Topic: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Krish and John sat in the alley.  A cacophany sounded from the street.  A group of battle droids paced out in front of the building.  Krish rose to his feet and slid down towards the street sticking to the shadows.  As the droids marched by the closest of the droids stopped and turned to face the alley.  Krish pressed himself behind a trash receptor and held perfectly still as the droid illuminated it's headlamp and trounced down the alley.  Krish waited until the droid past before he jumped up behind it and slid a vibroblade in the servos in its leg.  OIl spurted as the droid went down.  John came out of a pile of trash and began bashing the but of his blaster into the droids head.  Eventually the lights within the optic receptor darkened as the machine shut down.

Krish kicked the now scrap metal.  "We must move out from here. There is no telling how many more of these there are prowling around.  Follow me."

John nodded and obidiently tailed Krish.  Krish made his wayto the end of the alley and cautiously peered around the corner.  A skirmish between a rodian and a gran at the end of the road, but nothing that would bother them.  Krish followed the edge of the building to the door and inside the darkened room.  No windows.  John stood in the doorway, cautious to enter.

"Get out of the door frame now!  The light illuminates you!"

As if on cue a blaster bolt appeared from one of the corners of the hutt casting more shadows as it whizzed by and struck the door frame to the left of John.  John quickly dove to the left.  Krish wasted no time in throwing a knife in the direction of the shooter.  There was a small grunt and a clatter as the vibroblade fell to the floor.  It was all the noise Krish needed.  By now his eyes had adjusted and he could make out a shape in the darkness.  The shooter let off a few shots in Krish's direction but only one came close enough for Krish to feel the heat on his scaly hide.

Like a nexu on his prey Krish leaped the last 3 meters with surprising agility for one so small and took the attacker to the ground.  A fur covered the attackers body.  Krish quickly had the attacker on his back and grabbed hold of head and twisted with all his might.  The neck snapped with a sickening crack.  The figure stopped flailing as its limbs went limp.  Krish dragged the body a threw it into the steet.  He could now see the Bothan which he had killed.  It was a vicious game and only the strong would survive. 

"So what now?" Krish had forgot about John. 

"We need some food.  I haven't eaten in hours."  Krish made his way to the back room and turned on a light switch.  He opened the cupboards and found nothing. 

"There is nothing in here.  I will go and see if I can find more food.  I will be back.  If you see anyone enter the door that is not me shoot them."  John nodded and sat where he could see the face of anyone entering.

Krish headed back out and in to the next house which was lit.  Surprises waited at every corner.

Tressah was suprised to see Rando and Flying W in the house that she had thought vacant. In her hands she still held the loot she was planning on sharing with her two companions. However things might be different now that they had come across Gerba's guard and the crazy who had continually bugged him.

"Small world," Tressah said as both Otta and the Tusken Zabrak raised their weapons.

Before either Rando or Flying W could answer they were joined by Krish and a boy. Eyes tried to look everywhere at once.

"So this is where the party is at," Flying W grinned.

"It would seem that way," Tressah said cautiously holding her treasure.

"Got some party tricks there?" Flying W asked as he eyed the armour in Tressah's arms.

"It's ladies armour, colour wouldn't suit you," she replied.

Flying W laughed, "You never know."

While blasters were trained on one another Tressah took the opportunity to display the armour which was much too small and inappropriately designed for any of the males in the room. She warily made sure that her pockets weren't showing as they were bulging with blasters.

"So what's it going to be?" Otto started, "A joining of forces or a fight to the death?"

**Guys this is probably my last post for two weeks, so if you can join forces that'd be great. Just have Tressah and Otto tag along until I get back. Feel free to add in some more battledroids or any other goodies Gerba might be likely to throw into the mix. Thanks!**

*Is that a different Dragon or the one me and WV were fighting?  We blew the head off of ours...Just checking*

Whatever. I guess im just no good at this, and apparently some posts didnt get mailed to me.

(( just a note i worked literally ALL day on that post, whenever I could at work you know.........and now im going to go off and cry as im such a dang fool....))

Genjin's fist ripped out the mechanical innards of the last battle droid that had tried to surround him. He may have had to run from the Krayt and Rancor, but these droid annoyances were easily dealt with. The defuct battle droid collapsed to the ground and Genjin dropped the remains from his hand.

Resuming his seach of the urban area, Genjin leapt from roof top to roof top, leaving the roof top where the battle droids had seen and ambushed him. Genjin was currently stalking a group of inmates who were now holed up in one of the buildings. Last he saw from a distance through a window, they were at a stalemate and looked to be deciding whether or not to join forces. Genjin had considered this prospect himself, but considered it pointless. He would have to kill his partners eventually if he was to succeed. He wouldn't burst in and kill these mercenaries either because of his lack of a lightsaber and the tight spaces. His best bet was stealth.

He had now successfully reached the building where the group he was following now resided. He had seen a glimpse earlier of the female snatching several blasters and sneaking them away from her 'partners' he wanted to see what was about to transpire. He lowered himself like a ninja to an open window and moved one eye over the window so his whole body wasnt exposed and he watched the group.

(Its ok SI your among friends, it doesnt matter if ya mess up a bit)

know what you mean. I'm slow at posting, sometimes, and will lack inspiration and/or creativity beyond a few sentences at a time. So yeah, I'll check back and be like, "oops. Need to adjust things now". Don't worry about it.

You mean MY dragon.

Krish was surprised to run into some of his cell mates.  But what made him even more surprised was the fact that John followed him.  The boy needed to learn how to take an order.  It could get him killed.  Krish's right hand was aiming his hold-out blaster and his left arm was cocked and ready to launch a knife as anyone who even twitched wrong.

"So what's it going to be?" Otto started, "A joining of forces or a fight to the death?"

"Either way we will have to fight to the death."

Otto shrugged,  "Why not at least guarantee one of us will make it?"

Krish nodded but did not lower his weapon.  For all intents and purposes that would spell death.

"So if we are to join an alliance, who will lower the weapon first?"

The question hung in the air as eyes darted from one to another.

Hey Si, it's no big deal, it's just an RPG.  It was an awesome post!  There could be other dragons loose in the arena, doesn't have to be Val's.

A lound thunk sounded as the broadswords tied to W's waist fell to the floor. Rando followed suit with his straight sword.
"You know, I don't think being disarmed will change the situation here. Rando and I don't want to win, he'd rather just get out." But what did Flying W want?
"I just don't care either way, if one of you wants to win and work for that invertebrate then go ahead. I won't be the one who fights Katray. Who will show up. The droids, the monsters, I wouldn't put it past Gerba to try and kill us all instead." Rando had lost a little spirit, leaning himself up against the wall halfhazardly.
Everyone else looked around, sizing each other up when the front door burst open. A Rodian, carrying a vibro-knife rushed them.
Rando moved, already having relaxed he could. Tense bodies were slow ones. The Rodian attempted to stab down. Rando caught him below the elbow with an x-block, right hand up. He moved his hands and using leverage bent the elbow in. It stabbed through the alien's gut, Rando used his knee to push it in to the hilt.
Had the assailant been quicker, had Rando been slower. His first target would have been the child.
"Children are precious things, who must be taught and protected." Flying W chuckled, moving further into the house swords in hand he waved the rest onward," Let's be off kiddies, staying in one place too long draws attention..."
Rando retied his belt, and went back for the cycler, he was last of the group who followed.

Well it apparantly IS a big deal to her because she spent a long time on it. And why does it matter whose kryat it is. A kryat is a kryat, there could be others like RD said, but again, who cares if someone was fighting the thing.

Nossk crashed to the ground yet again, his shoulder pauldron smoldering from the battledroid’s second cannon blast. He grasped the wound in one thick, four-fingered hand, gritting his fangs against the lance of pain. The sharp teeth cut into his mouth with ease, and his gums bled in slow, oozing rivers down his chin.

The Trandoshan released his shoulder and seized his vibroaxe, which had clattered to the ground as he was launched backwards for the second time. He pushed himself onto his feet, spit a glob of blood and spittle into the gutter, and charged again. The last time he’d done the exact same thing it had been no difficult task for the droid to simply take aim and let off another round, which it did, and send Nossk soaring back onto the pavement. His list of wounds was starting to grow, and he hadn’t even killed a half-dozen sentients yet. The reptilian was disgusting even himself with his weakness.

Surely this wasn’t the famous Trandoshan fury that The Scorekeeper rewarded so generously? Crushing terrified maggots, slaying a mere human by no other means than sheer luck, being struck twice and brought to the ground by a droid; The Scorekeeper wouldn’t even recognize the slaughter of such mindless, programmed husks. Nossk could almost feel his favor with the deity slipping.

Watch me, Scorekeeper. Nossk pleaded, his resolve deepening and the casual disregard that he applied to just about everything beginning to fade away. He saw the battledroid lock its gun arm in place, requiring few adjustments, for the machine’s target was barreling straight for it. The Trandoshan heard the weapon’s short charging cycle begin, just another half a second before it would fire. The red bolt of fire erupted from the droid’s built-in weapon, searing through the air towards its large, tactics-ignorant destination; this blast was aimed for his head, where his stubbornness, pain tolerance, and considerable constitution would do nothing to keep him alive and fighting.

And indeed they didn’t.

Without thinking (which is traditionally when Nossk performed best) the Trandoshan had grinded his clawed toes against the asphalt of the replica village, slowing himself down, and ducked to the left. The bolt flew over his uninjured shoulder, blasting a small crater into the sidewalk on the other end of the street. The reptilian recovered quickly, drew back his axe, and ran full-force at his enemy once again, this time unhindered by the blaster that wouldn’t have time to fire a second shot before he got there. The battledroid calculated the same thing, and raised its vibroblade appendage as it assumed a defensive stance. It was equipped with several advanced dueling programs; Nossk, on the other hand, knew how to run and swing. Beyond that he was ignorant of the art of close combat, which ironically enough was considered his specialty.

