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| The Right Hand Man; Hard Quest~ Osiris | |
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| Topic Started: Jan 27 2016, 04:23 AM (154 Views) | |
| Osiris | Jan 27 2016, 04:23 AM Post #1 |
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Pallor Lord
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Location: Ruins of Cauldron/Suicide Station Difficulty: Hard Description: Crap. It seems the Saiyan Investor Siberius had assassinated has a son; and that son is a rather powerful member of the Saiyan Military. Someone has overheard in the bar that this son is coming to pay Siberius a visit. Being as you are now his number 1 goon, Siberius has asked you to take a few of his guys and find out when and where this Saiyan is going to arrive. If at all possible, kill him before he even gets to Cauldron System. (You do not have to travel anywhere to complete this quest, but may roleplay being wherever you choose to complete the quest). Reward: +1,000 zeni, +12 DP, +140 all stats, +12 Rp Credits. Bonus: +2,000z Requirement: Assuming Responsibility quest complete. |
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| Osiris | Jan 27 2016, 04:30 AM Post #2 |
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Pallor Lord
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Seventh Commerce Deck - Kella’s Herbal Haven The backroom Kella lead her unwanted patron into was a riot of organic life that made the samples in the front of the store seem paultry. Floor to ceiling racking lined the large space like a miniature warehouse. Nothing seemed to have an order to it though. Where one shelf was merely a metal platform to hold dozens of potted plants, the next one above it was a deep set bin filled with soil for more permanent residents. Yet other storage levels didn’t even seem to be actual shelfs, but instead mere grating through which thin vines grew and dangled. Everywhere, lines of light emitting diodes ran parallel to thin piping constructed into a makeshift irrigation network. Even this was not uniformed though. For set of plants there seemed to be a different set up: a different color being shown down or a different watering nozzle which dripped or sprayed or misted. It was like stepping into a whole other world from the rest of the space station. The multitude of exotic smells was such a relief from the constant stink of ozone, ship exhaust, and metal slag which seemed to permeate most of the places Osiris spent his time. “I am surprised. I didn’t think you rented such a large portion of the station.” The Pallor Lord followed a few steps behind the short alien woman. It would have been a painfully dull pace if it were in a lesser environment. Her legs were stout, but didn’t seem built for speed. There was no sense of singular direction to her appendages, though it was hard to tell exactly when they were covered in such baggy clothing. Another trilling huff preluded the shop keeper’s sentence, though this one seemed less annoyed. More trill and less huff, but it’s so damn hard to read unfamiliar species. “Well, even these miscreants can appreciate having a little piece of nature. It’s hard on the psyche to be so far removed from other living things. Sometimes a good flower is better company than a shipmate.” A slight chill infused the humid air for a moment as the herbalist reached into a large refrigerated cabinet. It hummed quietly in the back corner of the greenhouse next to a small workbench. A small glass box was produced and staged among the snippers and pestles and various simple chemistry devices. To Osiris, they looked like small mimics of Cauldron itself. The mingly of orange hues and glassy black swirls fading into shapeless greys. Relefare, a remnant of an obliterated world. “I haven’t had the time or inclination to divide them all out into their own containers. If you want to buy it right now, you will have to take the whole half dozen or so. Otherwise -” The Pallor Lord cut her off, “No, these will be perfect. I always intend on buying as many as you had.” A warry green-grey eye turned on the demonic vessel, “These are not cured and lacquered. Are you sure you know how to handle these safely?” “When I was a child, I use to harvest these.” His clawed fingers reached forward to cradle the glass container, “Those days, walking the edges of the steaming calderas, they seemed endless at the time.” “Doesn’t sound like any good place for a child.” His voice was distant, disconnected to the subject matter, “It wasn’t. How much do I owe you for these.” “Six hundred zeni should cover it. Though, I should make you pay extra for taking the last of my stock.” Osiris handed her a small golden zeni marked with the one thousand denomination, “Consider this an investment then. There are many plants here I have never seen before. I would be willing to pay much more if you were to compile something of an encyclopedia for you me. Oh, and tell Lench he should remember how easy it is to buy a