Dominion [Black Sun] Takeover | BSS Dominion of Charros IV

[Razmir Tezhyn]

T A K E O V E R
CHARROS IV
With additional Stories on Lanupa & Nar Shaddaa

“NO WORK WITHOUT ZIX! XI CHAR FOR THE ENLIGHTENED!”

Xi Charrian zealot-workers chant this slogan in a chorus of insectile outrage. Their massive protest rages in front of their Cathedral Factories, spurred on by a radical sect which emerged in the Haor Chall Engineering company some weeks ago. They're angry, they're chittering, and they demand change.

What are their demands? To instate the sect’s enlightened--Zix Zxkwxf--as the new Prelate of Haor Chall Engineering. They claim Zix has glimpsed the afterlife and knows best what machines must be built and which contractors must be taken to guarantee salvation for the Xi Char.

The problem with Zix’s vision? It doesn’t include the Black Sun. Zix has pledged to work with plenty of worlds and companies, but conspicuously omits trade relations with Black Sun or its allies.

The Vigos suspect something more behind the Zxkwxfan sect’s protests. They want the protests brought to an end, and Zix’s sect dismantled.

OBJ 1: Crowd Control [Thugs, Muscle & Enforcers]

Vibe: Union Busting, Excessive Use of Force, Insectoid Fanatic Engineering Cult Protests

It’s been over an hour now since the Zxkwxf sect protests have started. Tensions in the air is palpable and keep rising as the zealots test Haor Chall's security team with small scuffles and skirmishes. Objects are thrown, individuals charge the security line only to be rebuffed or arrested, and the chants become increasingly vulgar.

Zix stands proudly on his podium and proclaims his vision to the people, insisting the current Prelate must step down. Meanwhile, that very Prelate cowers with his team inside the Cathedral Factory while their security team attempts to bar the protesters from entering.

Black Sun Syndicate enforcers and thugs--in Haor Chall gear--stand ready to bust up the protests and clear out Haor Chall’s biggest problem. Break up the protest, dismantle their powerbase, and bust their union-sect into pieces.

OBJ 2: Boarding Action Diplomacy [Pirates & Corsairs]

Vibe: Corporate Pirates vs Syndicate Pirates, Piracy, Boarding, Space Combat

Above Lanupa, several small fleets of hostile corvettes and frigates drop out of hyperspace. The world, recently claimed by the Syndciate, is the site of construction for a burgeoning series of shipyards which house the ships of pirates flying Black Sun’s flag.

Lanupa had previously been under the control of the Skull Ridge Mountain Hotel & Spa--nowadays a great interplanetary franchise company--and this takeover has ruffled some feathers. Their corporate leadership is incensed by the loss of their world of origin, and has hired several private militaries and security companies to take it back from the Syndicate.

These groups are practically speaking pirates with a license, and they’re coming for our world. Defend what’s ours and teach these wannabe pirates what real piracy looks like.

OBJ 3: Grand-Prix Pre-Show [Podracers, Socialites, Corpos]

Vibe: Social, Podracing talk, Investors & Sponsors, Gambling

Preparations for the Ootmian Pabol Podracing Grand Prix are in full swing. Three days before the Podracing Grand Prix begins, Mauve du Vain and Razmir Tezhyn host a private party for racers, their crews, investors, sponsors, and assorted +1s. The venue for this celebration is Club Vertica on Nar Shaddaa, where gambling and luxury intertwine to afford the guests with an exciting taste of what’s to come in the Grand Prix.

Everyone participating in the Ootmian Pabol is invited. Build connections, make bets on races, scope out the competition, or gamble your way into a debt only Grand Prix’s first place winnings can clear.

