A little bit of profit

[Grundark]

The smell of body odor was overwhelming, the only place it had been this bad was the slave pits when he was a gladiator. Of course he was a slaver now so he supposed the smell fit in well enough, but that wasn't an excuse for the crew. The dozen or so crew behind him jostled against him as they fidgeted waiting for doors to open. The captain's plan had worked like a charm, send out an SOS on a slow route and wait for someone to take the bait. A few hours later a transport freighter was docking with them to take aboard the stranded crew.

Of course none of them would be expecting the tusks of a raging Cragmoloid when the door did open. His job was simple, be scary and hurt things, it was a job he honestly enjoyed. They'd sweep the ship take the crew captive and sell off the freighter good profit all around.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity he heard the doors seal as the blood lust started to build in him. He wanted to trumpet a call of his rage, but held back, no use losing the advantage. He didn't have to wait long though as the first lights appeared at his feet. The pitch black of their doorway wouldn't show the slaver crew until the door was open, and by then Grundark would already be through.

As the light from the rescue team cleared his shoulders he finally trumpeted his wrath at them as he charged forward goring the first would be rescuer on his tusk. The smell of blood flooding his senses as it coated him. Oh how he enjoyed this job.

 

[Disciple]

Within the bowels of his ship, Rruun sat in quiet contemplation, communing with those others saw as blasphemous entities from a bygone era. They rarely spoke to him directly - in fact, they'd never spoken to him at all - but their favor was written in the scars and ink on his chest, and in the magicks he commanded with his hands. Ritual bloodletting had ensured them a prize, and even now, [member="Grundark"] was rampaging into the trader ship that had come, unknowingly, to meet it's own demise.

A smile pulled at his thin lips, though the gesture was entirely without mirth, happiness, or warmth. Rather, it pulled at his skin disconcertingly, as though one were attempting to smooth out scar tissue by pulling on the edges. He picked up his staff, dangling fetishes of bone and scale swaying in an unseen breeze, and he took long, loping steps out into his vessel and towards the blood-demise of those who sought to board this most holy of vessels.

There was no power greater than to command another sentient.

No power more intoxicating than total control of their life.

Power was what kept the galaxy in motion, and power was what he sought to hold in his hands, so he could attain the blessings he needed to see himself to godhood.

Staff clicking on the grating, his bare feet felt the cool scrape-tug of the flooring beneath him - though, soon, it gave way to the warmth of blood beneath his gait. <How far have you gone, Grundark?> He doubted, even now, the elephantine brute liked the voices in his head, but it was the easiest way the 'Captain' could reach him, even if he was in a murder-haze. Just now, touching his mind was like passing your fingers over a brand, but he had grown accustomed to the scalding heat of the murder-make.

<Leave the most able, and the most beautiful. I need flesh to make credits.>

 

[Grundark]

The blood rage was in full swing as he chased down the would be saviors as they fled. The slaver stayed a step behind trumpeting and roaring, a monster just behind them pushing them onward. They always went for help, straight to the others who the crew would have had to hunted down and gather up together. The captain's voice echoed in his head for a moment, a reminder of why they were here. After Grundark's time with the Sith he'd grown used to speaking through the Force, he was still barely more then a student but he did understand the basics now. They lead us inward to the rest of the crew, nothing here worth killing anyway.

It was true too, nothing here was really a challenge just frightened rabbits fleeing for their lives in hope that numbers would save them. He heard the rest before they turned the corner, frightened questions that those who fled before him didn't have the breath left to answer. As he turned the corner he finally saw them ahead about about a dozen, minus the one that still hung on his tusk, a grim warning to those who were about to think about fighting.

Now that they'd lead them to the others Grundark increased his pace charging through those who fled knocking them out of the way as he rushed into the room. With a final thunderous trumpet in the all too small room he glared around the all consuming rage barely in check. "Surrender, or die slowly. Painfully." The rest of the boarding team swept past him securing both the product. They are yours, Captain. They'd have been wiser to fight and die, but this way was much more profitable.

[member="Rruun"]

 

[Disciple]

It took a few minutes, but it was easy enough to follow the violence that radiated from the gargantuan tusked behemoth that he used for muscle. Slipping around from behind the thug like water around a rock, the lithe Nautolan seemed to slither into view. His sharp, leathery features lay at crisp, dagger-like angles, the thinness of his lips seeming to pull the taut flesh into a scowl. Swirling eyes of a curiously polar blue scanned those assembled, his staff continuing to click ominously as he inspected them all.

Stopping before a Trandoshan that snarled at him, he took the beast by the chin and twisted his head right, then left, inspecting him. Surprisingly, despite the violence inherent in the species, he did little to stop the slaver - at least, at first.

Peace lingered for only a handful of seconds, and then the reptilian roared and went to fight; though it was short lived.

Rruun took a step sideways, tripping the beast over after ducking beneath a wild, left-handed swing. Slamming the staff down onto the Trandoshan's spine, he scowled, and power welled in his grasp before focusing it downward. There was an ominous hiss, like air escaping through the cracked viewport of a starship, and then the body began to smoke. A series of gut-wrenching mewls, yelps and screams seemed to emanate from the fallen trader before he fell still, the fluid leaking onto the floor what remained of his tongue and eyes.

