Faction The Granee Noopa | The Nal Hutta Empire

[Pirates of the Arm]

The Granee Noopa | A Hutt Cartel Story

Objective I: The Granee Noopa​

On the world of Nal Hutta lies the Toborro Grand Arena named after the previous Supreme Mogul and the venue for this year's Granee Noopa. Although grand is not exactly a title befitting a grim, dimly lit space encrusted with grime and filth.

The air was a thick musty haze as the foul stench of thousands of individuals of all kinds of species and backgrounds would fill the crumbling stands, placing aggressive bets and roaring at the contestants down below. The Granee Noopa was a time honored tradition for the Hutt Species and was quite the spectacle to behold.

The contestants would enter one by one into the arena, dragged and prodded by the arena masters. Some of them having received the rare invitation with the expectation that they will gain power and prestige across the Criminal Underworld.

Most of them had not been so fortunate having been kidnapped by various means to participate in the foul ritual to gain their freedom or die trying for the amusement of the Hutt Cartel and their Syndicate Allies.

The Announcer would voice over the intercom system for the contestants

"ALRIGHT!!! LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, LETS GET READY TO RUMBLE"

The individual rounds would begin

Round 1​

Name​	Opponent​
Elias Edo ​	Golash | The Cybernetic Rancor​
Hanna ​	Order of the Night Wind Assassins​
P O D ​	Scorpenek Annihilator Droid ​
Elise Ahana-Gwyneira ​	Mythosaur Supercommandos​
Trayze Tesar ​	Styrosag Artillery Beast​
Clarron Vall ​	Carbonite War Droid​
Andragnath ​	Kintan Crusher​

OOC: Please make the fight last longer than 1 Post​

Objective II: The Private Box​

Above the crumbling stands in the Toborro Grand Arena was an ornate and luxurious private box belonging to the Reigning Supreme Mogul of the Cartel.

Having been drawn here by the promise of entertainment by the Arena Masters, the Upper Echelons of the Criminal Underworld had gathered here within this singular large space to converse and discuss sinister deals, while having an opportunity to glance down at the battles taking place on the multiple monitors and viewing screens scattered around the venue itself.

The Cantina was fully stocked and operational, having been filled with luxury beverages and meals from as far away as Coruscant.

 

[Dagge Krudar]

T A G S | Open
O B J E C T I V E | Enjoy the Evening
T H E M E | Kayfoundo Naweea (Hungry Eyes)​

---

The Granee Noopa or Grand Dinner in Huttese was a time honored tradition of the Hutt Species where individuals or groups would compete against each other until one remained while the others were sold into slavery.

The event this year had been modified by the reigning Supreme Mogul of the Cartel to include all manner of traps and twists designed to lessen the chance of victory and give the Cartel an unfair advantage. Most of the individuals competing in the event had been brought here against their will by kidnapping or deceit, although some have been privileged enough to receive a personalized invitation from the Hutt Ruling Council.

The Nal Hutta Empire was growing in power and spreading its influence across the stars once more, and so this event overall was to celebrate such accomplishments. The Supreme Mogul stretched out grubby jeweled digits to reach down onto the buffet bowel next to his personalized, ornate and opulent lounger within the private box of the Toborro Grand Arena. Each bite was shoved into ravenous maw occasionally tempered by the boga noga flowing downward.

<<Majordomo, how many contestants are competing in their own individual matches right now?>> Came the deep voice of Barabbula II as they cast a side glance towards the Houk Majordomo who was busy calculating behind brutish mind. "There are around 50 individuals from all across the galaxy even nobility from the highest towers on Coruscant. They weren't easy to capture." the Houk explained with a laugh, imagining the trouble that the Cartel thugs had to go to in order to secure those nobles for the Hutts Entertainment. The private box was already beginning to fill with bosses from the Pyke Syndicate, Black Sun and even local criminal syndicates operating throughout Hutt controlled territory.

Already a contestant had been thrown out of the arena by their opponent to the deep laughter of the Supreme Mogul.

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Equipment
Armor	Leather bracers.
Melee Weapons	Beskar spear.

"Let go of me!"

The last... how many hours... had been very confusing for Elise. She had been at Concord Dawn, staying the night when she arrived in the middle of the night to refuel her ship. Her beskar'gam had been left in her ship while she found a hotel. She had been Dreamwalking in her sleep, trying to find Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran so she could ask him about something. So deep she was into her dreamwalking, however, that she had been unable to sense any danger befalling her in the waking world. She had next woken up falling out of a carbonite wall hanger. Delirious, drugged, and stripped of remaining possessions, Elise was bound to a prison wall and given a condition.

Fight and earn her freedom... or die.​

Of course, Elise did not like that deal. She kicked, screamed, bit, and gave her handlers the worst headaches she possibly could. Yes, it lead to getting further beatings, electrocutions, plasma whips to her small frame, and all kinds of harsh methods to keep her leashed. But a Novanian could never be enslaved, and a Mandalorian could never be demoted to some pet.

Time had been a blurred mess for her the whole time, until she started to realize that she was no longer being drugged. What was happening? Then, the rumors, that the gladiator rounds were starting soon.

Fight and earn her freedom... or die.​

She was soon strapped to a repulsor lift, bound in every which way, and lead down some rather disgusting smelling hallways. She still fought her binds the best she could, but was always met with a slap or electric shock.

"I would save your energy for the match. With that fighting spirit, I'm sure you want to live-"

"-Shut the kark up!"

The sunlight was blinding. Hearing the roars of a crowd around her, she struggled to adjust her eyesight as her bindings were loosed. She fell to the ground, vision still hindered, as she felt the sandy floor beneath her. She gritted her teeth, lifting her hand to bring some shade to her eyes as she looked around the arena. Already, her guards had fled the scene. As the door slammed shut behind her, she finally looked up at the plasma shielded roof and sighed. Once again, the mantra was repeated in her mind.

Fight and earn her freedom... or die.​

Did she... have to do this?

She clenched her fists. Looking down, she knew she had it in her. Her Verd'goten had been to go into a Vong den and wipe out its leader, with only some clothes and a knife. She had been victorious then.

Buir, teacher, lover, sister, vode... I'll come home!

Her tune qould change in the fraction of a second.

The doors opposite of her opened, revealing familiar silhouettes. Two Mandalorians, fully clad in beskar'gam, entered the ring. Elise's heart stopped, and memories flooded her mind. Fighting vode, killing vode. Raising her blade against her own sister... all because she could not stand to watch what they were doing, on that cursed Crusade.

"Arr'Huwal... no..."

Tears flooded her eyes as the two stepped closer. One of the commandos tilted his head, scoffing. "Are we seriously fighting an unarmed lass? How is this-"

"-Emit, she's toned. She's clearly got a level of experience. In what, however, I don't know."

"... She's still unarmed, Xerxes."

The harsh, arid wind blew as the three stood there, watching each other in horror. Finally, a tear slipped down Elise's cheek, and she shouted back.

"Olarom, vode! Aliit Vizlsa!"

One of the Mandalorians, Emit, audibly gasped.

"She's... one of us, Xerxes."

Xerxes hissed, clenching his fists. And for a long moment, the three remained silent...

...

Fight and earn her freedom... or die.​

...

... "Ibi'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur."

Elise's eyes widened. Emit looked over to his companion in shock.

Xerxes pulled a beskar spear from behind his back, "Ni ceta, vod. But we have to make it back home. But I will not fight you without honor."

The spear was tossed across the sands. It landed in the ground, and rolled towards Elise. She looked down at it, shock in her eyes. Was she... really...

"Show me what you are made of, vode."

She looked up to see Xerxes already charging at her with a beskad.

Fight and earn her freedom... or die.

What would her choice be?