Nossk closed the distance gap quickly, but hesitated even once he knew he was in range. He led with his machete rather than the vibroaxe, despite the rather obvious fact that the non-vibro weapon simply didn’t have the cutting power to do much of anything to the war droid. Nossk realized this in some part of his mind, but ignored it; after all, he had a plan. Somewhere, solar systems away, a certain Trandoshan mother dropped a tray of glass tankards, not quite sure of what had just surprised her.

The droid reacted as its programming dictated, shifting its sword-arm to parry the machete despite its relative harmlessness. Nossk’s primitive plan had just worked (the same Trandoshan mother tripped on her way down the stairs, cursing her clumsiness). Reveling in its success, Nossk brought his vibroaxe across his chest and towards the droid’s head, which was now unprotected by the preoccupied vibro-blade that the Trandoshan kept locked on the other side of its body. Metal collided with metal. Sparks flew.

The battledroid pulled its vibroblade away from Nossk’s machete and stepped back, sparks and tibanna gas spewing from its blaster-arm. The droid had blocked the vibroaxe with its blaster cannon, devoid of any other alternatives other than virtual “death”, and the Trandoshan’s blow had bitten through several inches of frame and vital systems. The war machine’s problematic ranged weapon was disabled, and Nossk wasted no more time in pressing his advantage. He followed the droid step for step, attacking with both of his blades in a constant barrage that managed to bash through the battledroid’s preprogrammed defense in a matter of violent and furious seconds. One of Nossk’s vibroaxe strikes severed a servo in the droid’s sword-arm, and after that it was a simple matter to take the rest of the arm, followed in short order by its protruding head.

The droid slumped where it stood, completely rigid. At first the Trandoshan dared not lower his weapons, lest the machine return to life and try to kill him once again. When it remained motionless for several seconds Nossk kicked it in the chest; the droid toppled over and crashed to the ground. Nossk roared, coming out as more of a hissing/gargling fit, and spit the still-flowing blood out of his mouth onto the fallen droid. A few choice curses in Dosh completed his victory.

Nossk sheathed his machete, checking his scalded shoulder as he did so. The bulky pauldrons he wore absorbed a large amount of the blast, which was only a glancing blow to begin with, and the damage was fortunately minimal, though not painless. Nossk rolled it experimentally, wincing just the slightest bit, and prepared to move on. The open garage door caught his eye, however, and he turned to face it instead. The droid might have had a purpose for being placed in that garage, and the Trandoshan could very well have just destroyed the guardian to some rather valuable spoils. Drawing his slugthrower, Nossk entered the darkened prefab building.

Trandoshan eyes work excellently in low light conditions, but the light switch was easy to find, even for Nossk, and the room was soon bathed with light. The thick-headed bounty hunter would have smiled, were he able. Laying on a tarp at the back of the garage was an assortment of gear that looked both beautifully heavy and brutally powerful: it seemed a perfect match for the barbarian reptile.

Nossk could identify none of it, but then again he didn’t have to. There was a suit of Iotran Braceman armor, blocky and thick, just like its soon-to-be owner. The armor covered his forearms, torso, and thighs, complimenting the improvised assortment of protection he already wore; a standard infantry helmet was placed next to the armor, but it would never fit a Trandoshan skull, and Nossk ignored it as he donned the rest of the armor. After adjusting the straps for his chest and upper legs, Nossk found that the Braceman armor fit rather well, and he was in high spirits as he moved on to the weaponry.
   
First to attract his attention was the grenades. There were four little globes of destruction in all, and Nossk snatched them up greedily and attached them to the gunbelt he’d replaced over the Braceman chestpiece. Two weapons remained on the damp floor of the garage: a long-rifle and a wide-barreled, pump-action slugthrower. Nossk found the long-ranged weapon not to his liking; his way of fighting was always up close, pistol or blade range, not hundreds of meters away squeezing off rounds at a target you can only see through a scope. The Trandoshan had the presence of mind to destroy the rifle’s action with a quick swing of his vibroaxe before picking up the pump-gun.

The reptilian mercenary felt a connection the moment his hands gripped the cold metal. He’d used weapons like this before, spread-fire slugthrowers that would, a long time in the future, in a galaxy far, far away, be called shotguns, but none of this craftsmanship. A large box of shells lay next to the weapon, and Nossk distributed them through the pockets in his belt and armor before filling the shotgun itself and working the action. The Trandoshan reveled in the satisfying sound that the simple process of loading produced.

Little did Nossk know, however, that this very weapon, dozens of years in the future, would make its way onto a small, forgotten space station; a space station, as it so happens, in which a contagious, disease-spreading monstrosity, a Plague Beast, if you will, would take residence. This shotgun would fall into the hands of a boy, a boy who would become a man, a man who would become a legendary soldier the likes of which the galaxy he lived in was most certainly not ready for. But that is a far, far different story than the one being told.

((This part is mostly just for the old Battledome writers, little tie-in I thought might be kinda cool. Don’t mind my reminiscing.))

Nossk hefted his new find with pride, and, convinced that there was nothing more of value, left the dank confines of the garage. He roamed the streets of the faux town with renewed confidence, eager and ready for whatever the Scorekeeper was planning to send at him next.

((AWW I miss Sathik now.))

Demarq shuddered against the splinters of wood that blew past his face, and hugged his knees closer. For the last several hours he'd been here in the forest, squatting in a copse of trees, lost in thought. Eyes, faces, lips crossed his mind's vision and stayed, swirling, bringing back pains that he had kept locked away all this time in Gerba's dungeon. Now that they were back, the haunting resumed. It was only a matter of time before he slipped back into his coma-like state of apathy to block out the pain.

Assuming he lasted much longer, that is. Which, given the small army of droids closing in on his position, guns blazing, was anything but a sure thing.

The droids had appeared a few moments ago, and had been attacked immediately by something lurking in the trees. The creature (it had turned out to be a Mandalorian, armed with a Verpine shattergun) had destroyed three of the ten droids before making a run for it, leaving seven to patrol the area and, inevitably, stumble on Demarq's hiding place. Assuming he was armed (a faulty assumption, but a good one nevertheless), the droids had fired at him from a distance, felling tree after tree in their single-minded attack. They marched forward slowly but inexorably, and it remained to be seen whether they would fell the large tree he was using as cover, or march all the way over to him first.

He still had time. He could survive. But that required motion, and motion required a presence of mind.

Your fault she's dead your Duchess is dead she's gone it's you traitor idiot greedy stupid failed you failed to protect it's over it's done there's nothing you can do nothing left for you just let go let them take you-

ENOUGH
OF
THIS
BULLSH*T

Demarq resurfaced from his thoughts and gasped for air, a drowning man breaking the surface of the water. He leaped to his feet, ignoring the faint feeling from the sudden change in altitude. Another shot from the droids sent charred splinters flying past his vision, and his heart skipped a beat. The events he had observed without seeing for the past seconds flowed back to him, and panic rose in his throat.

Calm down, damn you. You've been in tighter scrapes than this.

He had, at that. There was one time a particularly clever rival pirate had gotten his hands on a gravity well projector, and set it up along a trade route commonly used by supply ships headed for the Outer Rim. The Duchess had been ripped out of hyperspace directly in the other ship's line of fire. They would have been done for, if another transport ship hadn't gotten fallen into the same trap and appeared mid-firefight. Demarq had been able to use the new arrival as cover, and its added firepower, though slight, was enough to turn the tables in his favor. He killed the pirate and looted the now-crippled ship that had saved his life. Because hey, free loot.

There was a reason people said Demarq Halloran's luck was sometimes supernatural.

Your luck ran out the second you crossed Gerba. There'll be no transport ship this time. You're a dead man, you just have to realize it.

There was a crack, and time stopped.
Here's what happened.
1) The droids' volley of shots finally succeeded in felling the tree Demarq was standing behind, leaving him completely exposed.
2) The droids registered, in the subroutines inhabiting the back of their positronic brains, that he was unarmed, and therefore not a threat. If they could feel disappointment, they would have.
3) A group of mercenaries, recently entered and spoiling for a fight, stumbled on their one-sided battle, and opened fire on the droids.

The droids turned and faced their new threat that ranked significantly higher than the weaponless pirate standing before them.

For a full second Demarq still thought he was dead. For another second he whooped and hollered inside his own mind about the return of his good luck. In the third second, with the soundtrack of screams from the mercs who clearly did not know what they were getting into, he bolted.

Normally, it would be considered wise to run as far away from the droids as quickly as possible. Demarq, however, looped a bit, running perpendicular to the line of sight the droids had with him and arcing around to run out of the woods. This path brought him by the droids felled initially by the Mandalorian, allowing him to reach down and scoop up a severed arm. Then he booked it, running south and hoping fervently the screams of his saviors didn't stop until he was well out of range.

He didn't stop until he reached the perimeter to the battledome, half-way between the woods he had just exited and the city he was now facing. He saw the turrets train on him, but figured he was safe at his current proximity. He dropped the severed droid arm and slumped to the ground, rubbing his aching legs.

Now that the adrenaline was leaving his system, he felt the waves of despair threaten to engulf him yet again. In protest, he grasped the discarded droid's arm, and caught a glimpse of the wiring that extruded rudely from it.

Any decent pirate has experience with forcibly rewiring electronics. After a ship-to-ship fight has left the pirate's prey crippled, a second battle has to be conducted: the close-quarters fight with the crew, onboard their ship. This is generally the most thrilling part because it gives the opponent a chance to show its claws. The fight is on their terms, on their home turf. They have the most to lose. In all likelihood, they have the greater numbers. For a pirate, it's a fight unlike any other: the opponent has every advantage.

