Dominion [Black Sun] Dark Harvest || BSS Dominion of Kashyyyk

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Tuchanka Maestus R Remus Adair

BLOODHOUND - PART 3​

Mawsworn Camp, Ruins of Sector 7 HQ,
The Shadowlands, Kashyyyk (902 ABY)

'Ooooo! Would ya look at that, my friends!'
​

'Much obliged for the gift, Vice-Admiral.... Not only is this an incredibly-rare find, but there's an intriguing history to these darlings.'

Looking to the 2nd Lieutenant who presented the rare cigar-crate, Barran smirked his way through a searching gaze, only to mutter,'Eh, he doesn't know. Not know-know - not like the latter-Ninth.', though loud enough for the small Naval delegation to hear. What appeared as mystic whimsy at the surface, may have appeared all the more damning in the eyes of those who knew how deep his gaze was searching, only relenting when the case of cigars caught his eye once more, and then the expression on his face became more-receptive to normalcy. Switching back from something jester-like and devious, to a state of mild-smirking, conventional rest, reassuring,'Its probably for the best, Lieutenant. Think nothing of it.', before turning his head to cast an appreciative nod in the Vice-Admiral's direction.

'I should probably give an equivalent gift, right? But first, Vice-Admiral, let us involve you in the first round of beverages.... An' ya know what, you might as well bring those cigars over, an' take one out for yourself.'

​

With a click of his fingers, the guards by the tent-flap entrance stepped toward the bar in the corner, acting at the Khan's beck-and-call whilst everyone else found their desired seats for the encounter, and all without one pause of insulted reservation. First to come out of the cooler unit were the drinking glasses, followed by scoops of iceblocks that went into a polished, deep-filling bowl, all sent on and placed on all the side-tables within moments; and with each glass receiving a few blocks of ice before the guard-serving returned to the bar, the guard-pouring wheeled his tray of bottles over in his place, completing the requests of guests and Mawsworn commanders alike before the conversation found it's cadence again.

'Now, as for conspiracies.... Mine is only to form the eagle's other head - faith and state, married an' merged. A completed system of two-fold affiliation, two layers of loyalty-assurance, forging legitimacy in the eyes of compatriots and allies alike.'

 

[Eryndor Thorne]

Meliant | Antar | The Madclaw
​

He watched the exchange between Meliant and Madclaw and was mostly wondering when the fighting would start. Between the four of them they could probably handle anything short of a small army. Yet so far there was hardly any action to speak of. A few angry critters on the way here. The hint of berserk shadow-touched Wookiees in the badlands.

And that was it.

One of them, Antar, decided to speak to him.

"Watch what?" Eyebrows up and he got his answer soon enough. It started as a snort and a bit of a rumble, but soon enough Eryndor was laughing out loud. "Oh, boy, that's great."

Meliant seemed to have a stick up his arse as big and thick as one of these forsaken trees. So that was some needed levity.

"You fought on Kashyyyk before?" Posing Antar the question as they continued the walk. It reminded him a little of Ossus. The dark forests primarily, but then again Ossus didn't have trees like these.

 

[Hakar Scaleback]

"You mussst be the big game hunter my contactsss on Nar Shaddaa warned me about."

Hakar hissed at Rhys Swynol baring rows of sharklike teeth in the kind of vaguely menacing introduction that trandoshans were known for. Despite a modest hunting vest the Black Sun vigo could not resist wearing his necklace of bone charms and other grisly trophies as a primal symbol of his authority over this place.

"If the jungle doesssn't eat you I will pay cold hard creditsss for living ssspecimensss," he snarled at the zeltron, "Watch your ssstep. It'sss a long way down."

Kashyyyk's untamed wilderness emerged from the mists as Hakar led their new arrival to the edge of his floating Black Sun outpost. Massive wroshyr trees dominated the horizon but there were moments like this one when the sky cleared enough to track creatures far below. The trandoshan looked through a pair of macrobinoculars and spotted something big enough to disturb the jungle canopy.

"Picking up activity in your sssector," Hakar sent the transmission over comlink to his kinfolk Tuchanka and Hraavusst , "Sssomething hasss your sssscent."

