Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Rro had sprinted out of his cage like a madman, he was glad he did because he heard a grunt as the ugly human he shared his cell wtih was stabbed with something sharp. He managed to make his way to a safer area, and hide in the darkness, letting most of the combatants rush right past him.

  A few minutes later, he heard something behind him, whirling around he was confronted with another Zabrak. He was holding something large, metal...A gaderffi. He lunged, using it as a spear and Rro dodged, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back, following through with an elbow to his face. He dropped the gadderffii and fell to the ground, Rro was immediately there, shoving a fist into the man's throat and crushing his windpipe, holding him down as he kicked wildly, trying to get his attacker off of him and go for the gaderffii. Rro wasn't going to let that happen. He reached for the gadderffii, which was barely in reach, and used it to club the Zabrak to death.

He examined the weapon, it was of very good quality, for something obviously so old, the previous owner, (not the Zabrak he had clubbed to death, the one before it) had taken good care of it. It would be usefull if the lightsaber of his didnt work. He hoped he could live up to their standards, he thought as he slung the weapon over his back and began to walk.

[i]The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed[/i]
[url=]Interrogations are hard...[/url]

52 (edited by Werda Verd Saturday, September 27, 2008 7:54 pm)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Sorry about the crappy nature of this post, but it took a while, but was so intermittent, and I wanted to get so much done, that it turned out pretty bad.

Kal hung back, watching as the rest of the prisoners rushed out, into the arena. Once they were mostly past, he entered the arena, but kept his back to the wall, staying in the shadows. He noticed a pile of weapons and armor in the distance, but something about them bothered him. Then he heard the sound of rapid footfalls behind him, and turned to see another prisoner rushing him with a knife. Kal waited, then spun aside, grabbing his assailants knife arm and throwing him to the ground, dislocating the arm in the process. Keeping the man pinned, the grasped his head and twisted. The struggling body went limp. Kal took the knife. 

"At least I have a weapon, and while its not the best blade ever, it will serve me well until I get a more efficient weapon. But I had better get to someplace less exposed." He glanced over at the armor. Something about it bothered him still. As he stared, he noticed a figure running towards them. When he was about twenty feet from the pile, the ground beneath him exploded, setting off a mini-chain reaction around the area.

"Osik! So they mined it. Looks like I'll need another way to get to some armor, hopefully mine." He headed towards the psuedo-forest. Once there, he saw man dressed in armor, well equipped, and well armed. Clearly a hunter. Better yet, he was carrying a Verpine shatter gun, which looked suspiciously like Kal's own. Best of all, is that he hadn't seen Kal yet. Kal ducked out of sight, drawing his knife. Once the man came in range, Kal lunged out, jamming the knife up and into the man's throat. He threw the man down, picked up his Verpine, and put the man out of his misery.

"It was my Verp. Dirty chakaare." Kal stripped the body of all he might need, including the man's chestplate, pistol, ammo, and a thermal det. He rapped on the chestplate. "Durasteel. How primitive. If I'm lucky, it'll deflect a long range shot from a blaster pistol.

Thus equipped, he next headed back towards the armor dump, and the minefield around it, only exchanging fire with hunters and slaves alike a few times. It appeared that after the first few times, few had dared brave the mine field. Once he reached it, he located the most clear section, primed the thermal det, and threw it. When the dust from the explosions cleared, a path to the armor was mostly clear, and Kal walked forward, skirting the last few mines. He quickly located his own beskar'gam, and, throwing aside the durasteel trash he was wearing, donned it, piece by piece. Dropping his buy'ce over his head, he checked the status of all the armor components, which were, miraculously, all green. He drew his bes'kad, which he had also found near the armor, and pointed it towards Gerba's booth.

"Get ready, Gerba. You've got a angry Mando after you now, one with weapons and armor. And no one will get in my way, you backstabbing hutuune"

[url=]"Touch my Awesome Button."[/url]
--Captain Dynamic--

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Up high from a spectaters box, Jax could see the carnage in the view screens all too clearly: In one screen, he could see a Wookie's head blasted off as it reached for somthing, in anothere he could see a Zabrak clubed to death by a Tuskan. The crowd cheered as the Zabraks was face was beaten in. And there were many more viewscrrens leting one see all the detail one could want.
Jax turned away in disgust.
He steped out onto the balcany, he could hear the screams all the way from here.
Forcing himself to move forward, Jax made his way down the stairs and to the end of the ledge. There he got himself into the zone. He closed his eyes and forced up images from his past: Mother and Fathter. Father and Mother both dead. Both killed before him. Both died...slowly. While forced to watch. Tears were brought to his eyes. He played the images over and over and over again in his mind. Intill his rage built up inside him. A small flicker of fire at first then a raging inferno. The fire swept threw him, inflaming him, pushing him towards the brink. But Jax had done this before.
Jax pushed back, keeping himself from falling into insanity.
His hands were balled up into fists, intill his fingernails were starting to draw drops of blood, his lightsaber appeared in his hands with out him noticing, and with the help of the Force, he leaped down into the arena.

Landing with out feeling a thing, surronded by the trees of the North end of the arena, Jax attacked everyone insight: Mostly weak prisioners would had gone many years with out a decent meal, but with a few well armed Mercs here and there...Jax beheaded them all.
One of the Mercs, a strong and powerful looking rodian who was able to stay alive longer than the others snuck up on Jax who was finishing off a female prisioner who was begging for her life, seemingly catching him off gaurd. But as the Rodain slowly rasied his vibro-blade for a killing move, Jax turned, his pupils completly black. "I sense you fool."
The smell of a burned rodian filled the air.

