RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing (Page 2 of 9)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mandalorian looked up, seemingly confused.

“Over here,” Tressah called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great,” Reviin hissed.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah but who’d eat him?” Otto asked.

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

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

“Three hours, your excellence.” Fortuna told.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Count me out,” the Twi’lek growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nossk was lucky enough to be one of the closest.

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

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

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

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

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