Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing
(You should be...I'm coming after you )
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(You should be...I'm coming after you )
((Hey sorry guys but I have midterms coming up and some other work due Friday, so it'll be a miracle if I could get anything up until after the weekend.))
Guta-Nay hacked through the fake foliage in an attempt to reach the outer walls, killing anyone in his way. He was tired, hungry, and craving a glass of alcohol. It's not a good idea to piss off a Weequay with alcohol deprivation. Guta-Nay wanted to see if there was a blind spot between the turrets to he could possibly escape. When he reached the outer wall he saw a Jedi, armed with a lightsaber pike with a yellow blade ( http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Lightsaber_pike but with a slightly shorter staff part)
Guta-Nay fired at the Jedi, who moved with superhuman speed and agility to deflect the shot and force push Guta-Nay before he could even blink. Guta-Nay was launched backwards, and he landed hard on the ground. He quickly drew his vibrosword and stood back up, parrying the Jedi's attacks.
The fight lasted for about 10 seconds, until Guta-Nay noticed the Jedi's left leg had been seared badly by a blaster bolt. Guta-Nay stabbed at the leg, causing the Jedi to move it back, shifting his weight to the bad leg as he did. The Jedi flinched at the pain, and Guta-Nay swung hard at the lightsaber pike, causing it to fly out of the Jedi's grip. He swiftly beheaded the Jedi, who was no older then 20, so he must have been inexperienced. That was probably why Guta-Nay had won, because he would have lost against a more powerful Jedi.
Picking up the pike, Guta-Nay ignited it, marveling at it's lightness and beauty. The blade had no weight to it, unlike his vibrosword. It was a great weapon, and Guta-Nay was sure he would put it to some good use. He walked closer to the wall, careful to not go past the line which marked 10 meters. Going past the line would mean instant death by the laser turrets.
Walking close to the line, Guta-Nay looked up at the wall. some of the turrets were locked onto him, daring him to step over the line. Suddenly, some of the turrets locked onto something moving behing him. Guta-Nay quickly turned around. A Gamorrean was running at him, vibro axe raised. Guta-Nay moved to the side, and the Gamorrean stumbled past him, almost over the line. Guta-Nay ignited the lightsaber pike, stabbing the Gamorrean in it's large gut. It fell backwards over the 10 meter line, and it got blasted rapidly by dozens of lasers. When they were done, the Gamorrean was nothing more then a smoldering pile of ashes and charred body parts.
Satisfied with his new weapon, Guta-Nay walked back into the forest to test it out on some unlucky prisoners.
Last edited by Commander Appo (Wednesday, October 8, 2008 2:45 pm)
((Forgive me for not posting, last week I found out my grandfather has terminal brain cancer so I can't really cobble up anything right now other than this, sorry.))
I feel for ya ner vod. You have my payers and good wishs.
(Oh, IÃ¢Â€Â™m so sorry to hear that Lord Revan
And sorry I havenÃ¢Â€Â™t been posting either, things have been crazier around here lately then I was expecting them to be since the move. Will try to be around more.)
KelÃ¢Â€Â™DarÃ¢Â€Â™Ish settled into a small grove deep in the forrested area for a short rest. HeÃ¢Â€Â™d killed several armed prisoners and hunters since his escape, but was more concerned right now with finding a way out of the Battledome then killing.
IÃ¢Â€Â™ll need to check the south wall next to see if thereÃ¢Â€Â™s a better chance of escape there. But the chances are slim. I might really have to win this thing to escape.
HeÃ¢Â€Â™d viewed the north and west walls, each of which had a large entrance tunnel. Both had identically lethal defensive turrets that covered the entrance perfectly. Too perfectly even; there was well more then enough firepower on each gate then was needed.
Even if I made it past the guns somehow, that durasteel gate is in the way. IÃ¢Â€Â™d need to blow that, or catch it while it was open, before even attempting to run past the guns.
Dozens had tried, the piles in front of the gates were disturbingly neat.
A snap in the bushes nearby caught KelÃ¢Â€Â™s attention. Lowering himself into his hiding place, he waited.
Someone, or more then one, is near
(Hope this is ok; IÃ¢Â€Â™ll really try to post more and keep up.)
Last edited by Kelborn (Thursday, October 9, 2008 7:16 pm)
Discovering the Braceman armor, the grenades, the shotgun, the pistol, hell even the ration bars in his overall pockets, had made Nossk feel good. Very good. HeÃ¢Â€Â™d expressed general disdain for the fighters whoÃ¢Â€Â™d run to the weapons and armor the moment they left their cells, but that didnÃ¢Â€Â™t mean he intended to fight barehanded and naked through hordes of heavily equipped enemies to get his revenge, his bounty, and his freedom. The TrandoshanÃ¢Â€Â™s gear had more or less fallen into his lap, ever since that first prison guard had so generously provided him with his vibroaxe mere seconds into this bloodbath.
Fighting the battledroid, however, opened NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s lidless, reptilian eyes to something: There were some enemies that you couldnÃ¢Â€Â™t simply charge and rip apart piece by piece. Sooner or later one of his opponents would be too well-equipped for NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s considerable strength and brutish courage to handle. His armor would be too thick for a slugthrower or a vibroaxe, his blasters too powerful, his range too far, his intelligence too great Ã¢Â€Â“ and at that time the tale of Nossk would be all told, and an abrupt Ã¢Â€ÂœThe EndÃ¢Â€Â would be printed at its finish. Unless he had more.
Perhaps it was a sad reality to men such as him Ã¢Â€Â“ needing more and more technology just to stay on part with your opponents Ã¢Â€Â“ but it was a reality nonetheless. The primitive were doomed to failure and death, the modern fated to survival and victory. So far the only things that the Trandoshan possessed were acquired through a combination of two methods: searching buildings and killing people. He saw no reason to change his strategy now; after all, there were still plenty of un-scoured houses in the faux village.
For all that Nossk had learned in his short time in the Battledome (from nearly losing to the cocky human, to realizing how vital searching your surroundings can be, to scraping with death yet again at the handsÃ¢Â€Â¦blaster/blade of the war droid), in many ways he remained the dumb bruiser that got himself landed into this cesspool in the first place. The Trandoshan sidled up to the door of a prefab house several blocks away from where he battled the droid (the concept of switching hunting grounds was one of the few that was familiar to him), and promptly kicked it off its hinges. He had no process for selecting the houses he raided; no consideration for how many potential escape routes there were, how large it was, what kinds of noises heÃ¢Â€Â™d heard coming from the area in the past few cycles, none of it mattered to Nossk. All he knew was that it was a house, that he hadnÃ¢Â€Â™t been there before, and that there might be prey or profit somewhere inside.
