Private Blood Bargain

[Darth Morta]

Ashen Prophet, Deep Space, Western Reaches

Darth Morta waited in the Admiral's command throne on the newly commissioned Harrower-class Cruiser, Ashen Prophet, waiting to see if Lirka Ka, Imperator of the Third Legion, would show. She requested a meeting away from the prying eyes of, well, everyone looking to squeeze a bit of something for themselves from every deal done in the Order, the fact that what she was doing was also technically illegal within the Order was only of secondary concern to her. She had plans, Krayiss II was her world, but it lacked exploitable resources and heavy industry, and while she could spend decades building it up, turning her world to the splendour it deserved.

Or she could find another world to exploit.

Florrum. A nothing world. Designated only for mineral extraction, no population of significance, no major infrastructure. It was the perfect world to strip bare and use its products to better a more deserving world.

But she had a problem, and in the future, Imperator Ka would have one too. And Morta had a solution that should make both of them happy. Any war, especially one on the scale that the Third Legion was preparing to engage in, produced prisoners, prisoners that needed food, housing, and medical care. There were two ways to deal with them: provide all that at cost to your military, or kill them all and have everyone you face be willing to fight to the death because they know they won't get anything better if they surrender.

Morta would offer to take prisoners of war off the Third Legion's hands, lessening the logistical burden, and put them into work camps preparing Florrum for full-scale industrialization.

Tag: Lirka Ka

 

[Lirka Ka]

For many years, Lirka Ka had been a gnat in the orbit of the Sith and their many atrocities. Another murderer in the endless list that followed Carnifex wherever he went. Times had changed. She had been noticed, now she had reaped the tenuous award of a Legion and with it the ego of Imperator. She was one of the few now, and while Darth Morta was not a familiar name to her. There was a certain...reminder...warranted now with her stature. Lirka had prided herself on being timely before, especially in matters of dark dealings.

But this time, she would let the contact wait. The empty void of nothingness the only company given, till the storm arrived. Darklight was far away, doing the dark deeds entrusted to the Third by the Emperor. Yet the storm would follow Lirka by her mere presence alone, for she was the herald of a new age. The unfamiliarity with this "queen of Krayiss II" is what had summoned her, the Twi'lek desired to scheme, Lirka desired to learn, and to prod, and to see what lay beneath the simplistic layers of Sith politicking.

Her vessel arrived, a simple dungeon of abyssal black. The sort of thing that radiated the raw dread of unchecked Kainite malice, the sort of vessel the Slavemaster General had crushed generations in, and turned entire bloodlines to feeding the endless hunger of the Kainate war machine. Shackles of Ambition was not a vessel that would be missed in the flotilla; it made it all the more valuable for when those days came where Lirka needed to entrust the Legion to the other heads.

The vessel hung in the void for a time before Lirka's crackling voice was sent out to the Harrower's comes. Her voice was a thunderous, metallic, thing. She may not have officially been among the Lords of the Sith but she certainly presented with the same grandeur as the greatest of them.

"The Imperator has come. Open your doors, and I shall come aboard. Then we shall discuss these most secretive of manners."

Under normal circumstances, she would always use shackles as a meeting place. But it was a new age, a new rank, and new faces. That meant it was time to change her methods to befit her new status.

 

[Darth Morta]

"Ma'am unidentified vessel emerging from hyperspace!" The sensors officer reported from his console.

Morta was about to remand the officer for not using the royal style she had chosen for herself, but no, he was right, while on the bridge in this seat of command, she was a superior officer, not the head of his government, ma'am was correct. And he was doing his job well, before she even finished the thought about titles, data was streaming to one of the displays around the command throne, giving her information on the approaching vessel.

"Put two squadrons of the Ragnosi fighters on standby alert, but make no hostile action, Captain." She said to a green-skinned Twi'lekki male standing at his own console.

Morta's need to prepare for a fight without appearing to be hostile was quickly pushed aside as Imperiator Ka's transmission quickly and efficiently put any unease to rest.

Keying the transmitter in her command throne, Morta responded, "We look forward to hosting you, Imperiator, the private officer's hanger has been cleared for your exclusive use for as long as required."

Despite the Imperiator's other title of Slavemaster General, Morta still did not want her intention to make use of slave labour advertised to anyone looking in the wrong direction and catching the two of them meeting somewhere public so she had even cleared her crew out of locations they expected to be. Only her most loyal soldiers, troops of her Crimson Oath, would be present in the sections of the ship where the meeting would take place.

"When you land," She continued, "There will be a member of my personal guard to show you the way to the command conference room."

With the important details sorted, Morta rose from and exited the bridge to make her own way to the conference room, set appropriately for a private meeting with a fellow lord, keeping her commlink at the ready should Lirka have a need to speak with Morta before arriving.

Tag: Lirka Ka

 

[Lirka Ka]

The monstrous Imperator was nigh droid-like in mannerism, cold, inhuman. Her cards held close, for while they have flown similar banners Lirka understood better than many that to trust a Sith was to invite a dagger into your back. The blade at your side, and the blade between your ribs, so oft one and the same in this ever-cruel galaxy.

