RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing (Page 8 of 9)

POST COMING SOON honest

PART I: TRAPS

"I don't like being helpless," Nossk growled as he watched Demarq attach one final diode to the reptile’s bare torso. “I’m not gonna be stuck watching while some merc guns me down as I float around with wires sticking out of me.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Demarq barked curtly as he ran a quick check of his partner’s vital signs on the tank’s control screen. The Trando’s complaints about entering the bacta tank had been unending, and increasingly irrational, since he had first proposed the idea, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. “You’ll be unconscious the majority of the time. Some merc decides to gun you down, you’ll be dying in your sleep. Besides, if we don’t get you healed up you won’t last two minutes out against the remaining competitors in this hole.”

Impressed as Demarq was with the Trandoshan’s regenerative abilities, natural biology can only act so quickly. Underequipped as the pair still was, they needed to be in prime condition as soon as possible to gather a decent stash of weapons if they hoped to stay alive. Now that a day had passed in the battledome, the competition was becoming more and more cutthroat. They had been lucky so far, but to trust more in luck would be foolhardy in the extreme.

The Trandoshan would be back in perfect condition in a week’s time, despite the gravity of his wounds. With the accelerated healing of the bacta tank, he would hopefully be ready for action in a single night, even before Demarq’s own newly-bandaged hand was finished healing. At least, that’s what Demarq was counting on. He moved to the tank and initiated the filling process. Life-sustaining bacta began streaming down the glass walls of the tank and collecting at the bottom.

“Anyway, I envy you; while you’re floating around regenerating, I’ve got to keep your *** alive. Gerba went through the trouble of putting a whole swarm of Bartokk in that last house, because he wants as many of us as possible to die. Why put life-saving equipment in the middle of a death match? This whole thing could be a death trap.”

“Yeah, well,” Nossk growled, “we get another swarm of those things and I’m not around to save your hide, we’re both screwed.”

The pirate made an amused noise half-way between a cough and a chuckle. “Sorry, I thought you just said it was you who saved my hide. You’re funny, Fido. Anyway, I’m going to go fortify our position a little bit in case I have to do it again. Yell when the tank’s done filling.”

He stopped on his way out the door by the table where they’d placed all Nossk’s equipment. “You don’t mind if I borrow these do you? They might come in handy.” Before the Trandoshan could say that he most decidedly did mind, the pirate had scooped up the remaining grenades and was bounding up the stairs.

Improvised defenses (alternately known as “traps”) are one more thing an effective space pirate has to be familiar with: when the defending vessel is outgunned, their only hope of resistance is to take advantage of their home turf. Most took a passive route, simply attempting to stop the pirates from advancing with jammed blast doors and force fields. Demarq had never been sure of the thought process behind such methods: did they think that the pirates would get frustrated and simply leave them alone? It was safe to say that it never happened that way.

Offensive traps were far more effective, snares set up with the intent of blowing or tearing or ripping apart the invader who was stupid enough to trigger them. The mechanics inventive enough to improvise such traps are few and far between, but Demar had been around enough to have witnessed a few of the surprising ones. Sure, there was the usual proximity mine, the transformer rigged to explode, but those weren’t the really impressive ones.

One cargo frieghter’s mechanic had let loose his shipment, which consisted of a small pack of hunting nix hounds, on the pirate invaders. Two of the pirates fell to fatal bites, and to make up for the lost crew and cargo Demarq was forced to sell the freighter and buy a new set of dogs. Another mechanic had even rigged charges in an attempt to breach the hull and expose the invaders to open space. Half a ship is better than no ship, after all. Luckily for Demarq and his crew the mechanic wasn’t aware of the auto-seal safety feature that activated in the event of a ship depressurization.

At any rate, Demarq didn’t have a lot to work with in the prefab house, so he couldn’t attempt anything too fancy. However at the same time, Nossk’s arsenal gave him enough firepower to stop a small battalion of mercs should the need arise.

First, Demarq assumed his attackers would be entering through the house’s front door. Sure, there were other entrances- windows- that one might try to use, but if they thought the house might be occupied, it was foolish in the extreme to attempt a difficult entry that robs one of the ability to defend himself. The door is a much more tactically sound option, especially if the attackers had superior numbers. Which they always do.

Using the blade of Nossk’s blade, the pirate pried up a good-sized splinter of the wood at the bottom of the door, under the knob. He then tied a cloth bandage (he’d found yards of the stuff in the med lab downstairs) to the knob, wrapped it around the jutting splinter, and tied the other end to the pin of one of Nossk’s remaining three frag grenades. The body of the grenade he taped to the wall using tape he’d discovered downstairs, so that when the door was opened the pin would be yanked. He left the timer at three seconds, enough time for the door-opener and a few friends to step inside and get close to the blast area.

Demarq moved to the window to make a similar set-up, but as he peered over the window ledge he locked eyes with a man, standing outside the front door to the next house over, looking slightly ill ((NOTE: THIS IS RANDO. When he saw someone working in the next house over. Just to avoid any confusion.)). Before Demarq could react, the man had jumped back inside out of sight. Unsure of what to do, the pirate abandoned the window for now. He didn’t like being watched.

    He moved upstairs, the location any interlopers would be most likely to search first. He took stock of his resources: the plan was to eliminate as many opponents as possible without depriving himself of the a way to defend himself, should it come to a straight firefight. For that reason, the carbine he now owned (it had previously belonged to a Rodian who lay rotting in the street outside the house) had to remain at his side. As effective as Nossk’s slugthrowers were, Demarq just felt more comfortable with blaster technology. Most of the universe probably felt that way.
    Anyway, that meant the carbine could not be involved in a trap. However the slugthrowers, particularly the shotgun, could. In the main bedroom, Demarq dragged the dresser beside the door, placed the shotgun (loaded with a single round, so as not to provide the enemy with additional firepower, of course) so it was aimed at the door frame, and strapped it down with medical adhesive strips. A strip of fabric cut from the cheap linens on the bed connected the trigger to the door handle, and that was that.
    Of course, he was stuck in the room now. Demarq opened the window and inched along the sloped overhang outside it to reach another window on the second story, reentered the house, and moved back downstairs.
    Now for the best trap ever, his coup de grace: Demarq dragged all four chairs that were placed around the kitchen table down to the basement. If Nossk had any interest at all in what his partner was doing, he made no mention of it and merely continued to sulk. Once all four chairs were in the space below the staircase, he went to work prying off the seats and snapping off the backs, leaving four posts connected by a square framework around the middle. A little hewing with the knife made the posts pointy enough for his purposes, and before a quarter of an hour had passed there were 16 stakes ready and pointed at the staircase above.
    “Tank’s filled,” Nossk called out, clearly not pleased that the time had come. “You gonna get me into this thing or what?”
    “Wait a minute,” Demarq commanded with the annoyance of a man who was nearing completion on a large project and was being asked to stop. He pried the top off the third step from the top of the staircase, sawed it in half (it was hardly the sturdiest of wood. Remember that one time Nossk knocked a whole staircase over by hitting it with a dead body?), taped the halves back together and gingerly placed it back on the step. It could not support any weight whatsoever, but stayed up by itself easily enough. He repeated the process for the fourth and fifth steps, carefully leaned over, and pulled the door closed. Voila, instant pit of death.

