Rugs likes this
Post by Upstate on Feb 18, 2020 19:02:41 GMT -5
The Niboba struggled to set down comfortably, which said little for both the disrepair of the ship and the state of Nal Hutta. Kuruuga cursed quietly, blinking knowingly as to the condition of his yacht's landing stabilizers. The Hutt waited impatiently in the guts of the ship, not wanting to view the conditions of the his home world from the cockpit, partly from a habit of observing a dire situation firsthand, but also from personal sentiment. If half of the reports were true, viewing the destruction on the ground would be terrible enough. For obvious reasons, these feelings could not be expressed outwardly in the presence of Kuruuga's companions, or perhaps ever. These followers had accompanied him since the fateful battle that claimed the life of his sole parent, Derugo, and had almost resulted in the complete destruction of the militarized yacht and the loss of all hands. What was left of his retinue was pitiful, though not unexpected, the brave were often not survivors of heated battles. The clever and the weak are better survivors, Kuruuga considered.
Thus, the remaining crew of the Niboba was comprised of sycophants, battered droids, a set of dubious mercenaries who were likely to desert once in a less desolate spaceport, a single Twi'lek slaver, and a particularly useless Rodian mechanic. They were supplemented by several slaves and refugee conscripts from the initial mobilization against the Chorus. It was the Twi'lek, Dekko, who approached Kuruuga, "We have set down outside of the compound as requested, greatness." His Huttese was perfect and eloquent, which the Hutt had assumed meant that Dekko had spent a good part of his life in Hutt space.
"Bring the droids suitable for heavy lifting, that insipid Rodian, and all of the mercenaries; I don't trust them alone with the ship." Even for the state of the planet and the certain chaos of Hutt space, he didn't think it likely that anyone would risk stealing a Hutt yacht off their own planet. Rather, Kuruuga understood the importance of appearances in uncertain situations such as these. An entourage meant status, and status was all the Hutt could hope for.
As he slithered calmly down the descended ship's ramp, the most horrifying sight was that of the rubble. The Hutts enjoyed smooth surfaces to move their significant forms upon, and open spaces and cavernous interiors to fit in. The jagged building material and shattered pathways were contrary to all that a Hutt consider beautiful, and in this instance, homely. Kuruuga barked for the droids to move ahead of him, they did their best to clear a path but the going would still be rough for the Hutts' movement onward. The entourage moved respectfully slow, aware of the precarious nature of serving an upset Hutt boss. Kuruuga was also aware that they were probing him for a sign of weakness.
The ship was situated in what was once a small plaza in front of the Desiiug Palace on the outskirts of Bilbousa, the planetary capital. The compound was Kuruuga's family home and birthplace, and the many recently collapsed domed structures that housed his extended clan. It seemed that the only familiar sights was the swamp which surrounded most of the outskirts of the grounds and a single gazebo that bordered the boggy area, which Kuruuga presently made his way towards. The droids were struggling to hammer down a protruding stone from the path ahead, and the impatient Hutt simply slid over it, nearly crushing a smaller repair droid which whined in retreat. Kuruuga let out something between a laugh and a pained guttural grunt as he ascended the gradually sloped ramp that twisted around the gazebo to the summit overlooking the bog and the ruins beyond. The gazebo's ceiling and floor were ornate and decorated, infused metals into stone formed murals depicting the flight of the Hutts from Varl and the subsequent enslavement of the Evocii and velvet conquest of Nal Hutta. This is where his clan often met in summit or entertained important guests, and despite being a large structure, it remained seemingly undamaged.
The Hutt considered the large open floor and noticed several caches laying about in pristine condition, the mercenaries already eyeing them expectantly. One in particular had a suspect looking liquid emanating from the hatch. "Check it out, carefully." Two mercs, a Devaronian and a Human, approached the metallic case, careful not to step in the reddish leak. They tried the hatch, and seeing no visible lock or electronic device to open it, turned back to their employer and shrugged. For once, without prompt, the Rodian mechanic took initiative and approached the case knowingly. "It's just an internal lock, greatness, I can have it open in a moment." Kuruuga grunted assent and slithered around the back of the container. The Rodian produced a nondescript tool and went to work, it took several moments and no small number of jeers from the eager mercenaries, but the locking mechanism popped and the container's top opened slowly, it seemed pressurized. The mechanic gazed over the box, eager to please his master, and a blaster shot from within disintegrated his face. He collapsed lifeless. A meek, but unmistakably Hutt voice called out a foul curse from within and Kuruuga motioned for his guards to lower their weapons.
"Come out of there little one, I am Desiiug." Kuruuga was internally baffled as a tiny Huttlet tipped the box from within and emerged with the confidence of a thousand year old elder. They locked eyes, and they each recognized each other after a mutual moment of puzzlement. The young Huttlet considered the aliens present, and remembered to not use his elder's secret clan name, "Cousin Kuruuga? We thought you died in the battle."
