First Reply Dealings With The Hutts

[Eve Swaka]

Location: Nal Hutta

The Swampy world of the Hutts was not for the faint of heart. There resided the power of the Cartel itself, The Goverment, and Council of Hutts. This was the world from which the Slimy Crime Lords were formed as if from primordial ooze. And it was hot, farrking hot! Eve had worked hard on the Moon of Nar Shadda, to get her a passage to this Slim Hole. Not even the Grand Palace or attempts at civilizaiton could hide the real face of this people, which ws a ruthess Slug that intended to leave its trail all over the Outer Rim. Empires and Republics had come and gone, but the Hutts remained, unphased by the Black Holes of the Dark Side and the Supernovas of the Light. As far as they were concenred, those Mad Monks were the same, some wore black, some wore brown, all of them were nut cases.

Eve found herself agreeing with the Slugs on this, in that she felt Mad herself. Ever since she had discovered her connection to “The Force,” she had felt she had lost her agency over her life. That the Will of Polars were playing in her in a game of Denjirk. She would do anything to go back to Denya, save her Father and stop her Cataclysm she had caused. And yet for all the things the Force could do, it could not roll back the time. The All Powerful energy that had caused so many wars and sunk the galaxy into conflict after conflict was bound to the same Law of Time as everyone else.

The moment the Shuttle landed on the deck of stone, and the ramp began to drop, Eve could feel the sticky wet that clung to her exposed arms, and legs, it was hot and created a layer of moisture like skin over her own flesh, and already she was wishing she was off this Slim Bowl. Approaching was Qu’rran, with those four tentacles like mandibles sticking out, beside him a Rodian with big bug eyes, and green skin, its sucker fingers on the handle of a blaster at its side. Eve was in her black cloak, her lightsaber dangling on her belt, and her eyes a vibrant gold with orange etched around outer iris. She came to Squid Head, when turrents poising on the deck, locked on to her. It was clear that Hutts were taking no chances.

“Greetings and salutations.. Sith. By invitation of the Hutts, you have been permitted to be a guest at the Grand Palace. Alas, there is some formalities, your weapon if you please.. you shall have it returned to you for the games.”

Eve taking the saber, levitating it to hands of the Rodian who grabbed it and made some comment in his tongue.
“Excellent! I understand that your people have other means of causing harm and I must stress any aggression in the presence of His Supreme Majesty will be a declaration of war against the Hutts, and even should you in an unlikely chance escape.. you will be hunted till the end of your days.” Said the Qu’rran.

Eve gave a nod, she chose not to speak unless absolutey necessary, it giving her persona a gravitas and menance. Afterall, Crime Lords only respected one thing, strength. A Skiff Speeder with a Gunner on it, and two Gammoreans with Vibroaxes approached, the elongated speeder could house twelve or twenty, and stepping on The Qu’rran gesturing as Eve stepping on with Rodian close behind. The Skiff flew over green marshlands, with their trees protruding as if teeth. The smell was enough to make one with less control lose their lunch. Eve crossing her arms stood with her eyes upon the trees wizzing past them as they came a Great Palace in the Swamp, it was towering, and oval, a metal of deep copper color, and great tubes like ambilical cords were delving into the Swamp Waters.

The Skiff came to a landing pad, and more Security, this time it was not Pig face guards, it was a Mandalorian with yellow armor and blue stripes, and IG Unit with rapid fire rifle, its red eye fixed on Eve. These acts of attention did not stir her, she allowed them their sense of control, when the truth is no one was in control, The Force was playing its Denjirk, and even they who did not believe in it or scoffed at the nortion of some “all powerful Force guiding their destiny,” were its slaves. Eve was set on her course, and as the great gate began to open, she removed her black hood to reveal her white locks, and face with red tats, which the Qurran took as a sign of respect.

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

"Chuba killee wata che wamma, uba cay uba jeejee mo goola tah bahka?"

A low-frequency boom rolled across the marshlands. Even the deck plates beneath the Grand Palace trembled. Turrets reoriented. The IG-unit stiffened.

Waiting through the the haze was a black and brass war skiff, its chassis scorched with blast marks and bearing a patched-together Mandalorian crest melded onto a sigil of the Chantin Kajidic. At its prow was no banner, only a shoulder-mounted rotary cannon and a slouching Nikto gunner, half-masked in grime.

When the ramp dropped, the massive shadow that oozed forward was unmistakable: a Hutt, but not the kind these courtiers had grown fat and blind beside. He wore armor of Phrik and Voidstone, bolted into his frame like grafted bone. A flamethrower hose coiled down one side. His armor glinted with scorch and blood, not polish.

He slithered with deliberate weight, flanked by elite Enforcers and a silent Devaronian holding a plasma halberd. No music announced him. No herald spoke his name.

But the grease-mist itself recoiled in the wake of Shyran Dol's exhaust systems.

Somehow, Whottoomuzz the Hutt had returned.

He stopped before the gate where Eve stood.

A single grunt from the Hutt froze the guards where they stood.

