Drol Raw Redux [Wildlands Game Reserve]

[Blackthorne]

Wildlands Game Reserve
Zone 6 - Underground Labs


"You've mutated it beyond control. My Beast Masters are not responsible for what you create in this lab."

"They are Beast Masters, are they not?"

"Only in the traditional sense," pale eyes watched a muddled, grotesque creature behind the film of an containment shield, narrowed in a mixture of mild disgust and intrigue, "they do not possess the powers required to control this ... thing you've made."

"The arrangement between Arctis and the Beastiary is to provide handlers for the beasts-"

"That the Beastiary provides!" A gloved hand shot out, grasping the alien Scientist by the front of his lab coat and hoisting him off the ground. Historically speaking the Scientists did not communicate nor even see the provider of their beasts - that was beyond their purview. Today had been a rare and scary exception given circumstances falling beyond their control. They were here to clone the beasts, to make them more dangerous and challenging to hunt, to increase the risk and reward of the game - not to talk. That was [member="Maleagant"]'s job when necessity arose, but he wasn't here at the present time.

"My people are not here to clean up your mess," the words matched the acidity of the gaze the Scientist presently wilted under, "if you cannot handle the creation, then dispose of it and start over. Last I heard this was not a Sithspawn breeding facility."

"Well, technically, the Terentateks are Sithsp-"

KZZZZT

The containment field fizzled as Blackthorne shoved the man against it, rousing the interest of the beast inside that immediately moved to attack. Several seconds of flailing and screeching and revered gasps of onlookers passed before he fell to the ground and the creature lurched back into the corner of its chamber.

The Scientist looked up, smoke rising from his jacket as the woman stepped over him, his eyes robust and protruding.

"I hope I've made myself clear..."

"Perfectly, Captain."


She stepped into an open lift and disappeared from sight.

"Boss is here," said a Syndicate goon waiting for her inside the lift, "he wants to speak with you."

"Oh good," Dahl quietly adjusted her leather coat, "just in time for lunch."

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

The lift stopped short of the intended destination. When it opened, Maleagant was standing right in front of the doors. He looked to be a far cry from his usual appearance. Maleagant had taken to wearing things that were more in-line with the mystic side of the Sith. Loose-fitting robes, hooded cloaks, ornate masks. That sort of thing. He was looking spooky. His employees had no understanding of the Sith, but they had certainly noticed that their boss seemed to possess abilities that were far from... Natural. Otherwise there might have been reduced credibility. A mutiny. Fortunately there were ways to curb this, like spreading malicious rumors about him telekinetically strangling insubordinates and saboteurs, or shooting lightning from his hands when angry.

Behind her, the Syndicate goon that had been operating the elevator tensed up.

"Blackthorne." Maleagant said, indicating with his head down the hallway. "Walk with me."

Once [member="Blackthorne"] was out of the elevator, he talked to the idle Enforcer. "That will be all, Samson."

The doors slammed shut entirely too quickly.

 

[Blackthorne]

Where Samson blanched with rigid anxiety the woman standing beside him colored with intrigue. At the appearance of mask and robes on the man remembered solely for his stripes the corner of her lip twitched into a faint smirk. Blackthorne disembarked the lift and joined her ... compatriot? A word better used for Thengil. Associate? No, the weren't really in business together.

Certainly not friend, but on the reverse not quite enemy.

Acquaintance.

Terrible word, but it would do for now.

"Stripes," she greeted the man, eyeing his mask and cowl, "nice hat. Where are we walking?"

 

[Darth Osano]

"Thank you," said Maleagant, in a refreshing change of pace. Hanging out with the right people did a wonder on the attitude. In his case, the right people were apparently exiled Nightsister beast cults. "And don't worry about it."

He waved his hand in a suitably pseudo-mystical, dismissive manner and started leading her down the hallway. It was a long corridor, one usually only traveled by maintenance crews. Various pipes and wires were visible. Refurbishing the worldcraft had been a private endeavor. Like most private endeavors, some corners had been cut in some places where corners were not needed. In this case, Maleagant wasn't even sure if those pipes or wires actually connected to anything. If they did, and the pipes subsequently burst, everyone here could rest easy knowing that it would probably kill them all very quickly.

"I heard the Colosseum on Rattatak has a new manager. Tell me about this."

