Krish and John sat in the alley. A cacophany sounded from the street. A group of battle droids paced out in front of the building. Krish rose to his feet and slid down towards the street sticking to the shadows. As the droids marched by the closest of the droids stopped and turned to face the alley. Krish pressed himself behind a trash receptor and held perfectly still as the droid illuminated it's headlamp and trounced down the alley. Krish waited until the droid past before he jumped up behind it and slid a vibroblade in the servos in its leg. OIl spurted as the droid went down. John came out of a pile of trash and began bashing the but of his blaster into the droids head. Eventually the lights within the optic receptor darkened as the machine shut down.
Krish kicked the now scrap metal. "We must move out from here. There is no telling how many more of these there are prowling around. Follow me."
John nodded and obidiently tailed Krish. Krish made his wayto the end of the alley and cautiously peered around the corner. A skirmish between a rodian and a gran at the end of the road, but nothing that would bother them. Krish followed the edge of the building to the door and inside the darkened room. No windows. John stood in the doorway, cautious to enter.
"Get out of the door frame now! The light illuminates you!"
As if on cue a blaster bolt appeared from one of the corners of the hutt casting more shadows as it whizzed by and struck the door frame to the left of John. John quickly dove to the left. Krish wasted no time in throwing a knife in the direction of the shooter. There was a small grunt and a clatter as the vibroblade fell to the floor. It was all the noise Krish needed. By now his eyes had adjusted and he could make out a shape in the darkness. The shooter let off a few shots in Krish's direction but only one came close enough for Krish to feel the heat on his scaly hide.
Like a nexu on his prey Krish leaped the last 3 meters with surprising agility for one so small and took the attacker to the ground. A fur covered the attackers body. Krish quickly had the attacker on his back and grabbed hold of head and twisted with all his might. The neck snapped with a sickening crack. The figure stopped flailing as its limbs went limp. Krish dragged the body a threw it into the steet. He could now see the Bothan which he had killed. It was a vicious game and only the strong would survive.
"So what now?" Krish had forgot about John.
"We need some food. I haven't eaten in hours." Krish made his way to the back room and turned on a light switch. He opened the cupboards and found nothing.
"There is nothing in here. I will go and see if I can find more food. I will be back. If you see anyone enter the door that is not me shoot them." John nodded and sat where he could see the face of anyone entering.
Krish headed back out and in to the next house which was lit. Surprises waited at every corner.
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?"
Whatever. I guess im just no good at this, and apparently some posts didnt get mailed to me.
Genjin's fist ripped out the mechanical innards of the last battle droid that had tried to surround him. He may have had to run from the Krayt and Rancor, but these droid annoyances were easily dealt with. The defuct battle droid collapsed to the ground and Genjin dropped the remains from his hand.
Resuming his seach of the urban area, Genjin leapt from roof top to roof top, leaving the roof top where the battle droids had seen and ambushed him. Genjin was currently stalking a group of inmates who were now holed up in one of the buildings. Last he saw from a distance through a window, they were at a stalemate and looked to be deciding whether or not to join forces. Genjin had considered this prospect himself, but considered it pointless. He would have to kill his partners eventually if he was to succeed. He wouldn't burst in and kill these mercenaries either because of his lack of a lightsaber and the tight spaces. His best bet was stealth.
He had now successfully reached the building where the group he was following now resided. He had seen a glimpse earlier of the female snatching several blasters and sneaking them away from her 'partners' he wanted to see what was about to transpire. He lowered himself like a ninja to an open window and moved one eye over the window so his whole body wasnt exposed and he watched the group.
know what you mean. I'm slow at posting, sometimes, and will lack inspiration and/or creativity beyond a few sentences at a time. So yeah, I'll check back and be like, "oops. Need to adjust things now". Don't worry about it.
Krish was surprised to run into some of his cell mates. But what made him even more surprised was the fact that John followed him. The boy needed to learn how to take an order. It could get him killed. Krish's right hand was aiming his hold-out blaster and his left arm was cocked and ready to launch a knife as anyone who even twitched wrong.
"Either way we will have to fight to the death."
Otto shrugged, "Why not at least guarantee one of us will make it?"
