A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
A sharp inhale - followed by a slow, grumbling sigh as the Hutt narrowed it's eyes on his new investment. The mouth on this one was bound to get it into trouble...it maybe best if he kept her seen but unheard. Gorda wasn't going to risk making a scene of what she had said, it was bad enough she had said anything already. So, instead, he took one of his meaty palms slapped the side of his bulbous frame, "No. An item such as you is better seen beside it's collector - come, sit beside me. I will have use for your skills soon enough."
"The Wise Master," the droid began, "commands that you be seated beside his admirable throne - as a servant of your particular characteristics is better suited to be seen beside their master. He assures you that your skills will be made useful at his pleasure, which will be quite soon."
The droid paused, gesturing to a stone lip that held the Hutt's throne aloft - just above the reflective, mirror like floors of the ship.
A tide of alien curses rolled over the guards, some of the weequay spitting at her feet and defiling her honor in their own tongue. But even as the guards let anxious hands slip over blasters, Gorda's slobbering grin grew even wider. "Ho-ho" the gaseous laugh bubbled up once again, bringing with it a swell of noxious odor that tainted the entire platform. Hutt's were a grotesque species to begin with - their mounds of fat smelling of excess and greed. This breath, however, it smelled of something far worse. Muck and swamp and...decay.
"You" he began in huttesse, his boil slathered tongue slipping from his lips and wetting the folds of his mouth, "you are far more collectible than a common whore. You are a fine addition to my ship."
Gorda's pipe took the place of his tongue, his fat fingers twirling the hooka line while another scratched at the follicles of hair erupting from his scalp. Soon enough, he was pulling at them until his folds became littered in tiny hairs. The smoke rolled out once more, enveloping his head as scratching hand moved to the splotchy areas across his body and continued the same absent minded pulling of hair.
"I will have you."
"Perhaps I'll hire her myself, Gorda." Hojascorned from the background, his huttesse thick with contempt.
"Silence! If you interfere I will remind you of why I am Lorda Desijilic and you are still a sniveling worm!" Gorda shared a sullen look with Hoja, then turned back to his new fascination, "you will be my underling - with an advance in payment for your loyalty. One-thousand Credits now and we can discuss your further payment later."
The protocol droid bobbed happily, translating his master's words as follows,
"The Wise Master is stricken with great pleasure at your arrival and is fascinated with your abilities. His eye values your skills and offers you an advanced payment of One-Thousand credits for your immediate servitude. His graciousness will discuss your further payments and work after tonight's festivities have concluded."
The hypnotic glister of the strobe lights continued to enthrall the guests - who had begun to slowly sink into the full ecstasy of the booze, spice and sexual encounters they'd chosen for the night. Some were so completely taken by their highs that they could do nothing but slump back into the leather seats strewn about the club. Even the Trandoshans had managed to brawl themselves out, but not before one of them had won the right to the Wookiee's chains.
And it seemed, at least for the moment, that even bitter rivals in the crowd had struck truces in favor of partaking in the euphoria. Gorda's slimy lips folded into a wide smile as he brought his end of the hooka up to his mouth, slicking it with a flick of his dripping tongue before taking a long drag.
"Ho-Ho" Gorda's gut heaved in laughter, smoke pouring from his gullet, "It is just like I said it'd be. Look what can be achieved with a little generosity and a few bags of bad spice."
Gorda's huttese was thick with the natural slime that endlessly spilled from his mouth and as he spoke, the rolls of his greasy, glob of a body wriggled from side to side. Hoja Desilijic, a hutt only thirty years junior to Gorda, spat on the ground - splattering the durasteel with green and yellow,
"This is getting far too expensive, Gorda." Hoja grumbled, his faced squeezed into a frown as he looked at the merchandise being snorted away, "You promised us capital gains - all I'm seeing is loss."
Gorda barely gave him the curiosity of a lazy, dismissive wave of the hand, "you lack vision - and that's not my problem. A moister farmer could tell you that credits must be spent to make gains."
"Don't assume to tell me about gain and loss, Gorda. My credits bought these slave girls and-
"And maybe you'll get them back after my work here is done" Gorda gave only the slightest tilt of his head, eying Hoja from the corner of his eyes, "maybe."
Hoja's fat rippled, a quake of anger shaking his bulbous form before his amber eyes shot back to the party. The threat was understood, that much was certain. With a satisfied grin, Gorda turned back to the party himself. Already the girls and men had followed through with the plan, taking several key gang members by the hand and guiding them away from their leaders.
Already there were dozens of various aliens being led around the Hutt's platform to a much darker and much more secluded lounge. Meanwhile, the gang members left behind were none the wiser - their focused entranced by the grinding of Twi'lek dancers and the rush of street spice. Gorda took in the views himself, eying the forms of the various dancers in the reflections of the mirror lining the port side wall.
