#pov serpent syndicate

[marierg]

Biscuits and Beskar: Ch. 9

Pairing: Boba Fett x OC Kaylee Manu

Warnings: cannon typical violence, language, major deaths, angst. We know where we're at in the story!

A/N: This is again a meat and potatoes chapter. Honestly I love trying to get everyones point of view. It adds a personal layer to the events. Also and alas Garsa (Noooooooo!) she deserved so much better. This is a new one on me, going from one POV to the next. Let me know what you think.

Words: 2980

Gif courtesy of @swladies (and by the way there's a detail here I did not notice before, she has a scar on her chest. I did not notice this before but it's a Tell-Tale sign of having lived in a rough place. Brilliance!)

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“Oh Kaylee!”

You sighed heavily, “I'm ok, just a few bumps..”

“Well tell your new friend that I owe him a special drink.” Garsa's face relaxed marginally. When you hadn't arrived that afternoon she'd called Lady Shand. “Now when all this settles you bring everyone by and we'll have a good long chat you and I. Honestly I'm dying to hear about how Lord Fett is enjoying your new wardrobe.”

You giggled, Garsa had a wonderfully flirtatious mind to match her beauty. Unable to hold a frown, you teased her back. “Well the reviews have been favorable to say the least.”

“Only favorable! This calls for shopping then, on the Daimyo's credits of course,” Scrunching her nose with a conspiratorial grin her expression still couldn't hide her concern. “We'll book it out for another day, just us girls.”

“Garsa, these fin heads aren't messing around.” The blue light of the hologram flickered with your expression, ill masking the fear you felt. Coiling like a serpent, slowly suffocating you. The danger was real, especially to those who stood in the way of the mayor and his allies. “maybe you should get out of town for a bit.”

The Twi'lek's head dipped, smile faltering slightly. It had crossed her mind, but there have been many territory wars on Tattoine. She had managed before and she would navigate this storm as well. How many peace deals had she brokered, how many brushes with danger averted? No, this was her place. The Sanctuary had always stood by for the town to weather such storms and she wouldn't leave them when it needed her most. “You and I both know a Captain cannot abandon their ship.”

There was a knock at the office door, an unusual occurrence before opening. Putting on her melodiously warm tone, she answered calmly. “One moment please.”

“Garsa? The blue of the hologram flickered as your image shifted.

“It'll be alright Kaylee dear, I'll call you back.” She heard you whisper your usual words of parting before cutting the transmission. Opening the top desk drawer she retrieved a small blaster, placing it into the holster on her thigh. Not her first brush with danger and not her last. With cautious movements she opened the door, relaxing again at seeing her maitre d'. “Yes?”

The green male whispered nervously, “Madme Fwip, some members of the Syndicate have requested a table for tonight. I booked the reservation but...”

“Ah, well we shall put our best foot forward then. I think we should pull out the Antares '79 for them don't you think?” Smiling confidently at the young male she leaned over, “And send word to Skad, in case there's trouble.”

Tattoine was a rough and dusty place, but it was Garsa's home.

Boba observed silently as Fwip's image disappeared and the call ended. He had told you to wash, instead you stood still covered in blood and dust. Armor shed he strode over, tick developing in his jaw. Your eyes were unfocused, you hadn't noticed him yet, and he wasn't sure if that bothered him all the more. Reaching out he brushed the side of your arm.

You startled, “Boba!”

“I told you to use the fresher.” His tone was quiet.

"I...Sorry, yes you did." Shaking your head to come back to the present you couldn't shake the unease. "I should get a change-"

Holding up a set of your clean clothes, his eyebrow raised. Boba had wanted to yell the minute he saw you standing there in the kitchen, to release the pressure behind his chest plate. You had been attacked, almost killed!

As you blinked barely restrained fear back though he found his patience renewed. Offering a hand he grumbled, “Come on.”

The dank alley of the star port swirled with the vapor of the off vents above. The afternoon suns were beginning to set, the stalking hours.

“We were told no civilian targets.”

