Topic: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Well it’s been quite a number of years since the original Battledome RPG so I figured it was time to dust off the concept and give it another go. The original Battledome was the first RPG on BFFC to actually have an ending. Let’s home this one is just as successful.

Setting:

Forty years prior to SW: The Phantom Menace

Welcome to the world of Teth ( http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Teth ) a world controlled by the Hutts. Gerba the Hutt is the ruler in residence. Like all Hutts he loves power and he loves what it brings: the chance to do whatever he wants.

Gerba has a lust for blood. His dungeons are full and his minions are many. Yet he wants a warrior like no other: one that is extremely efficient but under his firm hand.

Like all Hutts Gerba likes a show, he likes to entertain so he has come up with a terrible plan. He has built a huge Battledome with an arena that can hold thousands. He plans on throwing in his prisoners, traitors and other undesirables as fresh meat for his contestants and once the contestants are done with them, they’ll turn on each other. There can only be one survivor.

To lure in the best of the best, Gerba had put out an invitation along with a 20 million credit reward to the winner, who will be under contract to Gerba for the next 10 years (or until their death) - he's been a bit sketchy with that information.

So roll up, roll up – it’s battle time!

The Rules:

1. You may create any character you want.  Clarify their name and species so others can follow their actions easily.

2. You can kill characters you create but you can't kill other people's characters unless they say they have been killed in battle with you. However your character will be expendable, in this RPG there can only be one winner, unless you find an alternate way...

3. You can have any weapon you want but you can only have what your character could physically carry - otherwise they wouldn't be able to move.

4. Be consistent, eg if someone says they blew up a building, don't suddenly be assaulting it.

5. If you have sustained many wounds you will have to either get medical help or eventually die. If you’re in the Battledome arena you will die. To get medical help you must escape the Battledome arena – good luck with that. If your character is lingering for too long the Hutt’s watchmen will finish you off.

6. Follow the storyline, sure add a few twists and turns but allow others to see where you want to go so they can help you get there.

7. Have fun.

Name: Tressah Kenx
Affiliation: Prisoner
Species: Rattataki  http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Rattataki
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Brief History: Tressah is a natural fighter like all of her species. She has travelled to many worlds but got caught up with some spice slavers that had her heading for a nasty end. She managed to escape her bindings and stowed aboard the slaver ship until it landed on Teth. She managed to get off but was quickly apprehended by Gerba’s thugs. She was to be a dancing girl but she was considered too ugly with her pale skin and bald head – plus she couldn’t dance. She was thrown into the dungeon where she was left to rot.
Weapons: Only what she can get her hands on. Is a fighter by nature.
Appearance: [img]http://www.starwars.hu/pix/enciklopedia/vilaga/karakterek/asajj_ventress/asajj1.JPG[/img] but no tats.

Whispers had been echoing around the dark stone dungeons. There was to be a mass release it was said. Tressah didn’t believe a word of it. She sat on the cold stone floor trying to ignore the stench of urine, blood and decay that permeated everything.

She should be used to the stench by now but it seemed to get more overpowering each day. Or at least she assumed that, it was hard to distinguish day and night in the dungeons. Food was served so infrequently that she couldn’t gage what time it was.

A greasy looking Gran walked by, his three eyes peering into the dark cell. Tressah had named him Sleazy in her own thoughts. The goat-faced guard liked to lord it over the prisoners, although Tressah had a feeling that they didn’t get paid much for their job, they enjoyed it enough to stay on.

Sleazy tilted his head sideways and looked at not only Tressah but the other two occupants of the cell: one human male and one Zabrak female. He grinned a toothy smile. “Yous are going to be in a big show tomorrow.”

The human, known as Otto, looked up “Yeah and candy is going to fall from the sky.”

Sleazy laughed, “Is no joke. Gerba wants a big fight, find new warrior to work for him, many slaves and prisoners to be slaughtered as a show of prowess.”

“That’s a big word for you,” the Zabrak said with a glare, “Did it hurt your brain.”

Sleazy slammed the wall with his hand, “You die soon, I will enjoy watching.”

Tressah looked at the other two, “I have a feeling he may actually be telling the truth.”

“Just peachy,” Otto said as he ran a hand through his hair.

can i join?????

Name: Doran Oberek
Affiliation: prisoner
Species: human
Gender: male
Age: 24
Brief History: Doran was once a guard here but he was inprisoned after he knocked up a dancer. he has a very calm nature. he is a good fighter because he was once a bounty hunter
Weapons: a vibroblade knife he had smuggled into his cell by an old gaurd friend.
his cell is right across from Tressah's

Name:Rro'Ngtur
Species:Zabrak.
Gender:Male
Age:23
Affiliation:Prisoner.

Appearance: is wearing a light trench coat like the Jedi Adventurer robe from TFU, Black boots and some kind of denim like pants with a light shirt and a brown vest, has a sort of kama type thing (like the one vader has but a brown color) under the trench coat.  head is wrapped in a Tusken head-dress with his horns protruding. Eyepeices are dark green.

Weapons: Anything he can get his hands on, and a lightsaber he kept concealed. He is not incredibly skilled with it however, and cant block blasterbolts, except in rare cases. The lightsaber's hilt is like that of a tonfa, with the 90 degree angled handle, but it can be folded inward to make a traditional handle

Force: Rro'Ngtur was weak in the force to begin with, and with the years of unuse he has become even weaker, at most he is able to manage a push strong enough to cause someone to stumble, and even that is rare, he can however move small objects with fair acuracy, things that are very light, like small knives...

Brief History: Rro'Ngtur was the son of a merchant, who was found to have a slight ability in the force, and given to the jedi order, when he was still young, he was on a ship passing over tattooine, which hit a group of micrometeorites and was forced to make a landing, in which most of the passengers died. He was taken in by Tusken Raiders, given a name, and trained in the ways of their people. Eventualy, he was told how he came to be one of them (for he had been knocked unconscious by the landing and had no recollection of anything prior to it) and he was given a gift by the clans leader. His gift was a lightsaber, carried by one of the jedi that had perished in the crash. Its blade appeared to be unstable, and was a brilliant emerald color. Months later, the tribe was attacked by farmers, and killed, Rro was the only survivor, being able to speak basic he made his way to the nearest settlement, and managed to buy passage to another world, leaving the desert behind forever. He has been allowed to keep his clothing, and any attempt to find a weapon on him has turned up nothing.

Rro sat in his cell, he was silent, as usual, but he amused himself by barking insults in tusken at the guards frequently. He heard someone speaking to one of them, he wasn't sure who they were but he got something about a test or show or something. The four voices, one a guard and three prisoners two females and a male stopped talking eventually. Another guard passed, this one was his favorite. He barked something incredibly insulting to him, and the guard looked over nervous. He always overreacted and became fearful when dealing with Rro. The guard hurried on and Rro laughed to himself, wondering what this was about a contest.

Name: Reviin
Species: Human Mandalorian
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Affiliation: Prisoner / Mandalorians

Appearance: 6', heavy defined muscular build, extremely pale skin, smaller than average Mandalorian Helmet (something like Demagol's helmet) T-visor is riddled with hairline cracks, orange tattered/ripped/bloodstained flightsuit, full set of rusted bare metal Mandalorian Beskar Armor on blue leather vest, old pair of Mandalorian crushgaunts.

((So I don't have explain more details, the armor/suit/sashes look pretty much like this but way more weathered))

Main Weapons: A very large combat knife, and an odd looking projectile pistol that has no ammunition

Gauntlet Weapons: Dart launchers (both left and right), concealed pop-out blades,  a Czerka ZX miniature flame projector and a Blas-Tech DUR-23 wrist laser. (the gauntlet weapons are of course depleted/unusable due to condition, minus the blades.)

Brief History: Not much is known about how or why Reviin came to be in this dark prison, it's been told he was a bounty hunter who once crossed Gerba over unfair pay of a bounty and has been in the dungeon ever since, but was never disarmed due to the deaths of all who attempted. Save Katray, the one who put him there in the first place.

Name:  Krish
Species: Grey-skinned Noghri (This will be my last for a while I swear)
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Affiliation:  Prisoner

Appearance:  http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Image:NoghriNEGAS.jpg 
Wears a highly flexible body armor underneath his black robes.  Is ideal for staying on the move.  About 4 foot 7.  Tattoos down the length of his arms.

Weapons:  No weapons on his person at the moment.  Is deadly efficient with hand to hand combat.  Can use a blaster perfectly fine and of course really likes the vibroblade.

Brief History:  After a jedi accidentally found his home planet, Honoghr, Krish was forcibly taken at a young age by this "wise and powerful" Jedi for having a talent in the force.  He was taken to the Jedi Temple only to discover that this Jedi maybe misjudged the extent his Force ability.  So in a rage he ran out and was left to live in the Undercity of Coruscant.  Since then he has been trying to find his home planet and join with his clan once again.  Through many incidents Krish now is a prisoner of Gerba on Teth.

Personality:  Has a deep hatred for the Jedi for taking him away.  He never will forget what they did to him.  Otherwise he prefers to keep to himself.  Krish prefers not to kill but if he feels he is threatened he won't hold back.

