5798/Daughters of Daratar

Daughters of Daratar
Date of Scene:	17 November 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Mon-El, Star-Lord, Lobo

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Mon-El has posed:
    Deep into the furthest reaches of outer space, a desperate call for help has been broadcasted from a planet in the little-known star system of Faryar. It originates from Daratar, the second planet from the system's single star.

    What is known about this particular place? Well, it is home to a civilization, but one that hasn't really made contact with anyone outside of its own system, despite having space travel capabilities and, obviously, subspace communication technology. The message has been relayed through many of the typical channels for this sort of thing, with a fairly handsome amount of pay offered. Anyone interested in the endeavor need only travel to location provided in the message, which happens to coincide with the location of the signal's source. That backwater planet in that backwater system.

Star-Lord has posed:
Backwater Planets in Backwater systems. Nova Corps. Green Lanterns. It doesn't matter who's paying as long as the credits are good, and the job isn't completely out of left field. As the Milano came out of hyperspace on the edge of the system, Star-Lord starts to head in-system as he pings the scanners, "Pretty back end, galactic scale wise. Huh." He muses to himself as he flies in system, "It'd be nice if there was some sort of identification on this. Smells like a trap."

Lobo has posed:
    Lobo had been traveling a long way, but with luck, the pay would be worth it. It was around the time he hit the atmosphere that the fuel tank started complaining and the Main Man gave an annoyed little snarl that was akin to a lion roaring in warning.

    "Fraggin' figures...these dweebs better have more ta offer than a pat on the yarbles anna position in parliamant!"

    He said that to nobody in particular, before going down for a quick landing on the surface of whatever this world was, before the Hog sputtered and crashed. Not that it would kill him, but it might mess with his aesthetic, and he wasn't looking forward to that just yet.

    In other news, his somewhat emergency landing path caused him to jet and cut right in front of the Milano, as his illegal machine gave that familiar Hellscream that let everyone in a three-planet radius know that the Avatar Of Death(Lobo was trying that out as a nickname currently) had arrived.

Mon-El has posed:
    Daratar, the planet in question, seems to be a fairly lush planet covered mostly in rich, winding riverbeds and accompanying plant life. The atmosphere is breathable for most humanoid species, although fairly heavy and humid, so there is no need for masks or special equipment.

    As for the message, it appeared to be from an Emperor Corlis, presumably the one in charge of this place. Not long after the two of them land, they are approached by a group of what are presumably natives. An armored security detail surrounds a more finely dressed figure--definitely looks like Mr. Emperor there. They seem to be humanoid-looking for the most part, just less hairy and more long and thin in general. The males are beige-skinned while the females are blue.

    The guards don't appear to be making any hostile moves, but are ready to take action should anyone attack. The guy in the middle addresses them in one of the more common intergalactic languages. "Are you heroes, come to help rescue my daughters?" he asks, cutting right to the chase.

Star-Lord has posed:
The Milano lands smooth as silk, barring a minor course correction to keep out of Lobos way... and out the back of it comes Peter Quill, all dressed up in his gear. His jet-boot attachments are easy to see on the boots, and one hand keeps on the grip of one of his twin holstered element guns as he looks the group over, "Hey there bud. I'm Star-Lord. I'm here for the signal you sent. You've got damsels in need of de-distressin', then?" Peter grins to the group, all charm.

Lobo, when he gets to the party, gets a raised brow, but the Guardian leader says nothing yet.

Lobo has posed:
    "Yeah, if they're in a jabberwocky or just stuck on the can, it might cost ya extra. But I figure that can be discussed once I got the brats back in yer hands where they belong, right?"

    This planet was so lush and vibrant and clean that it was bugging the last Czarnian just a little, who by this time had been leading his hoverbike behind him on a leash as if it were a horse. It was still following just fine, and he'd be able to use it for terran travel, but going interstellar was going to take fuel. This was going to be a problem to solve later, but he'd figure it out then.

    For his part, he wasn't dressed nearly as nicely. No, with his black hair braided and kept out of his face with that signature hat of his, his torso was covered only by a thin black leather vest, with a kind of 'skeletal' motif to break up the color pattern. Underneath it was easy to see his ghost-white albino flesh marked up with all kinds of ink, and his blood-red eyes were sizing up the guards and the king himself like they were all possible targets. He'd had one too many of these meetings to wrong in the past...and might possibly have been the cause of most of those meetings going wrong. But that was no excuse for being unprepared. Soon, he spoke again.

    "So give it straight, Clyde, where's we goin', an' what is we killin'? Wanna make sure we do this job right the first time, ya dig?"

    Idly the man scratched himself where he was most itching, right there in front of royalty and everyone. As he did that, his various weapons across his body jangled as if to idly remind everyone there that he was ready to dance if any of them were. And Lobo didn't really think any of them were ready to take on that kinda dance...

Mon-El has posed:
    Peter's charming ways definitely seem to warm them toward him immediately, although Lobo...well let's just say he gets some -looks-. But, at least, he seems to want to help, so at least that much. The alien ruler smiles politely. "Oh, thank you, I know you must have traveled far to come here, we were worried for a while that no one would show up." A pause. "Ah, where are my manners? As you might have gussed, I am Emperor Corlis." he nods at both Peter and Lobo. "Yes, you are both correct. Some time ago, a group of slavers attacked my city. They ambushed us; their strength and firepower far surpassing ours. We... hadn't seen visitors from The Beyond for thousands of years, so suffice it to say we were shocked and completely outmatched. Fortunately, someone came to our aid. A Prince Lar Gand of Daxam. He was--ah...well let me just put it this way: he singlehandedly defeated their -entire- detail and sent them packing quickly. However, the next day my daughters, Thea and Teya, disappeared suddenly. Lar went to search for them, but it has been months and he hasn't returned. He was so strong...we thought him invincible, but now I fear he may have been lured into a trap." He sighs, shaking his head. "If that's the case, it's likely that whoever these scumbags are, they've taken them to Omega to sell them to the highest bidder. It used to be a penal colony of ours near the Outer Rim, but it was overrun by pirates many years ago and and is now a lawless land..."

