Ask [Loovria] The Ninth Quadrant: Gladiators

[Saragnayan]

Spoiler: Mission Brief

The Senex-Juvex Campaign: The Ninth Quadrant

The Senex-Juvex planet of Loovria is infamous for its bloody gladiatorial death fights, a spectacle for the entertainment of bored Senex-Juvex nobles and their wealthy neighbors. Infiltrators will pose as fighting slaves to gain access to the fighter's pits. Respect must be earned in order to gain the fighter's attention, and it can only be earned in bloody sand to a cheering crowd. The groundwork for a gladiator uprising is to be laid for future operations to gain control of the Senex-Juvex in this mission.

The crowd's cheers and the smell of blood hung heavily in the air. Rage, fear, desperation, and killing intent rang so deliciously through the Force and while Hrist would have usually reveled in it, her mind focused mainly on the mission that she was to undertake alongside her fellow Marauder. She was glad – well, in a twisted sort of way – to be working with him on this mission, given that perhaps he was most likely her favourite Sith so far, being a former Jedi who fell to the clutches of the Dark Side.

After successfully conquering Eiattu, the Sith Lord Darth Asminys had turned his gaze on the sectors of Senex-Juvex. It was admirable, the way these Sith Lords relentlessly worked to expand territories for the Sith Eternal's benefit. Should she call it an honor to be working for them, to fulfill her purpose within their Order?

She fought the smirk that threatened to cross her visage as she sat waiting for the next gladiatorial fight down the fighter's pits, her blood-red gaze finding her fellow Marauder across their shared prison cell. Hrist had taken it upon herself to volunteer for one of Darth Asminys's plans for gaining control over the Senex-Juvex. Loovria was quite infamous for its gladitorial fights, and it was a staple form of entertainment for both bored and jaded nobles – regardless of they were outsiders or from Senex-Juvex themselves. The mission was rather simple despite its covert nature: the two Marauders were to infiltrate the fighter's pits by posing as fighting slaves themselves, and from there on they would have to gain the other fighters' attention and respect through their triumphs in the gladiatorial arena.

Of course she and Algus were to shed their identities as the Sith, their belongings hidden by two of the Order's agents who were posing as a part of the audience. Their lightsabers were exchanged for other weaponry – vibroswords, axes... so crude, so uncivilized for Hrist's own tastes if they weren't quite effective in drawing blood and ending lives in an almost inelegant way. Now, and for the whole duration of the mission, the two of them were nothing but a pair of pathetic souls thrown into the harsh lives of fighting slaves who lived and died for the pleasure and entertainment of those who held power, who thought they stood at the top of the food chain simply because they were wealthy and thus assumed that with affluence came absolute power.

Gods, they were wrong, those pathetic nobles. So utterly wrong, they would never know what was coming for them.

She smiled at Algus behind her mask while she shifted on her seat and leaned further back against the wall, amusement shining in her ruby eyes as the crowd roared their delight at the arena. The fighting slaves' death cries were louder through the Force, and it only seemed to fuel her own bloodlust – restrained only by the mission they have been given and her Father's teachings.

"Pathetic, are they not?" she mused out loud, stretching her legs before her and settling her clasped hands on her stomach. Her long, russet hair – currently dyed black – cascaded smoothly over her shoulders in an ebony curtain. "Little do they know that soon enough, the roles will be reversed and they will be the ones to scream for mercy once the uprising begins. Foolish, pathetic nobles."

A quiet chuckle. Then,

"Their illusion of power will be shattered very soon."

—

Spoiler: Hrist's disguise

Buried Presence:
ACTIVE | INACTIVE
@Flower

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

This wasn't the first time Hrothgar had been in the arena, it hadn't even been the hundredth. The Deucalian had lived a life in the cage, born a slave, and possibly doomed to die one. Many of the bets were on him winning the melee, or at least making it to the top of the lists, as he was something of a legacy in the pits.

The mountain of a warrior paced near the gate of the cells, his gaze locked on the jailer beyond. And even beyond him and at the other side of the tunnel, he could hear the announcer beginning to call him to arena. Something would give him pause, the mutterings of a woman. His gaze would shift to her, his voice lowered so only she would hear. "Power lies with the mob. Control the mob, control the power." His father had taught him that. And it was something that had proven true time and time again. "The gods guide you."

"Hrothgar, you're up!" the jailer would yell out and he pulled the door open. The six foot eight tall Deucalian would head for the exit, clad in his leather armor and duraplast pauldron. His weapons would be handed to him beyond the gate, a precaution so the slaves wouldn't try to kill each other. His father's greataxe would be harnessed to his back, while the battle axe and vibrosword found their homes at his waist.

Heading for the tunnel, the sounds of the crowd and the music beyond would wash over him. The vibrations would radiate down the walls as he walked and he would find that he lived for this exact moment. Darkness would become light, as he exited out into the open colosseum. All races were gathered there to watch, from the other lowly poor at the cheap seats, to the lavishly rich and their skyboxes. All classes were gathered in one place and for one purpose only: To see slaves kill each other.

Hrothgar would raise both arms overhead, flexing as he did so with a roar to fire up the crowd. "ITTTSS THE DEUCALLLIAAAANNNNN!!!" the announcer would shout. "OVER SIX THOUSAND YEARS AGO, THE RUTHLESS MANDALORIANS WOULD SET OUT FROM THEIR CURSED HOMEWORLD TO CONQUER NEARBY CIVILIZATIONS!" The crowd would begin to boo in disgust. "MANDALORE THE DESTROYER WOULD LEAD AN ATTACK FORCE TO ALZOC III, BUT HE WASN'T INTENDING ON THE STAUNCH RESISTANCE OF THE WARRIOR GOD BALDR OF THE DEUCALIANS!!" the crowd would begin to roar.