 

[Trayze Tesar]

CURRENT MISSION - Assessment
Immediate Goals -
1: Rescue
1.1: Find and rescue Elise Ahana-Gwyneira
1.2: Find and rescue other captured prisoners.
2: Defeat current foe(s).

BLUFOR - Darth Malum of House Marr Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

OPFOR - Big, Slow and Stinky

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Lords of Nal Hutta Barabbula II the Hutt (?)

---

Why were the best nights rest he had either in his own bed back on home, or when he fell asleep in front of his documents? The former had the familiar scent of home, the knowledge of family, and the mirth of good company; the latter was usually because he was drugged for poking the wrong person during his investigations. With a sigh, a glare at his guards, and counting this as number three in terms of incidents - his detective's intuition noted that this was no doubt due to his subtle staffing of personnel who would actually give a chit about the common citizen's strife. He knew he would get out of here, his being bound and suspended upside down was due to his rising earlier than his guards had expected, and the fact he had attempted to escape once before.

On the first, it was a half bemused game - this wasn't the first time he'd been taken hostage or broke his way out, and the Force made it a walk in the park with weak-minded guards. That was, until he sensed the pangs and pain of a certain Mandalorian, one Elise Ahana-Gwyneira . There were others, also captured, and he kept a mental log of the various persons also locked up. Of course, the cannier members of the guard exploited this weakness, insinuating that Elise's cries can be silenced one of two ways...or "she scream louder still".

With all the blood rushing to his head, Trayze kept eerily silent, stating one thing. "My name is Trayze Tesar. Lieutenant Inspector, Captain of the SIBC Conciliator, Acolyte of the Sith Order, and Scion of the Ancient and Illustrious House of Marr." he would glare icily at, and beyond, his current interrogator. "Your master will die. Slowly. How much they will scream before the end is determinant on speed." The glare never faltered, even as a diplomatic, almost apologetic smile graced his visage. "The speed of which you release all captors for this blood sport and their subsequent recompense... or The speed of my Lord Cousin, Darth Malum of House Marr ."

Despite being a detective, Trayze hated using authority, and often found that those who bragged and boasted of their accomplishments held little power, and even less trust. But as soon as the lady that Malum brought over to his family barbecue was discovered missing - and in Hutt hands, well... he intended to have himself and Elise survive long enough to see that in action.

---

Sand, sound, and scorching light, with the sight of a grunting beast before him. Having selected a practical short-sword, and a DDS-101, he cut a somewhat comedic figure; a small officer dispatched for "pest control."

But the Kiffar did not hear the crowd, the jokes or the japes. He did not see the searing light, nor the tamer of the beast goad their charge to sally forth and gorge Trayze. He walked with the Force, drinking in the sensations beyond senses and processing them, to call out to Elise one last message.

"Elise, this is Trayze. Whoever-whatever you are facing you can overcome them." He spoke under his breath, but louder still with his mind. "If you can subdue them nonlethally, do so. If they must perish so you are free, endure this. If you die, walk it off or else I'll kick your ass. See you soon."

The tusked quadruped bellowed and hobbled before, for while Trayze walked in the Force, he allowed the Force to walk through him, through his own fury as he bellowed an answer to the arena.

 

[Clarron Vall]

Vall strode out onto the arena floor with his usual confident swagger. He didn't need encouragement to go. This was going to be the easiest money he'd made in a while. Part of him rankled that something as low as a glorified pit fight was how he'd have to earn it. How the mighty fall, he thought. Once a blade in the hand of the Emperor, now a spectacle to be jeered at. Very well. If they wanted a show, he'd damn sure give them one. Half the effectiveness of the Terror unit was in the theatrics, after all. He'd trained for this. Well, maybe not this exactly. Life had been simply full of novelties lately for him. Abduction was a new one.

He had been a hard nut to crack for the cartel. After several would-be abductors had been sent back in increasingly-creative states of dismemberment, Vall had at last gotten the message when his TIE had been grabbed by a tractor beam, and he had been politely informed that he could play ball, or be turned into free-floating space debris. It never paid to get into a pissing match with the Hutts.

So, he played ball, and now found himself standing before a horde of cheering yokels of every size and species imaginable. He just hoped the ones holding his ship hadn't broken something, or his opponent wouldn't be the only thing he skinned alive today.

Alas, it was only when he saw the hulking droid, comfortably twice his height and around thrice his width, thud its way into the arena that he understood who he was dealing with. He tilted his head up towards Barabbula II the Hutt in the box above. Oh, very good. He thought, unable to resist shaking his head. That clever slug. Very clever. The mogul had done his research, that was clear. He found himself rather liking the Hutt, despite everything.

Vall was familiar with the droid's model, and had fought alongside them before. It wouldn't be impressed by his fear tactics, dazzled by his aggressive, no-room-to-breathe fighting style, or particularly vulnerable to the slashing wounds of his metal claws. It could, however, flatten his body with a single direct blow, or turn him into a fascinating new statue to decorate the Hutt's chambers with its carbonite cannon. Where they had found a millennia-obsolete relic like this, he couldn't guess, but it would have been hard to choose a better enemy to counter his strengths.

He frowned as the full depth of the joke at his expense dawned. A model he knew well, using carbonite, the stuff he had just spent the past nine centuries rotting inside. He was being mocked, as well as deliberately and cleverly placed at a harsh disadvantage. This fight had a great deal of time, effort, and money put into it, to be as skewed as it was cruelly ironic. About every tool at his disposal was now useless. Except, of course, simple speed, force, and Teräs Käsi. He now knew why the guards hadn't bothered to disable his blasters or claws. There'd be no sense using them.

He shook off these thoughts, and approached the towering machine. This would be a tricky one. He could buckle metal with a punch if he had to, but the trick would be getting inside its considerable reach to hit something important enough to disable it. He let out a quiet laugh, and snarled out to the exultant crowd. "Come on then! Get your money's worth!" His mask both amplified and distorted the words, emerging as a deep, electronic screech. "I'm gonna make some of you rich tonight!"

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The private box was already beginning to fill with bosses from the Pyke Syndicate, Black Sun and even local criminal syndicates operating throughout Hutt controlled territory.

Already a contestant had been thrown out of the arena by their opponent to the deep laughter of the Supreme Mogul.

A dozen aliens had already begun to spark up their death sticks and glitterstims. Bodlo wasn't interested in such basic stimulants - the Sith had given him far more pure forms of pleasure in his career to them. Bodlo was a Trandoshan most in the room would know, he ran a relatively small time crew on Nar Shaddaa's lower districts alongside a smuggling operation bringing Sith goods onto the planet. Mostly weapons and armor, but the rate at which it was being brought in spoke wonders to how close he was with some Sith officials out there.​

​

Bodlo gave what little nod he could to the bodyguards of the Supreme Mogul before he hissed out his entrance;​

​

"Let the Supreme Mogul know I've come to bargain on behalf of my employers. Tell him... The Emperor sends his regards.", he said with a fanged grin and lizard like joy. The expression looked more like a hunter getting ready to strike prey - but that was just how Bodlo smiled.​

​

Still, he was curious if things went extra sour, if he had proven himself worthy of revival by the Sith priests. He had heard of a few bounty hunters, assassins, the like who had been brought back - but he'd never seen them. The most he hoped for now was he didn't have to find out if the rumor was true or not.​

​

Barabbula II the Hutt​

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Equipment
Armor	Leather bracers.
Melee Weapons	Beskar spear.

Elise focused her Force abilities inward, augmenting herself. She leapt out of the way of the beskad swing, Landing several feet away, she skidded against the ground. As sand was kicked into the air, she saw Xerxes closing in already. The Ajayid used the Force again, one eye on the spear on the ground. As she skidded again, she hissed at the continuing persistence of Xerxes. Meanwhile, Emit was still standing in shock, as if unable to come to grips with the impossible choice.

