CAS-4-12b

[Maris Fero]

[CAS-4-12b, Lower-L, Efavan, Vorzyd V - deep in the pollution layer.]​

Shafts of light cast glowing pillars through the polluted atmosphere, the floodlights illuminating one of the smaller landing pads on the Lower-L quadrant. Legitimate business was common on the larger, higher platforms, which even now were bathed in the light of the planet’s star well above and beyond the shadows of the smog-line.

Rare did any cargo vessels frequent this particular berth, designated as CAS-4-12b, legitimate or otherwise. Too dangerous, too small and perpetually under dark, the pad’s only clients tended to be traders and shuttles interested in only the most clandestine of liaisons. Even without her network of spies, it had been pathetically easy to predict Yassa Torren’s choice of meeting place.

The remaining Carriks had scattered with the fall of Herk and his cabal of cronies, the rumour of Maris own actions in the MezNez had quickly become the stuff of local folklore; Many of the gangers had claimed to have witnessed Herk’s death, though none came close to the truth of the matter, or the details on how Maris had actually survived her ambush.

Amongst the remaining Carriks, a rumour circulated that Maris had been behind the whole set up; Enyo Typhos, it was even suggested, might have actually been hired by the Shrike to act in the role of off-world challenger, all for the sake of killing off the Carriks in a frankly ludicrous trap. Whatever the case, the remaining Carriks had run scared, and regrouped only in secret, to discuss their options for striking back and assassinating the Shrike.

Yassa Torren was the conspirator in chief of the endeavour; She was a wiry thug with anger issues, unsurprisingly bitter and unusually popular, despite showing no great charisma or drive - at least by Maris estimations. Her few remaining insiders in the Carrik circles had been quiet for the longest time, but late the day before Maris had received word that Yassa Torren had gathered all of the Carriks remaining credits and debts in to fund a desperate final action. The Carrik meant to rearm, and under the flag of parle, she planned to overwhelm and wipe out Maris and her closest confidantes.

The simple, brutal arrogance of the plan even brought a smile to the Shrike’s face as it was retold to her in confidence from a trusted source.

---

On the evening of the exchange, a solitary figure stood back in the deep shadows of a series of high refuelling tanks, her form shrouded as she watched for the landing lights of an incoming craft. Her leather harness, cropped vest and ripped jeans showed off appreciable areas of alabaster skin, and though the girl was no muscle-bound thug like many of the Carriks, she was clearly physically fit, though lean in muscle. The spiked shoulder pads she wore on the left-hand side denoted her Carrik allegiance, her long dark hair slicked back and tied into a tight braid was otherwise unadorned. At her booted feet sat a sealed freight locker, held an unnerving amount of loot to trade. Treasure, all the Carriks had left.

Hidden in the further shadows where similarly dressed gangers, waiting with small arms for protection and lifters for retrieving the visitor's cargo.

The waiting emissary shifted nervously on the balls of her feet, looking less and less comfortable waiting for her connection to arrive. She retrieved the stub of a cigar from a pouch on her studded harness and chewed on the half smoked luxury, unwilling to give her position away by lighting it.

A momentary flicker of a sputtering floodlight illuminated the youths painted features, green gang markings on her pale cheeks and brows, eyes sockets and the dorsal of her nose darkened in khol-black. The light blinded her for a moment and she raised a similarly illustrated hand to shield her vision as the failed floodlight stuttered out once more, leaving her waiting as the sour sharp tang of the mildly acidic rain began to fall from the polluted clouds above.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Vorzyd V, Efavan - CAS-4-12b

It was hard to guess the original manufacturer or model of the freighter that slowly descended through the waste filled air. At some point it most likely had been stripped for parts, only for someone to replace them with whatever had been at hand to make it functional again. A well traveled individual with an eye for technology might would've been able to make out the signature makeshift engineering of the Free Cities, but thanks to the thick air and general darkness around it these details were easily lost.

