Faction Kingsley's Eleven: National Treasure (Shipwreck Heist)

[Kingsley]

​

The Shadowport Cantina was a run down little hole in the wall and undesirable for even those desperate enough to wind up on the Ring of Kafrene. Captain Kingsley of the bulk freighter Eravana found that places like this made for easy recruitment. These days he liked to work alone but every once in a while an opportunity ended up in his lap that he just couldn't say no to. There were a few people in this galaxy that he'd risk just about anything to rob blind and at the top of that bucket list was the Sith Emperor.

"Rrrrawk! Get that blaster outta my face Goro."

"The mighty Goro the Hutt will not be spoken to this way by someone who owes so much."

The vulture man sighed.

"You're not a Hutt, Goro. Just a very confused and very connected Ithorian."

"Insolence!" Goro the 'Hutt' cried.

"Listen Goro. Heard about a job, putting together a crew. If this one pays off it will cover everything I owe plus a nice little finder's fee if you spread the word I'm looking for shady folk."

"That's what you said last time," the brain addled cantina owner muttered.

Kingsley could tell that Goro wasn't going to shoot him and he smiled.

"Trust me pal. This plan is gonna make us all rich."

 

[Lex Del'Fino]

It'd been a while since Lex had joined in on a group job. His Finn Delson persona was as much a loner as he Lex Del'Fino one was, meaning he often didn't enjoy the company of others unless they were the opposite sex, they were paying him, or he was robbing them blind in a game of cards or chance. But a recent rumor in the underworld of the Outer Rims' world had managed to to find it's way into the Shadow's network of information. Normally, a heist wouldn't be something that caught anyone's particular attention. Criminals robbed, betrayed, and sometimes killed each every day. Jobs like that weren'y exactly uncommon. What made this particular one was the fact that the mark wasn't just some rival, or even the fact that it was a Sith Lord. It was the fact that it was the Sith Emperor, Carnifex themselves.

It was something at least worth hearing out. He'd go in with low expectations, half expecting it to be run by some insane hermit or some petty thief with dreams of grandeur. But, by the immensely small chance that it was legit, and managed to gather a competent squad, well then, how could he say no? A chance to not only get close to the Emperor but also take one of his treasured relics of power, or even slice and steal important Sith data? His duty as a Shadow practically compelled him to attend.

The meet-up spot was out of the way even when considering smuggling routes, the view of it from approach lending to the assumption it's clientele either met here for that exact reason, or they really didn't want to be found. He guided the Vagabond's Solace into the docks, and departed for the Cantina's interior. The inside proved to match the outside, meeting expectations and somehow still being disappointing. Of the scant patrons inside currently, it was hard to pin a face to the name of the client: "Kingsley".

After a brief moment of scanning the room, he shrugged, going to the bar to order a drink, and while he waited for it, calling out. "Any of you know a m Kingsley? Got a drink with his name on it and some business to discuss."

 

[Vrisskdohk]

Another failed hunt. Another failed hunt. If Botassk had heard of this, Vrisskdohk would never have heard the end of it. A true Trandoshan hunter does not return to his clan without his quarry. Only a disgraceful, sorry, Wookie karking, excuse of a Trandoshan could even consider returning empty handed! You shameful monkey-lizard! You stay in the jungle until you have your prey's pelt around your neck or you die by it's hands. He would say. That damned old bastard. Vrisskdohk was sure the old fogey was lying when he said he never failed a hunt, that no good hunter ever failed a hunt, but as Botassk's apprentice, he never dared challenge the statement. The long-held bitterness made the low-grade recreational Ryll spice Vrisskdohk was railing that much better.

"Hey, Hey!" The barkeeper of the uppity, high class, Janer's Snout cantina shouted, "We may not be no Coruscanti Taro joint, but I'm not running a spice den in here. Get the hell out you lizard faced scum." After a short exchange of cultural obscenities, Vrisskdohk reluctantly stumbled out in search of a more 'accepting' pub that could serve him something to wash the Ryll down.

Through his substance addled haze he searched the Ring of Kafrene, eventually falling into a disgruntled patron exiting the Shadowport Cantina and decided this was the appropriate establishment to relish in his victory, near victory. After making a troubled, slow, but eventually successful trip from the cantina door to the bar, he slapped his claw down on the tavern's serving counter and demanded: "Hard Trandoshan liqour." The bartender offered an orange bottle whose label read, Starssk's Finest. Vrisskdohk sneered in disgust, familiar with the low-quality, Mid-Rim, swill, but nodded for a glass all the same. The old Twi'lek woman poured a glass and placed it in front of Vrisskdohk, "Six credits."