No ambush waited for him as he walked through the doorway; or when he clomped up the stairs with not the slightest attempt at stealth; or when he tore through each room one by one, tensed and ready for something, anything to leap out and attack him. But there was nothing.
In one of the rooms Nossk found a large rucksack and two canteens, already brimming with water. The Trandoshan gave no worry to the possibility that it might be poisoned (and indeed it wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t, to his good fortune), and tossed them into the pack before throwing it over his shoulders and cinching the straps tight. The reptilian trudged back down the stairs, unsatisfied with the tranquility of the place and unexcited about his meager findings.
He was halfway out the door when an inexplicable, yet unmistakable buzzing noise made him halt mid-step. Nossk looked back over his shoulder, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, something in the back of his scaly head urged him to go back. So he did.
Nossk turned around and reentered the house, raising his new shotgun in an unconscious gesture of apprehension. Something had to have made that noise, but the Trandoshan had just none-too-subtly searched the entire building, and found nothing but the pack and water he now wore. Nossk wandered his way into the kitchen, looking for a door that hadnÃ¢Â€Â™t been broken in yet. It didnÃ¢Â€Â™t take him long to come upon a small door tucked into a small alcove of the kitchen, one easily mistaken for a coatroom or a broom closet. Seeing no other alternative the Trandoshan wrenched the light door open, and was surprised to see neither coats nor brooms: instead, a narrow, wooden stairway descended into the musky darkness below. The basement was below ground level, and judging from the pitch blackness had no windows to illuminate the stone-walled interior. Two kinds of men would turn around and not pay the foreboding cellar another thought: a smart man, or a scared man (or perhaps both). Nossk was neither.
The Trandoshan immediately mounted the stairs and began his descent. The shotgunÃ¢Â€Â™s stock was pressed tight against NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s uninjured shoulder, steadying the slugthrower as it remained locked onto the bottom of the staircase and the cavernous darkness beyond. The lizard-manÃ¢Â€Â™s keen reptilian eyes adjusted in seconds, and he could make out the basement much more clearly by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. It was essentially one large room, with about a half dozen durasteel beams scattered throughout to support the roof. The dusty mounds of junk strewn about the cellar were startlingly realistic for a village that was supposed to be all prefabricated and fake, and even sported such archaic touches as old, sheet-covered furniture. Nossk found the extensiveness of the atmosphere highly confusing.
Confusion was wiped away in a single instant as the Trandoshan picked up movement from the corner of his eye. He swiveled towards the rustling to his left and fired. Stuffing exploded in great clouds as NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s shell connected with a long-forgotten couch against the wall. More than stuffing, however, he heard a horrible, insectoid screech add to the sudden clamor.
Gotcha. Nossk thought to himself, believing the creature to be at the very least wounded.
Ã¢Â€ÂœAt the very leastÃ¢Â€Â wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t quite good enough, however; so he pumped his weapon, and fired again. The screech sounded a second time - still in the same place. His target was immobile.
Nossk pumped his shotgun again before approaching the decimated sofa, behind which his unknown enemy lay, probably bleeding heavily (at least he liked to think so) from multiple gunshot wounds. The Trandoshan grabbed one arm of the couch and dragged it aside, revealing the gore-covered form of a small, insect-like biped buzzing angrily on the stone floor. It glared up at the reptile with hate in its multi-faceted eyes, flopping pathetically as it tried to lash out at its assailant. Nossk raised his shotgun slightly until the wide muzzle wavered mere centimeters from the bug-creatureÃ¢Â€Â™s hideous face...and fired.
White splatters of fluid showered the walls, the couch, Nossk, and anything else within a two meter radius of the small corpse that had just been blown open like a melon. The Trandoshan cocked his slugthrower a third time, and turned to finish searching the basement. What he saw stopped him dead, and maybe, though he would never admit it and none would ever know for sure, even instilled a single mote of fear in the brutish warrior: Arrayed behind him, semi-silhouetted against a tiny beam of light that peeked in between a set of double-doors to the surface, was an unbroken sea of the little insects. Little wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t exactly the best word to use, as far as insect standards go that is. They stood perhaps a meter and a half when drawn up to their full height, and were covered in a deep blue coat of chitinous armor. The lot of them were completely unarmed, but numbers can make up for a great deal of things. A deep, irritated buzzing, the very same that the first had produced before his death, seemed to radiate from the small swarm (for thatÃ¢Â€Â™s what they were, a swarm). Stranger still, the very spite they must have been feeling seemed to bear down on him, to impress their hate into his mind.
To Nossk this meant nothing but a few funny noises and weird feelings in his empty Trandoshan belly. After all, as with the Yevetha Nossk knew very little of the many species that call this galaxy home, especially not one as unique and rare as the Bartokk. The Bartokk possess what is called a Ã¢Â€Âœhive mindÃ¢Â€Â, meaning they think as one, and in their case their intelligence increases exponentially with each additional Bartokk within a certain range. This occurs through a type of primitive telepathy which can be repurposed to cry for help or, for example, share emotions. The Bartokk were in sole possession of several other unusual and distinctive abilities, but Nossk would discover those in due course.
I think IÃ¢Â€Â™m actually going to die. Nossk thought mildly to himself, waiting in tense silence while neither he nor the wall of insects moved. His eyes darted between claws and teeth that would be multiplied by dozens, and would very soon all be trying to rip a piece of him apart. They would simply surge forward and engulf him, so great were their numbers and so enclosed their battlefield.
Nossk had always known how he would die. He raised his shotgun, bellowed long and loud, and charged straight for the wall of Bartokk as his first gun-blast echoed in the nightmarish basement.
Last edited by SciFifreak90 (Sunday, March 20, 2011 7:15 pm)
"It's crowd control, get back in there." Flying W easily pushed the curious Rattataki back inside the room while at the same time throwing his hip in just such a way he went with her and the door shut.
There was another stairwell on the other side. Hopefully they were already piling out down that one. Rando let go of the sill and deftly dropped the window with a click. It slid down on the spy's fingers, which Rando had hoped, just like in the holo-toons.