waitress even if the owner is on the level. Ships I find offer a bit more privacy even if they are less subtle.” ----------------------------------------------------------- Perse’s Fist - Long Term Docking Deck-Beta “No, I can’t say I really know much about Lench. He did serve in the military for a while, but never made it as far as his brother. I looked into his tax and port records though. It seems he did some mercenary work for a while after his discharge from duties. It’s not very uncommon. Seems he never ran awful of any sanctions, so I can’t say exactly where or what kind of services exactly he was selling.” Juku seemed distracted, as though he were still reading from the report himself. “I doubt it was anything of great expanse. Most of his skill development was for small tactical squads, not long term strategic importance. Even if he ended up on the wrong side of a conflict, as far as the Empire would have been concerned it would be almost trivial.” “I have a feeling his involvement here will not be trivial,” the Pallor Lord twisted the signet ring back and forth with his thumb. “Why are you so concerned with him? Are you sure you aren’t just jumping at Javier’s shadow?” Juku looked up from his reading and turned his immense stare on his pupil turned comrade. A tinge of malice stirred inside the demonic vessel. Sometimes Juku still felt the need to teach lessons, and it always strained Osiris’ sense of trust for reasons he wasn’t quite able to elaborate. “Shadows don’t frighten me. However, it vexs me to not know what this man might be plotting. He has too many skills and motivations to simply be on Suicide Station without a purpose. I doubt he is working for anyone here - but that is exactly what concerns me.” “You think he is after Siberius?” Juku rubbed the deep blue beard he had been growing out for the last several months. The streaks of silvery white lent his already distinguished features a philosopher’s mystic. “If that his only objective, then it should be easy to persuade him to work with us. However, if he is here on his own recognizance . . . that would be a much greater problem. Do you believe he is the type of man to see this space station as an affront to his brother’s legacy?” “Let me find something before I answer,” Juku never gave the impression he was uncertain. Too many years working in the intelligence field had robbed him of that discomfort. Osiris stood and paced the short distance between the weapons control panel and the navigation interface. The heavy footsteps of combat boot on metal floor grates filled the contemplative silence. The minutes were measured and counted away by the methodical rhythm. “Yes. I think he is exactly that kind of man. His name comes up on every record of attendance for Javier’s rank ceremonies. Correspondence between the two brothers seems very high while they were both active duty as well. Include the fact that he knew your name, and I would say it is unlikely they had a falling out.” Several chimes played over the intercom and a small icon appeared in the bottom corner of the monitor, “I sent you his personnel records. They are old, but it is somewhere for you to start.” Taking his seat in the captain’s chair once more, Osiris punched in the commands to encrypt and store the files. “Hopefully it will not come to violence. If he moves before I am secure here though . . .” “It is important we stay flexible. Whether that means incorporating him into our designs or dealing with the aftermath of his machinations is irrelevant. If he leaves a power vacuum, we have contingencies for such an event.” Juku’s hand opened up in a small gesture of revelation, “Perhaps he would make a useful implement for removing Barnack?” “It couldn’t be directly. Perhaps as bait though. You have given me much to think about, Master Juku. There are more immediate matters that I must attend to for now.” “Of course, and I trust you to inform me when significant developments occur.” And then the Keliouxian Master was gone. As the monitor resolved the ended transmission, the default settings brought up the exterior cameras. It would still be a few minutes before his crew appeared in those images though. Today’s collections list was a rather lengthy one. An unusual convergence of several contraband shipments on the same day the foundry needed to pay rent and “insurance”. Osiris left the bridge and slowly made his way back to the armory. Sitting on the middle of the table was the box of relefare spore pods, though not as many as there had been originally. He had set aside three for his own personal collection. Four would more than suffice for his purposes. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Forty-three minutes later. Lismian fashion, as much as it can be considered a singular thing, is flamboyant and colorful. That is to say, more appropriately, it is made up from the most ostentatious garments they have “appropriated” from other cultures. That desire for the newest and loudest outfit was something Osiris was beginning to fear he would never break in Hansel. “You are late. I hope shopping for these garish garments is not your only excuse.” The Pallor Lord set his glare on his crew hard enough to make them think they had stepped into a gravitron. Hansel smiled uneasily, “Aw naw, boss. I didn’t buy these for myself.We ran into a few guys who could use an attitude adjustment. Afterwards, they were so appreciative they bought me these new threads and lovely jacket.” It was not a “lovely jacket”. It was a horrid mixture of teal and florescent yellow. Sleeveless and with a collar that came up to the lismian’s ears, Hansel looked like he was wearing some poisonous insect’s thorax. “I think the only thing they appreciated was you not making good on your threat to keep beating them,” Branish chuckled and jabbed his teammate's shoulder playfully. Naturally, Osiris looked to one person he expected a straight answer from: Nellic. “Apologies captain, but our delay was productive. It seems some on Siberius’ payroll have taken offense to us getting the old crew’s collections and shipment duties. A man by the name Jarus, I think he was avalonian, seemed to think we should give him some of our dock sites.” The damaskin woman started unclipping the latches that held her body armor on. The protective gear had a few new gouges torn into it’s matte black surface. “No apology required. I thought our initial introduction would have kept such encounters strictly unnecessary.Still, it’s good to see a little discontent among Siberius’ henchmen. Did any of them find your tempers fatal?” Nellic set her chestpiece into the raking along the walls before turning to respond, “No. A few broken bones, nothing serious. I don’t think they were really looking for the fight they found themselves in. They tried to play their threats off as warnings: the dangers of not making the right friends.” Grel shook his head back and forth as he started swapping out the energy packs for a set of fresh charges, “They should have taken their own advice.” For a few minutes, the Pallor Lord allowed the Tri-pack to joke around and enjoy their latest victory. His clawed fingers set back upon the task of assembling yet another device that would infringe upon the boundaries between the arcane and technological. Compared to the projector device though, this one would be quite the marvel of automation. One of the true benefits of living on Suicide Station was the continuous supply of scrap materials and disused components traded cheaply around the docking areas. It was a lot like the massive scrap yards that stretched out for miles around the recycling forges on Cauldron. Less organized, but still nearly as efficient considering the amount of wrecks who preferred to drag their hulks into a port which asked no questions. A few zeni and a little imagination - you could piecemeal together just about anything. Assuming, of course, you aren’t the type to be preoccupied with aesthetics. Function before beauty - that was an ideal which appealed to the Pallor Lord’s origins. Running his hands along a cubed frame of bronze small arcs of electricity followed the wake of Osiris’ touch. It was an old contentment generator that once held critically charged plasma. There were no actual physical barriers, just the skeletal frame which projected a very controlled magnetic field. So long as the charges were calculated correctly between generator and the material to be contained, just about anything could be held suspended within the squared frame . “I don’t think I have seen one of those in seven or ten years. What kind of junker did you dig this relic out from?” Grel might have had a surly streak, and his fair share of lismian liberty - but he was undoubtedly a solid ship mechanic. “Covalent converters are much more efficient as junction terminals. I think we still have a few spares in the cargo.” For what it was worth, Branish wasn’t bad with an impact wrench and plasma torch either. Although, he did lack the imagination required to understand that a single part could be used for a multiplicity of purposes. “By the end of the week, this will be a spore harvester. A critical component for any system that grows relefare. A properly suspended sulfide solution will allow dropping spore pods to fall slowly through the mixture. The spores are released into what appears to be fertile growing medium. Then it becomes a simple matter of separating out the living particulate matter from the inert sulfides.” “So what, we are going into the farming business now? Seems like a step down with how well things have been going so far.” Hansel was busy once more counting out the hard-credits they had collected on their daily rounds. It wasn’t so much that anyone had given him the responsibility for double checking the payment. The chash-happy lismian just really liked how small metal bars and polymer sheets felt in the palm of his hands. In truth though, it only represented a portion of what they had collected for Siberius that