First Reply Just Plain Sadistic... (Torture Session for a Holocron and Bounty)

[Vokmur Kajed]

(Anyone want to work themselves into a tale as the unaware buyer of a Jedi Holocron, PM if interested. For now, any sort of thug or warrior of evil alignment or a proper Darksider can feel free to join my Gamorrean in torturing a small-time politician for information on a most-precious artifact he made the mistake of selling... Let's be bad guys together! Rated M for intense violence, profanity, blood and gore. You have been warned - read with caution!)

Denon, Inner Rim
A Mountain Estate beneath the Primary City Sprawl
0301 Local Time

The five inept, pseudo-competent guards never had the smallest iota of their guests' true intentions.

Their self-appointed leader had been an astute, oddly polite Devaronian named Laln, with rare violet skin, a refined and courteous fellow who took pride in his job, often polishing his weapons and fussing over his uniform even as he traveled to and from the vast manor, secreted away beneath Denon's vast, planetwide and currently darkened, if busy, city.

It was while he was berating himself over such a sauce-based predicament along his gray uniform that the visiting Senatorial Aide shot poor Laln through his left cheek, having quickly produced a sapphire-encrusted, glimmering and intricately carved Umbaran pistol from beneath the intricate violet, silver-trimmed robes adorning his rotund, ghost-white body. The emerald bolt burned away the violet flesh of the ill-fated Laln, completely disintegrating several well-kept teeth and charring a few along either side before it instantly moved on to reduce the majority of the Devish's tongue to ash in the blackened, sizzling flesh of the ruin of his mouth that remained behind, even as the bolt swiftly exited through the right side of his jaw, swiftly scorching a hole in a nearby curtain of exotic, if drab, gray fabric. Laln's ruined jaw worked open as he produced a yowl of reaction and agony, the sizzling embers of the tip of his tongue falling from between his trembling lips to fizzle atop the tan carpet adorning the floor beneath him.

Even as the Devish's scream had begun, a second green blaster bolt charred away the notched purple ear and the underlying skin and bone easily enough, leaving a sizzling crater behind on the side of poor Laln's head, his shocked and pained expression frozen on his formerly caring, compassionate features, to be forgotten forever as he fell forward, bronze eyes twitching one last time as he collapsed like a child's forgotten and hastily discarded plaything. As if to satisfy some greedy curiosity, the immense, silk-clad Gamorrean extended a thick-toed roll of flesh - an immense leg - to press a sandal-clad toe against Laln's pocket...

Sadly, there was no credit chip or stick that he could feel, at the moment.

The albino sighed. He would have to check them all later! Such a chore...

Raising his Umbaran pistol upwards, he motioned with a flick of his fat wrist to the shadowed figure behind him - the orders given were clear - disable the security system and they each would take out the manor's remaining guards, assuming they survived this undertaking... The Dressellian Kor Evea, doubtlessly ensconced in his quarters with that blonde-furred repulsive Wookiee dancer and no doubt shouting orders into a comlink, if he had heard the commotion, would be there if Vokmur and his accomplice were fast enough... Vokmur Kajed was certain, one way or another, that he and his temporary guardian would get what they had come for, before the morning sun rose...

The Dressellian had been a weak, simpering, fat and slow... Though of the bad variety, unlike Vokmur, of course!

Vokmur had standards and ambition, and that was all the justification he needed! An ambitionless Nerf like Evea had no right to his wealth, nor to life itself! Far better that Vokmur put it all to far better use...

His guttural tongue snorted forth his intentions: You go upstairs, and I'll secure this floor.

Narrowing his disgusting, watery pink eyes, the Gammorrean chuckled a throaty, snorting laugh.

While the Holocron was no longer here, the Dressellian could still talk... Whoever bought that Jedi artifact couldn't run and hide forever!

 

[Trayze Tesar]

CURRENT MISSION - Dirty Deeds, Done By Freaks
Immediate Goals -
1: Ascertain the location of the Jedi Holocron

BLUFOR - Vokmur Kajed (regrettably)

OPFOR - One (x1) hapless low level politician

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Vokmur Kajed

---

One odd addition to the Gammorean's group was a Kiffar, a derisively but accurately labeled "tinhorn" - one that the Kiffar bore with pride. He knew that he had to work with small fish to catch bigger ones, or vice versa - that was one of the many lessons imparted to him due to his career in the Imperial Peacekeeping Force. It was a loveless but mutually beneficial affair, a "no-name" Sith Acolyte gets to snag a Jedi Holocron from an Alliance politician, the Gammorean can keep whatever was left - but as the Gammorean just karking shot at the Devanorian target, the Kiffar gave a venemous exhale of exasperation. Always expect the lowest bidder - another maxim of life he learned.

