Populate Expedition Kashyyyk | TSC Populate of Xa Fel

[Arris Windrun]

EXPEDITION KASHYYYK​

The Sith Covenant has arrived on Kashyyyk - the forested home of wookies, rarefied plants with exotic properties, and a thicket filled with deadly beasts. Their presence on this wild, Mid Rim planet is owed entirely to one thing: Greed.


Beginning with the establishment of an inconspicuous shadowport, the Sith Covenant intends to exploit Kashyyyk's vast natural resources. Be it the precious botanicals of the Western Forest or the thrilling game of the Shadowlands, Port Mercy will play host to big game hunters, enterprising naturalists, wanton explorers, or even the passing spacer. It wouldn't be a bad spot for smuggler dead drops or a bounty hunter to go in search of quarry, either.


But first… There's work to be done!

​

Worksite 153 was the husk of an old mining operation. Nearly a decade ago, a group of Trandoshan pirates transformed the derelict outpost into a bustling shadowport where big game hunters, smugglers, mercenaries, and wildcat miners gathered to rest, restock, and stake out their claims in the Western Forest and Shadowlands. Yet, after recent decline, it has become a shady hub for profitless spacers and petty criminals.

Under the directive of Triumvir Arris Windrun, it will be re-established as a Sith outpost on the forest planet: Port Mercy.

However, upon closer inspection, it became clear that the situation was worse than the Covenant realized. The spaceport is overrun with gizka, squatters occupy the cargo bays, and the cantina has become a slipshod hunting lodge - oh, there's also rumors of an eccentric cult that worships the 'almighty bottle' (a particularly rare vintage of Chandrilan red). Suffice it to say, the only spacers that Port Mercy appears to attract are desperate lowlives and violent thugs who have nowhere else to go. Really, problems can be found no matter where you look.

That has to change.

To all Sith Covenant at Port Mercy, the objective is clear: Clean house and open shop.

Spoiler: Things to do

Clean up the spaceport. Kick out the cargo bay squatters. Set up a company branch office or shop. Take over the cantina. Hunt down the almighty bottle for yourself. Or come up with your own challenges or discoveries. After all, it's a sprawling complex with lots of history. What else might you find?

​

The Neti seer, A'Mia Madrona, holds a terrible grudge for Kashyyyk - a world that once entombed her. At her urging, the Sith Covenant has ordered a full-scale scouring of the Western Forest. A bounty of botanicals awaits - collect and catalog the rare specimens, but be warned: treacherous saava and giant jaw plants will make a quick snack of you if you're not careful.

To that end, a Sith Covenant research team has embarked on an expedition across the Western Forest - an overgrown region of old wroshyr trees, where their branches form a winding highway. Their mission is to collect and catalog the local flora before a significant portion of the forest around Port Mercy is torched to make room for a renewed mining operation.

Spoiler: Collectible flora

Gather wroshyr saplings.
Harvest the fibers of the syren plant.
Cut a bundle of kshyy vines.
Pick orga roots.

Or stumble upon the rare, fossilized amber of the extinct white worshyr tree.

OOC: The Kashyyyk wookiepedia article has other flora not listed. Feel free to get creative, make up plants as you go, or grab something from the codex!

Deep below the canopy, where the roots wind, and ancient wood petrifies, the Sith Covenant has established a forward camp in the Shadowlands. Sensory equipment and hired trackers have done well to corner much of the local wildlife, but three mighty beasts elude them.

In the vast distance where dead plants and rotting carcasses litter, giant rancor tracks show signs of Sacha'Tolok's existence: a bull rancor of record size with a voracious appetite.

Near the Well of the Dead, where wookies sometimes pilgrimage, a team of mercenaries goes no further. They fear Shadowfoot, an elusive, all-black Katarn the size of a landspeeder. Several hunters have ventured in after the animal, only to disappear without a trace.

Not far from the campground is the wreck of more than a dozen traps and sensors, all destroyed by a stampede of swine led by their progenitor - a grizzly old sathog called Mother, who is the source of more than five dozen of her kind that decimate the precious tach population.

Without expert intervention, the camp will surely be overrun, and the hunters will be sent packing.

Spoiler: Huntable game

ALIVE
Sacha'Tolok - A massive Bull Rancor that's centuries old. Legend has it that the beast is actually a demon summoned by the vengeful Sayormi people to spread their rot so that it may one day consume the forest whole. Regardless, Sacha'Tolok is a lethal monster capable of killing even Sith, and capturing it will be a monumental task.