Bane glowered at the filtrate masks. These two sniveling pogs had done nothing but whinge since he'd arrived. If the Pikes weren't paying him so well Bane would have killed them already.

He still might.

“The Syndicate want to get Fett's attention. This,” He waved over the small camtono, blood red eyes narrowing. “will get his attention.”

They handed him the last of the necessary ordinance, only giving a shrug. Twisting it into place Bane resealed the container. Contracts like this were a messy business, ruthlessness was often key.

Collateral damage happened everywhere and if the sheep were too foolish to flee that was their own fault. As for Fett, wasn't like the welp didn't have blood on his hands too. For as many years as the boy had hunted Bane knew that his tally was high, not as good as his own count though. No, if the boy wanted to rule then he would have to pay the price all powerful men did.

After all power is a hungry master and a fearful servant.

There was no adrenaline left, no fumes of bravado to play off the emotions within you. Standing in the fresher you carefully pealed out of your clothing while the tears burned to escape. One, then another seeping to soak your cheek till you were ushered under the spray where they melded with the warm stream. The luxury of the recycled shower willed your aching body to let go. Gasping in air, you collapsed against Boba's broad chest. “I'm such a fool... should have listened...”

“Can't change it now,” teeth clenched he soothed a hand on your back, letting you cry. Once satisfied you washed the blood clean, Boba wrapped you into the blankets like a glass bauble. The two of you lay quietly in his bed for what seemed an eternity. He didn't know what to say to comfort you, had never had such words afforded him. This was far from over, assurances were not a guarantee.

“Boba,” you were curled into his side, but he did not look at you. He was upset and you well deserved his silence for your hubris. Still you'd rather be yelled at than ignored. Testing the waters you reached up to where his hand rested on his sternum. That big paw that grasped on tight like you'd vanish. “Please, say something?”

“What is it you wish me to say cyare?”

“Call me an idiot, tell me how stupid I was.” Voice quivering, you could feel fresh tears building. “Tell me you were right, that I almost got myself killed.”

Boba turned, burnt umber eyes assessing every breath you drew. “Ner me'suum'ika, gar mirdir ni gotalyc b'choruk?”

“I'm a fool... a liability...” Hiccupping through the sobs you chastised yourself better than he ever could. The way your heart clenched as his lips pursed with such a stern look. “I'm sorry I'm not strong enough, I'm sor-”

“Hush woman,” He couldn't bear to hear one more utterance from you, covering your mouth. The damp of your tears slicking along his hand as you held his, looking like big paw against you. How sweetly you kissed the palm in supplication. You didn't understand his restraint, that he was silent for love of you and not anger. He didn't need you to be a warrior, he wanted you. Soft and fiery, funny and sweet. And he would bear any injury, any debt so long as you would return to his side.

Raising your hand to his lips Boba carefully pressed a kiss to each knuckle. You were his and he would sooner cut out his own heart before seeing you in pain, least of all because of words he had said in anger. Boba pressed your hand to his face as the gravel of his words came through, “I almost lost you.”

Skad followed the yellow toned waitress through the back door of the Sanctuary. Pretty bird, but alas business came first. Raking his sensors one last time as she parted, he gave hungry grin before knocking on the office.

“You're such an idiot,” Nikita scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Am not,” their debate cut as the door opened, “The lovely patroness has called and here we are. How can we help you dear lady?”

“Skad, Nikita,” Garsa smiled brightly, “thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” the young man cocked his head to the side, air of confidence as his hands added flourish to his words. “Said that you had a slimy situation, can't have that can we?”

“We certainly can't,” Garsa mused. It felt like only yesterday he was a scraggly teen, more legs than weight and little Nikita was like an Orion lotus in bloom. How the time flew. “If you don't mind staying close I would be in your debt. The Syndicate have been lurking about.”

“The fair lady of the city shall have our eyes and ears at her disposal. Have no fear,” Clasping Garsa's delicate gloved hand, he gave a cheeky wink. “Be right around the corner.”