day. Physical zeni had an anonymity every criminal appreciated, but the convenience of data-credits was undeniable - especially for those traveling in and out of planet gravity wells when every ounce of weight makes a difference. Snapping in a few cables along the cube’s outer corners, the demonic vessel started running diagnostic checks through the generator’s various frequencies. “I told you from the beginning that the plan was to gain Siberius trust, to get under his skin. My intentions were never to do that through the slow grind of professional thuggery. It would take far too long. We have to shift the economics of the entire station so that he becomes dependant on our support.” Branish was quick to jump at the question everyone was thinking, “How is some spores suppose to help?” There was an honesty in the broad-faced lismian the other two lacked severly. It almost was enough to make Osiris smile at him, almost. “Relefare is a fungus which produces a unique neurotoxin capable of affecting both carbon and silicon based lifeforms. If you are cut by the thorns or ingest some of the stalk, your neurons go into a state of progressive excitation. It is a fairly excruciating way to die from start to finish. Starting out, the poison simply enhances the pain caused by the cut or causes severe stomach pain. By the end you are convulsing on the ground so violently that you break your own bones.” “That doesn’t re-” the Pallor Lord raised a finger to stop Branish’s interruption. “The spores, while not as potent, can cause spasms within the lungs and diaphragm which suffocates the victim.However, at very minute doses, the body can metabolize the toxin fairly rapidly. Any harmful effect is mostly negated by simple diffusion through the bloodstream. For a short time though, the nervous system is very sensitive to both physical and chemical stimuli.” Satisfied that everyone could draw the natural conclusion from his explanation, the demonic vessel turned his attention back to the scrolling data flowing out from the diagnostics program. Hansel leaned forward with that greedy look in his eyes, “So, it’s like the opposite of a cutter?We could use it to dilute the product without reducing, erm, customer satisfaction.” “Why haven’t we heard of this before? I’ve never heard of anyone cutting with relefare.” As ever, Grel was the most sceptical member in the crew. The air hummed in ever shifting notes as the generator continued to work through its incremental field changes. It reminded Osiris of the way Zar’rock would hum to him sometimes. The soul within remembering words, but having no way of speaking them directly. Strange, the way things become associated within the mind. A sudden notion pulling its creator into new possibilities. Nellic always seemed to have an intuition for feeling these moods; a way of knowing when her captain was pulled into his own thoughts. “Because every time someone else tried, they must have managed to kill themselves or their clients. There are too many points of possible error for your average gang to control. We would need our own laboratory to do this on a large scale.” Grel shot a glance at the soon to be modified containment generator and then back to Nellic, “Doesn’t seem like something we should be piecing together out of old ship parts.” “Come on Grel, don’t be such a wuss. The boss has got Dr. Franlin to help him fix this thing up. Besides, think about the profits! We could be charging fifty percent more, hell, double if we don’t cut it at all. That would be like, what? Nearly one hundred zeni per dose of dreplamin, forty zeni a pop for redeye, and thirty-five zeni a dose for vellocet: Siberius would be begging eating out of the palm of our hand.” Hansel was already counting profits weeks in the coming as he kept enumerating all the price gouging he could do for various product. “You know, you can’t spend the zeni when you are dead.” Grel was in a grumbling mood. It wasn’t hard to tell though, the idea was taking root. He just needed someone to persuade him his skin wasn’t at risk. Branish chuckled and slapped Grel on his shoulder hard enough to almost knock the lismian out of his seat, “That’s not much of a pirating attitude.You know the score. No one can promise us tomorrow, so we gotta take what we can get today. You know that, Grel!” Osiris looked up and blinked at the Star Wolves sitting across from him. Never before could he remember Branish every admonishing his packmates. Even as lighthearted as his statements were, the youth could see some small amount of shame burning Grel’s cheeks. “There is no reason to be worried. This will just be a small scale prototype to demonstrate to Siberius. Afterwards, we will hire out proper contractors to overhaul the cargo level just above the foundry. It will be the perfect place to set up the growing laboratory since we will be able to use the waste heat from the metalworks below.” The Pallor Lord made a few keystrokes across his digital reader to stop the diagnostics program. “Our