Public Golden Fleece - [Open to Pirates, Mercenaries, and Bounty Hunters]

[Njal The Black]

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Blue smoke clouded most of the view, but figures could be seen moving through it. Scantily clad in leather that was more than revealing, waitresses moved through the seedy cantina with purpose - a trained repose that took years to master, never noticed until a hand reached out to grope at them. They would deftly pull away and leave the hand with nothing but air, but Njal was different. He was more aggressive than the regular customer, and the bouncers already knew better than to question the Monster of the Outer Rim.​

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Pirate as he was, he pulled a woman into his lap and wiped what was left of a death stick from his nose. Blood trailed from it slightly, only to be sniffed with force back into his sinuses. Bloodshot eyes and a toothy grin were uncomfortably pointed at the waitress as he gave her an unhead command - deafened by the sound of the music. She nodded nervously as he threw her back to her feet, taking a moment to stand himself before heading to a back room.​

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With black fur coat trailing behind him in partial tatters, a door slid open to his approach before closing behind him. Barbatos knew him well, and his contact with ‘Human’ - leader of the information brokers on the planet - had gotten him a very large contract. Now, he awaited the others who would come and hear him out.​

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Smugglers, privateers, bounty hunters, assassins, and mercenaries. The worst of the galaxies worst would find their way to Njal’s backroom meeting table to hear what he had to offer - and he would offer plenty. A digital letter of marque sits in his pocket, waiting for the first wave of them to come. Soon, an army would be raised - as motley as it would be, it was to be a fine provocation against one of the largest empires in the galaxy.​

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And it would make every man who accepted a very, very rich individual.​

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Aeshi Tillian │ Declan Dex │ 5-WCH (Switchblade)​

 

[Declan Dex]

Declan Harp was not used to such a place, it was loud, noisy, and had far too many people and not enough animals and nature. For a woodsman like him, who'd lived his life in the wilds of planets like Kashyyyk, Endor, and Arbooine hunting wild game of all types this wasn't a familiar setting. He normally sold his furs, leathers, and other animal-derived goods to merchants at the source world he was hunting at any given time. The tall bearded man certainly stood out with his bulky fur coat covering his leather vest, pants and long-sleeved shirt. He also had his belt with his Black Wolf Blaster Pistol on his hip, occasionally its glowing gas cylinder being visible along with the two hatchets in his belt. Still, he did know where to go, and made his way to the door inside the bar he'd been told he'd be able to find a job.

The door opened for him, and he stepped inside, his glaring eyes locking with the first person he saw, a man with red tattoos on his face.

 

[Radon Krayt]

The cantina was filled with all sorts of scum, criminals and questionable mercenaries. Among them was the Mandalorian clad in white. An individual who cared little about the scantily clad waitresses or the illegal goods this place had to offer. No, Radon Krayt was here with only one purpose. Obtaining cold hard cash. He did not particularly care what the contract was. If the pay was good, he would offer his services. And this offer, despite its secrecy, had certainly piqued his interest.

Once the time came, the Mandalorian made his way over to the backroom. It had been a long while since he last had a proper contract. Perhaps this job would offer him just what he had been looking for. A challenge.

Njal The Black Declan Dex ​

 

[Deryn Kaaldos]

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Another hand lost - Pazaak was coming to be one of his least fruitful endeavors into the world of the underground. How Deryn has not realized this in the past twenty years is a mystery but watching as more of his Hutt Coins went down the drain, Deryn figured it was time to quit. Well, quit until he gets more Hutt Coins, that is. He's been minding his time, waiting until more newcomers for the job came - keeping tabs on the backroom meetings that he had heard of on the DarkNet. He wasn't quite sure what they were hunting for this time, but he figured he could wait and see if there were others coming to take the job offer - and not get a blaster pulled on them. Those events were quite common in the places that he looked for on the DarkNet. His inhuman levels of auditory acuity allowed him to ascertain the many assassins and accomplices coming to accept the assignment - two so far. If he comes in, it'll make a party.