Hrothgar would survey the field as several other slaves approached, a five on one. Of the five, he could tell only 'Destroyer' was a real opponent. Three were visibly shaking and the fourth was so far gone, he was already excrementing down his leg. The alloy that covered their bodies was a farcry from the fabled beskar. Drawing his sword, Hrothgar would drag the blade over his chest, sending down a rivulet of blood as he roared a challenge to the 'Mandalorians'. His opponents would draw their weapons in anticipation, though all six would turn to face the the main box. "WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE, SALUTE YOU!" they would shout to big whigs, before turning to the others. He wasn't sure how the battle on Alzoc III actually went, or if it actually happened. He just knew it was about to be a bad day for Mandalorians.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

She and her silent companion might have been the new blood in the pits, but the other slaves were right to give the two Sith incognito a wide berth the first time a few of them made the mistake of targeting either of them. To Hrist's case, it wasn't the golden skull mask nor the wicked twin blades she carried that made the other fighting slaves wary about her but the unsettling feeling she seemed to inspire on her opponents during her debut bout in the arena.

She and Algus were still far from gaining the respect of their fellow slaves, however, unlike the giant of a man who had just spoken to her from beyond their cell. The other fighters have spoken highly of the barbarian-looking Deucalian, and the female Sith knew then and there her target.

Hrothgar Ragnarsson was someone she nor her fellow Sith would have to kill, however. The Deucalian would serve Darth Asminys's campaign here on Loovria quite well, and so she knew that she would have to sway the former on the side of the Sith. He was an intriguing fellow, and while the Sith Lord instructed her to use the Force at a bare minimum or refrain from reaching out to it at all, Hrist simply could not help herself and subtly, discreetly to the point that she was just looking, listened to errant, surface thoughts this particular fighting slave often had.

Visions of a Thunder Queen seemed to pervade the Deucalian's mind as of late, one of the few things that caught her interest, and clarity came to the female Sith as clear as day on how to gain Ragnarsson's attention.

Raising her hands to her chest, Hrist would yell out a few words to Hrothgar before he would leave his own cell.

"She who reigneth beneath the storms... the maiden of Thunder be with you!" she would shout after him as her gaze lingered on his advancing form, a shark-like grin crossing her concealed face.

Up on the arena and on the main box sat a son of one of the Senex-Juvex nobles. Atti Laht, considered to be the one on the top of the food chain among the other nobles around him, lazily waved a hand at the six slaves and their proclamations, grey eyes scanning the "Mandalorians" before his gaze settled on Hrothgar. A smirk would then cross the young noble's face as he glanced at the blood dripping down the Deucalian's chest. Perhaps this particular fighter could be granted his freedom should he fully catch Laht's interest? Or maybe the noble could act as a sponsor, a benefactor of sorts?

Atti Laht's smirk widened as the announcer shouted the beginning of the match.

True to Hrothgar's assessment, one of the Mandalorians – the one scared out of his wits – would discreetly move behind his supposed allies while the other three would begin to circle the Deucalian like overly cautious predators. The "Destroyer", clad in ornate yet imitation Mandalorian armor, would swing one of his battle axes before pointing it at Hrothgar to signal his followers to attack. One Mando, bearing a chain whip, would take a step forward and launch their weapon, hoping to have the chain wrap around one of the Deucalian's arm in an attempt to restrain him. Should the attack be successful, the rest of the Mandalorians – with the exception of the Destroyer – would charge at Hrothgar, one armed with a mace and chain and the other a bardiche axe.

—

Buried Presence:
ACTIVE | INACTIVE
@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

The masked woman had uttered words to Hrothgar that would stay in the back of his mind. Either the woman was from his dream, or she was a witch. From her build, she didn't exactly look like a Deucalian, so he would have to see beneath the mask to truly know.

His thoughts would catch up to him as Destroyer roared out, axe pointing. The chain whip would go flying for Hrothgar, who would reach out with his empty hand to catch the weapon, allowing the chain to snap tightly around the arm. "I am not trapped.. for you all are trapped here with me." Hrothgar would growl, tugging hard on the chain. The man, unable to resist the pull, went stumbling straight into a headbutt. As the man was stunned, the chain would be wrapped around his neck and Hrothgar would twist, pulling the slave into the path of the axe.

The warmth of flesh blood would pool down the Deucalians back as the weight of the slave their went limp. Twisting more, the corpse was launched into the one with the false courage. With a panicked Yelp, he'd be pinned by the body of a friend. The slave bearing the axe would lose their footing as the body tugged the axe with them and empty hands would fly up to cover their face. Sword lashing out, a splatter of blood would spray onto Hrothgar's face as his blade severed hands and head. The form would crumple as it dropped to his knees to the roaring applause of the crowd. Two down, two to go.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

The audience roared and crowed their joy at witnessing the fighter slaves kill each other. The voices of some nobles joined the loud din, while others simply smiled or smirked their approval. Atti Laht simply watched on, the servants behind him offering him fruit and a drink. The nobleman ignored them, however, his gaze locked on Hrothgar as he practically slaughtered two of the Mandalorians.

Ragnarsson had easily eliminated two of his opponents, their blood splattered on the Deucalian but the Destroyer did not seem overly bothered at the slaughter he had just witnessed. The other Mandalorian underling seemed to be visibly shaking with fear but they stood their ground. Armed with a spear, the Mando would begin to inch out of Hrothgar's reach, weapon aimed at the other fighter. The Destroyer hefted one of his axes and, with surprising ease, hurled it towards the Deucalian with all his might.

