Vothe Kyrik

Vothe simply nodded and boarded the ship. He wondered what would happen to her if she were healed. There was no doubt that the damage to her psyche would be even more difficult to repair. She could never go fully back to what she had been, that much was certain. As he began the ship's startup sequence and pre-flight checks, a terse comm came in over one of his private channels. Calling in on our favor. Need you to take care of someone. Details attached. The sender was a member of a crime ring which he'd contacted for intel once several months ago while he'd been leading a small Black Sun operation on Triple Zero. The favor was owed. He perused the details. Target seemed bland, insignificant. The job was to kill him and record it. A much lesser agent than Vothe Kyrik could have handled it, by all appearances. "One last illegitimate job, it seems," he mused to Terra. "I intend to seek employment within the Empire on Carida, but I have been contacted to perform an assassination on Coruscant first." He lifted the ship up off the ground and calculated the jump to Triple Zero, then minutes later they were off into hyperspace.

"I am uncertain how you will be received by potential employers," Vothe admitted. He continued to drift towards his ship, his voice the only sound that he created even as they crossed rubble and duracrete, as soundlessly as if he were no physical being but perhaps a trick of the light. The boarding ramp lowered as they approached. "Tell me," he said. "If your body and mind could be healed of what Ason Antilles did to you, would you wish it to be so?" It was a critical question that he should perhaps have asked sooner. He didn't yet know whether he wished for her to be healed, but where they were going in light of this news changed the equation somewhat. If it was a matter of credits to receive the proper care and research, Vothe had no shortage of those. Though he didn't look it and certainly didn't live like it, he was among the richest men in the galaxy in liquid assets. And he was trained in the Jedi arts himself. There was some chance that he could help her himself.

The Anzati's face was a mask of calm as he watched the report, his black eyes flicking back and forth over the image as he took in the details. When it finished and Terra spoke, those eyes lifted to look at her. "No, I am not going to Bespin," he said. "Nor to the Golden Link as per Zalis' request." He began to walk towards his ship. He continued mildly. "You see, Terra, the path I described to you insists that my actions are founded upon reason, and that I kill to satisfy a coherent objective. In the years that I have served Black Sun, it has suffered and diminished under the folly of three different Underlords. Having recruited Zalis Krales into the organization myself from the lowly ranks of cat burglars, I had hoped she would make a better leader than her predecessors. But if terrorist attacks and brazen assaults on police forces are among her first orders, then I no longer associate with her vision." Vothe knew that he would sooner seek to thwart Black Sun than descend with it into ruin. He did not regret the work he had done for Black Sun, and he had been able to choose his jobs or through his counsel influence the course of events. But any hope he'd clung to that the crime syndicate could flourish without devolving into senseless mass murder had now perished. The assassin looked at Terra carefully now. He knew that the Black Sun had a policy of not tolerating deserters. But Black Sun's direction did not change his desire to turn her into something greater than she currently was. "I am going to seek more legitimate employment," he said. Even seemingly upstanding organizations had uses for someone of his talents. "My offer to teach you stands, if you wish to follow me, but here my path diverges from Black Sun."

Vothe's eyes were dark like still, deep waters, emotionless. He had to give her credit for having the conviction to follow through with the act of cannibalism in defiance of her body. Whatever she had been when Ason Antilles had found her, now she was well and truly degenerate, a reprobate down to her alchemically-cursed marrow. On some intellectual level Vothe thought it might be best to kill her, to spare the galaxy the sorrow she might write into the hearts and minds of some of its citizens. Indeed he had spent time with such men that might say it was his responsibility to end her life in a timely fashion, and he had nearly done so once in the Citadel. But he also had been given the opportunity to study her, and perhaps to shape her. Antilles had made her into this; who could know of what else she was capable? The Black Sun assassin finished his meal, draining his victim of his remaining soup and finally granting him the death he no doubt sought, then withdrew his proboscises and sealed his cheek pouches, once again appearing very human. He began to walk slowly around Terra. Not a sound did his movement make, not a footfall upon the metal floor nor a rustle from his cloak. "We are as ice and fire, Terra," he said, using his voice this time. "My path is one of patience and restraint, vision and focus. You are passion and chaos." He began to move towards the room's exit. "Let us remain together for a time. If you can learn to empty yourself, I will teach you all I know." But there was still work to be done here. The vagrants had been cleaned out, but the base was in shambles. Vothe made his way around the structure, surveying the disrepair, running estimates in his head. Eventually he found a working comm transmitter, and he used it to make his report up the Black Sun chain of command -- "The Dubrillion base is in shambles. I recommend sending a salvage team to recover working equipment and materials, then rebuilding elsewhere if we wish to maintain our presence on this world." That was all that Krales had asked of them. He spoke to Terra. "If you are prepared, let us also visit Bespin. I suspect it will be considerably more operational."