Unfortunately, the majority of shipping ships don't carry an army of space marines with them. Generally there are pilots on the crew, for obvious reasons, and mechanics. Once the pilots have lost in their arena, the more creative mechanics do their best to halt the oncoming pirates with obstacles like locked doors, sabotaged access ports, and the occasional trap. For this reason any effective pirate has to be able to bypass the odd blast door, unless he wants to spend a fortune in explosives.

The droid arm was disturbingly simple to modify. A simple bridge here, a switch fashioned from part of his belt buckle, and Demarq was able to rig a crude trigger. He wanted badly to test it, but dared not to while close to the perimeter turrets. Any discharge of fire would probably make him a target.

More important than the actual making of the weapon, the process of rewiring the appendage kept his mind off the depression that kept insisting to take over. The rational process of mapping the circuits and reattaching the wires suppressed the emotions, cleared his head, and let him think. It was refreshing; for the past day, when he hadn't been lost in a vortex of black feelings, he'd been high on adrenaline and fighting for his life. This moment was blissfully peaceful in comparison.

So now he had a weapon, but he was not a particularly good shot, and his jury-rigged solution was not nearly as good as a simple trigger on a normal gun. With no armor and only second-hand weapons, he wouldn't last a minute in this bloodbath. He needed someone considerably more deadly than he to deal with everything that out there to kill the prisoners in general, and him in particular. He was a captain, and more than anything, he needed a crew.

A smile came to his lips as he remembered his last few hours in Gerba's prison. He had witnessed several fights, and only one individual he had seen had gotten out alive. He recalled with morbid pleasure the brutal death by cell-door-slamming that had sprayed him with blood that still covered his clothes now. He wasn't normally such a sadist, but this had implications that made him grin despite the mess.

The loser had been a Whipid with a vibroaxe; the winner, an unarmed Trandoshan named Nossk. Neither had noticed Demarq sitting in the corner of the cell, lost in his personal pit of despair, but his unseeing eyes had recorded it all.

Step one in screw-building: get the biggest, baddest, stupidest hulk you can find, and make him yours. Amazing what a little brute force does for potential converts, not to mention your own survival.

This Trandoshan was exactly what he needed. Of course, there was no guarantee the brute would still be alive, but something in his gut just told him he was. Demarq had learned a long time ago to trust that feeling.

A roar broke the relative silence about him, a gurgling, hissing sound that was clearly from some kind of humanoid, yet had to have bestial origins. Demarq's smile widened further (had there been any observers, he surely would have been taken to be a crazy man. Though, hey, given his recent mental track record, who's to say he wasn't?); his quarry was alive, and better yet, in the nearby city.

Shouldering the modified droid arm and feeling a surge of confidence well up from inside him, the pirate set off to attempt to bring the most fearsome creature he had ever met into an less-than advantageous alliance in a free-for-all bloodbath. Despite the odds, he couldn't get the smile off his face.

I'm back, baby! Legendary space pirate Demarq Halloran's epic rise from the ashes begins now; this'll be a day the galaxy remembers!

((So yeah, Scifi, I'm comin' for you. best be ready, foo.))

"But if you do, know this...In the end...I will betray you."

The Mandalorian hesitated, making a quick look toward Dra’Kash, his grip still tight around his weapons.  Dra’Kash narrowed his slit pupils and clenched his jaw.

“I would trust a Mandalorian to honor and alliance, and IF we completed this arena together, to fight me honorably as warriors.  Betrayal is the word of a coward and murderer.  I will not fight beside you, but would rather…”

A shot rang out, as the Mandalorian apparently tired of the monologue and decided to get things over with.  The Jedi’s lightsaber flashed into action just in time.  However, the slug wasn’t entirely incinerated by the block, and parts of the molten metal peppered his vest and face. 

Dra’Kash quickly opened fire as well, but the Jedi made it to cover behind the massive dragon’s corps. 

Before they could advance on him, the Mandalorian suddenly stopped and look behind.  “I think we have a problem” he said through his helmet’s comm. system.  A scream sounded from behind just as Dra'Kash turned to look.  The Barabel's heart skipped a beat when he saw the SECOND dragon that was standing behind them, it's clawed foot holding the crushed body of a weequay face down in the sand.  Picking up the body with it's massive jaws, the body slipped in with a single gulp. 

The creature's black, lifeless eyes turned toward the warriors.  With a roar, it prepared to charge…

*There’s your in Si, hope it works.  Let me know if I can edit to make it fit better or if I missed something.  Same for WV and Mandal, if this goes against a plan you dudes worked out, let me know and I can edit

---RD*

They'd holed up on the top floor for the time being, Flying W and Rando had stepped out.
"It looks like they found us quite unwittingly. What a shame." W pushed his time lengthened hair back, what had originally been short when he'd first showed up as a prisoner.
"For the one trying to kill air, yes."
"I had to, otherwise my frail self would had expired." Flying W stretched out, perfectly calm.
Rando moved under a window to get a little air, or avoid being the target of a stray blaster bolt. He leaned again, this time crossing his arms.
"I can't imagine that being the truth."
"Well, see it this way. The longer I'm with you, the more I can look into you. Control your thoughts. Alter perception. Younger minds, sick minds, distorted minds are easier to meddle with and take less time than able minds like yours."
"Can this please be a dream then?"
"Even now, I can only do it for a minute or two. The problem with blood..."
Rando went to his full height. "What?! I though it was some force power!"
"It's not quite that deary, I'm afraid. It's just something I picked up during my travels. Not Sith alchemy, or what have you. Think of it as drowning in the sea. You're beneath this oppresive weight of water, and yet, you only send out ripples. Barely moving it...So, take my natural midichilorians, my natural connection to the force. The more of someone else's I have, the more connection I get. The more water in the ocean, the further you can go. I can use the force, use that ocean as a wave against the barrier of your mind, flooding it. I take over your perceptions for a brief moment and then wash back out as the water level recedes."
He held up the jug, the contents sloshed around tranquily. Like water striking the sides, but not.
"That jug...what's in it?" Rando reached out, as if entranced by a morbid fascination.
"You already know. But the jug is the awesome part, the fruit it was carved from stops blood from coagulating."
He pulled the cork, and took a long draw from it. As a drunkard takes his sin.
Rando wrenched. Hauling himself to the window, to throw up. Instead, he was caught short looking down on a spy. Barely visible from the window, maybe an eye could be seen. But now he could see him totally.
The door to the upper level room opened. One of the others walked out.
(If that's too gross, or wrong, or whatever. Just tell me and I'll change it.)

((I'd say that's just the right amount of gross. It's awesome. However, could you possibly clarify what it is exactly that W can do? I've been looking back, but can't quite figure it out.))

Yeah, I'll do some editing. Add in some material to the post.)
"...I can use the force, use that ocean as a wave against the barrier of your mind, flooding it. I take over your perceptions for a brief moment and then wash back as the water level recedes."

If that's not clear, he uses the midichlorians from other people's blood to increase his ability in the force and then alters the way a person sees something depending on the amount of blood and amount of time he's spent with that person.
A stranger would only be a split second for example.
An extremely well-known person could easily have their reality altered for up to five minutes.

I second the motion.  Is the drink a blood thinner or is that just what the jug was made out of?

EDIT:  I think I have it.  It's Rando's blood and the jug stops the blood from coagulating inside the container.  Yes?

The jug, which is made out of a dried fruit-sort of like the alcohol containers you see in Kung Fu movies-. It contains blood, so what the dried fruit does is slowly release a chemical that stops blood from coagulating.
The type of blood doesn't matter really. I suppose having that person's blood would make it easier.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calabash

Masra enjoyed the air of death surrounding her in the battledome. She had yet to sink her vibroblade into a creatures flesh, and every cell in her body now hungered, craved and desired to inflict pain. Masra longed to wreak havoc in the arena, but was disappointed to see battle droids amongst the madness and dead. “Inferior foes.” She thought. They neither bled nor felt pain. And that was all the point. The was no joy in stopping a droid, no power to be stolen in its defeat.

There was much chaos around the dome. She could see blaster shots being fired in the jungle habitat, and heard some hapless creature scream, as Masra watched it crushed beneath the toes of a large lizard. “Krayt Dragon” her HUD labeled it. Masra blinked twice and even more information was brought up, only this time into the small ear pieces she wore. What stood out to her was the mention of “highly valuable and sought after ‘pearls’ “that apparently formed in one of the creatures stomach. An interesting twist as well. It would be a great bonus proposition for the mercenary. And unlike those pathetic, weak droids, the dragon posed a mighty challenge and threat to herself. But it would be no easy task.

A Barabel and the Mandalorian stood near one another right in the path of the formidable beast. She thought she saw the flash of a lightsaber as well, but she was unsure as she was distracted by the fact that there was actually another carcass of the same sort of great beast.  That hutt Gerba had apparently spared no effort and expence to make this battle bloody as possible.

Masra understood the limitations of her armor and strength. Blood lust went a long way, but she wasn’t foolish. It would be impossible to deal with those two plus the Krayt simultaneously. But if she used them to her advantage, a distraction to the dragon, they would be to busy themselves to give much attention to her, and like wise the creature.

Masra unsheathed her longest blade, and sprinted towards the action. So far no one had paid any mind to the yellow armored mercenary. She drew nearer and slowed down. There was a large rock which she crouched next to, keeping a careful eye on the situation unfolding. She had heard and felt the mines that detonated earlier near the center of the dome. So trying to use that knowledge she picked up the largest stone she could see and reach. It landed hard with a thud into the middle of what she had supposed was the mine field.