Of course he had known about this earlier, but he hadn't cared about any of [member="Blackthorne"]'s magnificent space-faring exploits until after he had put on the mask. And after she had given a Zambrano-led governorship a royal middle finger.

 

[Blackthorne]

Green eyes glowed a pale phosphorescent in the dim light of the long hall. Dahldesa was only vaguely aware of the state of the worldcraft and its internal machinations, her knowledge leaning mostly to the effect that - this was a historical relic of a time, place and people that hadn't lived for several hundred years.

She thought about this briefly as she followed at the man's side and wondered just what was older: the worldcraft or her mother. She wasn't sure enough to make the bet.

"Cauldron," Blackthorne corrected the man as she dipped a hand into the pocket of her jacket to produce a small, flat silver tin, "you aught to know," she plucked from the case what appeared to be a hand-rolled cigarette and pressed it into her lips, lighting it with a lighter from another pocket a beat later. Once her hands were free the Pirate took a slow pull from what was, in fact, a Sten, and exhaled a plume of purpleish smoke from her lips. It carried with it a heady, almost minty sort of aroma. Not unpleasant, but with some bite.

"You left me there."

 

[Darth Osano]

If he had not already recently given a dismissive wave, he would have done so again. No one liked doing things twice in a row. If only Maleagant had a drug habit of his own, it might have broken up his dialogue a bit better. Instead he merely continued his slow waltz through the corridor, hands held idly at his side.

"You told me to. Or someone did." Maleagant gave a bemused chortle. Again, unheard of. "Your roommate."

Whatever spooky spiritual-possession [member="Blackthorne"] had going on was her business. If she wanted to share a space with a Sith spirit or whatever it was that had been, that was all on her. Maleagant was a staunch advocate for bodily autonomy, largely because he did not care enough about the bodies of others to want dictatorial control over them. More to the point, that wasn't even close to what he wanted to talk about. He was prepared now if that thing ever wanted to try again.

But only if it started the fight. Otherwise, water under the bridge. "People tell me you did good for yourself regardless."

 

[Blackthorne]

The chuckle was an odd sound, nevermind it coming from behind a mask, and drew a sideways glance from Dahldesa. He was acting strange, and that had to count for something considering she knew very little of the man aside from just how deep his frown lines were embedded into his face. Premature wrinkling was a sad, sad thing. Was that why he wore the mask now?

She eyed him, irritability for his words floundering and saturated by the fog of Sten seeping into her lungs. There was no explaining away what he spoke of concerning her bodily neighbor so she left it at that. Not that she had any recollection of what happened after the Dreadlady took over, only that she'd awaken in the fighting ring just in time to dodge and incoming broadsword aimed to cleave her head in twain.

"Aye..." was a slow, perhaps slightly questioning reply, words spilling purple fog from her lips, "sounds like you've got all the news. What did you need to talk to me for then?"

 

[Darth Osano]

Really, Maleagant thought it was obvious. "Spies can only say so much. They know what you do. They tell me what you do, how you did it. But then I ask the harder questions, like why she's done it and how far she's going to be going with it."

There was a low caliber of people who hung out by the Cauldron on Rattatak. The ones who ended up as spies were universally crippled or maimed gladiators nobody paid attention to any more. Wounded gladiators could be good at observing, not so much at analyzing or predicting. Maleagant got different answers from each spy. Now he could have trucked someone with a sharper mind out there to pretend he was a gambler, but this was [member="Blackthorne"] being considered here. Not some random warlord. Well, to others she was just a random warlord, but Maleagant had been the one to jump-start her career.

Or so he liked to think.

"Then I get to thinking, since she shows up here so often, I could show up as well and ask her myself. What is your angle, Thorn Woman?"

 

[Blackthorne]

Arms folded at her front, Dahl pinched the Sten from her lips and listened to the man with simmering bemusement. So he was spying on her?

Sheister.

A plume of purple smoke slowly coiled out between parted lips, draining irritation in pale violet plumes. Dahl closed her eyes for a moment to let the swill of complacent narcotic sink in a little deeper.

"Angle," the word expressed on a chuff, turning eyes of wild jungle beneath a misty morning haze back up at him. Two steps moved her closer, "obtuse. Why so interested?"

 

[Darth Osano]

Obtuse, she said. That was her angle. As in the planar geometric configuration formed by two intersecting rays with a degree of more than ninety. Unbelievable. Maleagant might not have been the best STEM student back in his academy or university days, but he got that much. Obtuse. Of course she was obtuse. "Wow," said Maleagant. "You got me there."