Krish sat in the corner of his cell contemplating his fate.  He did not see many options.  But a conversation in the cell next to him perked his interest.  The gran guard was being ridiculed by both the female and her compatriots.  The gran mentioned something of a contest.  The survivors would be held in Gerba's court.  This sparked Krish's interest.  This could be his ticket out of here and then to his home.  After all these years he would be able to go home.  He was going to win this contest and no one was going to stop him.

Name: Jax
Age: 17
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Affiliation:  Himself

Appearance: short brown hair (dyed black), no recognizable hair style. Dark blue eyes. Combat style boots, loose black jeans, loose long-sleeved shirt, black. Jax was trained by the age of 7 to keep himself physically fit, as a result Jax is stonger than most twenty-year olds. (Jax wares black so much because he is mourning the loss of his parents. Read History to understand)

Brief History: Jax was the son of a 'retired jedi' so to speak. Together with his mother and father they lived happily in Hutt space. When he was 15, radiers attacked his home at night being able to over-power his old jedi father and ordinary mother, he was then taken as a slave to Nar Shadda. But en route Jax was goaded and beaten to a point where his anger was so great that he unconsciously taped into the force and killed everyone aboard before he realized what he was doing. The ship crash landed on Nal Hutta, and from the wreck Jax was able to download the ships encrypted memory data, which he was later at an older age able to crack. He then learned who had commisioned the attack: Non other than Gerba the Hutt. He has since then been searching for the Hutt in order to wreak his revenge on him. He then learned of this contest and entered it so he can get close to Gerba, and cut out the Hutts twin black hearts.

Weapons: His father lightsaber. It features the tradionel (and original) hilt, but the crystal has been changed to a dark blue blade that crackles with power. (even mores so when angry.) (He actually found the crystal in the wreakage of his downed slaver ship, and only recently found out it was lightsaber useable)

Force Powers: Mostly brute force powers such as 'pushing' and 'grasping' large objects. But delicate things are harder for him. (i.e: He could never un-construct/re-construct his lightsaber with the Force only.) He knows no exotic powers. He has never been much of a physical force user.

Personality: Jax was prone to anger in his early child hood, and even more so since his crashlanding. He relies on it in battle, and for some reason it gives him more power than it should. (exsplained later)

Personality Weakness: Jax can sometimes get into such a rage that, at its peak, cuts him off from the Force (and sanity). during this time he is just a rampageing teenager with a lightsaber.

Lightsaber skill: This is where Jax shines. Jax is not a master of any real lightsaber form, but dabbles in all of them. This has turned out to be a style in of itself. As a result his attacks appear to be quite random.

Slice, crack, slice, went Jax's feet and blade. The gaurds had denied a 'pretty boy' such as himself, the abilty to sign up as a combatant. Nobody seemed to care if he tought them a lesson. When he stoped there bodies were mangled and torn.

"Now whos the pretty boy?" He growled.

A sick gurgle was the only response.

He steped pass them and signed his name on the list.

"Kriffing jerks..." He muttered as he walked away.

A near by worker sighed: "I'll get the mop."

Gerba the Hutt sat on his dais eating his fill as he watched his latest dancing girls prance about. There was the obligatory Twi’leks, a few humans and other lithe creatures. But Gerba had a short attention span, his mind was already on the carnage that would take place tomorrow. He salivated at the thought.

His lust for blood made him eye his guests for the perfect victim. One of his Gran guards was man handling an underfed Twi’lek girl. Her pale green form was not to the Hutt’s taste however the Gran was fat from lack of work and Gerba knew just what would motivate his other sluggish employees.

“Katray!” Gerba shouted, his jowls shaking with the increased volume of his voice.

From the shadows emerged a figure that all of Gerba’s guests feared. Some assumed it was a Mandalorian, others were convinced he was a machine. He was unnaturally strong, silent and deadly. He almost seemed dead except when Gerba summoned him.

The armour clad man stood beside the Hutt, only his head turned to look at his master.

Gerba pointed to the Gran, “Make an example of that one.”

Katray turned his head to focus on his target. Then his limbs moved like mechanical pistons as he made his way towards the Gran.

The Gran pushed the Twi’lek female into Katray’s path, he pushed her aside easily and continued to the Gran. With a single gloved hand Katray lifted the Gran off the floor by the throat. His vice like grip began to squeeze.

“Bleed him first,” Gerba instructed.

Katray pulled a vibroblade from his shin sheath and lifted it to the Gran’s arm. Katray waited for the Hutt’s instruction. The Gran whimpered, “Please,” he croaked, “Let me go.”

“The left wrist first,” Gerba demanded.

Katray as always complied. The Gran’s screams echoed through the palace, even into the depths of the dungeons.

**Katray: **

Name: Dra’Kash

Affiliation: Invited Warrior

Species: Barabel

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Appearance: With those exact same leather pants with kneepads, boots, and gloves.  Vest is basically the same, but add a high neck guard/collar, more pouches, and no shoulder guards.   His scales have already started to loose their purple sheen and turn dark; premature for a typical Barabel *think turning gray early; black scales are a sign of and elder Barabel.*  Keep in mind, Barabels scales are resistant to blaster fire: stun blasts are of no effect at all.

WOC:

With two of these:

  just add a magazine right in front of the trigger guard that’s about the same length of the grip

And this strapped to his lower right leg…

A little longer then this version, mine would be 27 inches overall. 

History: One of the few Barabel to leave his home world, Dra’Kash worked primarily as a mercenary and bounty hunter for the Hutts.  Seeking his fortune, he’s decided to put it all on the line for the Hutt’s 20 million credit grand prize.  He plans to ‘alter’ the arrangement of ten years servitude after he wins the contest…   

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dra’Kash stood in the shadows, watching as the one called Katray continued to hold the Gran by the throat with only a single hand.  The over weight creature’s complexion had lightened considerably, and his cries for mercy had finally been choked off by the armored figure’s grip and loss of strength.  His reptilian sense of smell lingered on the fresh sent of blood that filled the room. 

His appetite wetted, he finally went to the buffet table that had suddenly become less crowded with the exception of a Zabrak Merc and his female companion, and selected the rawest meats for his plate…

*Sorry Rev, I have discovered a new path  :P *

Name: Hendy Challace
Affiliation: Mercenary
Species: Zabrak
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Brief History: Hendy was born to mercenary parents and was only too happy to take on the family business. Hendy is a skilled fighter who’s not afraid to fight dirty. Money and enjoying himself are his key motivators. He was immediately drawn to the Hutt’s offer and has no doubt that he’ll win, by hook or by crook.
Weapons: Pair of Blastech customer DT-57 “Annihilators” and hidden vibroblades once used by his mother:
Appearance:

-

Hendy sat back in his chair as the chaos ended. There was silence in the Hutt’s amphitheatre now that the screaming had ended.  Hendy continued to chew on his carrot stick while eyeing off the Twi’lek that had been pushed aside by the thug, Katray.

“Hey babe, why don’t you join me?” Hendy suggested.

The green Twi’lek blushed before moving to his side. Apparently he was more appealing than the drunks around him. Hendy smiled and offered her a bite of his carrot stick. “So is Gerba always this showy?”

The Twi’lek blinked, “You’re new aren’t you?”

Hendy chuckled, “That obvious, huh. Yeah I’m here for the battle and the glory.”

“It’s going to be a blood bath,” the Twi’lek said with a shudder.

Hendy shrugged as he picked up a cooked leg of meat from some sort of bird life. “You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelette.”

A look of disgust crossed the Twi’lek’s pretty but gaunt face. “You have no idea how bad this will be.”

Hendy took a bite out of the leg and chewed with his mouth slightly open. “You need to eat, babe.” He handed her a wing which she took between her fingers. Clearly she wasn’t a fan of greasy food. “So when does the Hutt pay the winner?”

Gerba sat back with satisfaction as Katray finished off the Gran. He’d bleed him and then strangled him with impressive strength. Yet Gerba wanted a more passionate killer on his payroll. Katray was efficient but lacked any real style, he just followed orders. Gerba wanted someone who enjoyed their work.

With the Gran dead Gerba ordered the nearest staff to dispose of the body. Katray shifted back into his normal position against the wall looking like an ornamental suit of armour rather than a living being. Not that Gerba was certain that Katray was alive, at least not fully. He was pretty sure that Katray was part droid.

Bored with Katray’s still form, Gerba turned to look at the feasting table. Most seemed to have lost their appetite after the bloody display but there were three beings eating: a Zabrak, a Barabel and the Twi’lek that had been tossed aside by Katray.

Gerba smiled, the first two were invites to his Battledome. The Zabrak was Hendy Challace while the Barabel was Dra’kash.

“So when does the Hutt pay the winner?” Hendy asked the Twi’lek.

Gerba decided to answer, “I’ll pay the winner when the contest is over.”

The Zabrak turned sharply seemingly surprised, “Oh Gerba, good to see you.”

The Hutt gave a slight nod and held back a smirk, “I’m sure it is, Mercenary.”

“You may as well write that cheque to me, as I’m going to win.” Hendy said confidently.

Dra’kash made a snorting noise, “So cocky.”

“I like confidence in my hunters,” Gerba grinned as he could see a banter match about to start.

“I like confidence in my hunters” the bloated Hutt slurred through his own saliva. 

