Populate [Black Sun] Best Served Cold || BSS Populate of Empty Hex

[Mauve du Vain]

B E S T
S E R V E D
C O L D

TOYDARIA
TOYDOR CITY
First Galactic Kaggath | Big Trouble in Kijimi
​

Toydaria.

Syndicate territory.

Deathstick clouds cover the interior of a murky, dim lit office. Broken furniture, apparel, construction... the office belies the status of the individuals occupying it. At first glance, it seems a meeting of the destitute, of downtrodden gamblers. But the aura carried by the shuffling group seems significant, their status seems... comfortable. There is a power concentrating here, a power the Galaxy as a whole doesn't often partake in. A weight the Galaxy doesn't often observe.

In the center of the room, one of the smallest of stature begins to speak with a gravelled acumen that demands total obedience. "I want it back."

A small, blue Aleenan fist slams the table.

"I don't want your HOWS OR WHYS, IT IS COMING BACK."

The group seems unmoved, unbothered - but not for fear of consequence. Unfortunately, the room seems to have expected this behavior from the smaller Aleenan. Trained to endure this central figure's behavior. Like a whipped dog.

"WE ARE NOT THESE GODS,

WE'RE WHO GOD OWES MONEY TO.

I WANT MY MONEY BACK.

KILL THIS KAGGATH. KILL ALL THESE GODS. GET MY MONEY.

NERFHERDERS, ALL OF YOU.

GET MY MONEY. MY MONEY. GET IT.

I WANT IT BACK."​

Objective 1: Kill Them All
​

Darkness stole over Toydor City. The fog settled thickly over the city tonight, blotting out even the stars. Some lights still shone through mist, the ever-present light pollution of an urban metropolis. Few enough, though, at this hour of night.

In the still blackness, an hour past midnight, they came.

They had been patient after the events of the Galactic Kaggath. They bided time to study this new enemy, laying out a net of information brokers and informants in starports and corporate plazas. Collecting data. Studying patterns. Names. Families. Home addresses. Patterns of life. Routes to and from work. Spinning their web, each bit of information pulling it tighter.

Until they were ready.

In the darkest parts of the underworld, they tread. Amid the sewage, they pulled out those convicted of the most heinous crimes, wanted for atrocities only uttered in hushed whispers. Those rejected by society. Those forced to color far outside the lines. They rounded them up, provided them with weapons that even a Sith would blanch at. And now…

Now they set them loose.

The Syndicate would not be bountied. Would not be mocked. Would not be trivialized by some two-bit Aleenan bankers who thought themselves mighty within their Toydarian mansions.

Tonight, the spider bared its fangs. Tonight, these fool mercantilists would see just how far the shadows could reach.

We are the shadows.

We are the Syndicate.

And we are here.

Vengeance is best served cold.

OOC:

Spoiler

After collecting information to uncover the identities of the bankers who placed a bounty upon the Black Sun Syndicate’s Galactic Kaggath, the Syndicate strikes back. Hit teams made up of elite mercenaries from across the galaxy have been sent into Toydaria in the dead of night with a single purpose: find the bankers in their homes, kill them and their families, and burn their homes to the ground.

There are three known bankers with the First Toydarian , not all of them are Toydarian. In fact, one is an Aleenan.

Reegor is a banker currently on vacation at a Hutt Caravel floating resort with his family in the skies of Toydaria. Eliminate him. And his family. And the Caravel, if you have to.

Bularian is the Aleenan banker who we have it on good authority lobbied for this whole operation. He is currently inside the First Toydarian Galactic Bank headquarters performing a night-time audit of their books. Rob, but do not destroy the bank. Kill anyone who gets in your way. Leave his body out in front of the bank for all to see.

Gerrona is a Toydarian who owns a manor in the Merchant District of Toydor City. Kill him and burn his manor down. Leave no survivors.

OBJECTIVE 2: ROB THEM BLIND​

That these events should have occurred at all is bad enough, but that they should have occurred under the nose of the Royals of Toydaria is unforgivable. They must be sent as a message as well.

Break into the Toydarian Royal Palace and rob their royal vault of the crown jewels. Leave no witnesses, but use non-lethal means wherever possible. We want to send the Toydarian royal family a message, not murder them. Unlike the bankers.

OBJECTIVE 3: DANCE AS THEY BURN
​

In Toydaria's orbit, on a festive space cruise liner, the Syndicate is hosting a gala open only to those who number among the Syndicate's ranks, or those who bear a Black Crown. Live footage of the assassination squads descending upon Toydor City is being fed into enormous floating screens so that the gathered vigos and overseers can watch as they sup upon small, savory dishes and consume vast amounts of alcohol.

