Dominion [Black Sun] Friends in Low Places || BSS Dominion of Dandoran

[Velzari Tharn]

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE
FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES

"Just give me an hour and then
Well, I'll be as high as that ivory tower
That you're livin' in."

OBJECTIVE 1:
VIGOS SUMMIT

​

Hidden among the pristine forests lie abandoned Hutt palaces, relics of an age when the Dandoran system fell under the sway of spice barons and cartel kings. Smuggler’s Basin, carved deep into a forested ravine, remains the heart of Dandoran’s underworld—a labyrinth of black-market enclaves, landing pads, and durasteel catwalks suspended over geothermal vents. The air here is thick with smoke, the hum of repulsorlifts, and the ever-present scent of sansanna spice. It is said every credit, favor, and deal in the Basin runs through Black Sun first.

In a forgotten palace at the nexus of Smuggler’s Basin, Prince Velzari and his Vigo Shadow Council are slated to meet. There is much to discuss: beskar smuggling operations along the Perlemian; deteriorating relations with the Imperial Confederation, who stands as an obstacle to syndicate operations in the east; new business ventures in the Manaan sector… many schemes are unfolding.

And these schemes require friends.

Invited to the Underlord’s table are the Diarchs and their military commanders, potential allies on a board stacked with eventual enemies. Mutual interests are enough to bring the Diarchy and Black Sun together. Will they be enough to cement a deal?

OBJECTIVE 2:
WORM IN THE APPLE

​

On Dandoran’s southern continent, far from the northern highlands and syndicate trade routes, lies a long-abandoned tomb of ferrocrete and durasteel: an Imperial facility whose corridors have stood untouched for decades. Sealed behind blast doors thicker than a starship’s hull, rumors speak of exquisite data caches. Entire archives of encrypted schematics, prototype designs, and intelligence fragments too valuable to destroy but dangerous in the wrong hands. Stories of armories stocked with pristine blasters, scout walkers, and even experimental weapons slip from spacers’ lips, ripe for the taking.

If you can cut through the undead to find them.

Sealed records recently unveiled reveal that the facility is not only a veritable treasure trove, but was also once a black site for the old Galactic Empire's Project Blackwing. For every encrypted file called out to be retrieved, there's a dozen zombified stormtroopers unwittingly guarding them. Eager to crack the data vaults and auction off what they can’t use as leverage, Black Sun prepares to enter the old Blackwing facility. But they won’t be doing it alone. While the Diarchy’s leadership forms a cohort with the syndicate, its armed forces join underworld enforcers on the southern continent. A share of the loot is promised and Black Sun watches carefully, sizing up its new ally.

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective II // Worm in the Apple //
// Focus // CT-312 // Persephone Dashiell //
// Attire //

---

---

The rumbling of the tranport engine was of small comfort to the Echani as she looked over to the ever-frustrating eyeless mask of CT-312 , helmeted and stoic as always. Once again the Echani had attempted to convince the girl to wear something more befitting the Princess' vanguard, and yet the same camo armour decorated her as always.

More annoyingly, she had attempted to convince Jorryn to wear armour on this outing as well.

The thought had made something churn in the stomach of the former Lord Inquisitor, imagining the disgrace of hiding away her pristine figure. A vague thought wondered what kind of mangled visage lay under the helmet of the girl beside her.

She had managed to loan the woman's services from Quinn Varanin for the evening, requiring her expertise in dealing with the quantity of enemy that she would be managing today. Undead were never the most appealing, bereft of both life and aesthetic, shambling corpses who's only purpose was to be returned to the earth.

A hand danced along a gun that the trooper had provided, citing the danger of close quarters against such enemies.

She felt too awkward to tell CT that she didn't exactly know how to use them.

As they departed the shuttle, the pair were only greeted by the wind and silence, and the grand steel doorway that guarded their prize. She was no hacker, and doubted her lightsaber would be able to cut through such a thick piece of durasteel. Maybe the trooper's explosives could make more of an impact, but they seemed to lack the required specialist that was needed.

"Of all days to forget a slicer..."

A tongue clicked with annoyance before she peered backwards to the masked woman at her side, hoping the girl would provide a better answer for this conundrum. The robes she wore billowed against the wind as she did her best to maintain a crisp image, using the force very pettily to prevent the fabric from ruffling.

"Ok, bring out the explos-"

As she was about to barge her way through, strange noises tickled the edges of her enhanced sense. Her eyes followed the noise to a distant corner of the entrance, a strange droid doing its best to tuck itself quietly away. It hadn't been doing a very good job considering how easy it was to spot, and yet curiosity got the better of her as she marched towards it.

