#how high would his bounty even be if he had a fleet and territories like shanks does??????

[franeridan]

reading volume 105 and I had forgotten we actually got mihawk's bounty and on page acknowledgement that he's a better swordsman than shanks??? they have half a billion difference in bounty mihawk's is still over half a billion above luffy's this is absolutely fantastic to me for many many reasons but especially because by god zoro seriously fought him ten volumes in. he really tried to fight someone with three times king's bounty with only one named sword and three weeks of experience as a pirate. he actually left his village at age sixteen specifically looking for him and went up to him at age nineteen convinced he was gonna win. and he had the guts to complain about mihawk using the butter knife to fight him too how is he alive he's so lucky mihawk felt like adopting that day

[basedkikuenjoyer]

1082 you were worth the wait. This is a fun one. Starting off with the Marines, reeling from Cross Guild’s own bounty system. We also get to see the lovely Hina. This line in particular though. It’s the exact type of thing I’d pull out as an example of Egghead making explicit Wano’s subtler themes that are usually big ones Kiku holds up. If anyone said it. Naturally though, the Crane is such a big motif that it carries more weight coming from the Great Advisor.

As far as I’m concerned, bookending another intermission chapter with this and anything on Kamabakka is staying the course. Wouldn’t it be wild if the middle had something like a big beat for showing off the raw power of saying the right thing at the right time?

Smash cut to CrocHawk having a business talk while a battered clown hangs in the background will never not be funny. Hi Buggy! Always a favorite face for us here and one we were talking about well before introducing Cross Guild. For everything said about her crossing paths with Shanks in The Red Thread of Fate, that could all equally apply to Buggy. You’re used to seeing him look like the fool and Shanks the cool guy, we play with that very idea heavily in this chapter. A situation built around the pair being curious about Neko & Inu’s big sister when they had a few hours in Wano though...guy like Buggy might actually be a little better at reading between the lines. 

What comes from this alone is vindication for looking at the tail end of Wano into Egghead through this lens. It’s a clarion call this is what we’re playing with and it makes perfect sense for this point in the story. Power vs. the Illusion of it. Using either responsibly when the world rocks in your wake. How even empty bluster at the right moment can change the course of history. To pile on with this idea of reignting dashed dreams, feeling outshone by another...it’s easy to forget this chapter started with VA Tsuru spelling out the “products of our environment” theme.

“There’s a difference between battle prowess and winning or losing.” Buggy just claimed a victory over Crocodile & Mihawk. And I love his philosophy. Snag the treasure, screw the fight. Buggy’s legitimately showing how he has the capacity to rise to the occasion here. When push came to shove, he got his way and a big part of that is that the apparatus is his to be fair. But he took charge and did it flashily. The right words at the right time can accomplish so much. 

You know what would be a great way to beat someone like this? Choosing the right moment to expose and humiliate them publicly. There’s also this big element of rekindling a dream. Reasons you might bury the true one, settle for less. This chapter leans so heavily into this running thread I’ve been on about. So many aspects of Egghead so far have just been hammering in this territory the quiet lady from Wano can bundle together so elegantly but Buggy here is sprinting ahead with it in this intermission.

Then it just keeps giving. Subtle, but the exact type of thing I was looking for out of Shanks in that Red Thread post. We’ve already poked a little at the bit about the high bar of swaying loyalties. Blackbeard did it, Buggy’s more succeeding where Rocks failed through sheer charisma, Shanks has his gag of failing to poach Marco. A weak fleet. Losing Buggy as a potential underling here. It always stuck with me he has a pretty weak philosophy. “If two people can’t see eye to eye, it’s best they go their separate ways.” Clearly has all the potential in the world, but lacks the drive. That idea of a stifled prodigy. 

It’s that he feels like he lacks something here. Bare minimum, I do still see that heavy potential for it to stem from the brief visit to Wano and an encounter with the then-slightly older Kiku. It’s such a perfect spot and you could use her in so many ways to cloud Shanks through those themes of looking out for the masses, poise & composure, being responsible with power. Seeing the harm Oden caused incidentally is a great initial spark to making that decision of staying with Buggy rather than going to Laugh Tale. Snowballing into whatever he asked Roger about that moved him to tears. What spurred this change of heart here. Just like Luffy will ultimately need to surpass Shanks, Shanks based on what we’ve seen could be someone who failed to feel like he’s done so with Roger.

[madhyanas]

a strumming of nerves

“Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Boba Fett

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Ratings: Post-S2. Boba Fett POV. Haunted Darksaber/Din’s Haunted AU. Sleepwalking. Implied possession. Not horror, but creepy vibes for sure.

Notes: this au was originally created by @keldabekush, @kyberpistol and others! i’m just messing around with it. good luck trying to parse through this one lads idk how it’ll go

masterlist

———

There’s a noise keeping Boba awake.

It’s a thrumming. Quiet enough to settle into the background, seep into the rocky palace walls, it’s almost innocent. He could almost mistake it for the whine of some desert gnat that snuck in underground.

Almost.

But in the months since he and his companions have settled here, lying awake and staring at the ceiling of his palace quarters has never invited such a sick feeling to his stomach. It’s not nausea — he’s well acquainted with that. Kamino, Geonosis, Coruscant, Tatooine. Nausea has followed him like a diseased shadow.

This is different. He calls it anticipation, for to hear a noise and feel fear is foolishness he’s long outgrown.

The noise doesn’t get louder. The snaked, coiled thing growing in the pit of his stomach gets heavier, and heavier.

Just as he feels he may be crushed into the soft sheets by whatever waking night-terror has decided to sit on his chest, Boba sits up. In fact, he gets out of bed, swings his legs over the edge to touch the chilly stone floor, and steps outside. He’s always preferred doing things, anyway.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary as Boba stares out into the empty throne room. Thin, slivered shadows and hollow caverns. There’s nothing besides that kriffing noise, he thinks sourly, tiredly, before he turns his head.

Someone is standing in the hallway.

Danger.

At first he doesn’t believe it. A simple silhouette that Boba can barely make out in the dark. Something about it doesn’t quite seem real, as if that same waking night-terror hasn’t yet been rubbed from his eyes. Boba blinks. Its outline is blurry, encircled by a slim ring of darkness and seeming to shift in and out of focus. Moonlight doesn’t touch the shape, doesn’t even creep near.

Boba doesn’t approach either. Not even when he recognises the figure. The shoulders, the stance. He can feel in his bones that in the inky blackness hides a scruffy jaw and sad, weathered eyes. “Djarin?”

Din does not respond. He continues to stand there, staring silently down at the floor, which throws the figure’s identity into question because Din is polite to a fault. Fennec had laughed about it when they’d first met the man; a bounty hunter with manners.

What’s wrong with the figure, Boba realises, is that it’s still. Too still. He squints. His eyes aren’t what they used to be, and it’s dark, but he doesn’t think ‘Din’ is… breathing.

The very wrongness of the situation has his fingers twitching for a weapon that isn’t there.

Boba is beginning to think he should have carried a blaster.

“Din,” he calls, more urgently. “What are you doing?”

Silence, again. A sudden gust of wind whistles outside the window, churning sand against rocky architecture. It scrapes.

Boba’s frown deepens. This isn’t right.

The figure then turns — though that isn’t the right word for the movement. It’s a kind of swaying, as if the body can’t quite settle its centre of gravity and settles for a light, weightless bobbing around a fixed point. Almost like dangling. There is no rustling of cloth, no scrape of foot against sandstone floor.

Against his better judgement, Boba glances down. Both of the figure’s feet are flat on the ground.

Of course, his rational mind whispers. What were you expecting?

This ‘Din’, still standing at the other end of the hallway, now faces him directly. And gripped tightly in his left hand is the source of that infernal thrumming.

The Darksaber. Ignited and ready for battle, as it always has been.

Now, technically, pointed at Boba. The figure doesn’t turn away. The light it gives off is sickly, splattering Din’s shirt with the same strange, inverse not-glow the blade itself emanates.

It reminds him of a fish, of all things. One he’d read about, so many years ago. The type that suckers in prey with a shining, blinding light.

A throb in his temple makes itself known, winding the tension in his spine even tighter. When did the thrumming get so loud? It’s everywhere; it bites up his legs and punctures the soft spots between his ribs. A clawed hand crushing a spoilt fruit in its grasp.

Boba clenches his fists to stop himself from covering his ears, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. The sound is more piercing this time, with purpose and deadly aim.

Thick, oozing cold settles in his gut. There is only one possible target in this room.

It gets louder. And louder. It ebbs and flows like the tide but so much more vicious. It doesn’t stop; the noise simmers and bubbles and rings in his ears, resounding through the hallway so strongly it shakes his teeth to the tender, aching nerves and pounds at the insides of his skull. It’s swarming out from behind his eyes and it doesn’t stop, why can’t it stop — the Darksaber swings upwards, ready to strike the final blow — why is this happening he should take it—

“Din!”

The figure flinches. Boba’s shout is as good as a bullet. His shoulders heave with staggering breaths. His heartbeat pulses jaggedly at his throat and he’s panting; a cold, thin sheen of sweat is draped over the back of his neck.

The Darksaber is held high above Boba’s head. The crest of a wave, frozen. Then the blade retreats with a quiet whoosh before the hilt clatters to the ground. That’s the only reason Boba realises the thrumming has stopped.

It still doesn’t feel fixed. Nothing does.

The figure stumbles forward and Din’s haggard face is suddenly awash in a sliver of moonlight. He’s a puppet cut down from his strings, crumpling to the ground.

Boba is there to catch him. As it will be.

“Easy. What happened?” he questions gruffly, too preoccupied with checking the other man over for injuries to hear just how hoarse his voice is.

But whatever state he’s in, Din is worse. He stares at some point on Boba’s shoulder with glazed, unfocused eyes. The man is sweating buckets. “I... I don’t know.”

Din’s voice is soft, as Boba has come to expect, though not reassuring. It crackles and bursts to suggest there’s mucus sitting in his airways, spitting and popping like rotting fat thrown out to sizzle on Tatooine street corners.

Perhaps it is reassuring, then, to be holding his friend so limp in his arms like this. Because Boba knows what blood in the lungs sounds like, and the distinct lack of it anywhere in the musty hallway finally brings his racing pulse something close to calm.

Boba makes a slow, calculated move to rise from the floor and lift the other man with him, but Din flinches when he feels Boba’s shoulders tense. A flinch that dissolves into faint tremors wracking his body, which Boba is loath to ignore, but it also clears the fog from his gaze somewhat.

“I’m—” Din clears his throat and forces out a hard, sharp breath. “I’m fine.” He looks Boba in the eye. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“No, you’re not,” Boba returns dryly, though he can’t deny the weight that slips from his chest. Breathing, talking. Even with the tremors leaching from Din’s bones into his own, they’re good signs.

Din cracks a weak smile, which comes out more as a grimace. In any case, it doesn’t matter when it’s wiped away almost immediately as Din glances to the side.

Boba looks too. Next to the wall, the discarded hilt of the Darksaber stares back.

“Fett,” Din says gravely, keeping his eyes trained on the weapon. So gravely in fact, that Boba’s hackles rise. He’s speaking as if— as if his life depends on it.

“What?”

The fingers on Boba’s shoulder dig in tightly. “Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Boba is not a man easily surprised. But there is something inherently sickening in the crease of Din’s brow, anxious and abandoned. So much about all this is wrong.

He’s pallid, Boba realises. Din is shivering and sickly and sweaty like he’s in the slump of a fever. He’s still staring at that damned saber.

In the dark, they’re both kneeling on the ground. They are kneeling, technically, before the Darksaber itself.

And with a stubborn set of his jaw, Boba makes a decision.

He swings Din up from the ground, maintaining a stable hold on both arms and looping one round his own neck before either of them can topple back down.

“Right,” Boba barks, and Din’s head snaps up. “You’re going to get some sleep. And you’re leaving that blasted thing here.” His voice leaves no room for discussion.

As he marches them back to Din’s quarters, taking careful stock of any acute weaknesses in the other man’s posture and satisfied to find none for now, Din’s gaze remains forward. It latches onto the door with sharp, quiet focus, and the sight could make Boba grin.

The haunted look in his eyes is new territory. But determination; that, Boba can work with.

Walls of granite and sandstone are taller at night, it seems. Boba gets the fleeting sense that they’re boxed in on either side, in such narrow walkways, then shuns the thought. The palace is his territory. He has nothing to fear, here.

Still, he makes his way around the corners a touch quicker than before.

