Junction Blood and Religion │ SO/HSC Junction of Besberra/Saqqar

[Darth Empyrean]

Besberra Megaplex
876 ABY

The crowds cheered with a righteous fury - blood spilled for their entertainment spurring the crowds into a frenzy of beer spilling, throat tearing, wild chants and screams. Lifting his hand high in the air as blood dripped from his wrist was Vorto Kan - a Gamorrean known as the champion of the southern rim. His victory today was over a long time rival and prospective Outer Rim champion; but by the wounds sustained in the bout, no one guessed he would fight another round for a long time.​

​

With voices booming over unseen speakers, the announcer roared to keep the crowd’s energy alive; and only ceased when there was the smallest lull in the cheering. Above the screaming and joy of an entire megaplex of people only his voice came through, clear and concise with a professional bass;​

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“An amazing bout!”, followed by a cheer from the crowd.​

​

“Up next is something not seen for years - but the skill of authentic Sith brought to our very arena! Brought here by our lovely patrons -”, he gestured to a VIP Booth high above the central arena.​

​

“- Sith Knights of the Dark Side! Rumored to have powers like wizards, capable of extraordinary feats; can they win against some of the Galaxy’s top gladiators and mercenaries?”​

​

“Place your bets at the console on your seat! All bets are off in -”​

​

He carried on explaining the details of betting, but the crowds picked up once more. Few here didn’t know the process, more still were here for a prolonged stay - and this was the biggest form of entertainment for light years. They knew all the ins and outs already.​

​

—​

​

The planetoid of Besberra is not a well known object in a galactic sense, but rather a staple point for local criminals. Within the megaplex built into the celestial body lives thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people - many of which visit for temporary periods to spend their earnings before returning to their life as scrappers, miners, or smugglers.​

​

Due to the blue collar nature of its clientele, the planet has become a hive of scum and villainy over the years - currently overseen by the Besberra Five; powerful criminal leaders who make a proverbial killing off of the gambling scene. Casinos line the halls of the facility, gambling and spice dens fill the rest - but at the base of the megaplex is a series of arenas on par with some of the greatest.​

​

The true claim to fame for the megaplex is the arena complex on its first floor - an insanely large series of buildings that draw in crowds of all sorts from across the galaxy. Blood fights to the death or submission take place nightly - and the presiding mafia draws in great amounts of money from its management.​

​

The Sith see this as an opportunity because of this - first to secure their territory against the encroaching nature of foreign subversive entities. Second, as a gift to possible allies within the Hutt Space Consortium. Third, as an outpost to search for talented warriors brought in from around the galaxy - to train as Sith Legionnaires, or if they show a sensitivity to the Force, training as an acolyte.​

​

For these reasons, the Sith have made a game plan to take the planet;​

​

Objective One: RICO​

​

The Besberra Five are a collection of the most powerful criminals in the world. They survive on the suffering of others, kill anyone who threatens them - but even they know the threat the Sith pose in the region. Publicly they have shown an interest in working together with the Sith; but the Frumentarii sees all.​

​

In private, they are planning to reconnect holonet beacons to the Core and inform the Jedi anonymously of what is coming. They seek to hire Enclave commandos as defensive agents, and secure themselves from the encroaching imperialism of the Sith Order. We will stop them before they have the chance.​

​

A meeting has been arranged between them and the Tsis’kaar; to discuss the details of a working trade partnership. Led by Darth Ophidia , the intention is to see them no longer as a threat, but not before we secure their connections. Speak with them and see what information you can draw out - and follow the Pale Snake’s lead.​

​

Objective Two: Culling​

​

Planned carefully, many of the influential criminals on the planet have been drawn to a central location with the promise of a party unlike any they have seen. Drugs of exotic variety, dancers from across the Galaxy, a number of celebrity appearances all mentioned - but it was bait for another purpose. Dangerous men gathered to enjoy themselves, but they will only see the vengeance of the Sith Scorned.​

​

The Frumentarii set up this gathering with the express purpose of culling the heads off each of the Bresberra Five’s syndicates. Capo, Daimyos, Soldiers of every class roam the apartment building halls - and you are tasked with seeing them gone, to create space for the arrival of new syndications.​

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Objective Three: Flashing Lights​

​

Central to the entire plan is the distraction of the arenas. Every holovision set in the megaplex is tuned into your fights - bets placed on your ability to achieve and make a good show. You have been tasked with arguably the most important position - as a distraction for the entire world. Four arenas are alive with gladiators and mercenaries fighting it out; but your will soon enter with a dangerous foe, and only one of you can leave conscious.​

​

You’ve been given arena weapons and a vitality monitor. You will fight until one of you passes out - but you will feel everything. Arms cut will go numb and useless, shots to the chest will threaten your ability to breath - to the head, and you may even sustain lasting injuries. All of these things are designed to keep you alive - but scared for the mortality that comes with it.​

​

Ensure the planet gets a full view of your skills - so that they can fear what goes on just beyond their borders.​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The private box was exquisite.