[i]"Sir, Finishing this Cake."[/i]

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Igwig made it to a small building where he found a small spherical-type object. He didn't know what it was - that is until he remembered an incident on Tatooine. He knew that it was called a "grenade" in basic. Igwig was happy.
     He ran out of a building and accidently bumped into a humanoid. The humanoid had a vibro-blade which he raised in the air, intending to kill Igwig. Unfortuanately for the human, Igwig had already pulled the trigger of his gun, which shot a blast of energy, Disintigrating a hole in the human.
     Igwig started running away and he saw another jawa. Igwig yelled "Eyeta?"
       The other jawa thaught for a moment. after a while he replied "Ibana"

Carry on my wayward son!

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Reviin stood silently against the wall of his cell, prisoners were running left and right to get out of the cell block. He knew where the passages led, whispers of a great arena he'd heard...better yet...a Battledome.

"Gerba you persistent son-of-a-chakaar." Reviin looked around and most all of the prisoners had cleared. He crept cautiously out of the dank cell and down the east passage, which opened up to a wooded forest setting. Distant blaster fire and yelling could be heard echoing through the massive structure. Reviin walked out into the not so subtle chaos which ensued in the arena, odd no one had attempted any cheap shots at him so far...
Just as the thought entered his mind, someone brought down an orange lightsaber right where he had previously been standing only half a second before. It was an unarmored Bith with tattoos all over his large bulbous head. Reviin dodged left and did a side roll to dodge the sluggish attack. Again the Bith swung, missing by mere inches this time.

"You're no Jetii."

The mad Bith flew into a raging flurry, Reviin dodged best he could, but nicked his beskar a few times.

...enough nonsense...

Reviin grabbed the hilt of his massive knife, drawing it from it's leather sheath. He held a defensive stance, avoiding a few more of the Bith's attacks, then saw an opening in the alien's primitive form. He spun sideways, bringing the cleaver down hard across the Bith's shoulder. Reviin grabbed him, pulling his tattooed head closer to his cracked blood-spattered visor.

"You lose."

He jerked the knife out of the Bith's stomach, causing him to fall to the ground oddly, almost in two. Reviin pried the lightsaber hilt out of the deathgrip, observing it for a moment before putting it on his belt.

"First blood."

"This IS my signature."

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Masra watched as mainly once docile prisoners became blood guilty, or died. How soon all pretense of moral uprightness evaporated. She laughed to her self, enjoying a particularly brutal kill as one prisoner nearly  split a bith in two. She was glad that her helmet covered all. It was a weakness in her eyes to show emotion like that, and give precious information away to her enemy. Masra was feeling the wave of emotions stemming from the battledome, all the pain, anger and fear. She was starting to feel her control loosening. It would not be long before she lost all sense of self and gave in to that urge.  A memory started to well up inside Masra, but she knew it would only betray her somehow, even if only to her self. So she pushed it back down and refocused on the battles.

A mandalorian had managed to make his way to the armor and don his full gear. That one was angry, and yelling up at the other spectators. That one would cause trouble, especially for her. But the thought of jabbing her three sided blade into the base of his neck, was enough to make it worth the trouble he would cause. She would have to be smart about it though as he was simply physically larger.

Masra savored that power of death she could feel coming from the arena. And that was it. She needed to spill blood. And just like how a firaxan shark's eyes would roll over when about to sink its many many sharp teeth into its prey, like it  was almost blind to the destruction it was causing, so to a wave came over Masra and she would simply destroy and inflict pain. Oh yes that was the best part, the power of the pain she caused those she killed.

So with that, Masra jumped into the ring. Drawing two short blades as she landed into some brush at the edge of the wooded portion of the battledome.

Meat is murder...... tasty tasty murder.
"Suggestion: Electrocution works well. Evisceration and Decapitation are also effective, or um, so I've heard."

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

With professional contempt, Rando had dispatched the nuisance. He had practiced breaking a being's arm other than a human’s; it had been a learning experience. Maybe it was just him, but Twi’leks seemed a little more brittle, just not by much.
Upon reentering the Audience chamber, he found himself alone. Apparently the festivities had started without him, although he could have deduced that just from the overall atmosphere. With so many screams, joyous and alike, it was no wonder. Gerba had found a niche market for himself, perhaps there’d be another battledome sometime in the future.
Noticing the leftover foodstuffs, Rando snatched an odd fruit Gerba had imported in constantly he’d never tried or investigated. Before he had a chance to take the first bite, a hand tapped his shoulder. Not only did he wheel around, but stopped short of a debilitating strike. Flying W of all people had escaped from his cell.
“Looks like death is in the air bodyguard, going to join in?”
“Are you kidding? I already have a job here, and that’s bad enough as it is.” Rando took that first bite, and tossed it as although the taste was a citrus the texture was like eating a flimsy.
W raised an eyebrow, the way Rando wished he could, and spread his hands as if beckoning.
“I can’t hold this for very long, come visit soon.” Flying W blinked out, like a colored hologram.
Rando, used to the craziness that accompanied the prisoner, kept on. Eventually joining Gerba as the slug watched the killing, a little barbarism stowing that nag on the tip of his thoughts. 

Below deck, Flying W sat in his cell. Maimed bodies stacked three high all the way around him. He smirked, coming out of his meditative mindset. Proud to see he still had it, blood was still his friend. And there'd be plenty of that around wouldn't there?
It brought a tear to his eye, just such an emotional event. He went back to work, focusing again on the spilled life. Closing his eyes, legs crossed, he smirked.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Tressah was one of the last to leave her cell alive. There were a few who were jumping from cell to cell killing the stragglers. Otto was with her as they zigzagged their way through the corridors of open cells.