By the time they’ve gotten to Din’s door, neither of them have looked back once. It’s illogical, he knows. But they both look straight ahead without fail. As if that would keep the thrumming at bay. As if they feel the silence is any better.

Din takes a moment to push himself upright, testing his balance. “Thank you,” he says quietly. It’s sincere, which Boba can respect. He just doesn’t know what it’s for.

Settling on a nod, Boba suggests, “I’ll keep it in my quarters.” The empty sword still lies in the other corridor. “We’ll… figure things out in the morning.”

Din’s mouth flattens into a pained line, and a muscle jumps uncomfortably at his temple. Here, with a little more light, Boba can see the bags etched under the man’s eyes. He’s struck with the impression that this… sleepwalking, for lack of a better term, is not a recent development.

“Yeah,” Din mumbles. “In the morning.”

He eyes his cot as a starving man would a feast, but lingers at the boundary.

When Din speaks, Boba almost regrets waiting to hear it.

“I don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

The words are uttered with a familiar, resigned shame that drips to the floor. It puddles around Din in viscous trails, drooping his shoulders and shutting his eyes. Weighing him down for longer than a night, clearly.

“I don’t know anymore, Fett. Sometimes I can hear it talking to me. Talking. I think I might—” He wheezes out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as if to purge whatever he sees there.

A moment to collect himself, drag all the pieces together with string and a loose knot. Then, in a quiet, ragged voice, Din confesses, “I think I’m going insane.”

False platitudes have never come easily to Boba, and they don’t start now. His jaw is slack as he searches for the words, anything to fill that chasm, until he realises there aren’t any.

So he doesn’t say anything at all, save for a slow, sympathetic hand on Din’s shoulder. He stands with his friend.

And in the dark of the palace, Boba wonders if Din might be right.

———

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Rationalize Anything

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

    What had started as a series of border disputes seventeen years earlier had rapidly escalated into what was now know as the Golden Rim War between the Coalition of Free Systems and the Jem Dynasty.

The coalition comprised of some twenty three different species with individual territories spanning a single system to galaxy spanning domains depending on the individual members. Framed as united for various trade agreements, the coalition's intent was actually a mutual defense pact to stave off aggressors eager to consume smaller territories into their own. One such aggressor was the Jem Dynasty.

The Jem Dynasty was largely similar to ancient Chinese ruling systems with power largely resting with a single emperor like figure along with their court and family. This dynasty spanned some fifty systems with the core systems being heavily populated in planet wide mega cities.   Seventeen long years of conflict had whittled down both sides and despite the Jem having an overwhelming numbers advantage with ships and soldiers they had been fought to a standstill. Untold millions had died and with both populations now clamoring for peace each faction agreeing to come to the table. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

High above the planet Zeffer V the fleets of the Coalition of Free Systems and the Jem Dynasty met.

Coalition ships were a menagerie of different shapes and sizes, each pulled from a different member species with their own unique design. The Jem ships by contrast were a uniformed collection of vessels, each size determining their function in the fleet. Jem built their ships more like floating temples, the sides engraved and laid with gold etchings depicting their emperor.

Both fleets remained several hundred kilometers from each other above the planet; each eyeing the other just waiting for the fighting to resume.

Aboard the human capital ship "Reaper's bounty" several delegates of the coalition waited anxiously on the bridge, their eyes glued to the viewing monitors showing the Jem fleet.

"Have the negotiators contacted  us?" the Hobulan delegate asked. Captain Pérez looked at his communication officer whose shaking head was all the answer he needed. Several negotiators and delegates from the coalition had gone over to the Jem flagship to begin the peace talks but ever since their ship entered the enemies hangar there had been no word from them.

The Hobulan was about to ask another question when the monitors lit up. "Receiving incoming transmission." the coms officer reported.

"On screen."

Pérez leaned back in his command chair and watched as the monitors went from blinking red switch over to a strange sight.

The picture came into focus to reveal a large stone room lit by several dozen blue fire torches with a large black stone pyramid at the center of the room. At the base of the pyramid Pérez saw the coalition delegates on their knees with their hands bound behind their backs, surrounded by a dozen Jem guards. The negotiators looked as if they had been beaten badly and one appeared to be missing several eyes and teeth as a small trail of blood dripped from their mouth.

The delegates on the bridge gasped at the sight of such brutality when a deep voice cut in.

"If you wish to deal with me, you must show the proper respect."

Looking up Pérez tracked the voice on the screen and saw that atop the pyramid was a marble like throne of emerald green with a lone figure sitting upon it.

"This is Captain Pérez of the Reaper's Bounty; identify yourself."

The figure's expression twisted in disgust and lifted one of their fingers. A guard at the base of the pyramid approached a captive and drove what appeared to be a metallic stake through one of their legs.

"STOP!" one of the delegates aboard the bridge shouted as the captive screamed at the top of their lungs in pain. The guard twisted the metal stake further before removing it causing a pool of blue blood to burst from the wound.

"You speak to Emperor Zhau Feng Jem," said the figure from atop his pyramid,  "and as such you will only speak when spoken to."

The delegation went silent as they watched on in horror while Captain Pérez motioned for one of his officers to come over.

"The terms offered by your negotiators are an insult to me." Zhau began. "You dare assume you can make me admit this war was my doing?"

"You were the one who invaded Julv Sigma!" the Proten delegate blurted out. Zhau lifted another finger and the same guard drove the metal stake through the previous captives head, killing them instantly.

"Your insolence continues to cost lives; so I suggest you choose your next words more carefully should you-"

The monitors went dead mid sentence leaving the delegates confused.

"What just happened?" "Did they terminate the signal?"

"Don't just stand there, we need to get it back and get our people back safely!"

One after another the delegates voiced their concerns to the human crew and the coms officer merely looked to his captain for support.

Pérez flicked several switches on his command chair and the monitors switched once more to the view of the Jem fleet. What the delegates saw left them speechless.

The Jem flagship was burning and slowly being sucked into Zeffer V's orbit.

Dozens of human ships in the coalition fleet were firing on it with every weapon they had in a frenzied barrage of death and destruction. Laser batteries tore through their shields like paper, rail guns left craters the size of football fields in the hull, and a variety of missile volleys picked off the enemy flagships engines one by one ensuring it would not be able to stabilize orbit again.

Several of the Jem ships were moving in to cover the flagship as human shields yet the rate of fire was so intense that these vessels were ripped asunder as well.

Without knowing the full context of the situation the rest of the coalition forces began opening fire as well on the Jem fleet who were now caught wrong footed as they continued to shield their emperors vessel. Their electro whips lashed out and a dozen of the smaller coalition ships were snapped in two but it was too little too late to alter the course of the engagement.

"Who gave the order to fire on the Jem?!" the Hobulan delegate demanded.

"I did." The delegates turned to see captain Pérez holding his hand up casually. Incensed by the casual demeanor the Hobulan became enraged.

"Do you have any idea what you have just done!?" they roared as the captain continued issuing a series of crisp orders to his bridge crew directing fire at enemy ships. "Not only have you shattered these peace talks but you have just no doubt killed our own people who were being held captive!"

The captain nodded as if accepting the criticism. "The options were weighed and the outcome was deemed worth the price."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?!" the Proten delegate spoke this time. "Some of your own people were there!"

"And?"

Pérez's remark took the Proten aback for a moment as the captain fixed him with a cold gaze

"And what?" Pérez continued.

"You just killed our own people!" "Their sacrifice was worth the cost to kill Zhau." Pérez continued as he handed off another series of orders for the fleet.  

"Your actions have forever stained your hands with the blood of innocents captain." The Hobulan did not mince words as they laid into the captain for his seeming madness. It was at this the captain stopped issuing orders and rounded on the Hobulan, nearly knocking over his command throne as he stood up and walked over to the delegates.

"WAKE UP!" he shouted as he grabbed the Hobulan by the scruff of their collar and lifted them a few inches into the air. "There are no innocents here! Not in this war, not in this fleet, not even in this room!"

"All of us have our hands dipped in the blood of those we could have saved but lacked the will to do what needed to be done!"

Pérez let go of the delegate and they bounced back to the floor. They straightened themselves and returned the captains gaze unwavering.

"You've ensured there will be no peace to this war; how many more millions have you just put to the torch?"

Pérez scoffed in disgust. "By killing their emperor the remaining family and court will be at each others throats to become the new emperor." He said as he turned around and went back to his command chair. "Those millions more dead will be Jem corpses as they break down into endless civil war."

"But our negotiators-" one of them began.

"Were a necessary sacrifice to draw out the emperor and kill him." Finished Pérez. "If a single life would bring about the death of our enemies then by god I will be the one to pull the trigger myself."

The delegates took a step back at the horror of the human captains predictions. It seemed they had never truly understood the mindset of humanity when they were invited to join the coalition. They had never thought possible the lengths they would go to to achieve their victories even at the expense of their own people; nor had they imagined that such actions could be so easily made rational for a human that when given the opportunity they would act on them without a moment's hesitation.

Though the Jem fleets were now burning all around them, the delegates could not help but wonder if their next greatest enemy was not already among them.

[dzamie-oc]

09 - Luminescent

See, I told you guys I’d make one minors can interact with. I’m not a fully lewd dragon!

Length: 2800 words Rating: E (contains a major character death) Summary: A wizard is sent to prevent disaster from befalling a kingdom. He decides that the nearby dragon, a creature so strongly associated with greed, must die. The dragon has no idea what's going on, but now it is glowing.

-----

Once, in a wonderful kingdom, the king felt troubled. He sought first the advice of his royal alchemist, who prepared a concoction to lift his spirits. Alas, the brew had only a fleeting effect; the king thanked the alchemist for her efforts, and sought instead the advice of his court wizard. The wizard, who grumbled as always for being called from his lavish tower, nonetheless put on a smile and conjured for the king fantastical illusions, and then cast a spell to relieve the ruler. Yet again, once the wizard’s efforts had concluded, the king once more felt troubled. Finally, the king sought the advice of the seers. The wise men beheld the king, and studied the court, and conversed amongst themselves. Finally, they approached him once more with their revelation.

“Your Majesty,” one said, “it would appear that a creature of greed has infiltrated these peaceful lands. If it is not soon dealt with, its corruption may spread - such corruption is the cause of your unease.”

“A grave danger indeed,” the king said. Other kingdoms had fallen to the foul temptation of greed, and he had done his best to learn from their downfalls. Once again, he called on the alchemist and the wizard for their aid.

The alchemist shook her head sadly. “Many apologies, Your Majesty, but I have sworn against creating poisons.” And the king already knew this, so she was given her leave to return to her duties.

The wizard stepped up. “Your Majesty, I have heard tell of a dragon settling in the mountains. Surely such a beast is the cause of this greed. By your leave, I shall slay it, and keep its head for my tower, to serve as a warning so another of its kind will not come again.”

This bravery impressed the king greatly, and the wizard was granted materials with which to travel to the dragon, and the town nearby. Several aides thought that his requests were too grandiose, yet, none of them had faced a dragon or used such powerful magic, so they did not speak up. And with that, the wizard left on his quest to slay the dragon and claim the beast’s head.

----

“Hail, mighty beast!” the wizard called, standing ahead of his attendants, “I come bearing a gift of a blessing!”

The wizard knew, of course, that he was no match for such a foe. In these situations, however, he knew he must be cunning. And so, when the dragon slinked closer, supporting its long, maned body on just four rather short legs, he spun a tale.

“As a show of good faith, o dragon, permit me first a spell for the two of us: once cast, neither may injure the other, be it by claw, sword, fire breath, or magical lightning.” The dragon bowed its head in assent, and so the wizard raised his staff. When he again set it down, it was so. Curious, the dragon raised a paw to the magic-wielding human. The wizard did not flinch, and when the creature batted lightly at his body, the beast’s paw recoiled as though it, itself, had been struck. It looked at its paw, nodded, and set it down.

“My magic is that of balance,” the wizard continued, “so there may be some minor curse to every blessing, as that is the way of nature.” This was, in honesty, only half false: casting a curse invited misfortune on the caster, yet a blessing would allow him to avoid such a fate. And, as he sought fortune himself, this was what he needed to do to best the creature. “Now, if you accept my gift, what form would you have it take?”

The dragon stared at the wizard for a short time, then spoke in the tongue of dragons, “prey is growing wise to me, and it is always such an undue burden on the herds and their families. I would be grateful if you could reduce how many creatures I must kill to prolong my own life.”

