Dominion [Black Sun] The Imperial Connection | BSS Dominion of Lexrul

[Velzari Tharn]

T H E - I M P E R I A L - C O N N E C T I O N
A - B L A C K - S U N - S T O R Y

Black Sun's expansion throughout Hutt Space inches closer to completion one system at a time. As the Underlord watches world after world succumb to the whims of the syndicate, he turns his attention to Lexrul, a post-Imperial planet still clinging to the good old days under the Empire's dominion. A local garrison of remnant stormtroopers maintain security from a base in Sativran City, holding the industrial world against the never-ending tide of pirates and slavers that threaten life in the Vermillian Drift. Though the Emperor of the Fel dynasty is long gone, the New Imperial Order all but a distant memory, Lexrul's regime insists upon forgotten tradition and imposes order.

It seems that they are inspired by the steady expansion of a new Empire to the east, the Imperial Confederation.

O B J E C T I V E - 1
M U T U A L - I N T E R E S T S

(Open to TIC)​

Eager to make friends over enemies, Prince Velzari has traveled to Lexrul's smog-ridden capital to attend a meeting between Black Sun's Vigos and a political attaché from the Empire. Within a shadowy board room long abandoned, both factions discuss the mutual benefits of co-habitation in the galactic east. Certain Black Sun ... operations ... must have a blind eye turned on part of the Imperials for profits to be maximized in their sectors, and in turn, certain Imperial endeavors would go much smoother were they not harassed by criminal elements. Two backs in need of scratching.

"It's been some time since Black Sun had the pleasure of sitting at the same table as the Imperials," Velzari Tharn mused over a glass of expensive Corellian liquor. One of his Vigos poured glasses for each of the members present, unless they declined.

"I do hope this meeting will end with mutual satisfaction. We are two parts of a whole, after all."

O B J E C T I V E - 2
B O T T O M - C R E D I T​

Despite their best efforts, however, the Lexrulian regime is far less equipped to manage the economy of an industrial powerhouse on the edge of Hutt Space than Black Sun. Under constant threat from pirates, slavers, and raiders, many corporations found their losses quite unpalatable. Coupled with strict trade provisions imposed by the planet's self-appointed governor, Lexrul's corporate entities began a slow but steady exodus to the Core, leaving behind skeleton crews - if anyone at all - to maintain their dwindling assets on-world.

In Sativran City, a collapsing banking guild that's been quietly laundering credits for local gangs finds itself unable to keep up with demands. As Lexrul's financial institutions reel from the planet's economic crisis, Black Sun sees an opportunity to take control. A team is dispatched to the Sativran Merchants Guild to bail out the crooked bankers in exchange for their loyalty, or sabotage it further to ensure dominion over the funds.

Black Sun Advisors and Chroniclers act as charlatans, making use of blood debts and blackmail to secure the Guild. Skilled slicers work diligently in the shadows to access incriminating financial records, traces of embezzled funds, and any other useful financial records they can find. If push comes to shove, the Enforcers are prepared to "negotiate" at the end of a blaster.

As for the remnant stormtrooper garrison? Perhaps Lady Luck will shine upon Black Sun and the new Empire will have absorbed them and discouraged any form of military opposition.

If not?

White armor makes for easy targets, and the Imperial Confederation would appreciate the removal of dissident troopers from a bygone era.

O B J E C T I V E - 3
B Y O O​

Lexrul has but one city of note, but there are countless opportunities both within and without the capital for adventurous Underworlders.

Abandoned factories and industrial complexes hold centuries-old Imperial technology that can fetch a nice sum of credits on the black market. Imperial outposts and checkpoints make for excellent marks, and their disruption would help the Imperial Confederation's efforts on the planet. For those interested in local flavors, Sativran City's lower levels boast seedy cantinas on nearly every corner with work and rumors aplenty.

One way or another, Black Sun's shadow will soon be cast over Lexrul. The more connections one has on-world, the better. You can never have too many friends.

 

[Nero Drake]

OBJ 2 - BANK JOB

"I'd like to make a withdrawal."

In a bustling city like Sativran even this struggling banking clan treasury buzzed with activity. Locals mixed so freely with offworlders here until a scoundrel like Nero blended into the crowd. No one looked twice at his mask since after all some species depended on them to survive. Everyone else looked so calm which felt at odds with the thrill running through him that he might die today if this went sideways.

"Identification?"

Nero placed his bryar pistol on the teller's counter. That got people's attention. Behind him IG-44 pumped a scattergun salvo into the ceiling and patrons started to scream.

"Everyone stay calm!" the young pirate leaped up onto the counter brandishing his blaster for all to see, "You've probably guessed we mean to be thieving here, but what we're after ain't yours! We're here for the banking clan payroll so no nobody try and play the Jedi."