His eyes breaking contact with those of his victim as he continued to drink, Vothe's gaze came to rest upon Terra. There was a deep darkness in that one, a soul twisted by ancient Sith magics. Her emotions were not hidden from her countenance nor from the Force; she seemed to have developed an admiration of him and an envy of the ability he was now demonstrating. An ability that allowed him to feel a physical satisfaction from causing death that perhaps mirrored the psychological pleasure she derived from the act, which he in turn lacked. Perhaps she did not know herself what it was that she sought from him. Vothe was young for his species, but Terra's life was but a blink from the perspective of an Anzat. He could live for centuries or even over a millennium if he managed to keep his skills sharp and find quality luck upon which to consistently feed. Humans were a curiosity at best... and to most of his race they were merely plentiful prey. For the lesser races, to walk beside an Anzat was to walk beside death. And yet he found himself ever so slightly intrigued by her. At the very least he had no reason to alienate her, and she had a proven talent for the taking of lives that he could perhaps refine until she was a potent weapon indeed, in service to Black Sun and to him. He extracted one of his proboscises from the Vagrant King, who made a coughing sound as the appendage cleared his nasal cavity, revealing that he yet clung to life. The proboscis extended quivering toward Terra, a fleshy tube still full of gray matter. "Open your mouth and receive," the vampire told her telepathically, not wishing to vocalize while feeding. "Though you may not find it to your taste."

Vothe's discerning blade of silver light neatly separated the incoming bolts into the dangerous and the errant, returning the former to their origin and letting past the latter; it cut the unified line of vagrants into disorganized parts; it divided the bodies and their limbs upon its edge. It did all of this in the hands of a being who made the entire fight appear as one rehearsed, a single continuous movement that took into account events that had not yet transpired as the Force allowed him to glimpse into the future. He was in the moment as an empty vessel. He was not pushing himself physically, he was not pumped full of adrenaline. He knew no emotion, caring not about the lives he was ending, feeling not malice nor sorrow nor fear. He simply knew his purpose here and his skills and the Force served him as he moved across the battlefield, unthinking but rather acting according to carefully-honed instinct, riding upon the tides of chaos that swept around him, in his wake leaving pain most keen and death's withering grasp. Terra entered the room and joined the fray, and Vothe registered her words without a thought given to them. He twisted in the middle of a jump, skewering another of his opponents upon his blade and reaching out with his left hand and applying the Force to the Vagrant King. The man fell upon his remaining knee and what was left of his other one, his eyes bulging as he found himself unable to move, all of his life's work amounting to nothing. The chaos had ended and the room fell into silence as Vothe deactivated his lightsaber and approached the being, ripping off his bone mask and looking into the scarred visage that it had concealed, finding there sweat and dirt and terror. Normally appearing human, Vothe revealed a difference between him and the more common, younger race. His cheek flaps opened like maws and his twin proboscises uncoiled, springing across the gap like striking vipers and penetrating deep into the man's nasal passage, then up into his cranial cavity, where it began siphoning out the delectable gray matter there. The man continued to live during the process, completely paralyzed as his blood continued to soak the ground and all sensation slowly faded away, though to the Anzati assassin this was no act of cruelty, but the simple act of meeting his biological needs. The taste was something exquisite, however. Vothe allowed some of his pleasure to radiate off of him telepathically, enough perhaps that Terra could sample it.

