Dread Lord Havok
The First Order
Posts: 945
Affiliation: Sith, darkside, Adventists of the Eye, Imperial Remnant
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Oct 3, 2020 12:59:50 GMT -8
Bilbend frowned. Kill stealing was not condoned on the Nar Shaddaa branch of the guild; it was one of the things that kept the numerous bounty hunters here from openly fighting and killing each other. Jester previously had a record of violations and other hunters had made complaints against Jester recently. The kid's story made sense. "Hmm. Looks like you got yourself new plate and threads after selling Jester's kit." The master spoke thoughtfully.
"For a jester, he didn't make me laugh. Not once. You should have just called him 'idiot'." The young man couldn't help himself.
Bilbend looked up from the chit at the kid, and back down at the chit, and back up at the kid before bursting into laughter. "AHAHAHAHA! You have no idea how funny that is! AHOHOHOHO In Besalisk, his name meant "idiot", Ahaha, but he always insisted that "Jester" was the precise translation." Bilbend regained his composure. "We didn't like him much either. We always gave him so much shit for that. 'Tell us a joke Jester!', 'Tell us a funny story, jester!' 'Make us laugh!' we'd say. And he'd just sit there like a lump and..." His voice trailed off. Bilbend slapped Jaxon on the back. "That's what happens to kill-stealers!" He slid the bounty chit into a machine that began processing the information stored on it. "Well Jaxon, I have some questions about the kill, to confirm it, and then we'll verify it, and we'll get your reward. I take it you're interested in joining the guild?"
"Yeah." It was going to be his ticket off the streets.
"If everything checks out, and you want in, then you're in."
Within, a short time, confirmation came, with a report on his datapad. Bilbend read it and turned to Jaxon suddenly all business.
"How'd you kill the target?"
"I bisected him, from the right shoulder to the left hip." Jaxon motioned with his hand.
"What'd you use?" the guild master pulled his sabaac face.
"With a plasma cutter. Same way I killed Jester." The young man pantomimed holding a cutting weapon.
"Where?"
"In the bedroom above slop'n'slots." He pointed up.
"Did you have to kill anyone else?"
"A weequay, A female, I think." Jaxon could tell the answer was satisfactory.
"I can't really tell the males and females apart either. Well, That's three you killed by slicing them." He held up three fingers. "You're quite the cutter." Bilbend took another sip of his Caf. "Welcome to the guild, kid."
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Post by The Tattered Guardian on Aug 4, 2022 6:52:46 GMT -8
He lived in squalor, surrounded by debris and corrugated metal. He was cloaked in tattered rags, so filthy that even the fellow refugees avoided him - some going as far as to express their disgust. But that never bothered him. Whether refugee or wealthy aristocrat, The Man With No Name cared little for their opinions - he was not here for them.
But what was he here for? It had been so long that he almost forgot on some nights. He would sit by an illegal fire, far away from the masses that filled this depressing hole on this depressing planet. Yet on occasion, a foolish drunkard would seek to pick a fight, whether to defend some false sense of honor- as more oft than not one would claim that he, The Man With No Name, made them look bad- or simply for drinking too much and wanting to pick on something smaller than themselves. None of this mattered, as when it actually happened, The Man With No Name would remember why he was here. He would be filled with a fire, so terrifying, that more often than not, the perpetrator would take one look at him and attempt to flee. They never got far. Rousing a beast rarely ends well. For that was what he was in truth. The man with no name was not a common despot, but a beast lying in wait. Lying in wait for his master.
He had been waiting for so long, but when ever his faith dwindled, some fool would ignite the spark, and he would remember why he served his master.
A long time before, he was in a similar position - alone, poor and desperate. He had all but given up. But a man showed him kindness - albeit the strange sort, when thugs had set upon him. The man seemed to exit the bar at that moment, clad in black with his hood drawn. He said something The Man With No Name would never forget.
"I pity fools such as you men. Preying on those at the bottom; you are no better than ground feeding skags."