The Palace walls were silent, the wind whipped at the balcony curtains. Gazing into Boba's eyes, the haunted corners called to you. He was always seemed so strong, invincible. Now he appeared torn, lost. You couldn't fight well, but you could grasp firmly at the sails when the lines started to rend. You could give him what strength was in you, pitiful as it was. “You could never lose me Boba. I'm like a bad credit, I'll always turn up.”

“I almost did today,” Boba's grip tightened slightly as he turned your cheek. “Kaylee...”

“Shh love, come here.” You pulled him to your chest, holding him close you began to hum. An old ditty that the players on the Cruiser used to do at dinner, soft and light to match the actions of your hands on his head. It was some time before he sank into the comfort of your hold, a bit longer till you felt his breathing even. his thumbs tapped out the beat of your heart and you smiled.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. The strong rhythm beneath your breastbone proved that you lived . A comfort and yet it also taunted him. That it had almost been silenced today.

“There, hear that? Steady as a rock." Tilting his head back you gave him a soft look. One that tried to show all you felt, "I'd fight hell itself to stay with you, never doubt it.”

Glancing up at those bright golden eyes of yours he sighed heavily. “We may yet have to.”

The Duros would not tolerate failure, that point had been emphasized to both messengers. Neither would the head of their Syndicate for that matter. As the pair entered the Sanctuary, the shadows seemed to cling to their robes.

It was a busy night, band playing popular Jizz to appease the crowd. The affluent beings of the planet squandered their wealth and the poor trying to make just a few credits more. Glancing to one another, the two foot soldiers wove silently through the crowd. Slipping like wraiths into the booth near the bar wall, predators at the watering hole.

The crowd remained either indifferent or oblivious to them.

“May I get you something?” A server droid approached the reserved table having been instructed not to make them wait. Looking at the emotionless face of the droid, they ordered the house specialty.

As expected the establishment owner had sent her two best over to speak to them. Bright smiles offering more than the menu did. Waiving off their silent offer of more than a helmet cleaning. The pair waited till the end of the song, rising to walk back across the room. There was no rush to their step nor did their movements belay the task that had been set into motion.

After all why should anyone's last moments be spent in fear?

Drash pulled up to where Djarin was posted in the workers district. It was quiet, far too much so. Glancing around even what little inventory that there was had been tucked away instead of left till morning. Dismounting she eased over to where he stood, scanning the surrounding roof tops. “Anything?”

Tilting his helmet the Hunter grunted, “No.”

“Businesses give you any guff?” The light of a nearby fire flickered across the red paint of her speeder.

“Not a word, they avoided me like a rabid hound.” Din glanced about. No jawas, no stumbling drunks, only a few vagrants hiding in the protected doorway stoops. It reminded him all to much of his encounter on Nevarro with the Imps. The people of this town read the resident crime lords as well as one might the weather. “Something is coming.”

A gust of wind blew through the alley causing a chill to run down Drash's spine.

A bad omen....

Skad caught sight of the two finnies walking back out the front entrance from he spot across the main. They were in there for less than one of the band sets, what were they on about? “Nikita you see anything?”

“No, I'm good here.” She whispered into the comm, “Why?”

“Them two just walked in and then back out, no tribute or fuss.” Squinting as the two made their way down the main path, Skad felt the shift in the sands. Nothing looked off but there was something foul twisting about. Glancing back to the entrance where some patrons out smoking as he stepped into the open. “Kark it, I'm just being para-”

BOOM!

A fireball ripped out of the front entrance as percussive vibrations shook all the buildings. Skad was knocked back on his bum. “Raging Hell!”

Screams rang out as beings ran onto the street. Flames were already licking up the outer facade of the once glorious establishment, smoke pouring with fury. Skad ran to the front but the blistering heat pushed against any advance. There was no possibility of survivors, not from that. Still he had to try, scanning with his cybernetics all he saw were limp forms slowly disintegrating with the flames. Cursing he saw a few town folk waiving to him as they dragged a body from the alley. The red dye leather soaked in blood that also painted the metal of the arm. “NIKITA!”

“She's alive,” The old weequay at the lead coughed and wheezed, “barely though. Don't know if she'll see the dawn.”