    Ten minutes later, Nossk was loaded into the bacta tank and glaring at Demarq. A few commands entered into the computer, and several lights lit up on the console: “Tissue regeneration in progress”, as well as “Anesthetic IV active”. The glowering eyes of the Trandoshan began to flutter, and before long closed entirely. Nighty night, Fido.

    Exhausted from the day’s work, Demarq collapsed next to one of the humming machines, his carbine across his knees. His head tilted back, and he allowed his eyes to close. Just for an hour or two…

A loudspeaker thundered as though it were right in his ear. “ATTENTION COMBATANTS: A MED FACILITY ON 1ST STREET IS IN OPERATION. REPEAT, A MED FACILITY ON 1ST STREET IS IN OPERATION. TARGETS ARE AVAILABLE ON 1ST STREET OPERATING MED FACILITY…”

Demarq’s eyes flew open at mach 5.

SON OF A-

PART II: THE FIGHT coming hopefully this weekend?

[OOC] Anyone interested in still playing? Ready…CLEAR! [/OOC]

Welcome to the world of 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, and like all Hutts Gerba likes a show…

…And that was exactly what Nell Terigo planned on giving him.

One of Gerba’s guards coughed up blood, and spasmed before death took him. A yellow-haired Correlian walked in her bantha calf fur boots over the two dead guards lying on the floor of the docking bay.

Nell Terigo jumped at the sound of the loudspeaker and her blaster pistol came up immediately. She spun around carefully, looking for the source of the sound.

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

A large, orange-red lizard that stood taller than the human female stepped after her with large talons that clacked on the duracreet heavily. One of the creature's eyes was an unsightly mess of pale scars, and the other eye glowed yellow with a strange sentience.

“ He has been my guest for some time, but now he will join the Battledome and since all is recorded, the one who takes him down will be able to claim their reward with Black Sun, after all his bounty is for death.”

She holstered her blaster and went to the terminal next to the door, attempting to override the auto lock her unauthorized ship had set off when it docked, “Come on, come on!”

The exotic animal dealer cursed angrily at the terminal as it locked her out and set off another alarm.  The large red lizard suddenly charged and with its spine armored head wrenched and twisted the heavy door partially open.

“Thank you, Red.” Nell pet the creatures neck as she stepped through, carefully avoiding the jagged metal.

The large orange-red reptile paused for moment, then quickly leapt back over to the closer of the two dead guards, ripped off the arm, and chewing it happily slipped through the broken door with a strange ease for such a large creature.

…

Name: Nell Terigo
Species: Human
Homeworld: Correlia
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Affiliation: Self
Appearance:  She has yellow hair bound up loosely, light brown eyes, and lighter freckles. She has the build of a well-practiced pole dancer and wears a loose dark blue set of mechanic’s coveralls over a cranberry colored tank top, and bantha hide boots.
Weapons: A Charric Rifle that in her hands or a long holster on her right thigh, a blaster pistol strapped to her other thigh, a large knife in her boot, grenades hanging from a bandolier across her chest, and a stokhli spray stick strapped to her back. Oh, and her huge bright orange-red mutated, extremely poisonous hssiss lizard with one eye and no depth perception.
Starship: YT-2000 registered as “The Lost Cause.”
Brief History:   Nell is an Exotic Animal Dealer from Correlia ready to start some hell.

…

Gerba laughed at the top of his lungs as he watched the events unfold, “And too my favored guests, I present you with complimentary sniper rifles so that you may also join in the entertainment!”

The wealthy corrupt guests cheered with blood lust, and perhaps a drunken stupor from the readily available food, drinks, and spice.

Gerba definitely knew how to throw a party.

A half-naked twi’lek slave girl with a nose ring dropped her serving tray, spilling dark red wine on the tiled floor and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Out of the shadows from the arching entrance of the dais, an armored guard’s corpse fell to the ground with a bloody smack…without the head. The merriment of the wealthy and wicked came to a slow, sickening halt as everyone turned.

With a low, menacing growl a large one-eyed lizard stepped into the light and crushed the gotal guard’s helmeted head between its jaws.

The remaining guards finally began to react and blaster fire went wild. The large, deadly lizard leapt and struck like lightning, dodging blaster fire and catching a Rodian in the throat.

While Red continued to wreak havoc and justice on anything armed or merely annoying, Nell carefully climbed down the decorative stone archway and dropped lightly next to the podium beside Gerba.

She smiled and pulled out an adhesive grenade in one fair-skinned hand, “Hello there, I’m going to hurt you a lot for the things…”

Nell pulled out her charric with her other hand and shot a guard aiming for her, “…you did to me and mine you REPULSIVE SLUG EXCREMENT!!”

Gerba stared, his lipless mouth agape in shock. He had no idea who this human was.

“This probably won’t kill you,” Nell activated the adhesive grenade and shoved it into the Hutt’s mouth.

The yellow-haired human turned to the edge of the dais overlooking the battledome as the grenade went off behind her.

“KATRAY!!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.

OMG Gojan has returned! Now I must re-read and get posting again...

Post coming this afternoon. It'll be a good one.

After the first three hours, they began to come faster. At first it was just one or two at a time; since one would usually take a nosedive into Demarq’s pit of spikey doom, it was easy enough for him to shoot the looming silhouette in the doorway without becoming a target himself thanks to the near-darkness around him.

At that point it was mostly prisoners who were attacking: small bands (or, more rarely, solo expeditions) of poorly-equipped and starving individuals who went down without a fight. The cityscape was their ideal combat area: hit-and-run tactics could allow the unfortunate prisoners to take down a few mercenaries and instantly climb to the top of the technological foodchain. As such, the mercs preferred to stick to the zones where there was less of a chance of being jumped by a starving Chadra-fan: the open area in the middle, and the borders of the forests. Now that they knew there was a medical facility for the taking, the mercs with wounded limbs and groups with wounded members were slowly making their way across the hellscape that was the battledome, headed right for Demarq and his unconscious companion.

