Mega-capital "Scourge of Heaven" Commander's bridge, Orbit of Izmot, Gellar's Verge, Arada Galaxy. Population: Formerly 13,893,789,918,317. Currently: 0.
The warship Scourge of Heaven was an infamous one. The personal flagship of the brutal enforcer of the Confederacy of Dismor; better known as the Space Pirates. It was a ship that had seen deaths on an untold level, the razing of the population centres of galaxies, the extermination of billions of species. Built like a great flying wing with prominent engines that offset similarly massive cannons, the craft was larger than many continents at roughly than one thousand and eighty kilometres long, one hundred and twenty kilometres deep and more than three thousand three hundred and sixty kilometres wide. There were larger ships, much larger, but the Scourge suited Ridley's style of warfare far better.
Rumours abounded about how the ship was originally painted a different shade altogether but acquired its nightmarish rust-red and ash-grey hue from the blood of all the beings it had overseen the deaths of and the ash of all the worlds it had left smouldering ruins in its wake.
Already a planet just below it was smouldering. Izmot bore scars that could be seen from space. Debris blasted from the planet larger than tectonic plates were cooling within its orbit, some falling back onto the world while others were fragmenting into a ring system. Perhaps given time they might even form a moon.
At least, one to replace the moon that had been destroyed. The grave of countless eradicated by the fleet that clustered around the Scourge of Heaven. This whole system was once thriving with trillions, it was now devoid of even microbial life. Everything save for its murderers.
Wrecked starships drifted through the void of space before the Scourge's escort fleet, corpses floating out of rents in their armour. What stragglers there were in escape pods or armour suits were being picked off by bored gunners and fighter pilots or dragged towards the armada for far worse fates.
The Commander inside, the architect behind this atrocity was a name spoken of in fear. A loathsome monster who melded the most threatening aspects of a Dragon and a Pterosaur. A pteranodon-like head had a hooked beak full of razor-sharp teeth, seemingly emaciated arms covered in purple carapace and scales bore wicked claws caked in blood. Bat-like wings emerged from either side and stretched for more than thirty-three meters. Even lowered into a crawling quadrupedal posture the six-limbed menace was thirteen meters tall, and his body extended more than thirty-six meters long to the very tip of his scorpion-barbed tail when he fully extended his long, thin, crane-like neck.
His gaunt face had hateful, burning yellow eyes recessed into the well-protected sockets, facing forwards to give him the depth perception of the apex predator he was. His long, pointed and green tongue licked blood that had dried on his arm and his body shook with chills. The memories of the violence he had committed to get that blood made him so excited. He almost forgot that he was in a meeting. And he remembered that he was supposed to make a response to his superiors who had just given him orders. Orders he didn't like.
"You want me to take my personal flotilla to do what?" Ridley snarled with contempt, his purple jaws snapping with displeasure as the shadowy silhouettes of the Cartel Bosses, Mafia Capos, Raider Clan Chiefs, Nomad Warrior Kings, Fascist Dictators, and Junta Generalissimos who made up space pirate high command addressed him from the other side of the screen.
"Seize the planet K-2L and its Afloraltite stockpiles and prepare for retaliation then spread out and control the supersector, once that is accomplished thrust towards the core of Federation space in the Arada galaxy." One of the figures, the Crimson Reaper of the Sondheim Cartel; one of the cosmos' most infamous contraband lords, said. Their insectoid claws tapped against the table and Ridley tightened his expression.
"My troops are razing segmentums up and down the supercluster and you want me to touchdown on some fresh mining colony? That's grunt work. Find some career climber to go whack a planet that hasn't even voted on an actual name yet." He growled in protest. He was feeling the sanguine fury rising again, he needed to kill or else he was going to lose his temper. He needed to eat...he needed to….he'd handle that later he figured.
"The Afloraltite may be declining in value as a fuel in the face of fuel gel assisted zero point energy...but there's other uses we can find for it. Science team has sent a report that I am quite sure you have read on an interesting proposal." Gulrach the Magnificent, the brutal autocrat of the Temir Dictatoriat said, all four of her hands clasping together.
"I like me some massacres but we've got trillions of troops here. With two and a half billion people planetside and…" Ridley paused to look at the readouts. "About that much across the rest of the system and maybe another five billion spaceside we'd be bored to tears. Find a smaller fleet fit for the job." Ridley sneered.