High enough to see every angle of the gladiatorial games, and disconnected from the commoner rabble that often flocked to the games for cruelty and spectacle. All of their needs were cared for, their every desire catered to, and the privacy of the box ensured that they could not be intruded upon without due cause. Food and drink flowed ably, aged wines and liquors, succulent fruit, seared meat, all of it highly priced and supplied from the farthest corners of the galaxy.

But that was for His entourage, those that trailed with Him to Besberra. He satisfied Himself with only a single goblet, and sat near the reinforced glass of the box's seating. For as long as He could remember, the Zambranos funded and participated in gladiatorial games such as these. The Pacanth Reach was within close proximity to Rattatak, and so they routinely made journeys to the desert world to witness many games hosted at the Cauldron. Those days had passed, but the desire for such games was strong in the family.

Carnifex took another sip of wine, His attention focused more tightly on the arenas below as the games started to begin. He had taken the initiative and supplied the arena with several monsters that He'd collected over the years, some of them plucked from fabulous exotic worlds and others bred in laboratories, but all equally vicious.

He would see how these gladiators fared.

( Open to anyone )​

 

[Ordan Vosk]

Besberra Megaplex
Objective Three: Flashing Lights​

---

The Arena shook. The Crowd roared. To see the Gamorrean triumph over his rival, someone who sought to usurp him was an event that many here tonight would never forget.

It would be a hard act to top.

The Besberra Megaplex was alive, the energy of the mob was pulsating to the extent that in the stands spectators felt the vibrations as they moved through them. The Smell of blood, sweat, beer mingling with the screams of fanfare as well as those on the arena floor. This was insanity.

Many Lordas might not deign to participate in the events on the Arena floor but Vosk, an Enforcer of the Consortium and a minor Lorda as best had no such reservations. As he stepped out into the light of the arena the calls from the stands, the jeers of the spectators were there to greet him. Flashes of his youth would cut across his mind, he reveled in this.

Gladiators in the Arena were armed appropriately---in the spirit of the event.

Vosk came into the arena with his chest bare save the 'Manica of hardened 'Bantha' Leather that ran from his left shoulder all the way down his arm to the wrist and covered the outside portion of his pectoral. On his left hand he'd been fitted with a 'Vibroknuckler'. In his right he carried a Vibro-Ax which he held high on the haft, close to the underside of the crescent shaped head.

With his chest bared the musculature of Vosk's frame was apparent but so to were the scars that cut a path across his torso. He'd seen to many fights during his time as a Mercenary, with the Black Sun the list went on but was irrelevant. No one in the crowd cared who he was or where he came from only that he represented the Hutt Space Consortium.

Looking across the arena as his feet adjusted slowly he'd snort, hoking up a mouthful of phlegm before spitting it to the side both to clear his throat and show a bit of disdain...

"Come on, I don't have all day to piss about!"

...he was waiting for whoever was supposed to appear out of the other entry way to get on with it. They said there'd be Sith, whatever that meant. If he waited long enough they'd probably push out some Stim Junky whose head he could carve up across from him.

​

 

[Butcher]

OBJECTIVE II: CULLING

Besberra Five Apartments.​

The dull thud of loud music, indistinct chatter from open windows, a general atmosphere of partying and excess. The entrance was minimally crowded, more just several milling syndicate members, who indulged in cigarras and deathsticks and other vices. They mattered little, for now, as a sleek black speeder approached and pulled to a stop.

"Shouldn't be long," Muttered a voice from inside, as the door opened. "Keep it running, go a few streets over 'til I call you."

From within stepped a humanoid, tall and broad, with a metallic skull mask and white business suit. Butcher, a Black Sun enforcer, renown for his tendency toward violence and a rumor of being impossible to kill. Some had even said the mysterious hitman had been dismembered, and yet he walked with all limbs attached, as clear as the suit he wore.

"You got it, boss," Said the driver, one of a Twi'lek pair of twins. The other sat next to his sibling, eyes alert. "We won't be far away."

On the street curb, Butcher looked up at the apartment complex. It was big. Almost a dozen stories, but that didn't bother him too much, it just meant more fun for what was about to happen. The enforcer inhaled as the sleek speeder pulled away, then reached down to button up his jacket front, so as to be presentable...

"Hey, where are your bosses?" Butcher said as he approached the several sentients out the front of the complex. Some looked like pseudo-bouncer types, but still casual in manner, likely due to the sheer number of syndicate members inside. Nobody would be stupid enough to attack the place. "I got a meetin' with 'em. Point me in the right direction, eh?"

One of the sentients raised an eyebrow.

"Bosses are in the penthouse, obviously," She said, then scoffed. "And doubt you'll be seeing them anytime soon... what is that, a metal mask? You some kinda freak?"

"Naw," Butcher sighed, as his dark eyes within the mask lit up with a smile, one that was hidden by the skeletal teeth. "Just don't fancy bein' shot in the head... like this."

"Wha-?"

From the back of his jacket, Butcher pulled out his Verpine Shatter Gun. He brought it up, finger on the trigger, and pointed it at the sentient he spoke with--

* FWIP! *

--the silent slugthrower let loose a deadly projectile, which caught the alien through the middle of the forehead.

She dropped dead without a sound.