primary concerns lie elsewhere.” Hansel was nodding his head, his curly blonde hair bouncing comically. “We are definitely going to need more guys to move and mix all this product. That’s going to really impact how much we charge . . . I mean, you know they are going to skim some, but we gotta pay them enough that it won’t be a lot. All apart of the calculus. That’s what my uncle use to say.” Hard rings of amethyst turned on the chattery lismian, “Our calculus does not end with a simplistic bottom zeni, Hansel. Every move we make will have repercussions outside this floating dystopia. Do not forget that fact.” The lismian’s flaxen eyebrows knitted together, “I mean . . . I just don’t see the point. If we aren’t going to stay here and enjoy the profits, why are we even bothering. Why are we spending time setting things up to be so good for Siberius if we are just going to leave? Aren’t we just going to oust him and take over the station? What other reason would we have to be spending so much time trying to get him to trust us?” “You were warned about questioning the captain’s directives, Hansel.” Nellic’s lithe form rose from her seat as the ship began to shudder slightly. Even in her simple black cargo pants, and dark grey undershirt - the damaskian woman radiated a strict menace even as her deep azure aura began to sporadically set the air alight. The target of her ire was fast to his feet, and his voice came out with an urgent defensiveness. “I wasn’t suggesting he was wrong. I just want to know what we are actually doing - especially since it seems like we are making a nice profit despite that not being the point.” His deep auburn eyes darted to his other packmates for support, “The last couple of weeks have been some of the best work we have gotten. Excuse me for having a hard time imagining the bigger picture.” The tension in the air grew as Hansel began exerting his own power level pushing back to ease the pressure Nellic was projecting onto him. One on one, any of the lismians wouldn’t stand a chance against their commanding officer. Those odds were almost completely reversed though, if the entire Tri-pack stood against her. Perhaps she would take out one of them, but everyone understood how those battles would play out. That only made the situation more strained. The unspoken question of loyalty underlying the possible conflict. “Trust is a currency much akin to blood. It requires that we give something of our own lives unto another. Invest in the wrong person and you will surely watch your life be stolen away. Invest it properly though, and one can forge bonds upon which empires have been founded.” Osiris twisted at the Star Wolf ring upon his finger feeling his crew's’ attention being drawn to himself. “What we have accomplished in such a short time, I could not have done alone. Nor would it have been possible if you four had not invested your trust into me.It seems only logical that I finally return that investment with one of my own. That is what you would like, yes, Hansel?” The lismian’s face softened into a half-smile, “Ye-yeah, you know, and zeni and wenches.” “Naturally,” the cold word was the only acknowledgement Osiris offered to the attempted humor. “Then sit, and I will tell you what you want to know.” The Pallor Lord waited for both Nellic and Hansel to retake their seats. An anticipatory silence settled in alongside the Star Wolves though. The Son of Cauldron needed to collect his thoughts together and then drove into the very heart of it all at once: “Suicide Station will be rendered into little more than subsidiary location complaint to the whims of the Star Wolves. To ensure that transition goes smoothly, Siberius must be our puppet. A puppet who will need plenty of zeni in order to expand the station to accommodate our fleets.” Osiris paused a moment to consider how he should word the next part, “You know I have affiliations with an organization calling itself the Cosmic Empire. All you need to know about them is that they offer me a great deal of information. Thus, I have been able to see many markers suggesting an impending invasion of Catalysmia.” “What?! Did those Keliouxian bastards not learn their lesson the last time around?!” It was almost funny watching Grel’s sense of inalienable liberty stir him into an almost instant frenzy. Or rather it would have been humorous was it not indicative of the very problem the Pallor Lord considered a plague amongst their kind. “It certainly seems the most motivated candidate. However, with all the galactic powers escalating towards war, it might simply be more a matter of who has the opportunity and strategic advantage.” “The Wolves won’t just abandon their home world. If anything, they will make up the primary resistance to any attempted invasion.” Nellic didn’t seem phased by the news in the slightest. She was damaskian born, cataclysmia seemed more a choice of convenience than conviction. Osiris was not completely aware of her reasons for turning mercenary pirate, though