The other Mando wouldn't be standing idly by while the Destroyer moved. They would to the side and down to Hrothgar's armed side, thrusting the spear towards the Deucalian just as one of the Destroyer's axes flew towards him. Should Hrothgar choose to sidestep the axe meant for his skull and focus on the spearman, the Destroyer would take it as a chance to charge towards the Deucalian – battle axe low and prepared to block any strike that would come his way.

Below the slaves' cells, Hrist pulled herself up on her feet. She believed that Hrothgar Ragnarsson could easily eliminate any fighter who were pitted against him. The Sith in disguise began to slowly pace around the cell, unheeding of her companion, as she mulled over what she'd read on the Deucalian's surface thoughts. As far as she knew and gathered on the Order's roster, there was a young Deucalian among their ranks – an acolyte, if words she heard from her fellow Marauders held truth. Perhaps the young acolyte could be someone she could use to entice Ragnarsson into offering his skills to the Eternal's Order?

Her gaze lifted at the mob's thunderous roars above them. Outside their cell, the guards were crowded around a small holoprojector that was airing the battle above, making bets between the Deucalian and his opponents.

"Ragnarsson's a tough son of a kriffer as always," commented one guard, eyes locked on the holo. "This is why you place your bets on him, you imbeciles."

"Shaddup," whined another in a snivelly voice. "That bastard's gonna bite it one day – and maybe that day's gonna be today. The bosses shipped a rancor and three acklays three days ago, and–"

"Your point is?"

"Weeeell, there be a draw lots on the slaves 'round here, and the unlucky ones would go on a round with them acklays. Then, anyone who survive and eventually kill the acklays would soon be rancor food, ha! Ragnarsson might have a chance against his fellow slaves and acklays, but a rancor? That bastard's dead meat!"

Hrist's eyes narrowed behind her mask as the guards laughed. So, even some of the guards were wary towards the Deucalian. All the more reason for him to be a part of the uprising. All that was left was to gain Hrothgar's trust, and the slaves would follow either out of fear or respect not just to the Deucalian but also those who could potentially prevent him from being – as the snivelly guard arrogantly proclaimed – rancor food.

A sly smile graced her lips. She knew now exactly what to do.

—

Buried Presence:
ACTIVE | INACTIVE
@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

Hrothgar had lived in the arena his entire life and there only so many tricks you could pull when you outnumbered an opponent, where in truth, they had the advantage. And in his time, he had learned one small truth, sometimes to land a hit, you had to take one. Side stepping the axe, Hrothgar braced as he moved purposely into the path of the spear. The tip would pierce metal and thick leather hide, barely forcing its way into his midsection.

As he stepped, he would hurl his blade at the spearman, the man grunting as blade punctured throat. Destroyer was well prepared for a strike from the Deucalian, but was he prepared for an attack from his friend? Both hands free, Ragnarsson would grip the haft of the spear and roar, twisting as he launched the body into the side of the Mandalorian leader. Both bodies would hit the sand in a heap as Destroyer fought to regain his feet. Hrothgar would reach for the spear and pull it free, discarding it into the sand.

One hand lifted to pull the axe of his father free from his harness and he'd stalk towards the leader of the Mandalorians. Both hands would grip the haft tightly and he swung downwards, the head of the axe ripping through the dead 'Mando' and biting into Destroyer's side, eliciting a labored cry.

Destroyer would reach for axe and finding purchase swung it around towards Hrothgar's side, if not to kill then to at least gain some clearance. Ragnarrson would catch the axe at the haft, before he brought his own down on the exposed wrist, severing the limb. Another cry would ascend to the heavens and when Hrothgar shifted to finish the deed, a handful of sand would be hurled into his eyes.

That was the clearance Destroyer would need. Reaching for his dagger, he'd plunge it into Hrogthgar's side before dragging himself away from the Deucalian. Warm blood trickled down Hrothgar's side, but he didn't give the crowd the enjoyment of a cry of his own pain. He just staggered away before someone shouted behind him: The Coward.

The coward charged, the spear of his friend in hand, and let loose a half-hearted battle cry. When he was within seven paces, Hrothgar side-stepped the spear, and pulled the dagger free of his side, before gliding it across the throat of the charger. Three seconds of self-illusioned bravery would be that mans call to fame.

HIs gaze would shift to the main box. The crowd was roaring, pleading the Deucalian for the death of Destroyer. The most opulently dressed man would rise to his feet, his hand fisted save for an extended thumb that was now parallel to the floor. He looked imperiously amongst the stands as his thumb shifted upwards, turning the cheers to boos. A slight grin would form before the thumb shifted down, and the crowd would once more lose their minds.

--
One of the other richer patrons would a be a female Twi'lek. "Voren, I thought the Mandalorians were supposed to win this battle, hmm?" she mused. Entertained by the outcome.

The event manager, Voren would grumble. "Yes, well..."

--

Hrothgar would spit blood to the sand in acknowledgement of the execution before stalking over to where Destroyer was still trying to drag himself away. "Squirm and I will draw it out." The Deucalian would say. "Stay still, and I will end your suffering."

Destroyer would stop, his chin lifting. "I salute y-." He would be cut off as axe cut through 'beskar' helm to kill him. Ripping the axe free of bone and metal, Hrothgar would turn to the cheering crowd, weapon raised overhead.

The Announcer, the second most outrageously dressed man, was perhaps the most beloved by the crowd. "AND ON THE FOURTH DAY OF BATTLE, BALDRRR GOD-KING OF THE DEUCALIANS WOULD SINGLE-HANDEDLY EXTERMINATE THE MENACE THAT WERE THE MANDALORIANS!! AND THE BATTLE OF ALZOC III WOULD END WITH THE DEATH OF MANDALORE THE DESTROYER!!" The crowd would be energized by the narration of the battle and while he spoke, Hrothgar would collect his sword and walk proudly back to the cells.

