides an altar which can expedite the ritual you seek performed in compensation for your valued time and effort. Our pact completed.”
Hevn places the knife back on the table. A short calculation races from his organic mind through the cybernetics of his body. With the casual flick of his finger, the knife slides to Faust’s edge of the table, pointed towards the door to the cantina. He crosses his arms and folds his hands back into his sleeves. “I yield to no god, nor their servants, Lord Reaver. You will find, historically, that gods do not long favor those who break pacts made in their name. I would prefer robbing your foes of the tools they require to challenge your vision, to robbing your soul of an audience with The Destroyer.”
Being even relatively cordial with the barbarian, by Hevn’s standard, was already a serious display of leniency. The Reavers were extraordinary warriors, but armies were replaceable. Sorcerers of his caliber were far fewer and farther between. Especially ones who’d agree to work with Skirata. Hevn wanted this alliance to last. To seize the relics of the Prophet’s so called heretics to be claimed as his own. He’d coerce and barter with Skirata as far as he could without wholly compromising his toxic pride. The wagging tongue he could endure with ease, but Hevn would stop at nothing short of annihilating Skirata’s body and enslaving the lunatic’s soul if the edge of his beskad were ever pointed at him the wrong way. His soul was his own, something the Prophet could not say for himself. If he could defy chaos, chances were he could defy the gods. Haunting Faust for eternity. Hunt him through this realm, and into the next.
‘You came here because you know I’m good for it.’ Hevn thought to himself as he held the Mandalorian’s gaze. ‘But will your Destroyer will it so?’
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Aug 20, 2020 3:59:27 GMT -8
All the talk of gods, devils, and religious drivel made the ale taste foul. Alkor's gaze hardened as Faust and Bedrovelse measured their cocks across the table, and he pushed the mug away from himself. What a waste.
"Togoria is the prize," Alkor explained, "but we've lost every foothold we had on the world. Even were we to go back in force, there are few left who remember our names and fewer who still respect the legacy."
Above the rest of them, he was pragmatic and a realist. The life debts owed the former Dark Jedi Order by the Togorians were largely considered paid in full with Reign's final moments. There would be very little love for their cause if they came as conquerers. They needed to establish themselves as something new, and worthy of respect.
Worthy, even, to be feared.
Alkor stopped himself short when a child dared to approach the table. A... child? In an establishment like this? Contruum was wild by nature, a rebellious planet even to the point where the Empire once slated it for destruction during the heyday of the Death Star, but this particular bit of rebellion... how had she managed to weasel past the bouncers?
Still, anyone who managed to get this far at that age, and who sought out the gloomiest table out of the bunch for scraps deserved scraps. He slid the untouched plate of Bantha Burger to an unclaimed seat and gestured for the girl to eat her fill.
It was not Coronet City. No child needed to die of starvation in the streets due to the negligence of his mother. But it was like Coronet City, in that a child had learned to adapt to survive. Places changed, but people never did.
That was when the barmaid arrived. "Drinks," she smiled, albeit uneasily as she spoke to the men. "Paid for by the gentleman at the bar. And juice for the little miss," she said as she offered the girl a wink.
At the bar...?
Alkor shot a sidelong glance. Had someone taken an interest in their meeting who shouldn't have? Or was this something else?
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Amaya
Member
Posts: 8
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Amaya on Aug 20, 2020 7:09:03 GMT -8
Her eyes lit up when the plate was slid toward her, and Amaya shared a brief look with the man who’d offered it to her, thinly veiled astonishment behind her eyes. For as grown up as she tried to be, a child was still a child, and this was the most food she’d seen in her life. Rations were one thing, but this was real, and it was hers.
It was clear by how quickly she ate that nourishment was a scarcity in her life, the plate of burgers diminished in mere seconds. When the nice woman set a glass of juice in front of her her eyes grew wide, and she grinned through a mouthful before remembering what manners the older children had tried teaching her and swallowed. Almost as soon as the waitress turned her back she’d drained the cup, returning to picking through what was left on the plate.