The wizard nodded gravely, then raised his staff. A dark beam shot from its end, and then one of light. It spun to inspect itself, yet found no difference, save for a greatly lessened feeling of hunger. When it turned once more to inquire, one of the wizard’s attendants gasped.

“By the stars! Its mouth glows like a candle!” she exclaimed. The dragon, confused, curled its head back to hold a paw before its muzzle, opened its jaws, and watched the orange-yellow light shine off of its scales.

“You should need eat merely one or two deer per week, great dragon,” the wizard explained, “and although I apologize for the curse, it is my sincere hope that the blessing outweighs it.” With that, he and his entourage took their leave to rest in a house near the nearby village. Once they were suitably far away from the dragon, he explained his plan, “of course, such a glow will scare off all prey. The beast will starve, and I will return with its head, to revel in His Majesty’s bountiful generosity at a job well done.”

This proved true, as, over the following weeks, the dragon found that his glowing maw would never fail to startle his quarry and ensure its escape. And so, after much thought, the dragon retreated to the darkest corner of its cave. When it heard the faint sounds of hooves or paws on the rocky floor, it opened its jaws and used the light, not as a warning, but as a lure. True to the wizard’s promise, too, it felt full after merely two wolves, and it was not until the following week that hunger struck once more, for one, single deer. And in the meantime, it busied itself observing its territory, and the nearby human town. So long as it allowed itself one or two days to feed, it was still able to do as it pleased.

And so, after an entire month, the wizard returned to the dragon’s cave. There, he did not find a corpse, or even a dreadfully weakened wyrm. Instead, it rested, curled like a large, maned snake, and regarded him with a thankful smile. “Oh, wizard, I must admit, I had not expected your spell to hold. Yet it has done as you promised, and I will surely remember your kind action.”

That his blessing had truly outshone his curse irritated the wizard, yet he could not let it show. “Friend dragon, if I may consider you such, that is wonderful news. I had returned to attempt to remove its effects, both good and bad, but if you are pleased with it, I shall offer a blessing anew, in gratitude for your own gratitude.”

The dragon’s face lit up, and not only for the magical glow from within its jaws. “Friend wizard, you are far too kind. Yet, this past month has enamored me of the workings of a nearby town. I speak only as a dragon does, and so fear they would flee at my sight. If it is not too much, could you grant me the ability to speak in the human tongue, that I may more closely observe them?”

“If it is not too much?” The wizard had to keep himself from scoffing at the mockery of his well-renowned and valuable skills. “Dragon, such a thing is child’s play - although, I must warn you that, once again, it will come with a curse.” And once again, the dragon dipped its head. So, with a beam of black and a beam of white, the entire dragon began to glow softly, as though every so slightly covered in fire.

It looked at its body with visible trepidation. “A high cost, o wizard, and yet-” It stopped suddenly, and put a paw to its muzzle. “Oh, it did truly work, and how splendidly I speak! Friend wizard, please, one of my scales in thanks; I have heard that it can be transformed into five and twenty times its weight in gold.” With that, it pressed a shed scale into his hand - gently, as it was still mindful of the very first spell cast - and set about thinking on how to still hunt with its new body.

Once again, the wizard left feeling certain of his impending victory. “To talk is a trifling matter,” he explained to his attendants that night, “no creature which is not already lame and collapsed will ever fall prey to it again, and surely, it will starve.” He held up the glittering scale given to him by the beast. “And to think on its scales... why, I could return with a heap of treasure for the king, and yet quietly keep a far lesser weight in scales for myself, knowing myself to have an even greater value...”

His first prediction rang true, as the very next week, the dragon found that, while some may approach a strange, glowing hole, none would venture near a glowing dragon. It was fortunate to find a deer whose leg had given out, yet knew such luck would not hold. So, it instead flew to the village it had observed, slithering through the air as a serpent does along the ground.

It was soon approached by wary soldiers, and so took a step back. “Hold, please, and hear my words. I have been subject to an unfortunate mixed blessing at the hands of a friend wizard. I bear you no ill will, and I entreat you, please, spare for me but one deer a week on which I may sustain myself. In return, I will gladly guard your livestock, or protect your merchants through the woods - none who wish either harm would dare approach with a dragon on guard. And, should some beast or bandit prove me wrong on this, I may sate myself on them and you may keep the requested deer.”

Its well-spoken plea fared well enough to gain audience with others, and soon the village elder. She accepted its proposition without hesitation, and the dragon soon found itself many friends with the farmers, whom it would often see in the fields, the oft-traveling merchants and their family, and even a number of others who simply wished to see what all the fuss was about with the new addition to the town.

After a month, again, the wizard sought out the dragon, and when he failed to find it, he sent his attendants to ask in the village, in case they had unwittingly pilfered his quarry. They returned well before expected, with news of a glowing dragon. So the wizard invited it to his temporary house, so as not to anger the villagers with his next curse.

“Hail, dragon, I see you have found the villagers well.”

“I have indeed; they are a friendly people and have accepted me eagerly.” It beamed at him, and not only with its magical light. “No longer am I solitary, and this is a greater gift than your first.”

“Well!” the wizard exclaimed, his face tight as he suppressed his aggravation, “as a tribute for your... profound luck, would you take a third? I understand my last curse proved, shall we say, substantial, so I shall not feel slighted if-”

“Your generosity knows no bounds, friend wizard,” it eagerly replied. It wiggled its entire body, shaking its mane about before settling into a more somber expression. “Although, my request is not so optimistically fueled as before. One of the town’s young has complained of pain in her back for weeks on end, now, and it disquiets me to see her suffer as such. Is it within your power to grant the power to heal? I will gladly bear a curse for such a boon - not merely to me, but to the town.”

He thought for some time on this - he could not include the feigned “balance” curse he had used to disguise his own intentions, but at the same time, surely it would not survive long enough to discover the depth of his deception. A black beam, and a white beam, and the glowing dragon was reduced to barely a man’s height from nose to tail. “A powerful blessing comes with a powerful curse, I’m afraid. I hope I will see you again, dragon,” he concluded, and left out that he would prefer the dragon not be alive to see him in return.

The long, yet now much shorter, creature snaked out of the darkness. It soon found the girl with the hurt back, curled around her, and, in a flash of light, healed her body. She hugged it tight, tears of joy in her eyes; its eyes, too, were wet, but it did not smile. It soon flew to the village elder, who looked concerned at the dragon’s new state: both its size and its tearful visage.

“I sought a blessing from my friend once more, to be able to heal. However, you see its cost.” It gestured to its diminutive body. “No longer am I fit to guard against bandits, and should a wolf happen along while I am about, at best it may take me rather than a cow or sheep. I thank you and your village kindly for all that you have done for me, but I will not burden you with my upkeep unduly.”

It turned to leave, but before it could leap into the sky, the elder spoke up. “Now you hold it right there, dragon! If you think we’d kick you out just because you’re capable of less now, we must’ve given you a horrible impression this past month, or else you weren’t paying any attention! We didn’t abandon Yosef when he broke both arms, we didn’t abandon Rivka when she fell deathly ill for two months, and we certainly aren’t going to abandon you just because you’re a mite smaller!” She grinned at the dragon, and it stared back at her and wiped its eyes with the back of its paw. “I may not know where or who you were before, but now you’re here and ours, and most importantly, you’re us.”

It took all its restraint to not pounce at her with a joyous hug, but even with its new healing power and smaller form, it figured it was best not to risk her health, barreling into her like that. And so the dragon remained in the village, playing with those out and about, running errands here and there with the great benefit of flight, and helping guide visitors and children safely to the village from the woods and mountain. And it was fed, and some people even offered it beds, while others lightheartedly accused them of trying to steal the dragon.

And one month passed again. The wizard cast a spell to point him to the dragon’s body, for surely it would be difficult to find, even glowing as it was. He was surprised to see the spell guide him to the village, and began to think of what to do if the villagers had taken it out themselves, and tried to steal his prize. However, this plotting was interrupted by a cheerful voice.

“Friend wizard! You have come to visit me, here?” The dragon scarfed down a bite of chicken, quickly told a nearby child, “don’t do that, I’m being a bad example,” and flew through the air to land in front of him.

Frustration and jealousy boiled over into rage. After an entire season away from his lavish tower, trying and failing to subtly kill the dragon, his temper snapped. “You stupid lizard!” he shouted, his face twisted into a snarl, “three times I’ve hit you with a curse that should have left you starving alone in the wilderness, and three times you’ve lived through it! By the king’s orders, I came here to slay a dangerous, greedy creature, and by the fates, I shall!” As he raised his staff, a wild wind whipped up around the two of them. Children were quickly ushered indoors, and the few villagers who tried to lunge in and scoop the dragon away from the apparent madman were tossed aside by the sudden storm.

“Wh- you... you weren’t trying to befriend me?” the dragon asked, shocked and hurt.

“Why would I do that?!” the wizard shouted, “I came here to end you, not see you flourish. Now die, foul vice, die!”

The wizard pointed his staff at the dragon. A bolt of lightning shot from the tip, crackling through the gap only a couple of feet across, directly at its snout. There was no time to talk. There was no time to move. The spell would hit the dragon squarely with every ounce of the wizard’s power.

And then, just like the dragon’s paw had, several months before...

The spell bounced back and slammed directly into the wizard’s body. He lifted several feet off the ground, then fell to the dirt, unmoving.

Miles away, the king felt his sense of unease suddenly lift. He smiled, and quietly thanked the wizard for doing what needed to be done.

[captainkurosolaire]

金 LFRP - Captain Kuro Solaire (Updated 5/2/21)

NAME: Captain Kuro Solaire AGE: 37 (Appears 29) - (’Relic Cursed’ Immortal, not Invincible.) RACE: Seeker of the Sun, Miqo’te GENDER: Male SEXUALITY: Gynephilla, Dom MARITAL STATUS: Poly SERVER: Crystal

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ––––

HAIR: A slick jet black texture, Kuro’s hair is majority of the time unkempt with downward spikes often cascading across sometimes when grown-out it’s placed in a bandana and combed on the sides. Under rare occurrences the length of his hair can be lower then his shoulders and without being straightened leaving a shaggy and feral look. Often sporting an accompanied goatee through more veteran experience and grizzly age has extended that further with a stubble to boot and long sideburns.

EYES: One eye is often left visible with an amber tint. (Typically while the other eye lays remained behind an eye-patch for a particular reason that is usually left in speculation to other onlookers.)

HEIGHT: 6 fulms, 0 ilms. 

BUILD: (Trains and adjusts his mass depending on situation or if injured.) Typically built like an ultimate fighter (ref) 

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Scattered scars from a gash hidden underneath a leather collar from his first defeat and near end. To followed historical injuries to dragon claws swiped across his hip to rib nearing his chiseled abs, to lance wounds on his pec, bite-mark from a fanged creature adorned on his shoulder. Scratch marks from passion on his back. To matching fiendish talons shredding the opposing side of his rib-cage. With a gashed-cut draped across his right-eye. Lastly an X incision on his chest crossing over his upper-torso and halting near his shoulders to his pecs. -- Additionally donned the cheek scar of his first that he had cast away due to old insecurity and trauma which was resolved. He’s got a tattoo on his forearm of runic engravings with summoner lettering’s that seem to be serving as a seal. Compass on his left-hand to prevent him losing memories of being a sailor that points in all four-directions. The south-seas etched above crossing over his bicep. Behind his back is a Goldbrand Crest a forgotten ritual that has since been lost among the GB Crew as little carry it left but two-survivors. He’s often shirtless for all to see. (Gives him that unrestricted feeling Miqo’tes like plus has meaning to him.)

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Talisman across his neck that has several link-pearls attached to a string with a condor feather which represents ‘freedom’, the pearls mainly allow him to keep in-contact with crew-mates and a bundle of criminal orientated allies or business associates. A combat satchel attached to his belt that allows him quick accessibility and utility. Owns a signature tricorne hat that is leather matching his often outfit of black leather which serves to highlight his seen mysterious and imposing scoundrel aesthetic.

PERSONAL –––-

PROFESSION: Captain of the Goldbrand, navigation, commanding, claiming panties all over Eorzea and providing pleasure where others need the lesson or reminder. Along with a thief, smuggler, diplomat and a veteran sailor. He’s also a chaser of treasure from old relics to folktales passed on in Legends through very little evidence of the existences but scrolls & charts that he reads and plans out accordingly before attempting his plunder for fortune.