Fight for freedom... or die.​

Elise dodged as Xerxes caught up to her. Feeling the wind from the rapid paced sword swings, Elise gritted her teeth as she came to terms with her situation. At this point, it was self defense.

She had killed vode as an aggressor before, after all.

She focused through the Force. Continuing to dodge, she planted a shard in Xerxes' mind. He stopped, lifting his hand and grabbing his head as if suffering a migraine. Elise immediately started to dart towards the spear, rolling and grabbing it. As she stood up, she entered a proper stance with the weapon.

"Haar'chak!"

Elise's Force Sense flared. Without even looking, she leapt away. From behind her, a grenade exploded. The wave pushed Elise away midair, causing her to fall on the ground. Hissing, she used her spear to push herself up, only to see Xerxes once again charging for her. He extended his vambrace, shooting a fibrochord towards her. Elise extended her hand, Force pushing the chord backwards and causing him to fumble. Panting, Elise looked over to Emit, who once again stagnated after throwing the impact grenade.

Xerxes yanked the chord off himself, tossing it to the ground. "She's Force Sensitive, Emit. We'll have to up the anti."

"Xerxes..."

"We know what we have to do, Emit." Xerxes reached for the rifle on his back, "We fight for our freedom, or we die. And I'm not about to die today!"

The assault rifle rounds rang out, and Elise once again was on the offensive. She dodged again, but for one bolt lifted the spear to deflect it. She winced at the kinetic energy behind the bolt, as it pushed her back. Xerxes did not relent, firing more rounds. Elise shoved herself up, gritting her teeth as she once again backed away. At this rate, she would be shot at, or worse.

She tightened her grip on the spear.

She once again focused on Xerxes mind, digging into it and using the Force. Xerxes movements began to slow, as he showed immediate signs of mental cloudiness. Elise lifted her spear, about to close in, but Emit ran to his friend's aid. He chucked another grenade at her, causing Elise to jump back once again. But she slammed into the arena's wall, falling onto her bottom and dropping her spear. As she looked up, wincing, she saw Emit holding his blaster around from their built up distance. He was trying to build up the courage to fire at her, but the shaking of his hands told her the answer. He could not.

Elise stood up, picking up her spear and kicking herself forward from the wall. She charged forward, spear glistening in the sun, as Xerxes shouted in frustration, "How many mind tricks do you have, Vizsla?!"

He chucked a grenade, slowing Elise's momentum to a halt as the explosion roared in front of her. But with quick thinking, she snapped into motion a plan. She cloaked herself in the Force, while simultaneously creating a projection of herself. The projection continued to dash straight for Xerxes, while Elise moved to the side and started her momentum building charge. The projection dodged another round of blaster fire, as his flamethrower was activated as well. Elise built up her Force Speed as she closed in from another angle.

The deafening crack of his beskar'gam filled Elise's ears with dread, but she continued to shove it in. The spear pierced through the beskar'gam and into his lungs and heart from the side. Elise's eyes were glistened with tears as she sensed Xerxes' life force draining. He looked to Elise in shock as her illusions faded, and he reached out with his crushgaunt to get a vengeful strike in, "Ni'duraa!"

Elise swerved, pushing off of him and the spear to bend backwards and dodge his fist. When she lifted her upper body again, she saw him already on the ground, gasping for air as his heart stopped.

Elise could not bear the image, looking away in shame. "Ni ceta..."

Elise gasped as she felt the incoming danger from behind. She once again found herself dodging grenades. As looked through the sand and fire, tears in her eyes, as Emit ran towards with an agonized, enraged, grief stricken scream.

 

[Dagge Krudar]

T A G S | Darth Empyrean
O B J E C T I V E | Enjoy the Evening
T H E M E | Kayfoundo Naweea (Hungry Eyes)​

---

The formal announcement of the beginning of the game brought a deep cheer from the audience within the crumbling stands, as a dozen monitors and viewing screens came to life as each individual match was broadcasted into the Supreme Mogul's Private Box for the pleasure of the Criminal Underworld.

Some of the contestants had already been eliminated from the arena mostly those from a noble background who had no experience in fighting in the harsh gladiator combat scenes. Their deaths provided little entertainment value to the audience but it did serve as a potent warning to those that would challenge the Resurgent Hutt Cartels in their own domain. Long have they suffered underneath the boot of Jedi Occupation and Genocide during the Current Chaos Era and the Supreme Mogul would make sure such a scenario would never happen again so long as the Golden Reign continued without incident.

He had been informed by the Arena Guardsman's that one particular captive ( Trayze Tesar ) had threatened him directly with a violent death if the captives weren't released. Apparently claiming to belong to the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan and the House of Marr, a known affiliate with the Sith Order. "Boss, I recommend that we beat em senseless until they can hardly stand. That'll show that swine." The Houk Majordomo said wanting to use brute force to make the man submit to the Hutt Cartel's authority. <<Threats are only something to fear when your opponent is strong, that weakling will not survive to act on such notions. Although, Prepare the Carbonite Chamber for later, they will do nicely on my trophy wall.>> The Supreme Mogul replied back with a deep laugh; shoving more food and drink down into the endless maw.

Glancing up at the corner of the monitor closet to him as Elise Ahana-Gwyneira was tearing through her opponents like butter, which was a shame since the Mandalorian people were supposed to be quite formidable even second rate mercenaries like the Mythosaur Supercommandos. Something would need to be done before the audience got bored...but that was a matter for later.

Darth Empyrean approached in the guise of a possessed trandoshan to the Supreme Mogul's dial as the Elite Guardsman let him through after hearing the Emperor's Name. They understood better than trying to get in the way of the most powerful sith in the galaxy. Moving bulbous eyes away from the Mandalorian match to stare deep into the trandoshans.

<<From one emperor to another, I bid you welcome into my humble arena. Tell me what brings the Sith Emperor all the way to Nal Hutta?>> A simple question posed but one of vital importance. The Hutts had dealings with Darth Carnifex so it was no surprise that the Sith Emperor wanted to make sure that the Order was fully behind him.

 

[Clarron Vall]

The machine, less thrilled with his cheap boasting than the crowd was, charged into the fray, lowering its blast shield in an attempt to bowl him over. Vall rolled to one side, then to his feet in a single swift motion, jabbing an armored fist into its thigh as it passed.

The reinforced metal groaned and deformed, but the droid didn't seem overly inconvenienced, simply spinning to face him and sweeping its cannon arm from left to right. A spray of liquid carbonite arced not at him, but at the ground around his ankles. He barely moved away in time to avoid being locked in place, leaping from a standing position over the machine's head to land behind it, digging his boot claws into the sand to arrest his momentum.

Vall was very wary of that weapon. He knew one good, direct spray would likely end this fight. He could burst out of the frozen material in the seconds before it entombed him completely, but those were seconds the droid wasn't charitable enough to allow. He dashed to its now-exposed rear flank, trying to get into the sort of meditative flow that Teräs Käsi required. The excessive noise didn't help, but combat was seldom quiet and peaceful. He jumped, locking his clawed feet to its back. It thrashed to dislodge him, during which time he pounded the metal near its neck, each strike producing a screech of over-exerted metal and a shower of sparks.

As he'd half expected, the droid adjusted its combat parameters, deliberately toppling over to try to crush him. He flipped up and over its massive shoulders as it fell, now clinging to its chest as it crashed prone to the sand. Again and again his fist slammed into its faceplate with enough force to blast the sand from a small area of the ground around them. The flurry of repeated blows destroyed one glowing blue eye and crumpled much of its "face" into a ruin of smoking wires and twisted durasteel. The shield arm came up, catching him in the shoulder and sending him sailing twenty feet away against the wall of the arena. Now it was his own body's turn to groan in protest. Warning signals flashed inside the lenses of his helmet-face. Nothing unsurviveable, but he'd be feeling it later. If there was a "later".

