Grindhouse Rpg (by Audition Only) (Page 5 of 6)

I will continue to participate.

(Lucky I had time and email notification...)
I'm still watching if that counts, ready to go when I finally get some time.

Les' do this. LEEEEEEEROOOOOY!

JEEEEENNNKIIIIIIIIIINSSS!

Alright so who's gunna get this thing started back up?

If you'll recall, Groww had just pledged a life-debt to Drac for giving him the opportunity to kill his slave-master and essentially reclaim his freedom. Happiness reigns in his heart supreme.
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    Drac stood amid the gore-slicked floor of the fighters’ pit, half dazed, half unbelieving.

    A life debt? The Selonian’s mind was at a stand-still as the concept swirled through his thoughts. The oath that his new-found Tusken friend had projected into his mind was unmistakable, as if it had been outlined for him in his own language over and over, but Drac was still hesitant to accept a variable that would change the way he lived, perhaps until the end of his days.

    He knew what a life debt was, knew it very well may it do ya, but for one such as him to receive one seemed beyond comprehension and reason. He’d felt through his Gift what an impact he’d inadvertently had on the Tusken’s acquisition of freedom, but as far as he was concerned he’d done nothing to deserve such an oath of loyalty. His hesitance had other factors, however, and he couldn’t hide from them. Past confusion and feelings of inadequacy, there was genuine fear: he could hardly take care of his own life, how could he possibly manage to live with another at his side? Not to question the Raider’s survival skills, but some of the situations Drac had gotten himself into in the past had nearly been the end of him, and the guilt of leading a man who had so readily sworn his life to him to his death may very well be unbearable.

    But he was being selfish, and he knew it. Why doubt his own ability when this Tusken had only moments ago been set free in a galaxy he didn’t yet know or understand? This man had literally nothing besides the clothes and weapons he carried (as Drac did), and here the Selonian stood, above the bodies they’d slain together, fearing the idea of taking this warrior with him. Shameful.

    “There is only one thing more fearsome than a true warrior.” A wise man of the Zeison Sha had once told him.

    “And what is that?” Drac had asked, his youthful eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

    “Two true warriors.” The elder laughed, a sort of wheezing chuckle that somehow managed to accentuate both his extreme age and his unparalleled wisdom. Despite that laugh, Drac didn’t believe for one second that it was a joke.

    “Only one thing more fearsome...” The Selonian, now many years older, mumbled under his breath. He had made his decision.

    Drac bowed low in respect for all the Tusken had just sworn to him, a comical scene considering where the pair was still standing, but the Zeison Sha cared little. He straightened, was surprised to see that no sentient was currently barreling towards them with one weapon or another raised high, and opted to leave the pit while that statement was still valid.

    Follow. He sent to his new-found friend, seeing no other reason to stay and senselessly kill any more living beings. Drac left the cage, bound for the dining area for the second time in less than a quarter-hour, this time with another very unique companion in tow.

    The Selonian slid into an empty booth tucked into the corner of the Blue Sun, somewhere out of the way where he could try to sort things out. Decided or not, Dracmus never had much of a guiding star. Wind blows Northerly, he goes North, and that was the kind of person he’d always been. It was enough for him, and he was certain the Tusken wasn’t about to complain, but that kind of life might not be...well...fair, now that he was to share that style with someone else. Most beings needed an objective, a goal, a purpose, and so far Drac had found none that lasted longer than the next meal, the next target, or the next destination.

    Drac was afraid of disappointing his new companion, ashamed that his life wouldn’t be good enough, interesting enough, exciting enough. Depressing indeed, and a challenge he wasn’t sure he could conquer.

    What the hell are you saying? He scorned himself, shaking his head to wipe away the clutter of fear and doubt that had infected his usual black-and-white way of thinking. Enough consideration, his mind was decided, and that was the way it would be: the Tusken would stay, they would survive, and that was that.

    “Hey!” A voice that irritated him the moment it met his highly sensitive ears drawled. He glanced up at the speaker; a hefty human female with an agitated look on her face, and raised a furry eyebrow. The motion was imperceptible in the rippling ebony sea of his coat, but it matched the annoyed inquisitiveness with which he responded.

    “Did you want something?”

    “Ya, Fido, I asked if you or your....pal, were gonna order something or just sit there.” The waitress chewed a stick of gum noisily, and already Drac was surprised to notice his typically controlled temper starting to rise. He closed his eyes, calmed himself, and answered.

    “Of course ma’am, I was thinking, my apologies. I’ll have a water, my friend will have the same, and a....”

    Drac skimmed the menu quickly, chose an entrée not quite at random, and sent a mental picture of the meal to Groww. His choice, though he did not know it, was far from wise.

