Servants to the Slave (GenoHaradan/RMIA contract)

[Ardgal Raxis]

Ardgal's black and red armor glistened in the florescent lighting of his office as he pulled the paper cup of caf to his lips. The fresh, hot liquid went down his throat with a wonderfully bitter finish. Outside, Pzob's main star was just beginning to show itself on the horizon. Ardgal lowered the polarizing tint on his window and looked outside, savoring the view for a moment.

Under the dawn, his troops and civilian laborers were already hard at work. A military installation like this was not held up without a great deal of spit shine and elbow grease. Besides this Pzob was still, as some would say, between managers. Ardgal turned back to the datapad in his other hand, setting the paper cup of caf down. To get this planet where he wanted, Ardgal still had to work and employ his troops to work. And to do that, he needed money. That's what today was about. Earning money.

The comm on his desk buzzed, making the small paper cup shake slightly. His desk was simple, a basic mammoth wooden desk that was constantly kept in immaculate order. Not a single paperclip was out of place on top of its wooden top.

He thumbed the answer button, "Yes?"

"Your first client is here," Virgil said in a cold, emotionless tone, "They said they are with the private firm that contacted you before."

"Send them in."

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

And so he moved through the door in an overbearing furry coat, likely made out of the soft fur of some bygone exotic animal. His eyes were red with a drug filled haze, and smoke trailed from the spice laden cigar that hung from his lips; but there was danger despite his inebriated stature. Something about him was off, predatory and deadly; like the idle ticking of a bomb waiting to explode at any moment.

His words came quick, each laying waste to the silence between them as a foot moved the chair closest to him aside, only to let him fall into its embrace half cocked in an obviously unprofessional manner.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Raxus.”, he said with a grin.

“I assume my secretary informed you of what I was looking for? She’s usually pretty good about such things.”, lips moving as fingers idly played with the cigar.

│ [member="Ardgal Raxis"] │

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

"The pleasure is mine," Ardgal said setting the datapad down as the man walked into the room. He extended his hand for a shake as the other fellow took a seat, "I of course am always glad to do business with private firms," he withdrew his hand and presumed a ram-rod soldier's posture, folding his hands before him on the desk. Everything was exceptionally orderly about the cyborg, down to the very last detail on his spotless armor. "I would like to of course, assure you once more now that we are in person that at RMIA we respect privacy and confidentiality above all else. Your secretary gave me some of your preferences, I put them down here."

He took the datapad in one hand offering it to the other business man.

"The first section has her description of what you desire, a small well trained fighting force that is comprised of both offensive and defensive nature," the warrior explained as the other man read, "The second section has my notes about what I believe that will entail with a few training details involved on our end. Please don't let the minor details inhibit you. Obviously there are some holes there that need to be ironed out in this meeting. For starters, do you have a preference for where we recruit this fighting force from?"

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

“Only the force dead.”, he said with a grin.

“They’re going to be in some… toxic areas. They’ll need to be able to resist the things that threaten to take them under.”, he said, puffing on the cigar with a belated grin.

The air held still around them, even if he couldn’t sense the wafting amounts of dark energies falling off his body like drips of sweat in a humid sauna. All for the sake of presence he supposed, but there wasn’t really the answer if he was doing it on purpose or not.

“I wouldn’t want them to drown afterall. Had anything special in mind yourself?”

│ [member="Ardgal Raxis"] │

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

Ardgal himself was one of the Force Dead. So was his cousin, Virgil, and his Godkillers. They were a lot more than just Force dead, they were bio-engineered and cyborgs as well. He knew the advantage of bringing Force dead to the table, especially when everyone seemed to be a saber-jockey with the power to read minds and strangle you with the flick of a wrist. "Understandable, sir. I am obligated to warn you that Force Death is a," he paused for a second, choosing his words carefully, "difficult procedure and therefore very expensive."

The man took his datapad back and tapped, adding that to the list of things he could do for the man, "However, I could train for you Vong warriors and bypass that process entirely. The only downfall for that is their need for particular weapons. If you are ok with this, it would be cheaper for you in terms of the initial payment for the unit, but any further requests for their weaponry will cost extra. Either way, I will need to know which you prefer."

Ardgal was nothing if not thorough in business. The warrior looked up from his datapad, "Personally, I find that a certain level of specialization goes a long way in units like this, sir. I would offer you to take advantage of a few of our tanks, walkers, and APV's in this purchase to make your unit more rounded," Ardgal grabbed a brochure from the top of one of his stacks, "Here is a catalog of our war machines, please peruse it and tell me which of these you would like tacked on to the unit. If you are going Vong, then they will, of course, not use these."

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Slave leaned forward, sliding the document into his vision as he purveyed its contents. A tap of his cigar, and it was soon covered in ash; all before he tossed it behind him with a shrug and a slight coyness to his tone. It was pretty obvious at this point he was under some substances of ill repute.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

A second tap of the cigar, and ash fell to the floor.

“Also don’t want vong. They don’t fit in very well. Let alone the modularity.”, he sighed with a shake of his head.

There was a keen disrespect in his actions, but for some reason he seemed always confident in how he did it. There was a danger to him, something perhaps Ardgal couldn’t see; but one his trained senses could offer in great capacity.

And then his voice came trailing back, oddly toned and maleficent as it always seemed to be;

“Got any good drop ships? I could use a few.”

│ [member="Ardgal Raxis"] │

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

If the man's actions didn't give away his altered state of mind, then Ardgal's sensor picking up trace amounts of the toxins in his sweat and breath certainly did. The warrior didn't mind it too much. Lots of beings did that, and the man's money spent the same either way.

"Alright, as you see fit, sir," Ardgal said tapping that note down on his datapad. "Your opinion of the Vong isn't unfounded. I've worked with them before they can be somewhat problematic for sure," he tapped away once more on his datapad. "Since the vong are clearly out, is there a specific race you'd prefer us to recruit with?"

The man asked about dropships. Ardgal quirked a slight shake of his head, "Unfortunately, no. We are still in the R and D on dropships. Our mechanics are having a hard time with refining the process we would prefer and with several recent out breaks, I'm afraid that its slow going past the initial prototype. Would you like me to notify you when we breach that market?"

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

“No, forget it. I’ll just take the troops.”, he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

After a momentary pause, one that was obviously rife with thoughts inside his rampant imagination, The Slave offered a few more choice words to the businessman before him.

“Firrerreo. Make them all those.”

│ [member="Ardgal Raxis"] │

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

Firrerreo. The irony was pretty strong. Ardgal himself was a Firrerreo who had been rendered force dead through some intense dealings. And now he was going to do the same to more of his own race. Fate was a cruel mistress.

"I am sure I can do that," the warrior said tapping the order out on his datapad. "Now I hope your aware with an order like this, quality is going to supercede quantity; the unit you are ordering will only contain 100 commandos."

The warrior tapped for a few more moments on his datapad, "Do you have a preferred armor in your possession for this unit?"

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"Not in the moment, no. Got something in mind?", he said as smoke dripped from his velvet lips. There was as light feminity that broke through the rude demeanor he carried, something else that threatened to taunt the man across from him. A brow raised from the man, this alabaster stranger's first real expression besides what tired and cocky body language came across as.

│ [member="Ardgal Raxis"] │