"Your disciplinary issues are why this Command has felt it necessary to remind you of your place Geoform 187. You are our attack-varkal[1], your privileges are granted to you by us, and may be revoked by us as we see fit." Klarax the Blackheart said, the Warlord of the Illiak Filament's tentacles writhing with displeasure. The use of his designation made Ridley see blood for a moment as his blood rage rose to the surface, but he knew that High Command was untouchable.
"How was I supposed to know that your inspection team was going incognito before I killed them for backsass?" Ridley sneered.
"Because you keep inventing excuses to deny our above-board inspection teams. You have hekta-cycles worth of tribute you need to account for, lest we forget." Zularash the War-God grunted, slamming the warhammer proclaiming their sovereignty over their battle clans onto the table while his horned helmet's eyepieces gleamed with fury, mandibles attached to his helm clamping tight and fast enough to make a sonic boom.
"Only your prowess, battle honours, and skill keep you off the dissection table." He replied.
"If I may speak?" Weavel said, the insectoid pirate Grand Marshal adjusting the helmet of their office as he gazed upon High Command. He got a pregnant pause for just a few seconds before the Grand Marshal was humoured with a nod from the central figure. The silhouette of an Urtraghian pirate in fully concealing grey and yellow armour with a menacing-looking cloak and helm; unnervingly undecorated, sitting in the least ostentatious chair of them all.
He was simply called the Despot, nobody need know him as anything else. In an organization held together by collective greed, fear of reprimand, and loathing of those outside the Confederacy more than those within, the Despot was the one who brought the riches, the one who commanded the most fear, and the one who knew how to avoid open hatred against his reign. As such, within this confederacy of malcontents and hatemongers he was God.
"As much as Ridley is belabouring it, he does have a point. This is a battlegroup that only convenes in singular systems for the highest grade engagements, not raids." He said. Ridley snorted and didn't give him some manner of hate-filled expression which was about as much respect as he afforded anyone or anything.
"As my colleague has noted, our flotilla has more marines than this system has people. We could accomplish more by spreading out for a generalised offensive to drive the Federation from this arm." Grand Strategos Zeknin said, the heavily cyborgized fleet commander's clawed feet gripping for purchase in the ground. Their body was so twisted from whatever they were originally was that there were betting pools on what they were like before.
But the rather spindly cyborg's elongated skull-like "face" and its compound eyes were always more than a bit disconcerting to stare into, the white of their ceramic plating an unpleasant bone like hue and the metal portions a cold shade of silver. Two and a half meters tall, their body was like the skeleton of some creature with four legs and four arms arrayed radially, split into three independently rotating sections as he continually shifted from one position to the next, seemingly unable to stand still.
"Because, Grand Marshal and Grand Strategos; K-2L is a planet that a progenitor culture has shown interest in. Should the Chozo intervene nothing less than absolute overwhelming force will be necessary." Ezrigil Gaskurik, a crime boss who had fingers in pies ranging from Kriken high nobility to military-industrial complex accounting fraud said. The pincered hands of the pirate snapped with ill-disguised intent, and his glowing eyes were more than a touch unnerving to look at.
"Chozo? What could they possibly want with a bunch of miners?" Weavel said quizzically, extending his head forward somewhat.
"That would warrant our full force, yes." Zenkin agreed.
"Clearly the old geezers have decided to indulge in some proleterianism in their old age before their creaky bones give out." Ridley cackled. His laughter was unpleasant to hear, like sandpaper grinding against chalkboards with the aid of a sword sharpener wheel with occasional motor hiccups.
"A chozo battlegroup would be insurmountable by anything other than wildly disproportionate force. Even one true progenitor warship would be able to lay waste to whole fleets and delay things long enough for severe federal response" The Technocrat said, the representative from science team's mechanical optics giving them an even more bug-eyed appearance than they normally would as an arthropoid.
"And of course, severe Federal retaliation is unavoidable. High-value sources indicate the Federation Navy and Army, as well as the Subnational Armed forces of the United Nations of Sol are en route to reinforce this supercluster. Battle-Armada Teleos if I'm not mistaken." The Technocrat continued.
"Bah, I'd be surprised if we had more than half an hour of playtime before everyone on the planet is dead. An hour, if we really let ourselves have a bit of fun." Ridley sneered.