Praise the Shadows
Praise the Underlord
Praise the Syndicate
​

 

[Liréa Voss]

The destruction and the executions, that's my thing. I headed to the manor to take out a target tonight this should earn me a few credits. I need money, and I need to make a name for myself, so this works out well. Today's target is a prestigious banker by the name of Gerrona. And his manor is located in the Merchant District of Toydor City.

Although I'm not yet known to the Black Sun Syndicate, I joined them recently. And as a new recruit, I have to prove myself too. Even though I have my own organization, if I let them do all the dirty work for me, I'll never be known in the crime world. That's why it's me, and not someone else, joining the party tonight. We've been tasked with killing the man in the manor and burning it. That's right up my alley, so I checked over my gear for the mission.

A banker surely has one or two valuables too I figure I can make some extra credits from this heist.

My target is set, my equipment is ready, and here I am entering the adjacent streets of the District in question, looking for an access point to approach the manor. Tonight, death comes for them no mercy, no pity, just blood and tears for them. I have no ring, no crown that says I belong to the Black Sun Syndicate, but that doesn't matter. We're all equal in crime, and we all end up six feet under that's the truth.

Walking down the street, hands in my pockets, my blaster on my belt, I'm ready to take on anyone who gets in my way. Tonight, the name Liréa Voss will be heard in the local papers. Discretion? Not for me. I want to be the most famous criminal so if I can make noise about it, perfect.

I need infrastructure, ships, credits these kinds of small jobs will help me make a name for myself quickly.

----------------------------------------
Objective One : the Merchant District of Toydor City Manor Gerrona . Tag : Open

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Objective 3:

High in orbit over Toydaria, within the exclusive First Bank of Nar Shaddaa cruiseliner, Mauve prowled through a crowd of Syndicate enforcers and vigos milling about within the floor of a ballroom.

Outside, the vastness of space loomed but for the orb of Toydaria looming like some filthy swamp.

Mauve's lips curled in disgust. These bankers had caused her untold number of problems. She would just as soon saturate the bank, the bankers, and their homes with turbolasers and be done. But she had been spending too much time among Sith. They could not afford such an outburst. Their revenge would be calculated, precise, like a scalpel. Skinning out the bad meat.

Violet eyes swung up to the gigantic holoscreens as they switched on, probe droids following the different assassination teams.

She smiled and took a sip of her champagne.

Let the killing begin.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Reegor is a banker currently on vacation at a Hutt Caravel floating resort with his family in the skies of Toydaria. Eliminate him. And his family. And the Caravel, if you have to.

OBJECTIVE 1a: REEGOR

A dozen, two dozen, three dozen Cataclyst Raiders dropped out of hyperspace and on the lead ship's bridge Jerec's stomach dropped with them.

As a consummate professional in the arts of ship theft, chop shops, and getaway cars, but not so much murder, Jerec found himself ill at ease. But in this job one could not be seen as soft or one would quickly be tenderized. And he had only recently buried the pernicious rumor that an Ithorian diaspora group had put him up for a pacifism award due to his handling of the Battle of Wielu. No, there was no way around it: a lot of people had to die today.

Not a single shot got fired just yet. Thirty-six raider corvettes started circling the resort caravel, a beautiful ship. Too beautiful and lucrative to destroy lightly, and therein lay room for nuance.

"This is Vigo Jerec Asyr," said Vigo Jerec Asyr. "Speaking to every commlink aboard the resort caravel Bountiful. You have three minutes to throw the banker Reegor out an airlock with his wife Flapessa and his sons and vice-presidents Morchumpp and Blaise. Don't bother suiting them up." By his sources there were grandchildren and so forth. He left that unsaid. Best he could do.

"After three minutes we — and by we I mean Ka'dyraal cyborg fascist philosophers still paying off their indentures, plus whoever over here wants to come along — we're coming in to get them."

 

[Sal Katarn]

Objective One
Target: ???
​

Sal sat down on a crate at a landing pad in Toydor's Spaceport and looked up at the blinking lights high up.

A rocket launcher leaned against Katarn's leg as he inspected one of the rockets, priming the fuse. A big baradium tipped explosive. Enough to take down a small ship. Might need two. Luckily, he had a whole crate full of 'em.

Wouldn't be long now before the hits started all over the city. They'd picked out three primary targets, but there were more smaller hits taking place. Conspirators gunned down in the street with no remorse. Katarn sighed. In the end, Cartel, Syndicate? Same business, different brand.