This is a prelude to the the Ootmian Pabol Podracing Grand Prix and the plots of future Dominions

OBJ 4: A GALAXY OF STORIES - BYOO

 

[Isur]

The Hunter was en route. The world? Some bug planet. But the job? The job was something different, according to Delphos. Isur paid a little bit of attention, he did have his own ship now, after all. They had a task… Go after the corporate pirates. The Syndicate flag was on this world, and it was here to stay. Isur could get behind that.mines,

A growl from the Karkarodon, as Delphos has invoked the name of The Madclaw while they were reverting to real space. The fight already going on. Laser blasts from corporate pirates, while transport ships moved and hurried to the protection of gun stations. Black Sun was a fan of mines, specifically the ones that had cannons on them and could be reused.

The Hunter passed by these as they hurried on towards one of the ships in the corporate fleet.

“Broadsiding! Prepare to board!” Came the call from a particularly one eyed Gran. Beings hefted their weapons, some with blasters, others with war hammers, Isur with his axe. Nodding and grunting the first wave were ready.

Another rock of the ship as turbolaser fire occurred, and the harpoons soon followed…

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

OBJ 3: Grand-Prix Pre-Show [Podracers, Socialites, Corpos]

Vibe: Social, Podracing talk, Investors & Sponsors, Gambling

Preparations for the Ootmian Pabol Podracing Grand Prix are in full swing. Three days before the Podracing Grand Prix begins, Mauve du Vain and Razmir Tezhyn host a private party for racers, their crews, investors, sponsors, and assorted +1s. The venue for this celebration is Club Vertica on Nar Shaddaa, where gambling and luxury intertwine to afford the guests with an exciting taste of what’s to come in the Grand Prix.

Everyone participating in the Ootmian Pabol is invited. Build connections, make bets on races, scope out the competition, or gamble your way into a debt only Grand Prix’s first place winnings can clear.

The chain of events that had put Skeevi Merrill, Denon street kid turned unlicensed Nar Shaddaa backalley cyborgist, in this room defied description. In simplest possible terms one of their happenstance cyborg clients turned out to moonlight as a racer. Skeevi had dressed up in their best yellow hooded coat and oiled their prosthetics for extra fanciness.

By this point in the evening the secret compartments of both coat and implants had been filled with the proceeds of petty theft, enough loose jewelry and change to pay certain bills and secure certain working stock. So Skeevi was well pleased and a bit sloshed on nasty expensive wine when they bumped jinglingly into Princess Quinn Varanin .

"Togu togu!" Hands off, in Jawaese. "Uh, scuse me."

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

O B J E C T I V E - 3
Grand-Prix Pre-Show​

Kinley would have much preferred running raids with the other privateers, chasing credits on open starlanes and leaving chaos in her wake. But Flint had product to move, which meant she had a job to do. So she wove through the crowd with practiced ease, taking credits from eager hands in exchange for packets of spice and sticks of glittering poison.

A mocktail balanced casually in one hand, enough to make her look like she belonged here, but not strong enough to dull her senses. Her other hand remained free, hovering close to the blaster at her hip. She didn't expect trouble in a place this polished, but experience had taught her the galaxy had a cruel sense of humor.

"Pleasure doin' business, friend."

The Toydarian spoke and hovered just above eye level, wings buzzing in excitement as he clutched the glitterstim she'd sold him. His giddy grin showed too many crooked teeth.


Kinley only tipped her hat, her smirk sharp and fleeting, before melting back into the press of bodies. One deal down, a dozen more to go.

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Grunt]

OBJECTIVE 1​

The bugs were chattering away, in a language that Grunt could not understand. He knew they sounded pissed, but he couldn't tell about what. He had been told what was going on, but he didn't much care for the politics of it. He left that to the Vigos, he was happy breaking skulls and stealing spice. Grunt had been on the front lines for the entirety of the protests. They picked him personally, not for what he had, but for what he lacked- a conscience. He was willing, eager even, to go and break up the unions. Whatever it took to get him another opportunity within the Suns.

The protesters were getting more and more anxious, the energy there was powerful. A few of the bugs tried to push into the line, creating a bit of tension between protesters and guards. Grunt wasn't here to make friends or feel tension, he was here to break up some unions. "Rrrnnfh! You call this a protest? Back on Gamorr we would have killed them by now! Hrrnnk!" One of them pushed into Grunt, so he pushed back, shoving the bug into the protest line. A few of them stumbling back in a ripple effect. There was a moment of silence between everyone, seeing what the next few moments would bring.