Nothing happened. The dragon nor the other combatants gave the stone a first glance.

Masra uttered a curse under her breath. Her mind raced with possibilities as what could have gone wrong. She picked up another stone to try again, seeing that her cover was still useable. This time she did manage to find what she was looking for. It landed squarely on a mine. But it was anti climatic. All the other mines’ detonation had damaged this one, leading only to a half hearted “poof” of sand. Again it had no effect on any one else inside the battledome. But it had the unwanted effect of drawing the scrutiny of one of the battle droids sensors. And it headed toward the originating point of the vector of the stone that triggered the minor explosion.

To the battle droids dismay, Masra’s motion sensors detected the droids approach. With a sweeping flourish she pushed her vibrosword backwards, and into the center of the droid, stopping it in its tracks. Masra spun to face the droid and in one fast move of the blade upward and the droid lie in two smoking and leaking lubricant into the sand floor.

When she turned to face towards the krayt dragon again, it was closer than ever, but for some odd reason still oblivious to her presence. Maybe it had something to do with that it had turned to snack on a hapless weeqay whose legs were now sticking out of the dragon’s mouth. Masra was now looking down the backside of a very nasty lizard. But she ignored the displeasure of the thought, focusing on the wealth that the pearls would bring.  So she ran forward, pulling out her other virbrosword that was still slung on her back. At the last second she slid down in the sand, ducking under the creature’s tail and by its back pair of legs. Masra sliced as hard and as deep as she could into the back of the these legs, severing tendons and causing green blood to flow from the wounds and cover the blades in the sticky, warm fluid. The creature bellowed in pain and Masra felt the surge of power from it.

Masra did a quick roll forward to avoid the creature as it started to fall back as those legs could no longer support its heavy weight. As she came out of the roll she jabbed both blades deep into the creature's soft underbelly and actually ran with them until she reached the creatures neck. There the scales were thicker, almost like the durasteel plates on a star craft, and the blades stopped. The krayts screams were intolerably loud, and the sound reverberated around the dome.  Yet it only fueled Masra on further. She pulled the blades out and dug deep again with them, up to the very hilts, and cut out the prone portion of its neck.

All the sand around them was now soft with the blood and fluid from the krayt dragon gushing wounds. There was organs spilling down and dragging on the ground.

Again Masra rolled out of the way as the beast fell to the ground, bleeding, gasping for air, but not finding any. The creature would die. It was only a matter of time. Masra now sheathed her vibroswords, and pulled a smaller dagger out from her belt. She cut a new wound into the dragon, where she was estimated where the gullet that carried the pearls was purported to be. But alas her hand came up empty.

There was another curse uttered inside the helmet.

She went towards another spot and this time she was rewarded with two small stone like shiny globes.  But the slaying of the krayt dragon would be noticed. And others would be coming for her. So with that she ran for the cover of the mock urban landscape.

(( Sev I have an idea...... i dunno if you're up to it but.... ))

looks good, Ralin

The Barabel spoke.

“I would trust a Mandalorian to honor an alliance, and IF we completed this arena together, to fight me honorably as warriors.  Betrayal is the word of a coward and murderer.  I will not fight beside you, but would rather…”

Kal knew that if he gave the Jedi time to respond, they might never stand a chance against him. It was an underhanded tactic, but he had little choice. He fired.

And the Jedi blocked it, snapping his blade into place just in time. Molten shavings exploded onto him, and he stumbled back. The Barabel opened fire, and they drove the Jedi back, but he took cover behind the corpse of the dead Krayt. Kal noticed something erratic reported on his sensors. They were reporting something huge behind him. He checked his 360 degree view. "Oh, shab." He turned. "I think we have a problem..."

Another Krayt was behind them. It mauled a Weequay, then looked up, ready to charge. Suddenly, it buckled, collapsing on it's back legs, and a figure in yellow armor appeared, plunging bloody blades into its stomach, then slicing them across its throat. The hunter then used a smaller blade to cut into it, and pulled something, pearls he surmised, out of its stomach. The mystery figure then ran off towards the urban dwellings. Kal raised his Verpine, glancing at the at the Barabel.

"Well. That was interesting. Who do we go after?"

Dra'Kash had turned his attention back toward the Jedi's direction after the second dragon went down, but he was nowhere to be seen either.  The real competition seems to have arrived... he thought with a sneer as he pulled his massive blade from it's sheath and cut into the first dragon.

"Well. That was interesting. Who do we go after?"

Ripping the pearl sack from the body in his bloody hand, Dra’Kash let the two jems fall into his palm.  Gazing at them for a moment, he pocketed one and flipped the second to the Mando.  “Most of the sentients have run to the city.  Let them kill each other.  We shall own the woods, killing those we find and letting the masses slaughter each other in the town.”  Stopping to pick up a large tooth from the fallen dragon, he pulled most of the burnt flesh that still clung to it and started into the deepest section of the forest. 

“We must find our ground and master it.  Come, those in the city will learn soon enough that the buildings only hold death.  They will seek shelter…and we shall be waiting”

*That’s what I have in mind.  Anybody who was planning on giving us an in to something else PM me and I’ll edit*

(GAH MEH FACE...:P)

Hidden in a small house farthest away from the action going on in the streets now, Jax hissed in pain as he painfuly removed the tiny pieces of metal that has welded themselves onto his face. He cursed the Mandalorain again and again.

"Who the hell uses a slug-thrower nowadays anyway!" he yelled to himself.

He clenched his teeth as he begain to yanked out another piece. He screamed. The wound caused more bleeding, he held his shirt to his face and willed the bleeding to stop. After a minute or two it did...then he started on the next piece.

He swore, he would make the Mando suffer...even now his anger was building up, his pupils getting dark...After 20 minutes of grueling torture, his work finished, Jax's emotions was as dark as black hole. He summoned his unnatural ammount of power and blew a wall out of the house he was hiding in, he ignited his blade, and set out to wreak his power on the first being he saw.

Jax hadent noticed, but instead of the normal cool blue his lightsaber usually was, a dark black blade emerged instead, seemingly crackiling with anger its self.

Wow...I'm glad Ralin didn't have me do anything more. Like actually shoot you. I think the entire planet would have exploded. :D Anyways, it was a Verpine. I might post again tonight. If no one responds, and I do, I'll just delete this.

You're scaring me, Mandal.

(You should be...I'm coming after you :P)

((Hey sorry guys but I have midterms coming up and some other work due Friday, so it'll be a miracle if I could get anything up until after the weekend.))

Guta-Nay hacked through the fake foliage in an attempt to reach the outer walls, killing anyone in his way. He was tired, hungry, and craving a glass of alcohol. It's not a good idea to piss off a Weequay with alcohol deprivation. Guta-Nay wanted to see if there was a blind spot between the turrets to he could possibly escape. When he reached the outer wall he saw a Jedi, armed with a lightsaber pike with a yellow blade ( http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Lightsaber_pike but with a slightly shorter staff part)

Guta-Nay fired at the Jedi, who moved with superhuman speed and agility to deflect the shot and force push Guta-Nay before he could even blink. Guta-Nay was launched backwards, and he landed hard on the ground. He quickly drew his vibrosword and stood back up, parrying the Jedi's attacks.

The fight lasted for about 10 seconds, until Guta-Nay noticed the Jedi's left leg had been seared badly by a blaster bolt. Guta-Nay stabbed at the leg, causing the Jedi to move it back, shifting his weight to the bad leg as he did. The Jedi flinched at the pain, and Guta-Nay swung hard at the lightsaber pike, causing it to fly out of the Jedi's grip. He swiftly beheaded the Jedi, who was no older then 20, so he must have been inexperienced. That was probably why Guta-Nay had won, because he would have lost against a more powerful Jedi.

Picking up the pike, Guta-Nay ignited it, marveling at it's lightness and beauty. The blade had no weight to it, unlike his vibrosword. It was a great weapon, and Guta-Nay was sure he would put it to some good use. He walked closer to the wall, careful to not go past the line which marked 10 meters. Going past the line would mean instant death by the laser turrets.

Walking close to the line, Guta-Nay looked up at the wall. some of the turrets were locked onto him, daring him to step over the line. Suddenly, some of the turrets locked onto something moving behing him. Guta-Nay quickly turned around. A Gamorrean was running at him, vibro axe raised. Guta-Nay moved to the side, and the Gamorrean stumbled past him, almost over the line. Guta-Nay ignited the lightsaber pike, stabbing the Gamorrean in it's large gut. It fell backwards over the 10 meter line, and it got blasted rapidly by dozens of lasers. When they were done, the Gamorrean was nothing more then a smoldering pile of ashes and charred body parts.

Satisfied with his new weapon, Guta-Nay walked back into the forest to test it out on some unlucky prisoners.

((Forgive me for not posting, last week I found out my grandfather has terminal brain cancer so I can't really cobble up anything right now other than this, sorry.))

I feel for ya ner vod.  You have my payers and good wishs.

(Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that Lord Revan  :(

And sorry I haven’t been posting either, things have been crazier around here lately then I was expecting them to be since the move.  Will try to be around more.) 

Kel’Dar’Ish settled into a small grove deep in the forrested area for a short rest.  He’d killed several armed prisoners and hunters since his escape, but was more concerned right now with finding a way out of the Battledome then killing. 

I’ll need to check the south wall next to see if there’s a better chance of escape there.  But the chances are slim.  I might really have to win this thing to escape.

He’d viewed the north and west walls, each of which had a large entrance tunnel.  Both had identically lethal defensive turrets that covered the entrance perfectly.  Too perfectly even; there was well more then enough firepower on each gate then was needed. 

Even if I made it past the guns somehow, that durasteel gate is in the way.  I’d need to blow that, or catch it while it was open, before even attempting to run past the  guns.