Maleagant held up a hand and pressed his pointer finger to his thumb. The lit end of her little cigarette would flatten, telekinetically depressed - the flame abruptly smothered.

"Do you know who currently calls himself the Warlord of Rattatak?"

 

[Blackthorne]

She didn't immediately notice the snuffing of her Sten, casually held off to the side as it was.

"Everybody on Rattatak knows who calls himself Warlord..." an indignant snort followed, visible eyeroll in accompaniment, "but an absent body does not a Warlord title hold, especially not there. If he is Warlord of Rattatak then I am Queen of the Universe."

One doesn't keep the awe of warriors by fielding from afar, her mother once said.

"Warlord..." Dahl shook her head, scowling, and attempted another draw from her Sten only to find it cold. She blinked and went fishing for her lighter again, "I suppose you have some vendetta against him..."

 

[Darth Osano]

The Sithling snickered. She shouldn't put it so lightly.

He could have, naturally, take the time to explain everything. Go on a long and bitter tirade about how the Zambrano Clan had, in their quest to accumulate all the war crimes, had eradicated Maleagant's entire family and then some. How they had uprooted him from a potentially quiet, happy, fulfilling life and flung him into a depraved universe of hard crime and psychotic occultism. He could have gone into great, excruciating detail about how badly he wanted to see the lot of them dead. All of them. But Maleagant did not like wasting words and he doubted Blackthorne cared very much either way. If you couldn't smoke it or bleed it, it was probably beneath her interest.

Abstract things like convoluted vengeance quests need not apply.

"Yes. You could say that," Maleagant said. "I want him dead. Gone. But first, everything he has must be taken. Or burned. I want him to taste the ashes."

There were only two names on Maleagant's hit list and [member="Blackthorne"] wanted to topple number two. How could he resist?

"If you want Rattatak, I want in."

 

[Blackthorne]

"Mm," Dahl paused mid-motion to relight her Sten, curious at his sudden interest in her endeavors. Not that she was one to scoff at vengeance served, for it was the slow yet impossibly heated coals of desire that burned deep within herself as well. The end game for her was Onderon, but she was only in the first stages of gameplay.

It was a long, long way back to those wild jungles. Who knew how long for he'd been on his trek to Rattatak.

The young woman grew a sneer, lips parting over serrated pearls as she leaned towards him, "consider yourself in."

"I'm hungry," a flame lit, proverbial and tangible, the Sten glowed at her lips once more as she stood back, "and your walk is boring. Let's talk about this over lunch."

 

[Darth Osano]

"Oh?" Well, that was easy. Then again, [member="Blackthorne"] was never very much of a haggling person. And this walk was, apparently, boring.

What a shame. Maleagant had thought he was such pleasant company nowadays. "Fine."

He turned on a heel and brought her back to the elevator. She had remained quiet the entire time, which worried Maleagant. He was expecting to hear some kind of... Plan. Maybe a little introspection into her motivations here. No, no. He was expecting too much. Blackthorne was, in actuality, an open book. It was just that all the pages were blank.

"How are you going to... Take the planet, exactly?"

The elevator doors slid open.

 

[Blackthorne]

Despite outward presentation, internalization of thought was as much a hereditary thing as it was a learned behavior. Her mother, after all, was never known to divulge more than she was asked for at any given time. Even for the asking, sometimes she'd offer nothing at all. Force of habit, as well, given the woman rarely ever worked with others.

The silence was nice at the very least, and she stood wordless and mulling things over while the doors slid shut.

"How are you going to ... take the planet, exactly?"

She supposed he simply couldn't wait until lunch. Impatient man. Dahl sniffed and took a drag on her freshly relit Sten.

"Stages," she replied, "the first is already underway - infiltrating the populace and forging new lines of order. I have ... commandeered the Cauldron for my own and implemented authority over the pit fights. They are profitable now, which has caught the attention of the local lords that can afford to invest. The next stage will be to boost the economy, retrofitting the Cauldron for a secondary headquarters for the Beastiary. Implementing outposts, building new arenas. It's time to put the Rattataki to work, make them feel useful and involved. Prison complexes, training facilities, factories."

The lift stopped and the doors hissed open, Dahl stepped out, trailing purple smoke, "Trade port comes next..."