"GRRAAAHHHK!" His porcine call broke the silence as he beat his war axe against his chest. "LET ME EAT THEM!"

 

[Delsin Shaw]

|| Objective III: Grand-Prix Pre-Show ||
|| Tags: Quinn Varanin | Kinley Pryse | Skeevi Merrill | Open ||​

The Seikoshan Whiskey left a pungent odor upon my nose when sniffing it. Having been a while since I have been able to enjoy libations such as this, I decided to get something new and different. Something that would kick me in the ass if it had a foot. Taking it from the Bartender, and meandering through the groups that had formed of various individuals. All especially high ranking in whatever form of the gangs, Black Suns themselves, or even other outside groups that wished to work with the syndicate. Each group having a host of many species of individuals that each brought something to the table.

Some enjoyed the various games that were being played. Others scarfed down food like it was free for them. Not knowing there would likely be a bill sent to them later. A soft chuckle came to my lips for myself, and myself alone. Eyes panning over the various individuals that showed themselves, I moved to sit my happy little ass right down on a rather comfortable sofa. Reclining back just a bit as I watched the Holo showing reporters spectating about who would or wouldn't win the races.

I had a couple small bets in place. At least to just get something in at the moment. Likely making a more informed decision later as to who may or may not win my credits.

My eyes scanned again and found one particular white haired individual. The soft smile on my face formed there for a moment before fading. Holding my thoughts for later about that particular person. Of course I came to enjoy myself, but also, I came to network. I came to make connections with others that could possibly find... for the lack of a better word, an alliance of sorts. Not for any faction in particular. More so to meet those who could scratch my back, and I in turn theirs.

Taking a sip of the whiskey, feeling its sharpness and wood notes as it burned down my throat. It was enjoyable. Warming my chest and stomach with just the right punch. A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned forward to set the glass on the table. The soft clink of the glass on the table may have been audible except for all the noises about. For now, biding my time. Looking to see and watch who seemed to congregate together. Find the major players and then, make contact.

This was the political game of the underworld.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Objective 3

Elevator doors opened, and out stepped Arris Windrun, who had apparently made something of a name for herself as the Galactic Kaggath's third-place fighter. Once upon a time, the phrase 'podium or bust' meant something to her, but honestly? It stung not to be first.

That's why, after hair-pulling, she had been convinced to enter the Grand Prix as the First Bank of Nar Shaddaa's sponsored champion. Swoops were more her thing, but what difference was a pod? She had no idea. Never been in the pit of one before. Then again, until her fight with Vagabond, she had never fought a Sith before, either - and he died.

Arris sauntered over to the bar and ordered a drink for herself. Insisted it was on Mauve du Vain 's tab. The bartender shrugged. Maybe she didn't realize the drinks were on the house anyway. Gotta get 'em sloshed before they gamble. Or maybe it was only for the racers.

She glanced across the bar at one Kinley Pryse . A face she had yet to see around Black Sun parts. Saw the shameless exchange of 'product' for a healthy sum.

"You licensed to deal?" She asked half-seriously.

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

O B J E C T I V E - 3
Grand-Prix Pre-Show​

"You licensed to deal?"

Kinley was pocketing credits when the question came to her. She so wanted to be done with this scene, or maybe even be one of the racers and win some infamy. But it seemed her life would continue to be one of lowly servitude for now.

“Aye. Got stuff that burns and stuff that soothes. Take your pick.”

Arris Windrun

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris turned around and leaned her back against the bar.

She sized the woman up a little more closely. Glanced down - slight height difference and all that.

"Well, we're in a casino, so... dealer's choice?"

A moment later, the bartender came back with her drink. It smelled more like starship fuel than alcohol, and the cyborg was anything but a sipper. She guzzled it down like she was the starship in question. Gotta love an artificial liver.

