Faction The Granee Noopa | The Nal Hutta Empire

[Hanna]

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

Hanna put up neither resistance nor complaint as the guards escorted her back to her cell. In truth, the tiny dancer couldn’t have managed to put up any kind of fight in her state, with the heat having sapped her strength to such a dramatic extent that the guards were forced to carry her once they got inside. While it was a relatively cool day by the standards of Nal Hutta, like all Qilin, Hanna was extremely sensitive to the heat. The exertion of a fight to the death had only aggravated the situation, which was further exacerbated by the fact that she had been forced to use one of her electricity implants, thereby generating even more heat.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the guards to return with a med-tech to examine her. With the bets that had been placed in her favor after the fight, the Hutts now had a reason to keep her alive and functional until the next fight commenced—she was making them money. As such, a basin of freshwater and a fan arrived quickly. Hanna was swiftly doused in the water, before wet towels were placed over her body. A canteen came as well, which the tiny dancer quickly drank down.

And yet, even as her body temperature returned to normal, Hanna felt a cold sweat build up on her skin. She could only hope that the arena didn’t get any hotter.

Her life depended on it.

Spoiler: Loadout

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

 

[Clarron Vall]

The lack of entertainment wouldn't last long. The screamer from before had apparently survived, unfortunately for her. Now that the source of the noise was closer, he was relatively certain it was a she. Relatively. The pitch and tone indicated such. Perhaps it was indeed a man who had been introduced to such heights of pain that the difference was hard to spot. He had seen it happen before. Participated in it, even.

He knew that particular type of scream well. It stank of horror, remorse, and shock. Good old shock. His respect for the Hutt grew another notch. This one was different. No mere gangster like the ones he had known in his time. Intelligence edged with no small degree of cruelty. A dangerous combination. As usual, his foresight had proven correct. He noticed he didn't have guards in here feeding his legs to starving Massiffs or whatever they were doing to the poor girl outside. It really was all in the presentation with these things.

Having broken a few fingers in his day, and thus professionally interested, he pressed the side of his head against the door of his cell to listen. Unlike some, his cell door was a simple metal one, rather than something flashier like a ray shield. This suited him, being considered a "low-risk" prisoner. He'd harmed not one metaphorical hair on the guards' reptilian heads, nor would he plan to if it let him keep minor privileges like these.

He picked up some bits about injections and dosages. Chemical inducements. Crude, but he supposed they were simply trying to subdue, rather than interrogate. He preferred something of the more delicate touch with these things, but it seemed to be working well, in this instance. If one could call brute sadism "working". He sighed. Must be her first time in containment.

Rule one of containment was to play nice with the teachers and the other children until you had finished plotting your exit. Then you could get all the murder out of your system if you needed to. He couldn't fault the feistiness, just the execution. He reminded himself that he had been young once too, then reminded himself over again that he technically still was.

He found the relative quiet somewhat soothing. The walls were thick enough that the only thing he could hear, up until the screaming had so inconsiderately ruined the mood, was the occasional sound from adjacent cells that filtered through his door. When it died down, he sat back on his cot, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes, controlling his breathing and willing himself into a sort of trance state, and so he would remain until retrieved, carving out inner peace until it was time for war again.

 

[P O D]

| OBJECTIVES |

Survive
Interact with other captives
- ON ARENA FLOOR​

---

In all honesty Pod may have been the easiest to kidnap. Surely the nobles and elite did not give much of a fight when nabbed, but the effort put into getting access to them was likely no minor feat. The siths and warriors that lined the walls with Pod, chained and beat into sensibility, looked ruthless...deadly. He marveled at how extensive this operation seemed to be, the manpower it must've used to acquire all these gladiators...it was impressive to say the least. He respected it.

It only took 2 mercenaries to take him away. Deep in the underground of Balosar, amidst carnage, crime and rot, he was sprawled on the ground outside of a cantina. The lights of the night life shone bright, flickering and illuminating his face with a faint red glow. He'd been kicked out after he'd ingested excessive amounts of death sticks, slurring and slobbering over anyone who may venture in arms reach. He sang, he danced, he called people vile names and threatened to follow them home or entice them into a fist fight. A nuisance he was, using his tentacles to steal people's drinks and empty their pockets at the same time.- doing very little to distract or convince he was doing otherwise. He was so blatant and obvious with this tomfoolery, responding so little to reprimand. It was easy to toss him to the curb, the stumbling, blubbering fool he was. He was hallucinating extensively, a synthetic euphoria pumping through his body and making his skin and eyes bubble and swell with energy. The cantina lights that were once a simple aura now appeared blinding and all-encompassing in his vision, bright and filtering and burning through his retinas like a sun spot. He was lost in his own little world, mumbling and rolling around in the garbage. Im sure the soldiers sent to retrieve a potential gladiator didn't even originally have their eye on him, but when they passed that poor slop in the street, his tentacles wrapping playfully around their ankles, they might've figured him to be too nice of an opportunity to miss. An easy job done for them. Leaning over top of Pod, their figures would glisten through the glamour of the drug. His stupor twisted them into trees or shrubbery, their fruit dangling from branches into his reach. They would lead him easily to their ship, he must've been passed out by then, the extent of their immobilization of him would be a bag over the head and handcuffs around wriggling wrists. He awoke to find him in a dimly lit cell, and realized he'd been bound to the wall without much fight. He continued to ride a deceiving, euphoric high as the guards rattled his cage, tantalizing him with food just out of reach, his one tentacle arm slithering slowly across the floor in hopes of grasping it. They spoke to him:

<<Fight for your freedom, for gold. Entertain the crowd, give honor to the Hutts...or die>>​

Pod would smile devilishly. A toothy smile, bloody. It ripped across his face as if someone had dragged barbed wire across it. He would say nothing, but the ironic enjoyment he emitted seemed to be an acceptance of the situation. He nodded, letting his head fall back against the cold wall he'd been chained to. Up until being shoved into the arena, Pod would offer no fight. He would not test the limits of his restraints, nor would he spit and claw at his captors. Rather, he kept his eyes closed. A fork would appear between bushy brows, giving the impression he was in deep thought and concentration. His skin would move, shifting in textures and color, expanding and shrinking. Moving like some parasite or worm writhed just beneath the flesh, scraping and begging to break free. It was slow at first, but with time the shifts began to speed up. He was preparing. Focusing his abilities, concentrating on the beating he was about to take. Unbeknownst to anyone but him, he was looking forward to it. The boy was content. He enjoyed being told what to do, being used for someone else's bidding, giving his own life for whatever measly little task they wanted. He had a purpose now, a goal to complete and a reward to recieve. Fight for life. Fight for death. He did not mind either in all honesty. He did not mind being an entertainment, rather he found himself basking in it. A fight they wanted, surely a fight they would get.