He had picked up a number of weapons from the beings that fell into his stair trap: primarily blasters, so he had no need to worry about ammo. What was beginning to worry him, however, was the dwindling efficiency of his last line of defense: each time he removed an impaled victim from his pointed chair-legs, he risked destroying the setup. Already two of the chair frames had fallen apart from the abuse, so he was down to eight posts, and had to hope the victims would hit the target. Even then, a large enough individual, or one with body armor, would destroy his trap for good, making him one man with a blaster and an unconscious lizard.

5 hours in, the chair trap had long been demolished. A particularly robust merc in full battle array (solo, no less!) had taken the setup out when he finally fell. He was wearing some kind of night-vision helmet, so in the time it took Demarq to down him he managed to tag the pirate in the arm with two shots from his blaster. Demarq applied medical treatment as best he could, and got the arm working again with minimal pain, but all the bacta in the world wouldn’t save him if one of those shots had hit him in the head.

The growing body count- must have been 15 corpses in the basement alone, not to mention the ones littering the hallway above- were put to use in interesting ways. The first thing Demarq did after healing his arm was to stack up the bodies for cover. At a glance, it was hard to pick his face out of the stack of bodies, and he had more than enough time to pick off his opponents even when they were using flashlights.

Additionally, though the pit had stopped being useful as a deathtrap, invaders to his turf still had to jump over the three steps he had sabotaged to get down there. And since Demarq had been making good use of the knife he lifted off the pit’s first victim, he made sure there was always a fresh coat of blood on the step immediately after the gap. Several bodies left head-sized stains on the wall after slipping and bashing their lovely skulls into the wooden foundations of the building.

Demarq seemed to have things well enough under control, and could have continued that way for a good couple of days, until he encountered Black Mesa.

Generally mercenaries groups form because there is strength in numbers. For this reason, any solo merc, a one-man army, could probably take down a good dozen garden-variety thugs-for-hire without breaking a sweat. Taking jobs as a group means a bigger split, which means less money for weapons and equipment, which means less overall effectiveness of each member. A solo merc doesn’t need to split, so he gets better stuff, and is overall more formidable. Makes sense.

However, the planet Happar is known for 3 things: its isolationist tendencies, its large mafia-style rackets, and its (literally) cutthroat approach to economics. Racket bosses planet-wide employ assassins to take out their targets totally legally, so “mercenary” is a legitimate career choice for the more naturally brutal of the Happar people. Most mercenaries work on a regular paycheck for one mafia boss or another, but the best of the best work freelance. In each major city, there are perhaps a dozen mercs that are in high demand, and they are very often hired by opposing clients and wind up fighting each other.

That is, until in Happar City some of these cunning killers came together and decided to incorporate: make a merc monopoly and completely clean up the inferior competition. Why waste manpower fighting each other, when they could join forces and force all the lesser mercs into submission? Long story short, they cleaned up, and decided to take their show on the galactic road, calling their exclusive merc company Black Mesa. They were numerous, well-equipped AND experienced, and any one of them was a match for a veteran merc.

Anyway, enough exposition: Black Mesa was vying for that sweet, sweet prize money of Gerba’s, and wanted to get at some medical supplies. So they ended up on the first story of Demarq’s little fortress.

Demarq knew something was different when there was no one in the doorway. Just a clunk noise, and a small sphere hurtling through the air toward him, bounced expertly down from the hallway. It plopped softly off the wall of bodies surrounding him, rolled a few feet, and chirped quietly. Demarq was still a little bit in awe of the situation- he had heard no sounds of combat from above for the last two minutes- and just barely managed to get his mind moving in time. That’s a…grenade…

The blast was large enough to blow the wall of corpses back and pin Demarq against the wall. He had regained his wits with enough time to duck behind his cover, but now he needed to be on the run before his attackers came back down.

I’m lucky they want the equipment here. If not, they could just use a thermal detonator and flood this place with fire.

The stench of torched bodies filled the air around him; Demarq shoved bodies off of himself and staggered to his feet, coughing in the smoky aftermath. Before he could think, a black armored body was on him, grasping his throat and shoving him up against the wall. An expressionless helmet regarded him coolly as just another threat that was about to be put down. He felt the powerful hand tighten, about to snap the frail bones of his neck.

No time to think. Demarq’s hand was on the hilt of his knife, and as he heard his larynx crackle he plunged that knife into his attacker’s middle. An inch above or below, he would have hit solid plate armor, but he dug into the sweet spot and twisted as best he could, anything to get that hand off his neck.

His opponent gurgled something indeterminable and slumped over. Taking a ragged breath that hurt almost as much as the choking had, Demarq hurdled at full speed to the space under the stairs. He looked up, and there was another one, looking down at him through the gap in the stairs.

At that point, he knew he was in serious trouble.

He took a step back, and the spot he had been standing in a second before shriveled and dissipated. He has a disruptor rifle. Sweet Jedi teats, I’m not going to last a minute longer.

Before his opponent could get in position to take another shot, Demarq had whipped out one of Nossk’s remaining two grenades, kissed it, lobbed it up through the gap, and made a break for it.

The frag’s blast tore apart the rickety staircase, and sent the two mercs who were standing on it raining down. Miraculously they survived the blast (What kind of armor are they wearing?), but Demarq risked firing a shot into the now-ruined torso area of one soldier, scoring another kill, before ducking behind a support pillar. Not a moment too late; another laser blast filled the air behind him. Just getting his breath back, Demarq was again alarmed to hear the familiar clinking of a grenade approaching. No time to appraise the situation, he leapt, full-out, to the depths of the basement. The support pillar was engulfed in flame, and Demarq’s legs took a fair share of shrapnel, not to mention an accelerated trip into a cloth-covered sofa that had been shoved into a corner.

His reality swam before him, everything going out of focus for half a second before rematerializing. As it did, another black helmet was in his face, a large black glove heading to cover his face. However, his left hand still held his knife, and in it went, straight through the faceplate. Blood gushed out, but before Demarq could celebrate his momentary victory, an energy blast came from the ruined stairs. Blaster bolts may move hundreds of miles per hour, but in Demarq’s eyes, this one moved with a terrifyingly slow inevitability. His eyes tracked it, he knew what was coming, but although the rapid firing of the synapses in his nerves were too slow for his liking, his screaming brain saw it all in slow-motion and wanted to get it over with already.

The disruptor bolt tagged his left hand as it held the knife still embedded in his opponent’s face. For an instant there was no pain, only wonder as the atoms that made up one of his primary manipulation tools dissipated into nothing. The palm went first, separating the fingers from the wrist, and they began falling, but long before they hit the ground there was nothing left. Simultaneously, the wrist was dissipating into the air, retreating further and further toward his sleeves until it was gone altogether. The knife clattered to the ground, and that was it.