He looked down at the Black Sun crew assembled for this job amidst a sea of terrified faces. It made Nero feel vulnerable freelancing without his shipmates but something this daring needed specialists to pull off. He checked his wrist chrono counting down the expected response time from the local remnant garrison before this place was surrounded by stormtroopers.

 

[Parvati]

OBJECTIVE III- BYOO

LEXRUL — SATIVRAN CITY, LOWER SPRAWL

ABANDONED BIOTECH WARD, SECTOR 12

​

There were places even the worst men refused to walk, and Sativran's Sector 12 was one of them.

What once stood as a high-yield limb regrowth facility under the Empire now festered, forgotten beneath soot-stained towers. What wasn't scavenged for parts had been devoured by the black mold of industry and time. The old walls bled rust, and the lights that remained pulsed dim red, not in warning, but in invitation.

Down here, the only things that thrived were secrets. And Parvati had come to claim one. The myths spoke in whispers: Tessh Val, known as The Red Wire, an Anzati bio-sculptor whose fingers moved like ballet and whose gaze could strip a person bare without ever touching them. In another life, she had worked with performance corps and assassination cells; art and death, fused. She didn't install augments. She composed them. The galaxy's elite paid fortunes in blood and spice for her work, but even they never saw her face.

Her clients? Fanatics. Her victims? Willing. Her aesthetic? Divine cruelty... It was said she could hear a body's desire the moment she looked at it.

Parvati's descent into the undercity was not guarded by armed men or cloaked shadows. She brought only presence. A long Gundark-leather coat snapped against her thighs as she walked, black as sin and edged in the violet satin that winked with each sway of her hips. Her bodysuit underneath shimmered faintly in the low light, molded to her form like second skin. The heels that kissed the grating beneath her rang out like a clock counting down to someone's last breath.

She knew the workshop was near by the scent, sterile and sweet, like perfume on plastic and flesh beneath bandages.

Behind her, a floating capsule hovered quietly. Its locks hissed open with a gentle sound. Inside: a woman, motionless but breathing. A Nar Shaddaa dancer, untouched by augments but saturated in potential. Symmetrical bones. Porcelain skin. Spice-blown pupils and a body ruined only by time. A blank canvas "Her name doesn't matter," Parvati murmured, her voice trailing like incense through the dark. "But her frame? Her fragility? That's begging to be rewritten."

She walked past dangling cabling that trembled as if alive, and bio-tubes that pulsed faintly with slow-moving gel, like arteries, like nerves. The old biotech ward had become something else under Val's command. A cathedral of chrome and anesthesia.

Parvati stepped into the heart of it without hesitation. No weapons. No guards. Only red lips, cold poise, and wit sharper than both. "I've followed your work for years," she called, knowing she was already being watched. "From your Breath Mask series on Coruscant to that trembling little senator you refit in the Outer Rim, what a neck he had afterward."

"I don't want a surgeon, darling." She let her fingers trail down the capsule's curve. "I want a priestess."

Then her gaze lifted, glacial, unblinking. A hunter in heels. "Tell me, do you perform miracles... or only desecrations?"

 

[Ka'Ahs'Ruk]

Objective 2: Bank Heist
Tags: IG-44 | Nero Drake

There were many reasons to perform such acts. Desperation, Greed, and even just desire. However, That is why we were here. It was control. The direct action of the Black Suns was to intercept and control the banking of Lux Regime. Things moved fast it seemed. With Nero directly starting the confrontation of the bank heist. Why he couldn't have just attempted to keep it on the down low instead of potentially getting local police force involved? I don't know. Would likely have given us much more time to assess situations and come out of this without having to kill people.

Sure, not what some people like, but I wasn't fond of that idea. As soon as he shot up into the air, I moved. Closing the distance between myself and the guards at the front door. Speed enhanced and pouncing on the first man. Wearing no armor and not prepared for a fight. My claws ripped through his throat. Tearing out whatever was in there to leave him gargling on the floor. The second I lashed out to and slammed him into a wall. My maw opening to bite the gun he attempted to level at me, yanking it from him. My hands came to his neck. Hoisting him up and slamming him head first into the ground. A solid thud and a slow leak of crimson blood from his head signified he was dead, or dying.

A civilian picked up the pistol the guard had dropped and leveled it to me. Their hands shaking and unsure what to do. Gently, softly, I reached out and pulled the gun from their hand. Words dripping from my maw.

"Do not do this please,
No wish to end your life here,
Lay down, be quiet."

Slowly the individual got down onto their knees. As they did so, My hand crushed the chamber of the weapon to render it inert and tossed it to the side. Turning to the doors, I closed and locked them. My fist slamming into the control panel and shutting it down. My muzzle turned to the others. Nodding silently of the entrance closed off.