Coming down the tunnel, guards would be exchanging creds and even some of them would be saying some sort of praise to the Deucalian. His gait would end at the gate to his cell, where he handed off his weapons to the guard. "Well done Ragnarrson, ya made me rich, again."

"Just don't blow it all again this time." the slave would say. "I can't support you and your family forever." he'd say with a bloodied smirk.

"Hah! I'll keep that in mind!" the guard would usher him back with the other slaves before shutting the gate.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

Of course it was obvious that the announcer would be gleefully screaming Ragnarsson's name and victory once the match ends. The other fighting slaves and the guards often talked about the Deucalian and his past bouts, and from what Hrist gathered he was one, if not the most, of the deadliest combatants in the arena. But with a flick of her hand and the use of the Force he would be dead like anyone else. It wasn't why the female Sith incognito was here for, however, and Hrothgar would soon offer and show his capabilities at the Eternal's disposal.

She stepped forward, gloved hands finding the bars to her cell as she waited for the Deucalian's return. Hrist didn't have to wait for long as Hrothgar's imposing build soon came to view. He was still drenched in the blood of those he'd slaughtered, and the sight brought an amused smirk on the Epicanthix's face. The guard he was talking to shifted his gaze at Hrist and flinched at the sight of the golden skull mask already trained at him.

"Damned freak," the guard muttered nervously, making a rude gesture at the female Sith before returning to his post. Said Sith's eyes narrowed dangerously into slits and had Darth Asminys not been clear on his instruction the guard would already be dead, the latter's neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

With Hrothgar back in his cell and within earshot, Hrist returned to her ruse and began muttering again.

"A storm is coming... I see the dark clouds gathering in the horizon..." Her grip on the bars tightened as she lifted her head to look up at the ceiling. "There will be no stone left untouched nor unturned once She rises forth, bringing Lightning and Thunder with Her."

Slowly, her gaze would shift to the Deucalian, her hands slipping from the bars. Hrist turned to face him before taking a step forward, then another, until she closed the distance between them and gripped the bars to his cell. The mask would regard Hrothgar with its eternal impassivity, but the face underneath it was smiling with anticipation.

"You emerged victorious today, warrior."

—

Buried Presence:
ACTIVE | INACTIVE
@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

As the woman spoke, the Deucalians gaze would shift to her and his steps brought him to the wall of his very cage, the metal the only separation. "You speak as if you are a witch.. You see my thoughts, know my mind.." His voice was low so only she would hear, his gaze washing over her. "Show me your eyes, witch, so that I may know your soul.. Know the depth of your being."

He would bite back a laugh. "The Gods walk in line with me, so until I lose their favor, I shall win. But it is a thin line and the Gods are fickle."

--

Out in the Arena, a pair of Zabrak were fighting a trio of Twi'lek's, another battle that likely never truly happened. But it didn't matter, the crowds were awaiting the death of slaves.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

Her smile widened, turning manic at the Deucalian's words. In a show of supplication Hrist briefly bowed her head before returning his gaze. She loosened her grip on the bars but not moving away. No, not yet. Hrothgar was a fine study, a man of great physique and strength, but a man nonetheless. Of course he would come to the conclusion that she might have been reading his mind – that could only be the explanation why the Sith incognito knew this supposed Thunder Queen, correct?

But, no. He couldn't know. At least not yet. There was a time and place for everything, and Hrist knew that revealing her identity was not upon them yet.

"The only thoughts I know, the only mind I am familiar with, are my own, warrior," she replied softly, voice as quiet as his had been, one hand moving up to hold her mask in place while the other untied the knot that secured it. "I am no witch, Hrothgar Ragnarsson."

Hrist removed her mask, steel grey gaze meeting Hrothgar's green eyes. Face revealed, she stood on her toes to lean up at him as best she could with the bars of the cage keeping them apart.

"But hear this: you do not belong in this place. Your purpose, your life, shouldn't be wasted fighting for the entertainment of those above us. I have seen this in my dreams – you standing by the Queen of Storm's right hand."

It wasn't a lie... on a certain point of view. She'd seen the surface of his mind, what harm could using it to her advantage cause her? And unlike her, Hrothgar was no Force-sensitive. Sure, he could discern that she might be lying about her words and identity, but where was his proof? What could he use to cement the assumption, other than assuming that she was reading his mind?

A small, soft smile graced her face at the Deucalian's laughter and following remark about his gods. Hrist didn't believe in them, only in the Force. But she wouldn't think any less of him for believing something she did not. She was cruel, but not unnecessarily disrespectful – not to beings who could prove their worth, in battle or out of it.

"Then I shall pray that they continue to look upon you in their favor."

@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

There would come some surprise to his features as she undid the mask. She was no slave, for no slave could have possessed such beauty, not in a place like this. He would be speechless for many long moments and as she leaned closer, he found himself doing the same. His hands were now on the bars placed just below hers. "Who are you to be cursed with such knowledge?" he would ask.
Some commotion from the guards would catch his attention briefly before he returned his gaze to her. "Who is the Storm Queen? Who is she that she so haunts my waking dreams? And if I am beholden to her.. is she to come to me? Or am I to make my way to her? And if you pray to the gods.. do they commune back with you?" he'd ask.

One of the guards would now approach the pair of cells. "Well, well, well.. what do we have here? You two trying to get friendly?"