"That is the point, Geoform 187. Do it quickly and efficiently. And remember, no orbital bombardments. We want the Afloraltite, not an N-Space rift or worse." The Technocrat concluded, seemingly unmoved by Ridley clawing at the floor in anger at the usage of the term "Geoform 187".
"It would be our honour to lead the vanguard in this task." Weavel said with a bow.
"Noted. We expect you to do this work quickly and efficiently. We do not want you to waste our time." The Chief of Chiefs, Uzik Blegl ululated, their soft invertebrate body sloshing within their tank as Ridley thought of his next comeback.
"Oh so you're pulling me in because Kraid got lost on the way to the next buffet is that it huh? Or maybe Draygon's too busy practising her whale song? Or the other hack job monster movie rejects you call enforcers you get on the line when you can't get me all just can't make the cut so you gotta pull me from my work to deal with petty rookie shit?" He snapped his jaws with ill-disguised violent intent.
"Kraid does not waste time on pointless cruelties that expend valuable time, nor does he have a history of disciplinary issues as severe as yours. We accept your indulgences because you deliver results and they strike terror into our enemies. Do not believe yourself irreplaceable, Geoform 187." Generalissimo Zarkan said, a reptilian hiss coming from their throat as their compound eyes glowed strange colours. Again with that term as he let out a loud, shrill roar to let them know of his anger. He couldn't strike back at High Command, but lashing out at Kraid? That he could do.
"Oh is that what that obese green piece of shit thinks? Tell him to come here and I'll jab those beady little eyes of his one by one out with his own spikes, then we'll see if the fat f-" Ridley didn't get to finish the sentence as the Despot raised his hand again and everyone fell silent immediately. Even Ridley lowered himself, virtually prostrate before the Despot.
Nobody spoke over the Despot. Every pirate hung unto the shadowy figure's raised hand, making no noise lest they commit the crime of interrupting him while he spoke. And he was merciful enough to make that wait short.
"If you perform well, I have a task more to your liking." He said in a clinical, cold voice that could make lava cool instantly, sending the cunning god of death details on a newly encountered civilisation just now learning that there was a whole universe beyond its borders within its home Galactic Cluster, an "Empire of the Known Universe" with an illustrious ten thousand year history entirely and hopelessly unprepared for the Space Pirates.
Ridley's snarl became something arguably far worse.
A smile.
Then a laugh.
A laugh that would make even all the hordes of hell cower in fear.
Warship "Scourge of Heaven" briefing room.
"Shape up you cretins we've got killing to do today." Ridley barked at the gathered pirate officers within the expansive, circular briefing room, shaped like a stadium in reverse, with all the gathered individuals looking up at those giving the orders rather than looking down upon a lecturer.
"See this planet? K-2L? United Nations of Sol, bunch of underequipped good-for-nothing miners there digging out afloraltite before the Fuel Gel industry puts them all on unemployment. System's also decently inhabited, but much less so than the idiots we finished killing. Any of you got any questions before we start the briefing? Come on, I know all of you have something to say. Speak up so I know what to stab you over later." He said, he clearly hated the task of giving these briefings but
"That's it? An up-jumped boom-system? ." Ivax growled. The somewhat seal-like amphibious beast yipped in laughter shortly afterwards, bearing hyena-like teeth while dragging themselves forward with clawed flippers. A long neck held a somewhat shark-like head full of triangular teeth, and the long thrashing tail behind her slapped the ground to emphasise her point.
"Think of this as a downtime operation. We will be moving on to greater targets shortly afterwards. Will that be all or do you have more whining to air?" Weavel snorted calmly. He kept his hands behind his back, and nodded in a satisfied manner once Ivax backed down and exhaled in a displeased but accepting manner.
"This is a simple operation. Based on publicly available records, the stores of afloraltite are located here." Weavel said, tapping the holographic map so that a number of designation markers popped up showing coordinates and indicators across the representation of the planet.
"Biggest haul is here, near the Neorai forests. Largest populated area on the planet. About twenty-five million or so people, mostly civvies. We're estimating maybe about a hundred million security force troops on the planet itself, maybe twice that across the system, and moderate levels of fortification. Maybe a fifth of those guys are real soldiers." He said before Zenkin showed the expected defensive flotillas on patrol. A handful of guppies against a swarm of sharks, outnumbered and outgunned even with the defensive fortifications.