Under normal circumstances Darth Abyss, among the underworld known simply as the Prophet, wouldn't have felt the need to personally oversee a basic transaction like this, but according to his sources Efavan was currently experiencing a transition period. From experience he knew how dangerous it was to interfere with an ongoing gang war, especially when supporting the losing side. On the other hand he also knew from experience that desperate people made fantastic customers, and the Carriks were nothing if not desperate.

Obviously he had made preparations in case things should go wrong, but it was a backup plan focused on leaving the world unharmed, not on earning enough credits to make the trip worthwhile. For that the only option was darkness and deception, and the opportunity to get the deal done before anyone had time to stop them. That were precautions he had left to his contact, a certain Yassa Torren. Abyss couldn't say he knew the woman, their only interaction had been a while ago during a similar transaction before the Carriks lost their turf and influence. She seemed capable back then, but considering her current situation this impression wasn't worth much anymore.

The freighter touched down on the landing pad, the following sound a clear sign that the ship suffered under its own weight. Then the ramp opened up, only illuminated by the dim, red emergency lights.

From within emerged Abyss, framed by four his Ghostmakers to make sure to not make himself an easy target. It wasn't like any one of them could even hold a candle to the Prophet in a battle, but criminals often thought in numbers instead of personal power. The acid rain drummed down onto the metal husk, nothing more then a hollow armor held together by eldritch alchemy and shrouded in a ragged black robe, and his soldiers in their heavy cybernetic armor. They were followed by two unimpressive men rolling out multiple crates of cargo, filled with weapons of various designs. From a small hole on top of the freighter one of Abyss agents overlooked the area through the scope of his sniper rifle.

The robe of the husk danced slightly in the wind, while he stood unmoving, his fixed grin, his deformed crown and his empty eyes shrouded in the darkness. His right rested on his belt, the claw like fingers touching the hilt of his saber to ignite the weapon without delay should this turn out as a ambush. Desperate people made fantastic customers, but they also made fools that risked everything for a few weapons.

[member="Maris Fero"]

 

[Maris Fero]

The gang-marked youth had dealt with arms dealers before; Clandestine meetings with forgotten and overlooked freighters and cargo barges, furtive landings and heavily armed and backup, protecting the guns with even more guns. She wouldn’t have considered herself fully comfortable with the arrangements such meetings entailed, but neither was she easily surprised.

The almost spectral arrival who emerged from the hold of the ship, surrounded by four anonymous hulking figures in sealed suits of dark metal armour, detailed with glowing sickly green strips. The armoured figures seemed indistinguishable to the Ganger, and the weapons carried upon their armour was alien to anything the Efavanian had ever seen. It was safe to say she was surprised.

A slight movement at the edge of her eye-line drew the watcher’s gaze up to the sniper who had emerged at an overwatching position atop the battered freighter. Not for the first time, the ganger wondered just who she was dealing with, this Prophet.

She raised a ringed hand and knocked on the storage tank at her back with her knuckles twice, a call for caution. She heard the gesture returned to her from a half dozen locations around the dock as her own people acknowledged her warning. A moment later she heaved the container at her side up by a handle and dragged it with her as she slowly approached the gaunt figure, her eyes searching for detail lost beneath the shadowed cowl.

The emerging ganger might have been Yassa Toren, but if the arms dealer had any strong recollections of her before he would have cause to think twice. She had raven-black hair, and skin of pale alabaster, with grey-green eyes that were far more sure of themselves than Yassa Toren had any right to be these days. The markings on her were certainly similar to Carrik gang symbols common to Efavan, but again they wouldn’t match Yassa Toren.

“Prophet. Glad you’re here. We don’t have much time.” she began with the simplest of lies, and the spinner of the lie was a natural talent at deception, the urgency in her words ringing with the signs of truth. The Shrike had always been a prodigious liar,

They had all the time in the world. The real Yassa Toren wouldn’t be recovering anytime soon. And the enemy was already here.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

The woman that appeared from out of the shadows shared little resemblance to the Yassa Toren he had meet before. It wasn't impossible that she had changed considerably since then, something Abyss was easy to agree on based on his own change from a human into the arcane husk he was now. It also wasn't impossible that the woman was simply someone else that had used the current times of change to usurp the leadership over the Carriks since his contacts had arranged the deal. Sudden changes in control were far from uncommon for a gang on permanent retreat, despite the sheer stupidity of such actions. Smart people rarely joined gangs after all.