HOBBIES: Drinking, Ocarina, Women, Pleasure, More Pleasure, Even more Pleasure, Entertainment (Former Pleasure Dome worker as a Dancer and Escort.) Juggling, Acrobatics, Jury-rigging, Swimming, Teaching, Training, Mentor, Fighting, Fishing, Brawling, Working out. Exploring. Adventuring. Landing into dangerous situations.

LANGUAGES:  Fluent (Mostly) Eorzean, Xaelic, and Hingan, Pirate Tongue. (Working on venturing past his horizon to open trades and communications with beast-tribes for business escapades or other relationships.)

RESIDENCE: Ul’dah

FEARS: None. (Backstory behind that) He’s not immune to psychological attacks and is prone to them.

RELATIONSHIPS –––-

SPOUSES: Failed many.

CHILDREN: Bastard children all around who knows you might be one. He’s often out there being ever the man-whore and shameless about the fact.

PARENTS: Hoku Solaire (Father - Alive) - (PC) Rokeia Solaire (Mother - Deceased giving birth to Kuro Solaire)

SIBLINGS: Unknown but Father was a former Nunh of a branch in the Coeurl Tribe, there’s more room to make some. (Has ancestors in an upcoming arc been polishing.)

OTHER RELATIVES: Many unknown. Though Sol Akagane / Founding GB Captain Gark would be considered along with his OG Crew as Family in a more surrogate / adoption style way. Wild Crew.

PETS: Which kind you wondering?

TRAITS –––-

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––-

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

@mooglemeet @crystal-rp-ffxiv​ @balmungrp​ @ffxiv-crystal-rp​ @balmungroleplayers-blog​

HOOKS + OOCLY, I AM –––– (Below cut)

HOOKS –––-

◘  Mystical Journey - Meet Captain who’s rebuilding towards something on a scale higher than the skies that’s far beyond himself. Whether friendships forged, romantic, rival, or outright enemy. Open to plot about just anything whether one-shot, or slice of life. Each confrontation and connection is impactful and holds weight that determines and shapes him, his source of power by himself is extremely low but the wind and orbit of who he’s surrounded swells and creates upon him alongside them or with that fact, he may overcame the impossible multiple times, even his goal of deemed ultimus. He’s lustful, prideful, sinful. Though there’s good in his scoundrel ways and also freely can be interpreted as evil against the pure heart. From descendants to nearly wherever sea’s may touch he can be found voyaging too or from. Depending on the City-State there’s more mystery surrounding him due to him trying to remain under the radar but he’s also pretty brash, open, which can net him in infinite chaos and trouble. This dark and often cursed seemingly lifestyle he’s thrown under sometimes he also needs to be in the company of innocent and light, peaceful individuals. To remain humane and stay on track of him straying from being the problem. Many lives have died under his company, many lessons and time’s he’s ‘wrecked’’ the smallest and few encounters overall tally and aid him with building his compassionate side to see those people again. ◘  Scourges - The worst of the worst pirate crew’s. They command various levels of commandment, control, conquering all that is blue and water-bound. Each hold their own vendetta and thoughts on what being a pirate or their own treasure ‘sake’ they wish to lay ownership. Ongoing and tackling these threats with Captain holds mighty risk. (Subject to your comfort) In this case it can result in injuries, mental trauma, or many afflictions that may provide more experience to your character or layers. - There are no clear solutions on how to defeat, overcome, or maybe it’s just an encounter with a band of Crewmates from the varying Crews, that’ll overall build steps closer to final battles or all-out Warfare or cripple these Crew’s to make him able to defeat them with his Wild Crew. ◘  Ulterior - (Mystery/+18Dark ) - A cultist crew held from marshy swamped seas, polluted and tainted. They blur webs of confusion alongside deceit. Operating in the blends of guises that shadowy walk in public crowds they don’t distinguish themselves. The pressure of this arc will be dark, twisted, and every foreboding, never certain what’s reality. Vastly in concern, they’ve begun becoming more bold and manipulating brave pirate’s, adventures, would-be sea goers who get reported missing soon afterwards. Only to be converted and abducted into this Cultist crew as nearly every encounter with them as they eat and feast off your fears turn’s their targets into belief of a high power, a mad god under all fleshing skin. Visited during nightmares. ◘  OMONGA - (Bloody/Violent +18 Extremely Dark) - This Scourge crew is one of the most dangerous altogether. They’re primitive freaks, viking pirates of sorts. Who outright raid, pillage, slaughter anything that moves approaching their territory. A force unlike any other, a dominating and deathly, blight of a Giant who strike’s fear just mentioned by pirate’s of old, stays clear from him and often plays nice to prevent gaining his wrath or detection, better to submit. YORE of the Gorey Seas is their Captain who destructively holds gatekeeper and one force that Maelstrom even cannot overcome their brute waters as they stay stationary and defensive, he’s not too mobile beyond his ‘Nation’  but his crew are savages and they operate like the fiercest warmongers, also they’ve got berserkers. Used to be known wanted but after many bounty hunters and foolish adventurers tried taking his life and the failures stacked up, using the defeated and weak for soil for harvesting their crops, and even their own fleets could bypass their engineering he remained untouchable. Sort of a necessary bridge from one individual owning all the seas altogether. They’ve a whole hierarchy, torture system, culture, that is ultra barbaric. He’ll need additional power to help him have a chance to survive and maintain more importantly the lives of his Crew. This is his last chance to get it all right. (There’s more too but I’ll save them unless asked or somehow the other’s become dealt with or too full.) ◘  Wanted: Deadman - (Suspenseful / Thriller / Mystery) - Recently Captain had resurfaced from death making advancements and pursuits only identifiable as his motives. Maelstrom and other officials, detectives, could be working alongside a set of Law characters that I’ve created also trying to seize and capture him for not just a hefty bounty it’s an instant hanging to death and gallows if he’s caught this time. Or a huge payout. He’s stacked multiplied crimes of indecencies, broken peace, slandered Maelstrom, stolen, scammed, rebelled for Freedom, liberated and uncovered crimes against city-state laws, he’s an outright menace to society. Though Captain and his Crew are crafty and now alongside his First Crewmate are covering his tracks desperately to prevent him from being heard again. Though if Captain succeeds in claiming or ‘Goldbrand’’ regains recognition and infamy again over the high-seas whether by gaining influence, relics, or defeating Scourges and creating more noise. He’ll be even more on the run. His Crew are accessories so capturing them may be enough to draw him out or still provide information and payouts. If he’s noted to still be breathing a full on world bounty can be placed to only increase the odds stacked against his time. (Also wanted by Voidals and anything relating to a Scourge. His enemies are highly stacked but he’s got some incredible reach and allies, people he genuinely loves and cannot be anything without them.) ◘  Isle RP - (High Fantasy / Evolving) - Various Isle’s can be visited, linked and tether to a Crewmate’s personal quest. Or maybe Fables. Each Isle has its own unique dangers and is creatively open to any adapting once the base concept is thought out. I have multiple in mind. Some of them have treasures, others have temporary treasures once the threat on each Isle is dealt with the treasure may be spent. Those things might be non useful, so the experience and journey alone may be the only reward. Or surviving and wreckage etc can also occur, it's all open to free-form.

◘  Relic Hunt - (High Fantasy / Evolving ) - (Reference) - Captain’s crew and trade is being a professional treasure hunter diver. Searching and uncovering ancient tablets and thing’s long forgotten past time itself from allagan, mhachi, amdapori and other mythological natures. From Voidal Relics to the series of Deity Relic’s there remains ruins and dungeons, trials, labyrinths, that possess unique items with governed power imbued from primals, high aetherial beings, or prototypes to strange works of magic and science. Depending on the Relic often determines how desperately Captain seeks to net it under his awareness than allow another to uncover as rival band’s of Scourges and pirate crew also would chase for such and want to use it for dominion and nefarious reasonings. Sometimes they’ll already possess said Relic’s and be threats to battle for the property. Which in that case it’s plundering.time. Depending what Relic is conversed around it could be difficult puzzles, or trials, or something more tame to fetch. If another Historian or someone he believes would preserve the item, safer than within his stead, he’ll only aid in retrieving and less on acquiring. Better the relic stay’s far from his lurking dangers that already pursue his waters.

◘  Crew / No Crew - (Optional Addon) - Can choose whether you wish me to RP the other Crewmates and have them interact with your character / characters or bring multi-muses too. Each Crewmate or the main 13 have their own quests, narratives, their own motives of why they’re even following Captain, but they can betray, be broken, all them will act very realistic and lifelike, so they can be romanced etc too. Captain would go to world’s end for them. Make no mistake, this is his Last Crew and shot, he’s on the thinnest surface of water. Soon the mightiest tides will crash and collide against him and his Worldly Finder, his ship, if he’s unable to reign them or lead them to aid their own morale's then he’ll have no chance in getting to the end of his own quest, goal. Each scourge, relic, everything is an obstacle and aiming for something grand.

Alternatively, I can just RP Captain himself and vaguely mention anything else regarding. Might also gain allies, other crewmates, other things that’ll play parts depending on the arc.

Writing is my lifeblood I enjoy stories.

Overly chill and outspoken along with communication my prime focus. I human so I break down and have to recuperate my energy and health sometimes. Not into drama outside RP.

I Para-RP but do nearly ever format and style.

I’m open to plot within any genre.

24/7 Nerd. +18 year RP experience all around from LARPing, Dungeon Master /  Former event runner /  Former Owner / Leader for Discords and Linkshells / Tabletop Creator. There’s nothing I cannot do.

I’m CST. Though chronic-deteriorating health makes my hours rando. I prefer Discord RP. (Tumblr too sometimes if have an idea.) In-game I can be swayed. ◘  ~ This all long but trying to be communicative and thorough upfront. A necessary evil, I fear.

YOU CAN CONTACT ME VIA ––

Twitter - Captain Kuro Solaire

Tumblr - I try to follow everyone in FFXIV Community so should be able to DM me.

Discord: Kuro Solaire#0508

Ref Sheet

+18 F-list

[itsthejuggernautbitch]

Of All the Stars, the Fairest - Chapter 2

Pairing: Nebula/Original Female Character

Summary: After being captured by the Sovereign for stealing Anulax batteries, Nebula expected to be handed over to the Nova Corp. and transported to the cell where she’d likely spend the rest of her life (until she could break out, that is). If she’s learned anything in her life, it’s that nothing ever goes as expected.

Chapter 2: Gold Dust Woman

Author’s Note: It’s a tragedy there’s not more for Nebula. Let’s fix that.

Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3 now. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!

Part 1

-----

Nebula had been stuck in the Sovereign prison for nearly a month - a month of being constantly hounded and monitored by these unnecessarily shiny people, of barely moving save to walk from her bed to the bathroom, of being mostly alone with her thoughts. It wasn't the worst prison she could have been stuck in by far (it was relatively cushy compared to Kree prisons or even the Nova Corps. facilities). Nevertheless, prison is prison and confinement is confinement. And Nebula was fucking tired of being stuck in there.

She could have broken out, but the only viable exit was through the holding cell door. She'd observed as much of the facility as she could from her cell and the guarded walks to the showers. The vents were too small to squeeze through, and she'd been warned an outright attempt to break down the wall would be met with an electric shock that could fry her wiring. Preventative measures, she'd been told, constructed specifically for potential prisoners of her caliber.

Nebula was sure she could take any of the guards without issue if she broke directly through the holding door, although it would be messy and nearly impossible to find a way off the planet if she tried. The guards who captured her put a hood over her eyes when they offloaded her from the ship, so she couldn't be sure where she was in relation to the docking bay. She didn't much care for the idea of stumbling blindly through enemy territory, fighting off guards and fumbling around for a key she would never find. She could at least take comfort in knowing they wouldn't be able to overcome her physically, one-on-one (the tasers were a different story - that's how they captured her in the first place).

Well, she could take most of the guards anyway, with the exception of the woman who guarded her at night. That one seemed more capable than the rest; she was calm and collected, corded with lithe muscle, with an attitude that screamed she was born to be in charge. Simply a different caliber than the rest. Although, her existence could mean there were more guards of her caliber, but Nebula sincerely doubted it. Only the most capable were put in charge in places like the Sovereign, and they bred their citizens to precise biological specifications. It was unlikely she'd face a tougher opponent.