 

[Enric Hask]

The humid air of Toydaria clung to Hask's suit as he stepped into the vaulted entry hall of the Royal Palace. Opulent draperies hung like trophies from rafters high above, each one bearing the marks of some long-forgotten accord. Courtiers buzzed in tight circles, sipping nectar drinks from shallow crystal bowls, their wings beating faintly in the heavy air. Hask, ever the picture of cultivated charm, strode forward as though he'd been invited to dine with the king himself.

The Toydarian Trade Minister, a plump blue specimen with jeweled cuffs and a smile that seemed carved for deception, flitted down from an upper balcony. "Mr. Hask, yes? You are here about…the contract?" His tone was curious, but cautious.

Hask extended his hand, knowing full well Toydarians rarely shook hands, and made a point of holding it there until the Minister reluctantly took it. "Contract, yes," he said warmly. "But before we get lost in paperwork, tell me what you know about the La-Boo-Boo." He let the name hang in the air, savoring the way the Minister's wings faltered mid-beat.

The Minister's eyes darted left and right, scanning for anyone within earshot. "It is…a luxury pet. Imported from Lexrul. Quite popular. Quite… valuable."

Hask's voice dropped to a confidential murmur. "Well value is in the eye of the beholder. This particular La-Boo-Boo, however, is quite valuable." He leaned forward just enough to make the Minister instinctively drift back. "You see, Minister, this one has a… unique modification. A little surprise tucked neatly where no one would think to look."

The Minister's wings beat a little faster now, the faint sound of greed rising behind his eyes. "And this… surprise?"

Hask smiled like a man who knew the weight of secrets. "Let's just say, if one were inclined to discreetly move a very expensive something through all the tedious checks and tariffs of your planet, this La-Boo-Boo would be the perfect vehicle. Of course…" he tapped a finger against his temple "…I'm sure you'd prefer I discuss such matters with someone of your… stature."

The Minister chuckled nervously, but Hask could see the hook had sunk deep. "Perhaps we should… talk privately," the Toydarian said at last.

Hask gestured toward the grand staircase, his smile as warm as it was predatory. "Lead the way, Minister. I do so love private conversations."

OPEN​

 

[Khuro Fierfek]

A lavishly polished chrome and gold Robo-Valet leaned over towards the Black Syndicate assassin Khuro Fierfek with his hand folded into a thumb’s up gesture. As his thumb slowly reached just below the cigarra at the end of a long black lacquered cigarra-holder, the top of the thumb flew back and a small igniting flame flickered on. Khuro took two quick puffs that drew in the droid’s flame to kiss the tip of her cigarra and scorch its tabac into dancing, scented wisps of verdant smoke.

Pinched between her thumb and first finger, the cigarra-holder was lowered from Khuro’s lips and a soft exhale expelled twin juts of smoke from her nostrils. A single sweep of her free hand in a curt wave dismissed the Robo-Valet. Khuro followed its courteous bow and departure with her golden corrupted eyes. She passed her narrowing glare from the droid to the other VIP patrons who strutted and caroused in the luxury space cruiser liner’s ball room.

Razmir Tezhyn , your gift feels like a threat, hissed Khuro’s thoughts between the forewarning observations of her examining gaze. She was in a room full of Vigos and Overseers of the Black Sun Syndicate. Some would have seen this as an intoxicating honor to feed their ego and devour it with insatiable bravado. But to Khuro it was like being thrown to a rancor den. Here was everyone that could end her life and erase everything she left behind. Of course any true denizen of the underworld would take this time to mark prospective contractors, contacts, and nodes of social apparatus. But, Khuro was an assassin, a weapon preferred to be kept in its dark sheath far from wielding hands when possible. Which reminded her of the gruesome entertainment floating above everyone in floating screens.

The assassinations of an entire banking elite was being broadcast into the ball room. The Toydarians had managed to anger the entire Vigo structure of the Syndicate. The business with one specific Toydarian at the Accretion Disco, which led to Khuro’s business partnership with Razmir, had its strings being pulled by the Banker Elites here. Perhaps this was the Vigo’s way of displaying the fruits of her work. Khuro looked down from the bloodsport being broadcast and stood up from the booth she was seated in.

Her black Atrisian kimono overcoat fluttered its long drooping sleeves by her heels like a rippled wake in a dark lake. The collars of the white kimono beneath were hung off her shoulder, exposing the tattoos that swirled around her shoulders, down her bust and cleavage. Red and lengthy, leather gloves sleeved her entire forearms, hiding the synthskin that covered her robotic left forearm. Her twin sheathed sabers were checked with her KX-Series Enforce Droid, Tetsuboh, back at the lobby of the ballroom.