He enjoyed the one about the Womp Rat and the Nexus.
Rando slipped the cycler over his shoulder, thankful for the uncharacteristic attached strap and hurried down the stairs. He met up with the rest of the group and was again last in line.
Things had barely calmed down outside. So much was in motion, and Rando had been the only one to see the peeping tom-the name of the nexus in the holo-toon, that's what it was- which forced his interest.
He tore from the group and headed back around the house. Whoever it had been, was gone.
Rando did a light check and headed back. Catching what he thought was a heavy buzz in his ears from the building next door for a split second.
The front door had been left opened. Rando was forced to ignore it.
(I feel all alone...Mel is still gone...and I'm sorry but I don't remember the third person...)
Appearance: is wearing a light trench coat like the Jedi Adventurer robe from TFU, Black boots and some kind of denim like pants with a light shirt and a brown vest, has a sort of kama type thing (like the one vader has but a brown color) under the trench coat. head is wrapped in a Tusken head-dress with his horns protruding. Eyepeices are dark green.
Weapons: Anything he can get his hands on, and a lightsaber he kept concealed. He is not incredibly skilled with it however, and cant block blasterbolts, except in rare cases. The lightsaber's hilt is like that of a tonfa, with the 90 degree angled handle, but it can be folded inward to make a traditional handle
Force: Rro'Ngtur was weak in the force to begin with, and with the years of unuse he has become even weaker, at most he is able to manage a push strong enough to cause someone to stumble, and even that is rare, he can however move small objects with fair acuracy, things that are very light, like small knives...
Brief History: Rro'Ngtur was the son of a merchant, who was found to have a slight ability in the force, and given to the jedi order, when he was still young, he was on a ship passing over tattooine, which hit a group of micrometeorites and was forced to make a landing, in which most of the passengers died. He was taken in by Tusken Raiders, given a name, and trained in the ways of their people. Eventualy, he was told how he came to be one of them (for he had been knocked unconscious by the landing and had no recollection of anything prior to it) and he was given a gift by the clans leader. His gift was a lightsaber, carried by one of the jedi that had perished in the crash. Its blade appeared to be unstable, and was a brilliant emerald color. Months later, the tribe was attacked by farmers, and killed, Rro was the only survivor, being able to speak basic he made his way to the nearest settlement, and managed to buy passage to another world, leaving the desert behind forever. He has been allowed to keep his clothing, and any attempt to find a weapon on him has turned up nothing.
Rro sat in his cell, he was silent, as usual, but he amused himself by barking insults in tusken at the guards frequently. He heard someone speaking to one of them, he wasn't sure who they were but he got something about a test or show or something. The four voices, one a guard and three prisoners two females and a male stopped talking eventually. Another guard passed, this one was his favorite. He barked something incredibly insulting to him, and the guard looked over nervous. He always overreacted and became fearful when dealing with Rro. The guard hurried on and Rro laughed to himself, wondering what this was about a contest.
((That would be me, sorry but I'm a little too brain dead to post lately, I'll try to get something up soon))
Tressah was suprised to see Rando and Flying W in the house that she had thought vacant. In her hands she still held the loot she was planning on sharing with her two companions. However things might be different now that they had come across Gerba's guard and the crazy who had continually bugged him.
"Small world," Tressah said as both Otta and the Tusken Zabrak raised their weapons.
Before either Rando or Flying W could answer they were joined by Krish and a boy. Eyes tried to look everywhere at once.
"So this is where the party is at," Flying W grinned.
"It would seem that way," Tressah said cautiously holding her treasure.
"Got some party tricks there?" Flying W asked as he eyed the armour in Tressah's arms.
"It's ladies armour, colour wouldn't suit you," she replied.
Flying W laughed, "You never know."
While blasters were trained on one another Tressah took the opportunity to display the armour which was much too small and inappropriately designed for any of the males in the room. She warily made sure that her pockets weren't showing as they were bulging with blasters.
"So what's it going to be?" Otto started, "A joining of forces or a fight to the death?"
**Guys this is probably my last post for two weeks, so if you can join forces that'd be great. Just have Tressah and Otto tag along until I get back. Feel free to add in some more battledroids or any other goodies Gerba might be likely to throw into the mix. Thanks!**
((It looks like Mel put us all in one room together. Rando and Flying W were the only ones who noticed the peeper? So I'm just going to assume Rando and Flying W were downstairs with Val's character at the window and we were still upstairs.))
Krish only blinked as Rodian had come in and attacked them all. If not been for Rando John would have had a vibroknife in his skull. Krish only stood there bewildered as Flying W and Rando headed downstairs. He looked to Tressah, Otta and Rro and headed down the stairs John following. He was surprised to see that Rando was gone. He had never seen those two away from each other. But Rando re-entered the front door.
"Someone was spying on us. I err... stumbled onto him spying on us from the window. When I checked outside he was gone. But I did notice an incessant buzzi-"
Before Rando could finish a group of thugs entered the small house. Judging by their arsenal these weren't prisoners that had been released. They were mercenaries eager to get in on Gerba's slaughter. And Gerba had finally released them all to prey on the prisoners. The mercs were slightly taken aback and some of the prisoners used that to their advantage. Krish had a knife whizzing through the air to one of the mercs who keeled over as it sliced through the man's flightsuit at the neck between the crease in armor. Krish dashed back to the kitchen area to gain some cover hauling John off with him. The others were slowly making their way back as well.
Last edited by Sev Fett (Monday, October 13, 2008 4:05 pm)
((Hey guys, just thought I'd throw in an FYI. Gunslinger is moving in to kind of join forces with Nossk, and I hate to say it but your party is already a bit on the large side, so I suggest we keep ourselves separated for the time being.
If you're looking for a new objective though, throw some mercenaries into the fight, I think it's about time Gerba released them in full force anyway. And don't forget that other NPC groups might have formed as well elsewhere in the Battledome - the possibility of a gang war is always open. Hacking and slashing isn't our only option for writing, we need to formulate some kind of goal for each character or group of characters; even if that's just slaughtering everyone else, then some mass-genocide plan has to come to light or something of that nature. I hope you can forgive the OOC.))
Last edited by SciFifreak90 (Monday, October 13, 2008 3:36 pm)
((That's fine. I wasn't sure if the old Battledome was one giant group or several smaller ones. Edited.))