Her voice thundered once more, and the comms went dead.

“Indeed.”

The shackles moved forward now, slow, ethereal. A coasting brick of inky blackness that radiated the malice of Kainate design. Many things could be said in scorn about the Eternal Father, his sense of style was certainly not one. Once the void between them was shortened, a single vessel left the hangars of the Shackles. An unassuming vessel, the Imperator certainly knew how to keep a low profile when the time demanded it.

Soon, the shuttle landed with a thud. Pressurization hissed, and evil exited aboard the cruiser of Darth Morta

Lirka’s presence was heralded by wretched, scuttling things. Heavy black cloaks obscured hunched figures that teemed around the Imperator as her footfalls landed like metallic thunder. Glowing slit-lenses scanning over the vessel, and the Darth’s gathered forces. Her entourage.

Oh the many curious things the Lords and Ladies got up to. Personal armies, dark schemes, and Dark knew what else. With clawed hands clasped behind her back, she descended the ramp.

“Come then, warriors. Take me to your master. There is much to do, and little time to waste.”

She’d only be able to stay away from Darklight for so long without arousing suspicions.

[div]

 

[Darth Morta]

"Come with me, Imperiator," One of the Crimson Oath troopers said, the tone implying it was a request.

Without actually looking to see if Lirka followed, the entire demi-squad turned and started to march, the leader offering direction with the remaining four falling into formation around the Imperiator to act as honour guards on the short walk to the conference room.

When they arrived, the squad leader inserted a code cylinder into a reader next to the door, slapped a button to open it and stepped to the side to allow Lirka to enter. The room was modestly appointed, letting the quality of the furnishings speak for themselves rather than try to scream how valuable everything was with ostentatiousness. Across the room from a wide transparisteel window was a sideboard with a spread of food and drink varied enough that any known species would find something amenable.

Darth Morta stood by the head of the table, "Welcome, Imperator Ka, thank you for accepting my invitation. Please take a seat, or some refreshments, and I'll make my proposal."

Tag: Lirka Ka

 

[Lirka Ka]

Once, twice, did she look over the warrior before her. It was a quick gauge, a predator's glint - she needed to make an estimation of how well they could kill, how quickly they could be killed. The Imperator moved on a knife's edge when it came to the shadowy dealings of the Empire, by all metrics she had no reason not to trust Darth Morta

They flew the same flag, in the grand scheme of the Sith triarchy. Yet, on the other side of the coin she had no reason to actually trust her. Lirka Ka trusted none, especially not a Sith. That is why she gazed, the Twi'lek may have presented this as a bout of diplomatic politicking but Lirka knew plenty well that such a thing made just as good of a setup for assassination.

Lirka entered the room with a slow stride, metal boots thumping against the floor as her gaze now turned to the meeting chamber. It was remarkably...normal, for a Sith. For a Kainite, especially. Perhaps if Lirka Ka was more of a person, she may have appreciated it all. Lirka Ka did not eat, and she rarely took the time to sit in anything not made of hardened durasteel lest she invite humiliation. Clawed hands clasped behind her back, glowing slit lenses locked onto the crimson form of the Twi'lek.

The void emanated from her, the emptiness of the Force within her being now grew wider with the Voidstone gifted to her by one War Marshal Helix - a precautionary measure, better than getting hit with another blast of sorcerous power from the Dark Siders that would dare to call themselves master.

"I will stand."

She spoke with a cold calm, though she gave none of her usual venom. Potentiality flowed around them now, and Lirka coveted such things. Unknown variables would become known, and in the shadows of the Empire - deals would be made.

"Speak, Dark Lady. Let us see what has made you beckon Lirka Ka."

 

[Darth Morta]

"Very well, then we shall stand," Morta said and moved partway around the table to a distance more suited to a conversation between peers.

"I asked for this meeting with you to address," She paused for effect, "an inefficiency in the Third Leagion's campaign. Prisoners."

This was the moment that Morta worried about the most; she'd prepared elaborate justifications, long-winded speeches about proper use of resources. In the end, though, she tossed that all to the side; no one became Imperator of a legion without being intelligent, so trying to hide her intentions with words could at best be seen as weakness, and at worst be seen as an insult.

"Every military campaign needs to deal with prisoners, and no matter how, it's always a drain on resources. I want to take on the captured and surrendered foes, injured and healthy, to use in work camps, on Florrum."

And there it was, out in the open, the reason Morta had chosen to keep this meeting so private, plans to use prisoners of war in a form of psudo-slavery on a world she didn't govern. Not exactly out of character for a Sith, but not the kind of move one made openly until they had the strength to back it up.

"I understand that such a request may come with its price, which is why we're meeting now and not just simply loading my ships that offload troops with prisoners for relocation."

Tag: Lirka Ka

 

[Lirka Ka]

At times, it was difficult to tell where Lirka actually fell on the spectrum of droid and flesh - she was stastic, a sentinel that watched, and plotted, and analyzed. That was the nature of politics in Sithdom though, the less one revealed - the better. Cards were a thing to be held close to ones' chest till the moment was ripe to reveal them for some modicum of personal gain. Tiring, at times. Cutthroat, all the times. It was her usual song and dance these days. Being a rather fresh, and highly unexpected, Imperator brought with it plenty of politics.