He seemed to be chained to that damned wall for far too long. He could hear rumbling, screams and jeers, laughter and disgust emitting from the crowd. They must've been right above him, or at least nearby as he could feel the thunder of the arena reverberating through the thick walls. It sent shivers down his spine. His anticipation left him shaking, itching for a chance to get out there. What did he have in store? Was he up against another competitor? Some exotic beast? A droid of impossible proportions?? Ahhh the possibilities were endless.

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.

With that guttural, gut-wrenching scream, the guards came rushing to his pen. Perhaps not expecting Elise Ahana-Gwyneira or the other fighters to dispose of her opponents so quickly and realizing they better get another opponent out to appease the crowd. Surely Pod was one of the last few gladiators before the 2nd round. The energy Pod could feel as he walked was almost too much to handle, his antennapalps arose from his hair and shook violently as they led him to the arena. He could feel the death, the sorrow, the anger. The bloodshed. The excitement.

They had stripped him of all his jewelry and valuables, and upon removing his shackles and shoving him into the sand, a measly knife was tossed out onto the arena floor next to him. Almost mockingly so, Pod realized as he glanced up to the droid before him. A sight that would drain the blood from any sane person's face. Luckily, Pod was anything but sane. A shit-eating grin would rip through his cheeks as soon as he saw the sheer size of the annihilator, a grin that would not fade until long past the end of the match. The droid was motionless for what seemed like an eternity, giving Pod a chance to gain his bearings and look up amongst the crowd. They looked so happy.

This brief period of calm before the storm allowed Pod a chance to grow. His body expanded, his flesh stretching and ripping before reforming into something bigger. Beginning with first his arms and legs, they grew thick with muscle - threading themselves into tree trunk sizes. Claws sprouted from fingertips and the singular tentacle arm, and soon his form turned into something feral. He dropped to 4 legs as the droid finally initiated it's impressive shield, the red eye glowing bright as it locked onto Pod, gearing up it's blasters. The lasers rained down on him 2 at a time, methodical and lethal. The noise irritated Pod's sensitive hearing, and he groaned as the sand around him became seared with shots. All the while he continued to reform, his smile growing into something recognizable as a Nexu. Pod did not often shift into something so animalistic, but due to his mental preparation, the shift came to him quicker than normal. It was still imperfect and hurried, a mesh of thoughts and ideas. This Nexu only had a single set of eyes, no tail, smaller in size, a distinct orange color. It's fur and dorsal spikes were replaced with a scaly, almost reptilian exterior, an attempt at defense from the blaster hits no doubt. It's front claws were also extremely disproportionate to the rest of it's body, extending upwards so that it appeared that the beast stood on high heels. It was extremely unbalanced because of this, teetering and tripping as it bounded across the sand.

Throughout this shift, Pod wriggled through the maze of blaster hits. The cat-like agility of the Nexu form allowing him to move with a newfound speed. The crowd might've enjoyed this sight, the beast almost comedic in it's appearance and movement, nothing they had ever seen before. The creature roared as it zig-zagged closer to the droid, eventually launching off it's hind legs. It would impact the shield, the very front of the droid between it's two guns, and the impressive claws would dig fruitlessly into the shield. Pod was testing it, unsure of it's power. Unfortunately for him, he had been a fool for underestimating. It was probably the strongest shield ever mounted on a droid, and his measly little cat claws did very little to pierce it's armor. The Nexu slid down the front of the shield pitifully, collapsing on the ground in front of the annihilator. It advanced forward, attempting to crush the scaly creature with it's metal legs, but to no avail as Pod pushed off from the sand hurriedly, getting to his feet.

This may be harder than he thought...

 

[Pirates of the Arm]

The Granee Noopa | A Hutt Cartel Story

Objective I: The Granee Noopa​

The first chapter of the Granee Noopa had nearby come to a close as a majority of the 50 contestants kidnapped from across the galaxy had scummed to the wounds sustained from their opponents although some had managed to survive their encounters without much difficulty.

The Audience was full of boos and cheering as each individual fight was broadcasted live for them to see in real time on the various monitors throughout the stage, as aggressive bets were counted at the Cartel Betting Exchange near the front entrance. Many had bet on the wrong person winning the match and had lost everything...nearly losing their own freedom due to Hutt Loopholes.

The Matches were soon given a rating from 1 to 11 on how much they excited the audience, as the scores were soon listed for the prisoners to glance at as they prepared for their next engagement.

Hanna with a Score of 11

Elise Ahana-Gwyneira with a Score of 6

Clarron Vall with a Score of 5

Trayze Tesar with a Score of 2.5

During the match of Trayze Tesar the lack of security was noticed when the individual had almost managed to scar the Supreme Mogul with a weapon. The Grand Arena was now at a Level 3 Security Notice as several more regiments of Guardsman and Enforcers from across Nal Hutta had been called in to beef up security, along with ISO-5R Battle Droids and Ancient Hutt War Droids to patrol the corridors underneath the arena and prevent an escape attempt.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, THE SECOND ROUND WILL BEGIN. THE FIRST TEAM THAT CAN MAKE THEIR OPPOSITION YIELD WILL WIN."

The second rounds would begin

Round 2​

Name​	Opponent​
Hanna and Clarron Vall ​	Elise Ahana-Gwyneira and Trayze Tesar ​

OOC: Please make the fight last longer than 1 Post. OOC 2: This is not a fight to the death, you must make the other team yield in order to win. ​

 

[Hanna]

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

The rest and treatment that Hanna had received was a luxury earned. While she was still very much a slave, seeing her name attached to the highest audience ratings brought the tiny Qilin a measure of cautious pride. She was a dancer after all. And so, satisfaction was inevitable in knowing that she had been the delight of the crowd, even if the circumstances were not nearly in her favor.

Knowing that, Hanna sensed that it wouldn’t be long before she was called for the second round.