Skad ducked his head as if it were a physical blow. No no no, not little 'kita. Glancing around there was nothing more that could be done for Garsa, so he did what he could for his friend. Lifting Nikita's limp form, he call Krrsantan, “'ey big fella meet me at the bikes we got an emergency!”

Fennec barged into the tower chambers. “The Sanctuary has been attacked.”

“How bad's the damage?” Boba rolled from the bed, grabbing for his top. Dressing quickly, he noticed your own swift movements. Making eye contact with his second in command Boba graveled threateningly, “Do we have a confirmation on who carried out the attack?”

“Skad reported that two Pikes were seen entering the establishment, were inside for a time, and then shortly after exiting the building went up. He's picked up the trail in the workers district.”

You paled, covering your mouth as your stomach dropped like a stone. No, not like that. Anything but that. Haunting images of your own dance with the flames coming to mind all too readily. But Garsa was far more careful, far more clever...

“Casualties?” Boba focused on placing the last of the beskar plates. At Shand's silence, his sharp eyes fell to the assassin, tone dropping. “Were there any survivors?”

Fennec glanced from Boba to you and back. And though her face was as stone, her heart did ache for you, “None...”

“NO!” The screams ripped from your throat. Body crumpling over in shock, a firm hand pulled you to safe harbor. Your head shaking in denial as you cried. “I was just talking to her, Garsa had to have got out! No no no no...”

“Cyare, breath for me,” Boba continued to hold you, expression darkening as he looked back at Fennec. There was no time for him to be careful with you, this was open warfare. Still he stroked at your head soothingly. With a cool clipped tone he continued his inquiry with Fennec, “What else?”

“40 dead so far, looks like they used a thermal detonator. Nikita was caught in the blast. Krrsantan is bringing her in now, it's not good.”

“Kaylee, look at me,” Your eyes were frightened and hurt as they met his. He let out a heavy breath, giving you a somber expression. “You'll need to hold the Palace while we handle this.”

“I will.” Nodding and taking a sniffling breath you composed yourself. As you wiped the moisture from your eyes, anger colored your words. “Boba, don't let them hurt anyone else.”

His moon wept and demanded revenge for this night of bloodshed. For that alone he would burn these bastards. A part of him wondered if it would please you to have the bodies lain at your feet? “Get the tank ready, however long she needs.”

“On it,” You pulled away, obeying the gruff order. Mechanical movements slowly smoothed, will fortifying as your anger grew. You wanted to burn the city for what had befallen your friend, but for now you had others who needed you more. Over and over you muttered as you worked at programming the controls, “Not again, not gonna loose another one...”

“Have Djarin take over tracking these hut'uun and sit on them." For Fwip and the town, for his people whom had been harmed, but most especially for you. Boba would see to it justice was done. This war needed to end, soon. "Have Krrsantan will stay here for now.”

“You sure you want to go down there,” Fennec knew Boba wouldn't listen to her in his present state. The menacing silence as he stalked past was deafening. As that helm slipped into place the vocoder rumbled with fury.

“These karks are mine.”

Tags: @the-rain-on-kamino @kimiheartblade @daimyosprincess @pickleprickle @acatalystrising @cw80831

Translations (Mandoa.org and Wookiepedia and one of my own)

Cyare- (Mando'a) beloved

hut'uun- (mando'a) Coward but worse (worst insult for mandalorians)

Pog- (This one is mine) like calling a fish species a child or a baby; think polly wog

Finny- fish species insult

Ner me'suum'ika, gar mirdir ni gotalyc b'choruk- (Mando'a) My moon, you think I am made of stone

[euphorial-docx]

omg i wanna ask about the jegulily dynamics in your deadly class au like how did they meet? & do you have a favorite scene of them so far?

ok so i haven’t actually written any jegulily yet. i’m trying to figure out what scenes set up the protagonists best for the first chapter, so not much has been written past that.

BUT! i can give details i have mapped out.

so how they all meet is through school (duh), but they are all in different affiliations. regulus is a legacy student of the serpent syndicate (i changed the name bc i need the death eaters to be separate for Reasons), james is technically a prep but not really but is nonetheless a legacy too, and lily has no affiliation. their groups don’t really socialize much.