Spinning between a pair of goons, Vothe's knife cut through the axillary artery in one of them and his blaster made its report to drop the other as he answered his comm. "No visual contact yet... but I can smell him," he said. In this case he did not mean literal olfactory sense like a human might use to sniff out a particularly malodorous villain, although he had little doubt that the leader of this gang possessed such a stench given the apparent lack of operable sanisteams in the area. The Anzati instead possessed an additional sense, an ability to detect the quality of an individual's "soup" or "luck", as the concept was commonly translated into Basic. Luck had a way of clinging to very experienced people, highly charismatic or intelligent ones, leaders, and especially powerful Force users. The leader of this gang, however unimpressive it was, seemed to posses some quality of luck, at any rate, enough to remind Vothe that he had not fed in some time. Eager to get a chance to remedy that situation, he darted forward with Force-enhanced speed, leaping clear over another ruined wall and landing gracefully on the far side in the presence of the Vagrant King. The man was huge, over seven feet tall and built like a mountain. He wore a mask that it looked liked had been carved out of an enormous bone and was self-styled to appear Mandalorian in nature. He was missing his entire left arm past the elbow -- instead he had affixed there an enormous circular saw blade upon a durasteel facsimile of an appendage. His armor was more protective and more complete than those of his underlings, more than half of it Imperial stormtrooper armor painted black and etched with patterns, tally marks, and other glyphs of an origin and script unknown to Vothe. In his functional right hand he carried an assault rifle, which he seemed quite capable of wielding with that limb alone. He sat upon an impromptu throne of twisted metal, and at his feet a vicious nek hound snarled. Also of some significance to the scene, Vothe found that the "King" had surrounded himself with six of his associates, each also armed with rifles and various vibroweapons, holed up as though they were prepared to make a stand here against whatever army must have been assailing them. Surely they were prepared for the lone assassin that had just dared to breach their inner sanctum. But they weren't even in the same league as Vothe Kyrik. Another weapon appeared in his hand that he had not thus far drawn. It looked at first to be a metal cylinder about thirty centimeters long, but as he thumbed the activation trigger, a long silver blade of energy sprung forth. One of the raiders swore at the appearance of a lightsaber as the gang opened fire and Vothe started cutting his way through them, deflecting incoming fire in equal parts to making them miss altogether, his hood still not even disturbed, his footfalls still soundless.

Vothe wasn't where Terra expected him to be when she turned to speak to him, seemingly having ghosted into thin air during the time she was savoring her kill of the adolescent. In truth he had bounded forward, gracefully and soundlessly ascending a pile of rubble and leaping to the top of a broken wall. He effortlessly took three steps along the narrow remaining edge of the fractured barrier before dropping down on the far side, landing softly back on his feet behind another squatter who was moving toward the sound of conflict outside. His silvery knife, already streaked with red, thrust forward, rending skin and penetrating muscle until it pierced the man's heart before retreating, twisting as its razor edge cut its path back out. In ceaseless motion, the Anzat appeared to almost float towards a blown-out window as he rolled through it with no momentum lost. Two more targets were on the other side, a male and a female whose spotty clothing and armor seemed to feature form over function. They both pulled weapons on him, no doubt believing they had him dead to rights as there was scant cover aside the very window through which he had passed. But Vothe Kyrik had many tools at his disposal. The Force came to him when he called upon it, and with only a subtle application he adjusted the aim of the man so that when he pulled the trigger, his blast struck his partner in the back at kidney level. She screamed and fell and his face wore a mask of horror and confusion until Vothe erased it with a single shot from his blaster pistol. He swept over to two fallen comrades, the pistol tracking downwards and placing another bolt in the crumpled woman as he passed overhead, his cloak trailing behind him, his hood still raised. More were coming.