He picked himself up as the droid capitalized on his brief moment of incapacitation, charging shield first in an attempt to splatter him against the wall. He twisted aside in a blur of rapid movement, and the shield slammed into the barrier hard enough to make his teeth rattle. He jumped up, clamped himself to the wall, and ran along it at full speed, leaping at the peak of his momentum to midair-punch the droid in what remained of its head with all the gathered force of his movement. The resultant boom of metal meeting metal with incredible violence echoed around the arena, rattling drinks in hands and cracking some less sturdy glass surfaces. The crowd fell dead silent for an instant before erupting into a deafening clamor.

The droid staggered and fell to one knee, sheer mass keeping it on its feet as he sailed past it. Acting quickly, it again aimed the cannon, though this time at where it calculated he would land. The sand became a slick sheet of frozen granules, and he slid, his graceful landing becoming an awkward stumble that he transitioned into a roll with the ease of long practice.

Once more, the droid seized its chance to take advantage of his momentary imbalance, rushing forward to bring its cannon arm sweeping to his left. Instead of moving away, he made a short run toward it, before leaping in a flashy aerial cartwheel that carried him up and over the passing weapon. He transitioned into a series of back-handsprings upon landing, to create distance and give himself some room to breathe. This really got the crowd going, the display of acrobatics apparently appealing to their sensibilities. Good. Whatever made his hosts decide he was worth keeping alive. It wasn't exactly easy to perform such stunts on the uneven ground, but nothing about today was easy.

Going further, his mask made an inhuman-sounding screech at the carbonite war machine, a electronic mixture of his own voice with sound files of an Acklay's scream. It wouldn't be impressive to the droid, of course, but the Terror Units thrived on being thought of as other than (or more than) human. He was banking on his audience now, and more importantly, his captors. He'd be remembered as just another exotic monster rather than a man, the sort of bizarre curiosity that people ideally liked to see survive another day. He doubted the droid, formidable as it was, was the last unpleasant surprise waiting for him.

As one, machine and cyborg sprinted toward each other. Vall let the nightmarish wail echo around the arena again as steel met steel once again. The show wasn't over yet, and he intended to be alive to finish it with a bang.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"Better get your eyes checked, cause I ain't him.", the Trandoshan said in huttese.​

​

Instead, he pulled a data puck from his pocket, placing it on the table before them both. There was a distinctive black metal making up its core components, tinged with streaks of red that seemed to glow when one looked at them. Accented with electrum, and a clear Sith symbol on its base, it came to life with an audible click.​

​

Instead, the face of the Corpse Emperor appeared in its disgusting visage. It was cold and empty, eyes of iron looking all the more inhuman when translated through the blue technicolor of the hologram. He voice was deep, dry, like the grave;​

​

"Supreme Mogul Barabbula. Your region of space seems ever... turbulent.", he said plainly, the irony in his words clear. This was the third sovereign of Nar Shaddaa he had made a deal with in only a handful of years.​

​

"I've come to offer you a proposition - the same generous terms I had extended to your prior Hutts. A monopoly on mining and criminal functions of the Sith Order - in exchange for your allegiances."​

​

Barabbula II the Hutt​

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Equipment
Armor	Leather bracers.
Melee Weapons	Beskar spear.

Multiple grenades were thrown at Elise. She gasped, realizing that these were too many, to explosive, to try and dodge. She lifted her arms over her, shielding herself as she called on the Force once more. A barrier flew up with the Force. Sand and fire flew around her, but she sensed the rapid incoming of her opponent. The roar of a jetpack caused her to freeze, taken back to her fight with another vod, an important vod, on Kiffu.

Emit rammed into her, sending her flying.

Elise flew down, careening into the ground. Skid marks and bruising covered her unarmored skin as she coughed up blood. She winced, sensing her opponent land behind her. She looked back, ready to defend, only for his boot to slam into her skull. Caught off guard, the dizzy Ajayid was once again on the ground as she felt him kick her stomach.

Elise cried out, her pained cry echoing across the stadium.

The boot was brought upon her chest, and she heard Emit screaming at her, "Witch! That was my best friend! My brother! How could you!"

Elise's eyes rolled behind her skull, the image of a young Chiss woman in her mind. "Vod'ika..."

She heard a sword being unsheathed from his his scabbard, but her consciousness was fading.

"You'll pay for this! You're no vod! You're a Jetii imposter! You-"...

His words faded away, as she found herself someplace else.

Archais' savannah plains were graced by pleasant winds. Elise blinked awake, looking around. She was not alone. Her mother and father were under an acacia tree. Gwyneira Vizsla laughed, taking the homemade picnic sandwiches Eliz Krayt handed her, calling her "cyare."

But also, she saw her Novanian teachers, Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran and Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim . They were speaking, strangely enough, to Darth Malum of House Marr . Elise could hear the excitement as they discussed theologies of the Force, and the Force's very nature. Behind them, in the open plains, Ijaat Mereel and Mia Monroe were looking at the local fauna, studying its Force graced, mythical properties. Elise looked around, seeing more people she cared for, loved, respected. She saw Trayze Tesar speaking with Mevia Vizsla , talking about the struggles of being underdogs and leashed beasts in their respective backgrounds. She saw Kranak Vizsla and Shai Maji , watching Gwyneira and Eliz with proud expressions on her faces.

But it was peaceful, all of it. Joy and laughter filled the air, and Elise looked around as a small smile curled upon her lips.

This was the world she wanted.

A world with no division. A world where there were no wars between Mandalorians, Sith, Shamans, and criminals. For criminals did not exist, Mandalorians never needed to fight, and Sith never rose to be ugly tyrants. Elise looked around, wind blowing in her hair, as she saw Malum walking away from her Shaman mentors with a smile on her face. She gave Mevia a quick greeting as he passed her, approaching Elise with his arms wide in greeting.

"You look captivating, as usual, Elise."

Elise blushed as he approached and hugged her freely. There was no fear of Elise's Psychometry, for it never had gripped her here. He pressed her lips against her cheek, she leaned into it. "I'm so lucky to be loved by a king. But more than that, I'm so lucky to be loved by an inquisitive, caring soul."

She smirked, "You have been glued to Siyarr lately. You're going to make me jealous."

"He's a learned scholar and theologian, with decades of knowledge!" Malum playfully tapped Elise's forehead, "It is immeasurably captivating, speaking with him about the Force."

Malum leaned close to her, eyes begging for a kiss, "It still is not as immeasurably captivating as you though."

Elise's cheeks turned red as she kissed him, the Archais breeze whispering unending freedom around them. It was peaceful. It was serene. Their love was not forbidden here, for it never had been.

But in the bliss of their passion, she was interrupted by a jagged pain in her skull.

​

<"Elise, this is Trayze. Whoever-whatever you are facing you can overcome them.">

Elise sharply pulled her hand to her forehead. The kiss was broken as Elise grimaced. Malum's call to her was strangely distant, as words stronger than reality distorted her illusion.

Shattered images flashed before her eyes. A prison cell, a cruel deal. The sands of a ruthless arena.

​

<"If you can subdue them nonlethally, do so. If they must perish so you are free, endure this.">

She saw one man, a Mandalorian, pierced with a spear. And she saw another, kicking her and screaming at her. And she heard him draw his sword, ready to kill her.

This... this dream... was not real.

This world was not real.

And Elise was about to die to both.

Her self made illusion of the world she wanted was frozen in time, as she realized just as much.

​

<"If you die, walk it off or else I'll kick your ass. See you soon.">

Elise gritted her teeth, pain in her tear filled eyes.

Fight for freedom... or die.​

She looked around at all the people she loved. Her family, her teachers, even her friends within the Sith Order. She saw Trayze's frozen image, still talking with Mevia. Elise's eyes narrowed, hardened, as she muttered.