Demarq was beyond rage at this point: the walls of crushing despair enveloped him. Not even the exquisite pain of the disintegration could get more than an anguished wheeze out of his injured throat. He was less than a man now; after fighting so hard, this group of mercenaries had dealt him a career-ending blow, and he had not even halved their numbers. He had no chance to survive, never did. His "good" (though still bandaged, at least it still existed) hand grasped the last grenade and gave it a half-assed lob in the general direction of the merc who took from him his will to survive. The merc dodged out of instinct, rolling toward the bacta tank, but wasn’t counting on Demarq’s last attack to be more one of apathy than desperation. The grenade landed a bit too close to the delicate medical equipment, and the blast destroyed the merc as well as the terminal that was operating the bacta tank. The hum that had filled his ears for hours droned down to nothing, and the faint blue hue of the tank was replaced with red emergency lights lining the rims.

Demarq’s remaining hand groped around on the ground for his blaster carbine, but before he could find it a heavy boot pressed down on his wrist. Four mercs gathered around him, gazing down with expressionless helmets. They weren’t enjoying this victory. This was just another job completed, with reasonable losses.  Demarq tried to gurgle something, anything; he had promised himself years ago that his last words would be a witty remark, but he wasn't even in control enough to do that. Such a promise seemed trivial now anyway, after he had failed so utterly.

I’m sorry, trandoshan. I’m sorry Duchess. I’m sorry…everyone…

The muzzle of the merc's rifle was aimed right between his eyes, but he found himself looking elsewhere. The bacta tank was bathed in a dark red, sinister light, making it hard to see, but…was that movement?

YO SCIFI G2G HOMES

Five hours earlier.

“Tank’s filled!” Nossk called out impatiently. The pirate captain had disappeared a few minutes ago with the remainder of his explosive arsenal, leaving the Trandoshan to twiddle his claws as bacta slowly filled the large transparisteel tank. When the cyan miracle liquid finally stopped cascading down from the spouts at the top of the healing unit, the Trando’s anxiety spiked; for the next eight or nine hours he would be unconscious and helpless, trusting his life completely to a space pirate he’d met not a single day ago. He had to strain his feeble memory to recall a more absurdly suicidal endeavor. Still, he called out to the human, unable to deny the fact that his odds of survival were even slimmer if he didn’t manage to get himself fighting fit, and soon. “You gonna get me into this thing or what?”

“Wait a minute.” Demarq barked in agitation from the other basement room.

“Wait a minute,” Nossk murmured mockingly under his breath, “I’m a skinny little human, watch me make stupid traps and waste all my handsome, Trandoshan, badass friend’s grenades.”

Before long Demarq returned to the bacta tank room and began preparing the reptilian for bacta submersion. In scant minutes Nossk was riddled with needles, nodes, and monitoring devices, and no more pleased with his situation than he was before he became a Trandoshan pin cushion. The pirate jammed one final needle through Nossk’s thick scales, most likely with just a little more force than was absolutely necessary.

“Alright, now climb on in Fido, I’ll wake you up when it’s time for school.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Nossk remarked, dipping the bottom half of his battle-torn body into the tank and donning a breathmask, “if it’s possible to hate someone to death.”

With that the scaly brute slid completely into the rejuvenating tube, and waited for the human to commence the healing process. He stared through his blue-green tinted cylinder as Demarq typed a few commands into a computer console, and immediately felt a couple of the needles stir as their adjoined tubes injected something into his body. The room quickly began to warp and distort, and despite the fact that he was floating upright in the tank Nossk felt like he was falling over. The next moment everything was black.

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

Some time later the big Trandoshan opened his eyes, although at first he wasn’t so sure he had. He felt his eyelids open, but still that all-engulfing darkness was there, swallowing his world in infinite nothingness.

Am I dead? Nossk thought,  immediately wondering if Demarq had failed to protect him. That horrifying moment, when the reptilian believed that he’d been ended in his sleep, suffered a simple death without resistance nor honor, was perhaps the most terrifying of his life. Had he truly been sent to the Scorekeeper? If so, then where was his exulted deity now, as he hung there in the dark? Had his failures displeased her so much that he would be denied even his reckoning?

I’ve shamed no one, do you hear me Scorekeeper? NO ONE!

Yes, that’s what he’d said. That’s what he’d roared to the dust and the Bartokk as he winked at death and thrown it the finger. The Scorekeeper had said herself that she felt no more love for him; had blamed him for failure when he’d fought his best, and while his battles hadn’t quite gleamed with glory, he was still alive wasn’t he? Still surviving, even now trying to mend himself so that he could escape this place and live longer still.

She has no right, Nossk snarled in his empty purgatory, no right to condemn me like this. My entire life I’ve spent proving my worth and drenching my hands and her alter with blood; I’ve grinned at death like an old friend only to slap him in the face and remain with the living, all just to lay more faith and worship at her feet. Now she casts me aside like a dirty rag, leaving me stranded and alone, staring down the greatest trial I’ve ever faced. She is no god of mine.

“Can you hear me, Scorekeeper!?” Nossk bellowed to the vacuum around him, “I don’t need you, *****! Even if this is death, I’d rather stay here than eat in your hall with whores and traitors!”

After such blasphemy the Trandoshan honestly expected lightning, or fire, or some divine force to strike him and his heathen tongue down, but there was nothing - only the emptiness in which he floated. It was some moments before a voice rose in response.

“Whores? Traitors? Oh my, it certainly didn’t take very long for you to become a vindictive little lizard now did it?” It was the very same voice that had taunted him in the basement last night – it was his Scorekeeper. The Trandoshan, rather than rendered awestruck and speechless with this second divine apparition, was infuriated.

“Don’t call me lizard, devil-woman.” Nossk growled to the shadows, “You cursed me even as I killed for your glory.”

“You fought like an imbecile, and very nearly died.” The Scorekeeper’s voice echoed, thick with disdain.

“I’VE BEEN ROTTING IN PRISON FOR THE PAST YEAR!” (He’d in fact lost track of time, and had no idea it had been half again as long) Nossk bellowed, furious with the unfairness of it all. “WHERE WERE YOU THEN, ALMIGHTY HAG!? Did you expect me to be freed and fight on as if nothing had happened!?”

“It is no fault of mine that you were imprisoned.” The feminine voice pointed out.

“And it is no fault of mine that my *** got crippled. The odds were against me; this is war, it happens, so stop being so gorram pissed off over a few scrapes and get over it.” Pride and excitement flooded the Trandoshan’s non-corporeal body. Telling off the deity that had scolded him so brutally felt good, very good, and with each word that passed his pointed teeth he felt more powerful. To hell with the consequences, he might be dead already anyway.

“Rarely do I let a mortal speak to me in such a way.” The Scorekeeper spat.