BUT x2! they have classes together.

i’m still putting together schedules, but so far: regulus and lily share an assassin psychology class, james and regulus share ap black arts, jegulily all have a free period and meals together too. so they mingle sometimes because of class work and projects.

the dynamics i have planned so far is that regulus and lily already have a little Something going on when the story starts. it’s not a full-blown relationship and it’s very rocky from the start, but there sure is something.

as for james and regulus (because regulus is the only part of jegulily that gets a pov, so this will all basically revolve around him), james keeps making jokes with regulus. like kind of flirty jokes that regulus brushes off as some kind of ridicule, and therefore regulus doesn’t like james at the start because he thinks james is making fun of him lmao.

[sailforvalinor]

THEO!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!! I love talking about him!!!

Theo is one of my protagonists from my Doctor Who fanfic (spin-off fanfic, story written in the same universe, idk), and has so far been my pov character. Gosh, I dunno even where to start with him. He’s the third son of a British aristocrat from the 1830’s. He’s fresh out of university. Black coffee is the only thing holding his sanity together. He hates his siblings and they hate him. He’s a fencing prodigy. He could down a shot of espresso in one gulp without flinching. He needs a hug but he’d never accept one. He’s been ordained in the Church of England. He says he doesn’t believe objective goodness or “good” people exist. He’d literally throw himself in front of a bullet for any man, woman, or child. He’s a mess of dichotomies, and he knows it.

Part of my thesis statement for him that I try to keep in mind when writing for him is that if he were born in the 21st century, he would have been a huge Marvel fan. He would’ve been the eight-year-old boy running around in a Captain America costume. However, he was born in the early 1800s, so how that translates is that he was a big fan of Arthurian legend, other romantic tales of chivalry, The Faerie Queene, and the like. But, all of this to say, he was a child who was fundamentally good, and, most importantly, actively believed in goodness and truth…

…which kinda sucks when your dad is secretly the leader of a crime syndicate. You know that moment you have as a child where you first become truly conscious of the evil in the world? Theo’s was dramatic, to say the least—he figured out what his father’s “business” was when he was eleven or twelve years old, found out that all of his older siblings (who he had idolized up until this point) were all involved in it in some way, and that his father had been grooming him to be his successor. Not only did this shatter his belief system, but his life became a living nightmare after refusing to have anything to do with it.

It occurred to me that nihilism may not be the right word to describe what he descends into afterwards to cope—it’s less that he doesn’t believe that good and evil exist, and more like he believes the existence of good doesn’t matter, as he believes it will always be overpowered. He often struggles to see any good in the world and tends to believe the worst of people because he is so quick to recognize evil—he can’t see the forest for the trees. As far as he’s ever seen, the bad guys always win. What’s the point of even trying?

When thinking about Theo, I often think about a scene from The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey, where the protagonist is going through something similar:

“Let me ask you: Have you ever had a dream in which, having spied a deadly snake at your feet, you suddenly begin to see snakes everywhere – suddenly realize, in fact, that you're surrounded by them?"

Reynie was surprised. "I have had that dream. It's a nightmare."

"Indeed. And it strikes me as being rather like when a person first realizes the extent of wickedness in the world. That vision can become all-consuming – and in a way, it, too, is a nightmare, by which I mean that it is not quite a proper assessment of the state of things. For someone as observant as you, Reynie, deadly serpents always catch the eye. But if you find that serpents are all you see, you may not be looking hard enough.

You would think, with this mindset, that Theo wouldn’t try—but that isn’t actually the case. Despite everything he tells himself, he can’t quite seem to help but to do the right thing, even when it inconveniences or even seriously hurts him. Not to quote Kenobi, but it’s like an itch—he can’t help it. He’ll look you dead in the eye and assert that nothing really matters and fighting for just causes is a pointless, Sisyphusean concept that always ends in defeat, and simultaneously is the most noble, chivalrous guy you’ve ever met. He’s a mess and I love him. Don’t worry, his worldview is about to get rocked by the peppiest Time Lord you’ve ever met.