Whottoomuzz tilted his head, eyes narrowing on Eve’s gold-ringed gaze. Not hostility. Not curiosity.

Recognition.

"Da Eban tytung. Uba gootu uba uba see tah."

His gaze shifted briefly toward the palace doors.

"The Council invited a Sith to entertain them. Are you a Jester?"

He turned, gesturing lazily for her to follow, as if it were already decided.

"Come. Allow me to show you what remains of the Hutt Cartels, of the Grand Council"

"Tah bayta Jee wamma noleeya tah gootaka, moolee, mo jate."

Eve Swaka​

 

[Eve Swaka]

TAG: Whottoomuzz Chantin

The Sith Pretender stood ready ti enter the Palace when an imposing figure came to her. She was not quite sure what she was looking at, they wore the helm of a Mando, and yet the body was vurbois, and when it spoke, the tongues of the Hutts flowed. Eve had developed the typical prejudice that most Hutts were obese slugs on a dais being moved about by the bending backs of their servants. Could this be proof that there was another kind?

The remark about her being part of the Etertainment was true, she had come to participate in the Games, for the amusement of the Council. So to this she had no reply, on the remark about her being a Jester, she gave a head nod, as if to play into the jab of this Stranger who now offered to give her a tour of the Palace. It would not do to qurrel over an insult, and yet her persona as a Sith Acolyte demanded that she be offput in some form, and so instead she gave a roll of her gilded orange eyes as she began to follow him. The Interior of the Palace was opulent by Hutt Standards, all manner of figures walking to and fro to participate in the Crimes that had flowed immemorial. It was a rare honor to be in Den of Scum and Villainy, in these halls the Hutts had conducted their ‘businesses’ as the galaxy waged pointless wars that only swung pendelum back to favor he Light or Dark. They were outside the influence of the Force or so it seemed, a neutral party, where ethics were an amusing notion in a violent universe. One Hutt had even said in Huttese,
“Morality is a delusion that nobles fancy themselves, and that they dispense with as hastily as sodden rags when it necessitates survival. Principles are straw that bend and break when hunger sings in the stomach and your kin are suffering.”
In many ways Eve agreed. The Denya Incident, where her pain destroyed an entire city was proof of that. In her heart she had believed she was innocent despite the smuggling she did with her Father Turcos. And then in instant she became a murder bomb for the Dark Side, snuffing out lives the moment her Father was felled.
The truth was she was no pretender, she had killed so many, innocent and wicked alike, and so her appearance merely matched what she had done, what she had become, and yet she clung to the “delusion” that she was a good person, and that by rescuing the hopeless she might atone for what she had done.

Realizing she was getting lost in thought she decided to break her Vow of Silence speak to the Mighty Mando who was her guide,
“I play a better Mime than Jester.”

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

"A mime... Then you'll fit in perfectly."

The gates opened not into grandeur, but the shadow of it. Once, this atrium rang with the voices of Lords and Cartel Barons, disputes settled in gold and blood.

"Ee gee mo goola. Jeejee see tah soong peetch, tah tah pee bana goo."

A hollow chamber. Holo-thrones flickering. A skeleton crew of sycophants and spice-puffed lieges milled like bloated ticks in silk.

And overhead, Black Sun banners, openly flown.

Whottoomuzz slithered forward, the rasp of the sliding armored plates echoing. His voice rumbled low, laced with venom.

"There is no Grand Council. Only puppets. Gutless heirs. Worms feeding on the carcass of Kajidics they sold out, too weak to defend."

They passed an obese Hutt in gilded robes, surrounded by dancers. His laughter was a choked wheeze. A Nikto servant coughed from spice exposure and collapsed behind him. No one even looked at them twice.

"They sold themselves to the Black Sun. Their names, their bloodlines, their huttlet's futures, traded for credit lines and 'protection.'"

A twitch in his tail. Subtle, but violent.

"Those who resisted were hunted. Slain. Or silenced. Of the Cartels who defied them, I am the last who still does so openly. The others of the Chantin Kajidic... have vanished. Taken or otherwise, I will die before I sell their secrets."

He glanced over his shoulder, one eye scanning the rafters. Distant servo clicks. Security cams pivoting.

"There is a bounty for my death. My own cousins whispered it to bounty scum, between coughs of cigarra smoke. Yet here on the very doorstep, Not a one will lift a finger to do the work themselves."

They turned a corner into what was once the War Hall—now reeked of perfume and burnt unguents. The holotable flickered with gambling statistics, spice sales, small time rackets.

Whottoomuzz growled.

"If you came here seeking a true Hutt, you'll find none."

"Only bloated corpses waiting to die. Only names once feared, now bartered for spice like meat on a hook."

He finally stopped beside a window overlooking the green-black swamp beyond. His silhouette framed against the muck and rot of their dying world.

"But if you're looking for the last of the Huttese Crime Lords."

He grinned under the visored helmet of his heirloom Shell Hutt armor, his face as marred as his name, framed by an improvised lower jaw prosthetic and single good eye underneath in a mirthless grin.

"Chowbasa."

Eve Swaka​