Dominion The Wretched Hive | Black Sun Syndicate Dominion of the Kastolar Sector

[Razmir Tezhyn]

K A S T O L A R
S E C T O R

The stars of the Kastolar Sector have always been inextricably linked to corruption and criminality.

From its most recent underworld tenants in the Hutt Consortium, to its much older history with the fearsome Nihil, all the way to its roots with the Hutt Clans of old. Historians trace its legacy as a central node in the system of underworld enterprise back through the centuries.

Throughout all those centuries, one enterprise always stood out among the rest: Piracy. A profession equal parts dangerous and lucrative. It was certainly not for the faint of heart, which made it intriguing for many who served the Black Sun Syndicate.

Rumblings of pillage and plunder had long stirred within the heart of Nar Shaddaa, and now the time had come to usher in another dawn for freelancers and corsairs alike. The Vigos have set their sights on Kwenn Station, and the nearby world of Lanupa, as the core of this endeavor.

A Black Sun would rise above the Kastolar sector, and bring with it a new age of piracy.

OBJECTIVE 1: PIRATE REVELRY​

Vibe: social networking, worldbuilding (kwenn station), wheeling & dealing

Kwenn Station has come under new management. The Black Sun Syndicate has moved in as its new steward, and invites pirates from all over the galaxy to celebrate that its ports once more welcome fleets of corsairs.

A Pirate Gathering has been called. Feasts, revelry, and the sharing of Revnog are all on the agenda as the crews mingle and the captains convene. The Syndicate provides for its own and outsiders to cement Kwenn Station as a port of call for all manner of Scum and Villainy once more. But even in a lawless place like this, the Pirate's Code is paramount.

Indulge, or carve out a piece of Kwenn Station for yourself...

OBJECTIVE 2: LANUPA RAID​

Vibe: combat, pillage & plunder, hostile takeover

Lanupa had long ago been known as The Demon's Rest and Battle World. That was during a greater age, when the legendary Pirate Captain Tak Rennod still called the Skull Ridge mountains his home. Since that time, corporatism and beaurocracy has mired and disgraced the world by constructing a wellness spa atop the pirate's legacy.

Black Sun wishes to claim this world for their own ends, and rebuild its fearsome reputation with designs to build shipyards for pirate fleets. To that end, pillage and plunder have been authorized to take back the Skull Ridge mountains.

Further, there is talk among the crews that a treasure lies beneath the Skull Ridge mountains. The first to seize it may just find treasures to eclipse all others…

OBJECTIVE 3: BOUNTY HUNTER'S SUMMIT​

Vibe: social (bounty hunters & friends), seedy, plotting & planning

Inside the Hunter’s Lodge on Kwenn Station, the Gand bounty broker Threkkuss has been tasked with establishing a team of bounty hunters to take on a daring and dangerous job at the behest of the Black Sun vigos.

The Black Sun seeks to expand their influence and domain through the means that suits best: crime. And in a galaxy wrought with turmoil, there is no greater tool than the bounty hunter.

OOC: This is the first step in a faction multi-thread plot.

OBJECTIVE 4: BYOO​

There are many more worlds in the Kastolar sector, from the cultural centers of Chalcata, to the agricultural domains of Yitabo, or the industrial hubs of Ubrikkia. There is space for many a story in the pirate sector of Kastolar...

 

[Rathmar Praji]

Kwen Station was not a port of call that Rathmar was particularly acquainted with; however, the allure of complimentary food and entertainment was sufficient to persuade him to attend, albeit reluctantly, in order to mingle with the more lethal individuals of the Syndicate. This was a necessary step to compensate for the loss of 100,000 Credits he had incurred at the recent Podrace.

Before him lay a grand tiered platter adorned with exotic fruits and deep-fried gundark, positioned on a low table and accompanied by an extensive array of glowing, amethyst-hued beverages. Naturally, each drink was subjected to poison testing, as this was a criminal spaceport where one had as many adversaries as allies... or rather, so-called allies until betrayal occurred.

He skewered a rather enticing piece of starfruit with a fork, bringing it to his mouth while his gaze roamed over the vibrant station.

He popped the fruit into his mouth, chewed slowly, and then gestured with the fork toward the crowd. "Look at it. The raw, um, energy. It's magnificent. All this... potential. This swirling maelstrom of ambition and survival. And we, the Black Sun, we simply provide a stage. A stage, you know, with... refreshments." The Rodian majordomo bowed his head slightly as eyes scanned the perimeter for any threats to the Vigo of Ruusan. Rathmar's eyes followed a passing brawl with a detached, clinical interest.