For solid twenty seconds the strange figure of the Prophet simply stood idle, while his empty eye sockets remained fixed on her. He could believe that this was going as planned for now, but that didn't meant he wasn't cautious. Even the urgency in her words didn't caused him to break the silence. Her reaction would reveal much more about her actual motives then any exchange of words. The only small detail that hindered his methodically planned presence of power was one of his Ghostmakers. While their suits shrouded their faces, they couldn't hide the nervous movements of his legs.

"Miss Toren I assume? If not, make no effort to tell me your name, I could not care far less about it as long as you have my payment."

It wasn't the sound of a human voice that emerged from around the husk. While he spoke his mechanical jaw remained locked in place, an unmoving, deranged smile that offered mockery to anyone who dared looking at it. Each word was merely an ethereal echo, distorted and twisted to the edge of comprehension, framed by an otherworldly whisper. The husk raised his left hand, and on his mark two of his cybernetic soldiers took position near the cargo crates, while the other two remained besides their Prophet. Then his right reached into his robe, reaching for a datapad on which the complete cargo manifest was stored. He continued to speak while offering the small device to the woman.

"You, or one of your friends that most certainly lurk in the shadows somewhere, should check the shipment for any mistakes on my side. Until then I would like to assure that you actually got what you owe me. I would be highly displeased if I came the whole way for nothing."

[member="Maris Fero"]

 

[Maris Fero]

The Ganger had initially seemed skeptical about the wraith in the cloak, her gaze searching for the trick involved in animating the figure, but as she came closer and the creature started to speak the false Carrik paused in her stride, blinking in confusion as she tried to dismiss the inhuman timbre and twisted distortion of as sound whose source was suddenly unclear.

The disquiet was enough to awaken the seed of awareness that had only recently awakened in the Ganger, the fine hairs on her neck standing as the chill of hesitation caught up with her. Was she being toyed with, was the Prophet simply a criminal, or perhaps another oddity like Enyo Typhos and her soldiers. Like Maris Fero.

“Torren’s gone, I took over once the Shrike got her.” another lie, coupled with a half-truth stated with the confidence to carry both well. Torren was most certainly gone. “I’m here to complete the payment on her behalf … Mr Prophet.”

She offered the title with a stumble of hesitance, she wasn’t even sure enough of the Prophets existence let alone it’s gender. The Shrike’s own force abilities were raw, unrefined by much in the way of training nor study; It was safe to say that Maris had very little understanding of the true scope of her power or her capabilities but she had found since her awakening that she possessed a moderate ability to read feeling, moods and maybe even tempers from those nearby. It was with such childlike talent that she tentatively sought some further clue to the foreboding the newcomer made her feel.

The Shrike in Carrik-guise reached for the manifest and dropped the handle of the crate she had dragged to her side, the weight of the container appreciable by the solid sound made by its impact. She glanced over the manifest, trying not to look under that cloaked cowl, not yet.

She raised an arm and made a chopping motion to the left, two further ‘Carriks’ lumbering from the shadows toward the men who bore the traders cargo and began to make a pretence of checking through the cargo, though they had no clue of what the precise inventory might have been.

“Everything you agreed with Yas is in here,” she tapped the crate with the side of a boot, “Everything we have. That's all she told us”

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

The second two new gangers made their presence known the woman and whoever else was watching under the guise of darkness, would be able to see the sniper up top move the barrel of his weapon. With near prefect precision the scope jumped from the false Carrik over to the newcomers, and it was obvious that there was no safety in place to keep the trigger from being pulled at any moment. While his agent kept up the facade Abyss carefully crafted, the Ghostmaker besides him slipped up once again. "Mr. Prophet" was enough to force out a little chuckle, dampened and modulated by the technology of his helmet. The sound died down when the Prophet turned his head ever so slightly towards his soldier, causing the man to fall silent and stand considerably straighter then before. There clearly was the need for a long discussion about discipline once the transaction was dealt with.