Running the length of the room, the mirror reflected everything and everyone in the clubroom below the Hutts...and Gorda narrowed his eyes to be sure that was all that could be seen.
"So, uh, you hiring?" the voice caught Gorda by surprise, his large eyes shooting from the mirror down to a female standing at the foot of the platform. Several steps separated her and the flat, circular area twelve feet above her - where the shadowy bulbs of the Hutts peered back down at her.
Already the Weequay guards had moved in on her, several of them. Some openly wielded rifles that glinted in the flashes of light, others simply took a solid stance and reached under dark coats. Gorda couldn't help but be amused.
"Ho-Ho" Gorda bellowed, slicking his lips with a flick of his oozing tongue before continuing in Huttese "You are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish." he paused a second to look her over, his eyes rolling over her like puddy as he admired what could be seen under her dense layers of clothing.
"But you are bold. I like that. Bring her to us." The Hutt waved the woman up and the guard before her, not asking if she knew huttese, explained to her that the Hutts would see her.
"I've collected many dancers in my time, but never one who comes to me more than half-dressed. No...you are a different kind of item, aren't you?"
Before she could answer, a protocal droid wabbled to Gorda's side and looked at the newcomer with two blank photoreceptors. Gorda had it specially imported from Hapes before the collapse - it had a flair for the dramatic that he not only appreciated but found useful when speaking to those who did not know Huttese.
Not that he didn't understand basic...he just refused to speak the filthy tongue.
"The Wise Gorda Desijilic offers you greetings. He admires your boldness and remarks on your professional attire. The Wise Gorda is looking for many additions to his majestic collection and bids you to tell him what your services would add to its already magnificent splendor."
Nal Hutta Aboard "The Azure Pearl" Gorda the Hutts 'Pleasure' Barge Theme
Like it or not, life is a game of survival - everyone's just in it for what they can squeeze out of it. Everyone. The slave dancers bathing themselves in neon light, the guards rigidly posted beside their masters and more than all of them, The Hutt Lords folded over their thrones.
Gorda Desilijic Jetiure understood them - and this game - better than he understood himself. The Hutts had built the Kajidics out of simple necessity. Survival. The pirate constitutions, the bounty hunters guilds and all other gatherings of filth were just there to keep the predators from destroying each other while they scrambled for the ever abundant prey.
It wasn't about honor. It wasn't about codes. It was all about living until someone better caught up to you. But Gorda had a trick to it all. No one was better than him.
Another cloud of ashen smoke rolled from his greasy lips, rising to encircle Gorda like a crown. A raised platform at the head of the Barge's clubroom kept him out of the pulsing neon, casting him in a veil of shadow that broke only when a significant burst of red or blue light gave the gathering a view of he and the bulbous entourage he kept. Beside him, like statues, the contingent of grossly obese forms loomed over all those in attendance.
Scum from across Nal Hutta had been gathered to see the pleasures the so-called Lords of Nal Hutta could provide for them. And it was all on display. Trandoshan hunters clawed at each other for the chance to buy a wookiee slave. Zeltron paraded about, whisking away hired guns to backrooms and dark corners. Twi'lek dancers mesmerized patrons, who threw credits about the stages and species of all varieties rolled, smoked, shot, snorted and escaped themselves in endless bags of spice.
The world needed to know that its masters had returned - and though the loss was heavy, the outcome would be more than worth it. After all, the Hutts had disappeared to their Throne Worlds nearly 200 years prior and let Nal Hutta fall into the hands of scum...it was time they took it back.
"Pleasures" he had said, standing before the whole of Desilijic in the ancient halls of their Throne World, "I am a connoisseur of pleasures. If we wish to build an empire, we must become addictive. Irrestiable."
After the recent and cataclysmic fall of the galaxy's prominent criminal syndicates - Black Sun, Red Ravens & Hutt Cartel - the world of Nal Hutta has changed hands from one galactic government to the next. The Hutts themselves could not keep track nor take hold of the chaos, unable to form a united front in the fractured state they found themselves in.
Wiggling to the top of the bloody mound of sluggish corpses came Gorda. He took the mantle of Lorda Desilijic for his own, becoming the first "Lord of Nal Hutta". With only a fraction of the resources or money of the Hutt Cartel, the work has only just begun for the Hutt to live up to his title.
The World is Not Enough: Ambition in its most despicable form. Gorda may not be the strongest, richest or fastest but he has a vision for the Clan and The Lords of Nal Hutta - one he will go to great lengths to see come to fruition. The question is not if, but who does he have to pay? Who does he have to kill?
The Tough go Antiquing: Gorda is a collector of a unique variety - he does not stop at artifacts or paintings, he collects pleasures of all varieties. On the war-torn streets of Nal Hutta, pleasure is its own commodity, sometimes worth more than money. Pleasure will always be there in its most vile forms. Strippers, slaves, drugs, performers, prostitutes, rare and exotic foods - if it feels food or tastes good it can be yours...for a price.