“I hope you also like ssskill and intelligenssse” Dra’Kash returned in perfect Huttese, “for those are skillsss you will find I possesss….unlike some here I’ve seen.” 

Few doubted where the hissed attack had been directed as Dra’Kash’s slit pupils locked onto the Zabrak.  Hendy pushed the Twi’lek away from his side and squared off with the Barabel.  Dra’kash continued to savor the flavor from the rare cut of nerf loin he held in his off hand, letting the sweet juice trickle down his throat as his right hand lowered near his holstered heavy blaster…

Gerba laughed jollily, “Feisty I like that. But you need to save your silver tongue for the Battledome.” The Hutt turned to look at the Zabrak. “Hendy, sit enjoy the food and the Twi’lek. Letitia is lacking male company now after all.”

The green Twi’lek had cowered behind Hendy, she wouldn’t look Gerba in the eye and the Hutt found himself even more amused.

Hendy smiled self-assuredly, “Thanks Gerba, I’m sure Letitia is great company.” He said as he wrapped his arm around the Twi’lek’s shoulders. She quivered as he brushed aside her lekku.

Dra’kash said nothing, just continued eating but he watched the Zabrak with interest.

-

The screams had been echoing through the dungeon for what seemed like ages. In reality it was only minutes. Tressah knew that the Hutt had a thirst for blood, he also had a lack of patience. That was a good thing for the victim, although the death would have been painful it wouldn’t have lasted too long.

Tressah looked at the beings in the cells around her. Across from her was the human who had once been a guard to Gerba. His name was Doran. Tressah gave him a nod of greeting, he returned it in kind.

There was also Rro’Ngtur the Zabrak that seemed very intent on violence. He was pacing his space, ignoring the other occupants in his cell.

Next she spied the mysterious Mandalorian known as Reviin. Little was known about the hunter, he kept to himself and tended to go through exercise techniques to stay fit. Tressah could appreciate that. Although she didn’t know how he did it on such a meagre food supply.

Over further was a Noghri named Krish. Like the Zabrak he was pacing as if wanting to use up some bottled energy. It seemed that the idea of this mass release had people edging for a way out.

Tressah stood and walked to the bars as a tray of goo was slipped under the door. She dipped her finger in and scooped up a blob before putting it in her mouth. Otto and the Zabrak female quickly joined her. Tressah couldn’t remember the Zabrak’s name. It was something extremely long and complex.

Tressah turned to her, “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s your name again?”

The Zabrak looked less than impressed, “For the fifth time it’s Zelbrianchinata.”

“Do you have a shortened version?” Tressah asked.

The Zabrak sighed, “Zelb is fine.”

Tressah smiled, “Okay I can remember that.”

Zelb shook her head, “One can only hope.”

“So do you think this mass release is real?” Tressah asked.

Otto jumped in, “The Hutt is insane, he needs to clear the cells. I’m certain he’s going to do it just so he can mow us down with a laser cannon.”

Name: Guta-Nay
Gender: Male
Species: Weequay
AffiliationMercenary
Appearence:

Weapons:  A vibroblade

Twin Daggers

And a laser shotgun

I'll add more later. Someone can make his entrance if they wish. I g2g to school now.

((I have to say this brings me back Mel, thanks for the invite. I don't suppose any of the other original writers are still here?))

Name: Nossk
Affiliation: Prisoner
Species: Trandoshan
Gender: Male
Age: 27

Physical Description: Nossk is a towering, heavily built Trandoshan with brown-hued scales. His left arm is several shades darker than the rest of his body, a defect occurring with its regeneration that will be explained below. He is strong, brave, undoubtedly skilled, but unbearably stupid. The frontal assault is the only strategy he knows, and many consider it a miracle that the reptilian is still alive. Nossk predictably favors heavy weapons above all others, be them melee or projectile. He is a brute, in every sense of the word.

Brief History: Nossk, once upon a happier time, had been a skillful, successful, nigh-legendary, and exceedingly unintelligent mercenary. For years brute strength and reckless courage had been enough to keep his scaly hide alive and free, but anyone could have foreseen that his tendency to leave any form of rational though out of the equation would land him in an inescapable debacle. A year and a half ago to the fateful day in question at the illustrious Gerba’s prestigious cesspool of a palace Nossk had attempted to make good on a certain bounty – one placed on the head of the Hutt’s most infamous bodyguard, the man-machine Katray. Nossk had seen the holos, had heard the stories, had ignored the warnings and would eventually feel the freakish Herculean strength that his quarry possessed, but he paid no heed. True to his own barbaric and idiotic style, Nossk literally walked up to the palace, demanded an audience, and opened fire the moment he stepped through the gates. The apparently suicidal Trandoshan made it as far as the amphitheater; whether the feat was achieved by design, luck, or skill is still unknown. He went no further however. Seared by scores of blaster bolts, bleeding from knife wounds, and completely out of ammunition, Nossk rushed at the mountain of a man, meaning to engage him in hand-to-hand combat. The Trandoshan was overpowered in short order, and Katray had torn off his left arm for his troubles.
    Gerba ordered the Trandoshan to be imprisoned rather than killed, somewhat amused by the lizard-man’s attempts to swing at Katray with his remaining arm after the makeshift amputation. The story grows dull and repetitious from there to the present, with no notable events taking place other than the regeneration of his lost limb. The Trandoshan exhibits a quick, flaring temper, and generally enjoys breaking things. He is a simple, violent sort of man, one seemingly born to fight and quite literally nothing else.

-

    Nossk growled deep in his throat as the smell from the feast upstairs somehow found its way into the dungeons, penetrating the stench of sweat and waste with its delicious aroma. The Trandoshan was huge, only a little smaller than Katray, which may have prompted his thoughtless unarmed attack on the bodyguard. The reptilian’s size served him little comfort here, however, as the cramped quarters and need for more food left him constantly unsatisfied. He longed for weapons, for war, for battle, for fighting, for blood.

    “So do you think this mass release is real?”

    Nossk’s head snapped up instantly. He’d been sulking in silent anger, and cursed himself now for not hearing the rest of the conversation. Those two words, however, lit a fire within the Trandoshan’s chest, a dangerous flame that could grow explosively at any moment with the first sign of combat.  The voice was female, but Nossk couldn’t even remember his own clan name, much less the identity of the woman imprisoned several cells to his right.

    A human male’s voice disagreed skeptically, but Nossk didn’t care. There was a chance that he would be freed; and for the small price of several hundred lives. Small conversations were beginning to erupt all around him – cell mates whispering amongst themselves about a competition, a Battledome.

    Battledome. The Trandoshan said the word several times in his own head, and his lips peeled back in a sharp, toothy grin. The fire in his chest erupted into a roaring blaze. Nossk clenched his fists at the unbridled excitement coursing through him. He had no weapons, but that would provide little hindrance. He could fight once again.

Huddled up in a dark corner of the throne room, Jax could only watch as the Hutt gorged himself. It took all of his strength not to attack him then and there. But he knew that he would almost certainly be killed by the Hutts gaurds...No, he would have to get the Hutt alone, and to do that he had to win. Win this challange, and to do that he was going to have to become a mass murderer. He choked down some disgust at the thought. But he had to do it...Do it for Father...Do it for Mother.

He shoved his fist in his mouth, so his sobs wouldent be heard.

Dude Scifi I was so happy to see you joined this. That post was friggin fantastic.

Name: Demarq Halloran
Affiliation: Prisoners (formerly in the employ of Gerba)
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 25

Demarq was the archetypal gentleman pirate: charismatic, flirtatious, arrogant, fiercely loyal to his crew and built of ambiguous moral fiber. He and his crew worked the Corporate Sector for years, earning their place among their contemporaries as the most suicidal crew of "in-transit procurement professionals" money could hire. Their competitors would shake their heads whenever they heard about the crew of the Duchess and their latest narrow escape, muttering about the day Demarq's luck would run out.

The day finally came when on a job for Gerba, hitting an entire convoy of spice freighters. The job went flawlessly, but when it came time to deliver the liberated cargo to their employer, Demarq decided it was a good opportunity to abscond with the goodies. A terrible business idea normally (who would want to deal with a pirate who has a history of making off with the quarry?), but given the amount of spice the Duchess had in her belly, it is widely believed that Demarq planned to retire, get into drug dealing and buy a small moon somewhere.

However, he misjudged the Hutt in terms of both ruthlessness and disposable income. Before long there was a bounty of absurd proportions placed on Demarq's entire crew. Those who split off from Demarq in the wake of the betrayal (those who didn't quite stomach the idea of giving their employer the slip) were, ironically enough, the first to die, one by one. The Duchess and the remaining crew evaded capture for nearly three weeks before they were captured by a hunter under the guise of a client.

The entire package was delivered neatly to Gerba, who immediately had the entire crew tortured to death before Demarq's eyes, and the Duchess sold for scrap. After bringing Demarq within an inch of his life, the Hutt had him thrown into the dungeon.

Off in the corner of one of the smaller cells sat a single gaunt man. His cell-mates had never seen him move from the spot except to receive their erratic meals, and even then he moved so sluggishly that by all rights everything should have been devoured by the time he got there. He was, however, such a pathetic sight that even such organisms as inhabit such dungeons were moved to pity enough to save him sufficient food to sustain his life.