Chief V'Syeth. Ilana. Kindness was unheard of where prison guards were concerned, but she appeared to break that mold. She actually spoke to Nebula, unlike the other guards who stuck up their noses at practically everything. She made a point to bring Nebula food, to order the subservient guards to bring her a change of clothes, to order them transport her to the washroom. She tried to lead by example, it seemed, in treating Nebula humanely. Nebula could begrudgingly appreciate her efforts; any semblance of kindness in situations like hers was unheard of. Eventually, Nebula had started to respond to her when she spoke.

For most of her life, Nebula had considered kindness a weakness. This woman, the Chief, was obviously not weak. Her soldiers gave her sass, but nevertheless obeyed her without question. Not once had Nebula seen a guard shirk their duty or take a shortcut, even when she wasn't around. She'd noticed that over the course of the month, the guards had been steadfastly firm but noticeably more hospitable in the wake of the Chief's continued politeness. By setting the example, they’d all followed along.

It could have been almost respectable, if Nebula wasn’t being jailed.

If the Nova Corps. would just come get her already, she could break free. She had a plan already in place. She knew their ships and movements well enough to make a hasty escape - she could probably commandeer a transport pod if she time it right.

“Planning your escape again, Nebula?”

Ilana. She said it so smoothly, like she was only joking. What Nebula could see of her from this angle (behind) would indicate that was the case. She didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

“Me, too.”

And there it was: the quiet words. Ilana said them out loud only to herself, but Nebula got the feeling they were meant for her to hear as well. The Chief had been doing this more and more often as of late, and it seemed the longer Nebula was confined, the twitchier the Chief got. Was she waiting for Nebula to make an escape attempt? Was she just looking for a challenge?

Something told her no.

“You say that,” Nebula said. She hardly recognized the rasp of her own voice as it reverberated off the cell walls. “Seems pretty cushy here to me.”

“You’re correct. It is.”

“Then why escape?”

Ilana looked over her shoulder, hardly more than a fleeting glance. She had an elegant profile, glittering and gold. “I am Chief Guard to Her Majesty, High Priestess Ayesha. I was bred to fight, to lead, to win. Yet I suspect I am purely decorative.”

“Not bad for decoration.”

Nebula smirked, looking down at her shoes when the Chief turned to look at her again. Why not have a little fun? She wouldn’t be getting out of here anytime soon, not at this rate. The Nova Corps. was still working on rebuilding its fleet, so there was no chance of grabbing a ship. Apparently, Gamora hadn’t found her yet either. And there was definitely no way out of this cell, short of fighting her way out of the Sovereign compound. She’d checked for every single weakness on her transports and found none.

The Chief, for all her goodwill, would absolutely know she couldn’t make a break for it. For all her leniency, there was no way out of this compound without significant loss to everyone - it was a level of brazen Nebula had rarely seen in places like this, especially where she was concerned. 

Nebula was a little impressed, actually.

The Chief snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Nebula.”

Wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun, right? Nebula could admit she was enjoying it, too.

“Worth a try.”

“Behave,” Ilana said, turning back to her usual stance. 

As far as jailers went, the Chief wasn’t bad company. She was quiet most of the time, but she would talk if she got bored. Nebula didn’t answer most of the time - the Chief wasn’t talking for conversation. In fact, Nebula had no desire to answer, save for the most basic questions. And, yes, to flirt and needle at her just a bit. 

And though Nebula would never allow herself to admit it, the Chief carried an intensity, an air, that drew Nebula to her like a particularly dangerous flame. What an unfortunate place to be caught: between the need to escape and the desire to take the Chief with her. Perhaps she’d do both, when the time came.

-----

Ilana left her shift that morning long after Nebula had drifted off to sleep. She had just enough time to bathe and rest and dress for her day with Ayesha.

The longer she remained as Nebula's guard, the more annoyed she became with her usual position. At least standing guard over Nebula carried the underlying threat that she might have to actually contain the girl if she tried to break out. Standing next to Ayesha meant she had to listen to diplomats argue or reports from other guards or Ayesha's orders. She liked the possibility of excitement that came with playing guard.

And she could admit she liked Nebula.

Nebula didn't speak often and rarely answered her questions, but Ilana had gotten her to hold a conversation a handful of times. Her questions started as an attempt to get some answers out of her, but Nebula knew what she was doing. She kept quiet the first couple of weeks, but finally, finally, she admitted why she'd stolen the batteries - and asked Ilana not to pass it along.

Ilana hadn't said a word. Ayesha would already know anyway.

She slogged through her day much the same as always: standing at attention, spear held high, hanging off of Ayesha’s hip, and giving so very few shits about the whole ordeal. She listened to the Admiral give his usual report, an update from the Nova Corps. (It still didn’t have enough ships to spare to come get Nebula.) The Architect was next, then the Lead Scientist, all the way down the line of hierarchy through the usual rounds. And then, at the very last minute, her day got much more interesting.

The General stepped forward to make his report. Usually, his report was just like everyone else’s: uninteresting and unrelated to her. Today, though, he had something to say.

“Early this morning, a creature emerged from the universal tear we’ve been monitoring near the Anulax battery factory. It appears to feed on them.”

Ayesha sighed. She, too, was tired of listening to the reports. “And what have you done to deal with this creature?”

The General poked his tablet screen and cast a hologram of the creature. “Of course, this isn’t something we’d have our own people deal with, and the Nova Corps. is still rebuilding. We contacted a team of bounty hunters to deal with the creature. They should be arriving shortly.”

“Are they trustworthy?”

The General swiped to show a hologram of the team. “They call themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

“And how many units have they requested for payment?”

“No units,” The General replied. He swiped his tablet again, this time to a hologram of Nebula. “They’ve requested the prisoner as payment.”

Until then, Ilana had been half-listening. Of course, she needed to know if a threat might affect Ayesha in some way (it never did), so she listened on principle. But now, the General had her full attention. Like most things, she suspected that Ayesha knew she was paying attention now.

“For what purpose?” Ayesha asked, looking over her shoulder at Ilana.

“They say they want to personally deliver her to the Nova Corps.”

Ayesha continued to side-eye Ilana. Ilana shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “Am I to understand that a daughter of Thanos is part of this group?”

“Yes, that would be Gamora,” the General replied.

Ayesha tilted her head. “So, that would make them sisters. I see now. Then we shall turn her over to the Guardians of the Galaxy upon disposal of the beast,” She waved her hand. “You’re all dismissed.”

The General, who clearly was not finished with his report, stowed his tablet away and sulked off. The rest of the Sovereign delivering reports fell in behind him. 

“Handmaidens and guards, too.”

Ilana was well-aware that she was not included in the dismissal and continued to hold her position at Ayesha’s shoulder. One by one, the guards and handmaidens filtered out of the room. When they were finally gone, Ilana took a knee in front of Ayesha, spear held high.

“Your prisoner wants to kill the Mad Titan.”

Ilana looked up at her. “I assume you’ve been watching the cell feed then, High Priestess?”

“Of course,” Ayesha scoffed. “Did you really think I would leave that girl in your hands alone?”

Not really. Ayesha loved her video feed.

“No, High Priestess.”

“There’s something different about that girl, just like there’s something different about you,” Ayesha said. “When I saw the two of you together on the cell feed, something clicked, so I decided to do a little experiment and see why.”

Ayesha stood up and motioned for Ilana to rise and follow her. She led Ilana through the back room to her personal chambers. One of the handmaids had left a pot of tea on her dining table, along with multiple mugs. She instructed Ilana to sit, poured two cups of tea, and sat across from her.

Ayesha sipped her tea thoughtfully. “You’ve been even more restless since she’s been here. I anticipated a change in you, but not to this magnitude.

“I don’t understand what you mean by change.”

“Don’t you?”

Ilana had a sneaking suspicion that Ayesha was suggesting she’d taken an interest beyond something purely professional or academic.

“No, I don’t,” Ilana snapped. She hadn’t touched a drop of her tea yet. “I’ve done my job as ordered, as I’ve always done. I’ve followed protocols by questioning her when I have the chance. I have done the utmost to set the standard of treatment, and so far, everyone has complied.”

To the High Priestess’ credit, Ayesha glossed over Ilana’s tone with the utmost poise. The Sovereign don’t take impudence lightly, least of all Ayesha. Anyone else, she’d have had them thrown in the cells for treason.

“I was not suggesting anything unprofessional, yet you took it as such. I wonder why?”

Ilana huffed. “I would never - not with someone in my care -”

“I know that,” Ayesha replied. “I watched the feeds. But you can’t deny you noticed the connection, too.”

“Well, if anyone can see the connection, it’s you,” Ilana said. She gingerly took a sip of the scalding tea. Ayesha could assess a person’s biological makeup just by looking at them – she’d been designed that way. “I’m assuming biology has a part to play here? If you say destiny, I’ll throw up.”

“I have often wondered if our designs are flawed - if there is a better way to breed us Sovereign.” Ayesha set her teacup on its saucer. “I designed you personally, to the utmost specifications. Every single part of you is exactly what I wanted you to be, but even I could never have anticipated what the combination of you would become.”

“Are you saying I’m defective, High Priestess?” Ilana mostly meant it as a joke, but only mostly.

“On the contrary - you’ve become more than I could have dreamed. Unfortunately, that means that the tweaks I made spark a determination and desire in you that will never be fulfilled here.”

“So, I’m always going to feel like this?”

“You very well may, depending on your next choice.”

“Cryptic, as always. What choice?”

“I have always had a soft spot for you, as you very well know,” Ayesha said. Her patience way thin and only growing thinner every minute Ilana took that tone with her. “Perhaps if I had tried harder, I could have stamped out that disobedient streak in you.”

Ilana chose to ignore the High Priestess’ reply. “What does Nebula have to do with any of it?”

“You will have to decide,” Ayesha replied. “I am sending you as her personal guard to ensure she makes it to the Nova Corps. Once you leave our airspace, it seems to me that you have two choices. Option one: you deliver the girl and return to your place here. Option two: you don’t.”

“I don’t deliver the girl? Or I don’t return?”

“Your choices are yours alone.”

“There are no Sovereign defectors.”

“No, there are not.”

Ilana pushed her teacup away and sat back against the chair cushion. “I would be the first. I’d never be able to come back.”

“No.”

“Why would I give up my life for a woman I barely know?”

“I truly don’t know. But the choice is yours.”

-----

An hour of standing guard over Nebula only served to make Ilana ever more antsy. Ilana kept glancing over her shoulder, despite her best attempts to maintain rapt focus on the wall in front of her. She was sure Nebula had caught her doing it. The woman probably thought she had lost her damn mind.

Here was Ilana’s chance to stop waiting around for something to happen, to chase her own fate rather than follow a future that had already been decided for her. She could be part of something bigger, for better or worse, than standing guard over a woman with dangerously few enemies – than being a decorative accessory to the High Priestess.

Granted, Ayesha had basically raised her (well, the Teachers raised her, but Ayesha orchestrated her upbringing more often than not). She’d be deserting her home, the parent-figure who designed her and nurtured her, all of her friends and subordinates. All for what? The fleeting chance to lead a life different than the one she had – one that might very well lead nowhere – when the life she had was soft and decorative and easy. Sovereign had a long, long lifespan, and she’d have to build a life elsewhere from the ground up.

All for a woman she barely knew, who’d barely said a word to her, who couldn’t possibly trust her as far as she could throw her (though Ilana suspected Nebula could probably throw her pretty far). Yet, the more she thought about it, the easier it was to pick Nebula and this unknown life over the life she had. She could admit that Nebula’s sheer presence weighed heavily in her decision – however bad the idea might be.

Maybe she had lost her mind. She blamed biology.

After an hour of looking over her shoulder, sighing and staring and glancing, finally, Ilana had enough.

She turned to Nebula and sank down on her knees so that she was level with her charge’s sitting form. “You wanna kill Thanos?”

“Yes.” Nebula cocked her head, raising a non-existent eyebrow. “Why? Do you want to help?”

“Yes.”

“I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Nebula was shocked by her answer, as if she expected a sermon rather than a serious response. “Why do you want to help me? What’s in it for you?”

 “Something different,” Ilana replied.

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“I meant exactly what I said,” Ilana snapped. “That doesn’t matter right now. Look, Ayesha contracted with bounty hunters and you’re the payment. I think you know who’s coming for you.”

“Gamora.”

“You got it,” Ilana replied. “You need help killing the Mad Titan. I was born to fight. I don’t want to die here on this planet never having done anything than what Ayesha programmed me to do. I’m not enough to kill him, but I’m a good start.” Ilana paused, as if considering her next words carefully. “And, as a matter of biology and something bigger than us all, my fate is now inextricably intertwined with yours, whatever either of us decide to do in life.”

