Raid on Aeten II: The Stygium Mines

[Qhorin Solas]

​

-- Corusanct Undercity Sector 317; The Pink Piscator​

​

​

The back room was empty, cleared out by the Piscator's owner, Trk'zzck'azhor, a Verpine and undercover IIB agent, working in the service of the Atrisian Empire. He was but one set of eyes and ears in a vast network of other such individuals, and I had taxed them all in the search for the perfect team for my purposes.

I needed Stygium, and I needed a lot of it. I advertised not only by 'word-of-mouth', but also on the secret channels of the 'deep Holonet', a section of holospace hidden behind impossibly complex codes. The message, should they accept the job, was simple.

Meet me at the Pink Piscator in Coruscant's Undercity. With the message came very brief instructions: When you are asked for a drink, reply, "Bumplesteinian Puree." The bartender will direct you to the back room. I will be waiting.

I sat at a round, transparisteel table set with various drinks and snacks for an assortment of alien species, prototype datapads propped up on the tabletop. The screens had been flashing for a while now...

@[member="Aditya Amadis"] @[member="Orion"] @[member="Mr. Ash"] @[member="Teroch Gra'tua "]@[member="Hannibal Oryen"] @[member="Alachei Mnemenos"] @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] @[member="Serock Hoath"]@[member="Kale Arkin"]​

 

[Nyxie]

[@[member="Cronos Aegir"]]
Alachei was never much of a tech savant, nor too savvy of computers, though in her establishment's search through the deepest cavities of the HoloNet, something very profitable was brought to her attention. It was a job advertisement - obviously underground - involving the seizure of a stockpile of Stygium crystals, and it very explicitly made clear no intentions of collecting some sparingly. She did not know what a Stygium crystal was exactly, but she had a vague idea based on hearsay and a little bit of research.

Alachei tossed about the datapad that she held in her hand as she exited the cockpit of her old Y wing. It looked to be some time after dusk based on the faintly blue lighting in the ambiance, though the sheer flush of life in the city made it very hard to be certain. Even a single glance shooting over towards the rim of the large, round landing platform gave a solid idea of just how large the city really was and how great a distance it was to the bottom. Casually walking out closer to the edge revealed a blanket of smog near the lower parts of the city structure, illuminated by lights and overwhelmed by the sea of towers that emerged from it. That was where she needed to be.

After quite a lengthy journey through the maze of elevators, corridors and routes down to the bowels of Coruscant, she was finally where she needed to be. Looking up at the large pink neon sign confirmed this, so she drew in one last deep breath of mildly polluted air through her neck and walked into the establishment. She took a seat at the end of the bar, where no one else seemed to be sitting. The bartender, an alien of some sort - at least from her perspective - looked up, holding in one of his hands a glass and rubbing it down with a cloth in the other. He had a blank and frozen expression, which added to the shady ambiance of this place. Finally, he approached her.
"What are ya havin'?" He asked.
"Corellian Rum on ice... and a Bumplesteinian Puree." Alachei said. As if her long, dagger-like fangs didn't already prove obvious, her slight almost-elvish accent completely betrayed her identity as a foreigner.
Simply staring back at Alachei with a dead glace of confirmation, he left to grab a bottle of rum which he poured into a glass and placed before her, then continued to walk out from behind the bar as he nodded his head to the side at her to follow. She was lead to the back room where she first saw him. Immediately she thought the man before her must be the employer. By the looks of it, she was the first one to arrive. It was good, she thought, safer than walking alone into a shady room full of all manner of unknown criminals. She had the advantage of seeing each and every individual closely as they entered.

"You must be the one... so, what is the operation?" She asked, slowly pulling the hood of her robe back to reveal her glowing silver eyes, sterling hair and deathly pale skin. Her left hand, still on the cup of rum with a straw to her mouth to sip from. Her fangs were an obvious obstacle from drinking normally.

 

[Qhorin Solas]

The first to arrive was a tall Mnenchei woman with pale hair, alabaster skin and sharp fangs curving down from her top lip. She was rather straightforward, diving straight into the matter at hand. I waved her forward to take a seat.

"You'll find out about the operation in due time. For now, I invite you to enjoy my hospitality." I indicated the various refreshments.

@[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]​

 

[Arkyn Rane]

I made my way to the Pink Piscator from another such establishment further down the lane, dazed by blue powder spice. My ship, the Star Spinner, was docked and registered in hangar 317, manned by a RX pilot droid -- self made, I might add -- and a particularly frustrating, though delightfully brilliant R9 astromech. I carried a blaster on my hip and a spice stick in my mouth; not glimmerstim, as that would've only worsened my problem, but a less potent 'vintage', mixed with a Force-numbing compound. It dulled my telepathy to a quiet whisper, allowing me to function like any other spice-addicted genius smuggler.