"They call it the Pirate's Code," he continued, his voice a low, thoughtful murmur that still managed to carry. "And people think of, you know, rules. But it's not. Not really. It's just a sort of... natural selection. The cleverest among them will thrive. The boldest will, uh, they'll carve out their little piece. The rest... the rest become part of the decor."

He leaned forward, placing his fork down with a delicate clink. The corners of his mouth curled into a venomous grin.

 

[U40a]

Tied directly into the master sound system of Kwenn Station, Euphortia provided contextually appropriate auditory tracks. Not intuitive fits, and certainly not consistent with each other, but powerful background themes for two distinct areas.

OBJECTIVE 1: PIRATE REVELRY

Euphortia selected this track for its algorithmically verified sense of driving exhilaration, its density of double entendre, its camaraderie, its disreputability ratings, and the way its bass strings shivered the deck plates. Euphortia's databanks contained no better alignment with the strategic goals of this event.



OBJECTIVE 3: BOUNTY HUNTER'S SUMMIT

This objective took several milliseconds longer to appropriately score. Euphortia's deliberations settled on the following due to its casual irreverence, its isolated violent fatalism and flirtation with taboo, its unifying catchiness, and other quantifiable weightings that matched the bounty hunting profession both individually and in summation.

 

[Threkkuss]

W R E T C H E D
H I V E

Threkkuss' Bountiful Bounties was louder than usual.

Tucked into a corner of Kwenn Station, the business had become more of a bar beneath the oversight of the Pyke Syndicate, but it held the name with pride. Smoke curled near the ceiling, blue light hummed from old fixtures, and a three-piece Twi'lek band played something aggressive in the corner. Behind the bars, servers moved their servos fast, pouring drinks and shouting orders, while the crowds were abuzz with that particular energy only bounty hunters brought. Mismatched armour, frayed cloaks, jetpacks, vibroblades and the like. They filled the booths, lined the bar, leaned against the walls, waiting for work or letting off steam from the last job.

With the Pykes recently (and forcibly) removed, business was booming. Hunters who once would have avoided the place before now packed the room, shoulder to shoulder, while Black Sun enforcers lounged about like they owned it - which, much to Threkkuss' dismay, they technically did. A half-shattered wall monitor rotated bounties with grainy holo-images and kill-or-capture rewards. And at the back of it all, quartered off in a booth obscured partly by shadow, Threkkuss the Gand Findsman sat silent and still. His breathing apparatus ticking faintly with each inhale.

The Black Sun provided him the contract and a generous fee to bring it to life. It was, for some, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of gig that passing up would make for a foolish mistake. Or taking on would spell certain death for. His silvery bug-like eyes darted across the room as he waited for the remainder of the potential team members to arrive, to inform them of the details in this back-room booth.

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

while the crowds were abuzz with that particular energy only bounty hunters brought. Mismatched armour, frayed cloaks, jetpacks, vibroblades and the like. They filled the booths, lined the bar, leaned against the walls, waiting for work or letting off steam from the last job.

OBJECTIVE 3: BOUNTY HUNTER'S SUMMIT​

Doc Merrill, Skeevi to some, was out of place and had their hands full tuning cybernetics for a Gorm the Dissolver-type right up by the bar. It was admittedly a frelling cool challenge. Most cyberneticism involved grafting metal to flesh and the regenerant Swokes Swokes hand adjoining a metal arm worked the exact opposite way. You had to run blood tubes right through all of it and find space for a wireless nerve relay to boot.

Skeevi worked perched on a bar stool, laser scalpel tucked in one of the Zabrak horns protruding through their mop of hair, and did their best to ignore the broader context of the room. But Skeevi was also cursed with a frelling great brain and the general shape of both event and opportunity was inescapably clear. Everyone here was chomping at the bit to kill someone - more so than normal, because this was going to be someone specific, the same someone specific. Mess impended. No doubt.

 

[Koda Fett]

Fett lounged about in the Hunter's Lodge, or rather what had since become Threkkuss' Bountiful Bounties. His most recent time on Kwenn Station had been on behalf of Black Sun, all to handle a situation with some Pykes. The Black Sun was eager to move in and the Pyke Syndicate had a weaker grasp on the station than first thought. It only took a nudge, which came in the form of a steaming blaster.