Kinley Pryse

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

O B J E C T I V E - 3
Grand-Prix Pre-Show​

"Well, we're in a casino, so... dealer's choice?"

Kinley nodded and fished inside her satchel for a variant of Booster Blue. This particular brand increased mental clarity and reaction time, something racers might appreciate enough to turn into repeat customers.

The small crystal container was exchanged for credits, which Kinley added to her pocket.

“Enjoy.” She tipped her hat to the cyborg woman and shuffled along, looking to make her next sale.

Every credit helped.

Arris Windrun

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Tohu]

OBJ I.
For all the worlds and wonders this infinite galaxy offered, to have his first time off-world be an insect hive was deflating, to say the least.​

Tohu floated in the feverish waves of sweaty guards swaying back and forth in an evenly matched tug-o-war with the throng of protesters. It was going on for over an hour now and the boredom flattening his features was finally beginning to fracture into small crevices of irritation and impatience.

"Hey, pork chops!" he yelled out over the ruckus at the large Gammorean ahead of him. "They're a hive, right? How about you cleave a bee line up to that head honcho of theirs on the platform and chop him down and get this over with?" his voice carried a misplaced authority; he was still struggling to adapt to the rigid structure and hierarchy of the Syndicate. A far cry from the street gangs and corner crews on Shaddaa.​

Grunt

 

[Isur]

Objective 2

A shudder as the boarding harpoons hit. Isur looked to the others. His large hands in the heavy handle of his axe. The Gran had nodded and the ship lurched. It was that type of lurch the crew knew well. Being pulled in for the boarding. There was groan as metal on metal rubbed.

"Ready… ready…"

There was the sound of plasma as the Hunter opened a whole in the side of the ship.

"Team one go!"

With that Isur and a few others growled. Running in with shields and for Isur the Force. Blaster bolts being reflected astray and returned by their own. Over the call of "Make clear to the bridge!" The crew screamed in excitement.

His axe found purchase in one soft skin, as a clawed hand tore into flesh of another.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Objective 3

Arris slid over four of a kind 500-credit chits and proceeded to pocket the small container.

"Pleasure." Kinley Pryse

She eyed the bartender and gently tapped the rim of her drink. The man nodded and proceeded to fill her another. Cyber eyes scanned the room, curious to see who else might've been around - familiar or stranger alike. People who stood out, that is.

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
CLUB VERTICA, NAR SHADDAA
OBJECTIVE III: GRAND-PRIX PRE-SHOW

Ronhar felt like a Gungan out of water.

He had engaged in countless life or death missions, faced unspeakable horrors on the planet Brosi, and hunted down some of the most powerful and dangerous beings in the galaxy.

Yet, all of that paled in comparison to the mission had had today:

Socializing!

Blast! Why was it so difficult? It shouldn't be this difficult...right? Period far stupider than Ronhar socialized with each other on a daily basis. He was a Imperial Commando, for galaxy's sake, if they could do it, than so could he!

Ronhar took a deep breath as he walked into the club, scanning for anyone that seemed approachable. The sounds of laughter rang out amongst the floor as Ronhar mingled his way through the throngs of people and aliens, all engaged in various sorts of activities and conversations. Some of them were actively gambling, while others were sampling all manners of odd and exotic drinks. Perhaps Ronhar might try one himself? Not that it would do much good, as Ronhar was pretty sure his implants would filter out any alcohol long before he could enjoy its effect on the human body.

Maybe then a quick round of gambling? Tempting, but not something Ronhar was inclined to do by himself. He was well aware of the reputation of the Black Sun, and he wasn't entirely convinced that these games of chance were entirely up to chance...though of course, that was just his theory.

And the allure of credits was a hard thing for someone like Ronhar to pass up.

Still, Ronhar held off, wanting to make sure he had scoped out the entire venue before committing to anything. As he just about finished, his gaze turned toward the bar, where he saw a figure sitting down that piqued his interest. It wasn't so much the way she looked or what she wearing that caught Ronhar's eye, but rather the various cybernetics that adorned her body.