His once-handsome face was gaunt and pointed; his once-meticulously-groomed hair now shoulder length and prematurely graying. Always clean-shaven in his former life, he now wore a wiry beard that only detracted from his already repulsive visage. The single worst part of looking at him, however, were his eyes; a new prisoner would look there once, to attempt to establish dominance, but then never again. Most prisoners harbor some illusions about escape, about regaining a life outside of these bars. It isn't until years later that they begin to lose hope, but here in Gerba's dungeon they rarely make it that long. For this reason, Demarq was the only prisoner to be found with eyes so completely devoid of life that were it not for the ragged breathes he continued to draw, one would think him a corpse.

Behind those eyes, a single thought runs its course day in and day out, slower and slower with each iteration until some day when he will cease to function at all:

My Duchess is dead.

Rro eventually stopped pacing and sat down, against the wall, noting how his cell mates inched away from him. It was no doubt the Tusken headdress he was wearing, the one he always wore, that scared them. Some of them might have been from Tattooine themselves. The lightsaber he had concealed would be useful, if the damed thing even worked when he needed it. The desert sand had been rough on it, and its years of inactivity made it unreliable. He still didn't understand how the guards hadn't found it. Maybe they were getting lazy, maybe another prisoner had been able to sneak in a weapon. That made him nervous, he didn't want to be killed during this mass release.

A prisoner got a little too close for his liking and he growled a warning, which managed to send him back to the area he came from. Rro was tired, he leaned against the wall and tried to sleep, he had a feeling he would need it for this 'mass release' there was talk of.

Name: Kal Goran [blade, blacksmith] Human/Mandalorian
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Affiliation:Prisoner

Appearance: 6’2, well built and well-muscled. Blond hair, worn longish, small goatee . Bright blue eyes. Average scarring.
Armor: Black beskar’gam, gold highlights around the T-slit visor, and on his gauntlets. Red Mythosaur skull on his right shoulder piece. Gauntlet vibroblade in right gauntlet, as well as a dart launcher/wrist rocket. Grapnel cord in left, and a cutting laser. Flamethrower attachment available as a snap on replacement.
Weapons: Black-handled beskad, with gold tracings. Modified Verpine shatter gun, Assault model (turns into sniper with longer barrel and a scope added). Blastech Rifle, handguns, knives, etc. Various other weapons depend on situation.

Ship (impounded by Gerba): Custom Mandal-Motors ship, effective size comparable to Slave I. Name, Tra’kad, Mando’a for “Star Saber”. Heavily armed, it was designed as a mercenary’s ship, not a bounty hunter’s, but does have two small cages for prisoners. Sleek.

IMPORTANT HISTORY INFORMATION

Kal is well known as a successful, if selective, bounty hunter, only choosing targets that fit his moral profile, broad as it may be. He was approached by Gerba for several reasons. The first was to become one of his private guards, which Kal flatly refused. The second was to fight in the Battledome. Kal again refused, saying he would not kill people for the Hutt's sadistic pleasure. Gerba pretended to accept this graciously, but ordered Katray to attack Kal when his back was turned. He was knocked out, and when he woke up, he was in one of Gerba's prison cells, stripped of his armor and weapons.

As further punishment, Gerba is forcing him to fight in the Battledome, but as a prisoner.

Personality: Kal is very loyal—to his family, Mandalorians in general, and to anyone who earns his trust. He is friendly among those he trusts, but less so among strangers and arruetii. He’s a fun loving guy, able to joke even amidst the toughest battle.  Though more compassionate than most Mandalorians, Kal is still a fierce fighter, and merciless in combat.

Skills: The best swordsman of his family, indeed, among the best on Mandalore. He’s a crack shot with any weapon, too. Decent explosives skills, and is a mediocre slicer. Kal is an excellent pilot, as well.

--------------------------

Kal paced in his cell. Gerba had promised him death in the Battledome, and while Kal didn't relish the thought of fighting, he knew he would be able to survive the earliest stages. He knew he would have to survive for long enough to obtain a decent weapon, locate his armor, and escape. But he didn't know who or what he'd be fighting in the early round, nor if he'd even get a weapon.

And Gerba seemed content to let him rot in the dark, until it pleased him to bring him out. Kal stopped pacing. It would do him no good, except to tire him, and that was the last thing he needed. He settled in for a long wait.

Guta-Nay left his quarters, one of Gerba's smelly, badly lit rooms for his guests. He brought all of his weaponry with him, as he always does because he is slightly paranoid.

He went patrolling in the prison cell corridor, which was one of his many tasks Gerba assigned him while he waited for the Battledome to start. Guta-Nay was itching to kill something.

He took a peek in each cell to see who was inside. He didn't recognize anyone, even though he had seen 4 of them before. Most prisoners were gaunt and had sunken faces, and long greasy hair. One prisoner, however, a large Trandoshan, looked in prime physical condition. His stomach loked shrunken, though, because Gerba never gave enough food to any prisoners.

Guta-Nay always slipped extra food to some prisoners he liked, so he had nerf steaks lining his pockets. He slipped one between the bars and the Trandoshan gobbled it up.

"Who are you?" the Trandoshan snarled.

"Guta-Nay. I'm a merci-nary working for Gerba." Guta-Nay replied. He has some trouble with big words. "Who are you?"

"Nossk," the Trando replied with a growl.

"I'm going to compete in the Battledome, and I want a ally. I know Gerba is letting the priz-oh-ners fight, and I want the best one as my pard-ner. After we kill ever-ee-one else, we'll fight each other. OK?"

"Well, I'm not gonna be a weakling's partner. How do I know you are any good?"

Guta-Nay drew one of his knives and threw it all the way down the corridor. It hit a Rodian in between it's bulging eyeballs, and it collapsed dead.

"I'm good enough to be your partner."

"We'll sssee..." Nossk said with a hiss.

Guta-Nay left the prison and went to Gerda.

"How long until the Battledome starts?" Guta-Nay asked.

"Guta-Nay, I am sick of you asking this question every single day. It will start when I want it to. Now leave" Gerba replied. Guta-Nay left and sat down at the bar, ordering a glass of tihaar, a Mandalorian drink he was very fond of. Soon Guta-Nay got drunk and he stood up to go stir up some trouble, like *COUGH*GETINTOAFIGHTWITHANOTHERCHARACTER*COUGH*

*This looks like a fun one!  Count me in!!!  :D :D :D *

Name:  Kel’Dar’Ish Moonar’Kush’Dar *goes by Kel Moon when not among his native people*

Affiliation: Prisoners

Species: Shistavanen *see picture, it says it all :D :D :D *

Gender: Male

Age: 17

Appearance:
Wears only a ragged breach-cloth as a prisoner.  At 6 foot 5, he's a little above average height (I think) for a Shistavanen.  Well muscled, he's a bit lean due to malnutrition since ariving at the Battle Dome

Weapons: 

and

Both are ancient Shistavanen blades that were acquired for him by one of his more kind gladiator masters, and he’s become exceptionally skilled with them; they will be thrown to him upon release into the Battle Dome.  His skills with a blaster are passable, but he much prefers combat with his blades.

Short History: Kel, still a young pup, watched as his clan was wiped out and was kidnapped from his native colony on Uvena III by slavers.  Passed from slave labor work gangs, back-alley betting death-brawls, to professional gladiatorial events for the last ten years, he was recently sold to Gerba the Hutt for his upcoming mass tournament.  His skills with his blades have been honed to a master’s skill.  Combined with his species added agility and speed, he is a devastating close quarters opponent. 

Kel’s sharp hearing listened to every word of the conversation being carried on outside his cell, despite his lack of interest. 
It’s all just another lie he thought to himself.  There’s only one way to be free: escape.  I’ll find my chance, and NO ONE will stop me.

*hope this is good; let me know if I need to add something    *

Genjin breathed the stink of the dungeon, yet smelled it not. He faced the thick cell bars, yet saw them not. His bare feet stood immoble on the cold hard floor, yet he felt it not.

Genjin's stance resembled that of a man riding a Tauntaun. His legs stood apart, and his feet faced directly in front of him, his toes pointing to the cell bars. His torso held completely erect, his arms stretched out in front of him. The palms of his hands were facing the bars, and his hands were so close together that his thumbs nearly touched. His eyes remained closed. To any idle passerby, he appeared as a statue, and in a way, he was. A statue of pure will.

Genjin wore the traditional Jedi robe, without the cloak. The sleeves had removed, and the pant legs did not pass his ankles. His sandals, which he wore in stead of the normal boots, remained in the corner of his cell where he had placed them 3 days prior. Since then, he had not moved from his meditational stance for those 3 days. Not to eat, not to sleep, not to explode from the cell like he knew he could. His eyes remained closed, his arms remained solid, his breathing remained controlled.

The screams of the recently slain Gran did not make him falter, they resounded upon a closed conscience. A guard came with a bowl of goo and looked at Genjin through the bars. He grunted and continued on, deciding not to leave the meal since Genjin wasn't eating it anyways.

The guard continued down the line of cells...and Genjin remained in his stance.