I'd heard word of a man looking for someone with my talents for a job. To that end, I'd flown from the dusty streets of Mos Espa to the durasteel concourses of Coruscant, cargo old empty and a full stock of custom gadgets for a number of different tasks.

The Pink Piscator loomed ahead, brilliant neon sign casting a bright fuchsia glow across the dim alley. One whispered codeword later, I found myself led to a backroom. It was mostly empty, save for two individuals -- a blonde man sitting at a transparisteel table, and a tall, I mean tall, white-haired Mnenchei, bony brows and all. Taking another drag from the spice stick dangling from my lips, I walked over and took a seat at the table.

@[member="Cronos Aegir"] @[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]​

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

Up to his elbows in industrial superlubricant, Dyllaefi Cridu let out a long sigh.

The irritating chiming of the structural stress alert system wasn't going away no matter how many wires he tugged back into place, and if he tried to reach any lower into the conduits he'd need a diving mask. Pulling his sticky, soggy arms out of the pungent tank and reaching for the ratty old towel laid across his knees, he internally admitted defeat; the landing gear were going to be stuck in deployed position until he could get someone who actually knew what he was doing to fix them.

That was going to take credits, credits that Dyll never seemed to have. Everything from his last three jobs had evaporated within a week when he'd had to make interest payments to some particularly nasty loan sharks. With all the debt he'd taken on, it was a stretch just to keep up the whole reason for the whole mess: keeping his parents' life support turned on and their care going. This was just one more thing he really, really didn't need. He was going to have to take that job.

Dyll wasn't a fan of robberies. He'd had his part in a few of them before, mostly loading cargo and flying the getaway craft, and every time he was involved he swore he'd made it out only by the skin of his teeth. Smuggling was one thing, a victimless crime. Breaking in somewhere, shooting the place up, and putting law enforcement in the line of fire, that was something else, and the local police and bounty hunters tended to come down hard.

The offer he'd heard about from a couple of his underworld "buddies" hadn't explicitly called itself a robbery, but Dyll had been working with criminals long enough to be able to read between the lines. No one was going to just give them stygium; there wasn't much of the stuff left in the galaxy, last he'd heard, and anything that valuable tended to be highly prized and well guarded. Still, he literally couldn't afford to be choosy. This was his one option if he wanted to keep flying.

He toweled himself off, though the unpleasant stickiness and coppery scent of the lubricant clung to his skin no matter how he rubbed at it, and pushed himself to his feet. Tossing the towel onto the ramp of his ship (though he was probably going to have to burn it) and hitting the retract button, he headed for the hangar doors, emerging into the perpetual twilight of Coruscant's lower levels. Only long experience kept the barrage of neon signs from searing his eyes.

It was risky for him to be in the core at all, let alone on the Republic's capital, but the only worrying part had been getting past customs. No one would look for him down here; everyone in this sector had something to hide. Breathing in the acrid, semi-visible air, he set off at a brisk trot toward the Pink Piscator. It took him only a few minutes to arrive. Stepping inside, he pushed through the press of unwashed bodies and reached the bar, murmuring the code word just loud enough for the barkeep to hear.

There were already several beings in the back room, shifty characters if ever he'd seen some. Keeping his distance from the stim-head and the noxious fumes wafting up from his lit spice stick, Dyll calmly took his place among them, leaning against one of the walls as he waited for their host to begin.

 

[Teroch Gra'tua]

Teroch Gra'tua had just walked into a cantina called 'the pink piscator' where he was supposed meet up with someone. A message said to order a 'Bumplesteinian Puree' where Teroch would be directed to the back room. Teroch walked up to the bartender and ordered the drink "give me a Bumplesteinian Puree" he said quietly, he was immediately led to the back room where there were already three people sitting. Two he could tell were humans the other, he wasn't sure "This can't be everybody" Teroch said while sitting down. He knew more people had seen the message.