In that, Hanna quickly made ready for the coming bout. She pushed her body through a short sequence of stretching exercises to keep her muscles limber, before cleaning her swords and dousing herself in what was left of the water inside the basin. Upon finishing, she took a short swig of water from her canteen, then allowed the guards to lead her back into the arena, giving them neither incident nor complaint. Now more than ever, it was vital that she save her strength, which she knew might quickly fade in the heat of the arena.

---

A chorus of loud, deafening cheers greeted Hanna as she emerged from the cells and stepped foot back into the arena. Even after seeing her rating on the screen inside her cell (and after having been subjected to the noise of the crowd before), the sensation of attention brought a brief, yet shocking chill to her bones. The eyes of thousands, if not even millions if the streams were counted, were now set on her. Her fifteen minutes of fame, happening right now.

Fifteen minutes that would decide the fate of her life.

Fortunately, a deep breath was all it took for her composure to return. Then, Hanna glanced towards her partner—one Clarron Vall . His visage (if he still had one at all) was concealed beneath a predatory, skull-like mask. The scrapes, dents, burns, and carbon scoring marks struck across his armor told her that he was a warrior—one that was just as much man as he was machine.

He was a monster created and honed for violence. In that, Hanna did not feel that she was too different from him.

On the opposite side of the arena—roughly 20 meters away—were the two fighters that they were set to face. One was a masked woman, with blonde hair and a piercing, crimson-eyed gaze. Blood stained her clothes, indicating that she had won her last bout in brutal fashion. The other figure was masculine—his hair done up in black dreadlocks and his skin olive in hue. Hanna took in their respective stances and dispositions, but in doing so, she assessed their armaments as well. The woman only carried a spear, immediately telling Hanna that she was gifted. The man was armed with a short-sword and a rifle—practical, reliable weapons that would make him dangerous at all ranges.

“Should we take them both at once, or will we pair off?” Hanna called out to her partner, her tone cooperative, yet distinctly distant. After all, she might very well be pitted against him in the next bout, should they win this one.

Spoiler: Loadout

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

 

[Clarron Vall]

Vall fixed Hanna with a blank, mechanical stare. He sized the woman up, and could see she was doing the same to him. A strange life form, and one he was not familiar with, but she'd apparently survived her match, and if it had been as cleverly lopsided as his, that spoke highly of her abilities. Her score had been nearly as high as the other three contestants combined. If he were going purely by numbers, this was going to be a bantha shoot in their favor. He was fine with that.

His gaze then turned to his opponents. The first was a woman, young, and looking as though she'd been run through the ringer. He guessed that this had perhaps been the one who had been making so much noise earlier. She wore little protection, which spoke of cockiness, or perhaps simply great skill, and held her weapon as though she had used it before, and not just in the last bout. Her ordeal likely had, (at least he hoped), left her in less than flawless fighting shape in mind, as well as in body. A perfect victim for his fighting style, though he preferred not to be too rough. Hutt's stipulations of a non-lethal match aside, he might need her later if they were to make an unscheduled exit. Besides, she might surprise him and he would wind up taking a beating. How long the repairs would take depended on how painless he could make this... but where was the fun in that?

The man was harder to read. He had a murderer's stance, a murderer's stare, and a murderer's armaments. This was assuredly not one to be impressed by what he could offer, at least not in broad daylight. He didn't wear his damage, if any, on his sleeve. Vall was sure he could expect no mercy or hesitation from him. Better to let Miss Perfect 11 dust that one off.

"For now, work together and cover each other's backs." Came his answer to her question, a grinding rasp of a voice, like a wrench caught in a conveyor belt. "We aren't sure of the extent of their abilities, or of each other's. Later, we can split them apart, isolate them when we have a better idea of their capabilities. The woman may still be off-kilter from her earlier experiences. I will dispatch her, if you can hold the male at bay. Afterwards, we may both focus him down. Easy prey."

He turned his head in a slow, reptilian fashion deliberately chosen to accentuate his inhumanity, and fixed his gaze on the spear-wielding warrior. He then flexed the lengthy durasteel claws set above his fingers, causing small arcs of orange energy to dance between them from the barrels of the stun blasters mounted above them. "Does that work for you?" He added politely. "If not, I'm all ears. Whatever gets me back to my cell sooner."

Hanna
Elise Ahana-Gwyneira
Trayze Tesar

 

[P O D]

| OBJECTIVES |

Survive
Interact with other captives
- ON ARENA FLOOR
​

---

The Nexu traveled the arena in a flurry of dust, bounding in a circle around the droid as it showered down lasers. It had started to figure out Pod's pattern, and it's aim was getting increasingly accurate...it was only so long that he would be able to leap about without getting a face full of bullets. There was little time to waste, and with a sinking feeling Pod realized that if he were hoping to survive, he'd have to risk it all. Ironic, considering how earlier he swore that he did not mind the idea of death. I think it was less the idea of dying and more the idea of servitude, giving his life to the Hutts (albeit unwillingly) but surely he might have some self-preservation now as adrenaline threaded through his vessels, keeping what little hair the Nexu had standing on end.

Pod turned to lunge at the shield once more, but this time his one of his un-proportioned front paws rolled underneath his weight. The talons the beast stood on were far too long for any semblance of balance and gave in easily under quick maneuvering and sudden shifts. So the beast tripped, fumbling as he fell down onto his shoulder with a spray of sand. The droid had its moment, and while the makeshift Nexu hesitated on the ground the lasers targeted its exposed undercarriage. Rapid fire reflexes rolled the Nexu onto its side so the hits would hit his hardened shell and bounce off, but not before shots landed on his paw. The beast roared, the sheer volume of it threatened to shake the arena, similar to Elise's not from an energy standpoint, but due to it's intense ferocity. You could feel his pain. It hurt, oh GOD IT HURT. Pod's pain tolerance was exceedingly low, his body strung thick with webs of nerve. The seared paw had nearly been shot right through, the exposed axons of his nervous system ached like wildfire. They stung like a billion bees, and screamed like a thousand widowed wives. For mere moments he lay there licking it, soothing it with his slobber, but just as before he was running out of time. The droid had been advancing slowly, some bullets bouncing from Pod's built-in defense and flying back towards the annihilator, only for the blast to be absorbed in the shield. The closer it got the bigger the impact of the bullets, the more they wore down his hardened exterior and the more he could feel each bullet digging into his back, heating and hurting. He whined, a pitiful noise that expressed the ache he felt getting back to his feet. It had not taken long for a small tendril to sprout from the wound on his paw, a measly thing but with each passing moment it increased in size and length. The tendril shot right out of the top of the Nexu's right paw, and it began sharpening its tip to a lethal point.