Name: Genjin
Affiliation: Prisoner
Species: Human
Gender: male
Age: 29
Brief History: Genjin was born on a distant planet, on the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim. The Jedi that discovered him came upon him by accident, since none in the galaxy usually ventured to his distant home. His culture was one which frowned upon the use of weapons and devices to aid you, and so they utilized an ancient type of martial arts, honed for thousands of years by the culture and developed into a near perfect fighting form.

When Genjin began training at the Jedi Temple, he was nearly dismissed upon arrival due to his firm resolve to not use a lightsaber. If not for the faith of Yoda, he would have returned to his distant home. However, few others shared Yoda's curiosity and vision for potential that he had for Genjin. The Jedi masters were puzzled by Genjin, no one had come about with his unique path before. There was no master who could truly train him because none knew how to incorporate the Force into Martial Arts the way Genjin's form required. As such, his training was delayed. In this time, Genjin privately developed his Force powers to utilize them in battle. Through his extreme meditation and concentration he was able to manipulate the Force into kinetic energy which he could use to amplify his martial arts moves as well as launching Force projectiles through a form of Force lightning (HADOUKEN!!!!)

Eventually, Genjin was paired with a Master who used a lightsaber form which allowed the user to only activate the lightsaber for killing blows and extreme necessity (think palpatines form in Battlefront II) This helped him develop his lightsaber, melee, and blaster bolt dodging techniques that he badly required due to his lack of a lightsaber.

Genjin had ended up in Gerba's dungeon through, ironically, his first mission as a Jedi Knight alone. Vague rumors reached the Jedi Temple of the battle dome, and the mass amounts of death that would occur inside. Sources were few and the council was skeptic. They deemed a light reconassaince mission would suffice. They sent Genjin due to his excellent stealth derived from his immense focus, and the fact that if detained and his lightsaber taken, he could still be a very formidable force.

Unfortunately, Gerba was tipped off by spies about the Jedi mission and Genjin was detained as soon as he landed, much to his dismay. Genjin entered his meditation as soon as he was put in the cell, and awaited the mass release so he could attempt an escape to inform the Jedi Council.

Appearance: The spitting image of Ryu from Street Fighter. Only difference is his custome Jedi robe instead of the karate Gi, as explained above. He also has Ryu's signature red bandana, a gift from his parents when he left to become a Jedi. http://www.freewebs.com/mmxcalibur/Ryu2.jpg

**Good to see so many joined the party! WB SciFi and The Gunslinger, hopefully we'll see a few more of the old hands**

Tressah peered out from the bars as she saw one of the guards approaching the cell of the large Trandoshan. Tressah didn’t know what his name was, she just knew that the Trandoshan was extremely violent.

Tressah turned her head to hear more clearly. She recognised the guard as he turned slightly it was Guta-Nay. She only caught snippets of the conversation but one line really got her attention from Guta-Nay, “I'm going to compete in the Battledome, and I want a ally.”

Tilting her head Tressah studied the guard, so he didn’t think he could make it on his own. He wasn’t as stupid as she had suspected. Although she seriously doubted that the Trandoshan would take up the offer. It was more likely that he’d rip off the Weequay’s arms and beat him to death with them.

The Trandoshan was feared by the majority of the guards and those who didn’t were generally too stupid for their own good. Tressah planned to give the warrior a wide berth when he was released as she liked her limbs intact.

Hendy sat back in his chair and enjoyed the food. He appeared relaxed however he was keeping a steady eye on those around him. Tension was thick in the air, too many hunters together wanting blood.

Hendy turned his attention to Letitia, “So what’s the story with old tin can?” he said as he nodded towards Katray.

Letitia shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s been with Gerba for a long time. He always obeys him. I’ve often wondered if he’s programmed to submit to Gerba’s every demand.”

Hendy lifted his leg, his booted foot coming to rest on the edge of his seat as he stared at Katray. “So you think he’s a droid.”

Letitia touched one of her lekku and stroked it in an agitated manner, “I suspect he’s a cyborg but no one really knows.”

Hendy took another mouthful of food and chewed it as he continued to stare at Katray. The servant to Gerba remained still, “Do you think he’s in some kind of stasis?”

“I don’t know, but if you tried to attack him he’d quickly respond.” Letitia said as she moved slightly away from Hendy.

Hendy finished his drumstick. He looked at the bone and smirked. He wiggled his brow at Letitia before throwing the drumstick bone at Katray. With lightening reflexes Katray caught the bone in his hand. His head turned to focus on Hendy. Katray then crushed the bone to powder before moving back into position.

“Wow,” Hendy said with awe.

“Yeah, consider that a warning. He won’t tolerate that twice.” Letitia cautioned Hendy.

Before Hendy could response they heard a slurring, “Hey!” Hendy turned to see a drunk Weequay staggering their way.

“Hey what?” Hendy asked as he stood up.

“You’re in my seat,” The Weequay snarled as he jabbed a finger at Hendy’s chest.

Hendy looked at the chair, “I’m standing, buddy.”

The Weequay looked at the chair for a moment, “I don’t care, you tainted it with your fat arse.”

Hendy grabbed the Weequay’s finger before it jabbed him again. “There are many chairs why don’t you find another.”

The Weequay leaned down and his hand went under the chair, “Because this one is hiding my favourite vibroblade.”

Hendy jumped back as the Weequay swung the blade at him. “Can’t this wait until the Battledome begins?”

Gerba left the amphitheatre on his floating dais, the rotund one was escorted by his majordomo, Elisk Fortuna, his faithful Twi’lek servant. At Fortuna’s back followed his eldest son, Cheb. Gerba was often annoyed with the boy but figured that he could learn a lot from his father.

“You’re plans are coming together, my master.” Fortuna told as he carried a checklist in his taloned hand. “The schedule is running ahead of time.”

“Excellent,” Gerba said with a puff of breath although his dais was doing all the work of movement for him.

Fortuna looked up at Gerba with his ruby red eyes, “We could even realise the prisoners in the Battledome early if you wish.”

Gerba’s eyes lit up, “We could release them in the dark rather than at dawn. Most will be blind. They’ll be slicing and slashing at each other without even knowing who they’re attacking. Brilliant strategy. Ensure it’s done.”

Fortuna bowed appreciatively, “Your wish is my command, you excellence.”

“Of course it is,” Gerba said snidely but his mood was too good to bother properly correcting Fortuna.

Fortuna immediately stroked the Hutt’s ego, “Only the best decisions are made by you my lord, I have much to learn.”

Gerba was placated by the Twi’lek’s words. “Ensure that Katray is with me on the viewing platform. I will not be affected by attempted assassinations.”

“Of course, your excellence. Do you wish for Al’tru to also guard you?” Fortuna asked innocently.

Gerba smacked his glass of Corellian wine across the room with the back of his hand, “If Al’tru arrives he is to be sent down to the Battledome, if there’s any threats he can deal with them there.”

“And if he’s killed?” Fortuna asked.

Gerba smiled evilly, “A fitting end to a troublesome being.”

Fortuna nodded respectfully then took his leave. As soon as they were out of the room Cheb piped up, “Who’s Al’tru?”

Fortuna looked at his son, “Al’tru is a Dark Jedi.”

“A Dark Jedi? What’s that?” Chub queried.

“Well in Al’tru’s case he was once a Jedi, or a least a Padawan. He was sent to do his trials as all Jedi do to become a Knight. He failed as he took the dark path which is a big no-no for Jedi. He faked his own death and became a mercenary.” Fortuna told.

“Why’d he do that? Didn’t he like the other Jedi?” Chub asked curiously.

The corner of Fortuna’s lip curled upward, “I don’t know the details but Al’tru is a law unto himself. He came to Gerba for work, he was very good at combat and assassination. Unfortunately he found out about a large bounty on Katray’s head and like many others tried to claim it. Like everyone else he failed. Not only that but he lost all trust with Gerba.”

“So where is he now?” Chub questioned.

Fortuna stopped to look at his son, “He’s in the wastelands, patrolling the shady borders of Gerba’s territory. But I’m sure he’ll come back, my son. The Battledome is a place to prove himself.”

"Can't this wait until the Battledome begins?" said the Zabrak whom Guta-Nay was attacking.

Suddenly, Guta-Nay rose several feet in the air, and then dropped on the floor unconscious, vibroblade clattering on the hard ground. Katray had come behind him and squeezed his head until he was knocked out. He walked back to his post without saying a word.

Guta-Nay regained consciousness a few minutes later. He staggered to his quarters and took a nap for a few hours, struggling to fall asleep bvecause of his bad headache.

When Guta-Nay woke up, he instantly regretted what he had done. Making enemies for himself before the Battledome started wasn't a very good idea. He walked out of his room and realized that most people were asleep. He must have slept longer then he had expected. Guta-Nay decided that he wanted a breath of fresh air, so he walked out onto a balcony and looked at the bleak landscape. He promised himself that he wouldn't get drunk again until the Battledome is over.

Guta-Nay decided to snatch some food from the kitchen, which Gerba didn't allow. Guta-Nay walked into the kitchen and stole some fried nerf strips. Munching happily, he exited the kitchen and walked back towards his room. He flung himself onto his cot, which creaked loudly, and fell asleep.