@[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"]@[member="Cronos Aegir"]@[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]

 

[Orion]

@Teroch Gra'tua
@[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"]
@[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]
Orion heard about this "meeting." So, He decided to show up, he was on Coruscant anyway. He entered a ship that was heading there, he heard people conversing about some strange stuff in that car. He then exited the ship when it landed and entered the electronics of the cantina. He searched around the cantina until he found what he was looking for. He waited until more people arrived to reveal himself, though. When the 3 other people arrived and sat down, The datapad in front of @[member="Cronos Aegir"] started to flicker, the screen turning black. He then proudly said, "Greetings!" with his voice (Which is a mix of British and American accent)

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Teroch Gra'tua "]| @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] | @[member="Kale Arkin"] | @[member="Cronos Aegir"] | @[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]

Hannibal entered the bar, uncaring of the other customers or general atmosphere. He was here for work, so work he would do. Instructions had been relatively simple. Go up to the bar, ask for a weird sounding drink, get directed to the back room and then politely wait. Stygium was a rare commodity in this Galaxy's market. He was hoping to be paid both handsomely and with enough Stygium for... Well, a small, personal project. He wouldn't need very much. If they refused to cough any up, then he supposed he was going to have to find a way to get some on his own time. No big deal.

"Bumplesteinian Puree." Hannibal recited. "Did I say that right?"

The bartender did not respond, instead leading Hannibal over to the back room. Hannibal assumed, then, that he did get the pronunciation correct. He took a look around, glancing at the other assorted mercenary-types lurking around. Looked like he would be working with these folks. Fine by him, none of them looked like they were the unreliable sort thus far. Sketchy, yes. But the dependable kind of sketchy. They looked pretty sour about the whole affair, though.

"Whatssa matter with you guys? Someone die in here?"

 

[Malok]

There was a message,
that traveled the depths of space.
it spoke of a Bar.

It was a dank place,
down in the Undercity,
of the Republic.

The journey was brief:
Hyperspace travel was quick.
And soon, Jacques arrived.

The Heir moved along,
the empty streets of the city,
and entered the bar.

It was so quiet,
so much that it unsettled;
yet Jacques moved forward.

He ordered a drink:
"Bumplesteinian Puree"
But did not get one...

He was directed,
by the acting bartender
into the backroom.

With much confidence,
the Heir strode boldly forward,
and entered the room.

He found it crowded,
with a number of people,
and inclinded his head.

The gesture was pure,
for manners were important,
and he then stood tall.

"Greetings one and all,
My name is Asha Midwan,
it is a pleasure.

Thanks for the invite,
to participate with you,
in this daring act.

I have a question,
for the leader of this sting,
if he will oblige.

How large is the pay?
Note, I do not seek money.
Though payment I need.

Artifacts or tools,
valuable ore or vessels,
are what I would want."

@[member="Cronos Aegir"].

MESTARE CRYSTAL CHALLENGE: COMPLETE​

 

[Qhorin Solas]

"This can't be everybody," a recently arrived Mandalorian said.​

​

"No," I replied, eyes locked on the datapads. "More should be arriving shortly." Before my eyes, the middle screen blacked, and a voice sounded from the datapad.

"Greetings!"​

​

I typed a reply -- these particular datapads had no sound receptors; only sound emitters. Who -- what -- are you? Two others had arrived in the meantime: a masking being and another young Force-adept, and each had something to say. I ignored the masked cyborg's words, instead waving him onward to a seat. The Force-adept's inquiry, however, I could not ignore. "If you have a ship, then you're welcome to as much Stygium as you can load into your cargo hold. Otherwise, the pay is 200,000 credits, each." That was enough to buy a decent starfighter and then some... or enjoy a nice, long vacation on Sakura.

"While we wait, I want to know what skills or resources each of you bring to the table. How we approach the job depends on your exact specialties, so please," I typed the message into the datapad also, "tell me, what are your talents?"

​

@[member="Jacques Cavill"] @[member="Hannibal Oryen"] @[member="Orion"] @[member="Teroch Gra'tua"] @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] @[member="Kale Arkin"] @[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]​

 

[Nyxie]

"You'll find out about the operation in due time. For now, I invite you to enjoy my hospitality." @[member="Cronos Aegir"] said, but she simply waved him off in preference of standing. "If you have a ship, then you're welcome to as much Stygium as you can load into your cargo hold. Otherwise, the pay is 200,000 credits, each. While we wait, I want to know what skills or resources each of you bring to the table. How we approach the job depends on your exact specialties, so please... tell me, what are your talents?"​

Alachei firmly placed the now near-empty cup of Corellian rum on a nearby crate and began to speak in a soft, apathetic tone. "I have an old Y-Wing at my disposal. However..." she paused, "I am not at liberty to announce my specialty. You will see... in due time." By now, he should've guessed she was a Force user -- at least if he was any kind of a good one himself -- though if not, her words were subliminal enough to convey a similar idea if a keen mind could catch it. "As for payment... I expect nothing less than two metric tons of Stygium. I will make it worth your time. Are we agreed...?" she asked cunningly. Credits were useless in a hidden dynasty that had a nearly endless supply of raw resources at her disposal. No; solid, tangible goods were what she could use.