The thugs didn't seem to realize what they had stepped into, but The Man With No Name knew immediately - the man in black, his soon-to-be-master, radiated a special presence. He felt him, and it was terrifying. The Man With No Name had a gift of feeling people - like a jedi. He once thought he could become a jedi, before life broke him. He retreated back into his mind when he was broken, but the man in black drew him out. He felt the mans raw power, his intensity; he was a walking storm. It was terrifying, yet beautiful all the same. These men were certainly doomed.
And doomed they were. The man in black watched as they approached, and without moving a muscle, he uttered a single, terrible word. A word so terrible, it was wiped from the Man With No Name's mind. The thugs, however, were not so fortunate. They went insane on the spot. Some vomited, others screamed, one began dashing his head against the wall. The sound of his skull crunching was one that The Man With No Name could never forget. The last one fell to his knees before the man in black, sobbing, before suddenly gouging his eyes out. Then suddenly, all at once, the thugs who were attacking him convulsed violently, and dropped to the floor, never to move again.
Then the man in black turned to him, in silence. He waited, watching in silence. It felt like hours. Then suddenly the Man With No Name felt a violent force attempt to rip into his mind. While he never became a jedi, he did learn some tricks, one of which was to shield his mind. This took the man in black by surprise. But the surprise didn't last long - as the shield was cast aside, like loose leaves in the wind, and that terrible storm of a presence broke through his mind. The Man With No Name was frozen - unable to move, both due to fear, as well as the sheer intensity of the force behind the mind that subdued his. Then suddenly, it was gone, and the man in black lowered his hood.
He was not handsome, at least not in a conventional way - though he probably was in the past. He had silver hair, and a rough hewn face with a square chin. Several scars were upon his face, and a strange tribal-like tattoo ran along his lower jaw, with jagged points aiming upward, as if his lower jaw was that of a beasts. All of this, however, seemed irrelevant in comparison to the mans eyes. Ice blue, like a glacier - they were cold, piercing and stern. The man blinked only once, before he spoke.
"You have lived a hard life. But I can sense your potential. Would you like to learn how to harness it?"
The Man With No Name was silent for a moment, unsure of whether this was a dream. Then he slowly nodded his head.
"Good, then come with me. I shall teach you."
That was the beginning of their journey, all those years ago. His master had pulled him up from the depths of depravity. He trained him in the ways of the force, though not the ways of the jedi. He instead taught The Man With No Name the dark arts. He taught him how to use all of the wrongs against him as a fuel - not to wallow in sadness, but bask in the need for vengeance. He became an acolyte, one of many, though he quickly rose to the highest ranks among his masters acolytes. He was currently the Man With No Name, but when he served under his master, his name was Sanguine, the First of the Forsworn, the left hand of the Lord of Chaos and the Bane of Foes.
But alas, his master was gone now - and he had a duty as the first to wait for his return and that was what he did.
Warming his hands over the fire, The Man With No Name sat in silence for what felt like hours - just as he did everynight. But little did he know, tonight would be different.
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Lord Nexus
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 174 
Affiliation: Chaos
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Lord Nexus on Aug 8, 2022 5:39:49 GMT -8
In the silence of night a shadow crept over the city moon's lower level. The shadow could not be seen by the naked eye, for Nar Shaddaa's lower levels were in a state of constant darkness save for the neon glow of signs and lights near by - it was a city of forever night. Though the shadow could not be seen, it could certainly be felt. It was subtle at first, with a looming sense of discomfort sewing itself into the hearts and minds of the citizens. It did not take long for this comfort to grow into something more sinister - through out the city, numerous minds fell prey to psychosis, hearing a cacophony of increasingly discordant whispers, while some who sought refuge from their misery in the warmth of their dreams would suddenly find themselves trapped in nightmares of their own making. The shadow targeted the weaker minds to sew fear, while the stronger minds would be able to repel the attack.
The shadow sought only one mind, however, one that would be familiar to it - one that was bound to its master through blood and war. The shadow sought the Man With No Name. Its presence would brush against his mind, though unlike those who were taken unawares, there was no whispering, nor any hints of psychosis - just one voice, low and powerful as it was slow and deliberate. The voice was one that the man had not heard in many years. It was the voice of Darth Nexus.