Dra’Kash had closely watched the Zabrak’s fool hardy toss of the bone in the direction of the guardian, and his lightning yet unemotional reaction.  And then moments later the mechanical precision to knock out the Weequay without killing him, and again returning to his post.   

That one will have a role to play in this tournament…  Half the “reward” is to essentially replace him…it…whatever it is.  Somehow there is more at work here then meets the eye…all the more reason to collect my winnings and disappear forever as soon as possible…

Satisfied with his meal, Dra’kash returned to his assigned quarters to get some sleep before the big day to some…

Masra guided her ship on to the landing platform at the Monastary, high up on a mesa on the Rim world Teth. She hadn't been here before, but that mattered little. She had heard Gerba's call. And as her saying went " If you're good at something, never do it for free." This was certainly worth her time. An opportunity not to be missed.

She lowered her ramp, and went to her weapons locker, adding a few more surprises to her armor and did a double check of all her gear, making sure that everything was in place, everything sharp. She hated dull blades. Just took that much longer to inflect the inevitable. And Masra's time was just too valuable for that. She smiled under her helmet. This would be good.

Masra strode out of the ship and into the Hutt's "palace". She thanked the force for the air scrubbers inside her helmet as she could just feel how much  the place stank of multiple species and animals, and waste. It looked the role. She strode into the main chamber just soon enough to witness a larger being in immense armor bleed out what appeared to be a Gran.

She smiled again "A fellow with the right Idea" she thought, unaware that this act was preformed at the bidding of Gerba the Hutt.

NAME: Masra ( like Cher... ONLY Masra these days.... there might have been more... long ago)
AFFILIATION: Merc
SPECIES: Human Female
AGE: 28
WEAPONS: Prefers vibroblades, but also carries a repeating verpine blaster rifle and a pair of westars.
APPEARANCE: Iridonian Yellow Armor ( like the one seen in the Merc Cantina on Maanan in KotOR  I looked high and low but could not find an image to attach)
HISTORY: Ex CSF. Was discharged on grounds of cruelty and excessive force. Turned to mercenary work to fill her personal desires, and make creds out the wazu.
( Short.. as I entend to add more and reveal more as time progresses. Be assured I have more to her)

( ( I hope this works... I am intimidated by so many good RPG'ers as I know I new to this land....oh im nervous...) )

Kal looked up as a guard walked past. "Hey, you!" The guard, a Aqualish, turned. "Tell Gerba to let me out. You hear me, squid-face?" The Aqualish turned to walk away. "Hey, chakaare, get back here. What, I hurt your feelings? You scared, arruetii? I mean it, get back here. Tell your fat boss to let me out!" The guard continued to walk away. "I'll rip your shab'la tentacles off! I'll tear your gett'se out, and use them for a belt! Give me a blade, and I'll teach you a lesson!" Then the guard was gone.

Kal sighed, and lay down on the meager cot. He'd need rest, especially if he was right and the Battledome was tomorrow.

Name: Rando Outright
Affiliation: Hutt
Species: Near-human
Appearance: One black circle tattoo on the top of each hand, another on the back of the neck near the top of the spinal cord. Brown hair, brown eyes. 
Age: 25
Brief History: Hand-to-hand, archaic weapons specialist originally attached to Gerba's entourage of bodyguards. Medium-proffiency in firearms and small explosives with training from lead marksman in service to Gerba. Born and raised on Nar Shaddaa originally, began working for Gerba right after losing quite a bit of money in a sabaacc game.
Weapons: Partial to vibro-straight sword, carries blaster carbine. Himself. Mostly anything, including double shield and bench.

The bag struck the wall for the 30th time, the sound of the numerous metal balls rolling around inside rang for the 30th time. He stopped the bag with two hands, aware that although his hands were like Mandalorian iron his head was not. From there, he finished his morning workout, bathed- a habit most would ignore in the presence of a Hutt, he just had to though-, and finished dressing. Cumilating in tieing his sword belt, vibro-straight sword tucked in.
His room, unlike most, was very well furnished. Large enough to practice in unbothered. The cost had been paying for the renovation of two prison cells as well as the loss of a little face before his boss, or the stink of the Hutt Lord's dungeon, he had never decided. He carefully unlocked and opened the door, exited after locking it, however much good that would do.
He passed the dank cells, staying well away from the Trandoshan. He'd scarcely survived the reptile's first attempt to kill Gerba. Sidestepped past a guard being yelled at by a demanding prisoner, he chuckled under his breath, lucky his room was soundproof and he was never granted guard duty.
Eyes followed him, new eyes. Old burnt outs uncaring, personality lost somewhere, hidden in the stone walls.
"My, you're up late today. Thought you'd be excited, people will be dieing soon, You should get up earlier." The voice was bored, attempting to make him stop and talk. As it had been trying to do since the prisoner had gotten here.
He called himself Flying W, and no one knew why he was there. He merely appeared one day, in that cell, replacing its former inhabitant. Rando stopped exhasperated, W sighed in relief.
"Good, good. That's a fine start. Now we're finally going to talk."
"I should be in the audience chamber protecting my boss, make it quick."
Flying W laughed,"You're going to be sorry. For even waking up today."
Rando shrugged, ignoring the standard lunacy and proceeded to the lift. Not that Katray needed the help.

Name: Igwig
Affiliation: slave
Race: Jawa
Appearance: brown robes, yellow eyes.
History: Igwig used to live on Tatooine until he was captured by slave drivers and sold to Gerba the Hutt.
Igwig now brings drinks and stuff to Gerba whenever he is asked.

  Igwig heard somebody talking to Gerba the Hutt. He couldn't understand what they where saying, but he heard the word "Battledome" quite a bit. The Hutt and his companion both suddenly looked at Igwig and smiled. This concerned him.

Tressah watched as Rando emerged from his quarters. As usual he was taunted by the fruitloop Flying W. Tressah didn’t understand what drew Flying W to Rando. Every time Rando appeared for duty Flying W hassled him.

Tressah supposed it was no different to Rro’Ngtur who constantly spat insults at the guards in another language. She had once been told that it was a dialect from Tusken Raiders but she honestly didn’t know. Only a protocol droid could possibly confirm such an accusation.

Seeing Rando meant that the night was growing late. Flying W told Rando he was late but Tressah had no idea how the crackpot could possibly know the time. Any cronos were generally confiscated by the guards. Tressah suspected that they sold them on the black market for a bit of a cash boost.

Kal Goran had been rather vocal at an Aqualish guard, but now he seemed to have settled down. Tressah moved as close to his cell as she was able to, “Psst, Kal!”

The Mandalorian looked up, seemingly confused.

“Over here,” Tressah called.

Kal finally realised where the voice had come from, “What do you want, little Rattataki?”

“I want to know why the sudden outburst, they’ll be freeing us soon enough,” Tressah said.

Kal walked to the bars, “If I’m going to be part of the carnage I’d like my armour back.”

A high pitched snigger cut in, “Your armour is gone, Mando.”

Tressah frowned, it was Sleazy. “You sold it or destroyed it?” she asked.

“Neither, we stockpiled it. See before yous scum are released they’lls put out a heap of weapons and armour for the taking. First in best dressed, well not necessarily, the stronger will simply strip the weak of any goodies they get their grotty hands on.” Sleazy told with a yellow toothed grin.

Tressah stood back, already there were murmurs of excitement. “Are you hoping for a stampede? You know, so there’ll be less of a crowd outside.”

Sleazy laughed, “Nah I’d rather see ‘em kill each other out there. More sportsman like.”

Tressah held back a shudder, Sleazy was a creep. Kal spoke up, “So what sort of weapons will be out there?”

Sleazy shrugged, “Pretty much whatever was confiscated from the scum here. Of course some of it may not be functioning as well as it used to.”

“What do you mean by that?” Reviin cut in.

Sleazy smiled slimily, “When they get thrown on the pile it ain’t gently and some weapons are more delicate than others.”

“Great,” Reviin hissed.

“He taunts you, ignore it,” said the Jedi Genjin.

Tressah turned to look but the Jedi was in his normal meditation pose, it made her wonder if he had spoken at all.

Sleazy walked over to Genjin’s cell and thumped on the bars, “Wanna talk, Jedi?” he said trying to goad Genjin. When there was no response Sleazy continued his romp around the cells.

“I’d like to skewer that Gran and barbeque him slowly,” Zelb said as if sizing up Sleazy.

“Yeah but who’d eat him?” Otto asked.

Zelb smiled and pointed to the Trandoshan, “I’m sure fang over there would.”

Guta-Nay walked towards the prisons again, hoping to maybe see what alliances have been formed by the prisoners.Before he rounded the corner into it, however, he heard voices.

"Your armor is gone, Mando" said a voice.

“You sold it or destroyed it?” a female's voice cut in.

“Neither, we stockpiled it. See before yous scum are released they’lls put out a heap of weapons and armour for the taking. First in best dressed, well not necessarily, the stronger will simply strip the weak of any goodies they get their grotty hands on.” said the first voice. Guta-Nay recognized it as the Gran guard. He didn't like him.

But this was good news for Guta-Nay. It would make this contest a lot easier for him, because he was not a prisoner, so he would get his weapons from the start. If Nossk also partnered with im, it would mean that the Trando would also have good weaponry becuase he could "strip the weak of any goodies" like the Gran had said.