"See you soon... in the real galaxy."

She winced her eyes shut, killing her dreamscape and waking up.

She was met with the image of a sword coming down on her.

 

[Hanna]

Location: Toborro Grand Arena - Nal Hutta
Objective: The Granee Noopa
Tag: Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Clarron Vall Trayze Tesar Barabbula II the Hutt

She should have known better. Only a couple nights before, Hanna had fallen asleep in a small, sleazy motel establishment after a particularly exhausting dance rehearsal. Upon waking up, she was no longer in her motel room, but rather, in a containment field-shielded cell, sleeping on a small cot. There had been no struggle, no fights against her abductors or opportunities offered to break free from her cell. Those chances had been denied to her, whether through her own weakness or the Cartel’s strength.

In that regard, her captors had handled themselves around her with a great deal of caution. Meals had been given to her through a secure dispenser, so that the guards never had to make direct contact with her. They seemed to know that she was more dangerous than she appeared. However, that wasn’t exactly surprising. While Hanna was not famous by any means, her past with the Agents of Chaos might have very well raised alarms. And yet, for all of their prudence and protocol, the guards had allowed her to keep her mask (perhaps not suspecting what was within) and they had not removed her implants.

Both were weapons that Hanna hoped might allow her to escape. A little more than a day later, she was finally given her first chance, though not nearly in the way that she might have anticipated.

---

The ultimatum had been given. Hanna would fight and if she won, she would be allowed to walk free. To that end, she had been offered her swords, which the Qilin had last seen with her in the motel. In that, she realized that this had been the plan all along. To capture some of the galaxy’s most promising criminals, assassins, bounty hunters, gladiators, mercenaries, and fighters, before placing them in an arena to fight to the death for the entertainment of the Hutts.

In essence, they wanted her to dance for them.

A pair of hulking Gamorreans escorted her—electroprods held at the ready—as the moving platform lowered Hanna down into the arena. While she could have dispatched them in an instant, the dancer knew that there was no point in fighting them now. Her captors had done well to ensure that this was her only chance at escape. Any other time she had been held inside a containment field. It was only moments prior that she had been handed her weapons, which now hovered behind her back in a floating, circular array.

Hanna stepped off of the platform as soon as it came down. On cue, a group of eight masked, crimson-clad warriors leapt down from one of the nearby gangways, before suddenly manifesting red-hued energy shields from their gauntlets, holding the energized barriers in front of their bodies as they slowly began to advance on the tiny Qilin.

Hanna registered their intent immediately and quickly settled into a graceful stance, each of her floating swords now pointing towards her eight opponents. This would be her fight.

Spoiler: Loadout

• White Dress and Gladiator Sandals
  
  • Utility
    
    • Hanna’s Mask
• La-Ley Blades

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Equipment
Armor	Leather bracers.
Melee Weapons	Beskar spear.

Elise rolled to the side. The beskad's metal stabbed the sand below as Elise grimaced at the pain she was in. There would be no respite for her. Not here. She channeled the Force, using it to temporarily dull her pain. She used the Force to increase her physical prowess, leaping away from the second sword swing. She landed on one foot and one knee, panting as she felt the heat rise.

"You're not getting away with this!"

Elise once again was on the run, leaping and running away from the wrath of Emit's flamethrower. Sweat coated Elise's body as the Mandalorian lifted her free hand and fired his pistol at her.

This was becoming impossible! Elise's throat was on fire, and even her skills in Force Augmentation were not invigorating her the way she needed. As her blonde hair and shawl blew in the wind and inertia, Elise extended her hand towards the Mandalorian.

"Vode have been fighting and killing each other for centuries, standing on opposite sides of what they believe it is right...So dry your tears, and hold fast to your why. In time you will find it easier to live with."

Elise gulped hard, bringing herself to composure.

It was time to end this little game.

A Force Push shoved Emit backwards, throwing him on the ground. Panting , Elise noticed Xerxes' corpse close by. Elise ran to the corpse and knelt down, seeing a small knife on his belt, Perfect!

Emit was back on his feet. Elise took the knife and dodged as relentless blaster fire came her way. Gripping the knife in a reverse grip, she charged for Emit best she could, while he fired at her. Battle Precognition and Art Of Movement were essential as she dodged, skidding on the ground and sliding right in front of Emit. All the while, she used the Force again as she extended her pointer finger.

In the flash of Force Speed, he was unable to respond as Elise touched his visor with her finger.

He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Elise frowned, blood splattered on her face. She knew the fate that befell the losers here. She did not want Emit, an emotional and compassionate fool, to suffer a life of slavery. She did not want to condemn him to slavery, in her victory.

She bent down, removing his buy'ce.

He was a near human species, a Mirialian. His Mirialian tattoos dotted his green face; a face contorted in agony. She gripped her knife.

"Emit, I've made you suffer enough. May the Manda reunite you with your dear brother."

Forcing herself to do something she did not want to do, she lifted the blade and killed him.

The blood splattered on her cheek as the deafening, sickening stab enchoed in her mind.

She let go of the bloodied knife, lifting her trembling hand from his body.

Tears flooded her eyes, as she processed the grim reality of what had just happened.

Two more vode, dead, by her hands. The hands red with blood. Eyes wide, she looked up at the audience above. They laughed, sneered, celebrated, and mocked the "performance" below. A bitterness coiled itself like barbed wire around her heart. They were... enjoying this...

How could they enjoy this? Her shame, her terror, her suffering.

Her lips quivered. Remorse and anger build up within her as her eyes fixed upon the hutt master, so cruel. Oh, he delighted in this. To be so flippant with life. To use her, to use all the prisoners here like mere toys. Elise felt hatred a lot in her life, reading history books and seeing the devastations of war. She loathed figures, such as Darth Carnifex and Ra Vizsla , for everything they had done and continued to do. But this pain... was fresh, raw, and personal. And Elise felt hatred, pure hatred, more than she ever had in her entire life. An unadulterated, pure hatred towards Barabbula II the Hutt . Her eyes were hardened with rage, her tears cascaded to the corpse below like a river. Her mouth was contorted into an agonized snarl. Her lips, dry and parched, parted.

She screamed.

She screamed. She screamed a scream, fuelled by all the despair and rage within her. The scream, amplified in the Force, echoed across the arena, and the whole stadium. The walls shook - not enough to break, but merely to testify her woe. The sand around her swirled and twisted in dark energy. She clenched her fists, screaming so hard. Even in other arenas, contestants and prisoners paused to look towards the direction of Elise's arena.

After a long, crawling eight seconds of Elise shrieking like a Force Imbued monster, she lowered her head. The scream faded into a terrible wail, as she wept boundlessly for the crowd to see... just what twisted machinations of the hutt cartel they were enjoying.

 

[Clarron Vall]

Vall stepped aside deftly as the droid slammed downward at him with the edge of its shield, then ran up the surface of the enormous slab of metal, aiming a spinning kick at the droid's already severely damaged faceplate. It reeled backward, then rallied, firing the carbonite cannon at its now midair target. He twisted like a cat to avoid the spray, then landed like one, dropping into a quadrupedal crouching posture that then turned into a pounce, clawed fists extended.

The droid was ready for him, jabbing the end of the cannon up at him with enough force to ensure he didn't walk out of here, or anywhere else, ever again. He extended both hands, grabbed the end of the weapon, and swung himself down hard, using his body weight and the droid's own momentum to pull the cannon downwards into the sand, where it stuck for a moment, throwing its bearer off-balance. He reached out, and with a strength he was sure he would feel tomorrow, slowly and painfully peeled apart the plates on the droid's briefly-disabled arm to aim a quick swipe at the reinforced tubes that fed the deadly cargo into the weapon.