Bodies were already strewn across the pathway, it seemed that some prisoners actually had weapons before they’d even been realised. “We got a raw deal, Otto. Some of these guys were already armed,” she whispered.

Otto simply nodded then pressed a finger to his lips and pointed. Tressah followed his gaze and saw that Flying W was having a great time killing. Giving a nod of understanding Tressah started forward. On one of the bodies she saw a small blade. She picked it up and ignore the fact that it the handle was sticky with blood.

As they neared the entry to the arena a Bith came flying through, he rolled as he landed but was bleeding profusely. He fired back towards the arena but he was grabbed from behind by Flying W.

Tressah knew it was time to leave. She hunkered down low and ran. The woods were closest but the sounds of blaster fire were intense from there. Instead she turned and made the longer run for the buildings.

A human immediately opened fire on her. Tressah dodged and found cover behind a permicrete wall. Otto was beside her, “He’s got a verpine.”

“Great,” Tressah muttered.

At that moment a Jawa ran around the opposite corner looking chuffed as he held a grenade. Tressah snatched it from his hands, “Sorry buddy, need to borrow this.” She pulled the pin and threw it at the verpine totting human.

He squealed like a girl then there was a satisfying boom. Otto peered around the corner. “Got him,” he told as he rushed forward to grab the verpine.

Tressah patted the Jawa on the head, “Thank you.” At that moment a second Jawa appeared. Tressah suddenly realised they were both armed.

Before she could do anything Otto grabbed her by the arm and dragged her around the corner. They ran towards a house that’s door was actually closed. “Doesn’t look like this one’s been looted,” Otto commented.

Otto went in with his verpine raised, the place was empty. “Do a search, I’ll bet there’s some treasures in here.”

Tressah found the kitchen and opened every single cupboard door. She found a mortar gun and some chest armour. She growled, “Always made for men, no boob room. Otto, there’s some armour for you.”

Otto was silent. Tressah crawled towards his last position, hoping her actions would mean it was less likely for her to get shot.

BFFC Moderator
It was like thousands of voices cried out for a sequel and were suddenly silenced...

59 (edited by SciFifreak90 Sunday, September 28, 2008 8:05 am)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

It had been hardly a few minutes since Gerba had released his prisoners, yet already Nossk emerged onto a tableau of chaos. There were dozens of humanoids already on the surface and moving fast, generally towards the Northern forests or the southern village and armor cache. The Trandoshan’s cellblock had been at the Western side of the compound, making the small village his closest landmark. Nossk made for it at a dead run.

Some of the prisoners were engaged in their own little battles, either individually or with allies, but for the most part they seemed to be unconsciously having a race for weaponry and armor. Nossk snorted in disgust. The key to being a warrior was in your body and your spirit, not your gear…or your head. Not that he shunned weapons or armor, far from it; he just didn’t see them as the first priority – his being finding someone to fight.

A  lithe, almost skeletal creature leapt from another entrance to the cellblock – the doorway Nossk would have exited through had be gone to the other end of the hallway – completely without warning. Nossk’s adrenaline flared, and with alacrity some would consider impossible for a creature of his size, ducked and sidestepped two quick jabs from the stick-figure man. Nossk had always considered himself a straight-up bruiser - huge, strong, and tough as a Juggernaut Assault Mech – but his time in the neglectful prison had reduced his muscle mass considerably. He was still strong compared to any standard humanoid man, but it didn’t measure up to his former glory. As he was learning, however, (slow as always) he had become quicker on his feet with the loss of mass. He wasn’t sure if this contradiction of his style pleased or dismayed him.

An educated man would recognize the attacker as a Yevetha, a lithe humanoid species most often characterized by the retractable claw that was hidden under each wrist. Nossk was most definitely not an educated man, and so all he saw was a skinny man with a pair of blades in his hands and a set of oversized shoulder pauldrons that he’d gotten from Force knows where. The agile prisoner was no doubt quick and perceptive enough to get through the minefield to the stash of armor, but the pickings must have been slim for him to have made such an ill-fitting and ineffective selection. Nossk, however, was absentmindedly thinking that the shoulder armor would look just about right on him…

Regaining his balance, the Trandoshan made a wide horizontal slash with his new axe. The Yevetha leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding the attack by bending back at the waist; he could feel the air rush just above his chest. Nossk followed up his right-handed swing with a savage left kick, unthinkingly using his momentum to make the strike that much more powerful. From the Yevetha’s horribly unbalanced position there was only one thing he could do to dodge the follow-up attack, and it was simultaneously the worst thing he could do. He dropped to the ground.

Nossk’s foot cleared his opponent’s head and returned to the ground, just in time to launch him forward at his grounded enemy. The Yevetha began to move his arms upwards, hoping to use the Trandoshan’s own weight to drive his claws through the thick scales as the reptilian fell on top of him. At the same time Nossk began to bring his vibroaxe down. The two bodies came together; blood ran in a thick river where they met.

Nossk stood up without so much as a glance at the long streak of Yevetha blood staining his prison coveralls. The Yevetha had failed to bring his deadly natural weapons into position fast enough, and was punished for his mistake with a vibroaxe buried in the center of his chest. The Trandoshan wrenched the weapon free, splattering more gore onto his clothes, and took a few minutes to acquire the dead man’s oversized shoulder armor. He could only imagine what he would look like with no other gear on, but he was an admitted fan of shoulder-tackling, and they were better than nothing.