Deryn, after watching his opponent scrounge up his coins, found himself in defeated intrepidity to delve into the backrooms if only to escape the Pazaak tables. He sat there in his armor, the chair stressing against his heavy weight, before he stood up and set off towards the backroom lounges. He followed after the Mandalorian - his eyes glowing red-orange eyes piercing the darker atmosphere of the more private sectors of the rough cantina. Now inside, the narrow and short hallway that lead deeper to the backrooms had him pushing aside the decorative beads that littered the ceiling that would normally hang above the heads of humans and near-humans; showing a lack of accommodation for alien species like him - though legally it was.

Now, entering the lounges, bending down slightly for the door, scraping his helmet slightly on the way back up, he examined the ambience and characters about him. Two fur wearing humans or perhaps near-humans, and a Mandalorian of unknown race. "Su'cuy," He greeted the Mandalorian.

Radon Krayt Declan Dex Njal The Black

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[Adi'ka Awaud]

After the white clad Mandalorian had entered the seedy cantina another t-visored mercenary did the same. This one was clad in light devouring black. Tiny red sparks blinked where scanner and FF-targeters let in the smoke visible thin lines wander over the gathered scum and viliany.
Some crinched as the laser pointer passed them, fully aware that a prize may be on their ugly heads.

But the black armoured Mandalorian seemed not to be here to hunt.
As the figure walked slowly through the room, many were perplexed. The Mando was not even five feet tall. And yet menace radiated from the mannerism of the clearly nonhuman midget.

At the door to the backroom the bouncers looked uneasily down at the figure as laser pointers danced around them. "I am here because of the announcement", a metallic distorted but clearly female voice said.

Reluctantly the goons opened the door.
"Now they are two of them!", one whipered to the other.

"Su cuy'gar, cin vod!", the black Mandalorian greeted the white one. "Ni cuy'Adi'a Awaud!"

The others only got an short nod. One of the two he segmented appendages of the helmet stood suddenly up as if something caught the attention of the black dwarf.

"What´s up, medi droid?", she asked the enigmatic warrior Deryn Kaaldos

 

[Rika Hassan]

Call it deep curiosity. She always was the sort to explore things she shouldn't. Her little delve into the seedier side of life proved lucrative in the end and as she found out, she was good at it. So when the wind whispered a little tale of something to be had and a meeting here she followed with an interest and a determination that would not be swayed with distraction.

She bore little armor, but one might confuse her elaborate and bright tattooing on her arms and chest as clothing than just what it was; skin. Yet she did not come unarmed, a blaster sat on her hip. She wasn't that foolish to think walking into a place that requested people of ill repute unarmed was a good idea. Her direction was obvious, moving to the door of the backroom, watching as a short Mandalorian was allowed to enter.

Those men simply got a stare. Then a slow creeping smile before she pointed with a tattooed finger.

"I'm going in there."

There was no asking with her.

And in she went, taking a sweeping stare of those who came before her. Taking stock silently for the time being.

 

[Declan Dex]

Declan saw everyone arriving, and finally decided to finally break the silence.

"So, anyone know what this job is? Or are we gonna just stand here like bantha in a headlight?" Declan asked the room, not sure what to think of any of these people. He was most used to dealing with other hunters and trappers, along with some poachers occasionally, and of course, lots of seedy merchants. This was fairly new for the woodsman, and he wanted to some information, now.

 

[5-WCH (Switchblade)]

Many minutes passed.

The cushion of the bench began to grow cold. A single fly landed on the table, buzzing around. Dust particles were falling at a rate of 87 particles per second. But hell, it was just numbers. No one really cared about numbers. There was only one type of number he cared about. And that was credit numbers.

Waiting at the back of the bar he just watched, like he did best. A large, fur-coated man got up from his seat after an unpleasant interaction with a human female. From what he gathered the large man just took a shot of a deathstick, and it would hit his bloodstream in 3.241 seconds. But again, just numbers. Soon he disappeared into a back room, where he would be meeting his partners soon. But for now he waited.