It worked. Carbonite sprayed into the air, dousing the machine. The substance hissed and cracked as it covered the metal in great spurts, and the droid began to lurch toward him, weapon raised, only to freeze in its tracks as the carbonite hardened and crystallized. Slowly, he strode over to it, and reached up to gingerly snap the head, made fragile by the cold, off the body. He tossed it up and down playfully, no mean feat as it was about as big around as his torso. He extended one leg to nudge the frozen droid over, where it shattered into a number of pieces even the Hutts might find too expensive to fix.

He tossed the head into the crowd, where several patrons who had apparently bet on him gleefully fought over it. He didn't have the heart to tell them he hadn't invented that trick, and had in fact originally seen it done with the Force.

His moment of triumph was somewhat undermined by the godawful noise emerging from one of the other contestants, Elise Ahana-Gwyneira .Whatever it had come from, he hoped he wouldn't see it. It sounded like somebody else hadn't been so lucky in their fight as he had. If he were capable of something so base as pity, he might have felt it, because whatever made that sound couldn't have had an easy death. He looked around to check for the projector lenses Barabbula II the Hutt was no doubt watching him through. "I'm done here." He said politely, his snarling, electronic voice reverberating through the screens of those who watched him. "Let me back inside, please, or send out my next victim. Ideally something that bleeds, thank you."

Vall knew well that keeping him here proper would be next to impossible if he wished it, but there was no sense antagonizing his hosts more than necessary. They'd spent considerable effort tracking him down, and could easily do so again. He decided he'd stick around for a while. He'd been reforged to kill, after all, and this was rather more robust than some of his other pursuits lately. Maybe he'd even get paid.

 

[Dagge Krudar]

T A G S | Darth Empyrean
O B J E C T I V E | Enjoy the Evening
T H E M E | Kayfoundo Naweea (Hungry Eyes)​

---

It seems there had been a critical misunderstanding as the trandoshan revealed that they were not in fact possessed by the Sith Emperor merely sent as an emissary as the holo-device was planted on the table for both of them to view. The Corpse Emperor appearance was certainly one of note even through the roughness of the hologram, the decaying flesh held together only by the mystical energies of the force.

The Mogul's Guardsman were certainly taken back by the disgusting visage before them although Barabbula II merely casted an uninterested glance towards the dark figure as they made their intentions known to him.

The Sith Emperor had certainly been right that Hutt Space was ever turbulent, as various factions rose and fell in quite a short period of time. Each government that sought to govern such a lawless space had not been ruthless enough, not had the drive to control their territory through brute force.

The Resurgent Hutt Cartel would survive when they did not, having perished into the footnotes of galactic history without making any major achievements. So, the Sith Order would offer them a good arrangement by allowing them a monopoly on mining and criminal functions throughout their territory in exchange for their allegiances.

<<Your insights are as keen as ever, Sith Emperor. Let me give you a bit of a history lesson on Sith-Hutt Relations, Darth Krayt promised a similar arrangement but then bombarded one of our most holiest worlds into the dust. And you have personally made this offer two times before with each hutt lorda accepting them. I am not so weak willed to bow my head to your authority for such week guarantees>> The Supreme Mogul explained taking the Sith Emperor on a little bit of a history lesson to explain why the current Hutt Cartel would not surrender their authority without additional assurances. Reaching down to pluck another frog from the bowel as it squealed and shivered in tight grasp, as the poor creature was thrown into the deep caverns.

A glance was shared at the monitor of the Mandalorian Elise Ahana-Gwyneira who had beaten her opponents without much difficulty, and caused the stadium to shake and buckle with a force scream. It brought a sadistic amount of pleasure to the Supreme Mogul to see her suffer emotionally, each tear and scream over the killing of her people excited the audience within the Private Box.

Moving away from that screen to watch Hanna begin her match, it would be quite interesting to see how they faired against the Order of the Night Wind.

Clarron Vall seemed to win his match without much difficulty as well.

Arena Actions​

Elise Ahana-Gwyneira and Clarron Vall would be taken back into the holding cells to await the next matches to begin. ​

 

[Hanna]

Location: Toborro Grand Arena - Nal Hutta
Objective: The Granee Noopa
Tag: Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Clarron Vall Trayze Tesar Barabbula II the Hutt

The eight assassins circled around her, tightening their formation in swift, disciplined fashion with their projected energy shields providing mutual protection. The crimson-clad fighters seemed to move as a single unit, rather than as individuals—an oddity for an order of assassins. Beset on all sides, Hanna quickly found herself overwhelmed, much to the delight and displeasure of the crowd. No doubt, they had expected far more from her, which was why eight assassins had been set against her. Already, she could feel the disappointment in their jeers and boos, which was swiftly accompanied by a strange, twisting sensation in her gut.

Fear.

All the while, Hanna’s gaze shifted from one assassin to another as they continued to move in on her. She sent four of her swords out in a circular, omnidirectional slash with a flourishing gesture, but the weapons bounced harmlessly off of their projected shields. The tiny Qilin tried it again, this time shifting her body low to send the swords in a correspondingly low sequence of slashes, aimed to strike at the assassins’ feet. One sword found its mark, the vibrating blade ripping through fabric, flesh, gristle, and bone to slice off both of an assassin’s feet as crimson fluid spilled out from the severed stumps of his ankles. He gave a correspondingly pained scream, but the remaining assassins quickly filled the gap, before launching into a sprint in an attempt to fully box the tiny dancer in.

Finding herself out of options, Hanna jumped.

With her jump came a terrible, ear splitting scream emanating from a different area of the arena. Flipping her body mid-air in a flying somersault, the Qilin held back the urge to cover her ears, willing herself to focus on landing safely. In that, she managed to hit the sand on both feet, sinking her hips low to the ground as she did.

And right there in front of her, were the backs of three assassins, who were briefly stunned from the volume and endurance of the unnatural scream. Nevertheless, singing a bloodthirsty cry of her own, Hanna sent three of her swords flying towards their backs with a pointed gesture, seeking to impale the crimson-clad assassins on her flying blades.

Spoiler: Loadout

• White Dress and Gladiator Sandals
  
  • Utility
    
    • Hanna’s Mask
• La-Ley Blades

 

[Trayze Tesar]

CURRENT MISSION - Send a message
Immediate Goals -
1: Rescue
1.1: Find and rescue Elise Ahana-Gwyneira
1.2: Find exfiltration route
1.3: Rescue other captured prisoners (optional)
2: Defeat the current foe(s)
2.1: Send a message that you're not to me trifled with.
BLUFOR - Elise Ahana-Gwyneira , Darth Empyrean (?)

OPFOR - Barabbula II the Hutt

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Lords of Nal Hutta Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Barabbula II the Hutt

---

They really got along quite well since the barbecue, Trayze thought to himself as he felt the familiar strands of a fellow psychometric. Elise Ahana-Gwyneira 's province was the art of dreams, and where she would stretch her aura and her heart outward, Trayze kept his power close to the chest. Even now, as the beast lumbered before him, only the faintest of tendrils would rake their way across the beast's visage, probing its mind, its weak spots, it's...actually quite eager to please demeanor. The beast only yearned to please and charge at the annoying things, and unfortunately, Trayze was in his way! Still, the Kiffar kept his eyes closed for much of the fight, not needing them to drink in the connection he held with the Mandalorian he knew was fighting for her life elsewhere. The two had trained together, teaching each other their strange and innate powers, and their connection, while not as strong as her's and Malum's, was still enough to sustain him, to motivate him.

His first endeavor was to run circles around the thing, until... found it! The small indent on the left side of its neck! That must be a navichip, a means of controlling the hulk before him. With a spin faster than eyes could catch, that would wow the audience more so than a game of nexu and womprat, Trayze willed the bullet to pierce just enough the chip, causing it to go haywire...

Now Trayze had mere moments, while the beast thrashed and swung it's bony tail about so he could do the most unfathomable thing a Sith could do.