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

Dyll just barely managed to stop himself from letting out a long, low whistle. That would be unprofessional.

Two hundred thousand credits. The number hit him like a hammer in the gut, then danced through his body like electricity, setting him aflame with excitement. Two hundred thousand? With that kind of money he could pay off Vornaste, the hulking Shistavanen crime boss who'd threatened to rip his pancreas out and eat it while he watched if he didn't cough up his payment soon. Not just keep up with interest, actually pay him off. With some left over to fix the landing gear.

As beautiful visions of not being disemboweled any time soon danced through his head, Dyll was jerked back to reality by the realization that his employer had asked a question. He glanced at the man, keeping his face neutral as he sized him up. He was clearly younger than the smuggler, whose haggard features made him look twenty eight going on fifty; Dyll guessed mid twenties. What kind of guy that young could throw around millions of credits to pay them all?

There was an aura of quiet menace about him, though, that belied his young age. He moved like a trained warrior, every gesture as clipped and precise as his calm, cold voice. Dyll had been in the company of quite a few crime lords, and he had to admit that this guy unnerved him far, far more. If he needed help, and was willing to pay a whole lot for it, it stood to reason that this was going to be one hell of a job. Doubts flashed through the smuggler's mind; money was no good to the dead.

Then again, turning the job down would be almost just as risky. Vornaste was the nastiest of his creditors, but it was a very close contest, and second place was a many, many way tie. He needed money, and he needed it badly. Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, Dyll spoke up. "I've got a ship, a fast lil' number that can get in and out of just about anywhere. She's good for fifty tons of Stygium on the way out and whatever equipment we'll need on the way in."

@[member=Cronos Aegir]

 

[Arkyn Rane]

Talents? I had a lot of them.

"I'm a slicer," I began, "I can build explosives, localized E.M.P.s, sensor jammers -- anything, really, and I can hack into anything with wires. I also have a ship." I grinned wickedly at the only other normal looking bloke among the bunch, not including the last chipper young lad to enter. Really, what sort of outlaw entered a den of badassery and announced himself like that?

Anyway, I digress -- back to my wicked grin. "A ship," I continued, "good for 150 tons." I just had to one-up someone. The pretty Mnenchei with her mysterious 'I am not at liberty to announce my presence' totally beat anything I could've come up with.

After my boasting, I realized just how many credits tall, tan and blond was paying out. 200,000 credits a piece? That totaled up 1,200,000 million credits, at least. Woah. Talk about the big leagues. Just who was this guy? I didn't even know his name -- did anyone know his name? I almost asked... but then I thought better of it. This guy, for all his perceived politeness, gave me bad vibes. You know, the I-can-murder-you-without-blinking vibes. I reckoned he was some sort of high-end assassin. I'd met a few in Borjo's company -- they had the whole cold, calm, clinical thing down too.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Cronos Aegir"] | @[member="Jacques Cavill"] | @[member="Orion"] | @[member="Teroch Gra'tua "]| @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] | @[member="Kale Arkin"] | @[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]

Hannibal took his seat and listened to what his client had to say. Two hundred grand? Each? Someone had money to burn. No way he was working on his own. This guy was probably in representation of a corporation or a government. Maybe the heir to one, come to think of it. Yeah, in this crazy Galaxy, he probably was acting independently. Whatever. As long as Hannibal was getting the money, it could be stolen from an orphanage for all he cared. The man asked for everyone to divulge their talents. Hannibal wasn't keen to do that. He was not going to sit here and measure phallus with a bunch of kids. That wasn't his style. Better to give demonstrations than bragging.

But he did give a contemptuous snort when the purple woman announced she wasn't at liberty to discuss her talents. Kids these days. He also made a note to stay away from Mr. "localized EMP" over there. Hannibal's eyes were hardened against it, but the rest of him wasn't, and he wasn't about to have a good day if his left arm shut down on him. The other guy didn't seem so bad. Most likely a pilot or something. He hadn't heard the Mandalorian-looking guy say anything, but he was probably fine. The other guy who talked like he was short on syllables, though... Hannibal was worried about that guy.

"I just shoot things. Don't you folks mind me." He eventually said, opting to keep things simple.

