Private Aboard a slaver's ship, orbiting Mandallia....

[Novin]

O B J E C T I V E​

the air was damp, and the smell putrid in the slave quarters. Ten, they were, and all crammed in the poor cabin which served as their chambers throughout this whole ordeal, while their ''masters'' enjoyed the most luxurious, spacious suites that the GX1 Hauler had to offer... once a fantastic ship, no doubt used for diplomatic missions and other tasks of the sort. This once blooming vessel, colorfully blistering with hues of gold and silver had been desecrated by vile pirates, who had no trouble acquiring such spacecraft through their cunning raids... and now ? It served as a freighter, a mean to survey and prey upon innocents, to inflict pain and terror, to seize whatever they set their lustful gaze upon without a thread of a care of the suffering they caused in the process. the Hauler had been orbiting around Mandallia for quite some time now, ever so searching for new ''assets'' to acquire... aye, assets were what they enjoy to call them, but in truth, these were poor innocent children, meant to be sold in the black market as if vulgar cattle. The thought of it angered Novin to the core. He had managed to stay alive for so long solely in reason of his strength and cunning. His father had trained him well... he was born a mandalorian after all...



''Yer' ! Go and clean me fockin' deck. We've done a great rangin' and partyin' last noight', so yer gonna clean it all up 'ntil it shines, hear me yeah ?'' Said a thundering voice. A great Gamorrean, ugly and broad, with spaced teeth and a foul breath. The man was large, though not muscular, it was all fat, no doubt acquired in his countless ''victory feasts'', victory feasts, as he liked to call them, were in truth sordid banquets where the slavers gathered all their captured, dearly prized merchandise and presented them for the whole gang to see. It was a shameful ceremony with a glorified name.



''Yes... I shall see to it...'' Novin agreed with a nod of the head, though he did not say anything else. Simply, he reached out for a mop and a bucket, readying himself to go and ensure the ship's deck was properly clean. As he made his way toward the exit, his road was blocked by the stocky alien. ''Whot did yer say boy'? I didn't hear ya, ya filth ! Whot am'I ? UH ? '' Upon uttering such words, the gamorrean slapped the teenager's visage with the palm of his monstrous, large hand. It was painful, and his cheek became red on contact. The sheer humiliation, the anger. Everything was boiling down inside... but he could only try and temper the nefarious feelings of vengeance, that pleaded him to take action.



''I apologize... master... I shall see to it that the decks are properly cleaned... should your grace allows it.'' The Gamorrean laughed, mockingly and finally moved away, allowing the boy to finally go to his destination, bucket and mop in hand.

​

​

​

 

[Mort Struwr]

A DOG'S LIFE ​

The last blow was stunning. Stunning and unexpected , as usual since various weeks now those Pirates scums decided to push the training of their "combat-hounds" further and closer to the realism of a real battle and what a true kill-or-die scenario should look like. In this case Mort was fighting a large and angry Zabrak covered in scars, a Zabrak which wasn't holding any of his punches and was clearly trying to kill him. The pirates probably captured him in the last raid , most likely he is just a pirate or a criminal of the worst kind similar them, only this time he was among those defeatead by a stronger group of vicious beings just like him. While those pirates are clearly cunts which all deserve a atrocious end, Mort admit the fact that they are efficient, more than most of those low-tier criminal groups and pirates crews.



But in the end they are nothing more than effective rats, in the face of a true opposition and real warriors they won't be capable of doing much. Well this is the reason why they avoid to attack any strong faction in the first place right ? But as of now, all of this doens't matter, Mort can consider how and when he will be able to free himself only when he will be capable of actually holding a fighting chance against dozens of hardened pirates scums which have no moral or remorse in doing the worst deeds, and for doing so he need to become stronger, he need to destroy any opposition facing him. The Zabrak try to strike again , this time accompagnied with the insults and threats of the pirates in charge of the "combat-hounds" formation. If Mort doens't win this fight the punishement will be harsh for sure. Using his guard to block the blow head on the impact force his arms back against his head as he fall to the ground, a kick hit him in the chest as he is send flying a small distance away. This wasn't a good start...

​

​

​

 

[Novin]

O B J E C T I V E​

As Novin made his way down the corridor with his cleaning equipment in hand, he could see some captives held into different rooms, while the slavers took pleasure in tormenting them, breaking their will. He had wished to take action, to rise up in rebellion against their oppressive tyranny... after all, not only the slaves were of superior numbers, most of these vile buffoons were drunk to the core... but they needed weapons... lots of them. There was a cache, well secured down below deck, with vibro weapons, blasters, and proper armament. The very ones they'd use to terrorize the poor folks down below. They could either steal them or burn them beyond usage; both interesting alternatives... but first, Novin needed to rally support and ensure that he could find like-minded individuals willing to escape: no simple task... considering most of what he had to work with were mere children... and at sixteen years old, he was the oldest of the bunch.