"Bogan's bollocks man, the fuck are ya thinking?!" the tinhorn exclaimed to the Gammorean as he would attempt to shove the oversized and overly-silken pig-man from the mewling Devanorian. "Yer gonna wake everyone in the manor with that! Be professional!" Under normal circumstances, the half Detective, Half Sith Acolyte, Half Asset Collector, Half Bantha-Herder would have been downright jubilant at the prospect of a criminal's absentee tact and brain with two exceptions: either he was too stupid to know what was impossible, or that Trayze had the displeasure of working alongside said mouth-breather.

Floating alongside, and with hushed lamentations was the floating protocol droid that served as a translator for the Gammorean, an old ECP model that fretted over the singed person. "If he doesn't expire, then he'll certainly call for help!" the Protocol Droid exclaimed, and the Sith continued to try to maintain professionalism when addressing his "partner in crime". "Persephone, make sure this guy." he sneered at the Pigman, "Keeps that guy alive and stable-Ah'm going upstairs, Ah'm going upstairs. No expirations, savvy?" Drawing his trusty Stormclaw, the Sith ascended and cleared out the rooms while the octahedral droid tried to soothe their mutual acquaintances - both the injured party and the injurer.

 

[Vokmur Kajed]

Trayze Tesar
The Gamorrean snorted as he silently looked over the Kiffar with those strange, dark pink eyes of his, devoid of emotion, not even any sort of sadistic mirth.

A single fat, ghost-like hand raised upwards to silence the blabbering protocol droid of some bizarre, floating variety that he had never seen until making the Kiffar's acquaintance, even as his other fat hand shifted down towards his strained, worn belt adorning his robed, gluttonous form. In the faded, dull, night-setting lights, the Kiffar would see the edge of a bronzed, triangular dagger, as intricately-lined and studded with a gem, as decadent as the Gamorrean's modified Umbaran pistol had been. One hand held the Protocol Droid back, and, even as the bizarre Darksider watched, the bronze blade shifted downwards, lightly THUNK-ing into the underlying floor as it passed through the Devish's throat, just to be sure the bastard was dead!

The thick, black blood ran along the bronze blade, giving it an alien appearance as it retreated from the poor guard's throat, in spite of the Kiffar and his droid's accompanying shock and, perhaps, their disgust as well. The Monster didn't even bother to clean the blade - net yet, anyway. Slipping the oil-blooded dagger into its scabbard, the Gamorrean waved the protesting droid into silence, one free hand motioning to his two accompanying AD-Series Weapon Droids, their shadowy, bulking forms as black as night, and, surprisingly, they had blended in easily in the room's corners, in the event their Master might have bitten off more then he could chew. Hulking, and stoic, they stood as tall as the Kiffar himself, their bell-like heads swiveling and whirring as their bronze photoreceptors took in the room in several wavelengths of light.

Vokmur Kajed snorted in disdain at the Kiffar's droid, shaking like it was about to have a catatonic fit! Pathetic...

No survivors. he grunted his dark, insidious will to the man's droid, even as one of the AD Droids made its way past him, black form merging into the shadows as it made its way through the door, an E-11 Blaster rifle hefted and swiveling as the droid scanned the hallway, as silent as death and as unseen as a demon. The other droid stood behind its Master, even as the Gamorrean reached into one of the bandolier pouches adorning his silken robes. A fat, grublike finger emerged, coated in a sticky, moist looking sand, teal and glinting in the faded lighting: Spice. And not just any Spice - Tempest. If the Kiffar knew the criminal underworld, he knew he'd had to give his twisted employer a wide berth, at this point.

Hell has come for them... his will echoed to the droid through those guttural snorts, even as those pink eyes shifted to and fro, tusked mouth shifting into a hideous, fanged grin as the Gamorrean pressed his finger into his moist, porcine nose, inhaling sharply, purposefully, and savoring his own vile intentions.

He pressed a hand to a large leather bag tied to his side, as though to reassure himself that it was still there....