The droid walked out from the little crevice it called home, clearly defensive in its stance. It paused the stride of the Echani as she raised an eyebrow towards the machine, wondering if it was a relic of the Empire past left to defend the door by itself.

Then why had it not been standing guard.

She sauntered in a long stride around the droid, careful not to antagonise the thing. It was clearly attempting to hide something, and Jorryn's amber eyes made out a second silhouette. It was a girl, small and young, dressed far too nicely for an outing such as this one.

A kindred spirit perhaps.

Better than the masked soldier that still trailed near her.

The Echani moved forward, allowing a softened expression cross her face so as to not terrify the girl.

"It's alright, dear, you can come out." The voice attempted to mimic what she imagined a sister might sound like, though the concern was genuine. Why was this child out here alone. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

She ignored the droid, despite its posturing. As much as the political climate had changed, she would still never consider a droid a person. So she addressed its charge, hoping to draw the girl forward.

 

[V1-L8]

OBJECTIVE II

" Oh she is beautiful!" He exclaimed and adjusted his leather trenchcoat. Then he tipped his new spacers hat at the nearest trooper.

As V1-L8 stepped off the transport, the first thing that grabbed his attention was the monstrosity of a door that sealed the vault. Thick, starship-grade Durasteel. It was practically impregnable. And yet, the closer V1 got to it and examined it, the more convinced he became that he was going to pregnate it. Of all the allies that were around him, Black Sun, the Diarchy, and a couple more, some faces he didn't even recognize. Not that it mattered. It was hard to tell all these meat popsicles apart from one another.

They all came in different colors, shapes, and sizes, but to his biological senses, they were all the same.

But the door, though. Oh, this door. Immediately, his systems HUD was chirping and alarming his senses to a myriad of different methods and ways that he could possibly, hypothetically, get this door open. Even with all the supplies around him, the troopers, explosives, and detonators, that that would only cause a scratch. There was also the use of a lightsaber, if he could get his hands on one. He doubted that someone would just simply let him borrow one.

But back to the door. It was practically calling his name. Encouraging and mocking. Open me. He could hear it. Well, he couldn't hear it. He was a droid. But there was a part of him that wanted it to. Going through his arsenal, VIOLATE looked around, and without giving any type of warning, immediately started priming his acid stream launcher connected to his right forearm. It would take a minute for it to get to activate and could take time to eat through, or at least weaken, this size of a metal. Xenoboric acid had that effect on inorganic materials. It might take a while, but he would break through.

He just had to prep the solution.

Jorryn Fordyce

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: In Post
Location: Dandoran

Undead, huh? That wasn't something Reina had ever faced before. Seems like her job with the Deathdrop was giving her more and more experiences than she had expected. Was this perhaps one of Reina's first good decisions she had made in her life? Joining up with the Deathdrop? Doubtful. It would go wrong in some way. Either way, she stood there after getting off the transport ship, lifting Pequod off her belt, tossing the Lightsaber's hilt into the air before catching it. It had been a while since she had last used it. A memento of her time as a Jedi. She planned on replacing it sooner or later, but she had assumed that a Lightsaber would make for the best tool to use against the undead.

She adjusted her armour as well, making sure her helmet was secured and tight. When it came to Deathdrop jobs, her identity was somewhat kept as much of a secret as she could. On a job, she wasn't Reina Daival, she was just Dawn. Dawn of a new day, of a new job. Her eyes flickered towards the others stood outside of the door. There was the somewhat familiar visage of CT-312 . Then there was the not-at-all familiar visage of V1-L8 . The main sight that caused Reina to falter for a moment was that of Jorryn Fordyce . She was familiar. Far too familiar for Reina. She shook her head, trying to keep her gaze off the Echani. Instead, Reina strolled over towards the door instead, inspecting it for a moment. Looks like those Mechu-deru lessons would come in handy...At least that was her thought process before she saw the acid being thrown towards the metal. Well. Acid would be a good weapon against the undead as well...

"...I could have just hacked the door open."

Reina muttered quietly, her voice somewhat disguised though even with the voice modulator, the melodic nature of her voice wasn't fully hidden. She shook her head, turning her attention away from the door to keep her gaze on their surroundings, her hand tightly gripped around the hilt of Pequod. The silver-blade had yet to be ignited but she was braced for any kind of attack.

​

 

[Fenn Stag]

​

Fenn unnerved people.