Toting his second bit of acquired gear, Nossk straightened up and took off for the cluster of buildings yet again, anxious for cover and the lure of close quarter combat. The final stretch was an uninteresting one - no ambushes, long range attacks, or even a separate fight to observe or intervene in – and so another couple minutes of his long, powerful strides saw him pressed against the side of one of the village’s faux-houses, panting slightly. The Trandoshan caught his breath and walked around to the front door; it was still intact.

Nossk kicked the door down without checking to see if it was locked, and stepped into the building. The first room appeared to be a kitchen, with a refrigerating unit, table, chairs, cupboards, and sink all placed neatly throughout the gently lit room. An overheard fan spun softly in the otherwise quiet air. The Trandoshan waited for an attack to come, but there was nothing – it appeared that he’d actually selected an empty house as his first destination. He cursed his bad luck.

What the imperceptive lizard-man failed to notice, however, was the single open window standing out among its closed counterparts, or the faint footprints visible on the countertop where someone or something had entered the house.

The Trandoshan went first for the refrigerator, throwing its double doors wide and peering in hungrily: empty. It made sense that the Hutt wouldn’t bother stocking his fake village, but Nossk was nonetheless disappointed, and extremely hungry. He gulped greedily at the water streaming out of the thankfully functional sink, but while it hydrated him it served the double purpose of sharpening his hunger, much to his dismay.

Nossk pressed on, only glancing in the living room long enough to see that no one was there (again missing the finer details like the one missing chair or the wrinkled tablecloth), and ignoring the fresher altogether. He started up the stairs of the small prefab home, already bored.

There were only three rooms on the top floor: two bedrooms and a fresher. The fresher room was empty, and it was only in the first bedroom that Nossk finally found something interesting. He had just opened the door, throwing it open and stepping into the room with reckless abandon, when something fast and hard struck him in the face. He staggered backwards out of the room, crashing into the stair railing; the railing creaked and bent, threatening to snap and send the Trandoshan on a short trip back to the first floor. Nossk recovered and shook his head in a vain attempt to scatter the multicolored dots decorating his vision. He could make out his assailant well enough, however. He was human, and he stood in the doorway with a distinctly haughty, confident aura about him. His ruffled hair and devilish, cocky grin identified him as the typical Corellian smuggler to most people. To Nossk, he was just a skinny human holding a chair leg.

“You really are about as subtle as a Rancor aren’t you?” The smuggler asked, condescending as can be, “I mean I practically left a window open for you, and still you bust down the door. Then you just walk into a room without even a shadow of caution, and expect nothing to happen. What’s with all the blunt aggression? You trying to compensate for something, or are you really just that stupid?”

Nossk raised his vibroaxe and growled low in the back of his throat. He dug his clawed feet into the carpeted floor and launched himself at the human, reducing a section of the doorframe to splinters as he swung the weapon in the constrained space. The Corellian simply sidestepped and let the Trandoshan rush past him, then cracked his makeshift club against the back of his neck. Nossk stumbled, tripped over his own huge feet, and slammed headfirst into the wall. The plaster buckled inwards from the impact, showering Nossk with a fine white powder. He got groggily to his feet.

“Yup, you’re just that stupid.” The human commented smugly, bouncing his improvised weapon up and down in his hands.

The Trandoshan snarled angrily and charged yet again, bringing his axe down in a stroke that should have cleaved the Corellian’s torso from his left shoulder down to his right hip. The rogue ducked down and to the left, and rather than be neatly chopped in half he kicked at the reptilian’s legs as he leaned forward to put his weight into the axe-stroke. Nossk toppled forward yet again, and with the added motivation of a sharp strike with the smuggler’s chair leg, crashed into, and through, the closet door. He hit the wall with a room-shaking thud, and slid to the floor.

The fight was not, by any means, going well.

“How the hell have you stayed alive for so long?” The Corellian asked, looking disgusted, “Have you really gone your whole life fighting like this? Running at someone and swinging as hard as you can? Ya, because that’s a smart way to fight, I mean look how far it’s gotten you now.”

The Corellian shook his head and smiled, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. He produced a small, hold-out blaster, and pointed it at his grounded opponent.

“It was in one of the kitchen cabinets, not that you bothered to look, I’m sure. I didn’t think it would do much to a big guy like you as long as you were hyped up and kicking, but I think it’ll do ok as an execution weapon.  Beating a man – lizard-man, whatever – to death is so uncivilized.”

How in the Scorekeepers holy name, Nossk thought, a rare occasion in and of itself, did this happen? He’s so much weaker, so much smaller, so much less bloodthirsty, how can I lose?

The Trandoshan looked into that cocky, half-smiling face that belonged to his soon-to-be killer, and was overwrought with shame and hate. He turned his head to the left, momentarily forgetting about the shame it would bring him not to look the man who’d beaten him in the eye as he died, and gazed upon a miracle. Lying there on the floor, hidden from the Corellian’s view by the remnants of the closet door, was a large slugthrower pistol in a leather holster. Nossk fell on his side and groped for it, clawing the carpet to shreds as he tried to drag himself towards the handgun that was just out of reach.

“Please, don’t crawl. Watching you flail around like an idiot was bad enough, but don’t degrade yourself before you die. Have a little pride man, for Force’s sake.” The smuggler said, probably wondering if he could bring himself to kill not only a beaten man, but a broken one crawling on his hand and knees.

He shook his head and took aim at the prone Trandoshan. His finger tightened around the trigger.