Over the din of the crowd, the Announcers voice would ring loud and clear. "LADIIIIEEESSS AND GENTLEMMMAAANNNN! FOR THE NEXT MATCH, WE HAVEE A TRUE TREATTTTTT!!! THE CURRENT REINING FEMALE CHAMPION... ARTEMISSSSS!!! VERSUS... THE WITCH ASSASSINNN... CALANTHIIIAAAAAA!!!"

"Oh.. well.. look at that.. Its your turn." the guard would say to Sara.

Hrothgar's hand would move to rest on hers, his tone low. "Go for her thighs.. and be careful.. I must know of your tie to the gods.."


@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

Ragnarsson seemed... bewitched, for a lack of a better term, as he gazed upon the face behind the mask. Hrist would've smiled at the sight but she stopped the urge, her gaze instead lowering to the hand that now held the bars like hers. The Marauder incognito's brows furrowed, expression turning confused and slightly troubled.

"Just a slave and nothing more," she replied, tears brimming in her eyes. A little bit of theatrics never hurt – and it would help paint the picture she was creating. A slave who, like him, had been haunted by dreams the same as his, who prayed to the gods he prayed to. "Just a slave..."

"I've been haunted by dreams of the Queen for a while, long before my incarceration and enslavement," Hrist continued, once again meeting Hrothgar's gaze. Steel grey eyes shone with certainty as she placed one hand atop his, squeezing the Deucalian's hand in assurance. "She waits for you – waiting for you to come to her. I've seen you in my dreams, seen that you do not belong here. You don't," she said, stressing the last two words. "Long have I abandoned praying, believing that the gods have abandoned me first. That is, until I began to dream of the Storm Queen, and her blade of glowing blood. And you."

Hrist paid the guard no heed, her gaze boring into Hrothgar's. She could hear the announcement being made, loud and clear, and the female Sith moved to step away from Hrothgar but stopped as his hand came to rest atop hers this time. Hrist inclined her head in a show of gratitude, before lifting her gaze to meet his with a small smile touched with perfectly faked apprehension.

Putting the mask back in place, the golden skull's visage soon shifted to the guard and she moved back, letting her feet guide her towards the cell's door.

"I am grateful and will heed your words, warrior," she told Hrothgar before making her way out. "I pray that the gods will guide me back to you."

Hrist stepped forward, taking the twin blades the guard handed over to her. Ignoring the fool's call about making bets again, the Marauder soon emerged from the tunnel as the crowd continued to shout and cheer.

Witch Assassin? She smiled thinly, murderous thoughts flashing in her eyes as the reigning female victor emerged from the other side of the arena. The other woman raised her weapon in the air, basking in the cheers of her supporters. Hrist's smile widened, her own bloodthirsty expression belied by the mock fear that overwhelmed her form.

She was a liar, a servant of the Dark Side of the Force. There was no need to use the Force to manipulate this victor into thinking that Hrist was an easy prey.

'Calanthia' moved to draw her blades, hands trembling in fear as she braced herself. Artemis, on the other hand, confidently made her way to the middle of the arena, mirroring her opponent's actions. Without waiting for the announcer's signal to begin the bout, Artemis already surged forward, bringing down her own blade to cut through the Marauder. Hrist blocked the weapon both with her own, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud as Artemis sent the female Sith lying flat on her back with a savage kick to her torso.

Rolling away from the descending blade, Hrist found herself unable to keep her laughter to herself. Maddened, loud, she quickly rose to her feet and aimed both her blades at Artemis.

"Dance with the Witch, little Artemis. Won't you?"

@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

He wasn't sure what to believe.. she could seem so strong one moment, then broken like a slave, the next. But her face, those eyes. The way he felt, he knew then and there that she was a witch.. a witch who had brought his soul under her command. The way she squeezed his hand, the way those eyes almost pleaded.. perhaps she was a seer, to know his face amongst her dreams. More questions would form with every revelation.

"As do I.." he'd say, his hand giving hers a final squeeze. And then she was gone. His eyes would fix upon her lithe form as she left, then moreso as she wandered into the tunnel.

He would feel manic, once she was gone from his line of sight, and those arms would grab the bars and pull. Vigor renewed, he had spent years resigned to his fate. No more. He would free himself. But most importantly, he would free her.. or he would die, trying.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

The bout between 'Calanthia' and Artemis wasn't drawn out, nor did it resemble any sense of grandeur whatsoever. Once Hrist deemed that her opponent wasn't as tough as the announcer made her to be, irritation rippled through the Marauder incognito, the emotion bleeding through how quick she ended Artemis's reign as female champion.

Hrist had let some of the other woman's attacks graze her. Hells, she even allowed herself to get caught in a chokehold when she had managed to rid Artemis of her blade. But the woman was too arrogant, too caught up in assuming her own, quick success that her demeanor had bored Hrist to the point that the Marauder wished she could make this Artemis wench eat lightning. Literally.

"Will this be the end for the Witch Assassin?!" the announcer yelled, working the crowd into a frenzy as he assumed that 'Calanthia' had stopped moving from the reigning female champion's chokehold. Hrist rolled her eyes, making frantic movements as if she was struggling for breath and desperate to get out of Artemis's hold. One hand swiped the throwing knife strapped around Artemis's hip and without preamble the Marauder plunged the blade in the woman's thigh.

Go for her thighs, Hrothgar had advised her. And 'Calanthia' heeded it, twisting the knife into her flesh before carving a path upwards, burying the blade deeper until it sliced easily though Artemis's femoral artery. But Hrist wouldn't let the annoying woman die from blood loss, no.