That much he knew for a fact. It was helped him be the violent, capable man he was. He was tall, looming, mean, a Mandalorian, and with his bouts of insanity, had a reputation for unpredictably. Which was true. He felt himself go sometimes, madness taking hold. But never much more than the thoughts. He was always in control of his hands his hands his hands his hands his lovely breaking hands his hands to break and to crush and to bite and t o t e a r a p

a

r

t

rip

and

tear, despite what people may think. Just intrusive thoughts nowadays much more than insanity. He was not doing anything glamorous for the Black Sun. No defiant odds, no difficult bounties, no extractions of assets and no murder and no assassination. No, he was here to do one thing:

Be mean, look scary, and protect Velzari Tharn .

Interestingly, Fenn, while armed, did not carry any weapons in his hands. However, a careful, or not so careful observation, would note that he was wearing crushgaunts. That alone constituted a good weapon, and also the fact that Fenn was generally a foot taller and about fifty pounds bigger than the average human or near-human. But, he doubted the Diarchy wanted a fight. Reasonable men did not meet in such lengths of secrecy to brawl or to assassinate. No, they would've been shot out of orbit if that was the case. So many times he had led bounties or followed them in ships. That was when the getting was good, not the ground or planet-side. Catching someone in space was always easier. Less risk for being caught, less evidence, and certainly more certainty that someone was dead if they were floating out into space. Or in the case of the Senatorial Aide that tried to blackmail the Black Sun, tied and kicked out of the airlock into a star. That was more to make a point than to hide evidence.

And, admittedly, it was a little funny.

He pushed happy thoughts aside, waiting for instructions or the others to speak. He had nothing to say, just people to observe.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Objective 1: Vigos Summit
Wearing: Armatura | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | The Sofitor
Wielding: 8 Nozhi Blades | 2 Whimsy Knifes | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Clarion | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke | Combat Gauntlets | Tessen | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader KD-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: Velzari Tharn Fenn Stag | OPEN

---

Not all shadow sin Smuggler's Basin behaved as one would expect to. One of those shadows, stretched almost too long across the floor of the forgotten Hutt palace, curved around some broken pillars and cracked mosaics, seemed to almost turn liquid for a blink of an instant. The liquid seemed to deepen, a forming in its very center and then spreading outward like ink spilled across the water.

A silhouette moved out of that dark inky pool, taking on the shape of a woman, her outline sharpening with every breath as the gloomy shadows peeled away from her form, sliding off her skin like oil under light, pooling briefly behind her before evaporating silently. For one moment, she merely stood there, taking in the planet's air with her eyes half closed, waiting for the final specks of shadow to release themselves off her fingertips.

And then the eyes opened, their glowing green casting her light on her near vicinity. Scherezade grinned, and used every muscle within her for self control, to keep herself from saying something slightly too cheesy, like Honey, I'm home!

She inhaled all the scents of the place. Smoke, sansanna, old grease… This could be a very fun place indeed, if she were here to have fun. Though she was decked in her usual ridiculous amount of gear, she hadn't actually come here looking for a fight. There was a meeting, something about higher uppities and people with connections.

It was hilarious to her. Her, of all people, somehow becoming someone with connections. Business connections. Intel connections, old contacts returning to their positions and informing her… It was, by every measure, a new life for her. Not in the fact that these things were happening, but that there was external validation of those things.

Her boots made no sound against the cold floor as she moved forward, weaving with ease through the labyrinthine hallways. She didn't need a map. All she needed was her sense of blood scenting, following it to find where people were beginning to seat themselves. The deeper into the palace she went, the thicker the air grew, laced with spice and anticipation. Slowly, voices began to filter through the haze with deep murmurs, polite laughter, and tones that belonged to people who definitely saw themselves as untouchable. It was almost a shame she hadn't come here to remove a few heads from their attached bodies.

Scherezade's grin widened. The final corridor opened into the grand hall, the reappropriated throne room now turned into something that looked a little more like your common council chamber.

Without a word, the Sithling stepped across the threshold, every movement of her body making it seem as though she belonged there, had always belonged there. She moved between rows of guards and attendants until she reached the empty chair at the table. It was hers now, even if she didn't bend over to lick it first.

Not a word spoken. Not a gesture made. She just sat in it, enjoying the faint creak of the old leather, and crossed one leg over the other. Her glowing green eyes flicked lazily from one face at the table to the next, memorizing, and taking note of who was there as well.

For a heartbeat, it seemed as though nothing moved. The air itself seemed to stiffen, as though holding its breath. Then, somewhere down the table, a chair scraped against the floor, sharp and nervous. Scherezade tilted her head toward the sound, the movement slow, deliberate, predatory.

She was here now, settled, unbothered, and quietly daring or not daring anyone in the room to make her explain herself. Someone usually did.