Two thundering crashes echoed through the bedroom, accompanying a pair of large holes that had just appeared in the intact portion of the sliding closet doors. The smuggler reeled once, then twice, and lowered his pistol. He bowed his head to look at his chest, and was more than a little surprised to see two large, red holes that hadn’t been there before. Meanwhile Nossk pulled himself to his feet, and approached the dying, but still standing smuggler.

“It was in the closet, not that you bothered to look, I’m sure.” Nossk hissed, breathing heavily but revitalized by his miraculous victory. It was one of the wittiest comments that the Trandoshan’s mouth had ever uttered, and may well be the wittiest it ever will utter.

The Corellian looked back up to regard the Trandoshan with a combination of hopelessness, confusion, and resignation. He fell first to his knees, never taking his eyes off his towering opponent, and then onto his face where he lay still.

Nossk took a few moments to catch his breath, and then went to work. He returned to the closet to grab the holster and two remaining magazines for the slugthrower pistol and strapped them on. He considered taking the smuggler’s small hold-out blaster, but his fingers couldn’t even fit inside the trigger-guard, so he left it with its last owner’s corpse. In the Corellian’s pockets he found a pair of small ration bars, probably pilfered from somewhere else in the house. Inspired with the new life lesson that he’d learned at gunpoint, the Trandoshan checked to make sure there was nothing else of interest inside the ruined bedroom, and moved on to the next one. In this room’s closet he obtained a small machete, which he hooked onto the back of his right shoulder by the strap of his pauldron. Nossk even went back to the bathroom he’d ignored, and in the medicine cabinet found a small, opened box of rations that the smuggler must have found earlier. Nossk ate four before shoving the rest into his pockets and moving on. The remainder of the house turned up empty, despite the Trandoshan’s belief that since it had worked twice, just about every room should have something special in it; he felt disappointed at the disproving of his new, and perhaps first ever, theory.

His neck and back throbbed with a dull ache where the smuggler’s club had struck him, but that would be gone soon enough. He’d been hurt exponentially worse on a number of occasions and come out alive, and so was not particularly concerned about his injuries. Stretching the muscles out anyway and raising his new slugthrower, Nossk stepped out of the cleared house and proceeded on to the next one, perhaps the tiniest bit more cautious than he’d been before. Mayhap the Battledome would become a learning experience for the thick-headed reptile, as well as a proving ground, bounty hunt, and means of escape.


Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Rro, crashed into a clearing, then pausing, decided that the buildings looked safer, and sprinted over. Holding his Gaderffii at the ready, he slid into a building, slipping past two Jawas outside. He heard voices, something about armor for Otto, whoever that was. He peeked around the corner, seeing one of the other prisoners, one he had seen before, in a cell near his.

He could kill her right now, jump out quickly and spear her in the back with his Gaderffii. But, maybe...Maybe she could be an ally, maybe, they could help each other to get out of here. Or maybe he was just being stupid and hoping he wouldnt have to kill everyone in this damed dome. But it was worth a shot. He stepped out and spoke, in basic "Hello."

[i]The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed[/i]
[url=]Interrogations are hard...[/url]

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

"Nekkel juuvar obwegadada!!!" Igwig was mad. He had lost his "Grenade" to a bald, white-skinned humanoid. For some reason, she didn't kill him. Igwig thaught that that was strange, since killing was the whole point of the battledome. Maybe he could get her to join his clan.
     After a while, Him and his Jawa friend (who Igwig found out was named Smicbit) spotted another Jawa. Smicbit asked him if he wanted to join Igwig's clan and he accepted.
     The clan started moving and they encounterd a Zabrak. The Zabrak puuled out his gun and shot at the Jawas. The newcomer to the clan screamed "Ny shootogawa!" But Igwig shouted "UTINNI!" and shot his gun 3 times, one shot zoomed past the zabraks head, the other went through his chest and the last one went straight up into the air.
     During this little shooting, The blast caused Igwig to fly backwards, doing 4 flips in the air before landing on his feet. The other jawas just applauded.

Carry on my wayward son!

62 (edited by TheGunslinger Sunday, September 28, 2008 4:56 pm)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Demarq observed the chaos around him with a passive, lifeless gaze. Humanoids howled with rage and with pain as they clawed, kicked, and occasionally stabbed each other in a struggle for survival in the rapidly emptying bowels of Gerba's lair.

The former pirate had not moved a muscle since all the gates of the cells had simultaneously sprung open; what was left of his mind had not even imbued the event with any kind of importance. The fighting had erupted immediately, and although sentients had been dropping like flies for nearly half an hour now, no one had yet made a move to attack Demarq. Whether this was because they thought him dead or because they realized he posed no immediate threat was relevant only in terms of what was to come: if it was the former, he would be safe until he quietly expired from hunger, but if it was the latter, it was only a matter of time before someone came to put him out of his misery.

The fight came into the cell, at a few points. Once, in the beginning, a fist-fight had been going on between two humans, when both had been cut down by some maniac with a recently-pilfered vibroknife. Some time later, a Trandoshan and a Gamorrean had dueled to the death right before his eyes, the frenzied swings of the porcine humanoid's axe nearly slicing apart his unspotted bystander. The death-blow the Trando had dealt the Gamorrean ("death by head squish") had sprayed a torrent of blood across Demarq's face, but he did not bother to wipe it away. The scaled hulk departed without ever acknowledging Demarq's presence.

The violence in Demarq's portion of the cell block quieted gradually: all the surviving prisoners had either made a run for the battledome proper, or had staked out their own little territories they intended to hold without ever venturing into the open. There was the occasional shouting now between "neighbors", but the real violence had ended. Demarq continued staring at the ground as he heard, without registering, the arrival of footsteps in the cell.