Nebula couldn’t deny she’d felt that connection, too. She didn’t believe in fate or any of that ooey-gooey soulmates nonsense, but she’d felt something deeper between them than their mere acquaintanceship would otherwise suggest.

“So, you want to go with me?”

“Yes.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

Ilana laughed. “A trap? You’re already trapped.”

“You know I’m going to break out as soon as I have the chance.”

“Yes. And I’m offering to help you. Just give me the chance to have a higher purpose than being Ayesha’s court decoration.”

“Fine.”

Ilana sighed, relief washing over her. “Then let’s figure out how we’re going to get you somewhere safe once we’re out of here.”

“Me? You’re about to defect from the Sovereign. They’ll send the whole fleet after you.”

“Probably,” Ilana conceded, “but that’s no worse than being tracked down by your sister.”

“Fair.”

[keldae]

Drastic Measures -- Chapter 29

“Your brother told us part of what had happened to you,” Lana shook her head as they walked down the killik tunnel, leaving the rest of the new arrivals from Dantooine to scatter into the rest of the cell, “but the full story is even more insane.”

“Tell me about it,” Xaja muttered. “I’m considering switching career paths and becoming an author.”

Lana’s lips twitched in a smile. “You would have to market this as fictional, I'm afraid. No one would ever believe it to be true.”

“If I hadn't just lived it, I wouldn’t either.” Theron looked over at Xaja and lightly nudged her arm. “As co-star of your future bestseller, do I get royalties?”

Xaja laughed as she followed Lana around a curve in the tunnel, opening up to what seemed to be the main command hub of the base. “Naturally. Hopefully this story gets a happy ending.”

“We’ll do our best to make certain that happens,” Lana reassured the Jedi with a smile. “Keeping you alive and out of Arcann’s hands is our goal.”

“And pissing Arcann off with our continuous survival is my current objective in life.”

On Lana’s other side, the Zakuulan officer she had introduced as Koth Vortena grinned. “That’s a good objective to have. Assassin or not, you’re all right, Outlander.”

“I do my best,” Xaja smirked, deciding she liked Koth already. Her first instinct upon Lana introducing him as a Zakuulan defector was one of caution and worry, but within a few moments of meeting him, she and Theron both relaxed. She resisted the urge to ask what had driven him away from Zakuul. That could wait… for now.

Beside her, Theron lowly whistled as he looked around the base. “I knew there was a cell here, but I didn’t realize it was this expansive. This is all Thunder’s network?”

“To the best of my knowledge, most of it is.” Lana nodded in confirmation as she led them up the ramp of one of the larger command platforms. “We’re reconvening here to plan our next movements. Thunder still has assets across the galaxy, but they’re remaining in place for the time being.”

“Any thoughts as to those next steps?” Xaja asked as she flopped into a metal chair beside a table covered in datapads and flimsi pages. 

“Take stock of our losses from Dantooine; determine how many of us can still move freely without attracting a legion of bounty hunters; and then find a new location to serve as headquarters. Thunder has indicated that they want to increase the rebellion’s power base, which will mean more resources than we can accumulate by having several scattered little cells. Tatooine served as the last major base, but with your brother attacking the Star Fortress bunker there, the system’s now too dangerous for us to hide in.”

Xaja felt a little burst of pride that Korin, her renegade, responsibility-dodging brother, had led the strike team that landed such a successful hit on one of Zakuul’s most visible assets. Being an active leader in the rebellion might make a responsible adult out of Korin yet. “But between that hit, Theron and I dodging capture this long, and the loss of the Zakuulan forces on the ship on Dantooine…”

“He’s gotta be furious,” Theron finished with a grin, leaning against the table beside Xaja. The bond rippled with a feeling of smug satisfaction.

A grin pulled at Xaja’s mouth, only to fade at the thoughts of what could come of Arcann growing vindictive. “Is he taking it out on anyone else?” she asked. Stars, if he was anything like Darth Angral had been… 

“Not yet -- or at least, not as far as we know.” Koth sat down in another chair and scrubbed long fingers across his goatee. “Besides the attack on Dantooine, and reinforcements arriving as we were leaving Tatooine, nobody’s heard of another conflict recently. My crew -- they deserted with me when I left Zakuul —  they’re keeping an eye on things from a distance.”

“There are still Eternal Fleet ships stationed at Coruscant,” Lana added. “And after learning you had been on Dromund Kaas, Arcann sent some of his forces there to investigate. But with your brother having fled already and Acina having no idea about you being on the planet, the pressure has lessened there… from Zakuul, at any rate.”

“Last I’ve heard,” Sorand added as he walked up the ramp, having been held back by Shara and Corey for a few minutes. “The tensions between the Republic and the Empire are escalating. Saresh is calling you both traitors to the Republic — sorry about that — and claiming you’ve been working with me since the Revanite crisis. Which technically isn’t wrong…”

“The schutta ,” Xaja hissed as she felt Theron settle his hand on her arm. “She’s saying that publicly?”

“And kriffing over any chance you might have had of being able to disappear into the Republic,” Sorand muttered as he frowned down at a datapad in his hands. “From what I’m reading, it’s full-blown propaganda. She’s probably hoping for any loyal citizens who see either of you to turn you in as traitors.”

“Which gets Arcann off her neck,” Theron muttered. “The Empire?”

“While she might, in other circumstances, do so, Acina’s acting thoroughly insulted by the notion that she would ever have an allegiance with a Jedi.” Sorand rolled his eyes. “Besides naming me a traitor, and putting Lana and Dad about a step below me on the most-wanted list, she’s made a comeback at Saresh along the lines of calling her a slave-race coward who can’t admit she can’t find two high-profile war heroes-turned-traitors.”

Xaja winced at that. Theron’s own cringe echoed along the bond as he spoke up again. “Dare I ask what Saresh said in response to that?”

“Probably not,” Koth commented. “But if this keeps up, it’s going to turn into a galactic-stage catfight.”

“I’d find that more amusing if we weren’t stuck in the middle of it with Zakuul tearing the galaxy apart looking for us,” Xaja muttered.

“Both Saresh and Acina will be hesitant to go to open war,” Lana interjected with a frown. “With Commander Malcom walking away from the Republic, and Acina missing the two top assets in Sith Intelligence and one of the surviving Dark Council, they’re both strategically crippled. And that’s without mentioning how few Jedi remain, or how many soldiers from both sides have followed their chosen leaders into rebellion.”

“They just have their own fleets and militaries, and more resources to their names,” Koth grumbled. 

“But while they’re threatening each other with said fleets,” Sorand started, “this is the perfect time for the resistance to vanish. Considering we’re not sure how long Alderaan will be safe, I feel like we should find a new base soon. Arcann’s not going to greatly care about the Republic and Empire clawing at each other, not while he’s still looking for you two.” He nodded at Theron and Xaja. 

“There’s too many high-value targets here, and too many civilians who could be endangered by us,” Xaja muttered. “Worst case scenario, how long could the resistance keep running?”

“Perhaps another few years. But I’d rather not see it come to that.” Sorand hummed in thought. “The galaxy is vast enough that we should be able to find an unpopulated planet, or one with a low population. Perhaps Rakata Prime?”

“Force knows there shouldn’t be too many live Rakata left there after Revan bombarded the place,” Xaja said.

“Not Rakata, but there have been Republic historians exploring that world since the fall of the Revanites,” Theron spoke up. “Not to mention that it’s near to the Core.” And too close to Coruscant went unspoken.

“That one ice ball from hell -- Hoth, maybe?” Koth offered. “Distant Outer Rim, and nobody sane goes there.”

“Aside from both Imperial and Republic forces trying to raid the starship ruins, and pirates crawling all over the place. Rumour has it there’s a new Star Fortress being constructed in the Hoth system as well.” Lana frowned at her crossed arms, then looked up. “I don’t suppose there are any other abandoned Jedi planets like Tython to be reclaimed?”

“If Ahch-To or Ossus had been found, it would have been all over the Holonet by now,” Sorand mused, running a hand over his own scruff in thought. Xaja barely had time to be surprised by the fact that her brother seemingly was familiar with Jedi history, or to remind herself that his academic leanings and his insatiable curiosity about the Jedi would have pushed him to learn all he could about the near-mythical Jedi worlds. “Yavin is the only other system I can think of that might work, but it’s uncomfortably close to Imperial territory. It’s something we’ll need to think about while we plan our next moves. Maybe we can find an uninhabited moon somewhere.”

“Cipher Nine may also have contacts who can help us,” Lana suggested. 

“That wouldn’t surprise me. I swear my father knows at least half the galaxy, and there has to be a decent number that don’t want to shoot him… somewhere.” A grin flickered across Sorand’s face for a second. “When he gets in, I’ll talk to him, see if he has any suggestions.”

That was a reasonable strategy. Xaja was pretty sure Sorand wasn’t exaggerating the claim of how many people their father knew. And Force knew the old spy could be… persuasive. “When is he expected?”

“Within the next couple of days, I think.” Sorand straightened up from where he had been leaning against a console. “Anything else that anyone wants to discuss right now?”

Silence answered him for a moment before Koth shook his head. “I dunno, I think that got just about everything important. I’ll send a ping out to my crew on Asylum, see if they’ve got any leads for uninhabited planets they’ve found.”

“Thank you, Koth.” Lana stood up and gave Xaja and Theron a smile. “Corey’s been in contact with Mandalore; I had best check in with her latest updates. We’ll have a chance to catch up soon.” 

Theron nodded as the blonde Sith took her leave of the platform, then looked back at Koth. “So, former Zakuulan Navy, huh?”

“Yep. Captain and only decent pilot in my crew…”

Xaja looked away from the conversation, making eye contact with Sorand. He subtly nodded, indicating the far corner. She rose and fell into step with him as they stepped off the platform, leaving Theron and Koth to talk.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Sorand let the worried frown show on his face. “You said things wound up… complicated?” he softly asked, touching his forehead. “You feel… better, almost like normal.”

Xaja nodded. “The Dreamwalkers had been wiped out,” she quietly answered, and saw Sorand’s shoulders slump at the news. “There were other Voss healers who helped me as much as they could.”

“But…?”

“He’s still in my head.” Xaja shuddered as Sorand sighed in worried disappointment, raking a hand through his hair. “They think they’ve managed to suppress him for the time being.” She hesitated, worrying her lower lip for an instant. “You know that bond I had with Theron before…?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Annya froze as her boot touched down on the duracrete floor of the Republic-friendly spaceport. Ignoring Jonas bumping into her back, she stretched out her focus, closing her eyes. She could pick up on Jakar Forseti’s nearby Force-signature as he landed the Balance of Justice, and could recognize a few Organa civilians whom she’d met on earlier visits. But right then, she didn’t care about that.

It was what she could sense a couple of kilometres distant that demanded her attention. Her brow furrowed slightly when she recognized her aunt’s presence — what the blazes is Aunt Mairen doing here? But that was quickly put to the side, to think about later. 

A slight nudge confirmed Xaja’s presence, and Annya grinned as her cousin reached back, just able to feel the other Jedi’s delighted surprise. She lightly pushed again, getting a read on her cousin’s well-being. The younger woman felt alright — no flares of pain, no lines of grief or rage. There was a strange darkness clouding part of her signature, and beside that, a small thread of light that Annya was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. But that was something to worry about later. Xaja wasn’t physically hurt, and if she wasn’t being consumed by grief, Agent Shan had to be here too.

She turned to face a confused-looking Jonas and gave him a delighted smile. “Xaja made it. She’s here. And I’m pretty sure Theron is too.”

Jonas’ eyes widened in relief as he let out a breath. “Good!” He nodded before his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Theron better be here. That asshole has a punch coming that he deserves.”

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Xaja suddenly fell silent mid-sentence as a bright Force-signature she knew made itself known only a short distance away. Ignoring Sorand frowning in confusion, she reached out, and felt a familiar nudge pressing against her mind. Joy flooded through her as she recognized her cousin, a delight she could feel echoed in the Force.

She turned her attention back to the present as Doc made his way over to her and Sorand. “Annya’s here!” she exclaimed, turning to Doc with a happy smile.

“Annya? That cousin of yours on Corellia?” Doc grinned. “Hells, today’s full of good news, Red.”

Sorand blinked in surprise. “Wait — we have another cousin?”