Star-Lord has posed:
Mention of slavers gets a frown from Star-Lord. Mention of kidnappings gets a look back to the Milano. Then, he looks back to the Emperor, "Word of advice Your Majesty. The galaxy out there is gettin' a lot more hostile and unstable, even the Lanterns are having trouble with it all. It'd pay dividends to get back into the galactic stage and see what's what before it's decided for you." Star-Lord gives in his warmest, friendliest tone possible. There's no talking down; these people sound like they just wanted to be left alone, after all.

"The Guardians can handle this. If you can give me the intel on the Outer Rim and Omega, we can get started working on a plan to make this quick and efficient. What sort of payment are we lookin' at?"

Then, a look is given to Lobo, "assuming this guy doesn't charge in and send it all to hell." Peter quips over to Lobo.

Lobo has posed:
    The seven foot albino Organic Murder Machine(tm) looked over at Peter when he made his little quip, and Lobo's reaction was to give a sneering smirk and blow the little man a kiss, even as from deep within his throat a gutteral lion's snarl could be heard. When teeth were bared, it didn't always mean something was smiling at you. As he pulled a nice cigar from one of his bike's saddle bags along with a pack of matches, the man spoke with that gnarled grizzled voice of his.

    "Yeah, I'm a regular character, that much is true. Hey Pete, where're the rest'f 'em dweebs at, anyway? When I saw you pullin' in, I wuz lookin' forward ta seein' Gams again. Instead all I'm seein' is one habitual line-stepper, as they say on Murphakar Seven."

    Was that a veiled threat? It was hard to tell, but soon Lobo was taking a few steps toward the royal emperor, his hands outstretched as he directed the man...directly. Hrmm.

    "Hey, yeah, you could give it ta' this geek here, an' him an' his Clydes can put their heads together an' come up with a plan tomorrow or three Galacktadays from now. Me, I prefer a differen't approach. See, I'm stronger than anythin' you've ever seen, an' there ain't nothin' in this universe that can kill me. Mongul, Darkseid, Thane-Ohs, they ain't never tried ta' cross me 'cuz they know how it ends for 'em. So I reckon you give me them coordinates, I go in, slaughter each an' every slaver PUKE who touched yer little doughy-faced angels, an' let the galaxy know that whoever tries ta interfere with this...place(He completely forgot what this species called themselves), they can expect ta see their own lungs hangin' out their chest. OR ya can let these eggheads sit away and come up with a formula while yer little babes are gettin' their fingers broken While they sing 'Glorthadorpakhruam' on command, or whatever it is they're goin' through. Yer choice."

    With that said, Lobo reached out with his left hand, striking a match against a guard's helmet, all the better to bring tht miniature flame to the cigar currently in his sneering mouth. Where he waited for the emperor's reply, looking particularely smug.

Mon-El has posed:
    Corlis sighs. "You may be right, Star Lord. We...-thought- that staying out of most galactic affairs would keep us safe from the undesirables, but it seems we were wrong." he brings out a high-tech looking scroll and hands it to Peter. "This should answer your questions." Indeed, if he opens it, at least 750k credits are promised upon safe delivery of Princesses Thea and Teya to their father the emperor. Possibly even more, if Lar is also rescued. And of course, there are the coordinates to a planetoid on the outer rim of Faryar, known to Daratarians as Omega.

    He considers Lobo's words, then shrugs and hands Lobo the same scroll. "I leave it up to the both of you to decide how you want to go about this." His gaze falls particularly on Lobo for a moment. "I won't stop you from going charging in immediately," then towards Peter, "Nor will I stop you from ah, drawing up a plan first. Although I will say that Omega is a dangerous place where no one will have your back except your own. It is filled with criminals and lowlifes, some of them more powerful than you might think."

Star-Lord has posed:
Taking the scroll, Star-Lord starts to read as he speaks. "How about we split the difference, we scope the place out, then you can charge in and hit all the good places as a distraction while we come in and grab the daughters in the chaos?" Lobo was here, and Lobo was interested in getting paid. Star-Lord is known for being tactically minded though, and he's at least not insulting the Main Man today.

He gives a gesture backwards with his head, the scroll already placed in a belt pouch, "we can talk more about it on the Milano?"

Lobo has posed:
    For a few moments Lobo stood there, idly scrolling through the scroll(Hrmm) in a careful way to not ruin the pointed, painted black nails on his albino white fingers. Plumes of smoke came up as he read through the minor details and the fine print. Before long the device was stuffed into a saddlebag, and the Ghost Of Czarnia(tm) was on his bike and riding away from the royal audience. Of course he 'accidentally' rode through a group of aliens who all had to scream and scatter and leap out of the way in a fashion that was making the Main Man guffaw with laughter all the way back to the Milano. All the while he spoke, whether directly to Pete, or if they were too far away, he'd use the comm system on his bike to communicate.

    "What a nice offer, this is why yer such a swell guy, Pete. It's why I don't agree at all with the slew of constant criticism I hear from other mercs and hunters about working with ya!"

    A moment later.

    "So, whaddaya think the score is with these two girlies? Wanna take bets on how dead they probably is? 'Cause if there ain't been no ransom note, them chicks is floatin' in a trash-ring somewhere, I guarantee it."