She disliked being without her sabers, she felt naked without their familiar weight hanging off the obijime cord belt that cinched the obi sash at her waist. But protocol was protocol for the Vigo’s, creatures as they were to unspoken norms of respect and etiquette. Ironically it had momentarily made her nostalgic for the rigid rules of her home Atrisia and the warriors’s draconian laws of strata that her former family the Ashina followed. The feeling faded when she felt the cybernetics in her lost forearm articulate as she returned her cigarra-holder to her lips.

Khuro stopped facing a long panoramic transparasteel viewport. Staring more at her own reflection than the constellatory garden of dim stars, Khuro waited for her patron to arrive and provide any proper introductions.

OBJECTIVE 3
​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Objective 3 //:
//: Velzari Tharn //:

The starliner was safe, from her understanding, but there was still a bounty on her head. One that she had earned by defending one of Black Sun's own, and had earned her a Black Crown. The Princess didn't regret the actions she took on Weilu, but their consequences did weigh on her still.

Time had dulled the sharp edge of it, but she knew better than to tempt fate. Powers were at play that could shatter everything she had built.

The Force was always a game of risk and reward. She had already gambled once for someone who mattered; giving the woman one last moment with her mother had been worth the cost, even if it meant losing everything.

Closing her eyes briefly, she let the valet take her coat and belongings. The warm jacket slid from her shoulders, revealing the red dress beneath — satin and silk painted over her slender frame. She slipped the staff member a hundred credits before stepping into the gala proper.

Quinn took in the sight; it was nothing like any of the galas or events she had gone to before. The display of what was happening planet-side was interesting — but she didn't expect anything less from Black Sun. Tilting her head, she smirked, figuring the Sith Lords back home could take a page from their books.

She was feeling more and more comfortable with the agreements of their talks.

A passing server offered champagne, and she accepted a flute without breaking her stride. Her gaze swept the crowd, taking in the carefully curated guest list.

She stopped as she caught sight of a familiar face. If the Princess was noticed, she'd smile at the Zeltron, ( Mauve du Vain ) but she would let the woman be. Despite how much Quinn wanted to cross the room, she had business to take care of first. Pulling her attention from the Vigo, Quinn settled into the small gathering.

Standing there, curiosity was getting the better of her; she had only heard stories of the Prince of the Underworld.

He was untouchable, but she had hoped they'd meet sooner than later.

As she mused, Quinn's gaze stayed fixed on the monitors, the DeathDrop idling in standby — ready to enter the fray the moment she gave the word. It was all part of the plan, part of her promise to deliver firepower exactly where and when it was needed.

A faint smirk touched her lips; she could already picture some of the senior members savoring the chaos, indulging in the pillaging and bloodshed...

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Khuro stopped facing a long panoramic transparasteel viewport. Staring more at her own reflection than the constellatory garden of dim stars, Khuro waited for her patron to arrive and provide any proper introductions.

A face she did not recognize, unusual in this gathering. A woman who reeked of poise and coiled violence, waiting to strike. Dangerous. Mauve liked dangerous.

Heels clicked against the floor as Mauve crossed the distance between them, joining Khuro Fierfek by the viewport and simply watching for a moment, a sip of champagne, then, "I would say it's beautiful, but that isn't it at all, is it? Ugly little planet."

The Zeltron sighed, placing a hand one hip. "It's just... relief. At seeing your problems hauled out by their feet and murdered in front of you. Hm. Monstrous. And yet, so satisfying. Is there beauty in that?"

She glanced sidelong at the woman, violet eyes studying the Atrisian. "I'm Mauve du Vain. I don't think we've met."

 

[Sars Sarad]

Objective 3: The Gala

Amidst the Gala, on the outskirts he would blend in with one of the walls.

Anyone looking could probably recognize him by the trademark duster he wore, concealing whatever else he carried.

Reaching out he took a flute of champagne, the equivalent at least from a Waiter who'd pass by holding a tray over one shoulder.

Bringing the flute to his mouth he took a sip, the beverage tickled the taste buds on his tongue causing his expression to sour briefly but then he'd take another sip. Nothing that would take the edge off, it was just a distraction. He didn't particularly care for these events.

Actually if one were able to read his mind his thoughts kept returning to Sepan 8, specifically the Jedi @Lorn whom he'd encountered there. A Duel wasn't something Sarad liked to leave open ended even if he had the advantage when the battle had forced him and his opponent apart. There were those in the Syndicate who'd started calling him the Butcher of Sepan Square; a moniker he seemed largely ambivalent to though the ruins of Embassy Square on Sepan 8 would bear his mark for some time to come.

The Flute came to his mouth again, he took another sip.

Occasionally his gaze would drift towards the holofeeds, tracking the progress of the Assassins the Syndicate had sent to kill their enemies.