If the men continued talking she would listen idly, ignorant of the weight of the discussion but quietly content now that her needs had been met.
The man that had fed her seemed preoccupied, and Amaya followed his gaze to the bar, cocking her head. Although she didn’t have the words to explain it, the Force had guided her this far, and that same sixth sense probed across the several figures that crowded around the bartop.
Pointing out one man in particular who was far better dressed than one ought to be at such an establishment, she again met the gaze of the nice man. “Who is that?”
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Zeverance Stargo
Member
Posts: 3
Affiliation: The Eclipse Syndicate / Stargo Crime Family
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Zeverance Stargo on Aug 21, 2020 18:05:14 GMT -8
"Mr. Stargo there won't be trouble for me will there?" the Ithorian pushed forward a glass quarter full of ice and half brandy while it's translator failed to capture the shuttering terror in the creature's incomprehensible bellow of a language. Zeverance took the glass with little more than a brief smile before tipping the the glass toward his lips and letting the burn wash back the lingering ghost of his cigar. The sweet wave of apple hinted fire twisted about the java doused ashes that crusted his tongue while he took a long sip.
"Well I suppose that depends..." Zev remarked as he brought the glass back down to the bar, "...on whether or not you choose to make trouble"
The Ithorian groaned in a long trumpet-like manner that could only be equated by a deep gulp. Before long the hammerheaded alien had gone about quickly serving the other drinks at the bar, his elongated eyes pulling away from Zev's general direction with each carefully though out gaze. Zev paid the bumbling thing little mind before looking back to the ramshackle collage of a table that had decided to inhabit this small piece of business he had claimed for his own. It seemed as if most the drinkers had paid little mind to him or the drinks, but one among them had done his best to gaze in his direction without making it obvious.
That plan was short lived.
"Who is that?” the child among them called out above the bustle of the bar, her skeletal finger pointed in his direction. The girl's voice was high and echoed against the decaying walls of the shoddy, duracrete barriers between the bar and the Imperial reality waiting beyond them. Zeverance chuckled to himself, his razor-sharp grin returning as he lifted his glass in the tables direction. Without so much as a wince he threw back the fire in his glass and placed it back on the bar. It seemed as if the girl had ruined the mysterious allure.
Straightening the dark grey jacket he was draped in, Zeverance sauntered over to the table. He had read rising tension in the body langauage of two of the men at the bar and decided it was a good time to make this mental note known.
"Gentleman, please" Zeverance mused as he approached, "uncivilized business should be kept to a more private setting."
Zeverance placed both hands atop the chair in which the child sat in. Only in this moment realized just how loosely her flesh hung from her thin frame or how deep her eyes had sunken into her skull. She was a phantom among men...what exactly had they done to her...and upon narrowing his focus on the strange aura surrounding her he had to ask...what exactly was she?
"This establishment is a beacon of free trade in this dark time Contruum faces and I can't imagine anything good would come of disrupting that." Zeverance left the veiled threat where it lay before allowing his gaze drift between the men. What about them had pulled his mind here? Perhaps it was the same thing it always revealed itself to be.
Business opportunities.
"You men are obviously having a strong disagreement. Perhaps you need an intermediary - I pride myself on such work..." That's when Zeverance noticed something that had eluded him at first...the man who had first noticed him looked familiar in a way that struck him. He knew his face, his eyes...but from where?
"...I think I'll show myself into you dealings." Zev concluded before taking a step back and reaching for a vacant chair at another table, "after all, no one should conduct business in another man's establishment without inviting him to discuss it with them."
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Faust Skirata
Member
I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Faust Skirata on Aug 25, 2020 11:10:18 GMT -8
Faust wore a grin of approval as Bedrovelse rebuffed his demand. 'Not so easily cowed as that, are you?' he thought. Beneath the table, he released the grip of his Ripper.