Darth Morta had revealed her card.

Something resembling either a growl or a hum strummed out from the Once-Sephi's marred helmet, a thing that quickly grew to a venomous amusement - the amusement born of a creature that only found humor in misery, and the careful manuevering of words upon the knife's edge.

"Ah - my inefficiency. That does seem to have become quite the topic, as of late."

If she was insulted, the monstrous "Kainite" didn't show it.

"Let us not be coy, Darth. By title, I am Imperator. By trade, I am slaver. You talk of efficiency, a helping hand to the Shattermarch in a guise that one could even say is for "the good of the Empire". Nay. You speak of the trading of meat, raw materials shifted from one world to the next. My Storm Riders do not lack dungeons, you would not be the first to have desire for the Meat we are to acquire in the days to come."

Whatever fury behind her words was cold, and matter-a-fact, now this? This was just business.

"All? I can not offer you the chance, you simply lack the resources to acquire such a haul. Some? Easily arranged - yet you are wise, Darth. I do not dabble of freebies. So tell me, Darth Morta of Krayiss-II - what do you have to offer Lirka Ka?"

And now. The fun part of politics. One did not live in the shadow of the Dyarchs without knowing damn well how to dance around "deals with the devil".

 

[Darth Morta]

Darth Morta waved off the comment about Imperator Ka and her Legion's perceived inefficiencies; she'd brought it up as a comment as something every military commander faced. Though she hoped the correct framing would make it appear that she was doing the Imperator a favour by taking the prisoners of war off her hands, Morta was not stupid, nor did she think Lirka was either and did not expect it to work.

But she did not hide from long shots just because they didn't work every time. To Morta, the key to looking smart was to have an extremely simple plan that was as close to a sure thing as possible, then stacking her risks on top of that. A one in one hundred that, despite rarely working, would give the best possible outcome. Then a plan that was a one in twenty that would be very advantageous if it worked out. Then, a one in five that would still be better than expected if she pulled it off, and if all those failed, there was still the sure thing that she had planned for all along.

The pitch about alleviating stress on the legion during its campaign had been that one in a hundred plan, so Morta had no worries about that failing.

"Not only do I lack the transport capacity for every prisoner you take, I lack enough work for all of them too." She admitted, though, concealed her real transport capacity by agreeing so quickly. Morta could handle more beings than Lirka was probably picturing.

"My offer is simple: expanded support for the Third Legion, on top of the million men I already supply." Morta started, "Those resources extracted from Florrum by these labourers will be shipped back to Krayiss II where they will be turned into weapons, armour, ships, and the other equipment required to maintain an army. A flat 5% of those will be provided to you personally to distribute as you see fit for the first ten years of production. By that point, the need for external labour sources should be eliminated, and if needed, additional workers can be paid for at the going market rate."

Though Morta claimed the support would be for the Third Legion, the stress on personally made it clear that this was resources flowing directly into Imperator Ka's coffers directly should she wish to take them.

Lirka Ka

 

[Lirka Ka]

Lirka Ka's moods were an ever flipping coin, sometime she would present in lulling whispers of power and potential. Others? She was a brunt force bully, realizing she could flex what clout she possessed within the Empire to make sure she'd get what she wanted. Where she fell today? Well...she certainly wasn't presenting too many niceties to Darth Morta

After all, this had become less about politicking. This was the wonderous nostalgia of reliving her old work, it hadn't been all that long ago where Lirka Ka had been cast out to the wider Galaxy and had indulged in becoming the slaving beast that she was today.

"Then, we are in simple agreement. I can not offer my full stock of meat, you couldn't hold it if I did. Yet, to that end I shall...sweeten the pot so to speak. I still possess some vessels among the flotilla from my days in full service as the Slavemaster General. I offer to you those dungeon ships, let us feed the machine on Florrum a few more souls. But."

She paused briefly, the words did not need to be spoken. She was Imperator, and the Third were her project. But at the end of it all, Lirka Ka was a beckon of corruption. She had her own plans to fulfill, and while as much of the Storm Riders as she could muster would inevitably assist in such a thing. It didn't hurt to have a bit of extra help.

"I want 7%. Off the books. By the time you're in motion, I will be able to facilitate enough black sites for the resources to be deposited at. Yet, you must know that Lirka Ka does not only dabble in the tangible. You see, I am something of a collector. I covet belief, I seek to understand. If you wish the loathsome souls we shall steal away upon the Shattermarch, I must know to what end."

Claws clasped behind her back, she took but a step forward.

"Florrum, for what? Power? Why do you move as you do? You live among the domain of the Eternal Father, yet are you another one that shall perpetuate his Eternal Rule? Or are you something...different? What do you believe Darth-Morta-of-Krayiss-II? Lie to me if you wish, I would expect nothing less from the Sith. But know this, if you lie - lie well."

Little was more powerful than belief after all.