Last edited by Sev Fett (Monday, October 13, 2008 4:06 pm)
((In the end there was Mel, Sathik, Dash, myself...oh man was that really it? When it gets that small we really didn't have too much of a choice, but throughout the Battledome we kind of teamed up and split off a couple times. For now I'd say your group is fine, but you can tell how people start to lose track of where their characters are or what their new allies are doing.))
((Forgive me for not posting, last week I found out my grandfather has terminal brain cancer so I can't really cobble up anything right now other than this, sorry.))
No apologies are needed Rev, just keep your spirits high and dont get bogged down in grief.
My prayers are are with you.
Dark thoughts coursed through Jax's mind, tearing at his soul, the very fiber of his being being lost and forgoten in his sea of his rage. A single word was the only thing he thought, everything else was on instinct...And that thought was: 'Vengance!'.
A wake of destruction was behind him, fleeing combatants were infront of him. Pulses of kenetic energy repeatedly shot forth from his hands tearing at the houses, and beings alike. Bursts of speed were utilized to slay enemys in the blink of an eye. A dreadful expression on his face, made worse be the bullet scars that deformed his face, that of which could stop a rampaging ronto in its tracks.
At last as his wrath reduced slighty, standing on a mound of corpses of those who had been stupid or bloodlusty enough to attack him, Jax gave a mighty yell that could be heard across the Battledome:
"WHERE ARE YOU MANDALORIAN!"
Last edited by Mandal_ShadowWarrior (Monday, October 13, 2008 6:04 pm)
Ã¢Â€ÂœMost of the sentients have run to the city. Let them kill each other. We shall own the woods, killing those we find and letting the masses slaughter each other in the town. We must find our ground and master it. Come, those in the city will learn soon enough that the buildings only hold death. They will seek shelterÃ¢Â€Â¦and we shall be waiting.Ã¢Â€Â
"A good plan. By the way, what is your name?"
"Dra'kash" he replied.
"Kal. Now, let us find our battleground."
Kal raised his Shatter gun, and ejected his right gauntlet blade just in case. Dra'kash readied himself similarly. They moved throughout the woods, and initially encountered few enemies, who they quickly killed. They stopped at a rock formation that formed a cave, of sorts. "This looks defensible, but it doesn't give us much of a way of escape, if a large group attacked us. Your call."
Before Dra'kash could answer, a mighty voice echoed across the Battledome. "WHERE ARE YOU MANDALORIAN!"
"Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good."
Last edited by Werda Verd (Monday, October 13, 2008 6:43 pm)
"It ssseemss you've made an impression" Dra'Kash hissed in an amused manner.
Looking into the sheltered grove below, Dra'Kash dismissed it. "This is a place of hiding. I have come to hunt. This place could be the center of our 'home ground,' and useful to hide supplies or extra gear in." Stripping off his extra pack, Dra'Kash started down into the shelter...
*Kelborn, if you want to join or try somethin', I'm game; or if somebody else wants to be down there, that's good to.*
*IÃ¢Â€Â™m game Ralin *
KelÃ¢Â€Â™DarÃ¢Â€Â™Ish held as far back in the shadows as he could and watched the lizard man start down into his hiding place. Holding tightly to his native Shistavanen blade, he watched as the alien found a hiding place in the roots of a tree to hide his pack.
This could be great! After they leave I can take his stuff and see if he had any food; IÃ¢Â€Â™m starving.
Instead of putting his back-pack in the hiding place, the lizard stopped and looking inside.
Ã¢Â€ÂœLookÃ¢Â€Â he said to his companion. Ã¢Â€ÂœItÃ¢Â€Â™s one of GerbaÃ¢Â€Â™s hidden supply places! Take some food and ammo packs.Ã¢Â€Â
Grah! Why didnÃ¢Â€Â™t I think to look in there! IÃ¢Â€Â™ve been starving all this time, and IÃ¢Â€Â™ve been sitting on some supplies the whole time!
As the Mandalorian started down into the grove, however, his head swung in KalÃ¢Â€Â™s direction. Ã¢Â€ÂœLook out!Ã¢Â€Â he yelled to the lizard as his rifle came up level with KalÃ¢Â€Â™s head.
Blast! His helmet sensors must have spotted me!
Jumping from his hidden place, Kal tackled the lizard guy before he could pull his blaster pistol. Grabbing him from behind and holding his blade to the alienÃ¢Â€Â™s throat, Kal kept his prisoner between himself and the Mandalorian
Ã¢Â€ÂœLets make a deal!Ã¢Â€Â Kal barked in harsh basicÃ¢Â€Â¦
*hope thatÃ¢Â€Â™s ok; tell me if I need to edit*
Demarq let the Trandoshan enter the house and watched on from an alley across the street.
He'll be cautious this time. He took a lot of damage from that battle droid, he must have figured out by now that he's not immortal. Give him time to look around, to become at ease with his surroundings. Wait for him to leave the house before you attempt to jump him.
But what if he hasn't learned? What if he's as headstrong and stupid as when he was fighting that droid?
Well, then there'll be no reasoning with him, no way to make him join an alliance. He'd be useless. Time to hope this lizard you're chasing's got the least bit of sense in him.
Five minutes passed before the Trandoshan emerged again. Demarq tightened his grip on the gun, ready to make his move from a distance, when the beast stopped, apparently aware of some new threat, and headed back into the house. Normally a hunter would be discouraged when their quarry behaved unpredictably and threw off their plan, but Demarq had learned long ago not to put much faith in plans.
The situation is always...fluid.
The pirate stepped out from behind his cover and approached the open door, clutching his improvised blaster in apprehension.
Once the fighting starts it's fine, it's just the suspense that kills you.
He was within five meters of the door when he first heard the sound that had brought his quarry out of sight: a low buzzing, barely audible by his human ears, seemed to pervade the air around him. How could that brute have noticed something this subtle? Perhaps some reptilian extra-perception, or simply a lower range of frequency for hearing? Demarq decided this question, while intriguing, was irrelevant, and disregarded it.
He stepped through the door, and he took in the scene: the open door leading into the lightless depths, where his target had clearly gone, and from where the buzzing appeared to emanate.