Dozens had tried, the piles in front of the gates were disturbingly neat.

A snap in the bushes nearby caught Kel’s attention.  Lowering himself into his hiding place, he waited.

Someone, or more then one, is near

(Hope this is ok; I’ll really try to post more and keep up.)

Discovering the Braceman armor, the grenades, the shotgun, the pistol, hell even the ration bars in his overall pockets, had made Nossk feel good. Very good. He’d expressed general disdain for the fighters who’d run to the weapons and armor the moment they left their cells, but that didn’t mean he intended to fight barehanded and naked through hordes of heavily equipped enemies to get his revenge, his bounty, and his freedom. The Trandoshan’s gear had more or less fallen into his lap, ever since that first prison guard had so generously provided him with his vibroaxe mere seconds into this bloodbath.

Fighting the battledroid, however, opened Nossk’s lidless, reptilian eyes to something: There were some enemies that you couldn’t simply charge and rip apart piece by piece. Sooner or later one of his opponents would be too well-equipped for Nossk’s considerable strength and brutish courage to handle. His armor would be too thick for a slugthrower or a vibroaxe, his blasters too powerful, his range too far, his intelligence too great – and at that time the tale of Nossk would be all told, and an abrupt “The End” would be printed at its finish. Unless he had more.

Perhaps it was a sad reality to men such as him – needing more and more technology just to stay on part with your opponents – but it was a reality nonetheless. The primitive were doomed to failure and death, the modern fated to survival and victory. So far the only things that the Trandoshan possessed were acquired through a combination of two methods: searching buildings and killing people. He saw no reason to change his strategy now; after all, there were still plenty of un-scoured houses in the faux village.

For all that Nossk had learned in his short time in the Battledome (from nearly losing to the cocky human, to realizing how vital searching your surroundings can be, to scraping with death yet again at the hands…blaster/blade of the war droid), in many ways he remained the dumb bruiser that got himself landed into this cesspool in the first place. The Trandoshan sidled up to the door of a prefab house several blocks away from where he battled the droid (the concept of switching hunting grounds was one of the few that was familiar to him), and promptly kicked it off its hinges. He had no process for selecting the houses he raided; no consideration for how many potential escape routes there were, how large it was, what kinds of noises he’d heard coming from the area in the past few cycles, none of it mattered to Nossk. All he knew was that it was a house, that he hadn’t been there before, and that there might be prey or profit somewhere inside.

No ambush waited for him as he walked through the doorway; or when he clomped up the stairs with not the slightest attempt at stealth; or when he tore through each room one by one, tensed and ready for something, anything to leap out and attack him. But there was nothing.

In one of the rooms Nossk found a large rucksack and two canteens, already brimming with water. The Trandoshan gave no worry to the possibility that it might be poisoned (and indeed it wasn’t, to his good fortune), and tossed them into the pack before throwing it over his shoulders and cinching the straps tight. The reptilian trudged back down the stairs, unsatisfied with the tranquility of the place and unexcited about his meager findings.

He was halfway out the door when an inexplicable, yet unmistakable buzzing noise made him halt mid-step. Nossk looked back over his shoulder, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, something in the back of his scaly head urged him to go back. So he did.

Nossk turned around and reentered the house, raising his new shotgun in an unconscious gesture of apprehension. Something had to have made that noise, but the Trandoshan had just none-too-subtly searched the entire building, and found nothing but the pack and water he now wore. Nossk wandered his way into the kitchen, looking for a door that hadn’t been broken in yet. It didn’t take him long to come upon a small door tucked into a small alcove of the kitchen, one easily mistaken for a coatroom or a broom closet. Seeing no other alternative the Trandoshan wrenched the light door open, and was surprised to see neither coats nor brooms: instead, a narrow, wooden stairway descended into the musky darkness below. The basement was below ground level, and judging from the pitch blackness had no windows to illuminate the stone-walled interior. Two kinds of men would turn around and not pay the foreboding cellar another thought: a smart man, or a scared man (or perhaps both). Nossk was neither.

The Trandoshan immediately mounted the stairs and began his descent. The shotgun’s stock was pressed tight against Nossk’s uninjured shoulder, steadying the slugthrower as it remained locked onto the bottom of the staircase and the cavernous darkness beyond. The lizard-man’s keen reptilian eyes adjusted in seconds, and he could make out the basement much more clearly by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. It was essentially one large room, with about a half dozen durasteel beams scattered throughout to support the roof. The dusty mounds of junk strewn about the cellar were startlingly realistic for a village that was supposed to be all prefabricated and fake, and even sported such archaic touches as old, sheet-covered furniture. Nossk found the extensiveness of the atmosphere highly confusing.

Confusion was wiped away in a single instant as the Trandoshan picked up movement from the corner of his eye. He swiveled towards the rustling to his left and fired. Stuffing exploded in great clouds as Nossk’s shell connected with a long-forgotten couch against the wall. More than stuffing, however, he heard a horrible, insectoid screech add to the sudden clamor.

Gotcha. Nossk thought to himself, believing the creature to be at the very least wounded.

“At the very least” wasn’t quite good enough, however; so he pumped his weapon, and fired again. The screech sounded a second time - still in the same place. His target was immobile.

Nossk pumped his shotgun again before approaching the decimated sofa, behind which his unknown enemy lay, probably bleeding heavily (at least he liked to think so) from multiple gunshot wounds. The Trandoshan grabbed one arm of the couch and dragged it aside, revealing the gore-covered form of a small, insect-like biped buzzing angrily on the stone floor. It glared up at the reptile with hate in its multi-faceted eyes, flopping pathetically as it tried to lash out at its assailant. Nossk raised his shotgun slightly until the wide muzzle wavered mere centimeters from the bug-creature’s hideous face...and fired.

White splatters of fluid showered the walls, the couch, Nossk, and anything else within a two meter radius of the small corpse that had just been blown open like a melon. The Trandoshan cocked his slugthrower a third time, and turned to finish searching the basement. What he saw stopped him dead, and maybe, though he would never admit it and none would ever know for sure, even instilled a single mote of fear in the brutish warrior: Arrayed behind him, semi-silhouetted against a tiny beam of light that peeked in between a set of double-doors to the surface, was an unbroken sea of the little insects. Little wasn’t exactly the best word to use, as far as insect standards go that is. They stood perhaps a meter and a half when drawn up to their full height, and were covered in a deep blue coat of chitinous armor. The lot of them were completely unarmed, but numbers can make up for a great deal of things. A deep, irritated buzzing, the very same that the first had produced before his death, seemed to radiate from the small swarm (for that’s what they were, a swarm). Stranger still, the very spite they must have been feeling seemed to bear down on him, to impress their hate into his mind.

To Nossk this meant nothing but a few funny noises and weird feelings in his empty Trandoshan belly. After all, as with the Yevetha Nossk knew very little of the many species that call this galaxy home, especially not one as unique and rare as the Bartokk. The Bartokk possess what is called a “hive mind”, meaning they think as one, and in their case their intelligence increases exponentially with each additional Bartokk within a certain range. This occurs through a type of primitive telepathy which can be repurposed to cry for help or, for example, share emotions. The Bartokk were in sole possession of several other unusual and distinctive abilities, but Nossk would discover those in due course.

I think I’m actually going to die. Nossk thought mildly to himself, waiting in tense silence while neither he nor the wall of insects moved. His eyes darted between claws and teeth that would be multiplied by dozens, and would very soon all be trying to rip a piece of him apart. They would simply surge forward and engulf him, so great were their numbers and so enclosed their battlefield.

Eh, whatever.

Nossk had always known how he would die. He raised his shotgun, bellowed long and loud, and charged straight for the wall of Bartokk as his first gun-blast echoed in the nightmarish basement.

"It's crowd control, get back in there." Flying W easily pushed the curious Rattataki back inside the room while at the same time throwing his hip in just such a way he went with her and the door shut.
There was another stairwell on the other side. Hopefully they were already piling out down that one. Rando let go of the sill and deftly dropped the window with a click. It slid down on the spy's fingers, which Rando had hoped, just like in the holo-toons.
He enjoyed the one about the Womp Rat and the Nexus.
Rando slipped the cycler over his shoulder, thankful for the uncharacteristic attached strap and hurried down the stairs. He met up with the rest of the group and was again last in line.
Things had barely calmed down outside. So much was in motion, and Rando had been the only one to see the peeping tom-the name of the nexus in the holo-toon, that's what it was- which forced his interest.
He tore from the group and headed back around the house. Whoever it had been, was gone.
Rando did a light check and headed back. Catching what he thought was a heavy buzz in his ears from the building next door for a split second.
The front door had been left opened. Rando was forced to ignore it.

(I feel all alone...Mel is still gone...and I'm sorry but I don't remember the third person...)

((That would be me, sorry but I'm a little too brain dead to post lately, I'll try to get something up soon))

((It looks like Mel put us all in one room together.  Rando and Flying W were the only ones who noticed the peeper?  So I'm just going to assume Rando and Flying W were downstairs with Val's character at the window and we were still upstairs.))

Krish only blinked as Rodian had come in and attacked them all.  If not been for Rando John would have had a vibroknife in his skull.  Krish only stood there bewildered as Flying W and Rando headed downstairs.  He looked to Tressah, Otta and Rro and headed down the stairs John following.  He was surprised to see that Rando was gone.  He had never seen those two away from each other.  But Rando re-entered the front door.