The Sith Covenant wants Sacha'Tolok alive.

EITHER
Shadowfoot - An all-black Katarn about the size of a landspeeder. Shadowfoot is known to leave wookies alone but attacks outsiders on sight. Hunters have tracked the elusive beast to its lair somewhere near the Well of the Dead - but none who entered have returned.

Shadowfoot is valuable alive, but acceptable as a slain trophy.

DEAD
Mother - an old Sathog whose progeny have infested an entire section of the Shadowlands, decimating the precious tach population. Her thick, leathery hide is riddled with broken weapons from the wookies who have failed to bring her down. Locals regard her as invincible. Prove them wrong. Kill Mother and end her line for good, but be careful… her mighty charge can fell a scout walker.

Mother must be killed.

There are plenty of other fauna to be found if you'd prefer alternative prey. Check the Kashyyyk wookiepedia article, discover a novel species, or a population of beasts not thought to inhabit the forest world.

 

[Mercy]

​

Tag: Open
Objective: Take down Mother

Kashyyyk was an appetizer for the real thing.

Their hunters were busy tracking down those helmet-heads from Humbarine and were getting close to giving them a target. But Mercy was not a spy or an infiltrator, she could hardly help with that part. Once they gave them a target, she'd cut loose and rip some heads off. In the meantime Arris Windrun was still spinning her plots when it came to Alderaan and so the High Republic was also farther from her mind.

She had not hunted and killed anything in a while.

So it was that the Empress found herself in the Shadowlands. Tracking the trail of the Mother and her progeny. There were other Sith around too, tracking other animals that were on the list.

Perhaps some of them would join her, or they'd carve their own path.

Either was fine.

Mercy could practically feel the blood of the Sathog in the air. Soon enough the kill would be hers.

 

[Chedda Miko]

The humidity in the lower levels of Worksite 153 was a personal insult to Chedda fur as It clung to him, smelling of rotted wroshyr leaves and cheap Trandoshan fuel. But the humidity wasn't what had Chedda's oversized bat ears twitching at every minor vibration. It was the threat of dismemberment.

Wookiees. Big ones. Angry ones. The kind that didn't just kill you; they disassembled you like a faulty droid. Chedda adjusted his disguise. It was a thick, bristly mustache made of synthetic bantha hair, currently glued with industrial-grade starship adhesive just beneath his snub snout.

It completely covered his twitching nose whiskers. He checked his reflection in the polished chrome side of a grav-cart. "Chedda is unrecognizable," he muttered to himself, his voice a rapid-fire squeak.

"A master of stealth. A simple merchant from the outer rims. Yes." He gripped the handles of the cart and pushed it over a rusted seam in the durasteel floor. Inside the cart was a chaotic spread of imported novelty foods from Batuu.

Shaak Pot Roast that had gone stale three parsecs ago, bottles of brightly colored Black Spire brew that looked suspiciously like industrial coolant, and a mountain of Ronto Wraps that Chedda had personally reheated with a welding torch twenty minutes prior. The Sith Covenant was supposedly taking over this dump in order to establish a new outpost called Mercy.

Chedda had seen the opportunity for massive profit margins in this new zone, but he hadn't fully factored in the locals. A shadow fell over the cart. A very, very large shadow. Chedda froze, his large eyes widening. A massive Wookiee tracker, covered in bandoliers and smelling faintly of wet moss, stopped right in front of the cart.

The creature growled, a low rumble that seemed to vibrated right through Chedda's hollow bones. "Ah! Greetings, giant friend of the forest!" Chedda blurted out, his silver tongue kicking into overdrive before his brain could stop it. He puffed out his chest, trying to look taller than his four-foot stature.

"You look like a being of refined taste. A being who appreciates the exotic delicacies of the far-off Black Spire Outpost! Chedda, uh, this humble vendor presents to you the magnificent Ronto Wrap! Packed with flavor! Mostly meat! Very little gristle!" The Wookiee narrowed its eyes, looking from the tiny, mustachioed Chadra-Fan to the questionable meat wrap. It let out a skeptical huff.