Krish nodded but did not lower his weapon. For all intents and purposes that would spell death.
"So if we are to join an alliance, who will lower the weapon first?"
The question hung in the air as eyes darted from one to another.
Hey Si, it's no big deal, it's just an RPG. It was an awesome post! There could be other dragons loose in the arena, doesn't have to be Val's.
A lound thunk sounded as the broadswords tied to W's waist fell to the floor. Rando followed suit with his straight sword.
"You know, I don't think being disarmed will change the situation here. Rando and I don't want to win, he'd rather just get out." But what did Flying W want?
"I just don't care either way, if one of you wants to win and work for that invertebrate then go ahead. I won't be the one who fights Katray. Who will show up. The droids, the monsters, I wouldn't put it past Gerba to try and kill us all instead." Rando had lost a little spirit, leaning himself up against the wall halfhazardly.
Everyone else looked around, sizing each other up when the front door burst open. A Rodian, carrying a vibro-knife rushed them.
Rando moved, already having relaxed he could. Tense bodies were slow ones. The Rodian attempted to stab down. Rando caught him below the elbow with an x-block, right hand up. He moved his hands and using leverage bent the elbow in. It stabbed through the alien's gut, Rando used his knee to push it in to the hilt.
Had the assailant been quicker, had Rando been slower. His first target would have been the child.
"Children are precious things, who must be taught and protected." Flying W chuckled, moving further into the house swords in hand he waved the rest onward," Let's be off kiddies, staying in one place too long draws attention..."
Rando retied his belt, and went back for the cycler, he was last of the group who followed.
Well it apparantly IS a big deal to her because she spent a long time on it. And why does it matter whose kryat it is. A kryat is a kryat, there could be others like RD said, but again, who cares if someone was fighting the thing.
Nossk crashed to the ground yet again, his shoulder pauldron smoldering from the battledroidÃ¢Â€Â™s second cannon blast. He grasped the wound in one thick, four-fingered hand, gritting his fangs against the lance of pain. The sharp teeth cut into his mouth with ease, and his gums bled in slow, oozing rivers down his chin.
The Trandoshan released his shoulder and seized his vibroaxe, which had clattered to the ground as he was launched backwards for the second time. He pushed himself onto his feet, spit a glob of blood and spittle into the gutter, and charged again. The last time heÃ¢Â€Â™d done the exact same thing it had been no difficult task for the droid to simply take aim and let off another round, which it did, and send Nossk soaring back onto the pavement. His list of wounds was starting to grow, and he hadnÃ¢Â€Â™t even killed a half-dozen sentients yet. The reptilian was disgusting even himself with his weakness.
Surely this wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t the famous Trandoshan fury that The Scorekeeper rewarded so generously? Crushing terrified maggots, slaying a mere human by no other means than sheer luck, being struck twice and brought to the ground by a droid; The Scorekeeper wouldnÃ¢Â€Â™t even recognize the slaughter of such mindless, programmed husks. Nossk could almost feel his favor with the deity slipping.
Watch me, Scorekeeper. Nossk pleaded, his resolve deepening and the casual disregard that he applied to just about everything beginning to fade away. He saw the battledroid lock its gun arm in place, requiring few adjustments, for the machineÃ¢Â€Â™s target was barreling straight for it. The Trandoshan heard the weaponÃ¢Â€Â™s short charging cycle begin, just another half a second before it would fire. The red bolt of fire erupted from the droidÃ¢Â€Â™s built-in weapon, searing through the air towards its large, tactics-ignorant destination; this blast was aimed for his head, where his stubbornness, pain tolerance, and considerable constitution would do nothing to keep him alive and fighting.
Without thinking (which is traditionally when Nossk performed best) the Trandoshan had grinded his clawed toes against the asphalt of the replica village, slowing himself down, and ducked to the left. The bolt flew over his uninjured shoulder, blasting a small crater into the sidewalk on the other end of the street. The reptilian recovered quickly, drew back his axe, and ran full-force at his enemy once again, this time unhindered by the blaster that wouldnÃ¢Â€Â™t have time to fire a second shot before he got there. The battledroid calculated the same thing, and raised its vibroblade appendage as it assumed a defensive stance. It was equipped with several advanced dueling programs; Nossk, on the other hand, knew how to run and swing. Beyond that he was ignorant of the art of close combat, which ironically enough was considered his specialty.