The beast moved towards the droid once more, albeit a bit more sluggish and cautious. He was mad. He was hurt. He was weary of it happening again. He jumped at the droid this time with more of a plan, digging an aching paw into the shield. He scrambled up the energy force as much as he was able to without slipping, finding himself atop the annihilator. The firing ceased as the droid attempted to shift it's blasters upwards, but to no avail. it could not seem to aim above it's head. It began to flail, moving about and twisting in efforts to toss the creature. The nexu had lowered itself, spreading itself out as if it lay on ice, as if it were trying to hug the shield. Its center of balance kept it from flying off try as the droid might. The audience laughed and cheered, amused by the silliness that was a droid trying to shake free a little kitten. The jeers and cheers echoed down to Pod's sensitive ears, again wincing at it's proximity. He would close his eyes and dig his claws in, trying to maintain as much stability and focus as he possibly could in the given situation. Perhaps no one would notice it at first, but with the passing of a few minutes, some onlookers might notice how the nexu seemed to be growing larger. His paws spread bigger than his head once was, his jaw large enough now that he could begin gnawing on the shield, canines trying to pierce through the veil. With this increase in size, the droid seemed to start staggering under his weight. Metal legs wobbled and sagged, moving and thrashing much more laboriously. It seemed that Pod's plan might be working...

With the droid semi-subdued from his excessive weight, he could allow himself more grace in trying to get through this damned shield. He tried everything. He bit, he clawed, he scratched...that little foot-tendril of his even tried it's best at stabbing. He kept steadily increasing with size, and soon enough the shield seemed to start flickering, succumbing to the downward force. It only took a second when the shield wavered for him to get a critical hit. The weakening defense started to splinter and crack, Pod's claws beginning to pierce through with lethal intensity. Another flicker of weakness and Pod managed to rip through the shield, enough to reach a whole arm through the force field. His claw swatted at the air, elbow-deep in the defensive shield and trying to reach the droid's bright red eye. It almost looked like a cat trying to land playful hits on a toy.

The tendril that had formed from the laser hole swirled about the droid, large enough now that it's pointed tip was close to the size of a handheld knife. Pod struggled to reach the eye with just his arm, and soon enough the swatting subsided so he could try navigating with the tendril instead. It slithered through the air like a snake, slippery and fanged. It started to jab at the droid's red core, the beating heart and the blinking eye of the beast. With little force the glass shattered, a weak spot on the otherwise impenetrable fortress. The tendril dug its way into the eye like a blood thirsty parasite, like a finger that was digging around for a bullet in a wound. It sliced at every cable and wire, thrashing about within the droid in attempts to sever as much of the sensory system as possible.

This whole time the droid seemed to go into panic mode, unable to reach the beast on top of it. It had started making its way to a wall in hopes of throwing Pod up against it, but it's eye got gouged out before it could do much more damage. It was voiceless but not painless, the droid making urgent flailing movements as it's innards got ripped into shreds. It was not defeated though, not by any means. In a matter of seconds it's shield dropped, catching the nexu by surprise. The beast fell onto the droid's cold head, metal joints groaning with stress and release as the feline body rolled down it's backside and into the sand once more. Unable to utilize it's targeting mechanism, the droid started stomping about violently. Perhaps hoping that it would be lucky enough to catch the animal underneath one of it's lethal spider legs. It spun about, clearly unable to detect where Pod was in the space. Sparks and crackles emitted from the now broken eye, sizzling with exposed wire. Frantic blaster shots bounced off walls and sand, forcing Pod to stay close to the droid. He wasn't entirely sure of what to do next, fore he could not get through the metal armor of the droid...no matter how much biting and clawing he did he knew that an organic creature (such as himself) would stand no chance against a superior annihilating entity. So, he figured he'd get another shot at the eye. See if he could reach anything more inside.

This time he jumped for the droid from behind, grappling it and riding it as if he were a back pack. His claws wrapped around and made purchase on the eye's old opening, scraping the metal with a harsh screech. He pried at the opening, pulling back metal and exposing the 'wound' even more. A paw would wriggle inside the eye, swiping viciously at anything in reach. He must've made purchase on something pretty important...one of the legs beneath the droid fell limp. Then another, then another, then they both lay sprawled on the ground. It pinned Pod down, falling backwards on top of him. The droid wriggled about like an insect on it's back, frantic at first but slower with time, as if it were dying. Pod could hear one loud crackle as exposed wiring and software reacted with one another, lighting fire within the robot and sending it into some kind of seizure. It thrashed lifelessly on top of Pod, history ironically repeated itself as it crushed the boy under its weight. The nexu cried out, trying to free itself from under the metal scorpion. Did the crowd root for him? Did the crowd boo at him? He could not hear them over the beating of his own heart, thumping far past the body cavity...drumming horrifically in his skull.

Fortunately, it seemed to finish as fast as it hard started. The droid would abruptly fall limp, the hellish glow of it's eye flickering out to a low dim. A wildfire extinguished to nothing more than a campfire. It seemed over. Both Pod and the annihilator lay still, the dust settling. Pod awaited for more movement, a final strike of death that would catch him by surprise...but it never came. As if from ancient ruins he crawled from beneath the mammoth, tired and with notable struggle. He dragged himself out, his body littered with cuts and bruises. He groaned and whimpered, impulsively licking his paws and arms. His blood was clear and sticky, something that the onlookers would probably not be keen enough to pick up on. To them, perhaps he looked completely unscathed. This notion might be dissolved though when they saw him walk, he limped and ached so obviously they might've winced just watching (that is, if they had any working empathy). The beast was clearly hurting...but clearly alive.

With the droid seemingly extinguished and the thumping between his temples subsiding, Pod finally registered the volume of the crowd. They roared, they screamed, they cried. For him? Was it over?? He would ponder this as the Hutt's guards came out to fetch him from the sand, and to clean up the mess he had left.