"Chedda assures you, it is a culinary masterpiece," Chedda rattled on, leaning over the cart and gesturing wildly with his tiny hands. "Usually, this would cost you twenty credits. But for a warrior of your undeniable stature? Fifteen. No, twelve! A steal! A tribute to your magnificent fur!" The Wookiee reached out. Chedda flinched, bracing for his arms to be popped out of their sockets like party poppers.

Instead, a massive, clawed hand snatched a Ronto Wrap, shoved the entire thing into its mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. The Wookiee swallowed, grunted in what sounded like mild approval, tossed a handful of crumpled credit chits onto the cart, and lumbered away into the crowd of petty criminals and profitless spacers clogging the promenade.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Varin looked upon the decimated traps and ruined equipment of the trappers that had set up a base of operation not too far away. Roots snapped that once intertwined in a higher portion of the trail suggesting a larger creature of higher weight.

Multiple tracks told him they reside in packs and the shape of their prints revealed they were swine natured.

Varin's gaze looked down upon the trail before he knelt down running his hand through the dirt carved prints within the trail.

He left his armor and saber back on his ship. The less noise for now the better. On his hip was his Black Blade and holstered upon his back was his Sith Mace, weighed by enchantments to only be wielded by Epicanthix blood. Even then its weight was great.

He wore dark pants but no shirt. The branded runes upon his body pulsing lightly as he breathed in the scent of the forest.

He had learned too many times that when he wore his shirt it would catch on branches making the thrill of the chase more frustrating.

He ground bits of the dirt between his fingers before he stood up.

Accompanying the young Sith were two individuals, both fairly new to him. One of them a bit more familiar. His fellow fire force user Kaelyr and the ever moving Seris.

He had his eye on both of them and felt they would be welcomed additions to his hunt, and they would share in the glory of bringing Mother's corpse back.

His fiery gaze fell on Seris first.

“Evidence shows the creature is large and powerful. Though it is large it seems to be rather quick on its feet.”

His gaze then fell onto Kaelyr.

“Observation tells me they rely on pack tactics. Not ambush like but more of rampaging stampedes.”

He drew the knife made of bone from its small sheath that was held on his belt opposite of his black blade.

Slowly he ran the blade down his palm, allowing his blood to drip to the ground. Sizzling and smoking a small trail where it impacted.

“For luck.”

His fingers gently gathered some of the blood where he ran it over one side of his face.

“How much hunting experience do you two have?”

Kaelyr | Seris Velmora​

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Varin Mortifer Kaelyr Seris Velmora Mercy
​

There was a sharp knock to her ribs. Then a hard shove to her slim back as her fellow Sith Academy students shuffled by. Sneers on their faces as they regarded the new student. Nys did not avert her gaze nor did she make a move to defend herself. Pale fingertips swiped at the bone bracelet wrapped around her lithe wrist. Something whispered beneath her breath.

The large one, Xander, who'd knocked her in the back sneered at her. Watching her as if she was the prey they were all about to hunt. To Nys' credit, she didn't flinch. Perhaps it was because of the darkness around them as they began at the lowest levels of the Kashyyyk canopy. The smell of wet earth and something darker comforted her in a way that shouldn't be right.

There was a lot of death around. She could sense it in the earth. In the curling darkness of the air.

The wisp of a girl broke away from the pack and headed toward three others. She felt Xander's gaze on her back but refused to acknowledge it. A flicker of dark eyes lingered on the bone knife Varin Mortifer held. As if she could picture who and what it came from. Perhaps these three she would stick around with. Long enough to get where she wanted to go.

There was also perhaps, Mercy .

 

[Seris Velmora]

Tag: Varin Mortifer | Kaelyr

The Shadowlands smelled alive. Not in the pleasant way of a manicured garden or some cultivated world where every tree had a purpose. This place breathed. Damp earth, ancient bark, rotting leaves, distant predators, fresh blood somewhere too far away to matter yet. Every scent promised something violent if one was willing to go looking.

Seris Velmora grinned. Her attention drifted everywhere except where it should have. Towering wroshyr trunks disappeared into darkness overhead, branches thick enough to swallow starships stretching across impossible distances. Strange calls echoed through the endless forest while insects the size of her hand buzzed lazily between shafts of filtered light.

"This place is fantastic." She was already half looking for something to fight before the expedition had properly begun.

Twin lightsabers rested comfortably at her hips, familiar weights against black attire. Slung over one shoulder, however, was something far less practical—a battered Mandalorian war hammer she'd claimed aboard the Spirit Breaker. Claimed was perhaps the polite word. Won was the one she preferred. It was too heavy. Too loud. Too unnecessary. Which made it perfect. And thrown across her back was much better than on her hip.