"Just Prophet should suffice."

Like before the husk raised his left, this time to perform a complex series of hand signs. This silent form of command was less impressive then he made it seem, as a considerable part of it actually consisted of passing on his will through the force instead of delivering them through dedicated training of his soldiers.

In response the Ghostmaker besides him that so far had fulfilled his job without messing up stepped towards the container dropped by the presumed Carrik leader, opening the object while the other aimed his weapon down at it in case there was any sort of explosive or trap hidden inside. When nothing happened after, the Soldier that had opened the container lowered down, taking a closer look inside. Once assured that it was what they had came to Efavan for, he straightened up again and gave a quick nod back to his boss.

"It was a pleasure making business with you. The shipment is yours."

Abyss voice didn't really reflected what his words said. It wasn't just the strange nature of it, as not even its uncanny sound could truly hide the tone of a deep indifference in it. Slowly the husk raised his right, offering the deformed metal claw to the woman for a handshake to finish the deal. If the Carriks or anyone else had a plan ready, then it would most likely happen now. He knew that as well as his soldiers.

[member="Maris Fero"]

 

[Maris Fero]

Closer quarters examination of the Prophet’s Guardians had revealed imperfections in their identical anonymity, one shifted with an all too mortal listlessness and later an actual laugh of amusement, somewhat dispelling the eeriness that had surrounded them before. Still, the Prophet was odd enough without his protectors. Maris would be happy enough to complete her ruse and escape with the weapons and some news Enyo would like to hear about.

She stood quietly as the guardians inspected her package, half expecting them to find fault in the contents, it would have been just like Yassa to try to screw her over even when her own life hung in the balance. Fortunately, the entire plan appeared to be surviving more or less intact.

The husk of a trader thanked Maris for the business she had basically stolen from the Carriks, a shipment they would miss soon enough, along with their leader, all she had to do was arrange for the deception to follow after the Prophet had left.

She smiled a short, amused smile and nodded, reaching out to take the spectres hand as she signalled for her gangers to start shipping the weapons out and into her awaiting shipping boards beyond the landing zone. The smile might be that of a woman ready to finally fight back against a world out to get her, but in truth, it was simply self-satisfaction.

“Sure. A pleasure." she stated with a non-committal shrug, the gesture of a ganger unused to the niceties of business meetings, "Yassa is dead, If we need to get another shipment, how do I reach you?”

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

While the two men that had unloaded the cargo from the freighter began to lift and carry the heavy container filled to the brim with the former riches of the Carriks, the Prophet himself returned to his silence. It was odd that the woman in front of him had gained enough information to know about the cargo, the location and the payment, yet nothing on how to contact him. Why would Yassa Toren make sure to lay out these information so carefully for her followers, but make an effort to keep his secrecy? They hadn't been friends, not even truly allies, so it seemed unlikely that she did it out of pure sympathy.

"I will tell you that if you answer me a simple question."

On another raise of his left, both of his soldiers raised their weapons, slightly but still enough to make it clear that he expected honesty on the matter. It wasn't the kind of information for which he would sacrifice the deal, but it was another reason to be cautious, and one to many of that by now.

"Who are you? I mean, who are you, without lies and deception coming out of your mouth?"

The strange head of the husk moved a inch forward, almost like an animal trying to catch a scent. Her aura was raw, unrefined, but certainly not that of some common filthy street rat. The darkness that surrounded her was so obvious that it was surprising that he didn't caught it at the first glimpse of her, and only her lies and her urgency had allowed her to hide it from him.

"Do not try to lie to me. I have ways to find the truth anyway, one way or another."

To make sure that his words were not seen as merely an empty threat, something the Prophet avoided whenever possible, he once again raised a claw like hand, the metal fingertips eerily pointing at the woman. She would suddenly feel something touching her mind, not with the strength to read her thoughts or consumer her memories, but enough to assure her that he had the power to do so if she forced him to.