"Someone was spying on us.  I err... stumbled onto him spying on us from the window.  When I checked outside he was gone.  But I did notice an incessant buzzi-"

Before Rando could finish a group of thugs entered the small house.  Judging by their arsenal these weren't prisoners that had been released.  They were mercenaries eager to get in on Gerba's slaughter.  And Gerba had finally released them all to prey on the prisoners.  The mercs were slightly taken aback and some of the prisoners used that to their advantage.  Krish had a knife whizzing through the air to one of the mercs who keeled over as it sliced through the man's flightsuit at the neck between the crease in armor.  Krish dashed back to the kitchen area to gain some cover hauling John off with him.  The others were slowly making their way back as well.

((Hey guys, just thought I'd throw in an FYI. Gunslinger is moving in to kind of join forces with Nossk, and I hate to say it but your party is already a bit on the large side, so I suggest we keep ourselves separated for the time being.

If you're looking for a new objective though, throw some mercenaries into the fight, I think it's about time Gerba released them in full force anyway. And don't forget that other NPC groups might have formed as well elsewhere in the Battledome - the possibility of a gang war is always open. Hacking and slashing isn't our only option for writing, we need to formulate some kind of goal for each character or group of characters; even if that's just slaughtering everyone else, then some mass-genocide plan has to come to light or something of that nature. I hope you can forgive the OOC.))

((That's fine.  I wasn't sure if the old Battledome was one giant group or several smaller ones. Edited.))

((In the end there was Mel, Sathik, Dash, myself...oh man was that really it? When it gets that small we really didn't have too much of a choice, but throughout the Battledome we kind of teamed up and split off a couple times. For now I'd say your group is fine, but you can tell how people start to lose track of where their characters are or what their new allies are doing.))

No apologies are needed Rev, just keep your spirits high and dont get bogged down in grief.

My prayers are are with you.
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Dark thoughts coursed through Jax's mind, tearing at his soul, the very fiber of his being being lost and forgoten in his sea of his rage. A single word was the only thing he thought, everything else was on instinct...And that thought was: 'Vengance!'.

A wake of destruction was behind him, fleeing combatants were infront of him.  Pulses of kenetic energy repeatedly shot forth from his hands tearing at the houses, and beings alike. Bursts of speed were utilized to slay enemys in the blink of an eye. A dreadful expression on his face, made worse be the bullet scars that deformed his face, that of which could stop a rampaging ronto in its tracks.

At last as his wrath reduced slighty, standing on a mound of corpses of those who had been stupid or bloodlusty enough to attack him, Jax gave a mighty yell that could be heard across the Battledome:
"WHERE ARE YOU MANDALORIAN!"

“Most of the sentients have run to the city.  Let them kill each other.  We shall own the woods, killing those we find and letting the masses slaughter each other in the town. We must find our ground and master it.  Come, those in the city will learn soon enough that the buildings only hold death.  They will seek shelter…and we shall be waiting.”

"A good plan. By the way, what is your name?"

"Dra'kash" he replied.

"Kal. Now, let us find our battleground."

Kal raised his Shatter gun, and ejected his right gauntlet blade just in case. Dra'kash readied himself similarly. They moved throughout the woods, and initially encountered few enemies, who they quickly killed. They stopped at a rock formation that formed a cave, of sorts. "This looks defensible, but it doesn't give us much of a way of escape, if a large group attacked us. Your call."

Before Dra'kash could answer, a mighty voice echoed across the Battledome. "WHERE ARE YOU MANDALORIAN!"

"Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good."

"It ssseemss you've made an impression" Dra'Kash hissed in an amused manner. 

Looking into the sheltered grove below, Dra'Kash dismissed it.  "This is a place of hiding.  I have come to hunt.  This place could be the center of our 'home ground,' and useful to hide supplies or extra gear in."   Stripping off his extra pack, Dra'Kash started down into the shelter...

*Kelborn, if you want to join or try somethin', I'm game; or if somebody else wants to be down there, that's good to.*

*I’m game Ralin  :D*

Kel’Dar’Ish held as far back in the shadows as he could and watched the lizard man start down into his hiding place.  Holding tightly to his native Shistavanen blade, he watched as the alien found a hiding place in the roots of a tree to hide his pack. 

This could be great!  After they leave I can take his stuff and see if he had any food; I’m starving.

Instead of putting his back-pack in the hiding place, the lizard stopped and looking inside. 

“Look” he said to his companion.  “It’s one of Gerba’s hidden supply places!  Take some food and ammo packs.”

Grah!  Why didn’t I think to look in there!  I’ve been starving all this time, and I’ve been sitting on some supplies the whole time!

As the Mandalorian started down into the grove, however, his head swung in Kal’s direction.  “Look out!” he yelled to the lizard as his rifle came up level with Kal’s head.

Blast!  His helmet sensors must have spotted me!

Jumping from his hidden place, Kal tackled the lizard guy before he could pull his blaster pistol.  Grabbing him from behind and holding his blade to the alien’s throat, Kal kept his prisoner between himself and the Mandalorian

“Lets make a deal!” Kal barked in harsh basic…

*hope that’s ok; tell me if I need to edit*

Demarq let the Trandoshan enter the house and watched on from an alley across the street.
He'll be cautious this time. He took a lot of damage from that battle droid, he must have figured out by now that he's not immortal. Give him time to look around, to become at ease with his surroundings. Wait for him to leave the house before you attempt to jump him.

But what if he hasn't learned? What if he's as headstrong and stupid as when he was fighting that droid?

Well, then there'll be no reasoning with him, no way to make him join an alliance. He'd be useless. Time to hope this lizard you're chasing's got the least bit of sense in him.

Five minutes passed before the Trandoshan emerged again. Demarq tightened his grip on the gun, ready to make his move from a distance, when the beast stopped, apparently aware of some new threat, and headed back into the house. Normally a hunter would be discouraged when their quarry behaved unpredictably and threw off their plan, but Demarq had learned long ago not to put much faith in plans.

The situation is always...fluid.

The pirate stepped out from behind his cover and approached the open door, clutching his improvised blaster in apprehension.

Once the fighting starts it's fine, it's just the suspense that kills you.

He was within five meters of the door when he first heard the sound that had brought his quarry out of sight: a low buzzing, barely audible by his human ears, seemed to pervade the air around him. How could that brute have noticed something this subtle? Perhaps some reptilian extra-perception, or simply a lower range of frequency for hearing? Demarq decided this question, while intriguing, was irrelevant, and disregarded it.

He stepped through the door, and he took in the scene: the open door leading into the lightless depths, where his target had clearly gone, and from where the buzzing appeared to emanate.

His senses took in what happened next, but in a detached sort of way. His brain decided to interpret each sensory input independently, lest the ramafications of everything put him into shock (which, given his recent psychological trauma, was not out of the question)

Sight: A flash of light, for only an instant, flooded from the dark portal to the basement
Hearing: The distinctive sound of a explosively-propelled slugthrower weapon firing a single shot
Taste: Bile rising in the back of his throat as the implications of the situation begin to dawn
Feeling: His body begins to vibrate as the low buzzing rises, angrily, and becomes the unmistakable roar of an insect swarm

You stupid n'wah, what have you done?

Demarq's survival instinct screamed at him to retreat from this house, find another brute to tame to his cause. Had this happened perhaps half an hour before, the pirate would have listened to it. However now, having put all the work into tracking this one humanoid, he was loathe to start from scratch, even if it meant his own death. Living is a top priority, to a point; sometimes, the looming boredom of a tedious task can overcome a sentient's desire even to continue its own existence.

I'll be damned if I'm going to stake out an entirely new target. You're mine, and until I see you ripped apart and don't have anther choice, I'm sticking to this.

Another shot rang out. Then another. Light flashed twice from the doorway. Demarq stepped up to the door; he took out his panicked survival instinct for a moment and played with it. He shrugged, put it away behind a wall for the time being, and plunged into the black.

Demarq was a man who appreciated atmosphere. He would have admired the moldy furniture placed in disarray against the walls, the dust-covered knickknacks piled high in boxes. The dusty, rotting scent that filled the air (bear in mind this was all pre-fabricated! It was as though Gerba had this exact scenario in mind from the start), the almost utter darkness, would have tickled something deep inside him and made him squirm with private artistic joy.
Here is a place for an epic encounter! Where an anti-hero faces a force of evil unlike any he could have imagined! he would have allowed his inner romantic to reflect. All this would have happened, had he not been focused on something else.

He was too busy looking at the epic encounter before his eyes to imagine the others that might occur only in his imagination.

The Trandoshan faced an endless multitude of the insect-like creatures that were quite clearly the source of the buzzing noise. He appeared to have killed at least one of their number already, if the spray of white fluid that covered his body and the surrounding area. For the moment, the reptile and the swarm were staring each other down, but there was only one way this could end. Blood had been spilled. There would soon be quite a bit more of it.

A shot rang. An insect fell. The shotgun pumped. beyond that, Demarq saw nothing as the Trandoshan was beset upon by the wall of enemies. Claws and mandibles flashed in the traces of light that found their way down from the still-open door to the first floor. The buzzing rose in pitch.

Here goes nothing. You'd better not be dead yet.
Demarq squeezed his makeshift trigger, connecting the wires on his gun and triggering a discharge of crimson energy. One of the closer bug was burned straight through its chitinous exterior, and collapsed to the ground twitching. Demarq fired again, obtaining similar results.

The bugs certainly noticed his presence. Rather than simply head toward him, as he expected, the swarm split into two groups, one intent on destroying their new attacker, and the other to finishing off the Trandoshan who had killed one of their own.

They're much smarter than anticipated; this may very well be a sentient species. This changes nothing, except- OUCH

Lost in the glory of the moment, Demarq had not noticed that his makeshift weapon had begun to overheat in his hand after the third shot he fired. He involuntarily flung the molten piece of metal from his body. It sailed through the cellar air, taking a sizable chunk of the charred flesh from his right index finger with it.