After a few minutes, two and half to be exact, another human male approached. He looked out of his element. The city was no place for a country boy. Especially one that stuck out like some knockoff Astromech droid. His beard and hair grew out long, probably some sort of "nature" thing he had yet to understand. Oh well. Before he could gather any ore info, he barged into the back room.

In a short period of time two Beskar'gam-wearing figures walked through the bar. One in black, the other in white. They both walked with a purpose to themselves, as if money wasn't the reason they were here. But he was more than likely wrong. Everyone wanted the credits.

Soon came along a figure who he had yet to understand. The person was shaped like a humanoid, yet walked and moved around like a droid. Too much of it seemed unnatural for the figure to be a cyborg. This would definitely require some more research.

Just as a tattooed women walked into the back room, he began to stand up. The servos whined with each motion. It had been months since any repairs or upgrades, mainly due to the lack of credits. But it was all about to change. With that he walked over to the doors leading into the more-than-likely-crowded room. As he walked through the door he caught the end of the country boy's sentence.

"...like bantha in headlight."

Puzzling. It would have been better for him to catch the rest of the sentence, but it was probably of low intelligence. For now, he would stand at the back, watching.

Watching is what he did best.

Words: 417

Declan Dex | Radon Krayt | Deryn Kaaldos | Adi'ka Awaud | Rika Hassan | Njal The Black

 

[Njal The Black]

Njal was massive - a figure cut from iron in form. Blonde hair, black furs, and bloodshot eyes; he was hardly presentable in his current attire yet was surprisingly more presentable than he was usually. Likely, none of the others here would know that, but it was for the best they didn’t. Besides, all that mattered to Njal was how people remembered him.​

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A heavy hand slapped the table as he growled out a quick command to those present -​

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“Sit down and shut up.”, he demanded. Authoritative as always, Njal had a bad habit of challenging everyone he met. A shame he didn’t have that luxury today, but he would make due in less combative means.​

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“You’re all hunters, pirates, or smugglers. I have a bounty letter from a certain contact on Barbatos here, that will make all of us a very healthy profit.”, he said with a seething nature to his tone.​

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“Our rich benefactor has laid out the terms. You get paid a percentage of every ship’s value you take down. The bigger, the better the payout. Second, a bounty is put on any member of government. Dead or Alive. Third, you get paid by bringing proof of your kills and take downs to me.”, he said as he wiped a small dusting that was leftover beneath his nose.​

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“Lastly, smuggling in weapons and armor to rebelling forces or drugs to criminal rings nets you a tidy share of the profits.”​

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“The targets as of right now are the Confederacy as the primary one, but payouts include the Sith Empire, New Imperial Order, First Order, Eternal Empire, and Silver Jedi. Its free game for anyone, just remember that the current highest payout is the Confederacy.”​

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Njal pulled the chair at the head of the table back and sat down with a thud that shook the floor they stood on. He grunted loudly and leaned back before raising an eyebrow;​

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“Any questions?”​

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Declan Dex │ Radon Krayt │ Deryn Kaaldos │ Adi'ka Awaud │ Rika Hassan │ 5-WCH (Switchblade)​

 

[Adi'ka Awaud]

"What a worthless letter of marque is this including literally half the galaxy as target?", the small black clad Mandalorian snarled. She made a wide gesture including the gathered scum. "Everyone here would have at least one employer or ally on the list of targets who would be mad if random acts of piracy and smuggling would be commited against them."

"Indeed I have a question: How much to compensate for that inconvinience?"


Declan Dex │ Radon Krayt │ Deryn Kaaldos │Njal The Black│ Rika Hassan │ 5-WCH (Switchblade)


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[Deryn Kaaldos]

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"Then don't target the ones you have alliances with." He answered for the little rabbit. The red glow of his eyes shined upon her white skin and reflected off her armor. "Unless you are afraid of guilt through association, then silence anyone who reveals your association. This is why we do this in the backrooms where no one else can hear us. And those that can will get a blaster bolt through them if they ever tattle." Deryn's arms crossed as rolled out his words in a rather condescending manner, especially after the Medi-Droid Taunt.

