To be honest. I have no idea where this story picks up, it's a post written by our Pirate King and which I simply felt needed some spotlight shining on .
Here is what I do l know.
The Osk Company is a band of pirates who broke away from their previous Imperial Lives. They are backed by Fury, one of the previous Imperial Prefects who now manages the Imperial Stores. The Osk on occasion are requested for assistance in dealings with which the Empire doesn't want to muddy its fingers. Anycase, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did when I read it.
Credits to Sniping101 for writing this post. You can view the rest of his stories on Comnet from the Vast Empire. Link is on our profile page.
Character Summary:
Sniping101 was an up and coming Imperial First-Sergeant stationed on Tadath before he went rogue. Now he plunders his way through means of Piracy and he already has territory where claims himself as the Pirate Lord. Despite how brutish and badass it sounds, Snipes is an eccentric man who can sometimes trip over his own shoelaces or trip another with it. He takes pleasure in looting and saving the damsel in distress, even if the latter might end up killing him and he has big heart for his friends while his blade itches for his enemies.
Snipes sat, his face resting upon a fist; in the listing once-throne that occupied the bridge of his flagship Corellian Hound. The ship was a chaotic mess of wires, fires and carbon scoring. He brewed from his throne, his rich dress marked by blood, dust and ash. He wasn't really there at the moment, his mind was locked in dreams of revenge. Blood soaked hallways and the clash of men, war and destruction. The complete desolation of everything, the burning of the galaxy. His anger was greater than anything could really handle by itself, he could do naught but direct it at the entire galaxy, at this juncture all he wished to see was the entire galaxy burn in a magnificent fire.
Around him the crew worked constantly, but much like undead corpses their pace was slow, their moods tight, too tired to even be frustrated they just worked, because they didn't know what else to do. The ship was drifting, most of the systems were offline, the fires burning throughout the ship ate up the oxygen. The only thing keeping them from suffocating in the powerless coffin were old battery powered air scrubbers, and no idea how long their power cells would last.
As Snipes stared out through the cracked porthole he could almost feel himself losing hope, part of him anyway, the other part flared in anger, refusing to give up, refusing to accept defeat. The beast would not let him accept this, pride would not allow him to fall, not yet.
"Snipes." Visha's taught voice made him shift his gaze. The dark females white hair was covered in grease and ash, almost black, her face and uniform were just as dirty, a grubby bandage covered her right eye and part of her head.
Snipes grunted a response.
"I have that casualty report."
"Loverly"
"15 dead, 60 wounded, ten missing." She said, ignoring him, "The doctor has set up a temporary medical bay in the cargo hold; however the old one is decompressed and so most medical supplies were lost."
"Scavenge what you can, you know what to do, this isn't the first time this ship has been blown up."
Visha's face tightened visibly, the last time held bad memories for all, "Yes, Boss."
She turned on her heel and left; at Snipes feet the gurrcat stirred restlessly. Snipes could not help it, he too was restless, unsure what to do but sit and wait. The dim lighting and morose crew bothered him. He couldn't tell if they, too, had lost hope or if they were just tired. No Rest For The Wicked.
Snipes grunted to himself, dissatisfied, "Visha!"
It only took her a few moment to appear at his side, "What?" she was irritable, was it the situation, or was it Snipes? He never could tell.
"You have an estimation on the engines?"
She sighed, "An hour? A day? A month? Nobody knows,"
"Wonderful, we're all going die," Snipes sighed.
Visha tightened, her teeth ground so loud he could hear it. Perhaps he had finally crossed the line, if there really was a line, Snipes could never be sure.
"Boss, permission to speak to you privately."
Snipes sighed, "Yeah, yeah."
He stood up then, so long had it been since had moved that every joint in his body cracked and groaned; he stretched his muscles, behind him the chair he had vacated spun backwards, he had been the only thing holding it somewhat in place. The gurrcat looked up at him, contemplating whether it should move or not, it too wore a bandage around it's neck, it's fur matted in blood, but it's face content. Snipes leaned over and patted it on the head.
"Stay here, Fury, I'll be back."
Snipes turned then, whisking the ponytail over his shoulder to flow behind him, matted in blood and dirt as it was. He followed Visha off the bridge and into one of the officers quarters, a dead officer the room was now housing all the useless parts off the bridge section.
As soon as the door closed behind them Visha pivoted on her heel and, with a quick right hand, backhanded Snipes across the face, hard enough to cut his lips open. Snipes reacted as a beast does, his hand snapping out and grabbing her wrist, pulling her close, he leered at her, smiling, his teeth covered in blood.
* * *
Desolation. Utter desolation, that was the surface of the planet. Aside of the heretics funeral pyres there was nothing to the planet but falling shanties and rocky dirt. The Paladin hated it. It was truly a place forsaken by God. The residence of heretics and blasphemers.
The Paladin Jakith B'Luk hated the planet, hated the residents, hated everything about it. He had conquered it in less than a day, but no where was their king. No where was the beast he had hunted to long, the rest of this made the planet all too similar to every other world he had ever cleansed. The non-humans had been the first to burn, after them were those that would not renounce their evil ways. Those that would not accept God and fear him.