"I can speak if you prefer," Vothe said aloud. He didn't fully understand what had happened between Ason Antilles and Terra, but she did not seem to like being reminded of it, and he could respect that. At least it explained the continuous blood drainage, which still couldn't have been pleasant. "First let us make certain that no one--" "You there!" a voice called out from the direction of the nearest building, which was only about half standing. Two men were emerging from the ruin, brandishing blaster rifles. Wearing garish metal masks and patchwork armor which looked like it had been scavenged one piece at a time from droid parts and bodies of the fallen Black Sun agents who had once guarded this place, their burly figures were tatooed in a way that was no doubt supposed to be intimidating. Vothe found the whole ensemble to be utterly cliché, like something they'd borrowed from a holofilm about a group of raiders living out of the wastes of some backwater world preying on innocents and rival gangs in an endless war for territory and resources. "What do you think you're doing here?" He stepped towards them, his relatively lithe cloaked form seeming unimpressive compared to theirs. "We have come to take back what belongs to us," he said calmly. The two men looked amused, glancing between Vothe and Terra. "You and what ar--" His words caught in his throat as a long silver knife embedded itself there. Vothe moved like a blur, sweeping past the man as he drew the blade back. The second man swore in shock and disbelief as he brought his rifle around to face the Anzat, but a small blaster pistol appeared in Vothe's other hand and made its percussive report. The first shot struck its target on the mask, which absorbed most of the energy but twisted its wearer around, and the second bolt hit him in the back of the head, his body dropping next to the other. "It seems we have vagrants," Vothe said to Terra. "Up for a bit of light sport?"

((It's weird because right after Smash nearly destroyed the base, a series of posts take place that just assume it's here again.)) A light freighter of the ubiquitous YT-series popped out of hyperspace carrying a duo of Black Sun agents tasked with assessing the state of the long-standing installation on Dubrillion. The base had been through a lot: originally established under Smash Daisaku's command by an operative named Luthis Vandren, it had gone through a series of changes in management over the years. At one point, the entire complex had been leveled by a disgruntled Mandalorian former agent named ShadowFett. Black Sun had rebuilt it, and it had continued service until Smash Daisaku himself had committed suicide here, taking with him most of the upper echelons of Black Sun leadership and dealing substantial damage to the base with a series of EMP blasts. As Vothe brought the ship in for a landing, he performed a sensor sweep to survey the area. It seemed that at least someone had started putting work into restoring the location yet again, but it was very much a work in progress. Hitting the boarding ramp, he gestured to Terra. "After you." He planted the words telepathically in her mind, as his people were known to do, no longer relying upon the spoken word due to being in the presence of Black Sun executives as he had been on Coruscant.

Vothe considered. He had performed several assassinations in the last few years since leaving Anzat, but he had always either hidden them or performed them overtly when there was no fear of apprisal. He had performed some in disguise so that security footage couldn't link the kill to his almost-nonexistant identity, and he had passed others off on circumstance that could also not be tied to him. Although he was over 100 years old, he was barely pubescent to the Anzati, and had never actually framed a murder on someone else before. That didn't peclude having the knowledge and ability to execute such an act successfully, however. "The Bothans are a meticulous and detail-oriented people, but from the reports they are not reasoning clearly when it comes to the Republic," he said. He hoped that coming here would give him some insight into what was going on, but he suspected that they were being influenced. Silas was making a gamble that Akao Den'kji was not, in fact, the source of this influence, but Vothe agreed that the chances were slim given the Bothan's existing track record. "Still, I would expect diligence when it comes to discovering who the killers are." It would have to be subtle enough to look accidental, but firm enough to point a clear finger. "How equipped is this vessel? Do you often employ disguise in your contracts?" Vothe had an idea that would have worked easily if they had been on his own ship, but it was still on Coruscant. "If Den'kji is assassinated by an unknown operative, I would expect the Bothans to be able to locate this ship, particularly if it is registered under a suspicious name. If we can leave evidence aboard that points to it belonging to a Republic assassin, then all we need to do is murder Den'kji and go to ground for a few days, then worry about getting the ship back... or procure another way offworld."

Vothe was for a moment pleased that Zalis had kept up with politics, but suddenly he stopped mid-stride and his look grew somewhat distant. He turned to glance back the way they had come. Although he had only spoken directly to the man once, there was no mistaking the presence of Vladimir Faust. No matter how many times the infamous hunter was rumored dead, he always seemed to turn up again. On some level, it meant to Vothe that the galaxy was once again in balance. Good and evil did not exist except as counterpoints to the other. Faust was an individual powerful enough to mobilize both the powers of darkness and rally the forces of light against them. He was also a notorious terrorist and war criminal. He could be a tremendous asset if he truly served Black Sun's interests, but he could also be a destabilizing force that through his influence led the criminal empire down the path to ruin. Vothe's anti-terrorism stances were not moral qualms--although he did have a distaste for truly needless bloodshed--they were professional. He lingered for just a moment where he stood, wondering what proposition Faust would bring to Silas and how the Vigo would receive it. Finally Vothe turned back toward Zalis and her ship. He had to trust that both their business minds together would make the best decision for Black Sun. Even if they did not, he could not truly stand against them. "We will assassinate Akao Den'kji and frame the Galactic Alliance," he said as though there had been no pause in the convsersation. "Most worlds are skeptical about the assassination of the Senator because details were never released, but this time there will be sufficient evidence to leave no trace of doubt. The resulting political outcry will stir additional worlds into secession. The goal is to encourage war and then make that war as profitable for the Black Sun as possible." They reached the ship as he finished speaking. "We'll simply need a good plan. I hear the Bothans aren't so trusting of offworlders these days."