    "...a bantha steak.” Drac finished, meaning well and assuming that his Tusken companion’s handlers hadn’t exactly fed him well. A good steak would do the warrior’s muscles well, so what could possibly be wrong with a huge, juicy bantha steak? The bantha part.

       The image that the Selonian projected into the Tusken’s mind was simply that of a Bantha; large, lumbering, dry, standing before a sandy cliff on a desert world he couldn’t quite remember. The picture he fancied somewhat serene prompted the Son of Tatooine to fly to his feet, upending his chair as he did so, voicing that unique half-bark half-screech only a Tusken could produce.

    Drac, naturally, was thoroughly confused, and his hand enclosed itself around one of his discblades beneath his cloak. His leg muscles tensed, and he reached out around him with his “Gift”, thinking that Groww must have sensed some kind of threat.

    There was no threat, no enemy, no sudden movement or loud noise. Nothing. Drac’s confusion grew deeper.

    Groww paused for a moment, then bowed his head, and sent Drac an image of his own. The picture of the Bantha reappeared, though not alone. This time there was a Tusken Raider atop it, holding a gaderffii high and looking as content as could be. Along with the image was a word Drac had taught him in their short time together.

    Friend.

    All at once the Selonian understood, and turned back to the waitress, who was by now eyeing both of the wordless Force-sensitives very strangely. Drac apologized briefly.

    “He’d rather have a Nerf steak, Bantha’s a bit too tough for him.”

    The woman scribbled on her notepad, shook her head, and walked away, leaving the two wayward warriors alone. Drac felt more than little foolish for not making the connection between beast and master earlier, and causing such a scene with the Bantha steak debacle, but for his part Groww didn’t seem to mind much as long as he wasn’t about to eat the lifelong companions of his species. The Selonian sat back, trying to collect himself and develop a set of priorities for the time being.

    A disturbance quivered through his Gift’s aura of perception, and Drac threw a glance over his shoulder, feeling a rising tide of anger starting to grow behind him. Some of the Twi’leks’ party had staggered over to their little corner of the cantina, shared with the two warriors only by a lone Duro spacer, who at the moment was being confronted by the group of intoxicated men.

    “Hey, you with the head.” A Twi’lek shouted, his words slurred and accusing. The Duro looked up from his plate without thinking, wondering what the drunks could possibly want with him.

    “Which is more than I could say for you...” The spacer mumbled under his breath. Drac’s Selonian ears caught the jab, the Twi’leks’ did not.

    “We lookin’ for some privacy.” The lead man said, laying his hands down on the table across from the Duro.

    “Then perhaps you should extend your search to a place with considerably less people.” The pilot suggested sarcastically, shifting his attention back to his meal.

    The Twi’lek looked puzzled. His brow furrowed, as if he was trying his damndest to understand what the Duro had just said. At last, he came to the conclusion that it hadn’t been something he wanted to hear, and gave the universal answer for any half-wit with no regard for anyone else.

    “No.” He swept his arm across the table, sending the spacer’s meal skyward as his mates closed in behind the uncooperative Duro. He stood calmly, pushing back his chair gently and laying his napkin down where the half-finished plate had been. He wore no weapon.

    “I believe you owe me a dinner.” He said evenly, paying no heed to the larger men behind him.

    “I dun’ owe you nothin’.”  The Twi’lek slobbered, all of a sudden vivid with rage. “But tanks for da table. Now git outta heeuh.” He pulled out the chair in front of him, and made to sit down. The next thing his *** hit was the floor.

    The Duro stood over him, still posed as he’d struck: first extended before him, legs wide, eyes burning. He knew the fight was over, but he refused to be pushed over, walked on, swept aside. He’d stood tall and done what he could, and even as the rest of the Twi’leks bore down on him, Drac could feel the self-satisfaction flowing through the spacer’s body. He’d go back to his ship bloodied that night, but more than content.

    Half a minute later the Duro had been thrown out of the corner area, and the Twi’leks returned to claim their tables. It had been hard for Groww to keep his seat as the brawl ensued, and truthfully it had taken a good deal of willpower to keep his own body in check, but Drac had shaken his head and told him to wait.

    We’ll get our chance soon enough.

    He saw what was coming.
   
    “Hey!” A different Twi’lek addressed them, approaching their table. The Selonian looked at him expectantly. The drunk said nothing more, just standing there.

    “Hey what?” Drac provided, venturing a guess as to the man’s lost train of thought.

    “Oh. This is our table.” He said quickly, suddenly remembering his purpose here.