Nossk closed the distance gap quickly, but hesitated even once he knew he was in range. He led with his machete rather than the vibroaxe, despite the rather obvious fact that the non-vibro weapon simply didnÃ¢Â€Â™t have the cutting power to do much of anything to the war droid. Nossk realized this in some part of his mind, but ignored it; after all, he had a plan. Somewhere, solar systems away, a certain Trandoshan mother dropped a tray of glass tankards, not quite sure of what had just surprised her.
The droid reacted as its programming dictated, shifting its sword-arm to parry the machete despite its relative harmlessness. NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s primitive plan had just worked (the same Trandoshan mother tripped on her way down the stairs, cursing her clumsiness). Reveling in its success, Nossk brought his vibroaxe across his chest and towards the droidÃ¢Â€Â™s head, which was now unprotected by the preoccupied vibro-blade that the Trandoshan kept locked on the other side of its body. Metal collided with metal. Sparks flew.
The battledroid pulled its vibroblade away from NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s machete and stepped back, sparks and tibanna gas spewing from its blaster-arm. The droid had blocked the vibroaxe with its blaster cannon, devoid of any other alternatives other than virtual Ã¢Â€ÂœdeathÃ¢Â€Â, and the TrandoshanÃ¢Â€Â™s blow had bitten through several inches of frame and vital systems. The war machineÃ¢Â€Â™s problematic ranged weapon was disabled, and Nossk wasted no more time in pressing his advantage. He followed the droid step for step, attacking with both of his blades in a constant barrage that managed to bash through the battledroidÃ¢Â€Â™s preprogrammed defense in a matter of violent and furious seconds. One of NosskÃ¢Â€Â™s vibroaxe strikes severed a servo in the droidÃ¢Â€Â™s sword-arm, and after that it was a simple matter to take the rest of the arm, followed in short order by its protruding head.
The droid slumped where it stood, completely rigid. At first the Trandoshan dared not lower his weapons, lest the machine return to life and try to kill him once again. When it remained motionless for several seconds Nossk kicked it in the chest; the droid toppled over and crashed to the ground. Nossk roared, coming out as more of a hissing/gargling fit, and spit the still-flowing blood out of his mouth onto the fallen droid. A few choice curses in Dosh completed his victory.
Nossk sheathed his machete, checking his scalded shoulder as he did so. The bulky pauldrons he wore absorbed a large amount of the blast, which was only a glancing blow to begin with, and the damage was fortunately minimal, though not painless. Nossk rolled it experimentally, wincing just the slightest bit, and prepared to move on. The open garage door caught his eye, however, and he turned to face it instead. The droid might have had a purpose for being placed in that garage, and the Trandoshan could very well have just destroyed the guardian to some rather valuable spoils. Drawing his slugthrower, Nossk entered the darkened prefab building.
Trandoshan eyes work excellently in low light conditions, but the light switch was easy to find, even for Nossk, and the room was soon bathed with light. The thick-headed bounty hunter would have smiled, were he able. Laying on a tarp at the back of the garage was an assortment of gear that looked both beautifully heavy and brutally powerful: it seemed a perfect match for the barbarian reptile.
Nossk could identify none of it, but then again he didnÃ¢Â€Â™t have to. There was a suit of Iotran Braceman armor, blocky and thick, just like its soon-to-be owner. The armor covered his forearms, torso, and thighs, complimenting the improvised assortment of protection he already wore; a standard infantry helmet was placed next to the armor, but it would never fit a Trandoshan skull, and Nossk ignored it as he donned the rest of the armor. After adjusting the straps for his chest and upper legs, Nossk found that the Braceman armor fit rather well, and he was in high spirits as he moved on to the weaponry.