“Yeah? Ask me if I give a frack.” The reptilian shot back, flexing his arms as if he was making ready to fight. The gesture was useless in this metaphysical state, but to Nossk diplomacy through physical force was second nature. For some time there was nothing, and the Trandoshan nervously wondered if the goddess had simply left him to hang in limbo for all eternity. At last, the insulted deity spoke.

“You were always a defiant one, Nossk of the Trandos, but a respectful one. I wonder what’s become of that loyalty?” The Scorekeeper’s patronizing voice pondered.

“Really? After being so nice, I really dunno what would make you seem like a two-faced wad of Sith spit. Wait, wait, wait, I’m getting a little something…was it that time you called me disgrace and abandoned me? I’ve killed things for less, woman.” Nossk couldn’t explain the freedom and wit with which the words were flowing from his mouth. Never in his life had he ever been one for words; he’d always felt they were thoroughly lacking in the way breaking things or hurting people got his feelings across. Now, though, as he traded words with this infuriating god-woman, the retorts he spat left him strangely satisfied.

“What use do I have for an incapable servant? Can you truly blame me for letting go of a troublesome burden?”

“Incapable servant?” Nossk hissed, fuming, “If you are really a goddess, you know my past. You know what I’ve done, what I can do – and you still think you can call me ‘incapable’?”

“For all your talk of former glory, you’re still here aren’t you?” The voice answered. A shimmering image of a woman appeared in the blackness in front of the Trandoshan. She was aglow with white light, and it was impossible for him to make out any further details.  The figure gestured to the emptiness in which they argued as she spoke.

“And where is ‘here’, devil-woman?” Nossk snarled, remembering that his current predicament, aside from arguing with his angered goddess in an endless sea of darkness, was largely a mystery. He still didn’t know where this was, or what it was, or how he could leave, or if he even could leave.

“This is death.” The Scorekeeper said simply.

Nossk’s eyes widened in shock. He was dumbfounded.

“What?” He breathed. The Trandoshan toppled from the high ground he’d held, completely disarmed by his disbelief.

“Is it so hard to believe? The little miracle you found in that basement was rigged; the moment you lost consciousness, you condemned that human to death.” The Scorekeeper explained, practically cooing as she relished the reptilian’s bewilderment.

“No…” Nossk couldn’t believe his ears. Could he have gotten them both killed by trying to heal his own wounds? Would Demarq really fight to the death just to protect his helpless body rather than run?

“You left that man to fight dozens as you slumbered peacefully in your tank, so let me ask you, Trandoshan, who truly abandoned whom? Who is the betrayer now?” The light enveloping her body dimmed enough for Nossk to make out a smug smile on her face. The lizard-man’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed to burning slits – subdued anger slowly started building again with each beat of his heart.

“You lie, witch.” Nossk growled through grinding teeth. His fists tightened unconsciously, digging his claws into the scales of his palms. Blood dripped slowly into the infinite nothingness below him.

“Oh?”

“Oh. We’re fracked pretty hard, I can believe that. It’s this whole being dead thing…”

“What about it?”

“It sucks! I don’t believe I’m dead, and I don’t believe that spineless human is either. Now I’m getting bored, so let me out of this place before the pirate kills everything.” The Trandoshan demanded.

“Don’t make demands of me, lizard –“

“I think we had a conversation about that word.” Nossk interjected; the Scorekeeper carried on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“ – for all your impudence I’ve told you the truth: the human is dying, and the tank your body hangs in has been shut down – including your breath mask. You’ll both be dead in moments.”

“That’s a little different from dead.” Nossk shot back, starting forwards through the intangible darkness towards the glowing figure of the Scorekeeper. “Get me out of here. Now. I want to wake up.”

“It’s not so simple –” The image tried to explain as he approached, but the Trandoshan would have none of it.

“I disagree.” He interrupted, not sure if it was possible to harm the shining figure in this place, but determined to try anyway.

“The system failed, but there are still strong anesthetics running through your physical body; it’s quite impossible for anything to remain conscience with so many drugs present.” The Scorekeeper said, unflinching as Nossk drew nearer and nearer.

The Trandoshan’s huge hands wrapped around the figure’s throat as he brought his sneering jaws inches from its face. His claws felt solid matter as they gripped the glimmering form, and though he was by no means convinced that this was truly the Scorekeeper in all her glory, he was reasonably sure that he would be able to tear this strange envoy apart if she didn’t give him the answers he wanted.

“Wrong answer.” Nossk applied pressure to the tender throat beneath his claws, curious as to whether or not this thing needed to breathe in this place, be it a dream, delirium, or some sort of spiritual congress with an image of his abandoned goddess. Regardless, the mercenary refused to believe that there was nothing he could do besides float around inside his own head and wait for him and Demarq to die. If the human was about to be killed as well, that meant he’d stayed by his side, and intended to fight to his last breath to keep the other combatants from ending the Trando as he slept. If a mere human could summon that much courage, then there was no reason why he couldn’t force himself to wake up and fight.

The Scorekeeper’s visage regarded him curiously, despite the vice-grip on her trachea.

“Why do you want to go back so badly?” She inquired thoughtfully. As always the image was calm and serene as the chipped, grimy claws left indentations in her immaculate, marble skin.

“What are you, a fracking idiot? You think I want to die?” Nossk shouted, briefly tightening his death-grip.

“What if I offered you forgiveness and redemption for your insults, your failures, your defiance – a place of honor in the afterlife. If you abandon your intention to return to that foolish reality, that is.”

“Eternity with you?” Nossk snorted with laughter for just a moment before his eyes locked with hers again, seemingly aglow with his furious resolve, “Not a chance in hell.”

“Think carefully, Trandoshan. Hunters like you spend their entire lives driven by nothing more than a need to satisfy me with their prey; only such a belligerent thing as you would cast your belief aside so quickly and violently, but now that you have, what point is there is living? Why would you keep killing? Keep surviving? Your life would have no purpose anymore.” The Scorekeeper said, hoping to appeal to his practicality and sense of loyalty – it was a poor choice.

“He saved my life, probably twice. I’ll start with paying that back and figure it out from there, since you’re so gorram curious. Now no more talk, get me out of this hellhole.”

“You’re really telling me you’d rather save the human’s life?” The figure laughed; a high-pitched, irritating noise that wore on Nossk’s already threadbare nerves. Not a wise decision considering the location of his hands. “Camaraderie hardly suits you, Nossk. But I have a generous alternative: The men about to kill him are professionals, they’ll realize your unconscious body will simply suffocate and leave you for dead, not worth the ammunition – I will let you return to your precious mortal coil after they’ve left, even guaranteeing your survival, you couldn’t ask for a better –”

“Yer makin’ me repeat myself. Twice.” Blood welled up around the tips of Nossk’s claws. Every muscle and nerve in his body screamed for him to squeeze with all his might, but he held off just a little longer. “First, I told you to shut yer ever-fracking mouth and take me back. Second, and you better get it through yer shiny little skull this time, I said I ain’t lettin’ him die.”