After the Gran guard left the cells, Guta-Nay walked into the hallway to talk with some of the prisoners.

Gerba was growing impatient, “How long now?” he asked his majordomo.

“Three hours, your excellence.” Fortuna told.

Gerba growled, “Let’s open the arena, put out the armour and weapons for the fodder.”

“It’s being done as we speak,” Fortuna replied.

“Good, let the guests find their seats. Now I must speak to the contestants,” Gerba insisted.

Fortuna gave a nod, his lekku staying in place, “I shall summon them to the Great Hall.”

-

Fortuna walked with silent steps, he informed his assistants to gather the contestants. Letitia was still with the Zabrak, Hendy, but Fortuna didn’t care. Letitia was more dancing girl that assistant and he had a feeling that she was falling out of Gerba’s favour.

Fortuna smiled to himself, he wondered if Letitia might join the others in the Battledome. It wasn’t beyond the Hutt to do so.

It didn’t take long to gather the contestants, they were not nearly as numerous as the prisoners but that didn’t matter. Each contestant was wearing armour of some sorts and carried a small arsenal.

Fortuna summoned Gerba, the Hutt arrived on his floating dais and smiled with his slit mouth at the contestants. “Welcome my friends,” he greeted them. “The Battledome will open in two and a half standard hours. We will release the prisoners first. In the Battledome they will find an array of weapons and armour which they can fight over.”

“Why give them an advantage?” A human mercenary asked.

“It’s merely to remove the weaker prisoners that are hardly worth your time. They’ll only blunt your blades and waste your ammunition. This way you’ll test your prowess on the more challenging prisoners.” Gerba assured them.

Hendy spoke up, “So when do we join the ruckus?”

“You can join at any time, if you want to go in with all the prisoners you’re welcome to. If you want to wait for their numbers to wane so be it. But know this, once you’re in the Battledome you cannot leave.” Gerba told as he eyed them all.

“Not even for medical help?” A Twi’lek mercenary asked.

“That would be the cowards’ way out,” Gerba said coolly. “If you go into the Battledome you stay there. You can attempt to get out but my guards will assure that you don’t.”

“This is ridiculous!” The Twi’lek cried, “If I’m beaten to a bloody pulp I know I can’t fight on.”

Gerba raised a flabby brow, “If you’re a bloody pulp someone will finish you off and steal your armour and weapons.”

“Count me out,” the Twi’lek growled.

Gerba clicked his chubby fingers, “Rando please escort our friend out.”

The Twi’lek swallowed but continued on. Katray was in the room but it seemed almost as if Gerba was saving his services for something else.

“Very well then mercenaries, prepare yourselves for battle. The prisoners will be going out in an hour.” Gerba told then waited for any further questions.

Kel could hear the activity over his head; the Hutt’s booming voice echoed slightly through the passage ways enough for him to detect his speech, though he was unable to hear it.

Something is happening.  Something big.

Kel’Dar’Ish began to wonder if the stories of a release into this so-called ‘Battle-Dome’ were true, or if the Hutt was simply throwing another party.  Perhaps the rumors were only half-true, and they’d be released into a completely un-winable situation and cut down for Gerba’s amusement.

Even still, this could be my chance; a small one, but a chance.

Rising to his feet, Kel gripped the metal bars of his cell door window and peered out.

We’ll know soon, one way or another.

**I need a heads up pleez.  What’s the terran inside the arena?  Is it jungle *I love that concpet from Mech 4: Mercenaries, but anyway…*?  Forrest?  Desert?  Or more urban/flat concrete? 

Also, there’s gonna be like hundreds of prisoner NPCs thrown out there for us all to slaughter right?  Thxs**

Dra’kash weighed his options.  It was true things would be hectic in the early stages, and most wouldn’t be worth his time.  However, the prisoners would be at their weakest.  Dra’Kash could deal with some of the more difficult ones before they had a chance to arm and armor themselves.  He could also choose his ground against the other hunters.

Yes, it might be better to go in early.  Turning from the “Great Hall” toward the entertainment section, Dra’Kash headed for the BattleDome’s nearest spectator booth.  He’d have a look to see what sort of environment he was jumping into..

((I think everyone's established, shall we open the doors and get this ball rollin?))

-

Nossk’s blood was boiling. He stretched out his neglected muscles and paced around his tiny cell, his impatience only worsened by his excitement. No other topic took precedence over the impending war that was supposed to erupt in their dank little prison; every cramped cell was thrumming with low conversations, a combination of lies, gloats, gossip, warnings, or promises of alliance that would be quickly made and even more rapidly betrayed. Speaking of, Nossk vaguely remembered a man proposing such a coalition. He furrowed his brow in deep concentration for a moment, but gave a resigned shrug a moment later and resumed his pacing – he couldn’t remember the man’s name or face.

He’d long ago forgotten his resolve to listen in on the various conversations for more information (he’d sat and monitored the surrounding discussions for about five minutes, after which he forgot his purpose for doing so, and went back to focusing on the pent-up adrenaline that was telling him to get out and do something, fight something, kill something). There was talk of mercenaries, guards, weapon stockpiles, rewards, freedom – the confused Trandoshan didn’t know what to believe, and found it considerably easier to just not think about the details. Ignorance is bliss, as they say, and the reassuring fact that there would be, in the end, a fight, a Battledome, was enough to keep Nossk sufficiently motivated.

Yeah I'd like to know this as well, and I'd like to know about the NPCs too.

( I am in unfamiliar grounds here as well. I think its time to get to the business end here. :D Also is this like the prisoners fight like first wave and the best of them get to go and fight the Mercs in another round? Thats how its looking to me now... but if im wrong don't hesitate to tell me.)

A sand based arena would be cool, gladiator-ish, or, a big domed building with various environments. What was the original like.

Sleazy smiled slimily, “When they get thrown on the pile it ain’t gently and some weapons are more delicate than others.”

Kal laughed. "I think my armor will be in fine condition, if it is there. It would take more than a clumsy mercenary such as yourself to damage bes'kar armor."

Sleazy spit. "Well, you'll be lucky to find it, Mando. And you'll have to fight people for it." He turned. "What's that?" He slunk to the side at what he saw, cowed.

Several dozen armed guards marched into the room. "Move aside, Sleazy. We're taking the prisoners to the Battledome."

"Of course. Right away, sir." Several guards unlocked Kal's cell, roughly grabbing his arms. He offered no resistance, recognizing the futility, and that he would need all his strength in the coming fight.

Guta-Nay flexed his large biceps and walked to the Battledome's entrance. It was about to start, and he wanted to be the first one to enter and the last one standing. Guta-Nay noticed the stockpiled weapons dumped on the floor. Some of those weapons looked pretty nasty.....Guta-Nay noticed a couple vicious, jagged blades and a couple sets of Mandalorian armor, and several powerful looking blasters. He didn't want to be on the business end of any of those.

Adjusting his vibroblade's sheath, he made sure his weapons were in perfect condition. He grabbed some extra ammo pouches for his laser shotgun, just in case.

Now he just had to wait for the Battledome to start.

Igwig took his 5 minute brake to go talk to a friend he knew who spoke both basic and jawaese.
Igwig said in jawaese: "Hi, whats new with this joint?"

The conversation passed and Igwig found out that there was going to be a huge, pointless battle and that all the jawas that belonged to Gerba were going to be sent in as easy targets. Igwig was not very happy.he was extremely afraid that the battle was going to be his demise. He suddenly had an idea! He would run and hide like a coward in his friends room. He started to move but suddenly somebody grabbed him and said: "Oh ho! Gerba has plans for you, Jawa!"

Gerba sat in his personal box, the best vantage point of the Battledome. From here he could see all of the arena. At the north end there was a forest of real and holographic trees. There were strategically placed cameras so the audience could watch every movement. High in some of the branches were weapons dangling on ropes. Only the most agile would be able to obtain them.

To the south west lay a miniature village, complied of houses, office buildings and a few multistorey buildings. It was eight blocks of urban terrain. Again there were caches of weapons stashed about, generally in air vents, cupboards and other not so obvious places.

To the south east lay a pile of armour, what was less obvious was the mine field surrounding it. There was some faint discolouring to the ground where the mines had been buried but only those with a keen eye would spot them.

In the centre of the arena stood five tall poles, on top of each was a jetpack. Each pole was sheer except for the odd hand or foot hold. Each pole was at least 20 metres high.

In the walls of the area were various turret guns, set to kill any who fell within the metre perimeter of the wall. This was to stop potential escapees. However the guns would be switched off for the prisoners’ release, they could come online later in the fighting.

Gerba smiled to himself, he turned to Fortuna. “It is time, open the gates.”

-

Tressah lifted her head from her knees as she noticed all the guards exiting the dungeon like their backsides were on fire, “Looks like something is about to happen.”

No sooner had Tressah spoken did the doors to each and every cell door swing open. Tressah stood and peered out. Zelb didn’t hesitate she marched straight out, “I’m going for the good stuff, can’t be tardy.”

Tressah watched the female Zabrak leave and had a feeling it would be the last time she’d see Zelb. “What about you?” Tressah asked Otto.

Otto smiled, “I plan to be the last out the door. I have a feeling that the Hutt will have set up a few booby traps.”