A Devaronian carrying a knife entered the fairly spacious cell containing Demarq, the two brawlers and the yevethan. He stepped quietly, deliberately, as though any of the bodies strewn about the room might reach out and grab his ankle. He delivered a quick, twitchy kick to the nearly-decapitated Gamorrean, then another to the closest brawler. A third kick to the final corpse sharing Demarq's living space produced a slight gurgle, so the Devaronian sliced his throat, then plunged the knife into his abdomen and swirled it around for good measure. At last he moved on to Demarq, planting his boots (they did not fit well, as had clearly been looted from a being with considerably larger feet than his own) directly in Demarq's own line of sight as he gazed emptily at the floor.

Many of his contemporaries wondered exactly what it was that made Demarq, so young, so inexperienced and apparently suicidal, the best of the best in his 5-year span of pirating. How it was he was able to take any job, no matter how absurd; how he could enter the most impossible fight and, even if he didn't win, escape more or less intact. How he could manage to keep a loyal crew that didn't soil itself before every encounter with a much larger, much better armed frigate carrying expensive goods. Some attributed it to advanced technologies tucked away in Duchess's innards. Others said it was merely dumb luck. A few of the more gullible ones swore he'd had Jedi training. What it came down to, however, was something so simple it was bound to be overlooked.

Some men have an affinity for speed, others for strength. Demarq Halloran's was for survival.

It was this survival instinct that made his raise his head to look the Devaronian straight in the eyes. The blank stare he gave, coupled with the smear of dried Garmorrean blood across his entire face, was enough to set the twitching, knife-wielding Devaronian back a step.

In that single moment, the furnace of Demarq's mind roared to life. He had been viewing the world with the single lens of his eyes; now, with the second lens of his fully conscious, jump-started brain behind it, everything had snapped into ultra-real focus. The lines were too sharp, the colors too bright, and everything seemed so close together.

He saw the look of irrational fear on the Devaronian's face, saw one of his legs in the middle of a step backwards. He saw the single kneecap still firmly rooted to the ground that was holding all its weight. He wanted to kick it. He didn't know why. But he did. So he did.

Like a sleeping cobra, the leg whipped out and bit the creature right on its mark. The leg buckled, the Devaronian tipped forward and attempted to bring his other leg back to stablilize himself. However, he had already begun to fall, and only managed to position his other knee so that he fell on on it, full-force, accompanied by a shriek of pain. The knife clattered to the ground, and Demarq, now on his feet, kicked it under the bars of the cell into the corridor. He kicked his attacker in the gut, bringing him down on his side, and dashed through the cell door. He snatched the knife up from the ground and ran on, down the corridor, through two turns, and out through the open portcullis.

he felt as though he had just awoken from a deep sleep, which, in some ways, he had. He didn't know where he was, and at the moment didn't much care. All he wanted to do was run, so he ran. He ran for the woods, and didn't stop even when his breath ran ragged. Stopping would force him to think, and if there was one thing he didn't want to do right now, it was that.

GPI: Fondly regard crustacean

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Rando sighed, already tired of the bloodshed. His room was probably broken open, looted by now. It wouldn't be a terribly large surprise, and his employer wouldn't even consider paying him back afterwards. He'd have to work twice as hard to make the money back, it was a sad moment in his life.
But served to expediate his hatred of the Hutt, of his retainers. It almost made Flying W standable. He headed to the lift down, prepared to enter the Battledome for the sake of his hard-earned room, even if it was in the dingy dungeon.
Even so, his hand shook a little, he couldn't bring himself to pressing the button that would open the lift. Dieing just wasn't on his list of to-do's for today. Somehow he convinced himself that the combination to open the lift in the dungeon would still work.
He stepped out into anarchy, cramped hallway anarchy. And knew he was trapped, without trying the lock, it was obvious. Gerba would never allow a guard to lead a group against him, someone who knew the precious combination.
"You should have thought this through deary." To make it better, Flying W was still alive.
W carried a limp body deftly in one hand, dropping it on a stack of bodies in his former cell now six or seven high.
"Who are you damnit!? What are you?!" Rando grabbed the revitalized prisoner by the neck. Flying W was unfazed.
"I'm the guy, who's going to keep you alive, a few seconds longer."
A pact was formed between the sometimes fool and the desperate prisoner.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Even before the voice sounded, Tressah knew she wasn’t alone in the room. She saw the reflexion of the Zabrak with Tusken bandages in the shining chestplate she was holding up. She turned slowly as he said hello.

“Hello,” she said in return, ready to drop the armour and go for the mortar launcher, not that it was the best weapon in close quarters. Chances were they’d both die if she fired it.

She waited for the Zabrak to make a move for his weapons but he simply stood still.

“What do you want?” Tressah asked, figuring that if he wanted to kill he’d be trying already or perhaps he liked to play with his prey. If that was the case Tressah would have no qualms in using the mortar launcher.

“I’m looking for an ally,” he told.

Tressah looked him up and down, “How do I know you won’t kill me the first chance you get?”

“You’re still breathing aren’t you?” he replied.

Tressah nodded slowly, “True. I guess that’s the closest thing to trust you can get in this place.

Before the Zabrak could answer Otto stumbled through the doorway. His torso was covered in blood but as Tressah took a closer look she realised that it wasn’t his own blood. “Get back!” Otto shouted at the Zabrak and raised his verpine.

“Wait!” Tressah said as she raised her hand, palm out. “This one is looking for allies.”