Vothe returned the handshake. "I am quite certain that this is not a mistake," he assured the Vigo. "This mission will accelerate and guarantee Bothawui's secession, and others will follow." He released the grip on Silas' hand and headed out of the room. Silas' willingness to revise the mission agenda based on new information meant he wasn't overly arrogant, and his willingness to hear Vothe out said something about his leadership. There might still come a point where he would refuse to be overridden, so Vothe would need to pick his battles if he was going to continue to fight against the Black Sun devolving into something far below what it was now. For now he was content though. An assassination mission was much more his style than a bombing. Even if he preferred to work alone. As he left the office, he saw the others gathered still outside with the Vigo's secretary nearby. "New information has led to a change of plans. Zalis, you and I are headed to Bothawui." He glanced at the secretary. "Mr. Carde has asked to see Delta and Velos Menethil." He gestured to Zalis and started walking back to the landing pad. "We're going to assassinate a Bothan secessionist and pin it on the GA. I assume you're familiar with the political incident that happened there recently?"

Vothe looked at Silas with a newfound grudging respect. It turned out he had underestimated the man, and he was somewhat glad to have been proven wrong and shown the cunning and ruthless business sense that was behind the audacious and narcissistic exterior. The Vigo's reasoning was sound, and a hit on such a building was indeed likely to help the business he was in the process of acquiring... in the short term, at least. But there was something of which Silas was not aware. The assassin allowed a smile. "It is true that acts of terrorism and the death of police officers will lead people to arm themselves. But there is something far greater for an organization such as the MEA Corporation, something that makes acquiring them worth almost anything. War, Mr. Carde. Military contracts." Vothe began to pace slowly, his footfalls making no sound. There had been something new in his meditations, a deep, pervasive presence. He didn't know what it was, but he had gotten just a sense of its goal. "What if I told you that a secessionist movement has begun on Bothawui, and the movement is about to spread? This pervasive, looming fear will to rise up without the Black Sun demolishing buildings. The Galactic Alliance will soon have no choice but to arm itself. "How the Black Sun benefits from this is up to you. But let us agree that terrorism is best left to the Sith."

Vothe met the assignment with nothing short of revile, but he did not allow dismay to show on his features. This was much worse than he had thought it would be. For a moment he said nothing, considering carefully the strength with which he should oppose Silas. Honestly, the meer idea of leveling a public building was enough to seriously shake his faith in Silas' ability to lead the crime syndicate, and for a moment he entertained the thought of assassinating the Vigo and assuming his role. As much as he didn't want a leadership role, it seemed anything would be an improvement over a man whose first order was an act of mass murder. Ultimately he decided that while assassination wasn't quite off the list just yet, it would be a bit premature and wouldn't be significantly better than just carrying out the assignment. "I must decline this assignment, Vigo," he said instead. "Such an overt attack cannot be accomplished without significant collateral damage. We are a criminal organization. What you're suggesting is an act of terrorism which can only lead to an arms race against CoreSec, and they are better funded and backed by the public. If linked to us, we would lose credibility in the underworld and only be able to recruit convicts and mass murderers." His voice was very level, despite his mix of anger and disappointment. "We do not need to enter a wholly-unprofitable war with CoreSec. Their jurisdiction is limited and police action is always restricted by bureaucracy. If we wish to make a profit in the core worlds, we need to do so under the guise of legitimate business, forming organizations with easy-to-liquidate funds and creating off-world laundering opportunities," he explained. He kept his tone more conversational, although he felt like he was explaining illegitimate business practices to a child. "Meanwhile, we can operate much more openly in the rest of the galaxy, out of CoreSec's reach. The Galactic Alliance is too monolithic to harm us--they're only an enemy if we choose to engage them directly, and we haven't the resources for that. "All that in mind, our targets need to be other organizations. The Link, the Vortex administration, Industrial Automaton, Thyferran bacta companies. The Jedi don't have any credits, but the Sith do. Don't forget it was they that destroyed our citadel on Coruscant, not CoreSec. Although they might make reasonable allies if they can be manipulated. If you want your war with CoreSec, it's them that need to operate in the open." The last bit was more like musing than anything, and soon Vothe lapsed back into silence. He preferred to remain silent and aloof, the assassin that he was, but he had picked up a taste for business during a long series of undercover missions. And he had a desire to see Black Sun succeed.