 

[Morex]

​

| Location | Undercity, Lexrul
| Objective | BYOO || Hostile Takeover

​

The Black Sun's reach was beginning to expand and with it, its influence. By extension, that also meant that the local gangs and syndicates needed to be reminded of who was now in charge and their place. That's why the Black Sun and its Enforcers were sent ahead of the leadership to soften and... persuade the locals.​

​

A Duros was sent rolling into a pair of trash cans, a loud crashing sound echoing through the alley. From the shadows a large, daunting figure emerged, neon lights from the signs above reflecting off his armor. Morex raised his arms up as he cracked his knuckles, slowly striding up to the Duros who was scrambling to get up to his feet and make a run for it. The Duros failed and tripped, as he tried to kick his way away along the ground to get away from Morex, who promptly bent his knees to crouch down in front of them.​

​

Morex's arm reached out as he grabbed the collar of the Duros, dragging him up close and personal, "It's very disrespectful to try and run when I'm asking you a question." His other hand raised up as he slapped the Duros across the face, a loud Thwack heard as the Duros' head snapped with the blow, stammering and trying to raise his hands up in defense, unable to get a proper word out. Morex stood up and lifted the alien up in one hand as he raised his hand up again, bringing his armored hand across their face once more, "When I ask you a question, you should answer it the first time you stupid bastard." His slaps became more and more frequent, striking the Duros between words, with the latter words being punctuated with punches, "Didn't...your...mother...teach...you...any...manners?"​

​

The Duros became incoherent between hits, his face badly bruised and beaten by the enforcer who at this point wasn't very interested in getting an actual answer and more so just enjoying the feeling of beating the alien senseless. "I asked you where your boss is." The Duros was already limp in his hands by the time he had asked the question, unconscious, bruised, battered and bleeding. In truth, the answer wasn't needed, he was just sent to set an example, but it certainly would expedite the process. He dropped the Duros in a crumpled pile as he called out, "You find anything useful bolt head?"​

​

K4-ZAN

 

[Trenn Untas]

The building didn't look like much from the outside. Low lighting, smoked transparisteel windows, and a single metallic plaque by the door that read: "The Argent Veil." No menu posted. No garish signs. No guards either at least, not ones you could see. But Trenn Untas knew better. He didn't find this place. This place allowed him to arrive.

The maître d', a pristine Kaminoan in a matte-black suit, greeted him with no words, just a nod, as if he'd been expected for days. Trenn's boots barely made a sound as he stepped over the soft obsidian tiling, the air inside cool and sharpened with the scent of smoked meats and expensive perfumes. Too clean, he thought. Which means very dirty.

Everything was wrapped in elegance, white-clothed tables, low crystal lights hanging from the ceiling like frost, silent waiters in tailored vests. The kind of place where the food was just foreplay for what people were really buying. And seated at nearly every table? Not nobles. Not celebrities. No.

Killers. Arms dealers. Enforcers. Cleaners.

It was like a Black Sun reunion disguised as fine dining. Trenn was guided to a seat by the window. The city lights of Sativran blurred like soft oil paintings behind the rain-slicked glass. The server placed a gold-gilded menu in front of him and said nothing. Trenn didn't speak either. He scanned the menu without reading it, then tapped one item at random with a gloved finger. He never looked away from the man seated two tables over. A Devaronian with a cracked horn, chewing his steak like it owed him something. Trenn knew his face. He'd seen it in a fractured memory chip, the last moment of a rival assassin's life.

The rumor was simple but deadly: an arms artisan, a master smith, hiding behind fine cuisine and five-star etiquette. You didn't just ask to meet him. You got noticed. You made yourself useful. Or dangerous. Trenn sat still, elbows off the table, hands visible. He didn't eat. He didn't drink. The glass of Corellian red they placed in front of him stayed untouched, and his food, some luxury cut of something that was probably endangered, was allowed to steam untouched.

A waiter came by and leaned just close enough to be private. " I see this may not be of your appetite. May I interest you in a tasting instead?"

" That would be enjoyable. Yes." He said flatly, inclining his head and turning to stare at her.

 

[IG-44]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
B O T T O M - C R E D I T​

​

The loud blast from Fortyfour's scatter gun echoed in the bank lobby, making all the fleshy organics scream in fear. His red photoreceptors spun with mechanical efficiency, scanning the room for any sign of resistance, but even the guards were just as weak-willed as the bankers and guilders they were robbing. Only one tried to interfere with Black Sun's heist, but he was too afraid to pull the trigger.

Ka'Ahs'Ruk took the man's blaster and crushed it, intimidating him back onto his knees. IG stepped over and delivered a heavy rifle strike to the man's back, knocking him completely to the floor.

"Further attempts to interrupt our work will be met with - lethal - consequences," he threatened, his synthetic voice heightening in the middle.