“Yes! Annya is a Green Jedi who—” Another presence made itself known on the planet surface; the recognition of that presence sent shock flooding through Xaja’s veins, her words dying in her mouth again. Impossible! He was killed months before Zakuul hit… unless he…

Shock turned to confusion, then joy, then what could be best described as indignant fury. “I’m going to kill him,” Xaja hissed. She ignored Theron’s sudden confusion over their bond, or the slight hint of subtle, smug amusement from the new presence.

Doc frowned for a moment before his eyes widened knowingly, a grin appearing under the mustache. “Only one person would make you react like that, Red. Jakar isn’t dead after all?”

“Not yet, he’s not,” Xaja growled as she turned and began stalking toward the central hub of the hive, still inwardly debating if she was going to hug the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order before strangling him.

Behind her, Doc took a step to follow, stopped by Sorand’s hand on his shoulder. “Not to interrupt,” the Sith slowly said, “but would you mind explaining what the Hells that was all about?”

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“I’m relieved you’re all right,” Senya said as she walked through the killik tunnels with Satele, their bootsteps echoing in the cave. “From arriving here and realizing nobody else knew where you were…”

“I’m relieved to be alive too.” Satele smiled and offered Senya’s arm a squeeze. “I was pleased to hear you had made it here with no problems.”

“None to speak of,” agreed Senya. She gave Satele a sidelong look as they walked for a few paces further. “While I was here, I did not find a way to heal my children, but I did learn something about… about your son.”

Satele’s eyes were cautious when they looked back at Senya, but she did finally nod. “So you know who he is,” she finally said. It was a statement, not a question.

Senya nodded. “I hardly blame you for keeping that quiet.” 

“I am not convinced that he was planning an attack like what Arcann claims.” Satele pursed her lips as the two women rounded a corner in the tunnel, coming across a busy crowd. Apparently more rebels had just arrived. “I don’t know what he was doing there, but terrorism wasn’t on his agenda. It’s not his style.”

“It could be argued that freeing someone accused of regicide is terrorism,” Senya commented.

“I’m not sure that he would care in that respect.” Satele strained to look out over the crowd. “Not when he was…” She paused, a frown marring her features. “Watching him after Master Taerich was declared killed in action… I didn’t know if he would ever be happy again. He was devastated.”

Senya slowly nodded as she followed Satele’s gaze. Her eyes landed on a handsome young man in a bright red jacket, currently talking with Captain Vortena and Lord Beniko— Lana, as the Sith had insisted on being addressed. She knew his face well from studying the bulletins, but seeing him in person, she could see now how much he favoured his mother in terms of appearance. He certainly didn’t look like the type of person to orchestrate a plan to blow up an entire city, especially not when he smiled and his amber eyes softened. 

A commotion off to her right stole her attention. Turning away from Satele’s son, the Knight focused immediately on the girl who had reportedly murdered Valkorion. Senya’s first impression was of brightness — vivid red hair, a blazing, almost-familiar presence in the Force, and a delighted smile as she ran to embrace another redhaired woman in Jedi clothing who had entered the cavern. She certainly didn’t resemble a coldhearted assassin. If anything, her bright presence almost reminded her of Vaylin… or how Vaylin had been before she had been taken to Nathema. 

The former Knight of Zakuul sighed and dropped her gaze from the Jedi girl. “I can’t blame you for not telling me their names,” she quietly said, low enough that Satele had to strain to hear her. “I can hardly judge.” She took a shaky breath and looked at the former Grand Master, watching the Jedi’s eyes go wide with shock at her next words. “Not when my son is the one hunting them down.”

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Fury raged through Arcann’s veins as he stalked back and forth in front of the Eternal Throne. The next person to deliver bad news to him was likely to be thrown off the walkway, run through with a lightsaber, or perhaps simply crushed to death with the Force.

The teams sent  to Tatooine turned up little more than exhaust fumes from the departed rebels. The inept Paladin had been far too slow to catch the resistance as they fled from the Fleet. For all that Arcann knew, Thunder themselves had been in that base, escaping before they could risk capture. Taking down the reputed coordinator of a sizable resistance group would be almost as great a boost to morale as capturing Taerich or Shan.

And that was another subject that enraged him. The few fragments of data collected from the ruins of the Dantooine outpost hinted that the two fugitives had been there; the former Jedi Grand Master had been confirmed by the presence of her personal ship. And yet, the Eternal Fleet patrol ship and its entire crew had been destroyed. He was still no closer to knowing who was responsible.

Had it been the Republic, coming to save their precious Jedi? The Empire, seeking Jedi playthings and not wanting to share? Imperius, or forces loyal to him, rushing to aid his Jedi sister and her people? Thunder’s forces? Arcann scowled behind his mask. There were too many options, too many variables, and not nearly enough answers.

“Brother.” Vaylin’s voice finally cut through the cloud of rage in Arcann’s mind. Judging from her tone, and her raised eyebrow and crossed arms, she had been trying to get his attention for some time now. “If you’re done stomping about for now?”

“There had better be an update,” Arcann growled as he stormed back up to the Throne, practically throwing himself into the seat. One eye glowered up at her. “What do you have?”

“Republic agents were seen on Dantooine, going through the ruins. Judging by the communications we were able to intercept, the poor idiots had no idea the outpost was even there.” Vaylin shrugged. “Clearly the Republic is even more inept than we thought, or it was a classified black-ops mission of sorts.”

The Republic, by all accounts, did have a few elite black ops teams who had survived the war and occupation. They had not been a priority of late, but Arcann filed that notion away for later consideration. His thoughts then lit on the one completely capable Republic commander he knew. “And Commander Malcom?”

“House Organa claims he’s been an honoured guest at their estate on Alderaan, this whole time. The spaceport records seem to support the claim.” Vaylin shrugged. “I suppose he really doesn’t care about his bastard son. Or he’s as stupid as the rest of the Republic and didn’t know about the Jedi outpost, or where Shan was last reported.”

That sounded like something Valkorion would have done, had he been in the same position as Malcom with the knowledge of where his offspring were. But if the Republic’s intelligence services hadn’t known about the Jedi hideout, perhaps the former Supreme Commander simply hadn’t known, either. “Has he been seen by any of our people?”

“He’s withdrawn into the castle after hearing about the raid.” Her voice was thick with contempt as she continued, “He’s reportedly in mourning .”

That was definitely not something Valkorion would have done. Arcann shrugged to himself. Malcom was clearly weak. “Anything else?”

“Still no news from the Empire regarding Imperius. But I do have one more little thing.” A smile pulled at Vaylin’s lips. “A diplomatic envoy from the Republic has contacted our diplomats, requesting parlay. Apparently the Senate believes that, since Satele Shan’s ship was on Dantooine and her body wasn’t, she was taken prisoner.” For a moment, the smile vanished in a frown. “Of course, this could be terribly awkward if news gets out that we don’t have her.”

“If news gets out,” Arcann said, grinning under his mask. This, he thought, could be a useful advantage. If Taerich and Shan had been on Dantooine, they had to know that the Grand Master wasn’t a captive. But the Senate didn’t need to know that, and it was doubtful Taerich or Shan would be in contact with the Chancellor. Then again, if the two fugitives hadn’t been on Dantooine at the time of the attack...

Yes… yes, he could use this.

[rekkingcrew]

Rek DMs: Space Bastards Episode 0 (pt 3)

https://rekkingcrew.tumblr.com/post/179064273187/rek-dms-space-bastards-episode-zero-pt-1

https://rekkingcrew.tumblr.com/post/179086697447/rek-dms-space-bastards-ep-0-pt-2

Right, so work ate my life. Trying to catch up.

Anyway.  With the ship and characters nailed down, I talked to them a bit about what I’d planned out for the world, and they talked a bit about what they’ve been doing since they met. 

In addition to a ship, I’d planned to start the gang out with a safe base of operations and information about the leaders of four important NPC factions. Frankly, as a player, I hate it when there’s world information I feel like my character ought to know, but I, as a player, am not allowed to until it comes out in game. On the flip side, I respect that nobody wants to read an encyclopedia in order to play. I’m LOVING the ease of DMing with a faction system. It simplifies everything. As I’ve put adventures together, I can start from a place of “what is this faction trying to accomplish, and against what other faction” and that focuses the narrative choices I make. It’s constrained in a way that means things are always connected and moving forward, rather than going off sideways. 

Anyway, here are my four factions and faction leaders. The Empire: Lawful Political Faction Leader: Audren Tauros 

Audren Tauros is the imperial politico in charge of this sector of space, and headquartered on the grain producing planet Trayez 4, which also has a troop garrison to streamline supply. He is, by all indications, not a zealot, appearing to minimally enforce imperial law in a way that is leaving a thriving black market. There are tariffs and bribes, and crackdowns, sure, but they’re notably lighter, and Tauros quietly hires out jobs he doesn’t want to show up in his official reports. He also, unusually for an imperial, has a personal physician who is an alien. An Arcona specifically. 

The gang’s home base is also on this planet. (Trayez 4 is basically a straight shot out from Naboo, on the inner half of the outer rim)

The Maxaeda Rebel Fleet: Chaotic Political Faction Leader: Cheng Maxaeda

Cheng Maxaeda is a flashy Rodian pirate operating near the outer rim end of the Corellian Run. Of late, she’s apparently developed politics, though from the targets she’s hitting- mostly luxury yachts of imperial officers, fat payroll transports, and weapons caches- it’s very hard to tell if she’s a believer who is resorting to piracy, or a pirate who’s lying about believing. Or something in between. 

Local Hutt Cartel: Chaotic Apolitical Faction Leader: Uddin the Hutt

Uddin is an up and coming Hutt who’s been given permission to start his own branch operation in the local sector. He’s not the only criminal gang going, but he is by far the most powerful. He’s also exceptionally vicious and unforgiving, even for a hutt. His organization has a very high turn over, but it pays very well.

Bounty Hunters Local: Lawful Apolitical Faction Leader: Quemada Ru

Quemada Ru is the sector representative for the Bounty Hunters guild. She’s built up an organization under her that’s basically run like a police union; in fact, they’re called the 919 and they’ve negotiated enforcement contracts as well as personal bounties. They’re organized, efficient, and mutually supporting. There are, of course, some freelancers running around not participating, but for the most part, the 919 works well for most of the bounty hunters working around Trayez  4. It works out particularly well for Ru as she is dug in, powerful, popular, and difficult for the Empire to oust. She’s an ardent believer that no one is above the law, and will take down even important Imperials when she can get enough evidence on them. 

Of course, by this point the gang had a stolen police ship, so Quemada is very much not their friend. 

Then I asked them to build up a bit of their backstory. What jobs had they done before? What adventures had they had. As I’ve said, I don’t generally care for the opening of a campaign where characters are just meeting, so I like giving the crew a chance to talk a bit about their history, clarify what sort of group they are, develop relationships, and most importantly, talk about why they trust each other and want to stay together as a group. 

Here are some of the things they gave me. 

Old Harry, who own’s Hob’s Garage space port, and who is literally just Satan, has changed their ship transponder codes and made all their fake IDs, because they’re taking care of his nephew, Beelz (we just... started joking hard about the space Satans of Planet Devaron and man we leaned into it. Old Harry has lots of names. Makes deals. Has a smart goatee and an expensive suit. I’m loving every ridiculous minute of it). He’s already covered for them and hid them from the Empire at great personal risk and for little reward. He just smiles and says don’t worry. Some day I’ll call in a favor.  

The gang mostly runs muscle, smuggling, and theft jobs. Thirteen rarely participates directly, but oddly, everywhere they go, even when she wasn’t consulted, she seems to have a job ready and lined up. Nobody knows how she’s doing it. 

Nyla hasn’t been honest with the team about her past, or her force sensitivity, but she has used a flash of foreseen future to save Eshi’s life, warning him to stay away from a cable car on a planet they were visiting that later crashed and killed everyone inside it. Nyla’s also taken one of the ship’s prison cells as her sleeping quarters, but... it’s still just a prison cell. She’s thrown a tarp over the bars for some privacy, and whenever she’s in the ship, she takes her arm off. Eshi sleeps in the engine room where it’s warm. 

At one point the team took a Seven Samurai style protection job, fighting off a load of raiders who were threatening a farming village. It was glorious carnage. At one point, Brick disabled a young trandoshan and tossed her unconscious body and a blaster to Eshi. “You’re how old again, kid?” he said. “It’s time you grew up.” Not in a mean way, this is Brick. But he was 12 when he first killed somebody, and he figured Eshi was way overdue. And Eshi... couldn’t. She reminded him of a childhood friend. He let her run off, certain this decision would never come back to haunt him (it will, obviously). 