The glowing form’s lips curled into a smile as it dribbled precious red fluid down his hands, as if the last laugh was still somehow hers.

“Could it be that the great and ruthless Nossk has –”

But Nossk’s patience had finally just expired.

“I SAID I AIN’T LETTIN’ HIM DIE!” The Trandoshan warrior bellowed, and finally he bowed to his instincts’ demands. Powerful claws clamped down on the witch’s tender throat like a bony vice; Nossk heard cracking as its solid shape gave way.

In that moment, as Nossk’s rage assumed control as it had so many times before and crushed the life out of his deity’s mind-fracking reflection, his world exploded.

The Scorekeeper’s body erupted in a shower of blazing light, in the matter of an instant turning the Trandoshan’s world from one of utter darkness to blinding white. Nossk’s eyes widened in understandable surprise, only to be shut against the dazzling light a moment later. The reptilian struggled to understand what had just happened, but before he could conjure so much as a single comprehensive thought, he felt himself begin to fall.

A wave of déjà vu swept over him, and when he next dared open his eyes, the world was blue.

"Gerba's dead! Dead I tell you!" voices cried.

The Hutt lay in his own liquids but it didn't necessarily mean he was dead. Hutt's were renowned for their super thick hides. Besides a Hutt could play dead like nobody's business.

The medical crew came to retrieve Gerba's huge body, immediately he was dunked into an over-sized bacta tank. The small medical chamber went into lock down. Other medical rooms would be open, but this one, with Gerba inside was impenetrable.

-

Tressah put on the jetpack and quickly launched to the other polls. She knocked two other jetpacks down and watched as the contestants below squabbled over them. The last two she grabbed for herself. She had a feeling they would be good bartering tools.

(Sorry for the short post, shall do more later).

[OOC]Sorry Mel! It was super late when I posted this and I didn't see your post! I didn't meant to ignore you! Sorry! Can we put your post's events as taking place after mine?[/OOC]

Gerba the Hutt wasn’t dead…yet.

He garbled and choked on the glowing blue adhesive slime that held his mouth open and shut at the same time. The Hutt was already growing darker and mottled from the ruptured blood vessels inside his thick, blaster resistant hide. His huge eyes bulged and blinked. He could still breathe through his nasal cavity, or what was left open of it.

Nell’s hopeful eyes overlooked the huge expanse of the battledome but couldn’t make out the one she was looking for.

KATRAY!!!

Her lips pursed angrily and Nell asked without turning, “Still there?”

Gerba gave a muffled angry and very, very frightened choke.

“Wonderful.”

Nell Terigo adjusted the setting on her charric, the very rare and hard to get a hold of charric, to the pain setting and smiled pleasantly at the source of damn near all her problems.

Red’s large, eerily white teeth crunched happily through a gran’s armored breastplate…and chest…while he was still screaming. With a final sickening chomp, the lizard reached the gooey insides and the three-eyed mercenary went quiet.

Hssiss are a very highly adaptable species. These versatile lethal creatures even change to best survive the environment they grow to adulthood in. To such extremes that the heavily armored black hssiss of Korriban hardly resemble their gigantic green brethren on Mimbar.

Nell had found Red on Onderon, and the harsh, untamed world of beasts, and war showed in every scale and sinewy muscle of the dark force dragon. He moved and looked like a soldier lizard. Armor would have fit like a second skin, and the damage would have been legendary.

His head and dorsal spikes that stretched down all along his tail were larger and more pronounced than most hssiss. The tail itself was a massive deadly whip that nearly tripled the length of the lizard. Red bore huge striping of scars (almost healed completely by time and hardly visible on a first look), from battling drexl, the untamed beasts of Onderon, and Mandalorian soldiers.

The dais full of the wealthy and wicked guests of the Hutt and their bodyguards had definitely been emptied considerably. The huge red lizard wreaked a bloody kind of mess that only animals could create.

Nell Terigo adjusted the setting on her charric, the very rare and hard to get a hold of charric, to the pain setting and smiled pleasantly at Gerba’s slow suffocation.

Nell wasn’t very good at planning, pretty much everything that had led her to this point had been a healthy helping of luck and very difficult. She was finally going to save the ones she loved and end the hell that had plagued her for so long.

She should have seen it.

Anyone who dealt with Hutt’s knew better than to forget about their wily majordomo. The pathetic creature trembled uncontrollably from where he hid behind Gerba’s bulbous mass. He sweat fear from the screams of those being torn to pieces by the hssiss lizard, and his wide eyes were pinned on a ornate wall decoration that would save him…if he could only get to it.

There it was, the pretty ornate stone and secret switch. The twilek majordomo would have to leave his hiding place to reach it. His leku twitched and dripped sweat. He was breathing too quickly, too loudly, they were going to find him. He knew it.

The human female was speaking, in low, cold tones, he couldn’t hear over Gerba’s choking and the screams…wait…When did the screams stop?

The frightened twilek turned to the right. Huge teeth dripping some blue body fluid were only inches from his face. The majordomo shrieked and lunged for his only hope. Large blood-wetted talons cut through flesh and bone and pinned the twilek’s calf on the stone tile. The majordomo screamed but the ground started to shake. Somewhere nearby huge gears turned and rumbled. He had still been able to reach the hidden switch and pull it down.

The huge lizard’s yellow eye went wide and searched for the source of the sound. The majordomo coughed a laugh as the entire dias around Gerba’s raised throne began to slowly fall to pieces, showering down on the battledome below.

Red glared rage at the majordomo, and opened his jaws to end the twilek’s life.

Then Nell screamed. Without hesitation the hssiss immediately leapt over the massive Hutt to where the yellow haired human fell. There was no ground for the well-thinking lizard to land on, just huge chunks of stone being wrenched apart by lowering durasteel support beams.

Nell’s eyes were wide with that “Oh-@#$%-my-ass-really-didn’t-see-that-coming” look as she tried to grab onto anything tangible as free falling stone escaped her fingertips.  The hssiss leapt from sun-faded stone to stone as they fell farther and faster towards the battledome floor.

High above them the majordomo angrily sulked and nursed his leg as the Hutt’s raised platform pulled into a special escape chamber with Gerba still choking and sputtering.

With a roaring howl, Red snatched the female by the tough holster strap over her shoulder, shredding through a good portion of her blue coveralls in the process. Strong, powerful talons and scaled muscles leapt from stone to stone trying to put off the eminent crash to the ground. Red twisted and turned like a grackelcat…

The world was a big blue of bright red-orange scales, stone, and the sandy battlefield below for Nell as she tried to maintain control of her bearings.