His senses took in what happened next, but in a detached sort of way. His brain decided to interpret each sensory input independently, lest the ramafications of everything put him into shock (which, given his recent psychological trauma, was not out of the question)
Sight: A flash of light, for only an instant, flooded from the dark portal to the basement
Hearing: The distinctive sound of a explosively-propelled slugthrower weapon firing a single shot
Taste: Bile rising in the back of his throat as the implications of the situation begin to dawn
Feeling: His body begins to vibrate as the low buzzing rises, angrily, and becomes the unmistakable roar of an insect swarm
You stupid n'wah, what have you done?
Demarq's survival instinct screamed at him to retreat from this house, find another brute to tame to his cause. Had this happened perhaps half an hour before, the pirate would have listened to it. However now, having put all the work into tracking this one humanoid, he was loathe to start from scratch, even if it meant his own death. Living is a top priority, to a point; sometimes, the looming boredom of a tedious task can overcome a sentient's desire even to continue its own existence.
I'll be damned if I'm going to stake out an entirely new target. You're mine, and until I see you ripped apart and don't have anther choice, I'm sticking to this.
Another shot rang out. Then another. Light flashed twice from the doorway. Demarq stepped up to the door; he took out his panicked survival instinct for a moment and played with it. He shrugged, put it away behind a wall for the time being, and plunged into the black.
Demarq was a man who appreciated atmosphere. He would have admired the moldy furniture placed in disarray against the walls, the dust-covered knickknacks piled high in boxes. The dusty, rotting scent that filled the air (bear in mind this was all pre-fabricated! It was as though Gerba had this exact scenario in mind from the start), the almost utter darkness, would have tickled something deep inside him and made him squirm with private artistic joy.
Here is a place for an epic encounter! Where an anti-hero faces a force of evil unlike any he could have imagined! he would have allowed his inner romantic to reflect. All this would have happened, had he not been focused on something else.
He was too busy looking at the epic encounter before his eyes to imagine the others that might occur only in his imagination.
The Trandoshan faced an endless multitude of the insect-like creatures that were quite clearly the source of the buzzing noise. He appeared to have killed at least one of their number already, if the spray of white fluid that covered his body and the surrounding area. For the moment, the reptile and the swarm were staring each other down, but there was only one way this could end. Blood had been spilled. There would soon be quite a bit more of it.
A shot rang. An insect fell. The shotgun pumped. beyond that, Demarq saw nothing as the Trandoshan was beset upon by the wall of enemies. Claws and mandibles flashed in the traces of light that found their way down from the still-open door to the first floor. The buzzing rose in pitch.
Here goes nothing. You'd better not be dead yet.
Demarq squeezed his makeshift trigger, connecting the wires on his gun and triggering a discharge of crimson energy. One of the closer bug was burned straight through its chitinous exterior, and collapsed to the ground twitching. Demarq fired again, obtaining similar results.
The bugs certainly noticed his presence. Rather than simply head toward him, as he expected, the swarm split into two groups, one intent on destroying their new attacker, and the other to finishing off the Trandoshan who had killed one of their own.
They're much smarter than anticipated; this may very well be a sentient species. This changes nothing, except- OUCH
Lost in the glory of the moment, Demarq had not noticed that his makeshift weapon had begun to overheat in his hand after the third shot he fired. He involuntarily flung the molten piece of metal from his body. It sailed through the cellar air, taking a sizable chunk of the charred flesh from his right index finger with it.
He stood weaponless, injured, before the half-swarm that threatened to engulf him. This all of a sudden seemed not to be such a fantastic idea after all.
((More to come, honest. I'm just a tired dude right now.))
Last edited by TheGunslinger (Thursday, October 16, 2008 10:06 pm)
It's not as great as I'd like, but I'm exhausted and at least it's something.
Chaos washed over Nossk in an emerald wave of whining Bartokk. His slugthrower thundered again and again, a full four times in the tight, smothering confines of the basement that had just become a killing ground. The column of insectoid aliens unlucky enough to be in the TrandoshanÃ¢Â€Â™s forward fire arc fell in droves, and for a few precious, glorious seconds Nossk felt invincible as he laid waste to the enemies before him; fear and hopelessness gave way to a sudden surge of adrenaline and excitement, and the reptilian thought for those same delusional seconds that he could hold the sea of bloodthirsty Bartokk at bay with the simple application of guts and his boomstick. After those brief moments passed, however, Nossk realized he was wrong. He was very, very wrong.
One cannot fire a pistol into a swarm of bees and expect to kill all of them, and by the same token slaying an entire hive of Bartokk with nothing but a spread-shot slugthrower was an undertaking reserved for the desperate or the foolish. Those initial instants when NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s fire decimated the first half dozen or so insectoids standing directly in front of him was all it took for the rest of the swarm to literally engulf the defiant Trandoshan from every other conceivable direction. They leapt on top of him, crawled between his legs, clung to his arms and torso, all the while tearing at any part of him they could touch.
NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s arms were jerked downwards as a pair of the creatures latched onto his arms, forcing his shotgun down and away from the targets in front of him. He managed to pump it once more, and pulled the trigger anyway, blasting another of the Bartokk away. No matter where the barrel was pointed it was sure to hit something, so thick were the insects packed around the reptilian mercenary. One of the Bartokk on his arm bit into his hand, loosening his grip on the slugthrower as another tore it away from his grasp. Nossk growled in pain and fury, and pulled his arm up to his face. For a frozen moment in time he stared the Bartokk attached to it directly in its multiple eyes Ã¢Â€Â“ then he fastened his jaws over them. He snapped them together, and like a child breaking the shell of a hard candy he chomped through the creatureÃ¢Â€Â™s natural armor, crushing its skull and tasting its gore.
Nossk flailed his arms in wide arcs, swinging the insectoids like some sort of sadistic theme park ride in his attempts to throw them off. One finally lost its grip and was hurled into the half-destroyed sofa that Nossk had shot upon entering the cellar; the other was used as a makeshift club against its kin, clinging to the TrandoshanÃ¢Â€Â™s left arm as he swung it in great circles. It didnÃ¢Â€Â™t take long for the reptilian to realize that it wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t going to let go, so he used the considerable momentum heÃ¢Â€Â™d gained to smash the persistent Bartokk against the duracrete floor. Exoskeleton cracked and white fluid oozed, but the insectoid creature still lived Ã¢Â€Â“ until, that is, NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s clawed foot caved in its chest as he turned to engage another (another dozen or so, rather) Bartokk.