It had been months since they had fought side by side to burn Muunilist, and with no communication the thought that the necromancer had skipped out on their deal had crossed the prophet's mind. It was important that he saw for himself Bedrovelse was still an ally worth keeping. Had the Jenjidai showed his belly, bent the knee to Faust's order, the priest would've had no choice but to end his life. Kad does not suffer the company of those kissed by the Sloth.
He voiced none of this, instead opting to clank the tip of his reclaimed dirk against his helm in a mock salute. "In that case, may Kad smile upon our continued partnership."
The child's sudden appearance took the priest off guard. He took in her dirty, ragged clothing, her skeletal visage, and his ruined features pulled taut in a sneer. 'This,' he mused as she wolfed down the offered food, obviously ravenous, 'this is why there is no choice but to burn it all down and start anew. To be so steeped in Arasuum's stagnation as to allow this degeneracy…Kad, your children have strayed. But I will return them to you. Kicking and screaming, if need be.'
With a sigh, he let his attention return to the Jenjidai. "I make no claim to understand the ways of aruetti. Your beliefs seem trifling and whimsical, compromising and uncertain, but some things are universal. I will offer the wisdom of the Changing Season and the Mortal Cycle. If the name of the Dark Jedi means anything to you, if the tenets and honor you've made vows to uphold mean anything to you...then you must suffer no pretenders to that name. What does it matter if they threaten your power? Determine if they are true to the ways you've fought and bled for, or if they sully their legacy.
If you find them lacking, snuff them out."
The prophet of Harangir finished his piece with a shrug, and at that moment a waitress bumbled over to place drinks in front of them- even the child, who had already devoured the sorely needed food and was busy hunting for missed crumbs. He followed her raised finger without turning his head, honing in on a man paying them more attention than was due, especially in a place like this. 'Perceptive for one so young,' he mused.
"Nayc, ad'ika. A Ni mirdir kaysh copikla at am ibac."
The shekemir be Harangir snorted his disdain at the man's approach. "Gar ru'kir cuyir ulyc. Sticking your nose in other people's affairs is a good way to get it cut off." He punctuated his sentence with a vague gesture of the knife still clutched in his right hand.
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Post by Bedrovelse Hevn on Aug 26, 2020 19:09:48 GMT -8
Hevn doesn’t take his eyes off of Faust Skirata. He heard Alkor’s voice chime in synergy with his own words, to back his brother and diffuse this bomb. He appreciates it, but can not afford to divert a moment of attention. The Lord Reaver, was one of a select few men that he could count on a single hand, that gave him a crawling tingle on the back of his neck. His flesh was hardly alive if you could call it that. Everything underneath was reinforced with unyielding metal. That unsettling feeling was in his mind. The fanatic’s aura of danger was a palpable thing. A thick cloud of smoke you could slice and swirl with a finger. Among the men who gave him such pause for violence, among the men who demanded his utmost focus and attention, The Prophet of the Destroyer was the only one without a touch of force sensitivity in his entire being.
To hear him almost abruptly agree to continue their partnership, shook him a little. The mock salute gave him pause as to sincerity or sarcasm. The man had not been upset or offended at all. He was checking Hevn for the gall it had taken to approach the priest in the first place. Faust didn’t strike him as the kind to play games, but something told him it wasn’t one. Time and circumstances change people every day. Hevn was still the same man who’d struck the pact with the Reavers. It was Skirata’s prerogative to confirm it, and Hevn’s privilege to prove it.
A subtle, solemn, silent, nod. Hevn was as poised for an explosion of violence as anyone, but he offered Skirata the nod in return to his salute out of confirmation and respect.
The child went unnoticed for the most part, as Hevn’s focus remained on the Prophet. A dart of the eyes made it seem Alkor was offering comfort and sustenance to a desolate being. Considering his knowledge of Alkor’s past it seemed the the only, and greatest, kindness his Brother would ever offer another living soul. As he caught Faust’s sulfuric eyes moving past Hevn’s shoulder, however slightly, the girl’s finger rose at the approaching party.