Some random things about him: when he starts time traveling, he gets really into late 90s/early 00s grunge (Yellowcard’s Ocean Avenue in particular). He’s rarely to be seen not in a black suit from some era, he wouldn’t know casual if it smacked him in the face. Joker is working on introducing some color into his wardrobe. He has a stepmother and two younger half-siblings that he does actually care about very much. Aside from literature, he has an interest in history, archeology, and architecture. He had a canary named Atalanta as a child.

Character Poll

Tagged by @griseldabanks

Pick one of my characters that sounds interesting, and whichever one has the most votes will get a full description!

Then create your own poll of characters from a WIP/story idea and tag more people to do the same. Characters can be from fanfiction or original, they don't necessarily have to be a character you made up--the point is to have fun describing them. ;)

Tagging @o-lei-o-lai-o-lord @kanerallels and @the-tiny-dragons-tea-room

[hiveiacomus]

Slagg’s Drift, Week 1, Red Hand vs Serpent Syndicate

More skirmishes in our fair Underhive, my friends. The Red Hand took a crack at the Serpent Syndicate for control of Deacon’s Hold, and judging by the number of baldheads carried out on their backs, the Chaos lads came out on top. Seems all it took to ruin those snakes was leadership, a long rifle, and a (red) handful of screaming cultists! Say what you want about them (“they’ll be the death of us all!”) the Red Hand aren’t lacking in fighting spirit!

Here’s a little mystery. While trawling comms traffic, something caught my eyes: A message from an old terminal down by Sump Bay. I opened it up, hoping for some juicy, but what did I find? Gibberish. 

Junk code? Servitor malfunction? Some juve’s prank? Maybe. 

Or it could be Delaque secret whispers, ‘crypted in manual-style.

Never been much of a codebreaker, but maybe you clever scummers will crack it.

>>> Subject: RedHand

>>> Conduit 8516-JX12

Iig Oaag vrjhgrg zr evrqhimqn srwkphteaw. Vrhty udu trziglfrds aag eyplrvfrp dkvnqkejl. Wr vljilrrg yidcy yrjwhz aag iiwyenwvh. Wdo tkfwwz ia uvgrceeb, frh yecorghk af svv voaqrn tuvtbffp.

Glsclki glfrdk, ejlngv uissolhu zre-rrffvglrf glvlug ehkvhht. Cltohk uc UY thyfbudmqn chokmf yigxrp svsg vbmutifk. Klh Soeg fj Foaajv eqzwruvh. 

A real head-scratcher. If one of ya figures it out, send a com-you-know-kay and I’ll cast it long and broad. That’ll make the serpents squirm... Hehehe. Unless that’s just what they want! Can never tell with those baldheads! 

Keep all your eyes open! 

-iii

---

"Crimson claw and azure serpent clash, blood spilled upon the ground of Deacon's Hold. The serpent's fangs avail it not, for the hand catches its tail and casts the serpent down. Its body is broken. The red witch tastes blood, and a great eye of power gazes down, pleased for the moment. Portents of doom surround the hand. A storm gathers."

- Spatia the Hag, underhive soothsayer

[hiveiacomus]