 

[Liréa Voss]

Continuing to walk down the street, I now arrive at the entrance of the target's manor. Security-wise, there are cameras, guards patrolling from time to time, and even guard dogs. Not to mention the droids and surveillance drones. Then again, we're talking about a banking magnate — I never said this would be a walk in the park. Still, you can do anything with a blaster and a bit of elbow grease.

I move off to the side, spot a few warped stones that will serve as stepping points, and start climbing them to reach the top of the wall. Once I'm up, I jump down to the other side and gain access to the property. Done I'm inside.

I have to be careful with everything once I'm in here. If I get caught, nobody's coming to save me. That's the upside and downside of working solo — no one's got your back.

Walking along the path, I slowly start to make out the manor itself. I check my futuristic datapad to see the layout. According to my calculations, there's a less-guarded entrance in the back. I'll have to walk a bit further, but I'll start there. If I run into any household staff, I won't hesitate to take them out quickly.

Anything in my way has to go no witnesses. And I have to admit, I really enjoy the barbarity. The first thing I come across is a flying drone passing through the area. I pull out my blaster and drop it mid-flight with a precise shot. Watching the machine crash to the ground in a shower of sparks, letting out a broken mechanical noise, I walk up and give it a kick to finish it off. Its lamp light fades out.

One tin can less. Sure, it's less spectacular than blowing everything up, but I'll get to that later, once I've finished my heist. First, kill my target… second, destroy the manor. For now, I'm still outside, getting closer and closer to the property. I'm on high alert and open to the Force you never know what danger might show up. I even take the time to whistle a deadly tune, just for the fun of it.

----------------------------------------
Objective One : the Merchant District of Toydor City Manor Gerrona . Tag : Open

 

[Jerec Asyr]

OBJECTIVE 1a: REEGOR

Thirty-six Cataclysts was far past overkill even in a worst case scenario. They circled the caravel like buzzards in need. Jerec paced the bridge and watched from a side viewport as the timer ticked down from three minutes.

1:17

A Toydarian wiggled out of an airlock and shortly went still. It wasn't in any way Jerec's first spacing but orchestration was different than perpetration, and all those firsthand experiences had been, let's say, immediately and directly deserved.

0:90

A second Toydarian out a different airlock. Jerec found himself quietly rooting for... someone, he couldn't say who, someone contending against our riding out the situation he'd set up, as the caravel turned to dog-eat-dog. As friends and servers raced to space them.

0:44

A third out of the vehicle bay, making a run for it in a scenery speeder. The nearest five Cataclysts turned it to slag and confetti.

0:00

No fourth body. Jerec went over to the comms. He didn't feel much of anything.

"That's three of the four," he said to every ship and every private comm. "Reegor-"

The side viewport went harshly blue. Jerec flinched against the light: a weapon's impact on the shields of his Cataclyst. He could well imagine a banker promising everything, sacrificing everyone, to secure the caravel's bridge.

The plan had been firmed up and it stayed strong. Three dozen Cataclyst corvettes opened fire with ion cannons and turned the caravel inert. Boarding torpedoes — each bearing a cyborg warrior or other violence specialist — zipped in toward the caravel from all sides. Their mission was to kill the fourth Toydarian magnate, be that Reegor or his wife or a son; not be too dainty about collateral damage; but leave lots and lots of witnesses. This was all about putting on a show.

 

[Deathstick]

NEAR THE FIRST TOYDARIAN GALACTIC BANK
TOYDOR CITY

OBJECTIVE I: Bularian, the Aleenan Banker

It was time to deliver the righteous mercy of death to the enemies of Black Sun.

Word had reached the cult, it had reached the ears of Deathstick, and it had been his determination that the contract be accepted and performed. The association with the criminal underworld of the galaxy had always been an important pillar of the Kouhun, one of several that helped prop their assassin order up, and far be it for a valued commodity to be denied the Kouhun's skill.

Death was their life.

"We seek a sentient, Bularian," Deathstick said through his vocalised mask. "He is believed to be in the First Toydarian Galactic Bank, performing evening audits. The bank is to remain whole, but all others are free to fall to our blades."

From behind the leader of the assassin cult, as several shadowed forms stepped forward from the darkness and proceeded to nod or confirm.

"Our final task is to see Bularian displayed for all. A message. One we will deliver with succinct clarity, allowing none to misconstrue the intent."

A thin-lipped smile spread beneath the helmet as Deathstick raised one hand and motioned forward with his gloved fingers:

"We move."

As one, the assassins of the Kouhun began moving across the fog-covered rooftops, leaping and flipping with incredible agility toward the distant banking building...