    “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. We’ve been sitting here quite some time, and we have food coming, so you’ll forgive us if we stay awhile longer.” Drac said, polite as can be.

    “Oh.” The man walked off. After conferring with his fellows, he returned a few seconds later. “We wanna sit heeuh.”

    “Yes, we’ve established this. However, you carry no unique privileges in this establishment, and as such you have not the authority nor the right to request any table already occupied by paying customers. Goodbye.” The Selonian looked away. The Tusken looked at the Selonian. The Twi’lek looked confused.

    “We’re sittin’ heeuh.” He said when all other forms of argument left him dry.

    “No.” Drac repeated with growing aggravation. “You are not.”

    “Hey, whodoyuh think y’are?” The Twi’leks seemed to experience rapid mood swings when inebriated, because in an eye blink this one was moved to violence. He reached out and grabbed Drac’s shoulder, meaning to turn him out of the chair and fight him face to face. He never had a prayer.

    The Selonian was on his feet and facing him in an instant, but due in no way to the Twi’lek; the thought to even begin to pull on the robed beast-man’s shoulder couldn’t have happened fast enough. His eyes flared with a light bright enough to make the Twi’lek shrink back a step, probably against his will. They’d been as black as the rest of his body just a moment ago, but now they seemed to be tinged a wild electric blue. A moment later the phenomenon faded, but the alien never forgot those eyes.

    “His...” The Twi’lek trailed off, pointing vaguely at what his words couldn’t describe.

    “Who do I think I am?” Drac repeated the Twi’lek’s own words, advancing on him as he spoke. His Gift told him that Groww had risen from the table as well, confused but cautious.

    He’d not fought tooth and nail through his life thus far to be walked over by some drunken play boy now. Hadn’t mastered all the Zeison Sha had to teach him, killed a fellow warrior of that sacred tribe before dozens more to follow, hadn’t won the title of Zeison Sha warrior to back down in front of a wasted Twi’lek over a cantina booth. He’d asked for little in his life, but he asked – no, demanded - more than that.

     “I’ll tell you then, and you’d do well not to forget; for if you remember one thing when you wake up with that headache of yours tomorrow, you will remember this. I think I am no one, no one cares what I think, but I can tell you what I know. I am Dracmus Kleysik, son of Ferrumij and true warrior of the Zeison Sha; a father that now sees me a dead man and a tribe that now sees me an exile. I have been christened in blood long before this night, and so I tell you, Twi’lek, that you now know who I am. Now, let me be sure you don’t forget it.”

    The Selonian’s hands could do a better job of it than his words ever could.

    He'd hoped that the law-man would have broken things up long before now, but the reptilian didn't appear to care for much beyond what was absolutely necessary. The Twi'lek trying to grab the governor's gilly was just such a necessity; breaking up a tussle over a pair of tables was not. And so the Selonian's mind came to a begrudged but inevitable conclusion: they'd have to fight, again. Never before could he remember invoking the hatred of so many different sentients in a single night, yet here, in this accursed bar, he'd already carved through that damned fighter's pit twice, and here he was again about to place these Twi'leks in various forms of unconsciousness.

    I hate making a scene. He told himself for the umpteenth time that night, harboring a small sliver of relief in the fact that at least it would be done with quickly. Drunken Twi'leks didn't tend to present much of a threat, or so he reasoned. His reasoning was, as it often is, correct.

    He crossed his right hand to his left shoulder, flattened his fingers into a rigid board of bones and muscle, and drove it knuckle-side first into the side of the nearest alien's face. The Twi'lek reeled and toppled over the table his friends had commandeered from the Duro spacer just minutes ago.

    A dark-skinned human at a nearby table cheered and pumped his fist into the air:

    "Da's right! Bitch-slap dat mofo, deman' respe'c."

    Drac regarded him with a sort of mild amusement, and an almost imperceptible smile crept up the corners of his mouth as he turned towards his next target. Shifting his wrist, Drac unleashed an open-handed strike on the second Twi'lek's abdomen, calling on his Gift to give the blow even more destructive power. His target flew backwards in a long arc, landing in a heap next to one of the gambling tables. 8 meters away.

    The Selonian twirled on the balls of his feet, graceful as a dancer, meaning to engage the last pair of Twi'leks he'd marked before striking the first. Before he could complete his turn, however, his Gift told him what his eyes could not yet verify; they were both already out cold. He saw Groww standing over them as his body came to a halt, the strange double-edged weapon he wielded tinged crimson with fresh blood. For an instant Drac feared that he'd panicked and killed them both, but he discarded the notion quickly enough. They both breathed steadily, and while they each sported matching patches of blood on their temples, their lives were in no danger. With no mental urging, the Tusken had noticed that Drac had left both targets alive, and acted accordingly. The warrior was nothing if not observant...or sensitive with his own version of Drac's Gift.