The hunter's eyes slowly widened as, in a brief moment of sudden sobriety, he recalled how much refueling the Rancor Claw had cost him, and how angry an old Twi'lek bartender could be when he didn't settle a tab. Vrisskdohk slowly leaned in towards the woman and asked in a tone that seemed much quieter in his spice intoxicated state, "Any jobsss, tonight?"

 

[Kingsley]

"Rrrawk! You had me at free drinks my friend."

Kingsley clapped a talon roughly around Lex Del'Fino , practically hauling him to the bar. The smuggler could smell a Judge a parsec away and so had made himself scarce at the first whiff of lawman. It was no secret however that outer rim vigilantes operated with varying levels of morality and he supposed on this one they shared a common enemy. A sheriff in his pocket was worth the risk of incarceration.

"Two gargle blasters, sweetheart," he winked lecherously at the twi'lek bartender who loathed his very presence.

"Any jobsss, tonight?"

"I don't know this guy," Kingsley cocked his head at Vrisskdohk , "Hey badge. Do you know this guy?"

He sniffed the trandoshan appraisingly. Seemed ruthless enough.

"Say there is a job. Say its dangerous. You think you can handle yourself, scales?"

 

[Lex Del'Fino]

His head turned sharply as he heard the croaky and cracked voice of the bird man perk up beside him, before being dragged a little ways over to another spot at the bar. As far as shifty characters went, this guy might've been the mascot. He couldn't tell if the twitching the bird did was from it just being what it was, from paranoia, or from some kind of high. "Oh lords...", he thought to himself. As far as first impression went, this was a solid three out of ten. And what the hell was a gargle blaster? He'd never heard of the drink, but figured both by the name and by who ordered it, it'd smack him in the face like a rancor and have his throat burning like the sun with one sip.

"Badge?" Hmm. He'd been smoked out that fast, huh? Either his skills were finally starting to dull, or Kingsley's eyes were a cut above the rest of the criminals in the Galaxy. If he were being honest, he didn't like either answer. But being made at this point wasn't a necessarily a bad thing. The fact that Kingsley still chose to approach him and not slip out the back door was a testament to that. He might even be a little more trusting, having figured out a secret of his.

By now the drinks had arrived, slide over by the bartender to the two of them. Lex caught his and immediately took a gulp, his previous guess about the taste proving more than spot on. He choked for a moment or two, trying to settle his body into the harshness of the liquor. "Don't-', he coughed, "-know him. Most Transdoshan's look the same."
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Tags: Vrisskdohk

 

[Vrisskdohk]

"Say there is a job. Say its dangerous. You think you can handle yourself, scales?"

The Hiitian birdman caught Vrisskdohk off-guard, he had never seen a man of their species. After a few moments of intense concentration, he realized that the weathered gangster was, in fact, not an illusion produced by the second hand spice, but a possible host of opportunity. Opportunity, Vrisskdohk thought as he stared at the glass of unpaid Trandoshan gin sitting before him, I sorely need.

"Ever sssee a ssson of Dosha fight?" Vrisskdohk said, turning towards the feathered criminal, "I can handle whatever you want..." the Trandoshan's spice addled mind used all his brain power to come up with a response clever enough to blow Kingsley's little nickname out of the water, "...feathersss. For the right price, of courssse." Vrisskdohk gestured to his drink with his claw, hoping the Hiitian would get the picture.

Lex Del'Fino
Kingsley

 

[Sero Valrel]

Sero woke up to a blinding light, deafening noise, a pounding headache and a sore back. After a minute or two to regain what little sense he had Sero was able to deduce that he was laying on the durasteel floor of some shipyard on some world. That would account for the lights and the noise and the sore back. Sero touched his head with his right hand and jerked both away from each other in pain, his fingers stained with drying blood from a two-inch cut above his left eye.

‘That was new’ he thought.

He reached into his pockets and found no credits

That wasn’t new.

“Where am I?” Sero asked out loud. An astromech droid responded back with a series of beeps and clicks

“Kafrene? Where the hell is Kafrene?”

More beeps and clicks responded

“Thand Sector? Where in Hoth is that?”

More beeps this time the droid giving Sero an exact coordinate, not that it helped.

“How did I get here?”

Even more beeps

“Oh no answer this time?” He asked the droid sarcastically “Don’t suppose you know where an honest man can find a drink?”

More clicks than beeps this time

“Very funny. Where could a dishonest man find a drink then?”

Ten minutes later Sero walked into the Shadowport Cantina.