"Rise Sanguine, I have returned and there is much work to be done. Summon your contacts and meet us on the planet of Wayland, in the Outer Rim. Summon those who remain loyal to me."
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Post by The Tattered Guardian on Aug 9, 2022 6:15:25 GMT -8
His Lord had come to him in his dreams, for the Man With No Name had fallen asleep next to his fire after consuming what passed as a meal in the refugee sector. Once his stomach was filled - or rather, satisfied beyond the point of growling loudly with every step- sleep had overcome him. There he sat, alone in the dark, save for the faint illumination cast by his meagre fire, while the unseen shadow swept over the rest of the lower sector. It did not take long for the presence to brush against his mind. It was a welcomed one.
In his dreams, The Man With No Name stood alone in a seemingly endless corridor. The walls were carved from black marble, broken only by incremental pillars to support the walls and roof. He knew this place, for it was his home. He was deep beneath the Leviathan Mountains - the fortress of the Dark Legion. He was in Blackstone Citadel. He was not the Man with No Name here, but rather Sanguine, clad in his raiment. The walls echoed with every step, as he marched down the corridor leading to the heart of the facility. He dreamed of this walk quite often, be it for pleasure, or pain. But his march was interrupted by a sudden disturbance. The lights flickered, and the hall grew cold - or rather, colder than usual. Sanguine stopped in his tracks, looking around for the source of the disturbance.
And then he saw it. The helmet. The one helmet that inspired dread in those that fought against it, and inspired men to fight and die when it stood with them. His helmet. No more than 10 feet away, Sanguine saw Lord Nexus' helm hovering, as though without an occupant. Instead of shoulders and a body beneath, there swirled a maelstrom of fire and smoke in the rough shape of a body. The sight would inspire fear in many, but not Sanguine. This sight inspired hope. But Sanguine dared not speak, he simply locked eyes with those empty sockets and waited for the inevitable.
And then he spoke.
The Dark Lord's voice washed over him like a nova's explosion, for it had been long since he heard that power. It stunned him at first, but he was quick to snap from his stupor. When his lord spoke, Sanguine would listen. And listen he did. Upon hearing his lords instructions, Sanguine gave an affirmative nod, and suddenly snapped awake. He could hear the sound of distant cries from weaker minds, shaken by the presence of the Lord of Chaos. A wry smirk curled upon his lips as he slowly raised to his feet and made his way to the back of 'his alley'. Pushing aside a cluster of debris, he revealed a trap door, unknown to any but him. With one fluid motion, he lifted the lid, revealing a stairwell leading to the tunnels beneath. Had another man lost his footing on the ladder, he would have broken his legs, however Sanguine had no need for the ladder. His lord was back, and had need of him. With a single step, he plunged into the dark shaft, falling for several seconds before hitting the ground. He allowed the force to cushion his landing. It was the first time he actively used it in so many years, but it bent to his will all the same.
Not a moment had passed before he broke off into a sprint to the west, to his cache, which had been untouched for years. He lived in poverty by choice, though any one who stumbled upon the cache would be rich for eons. Not that they would live to enjoy it. After navigating the labyrinthine network of tunnels, he found his way to the door to his cache. He pressed his hand against a hidden panel, which emitted a loud, singular beep - a biometric confirmation that the owner of the cache had returned. The door slid open, revealing a dimly lit, circular chamber, with crates and chests lining the walls. Sanguine entered, closing the door behind him.
Some time had passed before the door had reopened, but the man who exited the room looked nothing like the one who had entered it. He was no longer clad in stained rags, but clad from head to toe in an ornate armor wrought of intimidating black metal and carbon fiber. While none could see it, his disheveled appearance was gone; gone was his ragged beard, now he was clean shaven with a short crew cut and a clean face. None could see that, however, as now he wore the helm of his office. It was polished black, with no features save for the two red lines which stretched from either side of his chin, straight up, angling slightly to end at where the end of his brow would be - these markings looked akin to strange, elongated eyes - they were his trademark, much like Lord Nexus' own helmet.