"Settle down now big guy..." Trayze soothed the beast, whispering in the Mando'a creole of his home, approaching him like he would the Banthas back on his family's ranch. "You did a great job, he's squashed, but he got your neck. Lemme see it, all right?" Half winced, and barely wounded, the creature obliged but realized that rather than shattering his mind, he was being praised! He was a good boy!

It played right into the Kiffar's hand, with the opening of other entryways to wrangle the beasts, a few guards readying the shots, and most importantly - the ray shields dimming just enough for the dissatisfied patrons to fling their refreshments in powerless fury. This last part was his opening, and the howl that echoed throughout the stadium broke the spell, and signalled him to act.

As the beast grunted and roared, Trayze leapt and ran atop the back of the quadruped, drinking in each moment of despair that elicited from his fellow captor. The Dark Side fueled his speed, and even his own remorse for parasitically siphoning the anguish of someone he would have gladly called a friend should be enough for what was next. The guards knew what was happening, and as soon as Trayze leapt across the threshold of the shields, they reactivated.

Pain, searing, agonizing pain, but Trayze kept hold of his aim, raising the rifle as the field threatened to collapse around him. But he remembered the pain, remembered his training, remembered his purpose, and pushed his body to the very absolute limit, and squeezed the trigger.

---

High above everyone else, a Trandoshan and Hutt would notice an insignificant plink against the ray-shield enforced plexiglass. Those with keener eyes would note the half-ballooned remnant of a DDS-101 round rolling impotently on the floors, too far from it's mark to kill.

But more than close enough to make it's message known.

---

Trayze allowed the shielding to snap him back into the arena while the beast opened his mouth to devour him, and Trayze understood the nature of channeling energy. Throwing his rifle temporarily, he allowed his crackling hands a wave, and the whole arena thrummed with a fraction of the pain the Kiffar endured, but that was not the entirety of his energy spent. For while they were still recovering, he flew through the air to the roaring beast, caught his rifle, and angled it right into the throat of the beast.

He pulled the trigger, only realizing as Trayze had his own mouth open in an unheard roar, that he tasted blood and bile rushing in fast. Not enough for a quick and easy job, but it would be enough for what happened next. The poor creature spasmed and choked, vomiting blood and bile while Trayze strode forward and stared up at the cameras.

"<<My name is Trayze Tesar!>>" He began, barking in coarse Huttese for most to understand "<<Captain of the SIBC Conciliator, Acolyte of the Sith Order, and Scion of the Ancient and Illustrious House of Marr!>>" With another flick of his wrist, any guard who thought he could get a cheap shot on him were flung back, and the Kiffar continued, glaring at the Hutt orchestrating this entire ordeal. "<<Our host has two choices before him, to release his captors and provide you all with a generous refund package - or...>> He hated making an animal suffer, but he hoped that this creature would serve as example enough to prevent further suffering. "<<He will die. Slowly. Screaming. By my hand, the hand of my compatriots,>>" he gave now a half-manic, gleeful grin. "<<Or the tender mercies of Darth Malum of House Marr . The decision remains your own.>>"

---

Now, hung again, half doused in carbonite, thoroughly scourged, and scolded about how he was a very uncooperative gladiator for the upteenth time, Trayze Tesar couldn't help but realize that antagonizing a Supreme Mogul of the Hutt Cartels may not be ideal for longevity. A part of his conscience he acknowledged, but still ignored, as his mind and connection to the Force worked overtime. Around the memory of an empty family dining table, Trayze would mentally plan his next move. To his right, and when she was ready and willing, Elise Ahana-Gwyneira , but he sensed that there were others that could be useful. While reaching out with his mind to these other potential allies, a small smile was etched upon Trayze's face: If the Hutts wanted entertainment, he would be more than happy to give them a night they wouldn't soon forget.

---

CURRENT MISSION - Escape from Nal Hutta
Immediate Goals (Updated) -
1.1: Find and rescue Elise Ahana-Gwyneira
1.2: Find exfiltration route
1.3: Rescue other captured prisoners (optional)
[2: Assemble a Team]

BLUFOR - Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

OPFOR - Barabbula II the Hutt

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Elias Edo , Andragnath , Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

 

[Clarron Vall]

The cyborg allowed himself to be led back inside without putting up a fuss. His shoulder joint still ached quite atrociously where the droid had struck him, the pain radiating up into his neck and chest. He was relatively lightly-armored as such things went, and luckily it had struck him in one of the few places he did have plates, where his organic torso and mechanical arm met. It had been a good scrap, if a brief one. He'd tried to make it as showy as possible.

He didn't know if he'd be given a chance to rest and recuperate between rounds, or if they'd simply keep coming in relatively quick succession until he died or they ran out of challengers.

He was escorted none-too-gently into his cell, and left alone. That answered that question. At the very least he'd be given a few minutes while they prepared another monster for him to pit himself against. That was fine, and fitting. He was a monster himself, depending on whose criteria you used.

He used the time wisely, examining his damaged shoulder. The blow had loosened the plate fitting there. No time to make proper repairs now, at least not painless ones. He crudely tightened it again, the action eliciting an involuntary hiss of pain as the implants responded by driving themselves more tightly into his bones and muscles. The sound was distorted into more of a warbling growl by his helmet. The sound echoed out of the cell and outside, adding to the cacophany of bizarre noises coming from the other cells.

It could have gone far worse. It likely still would, if he knew Hutts at all. There was no guarantee the creature who had orchestrated all of this would release them when he was done. At that time, he thought it best to make a proper escape attempt. Until then, he sprawled back on the metal cot that was the only furniture in the room. He wished they'd at least give him a screen to see how the other fights were going.

 

[Hanna]

Location: Toborro Grand Arena - Nal Hutta
Objective: The Granee Noopa
Tag: Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Clarron Vall Trayze Tesar Barabbula II the Hutt

The three swords impaled their marks in a triadic sequence of meaty thunks, striking the three assassins that had been their targets with such force that the blades stuck out from their chests, before forcibly flying out from their stricken bodies in veritable explosions of crimson fluid and fleshy gobbets. Insides, turned into outsides. It was a savage, yet unexpected display that caused the crowd to erupt in roaring approval, even as those speculators who had hedged their bets against the small-statured ballerina-assassin gave a collective groan of dismay.

Suddenly, with four of her assailants either dead or disabled, the odds tilted in Hanna's favor. Nevertheless, the remaining assassins were disciplined and quickly moved to compensate for their now-depleted formation. In that, Hanna spared them little time to do so as she quickly sent three of her swords flying towards the assassins, guiding them towards their targets via a sequence of flowing, balletic movements that drew a series of admiring cheers from the crowd. Beset by the flying, missile-like blades, the assassins were immediately forced on the defensive. A blade grazed the arm of one assassin, but the ultrasonic vibrations did the damage, mangling his arm at the elbow until it hung limply from his side. Another assassin was left bleeding in copious amounts from one of his shoulders, though his crimson outfit did well to hide the blood loss.

However, two of the assassins managed to close the distance in spite of the assault, charging the tiny dancer shields first. Hanna somersaulted away from one, but that sent her directly into the path of the other, who bowled her over just as she landed. Hanna screamed as the shield sent a painful shock through her nerves, burning the flesh that had been exposed to its coruscating energies. All the while, seeking to capitalize on his advantage, the assassin raised his electroblade, intent upon delivering the killing blow on his fallen opponent.

Then, suddenly, there was light.