First to attract his attention was the grenades. There were four little globes of destruction in all, and Nossk snatched them up greedily and attached them to the gunbelt heÃ¢Â€Â™d replaced over the Braceman chestpiece. Two weapons remained on the damp floor of the garage: a long-rifle and a wide-barreled, pump-action slugthrower. Nossk found the long-ranged weapon not to his liking; his way of fighting was always up close, pistol or blade range, not hundreds of meters away squeezing off rounds at a target you can only see through a scope. The Trandoshan had the presence of mind to destroy the rifleÃ¢Â€Â™s action with a quick swing of his vibroaxe before picking up the pump-gun.
The reptilian mercenary felt a connection the moment his hands gripped the cold metal. HeÃ¢Â€Â™d used weapons like this before, spread-fire slugthrowers that would, a long time in the future, in a galaxy far, far away, be called shotguns, but none of this craftsmanship. A large box of shells lay next to the weapon, and Nossk distributed them through the pockets in his belt and armor before filling the shotgun itself and working the action. The Trandoshan reveled in the satisfying sound that the simple process of loading produced.
Little did Nossk know, however, that this very weapon, dozens of years in the future, would make its way onto a small, forgotten space station; a space station, as it so happens, in which a contagious, disease-spreading monstrosity, a Plague Beast, if you will, would take residence. This shotgun would fall into the hands of a boy, a boy who would become a man, a man who would become a legendary soldier the likes of which the galaxy he lived in was most certainly not ready for. But that is a far, far different story than the one being told.
Nossk hefted his new find with pride, and, convinced that there was nothing more of value, left the dank confines of the garage. He roamed the streets of the faux town with renewed confidence, eager and ready for whatever the Scorekeeper was planning to send at him next.
Demarq shuddered against the splinters of wood that blew past his face, and hugged his knees closer. For the last several hours he'd been here in the forest, squatting in a copse of trees, lost in thought. Eyes, faces, lips crossed his mind's vision and stayed, swirling, bringing back pains that he had kept locked away all this time in Gerba's dungeon. Now that they were back, the haunting resumed. It was only a matter of time before he slipped back into his coma-like state of apathy to block out the pain.
Assuming he lasted much longer, that is. Which, given the small army of droids closing in on his position, guns blazing, was anything but a sure thing.
The droids had appeared a few moments ago, and had been attacked immediately by something lurking in the trees. The creature (it had turned out to be a Mandalorian, armed with a Verpine shattergun) had destroyed three of the ten droids before making a run for it, leaving seven to patrol the area and, inevitably, stumble on Demarq's hiding place. Assuming he was armed (a faulty assumption, but a good one nevertheless), the droids had fired at him from a distance, felling tree after tree in their single-minded attack. They marched forward slowly but inexorably, and it remained to be seen whether they would fell the large tree he was using as cover, or march all the way over to him first.
He still had time. He could survive. But that required motion, and motion required a presence of mind.
Demarq resurfaced from his thoughts and gasped for air, a drowning man breaking the surface of the water. He leaped to his feet, ignoring the faint feeling from the sudden change in altitude. Another shot from the droids sent charred splinters flying past his vision, and his heart skipped a beat. The events he had observed without seeing for the past seconds flowed back to him, and panic rose in his throat.
Calm down, damn you. You've been in tighter scrapes than this.
He had, at that. There was one time a particularly clever rival pirate had gotten his hands on a gravity well projector, and set it up along a trade route commonly used by supply ships headed for the Outer Rim. The Duchess had been ripped out of hyperspace directly in the other ship's line of fire. They would have been done for, if another transport ship hadn't gotten fallen into the same trap and appeared mid-firefight. Demarq had been able to use the new arrival as cover, and its added firepower, though slight, was enough to turn the tables in his favor. He killed the pirate and looted the now-crippled ship that had saved his life. Because hey, free loot.
There was a reason people said Demarq Halloran's luck was sometimes supernatural.
Your luck ran out the second you crossed Gerba. There'll be no transport ship this time. You're a dead man, you just have to realize it.
There was a crack, and time stopped.
1) The droids' volley of shots finally succeeded in felling the tree Demarq was standing behind, leaving him completely exposed.
2) The droids registered, in the subroutines inhabiting the back of their positronic brains, that he was unarmed, and therefore not a threat. If they could feel disappointment, they would have.
3) A group of mercenaries, recently entered and spoiling for a fight, stumbled on their one-sided battle, and opened fire on the droids.