Vothe observed the introduction process neutrally. It seemed like Zalis was indeed intending to play the game he had hinted at before they had entered, even though she had the street smarts and combat abilities to earn her way up to the top through merit alone. He didn't think particularly highly of her for playing that game, but it wasn't any of his business. He was only in control of himself. He would make his way in this organization regardless of the levels of corruption he found within it. "I recruited Zalis on Coruscant," he added. "She was a distinguished agent working for a small-time organization... one where she had nothing like the opportunities she will have here."

Vothe entered the office alongside Zalis. He didn't fail to notice how she immediately set out to make a good first impression, and didn't doubt it would be effective. From what he knew, Silas was of typical Vigo stock for Daisaku's reign. Corrupt, arrogant, lecherous, rich and willing to throw credits away to live in luxury. Just the kind of man that Vothe was rather hoping had been purged during the mass suicide on Dubrillion. Such men--not least of them Daisaku himself--did not make the Black Sun more prosperous. They thought they knew what made life worth living, but they were pathetically shallow hedonists, their shriveled souls stuffed out of sight beneath a sea of wealth, their mental faculty dwindling away amidst the million purchased inventions designed to render its exercise unnecessary. The assassin hoped that perhaps Silas would prove him wrong and reveal a character that could be described with other words. "Vigo," he addressed the man, his hood lowered but his cloaked form almost wraith-like and his voice ethereal to match. "You called for agents. What is it that you have in mind?"

"Black Sun is like many employers, except much of what they do is blatantly illegal and they're not ashamed of it," Vothe said, gesturing for Zalis to follow him and heading down the boarding ramp. "The organization is very large, so in order to rise you need the right kind of attention from someone above you." He left it up to her on how to get said attention. Some earned it through merit, by the repeated successful execution of contracts. That was how Vothe had gotten Smash Daisaku's attention, although he had no leadership aspirations. To Vothe, the hunt was the destination. But others simply wanted power, influence, and credits. Someone with Zalis' assets would probably find it easier to attach themselves to someone higher up, gain their favor without ever risking an operation, and then bask in their favor and wealth for as long as it suited them. Vothe thought very little about such individuals, but that was how he viewed the vast majority of those who found themselves in the employ of Black Sun. Scum, criminals, vagabonds, and lowlifes. Vothe had never visited Cloud City before, but he was certain that it had been much better off before the recent change in management. Presently he slipped past the Black Sun security checkpoint unmolested and followed his nose toward where Vigo Onnd--or whatever his name was--would be. He soon found himself approaching some sort of administrator's office with multiple presences inside, and so he lingered just outside.

Vothe had spent the trip in silence. He had found a suitably comfortable location and first had maintained his gear--he took apart, cleaned, and reassembled some of his weapons and other pieces of equipment, tinkered with and upgraded another, and the like. When those activities inevitably concluded, he'd spent the rest of the trip in meditation, an enigmatic cloaked figure sitting completely still and completely silent. What filled his mind in that time was far beyond what Zalis Krales could comprehend, the mysteries of the universe far beyond her mundane perception and her fleshly pursuits. That didn't make her useless, of course. She seemed to be a cunning agent capable of quite a lot, and the scent of her soup backed up that impression. If Black Sun was made up entirely of agents of her caliber, galactic society and government would be upended and perhaps Vothe would find himself preying on different targets. Presently, the old, simple vessel was approaching Cloud City, and Vothe rose from where he had been sitting. The ship had clearly fallen into disuse--Zalis had never lived in her freighter. He imagined she had better places to spend her nights. But that meant that the ship's interior was useless in divining information about her. The assassin wafted like a specter to the cockpit, his footfalls soundless. He slipped into the copilots seat and sent his Black Sun clearance code. "Take us in."