Someone was talking. Probably about the mission. Seris honestly couldn't say. Her gaze had wandered to claw marks gouged into a nearby tree that looked large enough to fit her entire arm inside. Whatever briefing was being delivered washed over her like rain against armor. Plans were useful for people who intended to stop and think.

She intended to hit whatever they found. "..." Then that happened. A knife appeared. Not just any knife. Her crimson eyes widened immediately, locking onto the blade with almost childlike fascination. It wasn't subtle in the slightest. She stared openly, following every movement of it with naked envy.

Where do people keep finding weapons like that?

She wanted one. Badly. Not because she needed it. Just because it was cool.

Varin's voice finally pulled her attention away. "Hunting experience?" Seris blinked once before looking over at him. "I've been hunting all my life." There wasn't even the slightest hint of boasting in the statement. To her, it was simply true. Of course the fact that she was strand cast less than a year old chronologically didn’t hurt the truth of the statement. The forests, ruins, battlefields, and broken worlds of her training had always offered prey. Sometimes animals. Sometimes people.

Her eyes drifted skyward again, trying—and failing—to see where the colossal trees finally ended. "...The trees are new, though." A crooked smile spread across her face as she rested one hand on the haft of the stolen hammer. "I like them."

There was something wonderfully oppressive about the Shadowlands. Ancient. Untamed. Dangerous enough that every shadow hinted at teeth. Perfect. Whenever this "Mother" finally showed herself, Seris had no intention of discussing tactics.

She would simply charge. Planning was for people worried about surviving. She was only worried about getting there first.

​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The first laser lance struck the treeline, blossoming into a great plume of smoke and flame. A breath, an inhalation, and then more laserfire rained down to join it. Several hundred meters above the canopy, three Muur-class Sith transports hung suspended in a loose triangular formation. Each transport's pair of ventral light laser cannons relentlessly bombarded a tight cordon of Kashyyyk wilderness, smaller wroshyr trees buckling under the strain of the target bombardment. The larger trees held, only suffering minor scorching as the hail of laserfire continued to rain down.

After half an hour of sustained laserfire, much of the lesser foliage beneath and around the larger wroshyr trees had been cleared. Smoke curled up between the wroshyr branches, staining the leaves with acrid black tar. The Muurs descended, idling a few meters above the trees as the lateral bay doors slipped open. Rappel lines were lowered, soldiers in gleaming black armor sliding down into the smoldering forest.

Once the landing zone had been secured, four Skarnath-class landers emerged from each of the Muur transports, each of them modified for heavy logistics. Nearly eight thousand metric tons of material was almost immediately ferried from transport to ground, including a wide array of prefabricated fortifications and barricades. Before all of the Skarnaths had even made the opportunity to land, engineers were already working on assembling the first ground fortification in the midst of the Western Forest, far from the prying eyes of any nearby settlements.

When the last Skarnath landed, it didn't just bring material, it brought a Lord of the Sith. Heavy plated robes were wrapped around His powerful seven foot frame, a single molten eye peering out from beneath a blocky brow. The Abyssin's lanky arms almost dragged along the ground, each digit terminating in a vicious sickle-claw. He walked forward with a hunched gait, each step a pounding drumbeat.

Yet, when He breathed, it was the Eternal Father's power that was felt. Subdued, purposefully diminished, but exceedingly potent.

One of the Children of the Eternal Father, Kavvex the Cantor. His body a cradle, His being hollowed out and worn like a suit. It was not the Eternal Father's full might, but even a smattering was enough for most. His conscious shared, divided, simultaneously witnessed across dozens of lives. This was but a single view in a kaleidoscope that spanned the galaxy.

He watched, silent and morose, as the work progressed.

 

[Veyla Tass]

Tags: Drakul | Vulcan Zambrano | Nyara Dakhan OPEN
Objective: Rancor Rancher Deluxe

Trees.

Veyla knew they existed in the abstract - she'd seen picture books as a child and holofootage as an adult, and she'd seen the things from low atmosphere on Thrantin. But...

Force, they were so big up close. And so...alive. Vey just sort of stared, awestruck, up at the canopy of this dark and sinister forest while a text-to-speech program buzzed helpfully in her ears.

