Just Matt Now
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Feb 21, 2013
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The space inside the city walls of Sathad'ra have gotten considerably more...strict. With the recent attacks on TMC's lead casino, reinforcements have been called in response. Led by Commander Jacob Kelene, the Natori Security Company has all but locked down the City of Bones and the spacestation that lies just above it. Coupled with the small fleet, Sathad'ra has never seen more security in all of its existence. Though one thing was for certain, only a fool would try and attack the arena. Owned and run by none other than Borga the Hutt, to which he keeps some of his liquid assets stored deep within for protection. The Hutt made his appearances when need be, but the truth was that he was mainly found in his arena on Nal Hutta. The Deadlands arena here on Zonju V, after been renovated, has generated a hefty profit yet still not in comparison to his other venue. Though Borga knew, with proper guidance, and some outright awesome events, this arena would become the place to be on Zonju V.
The Hutts arrival was nothing less than spectacular. All the stops being taken out and event after event did gladiators throw their lives to entertain the Hutt and his patrons. The arena was filled to the brim, exceeding its maximum capacity even. And the credits were flowing, just the environment Hutts liked best. Gore was something of a commodity like oil, though it was being shed like water. The sands were tainted with the red color, and the crowd cheered the fights on.
"Death!!"
They screamed.
"Kill him!"
They bellowed.
The epitome of physical prowess and capabilities, these gladiators were no joke, and trained their entire lives to participate and die on these very sands. The Hutt sat in his booth, squared away and protected from the other wild fans. Next to him was not the champion people would know on sight. Icarus, was away. A temporary absence called him to his homeworld. While his absence was dearly missed, Borga had other gladiators who could stand in his wake. And beside him now, was the Feeorin, Ralot. A terrible and nasty fighter. As vicious and mean as they come. His muscles billowing out of his armor like it was too small for his size.
A break in the commotion, a turn of events in the current bout. One of Borgas top fighters has fallen, dealt a crippling blow to his thigh. The crowd went wild in fear that their beloved fighter would die here today. Though it was yet to be over. The Chiss fighter retaliated and managed to deal a death blow from his crippled state. The shocking sight of his sword dug deep into the other gladiators rib was enough to bring the roar back tenfold. The crowd stood and shook the stadium with applause.
Borga took the microphone to announce the next fighter.
"Who dares get in the ring? I ask you, people of Zonju V and beyond. Do any of you have the balls to go toe to toe with one of my gladiators? Any of you with the gaul to try and best one of MY men?"
There was always room for events like these. Getting some local jarhead or tough guy to try and beat one of his gladiators. Most of the time it ended with their deaths, though there were the few instances where the volunteer had enough guile to make it out on top. It was always a guess which side the crowd supported, though we would find out soon.