"Oh, hell n--!"

"Get 'im!"

The other sentients began to react, even as Butcher shifted aim and fired at the next, catching a Zabrak through the face. By that time, the last two at the entry rushed the enforcer, they sought to grapple him, and Butcher grunted as he felt their hands on his arms. One punched, Butcher lowered his head, and heard the crack of knuckles on the mask forehead - "Argh!" - before he wrestled his pistol arm free and popped the closest attacker twice in the chest.

"Don't punch a metal mask, moron." Butcher shook his head, then took aim at the final sentient that clutched a broken hand. "See ya."

* FWIP! *

And once the initial culling had begun, Butcher rolled his neck and began to reload the pistol in hand. He planned to stay as quiet as possible, at least for now. Once he did that, his free hand sought the phase-knife from his belt, to which he activated the lightsaber-like dagger - even though it produced a more solidified blade - while retaining incredible cutting power.

He liked the knife.

But, before he entered, Butcher looked around, seeking out anyone else that had been assigned to the grisly task:

"Wonder when the others are showin' up? I'd feel bad havin' all the fun..."

@ HSC / SO​

 

[Daxa Zuul]

The Culling
​

Daxa watched the violence unfold from beneath the shadowed awning of a storefront, her eyes dark, smoldering yellow, lips twisted in a savage grin. The flickering neon lights above the awning read, “Saloran’s Swoop Shop”. She had eschewed her usual scarlet raiment for a high-collared overcoat of dark gundark leather- rounded pauldrons glinting on each shoulder- over a sleek black shell spider silk suit, her feet encased in shock boots, her hands enclosed in crushgaunts.

The masked sentient- her help for the evening- murdered the bouncers and thugs lingering outside the apartment complex in a rather inelegant, if efficient manner. Daxa did not care for pistols or rifles, though they had their uses in the hands of the right tools. She was a woman of the sword and the Force. Guns were for those without the luxury of true power.

When his work was done, the masked man lingered at the entrance, searching the streets and shadows with his eerie, hollowed eyes.

"Wonder when the others are showin' up? I'd feel bad havin' all the fun..."

Vicious amusement bubbled in her chest. This one was polite about his slaughter. Daxa appreciated the sentiment.

She decided to make herself known. One moment, she was leaning beneath the awning, and in the next, with a surge of Force enhanced velocity, she was beside Butcher, her overcoat gently fluttering. She held no weapon save for her saber, the unique hilt gripped tight in her hand, the blade still unlit.

“Well aren’t you just adorable,” she lilted into the silence, her voice almost saccharine. She gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

​

 

[Cato Demora]

Objective II: The Culling​

Tag: Hacks​

​

The radio call came in to act - and the ships went out. Cato had landed on the planetoid a few nights before, gotten a room with the others in his squad under psuedonyms - and now he wore basic duraplast armor and concealed weaponry. Nothing like his usual attire, nothing he was comfortable killing with - but sometimes you didn't get the comfort of killing in your usual equipment, so he shut up and did his job.​

​

Slowing down outside the secondary location, the air speeder whined as the men got out. Most moved to the trunk to collect their rifles and gear - but Cato scoped out the apartment. Everyone left to control the gangs was here - not the top brass, but high enough to keep things in order if they lived. Cato sighed at the sins he was about to commit, checked his pistol for a round, then tucked it into his waistband.​

​

A hand went to his earpiece as he called in the hired help;​

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"Hacks. This is Cato - Do you have eyes on the inside of the building?"​

​

"Got an idea what we're facing?"​

 

[Kalzok]

Objective One: RICO
Location: Besberra
Tags: Darth Ophidia

Spoiler: Giloen Soka

Giloen Soka was rarely caught off-guard or unprepared. As CEO of a dubiously legal research and acquisitions company, secretly working for a Sith Lord, Soka had had his fair share of shady dealings, dangerous situations and made deals of dubious utility. Lord Kalzok was nothing if not understanding of the difficulties and demands of Soka's role as both public face and primary coordinator of the company's operations, even after his recent... changes.

And yet, Soka realised, looking through the airspeeder's windows, he still found himself nervous today.

The executive adjusted his tie and checked his dataslate as the speeder slowed to land on a private platform situated on the middle reaches of the Megaplex. They had reached their destination. The driver, one of the many lackeys of the Tsis'Kaar, signalled to Soka. The man nodded and exited the speeder, with two Sumaka warriors flanking him as escort. The industrial-scented vapour of the air hit his nose almost before he even stepped out, the humid recycled air seeming to form an atmospheric buffer of sweat, industrial condensate and blood in the air. Already on the platform stood a dozen guards and flunkies of the Besberra Five; some dressed no better than the blood gladiators on the first floor, others wore unusual armour that implied ancient origin, and still others appeared unarmed in professional clothes. A smartly-dressed woman was the first to welcome Soka, shaking his hand, her cybernetic eyes telescoping as she examined him in turn.

"Pleased to meet you, my employer is currently getting ready for the meeting..." she trailed off for a moment. "Might I ask, Mister Soka, if the personage you represent will be in attendance in person?"