Now armed, armored and being called to action, the Man With No Name was gone - in his stead was the ghost of something terrible. Sanguine, First of the Forsworn, made his way through the tunnels, to the space port where a ship would be waiting for him. He would journey to Wayland, where he would meet his kin and kith, the foresworn, as well as the warriors of the Dark Lord, the Hssiss and the Dark Legion. Those who were too old to serve had raised their sons to do so in their stead. It was the nature of these men, who Nexus honed into terrifying warriors, to remain steadfast and loyal, much like Sanguine - for Lord Nexus had done with them what he did with Sanguine; he lifted them up to a greater calling.
"So it begins."
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Idron Priest
Member
Posts: 8
Affiliation: The Ajuur Hutt Cartel
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Post by Idron Priest on Aug 25, 2022 14:47:04 GMT -8
The gunmental grey Kom'rk streaked through Nar Shaddaa's upper atmosphere, heading for the Refugee Sector. It was nothing more than a hive of squalor, with thugs continually beating down on the downtrodden. Though that wasn't Idron's problem. With the sector being overseen by the Exchange, Priest intended to speak with the local crime boss and see if he could narrow down his search for his bounty. The Exchange likely had eyes and ears all over the sector, as they were well connected and preferred to stay informed and remain in power. Bringing his ship down to a pad, he quickly powered down the ship and collected his "Deathhammer" and his Mandalorian Disintegrator and made sure they was holstered. Equipped to tackle a wide range of targets and bounties, this one needed to be kept alive, at least long enough to locate the stolen merchandise. After that, he was supposed to make an example of him for the Cartel. What that would entail, he hadn't decided yet. Striding down the ramp of his ship, cape billowing out behind him, he glanced around. The bustle of skycar traffic behind him was typical. The approaching Devaronians, however, were not. Their attired indicated that they were a part of some group of gang, with the matching red armbands they were wearing. Sighing, Priest readied himself for a fight. Placing his hands on his hips, resting just above the holsters that contained both his blaster pistol and his disruptor pistol."Oi! Buckethead! This here platform belongs to the likes of the Boss 'o the Signet Gang. You wanna use it, you gotta pay a toll...or find some place else to park, yeah?"Smirking beneath his helmet, he replied to the apparent leader of these cronies. "Signet Gang. Never heard of 'em. Mosey along before you find more trouble than you are capable of dealing with. I won't warn you again..." As he spoke, he ever so slowly moved his right hand down, and unbuckled his holster. Resting his index finger against the grip of it, he began counting down in his head, backwards from ten."Trouble? You? Nah mate, you ain't trouble. We've dealt wif bucketheads such as yourself before...-"ZOT! ZOT! ZOT! Three shots popped off as Irdon drew his "Deathhammer" and fired three consecutive shots. The three Devaronians all dropped with smoking holes burned into their chests. Scanning the area, Idron holstered his pistol and strode forward, stepping over the bodies. "Told you." Was all he muttered as he walked. Passing through a doorway, past what looked like an abandoned office for ship registry, Priest came out to the main concourse. It was bustling with beings. Ithorian, Nikto, Aqualish, Weequay...and many, many more. The Smuggler's Moon was still very much alive and well, it seemed. Having been to Nar Shaddaa before, specifically the Refugee Sector, he knew more or less where he was going. The Exchange Office was nearby, overlooking a docking bay full of cheap, slave labor. Follow the stream of defeated and utterly worn out looking individuals, find the labor camp. And then find the Exchange Office. After a few moments of scanning, Irdon spotted several human males sporting the Exchange logo painted on their sleeves. And off he set, making his way through the crowd, always being aware of his surroundings.
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Idron Priest
Member
Posts: 8
Affiliation: The Ajuur Hutt Cartel
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Post by Idron Priest on Dec 23, 2023 16:51:11 GMT -8
Refugee Sector: Exchange Office.