As the young man finally reached the deck, he noticed the presence of a muscular and tall Zabrak who seemingly took pleasure in beating a fellow human. Barely fifteen years old by the look of it. With each blow more vicious than the last, it did not take long before Mort collapsed on the floor, thanks to his brutal kick to the chest. ''Such... untamed violence... would that I could be of assistance to you, my friend...'' whispered the man to himself, as he started soaking his dry mop in the bucket of water. Slowly, he began mopping around the outskirts of the arena, where the two men had been severely fighting, without ever really peeling his eyes away from the fight. Such a task was humiliatingly frustrating, as several utility droids were present on the ship, ready for usage. It was a tactic to dehumanize the slaves into making them think less of themselves... though it only helped to fuel his anger and hatred.

​

​

​

 

[Mort Struwr]

A DOG'S LIFE ​

Mort didn't notice Novin presence, or maybe he did but he doesn't care. After all as of now the Mandalorian was too "busy" getting his ass kicked by this Zabrak fellow. How many more blows could Mort take before getting himself kill ? Or worse, actually survive this beating and enduring the vicious punishement which will surely come next. Well, today the Mandalorian wasn't planning on suffering from either of those situations, as the Zabrak try to crus his skull with a powerful kick the Mandalorian grab his leg with the left hand , using the momentum to flip the opponent down via an effort of his arm. The Zabrak fall upon him and Mort use this opening to wrap both of his arms around the Zabrak neck trying to suffocate him. However this foe put such a hard ressitance that Mort have no other choice but to break his grip and roll over to avoid a furious punch aiming his face, the Zabrak managed to quickly turn around to try to hit him. Both the fighters get on their feet, fists raised in front of their respective faces as they are heavily breathing. The Zabrak attack first, trying to land a direct kick in the chest of Mort, but the later avoid and counter this reckless assault with a stunning upercut putting his opponent down on his knees. Mort without wasting any seconds use a direct knee blow in the middle of his opponent jaw, breaking it in a lound noise as blood flows all around the Zabrak... Victory was for him on this day, but at what cost ? He can barely stand and he is heavily bruised , but at last today he will have a decent dinner and bed.

​

​

​

 

[Novin]

O B J E C T I V E​

Pursuing his cleaning obligations had proven to be quite a task, one at which he could hardly focus on with these two going at each others throats so loudly and violently... yet he carried on, to the best of his capacities. Funnily enough, the deck was scarely guarded, with perhaps two or three wardens keeping watch... if keeping watch could be understood as drinking and feasting that is... how nauseous. One of them was barely awake, with a bottle of andoan wine at his side... while the other took pleasure in counting a pile of credits, endlessly flowing through the tables. In their vile raids, they managed to procure so much of it no doubt, from poor and honest folks who gave their humble possessions in hope for survival.... and now, they counted themselves rich men... lucky men. The riches of the antic and proud union of all Mandalorian clans had proven to be so plentiful that these vile men decided to establish an outpost in the region. On Mandallia precisely. His work as their warrior-dog often led him in this place. Novin knew of its exact location, and someday, he dearly hoped to take vengeance upon all of them... but first, he needed to band a few like minded warriors, courageous folks akin to danger who trembled not before adversity... and this young boy. Mort was it ? He fitted the desired profile well. He needed a man like him to further his escape plan. He had the mettle, the resilience and the arduous tenacity he had been looking for. He could see it in him. The way he took multiple hits, some even lethal ones and yet, never gave up the fight...


Speaking of which, the boy was been beaten so badly, Novin began wondering if he should intervene or not. After all, this crimson colosseus of a Zabrak was beating the kid senseless... and with many of his hits lethal, t'was only a matter of time before he collapsed on the bloody floor. "That's it. I can't let this go on further". He quickly reached for the mantle of his wooden mop, breaking it in the process to produce some sort of makeshift, improvised weapon. He carefully looked at his surroundings for any suspicious wardens, though they were still occupied with whatever menial tasks they were undertaking. As Novin steps into the arena, ready to provide assistance to the kid, he seemingly managed to outwit the crimson monster into beating him. It was quite a superb display, really... that boy, he knew how to fight, and more importantly, defend himself... though, he could barely stand on his own two legs ! Impressed by such feats, Novin rushed to the boy, putting his arm around his waist to ease the weight of his suffering. "You were totally amazing ! How did you manage that ? He was twice your size, yet you completely shattered his spine !!" ushered Novin in complete exaltation... with his elation decreasing gradually at the extent of the boy's injuries. "We should tend to your wounds."

​

​