His business with Threkkuss had since concluded. The details of the job laid out, the fee decided, and the job accepted. It pained him, almost, to admit it could not be completed alone. He never played nice with others, but for a handful of credits... Fett could pretend for a time. His warrant from the Alliance came and went, and now after that business on Sarko VI another warrant from the High Republic came up.

It was only a matter of time.

In a corner booth, Fett sat, waited and watched as his new potential teammates filed in. Subordinates had a finer sound, however.

 

[Isar du Vain]

OBJECTIVE 3: BOUNTY HUNTER'S SUMMIT

In the bathroom...

The sound of a vigorous sniff, then a clap.

"Oh yeah. That's the good stuff."

Isar rubbed at his nose and looked at himself in the mirror, which he immediately regretted as he saw a shitcan loser staring back at him.

"Fuck that guy." He muttered to no one in particular.

Stepping out of the bathroom, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Isar went straight to the bar and order a Corellian whisky on the rocks.

Some bald nerf herder was sitting in the spot Isar had been at before he went to the bathroom. Antar

"Hey guy, you're in my seat."

 

[Antar]

Antar throws back a second shot. The bar, much like a battlefield, is no place for games. It's the two places that Antar treats with the utmost sincerity.

"Hey guy, you're in my seat."

Antar turns in the seat and leans against the bartop. He gives the Zeltron a measured once-over.

"Am I?" A pair of credits clink as they are dropped next to the empty shot glasses. "Honest mistake."

Antar stands to surrender the seat back to the Zeltron and leaves the Lodge.

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

In a corner booth, Fett sat, waited and watched as his new potential teammates filed in. Subordinates had a finer sound, however.

Skeevi finished twisting the wireless nerve relays into the Gorm the Dissolver-y client's metal armpit. The client gronked something like Ithorian and slid over a large coin, which Skeevi made disappear. That done, Skeevi scanned the densifying assembly in search of good business. Half these people moved like they had cyborg knees and the other half clearly wanted to replace their heads with guns like Niordi living artillery. (Screwing around with Niordi artilleryborgs was on Skeevi's bucket list.) But the most obvious business opportunity around was the one, the only, Koda Fett .

That corner booth was about to become a hunting ground.

A pair of unwary half-drunk beers deposited themselves on the booth table and Skeevi slid in behind them. Both beers were for Skeevi but they were fine with sharing.

"Cowda Fett," they said, drinking a beer. "Best bountys in the galaxy. I am called Doc Merrill from Seven Corners and I'll give you twenty thousand credits for usable cybernetics, just no live cyborgs. But fresh is fine."

They indicated the room with a look of great significance and slid one of the beers over.

 

[Isar du Vain]

"Hmm," Isar pointed, "I know you from somewhere,"

He scratched his cheek, then slammed his fist on the bar.

"That's right, you're that Antar guy, from the Kaggath. I'm your number one fan."

Isar fished around in his pockets, came up empty. He turned to the bartender and grabbed a napkin, then snatched up a stylus left on someone else's bill.

"Hey wait. Don't leave. Can I get your autograph?"

Antar

 

[Isur]

Objective One: Pirate Revelry

This he could do. Isur stepped onto Kwenn Station and looked around. This was his type of place. Debauchery, revelry. Looking to his captain, the Herglic Delpho, the larger being nodded. It was fine for the crews to take their leave. As one of the enforcers, Isur knew he would be called back to do his tour of minding the Marauder Corvette Hunter. That was fine.

For now the Nihil-inspired armor laden Karkarodon stepped forward. While Isur felt the ancient Nihil were a bit insane in their goals, the idea of a storm of pirates was comforting to him. Leaving his Wan-Shen aboard, and removing some of the armor pieces and handing them to the Hunter’s loading droid, Isur made his way down, flanked by another Karkarodon, a Wookiee, and a Twi’lek.

They were heading for the nearest cantina. As long as they weren’t playing some dumb game that didn’t make sense. But from the sounds of small beasts in combat? Isur felt that they may have found the type of establishment he could find to his liking.

A crystal fox dove at a nexu cub in a fighting ring.

 

[Antar]

Isar du Vain​

Antar stops what would be a brisk exit to consider the Zeltron's request.

"Nah, man. I think I saw Koda Fett in here, though. Go get his, instead."

 

[Isar du Vain]

Isar frowned and threw the stylus on the ground in disgust. He gave the man the crux on his way out the door.

"Well piss off then."

It's true what they say, never meet your heroes.