((What funds are you using for this construction? I thought I read that Smash liquidated most of Black Sun funding? I quite like the idea of a less overt Black Sun, back to its roots so to speak. It seems to fit the era better, and sheds all the excess that gets in the way of actually RPing actual operations.)) -- Incoming anonymous message from Coruscant for Silas -- "Greetings. I lead a small team operating on Coruscant. I must say it's good to hear something coming over Black Sun channels, but I find myself unable to confirm your identity, and I was under the impression that all Vigos had been terminated. Please authenticate and share what you know of what happened on Dubrillion, and my team will report in." -- End of message --

The Price of Progress appeared from hyperspace over Corellia and immediately began its descent toward Kor Vella, a city that was a fairly common tourist site on the famous planet. It was a city of rustic charm, economically prosperous but devoid of the skyscrapers that characterized such cities as Coronet. He commed in for landing permission, posing as a visitor from Coruscant looking to get away for a few weeks on an extended vacation. No one asked any questions--Vothe Kyrik never gave anyone reason to. Once he had landed he packed up a few of his critical belongings, the kind of things he was going to need for an operation of this level. Most of these things were illegal--computer spikes, anti-security devices, lock-slicing toolkits, certain weapons--and others were not illegal at all, such as disguises and datacards. He loaded all of this into a bag he could carry on his person, then disembarked. There was a security checkpoint, of course. He went ahead and put his bag on the scanner, then focused on the operator's mind. "Everything checks out," he projected telepathically. "Everything checks out," the man said. "Have a nice stay!" Vothe took his bag and headed into town, but quickly turned aside and headed for the public transport station. There were still a few hours hours of transit time ahead of him using these slow systems, but he had several left before he was meant to meet up with Desh.

The assassin shrugged. "Requisition whatever you think you'll need," he said lightly. "Once you have the coordinates, head there and we can get in touch an hour before we meet up." They would need a non-public location, of course. A two-man con relied on the fact that they could never be seen as working together, and he didn't know how well informed Rhett Galar was. The fewer chances that could be taken the better, as they didn't have the luxury of this being a one-man operation where associations were less likely to come to light. Alternatively, they could appear together in public as long as one was in a different persona than they were when interacting with Mr. Galar. Without another word he disappeared off down the hallway. As for himself, he didn't need to gather additional gear before he left. Since infiltration and assassination were his chief arts, he kept a ship stocked with such tools as he needed, from disguise kits to computer spikes. Before it had been named the Xanadu, but for now he changed the registry and IFF to something generic, the Price of Progress. He spent a few minutes going over his inventory just in case and assembling a few disguises that might be useful. Then he headed up to the cockpit and got his clearance to leave. Moments later, he was en route to Corellia, which wasn't a long jump away.

Once Desh had finished, Vothe simply nodded. His instincts had proven correct--this man knew how to get into a fortress. The Anzat found nothing more exquisite than a long con job capped with an exciting kill. It proved utterly empowering to feed poison with a spoon, strike when someone's guard was down, savor the moment when they realized they had been outwitted as he feasted on their brain matter. Some men like Rhett thought that power could be achieved through credits; Vothe found this incredibly short-sighted and wealth to be transient. He wondered what Black Sun would do if they found out he didn't care for his wages at all, so glorious he found the hunt to be. "You are perhaps the worst Chiss I've ever heard of," he mused aloud, "but perfect for a job like this. That would indeed be an excellent way to go about this on your own, but we have an advantage: there are two of us. The concept of a two-man con is as old as the Anzati. I dare not finalize any plans until we've at least had a good look around on Corellia, but our plot will be both more fail-proof and more effecient than any single-man infiltration." Kyrik, who appeared human to all but the most trained eye, stood up from behind his desk, even getting to his feet making no discernable noise. He studied Desh for another moment, probing him mentally, beginning to wonder how much more there was to this man than there appeared to be. Chiss did not bounty hunt and they certainly didn't infiltrate. They stuck out like sore thumbs in these parts of the galaxy, and their glowing red eyes didn't interact well with disguises. And there, on some level below the surface, he felt something that was mirrored in his own psyche--a subconscious separation from self, the hallmark of a being who had stepped into so many personas that on some level he had forgotten which one of them he was supposed to be when he was in fact posing as none. Vothe loved a mystery as much as he loved a good con. "I'll meet you on Corellia in sixteen hours," he said. "The datapad has Black Sun encryption protocols, which we can use to meet up again then. We are not to arrive together. I'm going to go to an adjacent city and use public transport to get near the estate." He sized up Desh again. "When I exit hyperspace, I'll transmit you the coordinates of the estate. Is there anything else?"