IG-44 walked back to the counter where the tellers were shaking with fear. His eyes spun to face them. "The vault codes. Give them to us." He waved the scatter gun lazily, an unspoken thread delivered without any sign of hesitation to kill them one by one if they refused to capitulate.

Tags: Nero Drake | Ka'Ahs'Ruk | OPEN
​

 

[Zahran Khaldun]

Objective 3
Razzia - Uogo'cor

Trax Tube - Pirate Anchorage at Uogo'cor
One Standard Week Ago

The Crescent Fang docked at an old port in Uogo'cor. A pirate haven for those who raided on the border of Alliance space and the planets along the Trax Tube, a space lane for merchants and haulers alike. Here, the rusted platforms were home to bounty hunters, spice merchants, and every manner of black market dealer or contact. Uogo was said to mean "home of the suffering ones." Given that the slave trade had a strong presence here, Zahran found the name all too fitting.

Zahran was reclining in the private hold of his old Ubrikkian frigate. He glanced out over the docks and piers at the faded banners of the various pirates docked here, then his attention shifted back to his hold. His hold was a den of trophies and opulence. Velvet drapery of crimson and violet was draped neatly over the durasteel walls. Fine wooden furniture adorned with brushed bronze antiques decorated the room. From old-fashioned lanterns, light bathed the room in a golden glow. A beautiful Alderaanian princess hung from the wall, frozen in carbonite. Her family had chosen not to pay...

"You always stare at her like that," grumbled the man seated across from him.

Dexus Varn. Zahran never liked the man. Thick neck, short, pudgy fingers, overly greased black hair, smelled of cheap cologne and oil from Nar Shadda. In all fairness, Dexus did not like Zahran's 'theatrical silences' as he called them. A union man who was now the liaison from the Nar Shadda Labor Alliance, here to broker a deal to raid Daalang. "Sell her to the Hutts for credits already. I don't understand why you think she is art."

Zahran smiled.

The Corsair Lord picked up his glass, crystal taken from a ship headed to Coruscant, and swirled the fine golden amber whiskey from Hapes around. "Worried about the credits already. You'll see your cut provided the 'investment' at Daalang is good."

Dexus looked frustrated. "The Labor Alliance is concerned about the opportunity to close a deal with the... Governors of Lexrul."

Zahran set down his glass and folded his hands. "Let me explain something, friend. The Labor Alliance is not my master. They are a middleman that is very convenient for me to use. And if we are going to turn a profit on labor shortages. Then, making sure demand is high and supply is low is key to a more lucrative deal."

Zahran now leaned forward, his gaze burning into the man. "When the GA patrols squeeze their supply chains, who do they call? Not the Hutts. The Hutts bargain in cheap deals and cowardice. No, They call Khaldun. I will see that the Labor Alliance has ample slaves. Good teeth, high oxygen levels, shock collars and are spiced up to ensure they are docile. You will have your ill-gotten credits, Varn."

There was a knock, one of his officers. Without turning, Zahran raised a hand. "See, Mister Varnout. Gently. He still has work to do."

Varn opened his mouth, then closed it again. He bowed and left in silence.

As the door hissed shut, Zahran took another sip of whiskey and looked out over the faded banners. As much as he wanted to reflect on legacy, he had a raid on Daalang to plan.

 

[Karl Von Strauss]

Outfit: Uniform
Equipment: Relby k-23 mod. E, NZ PEG
Entourage: C1RC3 [Cloaked], 4x KXU Droids [Outside]
Objective: I - Mutual Interests
Tags: Velzari Tharn

Karl took the offered glass with a nod of thanks, though he did not drink from it yet. He let silence stretch just long enough to assert presence, then with his voice calm, measured, and rich with poise.

"Indeed, Prince Velzari. The galaxy rarely affords such symmetry. Two powers with complementary interests, aligned in space, if not in method." He glanced around the room, then back at the Black Sun delegation, eyes sharp beneath the low lighting.

"COMECI governs trade and economic security for the Imperial Confederation. That includes ensuring our partners, official or otherwise, have the space to conduct business without unnecessary friction. Commerce flows best when it is not choked by oversight nor sabotaged by desperation." And with a faint smile, "And I've found that friends are a far more profitable investment for governments than adversaries. So if we are to scratch each other's backs, let us ensure that the terms are not only agreeable, but sustainable."

He finally raised the glass in a small, diplomatic toast and took a small sip.

"To mutual satisfaction."

 

[Parvati]

​

OBJECTIVE III- BYOO​

LEXRUL — SATIVRAN CITY, LOWER SPRAWL​

ABANDONED BIOTECH WARD, SECTOR 12​

Parvati remained poised in the face of unease.