"Anyone else?" He asks, the words coarsely worn velvet on his parched lips. "No? A shame."

His attention turned to @Grundark.

"The two Twi'leks - cage them separate." He motioned to the blue and green alien females. "As for the others, lock them in our brig, yes?"

 

[Grundark]

Grundark grunted in response to the Captain's orders, the blood rage dissipating unsatisfied as he shook his head violently freeing his tusk of the dead. He was disappointed in the lack of fight, but in the end it was quite a bit more profitable then a blood bath. "You heard the Captain, move the goods into storage, and no bruising the Twi'leks." For some reason you always had to remind the men with Twi'leks, there was just something about them that made a man a fool.

None too gently the crew pushed and herded the group back towards the ship, the smell of fear like a musk around them. There was no hope for escape and they knew it. He didn't stop if one slowed down just plowed into them without even looking down. If one fell he'd keep walking right over them crushing the life from them as he went. The prodding of blasters kept them on path as they slowly marched to the brig, and the slave collars were sealed around their necks. The Twi'leks he moved into a smaller cell away from the others, and more securely away from the rest of the crew. To the right buyers these two were worth as much as all the others combined.

Merchandise is settled in, far from full though, Captain. Another target?

With a rumbling deep breath he turned and left the brig, the smell was too much for his sensitive trunk. With a few long steps he left the crew alone to finish things up with the other product. For now the profit was good enough, but one day perhaps they'd be able to settle into something larger and take on some real scores. For now though there was plenty of credits to be made even at this level. Ducking under a low door he couldn't help but hope one day they'd have a ship that actually fit him better. Of course things weren't designed with his size in mind he supposed.

As he made his way up to the Captain he nodded to the freighter, "Anything good on board, or do we sell her off as is, Captain?"

[member="Rruun"]

 

[Reine Bisset]

"Food, water, spare parts, and... what appears to be primarily a shipment of textiles with a smattering of fuel cells."

Reine lounged in one of the ship's chairs, her long legs propped up on a nearby table. In her hands rested the captured ship's cargo manifest, her slender fingers flicking over the datapad's screen periodically. She didn't bother turning her head to look at the others and instead laid the manifest on the tabletop, stretching lazily as she did so.

"The textiles are high enough quality to warrant tossing on the market, but the fuel cells and pretty much everything else is essentially only useful for resupply. The spare parts we can jettison or keep as part of the ship to sell, but for the most part the rust bucket is worth more as is," she idly inspected her nails, something seemingly at odds with the dark violet blindfold she wore where her eyes should be. Baubles and trinkets clinked silently as she moved, her form reclining back into a lackadaisical sprawl upon the chair. "We could part the thing out, but it'd be less effort to simply flip it onto the market."

The red mane of hair twitched slightly as she turned her seemingly sightless gaze upon the tusked and somewhat bloodied form of the Cragmoloid. Beneath her gilded blindfold a single, delicate eyebrow raised in mild amusement as her lips pursed in a mock pout.

"Taking all the fun yet again, are we, [member="Grundark"]?"

[member="Rruun"]

 

[Disciple]

A small break, @Grundark.

Moving to the bridge of the captured freighter, he sent out a message from the command console before shattering it with his staff, meandering his way back over to his own vessel once the deed was done. Soon enough, a salvage team would come in, taking the vessel away so that it could be stripped down, modified, or sold as-is to some other ne'er-do-well. Lips twitching vaguely, he paused as he neared the elephantine warrior and the redhead who so often functioned as an accountant of sorts.

"A salvage team is en route." He says, voice dry as sand. "We will resupply from the ship, and take it's goods to sell for ourselves elsewhere. Otherwise, we're being paid to leave them the freighter." So, technically, selling as-is. They could decide from there what they wanted to do.

"Make for Lok - we'll sell there, and then find another target. Our holds are almost full." On a large ship, that meant huge amounts of credits. For them, it meant eating. Small craft, small profits.

[member="Reine Bisset"]

 

[Grundark]

Shrugging his large shoulders the Cragmoloid signaled his disinterest in the ship itself, his focus was his boarding crew, and the product. "That's between you and the accountant there, the product is secure and ready for transfer. The Twi'leks will attract some good buyers at least, the rest I'd say sell to the mines at best. I need one replacement crew also, the new guy stares at the product a bit more then's good for him. He's going to go farther then look one day, and I'll have to gore him, bad for moral."

Idly moving over to a piece of bulkhead sticking out he used it to scratch his back as he grumbled in satisfaction. The thick skin was always difficult to scratch, but a good solid bulkhead was always handy for such things. With a satisfied grunt he brought his attention back to the conversation. "Whatever makes us the most credits in the end, someday we'll get a real warship and then we can take down some real targets. Maybe even get a contract with Kessel, good credits in that."

[member="Reine Bisset"]
[member="Rruun"]

 

[Disciple]

For as brutish as [member="Grundark"] was, Rruun knew a keen intellect lurked beneath it's leathery head. Crew were still funneling supplies in from the other vessel, and he looked to the brute once more. "Supervise the transfer of stock. I don't want anyone skimming off our haul."

Even on a small craft like this, thievery could be ripe. It was what happened when you consorted with cuthroats. Such was the law of the land.

[member="Reine Bisset"]