The droids turned and faced their new threat that ranked significantly higher than the weaponless pirate standing before them.
For a full second Demarq still thought he was dead. For another second he whooped and hollered inside his own mind about the return of his good luck. In the third second, with the soundtrack of screams from the mercs who clearly did not know what they were getting into, he bolted.
Normally, it would be considered wise to run as far away from the droids as quickly as possible. Demarq, however, looped a bit, running perpendicular to the line of sight the droids had with him and arcing around to run out of the woods. This path brought him by the droids felled initially by the Mandalorian, allowing him to reach down and scoop up a severed arm. Then he booked it, running south and hoping fervently the screams of his saviors didn't stop until he was well out of range.
He didn't stop until he reached the perimeter to the battledome, half-way between the woods he had just exited and the city he was now facing. He saw the turrets train on him, but figured he was safe at his current proximity. He dropped the severed droid arm and slumped to the ground, rubbing his aching legs.
Now that the adrenaline was leaving his system, he felt the waves of despair threaten to engulf him yet again. In protest, he grasped the discarded droid's arm, and caught a glimpse of the wiring that extruded rudely from it.
Any decent pirate has experience with forcibly rewiring electronics. After a ship-to-ship fight has left the pirate's prey crippled, a second battle has to be conducted: the close-quarters fight with the crew, onboard their ship. This is generally the most thrilling part because it gives the opponent a chance to show its claws. The fight is on their terms, on their home turf. They have the most to lose. In all likelihood, they have the greater numbers. For a pirate, it's a fight unlike any other: the opponent has every advantage.
Unfortunately, the majority of shipping ships don't carry an army of space marines with them. Generally there are pilots on the crew, for obvious reasons, and mechanics. Once the pilots have lost in their arena, the more creative mechanics do their best to halt the oncoming pirates with obstacles like locked doors, sabotaged access ports, and the occasional trap. For this reason any effective pirate has to be able to bypass the odd blast door, unless he wants to spend a fortune in explosives.
The droid arm was disturbingly simple to modify. A simple bridge here, a switch fashioned from part of his belt buckle, and Demarq was able to rig a crude trigger. He wanted badly to test it, but dared not to while close to the perimeter turrets. Any discharge of fire would probably make him a target.
More important than the actual making of the weapon, the process of rewiring the appendage kept his mind off the depression that kept insisting to take over. The rational process of mapping the circuits and reattaching the wires suppressed the emotions, cleared his head, and let him think. It was refreshing; for the past day, when he hadn't been lost in a vortex of black feelings, he'd been high on adrenaline and fighting for his life. This moment was blissfully peaceful in comparison.
So now he had a weapon, but he was not a particularly good shot, and his jury-rigged solution was not nearly as good as a simple trigger on a normal gun. With no armor and only second-hand weapons, he wouldn't last a minute in this bloodbath. He needed someone considerably more deadly than he to deal with everything that out there to kill the prisoners in general, and him in particular. He was a captain, and more than anything, he needed a crew.
A smile came to his lips as he remembered his last few hours in Gerba's prison. He had witnessed several fights, and only one individual he had seen had gotten out alive. He recalled with morbid pleasure the brutal death by cell-door-slamming that had sprayed him with blood that still covered his clothes now. He wasn't normally such a sadist, but this had implications that made him grin despite the mess.
The loser had been a Whipid with a vibroaxe; the winner, an unarmed Trandoshan named Nossk. Neither had noticed Demarq sitting in the corner of the cell, lost in his personal pit of despair, but his unseeing eyes had recorded it all.
Step one in screw-building: get the biggest, baddest, stupidest hulk you can find, and make him yours. Amazing what a little brute force does for potential converts, not to mention your own survival.
This Trandoshan was exactly what he needed. Of course, there was no guarantee the brute would still be alive, but something in his gut just told him he was. Demarq had learned a long time ago to trust that feeling.
A roar broke the relative silence about him, a gurgling, hissing sound that was clearly from some kind of humanoid, yet had to have bestial origins. Demarq's smile widened further (had there been any observers, he surely would have been taken to be a crazy man. Though, hey, given his recent mental track record, who's to say he wasn't?); his quarry was alive, and better yet, in the nearby city.