Soka was about to deploy the carefully-worded excuse for Kalzok's current absence when the leader of the brutish guards pushed forward, vibroaxe over one shoulder, teeth bared and finger pointed accusingly at Soka as he stopped inches from him. The Sumaka warriors reached slowly for their weapons.

"Where Sith!? This not Sith... this weak man in cloth. We not speak with weak man; boss want know if Sith will show!"

The executive remained calm.

"My employer and his associates will show soon; though I understand that some have already reached this place. I am unsure as to why there would be concerns that the Sith will not be present. I was also assured that this would be a professional meeting." He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

The woman from before opened her mouth to speak, but the large alien clad in armour spoke first:

"Heh, good one. Just testing ya, no hard feelings, eh? This way," he motioned, his body language transforming completely as he broke into a grin and turned to head into the station. The Sumaka warriors looked at each other, unsure, but Soka followed the thug's lead without a beat. Here, every sign of hesitation or weakness was blood in the water. Some of the other guards from the Besberrra Five followed, the rest left to wait at the platform for the next visitor.

They passed into the Megaplex, past industrial corridors secured with locked doors, cameras and security droids. Here and there on their journey they could hear the thumping beat of ecstasy and sin from an establishment on the other side of the winding walls, though these were of far more refined quality than the riff-raff on the bottom floors. Finally they approached a blast door, through which guards called for their weapons.

Soka knew that, if things went very, very south, the Sith in the room would be able to bring down the entire Megaplex with only their thoughts, so he calmly ordered the Sumaka warriors to hand over their weapons. If it made the Besberra Five feel safe, all the better.

Finally they were ushered into the meeting room; two parallel long tables spaced some distance apart, a shimmering force field between them. At one table sat some of the syndicate leaders, whispering to a small crowd of assistants, glancing over to the other table. At the table on Soka's side of the room were some of the Sith, already present. None seemed to notice his presence as he took his place, pulling out a folder of documents, mostly for show than for actual reference. And he waited in the den of the lions.

 

[Anthysius Soraysom-Calimondra]

Objective Three: Flashing Lights

Anthysius breathed in the smell of violence. The blood of the arena, the industrial-grade disinfectant along the walls, the cacophony of spices being slow-burned in the stands, and the sweat of thousands of proles. But above all, he could smell the bloodlust, the salivating hunger of bloodshot eyes and screams for pain.

It was intoxicating.

“An amazing bout!”, followed by a cheer from the crowd.“Up next is something not seen for years - but the skill of authentic Sith brought to our very arena! Brought here by our lovely patrons -”, he gestured to a VIP Booth high above the central arena. “- Sith Knights of the Dark Side! Rumored to have powers like wizards, capable of extraordinary feats; can they win against some of the Galaxy’s top gladiators and mercenaries?”

Was it ever in doubt? The Galaxy was truly in a sorry state if the witless masses still held the very real physical power of the Sith in doubt.

He waited in the dimly lit tunnel that led from the preparation rooms to the arena. Anthysius noted the floor; it was competently repaired, but the marks of a thousand gladiators who had stood on this very spot as they awaited the call could be seen, both in the Force echoes of this place and the pressure marks. His thoughts drifted to Odavessa: a cold sadness pricked his mind for a second as he remembered Argus and Issan arming him before his own duel in another arena. The stakes were different here, but all the same he wished he had not lost a friend.

“Place your bets at the console on your seat! All bets are off in -”

The old speaker in the tunnel croaked to life, a mechanical voice sounding through:

<"Warrior in gold, step into the arena, the bout has begun. May fortune favour the bold.">

Anthysius adjusted his armour and walked down the path. He could hear the crowd roar as the other fighter entered the spotlight.

As he stepped out into the light of the arena the calls from the stands, the jeers of the spectators were there to greet him. Flashes of his youth would cut across his mind, he reveled in this.

Gladiators in the Arena were armed appropriately---in the spirit of the event.

Vosk came into the arena with his chest bare save the 'Manica of hardened 'Bantha' Leather that ran from his left shoulder all the way down his arm to the wrist and covered the outside portion of his pectoral. On his left hand he'd been fitted with a 'Vibroknuckler'. In his right he carried a Vibro-Ax which he held high on the haft, close to the underside of the crescent shaped head.

Looking across the arena as his feet adjusted slowly he'd snort, hoking up a mouthful of phlegm before spitting it to the side both to clear his throat and show a bit of disdain...

"Come on, I don't have all day to piss about!"

As if on cue, Anthysius stepped onto the arena floor. A floodlight burst to life high above, focussed on him, and he could see the light shining off his armour on the viewscreens high above:

Pagentry, indeed. Anthysius was more than happy to play dress-up in the spirit of things. The armour was nothing like the real Naga Sadow's, of course. Standard gladiator armour filigreed in cheap foil, but it suited the purposes. And after all, was it not the thought that mattered, Anthysius thought, as the crowd erupted in cheers and jeers in equal measure as he spread his arms in regal acceptance of attention. He stole a glance at the viewscreens against to make sure the false face graft was still intact: apart from playing up the image of an older Sith warlord, it also made sure Anthysius' real face and his identity was not blasted across half the Galaxy's illegal betting holofeeds.