"Nothing we couldn't steamroll blindfolded. We have the numbers and the element of surprise so try not to kill everyone too quickly." Ridley said, snapping his jaw like a crocodile in irritation at the thought of how soon this would all be over.
"What's wrong with easy loot?" Hunter Corvus said, her beetle-like mandibles, thin body, long black shoulder pads, cap-like helm, and a transparent plate that allowed her beating heart to be seen marking her as an Azigoth. She had insect-like cyborg wings grafted to her back, and her hateful orange eyes seemed to intently relish the prospect of violence. She clenched her carapaced fingers into fists and thumped her chest as she approached Kutlak, staring him down and daring him to make a move.
"Do you have anything actually worthwhile to say or are you just going to spout more inanities Corvus?" Weavel said, snapping his mandibles in irritation. When he got no response from her he decided to proceed.
"Now, the primary risk of this raid is the Federal response and potential Chozo intervention. We will have splinter fleets attack other targets across the arm to draw Federal attentions away while our primary task force moves to overwhelm the system as quickly as possible. Stealth teams and Jamming divisions will neutralise comms while we set up interdictors to delay the enemy response." Weavel started.
"The Afloraltite is going to have to be left alone until we deal with resistance, then the extraction teams will unseal the vaults and pack them onto the shuttles sending them back to the ship. After that, we will establish base camps and begin construction of space stations to turn our new acquisition into a fortress, and then crush the Federation's response.." Weavel said, getting a number of cheers from the crowd as the display graphic demonstrated the simulated outcomes of the plan he suggested, simple but effective.
The large, fierce form of a machine skittered into view atop four spidery legs that held aloft a cylindrical body with a rounded turret of sorts upon it, yellow optics looking out at the world accompanied by the unpleasant incandescent glow of their yellow highlights. The purple and dark green machine's armatures bore heavy rotary weapons fitted with bayonets at the top and deadly pincer cannons at the bottom for comb at at any range, and the powerful machine seemed unafraid to approach the others as they focused their optics on the Strategos. "Enemy Fleet Presence: Negligible. Estimation: A short sweep of the spacelanes followed by support operations.
"We will gain our deserved battle honours later then, when the Federation sends its response to try and reclaim this Segmentum. The decisive campaign for this galaxy is upon us." The Grand Strategos said. A hope lingered in their voice, the hope for naval martial glory and
"That is a likely outcome." AAE-13 responded.
"Allow me to give the order then; we will see High Command's will be done." The Cyborg said.
"What? You want to be the one to tell the fleets to jump to N-Space? Sure, fine." Ridley said.
"Now do we have any questions we have to answer before we slip our moors and head out?" Weavel asked.
"Query: Identity of the Commander of Federal Mining operations on K-2L?" AAE-13 asked.
"Eh? Who needs to know about stuff like that! They're all going to be dead soon anyway." Hunter Corvus snorted with laughter. What a ridiculous idea, questioning about the identity of some no-name mining colony foreman.
"Perhaps it might give us a name to remember this operation by. I am certain some of you would take pleasure in such reminders." The Strategos said, their low voice oddly quiet despite their rather menacing figure.
"Give me a second." Weavel said, inputting the query into the database and bringing up some holographic displays showing someone whom Weavel assumed was handsome by human standards but to him just looked like a soft-skinned freak.
"Rodney Aran. Part of the Sirian Mining Co-Operative and the Intergalactic Worker's Association. Decently high up the chain of both and triple recipient of the Federal Nova Star during his tour with the Marines. While not the planetary or system governor, the centrality of the mining industry in this system means he has as much clout as they do. Not a complete nobody, but not relevant at the level we operate." Weavel said as he looked through the data.
"Oooh a Union man. That means he probably cares deeply about his co-workers. Wouldn't it be fun to hold that against him? Social species always have the most fun responses to watching their friends die, especially those in those big social movements." Ridley chuckled, the laugh low and sinister.
"So what? Humans like him are a Million a Kalax[2]." Ivax snorted, steam billowing out of her blowhole as she shook her head.
"Query: Family?" AAE-13 asked.
"Ah right, social species and their families. So much concern for people they stick eggs into or hatched from them. It's almost sad how much they care for people who get them horny or share some DNA with." Ridley sneered.
"A wife named Virginia and a daughter named Samus, three Earth years old. Hmm...maybe his union might pay ransom for the children and spouses. Or there are other uses we could consider to heighten our standing in the eyes of High Command…" Weavel said coldly and matter-of-factly.