 

[Darth Osano]

Alright, maybe there were less blank pages than originally thought.

He let [member="Blackthorne"] take the lead. Maleagant did not show up here too often and was relatively unsure of where the cafeterias were. Or maybe she was going to lead him straight into one of the wilderness preserves so she could tackle a deer and tear its throat out in front of him. It would have probably been the sixth most violent thing she had ever done in front of him. Some purple smoke wafted into his face as they exited the elevator, dforcing Maleagant to wave his hand in front of his face in order to disperse it.

"You make enough money selling animals for all that?" He asked, followed by, "And what do you think the First Order will make of all this?"

 

[Blackthorne]

She paused mid stride, looking back at Maleagant with a knowing smirk. No answer to the first question.

But the smirk faded at the second and she did relent with a nod.

"Still working on that part. We've kept our Pirating business under wraps, for the most part. I conduct that business outside of the Order's sphere of influence, Rattatak is just a port of call for now."

So far as gladiator pit fights went, that was par for the norm there. No reason for the Order to look in on a planet that was, otherwise, mostly worthless to them in that regard. The intent, however, was to make it worth something. That would draw attention and she would need a good front to keep the Order's sniveling fingers out of her business.

"You and Thengil both fronted a black market business. What do you propose would be an ... appropriate course to take?"

Speaking of course to take - Dahl hung a left, making her way towards the spaceport. She wasn't lunching in the cafeteria.

 

[Darth Osano]

Thengil had fronted a black market business, sure. Then he flunked out and gave it all to the Bird Lord. Gave it. The fool. Too focused on running around beating up random Acolytes to handle a criminal practice. Now instead of the even three-way split in their Core Worlds spice smuggling operation, Lord Fa was sitting pretty with a 66% cut and Maleagant a 33%. That had not been a pleasing turn of events in the slightest. Whatever. Maleagant had more important operations to attend to, the loss of Ri'Sajirr from the Core circuit would be overlooked, as would Fa's scheming. Although how much longer Maleagant could overlook these sorts of insults...

Whatever.

"Start a mercenary company," Maleagant replied. "The planet is ruled by a bunch of tribes at the lower levels. Constantly fighting from what I understand. Pick a client. Tip the balance of power in favor of one tribe, assume control of that tribe."

It wasn't as if Maleagant had spent a significant amount of time thinking of all the ways he could undermine the various Planetary Zambranotocracies. What did anyone whose family was murdered by grimdark doomlords think about? Maleagant glanced up to see a sign that was pointing them towards one of the hangar bays. Spaceport. Some Fa Holdings mechanics and big game hunters passed them as they continued through, too absorbed in their own lives to pay them any mind.

"Plus Ultra. From there, work closely with the First Order. They appoint you governor. Use that to make yourself Queen. Revoke the Zambrano's unsanctioned title. Everyone wins."

 

[Blackthorne]

"Mercenaries..." Dahl thumbed the corner of her lip in thought, eyes narrowing in mild distaste, "they operate by the local sector laws, rules. Uff-" not quite her niche; following rules. But maybe she could start one by proxy. It didn't mean she'd have to partake in their missions, so much as set their working with the FO into motion.

She lead down through the docks, walking past luxury ship after luxury ship. The Game Reserve was busy for certain and its clientele was high profile.

"Well," the woman dispersed a new cloud of smoke and pulled the sten from her lips, "I can manage that. Making appearances within Order space however..." a self-deprecating sort of snicker followed. Even Dahl knew she wasn't the sort of high class that would be expected to stand as any form of leadership role within the Order. They drank with their pinkies out and everything. Reaching a shuttle she took two steps up the loading ramp before stopping and turning to face Male, "No one is going to make this a Governor within the First Order," she gestured to herself, "how do you figure that into the plan?"

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant shared her snicker, but not her sentiment. "Give yourself credit," he said to [member="Blackthorne"], looking up at her from where she stood on the ramp.

"Downplay your role with your pirates, try on a few dresses. They let the Zambranos stay. They're not picky." Not to mention they had even bused in his replacement, that scarred Umbaran, out from Cantras Gola to offer him a governorship. Little old Tytos, of all people. But he was good at what he did, which was why Maleagant had him figured to take over the Syndicate now that more important matters were coming up. His governorship had not disrupted that plan in the slightest.

"You should hear what my spies saw on Kaeshana. No, you'll be fine. Just don't kill a Moff."