Throwing the screaming huntress off of her, Hrist rose to her feet and moved to grab the twin blades she had dropped before stalking towards the injured Artemis. Blood poured steadily from the woman's tie and the Marauder, sadistic grin hidden by her mask, lifted her blades in preparation for dealing the final strike.

She didn't need to hear nor see the death warrant signed for this match's loser. Hrist could feel the bloodthirst of the crowd through the Force. Her blades sang as they severed Artemis's head from her shoulders and the crowd went wild upon seeing the now former champion's body fall sideways onto the sand. The mob was torn between those who bet on Artemis and those who supported the underdog they called the Witch Assassin. Hrist cared little about what the audience thought at the moment as she made her way back to the tunnel while the announcer relayed what had just happened.

"Unbelievable! Undeniably so! Artemis, the Huntress, turned into a meager, weak prey by the Witch Assassin! What kind of illicit sorcery is this?!"

Handing off her weapons silently to the waiting guard, Hrist descended further until her gaze met the Deucalian's behind her mask. The Marauder entered her cell silently, feigning exhaustion and letting her hands tremble as if in shock for what she had been forced to do. She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was seated on the ground.

"I..." she paused, as if hesitating. "I did it. I went for her... for her thighs, l-like you told me."

@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

With the bars showing no signs of giving, Hrothgar had spent the match on his feet. Eyes closed as he listened to the crowd, the announcer. Forehead resting against the cold steel of the iron bars. He needed to see the witch again, needed to feel her hands once more. He could hear the warning from his forebears, to not trust the witch, to resist. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. But most importantly, he knew the folly of those bound to witches. They were to only ever be tools.

"Will this be the end for the Witch Assassin?!"

At that, Hrothgar could feel his heart sink, a pain, a fear. "No.. you must fight on, Witch..." he mused. Then the sudden silence, before the roar of the crowd. The kind that accompanied every shift in the fight. Then the roar that announced the death of another slave. And though he had wanted the Witch to win, he had known Artemis, they had fought alongside together, and now? He betrayed her trust and she had fallen.

"Unbelievable! Undeniably so! Artemis, the Huntress, turned into a meager, weak prey by the Witch Assassin! What kind of illicit sorcery is this?!"

Hrothgar would keep his eyes closed and his head bowed until the footsteps sounded the arrival of the witch to her cell. In his heart, he knew that the woman before him was playing him. Whispering naught but honied words into his ears, but that was the curse of the Witch, to know, but to be unable to decline. Would he be changing one prison for another? One slavery for another? He didn't know. But when she finished speaking his eyes opened and his gaze fixed upon her. "It never gets easier. The killing of fellow slaves. But I am happy you made it back to the cell. To.." he'd hesitate for a moment. "..To me.. But there will be one problem. A few more fights and then they'll have their grand melee.. We will have to fight against each other. And most likely any survivors. All for the appeasement of the wealthy."

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

His surface thoughts were all very fun to hear, and Hrist smiled gleefully beneath the cover of her mask. It seemed that she didn't need to use the Force to sway him to her side, no – Hrothgar Ragnarsson had cursed himself the moment he took interest in the Marauder incognito's words about his dreams. The Deucalian did not need to listen, really, nor was he required to speak to her as she spoke to him.

Hrothgar Ragnarsson's curiosity, Hrist decided, would be the key to his freedom and not his death. Free from his prison cell, from this wretched life in the arena – but not from the servitude he would soon be tied into the moment he set out of this place.

He was happy that she made it back... to him? The female Sith's eyes widened, ruby concealed by grey glimmering with a dangerous, amused light. There was hesitation in his voice and yet there was a boldness with which the words were uttered.

To me.

The Deucalian seemed to be more than bewitched, it seemed, and Hrist would've laughed out loud upon finding someone who had the potential to be manipulated. Had Lord Asminys not wanted for this mission to be discreet and without the use of the Force, Hrist would have easily wrapped Hrothgar around her finger with a grand display of executing their enemies for the next bout with an unrestrained use of Force Lighting.

“I'm glad to be alive for now,“ she told the Deucalian timidly, hunching in on herself for a few moments before getting back up on her feet, hissing in pain as she placed a hand on a particularly long gash on her arm. Perfectly displayed for him to see, as Hrist had purposefully let Artemis hit her earlier. The Witch then took off her mask, gazing up at Hrothgar with wide, fearful eyes and a troubled expression on her face.

Unshed tears made her grey eyes bright, her mask dropping forgotten on the ground as she staggered up to the warrior. “I-It didn't have to be that way,“ she denied tearfully, voice trembling. “It didn't! I don't–“ the Marauder let the tears fall “I don't want you to die... y-you‘re destined for greatness beside– beside the Storm Queen! You're not destined to die in this place!“

The female Sith sobbed quietly, hands once again finding the bars that separated her from Ragnarsson. Hrist let her shoulders shake, and her hands to tremble as her grip on the bars tightened.

“If I should die here, then there is nothing I can d-do, even if it scares m-me. If I should die here, then... t-then I hope it would be swift...“ she told Hrothgar through her fake tears. “But you're not allowed to die here, Warrior. The gods knew not to have you perish here. The Storm Queen waits for you... do everything you can to leave from this wretched planet and find her!“

If that wouldn't stir him into taking part or even the lead in the fighting slaves' uprising... well, Hrist still had some tricks up her sleeves to make Hrothgar act.

@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

Had his head not been so foggy, perhaps the warrior would not have been so enthralled. It was as if at each point he'd think to question, she would say or do something that would just pull him in further.

Her tears moved him, haunted him, and he would do all he could to appease them, erase them. So a mighty hand would reach through the bars and wipe away her tears. "Fear not.. you will not die here.. not like this.. not in a cage.. we will leave this place. Together." His words were spoken with such a confidence that he just knew what lie ahead. But also a gentleness as if to dissuade her fears.