Slagg’s Drift, Week 0

What a spot of fun that was! When a Guilder of dubious reputation named Yotan Bliss cracked open an old vault in Slagg’s Drift, he found more than anyone bargained for. He bottled as soon as he heard the moans, and the gangers who’d had the bad fortune to sign on with that drokkhead found themselves locked in the vault with hundreds of plague zombies! Four gangs, three fighters apiece, trying to survive the hoards until their buddies outside could get the doors open. They hurried to climb off the killing floor, and even worked together well enough, though they clearly didn’t much care for it. The chaos lads (Red Hand, they were called) went off on their own, and climbed pretty high, but the flesheaters followed ‘em up, and it weren’t long ‘fore they tumbled off the catwalks with their guts spilling out. The others fared a bit better, though the Eschers (Compulsory Vivisection, the combi-gang of killers and punk rockers) got mobbed pretty bad. I saw one girl go down, and another was surrounded ‘til the “Ministorum priest” from El Orden de San Miguel del Vacio (try saying that three times fast!) tossed a gout from his hand-flamer and set half of them on fire. He seemed to be aiming squarely at the lass, but it worked out well, so I suppose all’s well that ends well. Those whispering Delaques (the Serpent Syndicate, the snakes!) got caught up in a tight space, and that grenade-launcher-toting Orden lass blasted ‘em all out, doing some significant damage to the zombies, but hitting the Delaque leader squarely in the back! ‘Course, the Delaque got their own share of backstabbing. When the Delaque girl shotgunned the Escher into a hoard of zombies, I was pretty sure it wasn’t an accident, until she threw herself into the fray to save her! They’re a weird lot, those Delaques. Never know where you stand with ‘em. By the time the doors got opened, all the gangs were banged up pretty bad, ‘cept the Orden, on account of the big lad with the 4-foot claws tearing up zombie after zombie.

When they got out, they found medicae, crates of loot, and a note reading:

"Thank you for your assistance with the vault. Distracting those zombies was what I needed to get access to what I wanted. As a token of thanks, I have arranged for a medicae to nurse any of your members back to health. You may also have some of the equipment of the previous crew I sent in there to do the job. Obviously they were not as successful as you were. No hard feelings yeah? - Yotan Bliss"

Funny little thing that cookin’ up here, eh?

Keep all your eyes open!

-iii

P.S. I snapped some picts of the action. Take a look,  scummers!

[hiveiacomus]

Slagg’s Drift, Week 0

[Excerpt from Monitor Servitor 12-Rho, Sector 22A, "Slagg's Drift", audio only]

Voice 1: "Damn that Yotan Bliss! We ought to track him down and send him to the void! Let him scream as he is punished for his treachery!"

Voice 2: "We will get to him. What about the others? Are they a threat?"

Voice 1: "Those Eschers pack quite the firepower, the snakes are as unreadable as ever, but those strange Orden frakkers? They had a bloody Ogryn with them!"

Voice 3: "I have seen Ogryn before. That was no Ogryn."

Voice 1: "Well, whatever it was, it bloody ripped the head straight off a zombie like the tab off a ration pack. I saw it rip the entire head and spine out like nothing."

Voice 2: "We will watch them for now. Prepare to move out." [End recording]

[hiveiacomus]

Slagg’s Drift, Week 2

Thought we'd gone dark, did’ja? No such luck, I’m afraid. Just a little hive quake knocked out our broadcast station and dumped it in the sump. We're all set up again, and crampy if we don't have the tale for you.

Compulsory Vivisection, those punk rock queens, were heard singing a funeral dirge for a girl named Stabitha Shifty. How'd she bite it? "She fought the Cult and the Cult won." as the song said.

Speaking of — El Orden opened up a new rogue doc shop and it seems they're happy to provide free medical service — to any scummer who attends one of the Orden's special sermons, that is! Ah well. Your soul for your life. Who's to say that isn't a fair deal, if it stops you from bleeding out in a filthy Underhive hole?

The Serpent Syndicate and Red Hand clashed again, and again it didn't go well for the snakes. Their sniper couldn't hit the broad side of a tank. I guess it's hard to fire a rifle when you've got no arms, hehehe… Then they got surrounded by screaming Red Hand lads and lasses and it was all over.

Managed to snap a pict of the moment it all went wrong. I don't think I've ever seen a baldhead look so shocked!

So remember, scummers: things can always get worse!

So keep all your eyes open!

-iii

—

“TONIGHT! PARTY AT WITCHES END BAR! SERPENT'S BLOOD COCKTAILS HALF-OFF!”

- Posters found scattered throughout Slagg's Drift

"Seems them Hand boys are having quite the ruckus over there at Witches End. I can see the lights shining from here. What colour is that exactly? Don't know that one. My head hurts..."

- Toothless Pete, underhive resident

"Thumper is a doughnut thief!" 

- Graffiti scrawled near Witches End bar (context unknown)