Beelz knows Cheng Maxaeda’s people, and Uddin’s. He get the gang most of their more run of the mill underworld jobs. Thirteen, on the other hand, has gotten them some jobs with the Empire (after explaining the factions, I asked them who they’d like to have done jobs for, and they decided of the factions as explained, Tauros made the most sense, as he seemed the most laid back and forgiving). Specifically, she came to them saying she had an offer: a mercy mission medical run from the Empire. There was an outbreak in Tauros’s territory, and the supplies needed to treat it were restricted and labelled military use only. This was a time sensitive problem that was very bad for business, so some supplies “fell off a truck” and some unaffiliated party needed to get them where they were going. In exchange, all the warrants for the ship went away, and as far as the players know, it’s in the clear. Also, Thirteen assassinated someone while they were there. It’s unclear if this was part of the deal or something she did on her own time. (I want to pause to remind y’all my players are supplying all of this).

Obviously, they’ve never met Tauros, and officially he knows nothing about them. Their contact is a Pantoran children’s show host named “Uncle” Karston Severax, who devotes his time to teaching children reading, xenobiology, and patriotic zeal. He dresses like Mr. Rogers and always has lovely cakes. Thirteen watches the show pretty often, and the crew suspects it’s an easy way to disseminate coded information to sleeper agents. Brick also watches the show, because the puppets have names that are jokes in Nikto. 

And finally I asked them what they’re doing right now, planning for the first episode to start in medias res. This one is another imperial job. The gang are stealing fighter blue prints from a corporate sector contractor who is trying to do aggressive negotiations with the Empire, and the Empire has decided that it’s not going to be toyed with. So that was where we started the first session. On a corpsec space station with the questions “who is your hostage and what is on fire?”

[kingsofchaos]

Have you ever thought about Fakes origin where Geoff kinda was the little brother of the roosters and hey let him do his thing and by the time they thought to look he was already setting up his court in Los SAntos, and by the time they thought to worry he was alreadt setting his sights on something bigger.

Whatif Gavin was already the golden boy in los santos before Geoff evengot there?

Whenthe Roosters branched out everyone was moving with purpose; they wereso successful at such a young age that no one even considered gettingout of the game, were just expanding to focus on their ownspecialities, to grow and improve without murdering each other in theprocess. Gus set up a terrifying web of covert intelligence andstolen secrets, Joel transitioned full time into the absurdlylucrative domain of white collar crime, Matt spent his daysschmoozing impossibly high level contacts, Griffon took her rovinggang of assassins on the move and Burnie still orchestrates the wholething from back in Liberty City. Geoff was the odd one out, really,sort of adrift in the world, still playing, getting by on his wealthand reputation, simply chasing entertainment across the country withno real direction or responsibilities.Sowhen Geoff first started making noise about getting his own crewtogether, a proper full time affair, the other Rooster’s thought hewas kidding. It’s not that they’d thought he couldn’t, exactly, it’sjust that he’d never really had that drive. Never really exhibitedany lust for control, for personal power over his own domain. ForGeoff, who liked to drink and coast and party, who’d always suggestedthe most outlandish laughable ideas, who’d always shrugged and gonealong with whatever everyone else decided like the little brotherhappy just to be involved, to run his own crew all alone seemedridiculous. They weren’t laughing at him, really, not for the mostpart anyway, it’s just that they never really considered Geoff to bea leader.Geoff,of course, goes off in a huff, utterly offended, but that’s notterribly alarming. They’ve all been in each other’s pockets for solong they are more than used to weathering the storm of tempers, haveall had their share of petty tantrums, and everyone comes backeventually. Worst comes to worst Geoff will play with his idea longenough to tire of it, possibly call for some help if it all goes toshit, then everything will be back to normal. In the meantimeeveryone’s got too much on their own plates to bother chasing himdown.Burniekeeps track of him, of course, keeps an ear out for any rumours of aRooster getting into trouble, keeps in contact even if the updatesaren’t as regular as they could be. It’s how he knows where Geoff is,finally stationary in the strangest of places, knows something’scaught his eye even if the contrary bastard isn’t ready to shareexactly what it is yet. Burnie knows Geoff’s holed himself up in LosSantos, and isn’t that so typically him, finding some kind of hiddentreasure in the worst city in the country.Curiositygets the best of Burnie and, when a month or two pass and Geoff stillhasn’t moved on, he can’t help himself from trying to dig a little,calling on various contacts to send their feelers out and work outwhat could have possibly captured Geoff’s interestso thoroughly. The results are somewhat unexpected.There’sa kid, they say, some cocky foreign creature that has Geofffascinated, captivated, the strangest of anchors tethering him to thecity. There is no shortage ofrumours about the stranger, he’s apparently a particularly talentedfixer, though his age comes through in arrogant bravado, inoutrageous displays of wealth and a blatant inability to look beforehe leaps. He’s the kind of character everyone in Los Santosseems to be aware of, everyone seems willing to bend over backwardsto know, and it appears Geoff is no exception.Whichis, honestly, the strangest part of the whole deal; Geoff has loyaltyin spades for those who matter, but he’s not the most open of people,is no one’s fool, he’s lived through far too much with the Roostersto be taken in by some pretty face with a sob story. There must besomething else going on. Geoff might have made it abundantlyclear that he doesn’t want anyone else butting in on his business,that he’s sorting out his plans all on his own thanks very much, butsurely this warrants some kind of concern. Burnie settles on sendingJack down to scope it out; she was passing through anyway and Geoffmight be keeping his cards close to his chest but he’s always likedJack, it seemed like a good call at the time.Jackdoesn’t come back. Sends Burnie wordthat all is well, that he doesn’t need to worry, that she plans tostay and help Geoff out with whatever it is he’s working on, but shewon’t say what exactly that is. In other words she piques Burnie’sinterest even more then laughs in his face and keeps her mouth shut,which honestly, what was Burnie expecting? Jack’s always been loyalto a fault, but not to him. Jack and Geoff have always had eachother’s backs and when you break it down her alliance with theRoosters has always come from that friendship; it stands reason thatif Geoff is still cranky about their lack of faith Jack will be nomore forgiving.Asfar as Jack’s concerned she’s been waiting an age for Geoff to sorthimself out, and if finally getting there means flipping Burns thebird and cosigning herself to some ludicrous plot in the depths ofhell then so be it. When Geoff asks for her help, eyes lit up withthe wild determination she remembers from their mischief back in theday she’s hardly going to say no. Perhaps Los Santos isn’t exactlythe ideal location, isn’t where she necessarily wanted to end up letalone start in, but given the chance to explain himself Geoff’sridiculousness is, as usual, based on pretty sound reasoning.BecauseGeoff was, once, just passing through Los Santos, an entertaining pitstop on his journey to scout out a worthy crew, but then he foundGavin. Heard the rumours well before he actually met the kid; theGolden Boy of Los Santos, a shiny novelty amongst the grime of thecity. The stories were interesting, entertaining, enough that Geoffdecided to stick around for a while, enough that Geoff was perhapsdrifting into the territory of a stalker, but oh boy did hiscuriosity pay off.WhenGeoff found Gavin he saw far more than he knew he was meant to, farmore than he would have if he wasn’t looking, because the kid wasgood. Was all flash and sparkle,  cheeky jokes and brightlaughter, an endearing softness covering the sharpness of his teeth,the blood dripping from his fingers. When Geoff found Gavin he saweverything they could do, everything they could be, saw the broadstrokes of the future he’d been toying with falling into place all atonce.Gavinwas an interesting conundrum, the criminals of the city completelyunsure as to whether or not they like him, whether or not he’suseful, whether or not the kid is a joke or a genius. They say Freeis easy, full of all kinds of valuable information and simple enoughto buy; offer him some pretty trinket, something pricey or showy orrare and he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand. And yetthey’re all still clamouring to talk to him, still tripping overthemselves to work with him, still offering absurd bounties just tocatch his fleeting interests. They say he’s controllable, vulnerablyalone and far too trusting. Geoff is not convinced.Becauseall the information Gavin hoards comes from somewhere, and no oneelse seems capable of extracting it. Because everyone’s so convincedthey’ve got him worked out that they open their doors and let himbypass the usual weapon checks and security protocols. BecauseGavin’s reputation of weak-stomached and harmless, useless in afight, doesn’t add up to the practised way he twirls switchbladesbetween his fingers, deftly flicking them up his sleeves and out ofsight. Because for all that the persona of the Golden Boy hascaptured the city’s unwavering attention no one seems to realise howneatly they’ve been blinded by it.Ifyou cared to compare the crime scene in America to the one in Englandyou’d realise the game there is played with entirely different rules.Gavin didn’t come into Los Santos swinging, probably wouldn’t havemade it two days if he had, but he’s been busy chasing power all thesame. Gavin knows every crew of note in Los Santos, knows names andhierarchies, knows base locations and key distribution points. Gavinhas integrated himself so neatly, so desirably, that he can get anaudience with just about whoever he wants to, can meander acrossterritory lines and police tape with the same unerring charm. Geoff’sseen him play up his age in one meeting, wide eyed and painfullynaïve, only to catch him mere hours later leaning into confidence,brisk and clever and entirely untouchable. He’s witnessed Gavinseemingly fall for obvious ruses only to walk out with exactly whathe was after, seen him talk his way into deals and out of handcuffs,seen a thousand different ticks and quirks and personalities thatshouldn’t all fit comfortably within the same person.Geoff’sseen more than enough to recognise that familiar air of hungryruthlessness, of vicious self interest and callous amusement. MaybeGeoff hasn’t got the past experience of being a leader but he’salways known how to help himself by using other people, how to makethe most of their particular talents, fit them all together to make abigger picture. Growing a crew from scratch is harder than it seems,growing one thats loyal from the start, strong enough to sticktogether and win the uphill battle of taking the most untamable cityin the land seems near impossible.Unless,of course, someone had done all that groundwork already. Unlesssomeone had already wormed into the ecosystem, plotted all theintricacies of power, all the feuds and pressure points, the hiddenweapons and unprotected weak spots. Unless someone had already madeall the necessary contacts and connections, curried favour with allthe best dealers, buttered up the crooked cops, identified all theindividuals who might be seduced away from their current gigs intosomething better, something greater, the ones worth trusting, theones who would come out on top.Geoffis no stranger to charm himself, to subtle manipulation, and maybeyou can’t kid a kidder but you can certainly enchant a kid, can sellsafety in numbers, talk up comfort and protection and organiseddirection. Geoff might want to outgrow the ever present shadow of theRoosters but a history of royalty is a weighty bargaining chip whenyour adversary covets nothing more than the appearance of wealth, ofpower. It’s still not easy by any means, Gavin is cautious, quickwitted and wily, running his own game through every conversation, buteventually they come to an understanding. Then Jack turns up and allof a sudden things are in motion, the plan is unfolding, and nothingis going to keep Geoff from forging his own crown.Bythe time Geoff thinks about giving Burnie an update his inbox hasbeen flooded by dozens of warnings about the mystery crew taking LosSantos by storm. Increasingly concerned messages telling Geoff it wastime to move on, that it wasn’t worth trying mess with such adangerously effective group all on his own, that he should reach outif he was in trouble. By the time Geoff gets around to giving Burniea call the old rules of Los Santos have already fallen, the city isrunning scared and those surrounding it are following suit. Even asthe phone rings Geoff knows Gavin’s combining the termination of aproblem with teasing the Vagabond away from his current employers,knows Jones and Dooley are having a crashing good time clearing thelast of the warehouses down near the docks, knows Tuggey’s pullingsome new blood into the support crew and Jack’s off to see a manabout a sniper.Bythe time Burnie finally hears back from Geoff the writing is well andtruly on the wall, the days of being underestimated and overlookedare over, and not even all the grudging apologies in the world willsave the Roosters from a lifetime of Geoff’s smug vindication. Geoffisn’t just an ex-Rooster anymore, he isn’t a follower, a drifter, alittle brother or a side thought. He is Geoff Ramsey; leader of theFAHC, king of Los Santos, ruler of the worst of the worst,unrelenting and horrifically creative. He is a feared man, he runs anunquestionably dangerous crew, the city shivers in his shadow andthey say nothing can stop his reign.Allthis over stubborn determination, over hurt feelings, all this inmere months; not even his own crew are ready for what is to come, forthe highs and lows of Geoff’s depravity, but he knows they’ll be herewith him, will rise to every occasion, and together they’ll set theworld alight.