he strongly suspected a falling out with her father. “Naturally.” The Pallor Lord gave a few moments for the Tri-pack to work out their initial rebellious inclinations before continuing. They were a very excitable bunch; not very easy to talk over. “As I was saying: if such an event were to happen it would be strategically important to have a secondary base of operations. Let me be honest though, as that is the entire point of this discussion.” The demonic vessel stood up and walked away from the table with a measured pace. Positioned at the interior corner of the squared room, the primary datahub laid dormant. Under the blurring movements of Osiris’ finger, the device came alive, and in turn activated the holoprojector designed to do briefings within the armory. Several three dimensional portraits appeared in a circle above the central table. Each one had a small set of personal information displayed beneath that was completely unnecessary. Everyone in the room knew these individuals. “These individuals control the largest fleets within the Star Wolves, and are thus responsible for the primary structure of our organization. In my estimations, they control roughly 80 percent of internal revenues. Not a surprising fact since those ships under their command produce as much as 62 percent of those revenues.” “How did you get those numbers?” Hansel seemed to have forgotten about the divided out stacks of zeni sitting in front of him. “A very tedious process of compiling large swathes of information. Would you like me to go into the details of collecting, vetting, and analysing various data sources?” The question was something of a red herring. Only Nellic would likely appreciate the intricacies of intelligence work. “Everyone knows the alphas make the big decisions. If your point is we need to convince them to help us with taking over Suicide Station, you’re making it a real roundabout one.” Grel was still on edge at the thought of his liberties being infringed upon. Odd considering they were not notably related to Cataclysmia. Space is largely ungoverned after all. “That is not my point at all, Grel.” Osiris made a few more keystrokes, and suddenly Nellic’s face appeared among the holographic faces. The damaskian’s silvery eyes went wide at the site of her own face among the leaders of the Star Wolves. “Why me?” The Pallor Lord gave a small, wicked smirk, “We are going to take a seat at the big table. Suicide Station will be our port, and our base of operations. My true intentions are to shift the lines of power within the Star Wolves to better suit my own plans.” “But, why wouldn’t you be up there then?” Branish was clearly concerned that he had missed something important. Shadows played at Osiris’ feet moving unnaturally as he strode back over to the table. “My designs don’t stop with the Star Wolves. I need a fleet that can be as flexible as it is dangerous. However, I cannot be bogged down with the daily operations of keeping everyone in line and on task. For me to move forward, someone loyal to me must take the reigns.” The Pallor Lord walked around the table and placed his pale claw on Nellic’s shoulder, “This is not a task that any one person can carry out alone though. The Tri-pack will need to be the sterling example of this new fleet. Continue to prove yourselves, and I intend to make you captains of the first squadron. Efficiency and coordination will be our calling cards.” Branish’s forehead knuckled contemplatively, “I could be a captain?” “Of course you could!” Hansel slap him in the shoulder joyfully. The flamboyant lismian’s greed made him easy to maneuver. A convenience now, but a potential liability in the long term. “Think about the hauls we could bring in with our own ships! We could run the whole rim of the galaxy!” Grel put his hands up to silence his packmate’s excitement, “Wait, wait! How are we going to convince the alphas we should be taken seriously? We took over one space station - they won’t give a shit even if we did do it with only the five of us. That won’t give us much leverage back home.” Nellic had recovered from her initial shock, “But if we had a strangle hold here . . . we could go back to Cataclysmia with our spoils. We would have a steady stream of income to support us as we made our move. It’s not about convincing the alphas, it’s about attracting other captains to ourselves. That’s why it is so important to have Siberius under control, isn’t it?” “By the night, we wouldn’t even have to buy off other captains to join us. The alphas might not see us as much, but individual crews would recognize the potential. We would have our pick of the new bloods to fill out our ranks,” Hansel’s enthusiasm would not be dampened. And it was starting to infect the rest of them, especially Branish. “I like this plan.” “This could get us all killed.” Not even Grel’s uncertainty could hold out, “No one makes it to the top without taking that risk though.” WC: 5,263 |
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