The air in the chamber pressed close around her, heavy with the perfume of rot and coolant. It clung like a funeral veil, sickly sweet with the scent of mold blooming in machinery and flesh that had long since ceased to belong to any natural order. Somewhere nearby, a fan whirred in a lazy, dying rhythm. A hiss of steam coughed from the walls, casting shadows like outstretched limbs. Everything here pulsed: cables, tubes, the very walls. The biotech ward wasn't just operational...it was breathing.

She did not flinch when The Red Wire emerged.

Parvati's eyes met the gleaming crimson implants, those unnatural lights that replaced any semblance of humanity in the sculptor's gaze. The Anzati's breath exhaled slow and sour, like something exhumed from a crypt, laced with death and rust. Her frame was lean and birdlike, but her movements... balletic. Graceful. Not elegant. Predatory.

Still, Parvati stood tall. Even as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled and her heartbeat tapped like a prisoner behind ribs, her expression remained unshaken. She was a statue cast in allure and iron: cool, unblinking, unapologetic.

"Charmed," Parvati murmured, her voice low, the velvet edge of a scalpel. "Though I must say... your reputation does not do your scent justice."

The Red Wire tilted her head. Her voice spilled out like spoiled wine.

"You come wrapped in sin, mistress. Your breath is candied, but your bones...they scream secrets. Mmm. I like that."

Parvati moved forward with deliberate calm, her heels clicking like metronomes on the cracked tiling. Her coat dragged behind her like the train of a queen ascending a scaffold, violet silk gleaming between shadows.

"Do not mistake curiosity for reverence," she said smoothly, her speech as controlled as her posture. "I'm here because I've heard you don't build tools. You birth icons."

As if on cue, the floating capsule behind her gave a low hiss. Its canopy folded back with a faint sigh of pressure release. The dancer lay inside: pale, serene, and trembling slightly from the sedatives wearing off. Her porcelain skin caught the faint light, luminous and ghostlike, while her spice-blown pupils fluttered beneath closed lids.

Tessh Val's attention snapped toward her, the air growing tense as though a creature had scented fresh prey. She drifted closer, her motions dreamlike and wrong. The cybernetic implants pulsed faintly brighter.

"Ohhh," she cooed, the sound almost maternal, almost reverent. "You brought me a whisper."

She circled the capsule like a starving thing circling a feast. One clawed finger trailed the edge of the glass, slow and deliberate, leaving behind a smear of something dark from her nail.

"She weeps in silence... but her marrow sings. A dancer, yes? Her beauty is not made. It aches to be made."

Parvati didn't move. She simply watched, chin lifted, hands loose at her sides, not clenched. Never clenched. Even as her instincts screamed at her to reclaim the capsule, to put distance between them, her face was blank porcelain, lips just barely curved in that knowing half-smile.

"If she breaks," Parvati said lightly, "you break with her."

The Red Wire did not laugh, but her teeth flashed- filed to points, though not used for centuries. "She will not break. She will... unfold."

She turned again to Parvati, eyes glowing with something that wasn't hunger but shared its weight.

"You've brought me a body, yes... but it is you who brings the offering."

Parvati's smile deepened. "Then tell me, priestess... where is your altar?"

And with that, she stepped further into the cathedral of chrome and anesthesia, a queen wrapped in secrets, already halfway to transfiguration.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Velzari Tharn | Karl Von Strauss

HONOUR AMONG THIEVES​

Lexrul | Sativran City | Meeting Room

He did not deal with criminals. Just as he did not deal with greedy, exploitive megacorporations - he corrected himself with an inner sigh. Despite the change of his body and more than four thousand years, he has never forgotten the torture, never made peace with it and never once considered the debt repaid, independent of how many of their kind he enacted justice upon. But it was better to have the thieves guild pay its due and deal with their own than having to hunt every single thief.

He adorned his uniform once more, not his warplate, a new design which was a cut between parade and pragmatic, featuring a plated gorget and shoulder guard in black titanium from under which a long, black-red trimmed cape fell and a collar with an embroiled golden laurel wreath extended. The uniform jacket itself was double breasted with red inlays and four code cylinders, matching cavalry trousers with a red stripe and high black boots, polished that you could almost see yourself in them finished the regalia. On the gorget was his rank plague, newly introduced, with a top row of six white and bottom row of six red squares. At his side hung Valoris, his sword, sheathed.

Imperius entered the meeting room alone, having left his Guard outside. His black eyes scanned the room as he calmly set foot in it, first looking towards the Black Sun delegation and then towards the Exarch. Despite the Black Sun being the hosts here and in, for his standard, normal etiquette it was for him to greet them first, he was still offering Karl a deep nod before repeating the gesture towards the Black Sun representatives.

"I appreciate the opportunity for these negotiations. It is more than rare indeed that the forces of Order and the envoys of organised crime come together at the same table to discuss avenues for cooperation and agreed existence rather than common, mutual extermination."