"Ragnarsson, you're up!" One of the guards shouted, pulling his attention. Being one of the stars of the pits, he was given much better treatment and trust than most.

His gaze shifted to them, then back to her. The hand that wiped the tears away would cup her cheek and pull her forehead gently against the bars, so his forehead could rest against hers. "This will be over soon.." he'd say, just before his lips pressed against hers and he stepped towards the gate. Ready for whatever lie ahead. The gods would decide his fate from here.

As the gate opened, he'd cross the threshold, taking his axe from one of the other guards. It was just another fight. Or so they thought incorrectly. With a vicious growl, Hrothgar would swing his axe across the throat of the closest guard, blinding the other one with a spray of blood. That guard would meet his fate shortly after.

What was once serene, turned to chaos. Guards shouted and opened fire on Hrothgar, blasters set to stun. He'd pick up one of the corpses as a shield for the stun charges and advanced, his collar safely controlled by one of the dead. He was an expensive slave and that gave them a handicap that he did not share. With a brutality known only by a slave fighting for his freedom, Hrothgar would carve his way into the nearby control room. It controlled the nearest quadrant of slave cells.

One stun ring would hit the behemoth, causing his advance to slow, but not before he killed the two men inside and dropped to his knees, slapping the release on the cells. He felt tired, inhibited. But his adrenaline would begin to burn through the effects he was feeling. One whole quadrant of slaves were released with a press of a button. And with the second, the nearby armory was unlocked. Chaos would reign.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

Calanthia's tears flowed freely down her pale cheeks until a rough but gentle hand wiped them away. Hrothgar Ragnarsson's confidence and certainty would've pulled a triumphant smile to Hrist's lips had she not been in the middle of an elaborate act. So while laughter rang clear deep within her mind the Sith incognito simply gazed up at the Deucalian with wide eyes, as if hanging on to his every word. She held the hand that wiped away her tears close, leaning onto the anchor of promise and safety Hrothgar offered.

Good.

Hrist followed his gaze when a guard called to the Deucalian, tightening her hold on his hand to convey the palpable fear masking her hidden amusement. The Marauder let herself be pulled close, drowning the angry beast that abhorred any other people leaning in too close – an innocent action that never failed to remind her of her own horrible past. Closing her eyes as their foreheads touched, she feigned submission to emphasize her current role as a fighting slave. Curiosity flashed in her eyes when Hrothgar's lips pressed against her, however. What was that? Was that how Deucalians offered their people comfort? Did he assume she was one of them? It was an... odd custom, if it ever was one.

And he felt soft when he did it. Did he care for her, for the persona she had crafted to deceive him with?

Questions ran unbidden in the female Sith's mind, but she continued to play her part as soon as Hrothgar moved to kill one of the guards with a vicious growl. A shocked scream was quickly cut off by her own hands covering her mouth, and Hrist continued to make a show of backing away and pressing herself against the wall as chaos erupted in the area. Hands still covering her mouth the Marauder was starting to find it difficult to contain her ever growing amusement as she watched the Deucalian wreak havoc among the guards. As soon as he disappeared into the control room Hrist lowered her head, long hair falling past her shoulders like raven curtains as a wicked smile tugged the corners of her lips upwards.

Very good, darling!

The din of the slaves' shouts had her raising her head once more, the smile on her face replaced with carefully crafted fear. Hrist moved forward as the door to her own cell snapped open. She longed to revel in the chaos and fighting all around her, to bask in the fear and horrified screams of the guards as the slaves fell upon them like crazed beasts. Another batch of guards appeared to hopefully quell the fighting and to subdue the slaves, but having armed themselves already the slaves made it difficult for the guards to do so.

Hrist paid them no heed. Her senses through the Force honed in on the man whose value was worth more than the combined forces of the fighting slaves and the guards. A Zabrak slave shouted at the Marauder.

"Calanthia! Arm yourself!" he yelled, tossing the sheathed twin blades towards her. Catching the pair deftly, Hrist resumed weaving through the fighting in search for Hrothgar.

Finding the Deucalian was easy, but Hrist had to limit herself and her own skill and bloodlust. Had she not chosen the role of a reluctant fighting slave she would have already carved a path through the guards to reach Ragnarsson. She had to remind herself that she was not a Sith today as a stray blaster bolt – very clearly not set to stun – grazed her left arm. The injury would've earned Hrist's wrath but she held herself, instead letting out a loud gasp of pain and letting herself be pushed around. Staggering her way to Hrothgar, Hrist would only begin to finally unsheathe her blades as one of the guards moved to strike the Deucalian when he wasn't looking.

"Hrothgar!" she yelled after cutting down the guard. Blood sprayed her as she felled another guard, painting the right side of her face red. Hrist maintained a horrified expression on her face as she continued to approach the Deucalian.

@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

All around the cells was madness. Slaves rose up against their masters and put them to the sword. Guards would race for various exits as the sheer numbers began to overwhelm them. What was once order, was now chaos. The control of the few, now shattered by the might of the many. The worst part was, that the people inside the stadium hardly noticed. The crowd was so loud in their jeering that they couldn't hear the pleas of the dying.

Hrothgar was doubled over on a console, his body working through the effects of the stun ring. He could hear the guard, but he couldn't move to stop him. But he did feel the spray of blood hit his back. "Hrothgar!" Something about her voice would reinvigorate the warrior and he slowly pushed himself to his feet, using the console to support him.