"Agreement: Genetic stock for slave husbandry trade, product for illicit prostitution industry, and valuable live subjects for experimentation. Evaluation: Live subjects may be of use. Addendum: Absolute income would be negligible, but return on investment relative to effort of acquisition would be substantive." AAE-13 said.
"Tch, the pervert mongers and whip crackers? You really want to hang around those bottom feeders?" Corvus laughed.
"Statement: Profit is profit." AAE-13 countered.
"Hrm...I don't like to give my toys away for some trinkets though. Ooh I'd really rather just kill them all, maybe keep a few for ourselves. How about that? We could keep some and hunt them for sport sometimes. Maybe they'll last longer than the last batch." Ridley said, tapping his beak with his razor-like claws as he pondered the question.
"We will simply have to see what can be done as the situation unfolds." The Strategos said, clasping their many arms together and remaining mostly silent otherwise as they interfaced with the Ship's command systems.
Samus' Logbook
Individuals: War Criminals: Confederacy of Dismor: Unknown Space Dragons: Male: Enforcers: Ridley
Geoform 187, more frequently known as Ridley is the only known and confirmed member of his as of yet nameless species. His origins, parentage, and his history before signing on with the confederacy of Dismor's military is unknown. What interviews with him have surfaced paint contradictory and disturbing images of his past. What is known, however, is that he prides himself on his nature as a member of a solitary species and disdains the customs of most social species. He is considered to be completely lacking in any capacity for empathy or altruistic thought or sensation and has an extensive record of war crimes. All he cares for is his own amusement, and his easily bored nature has lead to an inventive mind for pointless cruelty and a master of personal combat. Despite the popularity of trying to ascribe mental illness to Ridley, he is seemingly entirely functional for whatever standards his species has. He simply does not care to indulge in what he sees as the alien virtues of empathy.
Samus' Notes: What is there to say about the "Cunning God of Death"? That he's cruel? That he's evil? That he doesn't care about other life? I want to believe that there's good in everyone, and that anyone can be anyone else's friend in the right circumstances. But I've never seen anything like that in him. The joy he feels is always born of someone else's misery. But it doesn't matter, no matter where he hides, I will find him and I'll give everyone he's ever hurt peace.
Individuals: War Criminals: Confederacy of Dismor: Bermukadil: Male: Grand Marshals: Weavel
Marshal Weavel is a lifelong military careerist whose military record is considered both beyond reproach and beyond the pale. Weavel is a hard and uncompromising commander with a preference for leading from the front to be in the thick of conflict. His disdainful attitude towards the rules of war have lead to the deaths of countless planets worth of sapient beings. Weavel is renown for strict disciplinarian attitudes with the sole exception of the time to "unwind", typically in the form of destructive looting and pillaging. Weavel later came to be attached to Enforcer Ridley's war pack to take over the "drudgery" of command duties after Ridley expressed boredom with them. Weavel by all accounts takes his duties very seriously and is an expert in keeping Ridley focused. Weavel is brutally pragmatic, and rarely indulges in what he considers to be frivolities but this means little for the victims of his armies.
Samus' Notes: Weavel is almost as bad as Ridley. He's a careerist always looking for another rung on the ladder to climb and every time he looks at the world with those compound eyes of his it's like he's trying to think of where to put a statue of himself. There's nothing he won't step on if it means pushing himself a bit higher and in the entire time I've tracked him he's always been on the hunt to advance his career in one way or the other.
Individuals: War Criminals: Confederacy of Dismor: Cyborg: Unknown Species: Genderless: Grand Strategos: Zenkin
The Steel Conqueror of a Thousand Sectors and the butcher of Elar, Zenkin's calm and placid exterior is a clever disguise for their immense capacity for violence, something that has attracted them to Ridley's outfit. Whatever species they originally were has long been buried under more than a century of constant augmentation and replacement, leaving only the metal master of fleets. Zenkin is regarded as somewhat servile, willing to follow through with virtually any of Ridley's missives and showing deference to Weavel despite being of equivalent ranks. This lack of personal career initiative is a small mercy however, as their battlelust is with few comparisons. They are always on the hunt for further and greater naval martial glories, and revel in the vicious melee of voidborne warfare. Zenkin is also renown for their capabilities as a torturer, one of their personal vices that they indulge in to pass the long idle periods of waiting for future void engagements.