Ronhar steeled his courage and walked toward Arris Windrun . "You can do this, Ronhar! You've commanded whole squads and companies, something like this should be a piece of cake!"

Ronhar sided up next to the woman, doing his best to keep his voice smooth.

"This seat taken?", Ronhar asked as casually as he could.

"Idiot! Of course it isn't taken, its empty!", Ronhar thought to himself as he sat down. Perhaps beating around the bush wasn't the best idea. Maybe he should just be more direct.

"I like your cybernetics, their quite impressive", Ronhar said honestly as began analyzing Arris. "What make and model are they, if you don't mind my asking?

Hopefully, she wouldn't, but Ronhar would have to wait and see!

TAGS:
Arris Windrun
OPEN

 

[Arris Windrun]

"This seat taken?", Ronhar asked as casually as he could.

Arris turned her head to the newcomer. Likewise, she noticed his own vast array of cybernetic replacements.

"It is now," she commented as he sat down.

She looked herself over as he made small talk about her cyberware. The blonde couldn't help but grin; it wasn't every day that someone asked her about this chit.

"Arms n' legs are both BioTech. Mod six and mod two, respectively. Solid parts, easy to replace if they break... and oh, they do break."

He may've seen her perform in the Kaggath, if that kinda entertainment was his speed. If not, she imagined a fellow wirejock would understand the consistent need to replace parts after a fight, and hers were made for little else.

She pinched some of her own skin. "All synthflesh, of course. Underneath that - subdermal microplates. The rest," her grin widened, "you might call a trade secret, yeah?"

It was at that point that the Talusian looked him up and down. "How about yourself?" She sipped her drink.

 

[Damien Dooku]

vibes | appearance | obj III​

Damien sauntered through Club Vertica as if the last month had not even happened. His presence had been requested following the flawless victory during the Riot 5000, and while he initially declined to come, something had inspired him to change his decision at the last minute.

Therefore his arrival had been a surprise to the bouncers at the front, and for the scoundrels and rich-folks alike, Damien drummed up his appearance with the celebrity power he'd recently started to accrue. It was no surprise then when the doors to Club Vertica swung open, and in walked the infamous scoundrel with a shit-eating grin curled onto his lips. Dressed as immaculately as one would suspect of a man who'd just cleaned a hundred-thousand credits from his former employer, Damien would farm the opportunity to let his visage cement into the eyes of everyone present there to witness his entrance.

He made his way to the bar shortly after, the corellian whiskey that followed being provided on the house from a bartender who'd recently become a fan. He made sure to lay on the charm thick with her before scooping up his drink and pivoting off to move through the crowd behind him.

Damien moved with a purpose despite the slow, confident gait that progressively brought him close to his destination, all the while shaking hands and brushing shoulders with gangsters who used to be his superiors, and businessmen looking to brush shoulders with someone who was quickly becoming an infamous name within the scoundrel community.

Eventually he appeared off to the side of one of the two people there who he actually intended on seeing that night. One of them he intended to do irreparable harm to their health, though he would be seeing him a bit later on in the night.

The other? Well...​

"..Mauve Du Vain, I presume; It's a pleasure to finally meet the mysterious woman behind the shadows." Damien's lips curled into that devilish grin that had quickly become a signature look of his within the limelight of his recent fame. He extended a hand forwards, his eyes not breaking contact with them not once since entering her presence. Despite being the captain of the notorious vessel known as the On The Mauve, Damien had never met the ship's namesake in person during his long tenure with Black Sun.

Since leaving Black Sun on deadly terms, both her name and the influence she carried had somehow managed to keep finding its way within his circle. It left him curious, to say the least, and more than enough to risk meeting her before the Grand Prix began, regardless of the presence of his mortal enemy, Razmir Tezhyn .

"The name's Damien" If she shook his hand, Damien would bow his head just slightly enough as a show of respect for the strikingly beautiful Vigo he'd chosen to meet. "Damien Dooku."