Tressah nodded, “You may be right.”

((Si you can jump in anytime, just left it open so if some characters wanted to scope out Gerba's palace or had other objectives before the battle they could do so.))

Igwig saw the gates open. some guy tossed Igwig through the air and into the battledome. He landed inside a holographic tree He quickly got up and looked around. He didn't see any body...yet...

Masra looked into the battledome, fully prepared to watch and wait. She was no fool. Why waste precious energy on those too weak to even be enjoyable in the chase, when others would do that job for you. And make them all the more ripe for Masra to slaughter when the time was right. She could stand and watch, taking in knowlegde silently, learning what she needed to know about her victims. No these prisoners were no match for her.

As she saw one enter the arena she felt her bloodlust flush. It was anticipation of the pain that she knew would be inflicted, and in turn more power, strength and desire to cause more.

The middle image is EXaCTLY what Masra looks like:

Krish hung back.  His suspicious nature told him not to go out there.  Weapons would have to wait.  Krish was sure some idiot would come to him looking for an easy kill on a midget.  He would have to take the weapons from the corpse.  Krish looked around; very few others had hung back.  A very odd looking female human and another human were staying near the back as well.  He would have to keep an eye on them.  The crowds were thinning.  Perhaps it was time to go see what was left.

A pair of prisoners, a male Twi’lek and a Nikto, pushed and shoved at each other as they raced toward a cache of weapons in the wooded hills.  Neatly placed on a long table which itself was fixed in the sand of a small pool, both aliens reached the table at the same time.  Grabbing a blaster, they squared off.

“Wait!” yelled the Twi’lek, his blaster locked onto the Nikto.  “We should work together, others will come for the weapons; we can hide here and kill them!”

“Why should I trust you??” the Nikto spat.

“Because we have little choice.  Hunters with more skill then us with many more prisoners will be upon us soon!  Together, we might have a chance!”

The Nikto thought for a moment.  “Fine.  We shall be partners.”  Lifting his weapon, he gazed out into the trees around them.  “Where should we…”

POW

Walking over to his dead ‘partner,’ the Twi’lek pried the disrupter from the Nikto’s death grip.  “You won’t be needing this” he hissed through his sharp teeth. 

Turning back toward the table, he never expected to see the Barabel looming over him.  Neither did he expect the massive black blade to be lunged into his chest, breaking several ribs as the tip exited his back. 

“Neither will you” said Dra’Kash as his immense grip broke the Twi’lek’s wrist that was holding the disrupter. 

Letting his pray fall off the blade as his legs finally buckled and collapsed, Dra’Kash returned to his treetop perch near the display of weaponry, waiting for the next quarry to arrive...

Genjin inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. He brought his hands up and over himself, andthen relaxed them at his sides. He relaxed his legs and stood normally. He stretched to relieve the stiffness of not moving for 3 days. He looked around the dungeon and saw that most people had ran to get to the good weapons. Several were staying back. He decided to go now, avoid trouble as much as he could, and immediatly start looking for a way out. He put on his sandals and left his cell.

From the entrance into the battledome Genjin could see the stampede of prisoners running into the depths of the arena. The terrain was of a jungle type, with many trees and foliage. However, it was not what it seemed. Genjin could feel that some of the trees were holographic. In the distance he could see buildings, an urban terrain apparently. That seemed the most plausible place for an emergency exit or access hatch. He decided to begin his search there rather then sneaking through the jungle. Genjin tightened his bandana and walked into the chaos.

Igwig started to hear people running and screaming. He looked up and saw a very large gun hanging from a tree. "That would be beter than nothing" he thaught. He started to climb the tree and had no trouble. When he got to the top, A large Wookie started to try and grab him. At first, Igwig thaught that this was his end, But then he remembered the gun. He grabbed the gun and held it the best he could. He pulled the trigger- KRAKOW

     The power of the blast blew Igwig into the air, and he fell to the ground. When he got up, He saw a Headless wookie laying on the ground. This little incident changed Igwigs mood dramaticly. He was now lusting battle.

     Igwig started sprinting (as fast as his little jawa legs could carry him) towards what looked like a small village

The rusted durasteel gate that had never been opened a single time in the one and a half years that Nossk had spent in this foul place opened with an unrehearsed screech of metal-on-metal. The Trandoshan wheeled towards the high-pitched squeal, but did not move. It was disbelief that rooted his scaled feet. His captors had really just released him, at least from his cell, for the sole purpose of killing everyone else in this prison. If this particular reptilian wasn’t so quick to hold grudges, the line between enemy and friend might’ve blurred with Gerba at that moment.

Nossk took a tentative step out of his cell, looking down the cellblock in either direction as if he was preparing to cross the street. Some of the prisoners had already bolted from their cells and were making a break for the stairs at either end of the hall; others appeared to be waiting; still more stood nervously in the hallway, confused and unsure how to proceed. While nervous might not be the proper adjective, Nossk fit in most perfectly with this last group. His simple mind wasn’t exactly racing with options, but there were different priorities to choose from: One could make a break for the weapons and gear, as some of the prisoners had already done; they could remain here and eliminate as much of the competition as possible before they had a chance to obtain weaponry; or…..

Nossk’s train of thought stopped - he couldn’t think of anything else. He’d just encountered a second problem in trying to decide which one of the staggering two options he’d conjured should be selected, when his musings were interrupted by the appearance of one of the guards - a stereotypical Gamorrean wielding a vibroaxe that so often found their way into the employ of Hutt crime lords. He’d apparently decided to go with Option Two, thinking (about as important a trait for him as it was for Nossk) that as long as he was armed, he could use his position as a guard to slaughter the entire cellblock before they would have a chance to arm or even understand what was happening. What he failed to predict was the high probability that many of the inmates present could kill him with little difficulty regardless.

Nossk was lucky enough to be one of the closest.

The Gamorrean waddled through the cellblock, slashing at some of the gaunter, hollow-eyed prisoners that hadn’t yet had a chance to wrap their heads around the concept of being outside their cell; they never would, as three reeled back into their cells-turned-crypts in short order, spattering blood into the hall. He charged the Trandoshan next.

The pig-man raised the axe above his head execution-style as he neared the large reptilian. Nossk snarled and met his charge in kind, not a single coherent thought running through his mind. What he didn’t realize was that meeting Gamorrean head-on was one of the smartest things he could’ve done. Even the swine’s primitive mind knew how close he had to get before he could swing down his axe and kill his enemy; essentially meaning that he knew its effective range. With Nossk barreling towards him, and thus closing the distance twice as fast as the guard expected, his timing was  horribly off, and by the time the Trandoshan had driven his shoulder into the Gamorrean’s gut the axe swing had come down well behind his back.
They both crashed to the floor flailing and clawing. Nossk got a hold on the shoulder-straps of the pig-man’s leather harness, and pulled him into a vicious headbutt that cut open the Trandoshan’s scaly forehead on his adversary’s tusks-like fangs. He stood, dragging the Gamorrean to his feet as well, and flung him into the wall with as much force as he could summon in his atrophied and unfed muscles. The guard’s head whipped into the wall beside Nossk’s cell with a wet crack, and he sank to the ground once more, clawing drunkenly at nothing. The Trandoshan grabbed his assailant by the upper jaw, and placed his head just inside the cell, the rest of his body stretching into the hallway; his meaty throat lay on the track that the heavy durasteel door ran along. Nossk grabbed the bars with both hands.

A caterwaul of squealing filled the hallway for only a moment, then the screech of the rusty track and the clang as the gate slammed shut severed the ruckus in a single, blood-drenched instant. The cellblock was silent aside from Nossk’s heavy breathing as he gazed down at the decapitated Gamorrean. It was his first kill in more than a year, and all in all he was rather pleased with his performance.

Nossk noticed the fallen vibroaxe, and bent down to pick it up before coming back to his original problem of not knowing what the hell he should do. He had a weapon now, but still no purpose; he decided that thinking about it was boring, and instead trotted off towards the staircase nearest him. There would be more fighting in the Battledome than there would be in the cellblock anyway, or else he’d have to kill whoever had come up with its name.

And there would be Gerba, watching from his observation deck with sadistic pleasure. And where there was Gerba, there would be Katray. And where there was Katray, there would be the single battle he dreamed of most as he lay awake in his undersized cot at night. The Trandoshan bounded up the stairs, vibroaxe in hand, licking his pointed teeth in anticipation at the mere thought. His mouth watered.

POW!

Guta-Nay fired his laser shotgun into a Rodian's chest. He had found a great hiding spot underneath a log (like the one the Ewok slid under in ROTJ to hide from the scout trooper) and had racked up several kills. After he made a kill, he hid the bodies in bushes and hollow logs so no one would be alerted to his presence. He had acquired a couple grenades, as well as a blaster pistol. The Rodian he had just killed had a very interesting rifle, which had a greater range and accuracy then his shotgun, so he took the rifle too.

Rifle: http://www.freewebs.com/raf-ss/M1%20Garand.jpg (Laser rifle)

Pistol: http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/0/05/DE-10.jpg

Guta-Nay got rid of one of his throwing knives so he could have the blaster pistol in it's place, and he slid back under he log to wait for some other quarry.