    The Selonian's mind was just starting to clear the battle-haze away, and he was distantly aware that he was still smiling at the dark man's insane interjection. His eyes flicked over to the man's table, where he found him still staring at Groww and his furry companion. The human smiled broadly, and offered Drac a proud nod.

    "Damn straight." He said in that accented tone the Selonian couldn't identify. He realized, though, that it made everything the man said considerably more hilarious. "Representin' Yanibar, OG fo' sho'."

    At this Drac's eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

    "How do you...?"

    The man just kept smiling. He dropped a credit chip on the table, finished the last of his drink, and pushed back his chair. He stood, smiling all the while, tucked his chair back in, and strode towards the exit, leaving Drac in his complete puzzlement.

    How could he have known the home of the Zeison Sha? How did he know what I was?

    He would get no answer this night.

    He returned to his table where Groww waited, sensing each other's confusion. Drac waved a dismissive hand and shook his head.

    I know about as much as you do.

    Their food arrived (the waitress gave the unconscious bodies a wide birth and a troubled glance), and Groww began to dig in with ravenous intensity, unwrapping only the very bottom of his facial garment to eat, offering no one a glimpse of his species' true visage. Drac sipped his water (Groww seemed to give fascinated respect to the clear liquid in his own glass) and surveyed the cantina with cautious, black eyes. This was a dangerous place, and he was wrong to come here tonight. His eyes flicked over to the desert warrior eating across from him.

    Was I?

    It didn't matter, he decided, and shook the thoughts away. He'd make due, it was as simple as that.

    Eat quickly. He sent to Groww uselessly; the Tusken was eating faster than any man he'd ever seen, starving or otherwise. We leave soon.

Is the cage fight still going on?

((This is TheGunslinger...accidentally posted this as my brother. Just so you know. Not like it actually changes anything.))

No one can know what the passage of time will bring to an individual.

A Tusken child became a man. That man rose to become a leader of his people. That leader fell to become the slave of man. That slave, redeemed, found a place in the galaxy beside one not unlike himself.

A Selonian child became a man. That man rose to become a Zeisan-Sha warrior. That warrior fell to become an exile. That exile, redeemed, found a place in the galaxy beside one not unlike himself.

No one can know what the passage of time will bring, but occasionally patterns do emerge.

It is only to be expected that two creatures in a galaxy as large as this one lead strikingly similar lives. What is unexpected, however, is for the two to meet one night by complete accident in a bar neither had any intention of entering. Even more unexpected is for the two to form a pair for the rest of their lives. Those who would doubt the existence of the Force would be hard-pressed to explain such a phenomenon.

These and other mysteries of the galaxy swirled through Groww’s head as he sat eating his steak (which was NOT bantha). His entire life up to the present felt like a dream, some kind of foggy hallucination. Had everything in his life happened? Was there a planet with two suns and endless deserts that had once been his entire world, and did he live forty years of his life there? Did those years matter, if there was? Was he simply a pawn of the Force, a player in some story that he had no control over? Maybe those years prior were merely background for the truly miraculous part of his life, the part he was living now. Did he exist before tonight? Did he exist now?

He was jerked from his other-worldly musings by two simultaneous forces: one physical, his Dea’korrn’ya’s paw coming to rest on his shoulder, the other an emotion he sensed from the Selonian, one of urgency. Groww looked down at his metal plate, which he had quite forgotten, to find that he had already finished his steak. He became aware of the fact that his stomach was satisfied. He returned fully from that spiritual world to his physical body and its physical concerns. Wordlessly, he got to his feet.

The pair stepped out of the bar into the Ord Mantell street, the cool night breeze intensely refreshing after the heated chaos of the Blue Sun. Neither had to say a word; although Groww had never seen a spaceport before, he knew instinctively (was it his instinct he was using, or his Dea’korrn’ya’s?) that they were headed somewhere that would bring them off-planet. The destination did not matter to Groww in the least; the only thing that was of any significance to him now was the company.

The streets of major spaceport cities never truly go to sleep, but the avenue before them now was as close as they ever become. None but a few swaggering drunks inhabited the street, and the legion of lights that had formerly been blinding to look at were now at half strength. Down that road lay reentry into the life of the wanderer.
“Hey,” came a voice from behind them. The duo whirled around, expecting some dark shape to leap from the shadows, but presented instead only with a lone Duro, badly bruised and cradling an arm. The spacesuit he wore was torn around one shoulder.