"Or is the little rodent too afraid of making enemies? If you were afraid of making enemies, maybe Bounty Hunting isn't for you." He added, the metallic audio processor inside his helmet giving an even colder feel to the cold remark.

Declan Dex || Adi'ka Awaud || Njal The Black || Rika Hassan || 5-WCH (Switchblade) || Radon Krayt

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[Rika Hassan]

The tattooed woman was quiet as he made his demands. Maybe if she were a different creature she might have balked at the ideas he had. Instead there grew but a small grin across her lips. Maybe it was partial amusement at how the man acted. How he commanded a room with violence and loudness, maybe it was simply the situation she had gotten herself into in this backroom deal. Either way, she did little to hide the every growing amusement that rippled through her features down to her body language entirely.

Arms that were crossed dropped to her sides, her tense rigid stiffness relaxing entirely. She looked between the small Mandalorian and the one with the metallic coldness in his voice. "Our job is to step on toes." She states towards the little one. "If alliances and employers get in your way, well then that's more credits for those who have no problem operating covertly to get the job done." Her head tilts towards Deryn, brows arching just a little. "That being said. I think the term pick battles applies here, does it not?" Opportunistic was a better term she guessed.

Declan Dex | Deryn Kaaldos | Adi'ka Awaud | Njal The Black | 5-WCH (Switchblade) | Radon Krayt​

 

[Njal The Black]

“Take their advice, kid.”, Njal said with a furrow of his heavyset brow.​

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“If you’re not in the market to piss people off, you’re either not good enough to keep them coming back, or you’re not built for this kind of job.”​

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Njal reached into his pocket, grabbing a set of Marquees and tossing them in a disorganized pile on the table. Each lit up with contact information with brokers on Barbatos, further information on how to get ahold of Njal once again, and the terms of their contract - minus the targets he had mentioned a moment ago. A different Marquee in front of Njal was larger, tinged with different tech on its bounty disc, and with it carried the information of who exactly they were targeting.​

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“Besides, if its my guess, the others are a distraction. Helps keep the blame wide, so just don’t go after those you don’t want to. Until our employer tells us to go after someone else, the Confederacy is the target. Kill them, beat them, or capture them - or leave. I’m not going to call up the guy hiring us to tell him you have some ‘issues’ with killing your buddies.”​

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Declan Dex │ Deryn Kaaldos │ Adi'ka Awaud │ 5-WCH (Switchblade) │ Radon Krayt │ Rika Hassan​

 

[Declan Dex]

Declan stepped forward, and picked up a letter of marque, and tapped it against his palm then pointed it at Njal.

“You have a deal,” Declan stated with a confident smirk and looked around at the others, “Shall we?”

He had no problem pissing governments off. Declan was seen as a rogue and a dangerous poacher by many of them. So going out and pissing them off was a good deal. The only thing he needed to avoid was pissing off the independent smugglers with whom he did business. Besides, he needed the cash so he could get a ship to assist his preferred method of income.

Deryn Kaaldos Adi'ka Awaud 5-WCH (Switchblade) Radon Krayt Rika Hassan Njal The Black

 

[Isran Varad]

LOCATION: Chit Hole City, Chit Hole Planet
ALLIES: Vren Rook , Safira Varad, Saram Kote , The Quartermaster , Aselia Verd , Haastal Haran , Hinah Dragr
TARGET: Njal The Black
SECONDARY TARGETS: Declan Dex , Radon Krayt , Deryn Kaaldos , Adi'ka Awaud , Rika Hassan , 5-WCH (Switchblade)

The "Monster of the Outer Rim".

