Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Nothing to Lose

I am a son of the Mountain.
The weeks following Decker's escape from the Hutt Spice Mines had been productive, to say the least. Gaining access to the credits that was owed to him, he became rich in the blink of an eye. If he wanted to ,it would be too easy to retire peacefully and live a lavish life. Peace and tranquility weren't what Decker was about. Where there was money, there was more money, and that was what the Thyrsian believed in.

Now, he was on a venture into CIS space, hoping to find a way to triple the credits he already had. From his seat in their shuttle, Marcellus could see the Lucrehulk Battleship growing closer as Marcellus and his reassembled gang grew near.

"Uh...Boss you sure about this?" A gruff voice called out, pulling the hood down from his scaled head, revealing a young Besalisk.

​Impatient eyes fell on the man sitting in front of Marcellus. Contorting his face in an act of disapproval, Marcellus kicked the back of the Besalisks chair. "Hey! Worry about what I tell you to worry about. Get your ass in the back and make sure we're ready to go."

​Wincing from the kick, the alien would nod, "You got it." before making his way to the back of the ship and disappearing into the cargo hold.

​The pilot, a Zeltros female gave Marcellus a momentary glance. Paying it no mind, Marcellus continued to eye the ship before them until he noticed the young red-skinned alien passing her another look. "What?" He asked.

​She would look back to the ship, an uneasy feeling settling over her. "I mean....that's a big ship and a lot of clankers. If this goes south...."

"Aw hell, You too? Look, we're not hear for a fight. Just keep your mouths shut and follow my lead."An absent nod was given as a soft beep rang out over the ship. "They're hailing us, boss." Marcellus would offer a quick smirk before inclining his chin to the ship. "Transmit the codes. We paid a lot of credits to get this far, let's see what we bought."

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
”Milord, sensors have picked up a lone vessel.”

Today was intended to be quiet.

For the past several months, the demands of his Office had made daily life a whirlwind. As the Confederacy steadily expanded across the stars, so too did his presence. From military operations to mundane signings of treaties, Darth Metus was constantly on the go. Thus, for just one day, he had resigned himself to silence. He forsook the Fortressa, leaving the jewel of the Armada parked above Geonosis. He forsook the Ferocity, the Dread Spear, and every other notable vessel remotely tied to his name. No, for today, he simply borrowed an old Lucrehulk-class Command Ship and was satisfied to sit above orbit.

Personally, he was seated upon a meditative “throne.” The room was dark - no illumination came from artificial sources of light or even the few viewports scattered about. Here, in perfect peace, he calmed and quieted himself. His mind was set upon things higher than treaties and agreements - he thought of his ambitions. It was true that, at a glance, the Confederacy was a wholly benevolent nation. They stood against slavery, they did right by their members, they protected their own...but there was a Sith at the helm. They were allies of the Jedi - of Silver and the Alliance - but there was a Sith at the helm.

How good could they truly be?

The beginnings of a smile twitched upon the Sith’s lips as he meditated. This was an Empire of his own making - one that would succeed where his people failed. The Sith relied upon strength alone to maintain control...but what happened in moments of weakness? What happened when the old Dark Lord of the One Sith faltered? War. Coups. Years of vision torn to shreds in a matter of days. And what of the Mandalorians? Similar truths held for them as well. If the Sole Ruler faltered...if he made a single misstep, the veterans would rise out of the woodworks to oppose them. But here? Here the worlds adored him.

Here, he ruled not by domination, but by charity. Here, his shortcomings would make him seem...approachable. Human. The people adored that sort thing. But what was next? Where would he lead his nation. What pl-

”Mi’lord, are you...awake?

His eyelids snapped open.

”Why. Are. You. Here.”

Each syllable was as thunder roaring from his lips.

”W-We have a ship on radar. We’ve hailed them, but there’s no response…”

”This is why you disturbed me? For a ship on radar?”

Ascension gripped the Sith. Vicious strides bridged the gap between the two.

”I-I’m so sorry for the interruption. I just wanted to infor-”

A huff escaped Darth Metus’ nostrils.

”This had better be good. For your sake.”

A few moments later, the incoming vessel would receive the go ahead. Their well spent credits had paid off - as they would soon be directed to one of the Lucrehulk’s primary hangar bays. Their arrival would be the furthest thing from diplomatic, as a cadre of B1 Battle Droids were waiting for the ship to touch down. Their blasters were not raised...yet. And, to the far end of the hangar strode forth the hooded figure of Darth Metus himself. Though he spoke no words, his presence aboard was proof enough that they had got their money’s worth.

[member="Marcellus Decker"]
 
I am a son of the Mountain.
​The moment their shuttle had been given the all clear to procede to the battleship, Marcellus stood up from his seat, a sly smirk plastered on his face. "About damn time I had some good luck. "Lucky, take us in nice and easy. Saug, you get that stuff bagged up yet?"

​From the cargo bay, a voice called out, the same voice as the Besalisk who Marcellus had only just dismissed. "Got it all loaded up, boss." He confirmed, his form moving back into the cockpit as Marcellus turned back to Lucky, the Zeltros pilot. He leaned over her seat as they slowly drifted towards their landing platform within the hangar. Bringing them in for a slow and steady landing, Lucky leaned forward, watching as the red carpet was rolled out for the shuttle. "Uh oh..." She muttered, glancing back to Marcellus whom watched the display with an amused, yet agitated expression. "We're not in trouble yet."

"Booooooss." Saug called out, looking out of the viewport with a rather worried gaze.

"You ask me if I'm sure about this one more time and I'm breakin' all four of your arms. Power us down and let's do some business." He said, turning back to the cargo hold that led to the offloading ramp.