[member="Maris Fero"]

 

[Maris Fero]

It had all been going so well, and only now at the very end had something given the trader pause to question what he had been told. It was never an easy thing to catch Maris lying, doubly so in cases such as this, where every statement she had made contained enough of the truth to add conviction to her words. In actual fact, beyond her the rudimentary disguise she had arranged the deception consisted of only several key facts omitted at her discretion.

She was, indeed, glad the Prophet was present; She did, in fact, wish to spend as little time here as possible. Yassa Torren was gone. Maris had taken over once she had gotten what she wanted from her, and was here to make payment and claim the Carriks weapons, with the resources the Carriks had scraped together to make the deal themselves. Yassa had given Maris what she needed in exchange for mercy, all but the how to contact the trader again, a fact Maris had neglected to ask herself in the rush to get from the site of her ambush to the site of the deal.

Everything had been true, but entirely false at the same time.

And now weapons were being raised to ready stances, and the thing in the cowl was asking her for truth. Maris cocked her head to one side as she studied the situation again, her heart had started to pound at the Prophets approach but to her credit, Maris had thus far managed to stand up to the scrutiny with few outward signs of the genuine fear the figure caused in her.

Any yet, somewhere deep in her analytical mind the raven-haired youth had struck upon the facts of the statement the shadowed figure had made. He would answer if she were truthful.

The things jaw jutted forward suddenly and Maris flinched back, an involuntary reaction to the horrifying thing that studied her. Her flight was arrested just as suddenly as the Shrike felt the icepick cold shock of a sensation which was utterly alien to her, a feeling like cold tendrils testing the base of her skull for weaknesses. For the moment, at least, the sensation was simply repellent if not actually intrusive, and she blinked slowly, feeling the goosebumps rise all across her exposed flesh,

In reaction to the threat, Maris’ own unrefined power had been stoked, an anger at his implication and besides that he had dared to question her words brought a measure of confidence back to the Shrike as she clenched her teeth and forced a smile at the Prophet.

“You had no interest in my name before. Since you asked so nicely - My name is Maris Fero.” she let the name hang there a moment, it was a name that meant something here, now, and perhaps elsewhere in the future. It was a name now feared by so many of her peers that it was just in the realms of possibility an outsider might have heard of it, though she new the likelihood was otherwise. “I haven’t spoken a word of a lie to you - Mr Prophet, I’m careful about that. It’s clear that you appreciate the shroud of anonymity yourself.”

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

"I almost expected you to meet you today, Miss Fero. Only in a more violent way."

The hand that signified Abyss mental tendrils upon the woman's mind lowered, returning in a comfortable position at his side. With it the slight grip that pressed against [member="Maris Fero"]'s thoughts faded away, and the weapons of the Prophet's soldiers followed suit. He hadn't lied when he said that he didn't cared who he dealt with as long as the barging itself was upheld. Dealing with the Shrikes instead of the Carriks was probably even more worthwhile in the long run, and if not he still got paid. The strange husk straightened his position overall, allowing just a bit of the deranged darkness that shrouded his presence to grow less oppressing.

"You want to contact me in the future, but to what end?"

Metal claws clasped behind the back of the husk, as the deformed figure began a slow stride around the woman. Like before it was much alike an animal, a predator circling its prey during the hunt. When his mind touched hers, the fire of anger and rage had surged through her, the first piece of the puzzle that was the dark side.

"If you merely want more weapons for your gang, then I will grant you a contact to one of my agents. He will take care of such matters in Efavan from now on."

The husk finished his circle, coming to a stop in the same place he had began his path. As he towered above the young ganger, his hollow eyes focused on her grey green ones. It wasn't just defiance in the face of a inexplicable horror he saw, but desire. Passion. Ambition. The true marks of those destined to become more then the rubble and the insects that crawled in the galaxy's dirt.

"If you seek something more, then find me within the Free Cities of Katarr. I can see greatness in your eyes, but I also see fear, despair and uncertainty, chains that keep your from living up to your potential. I could show you how to break them."