The spanning view behind the slimy Quarren Overboss of the refugees here was bland and boring. An former hangar bay turned refugee slave labour camp. Idron wasn't impressed. The well armed bodyguards weren't even that intimidating. The scarred Quarren, missing two of the four tentacles on his face was typical for this line of work. Someone tough and imposing to ensure the slaves stayed in line and met their quotas. Again, nothing that was Idron's problem. Holding out the bounty puck, with Tucker Vol's face slowly rotating around, he asked again. "Don't suppose you've seen this man around the camps lately? Maybe looking to pawn off a crate of spice?" The Quarren shook his head.
"Tucker Vol? Haven't seen him. Used to come by, grab a few refugees, then go about his business. What he needed them for, I have no clue. Hasn't been by since the bounty was placed on his head. Could try checking the gambling pits near by. Word is someone's betting a large portion of credits lately. Could be you guy?"
Switching the puck off and stowing it on his belt, Idron nodded. "The Cartel appreciates your cooperation." And with that, the golden armored Mandalorian strode out of the office. Not exactly as helpful as that could have been, but the Exchange was always wary of stepping into the Cartel's business. More than likely, the moment the bounty went live, they cut any ties they may have had with Vol. Walking out into the main bay, the cheering and hollering became apparent, guiding him to the gambling pits, where two kath hounds were down in a former service pit, fighting each other. Many of the spectators seemed to be cheering for the grizzled looking hound, which currently happened to be winning. Not that it concerned him. Gambling around here was always rigged. Keeping to the edge of the crowd, scanning for his target, he eventually spotted Vol engaged in a conversation with a Nikto. Unfortunately, the interference around here, prevented the tracking fob from working, so he was doing this the hard way. Pushing his way through the crowd, he approached Vol from behind. Placing him in a headlock with one arm, while drawing his "Deathhammer". "Tucker Vol. There's a bounty on your head...looking to collect. Where's the crate?" Vol's struggles against his grip lessened as the barrel of the blaster pressed against his temple.
"Hey, hey, hey, easy Mando, easy. We can settle this peacefully. I...I can double your payout if you let me walk, yeah?"
Clenching his teeth beneath his helm, and tightening his grip on Vol, Idron answered in kind. "Pathetic little scug-hole runner like you? I'd wager you've never seen the kind of coin the Cartel is paying me to bring you in..." Idron watched as Vol winced as he tightened his grip. He seemed to pale though, at the mention of the Cartel. "I won't ask again. The crate you klepped. Now!"
"Hidden. Figured the Hutts wouldn't miss it...heh...but I'm good for it. I swear!"
"Tick...tock..." Idron loosened his grip, kicked the back of Vol's knees out and grabbed him by the hair.
"Ow...ow ow ow! Easy, easy man. Made a deal with the Weequay smugglers at the docks. They agreed to smuggle it off world and pay me up front for it..."
Scowling, that wasn't the answer Idron wanted to hear, though now he knew where the crate was. Smashing Vol's face off the wall beside him, Irdon holstered his blaster, fired his grappling line up to the support girders in the ceiling, he allowed the other end to come back down. Coiling the end around Vol's neck, he shoved him away and gave one almighty heave on the line, hoisting Vol's now gasping and flailing body off the ground. Drawing his blaster and firing a shot off to make the crowd scream in fear, he bellowed out loudly for all nearby to hear. "Let this man serve as an example to any who would dare cross the Ajuur Cartel!" Giving on more heave, hoisting Vol higher, Idron disconnected the line from his vambrace and tied it off, leaving the man to hang as a message. He knew where he needed to go. These Weequay would be learning rather quickly whose property they had unwittingly accepted. Holstering his blaster once more, the Mandalorian walked off towards the docks, as the panicked crowd scrambled to get out of his way...
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Orrick Awaud
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 140
Affiliation: Clan Awaud
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Post by Orrick Awaud on Dec 24, 2023 12:46:09 GMT -8
Nar Shaddaa, Refugee Sector Docking/Landing Platforms.