<<Sacha'Tolok is highly dangerous. It is to be retrieved alive. Tracking its movements should prove...>>

Struck from her daze by the reminder of her actual job, she looked back down to ground level. Infant wroshyr trees and saava trampled underfoot, an ominous lack of the chittering and buzzing she'd heard earlier...

Well, it certainly felt like she was in the right place.

"So..." The acolyte removed her ear-piece and shoved it in the pocket of her oversized, patched-up black-and-grey coat. Briefly, she met the gaze of her hunting partner, a Sith in both senses of the word. It made no sense to Vey to name your religion after your species, but then, she'd only learned the species existed a few hours ago, so. "You ever hunt a rancor before? I knocked over an imp transport once, but..."

 

[Nyara Dakhan]

Tags: Veyla Tass // Drakul // Vulcan Zambrano
Objective: Track Down and Take the Bull Rancor Alive

​

Nyara took a moment to take in her new surroundings; a dense forest canopy above, and darkened foliage beneath the bows of the trees. It was called the Shadowlands for a reason - it was dark, mysterious, and to lesser creatures perhaps formidable. The Sith Pureblood wasn’t any lesser creature - but she still kept her wits about her.

This was to be one of her first true outings with other Acolytes that made up the ranks of the Sith Covenant. She had joined their ranks not all that long ago, after meeting with their so-called Empress, Mercy.

The forests of Kashyyyk were a far cry from anything the female Sith had ever known; she used to the frigid desert of Korriban, her ancestral homeland. But she found a certain appreciation for the wildness of the forest that sprung up around her. This day, she chose simple muted grays and blacks for her outfit - something to help her blend in and mostly conceal the vibrant red of her skin.

“So…you ever hunt a rancor before? I knocked over an imp transport once, but..."

The voice of her hunting partner, another young woman by the looks of it, pulled Nyara from her observation of the darkened forest around their starting base. She shifted her cool eyes towards the other girl, the low light glinting off of the various golden ornaments and piercings that adorned her crimson face, and studied her for a moment. Her partner was relatively tall, pale, and appeared somewhat thin. She didn't appear to be anything noteworthy, especially for a mission such as this. But Nyara was smart enough to know that looks could be deceiving. This girl had presence about her, and perhaps that was all that was needed to complete the dangerous task that lay before them.

“My ancestors hunted rancors for sport.” Nyara rumbled, her voice feminine but surprisingly deep. “But no, I personally have not hunted one before. And I hear they want this old bull alive…” Her face shifted in a sneer of disgust. “I’d prefer if it was dead. They are unpredictable, at best.”

Along with the other girl, Nyara waited to see if their other hunting companions would join them soon. She had heard that two others were to come along, but she did not see them immediately. She was eager to get on the trail, but the more hands they had available to them to tackle…or distract…a dangerous bull rancor, the better.​

 

[Parvati]

P A R V A T I

House of Parvati • Mistress of the House

P O R T - M E R C Y

​

A velvet glove rested lazily atop a dark steel cane. It wasn't for support as much as it was an accessory, but it did help her keep her balance high in the trees. Parvati hated heights. The cane tapped along as Parvati kept moving, like a metronome announcing her presence.

It had been years since the woman had held real power, the kind of power that made people afraid. Sure, she had been a Vigo in the Black Suns, but that meant nothing now. The contacts she had back then were either dead, incarcerated, or washed up drunks. Worse than any of that, was Parvati, who floated in obscurity. The ultimate insult to someone like the Mistress.

That's what brought the lady to Kashyyyk in the first place. Parvati, in her fall from notoriety, had still maintained her intricate web of contacts. She kept her ear to the beat of the galaxy, just because she wasn't present didn't mean she wasn't aware.

The real credits were with the Sith. The Republic and the Mandalorians were powerful, but they were limited by their dogma. The Jedi were as useless as ever, and the Imperials were the only group who rose and fell more than the Suns themselves. The Sith, in all their brutality, had been the most consistent in the galactic market.

And Parvati loved an underdog. So naturally, the businesswoman traveled to Kashyyyk to see what the fuss was about with the new faction of Sith upstarts.

The worksite already felt alive, posters were taped to the walls advertising various jobs and requests, neon lights flooded the darkness cast from the treetops. The problem wasn't a lack of life, it was a lack of profit. The Sith weren't here to build a city, they were here to establish a foothold.