 

[K4-ZAN]

[Obj 3] BYOO | Hostile Takeover
Undercity, Lexrul
Tags: Morex

So many choices, and he only had one body. T’was such a shame, that the droid could not partake in a bit of everything. A bank robbery here, a coercion elsewhere, a handful of murders all over everywhere. But alas, he could only choose one. So he chose the straight and narrow, as it were—adding to the tally of dead organics, to witness such beauty in their ending.

The individual he was sent with, however, was unlikely to hold the same opinion.

‘Bolt head?’ The head swiveled to focus on the other individual upon the call over, shutters around the photoreceptors narrow as he processed the words. “This unit has a designation, ‘meat head.’” Came an idle retort—unable to fully impart a snappish tone through monotonous voice, as it looked down as the individual they had just driven a blade into. Life fading through their eyes, blood to seep upon the edge. “...Not useful for any practical objective, no.” Weapon to wrench out forcibly upwards, to split the remainder of the body in twain and leave a streak of crimson in the same path against the wall behind it. “Unless you are interested in artistic material.” It added. The enforcer didn’t strike him as such, but it was polite to offer.

Gaze had focused upon the unconscious Duros, as he turned about. In truth, the droid couldn’t fully blame the other organic for driving them unconscious. They were so fragile, some more so than others. “Is such information necessary? It does not matter who’s blood stains the streets; the message is likely to get across, all the same. I had assumed by your example you didn't mind.” A drone of the voice to elucidate an indifferent demeanor in regards to who exactly died in the process.

Receptor snapped towards the sounds of shuffling footsteps around the corner. “Picked the wrong gang to feth with!” Was a clamor from the one at the head of the thugs, just as a cacophony of blaster fire and cheap street-fighting weapons began to make its way over- a pang as a stray pistol shot ricocheted off his chassis. The droid had twisted off to the side, to swiftly dodge out of the way and into nearby sanction of metal and stone divots in the walls of the alleyways.

“Upon that note,” It chimed idly, as it withdrew its blade from the sheath once again. “I am sure they will not care the unruly ones are culled.”

 

[Morex]

​

| Location | Undercity, Lexrul
| Objective | BYOO || Hostile Takeover

​

The enforcer responded with a dry, "Didn't ask." in response to K4-ZAN trying to correct him on his name, nudging the unconscious Duros laying on the ground with his foot to see if they were still alive. Barely it seemed, but probably going to reconsider his life choices if or when he woke up. Morex pushed his foot off the Duros as he glanced over to the droid who had just finished up with someone less fortunate, answering the droid's inquiry with a sadistic chuckle, "No, not really. I just wanted to punch him. Whatever reminds them the Black Sun is in charge."​

​

Morex walked over to the droid to observe their handiwork. Brutal and gruesome, as expected of a droid wielding a blade, but he could respect the handiwork, he gestured with a hand at the corpse, "Personally, I would have taken their head off, sends a better mes -" his suggestion was interrupted by the sound of more footsteps approaching as more low-level thugs rounded the corner and loudly announced their presence. Morex turned to glance at them before speaking, speaking with a twinge of excitement, raising his hands up as he punched his open palm in anticipation, "Now this is more like it."​

​

He seemed to have dropped his attention from the droid as they unsheathed their blade, already getting a running start at the group as stray blaster bolts were whizzing past him. A few of the thugs armed with pipes and knives rushed forward to meet the charging enforcer, the lead one making a sloppy lunging thrust at Morex with a vibrodagger. Morex shifted his body, his arm reaching out and gripping the incoming forearm, pulling their arm through past his waist as his other hand came up with several swift punches to their midsection before unceremoniously tossing him back towards the droid.​

​

A loud clang echoed as a pipe struck the back of Morex's helmeted head. The Thyrsian turned, seemingly unamused to see a shocked Weequay clenching the pipe. They went to go swing again only for Morex's arm to snap out like a viper, grabbing them by the throat. "Hey ass hole, you could kill someone hitting them like that." He reared his head back before he brought it crashing down on the Weequay in the form of a devastating armored headbutt. The Weequay instantly crumpled into a pile on the ground as Morex felt the excitement starting to overtake him.​

​

K4-ZAN

 

[Legion of Fortune]

OBJECTIVE TWO
​

“Getting an alert from the guild, sir. Silent alarm.”

Captain Torix closed his eyes and let out a sigh through the nose, but did not respond to his subordinate. Nominally in charge of the imperial garrison, or what passed for one these days, he found himself at a crossroads. Continue on and feign a semblance of order on this planet, maybe even kill off and subjugate the growing gangs and set up shop as the local imperial warlord, or…

Or what?

Torix had followed orders for so long, marching from one battlefield to the next, that without a chain of command he felt somewhat… lost.