He stood weaponless, injured, before the half-swarm that threatened to engulf him. This all of a sudden seemed not to be such a fantastic idea after all.

((More to come, honest. I'm just a tired dude right now.))

It's not as great as I'd like, but I'm exhausted and at least it's something.

-

Chaos washed over Nossk in an emerald wave of whining Bartokk. His slugthrower thundered again and again, a full four times in the tight, smothering confines of the basement that had just become a killing ground. The column of insectoid aliens unlucky enough to be in the Trandoshan’s forward fire arc fell in droves, and for a few precious, glorious seconds Nossk felt invincible as he laid waste to the enemies before him; fear and hopelessness gave way to a sudden surge of adrenaline and excitement, and the reptilian thought for those same delusional seconds that he could hold the sea of bloodthirsty Bartokk at bay with the simple application of guts and his boomstick. After those brief moments passed, however, Nossk realized he was wrong. He was very, very wrong.

One cannot fire a pistol into a swarm of bees and expect to kill all of them, and by the same token slaying an entire hive of Bartokk with nothing but a spread-shot slugthrower was an undertaking reserved for the desperate or the foolish. Those initial instants when Nossk’s fire decimated the first half dozen or so insectoids standing directly in front of him was all it took for the rest of the swarm to literally engulf the defiant Trandoshan from every other conceivable direction. They leapt on top of him, crawled between his legs, clung to his arms and torso, all the while tearing at any part of him they could touch.

Nossk’s arms were jerked downwards as a pair of the creatures latched onto his arms, forcing his shotgun down and away from the targets in front of him. He managed to pump it once more, and pulled the trigger anyway, blasting another of the Bartokk away. No matter where the barrel was pointed it was sure to hit something, so thick were the insects packed around the reptilian mercenary. One of the Bartokk on his arm bit into his hand, loosening his grip on the slugthrower as another tore it away from his grasp. Nossk growled in pain and fury, and pulled his arm up to his face. For a frozen moment in time he stared the Bartokk attached to it directly in its multiple eyes – then he fastened his jaws over them. He snapped them together, and like a child breaking the shell of a hard candy he chomped through the creature’s natural armor, crushing its skull and tasting its gore.

Nossk flailed his arms in wide arcs, swinging the insectoids like some sort of sadistic theme park ride in his attempts to throw them off. One finally lost its grip and was hurled into the half-destroyed sofa that Nossk had shot upon entering the cellar; the other was used as a makeshift club against its kin, clinging to the Trandoshan’s left arm as he swung it in great circles. It didn’t take long for the reptilian to realize that it wasn’t going to let go, so he used the considerable momentum he’d gained to smash the persistent Bartokk against the duracrete floor. Exoskeleton cracked and white fluid oozed, but the insectoid creature still lived – until, that is, Nossk’s clawed foot caved in its chest as he turned to engage another (another dozen or so, rather) Bartokk.

One mustn’t forget that Nossk was not, by any means, fighting the monstrosities on a one-on-one basis. Even while he bit, threw, and crushed the insects, dozens more buzzed around him, some pounding uselessly against his Braceman plating while others dug into his scaly hide through open gapes in his makeshift suit of armor. As Nossk ground his latest kill into the ground, one of its hive-mates burrowed a clawed appendage into his upper thigh, twisting it back and forth in its attempt to drive the limb deeper. The Trandoshan’s reaction was instantaneous.

Nossk did not hiss, did not growl, did not gurgle, did not snarl, did not produce any sound that one would normally expect a Trandoshan to make. No, when Nossk felt the hot lance of pain drive through his leg, he roared, a terrifying report more akin to a Krayt Dragon call than a Trandoshan expression of pain. Nossk’s vision narrowed to a red tunnel, one which zeroed in on the little insect trying to mutilate his leg. The Trandoshan reached down and grabbed the Bartokk in an unforgiving vice-grip, lifting it high in the air as he bellowed his rage and pain through the prefabricated house. Before the lizard-man was angry, violent, viscous; now he flew into an all-out rage.

Nossk began smashing the creature into everything and anything that he could find. First the floor, or whatever section of it was within reach and uncovered by an insect corpse, then one of the beams supporting the basement (a sizeable crack erupted from the impact, both in the Bartokk’s chitin and the beam itself), and then…

What else is there!? Nossk asked himself in a half-conscious, adrenaline-spiked flicker of thought. There’s nothing left to break it on, NOTHING!

The unbroken ring of Bartokk encasing the berserking Trandoshan blocked his view of the rest of the basement, and within reach there did indeed seem to be no further solid objects to swing the troublesome creature into. Nossk might’ve been disappointed if he were capable of sentient thought at the moment, or if he didn’t suddenly see/hear/sense the human perched halfway down the rickety wooden staircase leading upstairs fire his improvised, salvaged blaster into the horde of insects.

Perfect! A clear thought breached the murky battle-haze of Nossk’s mind, brimming with excitement. A staircase! I can smash it into that!

Nossk, still clutching the Bartokk in his extended arm and voicing his own personal war-cry, plowed towards the staircase. His hand closed tighter and tighter around his victim’s throat until he felt chitinous plates crack and its omnipresent humming change sharply in pitch, but at this point the Trandoshan didn’t much care if he was holding a long-dead corpse; whatever it was, he was going to bash it open against that staircase, and that was that.

Two of the Bartokk hung on his shoulders, scratching uselessly at the hard pauldrons. Another clung to his Braceman back-plate, tearing into the flesh under his left armpit along his side (where the chest and back pieces of his armor didn’t quite connect) with relative impunity. Nossk hardly felt them.

The reptilian’s mind had a single objective, a self-assigned priority on which his simple and often unused brain was completely locked. In this instance, it was the staircase. Two insectoids were battered out of his way as the mercenary gained momentum; the swarm gathered en masse behind him, moving forward in unison to swarm the Trandoshan again from behind. He, of course, couldn’t care less what they were doing or how unwise it was to ignore the rest of the hive while he unleashed his vendetta upon a single Bartokk; he was too busy concentrating on the staircase.

As he cleared the last insect between him and his goal (seemingly ignorant as it tore one of his shin-guards to shreds) he witnessed another tableau that might, once again if he was capable of it, instill him with a crushing sense of hopelessness and inevitability. A second group of the nightmarish bugs, just as big as the one he’d just run through with his prey held high, was assaulting the very staircase he was heading for. He’d given more concern to what he was going to have for dinner.

Finally, still crawling with Bartokk and bleeding from countless tiny cuts, Nossk was barely two paces away from the narrow wooden stairway. He stretched his arm back like a pitcher preparing to throw a gravball, and drove it forward again. Perhaps it was God, perhaps it was the Force, perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was Demarq’s considerable supply of “soup” (from an Anzati’s dogma), perhaps it was a combination of all or none of them; whatever it was, something had just saved Demarq’s life.

The fragile staircase shuddered dangerously as the large insect Nossk was holding slammed into it with disturbing force. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Now Five. Six times the Bartokk collided with the stairwell, and finally the wooden supports gave way. The beaten corpse crashed right through the side of the railing and several steps, causing the entire stairway to start its inevitable plunge to the cold duracrete floor. The pirate captain that began to fall along with it never had a place in Nossk’s decision-making process, nor did the unintentional destruction of one of only two exits out of this hellhole.

The staircase crashed down in a heap of splintering wood and thick clouds of dust; Demarq made his own landing just a few meters away. The pirate had leapt clear of the stairs just before they struck the ground, absorbed the considerable fall with a neatly executed roll, and skidded to a halt several meters clear of the collapsed debris. Incidentally, his new position placed him very close to the umbilical doors cracking light from the surface, and granted him a temporary haven from the Bartokk’s attention. The swarm seemed to have forgotten about the suddenly vanished human, and had refocused their efforts solely on the Trandoshan, whose survival was becoming more and more troublesome to the hive. Nossk had drawn his pistol to fire into the body of the insectoid that had just been used as a battering ram to destroy the stairwell, when the remainder of the original group that had attacked the Trandoshan caught up to him. Four of the Bartokk slammed into his back at once, tackling their stubborn aggravator to the ground; his head cracked painfully against the duracrete, and the surprisingly heavy creatures knocked the wind from his lungs with the impact (It was the first time his bellow had been stopped since the battle began). Nossk’s pistol flew from his grasp, sailing through the air for a few seconds before clattering to the floor and skidding to its final resting place – at the feet of Captain Demarq.

Nossk struggled to roll onto his back, but every attempt was blocked by the oversized bugs crawling over and ripping at his body. At long last the Trandoshan had managed to free his machete, and immediately began blindly chopping at the appendages that roved his prone form, seeking for a hole in his armor that might be cut open and ravaged. Nossk felt a claw slice open his cheek, and his lungs finally filled with air enough to snarl in pain. From the outside Nossk’s predicament would look much like a “dog pile” in some violent sports game. At least a dozen of the little beasts were on top of him, pinning him down and trying their damndest to butcher him while still avoiding the vicious strikes of his machete. One had failed in regards to the second objective already, and now flopped feebly on the ground, spurting white blood from the stumps that used to be arms. The odds, however, were still miles away from being in Nossk’s favor.

And this is supposed to be impressing me?

An echoing, female voice rang clearly in the hectic mess of his brain. Time slowed to a stop, and reality blurred into a runny mixture of colors. Nossk found that he still couldn’t stand.

If this is all a deity receives in the way of worship, then perhaps this reality should be erased, and another started from scratch. Never before have I felt so unsatisfied with one of my followers, Nossk (a garbled noise met his ears where his clan name should have been). What happened, pray tell me? You used to have so much ferocity, so much vigor, so much desire for the hunt, but look at you now. First a mere human nearly brings you down; your victory was only gained through my intervention and your good fortune, don’t forget. Then a droid. An opponent with no soul to offer, no worth to me at all, and still you nearly fall a second time. And how well do you fair against my test this time, against insects no less? The ground where you lay is beginning to seem like a fitting place for you, considering how much time you spend on it.