One mustnÃ¢Â€Â™t forget that Nossk was not, by any means, fighting the monstrosities on a one-on-one basis. Even while he bit, threw, and crushed the insects, dozens more buzzed around him, some pounding uselessly against his Braceman plating while others dug into his scaly hide through open gapes in his makeshift suit of armor. As Nossk ground his latest kill into the ground, one of its hive-mates burrowed a clawed appendage into his upper thigh, twisting it back and forth in its attempt to drive the limb deeper. The TrandoshanÃ¢Â€Â™s reaction was instantaneous.
Nossk did not hiss, did not growl, did not gurgle, did not snarl, did not produce any sound that one would normally expect a Trandoshan to make. No, when Nossk felt the hot lance of pain drive through his leg, he roared, a terrifying report more akin to a Krayt Dragon call than a Trandoshan expression of pain. NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s vision narrowed to a red tunnel, one which zeroed in on the little insect trying to mutilate his leg. The Trandoshan reached down and grabbed the Bartokk in an unforgiving vice-grip, lifting it high in the air as he bellowed his rage and pain through the prefabricated house. Before the lizard-man was angry, violent, viscous; now he flew into an all-out rage.
Nossk began smashing the creature into everything and anything that he could find. First the floor, or whatever section of it was within reach and uncovered by an insect corpse, then one of the beams supporting the basement (a sizeable crack erupted from the impact, both in the BartokkÃ¢Â€Â™s chitin and the beam itself), and thenÃ¢Â€Â¦
What else is there!? Nossk asked himself in a half-conscious, adrenaline-spiked flicker of thought. ThereÃ¢Â€Â™s nothing left to break it on, NOTHING!
The unbroken ring of Bartokk encasing the berserking Trandoshan blocked his view of the rest of the basement, and within reach there did indeed seem to be no further solid objects to swing the troublesome creature into. Nossk mightÃ¢Â€Â™ve been disappointed if he were capable of sentient thought at the moment, or if he didnÃ¢Â€Â™t suddenly see/hear/sense the human perched halfway down the rickety wooden staircase leading upstairs fire his improvised, salvaged blaster into the horde of insects.
Perfect! A clear thought breached the murky battle-haze of NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s mind, brimming with excitement. A staircase! I can smash it into that!
Nossk, still clutching the Bartokk in his extended arm and voicing his own personal war-cry, plowed towards the staircase. His hand closed tighter and tighter around his victimÃ¢Â€Â™s throat until he felt chitinous plates crack and its omnipresent humming change sharply in pitch, but at this point the Trandoshan didnÃ¢Â€Â™t much care if he was holding a long-dead corpse; whatever it was, he was going to bash it open against that staircase, and that was that.
Two of the Bartokk hung on his shoulders, scratching uselessly at the hard pauldrons. Another clung to his Braceman back-plate, tearing into the flesh under his left armpit along his side (where the chest and back pieces of his armor didnÃ¢Â€Â™t quite connect) with relative impunity. Nossk hardly felt them.
The reptilianÃ¢Â€Â™s mind had a single objective, a self-assigned priority on which his simple and often unused brain was completely locked. In this instance, it was the staircase. Two insectoids were battered out of his way as the mercenary gained momentum; the swarm gathered en masse behind him, moving forward in unison to swarm the Trandoshan again from behind. He, of course, couldnÃ¢Â€Â™t care less what they were doing or how unwise it was to ignore the rest of the hive while he unleashed his vendetta upon a single Bartokk; he was too busy concentrating on the staircase.
As he cleared the last insect between him and his goal (seemingly ignorant as it tore one of his shin-guards to shreds) he witnessed another tableau that might, once again if he was capable of it, instill him with a crushing sense of hopelessness and inevitability. A second group of the nightmarish bugs, just as big as the one heÃ¢Â€Â™d just run through with his prey held high, was assaulting the very staircase he was heading for. HeÃ¢Â€Â™d given more concern to what he was going to have for dinner.
Finally, still crawling with Bartokk and bleeding from countless tiny cuts, Nossk was barely two paces away from the narrow wooden stairway. He stretched his arm back like a pitcher preparing to throw a gravball, and drove it forward again. Perhaps it was God, perhaps it was the Force, perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was DemarqÃ¢Â€Â™s considerable supply of Ã¢Â€ÂœsoupÃ¢Â€Â (from an AnzatiÃ¢Â€Â™s dogma), perhaps it was a combination of all or none of them; whatever it was, something had just saved DemarqÃ¢Â€Â™s life.
The fragile staircase shuddered dangerously as the large insect Nossk was holding slammed into it with disturbing force. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Now Five. Six times the Bartokk collided with the stairwell, and finally the wooden supports gave way. The beaten corpse crashed right through the side of the railing and several steps, causing the entire stairway to start its inevitable plunge to the cold duracrete floor. The pirate captain that began to fall along with it never had a place in NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s decision-making process, nor did the unintentional destruction of one of only two exits out of this hellhole.
The staircase crashed down in a heap of splintering wood and thick clouds of dust; Demarq made his own landing just a few meters away. The pirate had leapt clear of the stairs just before they struck the ground, absorbed the considerable fall with a neatly executed roll, and skidded to a halt several meters clear of the collapsed debris. Incidentally, his new position placed him very close to the umbilical doors cracking light from the surface, and granted him a temporary haven from the BartokkÃ¢Â€Â™s attention. The swarm seemed to have forgotten about the suddenly vanished human, and had refocused their efforts solely on the Trandoshan, whose survival was becoming more and more troublesome to the hive. Nossk had drawn his pistol to fire into the body of the insectoid that had just been used as a battering ram to destroy the stairwell, when the remainder of the original group that had attacked the Trandoshan caught up to him. Four of the Bartokk slammed into his back at once, tackling their stubborn aggravator to the ground; his head cracked painfully against the duracrete, and the surprisingly heavy creatures knocked the wind from his lungs with the impact (It was the first time his bellow had been stopped since the battle began). NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s pistol flew from his grasp, sailing through the air for a few seconds before clattering to the floor and skidding to its final resting place Ã¢Â€Â“ at the feet of Captain Demarq.