“Well this is gonna hurt.”

She shut her eyes tight.

THEN…Three months earlier…

Nell Terigo came back from the dead.

She gasped and coughed for breath as she flung her head from the gray murky swamp water. The yellow-haired human clawed at reeds, and rotting bog lilies. Nell was covered in black silt and blood...her blood. Nell cried out in pain as she pulled herself onto a shallow bed of sand overshadowed by towering faded brown reeds.

She had been dead for five hours.

Nell choked on air and coughed up mud, swamp water, more blood and what might have been vomit.

Thick black smoke and hot orange flames burned from a huge wreckage of metal that might have once been some kind of transport starship. Something trapped inside howled.

She rolled over and collapsed onto her back, clutching her stomach, mouth agape in agony. The hair hanging in her face was burnt and the right side of her long brown leather jacket was covered in black burns and red blood seeping from underneath.

Nell inhaled, and tried not to scream as her body convulsed.

Then a darkness came through the reeds, very like the essence of a shadow coming into solid form. Nell cried out and tried to crawl away despite the burning pain that screamed through her. Her right eye had burst a blood vessel and was wide with terror.

“Absolutely, not love,” The dark figure’s rotting hand grabbed her long, and loose yellow hair and pulled her out of the water. Nell screamed and kicked, blood on her lips and voice hoarse.

“I’m the reason you’re still alive, lovely, lovely creature.”

Tears left streaks through the dirt on her face. Nell knew she wasn’t bleeding anymore. Her blood no longer left her body, as if something unseen held it in place.

“Lovely, lovely creature.” He continued to drag her, unbothered by her screams and attempts to pull free from his darkened rotting flesh, “I can’t heal, of course. I merely kept you from leaving your lovely flesh.”

“LET ME GO!!” Nell screamed through her tears and suffering.

“We’ll let your pretty flesh heal itself, love,” The darkness shrouded humanoid pushed aside the reeds and pulled his struggling prize along, radiating with glee.

“And then, love, we’ll have some fun.”

….

“Hey little Nellie, its me.

I’ve found out everything that happened, and…well I have honestly no clue how to react to this…

You deserved…you had so much life ahead of you.

I should have told mom to put you in a convent…forever. Then I…you…none of this should…have happened.

I’m going to take care of this, Nell.

I still can’t help but think this is partly my fault…I mean if it hadn’t been for the bounty on my head…the whole accidentally getting captured thing…and my little sister having to get me out of every jam I’ve ever been in…I…can’t believe…

…I’ll fix this…I promise.

Save me a bottle of the good stuff, pretty girl.”

The holovid message flicked off and the image of Nell Terigo’s brother vanished. She had been ‘dead’ for thirteen days.

….

A low growl came from the reeds.

The dark force sensitive being paused, then slowly turned unable to sense the creature through the Force, “Well now, what are you, then?”

Nell smiled with dirt and blood covered teeth, “I call him ‘Red.’”

NOW…

Huge pieces of sun-bleached stone rained down on the side of the battlefield where mercenaries and prisoners alike still fought the hulking dome of Nelba the Shell Hutt. Limp pieces of bodies, expensive food dishes with their half eaten delicacies, and the weapons of few mercs hit the ground like hail.

When the huge brightly colored lizard crashed to the ground amidst the chaos of stone he was able to maneuver his flexible scaled body to reduce the impact of the hit. But it was a long, long way to fall.

The lizard and human rolled and clumsily smashed into a wall of stone that had pierced into the ground, and more stone showered violently on top of them.

Name: Rancher “Crunch” Grax
Species: Chistori ()
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Affiliation: *shrugs*
Appearance:

The reptilian Crunch stands nearly 2.3 meters tall. He’s dressed in battle armor scavenged from corpses across the Battledome. The various pieces are hastily cut and bent to fit the Chistori’s massive frame. The armor is almost unnecessary thanks to the warrior’s thick, scaly hide characteristic of his species. Perhaps most frightening is Crunch’s jaw that allows him to dispose of enemies without even firing a blaster.
Weapons: Crunch intends it to be the heaviest piece of firepower he can find. Until then, his claws and maw should suffice.

…

It smelled like carnage. It smelled like war.

Crunch threw his head back and roared as the age-old instincts overtook over his mind. His glorious, violet scales glistened in the battle-stricken daylight. The Chistori’s vision became a sharp, hazy, red color as Crunch transitioned to predator. He deftly dipped to the side allowing blaster fire to fleck over his shoulder. In one fluid motion, Crunch scooped up a rock and hurled it at the top of a nearby hill. The perched assassin went down as the makeshift projectile collided with his skull.

Crunch gave a toothy grin and rolled aside. That was his thing: improvisation. Mama Grax had always known her little Rancher would go far. He had one thing his forty-something siblings did not, and that was cunning.

“Hey Chistori!”

Crunch, still crouched to avoid blaster fire, turned his head and narrowed his beady little eyes at the newcomer. It was an ugly little human prisoner packing a repeater rifle that was much too big for him. To be fair Crunch thought all humans were ugly. But this one was especially ugly.

“Go away,” growled Crunch starting for the village. It seemed like the perfect place to find equipment.

“Wait,” cried the prisoner jogging forward to catch up with Crunch. “Alliance! Alliance! We can help each other out, eh? Like a partnership. How ‘bout it?”

“I work alone,” replied Crunch simply. It was a cliché, but rightly so. His people had always fared better on their own. It was nothing personal. Although in this case it was. Crunch just didn’t like the smell of this human.

“The name’s Gardo,” said the prisoner panting under the weight of his weapon. “What’s your name?”

“Crunch,” said the Chistori really just wanting to be left alone.

“You a prisoner Crunch?” inquired Gardo not getting the message.

“Technically.”

Crunch had in fact been a prisoner. The wanted mercenary had been in the holding cell of two Rodian bounty hunters when the pair’s greed led them to set their coordinates for Teth. So Crunch modified his escape plan. He knew better than to underestimate the hunters who’d bested him, so he waited until the ship landed. When one Rodian made the mistake of getting too close to the holding cell’s bars, Crunch grabbed him and used him to coerce the second bounty hunter into unlocking the door. After a light lunch, Crunch emerged from the ship to find Teth in chaos. He was a little late to the party, but the Chistori decided that the best way to celebrate his freedom was to wreck a little havoc.

“I’m with you brother,” said the annoying prisoner. “Some Mando already took care of the Shell Hutt. With your brawn and my brains, I’ll bet the Galaxy we could take down Gerba. Word is the slug’s already hurt real bad. What do you say?”