The Lord Reaver rather surprisingly stirred his thoughts. While he did not exactly think the capacity for such wisdom evaded a man he considered barbaric, the depth of his words were most impressive. He was certainly correct in that if they considered their mantle a title worth defending, the new Order would need to prove their standard. Hevn considers administering the trials that Reign put him through. Offer them a chance to bypass slaughter with a bleeding chance. Those who failed the trials, simply perished. There was no second chance when it came to rising from Hell as a master of it. Hevn himself was a scheming and manipulative creature though. A part of him considering the benefit of them tarnishing the name that only Alkor and himself and lived to uphold. Punishing the unsuspecting with godlike powers they wouldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares.
“Wise words, Lord Reaver.” Hevn almost whispered the words as the train of thought consumed him. He wondered what Alkor would say of the matter once the moment arose to speak of it in greater depth.
A child exploiting a free meal was one stroke of interesting luck. Another uninvited visitor was a greater issue entirely. The newcomer spoke his piece and as he reached for the chair….
Hevn reaches out in the force. His tension with Faust, his irritation with the new man, the dark side flowing strong at his will. He seizes the chair and with the flick of his fingers drives it underneath the man’s legs, in an effort to force him to sit, and slide roughly into the table. Hard enough to take the wind from his belly if Hevn managed to catch him off guard, and even harder so in hopes to bend his torso a little too uncomfortably close to the edge of Faust’s dirk.
“Please, join us!!!” The venom, sarcasm, and spite would not be lost on their new acquaintance.
“Lady,” Hevn grinned at the little girl as he pushes a basket of chips towards her ravenous and depreciated form, “and gentlemen. Allow me to introduce…”
Hevn lets the dark side swim. It was in no effort to probe Stargo’s mind. It was to embrace the reek of death that oozed from him. A creature appeared behind him. A twi’lek wailing a string of curses and profanity colorful enough that even Hevn’s nonexistent backside spaceport puckered a little. The perk of sorcery, necromancy in particular, was that he could simply ask vengeful ghosts what a man was made of. They could not lie, though they could tell half truths. Most crying for such vengeance did not bother trying to lie if such truths could lead him to their retribution. Idek was being particularly helpful in a matter that would likely confound a simple gangster, if that was indeed all Stargo amounted to.
“Zeverance Stargo. The moron who just invited us into a more private setting, where he just killed a man over an alleged miscommunication. Then fed us dead man’s booze!” Hevn’s full, booming laughter, was in every effort to shower Stargo in a hail storm of unmistakable salt. The boisterous turn in Hevn’s mood drew the little girl’s attention to Bedrovelse. He raises his glass, and gently taps it against her cup of juice. “Cheers, darling.” His arm is absurdly thick as the baggy robes only slack from it ever so slightly, his hand armored by dueling gauntlets favored by the Jen’jidai. The wrap around his mouth falls. His smile is grotesque. A wild exaggeration of amusement. His lower teeth artificial and grey, plugged into a grey mesh that substituted for gums. His jaw unnaturally thick and reinforced with metal underneath his deathly pale skin. His drink enthusiastically consumed.
“Some nerve calling our business uncivilized, Mister Stargo. We are not company that invites intruding guests. We are not company that suffers petty insults. So it is extremely fortunate for you, that you have both my sincere invitation, and something I want from you.”
It was true that he spoke out of turn for both other men. It was true that he probably overstepped in that case. Though it was not a lie. While he may have taken liberties in speaking his peace it was certainly no leap from either statement being absolutely true. It only took one of them to raze a planet. It only took two of them to seize it. The three could conquer systems if the right combination of motivation and means saw it through. The simple wonder Hevn held was whether or not the man knew the gravity of the guests in his establishment. What they were capabale of doing to the galaxy. What they potentially intended to.
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