He was sure he spotted a group of spectators dressed in black tablecloth pretending to be Sith in the stands, but he could never be sure. In his hands, he flourished a replica of the Sword of Ieldis.

He would have liked to bring a real Sith Warblade, but alas, arena-standard blades would do. It was still finely made, with an almost alchemised edge. A power field emitted from it, on the upper tier of the usual vibroswords in common use. It would do.

He flourished the blade, making a few practice Shii-Cho cuts, mostly to test the balance of the blade but also to hype the crowd out. It was not everyday a Sith came to the Arena, and they ate it up. He smirked at the attention; as long as he held it, he was doing his part.

"Who dares challenge the dread Lord Maloch Krul?" His voice boomed across the arena, carried and distorted by the Force.

 

[Ordan Vosk]

Besberra Megaplex
Objective Three: Flashing Lights
Equipment: Vibro-Ax, Vibroknuckler, Manica
Opponent: Anthysius Soraysom-Calimondra ​

---

"Malock Krul."

...he repeated to himself, his eyes drawn in the direction of the man who had entered the arena after his voice boomed loudly. Vosk recognized a faint tingling in the back of his mind as his opponents voice resounded, he recognized it as a distortion of some kind but he couldn't put a a word to it other than 'Space Magick'....

"Looks like a drogan."

...which was some kind of slur heard on the lower levels and in the spice dens galaxy wide but likely something that his opponent wouldn't necessarily understand the meaning of. In any event Vosk would begin moving across the arena, stalking towards this man after the resounding call of his voice diminished.

As he came closer he'd be able to see the arms and armor that his opponent dressed in more clearly. The Sword was well made, the Armor appeared functional if not a bit obvious in its pageantry.

Lifting the Vibro-Ax in his right hand Vosk would roll his wrist backwards, arcing the axe around as he came closer. It helped limber up his arm and also began the transition into a move to help build momentum. The Ax would draw wide to his right, over his shoulder and then down to his left hip before arcing up to clear his left shoulder in turn...

"Name is Ordan Vosk, remember it."

...he'd have come closer to 'Lord Maloch' by then, the Vibro-Ax coming up over his left shoulder as his right side came forward he'd have swung it back to his right diagonally wanting to catch the outside of his opponents sword and press it across his body. Planting his right foot too after the swing of the Ax was made he'd have pivoted his left side forward so that he could move in close, tight with 'Maloch' on his right and raise his left arm to hook upwards into the armpit region where the mans armor looked soft. When his fist closed the 'Vibroknuckler' activated, the blades fitted between his knuckles becoming more prominent as they sought out a soft spot to hammer.

The Crowd roared, while some might enjoy pageantry others were just as pleased with the spectacle of bloodshed and ritual combat. They wanted to see these men bleed.

 

[Anthysius Soraysom-Calimondra]

Objective Three: Flashing Lights

Lifting the Vibro-Ax in his right hand Vosk would roll his wrist backwards, arcing the axe around as he came closer. It helped limber up his arm and also began the transition into a move to help build momentum. The Ax would draw wide to his right, over his shoulder and then down to his left hip before arcing up to clear his left shoulder in turn...

Anthysius let himself submerge into his emotions, pulling on the Force and drinking in the crowd. It opened his senses, his reflexes and mind moving faster. All he needed to do was keep the fight going while the others completed their objectives, and so Anthysius would leverage his Force-enhanced senses to preserve energy and maintain the pace of the fight.

"Name is Ordan Vosk, remember it."

"I will remember your Death, if you work for it."

...he'd have come closer to 'Lord Maloch' by then, the Vibro-Ax coming up over his left shoulder as his right side came forward he'd have swung it back to his right diagonally wanting to catch the outside of his opponents sword and press it across his body. Planting his right foot too after the swing of the Ax was made he'd have pivoted his left side forward so that he could move in close, tight with 'Maloch' on his right and raise his left arm to hook upwards into the armpit region where the mans armor looked soft. When his fist closed the 'Vibroknuckler' activated, the blades fitted between his knuckles becoming more prominent as they sought out a soft spot to hammer.

Anthysius moved back, out of the way of the warrior's wide swings, refusing to lock blades so quickly. He let the diagonal slash pass him before moving in, blocking Ordan's fist with the flat of his blade before angling it inwards and stabbing forwards towards the warrior's exposed skin.

 

[Ordan Vosk]

Besberra Megaplex
Objective Three: Flashing Lights
Equipment: Vibro-Ax, Vibroknuckler, Manica
Opponent: Anthysius Soraysom-Calimondra ​

---

The Vibro-Ax went wide, its momentum carrying it down past the outside of Ordan's hip alongside the mans arm which arced backwards with the momentum. Had Ordan been holding the Ax lower on the haft it would have been harder to control but higher on the haft, beneath the crescent head it was actually much easier. At this point in the fight, early on Ordan knew that control was everything being no stranger to combat.

That 'Lord Maloch' had opened distance to let the Ax pass then moved back in to block the 'Vibroknuckler' gave Vosk a few precious moments extra as well.