Open​

 

[Velzari Tharn]

B L A C K - S U N - S Y N D I C A T E
D A N C E - A S - T H E Y - B U R N​

​

With green claws wrapped elegantly around the fluted surface of a champagne glass, Velzari watched the overhead broadcast with chilling delight; shadows of death were descending upon the city of Toydor with the whisper of Black Sun’s retribution on their breaths, televised live for the viewing pleasure of the Underlord and his upper echelons. It was almost as delicious as the food.

Velzari’s gaze broke away from the monitors to observe the room around him, taking note of the Vigos and esteemed Black Crown wielders who had boarded the liner for this night of revelry. To punish the banking clan for their meddling in the Kaggath was a victory in itself—to put that victory on display for all of the syndicate to see? A delightful performance to sate Black Sun’s appetite after its loss in Republic space. His empire of scum and villainy wanted blood.

They would have it.

And apparently, so would Velzari himself… though the claret came in the form of a red dress wrapped around the frame of his least favorite Sith Princess. Quinn Varanin carried a Black Crown despite being responsible in part for the syndicate’s failure on Wielu. The only reason Velzari allowed her to bear it—and Mauve to keep her fingers for giving it to her—was the potential return that such an investment in Sith royalty might bring to his empire. The word “Blackwall” glittered in the Underlord’s mind.

Yes, Wielu was a loss… but only for as long as he had to await success in Sith space. Perhaps it was time for the Prince of the Underworld to meet the Princess of the Sith Empire. A tale as old as time.

“Allow Princess Varanin a moment to enjoy the show,” Velzari said to a collared Toydarian near his throne. The fly-like creature was battered, covered in lacerations and contusions; he was the captain of a certain banking clan ship that was raided by Black Sun pirates. A connection between the Kaggath and the First Bank of Toydaria.

Now, he was Velzari’s personal attendant for the evening, forced to watch the excision of his colleagues before his own death followed.

“Inform her that Prince Velzari wishes to speak with her. We have much to discuss.”

Tags: Quinn Varanin
​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

OBJECTIVE 1a: REEGOR

Proof of death was pretty basic work. Skeevi, though lacking actual medical credentials, felt overqualified.

• Look at freeze-dried Toydarian billionaire on deck of raider corvette.
• Apply facial recognition and gene sampler to verify identity. (Morchumpp, Blaise, banking vice-presidents: done.)
• Collect tissue samples with laser scalpel.
• While doing so, surreptitiously scan bodies for implants and remove them for reuse at a certain shop on Nar Shaddaa.
• Incinerate remainder of remains in main reactor.

When the wreckage of the joyride speeder got tractored into the Cataclyst's single-vehicle hangar, proof of death was even easier: apply gene sampler to lumps. (Reegor, who'd made a run for it without his family; done.)

Or not done, because there was still the wife to reckon with. She, it transpired, was who'd commandeered the caravel and opened fire in hopeless defiance and prompted the cyborg boarders. And Skeevi found themself shoved in one of those boarding torpedoes too, shrieking about how this wasn't their job, but sent nevertheless to board the disabled caravel and verify the death of the final holdout of the Reegor family: the dastardly Flapessa...

 

[Liréa Voss]

This house is truly luxurious, and it's a real shame I have to destroy it but that's life. It does reassure me about one thing: there will definitely be treasures to loot. Given how ultra-luxurious this place is, it would have been a shame to destroy everything without taking a share of the spoils. There must be a safe or something like that. My interest here is twofold: to enrich myself and to sow chaos at my enemies' expense.

What could pose a problem are the high platforms… but that's only an issue for someone unprepared. I'm prepared and doubly so. The house has large bay windows that are easy to reach, on elevated platforms offering a dreamlike view. I'm not going through the main entrance; that would be counterproductive. Being on the side at ground level, I focus in the Force, directing it to my legs. I crouch slightly, and in one leap Chtonk I jump. I land on the first-floor platform with perfect control, taking a non conventional route.

I sidestep a lounge chair and slip into the house through one of the windows on that same floor. Infiltrating the luxurious building is done. Now I have to play assassin. I hide in corners, redirect the security cameras with telekinesis to make them look at a blind spot, allowing me to sneak straight toward my target.

Hidden in a closet, a maid opens my hiding spot. I'm surprised she only needed a sheet. Too bad for her. I press my hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming and lock her in an arm hold on the floor. I point my blaster at the back of her neck. I'm going to buy myself a bit of time.

"Where is the master of the house?"
"H-he's in his bedroom, please don't kill me!"