"Make sure the room is secure." Parvati whispered to her security droid, her mauve lips getting inches from the droid's synthflesh.

The droid immediately stopped following, waiting for the group to move ahead before disappearing into the crowd.

"Attention!" Parvati tapped her cane against the floor of the cargo bay. The squatters paid her no mind, typical. The Mistress cleared her throat, "Attention!" Her cane tapped durasteel again to no avail.

Her free hand raised, calling the attention of her other droid to her side.

"Set that crate on fire." The droid hurried, never questioning her Mistress's command, and with a quick ignition, a crate of scrap wood began to go up in smoke. Not quite fire, but smoke, enough to catch the attention of everyone in the room.

"Are you crazy?" A Twi'lek yelled as he approached with a bucket of water, dousing the fire before it could really start. All eyes were on Parvati and the Twi'lek now.

Velvet could be a comfort or a weapon, and in Parvati's case, it was usually the latter. The Mistress brought the full weight of the cane down on the Twi'lek's leg, a wet crack sounding across the room. He fell to the floor immediately, but no one dared run to help him.

"Now that I have your attention." Parvati said just above her speaking voice, but the whole room was silent so her words echoed. "Who wants to make some credits?" She allowed herself the smallest smile. Fear had always been an excellent negotiating tool. It was efficient, reliable, and most importantly, memorable.

The Twi'lek looked up at Parvati, cursing at her in his native language. The woman clicked her tongue in contempt as she drew her blaster, aiming it at his head.

A gunshot rang out, and even though the people in the room were terrified, not a single one had made a move. Fear. Finally, she could feel their fear again. It was familiar and intoxicating, discovering an old vice she had sworn off.

"Excellent." She holstered the blaster to her hip.

"Who's first?"

TAG: Chedda Miko

 

[Astra Sadow]

​

Astra Sadow, two Wookiees, and a droid walked into a cantina.

The dark haired woman stopped just inside the establishment to admire the lowly lifeforms on display. It could have been worse. Which wasn't to say the place met any acceptable standard whatsoever except for the pleasant lack of Rakghouls. Her presence attracted notice for a few seconds, but only just. Wary looks. Grunts. The usual once they'd determined she wasn't there to burn the place down.

She stepped over toward the bar and grabbed a nearly empty glass, oblivious to the low effort 'hey' from her intrusion. Two sharp clacks rang out to draw all those beady little eyes back to her. Kind of them that it only took two. Astra would have kept doing it until they finally caved.

"You've all gathered here to make credits and carve out a little something for yourselves. I admire that." Astra paused and slowly panned and scanned the crowd. "How's that going for you?"

One particularly gnarly Wook shot up from their seat.

Just as quickly, a large object of some kind sailed across the room at the burly trunk of a Wook. They caught it in both hands, muscles in their arms no doubt flexing under the fur to crush it, and found the box-like container in their grasp unyielding. Half a second before they threw it at Astra, they must have caught sight of something inside it. An object suspended in a transparent medium. A bottle-shaped object.

The hesitation was all she needed. "I would be careful how you handled that. Blood debts have been made for less." Why, it was indeed a bottle of a rare vintage of Chandilan red. One locked inside a very thick, very hard transparent material. Now she had a mote of curiosity or even skepticism, which was more than the disregard they'd held moments ago.

"I have a proposition for some of you." Astra liked being honest. "Join me in turning this Worksite into a credit making machine, or become fertilizer in whatever dark corner of the Shadowlands you've staked for yourself. In return, you get everything you want. Good liquor. Good entertainment. The freedom to live in your homestead; but in one that isn't just on this side of habitable."

Another Wookiee let out a series of growls. Astra waited for the droid to translate. There were plenty of languages she'd learned, but one predominantly of slaves and killing machines hadn't been one. "They wish to know why a Czerka representative thinks they can still trick them into servitude."

Hands spread out to either side with a smirk on her lips. "Czerka? Short-sighted has-been never appreciated the value of your strength and tenacity." Astra gestured to the bottle. "That is just the beginning, and I'm offering it to the first person that puts me in contact with the person you regard as controlling this Worksite. The one that lets the vermin run rampant. Lets you fine and tired hunters wipe out entire herds until there's nothing left. The one with the pirates that barely keep their ships in the skies." The one she needed to win over or kill.