Do Not Fail Me Again: Ruthlessness is a cornerstone of any true crimelord just as must as patience and generosity. Gorda understands this and is not greedy when it comes to paying his successful associates well and punishing those who are less so. Willing to both mercilessly execute and graciously reward gives Gorda allure, mystique, and fear. Powerful tools that have allowed him, gangs, corrupt officials and hired guns to do his dirty work.
Sluggish Strength: Hutts are, by nature, stronger than many other species even at their most unfit. Gorda's short reach only serves to protect enemies from the vicious strength of his body, cable of crushing or devouring a foe in seconds if they dare cross him while in close proximity.
Curse These Tiny Arms: Strong as they may be, Hutts are slow, bulbous creatures that do not expect to win any races on their own. This makes Gorda an unappealing combatant - even if assisted by technology.
Reliance is Your Weakness: Gorda is not what one would call self-sufficient. He is capable of pulling a trigger, driving a speeder or ship and even baking - but he cannot do any of these things well. Four centuries of servants and hired muscle have left him vulnerable in key areas of life.
The Weakness of a People Pt. 1: All Hutts suffer from a lack of subtlety when it comes to their work. What most people see as criminal, Hutts see as but a part of life - so much so that "criminal" can barely be translated into huttesse as the concept of the word is so different between the two. So, just like all Hutts, Gorda serves openly as a crime lord and it is not hard to discover who he is and what he does unless he makes explicit attempts to cover his involvement.
The Weakness of a People Pt. 2: As with their lack of subtlety, Hutts have been described by many galactic psychologists as "feeling threatened on a subconscious level". Hutts are afraid...of everything. In some, this manifests in cowardice, in others like Gorda it manifests as a deep seeded paranoia that nags at his mind - causing him to question even his most loyal.
Gorda can be described as being an obsessive megalomaniac, living day-in-and-out to collect things of monetary, statutory or pleasurable values. Much of this collecting is for his own pleasure and he will sometimes spend hours admiring his own collected artifacts, fondling slaves and servants or simply dining slowly on exotic foods or counting laundered credits. Interestingly enough he owns and collects literary works but despises reading - so will have a servant or droid read newly added works to him, usually accompanied by sound effects and music to keep his attention.
He thoroughly enjoys the finer things in life for the mere pleasure of experiencing what others (or many) cannot - and his most prized pleasures are those you cannot find anywhere else. To this end, he often enjoys much simpler things and he can often be found smoking a large hooka system or delighting in recreational drug use while working out and conducting business.
Never, however, would you find him putting himself near areas where the dirty work was happening. While he is more than willing to carry out or supervise executions, he knows his own limits and avoids physical conflict wherever possible. This is why he has defined himself a personality and demeanor that falls between being a friendly neighbor and an ax murderer. He will always offer commodities and small luxuries to guests and returning muscle, but this can flip in an instant and turn to fits of rage and extreme anger.
It has happened more than once in which these fits of anger have led him to devour failed henchmen or enemies in front of his palace.
Folds over folds of leathery green skin, piled atop a bed of slime and grease that drips from every crevice - this is a disgusting image that does little justice to the sluggish form of Gorda. Not a far cry from the usual filth of Hutts, Gorda does show a slightly above average taste for clothing and finery than your average member of the species. Whether it be his gem incrested cybernetic eye or his array of antique jewelry, he enjoys the pleasure of showing off what others cannot have.
Another Hutt would not find this repulsive or in poor taste, it is simply the way of their people to expose one's wealth...what is disgusting is his splotches of thin, wiry hair. Coating his body is what can only be described as white furs - somewhat of a mutation among the Hutt species. This genetic disgrace has led him to develop intense trichotillomania that drives him with an incurable urge to pull out his own hair - giving him splotches of hair across his entire body where hair has begun to grow inconsistently.
Gorda was born into the Desilijic Kajidic to a podracing tycoon and money launderer for the Hutt Cartel. Unfortunately, following galactic collapse, Gorda's father lost his entire business as the galaxy fell in short order to the virus. During this time of destruction, The Hutt Kajidics survived primarily through a retreat into the Throne Worlds - operating their syndicates through occasional caravans of explicit goods.
The wealth that existed was traded between clans and Kajidics and an inclosed economy blossomed, but as the centuries wore on even the moderately wealthy hutts were overtaken by the richer - Gorda's father was of the former. When the wealth dried up, the elder Desilijic was overcome with depression and guilt - falling ill and never recovering. Other ranking Desilijics would soon follow suit.
This left Gorda as a ranking member of the Desilijic Kajidic but by way of survival with little wealth to his name - things would turn around when the darkness finally ended. Though his father had fallen into ruin and had long-since passed, the need for his services was rose once galactic governments began to rise. So Gorda took up the mantle and continued his father's legacy...