"You-you're free.." he moved to pull her into an embrace. ".. And you came for me.. I'm surprised that you didn't leave.." He would reach for his weapon after breaking of the hug and lumbering towards the door. "We must be rid of this place.. The other slaves are free and they will take what vengeance they desire.. This place, this monument to the sins of these scum will burn.. But I have a higher calling.. you.. and the Strom Queen.. But first.. we must find the way to escape.."

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Saragnayan]

Hrothgar was lucky that Hrist wasn't feeling particularly angry nor murderous at being pulled into this.. thing... other people call an embrace. For someone with an issue of being touched or held without her consent, she had made the concerted decision to allow him to act as he felt given the situation they found themselves in. But the Deucalian's actions gave Hrist a momentary pause for thought. She had recently acquired a Dathomirian student, a Zabrak she called Xeno. Perhaps this was something she should discuss with the new Acolyte, if he turned out to be the touchy type.


The Sith incognito carefully returned the Deucalian's embrace, mindful of the blades held in each hand. She adopted a look of shock at his comment, as if appalled that he even thought that she would go and flee without him. “H-How could I leave without you?“ she shot back, almost accusing as she allowed tears to form in the corners of her eyes. “How dare you!“


Indignant at the assumption that she, of all people, would just leave him after what he'd done for her – for all the slaves. Rightfully so. ‘Calanthia' immediately planted herself to Hrothgar's side, supporting him as they moved to exit the control room. The scent of blood hung thick and heavy in the air, the slaves' triumphant shouts and the death cries of the guards drowned by the revelry in the arena above. One prisoner caught sight of the pair and he immediately shouted Hrothgar's name, the other slaves following after him as the fighting– nay, massacre raged on.


“Ragnarsson! Ragnarsson!“


“We owe the Deucalian our freedom!“ shouted one female slave while impaling a fallen guard with a polearm. “What say you we give him his? What say you?“


More shouts of Hrothgar's name, this time with the slaves swearing fealty on him and clearing the path for the Deucalian and the disguised Sith. A Zygerrian slave was quick to lead Hrothgar and Hrist down a tunnel that supposedly led the guards towards the nearest cantina owned by a Quarren spice dealer. From there, he could smuggle any escapee to the nearest port and provide them a ship off world. Little did the guards know that said Quarren had already pledged his allegiance not to their masters but to the woman who was currently glued to the Deucalian's side. If only the Sith could smile even just a little as her plan fell into place... ah, but she still had a role to play. Scared, confused, mistrustful Calanthia who wasn't made for the fighting pits but was abducted and taken by slavers. Her thoughts went to Algus who would stay behind to lead the revolution from the shadows. The former Jedi was more capable than Hrist, or so she liked to think. The rest of the mission would go smoothly under his watch.


The corners of Hrist's lips tugged upwards in the faintest of smiles. She discarded the blades she was wielding as the Witch Assassin, and Hrothgar would suddenly feel that the grey-eyed woman was now supporting more and more of his weight as he continued to shake off the stun ring's effects. The Sith in disguise used the Force to augment her strength, a faint red glow flashing briefly in her eyes as they forged ahead, still being led by the Zygerrian.


“The path to your freedom has already been decided, Hrothgar Ragnarsson,“ Hrist would tell him, and the sudden change in her behavior would be so blatantly made out in the open. Where 'Calanthia' was meek, Hrist was confident. Three sets of footsteps echoed within the tunnel, and under the dim lights Hrist's smile would widen. She looked up at the Deucalian, her smile soft and warm as she held his gaze. “Do you trust me, as the gods will?“

It was a simple question, really. And Hrist would not take “no“ for an answer. She was leading him to his freedom, the Zygerrian ahead of them merely a tool who played the role he was given. She was freely offering Hrothgar the freedom he and everyone else thought he deserved. Should he reply in negative, well...


Hrist could easily throw him back to the wretched life he led prior to the liberty that was close within reach, only on a different planet and faced with the greater certainty of a pitiful existence and death.

@Rhogar

 

[Hrothgar Ragnarsson]

It was in her response where the slave knew he must have made a mistake. Wording, subtlety, poise. These were things lost on a slave. Especially one who had education withheld. And at her pain, her anger, he would recoil. "I did not mean it like that.. I meant, I would have wanted you to escape, even if I couldn't." His thumbs would wipe away the tears at the corner of her eyes. "I meant no offense, forgive me.."

Though the pain from the days fighting and the fog of the stuns effects on his body bore heavily on him, he would force himself to stand straighter as the slaves began to chant his name. He had freed them. He was the Chain-Breaker. It wasn't an impressive feat, not in his eyes, but it would forever change the game of slavery on the planet.

He would allow Hrist to guide him wherever, never questioning. It wasn't until they reached the tavern that the questions began to form. Too many things on their exit had begun to fall into place. "Calanthia.. Where are we going?" He would finally ask. There was no fear, no worry. He trusted her, for some reason. And when she began to support more of his weight with ease, he only grew more suspicious. But such doubts would be reserved for later.

When she spoke, her voice wasn't her own. Or rather, it was. The strength he sensed earlier had been hidden like a snake, recoiled and ready to strike. "It has?" He was confused, no, he had been played? Though she had smitten him before, the confidence only deepened it. He couldn't question it. Did he trust her? No. He couldn't. She was a witch. "Yes.. I trust you.." But he was bewitched.

In the months after they left, she would receive word that the insurrection would be defeated, Algus retreating into the shadows to never be heard from again. But it wasn't the upper classes of the world that did so. It would be the Political head of Belsavis, who would lead a security force in to not only end the conflict peacefully, but offer the slaves citizenship on Belsavis, where they would remain. However, Loovria would never fully recover from the loss of so many slaves.

@Forsythe Crowholde