“S-Scorekeeper?” Nossk gasped, still breathless and now terribly confused. It’s a well-known fact that this specific Trandoshan’s mind works differently from just about every other sentient being in the galaxy, but one could wonder if this seemingly miraculous audience with his God could be anything from just that to a simple figment created by his amped-up mind facing near-certain death. Regardless of rhyme or reason, his verbal lashing continued.

Be warned, Nossk of the Trandoshans, you have fallen out of favor.

“No!” Nossk growled, ashamed, angry, and disappointed all at once. No hunter could receive such news lightly, and certainly not when it was delivered by the image of the Scorekeeper herself. “I can still fight, I’ll –”

No more, fallen hunter. If you’re truly sorry for your failure and your insult to me, then you may prove it through your actions, not words. The road to redemption, however, is never a simple one. Until then, you can expect no aid from me. Farewell, lizard.

Streams of color winded their way back into the gruesome prefab basement scene. Nossk became a part of reality again, if he had truly ever left it, and time snapped back to normal as he felt the Bartokk’s claws resume their constant search for exposed flesh. His rage and despair, though, had gone nowhere.

“NO!” Nossk bellowed, in one surge of immense strength rolling onto his back, trapping three of the insectoids beneath him. With his arms free the Trandoshan pulled his vibroaxe in his right hand, still grimly clutching the blood-soaked machete in his left. His wild kata of dual-wielded strikes felled enemies on every side, clearing a few scant feet of room for the reptilian to work with. The Trandoshan burst to his feet, whirling around in time to drive his blades into two of the insect trio he had been holding to the ground with his own mass. The axe and machete were back up in a flash, lashing out in every direction with no indication of control or actual targets. “I have not fallen that far! I’ve shamed no one, do you hear me Scorekeeper, NO ONE!”

Now epic struggles and heroic battles are always fun to watch, but rarely result in any real degree of success. It was indeed nothing short of miraculous that Nossk was not only alive, but still standing and holding the swarm relatively at bay with his hectic, helicopter-like technique. Make no mistake, though, that fatigue would set in before long, heroic resolve or not. His sweeping blows would slow, his enemies would find an opening, and when they did, they would finish the job they began. Nossk was already streaming with blood, not all his, but not all Bartokk either. He bled openly from at least a dozen wounds ranging from small cuts to large gashes from which flowed dangerous amounts of blood. In the long run nothing had changed but a few more dead Bartokk and a drawn-out battle. If salvation lay in store for Nossk, not just from his shame but from the predicament that would inevitably end in his death, then it had yet to show itself.

Igwig was walking along when his friends aimed their guns at his head. Igwig was sick of this battle anyway. Everybody was dying so why would it matter if he died. He bulled out a thermal detonator and activated it. He threw it at his allies. BOOM!!! Igwig, had died.

(sorry, I'm way behind and very busy with life :P )

((Come on, we're only at six pages and the plot is hardly developed, don't abandon this so soon. I should have this **** criminal justice research paper that's been devouring my time done by tonight, and then I'll try to jump back into this. I don't expect much time over the weekend though, it'll be the first time I've been home in a few months.))

Rando watched from the head of where the stairs would have been. Pulled along by Flying W, who it seemed, had already grown tired of their group. His attention had been easily dragged here, as had Rando. For once his curiosity had given him something worthwhile.
"Hand me the cycler. Some target practice wouldn't hurt."
Rando tossed the loaded slugthrower over. Flying W took his time, waiting for the Trandoshan to stop flailing. But suddenly jerked the barrel up. They'd been noticed. The white splatter was blown back, a half skull shape splashed onto the wall.
"It's never easy, is it?! Come on, come at me bug face!" W dropped the cycler and unsheathed his broadswords. He lept to the floor.
Rando grappled with the cycler, threw the strap over his shoulder once more, and expertedly fell from his perch. Which was a technical term for slipped, on a dab of white blood.
Recovering quickly, aided by fear. He cursed the Hutts in total, hopped to his feet from his back. The cycler strap, as if trying to help, came loose. Nimbly, he paced his motion. Avoiding the crazed Trandoshan, he whipped through an insect coming at the both of them.
Flying W was enjoying himself, Rando's stomach was buckling. Neither of them knew what the other was doing, too busy.
Rando refused to die in a basement, in the same sort of hole he'd lived in for years. Nar Shaddaa had laid an egg in him, it hatched in that despicable hole.
He came alive. Bugs began to die, before their wee brains could catch up. He'd die under the sun, in the sun if he could.
(Hopefully not a bad arrangement.)

**I'm back and here's a fresh post... ((hope Rev's is doing okay!)) **

Gerba sat with a look of glee. The carnage was brilliant but already things were slowing down. There was also the fact that some of the mercenaries were still yet to delve into the Battledome. Now was the time to tempt them.

Gerba smiled at his Majordomo with his lipless mouth. “Now we need to add my cousin to the mix.”

Fortuna had to stop himself from looking surprised but he immediately complied. He turned to a bank of controls and his fingers rang across the dials and keys with expertise. “Nelba is coming up. Where do you want me to drop him?”

“Place him in the centre, near the pillars. I have an announcement to make.” Gerba instructed.

The Majordomo gave a nod and from the end of a huge metal crane there was a metal shell. It was distinctly that of a Shell Hutt. However on the outside of the shell was a various assortment of food, weapons and armour that had been attached that was out of reach of the Hutt within. It was meant as bait but that wasn’t the only reason the contestants would be drawn to it.

Gerba moved to his podium, his huge form bulging from either side. “Attention, attention! Many of you have heard of my rebellious cousin Nelba the Hutt. I’m sure you’re also fully aware that he has a bounty on his head of three million credits from Black Sun.”

The crowd grew silent, their interest drawn. Even some of the contestants stopped to listen.

“He has been my guest for some time, but now he will join the Battledome and since all is recorded, the one who takes him down will be able to claim their reward with Black Sun, after all his bounty is for death.” Gerba told, he neglected to mention that the person who killed Nelba might not survive to the end of the Battledome but he did not care.

A roar came from the crowd as the Shell Hutt was lowered to the floor. A multitude of straggler contestants now went in, but not all. Gerba turned to Katray. “It’s time for a cleanse. Remove the contestants that hold back, they are not worthy of my contest.”

Katray gave a simple nod and headed off to search the palace for stragglers.

-

Tressah was growing edgy, there were too many of them together in this building. They’d make a good target. With her new armour donned Tressah decided to take her chances outside, spy or not.

She didn’t exit via the door, instead she moved to the trapdoor she’d noticed early. Cobwebs lined the entry but didn’t seem all that real. She scanned the area and then realised that Otto was following.

“Bored already?” he said quietly.

“Just want out, we’re sitting targets.” She said as she took the narrow steps downward. As they entered the tunnel they heard the Hutt’s voice announcing something.

“Phase three,” Otto commented.

Tressah said nothing as she moved along, she found the end of the tunnel and a faint outline of light at the corresponding trap door. Above there was much shouting and violence. It was quickly over and Tressah slowly emerged to find four bodies, two human, one Twi’lek and another that was too messed up to identify.

“Look” Drak'ash said, as he looked into the rocks  “It’s one of Gerba’s hidden supply places!  Take some food and ammo packs.”

Kal turned. Then his helmet pinged, indicating movement--from inside the grove. He raised his rifle. "Look out!" Drak'ash started to turn, but not fast enough. A Shistavanen leaped out, and held a blade to Drak'ash's throat. "Let's make a deal...." he rasped.

Kal kept his rifle aimed at the wolfman. "What kind of deal?"

"First, I want you to guarantee me safety, to talk. Can you do that, Mandalorian?"

"Yes." Kal lowered his Verp. "You have my word. I won't harm you while you say your piece, nor after, unless you give me reason.

"Very well." The wolfman released Drak'ash, who glared. "A Mandalorian and a Barabel alone are formidable warriors, and together, a mighty alliance. But the addition of myself would only increase your chances of success. What do you say?

Kal stared at the wolfman. "If you desire to fight with us, and swear to not betray us, then I myself accept. I trust a Shistavanen's word."

"I swear it."

"Good. Drak'ash, I believe he would be of aid. But we must agree."

**WELCOME BACK MEL!!!!!  :D :D :D**

Dra’Kash thrashed away from the creature’s grasp as it loosened, quickly turning one he was a step away and keeping his claws close to his heavy blasters.

"A Mandalorian and a Barabel alone are formidable warriors, and together, a mighty alliance. But the addition of myself would only increase your chances of success. What do you say?”

The Mandalorian seemed to only glare through his dark visor for a moment, but then said "If you desire to fight with us, and swear to not betray us, then I myself accept. I trust a Shistavanen's word."

"I swear it." 

Dra’Kash clenched his teeth a bit.  He didn’t relish fighting along side a creature who had just held his life in check, but had to admit that the alien had attacked with quickness and skill.

"Good” Kal responded, apparently satisfied of the prisoner’s word.  Shistavanen’s were known to be creatures of their word… 

“Drak'ash, I believe he would be of aid. But we must agree."

Narrowing his slit pupils, Dra’Kash continued to glare into the new comer’s eyes.  “Ssso be it.  But remember, Both of you.  I am here to WIN thisss contesst, not to escape from it.  You both have my word, as a blooded warrior of the house of Drak, that I shall be your ally to the end of this contesst.  However, IF we survive to the end, I shall do what is nessissary to achieve my goal.  Do we have an underssstanding?”