 

[Trayze Tesar]

CURRENT MISSION - Just the Two Of Us…
Immediate Goals -
1: Ensure Elise Vizsla survives
1.1: Subdue current Foe(s)
1.2: Assemble a team
2: Find Exfiltration Route

BLUFOR - Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

OPFOR - Barabbula II the Hutt

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Elise Ahana-Gwyneira , Clarron Vall , Hanna (Directly) Elias Edo & Andragnath (Via Force)

---

Squirreling away a space in the mind is no easy task. Anyone can daydream, anyone can imagine, but to muster a location, build it up, and allow it for only a select group of people to reside and commune together was a bit trickier. Trayze knew that due to Elise's "iron liver", the poor bastards would overdose her, and even now by sheer connectivity he felt woozy. He winced as she staggered about in the furniture, while she mewed helplessly, as he bit back his mind's eye to hold her. He reached out, to a strange and alien mind that was touched with the Passion of the Dark Side like his, and even the placid Jedi he sniffed out - he would need every fiber of his being to reach out and rally together a prison break.

"I'm cold."

It was these words that caused him to break. Already around the young woman she would feel in her mind's eye an address of the terrible thing that ensured, the killing of kin. The blood seeped away, as the assurance that she isn't alone in this, that Trayze is here. Outside, there was a change in bodies, where once the guards had finally left the two alone, the flesh mirrored the mind. The shouldering of afflictions, of ill fortune, and to kindle the defiant desire to escape. No words were exchanged audibly between them, but Trayze conveyed all he needed to.

They were going to escape. The Hutt was going to scream.

---

Screams once again echoed throughout the arena, dulled by the ray shields and the fact Trayze saw the fact he was dead last on the scoreboard. Apparently his little attempt at sending a message was received, and he would suffer the consequences. It mattered little, the Hutt wasn't the one he was trying to appease. No words were exchanged between the Mandalorian and the Kiffar, at least none heard with ears.

"Elise." Trayze exhaled, allowing himself to stagger a bit. Even with the drinking of the Force, he still suffered from the noxious swill pumped into his battle-buddy's body. "Neither of them are Force Users, and neither of us are at full kilter." Even as Trayze lolled about with unsteady footwork, both his and Elise's mind shouldered the other. He noted the extra security, so the list of ideal ways to settle this without violence was dropping rapidly. With great effort, he focused his mind's eyes on the lips and the words exchanged between the horned woman and the mechanical combatant. "Mind the tin can. He's raring after you. Thinks you're the weak link." A coy smile, and a half drunk chuckle exhaled from his lips. "Time to remind them who the greatest Dreamseer this side of Novania and the best Detective out of Besberra are. How would you like to foil their plans?"

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Equipment
Armor	Leather bracers.
Melee Weapons	Beskar spear.

Still struggling with the effects of the drugs, Elise could not help but chuckle when Trayze telepathically told her that she was seen as the weak link.

"I'm a Novanian Shaman, Trayze. We thrive on psychedelics."

She leaned against the Beskar spear she had been handed by the guards. Apparently, they wanted her armed for this fight. As she looked at the cyborb through drooped, narrowed eyes, Elise spoke, "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

She reached up, her hand hovering over the spearhead. She teetered, once again returning to her telepathic link with Trayze. "I'll need a second to pull this off. But I have my trump cards. And hopefully, I'll be too high to feel any guilt this time... we both know that the losers here are sold off."

The Ajayid shivered in fear. What would life for her be like, as a slave? She never considered herself the most attractive woman, but she felt disturbed at the thought of being sold for pleasure. The Ajayid looked over to Trayze, wondering what sort of wretched mine he would be forced to toil away in. She was terrified of losing... but she did not want to send the two across from them to a similar fate. That had been why, after all, she had killed her vode. She placed her hand against the tip of the spear, drawing blood. She gritted her teeth, grunting in pain as she carved a quick Novanian glyph onto the palm of her hand. Her eyes noticably glowed brighter as she removed her hand from the spear. As her blood dripped down the spear, she the high Novanian heard a voice in her head.

"My sweet, Ajayid child. What fate has befallen you?"​

It worked! Through her eyes, Mother Melarria saw the arena, felt Elise's drunken agony, and sensed the danger. Elise hissed, wincing as the sunlight blinded her.

"Sweet mother, guide me."

Her blood glowed, as if itself was the war paint of the Novanian people. Elise lifted her spear, slipping into a combat stance. She was in a stooper, but she was far from weak. With her bleeding hand, she lifted her fingers into a striking position as her cuts and blood glowed a bright, ethereal red.

"I'm not killing them, mother. But it's my freedom or theirs'. Overcome my regret today, and free your child."

"I speak, you move."​

"Trayze, the cyborg is ours. Can you handle the dancer? Good."

"Rush him!"​

Elise took off in a burst of Force Speed. As sand floated around her, she heeded her Ancient One's words.

"My child, beware the cyborg with similar technology to your own kind. Think on your feet."​

Light and agile, Elise took advantage of her psychedelic state. She moved off balance, sharply swerving to the right of the cyborb, as if falling. But she never hit the ground, instead sharply changing direction and moving in with the blunt end of her spear. She would use the shaft to deflect any attacks she could not dodge, while aiming to merely touch the cyborg with her bleeding hand. If she could only touch him, her Dreamseer Blessing would activate, causing the cyborg to fall into a deep sleep and winning her to duel.

She moved with the ebb and sway of the drugs. Irregular movements were weaponised as in her state of drunken fist, she aimed to give her opponent his goodnight kiss.

Trayze Tesar Clarron Vall Hanna Barabbula II the Hutt

 

[Hanna]

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

"For now, work together and cover each other's backs." Came his answer to her question, a grinding rasp of a voice, like a wrench caught in a conveyor belt. "We aren't sure of the extent of their abilities, or of each other's. Later, we can split them apart, isolate them when we have a better idea of their capabilities. The woman may still be off-kilter from her earlier experiences. I will dispatch her, if you can hold the male at bay. Afterwards, we may both focus him down. Easy prey."

“Agreed.” Hanna answered, her swords floating behind her back in a circular array as she settled into a balletic stance, feet primed for motion. With that, Hanna fell silent, her attention focused on the two fighters on the opposite side of the arena as she studied their dispositions. The blonde-haired woman moved first, charging towards the cyborg in a surge of wholly unnatural speed that allowed her to rapidly close the distance, all but confirming Hanna’s initial assessment of her capabilities.

She was gifted. Very much so.

Nevertheless, as planned, Hanna intended to work together with her partner. The short-statured dancer threw her body into a high-flying, acrobatic backflip, before landing gracefully on the balls on her feet, five meters behind her original position. Immediately, two of the swords floating at her back lashed out, racing towards the blonde from five meters away with such extreme speed that they more resembled a pair of bladed, transonic missiles than actual swords. The first sword was sent high, on a trajectory to lance the woman through her upper chest, while the other flew low, aimed to impale her through the stomach.