The reputation of ill maintained platforms and bays was always a worry when someone decided to go through less official channels and land in the Refugee Sector of Nar Shaddaa. Though there were a few Guild maintained platforms that were actually policed out here, due to the Smuggler's Moon housing a portion of the Guild here. Orrick, being a member of the Guild, knew which platforms he could safely leave his ship at without any trouble. Landing his ship, the Mandalorian ensured his gear was secure and ready, then departed the ship. Striding down the ramp, he glanced around. Skycar traffic behind him was similar to that of Coruscant, though no where near as high end. The smells of Nar Shaddaa were offensive to the nose, though thankfully his helmet filtered most of that out. The citizens, however, were something else. Refugees from any and every conflict that had transpired, usually ended up here. The single biggest hive of the downtrodden and destitute, melting pot was not adequate enough to describe it all. Though, if one wanted to disappear into the background, this was the place to do it.*
*Walking out towards the main concourse, Orrick was given a fairly wide berth, due partially to his fearsome appearance in his armor, as well as the fact that he was a well armed member of the Guild. And most of the people here knew well enough not to openly tussle with the Guild. Nodding politely to a group of Trandoshans as the walked past him, he entered the main refugee camp that was an old hangar bay, repurposed by The Exchange, to house the refugees and utilize them as a cheap labor force, or to sell them as slaves. Not something Orrick himself, agreed with, but there was little he could do to change it. Knowing that his target, Tucker Vol, was a Theif, Slave Trafficker and glitterstim dealer, he'd most likely be preying on the refugees, as they were an easy mark. Navigating through the crowd, a sudden blaster shot rang out and someone was bellowing something. As the crowd parted and surged away from the disruption, Orrick saw him. A golden armored Mandalorian, walking away from a body that was strung up from the ceiling.
"Er, osi'kyr..."
Orrick muttered under his breath as he ran towards the flailing and gasping form of Tucker Vol, his target. Drawing a vibroshiv, he cut the line, allowing Vol to collapse to the ground, coughing and sputtering.
The other Mandalorian, what did you tell him?
He asked urgently, glancing around to try and see if the golden Mandalorian was still visible. Unfortunately he wasn't. Through gasps and coughs, Vol managed to speak.
"....Weequay.....smugglers. Crate....docks..."
That was enough to piece together what Vol had done. He'd unloaded the crate on some smugglers, hoping to get the merchandise off world before the Cartel came looking. Undoubtedly paid up front for the crate of stim too.
Tahla'ada!
The Mandalorian swore loudly. Grabbing Vol by the scruff of the neck, Orrick hoisted him up to his feet.
You are very lucky that the terms on your head are for alive. Otherwise I'd have left you hanging. Now move!
The aged Mandalorian barked at him, half dragging him back towards his ship. Constantly scanning the crowd for any sign of an impending ambush, Orrick managed to drag Vol back to his ship and toss him in the brig.
Stay put. And try not to die before I get back from cleaning up your mess...besom..
He added in before departing his ship once again. Activating the security system, Orrick called up a map on his HUD. Docks were 3 kilometers away, and the golden attacker had a head start. Orrick needed to even it out. Normally not interested in going against fellow Mandalorians, this golden armored hunter wasn't working for the Guild, otherwise they wouldn't have left Vol to hang as an example. More than likely, this fellow Mandalorian was with the Cartel. The hunter Vao had warned him about. Dammit! If Henoc had been here, he could have been tracking the Cartel Enforcer. Regardless, Orrick could manage. Firing up his jetpack, he took off towards the docks, hopefully able to catch up before the Weequay smugglers had a nasty run in with the Cartel...