OPEN​

 

[Chedda Miko]

Chedda didn't flinch at the blaster shot. Well, his ears twitched violently enough to nearly dislodge his fake mustache, but he kept his feet planted, staring at the woman with the velvet glove and the dark steel cane while slowly shaking his furry head.

She was wasting perfectly good crates, breaking legs, shooting people before the first word was spoken. It was a terrible business model, and to Chedda fear was a sloppy tool that left a mess and failed to inspire repeat customers.

Instead a proper criminal made people feel glad they were being robbed. The woman was acting like she owned the place when she hadn't even checked who owned the deeds to the floor she was standing on.

But Chedda always found a way to integrate with the so-called elite as they always seemed to have the deepest pockets and the most embarrassing secrets. He waited for the ringing in the cargo bay to fade, letting the heavy, terrified silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before pushing his grav-cart forward.

"Chedda thinks the lady has excellent posture, but terrible patience!" his rapid-fire squeak echoed across the quiet bay, though he caught himself quickly and smoothed down the synthetic bantha hair beneath his snout.

"Uh, this humble merchant means to say, why shoot the clientele when you can feed them?" Rolling the cart right up to her security circle, entirely ignoring the smoking crate and the unfortunate Twi'lek on the floor, he flashed a wide, unbothered grin up at Parvati

"The Mistress wants to know who is first? The stomach must be full before the pockets can be emptied! This vendor offers a grand reopening special, one Ronto Wrap, guaranteed to be mostly meat, and one bottle of Black Spire brew. For the lady with the fine cane? Complimentary. A token of appreciation for cleaning up the local flora and fauna." He picked up a wrap with a flourish, holding it out toward her velvet glove, perfectly aware that he was turning her terrifying display of dominance into a casual backdrop for a food stall advertisement. If she shot him, she looked ridiculous for killing a food vendor; if she accepted, Chedda would prove she wasn't that much of a crime boss.

​

 

[Vulcan Zambrano]

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦

Kashyyk, Shadowlands...
Rancor Hunting

A world of living, breathing shadow.

Wet bark, rot, old blood, crushed fern, and something heavier still beneath it all. Vulcan could feel the firest pressing in from every side, immense wroshyr trunks rising like pillars in some drowned cathedral. Above, the canopy smothered the world. Below, the roots twisted through shadow and mud, half-buried things disappearing beneath moss and black water. The prince stepped into the camp silently, carefully taking a glance before proceeding forward. To hunt Vulcan chose a simple outfit of deep black. Fitted field trousers tucked into reinforced boots, a sleeveless dark underlayer beneath a weather-treated combat jacket and light armor plating over the chest, forearms, and shins. It was both practical and silent in equal measure ideal for climbing roots, crossing mud, and accentuating agility when hunting such a large predator. A simple pack was on his back containing things that could prove useful in snaring the beast. His amber eyes moved from the churned earth, to the immense rancor track half-filled with rainwater.

Then to the others. "You ever hunt a rancor before?" Vulcan heard it as he approached, his expression remaining unchanged. One of the women he recognized from the training experience, the other he didn't. The Sith Pureblood answered first, foretelling experiences of the past and a preference for simply killing the beast. A faint breath left him that might've been amusement. Killing it would've been easier, anything would've been easier. Bull Rancors easily dwarfed typical Rancors in size, strength, and foul temperament. "Killing it would have been simple by comparison. But they want it alive." Vulcan said, voice low, even, and without warmth. "Which means we are not simply hunting a rancor." The young mans size eclipsing around eight feet easily dwarfed them both. He crouched near the track, gloved fingers brushing the edge of the impression, the mud was still soft. Fresh enough. Deep enough that even the forest seemed to have yielded beneath the animal's weight.

"We are hunting something old, territorial, and clever enough to still be free while lesser beasts are already cornered." He stood again, looking into the deeper dark between the trees. Somewhere far off, birds screamed and scattered from a branch with frantic wingbeats. His gaze shifted back to Veyla and Nyara. "Taking it alive creates far greater risk. It will almost certainly be a test of endurance before the days end."