Even in the bar hadn’t been nearly empty Sero would of stood out. He was almost six and a half feet tall, he was wearing armor which in and of itself was not that unusual in a place like this but Sero’s armor was made up of the plates of several different armors repurposed to keep him somewhat protected. There were rusted plates, red plates with chipped paint, plain grey durasteel plates covered in scratches, all of the parts of his armor was worn and worn well. His hair which today was mostly blonde with a streak of black mixed in there was tied into a greasy ponytail.

Sero walked over to the bar and got the attention of the Twi’lek working there.

“Cheapest swill you got and start me a tab.” He told the alien who went and poured him a glass of something brown before going back to cleaning behind the bar.

He looked around the bar hoping to find some easy mark that he could use for some quick credits. The bar was relatively empty but he did take notice of an interesting collection of beings seated a couple tables away from the bar.

A Hiitian, A Trandoshan, and one uncomfortable looking human all sat around this table talking in not quite hushed tones about work and typically the kind of work spoken about in not quite hushed tones was the exact kind of work that suited him.

“I’ve seen several sons of Dosha fight.” Sero said walking up to the table “seen many of them die, many by my own hand.”

Sero went to introduce himself when it hit him. The sweet smell of spice. Oh how he ached for it. He could not tell before over all his other aches but now it was plain Sero was due.

“I’m S-Sero Valrel.” He finally said, “and I could not help but hear you’ve got a job that needs doing.”

Kingsley
Lex Del'Fino
Vrisskdohk

 

[Kingsley]

Kingsley cackled when Vrisskdohk called him feathers. It was a sickening wheeze that grated on the nerves. He laughed even harder when the braggart Sero Valrel interjected. Threatening a trandoshan was dangerous business. These guys were either deadly or foolish enough to follow him anywhere. All the smuggler had to do was convince them. Better break this up before Lex Del'Fino started cracking some skulls.

"Rrrrawk! Before you twos arm wrestle or ruin poor Goro's bar or whatever you gotta do to prove whose the toughest..."

He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice to near a whisper.

"Let me tell you a story," the bird began, "about an officer named Vaskej. A few weeks ago he staggers into a cantina on Cantonica, takes a seat next to an outer rim freighter captain. Turns out Vaskej is dying from a vibroknife wound, courtesy of his former employers...the Sith Inquisition. Apparently this officer was responsible for the security of one particular ship. A ship with a cargo so rich the Sith Emperor himself was very anxious to see it launched."

"Vaskej warned that it was too late. That region of space is prone to all kinds of gravity flares and freak anomalies this time of year. No escort could be mustered on such short notice either. But his superiors demanded he sign off. They told him that if he couldn't arrange for an escort he should plot a course for the ship unknown to anyone but her captain and consider that route a state secret. When Vaskej refused and threatened to report his concerns to the Dark Council...things got ugly."

He was practically salivating now and speaking in a hoarse tone.

"Which ship?" he took a long pause for dramatic effect, "Heart of Kyber. The largest Sith treasure ship in the outer rim! Total cargo in excess of...well, more than any of you can imagine. And we're gonna rob her."

 

[Lex Del'Fino]

Lex was much to busy fighting to swallow a second round of drinks to notice the potential bar fight brewing right next to him. The drink was certainly strong, and it'd had caught him off guard, but he'd had stronger.... much stronger. He could feel his thoughts hazing over already, and feel the blood rushing to his face, but that'd be about as far as it got with this drink. Even if he took one or two more shots, which, given the chance, he'd do happily.

By now he'd settled in, and listened to Kingsley's tale, slightly rocking side to side unintentionally. Inquisition... means Inquisitors. Not good. Inquisitors were like the Shadows, dialed up to twelve, and much more taken to murdering people in the dead of night. He'd encountered one or two in his time, and it was never a fun occasion. A bit of insult hurling, some posturing, and of course, a near-death experience mixed into it. Ugh, it put a bad taste in his mouth just thinking of it.

Besides those little plot points, he locked onto the actual cargo of the vessel. Treasure was a..... loose term. And relative. It could have as many meanings as their were stars in the galaxy. He didn't want to waste his time getting involved in this, just for whatever they to turn out to be some imported delicacies for the Emperor's dinner, or a bunch of folding chairs for his den. "So....", his speech was a bit slurred, "... do you actually know what's on the ship? We're not going to rob it and find the Emperor's holo-nude stash, are we?" He flipped his glass over, indicating he was done, after an actual fourth shot.
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Kingsley , Sero Valrel , Vrisskdohk