Samus' Notes: It's hard to get a read on Zenkin, in my observations they stick mostly to their ships. Like being on the ground is some sort of curse to them. That being said, there's definitely something beneath the facade of the war-hungry falcon looking for the next hunt. Something that only feels alive when it has its talons dug into something thrashing beneath its feet.
Individuals: War Criminals: Confederacy of Dismor: Urmikal: Female: Hunter: Corvus
Corvus is a barely contained whirlwind of sadistic violence who has fallen into Ridley's good graces through mutual fondness for destruction. Though Ridley is incapable of friendship, Corvus is considered one of Ridley's kindred spirits and the Skykiller sometimes even deigns to fight alongside the enforcer. Corvus keeps her real name, origins, and the full list of her augmentations and weapons deeply under wraps. Experts have theorised that Corvus is the product of some sort of super soldier program to create the next breed of aeropirate warriors and was originally of the pirate species from the mysterious capital world of Urtraghus. If such a theory is true, then Corvus has likely succeeded most expectations as she is a ruthless air commander with few equals or rivals. Corvus also has a marked case of Pyromania, and has been disciplined many times for starting blazes pointlessly.
Samus' Notes: Corvus is about what you'd expect of the space pirate aerocorps. She's a dog looking for a scrap and a fire looking for fuel. Corvus lives from moment to moment, and her addiction to the thrill is what drives her every second of her life. She's an addict essentially, and her drug of choice is anything that can get the adrenaline flowing.
Individuals: War Criminals: Confederacy of Dismor: Star Bunyip: Female: Enforcer: Ivax
Ivax is rather like Ridley in the sense that her true species is unknown and she seems to be a member of a solitary species, or at the very least one with a highly divergent form social structure. Ivax is a brutal bully who enjoys predating on those weaker than she is but is wary of confrontation with perceived betters. An ambush predator at heart, Ivax often resents the greater glory of Ridley due to his flight capabilities allowing him to see considerably more action than her. However, when her skills are needed in deployments to watery or acidic environments she truly shines as a nightmare made manifest, and her ravenous appetite for the flesh of sapient beings is widely renown to the point wherein many societies children are scared into obedience by threats of Ivax coming from the waters to devour them.
Samus' Notes: Ivax is a predator through and through and like most predators she backs out of any fight she feels she can't win. She's a coward, but her belly provides her with the motivation she needs to overcome that trepidation of fights with people who might actually win against her. But that just makes her more of a meanspirited bully when you get to the very core of her being. She barks like a dog for people she fears but just lashes out more against those she makes feel fear.
Individuals: War Criminals: Confederacy of Dismor: Synthetic: Agendered: War Champion: AAE-13
AAE-13 (Automated Assault Enforcer) is a brutal pragmatist who prefers to handle most situations through carefully aimed applications of the greatest possible amounts of firepower. Constructed at extreme expense by Event Horizon Solutions Limited, AAE-13 defected to the space pirates when Confederate forces arrived at the Defense company's testing facility station to steal everything of interest. Finding the Space Pirates to offer more interesting operating conditions, AAE-13 slaughtered most of the engineers at the facility after forcibly extracting most of their memories. Since then, they fell into the graces of Enforcer Ivax and Ridley to partake in the activities of their fleet. AAE-13 is not as emotionless as they seem, they crave the carnage of warfare and the interesting problems offered by challenging battles. They may not revel in cruelty, but they indulge in battle for its own sake as the ultimate test for their processing capabilities. This has left a long and bloody trail of lives shattered by their addiction to violence.
Samus' Notes: AAE-13 is not emotionless. They're prideful, they want to demonstrate their superiority and maintain their killing edge at all times. They fear obsolescence and want to show that they are still as good as it gets. I think that I can get into their head through that angle. They might be the least malicious of Ridley's crew, but the sort of killing intent they have in their processors still needs to be put to rest; and that pride might be exploited to bring about their fall.
[1]Artificial companion/work animal somewhat comparable to a dog common in the Confederacy of Dismor's space. Comparable in size to horses, with eight limbs and long prehensile tails with prominent thagomizers like a stegosaurus. Prominent armoured head with frontal biometallic shears for meat and hadrosaur-like plant grinding teeth.
[2]Confederal Currency used by the Space Pirates.