A heartbeat later, a flourishing gesture sent two more swords racing out from behind Hanna’s back at similar velocities, both set on course to strike her other opponent from 25 meters away. The dancer directed them for a pair of slashing strikes, with the first sword aiming to slash the man through his torso, while the second struck for his neck—a potentially decapitating blow, should it land.

It was a fight to first yield, not necessarily a fight to the death. And yet, Hanna knew that the threat presented by lethal force was the most potent tool for compelling an opponent to surrender. In that, she could only justify it one way.

It was either her or them.

Spoiler: Loadout

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

 

[Clarron Vall]

Tags: Hanna Trayze Tesar Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

Vall relaxed as his enemy closed, unnaturally quickly. A Force-sensitive, then. Excellent. He was no stranger to that, though the technique used was unfamiliar. The movement may have been swift to the observers, but to him, it was quite reactable. He had danced between the saber-strokes of Jedi, after all. This would be nothing new.

The woman left off the business end of the spear, apparently taking seriously the stipulation not to kill him. She also seemed more eager to get the other hand on him than he was entirely comfortable with. He couldn't guess why, but it could be nothing good. A grappling fighting style, perhaps?

As such, he leapt aside to the left as she closed, turned the movement into a flashy aerial somersault to create some distance, and twisted his body in midair to fire the stun blasters in both arms at his enemy, twice at the woman and twice at the man. Twin orange streaks of crackling energy raced toward them each, and he followed the projectiles the second his feet touched the earth, the speed of his movement a flickering blur that left a swirl of sand behind it. The durasteel fist aimed at the Mandalorian's midsection came seconds behind the approaching energy blasts.

No claws, for now. Though his fists were scarcely less lethal, if she was playing nice, so would he, a sentiment his partner seemed not to agree with. He'd swung hard enough to send most humanoids sprawling and knock the air out of her lungs if he connected, not kill.

He grimaced. It would be ideal to keep them alive if they ever intended to escape, but if they fell, they fell. He did his best to keep the woman's attention as Hanna 's flying blades whirled in for the kill. He hoped his compatriot was as skilled in a dustup as at range, because he doubted either of their opponents would just stand there and take it.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Objective 2: The Private Box

His breath was heavy, his stance guarded, his movement slow. Sweat trailed his brow, the mask that he used to cover his face, the replica of his most famous ancestor not aiding that any, yet utterly necessary as he found himself in this weakened state. Malum was never sick, that was simply a fact of life, his entire life he could count on perhaps two sets of fingers when he had ever been sick, and those were indeed dark days, when he was unable to leave bed, when his mind was on fire, when his nose was a deluge, and his body refused to cooperate with the rest of his form at the risk of death and demise.

This was not one of those times.

It was far worse.

It was as if the Force himself was choking the life out of him. As if the Force itself was fighting against him, as a wave crashing into him constantly, over and over, the sandbank weakening to its assault.

It was as if the Force was sending him a message.

A message without words, a message of pain, a message he could not understand.

It was all too similar to the pain he suffered underneath the dominion of the parasite atop his brain, but for once, it was not the cause of his suffering, its pain could be contained to his brain, the experience of skull-breaking pressure, the experience of grey matter being stabbed apart by a knife, the notion of lightning electrifying his nodes.

It was similar, he felt all those things.

Just spread out to the entirety of his body.

And he had no idea why.

And little time to discover why either.

He had already missed the first round of fights, as he finally made his way toward the Private Box where those of high enough class and rank were meant to watch the proceeding blood sports. Such was a distasteful thing for him, however he could not exactly judge, he had spent his life watching such bloodsports, chaos, he had fought in them. Still, whatever kept the Hutts entertained he supposed, whatever kept them happy and distracted enough for him to make deals and agreements.

His dulled eyes gazed over toward some sort of throne which sat, Barabbula II the Hutt, the newest leader of this newest Nal Hutta Empire, Bogan knew he would receive some angry words if Elise Ahana-Gwyneira heard that he was conducting business with their kind.

He liked it no matter than he did, but the fact was that the powers of the galaxy were far from kind and true, they were disgusting and forceful, and he would do what he must to gain advantage.

To protect all those he loved.

Approaching the Hutt, he nodded his head in respect, "Supreme Mogul Barabbula the Second of His Name, Darth Malum, of House Marr at your service," It was then that he noticed the Trandoshian nearby, near him a table where atop stood a datapuck.

And he could feel the familiar feeling of death.

His blood froze.

"Your Imperial Majesty... I did not expect you to be here," Malum stated, his breath growing even more ragged, as in this company he could do nothing but nod in acquiescence.

That was when he heard something else too.

She leaned against the Beskar spear she had been handed by the guards. Apparently, they wanted her armed for this fight. As she looked at the cyborb through drooped, narrowed eyes, Elise spoke, "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

A voice.

A familiar voice.

If it was somehow possible, his blood froze further, as his eyes turned towards the arena below, all else fading past his focus, eyes widening behind his mask in realisation.

Elise...

And near her, beside her, Trayze.

He gulped, the message of the Force made clear to him, as he finally reached a point of focus.

His head whipped back towards the Hutt, "Supreme Mogul... I seem to have been late to the proceedings... who are those two?" He pointed towards his Elsie, bloodied and dizzy, Trayze who was the paragon of grit. His mind whirled, still not entirely sure what he was looking at, what it meant.

But most of all.

He needed to figure out how to get them both out of here.

Trayze Tesar Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Dead God didn't seem to acknowledge Marr besides a passing turn of his head - the hologram fell back to its attention on the Hutt Warlord with a passive disinterest. Nonplussed, he spoke again;​

​

"Do you imagine yourself too great for unequivocal gains and unmatched presence within a large portion of the galaxy?", he said unimpressed.​

​

"Those that came before accepted because they knew it was in their best interest - you deny me in the name of a Sith dead hundreds of years ago."​

​

"Tell me, if you require charity, what else should I give?"​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr // Barabbula II the Hutt​

 

[Dagge Krudar]

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

---

The atmosphere in the Supreme Mogul's Private Box was electric with excitement as the personalized fighting matches neared their end. The crowd erupted in cheers as P O D delivered a stunning victory, defeating the formidable Scorpenek annihilator droid in a fierce exchange of blows. The audience, seated in the dilapidated stands of the Toborro Grand Arena, had placed their bets heavily on the fourth-degree droid, relying on its powerful deflector shield to withstand lightsabers and blaster fire. The unexpected upset caused a commotion throughout the arena, with the Cartel Exchange Station tallying up the bets and adding a substantial sum to their illicit treasury.