Antar

 

[Brooke Waters]

It felt like a life time ago.

It was a life time ago.

Back before all the Force, well, not quite all the Force. Back before she had her own answers Brooke Waters, was a huntress. She stalked prey through the defunct Confederacy for her boss. She was good at it. She'd be even better now. The woman had landed an ancient ship of hers, one that was still classed as a Confederacy ship. One that most would see as a ghost ship. An Innesco-Star Yacht with many modifications that put it aside from the rest of the line up. Still a classy exterior, but the interior? Holding cells, an old lightsaber repair table, and now an alchemy station for her many spells and toying with the Force.

As the vessel touched down, the droid seemed to have an issue identifying the ship and Brooke produced the IFF chip registering the ship to a woman by the name of Alana Flagg and naming the ship Nereid. And it was carrying tropical fruits.

That bit was true.

As she had previously locked the ship aside from the cargo hold, she stepped away as the loading droids were working on the offload.

She had a meeting to attend.

Stepping through the starport, the blonde was in her spacer best, with a cloak over herself. Her armor, which gave her the visage of a stalker in the night, and was known in some circles as Siren, was long since missing. Melted down for the songsteel. But all the same? She wasn't going to step in and expose her face. When she entered a blank hallway, she tapped a device on her wrist and a holographic image of her armor came over her body.

Brooke wasn't here to get a license. She wouldn't need one. She was here to listen.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Location: Kwenn Station
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Mauve du Vain | TBA

Darth Anathemous wore her finest dress.

Blackened silks stretched tight over her marble figure, bladed shoulders threaded through her hair, it was elegant and commanding in all the ways she needed it to be.

But perhaps she'd overdressed.

Approaching some shady bar on the newly conquered station, the young Sith Lord had expected music and business deals over fine brandy, instead she found the credit chip slip between her clawed fingers and into the hand of some pirate who stank of something cheap.

He was the third pickpocket in the last hour...

Anathemous frowned pensively. She hadn't even turned around nor lifted a finger when the Weequay suddenly stopped, then gagged, slowly lifting off his feet. She left him there a moment longer, taking a sip of the drink those credits were meant to pay for before finally turning around to hold out her gloved hand.

"Kindly return my credits."

He was quick to drop the chip into her hand, and after turning them over between her claws claws, she finally allowed him to drop while she turned towards the bar.

"Run along then." she sighed.

It was going to be a long day.​

​

 

[Mauve du Vain]

OBJECTIVE 4: BYOO

Attire​

MIRRSTEEL SPIRES, KWENN STATION

Silverspring Spa

Mauve sat in a hot spring pool, reading her datapad, letting her feet drift up and back in the water as she read.

//At the far reach of galactic civilization stands Kwenn station, the gateway to the lawless expanse of the Outer Rim. Beyond here were nothing but petty warlords and decrepit refueling stations. Not that Kwenn is much better.

Spinning in a geosynchronous orbit around the planet Kwenn, this supply depot is among the last major ports of call before starships voyage out into the Outer Rim. It sees a significant amount of traffic from merchant ships and even military vessels that might need refueling and repairs. While it has existed for thousands of years, and various portions of the station have been retrofitted or removed, it still retains a distinctive three-tiered appearance. It is visibly obvious where the newest additions or repairs to the station have been completed as its usual green-brown oxidized will abruptly end at certain points in shiny chrome sheets of factory-fresh metal, giving the station a mottled appearance.

At three kilometers in circumference, it is the largest station along the Ootmian Pabol hyperlane and offers a wide range of services from dry dock repairs and storage facilities to high-class entertainment and secret smuggler shadowports. Atop the station are a series of dazzling spires and towers, jutting up from the station's upper hull like a series of trees. These luxury towers cater to the upper class. The residential spires contain lavish millionaire penthouses, while the entertainment towers are home to casinos, clothiers, opera houses, spas, recreational centers, and upscale cantinas. Hundreds of corporations also possess towers in the business sector, including Ubrikkian Industries and KrupX Munitions.//

Suddenly, she heard the sound of many boots outside the door to the hot springs. Mauve frowned and put her datapad down.

The door slid open and four armored Syndicate enforcers strolled in, blasters out. Mauve's blood ran cold and heart skipped three beats.

"Excuse me?"

"Mauve Du Vain. Come with us, the Underlord wants a word."

Violet eyes stared them down. "Fine."

She got out of the pool, refusing to let them see her fear, and grabbed a black silk robe that she synched tightly, then slid on her sandals.