 

[Orion]

@[member="Cronos Aegir"]
It replied to the first message, "Some might consider me a Artificial Intelligence. Some may say a Virus. To me, I am neither." He said with pride. "I am Orion."
He replied to the second question, with a pause. "I could shut down their power supply. If i got close enough near a fusebox, or Outlet." He said. "I was designed to move between robot bodies, I can control them for a limited time."
He waited for a response.

 

[Malok]

Taking a seat beside the one who had given the most simplistic of responses, the young Heir first relaxed in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. He took a moment to survey those present in the room...and quite the interesting crew they were. Avarice had an uncanny ability to reach out across the stars and pluck forth many different souls in order to fulfill their lust for gain; and here they all were. When the question was posed by the gracious host of the gathering, Jacques contemplated just how much information he should give away. Judging by the responses of those who had sounded off about the room, the answer was: not much. So, he kept his response just as short, sweet, and to the point as the individual who was seated beside him.

"I know my way around a saber quite well, and have other unique skills for eliminating opposition."

@[member="Hannibal Oryen"], @[member="Cronos Aegir"].

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

"Showoff," Dyll muttered under his breath. He was half again this kid's age and apparently had less to show for it; privately he hoped that Fate's Fool could take the bigger freighter for speed, at least, but with his luck that was probably a vain hope. He was tempted to break into sarcastic applause when the younger smuggler was done listing his talents but decided that mockery, with all of the serious customers around, might get him shot.

Looking around again, he decided he might need to make common cause with the snarky little snot; everyone else was scary as hell. Apart from their menacing and incredibly wealthy employer, the room hosted a dark-armored blaster expert, a Mandalorian warrior, a pale and mysterious woman who wanted to be paid in stygium, and a darkly handsome man who claimed to fight with a lightsaber. Dyll was clearly out of his league.

Still, all he had to do was fly the ship. Get in, load up, get out, unload, never look back.

@[member=Kale Arkin]

 

[Qhorin Solas]

The Mnenchei replied first.

"I have an old Y-Wing at my disposal. However... I am not at liberty to announce my specialty. You will see... in due time. As for payment... I expect nothing less than two metric tons of Stygium. I will make it worth your time. Are we agreed...?"​

​

"No," I replied simply, sparing her the barest of glances, matching the face to the Force signature. The datapad, and the entity that called itself 'Orion', commanded the bulk of my attention. If what it said was true, I could possibly use it to shut down the mine's security. That would make our task all the more simple. "We are not 'agreed'. Your 'specialty' leaves much to be desired, and you have no cargo-ship of your own; how could you possibly transport two tons of Stygium?" I tried to keep the disdain out of my voice, but I wasn't sure how successful I was. Her 'specialty' meant next to nothing to me.

One of the spacers went next. This one's mind was clouded with dark thoughts -- he especially had need for the payment I'd proposed. If he performed well, I'd give him the Mnenchei's cut.

"I've got a ship, a fast lil' number that can get in and out of just about anywhere. She's good for fifty tons of Stygium on the way out and whatever equipment we'll need on the way in."​

​

"Good, good." The stim-head was the third to speak up.

"I'm a slicer," he began, "I can build explosives, localized E.M.P.s, sensor jammers -- anything, really, and I can hack into anything with wires. I also have a ship... good for 150 tons."​

That was even better. I could use him to reprogram the labor droid's coding and have them load the Stygium onto the ships. One freighter could actually haul the goods, and the other -- whichever was faster -- could act as a decoy to draw away the Mandalorian forces we would inevitably face. At that thought, my eyes flickered to the man armored in beskar, a Mandalorian if I'd ever seen one. Would he have an issue with robbing his own people? I dropped a palm the silver lightsaber hidden on my person.

For his sake, I hoped not. I wanted to avoid any unnecessary killing.

The cyborg was fourth. "I just shoot things. Don't you folks mind me."​

​

I felt my lips tighten, brow furrowing just so. So far, only two of them had given me viable, useable skills. Three, if I included the A.I./virus occupying my datapad. Any idiot could 'shoot things'. I wasn't paying 200,000 credits for common thugs -- I needed professionals. An assault on a mining planet in Mandalorian territory required nothing less than the best. My eyes fell upon the last to enter, who, if going by his earlier speech, also hoped to be paid with Stygium.

​

"I know my way around a saber quite well, and have other unique skills for eliminating opposition."​

That was better. Still frustratingly vague, but better. I knew enough to form a loose plan, but without more specific information, I couldn't say whether or not the plan would succeed. Before I went so far as to discuss my plan, however, I needed to address two issues. One was the Mnenchei's demands.