In his bed room? Perfect. I know where that is on the plan. Not needing her anymore, I take something to tie her up and immobilize her, stuffing a cloth in her mouth as well, tightening it just enough to keep her from alerting her friends. Once secured, I put her in the closet in my place and take a quick selfie. Then I shut the door.

In his upstairs bedroom at least he's actually there so I head all the way up, walking through the mansion's luxurious staircase with its huge bay windows. The other maid won't be ratting me out from her closet, and I stroll along looking at my little souvenir photo.

I run into another staff member, but he's not so lucky. With a phrik knife, I sneak up behind him and stab him. Blood starts pooling on the floor. Same as before, I take another photo I can't help myself, it's stronger than me.

After taking out a few guards, droids, and maintenance agents, I finally reach the top floor. I knock casually on the door.

"Knock knock knock. Gerrona ? "


He tells me to come in. Probably mistaking me for a maid, I push the door open and enter the room where my target is.

Objective One : the Merchant District of Toydor City Manor Gerrona . Tag : Open

 

[Morrow]

OBJECTIVE 1: BRING YOUR OWN TARGET
「 K I L L 'E M A L L 」

​

Slowly waving and turning over his hand before his face, Morrow watched with veiled amazement at how his hand was hardly visible. Sakiyan shadowsuits were more effective than he had imagined when Mauve had described them to him. Unfortunately, they weren't half as comfortable as they were unnoticeable. Every inch of skin felt like it was being suffocated, and even worse, certain bits were crammed so tightly in the umbrasilk they threatened to withdraw any moment. It took several wide-step adjustments and some furtive, crude shifting to make this second skin bearable. It was a testament to the difference between human and sakiyan physiology, or a sign that the vigo needed a better tailor.

Zlato and Shitto were prolific as they were profligate. They held several estates across Hutt space, including manors in Toydor City. As luck would have it, Shitto was attending a gathering of elites at Zlato's estate. Two targets in one place were fortunate enough, but there was a bonus as well. Raalo, the son of the banker Gerrona, had decided to pop in and rub shoulders with his father's contemporaries.

Damien was around here somewhere, but a suit of his own similarly camouflaged him. Their only indication of one another's presence since they'd donned their masks was hushed back-and-forth correspondence over the commlink. They had split up to find a good way inside, something that would avoid tipping off security too early. Morrow squatted beside a skylight, gazing down at the ongoing jamboree below. Zlatto had guests, a lot of guests. In any other case, it might have been called bad timing. But the orders were clear: leave no survivors. Morrow supposed that made the timing their problem.

Shrouded hands felt around the edges of the glass, thumbing around with the latches. Silent appraisal soon discovered the third panel to be unsecured. A small smirk cracked beneath Morrow's skin-tight mask. Retrieving the commlink, he'd ping Damien one final time before going in.

<"Skylight's open. I'm going in.">

Morrow dropped from the ceiling. His landing wasn't quiet, but the din of the ongoing party drowned the impact of his feet onto the rug. He rose slowly, looking for a place to creep into lest someone notice the not-quite-right spot in the room. Then, the sound of laughter spun him around. A Neimoidan, half drunk and stumbling with a Twi'lek on his arm who was very clearly pretending to be into him, came barrelling his way. Morrow weaved sideways, scarcely tiptoeing out of the alien's trajectory. He didn't breathe until the pair were at least five more paces away.

Not about to take another chance, he backed up slowly and pressed his body against the far wall. Most of the party was centered around the intersection of the living are and kitchen. By comparison, the little corner he shoved himself into seemed lonely. From behind the veil of the shadowsuit, he scanned the room and took stock of guests, security, and exits, all to calculate the most efficient strike. As the suit adjusted to the light level inside, he became even less visible, melding into the shadows beside an absurdly sized and pretentious painting.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Damien Dooku | OPEN​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

OBJECTIVE 1a: REEGOR — COMPLETE

The Cataclysts kept circling the disabled caravel.

"Captain, transmission from the Bountiful. One of ours gave Flapessa a comlink."

"Pipe it through and put it on."

In came the voice of the banker's widow, breathing hard but chilly and resolute. "I demand to speak with a Vigo Majore."

So she knew her stuff, but that was already clear. "You're talking to one. This is Captain Asyr."

"My sons are dead. My husband ran and left me, and he's dead as well. I have a proposal-"

"Ma'am, I respect that you've made a stand. Took the Bountiful's bridge, fired on me, convinced the cyborgs to let you make this call. But today revenge gets served up cold and fast as a Wampa gigolo. You've got to die. Give the comm back to whoever."

"As you wish, Vigo Asyr," she said with dignity, doubtless surrounded by weapons, and did so.