Mauve du Vain | Razmir Tezhyn ​

 

[Grunt]

OBJECTIVE I​

Grung snarled under his breath as the aliens were pushing against the line. It was unclear to him how much force he was allowed to use. If it were up to him, as he had stated, he would kill and potentially eat them. There wasn't much in this galaxy Grunt wouldn't eat. He'd eaten a Geonisian once, he wondered if they tasted similar.

The loud prod toward violence from Tohu brought him back from his culinary curiosity. Another squeal let loose from his lips. "Cut and stab!" Grunt pushed against the crowd again, this time sending thems plintering backward. The aliens were having a lot of trouble getting back up. Tensions were flaring again, he figured if violence were going to break out, it would likely start about now. Grunt looked back to Tohu to follow his lead.

 

[Tohu]

The last thing Tohu expected was for the hulking Gamorrean to turn and fix him with a puzzled stare, demanding his lead. As the lowest of the lowest rung, the young hunter looked around to make sure the Gamorrean was not looking at someone else. But all he saw was a mass of thugs in Haor Chall outfits enthralled to the pyretic tug-of-war.

Tohu hesitated no more. A feral grin broke on his face as he hurled himself above the crowd, hopping from one set of shoulders to another until he leapt atop the Gamorrean himself, crouching on his mass shoulders. He found his balance and pointed his baton straight ahead like a cavalry lord of eons past.

Memories of those old, grainy, bootleg Alsakan holofilms he used to smuggle as a kid and hid to watch at the base of Benevolence Tower on Shaddaa, away from the Prophet's prying eyes, sprung to mind: tales of the grand and florid Seventeenth Alsakan Conflict. Their script burst unbidden from his lips,"Once more unto the breach, my friends, once more! Let not the coward's breath prevail, but uhh—what was it, ah yes—drive ye bold against these ramparts of evil!"

The directive was clear: carve a path through the protesting crowd and reach for the crown, the head of the snake enthroned upon the distant podium.​

Grunt

 

[Morné Karn]

VERTICA

Morné Karn stepped through the pulsating haze of Club. The music wasn't overly loud, permitting casual conversation. His own club, Vapour, often drowned out conversation deliberately.

He wore a sharply cut suit. At six foot four, broad-shouldered and imposing, he did not need to force his presence. People noticed.

He moved with measured grace, never hurried, never obstructed. His expression remained polite as he moved through the crowd.

Ibex Shipping Corporation was a minor sponsor of a racer. He thought their logo was snuck onto one of the engines. That corporation was a front for his own expanding crime network. Mormé Karn was large and imposing because as a young man he had fought a bloody path to the top of a Denon district. Now he was stepping out into a wider Galaxy. He couldn't do business on the weight of his personal reputation.

He drifted into conversation with a pair of sponsors near the gaming tables. He exchanged pleasantries with the easy cadence of a practiced socialite. He congratulated one on a recent investment, teased another about the odds of their favored racer.

He mingled with a hand wrapped around a glass leaving the other free for shaking hands and making connections. In Club Vertica’s glittering chaos Morné Karn was at home. A predator dressed as a gentleman.

 

[Rin Tohran]

He was more than a little displeased to be the one accompanying Damien on his little pleasure filled expedition, delving right back into the nest of vipers that wanted him dead. But, that was the hand he was dealt. Or the straw he drew. Either or, Rin was forced back into a room to rub shoulders with members of the Black Sun. His own past issues with them were on a level far too low on the rung to be of note to this group. There was something reassuring about that, at least.

In clothing a whole lot less impressive than Damien, Rin sauntered with his own brand of spacer swagger across the floor of Club Vertica. A blue thumb tucked behind his belt buckle, the base of a palm brushing at hair along the side of his head, and a wink shot off at a Twi'lek that was looking past him rather than at him.

Though whatever confident composure Rin had, it began to crumble as Mauve du Vain came into view. Steam practically blew out of his ears, and if he lacked a fraction of more shame then his tongue may have lolled out of his mouth.

"And I'm Rin," he thumbed at himself.

Damien Dooku - Razmir Tezhyn