Shouldering the modified droid arm and feeling a surge of confidence well up from inside him, the pirate set off to attempt to bring the most fearsome creature he had ever met into an less-than advantageous alliance in a free-for-all bloodbath. Despite the odds, he couldn't get the smile off his face.
I'm back, baby! Legendary space pirate Demarq Halloran's epic rise from the ashes begins now; this'll be a day the galaxy remembers!
"But if you do, know this...In the end...I will betray you."
The Mandalorian hesitated, making a quick look toward DraÃ¢Â€Â™Kash, his grip still tight around his weapons. DraÃ¢Â€Â™Kash narrowed his slit pupils and clenched his jaw.
A shot rang out, as the Mandalorian apparently tired of the monologue and decided to get things over with. The JediÃ¢Â€Â™s lightsaber flashed into action just in time. However, the slug wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t entirely incinerated by the block, and parts of the molten metal peppered his vest and face.
DraÃ¢Â€Â™Kash quickly opened fire as well, but the Jedi made it to cover behind the massive dragonÃ¢Â€Â™s corps.
Before they could advance on him, the Mandalorian suddenly stopped and look behind. Ã¢Â€ÂœI think we have a problemÃ¢Â€Â he said through his helmetÃ¢Â€Â™s comm. system. A scream sounded from behind just as Dra'Kash turned to look. The Barabel's heart skipped a beat when he saw the SECOND dragon that was standing behind them, it's clawed foot holding the crushed body of a weequay face down in the sand. Picking up the body with it's massive jaws, the body slipped in with a single gulp.
They'd holed up on the top floor for the time being, Flying W and Rando had stepped out.
"It looks like they found us quite unwittingly. What a shame." W pushed his time lengthened hair back, what had originally been short when he'd first showed up as a prisoner.
"For the one trying to kill air, yes."
"I had to, otherwise my frail self would had expired." Flying W stretched out, perfectly calm.
Rando moved under a window to get a little air, or avoid being the target of a stray blaster bolt. He leaned again, this time crossing his arms.
"I can't imagine that being the truth."
"Well, see it this way. The longer I'm with you, the more I can look into you. Control your thoughts. Alter perception. Younger minds, sick minds, distorted minds are easier to meddle with and take less time than able minds like yours."
"Can this please be a dream then?"
"Even now, I can only do it for a minute or two. The problem with blood..."
Rando went to his full height. "What?! I though it was some force power!"
"It's not quite that deary, I'm afraid. It's just something I picked up during my travels. Not Sith alchemy, or what have you. Think of it as drowning in the sea. You're beneath this oppresive weight of water, and yet, you only send out ripples. Barely moving it...So, take my natural midichilorians, my natural connection to the force. The more of someone else's I have, the more connection I get. The more water in the ocean, the further you can go. I can use the force, use that ocean as a wave against the barrier of your mind, flooding it. I take over your perceptions for a brief moment and then wash back out as the water level recedes."
He held up the jug, the contents sloshed around tranquily. Like water striking the sides, but not.
"That jug...what's in it?" Rando reached out, as if entranced by a morbid fascination.
"You already know. But the jug is the awesome part, the fruit it was carved from stops blood from coagulating."
He pulled the cork, and took a long draw from it. As a drunkard takes his sin.
Rando wrenched. Hauling himself to the window, to throw up. Instead, he was caught short looking down on a spy. Barely visible from the window, maybe an eye could be seen. But now he could see him totally.
The door to the upper level room opened. One of the others walked out.
"...I can use the force, use that ocean as a wave against the barrier of your mind, flooding it. I take over your perceptions for a brief moment and then wash back as the water level recedes."
If that's not clear, he uses the midichlorians from other people's blood to increase his ability in the force and then alters the way a person sees something depending on the amount of blood and amount of time he's spent with that person.
A stranger would only be a split second for example.
An extremely well-known person could easily have their reality altered for up to five minutes.
I second the motion. Is the drink a blood thinner or is that just what the jug was made out of?
EDIT: I think I have it. It's Rando's blood and the jug stops the blood from coagulating inside the container. Yes?