"Ka'dyraal, yeah?"

"Yes."

"You've got Mercy's pet ripperdoc aboard, the Merrill?"

"Yes."

"Gotta be an artificial heart or three aboard, rich boat like that. Shoot the widow in the heart, let the ripper try and bring her back to life, give her a Cataclyst."

"..."

 

[Sahi]

Best Served Cold

"A blue eye is a true eye; Mysterious is a dark one, which flashes like a spark sun! A black eye is the best one"
- William Rounseville Alger -

Objective: Dance As They Burn
Gear: In Sig
Theme: Michelle Carter - SKYND

​

Sahi entered the main section of the cruiser, where several people, most unfamiliar to the bounty hunter, jockeyed for position, with drinks in hand, to get a proper view of the screens. The several illuminated screens were enormous and lavish in both color and design; each screen showing in real time the events that were unfolding down on the surface of the planet. Majority of the tables were barren, their once seated hosts now standing, transfixed to the screens, like moths to the proverbial flame. Unabated, she moved deeper into the maw of the cantina-like environment, spotting a lonely table in the back yearning for company; and after taking a drink off a tray from a passing server droid, she moved to the table, sitting down the drink and followed suit.

Her eyes briefly glanced at the screens, ignoring the show for now; taking drink in hand, propping her booted feet atop the table and leaned back closing her eyes. There was no profit in murder, and there was no reason for her to commit robbery; her profession paid enough for her not to lower herself to thievery. With eyes shut, she let her mind open; scanning through the crowds of people, feeding off their emotions through the Force. Sahi found it both relaxing and adventurous to inhale the sweet aromas of emotions, ill or not, radiating off the bodies of others. And there was always one individual that would stand out among the others, and it was usually this particular character that she found captivated by their ghost stories and fables.

Unfortunately, the drunkenness and overzealous emotions filtering through the pores of the Force that flooded the room would provide no such conversational entertainment for Sahi. So, opening her eyes, she dipped a finger in her drink, swirling it around scrying into the spiraling blue liquid as if she could see the future from such a witchy act. In fact, she was beginning to sense a disturbance in the Force, and it smelled all too familiar; and the act she was committing upon her drink was their collective sign they shared together that let the other know all was safe. Then came the ping in the Force. And Sahi smiled.

Like a beacon, the signature of the other Force philosopher grew brighter and brighter, until an older female stood at the opposite end of the table, taking the empty seat across from Sahi. "Why mask your presence, V," Sahi said to the woman, whilst signaling for the server droid to their table. "What are you running from? Or who?" The other Vahla whistled a brief smile before replying, "Apparently I didn't mask it well enough, Sahi. You signaled me, which you either felt me or spotted me." The server droid appeared, and the woman took a drink for herself.

"You didn't answer my question, cousin?"

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Velzari Tharn //:
//: Dance As They Burn //:
//: Dress //:

The displays of power impressed her — though Quinn expected nothing less from Black Sun and its associates. She had seen their efficiency firsthand, and her own mercenaries' second-hand reports only reinforced it.

Another reason Weilu still gnawed at her was that there had been no reason for that failure.

An explosion rattled the nearby screen, pulling her from her thoughts. She was the closest to it and recognized an opportunity — a perfect moment to let DeathDrop make a statement on behalf of their agreements.

Turning from the display, she pressed a finger to her earring, triggering the shadow order she had prepared for the DeathDrop mercenaries:
Kill them all, or plunder.

Call sent, Quinn returned to her champagne and the evening's entertainment — until the presence of another intruded. Not the one she'd hoped for. Still, she gave the Toydarian her attention.

Her gaze drifted over his collar, his wounds. For a heartbeat, her expression softened — she saw a doomed creature.

When the Prince's summons came, Quinn smiled. It was precisely what she'd anticipated, though a flicker of unease lingered. No one ruled the Underworld with kindness. She drained her champagne and handed off the glass to a passing server. Quinn took a moment to gather the silken folds of her dress before following the Toydarian.

She didn't glance back at the gala. The walk gave her a moment to steel herself for whatever awaited her. She wasn't naive — her role in Weilu's diplomacy had almost certainly earned the Prince's ire. Still, she hoped her identity and the crown she stood to inherit would be enough to temper it.

The way his Vigos worked revealed their value to him. She compared their place in his world to the Emperor and the Dark Council in hers — a rough parallel, but one the once sheltered Princess could grasp.

At the foot of the Prince's throne, Quinn inclined her head in the respect due a fellow royal — but she would not kneel, nor expect him to.

"Prince Velzari," she greeted, a practiced court smile on her lips.

"I've been looking forward to finally making your acquaintance."