Grindhouse Rpg (by Audition Only) (Page 2 of 6)

(Great drawing, Revan, love the angle on the face. ^_^
Suggest we move Dark Tower talk to a different threat?) 

This planet is starting to annoy me.

HUN paused in the middle of the causeway, electing grunts of complaint from the passerby's swarming around him, insects traveling on their own threads in a web of unseen reality, hopes, ambitions, fears.  All framed in the slowly setting sun of Ord Mantell against the garishly bright neon facade of the Blue Moon Cantina. 
The wind picked up, streaming HUN's trenchcoat out behind him.  The tide of sentients moved faster as a light rain began to fall from the darkening sky.

Finally....the pieces are coming together. 

A couple of gruff human security guards exited a hovercraft on the side of the causeway, prompting the crowd to dissolve further.  The light rain deepened.  The crowd further dissolved as the duo approached the Blue Moon, passing an arms width from the trenchcoated figure.

HUN followed them through the doorway.

"Pure Sabacc!" spat Ace grinning. He shoved his winning hand on the table towards his Ithorian opponent. The victory was accompanied by hoots and applause from his usual posse behind his seat. Ace smirked and rested his hands behind his head.

"Shall we continue friend?" said Ace yawning. "No worries, I can take your credits all night believe me."

Ace reclined back in his chair allowing Dreeda and Kita to give him another massage. He'd made a point of gambling with the scantily clad Twi'lek twins whenever possible after he noticed how his opponents reacted when the two started to get tender.

His opponent bitterly threw his last few credits on the table and stormed off without a word.

"Nice day to you too," muttered Ace scooping up his winnings.

The Blue Sun Cantina was packed as usual. His fellow patrons were busy drinking and partying their meaningless lives away. Ace scanned the game tables for another victim when some Zeltron nearly knocked him off his chair. He glanced around wildly, but his guy was already gone.

Sighing, Ace held up two fingers for another java juice from the side bar. Seeing nothing to pass the time he pulled Dreeda into his lap with one hand and protruded a comlink from his jacket with the other.

“Hey… uh, boss?” he tried.

“What!?” answered an annoyed Firlov immediately.

“Well, uh…” started Ace nervously clutching Dreeda’s thigh. “Everything seems pretty mellow in here and I was just- I was just wondering when you were planning to “off” the guy.”

“He’s already gone you fool,” replied the former Imp. “Don’t bother me with these petty matters.”

Dead already? thought Ace. This guy’s good. I better watch my back this time.

“Well you might want to be careful anyway,” Ace said into the comlink. “Looks like the sheriff’s in town.”

Indeed he’d just spotted the uniformed Trandoshan entering the Blue Sun. There was silence on the other end as Firlov pondered this new development.

“Well,” he said finally. “This may turn out to be an interesting night after all.”

“And sir,” Ace tried to put in, “While I love doing these little errands for you, I’m wondering when all my little debts to you will be-”

“Don’t concern yourself with it,” snapped Dresden cutting him off. “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing and don’t let my cantina lose any more credits!”

There was a click as the villain terminated the transmission. Ace pocketed the comlink and looked up as his drink arrived glad for a refreshment. He flicked his red and silver chance cube into the air as he pondered his recent affairs with Firlov Dresden.

“Just between you and me baby,” he whispered into Dreeda’s ear. “Ace Valerno doesn’t like taking orders from anybody.”

“So what are you gonna do?” she asked her pretty little eyes following the descending die.

They were both silent as the cube bounced on the table a few times finally showing red.

“Let’s just say he’ll be getting what I owe him.” said the Chiss quietly.

He chugged the rest of his juice and raised a hand to wave at the sheriff.

“Hey The Drake!” Ace called across the room. “How ‘bout a game?”

((I own the Blue Sun?))

((Why not? I t could be a recent investment. Ooh, that will cause for some interesting conflict. ))

"You want some too Zeltron? Or maybe you Weequay scum!?" The crowded mess of toughened mercenaries went tense and uneasily quiet, not quite drunk or insane enough to know if they really wanted to test the new comer.

Zenth angled his head to look up at the enormous butchered concoction of severed beings, then looked down at the bleeding figure on the filth-covered floor who had just been pummeled mercilessly with a gun.

The orange-haired Zeltron turned and sprinted quickly out of the caged arena.

After a moment he returned smiling and proudly hefting a dented and scuffed metal chair from one of the nearby tables. He spoke with quick eagerness, "Okay,  let's go."

(( I'm still waiting for more players to introduce themselves or show up before I start any huge plot events))

"Fine you dirt-eating maggot." Zek raised his right arm and blew the chair away. "You still want a fight?" he said with a grin that could make plants wither and die.

I made a slight addition to Zek's equitment. He carries a sack made of some type of skin. In the sack he carries extra rounds of ammunition. I figured that once the revenants are introduced, he will need more than one.