The jug, which is made out of a dried fruit-sort of like the alcohol containers you see in Kung Fu movies-. It contains blood, so what the dried fruit does is slowly release a chemical that stops blood from coagulating.
The type of blood doesn't matter really. I suppose having that person's blood would make it easier.
Masra enjoyed the air of death surrounding her in the battledome. She had yet to sink her vibroblade into a creatures flesh, and every cell in her body now hungered, craved and desired to inflict pain. Masra longed to wreak havoc in the arena, but was disappointed to see battle droids amongst the madness and dead. Ã¢Â€ÂœInferior foes.Ã¢Â€Â She thought. They neither bled nor felt pain. And that was all the point. The was no joy in stopping a droid, no power to be stolen in its defeat.
There was much chaos around the dome. She could see blaster shots being fired in the jungle habitat, and heard some hapless creature scream, as Masra watched it crushed beneath the toes of a large lizard. Ã¢Â€ÂœKrayt DragonÃ¢Â€Â her HUD labeled it. Masra blinked twice and even more information was brought up, only this time into the small ear pieces she wore. What stood out to her was the mention of Ã¢Â€Âœhighly valuable and sought after Ã¢Â€Â˜pearlsÃ¢Â€Â™ Ã¢Â€Âœthat apparently formed in one of the creatures stomach. An interesting twist as well. It would be a great bonus proposition for the mercenary. And unlike those pathetic, weak droids, the dragon posed a mighty challenge and threat to herself. But it would be no easy task.
A Barabel and the Mandalorian stood near one another right in the path of the formidable beast. She thought she saw the flash of a lightsaber as well, but she was unsure as she was distracted by the fact that there was actually another carcass of the same sort of great beast. That hutt Gerba had apparently spared no effort and expence to make this battle bloody as possible.
Masra understood the limitations of her armor and strength. Blood lust went a long way, but she wasnÃ¢Â€Â™t foolish. It would be impossible to deal with those two plus the Krayt simultaneously. But if she used them to her advantage, a distraction to the dragon, they would be to busy themselves to give much attention to her, and like wise the creature.
Masra unsheathed her longest blade, and sprinted towards the action. So far no one had paid any mind to the yellow armored mercenary. She drew nearer and slowed down. There was a large rock which she crouched next to, keeping a careful eye on the situation unfolding. She had heard and felt the mines that detonated earlier near the center of the dome. So trying to use that knowledge she picked up the largest stone she could see and reach. It landed hard with a thud into the middle of what she had supposed was the mine field.
Nothing happened. The dragon nor the other combatants gave the stone a first glance.
Masra uttered a curse under her breath. Her mind raced with possibilities as what could have gone wrong. She picked up another stone to try again, seeing that her cover was still useable. This time she did manage to find what she was looking for. It landed squarely on a mine. But it was anti climatic. All the other minesÃ¢Â€Â™ detonation had damaged this one, leading only to a half hearted Ã¢Â€ÂœpoofÃ¢Â€Â of sand. Again it had no effect on any one else inside the battledome. But it had the unwanted effect of drawing the scrutiny of one of the battle droids sensors. And it headed toward the originating point of the vector of the stone that triggered the minor explosion.
To the battle droids dismay, MasraÃ¢Â€Â™s motion sensors detected the droids approach. With a sweeping flourish she pushed her vibrosword backwards, and into the center of the droid, stopping it in its tracks. Masra spun to face the droid and in one fast move of the blade upward and the droid lie in two smoking and leaking lubricant into the sand floor.
When she turned to face towards the krayt dragon again, it was closer than ever, but for some odd reason still oblivious to her presence. Maybe it had something to do with that it had turned to snack on a hapless weeqay whose legs were now sticking out of the dragonÃ¢Â€Â™s mouth. Masra was now looking down the backside of a very nasty lizard. But she ignored the displeasure of the thought, focusing on the wealth that the pearls would bring. So she ran forward, pulling out her other virbrosword that was still slung on her back. At the last second she slid down in the sand, ducking under the creatureÃ¢Â€Â™s tail and by its back pair of legs. Masra sliced as hard and as deep as she could into the back of the these legs, severing tendons and causing green blood to flow from the wounds and cover the blades in the sticky, warm fluid. The creature bellowed in pain and Masra felt the surge of power from it.