As 'Maloch' angled his blade back in so that he could stab it into Ordan he'd have swung the ax forward again, arcing it upwards in the process like he was curling his bicep or throwing a wide uppercut. The Ax head would come into contact with the sword on its underside, using the initial impact to deflect and lift it out of its blow; Ordan would attempt to maintain contact though to carry both their weapons up over their shoulders....

"My death?"

....he laughed as he pushed off his back right foot intent on bringing the both of them to an almost intimate where large weapons would be almost useless...

"I've met Jawa that have more kick than you, son."

...then he drove the Axe down, so close he couldn't use the blade to be sure but angling the haft forward he'd aim to drive its butt into the mans sternum. In the same breath his left arm came in again, hooking low at his opponents midsection on the right side with the 'Vibroknuckler'. He didn't expect much, the armor was probably thick there but every blow even one that was buffered could build.

It was all smack talk between the two of them, Vosk had to wonder if there was an amplifier somewhere in the arena that let the audience hear them because as the two went back and forth the people in the crowd seemed to 'pop'. Even the Enforcer had to admit he felt a bit of the exhilaration, almost like it was contagious.

 

[Anthysius Soraysom-Calimondra]

Objective Three: Flashing Lights

As 'Maloch' angled his blade back in so that he could stab it into Ordan he'd have swung the ax forward again, arcing it upwards in the process like he was curling his bicep or throwing a wide uppercut. The Ax head would come into contact with the sword on its underside, using the initial impact to deflect and lift it out of its blow; Ordan would attempt to maintain contact though to carry both their weapons up over their shoulders....

"My death?"

....he laughed as he pushed off his back right foot intent on bringing the both of them to an almost intimate where large weapons would be almost useless...

"I've met Jawa that have more kick than you, son."

"They suit your stature."

Anthysius leaned forward to imbalance Ordan, putting the Force into his arms and bracing against the floor as he aimed to push the blades away and force himself forward.

...then he drove the Axe down, so close he couldn't use the blade to be sure but angling the haft forward he'd aim to drive its butt into the mans sternum. In the same breath his left arm came in again, hooking low at his opponents midsection on the right side with the 'Vibroknuckler'. He didn't expect much, the armor was probably thick there but every blow even one that was buffered could build.

The combination of the two oppposing pushes deflected Ordan's butt strike, giving enough of an opening that Anthysius lifted his one foot upward a little, the other planting hard into the ground, letting Ordan's twisting blow of the axe butt rotate the pair of them around the planted foot. He saw the other man's left arm come up again vibroknuckler glinting in the bright lights of the arena

Anthysius made use of the rotation momentum to push off and break the clash, twisted away, though the blow still clipped him. He relished the pain, amplified by the gladiator armour's feedback sensors, absorbing the pain and fueling his control over the Force. He felt energy in his limbs, a greater mastery over his body. He held onto that power, using it to control his movement as he twisted away in a flourish, extending his blade arm outward to give a dramatic slash across Ordan's front. Unlikely to do real hurt, but the crowd ate it up, and it would keep Ordan back for a moment. His feet lifted off the ground with the twist and push, before landing without hesitation, baring his teeth in mock outrage. Give the crowd a good show, right?

Anthysius rushed forward again, a flurry of strikes: feints and cuts and ripostes mixed in. Keep up the speed and pressure, he told himself, so Ordan's larger weapon could not keep up with the parries. He went for unarmoured areas, never committing to any slash hard enough for Ordan to catch the blade with his axe. The crowd was warming up with the increased tempo of the fight, and through it all his Force senses could feel the rising anticipation in the crowd.

 

[Ordan Vosk]

Besberra Megaplex
Objective Three: Flashing Lights
Equipment: Vibro-Ax, Vibroknuckler, Manica
Opponent: Anthysius Soraysom-Calimondra ​

---

If it wasn't for the tingling that crept over his spine Ordan would have thought his opponent was stronger than he looked but he recognized 'Space Magick' for what it was. It helped that he'd felt the sensation earlier when 'Lord Maloch' had announced himself and amplified his voice. No surprise, he wouldn't think a Sith would be able to resist the urge to use its powers anyways.

Disengaging rather than letting the rotation that 'Maloch' had started complete itself Ordan sprawled backwards. Lifting his arms in the process so that they went wide while his opponents sword swung, skimming in front of him.

Landing a few feet back, ensuring the distance between them was more prevalent Ordan felt the sting on his torso where a faint trail of blood was evident. The Sword had caught him though the wound was minimal. There were few places on his person a feedback sensor could have been fitted, the manica he wore covering his left arm, shoulder and a portion of his pectoral; it meant that most of the pain he felt was just so.

"Think maybe I'll pick my teeth with that pretty sword of yours once I knock you on your ass."

...he shouted, laughing in the process. Ordan was enjoying himself, perhaps the crowds energy was feeding him. As 'Maloch' rushed forward again Ordan went to meet him.