"Well are we gonna fight, or are you gonna shoot me?" The odd Zeltron tossed the pieces still in his pale-orange tinted hands and tossed them to the floor, and straightened his stiff, high-collared jacket. Zenth spoke with an almost bored tone in his voice, completely unphased even though half of the patrons in the arena and in the audience had pulled their own weapons or gotten the hell out of there.

One of the Weequay's hissed quietly off to the side, "Someone tell him no blasters in arena."

"Yeah, why...uh...don't you do that buddy?" A smuggler patted the weather-worn Weequay on the arm and made his exit.

The pale Zeltron stepped forward and turned his side toward the tall Imperial creation, "Cuz If you're not gonna fight, then I'll find someone else."

Zenth smiled.

HUN had entered quietly, his wide-brimmed hat covering most of his masked face.  The inebriated patrons had paid little attention, more concerned with the battle taking place in the arena. 

You never get tired of this, do you?   The B'moarr's voice rung in his head. 

  I stopped being tired of things a long time ago.  HUN echoed back across the void of space. 

The monk chuckled.  The show's about to start.  Just hang tight for a minute. 

When Zenth had finally found his balance (The Zeltron nearly slipped on the growing puddle of blood on the cfloor) he turned to see Zek battering with mindless abandon at the air. The other creatures in the cage frantically melted away in front of the Imperial Experiment's uncontrolled havoc.

"Uh...okay, you go ahead and warm up then." Zenth called over to crazed assortment of beings and began stretching.

Suddenly, on of the unfortunate beings caught in the cage, a toughened and scarred Rodian, got cornered by Zek's sanelees onslought. So he did something stupid. He turned and launched a powerful punch with his left fist. The Imperial Experiment smashed through the blow with his heavy gun like an armored hover train crashing through any unfortunate creature caught in the way. Flesh splattered and bones splintered. The Rodian didn't have time to scream before another blow hit him in the chest so hard ribs instantly fractured and broke through the thin membranes of the lungs.

"Alright! Tag-team!" Zenth laughed out loud and  loosed a punch on the creature closest to him. The huge furred Cathar roared in rage and drove his muscled arm in a powerful swipe at the odd Zeltron's face. Zenth ducked backward with lethal precision. Without a moment's hesitation he spun on the heel of his boot under the outstretched arm gripped onto it with two vice-like hands over his shoulder and pulled the huge being over him and slammed the creature onto the floor with a deafening WHAM! The quick Zeltron kicked the stunned being in the side of the head like someone would to a grav-ball across an entire court.

With another empty smile he turned again on the other creatures with his deft and extremely lethal quickness. He kicked a blue-skinned reptillian Feeorin in the side of the knee so hard ligaments snapped, then before the creature could fall to the floor with the growing amount of others, Zenth spun and kicked with his other leg into the Feeorin's face already twisted in agony. The entire cage had exploded into a Free-for-all of beings fighting with crazed abandoned, trying to get even, or simply to just get out of the cage in one piece.

Another blow by Zek sent a Klatooinian's face flying in a wave of blood and splashing bits of flesh. The gore caught the albino Zeltron in the face and sent him back a stunned step. With an eerie laugh he wiped the muck from his face with the sleeve of his faded-orange jacket, "I wanna try!"

Zenth bashed his fist with every ounce of his strength into the face of the nearby Kadas'sa'nikto. The scaled and weather-worn faced being's head turned so far it nearly snapped a horde of spit went flying through the air before he fell. Zenth nearly fell forward from the force of the blow, and straightened with shock...staring at his shredded knuckles bleedling freely.

For a second he...he could almost feel the...

Then somthing caught Zenth full force in the stomach and sent him flying into the caged wall, knocking the wind out of him. He fell to his knees, trying to breathe but completely unable to.

“So…” Ace said to Orsusk casually while Kin was on a comlink outside. “What brings our renowned sheriff into the Blue Sun this fine evening?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business Valerno,” growled the Trandoshan flipping over another card bringing himself up to 3.

“Alrighty, alrighty,” he answered coolly adding a 4 to his 5. “No need to get your snout in a twist.”

The sheriff was silent as he drew from his side deck again. Ace leaned forward intently trying to read his opponent’s face; on matters other than the game at hand as it happened. He looked over at the arena where the Zeltron kid and the monster were the only ones dealing out serious damage. Most of the club’s patrons were over there now jeering on the bloodshed.

Hmmm… Maybe I should place a few bets, pondered the Chiss. And why is dear Orsusk playing low cards? Ah, I see he wants to play it out. He knows I have nothing to hit 20. Technically he’s right… sort of.

“Y’know The Drake,” started Ace slapping down a plus 3 card bringing him up to 17. “I’m surprised that anyone wanted to play Pazaak. It always struck me as a dead game for old fossils to remember their glory days. But thanks anyways, I love resurrecting the classics.”

“Your move Ace,” said Orsusk refusing to be swayed by small talk. There was a tone of triumph in his voice even though he had a weak 7. “You might as well stand kid. I know you’ve got nothing.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes you the winner,” Ace shrugged. It was a neat set-up he had to admit. Filling the table was hard to do these days. While the other player was busy trying to hit 20 the other would lay down low cards until he got to nine and won. Simple, yet effective. “Too bad I have this.”