“Sai patron,” Drac addressed the blue-skinned alien. He gave a nod of the head, which Groww (Knowingly? Unknowingly?) imitated. “You acted admirably when confronted with overwhelming odds. I commend you for it.” The spacer gave a short laugh.

“Well, thanks for that, even though it was nothing more than simple stubbornness. A refusal to yield even when there is no chance for success. I think I should be the one commending you, considering your victory over the drunks.”

“On the contrary, sai Duro,” Drac replied. “There is little courage involved when victory is assured. Few beings in your position, however, would have been able to retain their dignity.”

The pilot’s mouth, caked with dried blood at the corners, lifted in a slight smile. “I appreciate that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then extended his hand. “Cachi Losh, pilot-for-hire.”

“I am known as Dracmus, and my counterpart goes by Groww,” Drac added. He did not bother to explain the lack of an occupation; drifters are common sights in spaceports.

It was also, apparently, exactly what Cachi wanted to hear. “I don’t suppose that you two would happen to be headed anywhere specific.” It was a statement, not a question. “I happen to be out of work at the moment as well. I would be willing to bring you wherever you’d like- or nowhere at all, if you would prefer that- if you would be willing to help me with something.

Drac and Groww seemed to confer mentally, then turned and nodded to the Duro. “What sort of work, pray Cachi, do you have in mind?”

The pilot looked immensely pleased. “Do either of you know anything about Governor Telk?” When both shook their heads, he looked around the muted street. “Let’s head somewhere a bit more…enclosed to discuss this.” He glanced back into the Blue Sun, then shook his head. “Somewhere…not here.”

As the trio stepped into a bar across the street, Groww lingered to take another glance down the nearly empty street that represented his future with Drac. The life of the wanderer called to him…but it could wait a few hours.

**Spam Removed**

**Let's get some action going...**

Kalu checked her chrono and realised that she wouldn't have the time to relish the reaction from the Chiss. Instead she stood and walked to the balcony area. She shifted her long arm against the balcony railing and found the correct window. She had come to this place not only to see her brother but also to work.

As Kalu took her time aiming the shot she heard someone shuffle behind her. It was the large tapestry of a being behind her. It seemed he was interested in the bounty. He seemed calm at the moment. But as she looked at him she realised that the normal hum of the city was anything but normal. At first she thought it was sirens, wailing, no it was mass screaming and panic.

Kalu shifted her scope and looked at the scene many floors below. It was a blood bath, creatures of all species and races were either eating or being eaten by each other.

Kalu looked at the creature beside her. "Did I miss something?"

Before the he could answer the Chiss emerged. "So you think that stunt was funny..."

Kalu blinked as the dark haired giant grabbed the Chiss by the shoulder. "Listen," was all he said.

Kalu watched the Chiss with cold calculation. He wasn't as confident with a weapon as she was. Not only that, she could already see that the only being he cared for was himself. He'd cave, his own life was all he treasured. As she predicted, he lowered the weapon.

"What makes you think that my boss knows anything about this?" The Chiss said.

Kalu smiled cooly, "Because scum like you gravitates towards power."

The Chiss looked oftened. "Well excuse me madam, just because I'm not some big shot sniper doesn't mean I don't want to get somewhere in life."

Kalu actually laughed at that. "Somewhere being the next gambling room."

The Chiss glared at that. "You do what you're good at and I do what I'm good at."

"Clearly that's looking after yourself and changing the subject." Kalu jerked the blaster from his hand and threw it to the creature behind her. She had a feeling it was safer in his hands. Then she pulled the Chiss to his feet. "Now then, you're taking us to your boss."

The Chiss straightened his clothing in a huff and started back inside.

Nathu stood as he saw Kalu following the Chiss. "What are you doing?"

Kalu smiled, "Trying to get some answers about the drama outside."

Nathu looked puzzled. "What trouble?"

"Hear the screaming? It's not just the fighting in here, it's outside and it's a bloodbath." Kalu pointed out.

Dreeda came running to the Chiss. "What's happening? What's going on, Ace?"

Kalu smirked, "Ace? Oh how original. Now then, Ace and I have business, Dreeda."

Dreeda pouted, "Are you dropping me, Ace?"

"Yes," Said Nathu. "See what it's like to have your heart broken!"

Dreeda sobbed and ran away before Ace could answer. Kalu looked at Ace, "No tears for your lovely Twi'lek?"

Ace shrugged, "Easy come, easy go."

Nathu lunged at Ace. Kalu elbowed him in the chest, "You can kill him later. We need him for now."

((I always assumed that the Plague II portion would be like a separate RPG, not connected to this one, like the actual Grindhouse movies.))