Otto raised a brow but didn’t lower his weapon. “If that’s the case he can take point, I’m not having him at my back.”

“I guess that means we’ve got a truce,” Tressah said as she looked at the Zabrak. “You’re Rro aren’t you?”

BFFC Moderator
It was like thousands of voices cried out for a sequel and were suddenly silenced...

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Rro nodded "Yes."

The human, who he assumed to be Otto, spoke up "I dont care who you are, if you make one move I dont like your dead."

"The same to you ootman, now once we have finished showing our hospitality I suggest we move, staying in the same location does not seem like a good idea." As if to approve of his evaluation, a blaster bolt flew through the door and hit the ceiling, raining dust down on Rro.

"Fine then, where do you suggest we go tusken?"

"Anywhere but here sounds good to me" The Rattataki said. Rro nodded, climbed through a window, and the other two followed.

[i]The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed[/i]
[url=]Interrogations are hard...[/url]

66 (edited by Werda Verd Sunday, September 28, 2008 5:23 pm)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Kal finally felt like a man again, for the first time since he'd been betrayed and taken prisoner. He felt like a warrior again. While the man is more than the armor, weapon and armorless, held in prison, had made him feel helpless and weak. To be free, armed and armored made him feel like the deadly warrior that he was.

Once the released prisoners had realized the dangers of the minefield around the armor, they had instead gone towards the woods and village. But now, armed with an incredibly exotic array of weapons, they raced for the protection the would need to survive, after seeing Kal's newly opened path. He knew they would come, and had headed away, towards the village. He made good time, and was soon among the buildings. He knew the verpine would be hard to use in such close quarters, instead drawing the blaster he'd taken from the hunter he'd killed, and ejecting one of his gauntlet blades. Several buildings in, he heard a noise behind him, and he spun to see a man rushing him, seemingly suicidally, as he appeared to not have a weapon, other than a very small metal tube.  But the man swung at him, and a glowing red blade, barely more than a foot long, ignited from its end.

"Shab!" Kal stumbled back, firing a shot past the man and through the door of a building about twenty yards away. The first blow missed, and Kal rolled back, drawing his bes'kad as he did. He caught the next blow on the solid beskar blade, shocking the lightsaber wielder momentarily. Kal took advantage of that, forcing the energy weapon down and bringing his own up across the mans throat. Blood spurted, and the man fell back. Kal finished him with blade to the stomach, and his assailant fell. Kal picked up his opponents weapon. It was short, with the hilt being no more than six inches long. Not a standard lightsaber, then, but a shoto. He stuck it on his belt, figuring it could be of use later. He picked up the blaster he'd hastily discarded, but kept his bes'kad ready. It had saved him once, and was plenty useful in close combat, even against energy blades.

Mel, AA, if you want to take that blaster shot as the one that entered your building, go ahead. If not, I'm good either way.

[url=]"Touch my Awesome Button."[/url]
--Captain Dynamic--

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Rando and Flying W, rehashed tiptoe through the tulips as they moved over the bodies. He was surprised to see the door to his room hadn't been torn off or at least opened. He did see a few bite marks on the edge he didn't think he could easily explain.
They stepped in, the overhead light coming blearily on as they did so. Most of the power was being redirected to the Battledome then. Rando moved to a corner of the room, beside his bed, and slammed a fist against the wall. It popped up, he pulled the loose panel up and grabbed his carbine.
W had attached himself to a pair of broadswords that used the same sheath. He grabbed an extra sword belt and tied it deftly, expertly.
"I'm glad you kept these, I didn't know what to do without them!" Flying W looked awful familiar in the low light, almost like the lower levels of Nar Shaddaa...then it hit him.
"Skies above no...Maro Rocol..." Rando couldn't say much more. Recognizing the now older visage of his former friend. Who had, he thought, fallen to his death.
"Yeah, Flying W was Maro Rocol. I suppose how I am now isn't him."
It had been that day, when he'd recieved the the end of one set of training. Before he'd moved on.
"How'd you survive?"
A yell and sound of a fired blaster escaped from outside.
"A question for another time. I think."
Those broadswords had been a trophy from a match he'd fought for money. A completely different person...but that was a question for another time.
They exited, heading for the faux city. Cutting through those weak and restless, unarmed but for themselves.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Genjin sprinted through the trees, darting through the foliage. Behind him a giant figure crashed through the jungle, also as a run. The trees proved little hinderance.

Genjin burst into a small clearing where there was a lone Gran stalking around. He was startled at Genjin's entrance and spun around to face him. He leveled a blaster and was about to fire when the giant creature chasing Genjin erupted into the clearing. It let forth a massive roar and the Gran broke into a run along with Genjin. He was vividly slower than Genjin and fell behind, falling victim to the creature. It swept its claw and picked up the Gran, who began to shoot wildly in vain as the Rancor devoured him two bites.

Genjin was about to head into the jungle on the other side of the clearing when another giant creature burst forth into the clearing, causing Genjin to nearly slid right into the gaping jaws of the new creature: A Krayt Dragon.

Genjin picked himself up and ran backwards and nearly into the Rancor, who let loose a burp as the Gran's blaster flew out of his jaws and clattered uselessly to the floor. The Krayt Dragon faced the Rancor and the beasts sized each other up. They both roared and Genjin had to cover his ears. The beasts charged at each other and Genjin was caught in the middle.

Thinking quickly, Genjin relaxed his legs and stood in one of his martial arts stances. He focused his Force energy and execucted one of his most devastating attacks, one which propelled him into the air with the momentum of many round house kicks. He flew into the air and the two beasts crashed into each other below him. He landed a little ways off as the Rancor and the Krayt Dragon clawed at each other and tried to get a good position to bite the others neck.