He threw down the last card in his hand: the double card. That made his last 3 a 6 bringing his total to 20. If there was any surprise in the sheriff’s expression he hid it well.

“Where’d a piece of scum like you get a double card?” he asked.

Ace just smiled.

“Trade secret,” he remarked cockily as Kin arrived.

“So,” said Kin picking up his cards. “What’d I miss?”

“Hey,” called Orsusk absently looking off across the room. “None of you happen to know who’s in the brimmed hat do you?”

Kin and Ace both turned in the direction he was looking and got their first glimpse of the masked entity. Neither of them liked it one bit.

OOC: Been in Atlanta, GA for the past week at the VEX robotic competitions, sorry for the absence. (Team Impulse took 3rd place in the world out of over 500 teams in the FVC games, forgive the vanity but I'm a bit proud of my team. Now, onto my first RPG in quite some time.)
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Name: Dracmus Kleysik
Occupation: Wandering Zeison Sha Warrior
Species: Selonian
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Appearance: The tall, independent, Force-Sensistive Selonian stands a full 2 meters in height. A proud member of his beast-species, and yet paranoid of the galaxy as a whole, Dracmus hides his shaggy, pitch-black fur under an equally ebony cloak, under which he hides not just his rare coat, but his entire identity as a Selonian whenever possible. The young male does not stand with the tall, proud defiance that normally befits a Zeison Sha warrior; the chaos of the galaxy has robbed him of that, and replaced it with a sharp sense of danger and paranoia. Instead, he sits and walks hunched over and drawn up inside his dark cloak, avoiding physical contact and dodging glances at all costs.
Personality: Dracmus hates social interaction in any form. For now, he is content with surviving, an art the Zeison Sha have perfected over hundreds of years on Yanibar, their desolate homeworld that taught them how to exist in any conditions, under any hardships. That proud, invincible side of Dracmus - or "Drac" as he introduced himself on those few occasions on which he is required - rarely peeks out from under his precious, protective cloak; but when it does, the Selonian acts with the independent conviction of a true Force warrior (Honors the face of his father, may it do ya fine). However, the unique piece of Drac's understanding of the Force is this: Drac has no idea what the Force is. As far as the young man is concerned, he is a mage of sorts, a sorceror born with a rare gift that he tries to hide with everything else behind the thin shield of his anonymous cloak. The mystical power that guides his wayward discblade is magic, the energy woven into the bolts of lighting called forth by his scruffy hands are nothing more than the essence of magic that was granted to him by the gods at the time of his birth. Dracmus Kleysik, son of Chertyl and the den Queen Maronea, fancies himself a wizard.
Skills: Survival in all of its many faces, honed by generations of Zeison Sha blood. The Force, or "His Gift" as Drac considers it, employed as a variety of techniques that Drac has learned and mastered as he trains with his strange talent.
Equipment: A full dozen discblades, the signature weapons belonging to, and only truly mastered by, the Zeison Sha and their telekinetic specialities; a long, black cloak worn at all times whenever he is in the presence of outsiders; and a Shyarn scimitar, a weapon he was given after using it to kill a Cerean in a reluctant honor duel he desperately wished to avoid.
Other: Dracmus is afraid of the galaxy, though his proud Zeison Sha heritage would never allow him to admit it. He hates crowds, and despises conversation. He wants to go his way, but warrior blood and Jedi genes drive him to combat whenever he sees the weak being abused, or the honest being overcome by the wicked; another Zeison Sha law that battles with his cloistered personality.
Brief History: Dracmus was born into the Zeison Sha society of independence and pride that shaped him for the first 18 years of his life. He mastered the discblade, the arts of survival, and the tradition of honor that traced back to not just the beginnings of the Zeison Sha, but the very Jedi Order itself. At 18 Dracmus killed a Cerean by the name of Silvyn Mundo in an honor duel he had no intention of taking part in. Drac was involved with a female that happened to be the consort of Mundo, who upon discovering the relationship immediately challenged Drac to a duel. The Selonian refused. When the Cerean threw a Shyarn at his feet and charged with his own however, the Zeison Sha principle of survival took control. The battle began, ensued, and ended in Mundo's death. To make a long story short, the Selonian was caught with a bloodstained blade over a fellow Zeison Sha, was exiled, and eventually found passage off Yanibar and into the vast expanse of the galaxy which he now hates with such passion. Such hate has led Drac to discover and develop several "techniques" that would be considered arts of the Dark Side in a more Jedi-savvy society. Drac lives, and to live is all he wants...for now.

((Good to know. I've got a post half-done, I'll finish it as soon as I have a free moment, so if no one would conclude the cage fight just yet, I'd be much obliged. If it can't be helped, I'll improvise or re-write it, s'all good.))

((Sci!!! Yeah, now it's a party!))