A Flurry was an aggressive tactic, best when an opponent was put on their backfoot but Ordan wasn't on his backfoot. He wasn't going to let 'Maloch' rush him unchallenged and let the man pressure him. Instead he brought his ax back around, sweeping it low to gain momentum knowing it made it more difficult for a sword to parry what was often a denser, heavier weapon when it was in motion before arcing it up on 'Maloch's' dominant side to catch the sword in a backswing meant to deflect the sword back across his body.

As the Vibro-Ax swung, maneuvering itself Ordan galvanized himself. Unlike traditional practitioners his knowledge of the force was based more on practical use and innate ability. Saturating himself he would Enhance his Attributes as it were, making himself stronger, faster and more resilient even if only for a moment or two. Springing forward in the breath he'd have raised his left arm, turned it inwards and lead with a massive forearm blow meant to take his opponent up and off his feet in grand pugilistic fashion.

The Crowd would love it, they were already going wild so such a feat of raw aggression might well drive them into a frenzy.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Kalzok , Open Invite.​

Fashionably late

That was the term the rich and powerful would use to describe the time at which the Dark Lady of the Sith and the Will of the Tsis'kaar, Darth Ophidia, finally arrived. An airspeeder, sleek and subtle in design, but with a black, mirror finish that left the eye wondering where the viewports were, or if there were any. It pulled in and parked its rear, then opened with a hiss and a plume of grey mist. A pair of spectral figures, like smoke caught in human form, rushed out and to the sides to roll out a black carpet.

A dark figure, slender and tall, cut the mist like an obsidian blade.

When one envisioned the garb of a Sith Warlord, one's imagination was prone to going wild. One might imagine spikes wrought to impress and intimidate. One might envision face-obscuring helmets and pauldrons made from the skulls of their defeated enemies. The vision that stepped through the mist carried a power far more subtle than the costumes in one's theatre of mind.

Her body was draped in silk of the deepest black, subtly woven with a pattern of interlocking diamonds which shimmered in and out of view with the light. Through splits in the robe one could see the underskirt transitioning in ombre from black to deep maroon. The silks hugged her form, making her long arms appear spindly and almost spider-like as they folded behind her back. The collar of her dress settled so high it almost lined up with the bottom of her jaw, framing the severe face that glowered out from under the wide hood. Around her waist was a belt shaped like a serpent intertwined with itself, and a silver chain whose final links were broken, but remained somehow balanced.

She did not appear armed, nor exceedingly powerful in physique, but her eyes shone like molten rings of iron. Wherever her gaze settled, the very air escaped and left only silence. The Pale Assassin, the Serpent, the Tsis'kaar.

The smoke was cut again as a quarren stepped up behind her. His immense form was encased in gunmetal armour, detailed with black as if painted with shadows that shaped themselves into visages of screaming faces among vertical lines. At his hip hung a sabre and a metal whip. He fulfilled more of the immediate fantasy of a Dark Lord, but his servitude was obvious when he knelt by the side of the thin woman and led her down from the speeder with deep reverence.

More still followed behind, some were Sith, some were simply attendants. More of the ghostly humanoids aided them mechanically, but showed no sign of further interaction. They were like memories of what people once were, forced to serve these lords of darkness.

With no further words, the Dark Lady of the Sith strode past her welcome to join the meeting with the Besberra Five.

 

[Butcher]

OBJECTIVE II: CULLING

Besberra Five Apartments.​

A voice sounded from beside him, which caused Butcher to turn and incline his head.

"Adorable?" The enforcer chuckled, as he winked. "Same to you, doll."

When the - presumably - Sith beckoned to begin, the skull masked sentient motioned toward the door as he opened it.

"Ladies first."

Still, Butcher wasn't far behind, and on the heels of the acquaintance, he stepped into the apartments. There were a number of sentients present from the Besberra Five syndicates, as some danced or milled about or chatted. The music was louder, the interior considerably busier, and for every group in the hallway there was another in an adjacent room.

Butcher couldn't help but smirk.

Such a target rich environment.

With a laugh, Butcher walked to the first door in the hallway, reared back and kicked it in. Those inside were startled, or those that were conscious enough to be anyway, to which the enforcer greeted them with a raised pistol.

"Don't mind me," Butcher said with a grin. "Just party-crashin'!"

The interior of the room was filled with faint pistol shots, thuds of bodies, spray of various matter and liquids, and screams. There was no hesitation, no displays of mercy, just a hardened criminal who knew what the job was, and had the determination to see it through. The culling had begun, and Butcher couldn't have been happier if he tried, as his dark eyes lit up with the amusement of cold-blooded murder...

Daxa Zuul | Cato Demora | Hacks​

 

[Hacks]

Objective II: The Culling
Tag: Cato Demora
___________________________


Coruscant,
SuperMax Detention

Hacks stared at the ceiling above as she lay in her cot. The white walls felt suffocating and the silence was growing unbearable. In the weeks following Ilum and her imprisonment she had been able to get some of her cybernetics back online, namely her cranial implants. Her arms lay defeated at her sides, and her legs turned to slag.

Her physical self may be prisoner of the Alliance but her mind was free. Her ears pricked as a static voice chirped inside her mind, "Hacks. This is Cato - Do you have eyes on the inside of the building?" The Alliance detention personnel had been surprised when they moved to confiscate her glasses and had found them to be physically attached to her head on either side. They were an extension of her body, and without access to a tech experienced in underground cybernetics they had left her glasses with her.