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Idron Priest
Member
Posts: 8
Affiliation: The Ajuur Hutt Cartel
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Post by Idron Priest on Dec 24, 2023 14:11:30 GMT -8
Arriving at the docks, Idron wasted no time tracking down the group of Weequay smugglers. Though, on approach, he noticed they appeared to be rather heavily armed for smugglers. Being stopped by two Weequay before he could reach the loading area near the ship, he knew there was more going on here than the idiot thief had told him. Now he just needed to confirm his suspicions."Can I help you, Mando? Seems you might be poking around where you shouldn't be."Ever so carefully and slowly lowering his hand to his "Deathhammer", he subtly prepared to draw, should the need arise. And he felt like it would. "I'm looking for a crate of glitterstim that belongs to the Cartel...a runner said he sold the crate to you..." "Ain't nothing here that belongs to the Cartel, mate. Best take your business elsewhere."Scowling, beneath his helm, Idron sized up the two guards, then peered past them. Several other Weequay were busy loading skids for transport. Various crates from all over, though, as he spotted, only one crate was stamped with the markings of the Ajuur Cartel. So, that answered that question. On to the next. "Not the most intelligent smugglers I've seen, are you?" "Who said anything about smuggling? Forath The Bold ain't no smuggler, pal."Pirates. Forath The Bold was a well known Weequay pirate that plagued the Cartel's shipping lanes as of late. Sensing an opportunity, Idron smirked under his helm. Without another word, he made his move. Drawing his "Deathhammer" and snapping off two shots from the hip.ZOT!!! ZOT!!! The two guards dropped, smoldering holes in their chests. Unfortunately, that caught the attentions of the rest of them. Normally no one to want to fight an entire pirate crew, the trouble that Forath had brought the Cartel lately, was more than enough reason for Idron to want to let out a little pent up aggression. Sprinting to the nearest stake of crates, popping off three more shots, the Mandalorian drew his beskad and readied to move...
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Orrick Awaud
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 140
Affiliation: Clan Awaud
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Post by Orrick Awaud on Dec 24, 2023 20:05:49 GMT -8
Nar Shaddaa, Refugee Sector. Main Docks.
Soaring through the cityscape skyline wasn't Orrick's idea of a good time, at least not at his age, at any rate. Henoc would probably have enjoyed it more, along with his cousins. The younger generation seemed to enjoy the adrenalin inducing chases. Sure, he enjoyed it. But not to the same degree. Now, riding a basilisk war droid? That was something Orrick could do quite well. Regardless, coming into view of the docks, the firefight that no doubt was the golden Mandalorian's doing, was spotted easily. Perhaps he could sneak in and grab the crate without drawing too much attention to himself? It certainly was worth a shot. Upon approach, noticing the vessel that was being loaded, a Gozanti Cruiser, Orrick knew this particular band of Weequay weren't smugglers. Pirates or raiders, more like. Which would more than likely mean...right on cue, a pinging in his ear alerted him to the Anti-Air defenses of the docks. Dropping down rapidly, and coming to landing several hundred meters away from the loading area, Orrick scanned ahead. Some spicers and even gun runners would put a mark on their cargo that was only visible under a certain spectrum of light. In this case, ultra violet lighting. Several crates were marked with a UV stamp, but the glitterstim crate was also marked with the Ajuur Cartel logo in UV as well. It was on a loader, waiting to be carted up into the ship's cargo bay, forgotten by the loader due to the interruption. Without drawing a weapon, but making sure his vambrace blaster was charged, he snuck through the moving machinery and stacks of cargo. The firefight that was occupying the Weequay had shifted to the western side of the loading area, allowing Orrick unrestricted access to the crate. Moving the loader behind a stack of shipping containers, he popped it open. Full of glitterstim. Now for the hard part. Getting the crate out of here, undetected. Thinking quickly, Orrick noticed a parked speeder bike. That would do nicely, he thought to himself. Loading the crate on the bike, Orrick hopped on, powered it up and put it into gear, thumbing the throttle. As he took off, several stray shots bounced around him, but at this point, he was already well on his way, moving away from the loading area. Hopefully the Weequay would keep their guest occupied long enough for him to get off world...glancing back, then ahead again, Orrick pushed the throttle wider open, picking up whatever speed he could...