"Where to, boys?"

"Follow us."

Her lips twisted into a sneer as two guided her out, while the other two took up flanking positions just behind her.

Shit.


Velzari Tharn

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

OBJECTIVE 1

Behold, Gerra. Tall as a tree, broad as a Reek, with eyes that smoldered like twin suns, a Vahla of the old ways who stood peerless save perhaps those among his brothers and sisters of the Hasuras.

Clad in gilded armor of Sith alchemy, he entered the Tallifax Inn, surrounded by members of his Vahlan corsair crew.

His eyes cast about, searching for other crews and warriors of renown.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Objective 1 - Tallifax Inn//:
//: Hasuras Na-Gerra //:
//: Attire //:

Kwenn Station was a place that Quinn had heard of and often read articles on, but never actually set foot on its surface. More often than not, she was always warned about the dangers of the station, but that was then, and this is now.

Quinn had found herself in Black Sun territory more often. She had enjoyed the freedoms that came with it. Here, she didn't have to be the Princess; she could curse, spit, and drink beer. Mercy had taught her a bit about the mess non-princesses would get into.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Never in a trillion years would she ever admit that Mercy taught her something. Especially when it pertained to feeling free. 'Hmm', she mused. Freedom wasn't something she found herself searching for; if anything, it was a break from the hand she was dealt.

Most would find that to be stupid and ungrateful. Still, for Quinn, it ultimately made her appreciate her station a bit more. It could help people and provide opportunities.

Quinn huffed, trying to not laugh at her childish thoughts, and continued to move through the crowd that was forming in the establishment. Revelry was afoot, and Quinn was going to enjoy herself. It was one of her few quiet days, meant for observation. She wanted to see what more the Black Sun had to offer, especially having the experiences she had with Mauve du Vain and Mercy.

Both had been welcoming.

As she weaved through the crowd, avoiding stray hands and musky bodies. Quinn nearly faceplanted into the back of a rather large individual. Luckily, she avoided it, but the off-cadence of her heels would alert anyone who cared to listen that she had avoided a crash. Groaning under her breath, Quinn looked around and realized he had brought an entire posse with him.

'Someone feels important..' She quietly thought, knowing that her station meant nothing to the folks around her. If anything — she spelled 'lots of credits' to them.

Mercy did offer her a job, but that came with its pitfalls, particularly the foul nickname she had given her. Rolling her shoulders back, the haughty Princess cleared her voice and pushed past the man.

"Excuse me, you're standing right in the middle of the walkway." Her voice was slightly pointed and sprinkled with arrogance.

She looked over her shoulder and then made her way towards the Inn's bar.

Leaning on it, with her toes lifting the heel just slightly so she could try to get the attention of the man at the bar.

 

[Koda Fett]

​

His palm rose to sit sidelong on the table, catching the sliding beer before it would go so far as to slide off the edge. However, Fett did nothing else with it. Some said he never drank, never smoked spice, never had fun - played well into those rumours that beneath the armour, he was nothing more than a heap of wires and coding.

Fett set a wordless, helmeted gaze across the people inside the Hunter's Lodge. It had its fair share of those that replaced their own failing areas with mechanical enhancements; mostly in place of eyes to have greater vision, in hands and arms to become stronger, or a foot to replace what was lost.

"Pick your favourite," he answered, turning back to Skeevi.

Skeevi Merrill

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

"Pick your favourite," he answered, turning back to Skeevi.

Since Koda wasn't going to drink the half-drunk beer, Skeevi leaned over and took it back. In the process they saw and ignored a large sign that explained the establishment's core rule: no violence between bounty hunters on pain of excommunication, as if this beautiful fleapit were a stiff-upper-lip, rounded-triangular-floor-plan hotel catering to assassins and under the aegis of-

Alright, yeah. Skeevi could get all continental about it.

"Don't wanna get thrown out," they said, "long walk to the next beer. So take it outside but..." Using a mug, Skeevi indicated a sneering eight-foot-tall Arkanian with gleaming borgbits, ten meters away and negging a Togruta. "Paleboy's got some gear in him, that's a custom adrenaline rig, the bits in his collarbone. Tricky to take out, gotta use a knife not just rip. That's the one. Twenty's got yer name on it, Cowda. Ko-kisewa-hakisewa toyneepa, mambay? Nyeta ko lopo." In Jawaese: Twenty thousand credits, OK? But don't break it.