 

[Velzari Tharn]

B L A C K - S U N - S Y N D I C A T E
V I G O S - S U M M I T​

​

Through the sealed window high in his palace, Velzari looked upon the winding causeway of Smuggler’s Basin. Like so many crime dens, it was conceived by the Hutt Cartel but was left malnourished and unloved—until Black Sun rose to shine on Dandoran. Now, the Basin is a beating heart once again. A living ecosystem where opportunity and power thrive.

Market stalls manned by merchants peddle anything from street food and herbs to blaster components and speeder mods. There’s a cantina on nearly every corner, some featuring exotic dancers and good music while others boast hookah bars and fight pits. Overhead, metal catwalks line the ceiling and give Black Sun enforcers a bird’s eye view of the streets below. Crime was abundant—sanctioned, even—but it was controlled. The Vigos knew everything that went on in Smuggler’s Basin, and by extension, so did the Underlord.

Prince Velzari grinned through the viewpoint at his people below, then turned to face the large wooden table that occupied the throne room. Many of the chairs were filled by aliens and scum, but a few humanoid faces were among the assortment. Most were Vigos. Some were affluent “friends.” A small few were unfamiliar.

Other men would tremble at the sight of a new face in his throne room. Imperials would sound klaxon alarms, the Republic would scream for their Jedi pets to come running… Black Sun smiled and waited. The Underlord was confident and comfortable. He knew that his defenses would have grounded a ship if the occupants were troublesome. If they slipped through and meant to harm the Shadow Council or the Underlord himself, that’s was Fenn Stag was here for: to squeeze brains from skulls like toothpaste from a bottle with his crushgaunts.

There was nothing to fear, only business to be done.

“Greetings, my friends and… friends to be,” Velzari welcomed with literal open arms as he stepped to his throne. He stood behind the chair, looked over the assembled faces from the head of the table. His left hand wrapped around the back of the chair like a king wielding a scepter. Black manicured nails gently tapped against the leather cushion in a cascade from pinky to pointer.

With his right, he gestured as he spoke.

“We have much to discuss,” the Underlord almost purred. “Let us begin by welcoming the Diarchs and their attaché.”

Tags:
[BSS] Vigos | Fenn Stag | Scherezade deWinter | OPEN
[DIA] Diarch Rellik | Diarch Reign | Laphisto | OPEN​

 

[Morné Karn]

Objective 1: Fenn Stag Velzari Tharn Scherezade deWinter

The haze of spice and smoke did little to dull his senses; if anything, it made the scent of credits and quiet fear sharper. Around the long table, power collected in silks and armor, masks of civility stretched thin over ambition.

He said nothing at first. Words were for later. Instead, Morné observed. He watched who deferred to whom, who pretended not to notice the green-eyed woman make a deliberately slow arrival. The Underlord's chosen venue was a relic of corruption, but it suited him fine. The ghosts of old deals still lingered on the table and the Black Sun had come to make new ones.

Morne murmured a polite welcome along with the table. The faintest smile touched his mouth. It never reached his eyes. He was an opportunist. His reach had grown and he saw no real difference between business and criminal opportunities. One was as ruthless as the other, as far as he was concerned.

What, if anything, was the difference between lives he had ruined by destroying companies against those whose blood he had spilled with his bare hands to reach the top of his district on Denon?

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

WORM IN THE APPLE

Zee had been working on gaining access via the door's port when they had heard commotion. The familiar whine of a vessel and its engines powering down. Without many places to go, there was a limited option of what to do next. With columns an a bit of a crevice, Persephone tried to hide in its shadows while they investigated this shuttle. Zee had the thought of hiding well enough so they wouldn't be seen then merely walking in behind whoever it was.

It was hard to hide a pink bodyguard droid.

Then a woman started talking to her. In a weird voice. Almost like horror-holo at the theater right before there was a jump scare on the screen. It was unnerving and frankly a little odd in her opinion. Given the crew of vagabonds behind this woman, perhaps she shouldn't be surprised by anything about to come her way.

"You sound psychotic Miss."

Manners, even despite the situation. Probably shouldn't piss off those with guns despite having Zee at her disposal. Standing up, she brushed an invisible speck of dirt off her pant leg before taking in the wider group once again. Persephone hoped they weren't pirates. She hated pirates with a burning passion.

Zee remained in front of her, as he should, but didn't say or do anything just yet. Persephone knew he was calculating the situation and the threat.

"If you and your friends are going in there its filled with not quite dead sentients."

Jorryn Fordyce | CT-312 | Reina Daival | V1-L8​