​Marcellus dug in his pocket, producing a small pack of cigarra's. Setting one in between his lips, he quickly lit the nicotine before exhaling a soft cloud up into the air. "Let's do it." He muttered to himself. Slapping the button to release the offloading ramp, Marcellus ran a hand through his hair as the ramp was lowered onto the battleships hanger deck. Immediately Marcellus was greeted by a figure he recognized out of reputation alone. The Sith lord of the Confederacy, Darth Metus.

​Marcellus stepped onto the top of the loading ramp, looking around the interior of the battleship before taking a long drag of his cigarra. "Nice place you got here." He called out to the Sith Lord before making his way down the ramp. Revealing himself from the cargo hold, Saug carried four black duffle bags in his arms, two of them slung over his shoulders as the other two were carried to the side with his lower set of arms. "Darth Metus. I heard a lot about you man, really. This is an honor." Marcellus' tone was one that could be taken as mocking, yet to some degree his compliment was in earnest.

​Snapping his fingers, Saug would step down from the ramp, tossing the duffle bags down onto the ground. Each one slamming into the metal, the loud rattling inside growing louder with each bag slammed down.

"My name's Marcellus Decker." Decker said, making his way down the ramp. His hand took hold of the bag that laid on top of the others, unzipping the bag, he would quickly push it over. The rattling within the bag spilled over, sliding onto the ground in front of the feet of Darth Metus. "I'm here to make you a rich man."

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
At first, Darth Metus spoke not a word.

His gaze of burning sulfur fell upon the crew which shambled out of their vessel. Each had a rough edge to them - and for that reason they were not executed on the spot. They did not scream Imperial nor Mandalorian in his mind. And thus, when they began their descent down the ramp, the B1s were held at Bay by the raising of his hand. Their rifles would not burn through them. Not yet at least. Then, the lead man spoke - his accent was urban, as if he frequented Nar Shaddaa or Taris. It reminded him of his sibling, Rigard, to be perfectly honest.

Then came the bag. It was slid over the ground, cautiously, until it came to a halt just before the Sith's boot. He did not need to have one of the droids inspect it to know what was inside, as a few pieces had spilled out along the way. Credits. A whole mountain of credits stuffed into each bag. Now, any man who knew of the Sith could assume that he had no lack of funding. A HoloNet search yet named him as CEO of House Verd, Incorporated. Deeper investigation could reveal the stakes he held in several other companies.

And most obviously, he was the face of a Nation.

Therefore, when [member="Marcellus Decker"] spoke of making the Sith rich, his eyebrow raised. This man was clearly not stupid - he had managed to come aboard his vessel without being gunned down after all. So, there had to be more to this pitch. More to risking life and limb for an audience.

"As you can tell by my nice place, I'm not hurting for credits."

His voice was yet a dangerous beritone.

"But color me intrigued. You managed to get this far without dying - I'll hear what you have to say. How will you make me a rich man?"
 
I am a son of the Mountain.
[SIZE=12pt]Darth Metus. The man was an imposing figure, yet for all his presence Marcellus was not dwarfed in the slightest. After all, his spirit could topple nations. There was no mistaking that the Vicelord had no need of a paltry few million credits. That was merely the stamp to the package Marcellus was trying to send, and it had worked flawlessly. Opening his arms, Marcellus gave off a wry grin as he spoke. “I got business with the Hutt clans.” He stated, almost loud enough for any in the large hangar to hear. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“My game is cash, big man.” He said, simply, throwing the guise of formality far from his focus. “I do it all. Casinos, women, spice, weapons, you name it.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“I worked under Drogge The Hutt for most of my life. He showed me everything he knows and now I'm gonna take his fat ass down.” His words were deliberate and strong, not once could someone mistake his conviction for mere eccentrics, this was who the man is. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Thing is.” He said, his tone coming down a bit, to match the reality of his situation. “Im not talking the little game anymore. We're talking the big leagues.” He opened his palms to gesture to the bags on the ground. “Match it. Every credit I put in, make it double. Do this and give me permission to operate out of your territory, before you know it I'll be handing you Nar Shadaa on a platter.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“I worked for that slug for a long time…what thanks did I get? Almost ten years in some hell hole spice mine!” He yelled, before raising his chin to the Sith before him. “But now it's my turn…. I've been waiting my whole life for this.”[/SIZE]

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
Darth Metus did not believe in Gods.

When he was but a child, he had been exposed to the ancient religion of Mandalore. Not to worship, but to study. To appreciate. Then, as a budding Sithling, he had been introduced to the Dark Side of the Force. But even then, he had never looked upon the abyss as something worthy of his reverence - but rather a tool that was his means to an end. But there were some moments that made Darth Metus think that some sort of divine providence was on his side. In recent history, the most glaring example was the arrival of [member="Srina Talon"] in his life.

But now, just as the Sith was entertaining breaking into the underworld in earnest, an upstart literally walks into his vessel. With arms stretched wide, he offered Darth Metus the world. Credits. Casinos. Women. The whole nine. If the Sith had not been burned by the Tion Hegemony years prior, he might had bit at the opportunity right off. But, skepticism is what kept him alive now and then.

"It's almost too good to be true." came Darth Metus' eventual response, coupled with a light chuckle. "You're going to have to backup these claims of yours before I invest a single credit."

"Show me something more than bags of money, and then we'll talk."

For as good as the deal smelled, Darth Metus was not about to be the Sith that let an unknown waltz aboard his ship and walk off with millions of his credits.

[member="Marcellus Decker"]
 

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