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Idron Priest
Member
Posts: 8
Affiliation: The Ajuur Hutt Cartel
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Post by Idron Priest on Feb 2, 2024 20:22:39 GMT -8
With a heavy and wet sounding THUD! the corpse of a Weequay hit the ground, still twitching. Clutching his beskad in his right hand, his "Deathhammer" in his right, Idron had felled another pirate. Panting beneath his helm, the Mandalorian was thoroughly enjoying himself. Nine pirates had been killed, counting the initial two that had attempted to stop him. There was at least six more, scattered across the platform between himself and the crate. Claiming his prize would be all the sweeter, if he could report back to Zordo that he had also hampered Forath's operations here. The self proclaimed Weequay Pirate Lord was a nuisance, more than a credible threat. He was just smart enough to keep himself alive and keep his men in line. Aside from that, he wasn't tactically brilliant in the slightest. His numbers and superior firepower is what allowed him to operate off of Nar Shaddaa. The loss of a raiding crew would certainly slow the frequency of their raids, at the very least. Poking out from around the corner of a shipping container, Irdon popped off three more shots, taking down another pirate. The sound of a speeder bike powering up and taking off alerted him to a new problem. A red armored Mandalorian was fleeing the scene, with a crate on the back of the bike. The crate he was trying to retrieve! In frustration, he fired off several shots as the Mandalorian sped off. Gritting his teeth in anger and annoyance that these blasted pirates had cost him his prize. More than likely a bounty hunter. Which meant the Cartel was getting its missing crate back. And Idron had failed. At least partially. Vol had been dealt with. The hunter could be anywhere at this point. Chasing him wouldn't change anything, but he could finish off these pirates and destroy their ship...at least something would go his way...
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Orrick Awaud
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 140
Affiliation: Clan Awaud
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Post by Orrick Awaud on Feb 3, 2024 18:31:38 GMT -8
Nar Shaddaa, Refugee Sector. Docking/Landing Platforms.
Reaching his ship without incident, Orrick ditched the speeder bike a block away from where his ship was parked and walked the rest of the way, crate under his arm. Reaching his ship, he deactivated the security systems and boarded. Stowing the crate of glitterstim in a secured compartment, Orrick strode past Vol, who was in his cell still. Vol started to mutter something, but Orrick ignored him and made his way to the cockpit. Seating himself in the pilot's chair, he popped the seals on his helmet, removing it and placing it on the floor to his left. Powering up the craft, moments later, he was airborne. Burning through the sky as quickly as he could, Orrick piloted the Krayt Gunship into Nar Shaddaa's upper atmosphere, then cleared the planet all together.*
*Normally, he'd be heading back to the Skips, to meet with Vao. But because this was a Cartel specific bounty, the Azure Palace on Nal Hutta was his destination. Not that he was looking forward to being in the presence of the overgrown slug, it was part of the job. And the payment was needed. With Henoc off who knew where, he was the only other one out collecting bounties right now. The payment from the next to bounties would be enough to secure another shipment of beskar from a wandering merchant that had taken refuge over Belkadan. He was charging a modest sum, but considering what beskar actually went for, his price was still significantly cheaper. While Beskar belonged to the Mandalorians, ever since the Night of a Thousand Tears, and the first Galactic Empire's subsequent purge, beskar was still being found all over the place. But soon another shipment would be back where it rightfully belonged.
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Idron Priest
Member
Posts: 8
Affiliation: The Ajuur Hutt Cartel
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Post by Idron Priest on Feb 6, 2024 16:24:47 GMT -8
Reaching the main concourse, Idron made his way back to his ship, having left a massacre behind him at the docks, as well as a ruined cruiser. By the time the authorities sorted through the mess, if they even did, he'd be back on Nal Hutta. Despite losing the shipment to another hunter, the slaughter of the Weequay pirates was enough to satiate the loss. And more than likely earn him some pull with Zordo. Not that it really mattered much to him. But the pirates were bad for business. And they had become the unwitting outlet for a little aggression. All in all, a win for both himself and the Cartel. Reaching his ship, Idron settled into the pilot's seat and powered the ship up. Soon after, the Kom'rk Fighter was rising up, and accelerating towards the sky.
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