Crunch thought about it. Not the partnership; that just wasn’t happening. Crunch was pondering the likelihood of taking Gerba down. He hadn’t gone near the Shell Hutt for a reason. Not only was durasteel hell on his molars, but bloaty Hutt skin was perhaps the least appetizing thing he could think of. Concerning Gerba though, it made a lot of sense to skip a little bloodshed and go straight for the reward. Might as well give it go. But he’d need a weapon…

Click.

Crunch slowly turned around to see Gardo aiming his beautiful-looking Mandalorian Heavy Repeater at the Chistori.

“You must be as stupid as you look,” the human was saying. “Did you really think I’d team up with the likes of you. You made this too easy! I can’t believe—”

Crunch wasn’t listening. His eyes were focused on the wonderful thing glistening in Gardo’s clammy palms. Three words went through Crunch’s mind. Words Mama Grax long had to put up with until the day Crunch left home:

I want that.

“Well I gotta say it was nice knowing you Crunch,” continued Gardo. “I guess I’ll see ya—”

Faster than anyone, least of all Gardo, could imagine, Crunch snapped his head forward and bit the unfortunate prisoner’s face clean off. Crunch lept forward careful to cradle the repeater in his arms as the body fell to ground.

The Chistori wiped his mouth off and continued towards the mock village, repeater rifle in hand.

((Thanks Gunslinger. I totally understand how late I'm coming in, so i'll approach everything accordingly. Hope this thread gets back into swing))

[OOC]Sweet the gang's all here! It's a party now![/OOC]

The whole world was spinning as Nell felt herself ebb out of unconsciousness. A hot liquid was dripping down her ear, and her pale hand revealed it to her as blood dripping from her somewhere on her head. The corellian was pinned on her side under stone against and against Red’s tough scaled stomach.

Nell lifted her other hand to find her fingers caught in a death grip around her Charric. The delicate and rare weapon seemed undamaged. Her knuckles were white from the strain, but her stiff fingers were unable to open and she struggled to pry them apart. When her hand finally came loose it smashed into a piece of stone.

Nell sucked in air between clenched teeth and angled her body so she could put the precious Charric back into its appropriate holster. Damn thing was expensive.

Nell coughed from the thick clouds of sand and dust still filtering the air. She peered up from the awkward angle at the height she had fallen from, and felt even less motivated to move. There was no way she had survived that, not without a broken neck or something.

She had been “dead” for three months.

Eventually, Nell dared to move…slowly, her lips parting, teeth clenching, and eyes shutting tighter for every new hurt as she struggled against the heavy stone and red-orange scales, until she managed to snake her way out and free.  The non-lethal stokhli spray stick holstered to her back got her stuck more than once, and the half meter long weapon was more than likely the major source of the more painful of her bruises.

“Red? Come on Red, you better get up now too.” Nell climbed onto the unmoving beast, leaning against his side and the dorsal spines on his back. She pulled on a spine weakly trying to shake the large creature awake. The huge lizard had managed to take the brunt of the fall. She pulled harder when she couldn’t feel him moving, or breathing

“Come on, get up!” Nell’s face twisted as she tried to keep herself from crying, “…please…get up.”

The blonde corellian leaned her forehead against the unmoving creature and closed her eyes tightly.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Nell turned abruptly to the side to see right next to her, a human male, his ruffled hair and devilish, cocky grin identifying him as the typical corellian smuggler to most people.

“Kale?” Nell gaped with disbelief.

Brother?

She never blinked, but then as quick as her brother had come, he was suddenly gone. 

Before Nell could mentally digest what just happened she heard an angry roar on her other side. An angry, wounded, and dust-covered wookie threw off the stone on top of him. The thick furred mercenary stumbled to his bare feet, and raised his hand toward Nell as if it were supposed to be currently holding a blaster…that he noticed unhappily to be missing.

Nell angrily and clumsily grabbed at the blaster pistol at her thigh (now twisted around to almost behind her hip) and unloaded almost an entire blaster pack on the wookie merc before he finally went down. Nell stood up with one hand still holding to Red’s dorsal spine for support and shrieked, “Are you crazy?! I’m trying to GRIEVE over here!”

Red growled like an old wampa woken early out of hibernation as he stood up on all fours and shook off stone and dust.

“Force Red! Why don’t you take your sweet time next time.” Nell kicked the one-eyed lizard solidly in the side, not affecting the hardened creature but was still smiling with relief.  The field was still clearing from the chaos of the sudden death of Nelba the Shell Hutt and the showering death hail of stone from above that left a few crushed bodies in its destructive wake.

Red limped slightly, bearing the equivalent of reptile bruises, and one of the dorsal spines on the lower end of his back had been crushed and partly broken off. Some of those remaining alive got down and hid as the huge lizard moved past, unsure of how to deal with this new threat, others just started shooting. 

Nell held onto Red with one arm with her bantha hide boots pressed into his side as the one-eyed lizard suddenly charged at three sullustans while dodging fire.  He trampled/impaled two with his massive talons, running through them like an Aratech vibromower on a grassy field and leaving them in just as many pieces.

The third duro sighed and looked up toward the heavens with relief, and didn’t see the huge powerful scaled tail whip coming at him like a sonic charge…silent, then BOOM, no more thankful duro.

A mandalorian in black armor with a red mythosaur skull on his shoulder piece managed to dive out of the way at the last second. If Red hadn’t been sprinting like a runaway grav-train while dodging blaster fire he might have gone back and finished the job. He knew the smell of mandalorian all too well.

Nell was too busy holding on to try and take out more of the battledome competitors with aiding blaster fire. Her arms were growing more covered with cuts and gashes from the sharp scales. She cursed herself for leaving her handler jacket and gloves on the ship. An exotic animal dealer with as much experience as herself should have known better…

That was when Red ran right into and through a huge towering pillar on his blind side. The huge monolith shuddered from the force of the hit, but didn’t fall. The hssiss reeled dizzily for a moment in almost a full circle, and shook his head trying to regain focus.

A jet pack slammed to the ground with a musical surprisingly cheery clang as it was rendered completely useless.  Nell regained her footing back on the lizard’s side and climbed up onto Reds back between the spread out dorsal spines.

“You okay, Red?”  He didn’t answer out of hurt pride and embarrassment.

The lizard reeled again in the direction before he finally started running and picked up speed again. Nell leaned down as close to the lizard’s ear slit as she could get, “Let’s find Kale.”

Nell tried to keep low away from any blaster fire that may come their way, and pointed in Red’s line of sight, “See, over to those buildings? Lets start there.”

Kale was always more at home in civilization.

“Let me know when you smell Katray.” Nell held her hand against the charric by her thigh, ready for whatever was coming next as the mock village structures loomed closer.