Vothe allowed a crafty smile, which could be seen despite his raised hood and shadowed face. "I have the details we need to get started," he said, this time actually forming the words and employing his vocal chords. His voice was surprisingly strong and melodic for a man who seemed so ethereal in his self-presentation. An intuitive man would recognize it as the voice of an accomplished actor, able to be molded to give a stirring speech or a timid greeting with equal ease. "More precise details of the estate and the security network we shall face can only be determined through investigation, for it remains far from the public eye." Now that he was close, he could smell the soup of this man Desh. It was very strong compared to the mindless flocks of civilians that wandered the streets of any industrialized world. It was the soup of a man who had struggled in a life or death situation against other men and overcome them. And yet, after smelling the luck of Jedi, Sith, and Vladimir Faust over the last several months, Vothe wondered if he would ever be able to satisfy himself with less. Deep within his soul he craved to feed again on Sith, and it was disappointing to him that this particular job would be unlikely to present him with such a worthy target. Not that it wouldn't be a challenge worth his talents on its own merit. This place would be harder to crack than perhaps any place he'd gotten into before. He gestured for Zaran to follow him and headed back toward his office. It wasn't time to leave just yet, and he had yet to be entirely convinced that this Chiss was the right man for the job. Too many weapons, hinting at a style too overt to do anything but get them both killed. "What talents do you have in infiltration, Mr. Desh? I don't believe even someone as well-armed as yourself could simply shoot their way into such a location. How do you suppose you would go about this mission on your own?" They arrived at his office a moment later and he seated himself behind his desk.

There was a new name in the files that caught Vothe's eye. A bounty hunter named Zaran Desh and of all species a Chiss. That told the Anzat a lot, for Chiss bounty hunters were exceptionally rare. He had done some research into their societal structure when he had disguised himself as a Chiss to aid in the assassination of former Emperor Nokrt. Ultimately, Chiss who left the Unknown Regions and joined the galaxy at large usually did so only due to disgrace. Typically, they would be free of the restrictive code of their people (which was violated in many ways in a profession such as bounty hunting) and yet still hold on to their analytical nature. The assassin was under no illusions--Black Sun was largely made up of petty criminals, malcontents, and purposeless murderers. Although he had been known to prey upon lesser sentients himself from time to time, Vothe had no interest in working alongside someone so unpredictable. He was taking a risk based only on a very basic file, but Desh sounded like he had yet to be influenced by the criminal opulence of Black Sun and thus could still be both sharp and driven by more than battle lust. At the very least perhaps he would have the decency to be driven by credits. Saving his mission details to a datapad and logging off from the computer terminal, the cloaked man disembarked from his quarters and migrated, quiet as a specter, back toward the main hangar, hood raised. Shadows seemed to follow him wherever he moved, and even the base's security cameras did not mark his passing as he moved to intercept Desh. Indeed, as he was approaching the hangar he witnessed the tall Chiss warrior passing through the doors into the main part of the installation. "Zaran Desh," he said telepathically to the man, making use of the natural abilities of the Anzati as he approached. "I am Operative Vothe Kyrik. Forgive my briefness, but I have a business proposition for you, should you choose to accept it. I think you will find the pay equal to the challenge." Now standing before the Chiss, he produced the datapad from earlier with the contract details and offered it to the bounty hunter. And that was about it. Vothe didn't kid himself with extended introductions, but got right down to business. It occured to him how strange it might be for Zaran to be approached by a being whose footfalls made no sound and who spoke directly into his mind within moments of coming on base. Accordingly, he measured Zaran's response carefully.