RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing (Page 1 of 9)

can i join?????

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now whos the pretty boy?" He growled.

A sick gurgle was the only response.

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

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

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

Name: Dra’Kash

Affiliation: Invited Warrior

Species: Barabel

Gender: Male

Age: 25

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

WOC:

With two of these:

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

And this strapped to his lower right leg…

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

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

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

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

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

*Sorry Rev, I have discovered a new path  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Zabrak sighed, “Zelb is fine.”

Tressah smiled, “Okay I can remember that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Duchess is dead.

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

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

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

IMPORTANT HISTORY INFORMATION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Affiliation: Prisoners

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

Gender: Male

Age: 17

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

Weapons: 

and

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if he’s killed?” Fortuna asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So where is he now?” Chub questioned.

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