✦ Witnessed By the Throne ✦

Veyla Tass | Nyara Dakhan | Drakul

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦

 

[Silara IX]

Location: Abandoned Restraurant, Worksite 153 - Kashyyyk
Thread Objective: Port Mercy
Mission Objective: Remove the local Trandoshan hunting guild / criminal gang.
Tag: Renji

​

The Red Scales had once been a guild of Trandoshan hunters known for taking down big game in the Western Forest and the Shadowlands. Now, they were little more than a rabble of petty criminals, subsisting on a fearsome reputation earned in hunts long past to lord over vagrants, squatters, and impoverished merchants. Still, the once-formidable gang held a fearsome reputation in the eyes of the locals, owing to routine displays of force that deterred any would-be upstarts.

However, possessing a galactic-scale perspective on what true power and strength looked like, the Sith were not intimidated by parades of power. Such displays only proved that the Red Scales had at least a cursory ability to organize a convoy of menacing-looking black landspeeders. It did not speak to their martial prowess or their ability to fight a gang war.

And it certainly held no weight as to their ability to survive a potential decapitation strike.

In that regard, Silara IX and another who she had yet to meet had been tasked with putting an end to the Red Scales’ reign over Worksite 153, by any means necessary. The strand-cast Sith acolyte had a particular approach in mind, though whether her partner would agree with remained to be seen.

For the moment, Silara sat on a table inside an abandoned hole-in-the-wall restaurant just under a kilometer away from the Red Scales’ hideout, slender fingers idly tuning the emitters on a laser-sheathed crescent blade as she waited for her partner to arrive. The gang’s reign had decimated much of the local economy, and this particular restaurant was one of many such establishments that had shut down, its owners having fled the shadowport for places offering better opportunity and which would not demand daily tribute to a local gang.

Silara took a slow, steadying breath, and placed the crescent blade across her back. Her gaze drifted upward to a faded menu hanging above the counter, its images of long‑uneaten dishes yellowed and curling at the edges.

She blinked, and suddenly realized that she was hungry.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Ghost Silk
• Monomolecular Energy Cord Crescent Blade
• FAE/M-01 “Scherezade” Energized Vibroblade Mk. II
• Qazûr-Pattern Soulpistol Mk. I
  
  • Ammunition
    
    • Standard Blaster Power Cell (6)
    • Tibanna Gas Cartridge (6)
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Thermal Explosive (4)
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (4)
• Supernal Infusion

 

[Meliant]

Attn: No One

The Sayormi held "court" in perhaps the most miserable shitpit Meliant had ever seen. It seemed wherever these people went, the forest died, and a twisted swamp emerged in its place. Meliant couldn't have cared left - swamp bugs and diseases could find no purchase in him - but it made the march over a pain in the ass, especially with all the crates and cargo, especially for the heavy walkers they had to use. Everything about Kashyyyk was a pain in the ass, come to think about it.​

​

Especially the people who lived here. The Sayormi scouts they encountered had to be jostled and shaken and flung around a little bit before they got the message and brought them the rest of the way to their encampment. There, Meliant got his audience the Sayormi Queen. She was a real looker - fancy headdress and face tattoos. The works. Not that Meliant could do anything about it. ​

​

She gave a long discourse on the struggle of the Sayormi, and the spiritual purity of their cause, and so on and so forth.​

​

"That's great," Meliant said at the conclusion, "And I agree. I brought you guys something because I agree so much. Show them, Captain."​

​

Captain Laramée Lovejoy brushed his new wookiee-fur shoulder cape out of the way and cracked open one of the crates for the benefit of the queen. Within were several neat stacks of long rifles. Lovejoy passed one to a nearby Sayormi warrior, who furrowed his brow and inspected it thoughtfully. These were ion disruptors. Very powerful. Very deadly.​

​

The rest of Meliant's men spent the evening dolling out various other pieces of war materiel to the Sayormi. The exchange of weaponry made the warriors of both parties giddy, and they could not help but chatter among themselves. But the Queen herself was becoming wary and came to stand beside him.​

​

"What is it you actually want, outlander? You did not come here with this for nothing."​

​

Bodyless Meliant somehow made a sound like clicking his tongue, "What do I want? I just want you people to do what comes naturally."​

​

They paused to watch a Sayormi brave take careful aim with a new disruptor. One press of the trigger and the recoil nearly knocked him off his feet, and the energy bolt that issued forth singed the air so that it could be smelled even from here. The dummy he had been aiming at was incinerated instantly, and the bolt traveled some additional distance before scouring a the bark of a dead Worshyr tree.​

​

A delighted cheer rose from the ranks of both parties.​

​

"And when I need something," Meliant concluded, "I'll be back."​