With the Sith Emperor remaining silent, the Supreme Mogul took a moment to divert his attention to the other monitors surrounding the box. The Second Match was in progress, featuring team one comprising of Elise Ahana-Gwyneira & Trayze Tesar , and team two consisting of Hanna and Clarron Vall . The initial stages of the engagement were slow-paced, as both teams carefully assessed their opponents and sought out their weaknesses before making any significant moves.

As the clash between the two sides intensified, the audience members eagerly cast their votes for the team they believed had the highest chances of emerging victorious. Meanwhile, the credits were steadily accumulating, just as anticipated. While the arena was primarily designed for entertainment purposes, it also functioned as a lucrative currency generator, channeling credits from the spectators' pockets back into the economy.

As the Elite Guardsman granted them access, a fresh face appeared in the Private Box - none other than Darth Malum of House Marr . Whispers of the Heir of House Marr had reached the guardsman's ears, portraying him as either a loyal servant of the Sith Empire or an ambitious individual seeking to surpass Darth Carnifex himself. The Hutt Supreme Lorda, accustomed to the cunning and treachery of the criminal underworld, found such blatant ambition refreshing.

The Houk Majordomo, a formidable figure, cast a doubtful glance at the newcomer before speaking on behalf of his employer. "They happen to be a Mandalorian from Clan Vizsla and a bum from the ISBC by the name of Tesarious or something like that. We had one hell of a good time capturing those two...Hhaha.." A taunting laugh occurred from the Majordomo as they recalled the assignment given to him by the Supreme Mogul; organizing the capture of individuals for the Granee Noopa.

The Supreme Mogul also shared in on the laugh, munching away on some more exotic delicacies before the voice of the Sith Emperor drew his attention once more. Darth Empyrean - was less than impressed with the history lecture given to him by the Hutt Supreme Mogul in an attempt to explain why the New Hutt Cartel was less than receptive to the idea of owing allegiances to the Sith Powers for such weak exchanges. There was no one within his domain that would dare refute him, but the Sith Emperor was another force entirely. One able to kill him through the holographic transmissions if he so desired.

<<Ho Ho, I do not deny you over some vagabond born thousands of years ago, I refute your attempts to subjugate us based on the treacherous nature of the Sith. But enough of that, we have heard from the Kainite Leader Carnifex that the Jutrand Government has outlawed the use of slavery. Such ill news troubles us who rely on exchanging certain individuals for profitable gains. If you want our commitment to your cause, then exempt us from such ruling>>
The Hutt Lorda emphasized the deep-rooted nature of treachery and deceit within the Sith, spanning across countless centuries. Interestingly, the Sith Emperor had taken a strong stance against slavery within his realm, leading to the Hutt Cartel contemplating an alliance with Darth Carnifex as a result.

Arena Actions​

P O D would be taken into the reserved box of the stadium for gladiators and fighters. To analyze the fighting styles of the team matches. ​

 

[Elias Edo]

On NAL HUTTA...
Before the arena...

Elias awoke suddenly, eyes snapping open as the electrified end of a cattle prod rammed into his ribs. He grunted through gritted teeth at the Gamorrean pit guard standing above him.

"W-where...?"

ZZZttt! Another jab silenced the Jedi Master.

The green-skinned Gamorrean grunted and squealed, making demands in its native tongue. Elias didn't understand the words - if they could be called as much - but the intent was clear: The time for rest was over. He needed to move. His nose burned from the musty, humid air of the dungeon. The floors were slick with grime, making it difficult to stand. To make matters worse, trying to move made his head throb along with his hastened heartbeat. The guard raised his pike to shock the Jedi once again, but Elias held his hand up for mercy. The Gamorrean squealed, disgruntled but willing to wait another moment while the Jedi got his footing.

Elias wanted to scan his surroundings, try to figure out more about the pit, but he was hurried out of the cell and down a winding corridor the moment he was on his feet. The pair walked in silence toward their destination, and Elias turned his focus to means of survival.

Without his memory or his lightsaber, that was all he could do.

Later...
In the TOBORRO GRAND ARENA...

Clothes tattered and hands still bound with crude manacles, Elias Edo stood before the boisterous crowds of what could only be the infamous Granee Noopa - a sadistic Hutt ritual that pit helpless combatants against dangerous beasts for the sole purpose of entertainment. That narrowed down his location to Nal Hutta, naturally, but that knowledge would do him little good now...

Which Hutt he pissed off and why was besides the point as well. All that mattered now was that he survive whatever pets the Hutts threw at him.

"Honoroole doompu," a voice boomed over the loudspeakers, "hu-pare doompasha bu shag shulu kidded bee bu graytoh rancor!"

Elias' eyes widened. 'Rancor?' he muttered, just moments before his fear was manifested.

A pair of rusted metal doors on the far side of the arena parted to reveal the massive rancor that he was to fight, but it was no ordinary member of its species... this rancor was heavily modified, 'chromed-out' as the Corpos liked to say, with all sorts of cybernetics. It let out an animatronic roar that made Elias' hair stand up. He had to get the manacles off. The rancor stomped out from its chamber, thrashing recklessly against anything it could touch - the walls, the sandy floor, even at its own cybernetic augments. Elias could feel its frustration and rage in the Force just as plainly as he could see the beast before him.

Normally, he could calm creatures like this at least enough to bypass them and reach safety. He'd done as much on Sullust, when a nest of rockrenders were twisted by the Dark Side. But the rancor was almost too far gone, altered and tortured beyond any semblance of sanity.

He looked around the arena for something, anything that could be used to pry the manacles loose. A nearby pile of scrap seemed to be his best bet, but as he launched into a sprint toward it, the rancor made for him. It let out another ear-splitting roar, slamming its fist into the floor. The impact tossed the Jedi backward, earning an explosive ensemble of cheers and shouts from the crowd.

Elias rolled and scrambled to his feet, eyes looking for something to pry himself free with. The ground-pound loosed a ton of metal scrap, including a thick pipe that looked just heavy enough to serve as a fulcrum. Elias bolted for it, dropping into a slide to reach it. He slid the pipe between his back and the manacles, then pulled with all his might. Every second that he struggled to break free, the angry rancor stomped closer...