By Human standards, the brute who had slapped the table and yelped for the sellswords to assemble was a large fellow. Nothing Titanic like those Zambrano fellows, but tall. Built. He clearly had used those hands to crush an actual melon for party tricks at least once before. Brute was the word who came to mind. Or Oaf. Depending upon the sentence. In Isran's mind, the man was but a typical underling. What mattered more was the hand tugging the oaf's strings.

For awhile now, the Karjr had been monitoring the underworld. Ever since the insurrection on Ryloth and beyond, sniffing out enemy threats long before they took hold was vital. What the Agents pulled off was bold. It was a paper cut - but a cut nonetheless. And anytime there was blood, there was boldness.

That boldness had formed a trail of bread crumbs, whispers and shadows, culminating with Isran and his fellows' presence in the seedy establishment. At a glance, they were identical to the other applicants for the job. Mandalorian. Mercenaries. And unlike the one who asked questions, Isran's helm bobbed up and down in understanding. What was understood? That every word the man uttered was being burned into his HUD's memory. Down to the sniff from the good ol'Death Sticks.

And when the target was mentioned? Confirmation. The trail had finally paid off.

"I've got a question." Isran remarked, striding forth to pluck one of the letters into his left hand. "How much are you all worth?"

Firing from the hip, his blaster pistol was loosed and fired a heavy bolt, poised to strike the Oaf himself straight in the chest. Yet this was not the sole weapon brought to the cantina. For the Karjr seldom operated alone.​

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[Njal The Black]

Njal had expected someone to track them down - he was after all, a pirate notorious for venting luxury civilian ships for dead Primeval gods. At any given moment he was seconds away from yet another hunter, but he hardly expected one to be brazen enough to ‘sneak’ into their little get together for the sake of a few credits.​

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Before he could stand, offer some quip back at The Mandalorian, the blaster bolt slammed into his chest and throwing him over the back of the chair. Heavy metal on metal rang through the room before Njal’s heavy-handed laughter could be heard - and the man stood up to drop the now burnt fur coat from his form. Isran has the gist of it - he was massive and seemed to only grow without the coat.​

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On his chest was nothing but a lightly formed phrik breastplate that kept his organs on the inside of his body - though the bolt hadn’t hit it directly dead center. Rather, it had hit the edge - whereas most of the damage was stopped, the rest of it had formed a scorching mark on his collar bone, likely having shattered the bone from the force he was thrown.​

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“Missed your shot, kid.”, he said with a grown, broken by a wide smile.​

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His hand whipped to the holster on his hip, throwing the gun from his hand as he leveled and fired at the Mandalorian. Its heavy disruptor shot lit the room up in an immediate wash of red before fading, but a second from his other holster shot more directly at the Mandalorian head; all without the direct input of Njal himself.​

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He quickly glanced to the others at the table before speaking -​

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“You know the job. The man’s worth plenty, so earn your keep.”, Njal said with a growing laugh.​

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A shame they weren’t on a ship. He would’ve liked to break the airlocks now. Oh well, he imagined he’d just have to make do.​

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Isran Varad │ Declan Dex │ Radon Krayt │ Deryn Kaaldos │ Adi'ka Awaud │ Rika Hassan │ 5-WCH (Switchblade)​

 

[Vren Rook]

ALLIES: Isran Varad | Safira Varad | Saram Kote | The Quartermaster | Aselia Verd | Haastal Haran | Hinah Dragr
TARGET: Declan Dex
SECONDARIES: Njal The Black | Radon Krayt | Deryn Kaaldos | Adi'ka Awaud | Rika Hassan | 5-WCH (Switchblade)

The underworld.

It was teeming with lowlifes. Scum that needed to be rooted out to prevent another insurrection. Thankfully, these scum tended to leave trails that light up like neon beacons, screaming "We are here, come and get us!". The hunts never took too long.

Vren had followed this neon trail along with his comrades-in-arms to some shady joint and into a backroom. He was lounging in a chair, listening to what was being said, the HUD in his helmet working overtime to record everything being said. The mention of the targets was all the confirmation that he needed. More lowlifes to be rooted out on the spot.