He had not questioned when they stopped slaughtering the Sith and turned on the Alliance. He had not questioned when he suppressed dissident factions within the Empire. He had not even questioned when they let a Sith Lord and his dark jedi come in and take over the empire.

Now? Now he had questions, but no one to ask.

They were all dead or scattered throughout the galaxy.

Still… he supposed he could not just sit here and do nothing. He eyed the cigarra he had been smoking and put it out in his office.

“Sound the alarm and send a response team. Actually wait. I’ll go myself.”

* * *

Moments later, two uparmored land speeders cruised through the streets of the city, on its way for the bank, a squad of stormtroopers loaded into each.

Nero Drake Ka'Ahs'Ruk

 

[Hakar Scaleback]

Velzari Tharn Karl Von Strauss Imperius Indomitus

"I appreciate the opportunity for these negotiations. It is more than rare indeed that the forces of Order and the envoys of organised crime come together at the same table to discuss avenues for cooperation and agreed existence rather than common, mutual extermination."

"Wissse of you to lisssten before placing usss all in chainsss."

Hakar smelled his glass of corellian brandy with a forked tongue but also hesitated to partake. Paranoid thoughts about ISB agents plotting to take out the syndicate's leadership in one fell swoop raced through his cold lizard brain. Underneath a wookiee pelt shawl and aurodium jewelry the vigo's trandoshan muscles coiled in anticipation of violence.

"You ssseek order and ssstability for your new Empire," a hungry smile revealed many sharklike teeth, "Thessse are commoditiesss the Black Sssun can provide. Tighten your grip and it may ssslip through your fingersss, but we offer sssomething far more elusssive than wealth."

Between two claws Hakar flipped a gleaming credit chit. It reflected off the trandoshan's eyes betraying his predatory obsession with shiny treasures. Then through some kind of Force illusion or maybe even mundane sleight of hand it passed behind one claw and vanished.

"Control."

 

[Kinley Pryse]

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

O B J E C T I V E - 3 BYOO
Shadows in Sativran

Imperials don't scare me, unpaid debts do

​

Location: The Krayt's Tooth Cantina
Tags: Open

The cantina reeked of synthale, sweat, and lies, just the way Kinley Pryse liked it.

Sativran City pulsed dim and ugly through the fogged windows behind her, the skyline lit by neon signs flickering with half-dead promises. Inside, low thumps of unrecognizable music vibrated through the stained floorboards, mixing with hushed deals and the occasional outburst of blaster-wielding bravado. Kinley sat alone in a cracked-leather booth near the back, her hood low, one boot propped up against the other. A datapad flickered faintly in her gloved hand, displaying transaction figures and contact codes for a shipment of high-grade spice fresh out of Kessel, good product, dangerously pure, and enough to keep the right sort of people very interested.

But that wasn't why she was really here.

Spice paid the bills. Artifacts paid for entire lifetimes.

Word had trickled through the undercurrents of the Outer Rim: something old and dangerous was buried beneath the crust of this sinkhole of a city, an artifact from the Empire's shadowy final days. Some said Sith, others whispered darker names, but Kinley knew one truth: if it existed, someone would pay dearly to have it... or kill dearly to keep it hidden.

She sipped her drink, the glass fogging where her fingers rested. A pair of Rodians argued in the corner. A hooded Gran stumbled out of the refresher with blood on his knuckles. No one noticed her. Perfect.

She had names to coax, deals to make, and if luck twisted in her favor, an ancient secret to unearth.

"Let's dance, Sativran," she murmured into her glass, eyes scanning the room like a hawkbat ready to strike. "Show me where you buried your dead."

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Fenn Stag]

Location: The Krayt's Tooth Cantina
Tags: Kinley Pryse

​

He entered quietly, but there were quiet murmurs as he entered. Seeing a Mandalorian was not unheard of- seeing a Mandalorian that was heads and shoulders taller, broader, and scanning the room in a place like this, well.

When half the room had bounties in one place or another, it caused some to be unnerved. He was gifted a wide berth, people moving out of the way for him. The room did not go quiet when the Mandalorian entered, but there was a noticeable shift in the air. However, after a few moments of Fenn not ripping through everyone or shooting the place up- or based on his size, grabbing people and throwing them ten feet across the bar... people relaxed.

However, the Mandalorian turned his head.

And looked right at someone else.

A smuggler, a splicer, a fellow Black Sun associate. He was four seats down at the bar, not sat down- Mandalorians rarely ever sat at bars. Not a good vantage point, ever, sitting at a bar. But he stood, got a drink, paid for it, then looked around the room. Then, his T-shaped gaze flickered back to the woman at the bar.

Even with his helmet on, Fenn Stag was staring right at her. Like he knew why she was here.