Nossk struggled to roll onto his back, but every attempt was blocked by the oversized bugs crawling over and ripping at his body. At long last the Trandoshan had managed to free his machete, and immediately began blindly chopping at the appendages that roved his prone form, seeking for a hole in his armor that might be cut open and ravaged. Nossk felt a claw slice open his cheek, and his lungs finally filled with air enough to snarl in pain. From the outside NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s predicament would look much like a Ã¢Â€Âœdog pileÃ¢Â€Â in some violent sports game. At least a dozen of the little beasts were on top of him, pinning him down and trying their damndest to butcher him while still avoiding the vicious strikes of his machete. One had failed in regards to the second objective already, and now flopped feebly on the ground, spurting white blood from the stumps that used to be arms. The odds, however, were still miles away from being in NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s favor.
And this is supposed to be impressing me?
An echoing, female voice rang clearly in the hectic mess of his brain. Time slowed to a stop, and reality blurred into a runny mixture of colors. Nossk found that he still couldnÃ¢Â€Â™t stand.
If this is all a deity receives in the way of worship, then perhaps this reality should be erased, and another started from scratch. Never before have I felt so unsatisfied with one of my followers, Nossk (a garbled noise met his ears where his clan name should have been). What happened, pray tell me? You used to have so much ferocity, so much vigor, so much desire for the hunt, but look at you now. First a mere human nearly brings you down; your victory was only gained through my intervention and your good fortune, donÃ¢Â€Â™t forget. Then a droid. An opponent with no soul to offer, no worth to me at all, and still you nearly fall a second time. And how well do you fair against my test this time, against insects no less? The ground where you lay is beginning to seem like a fitting place for you, considering how much time you spend on it.
Ã¢Â€ÂœS-Scorekeeper?Ã¢Â€Â Nossk gasped, still breathless and now terribly confused. ItÃ¢Â€Â™s a well-known fact that this specific TrandoshanÃ¢Â€Â™s mind works differently from just about every other sentient being in the galaxy, but one could wonder if this seemingly miraculous audience with his God could be anything from just that to a simple figment created by his amped-up mind facing near-certain death. Regardless of rhyme or reason, his verbal lashing continued.
Be warned, Nossk of the Trandoshans, you have fallen out of favor.
Ã¢Â€ÂœNo!Ã¢Â€Â Nossk growled, ashamed, angry, and disappointed all at once. No hunter could receive such news lightly, and certainly not when it was delivered by the image of the Scorekeeper herself. Ã¢Â€ÂœI can still fight, IÃ¢Â€Â™ll Ã¢Â€Â“Ã¢Â€Â
No more, fallen hunter. If youÃ¢Â€Â™re truly sorry for your failure and your insult to me, then you may prove it through your actions, not words. The road to redemption, however, is never a simple one. Until then, you can expect no aid from me. Farewell, lizard.
Streams of color winded their way back into the gruesome prefab basement scene. Nossk became a part of reality again, if he had truly ever left it, and time snapped back to normal as he felt the BartokkÃ¢Â€Â™s claws resume their constant search for exposed flesh. His rage and despair, though, had gone nowhere.
Ã¢Â€ÂœNO!Ã¢Â€Â Nossk bellowed, in one surge of immense strength rolling onto his back, trapping three of the insectoids beneath him. With his arms free the Trandoshan pulled his vibroaxe in his right hand, still grimly clutching the blood-soaked machete in his left. His wild kata of dual-wielded strikes felled enemies on every side, clearing a few scant feet of room for the reptilian to work with. The Trandoshan burst to his feet, whirling around in time to drive his blades into two of the insect trio he had been holding to the ground with his own mass. The axe and machete were back up in a flash, lashing out in every direction with no indication of control or actual targets. Ã¢Â€ÂœI have not fallen that far! IÃ¢Â€Â™ve shamed no one, do you hear me Scorekeeper, NO ONE!Ã¢Â€Â
Now epic struggles and heroic battles are always fun to watch, but rarely result in any real degree of success. It was indeed nothing short of miraculous that Nossk was not only alive, but still standing and holding the swarm relatively at bay with his hectic, helicopter-like technique. Make no mistake, though, that fatigue would set in before long, heroic resolve or not. His sweeping blows would slow, his enemies would find an opening, and when they did, they would finish the job they began. Nossk was already streaming with blood, not all his, but not all Bartokk either. He bled openly from at least a dozen wounds ranging from small cuts to large gashes from which flowed dangerous amounts of blood. In the long run nothing had changed but a few more dead Bartokk and a drawn-out battle. If salvation lay in store for Nossk, not just from his shame but from the predicament that would inevitably end in his death, then it had yet to show itself.
Last edited by SciFifreak90 (Saturday, October 18, 2008 4:05 am)
Igwig was walking along when his friends aimed their guns at his head. Igwig was sick of this battle anyway. Everybody was dying so why would it matter if he died. He bulled out a thermal detonator and activated it. He threw it at his allies. BOOM!!! Igwig, had died.
(sorry, I'm way behind and very busy with life )
((Come on, we're only at six pages and the plot is hardly developed, don't abandon this so soon. I should have this **** criminal justice research paper that's been devouring my time done by tonight, and then I'll try to jump back into this. I don't expect much time over the weekend though, it'll be the first time I've been home in a few months.))
Rando watched from the head of where the stairs would have been. Pulled along by Flying W, who it seemed, had already grown tired of their group. His attention had been easily dragged here, as had Rando. For once his curiosity had given him something worthwhile.
"Hand me the cycler. Some target practice wouldn't hurt."
Rando tossed the loaded slugthrower over. Flying W took his time, waiting for the Trandoshan to stop flailing. But suddenly jerked the barrel up. They'd been noticed. The white splatter was blown back, a half skull shape splashed onto the wall.
"It's never easy, is it?! Come on, come at me bug face!" W dropped the cycler and unsheathed his broadswords. He lept to the floor.
Rando grappled with the cycler, threw the strap over his shoulder once more, and expertedly fell from his perch. Which was a technical term for slipped, on a dab of white blood.
Recovering quickly, aided by fear. He cursed the Hutts in total, hopped to his feet from his back. The cycler strap, as if trying to help, came loose. Nimbly, he paced his motion. Avoiding the crazed Trandoshan, he whipped through an insect coming at the both of them.
Flying W was enjoying himself, Rando's stomach was buckling. Neither of them knew what the other was doing, too busy.