Est Sularus Oth Mithas
I am a Role Playing Gamer, like my father before me.

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Gerba smiled with glee at the carnage beneath him. There was already a significant amount of deaths but it was a small percentage of the whole prisoner population. Gerba smiled and looked around at his fellow companions sharing the box.

Katray stood a little way back from the balcony, his head turning slightly as he scanned for possible threats. The rest of the party were much more enthused by the bloodshed. An orange Twi’lek dancing girl was whooping with delight every time she saw someone die.

Gerba grinned as he finally saw the krayt dragon emerge. The fact that it was fighting with a rancor was fabulous though it was pretty certain that the dragon would win. Its larger size and ferocity almost guaranteed it.

It made up for his earlier disappointment when one of the prisoners had figured out how to get to the weapon and armour pile. Gerba had been hoping for more splattering of limbs. But then it was only a matter of time before all the mercenaries joined in with their superior fire power.

Gerba rubbed his hands together, everything was going as planned.

BFFC Moderator
It was like thousands of voices cried out for a sequel and were suddenly silenced...

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

" hey tressah"
" yes"
" what did that weequay want???"

how many babys have you eaten in the last 30 days?  The correct answer is more then i can count so it must be more than four

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

???wtf does that have to do with the story???

"None of this is really happening. There is a man. With a typewriter. This is all part of his crazy imagination."

72 (edited by Adeptus_Astartes Monday, September 29, 2008 2:25 pm)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

(I'm confused as to how your character suddenly appears out of nowhere, please explain but for now I'll roll with it.)

Rro whirled around at the sound of the voice, which, to tell the truth, surprised him greatly, he prided himself on being able to hear, or sense anyone even trying to sneak up on him, a skill that, as an ambusher with his tribe had proved very valuable. The human, Otto hadnt seemed to notice the newcomer either, which meant that he wasnt paying attention like he should have, an offense that could have cost them their lives, and would have cost him his were he one of Rro's tribemates. Obviously tensed, expecting an attack from the newcomer, Rro had drawn his Gadderffii and prepared to bash someones skulls in, Otto had raised his weapon, and quickly shifted his aim to Rro, who still held his Gaderffii at the ready. He let out a low growl, and waited.

[i]The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed[/i]
[url=]Interrogations are hard...[/url]

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Doran's appearance seemed totally random. Tressah was confused as to what Weequay he was talking about. They were in the middle of the Battledome, hardly a place for chitchat. Yet that seemed to be what was happening more frequently to her.

Before she could say anything a Weequay actually opened fire. The blast took out a chunk of building wall and it only just managed to miss Otto. Tressah didn't bother answering Doran instead she used the mortar launcher and fired at the Weequay. "Run!" she shouted as the mortar did it's thing.

Rro and Otto followed her, Doran seemed to go off somewhere else.

"I think we need to visit that weapons and armour pile. The Mando cleared a path, I suggest we get something before it goes." Tressah said as they ducked and weaved between buildings.

BFFC Moderator
It was like thousands of voices cried out for a sequel and were suddenly silenced...

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Abandoning their previous route, the two began an indirect run for the stockpile. Flying W could see the mines, as if the dirt was packed differently. They easily moved through them. Not much was left of the stockpile, but that wasn't their primary interest.
W crept over the earth, leaving Rando to pick up a few stragglers with the carbine. He easily scaled the pole, the same with the jetpack at the top. That still wasn't his interest. A jug was tied up there, made from a hollowed out fruit. W shook it from above to prove it wasn't empty. He climbed down, jumping the last few feet onto safe ground.
That's when they saw the Rattataki, her hairless head shone in the daylight. A beacon. Neither of them wanted to risk running through the mines, it had been slow enough getting there. Flying W tied the jug to his waist, unsheathing the double broadswords. Rando sighted down the carbine, but didn't fire. Not quite yet, alliances could be gained.
if not, graves could be dug.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

Re: RPG - Battledome II: The Cleansing

Guta-Nay had left his spot underneath the log, and was stalking a Mandalorian in black and gold armor. He had his vibrosword at the ready, beads of perspiration sliding down his leathery face. The Mandalorian had just killed some sort of Jedi with a very small lightsaber.

The Mando quickly examined the hilt of the weapon, and hooked it onto his belt. Guta-Nay tried to line up the Mando's head in his rifle's ironsights, but the Mando wouldn't stay still. He decided to wait for a better opuurtunity.

Suddenly, the Mando noticed something in the trees. He quickly fired three shots with his Verpine, and out slumped an Aqualish. The Mando became more wary of his surrounding after that, and looked around the area to see if anyone else was nearby. Guta-Nay swiftly ducked behind a stump before the Mando's field of vision sweeped over his position, but he was not fast enough. The Mando cautiously walked towards Guta-Nay's spot, beskad and Verp at the ready.

Guta-Nay stood up slowly, with his hands behind his head.

"Please, don't kill me. I only came to seek an alliance. I mean you no harm"

"Why should I help you, Weequay chakaar? Explain yourself, and if you make any sudden movements, I'll slice your gett'se out."

"I don't believe that anyone can win this on their own. I'm not doubting your skill or anything, but their are many highly skilled warriors competing here in the Battledome. You need all the hlp you can get to win, and when only the to of us are left, we shall face off until only one is left standing."


(Make your decision WV)

"None of this is really happening. There is a man. With a typewriter. This is all part of his crazy imagination."