 

[Velzari Tharn]

O B J E C T I V E - 1
M U T U A L - I N T E R E S T S​

​

The liminal space where Velzari and Hakar Scaleback were meeting the Imperials had a strange quality about it that the Underlord couldn’t quite place. Much like the rest of Lexrul, it felt aged and colored by history, but most of it had long since fallen into obscurity. Though the streets were patrolled by stormtroopers, their armor was sun-stained and scored by sand. It was a shell, haunted by the ghosts of the New Imperial Order.

Perhaps those qualities would change now that the Imperial Confederation was here.

“To mutual satisfaction,” the Underlord echoed.

He glanced between Karl Von Strauss and Imperius Indomitus with sharp eyes.

“Control is almost as rare a commodity as time,” Velzari said, touching on the words of Hakar Scaleback in a knowing tone laced with villainous intent. “The Empire has always had a… symbiotic relationship with the Underworld. I see no reason why such an arrangement cannot benefit the Imperial Confederation and Black Sun just the same.”

“Lexrul is just a small taste of Black Sun’s hospitality,” he went on to say. He raised a cigarra to his lips and took a slow drag that made the ember burn bright at the end. When he exhaled, the smoke curled from his nostrils, filling the room with the sweet smell of Marcan herbs.

“Black Sun is securing the banking guilds as we speak, and no doubt taking care of the more problematic local troopers as well. Control, exercises with discretion.”

The Prince smiled as he softly tapped his fingernails against the table. Yes, things were already in motion. And if Lexrul was a success, doors would open along the Parlemian Trade Route, broadening prospects across the Slice. Kessel and Oba Diah came to mind as Velzari predicted the problems the Imperials would face, and already he was scheming ways to undermine the Pykes from behind the protection of the Empire.

Black Sun: Hakar Scaleback
Imperials: Karl Von Strauss | Imperius Indomitus
​

 

[Tyber Terell]

OBJECTIVE II
AIRBORNE IMPERIAL TROOP TRANSPORT
EN ROUTE TO THE BANK

Wedged in-between the white-armored troopers of the local garrison, Tyber noted how cramped Imperial patrol gunships were. Personal space was entirely sacrificed in an effort to house as many bodies in the troop bay as possible. The leg room was terrible too.

Tyber's FTO wasn't looking too comfortable either sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with white-armored bucketheads. Though Tyber supposed he shouldn't be so harsh on the Imperials. They'd graciously allowed the Marshals to accompany them for a patrol tour as part of a profesionall development exchange. They were mostly remnants from older days, but his FTO insisted that it paid to get a wider breadth of experience law enforcement approaches throughout the galaxy.

"Thanks again for letting us come in on such short notice," Tyber's FTO shouted over the engine's whirr.

His FTO was a man by the name of Sarn. He was kind of a hardass who'd been with the Marshals for an eternity, but Ty valued his willingness to pass on hard-won experience.

"Of course! I served with some of your troopers during the Braxant run. I'm glad your request found us," the Imperial patrol officer yelled back from his position by the cockpit.

"We'll be doing a basic patrol today, let you get some insight into standard procedures. Should be arriving at the—" the officer was interrupted by urgent radio chatter.

Tyber couldn't quite hear what was being said, but going by the tone it didn't sound like a regular check-in.

"Change of plans, gentlemen! We've just received a report about shots being fired in lower Sativran. We'll be linking up and providing backup for the firs response team!" The Imperial concluded the update with a series of orders to his men.

Tyber double checked his service pistol. He had a feeling this wasn't going to end peacefully.

Nero Drake Ka'Ahs'Ruk IG-44 Legion of Fortune

 

[Jerec Asyr]

OBJECTIVE ONE

Velzari Tharn mused over a glass of expensive Corellian liquor. One of his Vigos poured glasses for each of the members present, unless they declined.

Jerec was the Vigo in question.

Karl took the offered glass with a nod of thanks,

and Jerec appreciated the appreciation.

he was still offering Karl a deep nod before repeating the gesture towards the Black Sun representatives.

Jerec made sure Imperius got his drink of choice. He wondered who would win in a fight between them and decided Imperius looked beatable.

Hakar smelled his glass of corellian brandy with a forked tongue but also hesitated to partake.

At this point Jerec was feeling a little underappreciated as a server.

The liminal space where Velzari and Hakar Scaleback Hakar Scaleback were meeting the Imperials had a strange quality about it that the Underlord couldn’t quite place. Much like the rest of Lexrul, it felt aged and colored by history, but most of it had long since fallen into obscurity.

It really had been the best available space Jerec could secure.

Now that everyone was served, he took his drink and his seat at the table, a full Vigo somehow these days. He had nothing to contribute at the moment. He poured Whyren's Reserve into one side of his neck thoughtfully.