Rando refused to die in a basement, in the same sort of hole he'd lived in for years. Nar Shaddaa had laid an egg in him, it hatched in that despicable hole.
He came alive. Bugs began to die, before their wee brains could catch up. He'd die under the sun, in the sun if he could.
(Hopefully not a bad arrangement.)
**I'm back and here's a fresh post... ((hope Rev's is doing okay!)) **
Gerba sat with a look of glee. The carnage was brilliant but already things were slowing down. There was also the fact that some of the mercenaries were still yet to delve into the Battledome. Now was the time to tempt them.
Gerba smiled at his Majordomo with his lipless mouth. Ã¢Â€ÂœNow we need to add my cousin to the mix.Ã¢Â€Â
Fortuna had to stop himself from looking surprised but he immediately complied. He turned to a bank of controls and his fingers rang across the dials and keys with expertise. Ã¢Â€ÂœNelba is coming up. Where do you want me to drop him?Ã¢Â€Â
Ã¢Â€ÂœPlace him in the centre, near the pillars. I have an announcement to make.Ã¢Â€Â Gerba instructed.
The Majordomo gave a nod and from the end of a huge metal crane there was a metal shell. It was distinctly that of a Shell Hutt. However on the outside of the shell was a various assortment of food, weapons and armour that had been attached that was out of reach of the Hutt within. It was meant as bait but that wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t the only reason the contestants would be drawn to it.
Gerba moved to his podium, his huge form bulging from either side. Ã¢Â€ÂœAttention, attention! Many of you have heard of my rebellious cousin Nelba the Hutt. IÃ¢Â€Â™m sure youÃ¢Â€Â™re also fully aware that he has a bounty on his head of three million credits from Black Sun.Ã¢Â€Â
The crowd grew silent, their interest drawn. Even some of the contestants stopped to listen.
Ã¢Â€ÂœHe 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.Ã¢Â€Â Gerba told, he neglected to mention that the person who killed Nelba might not survive to the end of the Battledome but he did not care.
A roar came from the crowd as the Shell Hutt was lowered to the floor. A multitude of straggler contestants now went in, but not all. Gerba turned to Katray. Ã¢Â€ÂœItÃ¢Â€Â™s time for a cleanse. Remove the contestants that hold back, they are not worthy of my contest.Ã¢Â€Â
Katray gave a simple nod and headed off to search the palace for stragglers.
Tressah was growing edgy, there were too many of them together in this building. TheyÃ¢Â€Â™d make a good target. With her new armour donned Tressah decided to take her chances outside, spy or not.
She didnÃ¢Â€Â™t exit via the door, instead she moved to the trapdoor sheÃ¢Â€Â™d noticed early. Cobwebs lined the entry but didnÃ¢Â€Â™t seem all that real. She scanned the area and then realised that Otto was following.
Ã¢Â€ÂœBored already?Ã¢Â€Â he said quietly.
Ã¢Â€ÂœJust want out, weÃ¢Â€Â™re sitting targets.Ã¢Â€Â She said as she took the narrow steps downward. As they entered the tunnel they heard the HuttÃ¢Â€Â™s voice announcing something.
Ã¢Â€ÂœPhase three,Ã¢Â€Â Otto commented.
Tressah said nothing as she moved along, she found the end of the tunnel and a faint outline of light at the corresponding trap door. Above there was much shouting and violence. It was quickly over and Tressah slowly emerged to find four bodies, two human, one TwiÃ¢Â€Â™lek and another that was too messed up to identify.
Ã¢Â€ÂœLookÃ¢Â€Â Drak'ash said, as he looked into the rocks Ã¢Â€ÂœItÃ¢Â€Â™s one of GerbaÃ¢Â€Â™s hidden supply places! Take some food and ammo packs.Ã¢Â€Â
Kal turned. Then his helmet pinged, indicating movement--from inside the grove. He raised his rifle. "Look out!" Drak'ash started to turn, but not fast enough. A Shistavanen leaped out, and held a blade to Drak'ash's throat. "Let's make a deal...." he rasped.
Kal kept his rifle aimed at the wolfman. "What kind of deal?"
"First, I want you to guarantee me safety, to talk. Can you do that, Mandalorian?"
"Yes." Kal lowered his Verp. "You have my word. I won't harm you while you say your piece, nor after, unless you give me reason.
"Very well." The wolfman released Drak'ash, who glared. "A Mandalorian and a Barabel alone are formidable warriors, and together, a mighty alliance. But the addition of myself would only increase your chances of success. What do you say?
Kal stared at the wolfman. "If you desire to fight with us, and swear to not betray us, then I myself accept. I trust a Shistavanen's word."
"I swear it."
"Good. Drak'ash, I believe he would be of aid. But we must agree."
**WELCOME BACK MEL!!!!! **
DraÃ¢Â€Â™Kash thrashed away from the creatureÃ¢Â€Â™s grasp as it loosened, quickly turning one he was a step away and keeping his claws close to his heavy blasters.
"A Mandalorian and a Barabel alone are formidable warriors, and together, a mighty alliance. But the addition of myself would only increase your chances of success. What do you say?Ã¢Â€Â
The Mandalorian seemed to only glare through his dark visor for a moment, but then said "If you desire to fight with us, and swear to not betray us, then I myself accept. I trust a Shistavanen's word."
"I swear it."
DraÃ¢Â€Â™Kash clenched his teeth a bit. He didnÃ¢Â€Â™t relish fighting along side a creature who had just held his life in check, but had to admit that the alien had attacked with quickness and skill.
"GoodÃ¢Â€Â Kal responded, apparently satisfied of the prisonerÃ¢Â€Â™s word. ShistavanenÃ¢Â€Â™s were known to be creatures of their wordÃ¢Â€Â¦
Ã¢Â€ÂœDrak'ash, I believe he would be of aid. But we must agree."
Narrowing his slit pupils, DraÃ¢Â€Â™Kash continued to glare into the new comerÃ¢Â€Â™s eyes. Ã¢Â€ÂœSsso be it. But remember, Both of you. I am here to WIN thisss contesst, not to escape from it. You both have my word, as a blooded warrior of the house of Drak, that I shall be your ally to the end of this contesst. However, IF we survive to the end, I shall do what is nessissary to achieve my goal. Do we have an underssstanding?Ã¢Â€Â
Last edited by Ralin Drakus (Tuesday, October 21, 2008 10:35 pm)
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