"Cousin Hargu, I thought you would be buried in the rubble. Tell me, what of our clan?" Kuruuga looked past his young relative into the crate that had housed the Huttlet for sometime, and saw the source of the liquid. The young Hargu had stowed, or been stowed with a pair of unfortunate off-world Jawas, who must have made sufficient nourishment for little one. All that was left was their robes.
Hargu slithered up to his kin and received what would pass for as a mere head rub to an outsider. "All dead, I only made it out because I'm little still. I crawled up here and noticed some of the Jawas from grandfather's menagerie trying to steal. I stopped them. They weren't very tasty." Kuruuga belted such laughter and for such a long period of time that a few of the mercs shifted uncomfortably. After a moment Hargu joined in his similarly eerie guttural laugh, just in a higher pitch. The human mercenary whispered to one of his peers, "Didn't they just say their entire family was dead, and now they're laughing?"
Kuruuga, containing his laughter, considered the situation. The bright little Huttlet did the same, and it was he who spoke first, "What of Elder Derugo, if you lived, does he?" Kuruuga shifted, and quivered his head in negative response. Hargu continued, "Then that makes you head of the clan," the Huttlet motioned to data pad wrapped in the bloody cloak of a consumed Jawa, "I took that from great-great grandmother's chamber." The Devaronian, who seemed the most loyal (or opportunistic) of the mercenaries, bent down and handed the device to Kuruuga who inspected it as if he didn't know what it was. Hargu took the hint and said no more of the subject. The elder of the two Hutts quickly entered his clan password into the device, and uploaded the encrypted information to his vessel. The young Hargu had done him an immense service by preserving what was essentially the clan's 'black book', all while a building collapsed around him, and he had likely emerged from the crushed corpse of his own parent, another distant cousin of Kuruuga's.
It was not uncommon for Hutt's to destroy their younger Huttlet relatives in fear of later competition, when they could get away with it. Kuruuga had considered it soon after it was revealed to him that he was now titular head of Clan Desiiug. If the circumstances were different, and he had a child of his own, or there was some other weaker relative that could assume the duties of heir, he would likely have had one of the mercenaries hawk the Huttlet into an area of the bog where several capable captive predators awaited such an opportunity. However, duty the clan paramount over personal ambitions. Only two living Hutts in a clan was a horrifying prospect, but given the situation on the planet, it was likely that they were a clan fortunate presently.
Hargu had been lustily eyeing the Rodian he had slain, who had ceased twitching sometime during their shared laughter. The Desiiugs were one of the old Hutt clans that would occasionally consume their enemies, and it was clear to Kuruuga that his young cousin was likely famished, or had simply never eaten Rodian and didn't know about the unpleasant texture.
"Come young one, we have an amphibian stew on the yacht, preserved from Mon Cala, much better than Rodian..."
Thus, the remaining crew of the Niboba was comprised of sycophants, battered droids, a set of dubious mercenaries who were likely to desert once in a less desolate spaceport, a single Twi'lek slaver, and a particularly useless Rodian mechanic. They were supplemented by several slaves and refugee conscripts from the initial mobilization against the Chorus. It was the Twi'lek, Dekko, who approached Kuruuga, "We have set down outside of the compound as requested, greatness." His Huttese was perfect and eloquent, which the Hutt had assumed meant that Dekko had spent a good part of his life in Hutt space.
"Bring the droids suitable for heavy lifting, that insipid Rodian, and all of the mercenaries; I don't trust them alone with the ship." Even for the state of the planet and the certain chaos of Hutt space, he didn't think it likely that anyone would risk stealing a Hutt yacht off their own planet. Rather, Kuruuga understood the importance of appearances in uncertain situations such as these. An entourage meant status, and status was all the Hutt could hope for.
As he slithered calmly down the descended ship's ramp, the most horrifying sight was that of the rubble. The Hutts enjoyed smooth surfaces to move their significant forms upon, and open spaces and cavernous interiors to fit in. The jagged building material and shattered pathways were contrary to all that a Hutt consider beautiful, and in this instance, homely. Kuruuga barked for the droids to move ahead of him, they did their best to clear a path but the going would still be rough for the Hutts' movement onward. The entourage moved respectfully slow, aware of the precarious nature of serving an upset Hutt boss. Kuruuga was also aware that they were probing him for a sign of weakness.