Masra did a quick roll forward to avoid the creature as it started to fall back as those legs could no longer support its heavy weight. As she came out of the roll she jabbed both blades deep into the creature's soft underbelly and actually ran with them until she reached the creatures neck. There the scales were thicker, almost like the durasteel plates on a star craft, and the blades stopped. The krayts screams were intolerably loud, and the sound reverberated around the dome. Yet it only fueled Masra on further. She pulled the blades out and dug deep again with them, up to the very hilts, and cut out the prone portion of its neck.
All the sand around them was now soft with the blood and fluid from the krayt dragon gushing wounds. There was organs spilling down and dragging on the ground.
Again Masra rolled out of the way as the beast fell to the ground, bleeding, gasping for air, but not finding any. The creature would die. It was only a matter of time. Masra now sheathed her vibroswords, and pulled a smaller dagger out from her belt. She cut a new wound into the dragon, where she was estimated where the gullet that carried the pearls was purported to be. But alas her hand came up empty.
There was another curse uttered inside the helmet.
She went towards another spot and this time she was rewarded with two small stone like shiny globes. But the slaying of the krayt dragon would be noticed. And others would be coming for her. So with that she ran for the cover of the mock urban landscape.
Kal knew that if he gave the Jedi time to respond, they might never stand a chance against him. It was an underhanded tactic, but he had little choice. He fired.
And the Jedi blocked it, snapping his blade into place just in time. Molten shavings exploded onto him, and he stumbled back. The Barabel opened fire, and they drove the Jedi back, but he took cover behind the corpse of the dead Krayt. Kal noticed something erratic reported on his sensors. They were reporting something huge behind him. He checked his 360 degree view. "Oh, shab." He turned. "I think we have a problem..."
Another Krayt was behind them. It mauled a Weequay, then looked up, ready to charge. Suddenly, it buckled, collapsing on it's back legs, and a figure in yellow armor appeared, plunging bloody blades into its stomach, then slicing them across its throat. The hunter then used a smaller blade to cut into it, and pulled something, pearls he surmised, out of its stomach. The mystery figure then ran off towards the urban dwellings. Kal raised his Verpine, glancing at the at the Barabel.
"Well. That was interesting. Who do we go after?"
Dra'Kash had turned his attention back toward the Jedi's direction after the second dragon went down, but he was nowhere to be seen either. The real competition seems to have arrived... he thought with a sneer as he pulled his massive blade from it's sheath and cut into the first dragon.
Ripping the pearl sack from the body in his bloody hand, DraÃ¢Â€Â™Kash let the two jems fall into his palm. Gazing at them for a moment, he pocketed one and flipped the second to the Mando. 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.Ã¢Â€Â Stopping to pick up a large tooth from the fallen dragon, he pulled most of the burnt flesh that still clung to it and started into the deepest section of the forest.
Hidden in a small house farthest away from the action going on in the streets now, Jax hissed in pain as he painfuly removed the tiny pieces of metal that has welded themselves onto his face. He cursed the Mandalorain again and again.
"Who the hell uses a slug-thrower nowadays anyway!" he yelled to himself.
He clenched his teeth as he begain to yanked out another piece. He screamed. The wound caused more bleeding, he held his shirt to his face and willed the bleeding to stop. After a minute or two it did...then he started on the next piece.
He swore, he would make the Mando suffer...even now his anger was building up, his pupils getting dark...After 20 minutes of grueling torture, his work finished, Jax's emotions was as dark as black hole. He summoned his unnatural ammount of power and blew a wall out of the house he was hiding in, he ignited his blade, and set out to wreak his power on the first being he saw.
Jax hadent noticed, but instead of the normal cool blue his lightsaber usually was, a dark black blade emerged instead, seemingly crackiling with anger its self.
Wow...I'm glad Ralin didn't have me do anything more. Like actually shoot you. I think the entire planet would have exploded. Anyways, it was a Verpine. I might post again tonight. If no one responds, and I do, I'll just delete this.