Her glasses operated as a micromoniter, feeding the slicer information and visuals from her connection to Cato. "I've got the schematics, I'll turn off the lights on your signal," she said in a monotone voice, her thoughts were translated by her AJ brain implant and transferred into speech that Cato would hear on the other end, but Hacks herself could not.

 

[Cato Demora]

Objective II
Tags: Hacks

"Glad to hear it.", he said.

With the Sith Military gutted, having to outsource your Overwatch to a criminal didn't sit well with Cato, but it wasn't unfamiliar territory. The operator had done what was needed a number of times - even training terrorist cells on planets that could be problematic to the the Emperor.

His attention was taken by Reaper, call sign of his second in command as he spoke;

"Rifles are fit, got the plates. Overwatch ready?"

Cato nodded,

"Ready."

The group moved to the door as another of them handed Cato a rifle. Smuggled in, it was at least familiar - a shortened energy rifle known simple as the "Velok". He liked them, they packed a punch hard enough to kill a Jedi - and accurate enough to slip through their defenses. He motioned with his off hand for them to stack up - and when they were ready, he called in the command.

"Now."

The lights were cut, and the door was kicked by the augmentated strength of a super soldier. It flew off the sliding rail, and the first room was breached. Inside were many with weapons, barely having time to reach for them before Cato's squad shot them down. The rest were civilians, women or men there for a get together- and despite not being a threat, they were shot down as well.

To Hacks, there was nothing here but brutal efficacy. Murder so surgical it felt cold, broken up only by the emotionless cry of "Clear!" From the gathered soldiers. Rooms to the left and right were stacked, and Cato called back;

"Got 3 doors here, Hacks. Got signs of life in them?"

 

[Hacks]

Security cameras panned across the room by Cato, feeding visuals to the far distant Hacks. Were a guard to walk past her cell she would look like she was staring up at the ceiling, peacefully biding her time, unaware that she was currently orchestrating mass murder.

The blaster bolts flashed across her glasses and her forehead creased in concentration. In minutes the room was clear, smoking barrels and cooling corpses. "Got 3 doors here, Hacks. Got signs of life in them?" the static voice whispered in her mind, her thoughts flashed back a message as she scanned through the network of security feeds, "First clear. Second door down the hall, heat sigs inside, large group. Third, someones hiding in a closet. Heat sigs picking up liquid on the floor, he's pissed his pants."

 

[Cato Demora]

Objective II
Tags: Hacks

Cato resisted the urge to shake his head at that. Poor man didn't expect a slaughter tonight - probably didn't think to empty his bladder somewhere more convenient. Wasn't a good way to go, covered in your own piss - but the older Cato got, the more he realized it didn't really matter. There wasn't such a thing as a good death, there was just death. Die in combat, die saving a life, die covered in piss - no matter how it went down you were just dead.

"Go.", he called out through his throat mic.

Three doors were opened, and while the first was empty, the massacre that took place in the second more than made up for it. In this room, out of a dozen, only three were armed - and they were shot first. The rest screamed out in terror, but each was silenced by the harsh slap of hyper excited gas against their heads and chests.

When they were done, there was a pile of smoking corpses - and not a tear to be shed. Cato had to appreciate blasters in these moments- made rhe aftermath cleaner. When they made him use slug throwers it made a mess of things, blood over the walls and viscera of bodies. At least the burn marks were contained, even if the smell wasn't.

Cato wiped his nose as he stepped over the remains of a drug table overturned, and kicked in the third door. The room was empty, but Hacks was right - there was the distinct smell of piss somewhere beneath the smell of burning meat. The super soldiers tore the closet door off its hinges and gripped the screaming man out of the closet by his collar.

"Got a name kid?", Cato demanded, but the young man just stuttered and tears ran down his face. He was trying to beg for his life, Cato could tell. He'd seen this song and dance a thousand times - and even that didn't make it better.

He sighed as he rested the barrel to his forehead, and with his other hand motioned for him to be quiet.

"Hacks, got an ID on this guy?"

 

[Hacks]

The cameras under her influence followed Cato with keen attention, her feed switching to a new channel as he moved between rooms, following the massacre. She absently noted movement outside, heat signatures were moving on the building. Likely to investigate the noise.

She was about to alert the soldier when he moved into the third room, he strode quickly towards the hiding heat signature and tore the closet doors from its hinges and pulled out a young man screaming and crying, "Hacks, got an ID on this guy?" Cato held the man by his collar and rotated him to face the camera in the corner of the ceiling.

"I'll run a scan, but there's movement outside. Check your IFF tags, are they your boys?" she thought back, translated in a monotone voice to his commlink. With a thought she accessed the public domain on known criminals, as the scan of the mans face was uploaded her brain implant whirred, making a gentle but noticeable noise in her white-walled prison cell.

"The kids Lucar, his father is Charlemagne, Ison Corridor Cartel, one of the top dogs," she thought, her implant translated the message to Cato.