He turned back to Rhys and gestured to a motor pool of skiffs parked on the same landing pad as the zeltron pirate's ship.

"Firssst sssafari on Kashyyyk?" Hakar asked Rhys, "Should you wish to tessst your prowesss on foot, I can drop you off in the pressserve with trandoshan guidesss I trussst."

 

[Zahran Khaldun]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
T O O T H - A N D - C L A W

The descent was slow, graceful, almost regal.

Like a floating palace, Zahran Khaldun's sail barge glided down through the emerald veil of Kashyyyk's lower skies. It parted the upper canopy like silk, its hull sheened in dark bronze and trimmed in polished silver. Engraved onto its flanks were the sigils of House Khaldun and the crescent dagger of the Dark Crescent, stylized into the crest of a hunting lodge.

As the landing struts extended with a hiss, the moss-covered plateau trembled beneath the vessel's weight. Mist coiled through the tree roots. Far below, invisible beasts murmured in the deep.

The ramp hissed down.

Out stepped Zahran Khaldun, gentleman rogue, corsair lord, and now of course, sport hunter. He was dressed in a cream-colored field coat tailored to Core-world standards, with a high collar and gilded epaulets. A cravat of dark scarlet peeked from his throat, and his trousers were pressed to razor folds. On one gloved hand, he wore a chrono with Wroonian gemstone inlay; on the other, he carried an antique dueling cane capped in beskar.

Following behind him came his officers and companions, a striking entourage of hand-picked hunters, former naval marksmen, private surgeons, and parasitic nobles from half-fallen houses. Each wore their own variation of the cream uniform: coats with ivory buttons, pressed trousers tucked into polished boots, and holsters that carried custom-forged hunting blasters, tranquilizer darts, and vibro-knives inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

They looked less like warriors and more like an opera troupe lost in the jungle.

"Set the tables," Zahran said without raising his voice. "I will not dine like a beast simply because I walk among them."

The camp unfurled in an explosion of excess.

Silken tents were raised within minutes and large domed pavilions in burgundy and bone-white, lined with cooling units and chandeliers. Vornskyr-fur rugs were laid over the moss. A folding field organ played soft Alderaanian sonatas. A portable kitchen hissed to life, and soon the air was thick with the scent of fire-roasted nerf, spiced meiloorun glaze, and fresh-baked shipboard flatbread.

Zahran stood before the central tent, watching as silver tables were dressed with decanters of Chandrilan brandy and trays of roasted grainfruit stuffed with slow-cooked shimmerscale. In the distance, droids erected a game display wall, already bearing the skulls of lesser jungle beasts taken during the landing perimeter sweep.

"Tion swine," one of the younger officers said under his breath, half-laughing as he sipped from a crystal goblet. "We'll be mounting vines next."

"Let the vines tremble," Zahran replied smoothly, never looking away. "They've forgotten what it means to be measured. We are here to remind them."

At that, laughter rose among the cream-clad hunters.

Lanterns glowed. Music played. Jungle heat was staved off by atmospheric filters and chilled citrus steam.

Zahran retired to his observation couch, a high-backed chair carved from the rib of a Mon Cala warbeast, upholstered in velvet. From there, he sipped his drink and gazed out across the dark tangle of the southern jungle, untouched for thousands of years.

He was not nervous. He was not rushed.

This was not a war. This was a gentleman's sport.

The Anakkona, his prize, would not be baited like common prey. It could take days to track. But that didn't matter.

The kill would come.

And when it did, it would be glorious.

Hakar Scaleback

 

[Jerec Asyr]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
T O O T H - A N D - C L A W

Ithorians.

Ithorians!

Here in a Black Sun poaching expedition. O tempora, o mores.

And what's this they're lugging now, on hover-pallets, in a shipping crate of soil, fanned out around it like troopers guarding and guarded by an E-Web? What's this E-Web in the soil? Why it's a syren plant six meters long, all petaled and tentacular and kept from eating them by strange Ithorian botany. It hungers! It's been cooped up in the Trandoshan raider ship Gizka Inferno, which is for sale.


Hraavusst Hakar Scaleback Zahran Khaldun Rhys Swynol