The ship was situated in what was once a small plaza in front of the Desiiug Palace on the outskirts of Bilbousa, the planetary capital. The compound was Kuruuga's family home and birthplace, and the many recently collapsed domed structures that housed his extended clan. It seemed that the only familiar sights was the swamp which surrounded most of the outskirts of the grounds and a single gazebo that bordered the boggy area, which Kuruuga presently made his way towards. The droids were struggling to hammer down a protruding stone from the path ahead, and the impatient Hutt simply slid over it, nearly crushing a smaller repair droid which whined in retreat. Kuruuga let out something between a laugh and a pained guttural grunt as he ascended the gradually sloped ramp that twisted around the gazebo to the summit overlooking the bog and the ruins beyond. The gazebo's ceiling and floor were ornate and decorated, infused metals into stone formed murals depicting the flight of the Hutts from Varl and the subsequent enslavement of the Evocii and velvet conquest of Nal Hutta. This is where his clan often met in summit or entertained important guests, and despite being a large structure, it remained seemingly undamaged.
The Hutt considered the large open floor and noticed several caches laying about in pristine condition, the mercenaries already eyeing them expectantly. One in particular had a suspect looking liquid emanating from the hatch. "Check it out, carefully." Two mercs, a Devaronian and a Human, approached the metallic case, careful not to step in the reddish leak. They tried the hatch, and seeing no visible lock or electronic device to open it, turned back to their employer and shrugged. For once, without prompt, the Rodian mechanic took initiative and approached the case knowingly. "It's just an internal lock, greatness, I can have it open in a moment." Kuruuga grunted assent and slithered around the back of the container. The Rodian produced a nondescript tool and went to work, it took several moments and no small number of jeers from the eager mercenaries, but the locking mechanism popped and the container's top opened slowly, it seemed pressurized. The mechanic gazed over the box, eager to please his master, and a blaster shot from within disintegrated his face. He collapsed lifeless. A meek, but unmistakably Hutt voice called out a foul curse from within and Kuruuga motioned for his guards to lower their weapons.
"Come out of there little one, I am Desiiug." Kuruuga was internally baffled as a tiny Huttlet tipped the box from within and emerged with the confidence of a thousand year old elder. They locked eyes, and they each recognized each other after a mutual moment of puzzlement. The young Huttlet considered the aliens present, and remembered to not use his elder's secret clan name, "Cousin Kuruuga? We thought you died in the battle."
"Cousin Hargu, I thought you would be buried in the rubble. Tell me, what of our clan?" Kuruuga looked past his young relative into the crate that had housed the Huttlet for sometime, and saw the source of the liquid. The young Hargu had stowed, or been stowed with a pair of unfortunate off-world Jawas, who must have made sufficient nourishment for little one. All that was left was their robes.
Hargu slithered up to his kin and received what would pass for as a mere head rub to an outsider. "All dead, I only made it out because I'm little still. I crawled up here and noticed some of the Jawas from grandfather's menagerie trying to steal. I stopped them. They weren't very tasty." Kuruuga belted such laughter and for such a long period of time that a few of the mercs shifted uncomfortably. After a moment Hargu joined in his similarly eerie guttural laugh, just in a higher pitch. The human mercenary whispered to one of his peers, "Didn't they just say their entire family was dead, and now they're laughing?"
Kuruuga, containing his laughter, considered the situation. The bright little Huttlet did the same, and it was he who spoke first, "What of Elder Derugo, if you lived, does he?" Kuruuga shifted, and quivered his head in negative response. Hargu continued, "Then that makes you head of the clan," the Huttlet motioned to data pad wrapped in the bloody cloak of a consumed Jawa, "I took that from great-great grandmother's chamber." The Devaronian, who seemed the most loyal (or opportunistic) of the mercenaries, bent down and handed the device to Kuruuga who inspected it as if he didn't know what it was. Hargu took the hint and said no more of the subject. The elder of the two Hutts quickly entered his clan password into the device, and uploaded the encrypted information to his vessel. The young Hargu had done him an immense service by preserving what was essentially the clan's 'black book', all while a building collapsed around him, and he had likely emerged from the crushed corpse of his own parent, another distant cousin of Kuruuga's.
It was not uncommon for Hutt's to destroy their younger Huttlet relatives in fear of later competition, when they could get away with it. Kuruuga had considered it soon after it was revealed to him that he was now titular head of Clan Desiiug. If the circumstances were different, and he had a child of his own, or there was some other weaker relative that could assume the duties of heir, he would likely have had one of the mercenaries hawk the Huttlet into an area of the bog where several capable captive predators awaited such an opportunity. However, duty the clan paramount over personal ambitions. Only two living Hutts in a clan was a horrifying prospect, but given the situation on the planet, it was likely that they were a clan fortunate presently.
Hargu had been lustily eyeing the Rodian he had slain, who had ceased twitching sometime during their shared laughter. The Desiiugs were one of the old Hutt clans that would occasionally consume their enemies, and it was clear to Kuruuga that his young cousin was likely famished, or had simply never eaten Rodian and didn't know about the unpleasant texture.
"Come young one, we have an amphibian stew on the yacht, preserved from Mon Cala, much better than Rodian..."