A big man had gotten up and had taken one of the letters. He had just turned to head out, when Vren kicked a chair into his way.
"Going somewhere big guy?" he asked. Just then, Isran fired a shot at the Monster of the Outer Rim. This was going to be good.
Utilising the distraction, Vren drew one blaster and fired in the direction of the big man in a lightning fast motion.

He was on his feet in the same instance and the other blaster drawn and pointed in the face of a next target.

 

[Adi'ka Awaud]

Adi'ka did not like the sudden twist. She ignite her rocket boots and activated her personal shields. If some of the fatherless shabuir would dare to shoot her he would eat his own deflected blaster bolt!

She sended on Mandalorian broadband radio the traditional warning/offer of alliance: "Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod!" Why did she has to do this so often anyway in the last time? Should these shinies here not at least introduce their intentions to other Mandos before blasting away?

"Cin vod, what is your part in this? ", she asked the whiteshelled Mandalorian on radio.

Declan Dex , Radon Krayt , Deryn Kaaldos , Rika Hassan , 5-WCH (Switchblade) Vren Rook , Safira Varad , Saram Kote , The Quartermaster , Aselia Verd , Haastal Haran , Hinah Dragr Njal The Black

 

[Deryn Kaaldos]

Deryn acted quickly upon the realization of danger. While Isran might've still been able to fire his shot, Deryn was upon him immediately with superhuman speed vastly outpacing that of your average Jedi Master, and even more so strength as he would attempt to tackle his over half-ton form into the assailant's body. In this small backroom, there was very little space to dodge, though if Isran would be able to muster the ability to evade the preternatural speed of Deryn, he'd be able to exploit Deryn's weakness of making turns after such burst of ferocity, like slamming through the entire durasteel reinforced duracrete wall - relatively unharmed though.

"I'm hoping we'll get paid for taking these sleemos down as an extra?" He said as he committed to the maneuver.
Declan Dex || Adi'ka Awaud || Njal The Black || Rika Hassan || 5-WCH (Switchblade) || Radon Krayt

Isran Varad
Vren Rook
Hinah Dragr
The Quartermaster
Saram Kote
Haastal Haran
Safira Varad

 

[Isran Varad]

LOCATION: Really Chit Hole City, Chit Hole Planet
ALLIES: Vren Rook , Safira Varad, Saram Kote , The Quartermaster , Aselia Verd , Haastal Haran , Hinah Dragr
TARGET: Njal The Black
SECONDARY TARGETS: Declan Dex , Radon Krayt , Deryn Kaaldos , Rika Hassan , 5-WCH (Switchblade)
NEUTRAL: Adi'ka Awaud

Isran was Human.

Though his counterpart was a literal Sith Deity, the Mandalorian was far more mundane. Even his own flirtations with the Force were paltry at best. Thus, there would be no supernatural responses born of magick this day. Isran lacked the Human or Mystical means to respond to the sudden movement of the half-ton monstrosity on his flank. Yet, what he lacked in being a mere human, he made up for in being a Son of Mandalore.

Particularly, technology was his ally. Protocols situated within his HUD kicked on once they detected the movement of his eye - particularly aim assistance. Isran's shot was successfully fired, sending the primary target flying back. But by the time his offhand moved to his second holster, the titan was upon him. Isran barely managed to get out of the way of the arms with reflex alone, but the impact would still occur.

His bones screamed in protest to practically being hurled in the opposing direction. His form slammed upon an opposing table - a fact which saw the Oaf's own bolts whiz harmlessly by. Isran barely had enough time to stuff the paper into the rear of his holster and loose his second sidearm. Being within tackling distance of both the half-ton monster and the target, he pulled the triggers. The air rippled in the direction of the Oaf - but there was no blaster bolt fired from his offhand. Yet a peculiar affect would be unleashed upon the autonomous sidearms. His dominant hand let fly with another shot.

This time, it flew directly towards that cocky grin.

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