Abyss didn't really expected her to take his offer at this point. He could see that she wasn't yet done with Efavan yet, and neither was she ready to fully embrace her own darkness. Besides that she wasn't apprentice material anyway, to defiant, to much of a free thinker to really, and fully submit herself into the service of another being. The day she would actually seek him out would most likely be when she already had begun to walk upon the darkest of paths, a matter that both his thoughts and his prophetic sight seemed to support. There was never certainty in such things, but it was more precise then guessing and hoping.

 

[Maris Fero]

“I have no quarrel with you, Prophet. Do I?” she asked in response to his violent expectations, “perhaps my reputation here has coloured how I’m considered. I rarely choose to make enemies before I know their capabilities.”

As the intrusion of his probing receded she relaxed more, stretching and arching back her shoulders to work a tension loose.

“I didn’t particularly need to contact you again for future shipments. - I simply wanted to know how to contact you if I chose to.” she conceded the truth immediately this time, uninterested in feeling the wraith’s touch on her mind again so soon, she studied the guardians once again as he circled her, forcing herself not to follow his progress. “I like knowing secrets, and knowing people is always of some value..”

The morbid revenant came to face her again sizing her up with the hollow-eyed gaze that had shortly before terrified the Shrike, though now was fascinating.

Robot bosses with the bodies of people; Hollow arms-dealers; What else was out there?

The Prophet spoke again, offering to teach her. Another offer from another mysterious off-worlder, Maris had to start wondering if she was projecting some sign that shouted to the monsters of the universe, ‘Come check out the new meat’. She had no idea where the free cities of Katarr might be, nor if he could truly read the emotions from her eyes. A false prophecy had struck Maris as a particularly easy con to pull in the past.

“I’ll keep that in mind; Head to Katarr, ask around for a Prophet. Or is it going to be one of those, ‘Don’t worry - I’ll find you’ deals?” Too defiant by half, too much of a free-thinking and currently gainfully employed by another, the Prophet had made a fairly accurate appraisal of the Shrike.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

"I too enjoy to know secrets, but some are better left uncovered by fragile human minds."

Like earlier the husk leaned in a little, making sure that she there was not a single shred of doubt left that he was referring to himself. Questioning what he was and how he could even exist was a topic better left untouched to those uninitiated with the arcane arts, as his form of being was an act of defiance to the very laws of reality. It was easy to go to far when investigating the phenomenon that was the Prophet, and on the other side of that investigation waited only confusion, chaos and madness.

"No one sets a foot on Katarr without me knowing it, so there will be no need to ask for me."

From the freighter behind them one of Abyss workers appeared, offering a quick nod to the Prophet and his soldiers. The payment was secured, and the cargo delivered, and the ship was ready to leave the filth of Efavan behind once he had finished up his talk with [member="Maris Fero"].

"Certainly this was not the last time I heard of you, Miss Fero."

The husk turned around, and his from was framed by a sound of terror that amounted to his version of a laugh. It clearly wasn't human, not even alien, merely just distorted noise and echoes caught in an endless feedback loop. Before he entered the ship, a few last words followed while the strange cackling faded away.

"I will watch your progress with great interest. I am sure your future will be quite entertaining."

It was hard to say which part sounded more unsettling, the casual notion that he would watch her from a distance, or that war and death was little more to him then means to keep himself entertained.

 

[Maris Fero]

No one sets foot on Katarr without me knowing it…

It was that sort of threatening statement, yet empty and practically untestable. It gave Maris a peculiar envy of the husk, who had his masquerade down to an art. She didn’t have a pressing need to work out what Prophet was, though who he was intrigued her.

He had turned to leave when the laughter began, the Shrike was confused by the sound at first, and unconvinced that the wraiths amusement was caused by any honest common humour Maris would understand. She followed his progress as he boarded his vessel to leave, aware now that she had not moved from the spot since the husk’s powers had first touched upon her thoughts.

Prophet’s parting sentiments were cause for consideration, the cloaked revenant appeared to have been intrigued enough by the meeting to take interest in Maris beyond the deal they had made. The Shrike was, as yet, unsure if that boded well for her.

“Safe trip..” she called after the figure, her eyes drawn to the boarding guardians and the unnamed bulk of the anonymous transport, “ - See you again, I suppose.”

[member="Darth Abyss"]