There were not many of them, at least at first, but the inquisitors stayed vigilant, in the city of refuse many men were liars. As the weeks went on they had found more and more of the savages reverting to their old life styles in secret.
"Lieutenant Brakon, how are the sweeps of the under-city moving?"
In a short second the lieutenant was by his side, a sickly looking man, glasses eternally sliding down his nose. He sweated constantly, as though in some way afflicted by a nervous condition. B'Luk knew that was not the case, a steady man in the face of heretics.
"Slowly, the tunnels are twisting and confusing and impossible to map. Our men get lost down there, beneath the city."
The Paladin exhaled in frustration. There was nothing to to be done. He turned, his cloak flowing behind him and stared for a moment at the throne of the king. A great sore to his eyes, a behemoth of bones and wood and gold, something an arrogant cannibal would create. Demons.
"Keep pressing them, but don't devote too many resources to it, the vermin will come creeping out when they run out of food, and it'll make it easier to tell heretic from believer when we catch them sheltering those heretics."
"Yes, my lord." The lieutenant bowed gracefully and left.
Jakith B'Luk was left staring out of the ancient command center again. The towering poles, with the grotesque corpses of heretics either burned or left to enjoy the sparse atmosphere of the planet. They were scattered around the shanty town, a grave reminder of the fate awaiting heretics and blasphemers. B'Luk did not pity them, he hated them. He had witnessed the atrocities that such people created, the kind of sacrilegious practices they engaged in before their arrival. Prostitutes, gangs, drug addicts, mercenaries, pirates, and aliens had populated the city, controlling it, making it unsafe for decent humans. The galaxy was rotten with the fifth corrupting it, but this was without a doubt the most corrupted planet he had ever seen. So wracked with sin that the planet was left barren and desolate.
* * *
She elbowed him in the ribs and twisted free of his grip, pushing him away. She stood several steps back from him, inwardly composing herself, glaring at his angrily with one golden eye. He leered back, blood soaked grin of a predator.
Finally she spoke, "Is this the extent of the mad pirate king," she spat the word, "Sniping101? Are done and ready to die? Have you finally given up on us?"
"I will never die, I will never surrender," With that predators grin and his prehistoric blood boiling he looked more beast than man.
"Then act like it!" She yelled, slamming her foot on the ground and tightening her fists, "The mood of this crew, this ship, no the entire planet, mirrors you. If you lose hope they lose hope, if you're excited, they're excited. These people fight and die, kill and steal for you; the least you can do is pretend you care." She sighed and composed herself, "Are you really so willing to let us all die."
Snipes tipped his head back, pulled a cigarette from his jacket and, wiping the blood from his teeth with a dirty once-white sleeve, lit it. Then he looked at her again and cocked a half grin, arrogance.
"Ha!" a sound deep in the ship cut him off, a stirring, a whirring and grinding, the light above flickered dimly, then blinked, and then exploded in a rain of sparks and fire.
"Hahahaha," Snipes laughed with true mirth then, "That is a good omen. Let us go, let us grind our enemies to dust." The predatory grin was back, but more excited now than feral.
"That sounds more like the Unheil I know," Visha said, letting a smirk cross her face, he glared at her for a second before passing through the door, she followed behind and they made their way to the bridge.
* * *
"Crewman, would somebody please fix my throne," Snipes groaned as it spun the side again under the stress of atmospheric entry.
"Aye. . .Aye," One of them groaned, under the strain of his controls.
Snipes couldn't help but smile and laugh to himself as he watched parts of his ship fly off, the control panel turn red and warning klaxons scream. It was a cacophony of chaos and madness and all that was good in life. Excitement. Snipes lived for the adrenaline rush right before the breaking point.
His crew was seasoned, trusted and madmen all, they all were grinning to each other, despite the state of the ship and their own bodies. With the return of the engines and the madness of their king the whole ship had found once again their fire, moving like the possessed they ran around, ignoring the tossing and bucking of their ship. Captain Visha shouted orders, standing tall and proud next to Snipes; she had done away with the bandage and spared a few precious moments to clean up, put on a fresh uniform, the spitting image of an officer, a better standard no military could lay claim to.
Then the ship lurched, the bow leveling out and the descent slowed, Snipes watched through the small porthole as the lush world below sped past, almost at his feet. He was giddy, even, as the ship pulled a halt above a small spaceport and slowly put down.
Snipes was the first to step out of the ship, he had bolted from his throne to the airlock, and then strode comfortably down it, behind him trailed Laughing Bastards, Kelevra wore a grin, a monocle and a thick cigarra. Snipes wore his crown, his shotgun and an ever present bottle of rum gripped in his left, a cigarette smoldering in his mouth.
All about the port civilians ran about, trying to hurry to their ships or their homes or anywhere but where the mad pirate king had landed. They did not know him, but they would never forget him, Snipes knew that. He was going to strip their town and rebuild his ship; contact Osk and reclaim his throne.