It raised its arms, only steps away from smashing Elias when the manacles snapped under the pressure. The moment he was free, the Jedi tumbled backwards out of the way, narrowly dodging the impact. He narrowed his eyes, staring brutally at the cybernetic rancor with the same ire it had for him. Elias was the Druid Jedi, known for his reverence of the natural wonders of the galaxy - but this beast was no longer a part of that world, and hadn't been for a long time. Slaying it here would be a service for the poor creature.

"Bu Jeedai nree! Beet widd shulu teeat doompasha!"

Elias never broke his gaze from the rancor, despite the roaring crowd chanting for his death.

"Come on then," he taunted.

- Open -​

 

[P O D]

| OBJECTIVES |

Rest and heal
Watch the team matches
Hanna
Elias Edo
Elise Ahana-Gwyneira
Clarron Vall
Trayze Tesar
- IN RESERVED GLADIATOR BOX
​

---

The guards that fetched him were taken aback as they entered the arena. Perhaps a bit sheepish near the now very large nexu, unsure wether or not it's mind was still animalistic and blood thirsty. It seemed that no one expected Pod's remarkable transformation...nor his elaborate win. Surely the banging and screaming coming from the stands wasn't a good thing, pockets emptying from lost bets. They were much too loud for Pod's sensitive ears, the Nexu's facial expression swirling into the semblance of a scowl. It looked mighty unhappy, it's obvious ache and soreness was most definitely not helping things. Pod was known to be a bit...dramatic. Physical distress seemed to impact him much more than a normal baseline humanoid. With the ushering of some of the guards, the creature limped pitifully out of the arena, leaving the remaining guards scratching their heads. They had not expected to be removing a couple of tons of annihilator droid from the sand that is for sure.

Led down some hallways and out of the way of the cleaning crew, Pod found himself locked once more in a cell. A much bigger cell than the first one he had been in, one with reinforced bars and covered in claw marks. A cell for a beast of his newly found size. The guards had waited for and urged him to shrink, or return to some resemblance of human again, but Pod had merely stared blankly back at them. His control of shifting capabilities merely extended to the initial growth, he could not shrink himself with anything other than time. The excess mass he had used to expand in size needed to be reabsorbed by his body, a process that could take hours, days...months. A nexu of this size would surely take a week or two to revert completely back to baseline Pod. A timeline he had not taken into account when he shifted, a timeline that would be annoying for future Pod to death with. That is, if present Pod could survive the rest of the Hutt's trials.

So locked away once more, Pod waited. He continued to incessantly licked the wounds he could reach, soothing his excessive pain and focusing on stopping the bleeding. Scrapes and cuts threaded themselves slowly back together, forming pink scars. By the time the medic had come to check on him he looked nearly untouched. At least superficially. The shoulder he had fell on was sensitive to the touch, and his back had a new crook in it thanks to the droid smushing him into the sand. The medic draped him in warm cloth, applying some temporary poultices or initiating massages to lessen the muscular hurt. The feline at first denied his touch, hissing and backing into corners, but ultimately knew that whatever this medic might do to him would make him feel ready for the next match.

As if on que, a droid would roll up to the bars and extend a screen outwards towards the Nexu's squinting eyes. It seemed to show 4 colorful characters, a team match no doubt. These must've been the other survivors, pitted against one another in the second round of entertainment

 

[Trayze Tesar]

CURRENT MISSION - Just the Two Of Us…
Immediate Goals -
1: Ensure Elise Vizsla survives
1.1: Subdue current Foe(s)
1.2: Assemble a team
2: Find Exfiltration Route

BLUFOR - Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

OPFOR - Barabbula II the Hutt

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Elise Ahana-Gwyneira , Clarron Vall , Hanna , Darth Malum of House Marr

---

It had been decided, the two captors working in sync as they followed their own paths against their respective foes. While he personally doubted the efficacy of most people under the influence of intoxicants - but Elise Ahana-Gwyneira was not "most people". Neither were his opponents, for while the mono-horned woman that served as Trayze's opponent for this bout, she was deft and with a dancer's gait. She would later conjure a pair of blades, to fling them at the back and gut of Elise, his battle buddy, and his fellow student of psychometry.

But his foes underestimated the Mandalorian girl, their bond, and the fact that even now there would be hope - hope in the form of an astonished Master of the Tsis'kaar in the private booth. A shame that he had arrived so late to see his spectacular display of taking a potshot at the Supreme Mogul, but as the wordless bond between the trio would serve as succor and supplying them with one another's powers. While Malum would barely grasp at the recognizable strands of their companionship, but Elise would hear it much closer.

"Behind you." Trayze would hiss, stepping between the dancer and the melee occurring between cyborg and shaman, and with the surge of the Force, he fired two shots to plink the blades harmlessly aside. From there, he would whirl to apply the butt of his rifle to the face of the strange, graceful dancer.

Things would not be so easy, and the woman was perhaps as inscrutable as Elise, with no doubt exotic abilities like the Mandalorian. Until then, comes the delicate interplay between investigation and survival. As she deftly retracted from the deliberately lackluster bashing of his rifle, the Kiffar gave a cocksure smile, allowing himself to revel in the thrill of combat - if nothing else to keep Malum's attention on him, Elise, and the burgoing breakout being concocted in his mind. "'Fraid yer plus one's found a new partner." he teased, allowing his rural accent to be heard throughout the ring, and gave a confident but ceremonial bow, offering a hand. "Care ta' cut th' rug with me instead? Ah mark ya a dancer o' sorts."

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"You would ask me to grant you the same privileges I granted a former Emperor of the Sith?", he said with a frown visible even through the hologram.​

​

"Lower your expectations, Hutt. Slavery is an abomination I will not allow under my rule - and I will not grant privileges or exceptions for it. I've offered you great mineral rights, and a seat in our Government to expand your will, and not once have I asked for your subjugation, only cooperation. If you would prefer some other offer, perhaps you should negotiate with the Sith Marr?"​

​

"Negotiate, Servant of Mine. Get me a better deal.", he said, before his signal snapped off, leaving the lizard that carried it suddenly sweating - were he even capable of it. He stammered out a few half excuses before simply closing his mouth and looking to Darth Malum of House Marr to save them.​

​

Barabbula II the Hutt​