With it, a searing, instantaneous blast of raw electricity exploded out from Hanna’s right hand, sending the assassin flying until his now-horrifically burned, flaming body collided with the nearby barrier in a sickening crunch. With a deep breath, Hanna swiftly scrambled back onto her feet, even as the sudden surge of heat threatened to upset her balance. Nevertheless, sensing the shock from the remaining assassins at the unexpected electrocution of their comrade, Hanna moved to punish them for it. All six of her swords flew in vicious arcs of death as the tiny dancer guided them to their targets through a series of lissom acrobatics. In spite of their shock, the remaining assassins managed to block the initial strikes, but the subsequent ones quickly struck home, impaling one assassin through the top of his skull, bisecting another through the torso, before finally, finishing off the third through multiple cuts and strikes, each one worse than the last. By the time the final blow lanced him through the heart, he was on his knees, blood spewing out from a mess of wounds that had been struck across his flesh as his breath came in ragged gasps.

Calling her swords back, Hanna gasped and dropped onto her knees, the heat briefly causing stars to spin in her vision. Nevertheless, she quickly pushed herself back up onto her feet, before calling one of her blood-soaked swords into her left hand and making her way towards the final assassin that was clinging to life—his feet having been severed moments prior. Upon reaching him, Hanna took a deep breath. Then, she drove the blade into his heart with a savage cry, the ensuing roars and chants of the crowd filling her pointed ears as she did.

For the moment, victory was hers.

Spoiler: Loadout

• White Dress and Gladiator Sandals
  
  • Utility
    
    • Hanna’s Mask
• La-Ley Blades

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Equipment
Armor	Leather bracers.
Melee Weapons	Beskar spear.

There was no sympathy here. No sorrow. No respite. Elise's agony was a mere show to these people. She only sensed their laughter. She grinded her teeth, furious, as she looked up once more. Wide eyes shook in an unstable twitch, her body was throbbing with pain. She shouted at the audience, voice hoarse and sore, "What the kark is wrong with you people!?! I don't understand! How could anyone take pleasure in the suffering of others! You karabasting worms are the reason there's suffering in this galaxy! How could you!? Why-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Back to your holding cell."

Elise turned around to see a large group of guards approaching her. They were mostly trandoshans, though some twi'liks were in the group as well. Elise hissed, rage making her eyes twitch. She pulled herself off of Emit's corpse, drool dripping off her chin.

"Don't tell me what to karking do!"

She pulled the knife from Emit's head, charging for the guards. With how utterly drained, wounded, and emotional she was, however, she was easily met with at least five electrostavs slamming into her at once. These guards weren't fooling around, having heard how much of a terror Elise was from the last shift.

Falling into the sand, Elise involuntarily dropped her knife. But before processing her bounty of disadvantages, she was picked up like a tooka kitten by a large trandoshan and slammed brutally again a metal object. She she felt her body being bound, she realized that she was in a holding stretcher once again.

"Let go, you sick karks!"

She felt the familiar prickling of needles in her neck. She continued to fight, to resist, but she was helpless in the bindings that prevented her from even lifting her head or moving a finger. As the guards began to transport her back to her holding cell, Elise felt more injections flood into her. They had little effect, as Elise had years of drug resistance training behind her.

"Get enough drugs in her to knock her out long enough to situate her in her cell."

"Boss, we alrea'y injected 'ee with th' normal amount ta knock someone out. She-"

Elise's looked to the left the best she could. She saw the leading trandoshan grab the thug's neck, "Inject her more. Big boss will be alright with one overdosed slave if it comes to that."

Once more, more injections flooded her body. Her small body, her broken body, her Ajayid body. Years of building up tolerance towards Mother's Root, a signature psychedelic plant of Archais, gave her a killer tolerance towards drugs. And just like her first set of guards found out, it took far beyond the normal amount to even get her tipsy.

She felt a tad bit woozy, but it could have been the repeated hits to the head she had received too.

Her eyes were unfocused, but she was not even sleepy.

"What the... More!"

As they injected more and waited for the drugs to settle in, Elise smirked. Even now, she was causing her captors headache. It was something she enjoyed, as this was the only way she could rebel against these cruel masters.

"Why isn't she unconsciou-"

""MATE, I DOSED 'ER WITH ENOUGH TO KILL A KARKIN' BANTHA!!!! YOU MEASURE THE NEXT DOSE IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE M-"

"-Alright, alright, keep your hair on.... She is nodding though, look."

"This is insane... Try one more, fellas."

Colors started to swirl, shapes started to swirl, and Elise felt light. Feeling of glee were kicking into her system, freeing her from all her pain. Even bound as tightly as she was to the stretcher, she felt herself moving. Running. Dancing. She forgot about where she was, and the situation she was in. She laughed, feeling the wooziness and festivity as she slowly drawled.

"What is this stuff?... it slaps... Maaannnnn, I need mix this with Mother's Root sometime. Bro, that would be lit..."

"WHAT THE KARK!?!"

"One more outta do it..."

It was that final injection that finally did Elise in. She moaned, feeling the weight of a thousand black holes coming down on her. She was still high as she drifted away, but as she did so, she felt her agony slowly return to her... Xerxes and Emit, two fellow vode from an unknown Clan, were forever burned into her memory.

Forever, she would regret taking their lives, when they had not deserved it.

You said it would become easier, Mia. Did you lie to me?

As she drifted away, faces and people entered her mind.

Mother, you've lent me your strength. You kicked and screamed, when captured by your own biological father. I've followed your example... Are you still proud of me? I fought your youngest daughter, I've killed our people. I'm in love with a Sith...

Malum, wherever you are... I hope you're safe. And I hope you're still yourself. That rancor of a witch is still in your mind, and I hate when she takes you over. I love you. I just want you holding me right now, I'm in so much pain...

But I deserve this pain, don't I Mevia? The Enclave must be watching, laughing, at the traitor in cuffs. You're all laughing at me, just like that audience in the arena, aren't you? You must be thrilled, Mevia. I'm a slave, just like you used to be.

I'm cold...

An earthy scent flooded her nose. Opening her eyes, Elise found herself slumped on a familiar chair. She moaned, sloppily pulling herself up as she clenched her head. She instinctively knew where she was. This was the Tesar indoor dinner table. It was the one place in the entirety of Sith territory she tolerated. She blinked, images still swirling around her as she looked around with red, puffy eyes. She leaned back in the seat again, speaking in a slur.

"Dunno why I'm dreamin' I'm here. Maybe I want Malum to walk in and-"

She fell off the chair, thankfully not finishing that sentence.

She fell on the floor, then started laughing. Tears immediately formed in her eyes, and her rosy cheeks were flushing from her drugged up state.

"Th-that was funny! I went boom!" She laughed again, grabbing the chair and yanking herself up, "Yorunarr, this has t'stop! Y'hear!"

Fumbling, balance forsaken, she leaned against the table. "I don' remember th' silverware changi' color in the light. Did ya get new civilware, Trayze?"

She looked to Trayze for a moment, then blinked, "Oh. Hey, Trayze. Wacha doing here? Oh. This is your house. Yeah."

She almost fell over again, but caught herself, "When's dinner, Trayze? I'm hungry. All I getting been slop I don't know what it is."

She stumbled again, falling into the chair. Pitiful, childlike in how she spoke, she looked down at her hands. They were red, dripping with blood. "Xerxes, Emit. I'm sorry."

She pulled her knees against her chest, shuddering. Despite being in the Tesar dining room being a comfortable place, she was still wounded, exhausted, high, and cold.

"I'm cold."

She had no idea, for she was high. But her Dreamwalking abilities were passively active here. Her body was just as bruised, cut, and broken as it was in reality. But her hands were indeed covered with blood that constantly dropped onto the floor, but never came off her hand. The red liquid swirled on her hand, thick and writhing. It replaced every drop it released within itself. The embodiment of her guilt. And not just for the brothers she fought... but for everything.

She gazed off, dazed, and continued to hug herself. The blood was smearing onto her clothes as she repeated the words. "I'm cold."


Trayze Tesar Barabbula II the Hutt Darth Malum of House Marr