"If one of our captains," I told the Mnenchei, gesturing to the stim-head and the other older, more humble gentleman, "is willing to smuggle two tons of Stygium for you, then we are in agreement. I suspect, as smuggling is a job, they would expect some sort of payment for their efforts."

And the other was the Mandalorian. I put the datapad down and focused on him entirely. "We are conducting a raid in Mandalorian space. If you feel that you will be unable to assist in the raid because of your... loyalties, I advise you to leave now." To the others, I said, "I need names to refer to you by. You may call me Marcus." As I spoke, I issued an inquiry to Orion. How powerful are you? If I get you near enough to the control station that governs Aeten II's security protocols, could you overwrite them? Shutting down the power wouldn't do any good, but if he was powerful enough to overwrite the entire system, I wouldn't need any of the outlaws, save the two smugglers. And maybe the last two, the cyborg and 'Asha', to serve as the 'just-in-case' force. Their connection to the Force would serve them well, despite their relatively unrefined signatures.

The verdict was still out on the Mnenchei and the Mandalorian.

@Orion @Teroch Gra'tua @Hannibal Oryen @Alachei Mnemenos @Dyllaefi Cridu @Kale Arkin @[member="Jacques Cavill"]​

 

[Nyxie]

"No," No... No...​

​

She could practically hear the sound repeat in her mind over and over in a millisecond. She was instantly infuriated, as even this stranger would surely crumble under the might of the things she could conjure, but she also remembered that an angry or dead employer usually amounts to bounced pay. Besides that, loose lips sunk ships and she wasn't going to forfeit her kingdom for the sake of a measuring contest. Rather than be blatantly rude and interrupt the other guests, who'd done nothing wrong, she waited peacefully for her turn to talk. That time was plenty more than enough to think of a calm and rational right choice of words to say; words that were mightier than the sword, which she just moments ago itched to decimate something with.

"If one of our captains is willing to smuggle two tons of Stygium for you, then we are in agreement. I suspect, as smuggling is a job, they would expect some sort of payment for their efforts."​

​

Before he could even go any further, Alachei spoke up, simultaneously lifting a datapad slowly up from the room to her hands from her bout of concentration. "I am capable of carrying it out without assistance. The price just became 10 tons...." While she spoke, she began punching info into the datapad which transmitted a message from her to Sol Umbra. She approached the employer slowly, head tilting to the side as she met his eyes with her own and drew somewhat near his right ear. Her voice grew cold and menacing, barely louder than a whisper and yet so audible it could practically echo throughout the room all at once. "And if you have any love of drawing breath it will be the last time you decline me that way, in this life or the next." She drew back again, holding out the datapad in line with his view; it then displayed a full detail of royal defense-force craft to choose from. And it was all clearly under her command if she so desired. If he was any kind of smart, they'd come to terms right then and there. For all he knew, she might just have been able to drop an air strike on them and everything they hold dear. Whether it was currently true or not was completely a different subject.

In her last inward vent of anger, she had manged to muster up enough Force to crack the screen with just the thought alone. These shady types were beginning to piss her off; now she remembered why she tried to avoid dealings with them more often. Despite her obvious tone, she didn't appear angry in the slightest. It was almost as if it never happened. "I'll arrange for a light frigate to be requisitioned."


(OOC: I know we're not walking out of there with ten tons of Stygium and enough to spare for everyone's take. ICly Alachei was making a point. Just so we're clear. I don't actually need that much lol.)

@[member="Aditya Amadis"] @[member="Orion"] @[member=Mr.Ash] @[member="Teroch Gra'tua "]@[member="Hannibal Oryen"] @[member="Cronos Aegir"] @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] @[member="Serock Hoath"] @[member=Kale Arkin]​

 

[Amarant]

(OOC: Force sensitives will recognize his robotic nature. To the rest of you Ash just looks like one ugly cyborg.)

Mr. Ash frowned slightly while entering the bar. He was running late, it figured. He looked over at the bartender. "Bumplesteinian Puree?" He inquired pointing at the right door as the barkeep nodded. He slipped in calmly, making sure his commlink was disabled--didn't want a slicer brain scanning him. He smiled weakly. "Sorry I'm late. Won't happen again," he said as he looked around the room.

He sighed, looking around the room. "Alright, so where are we going, and what kind of smash-and-grab are pulling? My Name is Mr. Ash, and I am a very, very lethal person."